#not to mention that person's spelling made my eyes bleed

[itsphoenix0724]

Meet Me On The Ice (Azriel x Reader)~ Chapter 1

Summary: You and Lucien Vanserra have been skating together since you were children, but when he has an accident that takes him out right before championships you turn to your brother and his hockey team to fill the position. His best friend Azriel has lethal grace on the ice and owes your brother a favor, which seems like a match made in heaven, except you can’t stand each other. Can you and Azriel pull a routine together in time for your competition, or will it all spiral out of control?

MMOTI masterlist

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Hello everyone! Happy December, my final exams are over so I'm so excited to get back into writing! As you all know I've been planning this for a while, so I hope you're all as excited as I am!!

DISCLAIMER: I am not a figure skater or a hockey player, so while I'm trying to be as accurate as possible, it's likely some things may not be correct and/or are bent a little to fit the plot!

Figure skating is a lot more thrilling than people give it credit for. Only a few people are willing to be thrown 5 feet in the air at 20 miles an hour and completely trust the other person to catch them. 

The ice was always your happy place. The biting chill against your skin, the feel of gliding across the rink faster than light. It was thrilling, to say the least. You and Lucien had worked so hard this season to advance this far, and you only had a couple of competitions left before the both of you graduated from university. The two of you were on a winning streak, and this competition looked like it would turn out no different. Your coach smiled from the sidelines as the two of you performed in perfect sync, his hands around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly into the air before resting you safely back on your skates. It was time for the big finish, you sped in a circle around the rink executing a triple toe and Lucien built up his momentum to launch his axel. Your eyes dart to the judges' impressed faces before you whip your head back to him and- 

Something’s wrong. 

The angle– the spin, is all out of balance, and in the blink of an eye, Lucien hits the ice. His head makes a sickening crack on the ground as red floods around him, and his right leg is twisted in the wrong way. The scream you let out doesn’t even sound like yours as you race over to him, the sounds of the crowd echoing around you in a sick symphony. 

“Oh my god” 

“Someone call an ambulance!” 

“Get him off the ice quick!” 

You don’t hear any of them too busy trying to shake Lucien awake with tears streaming down your cheeks, but he’s knocked out cold. A blur of red is next to you and it takes you a moment before you realize it’s Lucien’s mother. It’s another gut-wrenching eternity of trying your best to hold a towel against his head to stop the bleeding, Lucien still unresponsive, before the gentle hands of a paramedic ease you away from your best friend. You watch with abject horror as they load him onto a stretcher, and carry him out of the rink. Helping Lucien’s mother off of the ice, she follows them outside. The ringing in your ears still hasn’t stopped, not even when your own mother and father come racing down the arena steps, a hand coming out to hold your jaw, and another wrapping your coat around your shoulders. Before you blink again they’re ushering you out of the rink and into the car. 

It’s two days before you can see Lucien in the hospital. 

You had driven in complete silence, anxiety coiled like a viper in the pit of your stomach. Parking your car in the visitor lot you look at the teddy bear you buckled safely into your passenger seat, its soft brown hands clutching a heart with cursive writing spelling Get Well Soon.  It had been dumb and cheesy, but you snagged it at the grocery store while picking up some of Lucien’s favorite snacks and couldn’t resist. 

Hopefully, it would make him laugh at least.

The nurse at the desk smiles at you kindly before pointing you in the right direction of his room. The atmosphere of the hospital weighs painfully on your shoulders as the elevator ride seems to stretch on for decades. You thankfully find Lucien’s room easily enough, his russet eyes light up at the sight of you even with the angry red stitches that run through his hair. 

“There she is!” He bellows, eyeing the bear and the bag of treats with interest. You set them on his bed and he laughs a joyous sound as he props the bear next to him on the bed, declaring it his new best friend. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask tentatively, settling into a chair next to his bed. His leg is in a cast, elevated, and you run your bottom lip between your teeth with worry. 

“I’m alright, all things considered.” He promises rifling through the bag to dig out the pack of spicy chips, “I’ve got a concussion, and my legs broken so bad I’ll be in physical therapy for months.” Lucien meets your eyes mournfully, looking as if you’d just punched him in the face. “I won’t be able to skate for the rest of the season. I’m so sorry.” He dips his eyes averting his gaze to the broken leg, like glaring at it hard enough will force it back together again. You feel your heart sink to your feet, but you refuse to let it show, trying to keep a happy smile on your face. 

“None of that matters, all I care about is that you’re okay.” You reach out to grip his hand, and his warm palms engulf your own.

“You can find another partner to finish the season,” He urges,  Lucien’s other hand comes up to cup your cheek, wiping away the silver trying to fight its way out of your eyes despite your best efforts. You had already registered in the partner skate division, so it was too late to switch now. But even thought makes your stomach turn.

“No one could ever replace you,” You promise, leaning into his warmth. It’s the truth. You had been skating with Lucien since you were small, and now you’re about to graduate from university. There could be no one else. No one else that, without fail, had such a warm touch even on the ice rink. No one else you could trust to catch you every time, even if it means sacrificing his safety. 

You had tried to skate with one other partner, once, in freshman year when Lucien caught the flu so bad he was puking for weeks. It hadn’t ended well and you hadn’t trusted anyone since. 

“You should skate your last season. Even if this new guy will never be as good as me.” It’s a lighthearted attempt at a joke, and you accept the crutch of humor, chest rising with a breath of laughter. “You could ask Rhys, maybe he’d do it? He used to skate before he switched to hockey right?” That was true, but he switched to hockey right before middle school to play with his friends, maybe he’d consider it if it didn’t conflict too much with his schedule. 

“I’ll think about it, let's focus on tearing through these snacks in the meantime,” You snag the peanut butter cups out of his bag despite Lucien’s vehement protests and turn the staticky hospital tv to shitty afternoon cartoons. 

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You held your tears in successfully until you got home. You didn’t want Luicen to feel guilty, didn’t want him to see you cry, so here you were curled in a ball under your covers. Hiding from your problems like a child, hoping if you just ignored them long enough they would magically solve themselves. You had asked Rhys earlier about possibly skating with you, but between learning to take over your father’s business, university, and hockey he understandably regretfully declined. The bedroom door creaks open, hearing the delicate tread of Rhys’s footsteps before he settles next to you on the bed, rubbing a soothing hand along your curved form. 

“It’ll be alright I promise,” Rhys mutters. “I think I might have a solution, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” You rise from your chosen shelter, raising a brow and wiping at your tear-stained cheek. 

“What is it?” You question, and Rhys almost flinches. “I’ll do almost anything to skate again.” He must see the desperation and he carries on anyway. 

“Azriel is still suspended from the team at the moment, and he owes me a favor…” Rhys watches your eyes catch up to his words, the disgust flashing in them. Both of Rhys’s best friends had couched surfed at your house at one time or another, and you and Azriel had never gotten along. Not like sunshiney Cassian, who may be viscous on the ice but was one of the most gentle people you knew. Cas was the one who made an effort to include you in activities, who playfully tossed you in the pool in the summer, and took you for long drives when you were upset. Azriel spent those summers by the pool brooding in the shade until you left, and was currently suspended from the Velaris University hockey team for throwing another player so hard into the glass he was concussed. “You said you would do almost anything to skate again,” Rhys raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes. 

“What about Cassian?” you offer. He would probably do it for you, but Cas wasn’t suited for figure skating. His style was too brutish, it was nothing against him, he just wouldn’t pick up the flow and patience you needed to skate with the music fast enough in time for the competition. As much as you hated to admit it, Azriel moved across the ice like smoke, flowing and ebbing with a lethal grace you couldn’t help but admire. 

“Cas is too busy with school and hockey,” Rhys had clearly already run through the option. You knew that if you begged Cassian he probably would, but his stance at the school depended entirely on his grades and his performance in hockey. You wouldn’t give him any chance to mess up his scholarship.  “Please just talk to Az with me tomorrow.” 

“Fine.” You relent, perhaps with a little more attitude than necessary. So you correct yourself, Rhys is going out of his way to help you. “Thank you.” He gives you a small smile, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leaving your room. 

So that was how you found yourself bundled up at the rink, at six in the fucking morning, with Rhy watching Azriel practice. He moved like a panther, prowling around the ice and slapping the puck with such ferocity the crack makes you flinch. He tears off his helmet, skating over with a mop of sweat-soaked hair. Az’s hazel eyes flick over you once in distaste before dismissing you completely and turning his attention to Rhys, which makes your temper rise to a heated spark of fury. Your brother clears his throat, nudging you on the back to speak. Azriel turns back to you and raises a cold dark brow.  

“Would you please consider being my skating partner for my last few competitions this season? Please” you choke out, trying your best to send him a pleasant smile. Then, Azriel actually has the balls to laugh at you. 

“Yeah, I heard about what happened to Vanserra. What makes you think I would ever want to do that?” Azriel chuckles out, voice dripping with sarcasm. You’re about to agree, call this whole mess off, and return to the comfort of your bed when Rhys cuts in. 

“Because you owe me,” The two of them have some silent stare-down that you wish you could be privy to. Whatever Rhys had done for Azriel in the past it must have been big because after a moment Azriel fixes those molten eyes on you again. 

“Fine, I’ll do it. Be here tomorrow at five so we can try to figure out this shitshow.” He tucks his helmet back over his head and prowls back around to the ice. You guess you’ll be meeting him here tomorrow night and you find yourself agreeing with the sentiment that this will be a shit show indeed.   

[yoonkinii]

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Baldurs Gate:

Astarion

We Were Human

Synopsis: Astarion died as soon as he became something the world has never seen before. No one noticed the damage before it was too late and the Astarion everyone loved was lost to the new one. No one could notice when the turn was slow and silent. He slowly lost the playful glint in his eyes. Lost the love he gaze upon me with. Lost everything that made him the man I loved. Oh, how I would give anything to get him back. I would gladly give up my damned soul for him.

(Aka you are transported back to the past in order to prevent Astarion from losing himself once more. The only problem? You don't have a lot of time.)

Theme Song: Vore - Sleep Token

"You have become the voice in my head Only recourse we're left after death Your viscera welcome me in, welcome me in My life is torn, my bones, they bleed My metaphors fall short in the end Your flesh and bone welcome me in, welcome me in Are you in pain like I am?"

Pairing(s): Ascended!AstarionxReader

Warning(s): Gore, blood, cruelty, cursing, death/murder, mentions of using oneself unwillingly, abuse. Its ascended astarion, prepare for the worst. (Will be updated as more parts are released)

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ...

Status: on hold

Note(s):

For the sake of the plot- Astarion will not automatically be damned from the start. In this world, Astarion becomes lost to the ascension overtime until he becomes the ascended vampire we know him to be in the game. Another note that should be highlighted is that this story will be told from the first person perspective since it benefits the story more than any other perspective.

You will also notice various things being different from the game. For example, Karlach will be able to stay in the ‘human’ world and she fixed her heart. (I love my girl, I’m not sending her back), Szaars palace has a different layout cause the one in the game was stupid. There will be more that you will notice in the future so beware. You notice many things that were not included in the game but it I ensure that it is on purpose and isn't just there randomly. It should also be noted that when I post, I post the raw draft before I go back and edit the story. I do this so I am able to post consistently without having readers wait. I will go back and edit once I am able so if you notice spelling mistakes, I apologize.

Soulless Soul

Spawn!AstarionxAbsolute!VampyreReader

 Synopsis: There he stands, eyes downcast and shoulders caving in on himself. He does not look weary as he was pricked and prodded to fit the standards of his master. He has no idea why he is here- lined up amongst his siblings in the dining hall. His back aches, scars he knows that have not healed properly catching onto the rough fabric of his shirt. He watched the floor, he knew better not to meet the eyes of the predators that lurked before. He doesn’t even look up when the hem of an emerald green dress stands before him.

“This one. I want this one.” 

He does not allow himself the privilege of hope to blossom in his chest at those words. 

Theme Song: Soulless Creatures - Aurora

All the pieces of my body's gone Look at me now and tell me how I feel inside Every pieces that I lost, I have loved

Warning(s):  mentions of sexual trauma, Physical assault, gore, death, panic attacks, cursing, (more will be added as the story progresses if needed)

Note(s): Redacted in case of spoilers. I will upload notes with the first chapter

Part(s): TBA

Jujutsu Kaisen:

Gojo Satoru

Perfectly Imperfect

Synopsis: Everyone is born with a soulmate. Everyone knows by the time they hit age 18, a different kind of soulmate mark will appear. Some are unable to see color until they meet their soulmates gaze, others have matching tattoos. These are the more common ones; ones that can be tracked down in history but others are rare. So rare that there’s rarely any information available about it. Rare like yours and the only case of this soulmarking was dated decades ago with only two lines describing it.

"Person A and Person B afflicted by this marking will discover themselves to be covered in string-like tattoo markings in certain areas. These areas are what the soulmate A or B deem unworthy of themselves; or rather, what they hate about themself."

This wouldn't be a problem for you if it wasnt for the fact that everything from the collarbone to your ankles was decorated in white string-like lines.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Theme song: Bonfire - wave to earth

What color is my sky painted? What color is your emotion? Close your eyes slowly and feel the wind. The bonfire is fading out. Maybe we are falling Falling down with the rain.

amore mio aiutami- Piero Piccioni (literally the song that plays when M/C looks at him)

Warning(s):

18+, Sub!Gojo (gasp!), cursing, mentions of self-hate, discussion of Self-hate, mentions of minor character death- Will be added as chapters progress but if you see something that I didn’t include here, please let me know!

Note(s):

Expect this to be a short fic. I do not plan on having this over 6 parts and even then it could be less or couple chapters more. Depends on how I write everything.

Part(s): TBA

Ryomen Sukuna

Snippets of Love

Synopsis: Glimpses of your relationship with Sukuna through prompts/questions.

Paring: Sukuna x Reader

Theme Song: Heart To Heart - Mac DeMarco

So I had a late Arrival So, we never saw the start of each others lives heart to heart

Notable tags: ModernAU, slight age gap, Canon/Fanon implements, Sukuna still has his tattoos, CEO Sukuna, uncle Sukuna, college student reader, pierced Sukuna.

Note(s): Inspired to do this series based on Kyarrcha fanart of Sukuna on Instagram! I want this to be mostly based on requests about certain moments such as when Sukuna and you first met, first date, and things like that. This can also include certain scenarios or environments. Feel free to send in requests but I will also add in my own takes.

Requests: Open.

Warnings: will be listed in the sections.

