#maybe ill do her awakened form sometime too

[ligninn]

"This is called the "Rippling Sword". "Rippling Ophelia"… Great name, don't you think? But it's not too well known yet. Because most of the people who've seen it are dead."

For better quality, you can check here

The frame is on amazon btw :)

[weebsinstash]

HOLY SHIT MERRY CHRISTMAS HAPPY HOLIDAYS AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REPLYING TO MY GIGANTIC ASK!!!! I screamed when I saw it and it's just such a delight reading anything you write, from your additions to my idea to your own original concept 🥺. Like!!!! Ily and your concept was bomb!! Amazing!!!!!!!!!! YOU'RE SUCH A BLESSING AND IF YOU WANNA RAMBLE MORE ABOUT IT. Just know I'm here and Imma read the entire thing.

I mean since I am in Creative Mode right now fjfjfkckf I kind of shared most of the details from that one original idea I had besides maybe like specific scenarios? Or i guess I just wound up writing just this one and it got really long

Ok so. Imagine a scenario where Reader is married off to the Emperor. She's only a concubine because she is not high ranking enough to be Empress, like unfortunately in these sorts of stories and political systems the Empress is typically like a political marriage of extremely high value, so you're kind of The Official Side Bitch while other women are being considered for Empress which, insanely burns you because regardless of whether Reader loves the Emperor or she doesn't and this is a prison, now she's basically his accessory and not even like the main/only wife?

Separate idea for a second but sometimes I imagine awakening as Saintess is the thing that lowkey fucks Reader over and makes her of high enough status to be Empress and it can also be easily spun into propoganda how the war hero Emperor and the Saintess fell in love before either of them rose to their stations and how oh, it must be preordained by the heavens

But anyways for this scenario, imagine they've been married and Reader is feeling extremely unhappy and neglected to the point she's being socially withdrawn and isn't particularly speaking to anyone or doing anything. Perhaps the Emperor has had certain behaviors that have upset her, like punishing servants too harshly for menial things such as not attending to her with absolute perfection, she hates hearing that he is getting other concubines, daughters and princesses of foreign nations as symbolic political alliances, perhaps the Emperor, because of decorum, was forced to admonish or even punish her in some way for something she did such as speaking out against another harem woman who was being disrespectful and causing some sort of argument or even fight. Reader gets emotional and winds up slapping a noble woman and the Emperor puts her on house arrest as punishment, but it's mostly as a form of protection since some of these women are deliberately trying to rile you up and start shit as an excuse to try and bring you down or retaliate because they disliked you before you even gave them any reason to, but Reader then feels isolated and hates how he didn't try and defend her, that her losing her temper was worse than whatever the woman had said.

It doesn't feel good to put your love and trust into someone and have them choose someone else's side. It's like taking whatever small sense of security and self worth you had and chipping away at it.

So in all of her feelings of betrayal and isolation, Reader starts keeping most things to herself. She doesn't go out even after the Emperor lifts the punishment. She refuses invites sent by courier from any of the other women. She instructs her servants to close the gates of her palace and not to let anyone enter without her explicit permission. And of course, she tells no one as she slowly begins to fall ill, gradually getting sicker and sicker, forbidding any of the servants from saying a single thing. It becomes severe enough thst she's eventually spending most of her days in bed, feeling too week to do much of anything

Finally one of the loyal servants cracks. They can't conceal this at the risk of your health even if you have asked them to. This might have already gone on for too long. You seem to almost be deteriorating. By the time a servant personally informs the Emperor of your state and he's rushed to check on you, you're completely unconscious, feverish, you've lost weight since he's seen you last. The royal doctors are summoned immediately, but the prognosis isn't good. You're extremely weak and they aren't exactly sure why which is concerning for multiple reasons. They have no concrete evidence what disease it is that is making you so incredibly fragile. It's like your body lacks the energy to move, speak, even wake up entirely.

A doctor makes the mistake of telling the Emperor that, surely if this illness had been caught in its infancy, your condition wouldn't be so severe. They are unsure if they can cure you. They can't even promise that you are going to live.

When your eyes finally open again you've been unconscious for several days and not a single person around you is familiar. Your entire palace staff have been changed. Where are all your maids and guards who you've come to know over these years, people you've worked with, all but grown up with? The new staff will not answer you, simply brushing you off, that such matters are not important to waste energy worrying in when you are in such weak health

You have a bad feeling. You have such a horrible fucking feeling that something is wrong that it's making your skin crawl. It takes everything you have to get your body to move out of bed, your heart hammering with anxiety, fear and desperation sinking in like a poison. You try to leave your bedroom and there are guards posted outside who all but order you to go lie back down. But you refuse, and even, you tell them to their faces that if they DARE touch you that His Majesty The Emperor would surely kill them

Something about the look in those men's eyes seemed all too afraid to you. The bad gut-feelings intensify. You're all but stumbling out of your palace with a small team of unrecognizable people trailing after you. You're not even sure where you're going but something is WRONG, you can FEEL IT, and to add to your irritation are all of these buzzing flies. When did so many pests make it into the palace? They keep growing and growing in numbers in an intensity you've never seen even in the hottest summer months, it's vile, it's disgusting, it's

it's... because your entire former staff are all hanging in the central courtyard, strung up by their necks, hung dead as insect scavengers feast on their decaying bodies for everyone to see. A punishment left out in the open as a warning to the others of their treasonous crimes.

You just start wailing hysterically. Those were your friends. That was like your family. In this scenario the thing that was causing Reader to fall ill was the mana accumulating in her body without any sort of outlet, until now, when she awakens as Saintess, and just begins to sob. You're sitting there just wailing and sobbing and screaming like you've never screamed before and rain is pouring down everywhere like a sudden squall, practically hurricane force winds as there seems to be almost a halo of dry sky around you and the hideously disrespected bodies of your subordinates. You're weeping, and the sky weeps with you.

And I imagine this is the final straw that makes Reader go "I swear to fucking god I am getting a divorce from this man or kill one of us trying" and im her position as Saintess she has incredible negotiating power to do so because, oh, the Emperor is holding the Saintess hostage in am unwanted marriage and is refusing to let her make any pilgrimages to help the people? How is she supposed to heal the sick and bring rain to the regions affected by drought then? What would the commoners think? What would the other nobles think? The Saintess is supposed to be a hero of the land, and the Emperor has a heart filled with greed that desires to keep her to himself? There would be enormous outrage and push back. The High Church would be more likely to incite a rebellion before they allowed the literal savior and figurehead of their church who has been missing for over a century to be held hostage

The Emperor is just holding court with tons of his ministers and maybe even some priests connected with the church are there when Readsr just barges in with a piece of paper where she's spent the last week combing through the royal library and researching old texts and laws and found several established precedents that entitle her to divorce, such as an old law that since the happiness and mental health of the Saintess are extremely critical to her role and ability to do her job that should something be causing her significant distress that it must be handled or left up to her discretion. Well she hates this busted ass one sided marriage with a stone wall of a man she spent years worrying about and wasting her energy on and she snarkily smirkingly tells him to his face that it's over, he can't do anything

Reader who before falling in had barely made any eye contact with the Emperor let alone smile is now viciously taunting him to his face that she can divorce him and he can't do anything, she can even leave the palace so she chooses to, he can't do anything to stop her, she finally has the personal freedom she's wanted her entire life. No one can tell her how to act anymore, how to speak anymore, she's just laughing and twirling and dancing to mock him and mock everyone who has tried to contain her and the Emperor has never loved you more than seeing how happy and free you look in this moment so OF COURSE he's like NO 🥺 B BUT WE'RE MAN AND WIFE 🥺 I KNOW I WASNT THE MOST FORTHCOMING BUT YOU CANT DIVORCE ME and I imagine he even tries to find laws that overturn the legal precedent, maybe even tries, outright disobey the laws entirely and says "fuck that I'm the current Emperor, new law, that one law is bullshit and we don't have to follow it"

I do like the thought of Saintess Reader getting to flaunt her girlboss power and be free of him for a while and get to do her own thing and maybe travel the country doing her Saintess duties while he gets like max mental illness level obsessive and desperate to the point he's literally dragging her back even if she's kicking and screaming. Who knows maybe she can even get some new dick while she's out of the house, as a treat

[moss-bride]

Wolf im schafspelz

Strade x fem reader. |chapt:1

Her back hurts and the lights are clinically bright. She sits up, her head dizzy as she takes a bleary blink at her surroundings. "Where….?"

An unfamiliar room bare of decorations. Stairs to her left lead up to a door. It looks like a garage, or maybe a basement. All the same, she doesn't recognize it.

She tenses, darting her eyes to the state of her body and the chain. A real metal chain. Not the styrofoam Halloween decoration they sell in pop up stores. It's heavy when she attempts to raise her limbs. The gears in her head are slow to turn, Numbly asking no one. "Why?" The situation is confusing to her freshly awakened. 

The side of her temple hurts and something sticky clumps the area. With her wrist tied she can't check but she doesn't need to, instinctively knowing that it is blood. Dried and cracking.

"I'm scared." she whispers helplessly into the air. Not for anyone. Just a statement. She repeats it several times, humming it like a song to gain some semblance of what the hell is happening. Is this a nightmare? Oftentimes in sleep she's stuck in an endless cycle of fake wakings and now she prays that's the case.

Beginning to rock herself in a pathetic attempt to focus her senses as panic sets in. This bear room with tools and shelves smells of storage and metal.

"It's alright Mauser."  this voice comes suddenly in the room, with its deep like and foreign tinge. Ever teasing as she blinks up, terrified. Her trembling lips form his name. "Mr Strade?"

His brown hair is still messy and he appears climbing down the stairs just as jolly as ever.

He is all teeth in his smile. Her neighbor that cooked them burgers on his grill once in a summer past is the one holding her in this basement. "Please, just Strade."

She thinks of all their interactions up to this point for something she might have done to deserve this. An indication that she'd been rude or annoying. Coming up with nothing. "I didn't do anything wrong." she says stupidly. 

He tilts his head and trudges closer. "Do you think I'm here to punish you?" he's acting like he's talking to a particularly slow individual. 

'Yes". Because why else would a person kidnap another except to punish? She says her graces and respects others. In her naive version of the world: people hurt others who have hurt them.

What grudge does he have against her?

He laughs at her admission. "It's never too late to learn." he tells her "Sometimes the world is cruel and senseless. I'm not here to punish you."

"Is it money? I don't have any-" She barely manages her parents' rent.

He assured her. "Money isn't an issue."

He waves that away and looks half amused, half offended. "I'm doing this because I like you and I want to get to know you better."

Normal people would take someone they like on a date or ask them to dinner. Not kidnap them and tie them to a wall in an unfamiliar place. In her girlish fantasy she had yearned for these same words from her foreign neighbor. Had struggled with gathering the courage to ask him out on a date. 

A walk in the park and the sound of his giddy laughter. Whatever she thought about her neighbor is wrong. She had put their curt interactions on a pedestal, ignoring any ill intent.

Tears resurface to blur his smiling face. She blinks rapidly. "Let me go please." 

"Can't do that." he's chuckling at her silly request. He suddenly claps. his hands together. It startled her. "Before we begin. Do you want something to eat or drink?"

Her stomach clenches. She only remembers the breakfast her mother made that morning before work. Pancakes with milk, a distant memory far from here. "Eat."

Strade produces a wrapped bar of oats. She opens her mouth for him to shove it in and the harsh movement scrapes her throat. Almost making her choke. 

Still not comprehending that this isn't a nightmare she'll wake up from eventually. She chews the protein bar and swallows the mass of fiber, it goes down gradually. Not appetizing but she's trained by her upbringing to automatically say a courtesy- "Thank you."  she cringes after. 

Strade hums a note and tosses the wrapper. "So polite. Now ," He produces a big knife seemingly out of nowhere. As soon as she sees it she jerks back into the wall, uttering a sharp cry. The bindings scratched skin off her wrist and ankles as she scrambles.

Freely weeping into her lap. Her hair sticks in wet schlop to her face and neck

He ate this reaction up with hungry eyes. "You poor little deer, you are shaking."

He draws closer so she can smell the heady musk of him. Pungent sweat, metal, oil, male scent that's indescribable and terrifying. Unwashed skin.

She's still and waiting for the knife to strike down onto her chest, instead, he does something more horrifying. Strade slides the knife, tearing her clothes off. Uncaring of how the blade bites into her skin leaving ruby gashes.

Hot blood, heated skin, meeting cold basement air. The tattered clothes are thrown to join the bar wrapper.

Strade cups her cheek and pats her head again. Good girl. "You were so sweet and kind, I wanted to get to know you better."

Free of her clothes and freezing on the floor. He scans her body. Not missing a single nook or cranny. She clenches her thighs together to obscure his view of her privates and wishes she could fold her arm over her hanging breasts.

If he will maim her body, her spirit can take it, but if he wants to do that she'd rather die. Thankfully he is focused on the bleeding stripes of red. She hopes this won't be enough to kill her. They are deep. 

His large hand squeezes up her leg then goes above her calf. She tenses. The dig of metal invades her leg. Mind going blank and seeing nothing but flashes of color before stopping at a blinding red mist with a loud sound of a pure single note laced in pain. Strade enjoys this and only goes further up until the large gash stretches to her hip.

He takes a deep breath of the metallic air then suddenly jams his knife in again, slicing a chunk of her thigh. Past the second layer of protection fat and into meat, where nerves come alive and fire all at once. 

She shrieks. Spasming. His labored breathing were the only sounds beside her screams.

Cheeks flushing with red to his neck and disappearing into his collar, brows furrowed in fascination as he's huffing like an overworked dog. "Those big eyes were begging for it."

She wants to chant why why why. It rings in her head as clear as a church bell that she's never going to see her family again. Won't be making it out of this basement alive

Strade calms himself down. Fidgeting the knife in his grip. his breathing slows and she is sitting in a pool of blood gushing out of her body. "Would you like me to sew it?"

I want you to go away! 

She doesn't want this unstable man near her. The puddle is quickly cooling and she thinks he nicked an artery. 

After collecting her thoughts, nods. "Please."

The blinding sting of the needle as it hooks into her flesh almost makes her vomit to the side, snapping her head to the left is a trial hope to decrease the nausea he only chuckles again, the pain is rhythmic, hole after hole he pulls sharp at her skin, pinching the tear together. He adds more stitches than necessary and ducks his head down to her thigh, his warm breath puffing against her prickled aching flesh and cuts the thread with his teeth. She gazes at the top of his head, chestnut brown

Strade stands. "Oh, can't forget!" he pours on the alcohol to make her sing one last time for the day.

