#fairy flight (oc)

[hyenacicadas]

Misc. OC art

[wizard-legs]

She’s blue (da ba dee…)

[spooneristart]

Last batch of artfight ocs featuring a few misc characters (my pngtuber, flight rising dragon, fursona, surfer girls, and fairy!)

[magiicxs]

🍎 RED APPLE — where was your oc born? do they still live in/around their place of birth or do they live somewhere else? how do they feel about their birthplace?

details about ocs!

Eliyra was created and live most of her early life both before and after she gained sentience, in the small town of Utaya, on the western continent. Due to the fact that it's fallen into ruins, she no longer lives there, although she misses it and the people she lost deeply everyday. Currently, she's renting out a room at one of the local taverns near the dungeon that was offered to her when she first arrived by one of the barmaids and the daughter of the owner. It's small and quaint, but it's hers <3

[delta-pavonis]

Ooh, from the wip game: former mafia hob :D

I know I have posted bits and pieces of this in various places on Tumblr and Discord, but below is probably the largest segment of the WIP I have ever posted at once. And this is maybe about a quarter of it? It features an OC that I made up and then it turned out I was prescient because in my head Sandro looks pretty much exactly like Ethan from Maneskin. Also, to no one's surprise, this gets NSFW at the end. (WHAT?!? SMUT?!?!?! FROM MEEEE?!?!?!)

"And this guy, this Burgess, just had him locked in a giant glass sphere in his basement!"

"A human? Wouldn't he need air?"

Hob was in an ex-pat bar on the south end of Okinawa, doing a very good job of continuing to live completely off the grid just as he had for the past eight years.

The old man started up again and Hob strained to hear him across the length of the bar. "He just looked like a human. I worked there sixteen years and he didn't age a minute, hell he barely moved. I heard Burgess bragging once about how it was the God of Dreams that he caught! All I know for sure is what I heard directly, which is that Burgess kept asking him for things – magic, money, immortality – and the pale fucker just kept glaring at him. Never spoke a word. Just stared daggers with those unearthly blue eyes. I am telling you, if looks could kill, that old bastard would be dead thirty times over. Whenever that fairy King or whatever the fuck that shaved panther of a human-looking thing is gets out…" The guy whistled, leaning back from the bar and shaking his head. "The entire Burgess family tree is going to burn."

This man had Hob’s full attention now. He grabbed his drink and moved around to sit on the barstool next to him. 

"I am sorry, where did you say you are from?" Hob asked, trying for casual, sizing up the ex-military guy. He had a muddled accent, but with a heavy dose of south London. His salt-and-pepper hair had been kept buzzed even though he had clearly been out of the service for a long time. 

"What's it to you?" The man was immediately bristly, crossed his arms over his chest. He was defensive and closed off and Hob was going to need to work to get more information. Hob sighed. Or take the easy way out… just pay him for the information.

The Okinawan summer was too hot for this. Hob would give it one shot, try to explain, but if that didn't work it was Plan E for Easy. "I have an interest in the supernatural. And you certainly seem to have seen something. Could I ask you a few more questions?" The old-timer just stared at him, completely deadpan, unblinking. It made Hob take a sip of his whisky with its melted ice and then press the glass to his temple. "I can pay you for your time."

He perked up immediately after that.

> > > > > | | < < < < <

Two days later – and after an exchange of enough money to set that old-timer’s family up for generational wealth – Hob was settling into his Business Class seat on the long haul from Tokyo Haneda to Rome Fiumicino. He tapped out an email telling Gio his flight to Palermo was going to get in at 08:20 and would he be so kind as to send around a car? He needed to stop and see il Barone first (because his knee was bad enough as it was without getting kneecapped for failing to pay his respects) and then straight to the grotta. And make sure the shovel is in the car? Grazii.

It was his Stranger. It had to be. The description was uncanny. And the quick sketch Hob had drawn on a bar napkin had resulted in a rather emphatic positive identification.

And even if it wasn’t his Stranger, there was something being kept in that basement that probably needed rescue. There were paltry few things in the world, as Hob had learned over the centuries, that deserved to have their freedom completely taken from them.

Almost 22 hours after sending that email to Gio, Hob stepped out into the salty Mediterranean air of Palermo and sighed. His white linen three-piece suit with light blue shirt fit the aesthetic of the region as much as the weather. The smells, the breeze, the sounds – yeah, okay, Hob had missed it. But this was no time to linger. Focus, Hob! First, he had to give his regards to Salvatore and then he could go dig up his stash from his time in the Family Business. He put on his hat and dark sunglasses and walked out into the sunlight.

In the aftermath of 1889 Hob had, unsurprisingly, a lot of anger and frustration to work out. He ended up falling back on a reliable skill set he hadn't tapped in awhile: violence. 

It was bare knuckle boxing first, which earned him enough money to leave for the States without disturbing his securities in the UK. He continued with underground boxing for a bit, because he was fucking good at it, until he got noticed. 

Hob got picked up by Giuseppe “the Clutch Hand” Morello and Ignazio “the Wolf” Lupo and the rest was history. 

First they took him in as a base-level associate, just another meatheaded guy who could fuck people up for them. And he made it to the Castellammarese War, which was as good a time as any to fake his own death. 

But, by pure happenstance and a whole lot of luck, Salvatore D’Aquila caught him in the act, pig's blood everywhere, mutilated body that clearly wasn't Hob at his feet and well. That had required a bit of explaining. Explaining lead to talking, talking lead to negotiating, and suddenly Hob was heading upstate to train with the best.

And so it was, with some excellent mentorship on handling firearms and his innate knack for getting himself out of trouble, Hob became one of the most feared associates in Cosa Nostra. 

In fact, he became The Associate. 

See, he was never going to be a made man; he didn't have the proof of a Sicilian, or even Italian, heritage that he needed to be a ranking Family member. But any capo worth his salt wasn't going to turn away this level of skill and finesse. 

And in return they had kept his secret. Mostly because they knew they had given him the means to kill them all if it was otherwise.

Well, it wasn’t like the entire Family knew. Just Salvatore and his immediate blood relations. Who he needed to stop and say hello to first, then to business.

Once the meeting was done, he headed to the coast. 

When Hob left the Family Business he had literally put all of his gear into an air-tight oak box and buried it. One of the things Hob had learned over the centuries was that, more often than not, symbolism mattered. So it wasn't a surprise to find that when Hob opened the wooden box with a crowbar it was like seeing good friends come back from the dead. His shotgun. His sabre. His pistols. 

He buried these along with his career in Cosa Nostra in 1998. It should have been earlier, but the six or so years after 1989 were a bit of an alcohol and cocaine tinted haze and it took him another three years after getting sober to work on his exit strategy. But once he was out he had abandoned it all and never looked back.

In fact, it was only in the past few months that Hob had let himself pick up a gun again to do some target shooting. Suddenly he was very glad of that coincidence.

After filling his duffle Hob stared down into the empty casket of his former life. He had never, ever expected to be in this position again, most certainly not less than a decade after abandoning it. 

Crouched amongst the sand and the rocks of the beachfront cave, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "The things I do for you, Stranger." He closed the lid. 

"Ti Umbra?" Sandro had been watching Hob silently up until now. Even as a little kid, Alessandro had called the thing that haunted Hob his Shadow. He was an eerily perceptive child, often ostracized from his peers because of it – which of course meant that when Hob had arrived in Sicily in the early 1980s they had become easy friends. Now in his early 30s, Sandro was mostly a driver, but knew his way around a weapon, as any son of a Don should. Hob had hoped he would leave, go to college, get out, but Hob never did convince him to. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve this kind of life. 

"Si." Hob put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. "I think that he needs my help." A sigh as he kept staring at the box. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me, Bettino." The nickname had come from the diminutive of the diminutive of Roberto, which Sandro’s family knew Hob as. It was an endearment used only between them. "Only He could bring you back to this, to the Family." Hob felt the other man's hand on his shoulder and laid his own over it. The feel of those fingers was achingly familiar. "Let me come with you. You should not go on the rampage you are about to embark on alone, my friend."

Hob picked up Sandro's hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles. "Not a chance. I won't put you in such danger. And I won't let you see me like that." Alessandro hadn’t even been born yet when the Associate was working hardest, in the heydays of Murder, Inc., and all that entailed, when Hob rarely had a night when he wasn’t washing the gunpowder from his hands.

Sandro laughed. "I have seen you every other way, why not this one?" His arms went around Hob's shoulders from behind and he moved his lips to the shell of Hob's ear before dropping into Sicilian. "One more go at it? For old time's sake? Last chance to use me as His stand-in." He laughed even more at Hob's sharp inhale. "You think I didn't know? Oh, Bettino." He nuzzled into the hair at Hob’s nape. "That's how I was able to pretend you really loved me."

"Sandro!" Hob pushed away and whirled around, looking over his former lover’s dark hair and olive-bronze skin, high cheekbones and pouting pink lips, wiry build and black-brown eyes. Not wanting to misspeak, he answered back in English. "I did – and still do – really love you, you know that."

"Yes, but not as you love Him." Sandro shook his head as he moved in to press their foreheads together, arms back around Hob's shoulders. "You would not come back to the Family for me. You would not go to war for me. And that is okay. I know my place. I made my peace with that years ago, when you left." He leaned in to speak against Hob's lips. "But I would ask if you would have me one last time." 

Hob let Sandro pull him to the ground amongst the rocks inside the small cave. Hob's shirt and vest were already discarded, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He unbuttoned Sandro's shirt and pulled it down so it caught in his elbows, draped down his back low enough for Hob to run his lips over the huge tattoo of Santa Rusulia – Patron Saint of Palermo, invoked for protection in times of plague – wearing a crown of roses and standing amidst a copse of lilies outside a cave not so different from the one they are currently in, looking out to the sun setting over the sea, that covered his entire back. Hob drew that image, originally charcoal on paper, while they were sitting on the beach watching the sun set on Sandro's 19th birthday in the early ‘90s. He didn't know that Sandro had even saved the picture until a shootout a year later had Hob ripping off the young man’s shirt to stop the bleeding and found the image permanently inked into his skin. 

Sandro knew more about Hob than anyone living. They had spent four years as lovers in the mid-'90s. Hob had gotten sober for Sandro. He had left Cosa Nostra for Sandro, had begged for Sandro to come with him. But he was too scared of his father, Salvatore “the Baron,” to leave. He was worried about the fate of his mother, his sisters. Hob couldn’t begrudge him that. It still stung.

Hob shucked Sandro's pants down his thighs and moved his hand around to his ass, thinking that he would tease him dry before trying to find something slick back in the car. Instead, Hob's fingers found warm, flat silicone. He slumped forward with a moan and his forehead hit between Sandro's shoulder blades. "Oh fuck, Sandro. You have been full with this the entire time?"

"Ready for you, Bettino." He sighed, soft and sweet as candy. He let out a high-pitched cry as Hob slowly pulled the plug out and Christ it was huge Hob would be able to just…

There was a thmpt as the silicone object hit the dense sand a few feet away, flung aside as Hob frantically tried to get his slacks down as quickly as possible. As soon as his cock was free Sandro's hands were reaching back to grab it, lubricant that the horny little weasel must have been carrying in his bloody pocket smeared all over his fingers, readying Hob to just…

Sandro sat back and Hob slid into him to the hilt, all in one stroke, easy as breathing, smooth and perfect. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, readjusting to each other. The first movement was Hob's hands stroking from Sandro's thighs up to his chest then pressing them together. When they started rocking Sandro let his head fall back with a sob. 