You are not required to read snippets in order, but it is recommended.

How y♡u first met Sukuna!

How y♡u met Sukuna again (and got his number)!

First date with Sukuna!

Sukuna letting y♡u doll him up!

Sukuna with drunk y♡u

Jealous Y♡u

Argument with Sukuna

Choso Kamo

Echos of Love

Synopsis: Choso is one of the few to possess abilities that transcend human limits. His family was taken away from him and he was given to serve the king. He was trained in nothing else but to kill and follow orders. He was a man made weapon. His name whispered in fear- the kingdom's boogeyman. He hates it though. Hates how his freedom was ripped from his hands. Hates how his ‘gift’ is more like a curse. He is offered a deal he can’t deny- transport the princess to safety in a neighboring kingdom. The only problem is, she’s the daughter of the man that took everything from him and she is being hunted down by unknown forces. 

Pairing: Choso x Reader

Theme Song: my love is mine all mine - Mitski

Moon, tell me if I could Send up my heart to you? So, when I die, which I must do Could it shine down here with you? 'Cause my love is mine, all mine I love mine, mine, mine

Notable tags: FantasyAU, Fanon (I am creating my own world and using some pieces of jjk in it), major character death, (Will be updated as chapters are released)

Note(s): Teehee, I love Choso.

Part(s): TBA

[oyster-sauce-tart]

SAGAU thoughts

I’ve had ENOUGH!!! of all the imposter sagau’s makinh me feel sad (as much as I love them it has completely taken over the genre and don’t like that) so taking matters into my own hands

*ahem*

So I have my own little thought about the multiverse theory in which different universes are constantly created; for every choice you choose, another universe in which you’ve made a different decision is created

Even the world of Genshin is no different.

When you, the Player, first downloaded Genshin impact the concept of a “Creator” was made. A being amongst gods who created everything, who created life to the entire world.

And technically it’s true! You are the Creator of Teyvat!

By deciding to *play* Genshin impact you created a world that is an alternative to the Teyvat you originally knew!

Heck even an another version of you exists!

In every which way this Genshin You is still you. The same appearance the same personality…

Although, this Creator you doesn’t just encapsulate how you act, but how you act and play in Genshin as well

So… if you’re one of those… bloodthirsty players that love to attack every enemy in sight…

The Original

Disclaimers: mentions of reader’s death, brief description of gore (getting hit by a truck isn’t a very nice experience), Aether is the traveler (mentioned), 2nd person pov/GN!reader, Reader is referred to as ‘The Original’ with no other name mention, I did all this on mobile w/o any spell check, implied Reader was an academic focused college student before death

You had originally thought, that when you died everything would merely turn black. Or maybe you would reincarnate into another person, forgetting your old life and starting anew.

You’d have yet to know that’s what exactly was going to happen (more or less) but we’d still have yet to approach that part of this tale.

After that spiraling truck hit you square in the body, knocking you out cold with too many injuries and too much blood loss for your body keep you breathing, you had woken up with perfect health.

Erm… well… sorta. You weren’t bleeding out with your limbs thrown every which way, with pieces of your bones poking out of your flesh, anymore but you didn’t really feel… anything. Just floaty, and a bit tingly…?

“Well, yes, transferring your consciousness from one realm to another before it drifted away at the last second can bring out that weird feeling… you may want to ask Aether about that, they might empathize with you.”

…

what.

It had suddenly came to your attention that you were laying down. On someone’s lap. Who’s lap? Well you still had your eyes closed so you decided to open them and jump up to stand in order to see what in the utter hell was going on.

You jump out of whoever’s embrace you were in and opened your eyes. You saw that you seemed to be in some kind of… space…?

The best way to describe it was like being taken to space to see the stars up close except you didn’t need a space suit, you were breathing just fine! As well as the fact that the surface your feet was under rippled like water droplets yet you didn’t sink nor stumble from the weird feeling.

“An amazing realm we’re in isn’t it? I’m glad I created this and hid up here after that dastardly war…”

Ah right the mysterious voice talking to you that suspiciously sounded like yours if you took etiquette lessons.

You finally turn to look up at the voice and your eyes widened. It wasn’t just that voice that sounded like you… the person standing in front of you looked exactly like you!

Down to the skin, hair, and eye color, the height, the body tone and shape, even those little marks that only you would recognize…! It’s like looking in a mirror…! Ah well sort of…

First of, the hair color you two may share but their’s was much longer than yours. It even reached down to drag across the water-space-floor thing. And also they weren’t wearing the same clothes at you, but rather in some really pretty and delicate looking robes. Although this person had the upper half of the robe be loosely worn hanging off the shoulders showing a moderately tight turtleneck.

You couldn’t lie you wanted some of those garbs yourself, did this lookalike had a closet you could borrow maybe…

Ah wait speaking of which…

After ogling at your mirror image’s body, you immediately pointed at your doppelgänger with an accusatory tone. As if you weren’t just admiring their beautiful wardrobe and fashion choice.

“Who are you?!” you shouted at them. You tried on a loud voice to make yourself seem more threatening.

Alas, you were more of the academic type rather than the intimidating one so this person-who-looked-like-but-wasn’t-quite-you-you-think merely chuckled and looked at you with a rather admirable look.

Slowly they started to get closer to you with a chill and calm walk and once they were close enough to you they placed their hands to hold onto yours. You had noticed their hands were as just as rough as your own, although you didn’t know why this person’s were like that you can thank yourself for your own hand texture thanks to years of taking scholarly notes until your wrists cramped up during college lectures.

They stared at your hands, having had come to a similar realization and rubbed the back of your hands in a delicate manner.

They looked at you again.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you… my Original…”

…

WHAT.

[ Prologue, The Realm of Inbetween 1: END ]

Well ummmmmm this went a big longer than I intended,,,

Originally wanted to just spew out thoughts then I blacked out and now here’s this. I’ll actually continue this tbh this is real good and I’ve been wanting to write smth for this idea for awhile soo lol

Umm anyways cue end card-

Ty for reading <3

As always, I am unable to respond to replies so please show your support for my writing with reblogs, asks, or even dms!

Feel free to read my Carrd here to keep track of requests or Masterlist!

[mxthtea]

I Am Not Your Enemy

grim x masc reader (reader does not have a specified gender, but is stated to not identify as a woman) warnings: (reader) breakdowns, online grooming (done to the reader), reader refers to themself as a slut and a whore once each, heavily self-indulgent and based on my own experiences, hand holding and hugging, use of grim's real name, mentioned self-harm, grammar + spelling mistakes, please tell me if i forgot any word count: 3107

request rules

You feel… itchy. Very itchy.

Not an itch that made any sense. A spontaneous itch that covers your entire body. But your skin isn't dry either. It makes you want to tear into it and rip out your tendons. To scratch until you're red and bleeding onto your flooring and chair.

Maybe it has to do with the anxiety pooling into your chest. the heavy weight that lays there, making your heart pound to try and escape. The quickened breaths of your suffocating lungs.

The bright screen of your laptop glares you down. The old messages you had sent to Casper glaring even harder.

The words making out more… suggestive messages. In-depth words about how you'd touch him, how you'd feel him. What your skin contact would be like. To think that it was just about holding his hand. To think that you sent those, even though it has been a while since you sent them.

Messages that you swear you've seen before. Years prior and on a social app you shouldn't've been on. After all, your parents wanted to protect you from online predators. But, they still got to you. It's not like you were exactly protecting yourself.

Suggestive messages filled with what they'd to you. How they'd touch your skin and they'd feel. How they'd undress, how they-

"Sunshine?" a voice cuts off your thoughts.

Your head snaps to the doorway to your apartment. There stands your boyfriend, Casper, donning his usual attire. Not that you can make it out well, your face is blurry from tears, after all.

When did you start crying?

Your body tells you to run. To run from Casper and to get out of there. Telling you that he's just like them. You're just a body, you aren't a person to him. No doubt he talks about you behind your back. He views you as some slut, some whore. Somebody that he'll use then discard. Who knows who else he's done that to.

He'll fuck you- or you'll fuck him- then he'll leave you right after. He'll get what he wanted then leave. Maybe he'll take your soul while he's at it! After all, he's a grim reaper! It's insane to think he doesn't want it!

It doesn't matter if this goes against everything you know about Casper. You're right, you have to be. You've been through this already.

Something cold presses against your hot cheeks and you slap away whatever's touching you. Your world blurs for a moment, a thud then a sharp pain that shoots up from your bottom.

Casper's above you. His face is too blurry from your tears to make out. Gods he's above you, he's gonna make you-

"Sunshine, look at me," Casper calls out to you. when you look at him, he's on his knees in front of you. his hands held in the air as if telling you he won't touch you again.

Your shaking hands reach up to wipe the tears that drip from your eyes. You can barely make anything out into detailed shapes. Your boyfriend is just a blur of some colors. His red eyes still stand out among the grey and whites.

"Get away from me," you choke out, "don't touch me."

The red blurs of his eyes get bigger. You assume he had widened them, but you still make it out fully. There's a distant sound of Casper's shoes shuffling against your wooden flooring. Your eyes begin to clear up from the tears. They fall down your cheeks, but you simply wipe them. You don't want to look even more vulnerable.

You look up to Casper, staring into his red eyes. He seems worried.

A part of you thinks it's fake.

A part of you knows that this is fake.

His look of worry is just one to hide his own feelings. He's pretending he's being worried so he can get you to lower your guard. Then he'll use your body. With sweet words, he'll whisper that fills you with too much guilt to say no. You'll want to die after, then he'll leave you.

Only to come back again and repeat the damned cycle.

You want to run, but you feel cornered. He's kneeling in front of you, keeping you from running away. He's gonna hold you down. He'll-

"Sunshine," Casper's voice makes it sound like he's pleading with you, "please tell me what's wrong."

His eyes meet yours. Casper takes a step back to give you space.

Will he jump on you when you try to run?

"Don't touch me," you demand.

Casper raises his gloved hands once again, he takes another step back from you, "I won't touch you. What's wrong?"

You look at him with inquisitive eyes. Why's he acting like this? He wants to touch you, does he not? Maybe he's just pretending to care about how you feel.

You see Casper's concerned expression twist into one of surprise. He looks down at you, eyes widened by a fraction, dark eyebrows raised up.

He opens his mouth to speak, "Sunshine, why do you look like that? Did I say something wrong?"

Your gaze hardens. Why is he playing dumb? He knows what he wants. He knows that he wants you. Why?

He must be trying to put you in a false sense of security. Then it's easier for him to undress you. For him to mutter in your ear how much you want him.

"You want to touch me don't you?" you look at him, incredulously, "so do it."

"You don't want me to."

"Why do you care?"

You see that Casper visibly flinches back. His expression changes several times in a matter of seconds. From shock, to anger, to a form of despair, to worry.

"I'm not going to touch you."

"But don't you?"

"Do you want me to?"

A shiver wracks through your body. You feel your blood rush and your heart beats rapidly in your chest. You feel as if it's going to burst out any second. The question rings in your ears. He's trying to tempt you, isn't he?

"Do you want me to?"

When you say no, he'll have an ugly face. One that'll haunt you. One that asks- demands permission. Permission given that completely strips you of consenting to it. Then he'll smile. He'll say you're a good girl despite you not being one. He'll hush your protests with his lips.

It doesn't matter if you say no. You might as well just be saying yes. You just need to be convinced.

The words are a lump in your throat. Those three letters, singular syllable, refuse to come out. Just say yes goddammit it saves you the fucking trouble!

"No," your voice shakes as you speak. You feel pathetic.

"Alright," Casper nods to you, "I won't."

"Why not?"

It seems like a stupid question. But, you have to ask. Why doesn't he want to?

"You don't want me to, right? I won't touch you until you say so."

There's silence in the room. You know Casper wants to speak. He opens his mouth just to close it a few times.

"I'll be back," is all he says before leaving from your apartment window. When did he even open it?

Your legs shake as you stand. Luckily, due to your small apartment, your bed is only a stumble away. As you let yourself fall onto your mattress, your mind begins to wander… to Casper.

He didn't want to touch you. Not because he didn't desire you, it's because you didn't want him to. Something that other people would scoff at and say is the bare minimum. But, it's something you aren't used to. Well, you had barely said no to anyone's demands. Always eager to please.

Despite the pain and trauma it had caused. Those same memories and emotions still haunt you years later.

You don't know when you fell asleep. All you remember is thinking of Casper and what you had experienced. Then, you woke up. With the blue sky changing to an orange.

Casper still isn't back either. It's just you, your plant, and your pet.

You take hold of your pet, gently. Holding them in your lap and gently stroking them. It's nice, creating a small bubble of pleasant feelings in your chest. It's easy.

A few minutes seem to pass. You're still in a bit of a daze from earlier events. You must've been asleep for at least an hour.

There's a distant noise that you can't really hear. Your pet looks up, you follow their gaze. A figure crawls into your room from your window. The familiar dark jacket and white hair stand out to you.

"Casper…?" you drawl. His eyes meet yours. His expression is one of concern. Why?

"I said I'd be back, didn't I?" he gives a smile to you, "I bought some food."

He places an emphasis on saying he bought it. It makes you think that he might've stolen the food. Those hesitant thoughts are cut short as Casper places the bag down in front of you.

It's some fast food place. WcBonalds, as you recall. You had eaten there a while ago, during another one of these episodes.

Casper sits at your desk chair. He stares at your hands, waiting for you to move. You notice how poor his posture is. His slumped back against the leather back of it. You wonder if a reaper like him faces back pain like a human like you.

Removing the food he had brought, you just stare at it for a moment.

"Are you… eating it with your eyes?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't…" feel hungry is what you want to say. Though you doubt Casper will take that as an answer.

Despite not eating the entire day and having a breakdown, you didn't want to eat. The thought of it makes you feel queasy. Having the flavors invade your tongue. The texture lingering in your mouth. Choking on the food as it slides down your throat.

Thinking about eating makes you tired, not hungry.

Casper's eyes still linger on you. His eyebrows pinch together in a face of worry. At least, it could be worry. You feel like he's probably frustrated, too.

This isn't the first time he has to encourage you to eat.

"Can you at least drink a little, Sunshine?" Casper relents. He carries a sad look on his face.

You look at the drink Casper brought. A simple, standard cup of iced water from WcBonalds. Perhaps he didn't want you to choke on their famously aggressive soft drinks. It won't hurt to drink. Water is nice to drink, you're thirsty as well. It's easier to do than eat something as well.