Her eyes renew their watery state. Her muscles flinch and burn on the freezing floor

Her neighbor turned captor is all too fond of her actions. "You're going to be here for some time. We're going to have fun. "

He shuts the door and she's left in the dark. 

[fanmoose12]

Levi ignored the formal greetings and salutes of the soldiers he passed as he made his way through the barracks. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only. He had to get to the infirmary.

Apparently, Hange had decided to start her experiments bright and early that day. So early that the sun had barely begun to rise. Not long after, a titan's arm broke free from its restraints and swung at Hange while her back was facing away. With no time to react, the full force of the attack had her instantly flying through the air and only stopping when her body met a wall. Levi didn't comprehend much of the details after that. He simply threw on his uniform as is, not bothering a second glance in the mirror.

He bit back a chill as he entered the courtyard, not knowing whether it was from the sudden cold winter air or from his own nerves. It was only then that he realized he had left without throwing on a coat.

When he entered the infirmary, he immediately noticed a small group of people huddled together. Hange's squad, Mike, Nanaba, and Erwin along with a nurse Levi didn't recognize. They all spoke in hushed whispers and, as if on cue, all turned to look at him. His pace suddenly slowed, an uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach at their ominous gazes. He hesitated to approach.

After a moment, Erwin resumed speaking to the nurse and exchanged a few more words before she finally walked away. Erwin then dismissed the rest of the group as they shuffled away, avoiding eye contact as they passed Levi.

Levi swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and approached Erwin. "How's Hange?" He asked, hoping the tremor in his voice wasn't obvious.

"Levi," Erwin began, his voice stern and his jaw tight. "How long have you known about Hange's condition?"

"Just this morning." He answered.

Erwin's brow furrowed and Levi could see the wrinkles in his face. "I will ask again. How long have you known about Hange's condition?"

The question was puzzling. What kind of answer was Erwin looking for? Levi felt like a child being chastised. He was coming in blind to this whole situation, only knowing the information that Moblit had told him earlier.

"Moblit came by my room about twenty minutes ago and told me about the accident. I came as fast as I could."

Erwin's eyes stared intently at Levi, as if he was trying to look through him instead of at him. It was then that Levi noticed the small beads of sweat lining his forehead.

Levi's heart rate quickened. Something wasn't right. "Erwin, what the hell is going on?"

What was Erwin trying to get out of him? What did he know that Levi didn't? Was Hange sick? Surely he would've noticed, right? Then again, they hadn't seen much of each other recently. Hange had been busy testing a new theory involving the evaporation of titan blood and Levi had been assigned to oversee the development of the new training grounds.

She and Levi had grown close. Immensely close. Too close for Levi's comfort sometimes. They had become a bonded pair in all forms; emotionally, physically, and mentally. They knew each other's strengths and short-comings, their pet peeves and bad habits, their fears and hopes, the way each other tasted and smelled, how their bodies felt intertwined, the rhythm of each other's heartbeats. Hange had become the one thing Levi never wanted; someone to lose.

As if Erwin could sense his inner turmoil, his shoulders dropped and his eyes relaxed. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Nobody's told me a damn thing."

Erwin released a tired sigh. "Hange is alive but she suffered a concussion. The nurse wants to keep her here for a few days to monitor her once she wakes up."

"How long has she been unconscious?"

"I'm not sure but this could have been much worse. In more ways than you realize."

Levi could feel his frustration reaching its peak. "Why not just come out and tell me whatever the hell it is you're hiding?"

Erwin just shook his head. "It's not for me to tell. We'll continue this at a later time. You may see her if you'd like."

Levi decided not to further the discussion and made his way towards the room. Once his hand had reached the doorknob, he heard Erwin's voice behind him. "Levi, once you're finished, meet me in my office. We have much to discuss."

Levi's hand tightened around the doorknob. He didn't like being left in the dark but he was humanity's strongest, surely he could handle whatever news Erwin was refusing to disclose.

He shook the thought from his mind, wanting to be solely focused on Hange. He readied himself for the sight and pushed open the door.

Hange appeared natural as she slept in the hospital bed before him. Her expression was peaceful with the usual stress lines in her face relaxed. Her glasses rested on a table next to the bed with her uniform and winter coat thrown over a wooden chair. She had been changed into a hospital gown with a white bandage wrapped around her head.

"That was an extreme stunt to pull just to get some sleep don't you think, four eyes?" Levi mused.

He examined the bandage and noticed a minimal amount of blood from a scrape on the side of her head. He wasn't sure what the worry was about. Concussions were a normal injury for most soldiers, especially new recruits who were practicing with their ODM gear.

Still, Erwin had mentioned her "condition" which meant there was something Levi was missing, something he wasn't seeing.

"Sorry about this, Hange." He said as he grabbed the blanket on top of her and tossed it to the side.

Before the blanket had even touched the ground, Levi had stumbled away from Hange's bedside until his back was forced against the wall. His heart beat hard against his chest, he struggled to catch his breath and felt as if he was suffocating, his knees trembled beneath him, and his mind could not comprehend the sight before him.

Levi looked around the room as if an explanation would appear before him. He couldn't bring himself to look at her again. He was almost thankful that she was asleep.

The sight of her winter coat suddenly drew his attention. Like most things, Hange was too engrossed in her research and often careless when it came to her own health. Levi would often find her outside in the snow, watching over her precious titans, wearing nothing more than her usual brown jacket. She never bundled herself properly and always claimed she felt fine despite the obvious signs of her red nose, chapped lips, chattering teeth, and shivering body. And as expected, Levi would be the one to have to care for her when she fell ill.

Although, come to think of it, this was the first year that Hange had actually been adamant about wearing her coat. Each time Levi saw her, she had it buttoned around her, refusing to take it off even when indoors. And if he thought about it further, he realized that it always looked a size too big for her.

The realization suddenly came crashing on him as all the pieces fell into place. The air felt as if it had been knocked out of him and his head was spinning. If it weren't for the wall supporting him, he's sure he would have collapsed.

It didn't feel real. It couldn't be real.

It was stupid, he knew, the evidence was right in front of him but he just had to confirm it for himself. He looked towards her still sleeping face and then very slowly trailed his eyes down her body until he was staring at a small bump on her torso.

He steadied his knees and pushed himself away from the wall. It felt like an eternity before he was finally able to move his legs and reach her bed side. With a shaky hand and a deep ragged breath, he outstretched his arm until it rested gently on her swollen abdomen. He ignored the water stinging the corner of his eyes and forcefully blinked the sensation away.

It was as if his mind was not his own as he began to slowly stroke small circles on top of her belly. As he was getting used to the feeling, he felt a sudden pressure hit against his head. He immediately froze his movements and waited. A few seconds passed and there it was again, a small push to his hand.

He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and could feel his lips curve into a smile. He was feeling a kick. The being inside of Hange was making it self known to him.

He became overwhelmed with an abundance of conflicting emotions bombarding him all at once. He had so many thoughts, questions, ideas, fears. At that moment all he could do was reach for her hand and relish in the comfort of her warmth beneath his palm. He needed her here with him.

And then a new realization chilled him to his core.

She would eventually awaken...wouldn't she?

"Hange." He whispered desperately. "Please, wake up."

omg, you got me so worried!! i thought hange lost the baby, but whew! i'm so glad the baby is alright! and your writing is top notch! if you ever think of posting it and maybe adding a second part...... hmu?

[peakyxtommy]

Better Days - Thomas Shelby x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Dark/Hurt/Comfort/Sad Fic/Slight Fluff 

WC: 3.1K 

Summary: Reader is having a bad time & Tommy comforts her 

Gif Credit: @bonniebirddoesgifs

It was another morning of waking up with the weight of the world on your chest. The heavy feeling of dread, as if you were walking around with a cement block in the middle of your heart. A day where rolling around to the other side of the bed and pulling the covers over your head seemed better than leaving to the outside world. Staying under the covers had the illusion to block out the light, to block out the pain you felt deep within you. A sadness that seemed to linger, never leaving your side. A continuous cycle, that seemed to never end. Always ready to swallow you whole, but never knowing when it would come. A monster in the closet, always lurking, searching for ways to collide right into you at the worst times possible.

When your feet collide on the cold wooden floor to carry yourself to the bathroom, to start with the routine of your morning, you already knew what kind of day it was going to be. Of mentally checking off the list of tasks to get you from one step to another. You try not to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, afraid to look into your eyes. Eyes that held so much pain and sorrow, eyes that have seen enough heartache. Eyes that have seen joy and happiness, wondering how you could feel the bittersweetness of both sides. 

Once dressed and partially fed for the day you continue on through the notions of the day. Repeating the words back to yourself, to feel a sense of quiet, that you were actually going to make it through the day. The long hours of repetitive activity and small conversation with those that you encounter through the day. Masking who you are, pretending that things are okay as they seem. Feeling more energy suck out of you as the hours float on by. Your mind becomes bogged down like a boat in a storm on a foggy night in need of a lighthouse to guide it back safe to shore. 

Minding counting down the hours until you could return home and hide. Hide from the world, your problems, and from the one you loved deeply. Shamed and guilt ridden to share the thoughts that held your mind captive on a loop, like a personal tape, running endlessly inside you. The tape that recounted every wrong, every lie, every misstep you have taken. 

As soon as you stepped through the door and had your final conversation of the day thus far with Mary, it felt like a small win. You go and find comfort in the darkness and the burrow of blankets on your bed, surrounded by the warmth and love you so desperately craved, wanted to feel. Hoping the pieces would form back together again. 

-

“Mary, have you seen (Y/N)?” Tommy asks as he comes through the door, placing his coat on the rack. You were usually out in the open when he came in early reading on the couch or in your craft room. 

“She’s upstairs, lying down Sir.” The woman speaks with a soft tone. 

“Is she feeling ill?” He questions with raised brows as it was still early in the evening.

“I think so Sir, she hasn’t eaten much these past few days. I went up a while ago to check on her but she’s sleeping, she’s been out for a while.” 

“Thank you Mary, I’ll handle it from here.” He speaks ushering the maid off and heading toward the stairs. He was cursing himself internally for not noticing your emotional state sooner. That’s how he found you, when he creaks open the door. Your frame huddled under the covers, facing toward his side of the bed, with the small lamp by the bedside on. 

 He reaches the side of your bed, he sees the remnant of wet tears on your face. He takes a seat on the bed, hand reaching out to gently rub your arm to awake you from your slumber. 

“Love, I’m home. Time to get up.” He whispers as you awaken to his voice and comforting touch.

“‘Hi Tommy.” You whisper back with a small smile. A smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. 

“How was your day?” He says in a low tone, noticing the way your eyes close for a moment and the pout that appears on your face.

“Not good.” Is the only response that leaves your still pouting lips. It hurts and silently frustrates him that you two are the same in this regard but you are still the better of the two when it comes to others. Internally when you are struggling you're just as bad as him but in the opposite of taking it out on yourself and your body instead of the booze and smokes. He had gotten better than the first few months of your relationship of knowing when you were getting sad and things weren’t going good. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?” He asks in a gentle manner not wanting to badger you but would if you didn’t speak the truth before you went to bed. He knew you always needed space when you were upset and then would let him in. The blue eyes that look so soft in this moment stare into yours with concern and worry. It hurt knowing you were hurting him in this way by remaining silent. You didn’t know why you’d do this still to this day and even as long as you two have been together. You were independent, strong, and prideful at times, but were the most scared when you had to open up your dark thoughts to the soul that loved you like hand craft jewels themselves. 

“Maybe later. Need to shower.” You finally sit up and take his hand in yours just craving his touch and he reciprocates the action.  

“Have a proper meal, heard you haven’t had much of an appetite these past few days.” His hands squeeze yours, thumbs rubbing circles on your hands. 

“Yes, we’ll have a proper meal Mr. Shelby. Whatever it is you want we will have it.” You respond, resting your head against his chest for a moment. 

“You go shower and I’ll see what I can get started in the kitchen.” His warm lips press into your forehead. 

“Alright, I’ll meet you down there in a bit.” You give him a small smile and press your lips against his cheek, legs swinging over the edge to stand and stretch, him copying your motions. As you walk past him, he grabs your hand to get your attention, causing you to turn to look up at him. 

“(Y/N), I love you. Whatever it is, we can handle it together.” You nod your head at his words ready to cry about them as you go run your shower. You watch as he leaves the room, the door closing shut behind him. The flick of a switch and twist of a knob, you find yourself undressing and climbing into the porcelain tub. Those were the days you sat in the hot shower, letting the droplets burn the skin. Wondering about why life has you so down, so paralyze by fear, you could barely breathe. You were drowning under the water and no one was there to pull you out. 

That is where and when you were the most vulnerable. Alone. The most earth shattering sound releases through your lungs and tightens them back up as it moves through your body. You wonder how one person could have a multitude of tears stored in them that was infinite. It would only last for so long before you felt you could continue on with the task at hand that would bring you closer to the relief you were waiting for.

 -

It was a rare sight to see and was one that you enjoyed when it did happen. It warmed your heart and brought a genuine smile to your face, despite the heaviness in your heart. You leaned against the frame, watching him in an element he was secretly good at but didn’t have the time to do. 

Let alone did he ever sit still to finish an actual meal half the time but he would try his hardest for you because meals were sometimes the only part of the day you two would spend together. He was busy and worked at all hours of the day but you had a regular day job. He would try to come home early in the evenings to eat with you even if it meant he had to go back out or continue work in his office, or spend it with you. Sometimes you worked long hours or would have to bring work home that needed completion after hours. 

He was wearing his round spectacles, which you enjoyed as it made him look more attractive than he already was. He was annoyed and embarrassed about them at first, but you’d always find a way to remind him how much you loved them. His sleeves were rolled halfway up revealing his strong forearms and ringed fingers that were slicing lettuce on a wooden cutting board. White dish cloth hanging from his shoulder. 

“Looks like you’ve been busy here, Chef Shelby.” You teased making your presence known as he glances up at you with a playful stare. 

“Only the best for you. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not too long, I had to take the chance to admire what’s mine.”

“Only yours forever.” He passes you a slice of cucumber as you take a seat at the island. 

“What are you cooking tonight?”

“Sausage, mash potatoes, and salad.”

“That sounds great. Thank you Tom.” You both grin at the other as you watch him play chef in the kitchen. It was satisfying as you haven’t had a moment to feel this good in the past couple of weeks. You sat talking about his day and him telling you a funny story of the younger Shelby clan over dinner. 