"Did you keep your hair long for me, too?" Hob wrapped the waist-length ponytail around his fist and tugged. It made Sandro moan just as sweetly as it had all those years ago. "That's it, sing for me, bell'uccellino." He snapped his hips up and Sandro wailed; he always was such a vocal lover, his pretty bird.

[blumineck]

Would there be any noteworthy considerations for a winged character using a bow while in flight? Bonus question what about using a bow in high-heels, my oc has both wings and high heels

This feels like a future video project, but in the meantime:

Wings- depends on the wings. A fairy with Insectile wings like a bee or dragonfly probably doesn't need to worry over much because the rotation of those wings likely keeps them out of the way. But large bird- or bat-like wings would flap in a way that brings them in front of the bow as you stand in a regular stance, so you'd have to time your shots.

Also, what's your muscle arrangement? Archery uses your back and shoulder blades a lot, as do real world wings (which is why bats and birds only have 2 legs)- not an issue for magic flight but the biologist in me struggles with this if I think too hard.

Finally, can your character hover? If not, all their shots are taken on the fly, as it were, so they're probably going to adapt horse archery techniques rather than more static ones.

Heels- from my experience, I'd say that if they can walk well in heels, they can shoot in them. Heels force an upright posture, which is great for shooting Mediterranean target style, but might be a bit harder when speed shooting as there's a lot more fast upper body movement. Doable though.

[lyn-js]

Dancing under the Moonlight | Chapter 6. The Wrongful Act pt.1

Bradley Bradshaw x OC Reader (Nickname Honey)

Summary: After the Uranium Mission, Bradley Bradshaw decides he wants to settle down. Maybe even start a family at some point in time. But he felt so tired (and old) to be in the dating scene. That's until he sees a beautiful new bartender at The Hard Deck. Not only that; turns out she's Penny's niece, Beatrice. They both hit it off amazing, but for some reason, Beatrice isn't letting her walls down yet. But Bradley is going to get to the bottom of what Bea's big secret is.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, drinking, mentions of past abuse, fluff, eventually smut 18+, age gap (24 & 35)

(Bradley’s POV)

He woke up on the wrong side today. Of course, he would on all days. He could never forget this day, even if he tried with all of his being. 

He can never forget the day when the only person he cared about, who he truly loved. Was gone.

No matter how hard he thinks about his mom, he can never let go of these emotions. He spends the lonely Christmas and other holidays by himself. The only things he did were put up the Christmas tree and put up the decorations. That was his mom's favorite part, so it felt nice to do it when he could.

Then later, drinking his life away and shutting everyone out. He wishes he could talk and open up about what's happening, but it seems like they wouldn’t understand. Plus he didn’t want to put all of his baggage on them. Talking about his dead mother, while his friends have healthy, stable relationships with their loved ones and family. He thinks it would make everything complicated.

Until Beatrice.

She felt like a breath of fresh air. Something new in his life that he never wanted to let go of.

He felt like a new person when she was around. Leaving behind all of the pain and guilt he has felt over the years. Maybe even making a life of their own. He’s thought about that a couple of times while lying away in his bed, and can't stop thinking about her.

But today was different. It seemed Beatrice slipped out of his mind when he woke up. Automatically think of his mother and all of the lost years he’s had.

Already starting that day off with a headache, grabbing a big thermos full of coffee, walking out the door to his Bronco, and off to work.

When he was walking into the building, he saw Beatire’s name lit up on the screen with her profile picture in the background.

He took that picture the same night when they stopped at the ice cream shop, she was looking up at the fairy lights that were hung up outside the shop. He couldn’t stop looking at her, the fluttering lights casting onto her honey-brown irises making her look like a real-life angel. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and tries to take a photo without her looking, but he gets caught, and just gives her a blank look. She just starts laughing at him and tries to hide her face behind the cone, but gets dessert all over her nose and they both fall into a fit lighter and tears. Happy of course and lucky he snuck a photo of the special moment.

Later that night he kept looking at the photo of you, not being able to put his phone down. Looking at your wavy brown hair, your infectious smile, and bright eyes. When he looked at her, he just saw perfection. 

His Honey.

He didn’t want her to worry about him, but he also didn’t want to dump all of his problems on her. So he sent her a quick text.

Hey Honey, I can't talk, busy day ahead. I’ll try and talk when I’m off of work.

He didn’t have a busy day today. They had half a day, the weather was due for a thunderstorm later, so they couldn’t go in the air. The squad was testing out some new flight simulations, doing loads of paperwork, and heading home. 

He didn’t want to lie to Bea, but that was the only way he could distract himself at work so he could not focus on today at all.

When he walked into the locker room fully zipping up his fightsuit he heard his phone go off again.

No problem B, maybe later you can stop by the bar, and catch up a little bit. Have a good day. xx Honey 😘

He let out a sigh, not wanting to say anything else. So he shut off his phone and worked on the long-awaited paperwork.

—----

Even though he wasn’t in the air today, he still felt like shit. Normally he was a pro on the new flying simulation equipment, but he was getting himself or other people killed.

He was sitting at his desk filling out one more pack of paperwork. He can see Phoenix walking over, and slamming her hands on the table.

“What the hell was that back there.” he didn’t answer her. He just kept his head down and worked. 

“Even though it was just a sim, I don't want you doing that shit in the air, whatever it is that you got going on, figure it out, and come back when your head is on straight.” She was right, he could put people in danger in the air, whether it was on a screen, or if it was the real thing.

“Phoenix is right Bradley, if you're going to keep this act up for the rest of the day, pack up and go home. I’m not going to have my team not be on their A-game.”

He just looked up at Mav dumbfounded, just not believing what he was saying right now. “What the fuck Mav, It was just a little slip-up. It’s not going to happen again-” but he got cut off real quick by him.

“I don't care Rooster, I’m not gonna let you fly like this. Pack up and go home.” Without a second thought, Bradley shoots up out of his chair and walks back to the locker room.

Driving into the Hard Deck parking lot, letting his tight grip on the wheel go, almost seeing white peeking through his knuckles. 

He was pissed.

So he walked in trying not to make a scene, took a seat at the bar tops, and tried to cool down. Hopefully, this will work for him.

As the day turned into evening, and evening into night, more and more patrons and even some co-workers started filling the bar, getting drinks, and having a good time.

He’s on his fourth or fifth drink but doesn’t seem to care. He didn’t bother when the squad came in and offered a round of pool. He just sat there to drown his sorrows.

When he was about to ask Jimmy for another round, he felt someone's hand come down onto his shoulder a couple of times. He turns his head and sees the one person he’s dreading right now. “Not in the mood Hangman,” he says with a little bit of an agitated tone.

“What’s your Problem Rooster, who pissed in your cheerios this morning?” He knew exactly what was wrong; he just wanted to get under his skin for a minute.

“You know what you need, Rooster, you need lovely old Beatrice with you. She’d probably know how to cheer you up,”  he says with the biggest smirk on his face. “I don't want to talk about her right now.” Not wanting to discuss his love life right now in front of people musically Jake.

“What’s your problem? I thought you two were good. She seems like the right fit for you?” To be honest right now. Jake was completely right about Bea. She and him fit perfectly together, a little too much. That was amazing for Bradley.

But of course, there were thoughts and the insecurity he didn’t like that popped into his head. She was too young, they were into too different parts of their lives, and he was a little bit concerned about her job.

He never liked those thoughts, but he wasn’t sure what to think. What if she saw another guy, younger, stronger, more attractive than him? Would she just up and leave? 

There was that tiny insecurity creeping up. He was trying to push it down, but he couldn’t resist.

“She’s too young for me, it would never work. Plus, she’s probably not ready for a commitment. I can't deal with that type of stuff.

The next words that came out of his mouth, he knew he would regret forever. “Probably fucking around with other guys right now. Fuckin slut.”

Everyone around him fell into complete silence. He just now realized he fucked up. Big time.

He turns around to see some of the squad looking at him like he has three heads attached to his body, the other just looks disappointed. Maybe even the worst of it was when he saw Chantal with Phoenix. He knows that Nat is trying her hardest to hold her back so she doesn’t beat the living shit out of him.

He didn’t even need an answer to ask if she was here. He knew for a fact that she was working tonight, and there was a big chance that Bea heard everything he was saying to his friends. She must be so hurt right now, he just wants to wrap her up and hold her and tell her he didn’t mean anything that he said. He was drunk and he was just being a dumbass.

So he tries exactly that. But when he tries to hop off the bar stool he almost stumbles over and falls on his ass trying to get outside to Bea. But he’s stopped by most of the squad. Musically Chantal.

She makes her way up to him, balls his shirt up in her fist, and pushes him back on the stool. “Beatrice was so nervous to go out with you. I didn’t know why at first…but she to;ld me she didn’t want to end up in another bad relationship. She didn’t want another Zeke in her life, turns out you are just like him.” The only thing that Bradley could do was shake his head ‘no’. He never wanted to be like that asshole Bea was dating before. He wanted to make you feel special in every single way he possibly could. He can’t believe he would say those horrible things, those awful, hurting things. He didn’t know if you would ever talk to him again.

Bradley is finally letting reality set into his system.

He just lost the one chance of forever.

With you.

Your (POV)

You finally thought you were happy, you found someone who cared about you. Who loved you? 

You try to keep yourself calm, trying not to let your emotions go all over the place-

“I thought you would be here Honey?” Your blood runs cold, your whole body stiffens when you hear that low, groggy voice you thought you would never hear again.

“Zeke?” You try not to let the sadness slip through your voice. “What…what are you doing here? How did you find me?” wanting to ask so many more quest

“I have my way, baby. Let's worry about this another time, I’ve come to say I’m sorry.” You didn’t want to listen to him. You don’t want to keep running back like you always did. Letting him get away with the most horrible things, what he said, what he did. You still can’t believe that you stayed with him for all this time. Whatever he has to say to you now, hopefully, you're going to be done with him for good.

“I was so stupid back then. My heart wasn’t in the right place, and you did nothing wrong. I’m better now, I’m in AA and I’ve been clean for a couple of weeks.” Being taken aback by what he’s said, you’ve always encouraged Zeke to get help for his drinking. You never liked seeing the ugly, drunk side of him. Hearing the screaming and shouting, listening to all of the gruesome things he said to and about you. You still have nightmares of when he was in one of his drinking fists, it always ended with you being woken up, drenched in cold sweat, and wishing the dreams would stop. But they always kept coming back. But hearing this new side of him. 

“H-how do I know if you're lying to me?” you say in a skeptical voice. Not truly believing the words coming out of his mouth, all of a sudden he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out some sort of coin. He places it out for you to see, but you take a step back making sure to yourself he’s not pulling anything.

“It’s my sobriety chip… I’ve been clean for a month,” He walks over to you and places it in your palm. You look at him, then back at the chip. Repeating a couple of times trying to make sense of this. “I’ve been trying… trying for you B. Please come back home. It hasn't been the same without you, Plus I’ll treat you better than that dick in the bar.”

Maybe he has changed? That's the only thing that is running through your brain. 

“I’m not sure Zeke… Not right now at least. I’m really happy that you're clean, and getting better.” you try to say to him with a little bit of ease. “You know I knew you would say that.” The next thing you know he’s planted a mean right hook on your cheek, making you fall to the ground and feel the stinging pain forming on your face. You try to crawl backward towards the bar steps and make your way back in, but you feel a pair of hands grip the base of your neck and drag you to your feet. “Whether you like it or not, baby, you're coming home with me. You’ll never see your precious aunt or friends or even poor little Rooster.”