You give a nod to Casper. His lips quirk up into a relieved smile as you take a sip of it.

"Slowly," Casper's voice is gentle as he speaks. You follow his words and take small, slow sips.

"I thought a grim reaper wouldn't know how to take care of someone," you move your lips from the straw and put it down. The food still stares up at you, waiting for you to eat it.

You sigh. Taking a fry and eating it. The expected salty taste invades your senses. It makes you feel sick, but you also realize how hungry you are.

"I'm good at taking care of you," Casper corrects you, "every other human I either fight or take their soul."

You give a nod to him, continuing to eat.

Now that Casper is with you and you aren't breaking down in front of him, you can ask him a question. The question that had been bothering you since he had left.

Why?

"Casper," you start. He looks to you, red eyes meeting yours, "why didn't you touch me?"

His expression is one of bewilderment, as if your words cut into him. He opens his mouth just to close it. You think Casper looks more like a fish than a grim reaper right now.

"You told me you didn't want me to," Casper sounds offended as he speaks.

"And you listened, why?" you eat a fry after the words fall from your lips. The salty taste lingers on your tongue.

"Why wouldn't I listen to you?"

"Because-"

Oh.

You can't come up with any response. Any reason that he'd go against your words die before they could even leave your mouth.

Casper lets out a sigh. He approaches you, sitting on your bed. His eyes still meeting yours.

"Can I hold your hand?"

The words sit in the air. You look down and stare at your hands.

Unlike a bit ago, you don't ache at the mere thought of being touched. In fact, maybe you want to be. For no other reason than you just crave a bit of contact.

So, you nod. Casper clicks his tongue. He doesn't seem satisfied with that response.

"I want your verbal consent, Sunshine. Not just a nod."

Another gap of silence. It's easier to just nod or shake your head than have to say it out loud.

"Yes," your voice shakes a bit with hesitancy. It's not that you don't want Casper to touch you- it's just hard to say you do.

"Sunshine," Casper's gloved hand brushes over your fingertips. When you don't pull your hand back or give any other sign of not wanting to be touched, Casper takes your hand in his.

His hand is cold, even through the gloves he wears. You know this. You've known this. Ever since Casper had gifted you a bouquet of roses all those weeks ago. You've continued to know it ever since that first week of "meeting" each other.

"Sunshine," Casper repeats, "look at me."

Your eyes meet up to his. Casper looks at you desperately. There's a bit of hurt in his expression. The cocky bastard of a grim reaper you know is replaced with someone filled with worry. You don't think you've ever seen him like this.

His hold on your hand is light, gentle. As if you'd break at the slightest bit of physical pressure. You don't know if that's true or not in your current mental state.

"Sunshine. I am not your enemy," his hold on your hand tightens the slightest bit, "I have never been your enemy. I will not do anything you don't want me to."

"But-"

"No," Casper's voice is firm, unbreakable. He's blunt in his statements, just as he has been before, "there is no but, if, and, or whatever else you mortals say. I am not working against you. Unless you are doing something truly stupid- which you probably will- I don't want to hurt you."

The statement flows through the open air. You can't seem to grasp onto it. The words Casper speaks are foreign to you. Reassurances that he won't use you like you have been before. You're… hesitant to accept such things being said to you.

It's not supposed to be like this.

Casper is supposed to use you, he's supposed to go against what you say, he's supposed to make you uncomfortable. But, he isn't.

In fact, he's doing the opposite.

He's helping you, he's doing what you want. He's touching you when you say he can.

Something warm drips down your cheek. You reach up and try to wipe away your tears. Emotions overflow and reveal themselves in the small space of your apartment. With only two other living beings to witness it and some food you've half forgotten about.

"Sunshine," your nickname falls from Casper's tongue. He says it so much these days. As if he's just stating the weather.

You look back up to Casper. His other hand hovers just before your face. The sheer frigid temperature he has goes against your heated body.

"May I?"

This time, you know he means that he's asking for your consent. Casper won't do anything without you saying so. If you say no, he backs off.

"Yes…" the words are sniffled out.

Casper's gloved hand wipes away your tears. The one still holding your hand squeezes it reassuringly.

Casper is different.

You can trust him.

"I love you, Sunshine," the words are whispered to you. Sweet, loving words falling from the lips of your boyfriend.

It makes you want to break down.

A weight feels as if it's been lifted off of your shoulders. Casper's reassurances and actions go against what you had expected from him just hours ago.

More tears fall from your eyes. The air is filled with your stifled sobs and sniffles. The overwhelming emotions crash down onto you in rapid succession.

You don't have to go through hell once again. There isn't a need to feel fear from him.

Casper reaches closer to you in an effort of comfort. He asks if he can hold you, comfort you. Another time where he doesn't force his presence upon you. It only makes you want to cry more.

"Y- yes… please," you sob out.

As the final syllable leaves your lips, Casper embraces you. The entirety of him is cold, a direct contrast to your still-hot temperature. Your tears fall onto his shoulder as Casper leads your head to be as close as possible. Despite it, his presence isn't overwhelming. It's comforting.

Your hands find purchase against his jacket, tugging at the fabric in an attempt to ground yourself. You hear Casper whisper words to you. In your fuddled mind it's impossible to hear what he's really saying. The syllables being all mixed together in some gibberish.

"Focus on my voice, Sunshine," is all you can clearly make out from Casper's words.

So, you try to.

It sounds like he's underwater when you try to focus on him at first. Despite that, it helps to hear him speak. Casper's voice brings you down from your overwhelming emotions. The fabric of his jacket and the coldness of his shoulder helps as well.

As the last few sniffles and sobs leave from you, you gently pull yourself back. Casper does nothing to keep you against him. His arms are loose around you as he looks into your eyes, you gaze back into his.

"I love you, Sunshine," he whispers, "I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I know," a small smile finds it's way to your face, "I love you too, Casper."

You reach forward and hug him again, fitting yourself into Casper's embrace. You hear an exhale of amusement escape from your grim reaper, but no words do.

For now, you're content with just soaking in his presence.

[writethrough]

The Diviner (Part II)

(Morpheus x Prophetess Reader)

Synopsis: Morpheus could be murdered at any time, but you've found a lead to stop it from coming true.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, hostage situation

Word Count: 1544

A/N: Thank you for all the love I've received on the first part of this series! I hope you enjoy this next one. Don't forget to reblog! I'd love to hear what you think.

Series Masterlist | Part III

You never considered an Endless could bleed as any human could.  

You also never considered what fear would look like in their eyes.  

You suppose you don’t have to think about it anymore.

—  

That first day, you and the others pulled all the resources you could. Hob reached out to a few of his colleagues that dabbled in rare and mystical artifacts. Death kept an ear out on the job, calling in some favors with certain people. Morpheus entrusted Matthew and Lucienne with reconnaissance within the Dreaming. And you touched base with some occultist friends and light magic users.  

Morpheus wanted to know what you saw in your vision, but after telling him, he remained silent.  

“I told you it was vague,” you said, flipping through your book.  

It was nearly sunset, and you hadn’t found anything about this mysterious person. So you switched to looking up protection spells, but they were all too weak. Whoever you were looking for had enough strength to murder an Endless—everyday incantations and ruins wouldn’t measure up. They'd never ensure Morpheus’ survival.  

“Are all your visions like that?” Morpheus asked.  

In retrospect, this vision was different, but not because of how unspecific it was—you’d been dealing with that since you received your gift.  

“No. It was strange. I felt disconnected from it somehow.”  

Morpheus sat beside you, waiting for you to continue.  

“Usually, I can feel something: temperature, pain, emotions, and most times, I can smell or hear what’s happening. But this,” you shook your head, “it was like I was a spectator, except everything was muffled.”  

The thought of being so distant from your power almost made your throat close up.  

As if reading your mind, Morpheus handed you the glass of water on the table.  

You sipped slowly.  

It was all in your head. You needed to calm down and figure out what was going on.  

“Does it concern you?” he asked. “How different it was?”  

You squeeze your eyes shut and rub the heels of your hands into them.  

“I don’t know. Everything about this is unusual, and I…I don’t know what to trust.”  

That was the most frustrating thing about all this; who was right? It was a matter of you and Death. For all you knew, she was never wrong. 

But neither were you.  

“Trust that we will find the solution.”  

He said it so simply it made guilt pool in your stomach.  

Morpheus had the most to worry about, yet he seemed calm.  

“Do you believe we will?” you asked, hating the uncertainty in your voice.  

“With all I am.”  

—  

“It’s been days, and we have nothing,” you said. “How is it that among two Endless, two immortals, and all we have at our disposal, we have not a thread of a lead?”  

You were beyond frustrated. Whoever Morpheus’ would-be murderer was, they were doing an exceptional job at hiding.

“I’ve seen nothing in the dreamers,” Morpheus said. “However, if he can kill me, he must know how to avoid the Dreaming.”  

You ran both hands down your face. The same thought occurred to you, but hearing it voiced—and by Morpheus no less—felt like a nail in his coffin.  

“My sister has yet to know my demise?”  

How could he ask that so casually?  

You shook your head. “She said nothing’s changed. So, according to her, you’ll be fine.” You sighed. “So, I have to believe we’ll find something to fix everything.”  

“Perhaps we need not find anything,” he said.  

“What do you mean?”  

“If Death herself cannot confirm my end, must we search for a solution?”  

“Morpheus,” you started, “when you let Destiny into my head, I had no idea how to use my power or why he gave it to me. But I’ve had the past six centuries to figure that out. And when I tell you, it’s to prevent catastrophic things from happening. I’m not exaggerating.  

“So, if Death hasn’t seen yours yet, I have to assume we’re on the right path, and if we stop, you die.”  

Morpheus stood silently.  

Had your bluntness angered him? Who were you to speak to him like that? Especially since you had your first real conversation a few days ago.  

“My apologies.”  

You hadn’t expected that.   

“I often forget it’s been so long since my brother shared his gifts with you. I will do better moving forward.”  

You sat there frozen, unable to think of a proper response.  

“I’ll return to my realm to check in with Lucienne. She may have discovered something,” Morpheus said.  

You nodded. “I’ll reach back out to my resources.”  

Before he left, Morpheus regarded you carefully.  

“Thank you,” he said.  

Your brow pinched. “What for?”  

“Not many would help me as you are. I am grateful.”  

And with that, he was gone.  

—  

You could barely contain yourself. You finally found a lead.  

It wasn’t much, but your network got the word out enough that someone called you. A new customer of that someone was looking for a specific ingredient few shops sold, and even fewer would admit to selling. But they knew where that customer could find it.  

You wrote down the address and hastily threw on your shoes.  

If you planned this right, you’d intercept them after the exchange once the dealer left. You’d sneak up on them, use the taser Hob got you, and call for Death or Morpheus to handle the rest.   

The dealer only did business within a small window, and you didn’t have time to gather everyone, but you could handle it yourself. You were no stranger to a sticky situation.  

The abandoned building you arrived at had probably seen many deals over the years. It was surprisingly sturdy. The only giveaway of neglect was the broken windows covered by garbage bags.  

You slipped through the opened door and kept to the shadows, waiting for movement.  

Five minutes passed, and you were beginning to doubt the legitimacy of your source until cold metal pressed against your throat.  

“I’m so glad you could make it tonight.”  

You went rigid, trying to keep as far away from the blade as possible.  

“What do you want?”  

He laughed. “What do I want? My dear, that’s no way to introduce yourself.” His hot breath invaded your ear. “My name is Warrens. And what I want, of course, is Morpheus.”  

It all came together. Warrens faked the information and tricked you.  

“So why bring me here?”  

“You’re my meal ticket to the Dream King,” he said. “Now, be a good girl and summon him for me.”  

—  

You never did well with following orders—that got beat out of you at a young age. You became a survivor, and for the longest time, that meant fading into the shadows. Avoiding notice was your number one priority.  

However, centuries of men telling you what to do brought that fire back.  

“Who said I was a good girl?” You breathe out a laugh, hoping that would piss him off.  

The knife slices across your forearm, and you clench your teeth to keep from screaming. Then he’s pulling you toward a pipe.  

“I’ve done enough research about Morpheus and his little diviner to know he gave you your powers—to know you owe him and that he has a special little spot for you.” He touches the tip of the knife to your chin when you struggle too much. “So, if you won’t call him, it’s only a matter of time before he shows up to fetch his pet.”  

Even with your hands now cuffed around the piece of metal, your features remain neutral save a quirked eyebrow. “I’ve never heard so many incorrect things come out of one person’s mouth.”  

His nostrils flare, and he draws the blade down your cheek.  

Still, you remain silent, glaring. 

He sighs heavily, like what he’s doing pains him.  

“You know, I’m not so stupid as to think you’d help me—it would’ve made things easier—but I didn’t give you that vision for nothing.”  

Your brow furrows. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

A slick grin pulls at his lips, his pleasure seeping out of his pores, and a pit forms in your stomach. 

“Come on now, a vision of Morpheus dying? I had to give you a reason to make him come out of hiding. And as the loyal lapdog the stories paint you as, I knew it’d be a sure thing.”  

You shake your head. “You couldn’t have known that. There’s no way you could make me have false precognitions.”  

He laughs, head thrown back. “And yet, here you are. It really wasn’t that hard at all. I thought a centuries-old being like yourself would be more conscious, more perceptive.”  

You narrow your eyes and pull at the cuffs, ready to wipe that grin off his face. But it's mostly to keep the horror off your face. 

That's why it felt different. That's why you couldn't feel anything. 

He leans down so he’s level with you. “It was easy enough, swiping a used coffee cup. And the spell was even easier, considering I learned from the Order.”  

Your heart sinks. Warrens is a disciple of the Burgess'. 

And he wants to finish what they started.

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[renlyslittlerose]

Another Moonlight Serenade ‘B Side’. Based off the prompts that @ghostlingpupskywalker and @kittonafoxgirl suggested, regarding Obi-Wan’s reaction to finding out that Anakin was more grievously wounded than he first let on!

All’s Fair in Love and War (2k)

‘1944/05/23 Skywalker Queen Victoria Hospital East Grinstead, England

Dear Kenobi,

I hope all is well. Still stuck at the hospital, but I can’t complain too much. The food is warm, the beds soft, and the nurses are pretty. Did I mention we get free beer on tap whenever we want? I guess there are some perks to being wounded. But I can’t wait to get back out in the field. I miss the skies. I also feel like I’m not doing my part like I should. Rex keeps telling me that he can win the war without me, but I beg to differ.