You still had lots of stories to discover about the man in front of you as did him. It was ever evolving when one would share a new story, that would come to the conscious so vividly like a dream of the incident happening again. It wasn’t often Tommy told stories of his past but when he did was usual in moments like these or when you two were up late at night together talking like two young lovers in love. 

 It was moments like these where it felt easier to breath, even if it was only temporary.  

A moment of bliss so delightful, it was beginning to stitch the pieces back together.

-

Distractions could only last for so long even good ones. You found yourself back in the reality of your sadness as the silence lapsed between the two of you. It wasn’t awkward but you knew you still had to talk to the one person that cared for you better than did sometimes and vice versa. 

You both were resting with your backs against the headboard of the bed, settling down for the remainder of the evening. Your upper body was half laying on his broad chest and head was resting against right in the crook of his neck. Your fingers were tracing circles on his bare torso mindlessly, mind away in the abyss. 

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, hmm?” His hot breath whispers in your ear, lips pressing to your temple.

“Too much. It’s like my brain is a broken record and there’s no silence. I can’t shut off the thoughts and it’s clouding my thinking. Everything feels heavy and meaningless. Everything is the same day in and out. Life is passing by and I'm stuck in the middle watching it flash across my eyes.

The fear sets in like a weight in my stomach. It tenses my body and makes it hard to breath, to focus. It sets in first thing as I wake and lasts until it's time to go to bed. I can’t catch a break from it. It’s been hard trying to go to sleep, I feel fatigued all the time. 

The weight of existence is swallowing me back down to the depths of Hell. When I close my eyes at night all I can see is this darkness. I’m in our house and running away from this shadow that keeps chasing me. It always finds me no matter where I run or hide. When I call out or try to find you, you never come. It always ends that same, with the shadow coming to swallow me but I wake before it ever can.” 

The hot tears come back, falling against his chest as he listens to your inner monologue. The deepest part of who you were, on display for him to nurture with endearment. Your thoughts never scared him because of the life he lived through. Every time he held your fragile and aching body with heart wrenching sobs into his body in moments like this, frightened him. Distressed him to know that you were hurting this deeply. That you were carrying this alone and he hadn’t noticed. 

You were the sweetest of souls and free spirited. You were smart and a hard worker. When he first met you, he knew that you would be sticking around for a while. Once he fell in love with you, it was over for him. You were everything he wanted and more. He did his best to please you and give you everything you wanted. You were the most beautiful woman he laid eyes on. He wanted to have children with you in the future. He wanted old and gray with you. 

“Love, it’s okay I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here. I’m always going to find you. I’m always going to protect you and will never let anything happen to you. I’ll always save you.” 

He holds you close as you continue to cry. 

“Love, calm down. Let’s breathe or you’re going to make yourself sick.” He lifts your head, his heart aching more at the sight or your dreary face. 

Once he manages to get you to breathe at a normal pace. He gets to make his way to the bathroom. Returns after a minute with a warm rag to wet your face and a cup of water to drink. As you sip the water he wipes your face with the warm cloth. The water quenches your throat and the warmth from the cloth soothes your body while your husband soothes your mind with his affectionate actions. 

For that you were grateful. Grateful for a man like Thomas Shelby despite his flaws, that he too even loved you despite yours. He was charming and funny in private when it was just the two of you. He always knew how to get your attention in the softest way and would do anything to see you smile. You held the moon, the stars, and the whole universe in your being for him.

 Grateful that a man like Thomas Shelby understood sadness, grief, and the horror of what it felt like to not be able to escape from your dark thoughts. The thoughts that get stuck like leaves in the gutter, waiting to be cleaned out, or it can’t make way for the next rainfall. 

He would know how to stitch you back together. It was in those moments of unraveling the strings that held you so tight together, would untangle and pull you closer to him. 

 “What do you want me to do to help you? I’ll do anything you want. Take time off work, you can quit your job and get a new one. We can go spend time away from town and go on a trip. I want you to know that I want you to be happy and I'll do anything in my power to help you get there. 

Don’t listen to the negative voices in your head, love, does you no good. Think of all the amazing things you are. You are an excellent wife and help the company greatly. You are confident at your job and work twice as hard as me. You’re a heartfelt daughter and aunt. Watching with the nephews and nieces makes me know you’re going to be a wonderful mother. 

You’re the love of my life. I love you so much, wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you weren’t here. I want old and gray with you, but we need to have some kids first.” His big warm palms hold your face, caressing your cheeks with his fingers. 

“Thank you Tommy. I love you so much.” Your lips press against his chaste and slow moving in sync as your noses would bump slightly with minor movements. 

“There will be better days ahead love, I promise. When you close your eyes dream of me. I’ll come save you. I’ll be here when you wake up, I'm all yours until further notice.” His lips pressed against yours for the final time that night, as the lights were off. He was on his side holding you to his chest, as your body mirrored his as you laid your head on his chest, his arms holding your back.   

You knew in that moment, you didn’t need to say anything. He knew you and your heart for all that it was worth. He would come and help you water your plants as many times as you needed help. He would help you build your garden back until you were blooming yet again. 

He was your lifeline, that came to save you time and time again. You would do the same for him. Your love for another ran deep, deeper than both you admitted aloud sometimes. Both being able to tell through little actions and thoughts that would occur daily, he was your livewire. 

As your eyes closed you dreamed about something good for a first time in a long time. It was as vivid as a fresh painting on a warm spring day. It was a flash forward of your life. Of being with Tommy, having children, and being old and gray together. 

You slept in peace of knowing there were going to be better days ahead. 

-

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy 

If you want to be added to my taglist, just shoot me an Ask or comment down below! 

[mysticalhouseofcards]

✨🔮✨Bts romantic soulmates / future spouses current energy reading ✨

Hi guys 👋 I hope everyone is good 😊 I decided to do future spouses readings since all of the BTS members seems like they'll get married to their romantic soulmates except Namjoon who his romantic soulmate is a different person from his future spouse and that's why I did both romantic soulmate's and future spouse's current energy reading for him ! For those who haven't seen the pendulum reading about them getting married to their romantic soulmates click -> here

Kim Namjoon's

✨Romantic soulmate's reading✨

Current Energy

I got ✨Judgement ✨this card indicate taking responsibility for her actions and her life, being a good judge of character, seeing the truth and knowing what she wants. Judgement t card often shows up when you need to step up . It can also mean that she is getting out of a karmic circle and see more clearly around her , maybe her awakening has begun.

Hopes and Fears

I got ✨The Tower ✨This card shows me that she is afraid of the unknown , generally the feeling of being unsure and she's very much afraid that something will happen that will open old wounds of hers and that her life will get messed up once again .

How to Release

✨Page of Cups reversed ✨Reversed, this card could be advising to “get real.” She has to get her head out of the clouds and plant her feet firmly on the ground.Her emotions may be all over the place. She needs to do her best to practice emotional restraining.The Page of Cups reversed can also symbolize emotional immaturity , as advice, this card may be saying: time to grow up girl.She may also need to practice emotional detachment from a past situation.

Future

✨Page of Wands ✨With this card I'm seeing good news coming for her in the future through phone calls , emails , texts . They could be good news about any kind of situation . Also this card indicates being creative ,working on new ideas or projects with a lot of enthusiasm and passion , healed inner child and very playful attitude .

✨Future Spouse's reading✨

Current Energy

I got ✨Five of Pentacles✨,in a general context, the Five of Pentacles is not a great card to get as it represents hardship, rejection or a negative change in circumstances. She may be feeling like the world is against her and nothing is going her way. It can signify bad luck, struggles or adversity. Unemployment, alienation and poverty are all represented by this card and it can also signify health problems, breakups or scandals causing turmoil in her life. She might feeling like she's left out in the cold, but, she has to remember that this situation is only temporary and then ask herself if she's reaching out for any help or support that is available. There is help out there for her. It may be in the form of moral support from friends or family, financial assistance from social welfare, or even the kindness of strangers but whatever it is, she has to take it. Nothing lasts forever and this hardship too shall pass.

Hopes and Fears

✨Six of Cups reversed ✨ With this card I feel like she remembers past events of her life , maybe her childhood , some with nostalgia and some others with sadness . Maybe she didn't have the most easy childhood and there were moments that she needed to left her child self back and be more mature . As it seems she is being in a difficult situation at the moment so with this card I could say that she hopes to find help from her family and friends.

How to Release

I got ✨Strength ✨She has many challenges before her at the moment but she is more than ready to face them. She has to rely on her inner strength at this time and remain calm. She’ll master the situation she has to be brave! Her courage will see her through. She needs to take matters into her very capable hands. She has got the power to get this situation under control.

Future

✨Nine of Swords reversed ✨In a general context, the Nine of Swords reversed represents seeing the light at the end of the tunnel after dark times. When reversed, it is a card of recovering from depression or mental illness or issues improving, letting go of negativity, releasing stress and learning to cope. It signifies opening up, accepting help and facing life.

Kim Seokjin's

Current Energy

✨Two of Pentacles ✨In a general context, the Two of Pentacles can indicate that she is trying to find or maintain the balance between various areas of her life. This card represents the ups and downs of life and indicates that she is resourceful, adaptable and flexible enough to get through them. However, it can be a warning that trying to juggle too many things at once and not prioritising what is important can lead to failure and exhaustion. She has to try to evaluate where she's putting her energy and cut back on what is not necessary in order to maintain a balanced and happy life. The Two of Pentacles can also indicate that decisions need to be made and making these choices may be causing her stress. It can also signify partnership and the struggle to find the right balance between her needs and the needs of someone else.

Hopes and Fears

I got ✨Eight of Wands✨ This card shows me that she chose to see life with a positive and hopeful eyes and she hopes that everything she wants and have in mind can have progress and come to life . She feels very energetic , positive and enthusiastic about her ideas , she might plan to go on a travel . She is working very hard and she believes and hope that her hard work will be paying of and that she'll be ahead of the game . Although I am sensing all this positivity I think she's kind of afraid that she's becoming obsessed with someone or something.

How to Release

✨The Hanged Man reversed ✨ Let go is the advice this card gives . No one gets spiritual by hanging on to a situation or a person or an idea. Sometimes we need to let go.This card can also be suggesting learning to land on your own two feet. Have faith in herself.Instead of being still, the Hanged Man advises to take action. The time to wait is over now it’s time to move! If she has been making too many sacrifices, she has to stop. She doesn't have to be a martyr or a saint. It’s okay to put her needs first.

Future

I got ✨The King of Swords ✨ I'm seeing achievement, this tarot card denotes a professional who is at the top of their game (it seems like she'll get what she wants). She'll become someone who is an expert in their field and would have had to study to acquire this knowledge. She also may have plenty of practical experience in how to apply this knowledge in a very sophisticated manner till then .

Min Yoongi's

Current Energy

✨Two of Pentacles reversed ✨ In a general context, this card reversed can indicate that she biting off more than she can chew! She may be trying to keep too many balls in the air and finding it impossible to maintain the balance between the various areas of her life. This card also represents feeling overwhelmed,overextending herself and lack of organisation. Reversed can signify that she is making poor choices (I think that it's something that has to do with her career or future) because she is under pressure and may be getting herself into more of a mess than she needs to.

Hopes and Fears

I got ✨Judgement reversed ✨ I'm feeling like she is afraid of what others are or will be being overly judgemental or critical of her and her choices or maybe even blaming her for something that wasn’t her fault. This card can also mean that there are times she lets fear and self-doubt take control of her situation and that might happen because of bad past experiences she had .

How to Release

✨Temperance reversed ✨ This can be more of a warning than anything she might have allowed things to get out of hand or became a control freak ! Whatever it's happening in her life this card can be advicing her to get it together or chill the heck out.Temperance reversed can also suggest that it’s time to make a decision. She has to stop waffling on matters. Shit or get off the pot.

Future

✨Seven of Swords and Seven of Pentacles ✨ With Seven of Swords card I'm seeing her working hard and strategically towards her goals , that can also mean that she'll have to kind of trick some people but not in anyway to harm them in anyway (at least from the energies I'm getting). This card together with Seven of Pentacles tells me that her strategical way of thinking and hard work will pay off and she'll get the success she wants after feeling that her ideas /plans will never work and be patient for some time .

Jung Hoseok's

Current Energy

✨Ace of Wands reversed ✨In a general context, the Ace of Wands reversed represents delays, setbacks and disappointing news. When it's reversed indicates that she might does not have any “get up and go” in her at the moment as it represents lack of initiative,passion,assertiveness, energy, enthusiasm, motivation, & growth. She may be stopping herself from progressing or be slow and hesitant about starting or trying anything new. It can also represent creative blocks, wasted talent or potential and missed opportunities. She need to start taking the bull by the horns again. Alternatively, this card can indicate that she's so passionate, enthusiastic and motivated that she's a little too intense for some people to handle.

Hopes and Fears

With the ✨Four of Pentacles ✨ I'm getting that she may be afraid that she is holding onto things in an unhealthy, possessive, controlling or toxic way or someone may be holding onto her in such a manner. It can indicate that she need to establish your boundaries or respect the boundaries of other people. The Four of Pentacles can also indicate that she is afraid or gets stressed when there's a lack of openness, blocking or obstructing progress, keeping to herself or the others keeping to themselves or a sense of isolation in her relationships . It can also represent her fear of becomes greed, addicted to materialism and penny pinching.

How to Release

✨​Justice reversed ✨This card tells her that it may be hard for her to see what way to go at this time. She has to hold off on making a decision and give herself more time to examine her options.

Future

✨The King of Swords reversed ✨ it seems like that if won't take the right decision about something her everyday life will become boring and she'll just have to follow a daily routine that won't make her happy . So at this time she has to think carefully with maturity and see her options carefully and when the time comes she'll be able to decide what is right for her and her future.

Park Jimin's

Current Energy

✨Ten of Wands✨This is the card for hard work and taking on more responsibility. She's trying not to lose sight of the bigger picture, and keep on remember why she is putting in all the efforts. She is feeling burned out and weight down. Ten of wands tarot card can also mean that she is unable to say no, and people are taking advantage of her.

Hopes and Fears

✨The Magician ✨She hopes that she has all the skills and abilities she need in order to be successful and that the universe is aligning to bring positive changes her way. This card also shows that she feels that she has to use her intellect, concentration and willpower to make things happen but she is afraid that she is not strong enough.

How to Release

✨Death reversed✨ She might thinking of making a change in an area of her life but this card reversed advices her not to rush because it may not be the right time for change. Perhaps she's not ready or the circumstances aren’t favorable at the moment. Whatever the case may be,she has to pause before taking action.This could also be pointing out resistance or fear blocking progress. If that is so, the advice it gives her is to confront those issues, even if only internally.