Once again you feel a hard thud being brought down on your head, You try and feel what hit you, but when your hand comes back down, you can only see bright red on your hand. Everything starts to fade and become blurry.

You try to fight away the darkness creeping into your vision. But it overtakes you. The only thing you can see is darkness.

What is going on?

(Penny’s POV)

I hurry my way into the house with Pete behind me, the only thing racing through my mind is finding out where Beatrice is.

Once I got into the house I saw Chantal pacing back and forth in the kitchen, to the point it looked like she was about to put a big hole in the floor. I walk over to her and embrace her with a hug.

A couple of hours ago after our departure on a romantic boat ride with Pete, He walked over to me and handed me my phone to find hundreds of messages from Chantal saying she can’t find Beatrice everywhere. Also, saying she was missing and couldn’t find her. As soon as I saw the word missing, it was linked to Bea. The blood in my system ran cold and I automatically went into mama bear mode. Even though she is my niece, I have always treated her like she is one of my own.

I told Peter what was going on, and he didn’t have to think twice and turned the boat around so we could find Bea.

Now we’re here.

Once I release Chantal from my hold she walks over to the Island, and picks up a crumpled piece of paper, and hands it over to me.

I see the handwriting is some type of chicken scratch, but they were trying to make it into Beatrice’s handwriting, but presumably failed that task.

Dear Aunt Penny, 

I’m sorry that I wasted your time with everything. I wasn’t in the right headspace to call you that night. Zeke came by and he apologized for what happened. We made up and I’m going to stay with him for a little bit. I promise I’ll be okay. I love you so much.

-Your Honeybee

I just wanted to fall to the floor and let go of everything. I promised my sister that I would always take care of Bea, and I would want to keep that promise until the day I die.

“W-why would she write this? Did something happen? I thought she could come to me when something was wrong.” I spill my thoughts out in the open. But I hear Chantal speak up.

“We were making our way into the bar, but she heard Bradley say some terrible things about her. And before you rip him a new one. I already did.

The coldness in my body suddenly rushes to pure, hot, raging anger. How could somebody do this to another human being? My niece to be exact. She is such a sweet and kind person. When I turn around I can see Pete on his phone calling Bradley. I make my way over to him and grab the phone out of his hand. I can hear his smug voice through the phone. But I cut him off.

“What the hell have you done?”

Reblogs are always welcome. Unless you're under 18. I will block you. and comment if you want to be added to the taglist. If I forgot anybody message me and let me know. You will be added.

Taglist: @caitsymichelle13@shanimallina87@angelbabyyy99@callsign-magnolia@nerdgirljen @nervousnerdwitch

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Hello, Mr. Monster (Five. Sidhe)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Masterlist The Nightmare's Interlude

Chapter Tracks: "Milk and Honey" by Delain, "Lacrymosa" by Mozart

18+/TRIGGER WARNING: Kidnapping, involuntary drug use, involuntary body modification, cutting (not self-harm), vague threat of SA/brainwashing

A/N: I LIVE!!! Thank you all for your patience. The story is jumping into a new arc!

Don't miss the bonus interlude chapter I posted! Linked above.

5: Sidhe

“Be careful on the road.”

Aisling’s ears rang with Fay’s parting words.

The fairie always treated the end of the season with a little too much gravitas, but this time she looked at Aisling like she could physically see danger growing over her. Brambles breaking through the asphalt or boulders crushing the van.

“Know something I don’t?” she’d asked.

“I know you find trouble, and trouble finds you. I know the world is trying to settle back into an old order, and it’s the hour of chaos and hungry hands. I know you’re alone, and the road is dangerous.”

Now, many hours and miles away, the conversation replayed on an endless loop in her head.

It haunted her. From the moment the words dropped from Fay’s lips, they settled around Aisling’s neck like a loadstone. They became a tale still furled in a fiddlehead, a glimpse of wyrd lurking in the road ahead, and she’d run off without a real destination in mind. Never a great plan. Even less so with this warning tossed in her lap like a dead fish. It stank of prophecy, and the age-old fight-or-flight response kicked in. There was nothing to fight, so she fled the entire concept of fate, driving in a vaguely New York direction.

A little distance helped. It gave her space to breathe. To think.

The wind combed tangles into her hair and some of the fear from her thoughts.

When she spied a rest area with lots of trees and very few guests, she pulled off the highway.

She sat in the van, cross-legged on the floor with the windows and sliding door open, letting the breeze cleanse the space. Well. All but one window open. Plastic sheeting rustled over the window the Not Deer shattered. Someday she might have money to repair it properly, but it wasn’t a priority.

There was so much to work through.

She meditated, looking inside, listening for the tidal rumble of raw intuition. The cards danced between her hands as she relaxed against the border of the unknown, trusting instinct over logic until fold, after fold, after fold she knew she had the right order. A three-card read. Quick, efficient.

No time for nuance on the road.

She turned the first card and found the Ace of Cups in the past position. The very recent past, she would guess. It practically sang the Dream King’s name. The Ace of Cups celebrated creativity, awakenings, and new feelings – new loves.

Heat crawled up her neck as the reading conjured memories in her skin. The touch of his hands. His mouth. His voice. The ash of the stars he teased to explode still drifted across her mind, sparking new life in places she’d been sure it would never grow. It made her curious. It made her wonder what else he could do if she let him. It made her wonder what she could do to him.

Forcefully shaking off the goosebumps creeping down her arms, she refocused. She wasn’t asleep. And daydreams could be dangerous. There would be more than enough time to explore all that after dark.

The Moon marked her present. It had as many meanings as the moon had phases, most of them based on changeability and shifts in course. But only one – intuition – felt right. It looked back at her through the card, acknowledging her as she sat open to it, listening and feeling, like meeting her own eyes in a mirror.

Finally, her touch drifted to the future. Her breath stuttered. The eight of swords appeared in her hand, and she set it down quickly, fumbling, like it could bite her. If paper and ink could bite, it just might. The card of prisoners. It thrummed with warnings: imprisonment, helplessness, restriction, and malice. It jarred with the other two cards, unlinked from the common thread of her choices.

Fay was right.

Something was coming for her.

The breeze nudged the eight of swords, canting it off-center on her altar cloth. She imagined she could taste the threat in the air, fate cinching tight as she shadows of the future loomed over her rising hope.

Her palm settled over her chest, following a familiar pattern around an old ache.

It couldn’t be her monster. She refused to believe it. Not after his sweetness in the dark, not after his reassurances and promises. She simply didn’t want to imagine he’d snare her, strip away her agency as easily as he plucked away her anxieties.

That choice remained hers, and she chose hope for once. It’d been too long since she had anything to believe in but herself, and the whisper of that promise was addicting.

Caw Caw!

Jolted out of her spiraling thoughts, her eyes flicked from cards, to van, to the world outside, moving between the distant highway to the overhanging trees. Eventually, they fell on the feathered thing waiting right outside the open sliding door.

A bird that wasn’t a bird.

A dream.

Her eyelashes flickered over her vision as she tried to understand what she saw. Dreams were all gone from the waking. Her eyes never lied.

Hadn’t they all been called back?

It cocked its head, looking her right in the eye. She blinked, slowly, and it caught itself, looking to the side and pecking aimlessly at the barren parking lot, like it could fool her.

Something high in her chest fluttered. She couldn’t say if it was nerves or joy. But she didn’t recognize this dream.

“Who are you?”

It froze. Looked back at her. Spitting out a pebble it had valiantly pretended to be a bug, it croaked.

It was definitely new, at least to the waking world, and that made her intolerably curious.

“I can see you.” She let the words spin out slowly, amused and patient.

If it stayed, they were having a fucking conversation, and she didn’t imagine it came all the way from the Dreaming to play make-believe with cracked fragments of asphalt.

“Uh.” It cleared its throat. Not all dreams could speak, but the voice suited him, and she was glad they wouldn’t need to play charades to understand each other. Black feathers puffed up with half-raised wings as it hunted for the right thing to say. “I’m Matthew. Are you – are you okay?”

She glanced down at the cards, then back at the faux raven. Starting a new relationship with a lie felt wrong, but she couldn’t explain the intimate dread and trust she felt for the bird’s maker in that moment.

“Mostly. Maybe. I don’t know you. Are you… new? What are you doing here?”

She wasn’t accusing it of anything. Her worry for herself redirected into concern for the little creature risking her monster’s wrath. She didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of her. A trite desire, but a desperate need a fleet of childhood therapists hadn’t managed to shake.

The dream ducked, looking side-to-side for eavesdroppers, and hopped just a little closer. She leaned over her cards, closing the distance, humoring its covert antics. It must not be very familiar with the waking world if it thought strangers who saw a woman talking to a bird would see anything but a hippie on a bad trip.

With a flapping burst, he landed on the edge of the van’s floor.

“The boss sent me,” he said, still glancing around warily. “You know. Dream. Your… whatever the two of you are.”

A fair description, really. ‘Soulmates’ was too much. They weren’t exactly friends, and lovers sent uncomfortable heat rushing into her face.

Let the dream thing be confused. That made two of them.

“So, er, what’re you doing?” He twitched to study the cards with one beady eye, and she caught a glimpse of swords reflected in the convex mirror of his gaze.

She swept up the spread, folding it into a fresh shuffle, like she could tuck away the danger before it infected her new little friend.

“Reading.”

“Ever heard of books?”

Oh, so the little dream was actually a little shit? That worked. As a little shit herself, she approved of scamps on principle. Even if they insulted her talents.

“Not that kind of reading.”

The dream scoffed. “Those things really work?”

Funny, such cynicism coming from a talking bird. Seemed like bad manners to call him on it, though, so she shrugged. “Depends on what you’re trying to do with them.”

“Tell the future?”

All too well. “Sometimes.”

That caught him off balance, and he physically shifted from foot to foot, nails tapping on the floor as he found it again. She took pity on him.

“Why did your boss send you?”

“Just, you know, to keep an eye on things.”

She raised her eyebrows, easily folding the cards into new configurations without looking down, and the dream cleared his throat.

“Can’t really speak for the boss and all, but it’s a dangerous world out here, and he thinks too much about that. Sometimes. I’m guessing.”

The cards felt right, and she let them settle into a neat stack in one palm, waiting to be cut and dealt.

“Are you spying on me, Matthew?”

He croaked in naked offense. Or because she’d caught him out. “No.”

“Babysitting then.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

Setting the deck on the altar cloth, she propped her chin on her fist. elbow balanced on her knee, and stared the bird down.

“I might.”

Sighing so hard his feathered shoulders rose and fell, the bird looked down, muttering things under his breath she pretended not to hear.

“Have you ever had your fortune read?”

His attention snapped back to her, picking up the opportunity for mutual distraction.

“No. Do dreams have fortunes?”

“I assume so.” Since he didn’t have fingers, she dealt for him. Another simple three-card spread. She didn’t have energy for much else after an evening of drinking, a night of wildly vivid dreams, and the shock of her own reading. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“But you’ve done this before. For things like me.”

“Oh, yes.” She thought of long nights at the festival when she’d been too young to drink, sitting in the dark with dreams and nightmares as they came up with their own fun. She remembered the first time she’d found The Lovers in Fin’s fortune and how she’d hounded him for weeks after. “Many times.”