My arm is still on the mend, as I am sure you can tell from the different handwriting. One of the new nursing sister’s has volunteered her time today, in exchange for a game of bridge later on. The RAF boys have been playing “Shove Ha’Penny” in the mess the last couple of nights. I still don’t find it all that appealing, but it’s the only thing going on, so I find myself learning the game despite my best efforts.

Well, there isn’t much doing. I’m due in for another surgery but rumour has it I’ll be discharged soon. Can’t wait. I’m getting sick of the smell here - too clean and sterile.

Wishing you well. Stay safe, and leave some fighting for me.

Skywalker.’

Obi-Wan fiddled with the edges of the letter, running the thin blue paper against the pad of his thumb. Anakin’s words stared up at him in unfamiliar, feminine handwriting. He’d been through six different nurses so far, each with their own particular way of spelling and writing, though their penmanship was universally legible and neat - unlike most of the officers’ who wrote as if they were being chased by a herd of wildebeest. Obi-Wan wondered when he’d get to see Anakin’s again - all sharp angles and the occasional misspelled word.

Anakin kept promising in his letters that there would be one more surgery - just one more - and he’d be right as rain again, but after three different hospitals and numerous surgeries later, Obi-Wan was beginning to suspect that something more grievous had happened. The facts didn’t add up, Anakin’s assurances sounding less and less comforting each time Obi-Wan opened a letter only to be greeted with the sight of another person’s handwriting.

He loathed to pry; he had no right, really. He knew he ought to take Anakin’s word as it was given, and believe him despite it all, and yet…

Worry sat in Obi-Wan’s guts, tangling deep in with all the other anxieties he’d swallowed at the start of the war. Though he’d only known Anakin a short while he already knew his habits, the little ways in which he carried himself bleeding through the letters he dictated. He was scared - scared and grieving and so terribly sad. It made Obi-Wan want to weep; to ask if he could help; to pack his bags and swim across the channel to see Anakin with his own two eyes - touch the scar on his cheek and kiss away whatever it was that had hurt him so. He wanted to hold him in his arms and tell him that it would all be okay, even though Obi-Wan wasn’t sure it would, or could, ever be right again.  

Folding the letter up, he slipped it in the front pocket of his shirt before leaving the mess tent. It was early afternoon beneath the hot Italian sun, the stink of petrol and oil thick in the muggy air. Most of the men had taken shelter beneath the trees that sprouted up in the hills, the tents far too hot to spend any time in unless you absolutely had to. Squinting back the sun he headed toward the tent at the end of the camp next to the freshwater source.

He found the field medic, Captain Buck, sat at a table, sweat beading down his forehead as he filled out a form in front of him. Next to him were a stack of other such sheets along with an opened water canteen, the contents probably long since dredged. Behind him a man lounged on a cot, bandages thick and white wrapped around his skull and his knee - a victim of an early morning motorcycle accident awaiting transport to a nearby field hospital.

Buck smiled when Obi-Wan stepped inside and sat back in his chair, the wood creaking beneath him.

“I’m sure one of the boys would share his shady spot with you outside if you asked,” Obi-Wan said.

“Why?”

“It’s rather hot in here, isn’t it?”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” He smiled despite the beads of sweat that dripped along his temple.

“I suppose it’s a state of mind,” Obi-Wan remarked. He resisted the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt. “How’s our Lieutenant doing?”

“He’s fine; just a little banged up. Probably more embarrassed than anything - I guess he got spooked by a passing goat and swerved into a ditch trying to avoid it.”

“Did the goat survive?”

“It’s who alerted the locals to his presence!”

“Perhaps we should take the goat with us - have it aid us as an early detection alert.”

Buck chuckled before sitting forward again, his hands locked together on the table. “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, but is there something I can help you with, Major?”

Obi-Wan hesitated a moment. It really wasn’t his business - Anakin had kept whatever it was from him for a reason. And yet…

“Queen Victoria Hospital back in the UK - have you heard of it?”

Buck nodded. “They’re known for their plastics unit - specialize in burn trauma and recovery.”

“Is that all they do?”

“No, but that’s why they send our men over there. Why? Do you know someone who’s there?”

“Yes - a fellow with the R.C.A.F. He was shot down a few months ago, but has been rather tight lipped about the extent of his injuries.”

“Stands to reason he was burned in the crash. It’s common for airmen to suffer from burns due to the fuel tanks in those things. They tend to… explode when filled with bullets.”

Obi-Wan had seen burn victims before. During his first year of service in the war he’d help drag a man from a burning Blenheim, a memory he’d tried to forget. He could still smell the scorched fabric of his uniform and hear his screams as their commander tried to put out the fire, touch brutal as he beat back the flames in an attempt to stall its quick creep up his legs and across his chest.  

The smell of his burning flesh reminded Obi-Wan of grilled pork, and he felt mildly sick for weeks any time he caught a whiff of cooked meat.

Obi-Wan’s gut twisted. Anakin was such a near perfect creature, youthful skin marred only by nicks and cuts caused by the errors of youth. The thought of his skin, bronzed and dotted with freckles and beauty marks, being twisted and torn and warped by the heat of flames made Obi-Wan want to be sick.  

“If he’s up and talking and walking, he’s going to be fine,” Buck said, his voice creeping back into Obi-Wan’s consciousness. “They’re doing some fabulous work over there; best of the best. He’d in good hands.”

“Yes, of course,” he said quickly. Swallowing the sour spit in the back of his throat, Obi-Wan smiled tightly as Buck. “I have one more question, if I may.”

“Of course.”

“Your typical arm fracture wouldn’t require multiple surgeries, would it?”

“Not if it’s just a regular break. Maybe one or two, if the surgeon didn’t know what he was doing, but setting the bone and casting it is typically good enough.” Buck sat back again and rested his hands on his stomach. “Did your friend hurt his arm?”

“Yes.”

“How many surgeries?”

“A fair few, though I’m doubtful they were all for his arm, if what you say about Queen Victoria is true.”

“Would I lie?”

“No,” Obi-Wan replied. “Though I wish you would right now.”

Buck’s smile tensed, sympathy flashing across his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kenobi, I wish I could offer you more reassurances.”

Obi-Wan nodded and tugged at the bottom of his shirt, pulling the fabric of his shirt off of his sweaty chest. “It’s as you say - he’s receiving the best care available.”

“He is.”

“Thank you for lending me your ear.” Buck nodded, smile once again softening. “And let me know if you need any help when the truck comes for the Lieutenant.”

“I will.”

Obi-Wan slipped out of the tent into the marginally cooler air. As he walked back to his tent the letter in his pocket sat heavier.

XXX

‘I think I owe you a proper explanation for that. When I said that I was recovering, I wasn’t being entirely truthful. I’m fine, but there were complications with my arm. They had to amputate it.’

“Oh, darling…”

“You alright?”

Obi-Wan glanced up from his letter to peer at one of the men from across the table. It was late at night, the tent buzzing with men and moths as they congregated around the kerosene lamps that dotted the tables in the mess tent. Off in the distance Obi-Wan could hear the distant rumble of aircraft engines a few short miles away as night fighters took advantage of the cloudless skies.

“Fine,” Obi-Wan said, his breathing catching on his throat.

“You sure? You look a little piqued.”

“I’m fine.”

Folding the letter up he stood and left the tent with haste. It wasn’t until he was in his tent, sat on his cot, with a flashlight pointed at the letter did Obi-Wan read the rest of it. Anakin’s assurances he was alright and the photograph he’d sent of his garden did little to reassure Obi-Wan that he truly was okay. Losing an arm was traumatizing enough, but losing the ability to fly was like asking Anakin to breath without air, or sing without a voice, or love without a heart. Flying was everything to him.

And Obi-Wan couldn’t reassure him; couldn’t be there to help him in the ways he knew he needed help.

Instead he was stuck in the middle of Palestine, constrained by his duties, beaten down by grief and misery, made to stay and fight in a war that had already taken so much from him, and had stripped what little left Anakin had from him. All he could do for Anakin was write useless words of encouragement on blank sheets of paper while censors held him back from declaring his foolish, delirious love for him.

Anakin deserved better; they both deserved better.

It wasn’t fair. It was all so unfair.

Those who didn’t know loss and fear like a soldier did would remark that life wasn’t fair; that life was filled with ups and downs and we were powerless to stop them. Those religious would even state that things always happened for a reason, as if to make it sting a little bit more; as if to make you feel more inadequate, more powerless. But things didn’t just happen, and life should be fair. It was easy to say that it wasn’t because then it absolved humanity from even trying - for striving for something better.

Anakin wouldn’t have lost his arm, been burned, been tortured, stripped of his life’s goals and aspirations because there should have been no war - no conflict, no death, no misery. And if there had to be conflict then let the old fight’ the men in their suits in their offices who signed the papers and made the choices. Let them take up arms and come to blows while the youth lived in peace and security.

Life wasn’t fair because they made it so.

Obi-Wan was sick of it.

Standing, Obi-Wan kicked over his cot, watching the sleeping bag fall on to the sand covered floor as the wooden frame clattered in the quiet space. Next he kicked his side table, sending documents and a compass down on to the floor next to the bag, the two creating a mess that was satisfying for only a moment. It wasn’t often he acted out in such a way - not any more - but the anger came through him, hot and sudden and biting, making him want to scream and tear, to rage and cry. It was almost overwhelming, the sudden build up of grief, like a torrent of rain and waves against the hull of an already battered ship, continual and never-ending.

But the release only lasted a moment - a sudden violence followed by a calm that Obi-Wan wasn’t sure what to do with. It was almost easier to remain angry.

Taking a deep breath he looked down at the chaos he’d created, the light from his flashlight flickering off the turned over cot and messy sheets. As far as temper-tantrums went it wasn’t very impressive. The sheets could be cleaned up in moments, the bed righted in much the same amount of time. But at least it could be fixed, unlike everything else in the world.

He cleaned up the mess in the relative dark, his flashlight waving about the tent walls as he righted the bed and sorted through the papers. Once finished he kicked off his boots and collapsed on top of the sleeping bag, head cushioned by his arm. The letter sat in his free hand, the paper crinkled and worn. If he tried hard enough he could almost smell Anakin’s cologne on the sheet - cinnamon and something else, something that made Obi-Wan nostalgic for soft embraces and laughter against his neck.

He’d write a letter tomorrow, when the sun had risen and the crush of Anakin’s loss wasn’t felt as deeply. For now, Obi-Wan would wallow in his sorrow. He knew Anakin wouldn’t begrudge him for that.

[wonderland-smile-stories]

~ Chapter 3. 03 ~

I apologize in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes and how poorly written this fanfic is. English is not my first language and together with my dyslexia ass things can go wrong I'm sorry.

My eyes went to the door while I bit my lip. I'm happy that everyone is okay and alive. To be honest I was shocked to see Miss Im and Hyun-su awake and looking normal.

It's like they weren't attacked and almost punched to death by a monster a few hours ago.

A knock at the door brought me back out of my thoughts. 

"Mi-na. Can I come in?" To my surprise, it was Miss Im's voice.

I cleared my throat before telling her she could come in. A soft smile was placed on her face when she came inside.

"How are you feeling?" She asked with a gentle voice.

"I think I'm alright. Just the wound on my side hurts and is still bleeding." I explained.

She nodded her head before kneeling in front of me.

"I'm glad you're okay and awake. We were all worried about you."

I was worried about everybody else but me.

I let out a deep breath.

"Is everyone okay? The kids..."

She quickly cut me off putting her hand on my leg before speaking up.

"They are fine, they are a little shaken up, but they are fine thanks to you." I was happy that they were okay.

It was our goal to get them here safely, it was a whole struggle, but they're safe and well here.

"Why won't you come with me to the others, we had just begun to eat. I'm sure you must be hungry." I haven't eaten anything since I left my apartment to go to Ji-su.

It's a wonder I haven't passed out yet.

My eyes looked at the door while I bit my lip deciding if I wanted to go out there and face them or just stay here for who knows how long.

Miss Im gave my leg a little squeeze which made me look at her.

"Nobody is judging you on how you woke up. In situations like this, everybody gets nightmares."

Yeah, but I have been having them for months now. I swallow hard nodding my head.

"O....okay. I'll come."

A big smile came on her face before she stood up.

She offered me her hand to help me to stand up which I gladly took.

All eyes were on us when we walked out of the bathroom. There was an awkward silence before Ji-su spoke up.

"Mi-na, you can sit here." She patted the place between her and Hyun-su.

I gave her a small smile before walking over to her.

"Are you okay?" She whispers to me.

"I'm fine. It was just a bad dream." I whisper back nodding my head.

She smiles back at me patting my leg.

"Let's eat." Mister Han said seeing that all of us were together now.

In silence, we began to eat. Too hungry or too tired to say much and not to forget, most of us are just strangers to each other. I think I'm the only one who knew them before everything happened.

"Kids, what are your names?" Mister Han said breaking the silence.

We all look at the kids waiting to hear them, well I already know them, but the others do not.

"I'm Kim Yeong-su." He said looking at Mister Han.

Su-yeong looked at her food for a second before speaking up.

"I'm Su-yeong."

I feel really bad for the kids. First their mom and now their dad. Not to mention this whole mess that has been going on with the world. I wish I could just take them away from here so that they don't have to see the horrible things that were happening.

Mister Han said something about their names and showed they were similar to each other.

"Dad named us," Su-yeong said looking down.

A frown came on my brows when I saw a sad look washing over their faces.

Would I react the same if I still remember my family? I have never known them so I don't know how it feels to lose someone.

The only person that was ever close to that I could consider family was Miles. I can still remember how his eyes filled with tears when I left that night.

I wish I could have taken him with me, but it would have been more difficult to escape with a kid. I was eighteen and could leave on my own, but he couldn't. They would have been able to find us quickly and who knows what they would have done to us.

I snapped out of my thoughts when a can of beer appeared in front of my face. Ji-su quickly took it chucking it down. Ji-su knows how to drink. I have seen her do it a couple of times, luckily she knows her limits and doesn't go over them.

"Here, you can have one too." Mister Han offered Hyun-su.

"Oh, I'm.." He began.

"Oh, right. You're a minor. Right, there are kids here. So let's not break the law. I'll buy you a drink when you become an adult. Just like I have promised Mi-na. You two are probably around the same age." Slowly I nodded my head remembering him promising me.

I didn't mention to him that it wouldn't be my first drink though. I had probably my first drink when I was sixteen. You know going to a party and there are drinks there that shouldn't be at a minor's party.