Future

✨Three of Wands reversed ✨Three of Wands tarot card reversed indicates that will be delays in rewards and payoffs in the future. The environment might get toxic which makes it hard for growth. People might not like what she is doing and try to put second thoughts in her mind so she should stay focus on her ideas and dreams and make them come to life .

Kim Taehyung's

Current Energy

✨Queen of Pentacles reversed ✨I feel like this girl has lost the balance of her life maybe in things that have to do with her work place or family but to be honest I'm getting family issues going on mostly.  This card indicates poor taste and lack of sensitivity to other people’s needs. What she has experienced or she still is has made her to be someone who expects everyone to work as hard as she does and make the same practical choices. Queen of pentacles reversed denotes that she feels very insecure and has an inability to share with others her thoughts an feelings.

Hopes and Fears

✨Ten of Pentacles reversed ✨ Again with this card I'm seeing that something that has happened to her family is causing fear and great stress , maybe she is afraid that it will happen again , that she'll have to experience again the same challenges . Also I'm sensing that she might feel insecure on the financial part of her life , maybe she and her family are going through financial problems or she could possibly be worried about that she won't be able to pay for her responsibilities. Lastly feel that she might is stressed about something , she is feeling like she doesn't have enough time to do something and rush.

How to Release

✨Eight of Wands reversed ✨Slow down! is the message I'm getting for her, There is no need to rush at this time. She has to take time out to examine her plans.There is still work that left to be done before she can proceed. Go back to the drawing board and get that finished first.If she keep on trying to move things along too quickly, she may make critical mistakes. She has to watch her step and don’t be impulsive at this time.

Future

✨Ace of Cups ✨In a general context, the Ace of Cups signifies new beginnings, usually in terms of love, empathy, compassion and/or happiness. When this Minor Arcana card appears it indicates that you will be feeling happy, positive and good about yourself. Soon it will be a great time to begin new friendships and get out there and socialise. People will be very receptive, kind and friendly to her. It can also be an indication of good news, celebrations coming her way and getting back her creativity.

Two more cards fell while doing the reading for her so I think they have some messages or guidance for her ! The cards are Ace of Pentacles and the Chariot. ✨Ace of Pentacles ✨If she's asking about a potential investment, the Ace of Pentacles says: go for it! Same if she's inquiring about a new job, financial offer, or relationship. Aces are often an affirmative.This card can also advise to give as much as she can. Be generous.Check in with her values. What’s important to her? What matters? She has to let that lead her decisions.The right path is open to her now ,go forth with confidence.Give as well as she receives and vice versa.✨ The Chariot ✨This card tells her to take the reins in her hands and move forward with confidence, trusting that she will reach her destination. The key is to remain focused ,set her intention and direct her will , let nothing distract her until the goal has been accomplished.The Chariot also says: take charge! Assume a position of control. Lead, don’t follow.This card can also be suggesting a need for restraint or self control. If she wish to overcome a problem, she may need to apply greater self control.The Chariot also can advise leaving a situation. It may be time to move on and chart a different course. She has to put the past in her rear view mirror and look forward!Finally, this can also be a reminder for her to stay the course and do not get pulled in too many different directions. Move on. Her Victory is ahead and waiting for her in the future!

Jeon Jungkook's

Current Energy

✨King of Pentacles reversed ✨ King of pentacles tarot card reversed indicates being too conservative. King of pentacles reversed indicates difficulties in making the necessary changes. Falling behind is likely. King of pentacles reversed is likely to be a miser and a hoarder. This is someone who expects the best but lets others have the worst. Neglect of hygiene and poor health is indicated when King of pentacles shows up reversed. Her stubbornness and fear prevent positive change.

Hopes and Fears

✨The Hierophant ✨This card often denotes confusion about feelings because she feels that she needs to seek a deeper meaning in her life and this has priority over personal relationships , maybe that causes her stress. Also the Hierophant tarot card speaks of spiritual love and love that grows stronger with time. The Hierophant speaks of love that grows stronger by sharing a spiritual path maybe she's hopes that what she is feeling is true and at the same time she is afraid that she is depending on illusions.

How to Release

✨The Chariot ✨Like Taehyung's spouse she has to take the reins in her hands and move forward with confidence, trusting that she will reach her destination. The key is to remain focused. Set her intention and direct her will. Let nothing distract her until the goal has been accomplished.This card can also be suggesting a need for restraint or self control. If she wish to overcome a problem(maybe a phycological one or a past trauma), she may need to apply greater self control.The Chariot also can advise leaving a situation. It may be time for her to move on and chart a different course. Put the past in her rear view mirror and look forward!

Future

I got ✨King of Wands reversed and Five of Cups ✨In a general context, the King of Wands reversed can indicate that she'll lack the energy, experience or enthusiasm to accomplish what she has set out to achieve at this time. She'll be taking a back seat and will not being proactive in her life. She may feel that will not up to the task or won't be able to give away her power and setting a bad example for those who will look up to her. She may be worrying about other people’s opinion of her and she will may be afraid to be different or step outside of her comfort zone. She'll might also push people away from her and she'll end up feeling lonely. And that's something that the Five of Cups card comes to clarify here since the meaning of this card are the feeling of loneliness and disappointment (from the people she actually pushes away maybe unconsciously but she'll won't blame herself about it ). Lastly this card in a work-related situation that I feel like she already has some problems will worsen somehow!She'll might not be getting the recognition she deserve, or maybe even someone else is getting rewarded for her work and that will also make her feel disappointed and drained.

[runningwithhellhounds]

Theo, across recent timescapes. Theo x life: a series of impressions.

Theo is an invasive agent in Hayden's sensory collection. She's trying to not pay him any mind.

She also tried to erase his self-importance by pretending he didn't exist when she knew he watched with his bridge-burn eyes as she and Liam kissed. Found success in his uncharacteristic silence in a moment that was ruinable.

They are standing in dappled shadows on the forest ground, waiting for Liam, who ran ahead to make a call out of Theo's earshot. Theo is sitting by a tree with his knees up and loosely spread, with his hands in between them. His hands, chained: it's simplest hazard control. Effective, though. Hayden feels spiteful as she's walking left to right, throwing a palm-sized rock from hand to hand. Theo looks bored, irked.

''Where are you going to, little Red Riding Hood?'' Theo addresses her, smooth to self-entertain, making her stop mid-throw, causing the rock to hit her palm and fall on the ground. She picks it up and mimes throwing it at him. Success unfound, in how he doesn't flinch. Success unfound, in how he's making this into a story about a little girl and a sneaky wolf.

She considers him. If answering at all would cater to his amusement, or lesser his situational unpleasantries, which she's trying to avoid. But Theo is in the midway of doing nothing and determined to draw attention to himself, the way he has been.

''We're out of flowers, I'm afraid. Would you like some redwood wood, instead?'' Theo offers in a made-pleasant public service voice. Hayden notices that he's siding with the forest, here, scuttling into its floors where he has found purchase through extended stay.

''You know all the tree species?'' Hayden asks. Takes a bite and wills it into a treat for herself, rather than bait. Theo probably meant the tall and non-wiggly tree he's sitting against; Hayden wonders if he ever studied forestry, or if this is werewolfery knowledge.

''I know better things, too. If you come closer, I'll whisper them to you.'' He grins. Lifts his chained wrists as he adds, ''No pressure, though.''

Hayden considers him. Again and again. This is, she guesses, learnt prudency; a refined taste for justice, maybe. Guesses resurrection does that to you.

''Warning, beware of dog,'' she says.

Theo looks at her, eyes hooding and mouth neutralising. He shrugs, looks sideways. Attention, lost. Trade, declined. Secretful threat traded for blankness, if anything. Hayden, it seems, does not entertain in Theo-ways.

—

Theo Raeken, it turns out, has a finitude to his spread of catastrophe. Sheriff Stilinski watches cross-armed as running-mouth-boy exposes the culprits of murder; aggravates them like it's his best expertise until they say things they tried not to say and so saves his own slate from police-worthy additions.

Stilinski watches as Theo, for some inexplicable reason, lingers in the police department. Theo is sitting on one of the reception benches, eating a bag of mixed nuts from the vending machine. One would think it's ill-advised, that as soon as Parrish released him, Theo asked Parrish to buy him some goods from the vending machine, said he was detained unfairly. Deprived of food for this short but uneasy time. Didn't have his belongings on him. But it mustn't be nonsensical; it must be some behavioural tactic of making himself appear unconcerned. As having clear consciousness, innocence, all of those.

Stilinski resumes watching through the screen as Theo's chewing slows down when an officer with a police dog walks to the machine. He watches Theo's frowned, suffering, doubtful expression, staring into the dog's eyes like he can't take the dog seriously. The officer stops fishing change out of his wallet with a metal scoop in his cupped hand to shoot Theo a questioning look.

''Everything alright, son?'' the officer jingles the change in his hand, looking Theo over.

Theo's gaze doesn't even change when he looks up. Doesn't turn into a stranglehold of a gaze, either. ''Does your dog bite?''

The officer considers Theo, the sagged, unruffled spectre of him.

''No need to worry,'' he assures. Starts inserting the coins. He then turns to Theo in an afterthought. ''Is someone picking you up? You need anything?''

''Oh,'' Theo breathes, ''for real? Would you? Just something to eat? I've been stuck here waiting.''

Stilinski watches as Theo picks up a protein bar from the machine drawer. Flavoured water, a second later. Probably, apathy comes easily to him. He must not think in any understandable way; rather, he must think unfeelingly. Kid's got— not a care in the world.

—

Liam is holding a bouquet and inspecting its flowery contents. Frowning at the petals he's scraping at, glowering at the buds he's poking.

In the aftermath of the ceremony ran on the anniversary of Liam's school in the decorated sports hall, his mother is standing by the chairs in unison with another boy watching her son.

She knows him from a photo Liam showed her, a boy new in the school, softly named: Theo. It was evident that Liam took the photo discreetly, which she commented on and which Liam denied. She notes the distance at which Theo keeping and approaches him.

''Don't worry, he's not keeping secrets from his friends,'' she says. ''He doesn't have a girlfriend, at least not that I know of. I was the one who gave him the flowers.''

''Oh?'' Theo says. ''I see.''

He puts his hands in his pockets. He's probably shy. This happens sometimes, with high-school boys, they can become clumsy with themselves. She feels motherly talking to them in moments like this; motherly and pleasant in her efforts to engage adolescents when they are dithering.

''I think he's reconciling masculinity with flowers,'' she comments.

He smiles. Smirks, more like it. They must be close.

''Good colour choice,'' he comments on the orange of the flowers.

She nudges his arm. ''Go talk to him when they're done taking photos.''

Theo shakes his head, shrugs once. ''Nah. I will be leaving soon, anyway,'' he says, and she drops her hand from his arm. He's probably a little shy.

—

Mediterranean sunrise comes with a surprise: a man awakening on the ground a few steps from the barely-formed footpath. A man, or maybe younger, his Mediterranean awakening accompanied by the smell of fig trees, and all. Kind red soil.

He's naked. He's slowly wiping a hand across his lips. You know, suddenly, that this is a complication. The circumstance makes his body looks like an involuntarily stripped body. Perspective changes: red soil is now needled soil. Acrid tones sour the sunrise.

''Hey,'' you call, stepping closer in your sandals and a coral-printed towel around your neck, feeling unsuitable for the demands of the situation. ''Hey. Are you okay? Should I call the police?''

He's pushing himself up. Not looking at you. Not mindful of the resin at his back. This is indicative, you think, of something, because you're mindful of the way road dust is making your hair dry and webby, while his attention is this narrow, or overall absent.

He looks up, then, at you. ''What?''

A surprise gifted by a foreign agency; not Italian, then. You switch to English and try to make it not clumsy.

''I'll call the police for you,'' you assure him. Scramble to find your phone in your tote bag.

''D'n't call th'police,'' he says. He isn't trying to cover where his body is exposed.

''I don't want to assume anything,'' you say, feeling odd and performative. ''But— Look. I can just call the emergency number and they can direct you to a centre for sexual assault.''

Body, bodily manuscripted into the soft soil. He looks like he's processing slowly. Gets distracted inspecting his hands. Is that blood, you wonder, realise, really, it all just getting worse and fraughter. In between his fingers.

''Don't call th'police,'' he says. ''Was jus' drunk.''

''Is that blood? On your fingers.''

''I jus'. D'n't call. Did s'me things I shouldn't have.'' He reads your face, then says, ''Not like that. T'myself.''

Heat is lowering to the grounds of the morning and your sandals are light on your feet, escape-hairs pleasant, pine trees your favourite. And the hostility-seen boy is trying to act alright.

''It's okay,'' you say, wondering if it is; something complicated about the okayness of not-okay. You squat down, to balance the eye heights. ''I can call the hotline for—''

''No, n't—. Just stupid, no police. Please.''

''Do you want some water,'' you say, taking it out of your bag, and he takes it. Uncaps and smells it, blinking with his nose above the bottle opening, before he shakes his head a little, and starts drinking. Your phone is still in your hand, but you're unsure. You give him your second non-swimly shorts and wait until he overcomes his hesitance and gingerly takes them.

''You don't have to tell me,'' you insist. ''But I'm sure that there's someone who—''

''Thanks. It's okay, you can go now.'' He starts moving to get the shorts on, then swiftly straightens his back, inhaling deeply and looking up. Must be avoiding some hidden ache.

You hesitate, phone in your hand, legs starting to feel stiff from the position.

''I could drive you someplace. My car is ten min—''

''Thanks, but I'm okay now. You can't help,'' he interrupts. There are cases like this one, right, people using caustic means for secret-maintaining ends.

''Are you sure?'' you press. ''I could go away while you're talking to—''

''You're not helping,'' he says, monotone now, now operative and controlled to be alkaline. He's looking at your eyes fixedly, and you stop hesitating. ''You should go.''

Ground gives. You shake your head and start walking away, leaving him with your shorts and thinking then good fucking luck, honey.

You turn back one more time. He's looking at you leaving with unfocused glossy eyes, and you wonder, surely not for the last time, how deeply and stickily swamp-lodged he must be.

—

A hot guy is walking in the chest-high sea and doing little dives. Grazing the water surface with his fingertips in between and wiping salt from his eyes, before diving again and re-salting his eyes, like some deliberately mindless-seeming cyclical mechanism. Salt for maintenance, salt a nuisance.

Now he bends his knees and only submerges up to his chin, and you imagine he's sensing freshness at his nape.