Less than a day and their absence itched like a phantom limb. So stupid. Months apart without problem, and now she felt entitled to mope after a few hours.

She hoped they were okay.

She hoped she’d be okay.

Matthew puzzled over his three cards, his claws sinking into the loose weave along the edge of the altar cloth as he inched closer. She’d turned all three over in one fell swoop because she wasn’t in the mood for dramatics, and sometimes fortunes were easier to explain as a whole.

The dream’s, however, didn’t make much sense at all.

Death. Two of Swords. Three of Cups.

What the fuck.

He seemed particularly interested in the first card, and she began her usual spiel. “Death isn’t always death. It can mean and end to a phase, transformation…”

“Oh, it means death,” the raven interrupted. “For sure. I died, like really recently. Then I became -” He flapped his wings, sending the cards askew. “This.”

Until recently, Aisling thought she knew an awful lot about dreams and nightmares. She thought herself an expert. But she had no idea a dream could be anything before it was, well, a dream. And Morpheus had power over the dead? More news. Less welcome. The hair along the back of her neck pricked up, and she rushed on with the reading – something simple, something she could make sense of.

“Well…” She straightened the card. “This represents your past.”

The raven bobbed, a bird-like motion attempting to imitate a human nod. “So far so accurate.” He gently pecked the second card, pushing it even further out of line. He and his fortune defied order. “What does this one mean?”

She didn’t bother straightening it. The illusion of control wouldn’t last. “Two of Swords. Means you find balance in opposing forces. You have a tendency to repeat your mistakes.” Struggling to hold down a blooming smirk, she added, "And you're talkative."

“Talkative? Psh. Does that sound like me?”

“I don’t know.” It absolutely did sound like him. “But you do seem like the type to make the same mistakes.”

“Rude.”

“Blame the cards.”

He croaked, probably cursing her out in bird.

“Sure. So, what about this last one? My future, right?”

The Three of Cups. “Good luck and abundance. Kindness and pleasure. All the good things, usually after solving a problem. Have any problems, Matthew?”

“Plenty.” He shook his head and swayed between feet, warming to the subject.

Once upon a time, tarot readers served as talk therapists. She had a feeling Matthew would make her a historical reenactor.

“You wouldn’t believe what’s happened in the past few days.” The bird gossiped like an old crow. But that was good. No one told her anything, and this would be a nice change of pace, so she settled in to listen, happy to let the little dream spin her a yarn. “There was this woman – I guess that’s not too strange – but anyway, there was a ruby, and this man tried to change the world, but the boss stopped him, and we went to Hell before that. And I’d just met the boss, and that Constantine woman –”

Wait.

“Constantine?” She abandoned her relaxed position, leaning in to question the bird. “You’ve met Constantine?”

“You mean you’ve met her, too? Small world, right?” Matthew cleared his throat, cawing.

“She’s an old friend. She… warned me…”

Of course. That was how Johanna knew her monster was back on the scene. But she didn’t understand what her monster might want with the occultist. Was it her fault? Was it coincidence? Not that those happened very often, but a girl could hope.

“How did you meet Constantine?” Fuck. She should probably text her back, just to make sure she was still alive. “Is she alright?”

“Oh, she’s fine.” He croaked again. “Promise. Anyway…”

A redirection and a half right there.

“Are you not supposed to tell me?”

“Honestly?” He fluttered, spreading his wings like an open-armed shrug. “I have no idea. I’ve never done something like this before. I’ve only been a raven for, like, a week. I used to have rent, and a job, and fingers. If you’re looking for answers, I’m really not the bird to ask.”

Of course. Answers never came easily. She had to work for them, earn them like minimum wage – enough to keep her on the cusp of a breakdown without quitting entirely.

“I don’t suppose you could point me towards the right bird?”

“Can’t you just, you know, ask the boss?”

She glanced down, brushing a wrinkle out of the altar cloth where the dream and the breeze had disturbed it.

“I don’t know.”

Silence sat between them like a wriggling slug. Ugly, awkward. Neither wanted to touch it as it grew. She had a whole life to explain, and as a dream, he understood things she’d never grasp. Neither knew what to tell the other, or what might get the other in trouble with the elephant in the room.

The longer the silence grew, the more she wondered why her monster sent a minder. Maybe he’d foreseen the threat in her cards. Or maybe he wanted to slowly exert control over her waking life until he held perfect sway over her hours in any world. A bloodless war with an easy victory.

No. She physically shook the thought away.

No, she wouldn’t think that. Nope.

Maybe he was… concerned. She didn’t know if he felt fear, but if he did, he might have the usual long-distance relationship woes. Anything could happen when they weren’t together, and how would he even know until she failed to appear in a dream?

She liked that idea better, the myth of the anxious boyfriend who texted a little too often in an effort to feel closer across the borders he couldn’t erase, so she chose to believe it.

“Can you tell me about him?” she asked. “Your boss?”

“Listen, lady –”

“Aisling.”

“Right.” He softened, just a touch, and his empathy shone through their mutual frustration. “Aisling. I’m new new, if you catch my drift. I know about as much as you do.” Twitching to peer around the inside of her van, he strung together ideas until he had a mouthful of sentences to trade. “He’s a lot, but I’ve seen him be kind when he didn’t have to be. He’s scary powerful, but even when he wasn’t, he was proud. He’s a king, I guess. More than that, but that’s what I know.”

When he wasn’t powerful? She couldn’t imagine him as anything else. Fuck, did she want to ask, but she didn’t want to get the bird in trouble.

“I’ll try…” She swallowed around her misgivings. “Asking him sometime.”

“If it helps,” the dream bounced two steps closer, “I think he’d like that.”

She was out of things to pick at, and her smile fluttered awkwardly through her emotional kaleidoscope.

“You hungry? I’m starving.” Creeping around the bird and the spread cards, she escaped the van. “I need to wash up, and I’ll see if the vending machines are shit.”

“I never turn down junk food,” Matthew said, suddenly and deeply serious. “I miss human food. Rats aren’t bad – when you’re a raven – but I’d murder for a basket of fries.”

“Chips do?”

“You’re a saint.”

Patting her pocket to check for her wallet, she started the hike across the empty parking spaces towards the rest area. “And you have low standards, pheasant.”

“Raven!” he shouted after her, but she ignored him, hands in her pockets as she swaggered away.

The women’s was blissfully empty.

She had lots of time to splash cold water on her face and stare into the mirror. She let the water run, listening to the gathering echoes trickle and crash around the tiled space. Wasteful. She didn’t care.

She needed the noise, the wordless crush on her senses keeping her grounded as the warning, the reading, and the raven cycled through her thoughts.

And beneath all that, a girlish curiosity she struggled to accept.

Her monster played her well. She found herself wanting to fall asleep just so she could dream of him again, to see if he’d answer questions, if he’d touch her, if he’d let her touch him back.

But she didn’t quite trust it. Things only went well when they were about to go very, very badly, and until she knew which direction danger came from, she’d stay on guard. Hopeful or otherwise.

She drew her knuckle over her upper lip, thinking, and dry skin snagged. It wasn’t painful, but she couldn’t help comparing the texture to the palm she’d studied in the Dreaming, and an uncomfortable sense of her mortality prickled through her thoughts. Like the way people noticed their tongues and pooling saliva after someone pointed them out.

Something as simple as the weather damaged her. Air turned too humid or too arid made her flesh crack and peel.

She thought of the silken hands ghosting through her dreams, untouched by eons of labor, and her rough, human finger passed back over her mouth. How could she compare to an Endless? She made a poor match, and she knew it. Too weak. Too fragile. Too young, even. And age wouldn’t make her any worthier.

How could he stand to touch her when she’d crumble so easily?

She squeezed the edge of the sink, feeling too much of herself.

It wasn't fair to assume she knew his thoughts. It wasn't fair to assume he knew hers. But the ugly feeling to too many - varied - doubts curdled in her stomach, and she wondered if she'd ever have the strength to voice these kinds of insecurities.

A pity party would just make her more disgusted with herself, and she shoved away from the sink, pacing over the dirty tile, down the row of stalls and sinks.

She needed to calm down and get the raven a snack. No hysterics. No blubbering. She could contain herself, and everyone would be fine.

She looked up, face to face with her own reflection again.

Had that mirror always been there? Intuition prickled under her thoughts, drawing her attention to the details she’d failed to notice when she entered.

She counted the sinks. Seven. Seven sinks with matching mirrors and one long looking glass at the end of the line, tall and wide as a person, a surprisingly thoughtful investment in the utilitarian rest stop.

It wasn’t the strangest thing she’d seen, but she couldn’t recall the blur of motion her reflection should’ve made in her periphery when she marched in. Not the biggest thing. Nothing too alarming. Not even out of the ordinary really. But traps never were.

Fairy circles disappeared in tall grass and fallen leaves. Helpful goods and little treasures always appeared just where someone might’ve dropped them. The mirror was a little too clean compared to the others. Maybe it just didn't get splashed with soap and water from the sinks like the rest, but she wasn’t willing to risk it.

She didn’t like that mirror.

It rubbed her the wrong way, and she started moving towards the exit before she finished her thought.

One, two, three steps. Rubber soles squeaking on cement painted green as she moved towards her world of sunlight and dreams and rest stop vending machine snacks.

The long fluorescent light closest to the exit blinked. She stopped, and it went out. The next light buzzed, popped, and sparked as it died, and she took a step back.

She couldn't see anything approaching, but fuck if she didn't know her horror movies, and something was playing with her.

The third light winked out like a snuffed candle. Backing up, refusing to look away, just in case, she tried to stay out of the growing shadows. It was close to noon. Why did it feel so dark?

The fourth light. The fifth.

By the time the seventh flickered and died, she'd gone to the far end of the sinks, and as her hand pressed back against cool glass, she realized it wasn't a horror movie.

It was just another trap.

She made it all of one step away before long, wisened fingers coated in crumbling moss seized her upper arms and yanked.

The mirror dragged over her skin like mercury taffy, sticky with an aftertaste of poison. Shiny and wrong beyond her powers of description, it clung to her eyelashes and stuck to her skin as the hand in her hair dragged her through, away, and back – back - back into darkness. She struggled, writhing and shouting as her nails pried at the offending grip. But her fingers didn’t meet skin. Bark and lichen flaked off, crumbling over her cheeks as the gnarled spriggan hissed over her.

“Stay still, little prize. Wandering soulmate. Stay still!” It had a shrill, groaning voice. Wind shrieking in the creaking trees. Rot and new life in the same breath, rich with the age of soil. “Take you down. Take you back. Make you a pretty, pretty bride!”

Aisling did not stay still. She snarled, trying to escape through the light ahead, but the spriggan took her by the jaw and hauled her away into the crushing dark. It lunged headfirst into a tunnel too small to really fit them and chittered away, grinding its captive against the wall as it went.

Choking, trying to keep the fae from popping her head off her spine, she kicked along, catching breaths as she could. The spriggan’s many free hands pulled them along, and each handhold pulled earth loose from the sides. It fell in Aisling’s face, clogging her nose and eyes. Little beetles and worms fell, too.

Roots stinking of grave dirt caught in her hair, scratched her skin, but the grip on her neck locked her screams in her chest.

Her heart thundered.

Fingernails snapped as she tried protecting her face from the unforgiving path, still wrestling against the spriggan’s hold. Tears of shock and pain leaked out, mixing into mud over her cheeks. Her thoughts faded under the onslaught, melting into a tumble of sensation and abject horror.