"Do you think..."

Hyun-su started.

"That day will come?"

I was about to put food in my mouth but stopped when he said it. Slowly I put my spoon down not really in the mood anymore for it. I looked around and saw that everyone had the same reaction as me.

Who knows what will happen?

Are we all going to survive or are we all going to die or turn into one of those monsters? The only one that may change into a monster is Hyun-su, but who says he will? If he really was going to be a monster shouldn't he be turned by now?

Then there is another thing. He had the same symptoms I have had for a week now. Does that mean I'm going to turn as well? The only thing we don't have in common is the healing part. He looks totally fine for someone who has been crushed and punched by a big ass monster just a few hours ago.

I'm still bleeding from my side and my head also hurt from when I was thrown into the wall. Maybe I'm not the same as him and my stuff is just a stress or medical-related thing. I guess we just have to wait until one of us truly turns.

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter

[tinyluminaryzombie]

Graceless

@jilymicrofics | May Prompt #7 - Seething | 686 words tw: mentions of violence and blood (not gorry/extreme) Read on AO3

Lily kept replaying the scene. Time was fuzzy but she remembered every detail of when Severus's pack of wannabe death eaters cornered her.

It was stupid, walking all alone in deserted hallways. She had just finished her head girl duties and she had convinced James to leave early after he was about to chug another black tea just to stay awake. Quidditch schedules weren’t for the weak. 

Lily thought she’d be fine. Ultimately, she supposed she was fine. At least, she was alive. Minutes ago, she arrived in the common room seething, tears from her eyes and blood from her hands mixing on her face. 

Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying! echoed in Lily’s head. Crying would be her admission of weakness, her final surrender. She didn’t know what made her weaker: being paralyzed by Severus’s violent betrayal or disgusted by her acts of self-defense. 

It had started with a gasp. A portrait clutched her chest, looking ill. As Lily opened her mouth, ready to whip her head around, the portrait fearfully shook her head in warning. She kept walking, relying on the portraits’s reactions and the frames’ reflections. It quickly became clear. Four masked figures were following her. Lily was outnumbered. She kept walking as long as she could, whispering protective charms. There was no way to attack all four at once without putting the whole castle in danger. She was trapped. 

“Lily! Lily!” a voice called out. 

She blinked twice, reminding herself she was back in the common room, sitting on the gold rug, feeling the cold stone on her back, smelling honey and lemon. She was safe, for now. James came into focus.

“Lily,” he said again. This time, it felt more like a deep whine. She hummed hallowly. “Oh my god. Where are you bleeding? Shit, shit, shit. Lily, we need to get you help, right now.”

“It’s not my blood,” Lily said, looking at golden threads instead of warm eyes. She held her hands up. “It’s not mine.” She crumpled into James’s arms, her head in his chest. She balled her hands up tight fists behind his back. 

“I’m here. I’m here. I love you. I love you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” James whispered through her hair. 

“He hesitated. I didn’t.” Lily said. 

“What do you mean?”

Lily let out a shaky laugh. “Severus, he hesitated. Three of his death eater friends pushed him to the front and ripped his mask off. Told him to do his worst. Sev–Severus grabbed my arm and then froze. I yelled one of the blood curses that we were banned from learning in class. As soon as it hit, I yanked my arm away and ran.” 

She heard James sniffle. 

“So it’s Severus’s?”

She nodded. “James?” He needed to understand. 

“Yeah?"

“I just used one of the vindictive and painful curses on someone who I used to call my best friend.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Lil.” He head, holding her tighter.

“But– but how can you still hold me? How can you still love me? You’re the most loyal person I know. You would never purposely hurt a friend. You’d never use a spell half as bad on them. And your girlfriend just–,” she paused, not wanting to say it again. “I just did that! ” Lily started sobbing again. 

James tried to brush her tears away, his thumb damp from his own. 

“Lily, I have never been more grateful that you’re the top student. I have never been more grateful for vindictive and painful curses. I have never been more grateful that you’re alive .” She feels his lips on her head. “The boys would never hurt me—or you—like that. But he doesn’t understand loyalty, doesn’t warrant loyalty. Just because he hesitated doesn’t mean he deserves your mercy. That goddamn graceless asshole doesn’t deserve your grace.” 

James kissed her temple. “I love you, I love you.” Lily continued to cry as he whispered to her. She reached over to squeeze his hand. I love you. I love you , she thought. 

Maybe together, they could get through this.

[luckyshotwrites]

Ch. 100 // You're Getting My Help, Dumbass // Day Off

Contents (Warnings): Three (Angst, slight blood warning, hard vore mentions, character and monster info as always). Read full chapter on A03

Wordcount: 2,400+

Song I correlate to this Chapter: Again like far too many!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Wicks

Throbbing with adrenaline, his mind raced. Millions of thoughts bucked in his skull.

They needed more information on Andras. He used elemental magic the most. Wicks wasn't supposed to worry about curse magic with him. Naturally, Andras could have learned, but overtaking Wicks usually took more effort than the average training magus could expel. 

Not that it mattered—Wicks's head wanted to find a way out. 

How would anyone know?

There wasn't one. Wicks messed up, and now his family would pay for him. The loathsome, heartbreaking reality that Andras would play pretend asWicks made him wish he never existed. He didn't want Andras to talk or touch any of them, yet he would. Any of them could be another of his sick targets, overwhelmed and devoured by Andras using Wicks as a disguise.

Everyone, I'm sorry.

Andras's oscillating inner flesh rubbed against his body, siphoning his energy quickly with its saliva. However, the teeth that pricked his back never closed. Something prevented it from doing so. 

Wicks, bound by Andras's orders, could not move to see what was behind him. 

The fleshy walls retracted immediately, and Andras issued his following command. "Kill him, please, Diageo."

Wicks assumed the mimic pulled back to watch, because he looked far more entertained than worried. It's not Garter.

Garter had his third eye, which perfectly combatted the curse magic controlling Wicks.

Against his will, Wicks twisted on his heels and gazed at the person who had temporarily saved him.

It was the one he considered an enemy. 

Run Away. 

Every part of his body tensed with energy and magic. Wicks didn't want to end someone without it being his choice. Not even him. 

Please, you idiot-

Wicks's hue fumed as their need to end the blonde intensified. They locked on, keenly observing every part of him. 

RUN.

...

Alexander

His sight was useless so he solely focused on their scents and energy. He found one person along the way. Barely breathing, bleeding, a flickering flame of energy. He healed them, though he couldn't stay, and told them he'd be back. 

Mainly because it sounded like the building would collapse under the chaos further inside if he didn't help stop it.

He knew one was Wicks, the smaller blob ahead of him at the far end of the room. There was a flurry of colors trailing Wicks head like Drake earlier. Magic. Magic was the only thing he could see clearly enough.

The other being with Wicks lacked a scent. They only had energy. 

Based on his experiences, the only species he met without scents were mimics. 

He used the band of magic around Wicks head to determine where to place his barrier. He threw one up, since he couldn't human case whatever was in front of Wicks properly without his sight. It collided with it and backed off from Wicks.

His under its curse magic...

Alexander's hair stood up and his instincts strangled every muscles in his body.

Wicks is facing me, isn't he?

Alexander strapped a cloak to his body as he shot straight at Wicks. He would have used 'blink' if he could guarantee he'd end up where he needed to be to undo that band on Wicks head.

The alarming concentration of spells Wicks conjured called his attention. His fist. Alexander swiftly slid his hand across the air in front of him. A barrier struck Wicks's wrist and redirected his punch away, stealing its momentum. 

Due to his assault, Alexander shifted gears, creating a balustrade in a rush instead of a wall on Wicks's side. He flung himself at it and kicked off to reach Wicks's head. 

Wicks threw his arm through the barrier beam Alexander used prior. He broke it, and right before the blonde's fingers could touch Wicks's head, Wicks yanked his head to his right shoulder, and turned his motion to slam his curled hand into Alexander's gut.

Alexander lurched, his body pulled inward by its force, knocking every bit of air out of his lungs in a sputter. His cloak had long shattered, so he took the rest of its force with his wendigo durability��not that it could beat Wicks.

It sent him upward, and Wicks's barely recognizable blur was gone. His energy swirled behind the half wendigo, and Alexander cloaked his body and tilted his palm behind him to conjure a barrier in futile protection. 

It didn't matter, as Wicks appeared behind him, spinning in the air, sent the back of his heel into his target. It snapped the barrier, burst his cloak, and the weight sunk deep into the lower back part of Alexander's neck. 

It sent him down to the floor without the time to catch himself. His body, used like a cannonball, shattered the foundation. Every muscle twitch hurt, his ears rang, and he couldn't feel his face just taste the blood.

Get up. 

He barely willed his hand to lift and wave to his side. He created a barrier under himself, causing it to slam into and push him out of the recess—seconds before Wicks bashed into it from above. 

The strength rippled and caused the interior to shake. Alexander used reversal magic, rapidly healing himself as Wicks got up from the ground where Alexander's head once was. 

Once his legs listened, he forced himself to stand. Alexander lowered his body like a wrestler. I fucking can't dodge him. He's too fast. 

Unlike the half wendigo, Wicks had no problem using things like 'blink' to cover the distance.

Alexander was far too weak, unskilled, and stupidly refused to do anything that could possibly hurt Wicks. 

The dangerously powerful magus sprang up and ran, then closed the distance instantly, aiming right for Alexander's skull. He has no reprieve, every single shot was to kill him. 

Alexander tilted his head, his eyes focused the best they could be behind Wicks, and his already up arms moved higher. He used his left one to block the up-and-coming blow while the other hand tried to touch Wicks's head. 

The danger's fist pulverized his flesh, muscle, and bone in its way. Alexander's arm stood no chance against a full-powered attack. 

And as soon as his fingers grazed the bind, he yelled out in sharp pain. "DISRUPT." 

Right before his head was next to go, he used 'blink' to teleport behind Wicks. His body panged in inescapable agony. His left forearm was eradicated, blood pouring from what was left, and a scalding sensation ran across his head. He couldn't see past the blood in his left eye. 

He fell to his knees, huddled over, and attempted to quickly fix what he could. 

...

Wicks

He heaved. The air that entered him was his again. His distraught sight threw itself back, catching Alexander and the blood pittering from him. Wicks could even feel some of it on his face. 

Alexander's scalp was partially exposed on one side, and his left forearm and hand were completely gone.  

But he was alive. 

He risked his life to undo it.

Wicks's chest compressed. He hated Alexander, and still...the idiot went out of his way to help him. He has no obligation to me.

The enemy didn't let either of them rest.

Alexander worked on repairing himself and Andras took advantage. He held it back his right arm like a fishing pole and pitched it out at Alexander. It split into a string of squelching bloodless flesh. Its teeth wrapped around Alexander's neck and arm that stopped his strangulation.

"Got a big one!"  Then Andras whipped his arm and Alexander back into the wall. His arms flesh returned to normal after.

"This is so sad. I had been wanting short fuse for a while now," Andras's stare fell to Wicks. "But I'll gladly settle for a better prey like you." 

His energy was halved by Andras, who remained full and spry. 

Even so, the pissed-off Hispanic shot at Andras. 

"You want another hug so soon!" Andras yelled as Wicks's body collided with him. Wicks could feel the teeth underneath trying to penetrate his cloak, and the saliva from its mouth dampened it as it took energy.

Wicks got him into the wall, too, but risked Andras's body opening up to consume him again. 

He drains just as fast as I would by touch with his saliva.

He popped his cloak, and Andras dove in. At no point during this fight had Andras been on the offensive. He'd always strike after Wicks. 

Andras hunched and threw his hand out to grab him. Wicks hurled his to counter it. But Andras split his arm down the middle. Each end was serrated with fangs. They curled around Wicks's midsection. He put up another cloak just as Andras threw his head down and wide open, engulfing Wicks's head inside. The feeling of being inside the villain's mouth was kept back by his protection. 

Andras jaw snapped shut to break his cloak. He couldn't. 

¡vete a la mierda! You're not eating me! Wicks went to strike at Andras's abdomen, and instead, it opened up. So he hit into its surprisingly resistant gooey and energy-dampening insides. It was still a powerful hit, rippling Andras's body, but it didn't stop him from trying to consume Wicks.

He soon let go and reduced his size. Wicks saw a size-shifted Alexander over him. It seemed he went to grab and pull Andras's head back. Andras quickly ducked between Alexander's legs and got behind him. 

"Such wasted potential, short fuse, you've had years." Andras's arms latched into Alexander's skin. He didn't break it but ran the electrical currents up it. It made Alexander's body convulse, and the sharp teeth injected from his arms and into Alexanders legs. 

Wicks didn't let it go on when he captured his senses. He went straight between Alexander's legs, too, and ducked low. Andras's abdomen opened up in response, taking the punch. It still sent him back.

Wicks shook off his fist, burst the cloak, and redid it. 

He glanced back at Alexander, who smoked but healed himself relatively fast. 

"I'm sorry," Wicks said, catching his breath. 

Alexander shifted his eyes and dropped down to his resting height. "focus on the fight, not me, dumbass." He exhaled snappy, short breaths, "I'll live."

Andras threw himself at them again. Wicks retaliated, colliding with him. And with his free hand, Andras flicked a finger up, and the spiraling pillar of a barrier rammed its point into Wicks's body. 

"Barriers rely so much on sight. I'm surprised you can even do them with your pitiful eyes." Andras made more of them spring up, then surround and crush Alexander between them. 

Wicks shattered the spike before it sent him to the ceiling. 

Andras laughed as Wicks directed himself down, dropping his 'gravity' using gyro-telekinesis. "Much like Wicks-" Andras's hands sparked with their blue electricity before he threw the blast into one of the barriers instead. 

He used 'blink' to appear behind Wicks in mid-air.

"Focus's too much."

Wicks altered his 'gravity' for a second time, spinning his momentum to strike Andras's ribs with a roundhouse kick. At the same time, the lightning he threw earlier curved off the spike and hit Wicks's back and sent him toward another spiked pillar. His cloak was on the verge of breaking. 

Wicks landed on one of the points that resembled a bamboo shoot and pushed off it. It snapped under him as he launched like a peregrine falcon after its prey. He always aimed for the head. Andras, from the ground, split his apart, and his hands twisted around the arm Wick's failed to connect.

He brought Wicks into his, raised his feet in a drop kick from the ground, and enhanced them like Wicks. Andras struck his torso so hard that the left side of his body spun out, and his right arm loudly popped as Andras dislocated it from his shoulder.