''You just have to relax,'' you say loudly from where you come to stand in the water to your ankles, ''and you can probably hold your breath for longer than that.''

He stands up and turns until he spots you. You walk closer until the water is at your waist and he's looking at you like someone unexpectedly interrupted. Unexpectedly perceived, unfortunately. A popular kid being addressed by an unpopular one.

''You wanna teach me how to swim?'' he asks and smirks a little, and you shrug.

''If you feel like you can't stay underwater for more than five seconds, it's probably because you're panicking. You can hold your breath comfortably for at least fifteen seconds, I dare say.''

He looks at the glistening in the water, looking weary.

''Can I,'' he says, more of a response made to be unrevealing than a question.

''One thing I'll say,'' you say, untying your hair to avoid breaking it when it will be wet and to be casual, maybe; mitigate the upfrontness and possible insinuation, ''is that your body looks mad functional. Don't take this in any funky way.''

''I won't,'' he says.

—

Theo is in no space. Some telephone line space.

Should I be taking this personally, Liam texts him. He knows that Theo has been straightforwardly ignoring his messages. He hopes, actually; hopes Theo hasn't run into any of his long-known non-friends who see his face as a face, fanged, and not eyes, often confused, tongue, often tied, responses, often belated. Hopes that Theo isn't not answering because of some surviving anachronism from his past, but rather because of something new. That would be more manageable.

He also hopes that Theo isn't not answering because he is succumbing to his self-damaging instincts, even though that would mean simmering resentment towards Liam; even though that would likely be the best possible option in the precarious array of options in Theo's life.

Liam texts, did you know that if space was infinitely big and infinitely old, it would be white? I don't really get why, do you?

—

You have a boy couched in your living room. His name is Theo. Picked him up on a staff-only fire escape. It would be a leisurely sight, now, a tracksuit-hoodie-boy sitting right next to a drying rack, which he said he didn't mind. If it wasn't for your rapid heart. Heart: heated, speaking in unit-free measures. Heat: a smooth, unfibrous thing.

''May I,'' he murmurs, and you lean in.

It's a classic student situation: a breathless undertaking to the backtune of wine in tea mugs. He selected a Sierra Nevada mug with a setting sun. Came with the flat.

''Add me on Facebook,'' you say. The two of you haven't even done much, but you feel so hooked, by the fire-escape boy who moves in a way so self-assured and touches indoor objects warily. ''Or Instagram. Wherever you want.''

''I don't use social media,'' he says. He uses his hold on your hand and your finger to push his hair out of his eye. You like the way it parts and hits his temples.

''Phone number?'' You suggest, more joking than not. Exchanging phone numbers feel more joke-like than not.

''No phone number,'' he says. Must see your expression, shrugs and says, ''Guess I'm too old for technology.'' He smirks at the dry look you shoot at him, knowing your age of twenty-three to his twenty-two. He's saying too old and you don't buy it. He carries no weariness in his jaguar body. He takes his lower lip in his mouth. ''What if,'' he then says, ''I'm a vampire.'' He touches the tip of his tongue to his upper teeth.

''My favourite paranormal activity,'' you say.

''Too bad,'' he says, grinning. You look at his ajar lips and think: too bad.

''Your canines are sharp, though,'' you say. ''At least.''

He grins wide. Pointedly and slowly leans towards your neck with an open mouth, until teeth make contact. You feel your smile dropping when his phone beeps. He hesitates for a beat and then leans his forehead on your chin, just breathing there, and you know you are both thinking about him saying no phone number.

''But none for me,'' you say. Because of all the places your bodies have been touching, a beat of silence means: five heartbeats of him staring at his phone, engulfed in the jacket he discarded on the floor by the couch, and you staring at him. And then he leans over, easily shifting your weight, until he can kick the jacket, some, not really achieving anything.

''Another vampire,'' he says, then, on the side of unapologetic. Luckily, you are known to be unresentful. Good at not taking things personally. ''From another brood.'' He places his hands back on your hips.

''Hm,'' you say.  It's fine. The monomania of the green-eye boy is temporary. He's hot, but your desire never lasts, anyway.

—

There's a guy on your bus ride, on the opposite side of the passage, one seat forward. Your age. You noticed the generic niceness of his face.

He's drawing a sinusoidal curve on the fogged window. Moves his hand further right, where the window is still fogged. Starts drawing vertical lines, carefully, some methodology to it, the lines parallel to each other. He pauses after he draws four. Huffs, twists his smile into one that is hiding and downturned. He crosses the four lines with one that is horizontal, then adds another vertical line to the side.

You feel yourself smile. He drops his hand, shakes his head a little. Looks through the window at the frost-covered barren brown fields, away from his prisoner day-count. It's funny. He's funny. You look away.

—

It's a short, crude thing. Like this:

A fictitious boy stumbles out of a bare-walled building. Languid, unrestful body. Unleisurely, water-logged body. A tired backstreet play-doh thing. Young.

''Hey,'' you call. ''You. You good?''

The night is warm, humid. A post-rain road construction night. A night for cicadas, if you drive further out.

He inhales in the way of catching breath. Squints at his watch, eyes go glassy. Looks at the moon overhead, then squints at you. And you— you feel awake now.

You look him over, the sugarburn boy with a backwards baseball cap. The trouble of a tooth cavity, which means: okay, if you have some money. Some reckless uncare, too. He's watching you. You inhale slowly, but it turns out all tell-tale anyway. He must see the appeal you feel, in how he licks his lips and tilts his head.

''Interested?'' he asks.

You hesitate. Feel for your jacket pocket with your wallet in it. Lift it without taking it out, clear enough.

He nods. Clears his throat.

''Can you play nice?'' he asks. Teasing, but also not.

You can.

He nods. Looks at his watch. You follow him.

—

You pick up your pretend-sugar fake-care service by a closed ice-cream stand, its inviting light sign shining red on his face. It's raining lightly when you pull up and he doesn't have his hood up like he knows the wet hair strands sticking to his forehead make him look good. In the car, he has no song requests when you ask.

''How can I service you?'' he asks.

—

''What should I call you,'' you ask.

''No need to call me,'' he says.

''What if I want to,'' you admit. Not subtle and elusive. If I may be so bold as to in the back of your mouth.

He pauses, thinks. His gaze is saccading empty spot to empty spot and you know the only type of name you'll get is a fake. You'll take it, as a consolation purchase.

''Theo,'' he says.

—

Alec answers the knock with a toothbrush in his hand.

''Theo. Jesus,'' he breathes.

''Hello,'' Theo responds, overly carefully-crafted for the simplicity of a greeting, but Theo has never carried himself as though he was simple. ''I brought you those,'' he hands Alec paper sheets folded in half. ''I got my hands on some werewolves. Could you give those to Scott?''

It's more automatic than not, when Alec takes and unfolds them. They are black-and-white prints of photographs of ID's.

''You did?'' Alec says, still dumbfounded, still in the act of being interrupted. Habit-mindedness sliced in half. ''How?''

Theo shrugs. His face furrows for a beat, then he fiddles with the door handle, pushing it down twice.

Alec looks at the goods in his hands: a toothbrush, werewolfy profiles. ''Do you want me to tell him that they're from you?''

Theo looks conflicted. That's fair; it's a conflicting state of circumstances, or what is it that Liam told Alec. Maybe Theo turned to Alec because of the implied similarity: both well-accustomed to doing what it takes. Maybe Theo is finding some comfort in that; like Alec would recognise that Theo is a runaway object, or a throwaway one, only having made himself a weapon because he had been made into one first. Like Alec would recognise that Theo is trying to pay his dues. Or maybe Alec is misjudging and Theo isn't seeking comfort at all, which is what Malia thinks. Guess Alec is a little soft for softer scenarios.

''Jesus,'' Alec says again. ''You were gone so long. You didn't say anything. Have you—'' He hesitates, frowns a little. ''Does—Ah, well, you know. Does Liam know?'' He was going for tentative with this one before he swerved. Tending to the habits of skittish wolves.

Theo is looking past Alec's shoulder, distanced and glassy. Alec thinks of dolls, their eyes amiss in that they are unseeing and custom-built. It's a thought too cruel, unless it's sympathetic.

Theo shakes his head, slowly, and exhales, touches his temples with his index fingers, then drops them lower and presses them over his jaw muscles.

''TMJ pain?'' Alec asks.

Theo drops his hands. ''What?''

''Oh. The jaw joint,'' Alec points to his own.

Theo shrugs. ''It's just tender. This muscle,'' he taps.

''Have you been stressed? TMJ problems are common for young people. Can happen because of stress. Stress can cause teeth grinding.'' A clumsy explanation, but Alec can't re-order its parts now, just hopes Theo takes it. Hopes Theo makes his skin onion peel and shows something less dry underneath. And Theo:

Theo looks at him expressionlessly, for a beat, and then exaggeratedly sad-faces. Pouts, closes his eyes, nods slowly. ''I've been stressed,'' he says.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32225941

[shingansoul]

It had been more or less a year since the lord of Four Seasons Manor and his zhi ji had undergone the Combined Six Harmonies method together. It had been two tense weeks waiting for Wen Kexing to awaken afterwards, and since then, Zhou Zishu had taken to noting every little detail of the now snow haired man that he could. Including his more eccentric or erratic behaviors, not just those of frivolity for the sake of shamelessness, but those that had been ingrained into him due to his peculiar and dangerous life led up to this point.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33527692

There were a plethora of such traits to be found if you looked: from his aversions to certain foods or scents (those this one proved less an issue nowadays given circumstances), how he’d relish like a starved man any physical affection he could get and greedily demand even more so, his reluctance to showing weakness or illness yet his longing to be cared for, his soft spot for young children. Not all were so mournful in origin though.

A most peculiar one that had finally caught his attention had first made itself worthy of notice once when Chengling had been out going through form drills in the courtyard sometime soon after their return to the manor. The two elders of the household had been quietly overseeing his practicing from the porch nearby when the child had lost his focus. It was a simple slip, his foot going out from under him and throwing him to the stone patio below. It wasn’t a hard hit or anything, and at first when he was pulling himself up, his shishu had even given a gentle laugh at the student’s klutziness. However, as Chengling picked himself back up, ears tipped red in embarrassment to do something foolish under his shifu’s gaze, Wen Kexing had stopped suddenly and made to quickly make his way over to him.

Chengling had already resumed his previous stance, ready to move into a full circuit of forms once more to move as quickly from the inevitable harsh corrections from his shifu when he felt a firm but gentle hand grip his jaw and turn his face. He awkwardly stumbled into standing upright and still as Wen Kexing suddenly was right next to him and bearing all his attention down on him. He waited, unsure what precisely the other planned to do but nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of hot breath against his face and the sudden chill of something wet on his face as the other pulled away to inspect his “work.”

For Chengling, he at least was certainly free to the many whims of his elders and to his credit, he just blinked owlishly in quiet confusion without complaint. Wen Kexing hummed softly as he turned the child’s face back and forth, his fingers still unmoved from holding his jaw.

“Is that the only place you got yourself scratched, my little idiot?”

Wen Kexing’s voice was genuine but warm and teasing, causing Chengling to relax a bit despite the oddity of all this and he briefly patted himself down before nodding. Satisfied so it seemed, both returned to their places before as if the exchange had not occurred and within a moment a relaxed puddle of robes and white hair had made itself home once more at Zhou Zishu’s side. Said Manor lord could only stare in almost amazement at what he’d seen before quickly turning to watch their young charge practice, forgetting himself to the point of letting the foolish mistake go unspoken of and that had been that.

It wasn’t as if they had been externally injured in ways that brought it out of him often, but to say it wasn’t a noticed behavior by now also wouldn’t be correct either. Zishu certainly had noticed, though had simply been collecting handfuls of these moments to ponder on. Since that day, Zishu had realized the following “rules” with this little ritual of Kexing’s: it was only done for himself, Zishu, and Chengling. It wasn’t for just any external injury, but anything that drew blood would warrant it. If there were tears spilled, this would also be treated like an open wound and warrant the practice.

From various scrapes and injuries training gained by Chengling, to mishaps and resurfaced wounds in Zishu and himself, there had been plenty of passing occurrences but the question that buzzed in Zishu’s mind each time was simply ‘Why?’ Where had this come from, did he do this before and in the mess of everything happening it was simply overlooked?

Zhou Zishu once prided himself on how attentive and insightful he was, he had to be for his line of work once upon-a-time and he could still often be said to be as much now. Yet Wen Kexing had always been an enigma who had not even figured out himself who he was, none alone let others in to see behind his carefully schooled features. So maybe this did go back farther, but how to find out?

An opportunity to pin the man in question down where he couldn’t escape or move around the topic surfaced quite simply some short weeks later.

They were cleaning up the library pavilion once early evening, Chengling had ended up falling asleep while working on some more intricate works from the manuals of the Long Cabinet’s teachings they had collected into the manor once they’d first returned here that time. Upon finding their foolish disciple sprawled across his makeshift worktable, Zishu had prodded him with some gentle nudging to go to his own room to rest and, too tired to think too far ahead, the boy has sleepily nodded and made his slow but sure way to do just that.

This left the two men to clean up behind him, indulging him a bit by collecting his tools and replacing the scrolls and books where they had been taken from. Zishu had not realized all Chengling had brought out to work with, and unthinking grabbed a fairly sharp edged metal scrap piece, slicing a shallow but long cut into his palm. He hissed slightly, more out of surprise than any actual pain but it was enough to quickly call over his partner to inspect what happened.

Upon seeing the blood, Wen Kexing, true to form, had taken and quickly set down everything in Zishu’s hands and with an exhausted huff he grabbed the other by the wrist and the first bend of his fingers and pulled his hand closer to lap gently at the wound. Zishu, waiting a few moments until Wen Kexing had been set into his ‘task’, reached forward a bit with his free hand to ghost his hand against the side of the other’s face, running his thumb over Wen Kexing’s cheek. It was enough to insight a wordless “mm?” which only brought forth a light chuckle of the recipient.

“Lao Wen...have you always done this?”

This got a pause, deep dark eyes darting up to glance up and trying to gauge the emotions and atmosphere behind the question.

“You...you’ll have to be more specific than that A-Xu, I do and say a lot of things.”

A sigh.

“Alright. Have you always licked at the wounds of your family like a mother cat cleans their young? Hm, Lao Wen?”

The words and tone were teasing, but the glance from before had ascertained this wasn’t going to be a conversation he could weasel out of. Slowly but with care, Wen Kexing pulled Zhishu down to kneel where they were; to sit and speak properly about something personal. He placed the other’s still held hand into his lap, palm up, and he slowly but rhythmically began trailing his fingers from knuckle joint to tips over and over.