They moved faster than they should. Magic warped the natural world and tugged them through adjoining planes. Aisling lost all track of up, down, or the way back to the mirror. The roots grew with their progress, and the spriggan cackled, so wildly pleased it didn’t notice how the fragile human in its grip struggled to breathe.

The world flipped, and she landed hard on a dirt floor, half-pinned under her kidnapper's bulk. Still holding her by the neck, the unseelie tugged her through a growing crowd of things with claws, wings, and half-grown faces, moving towards something she couldn't see. Black bars threatened the edges of her uncanny vision, and she grasped after her fading rage as her legs spasmed, tangling in the spriggan's trailing cloak. Terror choked her as much as the grip on her throat.

Oh, hell.

Matthew was still waiting for her to come back with a bag of chips.

Fuck.

Losing control, losing consciousness, she realized: she really was going to die this time.

Maybe that was better than whatever the unseelie planned, but she didn't want it. She wanted to struggle a little longer, find a way to steal a kiss from her masked monster, maybe. Sit in the sun. Let Constantine know the occultist hadn't lost another friend.

'You are killing our prize, spriggan."

Dropped, she crashed face-first into the dirt, coughing more than breathing as her ears rang. The whole scene felt a step removed, like she was wandering a dream or watching through fog. But that wasn't right. Magic bitter as wormwood coated her throat, and she curled into herself, feigning a fetal position as she reached for the long, iron nail hidden in the sole of her shoe. Her broken nails grated over the head, the blood leaving the metal slick as she tried to tug it free. Heavy feet approached - goblin guards ready to haul her off again.

She wouldn't roll over that easy.

The nail came free just as the bigger of the two guards reached for her, and she stabbed it in his hand. Green blood spattered over the dirt, and the beast howled in anguish. As it fell back, the other lunged, the nearby crowd taking notice.

Iron made friends of all fae. Even the natural enemies in the unseelie court. Like she'd shouted "Fire!" in a crowded theater, everyone had two reactions: run, or put it out.

Stabbing and waving her poisonous weapon, she whirled in a circle, looking for an escape, a passage, light, anything. But everywhere she glanced, she found more eyes and bared teeth.

They mobbed her. Many hands took her arm, grabbed her hair by the roots, and clambered onto her back. More and more joined the fray until they had her spread prone. A redcap took the nail with a long pair of silver tongs, nearly tearing the skin off one of her fingers to break her grip, and darted away, eager to separate weapon and wielder.

"Get its mouth open."

Clawed fingers pushed between her lips. They forced her jaw wide and slid filthy flesh, scales, and fur past her teeth, cutting into her gums, cheeks, tongue. Heat pricked in her eyes at the helpless pain as a tall unseelie with hair like moonlight over pond scum approached with a stoppered amber bottle.

Screaming, twisting, she tried again to save herself. Maybe, worlds away, the dream bird would hear. Or his master. Johanna, Fin, anyone. But the fae uncorked the bottle, and he poured it neatly into her open mouth.

"Let it swallow."

The hands all disappeared from her face, but they kept her anchored to the floor, prepared for another fit, another hidden weapon. She reflexively swallowed a mouthful of blood and potion to keep from choking, coughing desperately to clear the drops she'd aspirated.

Salt, iron, and elder berries.

“Gently now.” Taloned fingers massaged her throat, ensuring the draught went down. “Isn’t this better?”

She groaned through clenched teeth, pushing against the poisonous lethargy freezing her from the inside out, against the forbidding chill stripping away her agency but not her awareness. Inch by inch, she lost the war, and hand by hand the creatures restraining her let go.

The potion didn’t put her to sleep. She had no opportunity to escape into dreams. It only allowed breath and tears as she turned into a limp rag doll for the unseelie to manipulate like the hollow, powerless thing they believed all humans to be. They didn't need her to rest. They only needed her to be quiet.

Satisfied, the tall unseelie nodded to someone she couldn't turn her head to see. "Prepare it."

They carried her into more tunnels, broader than before, more than wide enough for them to march through without scraping the sides. A team of monsters handled her, murmuring ideas and instructions as they moved into a room echoing with running spring water.

Roots tangled overhead, and she watched them pass like waves, imagining they were the ones really moving as the unseelie court swallowed her up.

The terror swallowed her, too.

Trapped in her own body, she reached for disassociation as hooked claws and stone knives sawed through her clothes. Oblivion, however, floated out of reach as panic chained her to the bare stone they laid her over, left her drowning in every prod and poke as her handlers discussed how to improve on the fragile human flesh she hated a few minutes ago. She'd do anything to keep it.

They bared her to the frigid air, and she couldn't even shiver. Couldn't shout, or swear, or save herself.

The spring water was bright cold. Lights popped in her eyes as the first splash washed over her belly. Chill translated into pain, something too sharp to be liquid, even though she felt it rolling down her sides. Her captors cleaned her, scrubbing and muttering and pulling her hair as they combed it out. Her discomfort and fear simply didn't matter in a place where she had no voice. No choice. They tutted over her scars - a lifetime of chasing nightmares and living on the road patterned in bites, slices, and other imperfections.

"These are old," one unseelie muttered, tracing a fingertip rough as gravel along the Not Deer's old fang marks in her shoulder. "I can only smooth away fresh."

"Then make them fresh," another suggested. "Nothing else for it."

They took a knife to her, skinning her history by inches, peeling stories, tearing fascia, and baring muscle. The blade cut out the imperfections, erasing the glossy moon on her knee where she tripped on the playground as a child. It erased every line and mark loved ones would use to identify her body, leaving her naked and new in strange and terrible ways.

She watched them throw pieces of her into the corner. Hiding at the edge of the dim light, a spider the size of a small dog plucked them up like table scraps, jaws clicking just above the wet sound of the knife.

Butchered alive, her mind filled with static, rattling with captive screams and pleas. If she lived, she would not escape unscathed. This was killing something. This was changing her in ways that couldn't be undone, and she didn't want it. Someone had to make them stop before she couldn't recognize herself.

Warm blood soothed her goosebumps, and one of the voices sighed as her skin regrew.

"We'll have to wash it again."

More freezing water. More pain. She kept still as they worked, and her sanity squealed like glass under pressure. On the verge of shattering.

One began spreading a smooth, white cream up her arm, working it into the new skin. When the unseelie found Aisling watching, it smiled. "Ground pearls and unicorn horn, so you'll glow for the Dream King."

It explained like she'd be happy, like she wanted to be a pretty bride delivered in chains. If her stomach was still under her control, she would've thrown up.

Magical ingredients like anything off a unicorn would not come off in the next bath. More permanent changes worked into her flesh for her monster's sake. She would be more beautiful and less herself.

What she wouldn't give to spit in the unseelie's face. Or curse her monster's name. Anything. Instead, they worked the potion from head to toe, and the fuckers looked damned pleased with their results, assuming her gratitude as their rightful due.

Dozens of spiders crept from the corners, and the unseelie set to work on her hair and face as a thousand little legs tickled over her limp body. She wasn't wildly arachnophobic, but she'd jump and shout if a spider crawled up her arm. Now countless spiders wandered her naked body, and she couldn't shake them off. Instinct demanded she try, but she was as helpless under the spiders as she was under the knife. After a few moments of blind horror, she realized they were moving in patterns, leaving lines of silk they built into a gauze-lace dress over the next hour. She closed her eyes, desperate for even that much of an escape, and the unseelie painted her lids and lips to their satisfaction. Their concoctions smelled like roses and mercury.

When the spiders finished, the unseelie stepped back and sighed.

"Ready."

A troop of gnomes carrying some kind of box rushed in, and the unseelie handlers pulled back the box's front curtain, revealing something between an animal carrier and a royal litter.

"It's time to deliver you to the Dreaming, little bride."

They packed her inside, careful not to ruin their good work, and the curtain fell. She counted the walls. Seven. All the same soft white fabric shot through with silver threads. A pretty box for a pretty bride.

And her first hint of privacy. Alone, without unwanted hands, spider legs, and the sight of her own blood on the floor to distract her, her thoughts gathered behind the scrim of dread. She felt her heart beating in her chest, not just the hollow echo in her ribs. Her fingers tingled, begging to move, and one curled as the box rose, swaying on low shoulders down the labyrinthine tunnels of the unseelie court. It wasn't enough to save herself, but it was more than she had an hour ago.

She didn't witness the journey. She measured the time in twitching muscles and waking limbs, counting breaths instead of minutes. They moved between worlds, but all she cared about was the distance between her consciousness and any control over her hands. She wanted to pull open the curtained wall, and slowly, slowly she pushed her hand towards the edge of the screened box. A lifetime measured in millimeters. And just when her nails scratched the fabric, the box shifted, and she rolled back to her original position. Foiled by gravity. Of all damn things. A laugh brushed with madness fluttered around in her chest, caught like a bug in a net, and she wondered what kind of potion would give it life and get it out. She needed it exorcised. If she started laughing, she'd start crying, too.

The box must be enchanted, because she didn't hear anything outside it. The unseelie made lots of noise, and if they brought her to the Dreaming in any kind of official capacity, they'd have to announce themselves. She heard fuck all. She hadn't even heard the gnomes' feet marching towards her doom. Her soft prison kept her safe and stupid as they took her away.

When the front curtain pulled back, all she knew was she was somewhere else, somewhere with light and color, without the wormy, wet smell of the underground court. Two unseelie women reached inside, taking her wilting arms and guiding her to rise much more elegantly than she could've managed on her own. She was surprised her legs worked at all, but they must've timed this carefully.

She still wanted to bite them and run. But when she couldn't really keep on her feet without their support, that was impossible. She could watch. She could wait. She still didn't have a choice.

A weak little bride who couldn't fight back but didn't lounge like a slug in her cage - a lovely, tidy gift.

The unseelie with the pond scum hair swept up, taking her hand as the two attendants stepped back. She wanted to bite him most of all, and almost like he could sense her plans to draw blood - fuck the cost - he took her by the chin and faced her towards something much worse.

They stood at the foot of an impossible staircase in a room too grand for a ceiling. A cosmos moved overhead, catching the graceful statues along the columns between daylight and starlight. The steps curled through the air to the foot of a throne, a seat for a king, set above the receiving hall where lesser creatures stood and begged. Sunlight cut into dazzling colors through arcing stained glass windows backlit the monarch's place, on high. Beautiful. Breath-taking.

Yet it was the king's face that froze her heart.

She knew many things about Dream of the Endless. The King of Dreams and Nightmares. Lord Morpheus. Since she was a child, she'd been told he was cold and capricious, particularly with his lovers. That he was possessive and vengeful. If he was a good king to one he was an awful tyrant to someone else.

He was dangerous.

She knew he touched her gently and had a voice darker and deeper than the spaces between the stars, but she hadn't known until she stood a prisoner at his feet that she knew his face.

When she saw the beautiful entity trapped in the dead wizard's basement, she knew he was powerful. She freed him anyway. Her intuition led her to him, and she gave him exactly what he needed.

Her chest filled with lead. Heavy. Crushing. Pulling her down in the unseelie's grip. His hand tightened on her arm, and he refused to release her jaw, forcing her head back so the Dream King could see the fae's good work.

The Endless looked down on them all, starry eyes burning through her cobweb dress. Terrible and aloof.