He swung him down by it. 

Only a few individuals, besides his dad, could throw back as hard as Wicks could. So it reminded him how weak a magus was without powerful cloaks and how his lungs slowly filled with blood. 

Wicks scrambled to gather himself and his collapsed chest. Andras tried to take the opportunity to steal another chunk out of Wicks, but Alexander locked his human case again and made a barrier slam into his jaw from the ground. 

Andras snapped through it, the barrier turning to dust in his mouth. He glanced back, not expecting Alexander to have gotten so close.

Arguably weaker, he still delivered a blow directly into Andras's spine. The mimic's chest raised forward. And Wicks lifted his left hand and shot out a basic force blast. 

It sent the mimic spiraling the other way toward where the entrance used to be. 

Alexander dropped down and assessed Wicks.

"You should-" Alexander used reversal magic to speed up the process. 

"Save your magic." Wicks groaned as he sat up. "He's almost dead."

Alexander groaned weakly. "Whatever. Listen..." He squinted in the direction Andras was. "He's using our magic every time he takes a part of us." he held his arm to Wicks. "And since you're the only one capable of killing him, take my energy since you're more drained than I am."

Wicks pushed his arm away, "no-"

"Odds are if it's left to me, I'm not winning, and if he eats your ass, there's nothing any of us can really do." Alexander threw his arm back in Wicks's face, "so take it." 

"ARGH," Wicks grabbed Alexander's forearm. "Distance yourself after this." He carefully took it. There wasn't much between them, but he still left Alexander with enough to do one final thing. 

"I need him to stand still, get him stuck there, and I can kill him." 

He had to end this; they'd both be Andras's meals if he didn't. 

Alexander listened and did what he could. He manipulated the barriers like hands and trapped Andras between them. The daze Andras had lasted less time than Wicks wanted.

Wicks tried to read his mind and distract Andras, and the mimic freely let him. So, Wicks intercepted his thoughts, feelings, and memories. Wicks realized Andras won.

He underestimated Andras's priorities. The psycho focused on releasing his human case. Thus, he opened it before Wicks, begging him to strike the form and become one with it. 

But then, his form unexpectedly shifted back, someone human cased him again. Though he felt it wasn't Alexander. 

Andras's surprise and utter shock said it all, and Wicks could feel his final moments.

The real Andras didn't know what he fought. Mimics were so rare, so far in few. They're generally killed as soon as they're found. They could be anyone; they'd kill them, get their memories and powers, and be able to integrate themselves into anyone's life.  Andras was unlucky. A desperate mimic attacked him without a chance, and he ultimately lost to it. However, his will overtook the mimic. "I hope you burn!" Andras shouted as the mimic encapsulated everything that was him. It adopted every aspect of Andras while keeping its base tendencies. Thus, it never reverted to a complete mimic, which is why instead of being scared.

It smiled at its bitter end as Wicks's fist went through its head. 

...

Hey, you, thank you so much for reading. I'm glad I put out a story that people can enjoy! I hope you continue to enjoy it as WE have a LOT more to go! YOU BETTER KEEP PROSPERING! (Nonnegotiable, as always~).

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Catch up, see some maps/art, or check the latest release dates down below  ↓ ↓ ↓ 

What I’d do for a Livable Income Part 2 (Synopsis/Chapter - List)

[mangosmoothiepussyv3]

trauma and magic

this is abt my ocs world not like. real world magic nd trauma. also tw for mentions of trauma and ptsd

every monster is born with magic. magic can do many things. apperance changing magic is the most common magic, esp among monsters who live on earth. they change their appearances to look more human. humans know about monsters but arent widely accepting yet

theres other types of magic, such as siren abilities (mind controll via singing), elemental magic, sex energies feeding (for the cubi) etc etc

but, trauma can heavily alter ones magic. lets take my oc eris for example

so just to preface, my ocs are alters in a system, i made these ocs while i was questioning if i myself was plural. im not, but i love these ocs dearly

eris is a succubus who was created to be the ideal woman that their then bf now ex would love. she was made to love him

eventually when that ex gets arrested for cp, she has a major meltdown

before this meltdown, she had long blonde hair and blue eyes

but she was poisoned by love and her hair and eyes turned pink. her pupils turned heart shaped

this is one of the many ways trauma affects magic.

another oc, payne, is a trauma holder. their also a life sized ball jointed doll. when they get triggered, their nose begins bleeding pretty badly. their magic causes that. also when they front, the body begins to cry, no matter how they felt prior to them fronting

this isnt a part of the ocs but i rped a person who physically age regresses due to trauma. thats the most common side effect of trauma, usually among people who experienced csa and the like

theres also my oc val who isnt in the system but is married to the host, who experienced having sex changing spells cast on them against their will. now his body slowly shifts sexes which causes chronic pain. the only upside is that she learned she was actually genderfluid. they're also the representative for cubi (incubus/succubus) at the demon house of reps

uhhhhhhh i feel like theres more but ill cut the post here. thank you for reading this far if you did!!!

[pics-and-fanfics]

Take it or Leave? (part 2!)

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader (established relationship)

Warnings: toxic/abusive mom/parent person?, mentions of Reader having to take care of her younger sister bc their mom is a piece of shit. Angst, abuse and violence

Summary: You grow a pair and try to leave as Loki looks for you, scared. Were you alive?

Other works here on my Masterlist!! :) (read at your own risk!)

Click! You scramble away from the door, wiping at your face. Your cheek had stopped bleeding a while ago, but the tears streaming down your face apparently had not gotten the memo.

“Y/n?” The door swings in slowly, and Amara collapses into your arms, hugging you tightly. You sit there, crying, for who knows how long.

“Are you okay?” You look at your little sister, nodding. “I’m fine as long as you’re alright, okay?” You watch her nod, and you kiss the top of her head.

“Where’s mom?” you ask, and you see fear spark in Amara’s eyes. “What did she do?”

📿

Loki walks around, up and down streets, trying to find out where the spell was pulling him. Where were you? Were you okay? Were you- No, he couldn’t think like that.

But he’d seen the bruises. So the only question left to ask, were you alive?

📿

You shove handfuls of things into a bag, including your work clothes, which you’d change into at work, and out of at work. You were fighting every instinct that was screaming at you to go downstairs and confront your so-called “mother”.

Instead, you shoved clothes and all your money, cards, everything you’d bought with your own money in various bags. Amara was doing the same thing, getting clothes and things she needed.

You were leaving, even if that meant in a cop car or an ambulance.

“Ready to go?” you ask, slinging your bags over your shoulder. Amara looks up, and you see fear evident in her eyes. “It’ll be okay, I’ll make sure nothing happens to you, Amy.”

📿

Loki was ready to just teleport to you, but he didn’t want to scare you. Or- or get you killed, he thought. He held back tears, frustrated that he hadn’t made the tracing spell better, more accurate. It was just barely pulling him at this point, so he knew he was close, but he wanted to be closer, by your side.

📿

You go down the stairs quietly, grabbing one of the bigger knives out of the knife block. Amara was gripping your hand tightly, and you were glad to know she was right there, right behind you.

Inching towards the door, getting ready to sprint, when you’re spotted.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice makes you jump, startled, definitely not scared, no sir. “I’m leaving. You won’t have to worry about me anymore.” you say, and she scoffs.

“I wasn’t fucking talking to you, I couldn’t care less. Amara, did you let her out of her room? And what do you think you’re doing with all your bags? You’re not leaving.” You felt your sister’s hand grip yours even tighter, and you squeeze hers in response.

“She’s coming with me, Janet.” you spit, and you feel the fury of your mother turn on you as she slowly looks at you. “What did you just say?”

You feel calm, for once, all of your anger leaving you as you glare down at her. Again, you see the size difference, and you almost laugh.

“I think you heard me the first time. And don’t you DARE touch her!” you say, whirling, the edge of the knife hovering just above your “mothers” boyfriend's throat. “Hands off. Or you won’t have any.” You watch as he slowly backs away, and you smile.

“Good. Now. I’ve been more of a mother to Amara than you ever have, ever will be. I raised her. I raised myself. So don’t you dare pull any stereotypical excuses. I raised her, she is more like my daughter than my sister, I never wanted that. I wanted- God what I wanted.

“I wanted a normal childhood. Not- Not getting scared every time I heard yelling from downstairs, running to Amara’s room and shoving music in her ears while I kept you out.” Your hand lets go of Amara’s as you fumble for the doorknob behind you.

📿

Loki looks through the windows of the houses as he walks, giving up. He’d never find you. Even if he did, would you be alive? Would you remember him if you were? Or would you have a clean slate, a second chance?

It’d probably be better that way, you’d get to have the life you never had, the life that Loki was helping to keep you from. He reaches for the chain of the necklace, looking down at the charm sadly.

A moon and stars, one of your favorite things, the night sky. Just before he can break the chain, he yanks his hand back, his hand burnt, the charm suddenly hot again. Loki looks around frantically, but doesn’t see you. Where were you?

📿

“And if I let you stop me from letting myself give me or Amara a somewhat normal future, I’ll be damned!” You shove Amara out the door behind you, slamming it shut as your mother leaps at you.

You jump to the side, the knife flying from your grasp. You wince, the charm on your necklace suddenly growing hot. What the-

BANG! You scream, picking your head up.

📿

And- That’s where we’ll end it today folks! Bc why the fuck not? And good news- I made an AO3 account! I’ll be posting my stuff on there (eventually)

Thank you so much for reading, and let me know just how much you want part 3, bc I already know one line i’ll put in it, but that’s it.

Let me know if you want to be tagged, and ill do it gladly! Have a wonderful day or night, my wonderful lovelies!

@vbecker10 @silverfire475 @huntress-artemiss @vickie5446 @sheris532 @lokixryss @lokidokieokie @stupidthoughtsinwriting @crimson25 @peaches1958 @sititran

[madelineorionswan]

Rowan's Recovery.

Summary: After finding a secret hallway staircase and mysterious magical ice gate, Madeline helped Rowan back to the hospital wing, where madam Pumphrey took the latter under her care. While Rowan healed, Madeline continued to find and practice spells to break the curse of the ice door. And Rowan had the perfect person in mind her do so.

A/N: Finally!! I completed this in time for my hiatus. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Warnings: mention of blood and injuries.

A while after the duel in the secret corridor, Rowan started to gain consciousness, after which Madeline helped her up and to the infirmary, where she found Madam Pumphrey sipping on a cup of tea at her desk.

The matron immediately got up, when she saw Madeline kick open the door and hobble inside while supporting Rowan.

"My! Ms Orionswan, what happened?" she exclaimed as she helped Rowan onto a bed.

Madeline didn't reply and helped the matron, lifting Rowan's feet onto the bed, also trying to think of an excuse.

"Uh... well, we were practising spells and while doing so, we came across this really cool ice spell and I wanted to try it and well," Madeline said, not attempting to finish her words.

Madam Pumphrey surprisingly seemed to be convinced with her excuse, shaking her head dismissively and quickly started to disinfect Rowan's wounds and bandage them.

It was silent for a few minutes, with the occasional groans emitted by Rowan and the taps of Madam Pumphrey's shoes as she ushered Madeline onto a bed and bandaged her bleeding elbow, shoulder and cheek.

"Alright, you look good to go back to your dorm Ms Orionswan. Make sure you come back in tomorrow so that I can change the bandages," the matron said, getting up.

"Can I stay tonight?" Madeline said abruptly, fiddling with her finger.

While Madam Pumphrey would have rather shoed her away, Madeline's pleading expression made her agree, although not without warning her not to disturb Rowan and the other sick students (of which there were surprisingly many😂).

Madeline sat beside Rowan, staying up the entire night to make she needed any help. To say that Madeline was scared for Rowan when she got hurt would be an understatement. The whole night she stayed beside her, but as the first rays of dawn began to shine through the elongated windows, sleep took over her as she was lulled to sleep on the chair beside Rowan's bed.

She was deep in her slumber when she felt someone shake her gently on the shoulder. Madeline squinted her eyes and saw Penny smiling sadly at her.

"How long have I been out?" Madeline asked groggily.

"About two hours," Penny said.

"What happened, Madeline?" Penny asked with concern, "Madam Pumphrey said Rowan hasn't moved since you both came here!"

"We were close to finding the Cursed Vault and obviously didn't think things through. As soon as we got close to the door, it blasted Rowan with ice," she said, with a sigh.

"Why didn't you tell me about this? I could've helped you out!!" Penny exclaimed.

"I- guess I hadn't thought about it," Madeline said with remorse, "Ugh it's all my fault, I was too desperate to find out what happened with Ben and my brother that I hadn't even thought about Rowan's safety and now look what happened!" Madeline groaned with frustration, burying her face in her palms.

"Hey don't blame yourself Madie," Madeline's eyes shot up and she penny both looked at Rowan's bed, where they saw she was awake.

"Rowan! Are you alright?!" Madeline exclaimed and Penny moved to her bedside.

"I feel like I got run over by the Knight Bus," Rowan groaned, shaking her head a little.

"And with reason Ms Khanna," The girls all looked up to see Madam Pumphrey standing at the foot of Rowan's bed.

The matron moved to take Rowan's temperature and tutted with concern when she saw the reading. Madeline and Penny waited as Madam Pumphrey continued her check-up of Rowan. When she finished, she turned to the girls, who were looking at her worried, yet expectant.

"Unfortunately, I think Ms Khanna will be indisposed for the week," she declared.

"What?! What about my classes, I-I've got homework and I can't miss an entire week's work!" Rowan exclaimed!

"No no, It's alright. I'll take the notes for you," Madeline said, holding Rowan's hand, "You just focus on getting better."

"If you say so Madie. The best way to honour my memory is to take down all the notes like I do. Colour coded of course," Rowan replied with a happy sigh and chuckle, making Madeline and Penny chuckle with relief.

The girls bid Rowan goodbye before heading off to potions class, which Madeline wasn't excited about... as usual. While turning around the alley to potions class, Madeline met with Merula and her group, cackling with laughter. Merula stopped laughing when she saw Madeline and quirked her eyebrow with a smirk.

"Look who decided to show up!" she said haughtily, "what've you been up to Orionswan? Some of us have really missed you," she mocked and her group laughed along with her.

"If you must know, I've been avoiding you," Madeline said not bothering to stop and talk to her and walked inside the classroom alongside Penny.

"Try all you want orionswan. But when my plan comes to fruition no one will be able to deny my power," Merula said out loud from behind Madeline, to which she rolled her eyes and sat down beside Penny.