“Ah….well, it started from something almost laughable when we...when i was still just a teenager. In the valley, it wasn’t as if one could get new and clean supplies at any given moment, often enough what defined cleaning a wound was some spit and torn clothes that didn't have too much blood or dirt on them. I wasn’t always that good at taking care of A-Xiang either..”

he paused, huffing a sad but nostalgic chuckle past his lips.

“Did you know the first time I tried to feed her as a baby, I had burned her mouth? How she didn’t grow to hate me I'll never know.”

Patiently, Zishu moved his uncaptured hand to squeeze his zhi ji’s thigh through his robes. Wen kexing faltered slightly before regaining his composure, smiling timidly in silent appreciation of the reassurance before pressing on.

“I remembered back then, for what reason I have no idea, but I remember being told that if one kisses a wound it will stop hurting. A childish sentiment mothers tell their sons, but what was I but a father to a daughter? It shouldn't be different. So I simply blended a need with comfort. Whenever she would get hurt, as all children do, especially in such a place, I'd clean her wounds as gently as I could just like...what did you call it earlier? A mother cat? That’s not too far off. Also….”

Zishu silently waited, his gaze unwavering for however long it would take. Wen Kexing stopped his ministrations to more firmly hold Zishu’s fingers in his hand, as if bracing himself before moving into his next words.

“I can recall so vividly, A-Xu. When I was kneeling at my father’s side, the ghosts sneering and jeering down at me all those years ago...When I had convinced them of my nature by consuming my own father’s….haha, i had thought to myself ‘was my flesh not made of his blood to begin with?’ So it only made sense…” He shook his head, laughing mirthlessly, “No, it doesn’t make any sense at all. I came to the idea that it only made sense to ingest the blood of my family going forward, even if we weren’t linked by blood then in this way we could be. You all would be with me, and that I could show you what devotion looked like. That is, in doing this, I know what devotion tastes like.”

He looked down at his lap, as if simply embarrassed for being caught like a child and not having admitted to going out of his way to drink the blood of his loved ones. Not that it was a garish as that in practice, at least Zishu thought as much, but could certainly understand how to most, this confession wasn’t something one would expect to be taken well. Luckily for Wen Kexing, his little family was not made like most, nor his zhi ji so easily shaken. And he said as much.

“Lao Wen, you’re absolutely an enigma to me sometimes. But I think I understand you, and at least somewhat, I can understand this too. Although…” He paused, feigning a look of uncertainty as he looked at Wen kexing and then glancing away dramatically.

“Although what? A-Xu, don’t tease me like this. If you don’t want me to-”

He was abruptly cut off by the sensation of somewhat cool and dry lips against his own, the “assailant” so firm and sudden in his “attack” it pushed them both over, leaving Wen Kexing askew on his back on the floor and the other straddling his hips to not break the contact, his forearms on either side of Wen Kexing’s head. They broke for air after a few moments, though it could have been hours for all Wen Kexing cared.

He blinked up owlishly, taken off guard for once by the other’s actions which only brought out a childishly triumphant and confident grin from Zishu.

“Although, I think there’s other tastes devotion can take. Would you like me to teach you?”

[the-iron-orchid]

BOOK II: THE HIGH PRIESTESS

Chapter 1: The Seer  (~2330 words)

Warnings: None

Back to table of contents

The landscape is desolate, a place of tawny sands and little else. The sky overhead is oppressive, thick with dark, lowering clouds. Where the two meet, the slim line of the horizon pulses with a viridian glow.

My arms hold fast to Asra’s waist, the scent of his hair in my nostrils. Beneath us, I feel the loping stride of a great beast, shaggy and immense. I realize that I must be dreaming... and in dreams, I have made contact.

“Mast -” I stop and swiftly correct myself. “Asra, where are we?” I ask him. It is only then that I notice the path of shining obsidian before us, snaking ahead to the horizon - clear, and yet ever-changing, its reflection of the sky above further confusing the perception.

Asra says that we are far enough away... but for what?

For answers, he says. For clarity. He senses a terrible storm on the horizon; something is changing, and not for the better.

I am instantly reminded of what the Countess said, her dream-visions of a terrible future, which must not come to pass.

Asra tells me that soon we will reach a crossroads, a nexus, a liminal place. He says that I will make a choice, one that changes everything for me... and for others. I feel his hands over mine, squeezing very briefly. But they are trembling, just a little, and he lets go hurriedly - as if the touch might burn him, or me, if held too long.

A chill wind rises around us, bearing the sands up with it in a vortex. It blots out first the landscape, then the horizon… then everything.

The last thing I hear is Asra’s voice: “Rest now, ya albi. I'll be back soon.”

---

I awaken to late morning sunlight slanting through the small windows - rather later than I wanted to sleep, but it seems that the previous night left me exhausted. I stumble into the kitchen, yawning, and rouse the stove salamander so that I might brew a pot of strong tea. He, too, needs to use his abilities regularly, lest they cause him trouble. If I am to be out, he should have a good round of exercise first.

Over my tea and a scone that has seen better days, I consider what I should bring with me to the Palace - a change of clothing, spell components, my current journal… I’m certain that they will be able to provide me with writing instruments...

It keeps my mind off of my strange dream, and its portents. For now.

Fortified with multiple cups of tea (the scone, not especially improved by toasting, was left out on the doorstep for the pigeons), I pack my things. The bag that Heron made for me is very special - it holds much, much more than it appears to. Then I set about readying the shop for my absence. I dust down the counters, and ensure that the stove salamander has a supply of coke to consume.

I go up to the rooftop to water my plants, such as they are. Heron has a lush rooftop garden that provides us both with herbs and vegetables year-round; I have a planter box full of pretty flowering weeds. But the basil is doing very well in its bucket, and the aloe in its large bowl. There is also a forgotten bean that started to sprout, now residing comfortably in an old mug with no handle. Hopefully I won’t be gone so long that they all wither in the midsummer sun… well, the aloe will survive, I am sure.

When I come back downstairs, I must turn away a few customers, hopeful for a reading. Everyone wants to know what the future holds. 

If only I could ask the Arcana about the past, everything that came before the last three years. Three years of struggle and pain, of learning to be an adult human all over again, after whatever accident or illness took that part of me forever… for the most part. Once in a while, a dim memory will float by, like a distant iceberg on the sea of my mind. To try and grasp such memories is to invite pain and terror, and so I let them go. 

But sometimes, there are things that I know or can do which I did not learn in the last three years with Asra and Heron. I must assume that these come from Before, written so far below the surface of my mind as to escape erasure. I dance fairly well, and I sing better than that. And while Asra and Heron are always cautious in how they teach me, I very often feel that the small, shallow pool of my magic bubbles up from something much deeper, an underground ocean in the caverns of my soul.

It is a place I cannot explore, not even with the seemingly unending patience and help of my teachers. When I have tried, it leaves me bedridden for days, my body unresponsive, my mind a maelstrom of vivid hallucinations. Giants, ghosts, talking animals… a deeper dimension to my relationship with Asra, which is almost certainly wishful thinking on my part.

They tell me that my power springs from something very fundamental and dangerous, the primordial Chaos that underlies creation. By the same token, Heron’s magic springs from the primordial force of Order, and Asra’s from a direct connection to the Magical Realms that lie beyond our own. Each of us is something different, and yet the same.

They both tell me that I’m making wonderful progress, that my power and ability will continue to grow; it simply is not a linear progression. Magic grows in fits and starts and flashes of understanding. 

I hope they are right.

As the day wears on, I must be on my way to the Palace. I thoroughly lock up the shop, tracing the wards on the doors (not that this seemed to help against last night’s intruder). As I am doing this, a sudden prickle down the back of my neck causes me to start in alarm - a huge shape has materialized at my side, seemingly from nowhere.

Eldritch energy immediately crackles around my left hand, but I rein it in - they are doing nothing in particular besides looming, so large that they block my access to the side alleyway entirely. Two glinting eyes watch me from within the depths of a rough hood of furs, draped over a massive body that is crossed again and again with ropy scars. 

I clear my throat. “Er, excuse me… I need to pass through there.”

For a moment, they simply continue to look at me. Then, they shift their weight, and start moving out of the way. There is a strange muffled clanking, as of chains.

“Thank you.” I nod curtly, settle my bag on my hip, and start walking past the large figure.

“He will return. Though uninvited.” The voice is deep, so deep it’s like the thunder of a waterfall. “He will offer you an escape when you need it most. Turn him down, or you will fall into his hand… just like the rest of us.”

I pause at this apparent prognostication. A teller of fortunes, I know a seer when I hear one.

“Take this, or my warning is for nothing.”

I turn back to the person, curious. The light just barely strikes two glimmers of green from within the hood. Pinched between the huge thumb and forefinger is a little leather pouch on a thin cord. Grudgingly, it seems, the figure holds it out to me. I reach a hand out, palm up, and they drop the item into it, as if unwilling to touch.

And without a further word, they turn and shuffle away. Oddly, no-one seems to take notice of the hooded figure, despite their immense size - normally, people would be gawking, pointing even.

How odd. I scrutinize the tiny bag in my palm with my magical sight. It radiates a faint aura of protective magics. I glance up again - but the figure is gone.

The pouch is well-sealed with complex warding knots, and the leather is inscribed with a sigil. Bringing it to my nose, I smell the warm, woody scent of myrrh resin.

Philosophically, I hang the little pouch around my neck. My magical sight shows nothing malicious in it… and I can use all the protection I can muster, I’m sure.

I step into the flow of traffic and noise as I cut my way through the bustling Market, but I hear little of it; I am lost in my own thoughts. Who is the he spoken of by the seer? Julian tried to give me some warning or other about Asra… but I’m not sure I credit that. He seems to have some personal vendetta. Julian himself, perhaps? What more warning could one need about a wanted criminal?

As I climb the steps that lead into the market plaza, a black shape catches my eye - it’s a large raven, perched on one of the lines of colorful lanterns that crisscross overhead. The bird looks back at me with one beady eye, blacker than my own, then croaks and turns its head. I, too, turn my head, following its gaze.

...and my heart stumbles and skips a beat as I spot Julian Devorak, walking through the crowd as if nothing at all is amiss, his face bare to the world... and unblemished. His temple shows no bruising, no hint of a wound where last night he bled.

He hasn’t seen me yet. Half of me wants to flee, but the other half is intensely curious as to how he can walk about so freely, a fugitive from the law. And how has he healed so quickly? 

It is this second half that sends me after him. 

Unfortunately, this means I must move against traffic, and I am not large. I also don’t want to form an obvious eddy in the crowd with my movements. Devorak is making his leisurely way along the market stalls, seemingly without a care in the world. Is he looking to get caught? Wanted posters litter the city, and between his height and that profile, it’s not like he is anonymous in any way. An eyepatch only distracts so much.

The raven gives a sudden shriek, and Devorak turns, our eyes locking for a frozen moment through the crowd.

And then a cart passes between us, causing me to step back involuntarily. When it is gone… so is he, vanished as if he had never been there at all.

I pause, traffic flowing around me, and wonder at my own actions. The man is a wanted criminal, maybe even a killer. Why on earth would I put myself in danger by following him around, no matter how curious I am? Shaking my head at myself, I rejoin the foot traffic, resuming my interrupted journey.

Maybe it was Julian that the giant of earlier was warning me about.

A voice cuts through my reverie, a voice I know. It’s Selasi, the baker, whose stall Asra and I often frequent - one of the small handful of merchants who seem unfazed by us. He asks if I’ve eaten, saying that there are spiced pumpkin loaves fresh out of the oven, almost cool enough to eat. He cajoles me to sit and talk with him in the meantime.

A pot of tea isn’t enough to fuel my day. My stomach rumbles to resentful life as the scent of the spiced bread reaches my nose.

“Well… I can’t stay long,” I tell him. “But I am starving!”

Selasi laughs and waves me to the back of the booth, where I seat myself up against the sun-warmed wall of the building behind.  An enormous orange fluff of a cat appears from under a table, and rubs itself against my side. Absently, I scratch it between the ears.

The baker offers me a steaming cup of tea, asking after Asra. 

“Oh, out on a journey again.”

“Of course! Where to this time?”

“I… don’t know, actually. He didn’t say.”

Selasi frowns slightly. “Really?”

“It seemed really important. Maybe it’s a secret.” I shrug, sipping my mint tea.

The baker folds his arms and shakes his head with a sigh. “Nothing new, I guess. Your Asra on a mysterious journey, that is. But what about you?”

I lift my brows. My Asra, indeed. “What about me?”

He grins widely. “They say that the Countess’s own carriage was spotted here in Center City, late in the night. You can’t miss it, not with all the escorts on horseback. Circling around not far from your shop, even.”

I do my best to cover over my surprise. Selasi loves gossip as much as he loves to bake, and maybe even more. It’s harmless, but I don’t know that the Countess wants her business all over the market.

“Really? I wonder what she was after?” My stomach chooses that moment to let out a long growl, and I laugh. “Me, I’m just after pumpkin bread. I’m a simple creature.”

Selasi laughs, throwing his head back. “Keep your secrets, then, just like your master.” He shakes his head and pulls a fresh loaf from the cooling racks. “One hot for now, and one cool for the road?” he asks, and I nod, giving the cat one last pat before rising and placing my empty cup aside.

Selasi wraps the loaves for me, and I hand over my coin. I place the cooled one into my endless bag before taking a big bite out of the warm loaf. The outer crust has a pleasing bite to it, the inside soft and fluffy, the spices fragrant. “Mmph! Delicioush azh alwayzh! ’ll zhee you lader!” I say around the mouthful of pumpkin bread, waving as I exit the booth.

“Don’t keep the Countess waiting!” he says, almost making me choke on my bite of bread.

I suppose it’s true what they say… the only thing that travels faster than magic is gossip.

[mommymooze]

Grand ReOpening

Hubert x Reader 5,613 words

descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU

You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.

You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.

Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.

The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.

They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.

Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.

Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.

Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.

“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?” You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.

A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.

Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.

Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.

“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.

You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.

You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.

“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.

After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.

A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.

You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.

You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the

item?

Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.

V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?

You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.

V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.

Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.

Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.

You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.

He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.

“Good morning” you greet him casually.

“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.

“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.

“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”

You roll your eyes.

He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”

Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”

Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”

“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”

“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.

“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.

“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”

“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.

“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”

“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”

“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.

Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”

He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.

Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.

There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.

A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.

Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.

Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.

Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.

He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.

You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.

The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.

Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.

Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.

The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.

“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.

“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.

Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.

“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.

“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”

He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.

Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.

Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.

“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.

Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”

“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”

Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.

“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.

“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.

“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.

“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.

“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.

“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.

“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.

You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.

“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”

He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”

Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.

You share your findings.

“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.

“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.

Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.

“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”

Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.

After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”

You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.

The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.

You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.

The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.

Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.

“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.

“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.

“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.

The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.

Epilogue:

Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.

It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.

You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…

[bamfdaddio]

X-Men Abridged: 1968

The X-Men, those ever-so-slightly exhausting mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(X-Men 40 - 51) - written by Roy Thomas, Gary Friedrich and Arnold Drake. Drawn by Werner Roth, Don Heck, George Tuska and Jim Steranko

Did you know Frankenstein’s monster was an android, sent to earth by aliens as an ambassador?

My English Lit professor LIED TO ME! (X-Men 40)

Whereas last year served up a cohesive narrative by making it all about Factor Three, 1968 gives us a hodgepodge of clumsy and confusing storylines. This might be due to the different writers at the helm: last year was all about Roy Thomas, this year we’ve got three dudes pulling it in different directions.

What doesn’t change is the prose. So much purple prose.

Anyway, this year is all about THE DEATH OF PROFESSOR XAVIER and THE RETURN OF MAGNETO! (If you think this is terrific foreshadowing and not something that kills all narrative tension, boy howdy, you’ll love reading comics from this era.)

The best kind of foreshadowing drags you into an alley, punches you in the nose and steals your shoes. Fuck subtlety and proper twists. (X-Men 41)

Anyway, Xavier is acting all out of character: cranky, angry, impatient, barely using his powers for immoral purposes… He pushes the X-Men to the brink and continually sequesters himself with a troubled Jean.

Meanwhile, Bobby and Hank’s date with Zelda and Vera is interrupted… again. At this point, I just have to believe that Zelda and Vera are embroiled in some torrid lesbian relationship, while Hank and Bobby serve as their beards.ANYWAY, their date is interrupted by the Grotesk, the last remaining heir to an advanced subterranean species who have recently been slaughtered by an earthquake machine of human making. Look, how many underground societies does the Marvel Earth even have? Did these Grotesks live next to the Molemen? I…

In defense of Grotesk, spinning him around like a fucking bola is one of the top three things I´d like to do with Angel too. (X-Men 42)

The X-Men try to stop the Grotesk from sinking the Eastern seaboard into the Atlantic, and in the end, the Professor sacrifices himself to stop him, paying pays the ultimate price!

OR DOES HE

To make it even more tragic, apparently Xavier was dealing with some mysterious illness that neither human medicine nor mutant powers could cure. But before he died, he somehow transferred his powers to Jean. (Either pretend this happened or retcon it him awakening Jean’s latent telepathy.) Anyway, Chuck wanted to prepare them for the return of… Magneto. (Also Pietro and Wanda.)

Quicksilver crashes Xavier’s funeral, unsure whether he should ask the X-Men for help. He doesn’t. Meanwhile, Magneto somehow has duped some hapless time-displaced TikTokker into filming the grisly affair. (X-Men 43)

What follows is a sort of confusing crossover with the Avengers where the X-Men mostly get sidelined in favour of some drama involving the House of M. Wanda has some temporary mental damage that only Magneto can cure? Also, Pietro hates humans now, which, given the state of the world in general, I can only concur with.

Magneto captures the X-Men in customized cages, designed to be unescapable, but Angel escapes by simply pushing the right button. He flies off to get help, stumbles upon a weird and ultimately meaningless side quest and finally returns with the Avengers!

But! Magneto turns the X-Men against Earth’s Mightiest Heroes! Just kidding: the X-Men pretend to go along with Magneto’s mind games, but this was all a plot concocted by the heroes to make Magneto feel like he’s winning. Instead, the heroes attack and drive Magneto back. Toad, who finally is fed up with Magneto’s abuse, emancipates himself and defies Magneto, kicking him out of the helicopter he, Wanda and Pietro flee in. Magneto seemingly falls to his death in the water.

OR DOES HE.

First of all: why would Magneto just make a non-ferrous aircraft? Second of all: why would he then BRING IT ALONG? Big mad. (Avengers 53)

Following Xavier’s death, Foggy Nelson reads his will. The Professor bequeaths the school to the X-Men! Fred Duncan, Professor X’s FBI liaison is also there! And then! Juggernaut briefly returns from the dimension of Cyttorak, stirs up trouble and is then sucked back into the ruby of Cyttorak thanks to a Professor Ex Machina from the grave. This somehow convinces Fred Duncan that the X-Men should split up, fearing they may be too big a target for evil mutants and thinking they might be better at responding to threats spread out over the continent.

Yeah, Angel will be so much more effective when he isn’t part of a team of much more powerful individuals. (X-Men 46)

So, the X-Men split up! In NYC, Bobby and Hank battle Warlock, the most forgettable villain ever, when he interrupts their date. They also get into a fight with hippies because of… poetry?

Yeah! Put the slam in poetry slam, odd beatniks! *aggressive finger snaps* (X-Men 47)

Jean and Scott ‘go undercover’ in California, with Jean becoming a model and Scott ‘pretending’ to be her superjealous boyfriend. So, instead of actually forming a relationship, they just pretend to have one? Fuck, these two are exhausting. Jean also forgot she attends a university, apparently. Which is just as well, because it means boring Ted and his boring brother disappear from the narrative.

They are attacked by an increasingly silly string of villains and it’s obvious that nobody really knows what to do with this book. They even skip an issue: the preview for issue 49 is something completely different than what we’re getting.

The year ends of a sort of high note, however, introducing two familiar faces. Mesmero,a hitherto unknown follower of Magneto, is amassing an army of would-be mutants by… hypnotizing them? Through their… X-Gene? Among them is a curious gal named Lorna Dane, who is rocking the brown hair. Bobby saves her from her drone-like state and keeps an eye on her while the rest of the X-Men investigate Mesmero.

Lorna meanwhile takes a shower, washed out the cheap dye and is revealed to have green hair. (Fuck yeah! But also maybe buy better dye?) Bobby and Lorna are captured by Mesmero and his cronies, and Bobby warns the other X-Men telepathically. They let themselves be captured by Mesmero too, figuring it’s the easiest way to find his lair. There, Mesmero awakens Lorna’s latent magnetism powers, and bestows on her two sweet titles:

Somewhere in Kenya, Storm is upset and doesn’t know why. (X-Men 50)

And, in another shocking twist (gasp²), Magneto’s alive!

You say ‘aura of unspeakable evil’, I say ‘prime dom top daddy’. (X-Men 50)

He fights the X-Men while Polaris tries to determine who she holds allegiance to: the father she just met or these other randos she just met. You’d think she would maybe not want to hang out with the raving demagogue, but hey. Maybe it’s magnetic attraction. The X-Men flee, forced to regroup, and we end the year there, with the ‘innocent’ Lorna Dane under Magneto’s thrall.

Didn’t you take Art History? Oh! Issue 50 has the familiar logo for the first time, created by Jim Steranko!

So one cape tassel goes over the shoulder and one goes under it? Why is there a little skull with horns in the middle? Why the strappy sandals? Mesmero, sashay away. (X-Men 50)

Ugliest Costume: It’s a toss-up between Mesmero and Polaris, but since I assume Mesmero designed Polaris’ outfit, we’ll just give it to him.

Best new character: I didn’t think she’d earn it, because I’m not the biggest fan of Lorna Dane (most writers use her as a plot device, rather than a character), but otherwise this would go to Grotesk and that’s never going to happen.

Most audacious retcon: Jean is able to psychically penetrate Juggernaut’s helmet, which used to protect him from Charles’ influence.

It’s also kinda funny how after years of retcons where Polaris, Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver sometimes are and sometimes aren’t Magneto’s kids, how it is right now is the same as when it started: Lorna is Magneto’s daughter, the twins aren’t.

What to read: Nothing. This is not a great year.

Death proof: ‘Chuck’ kicks the bucket for the first time.

[irondadbigbang]

IronDad Big Bang 2019 Masterlist

Masterlist below the cut! Or read on AO3.

Baby Bird by WhimsicalEthnographies @whimsicalethnographies

Peter stares at the envelope, sitting in the middle of his work table, in his little corner, in Mr. Stark’s lab. He’d been checking the mail as soon as he gets home from school and pulled it out before May got home, which won’t be until after nine o’clock. And there it was, finally, the envelope adorned with Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gray and maroon across the white paper.

art by ulzyuu

Castle on a Cloud by CaptainStarSong @captainstarsong

“How the Hell am I supposed to help some kid when half the time my own life is crashing and burning,” Tony asked, incredulous that Fury was thinking that he could possibly take care of some little boy that he didn’t even know. There was a reason why Tony’s life was practically always falling a part, why the closest people around him either died or left him. It wouldn’t be fair to bring some kid into the mix of his crazy life, especially after Afghanistan. 

Fury took a deep breath as looked at Tony with a hint of pity. “Because, Tony, his name is Peter and he’s your son.” 

Or in which SHIELD finds a young and hurt Peter after raiding a HYDRA base, and Tony must learn how to become the father Peter needs.

art by eve-valution

Casualty of the Darkness by kianisabitch @kianisabitch

Peter remembers when they used to cuddle or simply curl up together and listen to each other’s heartbeats. They used to be the perfect couple. Alex would bring him milkshakes when he had a bad day, he always came to Peter’s science fairs and he even let the boy sleep over at his house whenever May had a night shift at the hospital (which was more often than not at this point due to a single paycheck never being enough to support their small family). But slowly, Alex stopped doing those thing. It started with him forgetting to bring Peter milkshakes when his eyes were red rimmed or anxiety attacks shook through his bed like a hurricane, but quickly morphed into daily insults and verbal abuse and then backhands to the face when he was angry or hands grabbing him too hard and finally the violent sex he was now so used to. Sometimes he missed how their relationship used to be. But the good times were a thing of the past and there was no use mourning what he no longer had. 

OR 

Peter is stuck in a highly abusive situation and Tony starts uncovering the truth in order to save the spiraling teenager.

Damaged At Best (Like You’re Already Figured Out) by JolinarJackson @jolinarjackson

”Don’t come any closer,” Spider-Man said, his hand raised threateningly, his fingers resting against a trigger mechanism nestled into his palm. 

”Alright,” Tony answered. For a moment, they looked at each other – Tony stuck to the wall on one side of the alley and Spider-Man stuck to the other – then Tony opened his helmet to show his face. 

”Hey, there”, he said. ”Nice to finally meet you.” 

— 

The Avengers are left shaken in the aftermath of the Sokovia Accords. With half the team under house arrest at the Compound, Tony finds himself seeking refuge in Avengers Tower and starts forming a tentative friendship with the neighborhood vigilante Spider-Man. A friendship which is quickly threatened by Secretary Ross doubting Spider-Man’s intentions and integrity. 

Tony is left wondering who to trust, especially when Spider-Man manages to uncover the one secret Tony never wanted anyone to know about: the child Tony had with a woman named Mary Fitzpatrick sixteen years ago.

art by @shoyzz-art

Dreams Like Ashes by Captainkirkmccoy @captainkirkmccoy

Tony Stark may not know the danger he’s unleashing on himself, his team and his kid by reworking the old plans for the PASIV/Dream sharing project his father sold to the military, but he does have the best intentions. Irondad Big Bang.

How The Mighty Fall by Meep_Morp @gayspiderboy

Since his duel against Toomes on Coney Island, Peter’s life has settled down considerably. May knows about his double life and accepts it (mostly). Tony has welcomed him back, and given him more independence as New York’s Spider-Man. 

One night during patrol he crosses paths with Connor, a teenager who has Extremis in his blood and answers to the wrong kind of people. Though Tony is quick to distrust him, Peter finds himself reluctant to follow his mentor’s lead, and a bond develops between the two boys. Their relationship is further complicated when Connor’s former master, Negative, makes it a personal mission to destroy them both in his quest for power. 

Taking down a superpowered psychopath? Tough, but Peter isn’t going to back down. 

Stopping Tony from blasting his first potential boyfriend into space? He might need a miracle for that.

If You Could See Me Now by geekymoviemom @geekymoviemom

New York City is bracing itself for the worst hurricane to hit in over thirty years, and the kid isn’t back yet. 

Light by funnygirlthatbelle13 @funnygirlthatbelle

Tony Stark has given up. While the other heroes are in Wakanda trying to figure out a plan, he drinks to forget in New York. But when he discovers tickets to Next to Normal; a rock musical about mental illness, grief, the misuse and abuse of drugs, and parents recovering after the death of their child; that he and Peter had bought, he is forced to face his worst fears all over, and learn that, despite everything he’s been through, there may still be light.

Look Over Your Shoulder, I’ll Be There by Colourcodedbinders @colourcodedbinders

It starts as a simple enough gag: see how long he can manage to keep sneaking into Avengers Tower with his friends before Tony Stark notices. But when an unexpected gaggle of men wearing identical ugly navy blue suits and driving around in equally hideous blue cars join the mix, controlled by a guy with horrific fashion sense and the strength of twenty pumas, Peter has to suit up and do what he does best: superhero the hell out of it. 

And if it ends up being the hardest, scariest, most unplanned thing he’s ever had to do? Well then that’s no one’s business but his. (And Tony’s. Definitely also Tony’s.)

Radioactive by Emily_F6 @justme--emily

Things haven’t always been great between Tony Stark and his son. He wasn’t ready to become a father…didn’t even know he had a son until the boy’s mother died. Over time, though, he thought he got the hang of it. But that was before his son went on a field trip to Oscorp and was seemingly left fighting for his life.

Sea Spider by Bean_reads_fanfic @the-reverse-mermaid

“Tell me I’m not the only one seeing this,” Tony prompts, gesturing to their catch. 

It’s a kid. A teenager, by the looks of him, no more than 15 or 16, with curling brown hair plastered over his forehead and eyes. He lays there prone on his side, covered in cuts- some shallow, some deep, all of them most likely caused by the barbs on the fishnet. Tony can just make out blood matted on the back of his head- he probably hit it on the side of the boat and got himself knocked out. Clinging to his torso is a soaked, faded t-shirt and below that… 

…below that, his lower body is a tail. A full-on fish tail. 