Feeling drowned her reason, and she picked fragments of thought out of the swamp with shaking hands.

Why?

Why not show his face when she'd already seen it? It didn't make sense if he'd been honest with her. Was he that hungry for a little more power in their dynamic? Had he played a game, amusing himself with the dumb little mortal wyrd had already trapped in his name?

The unseelie, she realized, was speaking. He'd probably been talking since before they pulled her out of the gossamer prison.

"...one of our own. We've brought it - her - to atone for that one's error and ensured she is as fair and flawless as a mortal might be made. We cannot undo the sins of the first, but we have made a better gift of her in the end."

The creature made her humanity something fetid. She was not even as good as a dog, because her free will pushed her to snap back. But she'd been made fair, and what else could a mighty Endless desire from such a lowly thing, marked or not?

And Morpheus listened. He sat still as stone and let the fae hold her up for his inspection. She thought very carefully of every promise he'd ever made, and in this new light, she quickly found the gaps in his word.

She'd been such a fool to trust him.

A deep breath lifted her shoulders, the biggest voluntary motion she'd enjoyed since they drugged her, but she struggled to breathe. The air just wouldn't stick. Fuck. Fuck it hurt.

What an idiot.

What a romantic little idiot who had every warning and swallowed the poison anyway. It was written clearly on the label, but it looked right and it felt right so she ignored her mind and followed her gut, and look what that earned her. Belly pain and tears. They rolled hot and ugly down her face, creeping over the unseelie's hand, sinking into his skin.

He tutted. Releasing her arm, he reached into umber robes, confident in his hold on her face. Her jaw ached under the pressure.

"We understand you prefer... willing partners." The unseelie pulled out a white and purple flower for the king to see, and her blood ran cold.

She thought she'd been heartbroken before. She thought she'd been frightened. This was worse than anything she could've imagined, and she finally remembered to struggle. Sinking her nails into the creature's wrist, she tried to pull his hand off her face, but his hold was sturdier than the roots of a centuries old oak. Chances were, she'd drop the second he released her, but she'd rather eat pavement than be anywhere near the simple pansy flower.

"Love-in-idleness will woo her to your hand in a heartbeat."

It really would, too. A few drops of its nectar in her eyes, and she'd forget she was anything other than madly in love with the first face she saw. Her power to consent would evaporate as the spell took hold, and she'd be her monster's happy little fool for the rest of her life.

"No." Her voice joined the fight, and breathless as it sounded, it still carried through the chamber. Her monster must hear it, up on his throne, watching someone else manage the breaking of his new pet on his behalf.

She'd curse him with this. He'd hear her denial whenever he reached for her. She'd infect him with it, let it creep under his skin until he couldn't meet his own eyes in the mirror. Maybe. Hopefully. If he ever cared the way he said he did.

She chanted her refusals through grit teeth as the unseelie lifted the flower. As much as she wanted to hurt Morpheus, her fear drove her actions. She begged, pleaded, using every scrap of her meager strength to just get away.

"Stop. Don't. No." When did her voice become so small? "Please don't." Panicking, scrambling to escape the unseelie and his curse, she fixed her eyes on the blossom's purple streaks. Folklore said it used to be pure white until Cupid shot it with one of his arrows. She'd be the opposite. It would bleed her mind white, a placid death in life.

"Stop."

Her words. His voice.

The command froze the scene. Every unseelie. Every mote of dust hanging in multi-color sunbeams. The hand on her face went from oak to rock, and she trembled, fighting to breathe as she dared glancing away from the damned flower to the entity on the throne. Her lead heart forgot how to beat.

Dream of the Endless glared down, hands curled into fists. Had his eyes always been so bright? Fury burned like the sun, a cutting light sweeping across the gathering, wrathful and inescapable as the end of day, as the coming of dreams. They dazzled her through the scrim of tears, and she teetered on the cusp of hope.

The unseelie, after several long, painful moments, cleared his throat. "Lord?"

"Do you think it a challenge for me to find any sleeping mortal, mauled by your kind or whole?" His voice rumbled with the threat of an earthquake. Or a flood. Something old and deep that crushed civilizations without effort or consideration. A natural consequence of assuming control over something beyond even the idea of command. Ancient. Endless.

The unseelie hesitated.

She waited, too, frightened to trust again so quickly. She fought to breathe, to reason out what was happening. If he'd order that fucking plant burned in Hell, she'd feel a lot better.

"N-no, Lord Morpheus."

The Dream King rose, and every member of the unseelie delegation took a step back. Caught in the leader's grasp, she stumbled with them, clinging and whimpering as she tried to find strength to stand on her own and wrestle free.

"Did you think I'd rejoice to see one so intimately linked to my fate dragged to my throne against her will?"

The sun faded from behind the stained glass, and shadows curled out from between the columns like living things. They didn't obey the light, and they twisted hungrily on the verge of attack.

The unseelie's grip shifted. A sharp nail pressed into the side of her throat, and long fingers circled her neck. Rather than showcasing her to the side, the envoy swung her forward to block the king's ire. A literal human shield.

It was a bad idea to threaten a king in his own palace. Even discreetly.

"You are guests in my realm, and therefore protected by the laws." His eyes blazed, and a warning pulled his voice so low she could feel it in her spine, reverberating through the realm. "But if you do not release Aisling Hunt to my hospitality - safe and well - you will have harmed another guest, and your protection shall be revoked."

He didn't negotiate. He simply explained. And the unseelie holding her knew it.

"We had always intended to leave her in your care," he whined.

"Do you wish to leave my realm alive?"

The unseelie stuttered, and a cruel sliver of a smirk ghosted over the pale king's face.

"But if you'd rather stay - Well."

The unseelie considered, flexing his grip. He'd come on a mission, and it had gone poorly. The Dream King was not grateful, and now the fae had to decide if it was safer to keep his shield or flee. A moment's thought. And he shoved her forward, hard. She landed hard on her knees, yelping at the impact, and the unseelie moved out of the chamber in a rush of half-hearted apologies.

Murmurs and footsteps faded, a distant argument breaking out like a clap of thunder. She flinched, still on hands and knees, trapped in a spiral of breaths that wouldn't come fast enough and shaking limbs that couldn't fully support her.

The flower was gone. The unseelie were gone. But she wasn't alone. Wasn't safe. And the sticky spiderweb lace plucked on her nerves without keeping her warm, so she shuddered on the hard, stone floor and gasped as she stared down at her strangely pretty hands with their unicorn treatment, and -

She was not.

Not on the floor. Not on her knees.

With Morpheus.

He seized her, caught her up close with fingers that hooked into her shoulders like talons. The world seemed to quake, but maybe that was only the chest beneath her cheek and the arms around her back. She didn’t see him change shape or size, but his presence swelled, thick and biting like ozone as he pulled her so deep into his embrace she couldn’t see his splendid throne, or the retreating unseelie, or anything beyond him.

Was this better? Was this safe? She didn't know, she didn't know, she didn't trust him. Her ribs crowded her lungs, and her breathing fluttered, never drawing a full inhale or exhale, only pulling enough oxygen to keep her lightheaded, broken hearted, and awake.

"Sir?"

He dragged her deeper, long fingers gathering her by the handful to pull inside his shadows. At least, it felt that way. He might not break and bend her like the unseelie, but she had no doubt he could consume her, swallow her up until she blinked in the dark like a little star.

"Sir."

"What is it, Lucienne?" His rough, begrudging question flooded her senses, and her fingers spasmed where they dangled at her sides.

"Sir, she is not well."

She couldn't see the speaker, but they weren't wrong. Aisling felt very unwell. She hurt, and she ached, and she was worried something was irreparably broken, but she couldn't remember its name. She spun in eddies of failing thoughts, struggling to follow the basic conversation.

"I know." Sorrow, frustration, and darkness there.

But the stranger outside Morpheus's embrace remained undaunted, insistent. "Sir, she cannot breathe."

A cool hand cradled the side of her face, summoning her to meet his radiant eyes. A frightening place to be - in his hand, under his gaze - made worse by the fact she didn't know whether or not it was the perfect escape or some fresh hell.

His thumb rolled down the tear tracks, memorizing them by touch, teaching himself the shape of her pain. The face he denied her was very, very near, but she couldn't read it. Couldn't plumb the depths of whatever he tried to express.

"You must breathe."

It didn't sound like an order. He nearly whispered the three words, a private request for her ears alone. A plea. And she wanted to. She wanted to thank him for asking by filling her lungs, relaxing in his arms, and assuring him everything was fine. But she couldn't, and she didn't, and it wasn't. Another tear broke loose from the pools gathered over her lower lashes and rolled over his thumb, washing him in the agony he tried to explore.

"I have you now." He spoke like a song, the cadence pulling around her mind, soft and sweet as a lullaby, and she wondered if he was consciously trying to charm her. Any other time, she'd welcome it, but she couldn't find her courage, or her attraction. All she felt was small. Frightened. Vulnerable and nearly naked in the arms of a creature she didn't trust.

She couldn't decide to calm herself. Panic stopped being a choice several hours back, and as her body woke up, it demanded the reactions the unseelie potion refused it. Her shaking was her answer. She had nothing to give his searching eyes. Words were human and she stood there as a mess of fears and silent prayers tangled in a web of nerves.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to her third eye.

"Let me help you."

Tensing, expecting more magic or power to crush over her mind, she felt him brush her subconscious. He waited there, at the gates, and the part of her that understood him best accepted his hand. Guiding her from the frightful awareness of her own body, her monster sheltered her in a softer darkness, wrapping her in the blurred sensations of a peaceful rest.

Sleep.

She blinked, and slumped, and he gathered her up. As she faded, she saw him: the worlds beyond the face, and the smooth white skin of a being she was on the verge of loving without understanding.

Fuck.

She was still a fool, and his arms seemed like the safest place in all the world.

A very good place to fall.

Asleep.

[fantasci-side-blog]

#Fantasci Tumblr!

(This is me @feline17ff/ @heroes-villains-side-blog, @fantasci-side-blog is my new sideblog)

Results are in!

AND HERE ARE SUGGESTIONS ON HOW TO MAKE THIS COMMUNITY THRIVE! :D

You have been invited to the #fantasci tumblr community on Tumblr!

The new hashtag for creators and consumers of speculative fiction.

This could be anything from pirates in mech suits to fairies trying to survive a zombie apocalypse.

Let your imagination run wild!

If you're more interested in superheroes and supervillains, #heroes and villains and #hero x villain would be more relevant.

Of course, sometimes there can be overlap, so feel free to use a combination of tags.

Next, we need to decide on the exact tags for specific subgenres. This can come out organically over time as more creators and consumers interact, or we can begin to work on some form of standardization if anyone has ideas.

If you'd like to be involved in this community, you're more than welcome!Use the tag to post your content or search for things that interest you! Don't forget to reblog and comment to make creators feel appreciated! 💞

Check out the notes and under the cut for creators who are interested in speculative fiction. They probably have some stuff on their masterlist already!

Reblog, interact, and use the hashtag! 🥰

"Fantasy squad" from that thread @thepenultimateword @writing-on-the-wahl @watercolorfreckles @amethystpath-writes @snowshowerwriting @puddleslimewrites @muses-of-the-mind @surplus-of-sarcasm

People I think would be interested

@tratieisdabest @writey-unicorn for mythological retellings!

@stuck-in-this-mortal-form for Slavic and Celtic folklore inspired stuff!

@just-a-space-rabbit for space rabbit lore and your OC's space adventures!