And just as Madeline's luck would have it, Merula was able to find her place right beside Madeline.

"Is that why you make such a point to bully others? To get attention?" Madeline asked sardonically, making Merula almost growl with anger.

"Like everything else in your life, your search for the vaults is doomed. You'll see, I'll find it before you!"

"What makes you think you've even got a lead, huh?"

"Now now, let's not fight Madie," Penny said, trying to pull aside Madeline and stop her from aggravating the situation further.

Right then, professor Snape walked into the room, making a beeline for Madeline, his cape gliding dramatically, with his sharp turn to her desk.

"I've received information that will have dire consequences for you. We will discuss it at the end of the class," he said, emphasising every word as he does.

"You are in for it now, orionswan. I wonder... will Snape expel you or murder you?" Merula mocked. Madeline scoffed and turned back to her and Penny's cauldron, making sure to focus on that for the rest of the class.

At the end of the class, Madeline walked up to Snape as the rest of the class dispersed, but not before Madeline heard, Merula and her group snickering at her, which she ignored.

"You wanted to see me, professor?" Madeline asked.

"Not long ago I visited your dormitory, orionswan," Snape started, a deep scowl etched on his face.

"Uhm why?" Madeline frowned.

"I received information that you have been stealing supplies from my classroom," Snape said.

"What ?! That's ridiculous, sir. I would never do that!" Madeline denied it incredulously.

"Then explain why potion ingredients were found in the drawer next to your bed," Snape said, raising his brow.

Madeline stuttered for a second, before quickly realising why Merula had been making it a point to tease her.

"I believe Merula had a part in this. Honestly, she has made it a point to do anything and everything to get me expelled," Madeline said, making Snape frown.

"Then how do you presume she got into the Gryffindor common room?" Snape quirked a brow.

"I wouldn't put it past her to try and blackmail or bribe someone to get in there, sir."

Snape's eyes went towards Merula, who had been standing at the door of the class, snickering at Madeline along with her mates. Snape walked over to Merula and her gang, who immediately stiffened as they saw him approach.

"Is it true that you sabotaged Orionswan, Ms Snyde?" Snape asked darkly.

"O-of course not! I mean e-even I want to see orionswan expelled, but only because she's a disgrace and a danger to everyone at Hogwarts," Merula said, trying to appear as if she was blameless.

Madeline rolled her eyes. It was pretty obvious that she was lying. Snape sighed, "I genuinely wish you weren't lying."

"What?" Merula asked, taken aback.

"Your eyes dart back and forth ever so slightly when aren't telling the truth Ms Snyde. You are an absolutely atrocious liar. Especially for a Slytherin," Snape said. Merula was about to protest but Snape continued.

"You will stay after class for the rest of the year and clean and organise all of the supplies as punishment for attempting to frame Ms Orionswan," Snape declared, making Merula turn red with anger.

Madeline chuckled to herself, as Snape dismissed her and she headed for the hospital wing as Merula continued to throw a fit about how "innocent" she was.

---

Madeline was quick to notice Rowan reading to herself in the hospital wing. She smiled and walked up to her, gently tapping Rowan's shoulder to grab her attention.

"Madeline! You came to visit my sick old bones!" Rowan said, enunciating her words with a cough.

"At least it's much better than listening to Merula grumble all day about how she deserves better opportunities than mingle among us lowly half-bloods and Mudbloods," Madeline said, rolling her eyes and making both the girls burst with laughter.

"And I also brought you this book about Wendelin the weird, from the library," Madeline handed the dusty old book to Rowan, whose eyes sparkled with delight.

"Thanks, Madie! She's one of my favourite witches from the middle ages," Rowan said gleefully, making Madeline smile.

"I wanted to ask how you're doing?" Madeline asked, her voice filled with concern.

"I'm doing better...but not great," Rowan sighed, "I think that Cursed ice did something to me. It felt like the longer we were in that corridor, the more the cold drew my strength."

"We're definitely dressing warmly the next time we go back," Madeline said, holding Rowan's hand, a small smile on her face.

"Yeah, next time..." Rowan drifted off, making Madeline forwn.

"Is something wrong, Ro?"

As if breaking out of a trance, Rowan shook her head and forced a meek smile, "I think I'm just tired. Let's talk about what you can do differently when you return to the vaults, other than dressing warmly and practising Incedio."

"It's alright, we'll think of something else," Madeline said, placing a hand on Rowan's shoulder, "You should go back to resting Ro."

"Yeah... I should, Ro muttered tiredly.

"Good night Rowan," Madeline smiled softly and got up, as Rowan smiled meekly and started to fall asleep.

Madeline smiled to herself as she left the hospital wing. But her smile slowly dropped as she thought to herself about Rowan's demeanour as they talked. But then again, she had been through a lot. She would ask her about it the tomorrow, Madeline thought to herself as she walked up to her dorm room and crashed straight into her bed.

It had been a pretty long day.

---

The next morning Madeline had breakfast with Penny in the Great Hall before the blonde headed to Charms class while Madeline headed to Flying class at the Training Grounds.

Madeline had hurried down to the grounds, excited to let off some steam while soaring in the air with her broom. But someone and her group of friends had to ruin her idea of relaxation.

"They say your little friend Khanna ended up in the Hospital Wing, trying to help you find a cursed vault," Merula sneered as Madeline walked onto the ground.

"Don't pretend as if you care," Madeline seethed.

"Oh, don't worry. I don't care about your friend. At least not as much as the Cursed Vaults," merula rolled her eyes, "though not as much as your brother."

"Why do you think he was so obsessed with them, orionswan?" she asked mockingly.

"Maybe he was interested in gaining knowledge rather than power, unlike you," Madeline said through gritted teeth.

"Only if you know what actually happened to him," Merula mocked. Madeline whipped her head around at Merula, who had a proud smirk on her face.

"You know about my brother?" Madeline asked, her brows furrowed in disbelief.

"Tell me what you know!" Madeline exclaimed, making Merula roll her eyes.

"Later Orionswan, class is about to start," Merula dismissed and went away with her gang, leaving Madeline alone, her mind clouded with questions.

The class was DEFINITELY not as relaxing as Madeline had hoped it would be. Although she did have a moment to relax while she was floating up in the air on her broom. She did have to keep an eye on her friend Ben, who was like a cat in water when left to fly on his broom.

After class, Madeline was quick to catch up with Merula. She smacked her shoulder to catch her attention and pulled her aside.

"Now, will you tell me what you know about my brother's disappearance," Madeline pushed.

Merula pretended to think for a bit, at which Madeline glared at her.

"I will... as long as you do something for me."

Of course. There had to be a but for her. Madeline mentally smacked herself as she thought of how dumb she'd been. Obviously, Merula was going to have a plot twist.

"What do you want?" Madeline sighed, exasperatedly.

"It's unlikely, ineptitude, but I want you to tell me whenever you find a cursed vault," merula said with a smirk.

Madeline thought for a second, to herself, before smirking. "Deal," she said, if Merula could add a plot twist, so could she.

Merula seemed to not believe her for a second, but shrugged and continued, "alright then, I'll tell you everything about your brother as soon as you find and tell me about the cursed vault."

Madeline groaned as Merula walked away with a laugh.

"I'd hurry if I were you, Orionswan. From what I heard, your brother doesn't have very long in there," Merula taunted back, which Madeline decide to ignore. She was going to make sure she got that bit of information from Merula, by hook or by crook.

---

The entire day Madeline tried to focus her mind on her classes and trying to find spells to break the curse on the vault. But Merula's remark kept on ringing in her head.

From what I heard, your brother doesn't have very long in there.

What did she mean by that?

Was he still out there...somewhere?

Madeline shook her head and let out a sigh. These thoughts had bogged her mind for the entire day. Clearly, her brain had decided to annoy her. She snapped shut the hefty book on charms, pushing it aside. She grabbed her pillow and let out a frustrated groan into it. For a moment, it made her feel better.

Honestly, Rowan was better at dealing with these things. It was during these times Madeline really missed her friend's company. She got up from her four-poster bed and put on a robe over her t-shirt and pyjamas before heading downstairs to grab dinner with Rowan.

Rowan was allowed to sit in the Great Hall, courtesy of Madeline's request to Madam Pumphrey, who, grudgingly, let Rowan sit in the Great Hall for the night. The girls smiled as they relaxed in their seats and enjoyed dinner. It had been a couple days since they had their dinner together, but it felt like ages.

"How're you doing now?" Madeline asked as she took a bit of her shepherd's pie.

"Much better. Though, I still get a chill up and down my spine every once in a while," Rowan mused, sipping on her warm soup, forcing a small smile.

But Madeline sensed an uneasiness in Rowan. She could have chalked it up to her just being tired and uncomfortable after her accident, but she knew it was more than that.

"You still seem sorta down. Are you sure you're alright?" Maeline asked with concern.

Rowan sighed. She knew she would have to talk about this sooner or later.

"Madeline, I've been wanting to tell this you for a while but I guess I've been thickening out..."Rowan started nervously, "To put this straight, ever since last time, I don't want to return to the vaults."

"What-"

"Every time I go I feel as if I can't help you in all of the action and I just hold you back with my eagerness to discover the corridors. So I think it's better if I don't accompany you." Rowan said with a sad sigh.

"Ro, don't say that! Without you, I don't know what I would do in the vaults," Madeline said with a slight smile.

"Who's going to help me figure out all of the clues when I'm in there? And you know full well that I can't even complete Snape's potions homework without your help, let alone solve cryptic messages in an old room," Madeline said, making Rowan chuckle.

"Thanks, Madie, I needed that," Rowan said, feeling reassured.

"And don't you dare say you're not strong enough, because you're the strongest person I know," Madeline reassured her while holding her hand across the table. Rowan grinned and squeezed Madeline's hand back.

The girls continued to talk about how Madeline could break the curse of the vaults throughout dinner while brainstorming other related ideas. Madeline made sure to not pressurise her friend to join her next time, all the while making sure that Rowan knew how much Madeline appreciated her, making her feel much more confident in herself.

"I think you should go back to the wing now. Otherwise, madame Pumphrey will have my head," Madeline said when she noticed the hall only consisted of a few other 7th years other than them.

"Yeah, you're right, let's get going," Rowan said, getting up from her place.

The girls slowly walked to the now silent hospital wing. However, before they reached Rowan asked Madeline what she planned on doing the next time she went to the vault. Both of them knew that it wouldn't be the best idea for Rowan to be there right now.

"I'm just probably going to head there alone. It's not worth the risk of bringing everyone along right away," Madeline mused.

"But you still need someone to help you, what's going to happen if you get hit by the curse?" Rowan fretted. Madeline just shrugged in reply, making Rowan shake her head.

"You need someone to help you, Madie. Someone who's an able wizard and good at spells, especially defence ones," Rowan robbed her chin in thought.

"And who do suppose that would be?" Madeline raised a brow incredulously.

"Bill Weasley, of course!"

[leaderpinhead]

Maddox (OC) - A Mother's Legacy

For context, Maddox is one of my OC’s. He has an empathic ability that allows him to see people’s emotions as colors (which aids his signature spell). His mother, Monique Bonnet, was a fashion designer who helped mentor Crewel when he was younger, so Maddox, his mother, and Crewel have a bit of a past together. This would have been an event that occurred during winter break and was very briefly mentioned in Deuce’s chapter of my main story. 

Maddox tipped his head from one side to the other. The angle didn’t alter the actual design in front of him, but it made him feel a bit more self-important. Especially since it made the wardrobe assistant huff with impatience. Maddox wasn’t necessarily one to provoke another, but he couldn’t help but think the brownish green surrounding the man complimented his frog-like demeanor. He felt sorry for the model though, whose modest periwinkle was becoming a tinge of gray to match her nervous shuffling. 

Maddox turned to the man beside him. Crewel didn’t appear at all fazed by the circus of pacing models and the clothing flinging in all directions around them. Maddox would assume as much, not from the cool slate depicting his professor’s calm demeanor but because of the man’s experience within the fashion industry itself. He was never allowed to create as big of a name for himself as Maddox’s mother, but every model and wardrobe assistant hired for the show had greeted them with startled gasps and pleasurable shades of color. They were already ecstatic to wear the last line from Monique Bonnet but knowing Crewel would help with any last-minute altercations had sent a wave of whispers throughout the theater. 

Crewel’s cool gaze flicked to him. Maddox met his eyes without hesitation. Crewel didn’t possess the same ability he did to see a person’s colors, but he could tell by the deep blue bleeding into his slate gray that his professor could read his demeanor. Crewel placed a hand on his shoulder, but instead of stepping forward himself, he gave Maddox a slight push. “Go on, pup. You will get nowhere here if you refuse to speak.” 

Maddox nodded, his face flat of expression. His stomach turned when he looked at the model again. It wasn’t her fault—and he fully acknowledged that—so he turned to the frog-man instead. “That’s not my mother’s design.” 

The man blanched. A bright red streak mixed with the sickly brownish green. “I beg your pardon? This is most definitely Monique Bonnet’s design! You clearly haven’t inherited her genius.” 

A sharp twinge of pain behind his eyes made Maddox wince. The colors at the edges of his vision were already beginning to gray. Perhaps this hadn’t been as smart of an idea as Crewel had proposed leading to winter break. Untangling all the colors inside himself was still a challenge. It was too easy to welcome the gray. 

Crewel’s hand squeezing his shoulder grounded him. He lifted his chin a bit higher and stared the man dead in the eye. “This is not my mother’s design.” 

Frog-man huffed loud enough to make it sound like he was croaking. He swung a hand towards the model, making her reflexively flinch out of the way of the almost violent gesture. “And what proof do you have? All of these designs were delivered by her personally before her death.” 

Maddox wasn’t one prone to fits of anger. Madness? Yes. Anger? No. The sudden flush of heat made his stomach turn again. 

The nausea didn’t keep him from stepping forward though. He pointed at the asymmetric zipper crossing the torso of the dress. “My mother never allowed her zippers to cross a model’s torso in such an unflattering manner.” 

“That’s—.” 

“The stitching down the side is atrocious,” Maddox continued, cutting the man off without hesitation. He circled the model, pointing at each flaw as he encountered them. “She swore off tassels after her third line. The collar is ten centimeters too wide for her tastes. The ribbon bunching in the small of the back is both unflattering and distasteful. This bowler hat she supposedly designed is off-center and not in a purposeful way.” 