@callmemeg for my second knight story if I ever think of a plot or characters!

@world-of-fire-and-flight coz you're a fantasy writer!

@raineandsky because you wrote that knight story once!

@inamindfarfaraway for Phantom Knight Afterlife Club, unless it's more heroes and villains idk

@alwaysanovice @nixylubouv @my-lovely-writing @passionate-fruitcake I think you'd be interested :)

@eahravinqueen @the-lavender-creator friendship tag!

@the-likeable-wizard-mack idk you but your blog turned up while I was researching possible tags, and your content seems like it would fit :)

@chaoticgoodthief Dragons?

@faeeclipseruine @faenemy Your usernames haves fae in it?

No pressure ofc! Ttyl!

[ziperacethesentimentpuppet]

FairlyOddParents: New Wish OC

A Fanfiction that I'll never Make including more Art 🎨 of these Lovely Characters.

Here's the Size Different Between a Grown Up Fairy and the Kids all together ❤️

WARNING ⚠️ INFO DUMP!

Know here's the Random Info Dump of Each Character you see here 👀

Species

Fairies - Has inherent their notoriously fast healing & free-spirited and whimsical Personality including the abilities to touch Clouds.

[Left Round Fairy Wing]

Pixies - Has inherent their Square-Shaped Wings & Good with hiding their Emotions by talking in a dry, boring, and monotone voice.

[Right Square Pixie Wing]

Genies - Has Unlimited Wishes with Rule Free Magic & has inherent their Flight Abilities without needing Wings.

[Has No Legs unless she Transforms]

Elves - Got their Round Head & Short Stature while inherent their Knack for Building or Creating Anything including Fixing.

[Smaller than other Kids]

Leprechauns - Inherent their Pointed Ears & Dangerous Strength & their Extremely Protective of their Stuff & Territory including People.

[Sharp Ears]

CONDITION

• Autism - A developmental disorder of variable severity that is characterized by difficulty in social interaction and communication and by restricted or repetitive patterns of thought and behavior.

• Alexithymia - Lack of emotional awareness or, more specifically, difficulty in identifying and describing feelings and in distinguishing feelings from the bodily sensations of emotional arousal.

• Insomnia - People with autism tend to have insomnia: It takes them an average of 11 minutes longer (Or didn't get any sleep at all) than typical people to fall asleep, and many wake up frequently during the night. 

Some people with the condition have sleep apnea, a condition that causes them to stop breathing several times during the night.

Sleep in people with autism may also be less restorative than it is for people in the general population. They spend about 15 percent of their sleeping time in the rapid eye movement.

• Mild Germaphobe - (It depends on the situation and what type of Germs she does not like. For example, a Classmate coughed into their hands instead of in their Arms and she offered hand sanitizer to them but they said no thank you. And now I they don't feel safe and gross out at the same time including being worried.

• Memory Difficulty - Autistic people experience specific difficulties with memory and memory strengths. While memory difficulty is not part of the diagnostic criteria for autism spectrum disorder (ASD), it is a common symptom experienced by many autistic people.

• Birth Defects - Basically structural changes present at birth that can affect almost any part or parts of the Body (Heart, Brain, Foot). They may affect how the Body looks, Works, or Both. Birth defects can vary from Mild to Severe Depending who has it.

• Speech Impairment - Has Fluency Disorder & does Stammer Occasionally.

• Trypophobia - Trypophobia is mainly visual. If you have this phobia, you might feel anxiety, disgust, and discomfort when looking at things. goosebumps, chills, or the sensation of your skin crawling. a strong desire to get away from the image or object.

OCCUPATION

• Merchandise Creator

• Street Vendor

• Mailer

• Influencer (YouTube)

• Owner Of An Entertainment Business & Hygiene Products.

(Video Games/Bored Games/Comics/Manga/Cartoon/Anime/etc. Shampoo, Hand Sanitizer, Conditioner, Lotion, etc.)

POWERS/SKILLS

• Shape Shifting - Can Transform to any Objects or Animals.

• Reality-Bending Magic - Basically Brake Physics & Logic with this type of Magic.

• Teleportation - Basically can Transport anywhere in the World or Universe.

• Accelerated Healing - Their Body heal themselves very Fast but they still can die.

[Good Thing she has Plot Armor.]

• Flight: Can defy gravity and float in the air.

• Space Survivability: Can evidently survive in the vacuum of space without any sort of protective equipment.

• Rainbow 🌈 Magic - Instead of Farting Rainbows like Leprechauns, they use it to make Magic Runes or Marks.

• Extream Luck Magic - Use this Magic to be extremely Lucky or to Protect themselves from Danger & turn bad days into good days.

• Supper Strength & Good Stamina - Extremely Strength & Run or Fly Very Fast.

• Choas Magic - Since their Bloodline is from 5 Magical Being, their Magic is Very Strong, but also it can Easily Kill themselves as well.

[She have to be Very Carful when using Magic.]

• Crafts & Builds - Their really Good at Creating or Fixing Stuff.

• Acting - Their Very Skillful of Acting so their very good at Manipulating & Tricking People, they mostly use this skill for Good & their Shows & Games they are creating.

• Immune to Magic Influence - Yup, Don't have to worry about getting mind controlled or etc.

Weaknesses

• Armadillos: The armor of an armadillo is immune to magic.

• Sensitivity - Blake's body reacts to the environment they are in Including drugs, chemicals, or other substances. For example, a person who is sensitive to the sun may have skin that burns easily or get a rash when exposed to the sun.

• Magical Build-up - Blake will explode & turns into Magic Dust if they don't use there Magic for 3 Months of Time depending on what they do, since Blake use their Magic Offten they don't have to worry plus. If they Explode that Leftover Magic could Knock Magical Being Out or make them Dizzy or a state of Confusion which is not a good idea.

(Since they don't want to get Captured or People Finding Out about their Existence & try to use them. Also the Part that they don't want to go to Magic School since the School System in their Past Life is SMOOF UP!)

Hot 🔥 & Cold 🥶 - Blake gets Extremely Weak & Tried in the Heat while the Cold they are very Active & Strong depending on what they do & the temperature in the environment.

Laziness - Blake is Extremely Lazy & Does not want to Work Hard 😑 so they usually Hire People to do it for her unless it's something she wants to do & Enjoy or Motivated.

HOBBYS

• Reading 📚 Fanfiction or Manga & Comics

• Creating Fanmade Food

• Story Telling & Cosplaying

• Creating or Listening 🎶 to Music 🎵

• Creating Video Games & Acting

• Creating Shows & Movies 🎬

• Creating Educational Shows & Video Games

• Role-playing

• Eating Snacks From Different Countries & Shows that Exist in The Fairly OddParents Universe including Plants.

• Helping Characters to have a Happier Life & Character Development to be a Better Person In The Future.

• Doesn't care what people think of them, she just loves to be themselves, & Hopefully survive from any Toxic Stereotypes.

• Having Multiple Identity & Creating New Invention With Magic.

(Made Sure That their the Only Once, who has access to their Invention including their most Trusted Friends who is their Counterpart.)

GOALS

• To Have Good Security on Everything.

• To Live a Happy & Confortable Life.

• An Extremely Clean & Safe Environment.

• Healthy Body With Good Hygiene.

• Make a Safe Workplace for Staff.

• Destroy Gender Stereotypes.

• Create Badass Female Characters & Feminine Male, characters can relate to while slowly Influenced the new Generation of Kids not not make the same mistakes from the old Generation.

• Secretly Be Extremely Rich while Having All My Money Safe 💰 In a High Quality Bank 🏦

• Make Friends While Creating My Fake PERMANENT RECORD for my Backstory.

• Change The Past & Future for the Better.

• Make Sure any Wish Timmy or other Kids make won't Effect themselves and their Friends at all just to be Safe.

DESCRIPTION

No Magical Being or None-Magical Beings knows about their Existence and only a few select people knows. ✨️ Florian Blake Harper lives in their Fanmade Country that became Reality once she got Reincarnated into their Merge AU Universe they wanted to Live in.

Blake's Home Country is called "GenvesFepre"

It kinda works Similar like "Hogwarts" we're Magical Beings are allowed to know their Existence while Muggles are ignorant.

But in this Reality, Magical Being who are Born in that Country are not allowed 🚫 to tell people outside of their Home Country. Only a Few Select People are allowed to know and can visit this Place 🏡 and Experience their Culture.

It's a Country we're Magical and None-Magical Beings are Living Together in Harmony like Humans, Fairies, Pixies, Genies, Elves, Leprechauns and Surprisingly Anti-Fairly live Among them Perfectly Fine without Causing Trouble and Living their own Lives.

If a Foreigner somehow got Accepted into "GenvesFepre" is literally a Utopia to these people because how Perfect it seems, but the problem is... it is Perfect! Since the System in Place is Flawless. NO WONDER why these people who are Born in GenvesFepre are Perfectly Happy and Content with their Lives.

Of course there's a Few Bad Apples and People who are not Content with their Lives, but Lucky the System deals with these type of People Perfectly Fine, after all "GenvesFepre" made sure the that these People who are Born in their Country are Unaware of their Perfect and Flawless System in Place, to help them Grow and Learn and Find their Purpose in Life.

But it really depends on the Person because the System can't Reform every Bad Apple or Save People who doesn't want to get Saved, since it's there Lives and Actions they Decide to make. And they have to Deal with the Karma Bitting them Back or be Sented to Death.

INVENTORY

Blake made their own Magical Phone 📱 since they don't want to pay any Bills or have anyone tracking them down, please they can change their phone to Camera Mode to take better Pictures 📸 while being able to print 🖨 Stuff Out.

It also Works like a Magic Wand, even though she doesn't need a Wand in the First Place to make Wishes come Ture, but she can use her Phone as a Wand if she wants to.

Sapphire is Lively, Vivacious, Intelligent, and Affectionate. They can make for great service dogs with adequate training and are best suited for mental and intellectual disabilities rather than physical ones.

Blake legit Befriended Star Stial because it's Cool to find another Hybrid other than themselves.

Flake's Help Deal with Yugopotamia Customers since Blake is too Germaphobe to Deal with them.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @melpomene-grey!

OC Deep Dive Tag

I feel like giving Elsind some love :)

Phobias and Other Fears: They don't have any true phobias, but they aren't fond of tight spaces, and the idea of confinement in any respect makes them queasy. She also gets nervous around substances that affect her self-control, like alcohol or drugs.

Pet Peeves: People who dog ear books! Also, when people call him 'changeling' rather than, I don't know, his name?

3 Items You Can Find in Their Bedroom: A diary, lots of lacy nightgowns and frilly pillows, and the fantasy equivalent of fairy lights.

First Thing They Notice in a Person: Their face. Elsind is enchanted by people's faces. She thinks every face, no matter how unsightly, is a work of art, and she revels in even the smallest details. She honestly doesn't understand the concept of physical ugliness because of this.

On a Scale of 1-10, How High is Their Pain Tolerance?: Higher than you might think. Elsind is tough as nails beneath their soft exterior. I'll put her at a solid seven.

Do They Go Into Fight or Flight Mode When Under Pressure?: I'd say flight, or maybe fawn.

Do They Come From a Big Family/are They a Family Person?: Elsind's family is pretty much just her mom. Her dad was never in the picture and she has no siblings. She hasn't seen her mom since being kidnapped by Marquis Sunflight, but she misses her a lot and hopes to find her way back someday.