Maddox came to a stop in front of the model again. Her periwinkle had fully transitioned to a foggy gray, and she stared at the wardrobe assistant with a questioning gaze. Frog-man's face had become an interesting shade of plum that wasn’t very flattering when paired with the sickly yellow now surrounding him. 

Maddox extended his arms to frame the model. “Lastly, it’s black. All black. Like a lifeless void sucking all joy out of life.” 

Frog-man sputtered like an ill-kept engine. “Monique Bonnet is well known for her sophisticated designs.” 

Even Crewel clicked his tongue at the poor argument. “Is that what you consider sophisticated? The hue is only one facet of a design.” 

Maddox spun in a wide circle. He hadn’t realized the amount of attention they had gained until he saw the face of just about everyone turned towards their corner. A palpable spectrum of colors filled the small backstage area, from shocked whites, to angered reds, to trusting blues. It gave him the encouragement he needed to spin back around on the perpetrator. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, this was indeed my mother’s design. Why would she absolutely ruin the rest of her vibrant line with this one dull shade?” 

Maddox felt that was his most compelling argument. No one knew his mother as well as he did. No one would ever know the personal battles of Monique Bonnet more intimately than him. Not even Crewel had seen the vicious battles of monotones that had plagued her for so many years. 

Which was why Maddox was 100% certain his mother would never shoehorn a blot of ink into her rainbow of vibrant creativity, not even to round out the number of models. Color was too precious a commodity to her, just as it was to him. Colors meant everything. 

Maddox jerked a finger at the bowler hat on the model’s head. “It doesn’t even have a feather! Why would my mother give all the other hats feathers except this one? It shatters the harmony!” 

Crewel’s hand reappeared on his shoulder while the frog-man sputtered. Maddox felt a muscle in his cheek twitch when he heard Crewel’s low chuckle. “You have made your point, pup. No need to send him off in his own coffin. Good job.” 

The singular praise zapped all of the tension from Maddox. He glowered at the wardrobe assistant still attempting to sputter out an argument. The model took off the bowler hat and spun it in her hand. She released a startled noise and spun it again, holding it closer to her face. “This doesn’t have the Bonnet monogram in the seam. Look!” 

She hurried over to Crewel and showed him the inside of the hat. Maddox didn’t need to see it to know the B his mother sewed into every seam of her hats wasn’t present. It was a telling detail of the imposter’s lack of skill. Everyone knew his mother ended her stitches with a tiny B. So tiny and precise that not even the machines they used to mass produce her line of everyday affordable wear could replicate it exactly. It was her calling card before the fashion world had even noticed her. 

Crewel hummed. To Maddox’s surprise, he passed the hat to Maddox. “Tell me the issue with that seam.” 

Maddox took the hat, holding it between the tips of his fingers to minimize the area he touched. He barely had to glance inside the hat. “It looks as if it was hacked with a chainsaw and then glued together with a pair of feet.” 

Frog-man croaked. His voice pitched high above the rumble of muttering from the rest of the staff. “Not all of the designs left in Monique Bonnet’s warehouse were complete! This was merely a prototype the director wished to display.” 

“I thought Monique delivered these herself,” Crewel snapped. Maddox dropped the hat and kicked it away from him, no longer wanting it anywhere near him. The model shuffled to stand behind him. “There are many things I have come to despise within the fashion industry. Spineless designers who attempt to use a show paying tribute to a recently deceased fashion icon as a means for a breakout success story has skyrocketed to the top of my list. You could use a bit more discipline when it comes to common decorum.” 

Maddox quickly glanced at Crewel. His usual shades of steel, cinnamon, and navy blue were outlined in a deep scarlet red. This wasn’t the quick temper he had in the classroom. Crewel was beyond furious with the man in front of them. Maddox applauded Crewel’s extreme discipline not to strangle the man with the botched fabric he called a dress. 

“Now, now, darlings. What is all of this?” 

The crowd parted to allow the shorter man passage. He stopped beside Crewel, standing nearly two heads shorter than the professor, and impatiently flipped the bangs of his bowl cut hair off his forehead. A waft of cigarette smoke reached Maddox’s nose. “Divus, dear, I invited you here out of a deep respect for Monique. She wouldn’t hesitate calling me all kinds of names if I didn’t, some of which I'm sure only her son could correctly pronounce. Now why are you scaring all the ducklings in the room? I worked so hard to ensure they were swans.” 

“Wonderful timing, Edwin,” Crewel said. The wide smirk that appeared on his face sparked a dull yellow across his scarlet. Frog-man's own yellow was becoming a sicker green to match his new pallor. “I was just thinking of dragging you out of your improvised smoke room. Tell me, how do you feel about this dress here?” 

Edwin’s accentuated cheeks grew more pronounced when he turned in the direction Crewel gestured. His hand hovered over his open mouth while he circled the model. “Oh, darling. Who threw you into the trash compactor? What even is this ribbon here? Is it a cape? How many times must I say this: no capes! They are nothing but frivolous excess fabric you could have used for a proper overcoat.” 

Edwin furiously shook his head and wiped his hands against his shirt as if to wipe himself free of the image in front of him. “No, no, no! Who brought this...this thing in here? My eyes are watering every time I look at it. Like a bad onion I've been forced to chop. My dear Monique is rolling in her grave as we speak. Was this hat a part of the outfit?” Edwin stomped on the bowler hat Maddox had kicked away from him. “Trash! Absolute trash!” 

Frog-man emitted another croak. The sound immediately caught Edwin’s attention. His eyes drastically narrowed behind the thick frames of his glasses. “You. I should have known. You reeked of desperation the moment the agency plopped you here. Out! Get his name, address, social security, shoe size—never will he cross paths with my shows again!” 

Edwin’s assistant, who had just caught up with him, immediately jumped to escort frog-man out of the theater. Once he was gone, Edwin dramatically sighed. He dapped at his forehead with a handkerchief. “Why must I deal with such cretins? Divus, dear, you were smart to divert into teaching as a career. We would have murdered half the industry for their incompetence at this point.” 

Crewel’s low chuckle softened the edges of his scarlet. “It is always a pleasure to work with you.” 

“Don’t flatter me. I’ve told you many times, I'm happily married. Monique indulged you far too much.” Edwin fluttered around the model. “Now, what to do with you? Of course, we’ll strip you of this heinous thing immediately. Is there even a design for you to wear now? Curse that little cretin for inflating our numbers with his filth. What is the point of having wardrobe assistants if they sabotage an entire show?” 

Maddox kicked the bowler hat again, feeling a personal resentment towards it. Edwin’s head snapped in his direction. Maddox only caught a flitting deep gray across the man’s colors before it exploded in bright violets and deep pinks. It took Maddox off guard when the man grabbed him by the hand and yanked him and the model through the crowd. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! The old ushers in the new. We only have a few hours to finish this, darlings. Trust me though, that is plenty of time to piece together a masterpiece.” 

“What?” Maddox sputtered. He twisted around to shoot a panicked glance at Crewel. The professor hadn’t moved, and Maddox saw the barest hint of a smile in his smirk. His colors had settled back into his usual pewter and cinnamon with a faint edge of dark green. “What’s happening?” 

“Keep up with me, darling,” Edwin said, pulling Maddox out of his stupor. Maddox tripped over his foot scrambling to keep up with the shorter man. The model didn’t seem to be having any easier a time. “How do you plan to design a fitting piece if you’re too busy catching flies in that gaping mouth? Your mother left you a legacy—take it and make it your own. Monique always said she couldn’t wait to share the runway with you.” 

An overwhelming warmth battled with the sudden influx Maddox felt. He easily recalled the memories of working side-by-side with his mother in her little boutique, learning how to sew and work all types of fabrics. She had never said anything as explicit as Edwin did, but he had felt the sentiment every time she complimented the sketches of his designs or suggested an easier method for embellishing his hats. She would never have the chance to see one of his originals walk down the runway. 

Edwin flung bolts of fabric at him once they reached one of the mending stations. Edwin shooed one of the wardrobe assistants away from a sewing machine and ordered the model to stand at the ready once she was stripped of the heinous contraption suffocating her very soul. He pointed at the sewing machine, a wide smile showing the slight gap between his front teeth. “Well, now, Bonnet Jr. Show me your talent.” 

Maddox ripped a square of fabric from the bolt. His mother would never see his work, but he would be sure her final pieces were be celebrated to the fullest. Already, the colors were coming together in his mind’s eye. 

No one would question the harmony of his Mad Original and her Signature Bonnet.  

[hoodievixen]

Things I didn't get to cover in With My Own Eyes (I think) that I want to talk about:

1. Sibyl accidentally got her brother killed doing witchcraft, which in turn made it so her blood cna be used in place of anything in a spell.

2. Sibyl's aunt was meant to pass down the knowledge of witchcraft to her second daughter, but she only had two sons, so Sibyl was taught instead. (Second daughter of the first daughter)

3. The price Sibyl's aunt payed for witchcraft was being paralized from the waist down, while her grandmother gave up her hear. (All the named Sibyl) Aft Sibyl became the Hecate she returned this abilities to. Them, being the Godess of witchcraft after all.

4. Sibyl is an art teacher.

5.This gets into spoiler territory, so skipp this one if you don't want those. I mention Sibyl killing Orpheus in the last chapter. She had tow reasons behind it. First being she felt bad for Orpheus and wanted to help him. Second, doing so made it so Morpheus can't die. The Wicked Sister can't come after him if he hasn't killed his son. (Also idk if they even exist anymore cause of the whole Sibyl being fate now. And complicated name/being stuff)

6. The Gates became a single human baby. I never decided if Sibyl gave her to her aunt to raise, cause she always wanted a daughter, or if just dropped her off at a near by police station.

7. Sibyl preformed the summon of the fates at Stonehenge. Legend has it her car still sits there to this day.

9. Sibyl's dagger is sorta symbolism for her humanity. It's first mentioned as she uses it to protect herself, and then to make herself bleed. Both pretty human things. It dosent get mentioned again until Dream his reminded of her humanity for her chronic pain. It is a gift from Johanna, her only friend and person she can rely on. Using it to cut Orpheus' threat of fate symbolizes her ladt human act, taking revenge against Dream and acting on pity. Leaving it is leaving behind her humanity.

[eugene-not-flynn]

@runningracingdancingchasing​ mentioned wanting to hear more (and also a vigilante verse?? color me intrigued). I’ll try to keep things as concise as I can, but I also get easily excited about my dnd character so... lol 

So my character’s name is Kyssarda: half-elf monk who follows the moon diety, Sehanine. Her parents died in a fire when she was four, and her brother took her to the monastery that same night (rescuing her), but left her at the front door and vanished in the night. She spent the better part of 2 decades waiting for him to come back for her, but he never did. 

Personality wise towards the beginning of the campaign, she was very bubbly and deeply empathetic. She wanted to be everyone’s friend, and had deep-seeded, borderline crippling abandonment issues. It made her cling hard to people, and she became ride-or-die for the party pretty quickly because of it. 

A hop, skip, and a boatride later... she starts getting these weird memories when she meditates and focuses on her brother. The first time, he was bloody and burned standing with her at the front door of the monastery before leaving her. The second time, she’s in her childhood bedroom with the smell of blueberry pie, when she suddenly hears a piercing scream, and her door cracks open. The third time it happens, she learns that it was her father. He’s bleeding from the stomach, and calling her “Kee” and telling her that she has to go with her brother (who is standing in the doorway, injured and afraid). The most recent time was last night’s session, where she learned that her father put her brother and her in Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere, told her to close her eyes, and for her and her brother to run. She didn’t close her eyes (my choice. the angst potential of the guilt she’ll feel about not listening to her father’s final wish for her will haunt her for a while), and turns out it was a Death Knight. It almost killed the two of them as they ran out of the house, but her father cast a spell to keep the Death Knight in place to give his kids a chance to get out. Very... Lily and James Potter (without the transphobic writer). 

 Now as for her anger issues, Kyssarda started experiencing issues with it after losing her first ever real friend (a former PC, wherein the player had to leave). We had an arc trying to get him back, and it was in that arc that she really started to struggle with deep anger. Anger initially, mostly, as a result of feeling helpless to do anything as we kept running into dead ends and having to run from fights. But the anger also was somewhat rooted in these flashbacks, and the general feeling that the world had been beating her and being on her over and over and over, and she could never really do anything. By then she was 9 or 10 levels in monk, so I flavored it as there being a block to her ki. The first time she raged was when she found that first ever friend--now undead. She’s raged a few times since then (her eyes glow green when she does), and always when she is confronted with loss and/or the thing responsible for that loss.  I’m excited for where the character arc goes with her barbarian classes, because I’m going to take her three levels with path of the ancestral guardian (who is going to manifest as a spectral form of her mother, because her mother was a fighter and that’s really where that deeply, ferociously protective instinct in her comes from).  If anybody read this far, thank you so much for reading and engaging with my ramblings about Kyssarda! Anybody is always free to ask me about dnd stuff at any point: Kyssarda or more broadly! 

Thinking a little about how my dnd character was originally somewhat inspired by rapunzel early on and now she had deeply rooted anger issues (she’s taken levels in barbarian) and also got a backstory bomb dropped and smxnznsndbsks

[ginnyweatherby]

how do people think dolores hates mirabel? i feel like they only interacted like 4 times the whole movie 💀

Literally the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and clearly they didn't watch the same movie I did. Nobody in the family hates Mirabel, yet people always seem to accuse them of straight up neglecting her. But that's an argument for another day, I suppose.

In regards the comment in question:

First of all, I don't know where they got this idea that Dolores blabbed to benefit herself? She helped set up the engagement dinner. She was the one to tell Isabela about Mariano wanting 5 babies - with a smirk on her face. She has never shown any ill will toward Isabela. Even if she had, how does gossiping benefit Camilo, Felix, or Pepa - who all also blabbed?

To speak on your point, Dolores and Mirabel don't interact often, but when they do, Dolores is helping Mira, not hurting.

I have my own theories on whether or not Dolores actually knew where Bruno was hiding, but I'll stick to what's said in the movie.

Before breakfast, Dolores is the one to tell her that Luisa was nervous too. She even tells her she can hear "the rats talking in the walls". What rats talk, exactly? She's hinting!

During WDTAB Dolores is the one speaking about him in more or less the present tense, while Pepa and the villagers talk strictly about the past.

Don't even get me started on her being the villain. That might be worse than those that call Alma the villain. I've seen this argument made a few times and... seriously? Use your brain please. Dolores is far from the bad guy here.