What Animal Represents Them Best?: Definitely a cuttlefish, both because of the changeling vibe and because of how adorable cuttlefish are.

What is a Smell That They Dislike?: Alcohol. It brings back unfortunate memories.

Have They Broken Any Bones?: He has ✨️no bones✨️

How Would a Stranger Likely Describe Them?: It depends on what face they're wearing. If they're in their true form though, probably something along the lines of "OH GODS WHAT IS THAT THING!"

Are They a Night Owl or Morning Bird?: I'm gonna go with night owl. She likes to stay up late reading.

What is a Flavor They Hate and a Flavor They Love?: Elsind loves a good cup of spiced tea, the sort that warms you up on the inside. She hates the taste of snow root. It's the staple crop of Skysheer and it tastes like water that touched a potato once.

Do They Have Any Hobbies?: Elsind loves to read. They prefer romance, but will venture out into sci-fi and mysteries on occasion. The more sordid, the better. They would absolutely adore soap operas if those existed on Illaros.

Boom, Surprise Birthday Party! How Do They React to Surprises?: Tears of joy. She'd be startled, but the idea of someone caring enough to celebrate her birthday would make her so happy.

Do They Like to Wear Jewelry?: Yes, he just can't afford much.

Do They Have Neat or Messy Handwriting?: Very messy and very swirly.

What Are the Two Emotions They Feel the Most?: Nauseating levels of anxiety and love transformed into conviction.

Do They Have a Favourite Fabric?: Probably something soft, like cashmere.

What Kind of Accent Do They Have?: I hear her as vaguely Midwestern in my head, but I'm sorry to say, the French accent is closer to canon.

I'll tag @katenewmanwrites @melodicwriter @daily-haley @writingamongther0ses and anyone else who wants in :)

[calissarowan]

So, since @lonelybiscuits has started writing their super awesome one-shots using my Gantlos half-vampire headcanon, I’ve been getting far more into it, and thinking over the lore a bit. I did a post about it a long time ago, but some stuff is being tweaked, especially due to the fact I’m not as squeamish over the idea of Gantlos hunting anymore. So, I might do a post with some more lore surrounding his family, if anyone would like to see that. (I used to have an oc that was his sister, but she doesn’t really come up in anything, so she may have fallen by the wayside. If anyone actually remembers her, let me know.)

Anyway, today I wanted to talk about his vampire/wizard physiology a little, namely him switching between his two sides.

So, most of the time, Gantlos looks…I’m gonna say human? He doesn’t look supremely normal, but neither do Ogron or Duman, so…human. We’re going with human. (We don’t really have a species label for Duman, but I don’t think he needs one. Also, Anagan does look human. I’m so with @spilledmilkfkdies when they say he’s ‘just some guy, in the nicest way possible’.)

Gantlos could be human or vampire, depending on what he chooses, but people tend to take ‘human’ way better than ‘blood-drinking immortal monster’, so he’s human most of the time, even if he’d be much stronger in battle as a vampire. Though he’d also be far more vulnerable to sunlight, so that’s not good when you’re fighting the Fairy of the Shining Sun. Plus, if someone got hurt and started bleeding, he’d have a hard time keeping himself under control, and if he couldn’t force himself back into human form, he might just have to run so he didn’t try and kill anyone.

But there are some times when Gantlos can’t stay human. The first, as I showed in my one-shot, is during a blood moon. This is pretty much the same as werewolves during a full moon, except the changes are more gradual, and Gantlos is fully aware of everything happening to him. He can try and stay human, and there are ways he can, but they all involve pretty dangerous levels of sunlight which, while it can keep him in human form, also burns him and makes him weak and sick, so his friends put a firm stop to that a while ago.

The second is rooted in actual biology. So, during the fight-or-flight response, adrenaline is released, and this causes changes such as a raised heartbeat, increased blood sugar, and higher blood pressure. The point of all these changes is to optimise the body for fighting or running away. Now, Gantlos is evidently more equipped for both of those things with vampire speed, strength and agility, and so, when he experiences high levels of adrenaline, his vampire side starts to come out. Sharper fangs, longer claws, etcetera. This is why, in the series, sometimes he has fangs and claws, and sometimes he doesn’t. He’s got a lot of adrenaline, and he can only keep so much control. Also, if Gantlos were to experience a panic or anxiety attack, since his body would be responding as though in actual danger, and adrenaline may be released, the effects would be similar. Also, I imagine if Gantlos had a panic attack, he’d wind up unleashing seismic waves out of panic, so that would be doubly bad.

I hope you thought this was interesting! I’m pretty happy with the link to adrenaline I came up with, since that feels like it actually makes quite a bit of sense. If anyone has any questions about this headcanon, please do ask! I love answering them!

[secretscb]

Happy Birthday

Hyungwon: Happy birthday to me I guess. It’s been a long flight back home. Maybe a quiet dinner would be ok

<< @lucky-charmsanhwa @screamcb @vixen-demonscb @xash-guardians @theonesxcb @heistkingscb @livealittleoc-cb @vanilladaises-rp @project-takeover @supernaturalcb @evicted-oc @welcome-to-maniac @yanderemuses @k-venturetime @divineblood-cb @silcntxnight @domrachaa @welcometosector1 (💜) @dazzlingstarshelter-cb @neonvandalsxcb @shin-haneul @fallenangels-cb @lavienrosecabaretxo @oc-honeys @violettaamore @neverland-fairies @dark-royals-cb @urluvlyfe @teyvatcb @bpkhybrids-shelter @raiden-oc @monsterhigh-cb @lostwoods-cb @fntsybot @mythicsx >>

[w0nd3rplay]

WONDERPLAY'S MORTAL KOMBAT

SHANG TSUNG

YOOMI IN THE NEW ERA

@theelderhazelnut @laismoura-art @scentedcandleibex since y'all wanna see my gal the most today's their bday (may 21) btw, I wasn't satisfied with what I have now since I got a better understanding of the mk1's lore and I have better ideas...here something to refresh anyone's memory or who the hell is this oc

Yoomi being a sorta reincarnation of Shang Tsung is now exclusively to this version Yoomi and his applies the same to the 'Mariposa' codename

She has a huge butterfly motif as an allusion to Shang Tsung's snake motif (since both snakes and butterflies symbolize transformation)

This version of Yoomi did still burn the village down like it was in the og version but is seen as a mysterious figure amongst other characters (in the og version, Yoomi has her past disclosed by her adoptive mother and grandmother)

She got taken in by a different witch coven rather than Vividalux instead, that witch coven was created for the sole purpose of balancing out both the Shirai Ryu AND the Lin Kuei, this witch coven is somewhat akin to organizations such as the men in black, odd squad, scp except it's for magical creatures rather than alien-like beings

Despite being someone else now, Liu Kang and Kitana trust her less out of fear that she might turn out like her predecessor.

Is an adult (19-20 years old) during this version of mk1's storyline

WAYS TO DIFFERENTIATE THIS YOOMI

Wears lots of soft pastels, simpler yet frilly clothing and gives out this magical girl-esque vibe in terms of style

She has a spell which causes to fuck up everyone's senses and cause mass sensory overload towards any surrounding individuals

She can spawn her own functioning fairy wings via magic as a form flight

Her own set of dolls are based on predator animals and are very hostile towards those who are posing as threats towards their master and her allies

She doesn't have the ability to travel other worlds, only see their glimpses in the form of dreams

She still dated Satoshi but doesn't have the whole 'your soulmate will have your scars on their body' ordeal (the latter is applied to the og version too)

One of the more chill and less reckless Yoomi variants but is a huge whole ass supervillain-like menace if they pissed her off enough, she's a very petty girl

Use more visual-based art magic and mostly use illusions as another allusion to Shang Tsung

Owns a butterfly themed battle axe

That's all for the birthday special, I'll need to work on Zhenbing and Kidd Thunder, tweaking some of Satoshi's parts and maybe introduce the new era along with it's own set of Kombat Kids...

[magiicxs]

😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool?

details about ocs!

Eliyra I think would be a mix of both? She tries to keep a cool head while in the dungeon, keeping her traveling companions healed up, healthy and happy, but also she's never been so deep into a dungeon before, so there are times where she would definetly freak out a bit. The fourth floor freaks her out the most.

[atlasthegreatest]

- Atlas Masterlist - [Requests are open]

▪️Male reader

▫️Female reader

🔲 Gender neutral

🔳 Male/ Female Oc

Avatar: The Legend Of Korra:

Asami Sato:

🔳 - War of Hearts- I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, XI, X , XI

Avatar Korra

Lin Beifong

Iron II

Suyin Beifong

Mako

Bolin

Opal

Senna

Kya

Kuvira

Percy Jackson:

Annabeth Chase

Percy Jackson

Jason Grace

Thalia Grace

Piper McLean

Leo Vasquez

Hazel Levesque

Nico DiAngelo

Sally Jackson

Silena Beauregard

Drew Tanaka

Harry Potter :

Hermione Granger

Harry Potter

Narcissa Black

Lily Evans

Bellatrix Black

Narcissa Black

Ginny Weasley

Fleur Delacour

Penny Haywood :

- Baby Problems

James Potter

Cassandra Vole:

▪️- Unexpected Surprises

▪️- Tme Wrap: Bizarrely Adventures!

Sirius Black

Scream:

Sidney Prescott :

- ▪️ Flight or Figth

Tara Carpenter

Gale Weathers

Sam Carpenter

Fairy Tail:

Erza Scarlet

Natsu Dragneel

Grey Fullbuster

Lucy Heartfilia :

🔲 - Friends…? Friends.

Mirajane Strauss

Laxus Dreyar

Juvia Lockser

Irene Belserion

Attack On Titan:

Mikasa Ackerman:

-▫️ Fake It ‘Till You Break It - I

Eren Yeager

Historia Reiss

Annie Leonheart

Pieck Finger

Jean Kriestean

Sasha Broast

Hange Zoe

Marvel Universe:

Natasha Romanoff

Laura Kinney

Jean Grey

Emma Frost

Wanda Maximoff

Maria Hill

Cindy Moon:

▪️ The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant

Gwen Stacy

Felicia Hardy

DC Universe:

Cassandra Cain:

▪️The Bat, The Spider, and The Mutant

▪️The Super’s Bats

🔲- Silent Glances and Secret Smiles

🔲- Shadows of the Past — Birds of a Feather pt.2

Helena Bertinelli

Barbara Gordon

Dick Grayson

Poison Ivy

Kara Zor-El

Wonder Woman

Cassandra Sandsmark

The Vampire Diaries/ The Originals:

Caroline Forbes

Katherine Pierce

Rebekah Mikaelson

Hayley Marshal

Bonnie Bennett

Hope Mikaelson

Davina Clare

Freya Mikaelson

The Witcher:

Cirilla of Cintra

Geralt of Rivia

Yennefer of Vengerberg

Acotar:

Feyre Archeron

Nesta Archeron

Morrigan

Elain Archeron

Throne of Glass:

Aelin Galathynius :

- 🔳 In Each Others Arms

Rowan Whitethorne

Manon Blackbeack

Elide Lorchan

Others:

Navier Trovi :

- 🔳 Honor me of this dance

Penelope Eckart

Samantha Wilkins/ Atom Eve

Mark Grayson /Invincible

Fate: The Winx Saga

Choi Namra

Daphne Blake

Iori Utahime

Laura Croft

Haley Carter (Stadew Valley):

🔲- Daylight