(Mer!Peter AU)

Sometimes, a Family Is by CrystalRoza19 & NeonCrayons

Sometimes a family is comprised of you, your recently divorced dad, an unruly group of teenagers and a semi-unemployed former world-class neurosurgeon… 

Peter Stark hoped that moving back to the city would help his father get passed all the struggles and animosity that plagued him after his divorce. What he hadn’t thought to hope for was a way for his father to move on; he’d always had a hard time letting people go, after all. 

Stephen Strange was everything Steve Rogers was not. Maybe he could be everything Tony Stark needed to heal his broken heart. Throw in an unruly group of teenagers and you have yourself a family.

turn back the clock (and I’ll try again in the morning) by madasthesea @madasthesea

Peter gets stuck in a time loop. In it, he lives through some of his worst nightmares, only to wake up that morning and have no one remember. He needs Tony to help him get through. 

And if that isn’t bad enough, his identity is revealed over and over, every day.

art by @the-reverse-mermaid & starlight-sparks

VERENDUS by Lorein_nur 

New York 1935, Trish Parker was on her way to deliver a letter when all hell broke loose on the busy streets. Due to fates twisted sense of humor she found herself caught in the middle of a mafia disspute, if a stray bullet doesn’t kill her May sure as hell would.

art by @hereandnowwearealive

We’ve Made It This Far, Kid by EmAndFandems @jlmarch

Tony’s just trying to protect the kid from SHIELD. Why does everything have to be so hard? 

Meanwhile, Peter’s biggest problem is buying movie tickets, until he gets a harsh awakening.

[hallospaceboyy]

Hey, first of all: You are incredibly talented and very pretty! Do you still take requests, even if they're angsty? If so, please do one where the "mortal" lover of Zelda is dying. Unbeknownst to all of them she is a witch and could be resurrected. Maybe the Spellmans figure it out or not, it's up to you. Have a great day and thanks a lot!

Awakening

AN: It took me FOREVER to figure out where to go with this, and this is where it went lol.

The illness is taking hold now, seeping into the very marrow of your bones, clawing it's black tendrils at your heart, your lungs, and you know it wont be long. Zelda knows it too, and rarely leaves your side. Clutches your hand through the bouts of pain coursing through you, tries to relieve you with potions. But you make her stop that, refuse the foul tasting liquids. They leave your mind addled and hazy, and you want to be present for your last moments with her. You can’t ignore the scent of death in the room, and there's an incessant ticking in your ears, the ticking of the time left on your clock – the clock of your life, drawing to its end.

“I love you, Zelda Spellman.” You whisper weakly, and it's becoming harder to breathe, and the pain in your chest is almost unbearable. They all know that it's time – time to say goodbye. Hilda, Sabrina and Ambrose stand respectfully at the side of the room, wanted to be there for your last moments. You’re family to them, and they’re all crying, Sabrina tucked into Hilda's side, trying to muffle her sobs.

Zelda kneels beside you, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands clasped in yours. “I love you, my darling.” She releases a strangled sob, squeezes your hands. “I’m not ready to say goodbye.”

“You-You'll be okay, Zelds. You're strong. Stronger than you know.”

“I won’t be. Not without you.” She strokes your hair from your face with trembling hands, and you wince as a stabbing pain clutches at your chest,

You look past her to the others, smiling softly at them despite your suffering. “You look after her for me, and each other. Don’t make me come back to haunt you.”

They all laugh, although somewhat half heartedly, through their tears.

“Don't you worry, we'll take good care of our Zelds.” Hilda replies, voice thick with tears.

Your eyes drift shut, and Zelda sobs, you feel her kiss the back of your hands, and then feel her hot lips on your forehead, dampening your pallid skin. You exhale your last breath, thinking of Zelda, feeling Zelda, and the pain ebbs away.

*

Hilda rushes to Zelda's side as she collapses to the ground, body wracked with sobs, she desperately clings to your hand, and Hilda gently prises her fingers away, stopping her from tugging you from the bed as she falls.

“She's gone, Zelds. She's at peace now.”

“No no Hilda. I don’t want her to be gone, I don’t-" Hilda rocks her gently, sniffling away her own tears. “We're putting her in the cain pit.” Zelda suddenly says firmly, standing on shaky legs.

“Zelds, she's mortal. It won't work.” Hilda eyes her sister, concern etched on her face.

“We’re putting her in the cain pit!” She shouts, and Hilda jumps, eyes widening.

“Okay, Zelds. Okay. We'll put her in the cain pit.”

*

You claw your way through the dry earth, emerging into the bright light of day, and it's so very bright it makes you squint and hiss at the assault on your eyes. You sputter and cough, spitting out the gritty dirt in your mouth, and stumble to your feet. You have no idea how you’re alive, can remember the sickness grasping at you, tearing you away from the world, from Zelda. But you feel revitalised, there's an electricity coursing through your veins, tingling at your fingers, your toes, your tongue, and it feels exquisite. You feel energised, recharged.

You don’t even knock, just barge your way through the front door, and you cough again, your throat painfully dry. You hear the scrape of chairs from the direction of the kitchen, and Zelda all but sprints down the hallway in her long flowing nightgown and floral robe. She looks exhausted, shell shocked at you standing there in your nightdress, caked in mud from head to toe, but there is also relief in her eyes.

She throws herself into your arms, and you hold her tight as she cries on your shoulder, her form shaking profusely. Sabrina is next, barrelling into the two of you and holding you both, tears tracking down her own cheeks. Soon, you're sandwiched in the middle of all of the Spellmans and you're overwhelmed with emotion, relief at being back with them, your family, your Zelda.

When they all finally pull away, you’re being scrutinised with awe, and Zelda wipes at your cheeks, paying no mind to the mud coating her fingers.

“That has got to be one of the most revolting experiences of my life, by the way.” You point your thumb behind you in the general direction of the pit you had just crawled from, and look to Hilda. “You’ve seriously done that multiple times?”

Hilda nods, laughter bubbling in her throat, and then you’re all laughing, at the absurdity of the very first words you spoke after coming back from the dead.

“But I thought the cain pit was only for witches?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at Zelda.

“Well, it is.” She takes your hand, smiling softly. “Can't you feel it, Y/N? The power coursing through you? I can feel it, I can smell it.” You shudder at her words. You can feel it, that pulsing warmth within you that you had noticed only moments ago, beside the pit.

“But, how can I be a witch, and not know?”

“Powers eventually fade to almost nothing when left unused. It was always within you, somewhere. It just needed to be awakened.” She tucks your hair behind your ear, and kisses you softly.

“You knew?”

Zelda shrugs, biting her lip. “I had an inkling. I could feel it sometimes, something within you. In our most... intimate moments. Powers are always strongest when emotions are heightened.” You blush and glance shyly at the others, avidly listening to the conversation.

“So... what now?” You look down at your hands, frowning slightly, unable to believe you could be capable of the same magic the Spellmans themselves practise.

“Now, we teach you how to use your powers. Harness them, nurture them.” Zelda grins excitedly. “We'll get you in a bath, and some food down you, and then we can start right away.” You groan as she takes your hand and begins dragging you upstairs towards the bathroom.

“Zelds, I just rose from the dead! Can't it wait?”

“No.” She states simply, and you roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the ghost of a smile on your lips.

[mistbornthefinal]

Madoka Magica Aniversary Analysis: Part2

Hunting for Witches

(here there be spoilers, proceed at your own risk)

We get a quick recap of Mami introducing herself and blowing away Gertrude’s familiars, before cutting to Madoka waking up in bed much like last ep. Only this time Kubey is being a creepy bunnycat like always and is looming over her bed. Cue Connect.

As the two of them are brushing their teeth in their weird giant bathroom Junko chastises Madoka for being late and not checking in with the family. We then cut back to yesterday as Mami leads Madoka and Sayaka back to her house. Honestly I prefer the original broadcast version of Mami’s house it’s emptiness laid the seeds for the reveal of the desperately lonely girl Mami actually was. 

(Shaft there was a point where this need to stop and we’ve clearly passed it)

Mami gives them some cake and then gets down to business about this whole magic thing. She starts with the soul gem, the source of a magical girls powers which is created when she forms a contract with Kyubey. Kyubey then lays out the terms in exchange for becoming a magical girl he will grant the subject one wish, according to him anything is on the table. But becoming Meguca has a price, a magical girl must fight Witches. 

Back in the present Madoka asks her mom what she would wish for. Junko says she’d oust a couple of board members at her company, maybe the president as well the man is by her account too long in tooth and yet still refuses name a successor. Madoka suggest the she might be the next president and you can almost immediately see the wheels starting to turn in Junko’s head. Madoka watches slightly nonplussed as Junko begins playing her next moves in Game of Thrones: Mitakihara office politics edition.

(Madoka has no idea the cataclysm her off the cuff statement precipitated) 

Hours in the past Sayaka asks what a Witch is and how they are different from magical girls. Kyubey replies (in retrospect very weaselly) that if magical girls are born from wishes than witches are born from curses. In addition Witches can not be seen by normal humans, but none the less prey on them sowing anger and despair. Mami chimes in that many seemly inexplicable murders and suicides are due to witch curses. Sayaka asks why this isn’t common knowlage. The answer Witches hid from humanity in unreal pocket dimensions, the labyrinths.

What happened to the girls earlier is they had wandered into a labyrinth, something that’s usually fatal to ordinary humans. Mami stresses that within the labyrinth even her life is in danger so the two of them ought to weigh their options carefully before making a contract. As tempting as wish might be the price could very well be death. Despite the danger Mami offers them a chance to accompany them on a witch hunt to see what it’s like before they sign up.

As Madoka meets up with her friends on the way to school Sayaka is quick to react to the bunnycat perched on her shoulder. In addition to being invisible to muggles Kuybey also acts as telepathic relay. Though the twos silent conversation give Hitomi the wrong idea

(this scene became a meme for good reason) 

In the classroom Sayaka questions the wisdom of Kyubey coming to school, given the girl who tired to ice him yesterday is in their class. Kyubey says Mami is in telepathic range (prompting her to chime in) and he doesn’t peg Homura as the sort to cause a public disturbance. Homura’s arrival in class triggers another flashback to last evening.

Specifically the part of the conversation were they discuss the transfer student. Mami confirms that she is another magical girl. This confused Sayaka, why would a magical girl attack Madoka, shouldn’t they be allies of justice. Kyubey corrects her Homura was after him, likely to prevent him from making new contracts. Mami explains that conflict among magical girls is a common occurrence. Witch hunting has it’s rewards and sometimes megucas will fight each other to secure them. Sayaka rather astutely connects her interest in Madoka with the presumed desire to keep competitors out of the picture. 

This whole cutting between past and present thing might be a little hard to follow in text recap form, but it does us a service by cutting our big exposition dump and giving us time to breath in between segments. This scene tells us everything we need to know about magical girls and witches (or so we think) and even gives us some insight into what Homura is about. After EP 1 left us with nothing but questions EP 2 has given us faith that this show isn’t going to leave us in the dark. 

At lunch which Madoka and Sayaka have decided to eat on their schools aesthetic as fvck roof, the two discuss the possibilities of a wish.

(this school is cursed and I love it)

Sayaka says that as tempting as a wish is she balks at the cost, then laments that most people should have a wish that they would risk their lives for and that neither of them do shows how privileged they are. There is a brief cut who we will later learn is Kyosuke before laments that there are plenty of people in the world who would risk their lives on a wish, so why them.

Before we can get an answer Homura enters the scene. The girls are startled but Mami’s voice chimes in revealing that she’s providing overwatch from a nearby tower. Homura says she’s not here to fight and going after Kyubey again is pointless now that he’s made contact with Madoka. She just want’s to know where the stand re:becoming meguca. She then reminds Madoka of her earlier warning, a warning that hopefully has not fallen on deaf ears. Madoka asks what Homura wished for but only receives a cryptic look. 

They ditch Hitomi to go Witch hunting and fail to correct her... assumptions along the way. When the meet up with Mami at the cafe we learn that Sayaka brought a bat, while Madoka brought sketches of magical girl costumes. 

(sketches drawn by her awesome voice actress Yuuki Aoi)

They go back to where Mami fought the familiars so she can pick up the Witches magic trail and track it to her labyrinths new location. As the girls are following the trail we cut to a woman stumbling into an abandoned building, a building that someone wrote a Faust quote on one of the walls in the original German (more on that when do a post on Madok’s Faust references). 

Bach with Mami and hangers on we learn she has been systemizing her method of witch hunting, checking the places already prone to violence and accidents that witches tend to frequent. According to her the worst place for a witch to be is a hospital where they can leach the life from those already weakened by illness.

The arrive at the abandoned building just in time for Mami to catch the woman from earlier when she jumps off the roof. Though uninjured the woman is cationic and marked with a strange glyph that Mami identifies as a witches kiss. She lead the two of them into the labyrinth through a portal but not before enchanting Sayaka’s bat. Homura is not far behind. 

Mami makes easy work of the familiars and after a series a surreal doors open we reach to core of the labyrinth and meet it’s creator.

(I’m not sure what people were expecting back in 2011 but I don’t think it was a butterfly rosebush monster)

Gertrude gets her name plastered on the screen in witch runes, setting us up for a boss fight, cue magia. Mami curtsies to the witch causing two of her signature muskets to fall from her skirt. Gerturde throws her sofa at her and the flies through the air to dodge return fair from Mami’s guns. While Mami is focused on the witch herself several small familiars on the ground merge into a giant tendril that takes her off guard and slams her into the wall. 

Mami is able to turn the table by conjuring threads from the bullets embedded in the ground to ensnare the witch. She then uses the ribbon of her uniform to cut herself free and then conjures a giant gun with it that blows the witch away.

(No one else in this show names their attacks, Mami is such a dork)

Mami celebrates with a cup of tea as the barrier dissipates, then picks up a strange black object from the ground. This she tells Madoka, Sayaka, and the audience is a Grief Seed. The Grief Seed is a witches egg and it can be used to cleanse the darkness of a girls soul gem, replenishing her magic. She then tosses it into the darkness only for a previously unseen Homura to catch it. It has one more use which Mami offers to Homura. Homura rebuffs this offer which Mami takes poorly and Sayaka even more poorly. Madoka on the other hand just wants everyone to get along. 

With the influence of the witch gone the woman from earlier awakens, and is distraught at what she almost did. Mami comforts the woman telling her it was all a bad dream. The episode ends with Madoka musing that while she has no idea what wish she would stake her life on she admires Mami’s heroism. (cue Mata Ashita)

That’s Episode 2 which I would say is the most fundamental episode for understanding Madoka’s plot. We got a whole lot of exposition dumped, far more than you notice because it’s intercut with slice of life movements and character building. The it was capped off with a cool fight scene.  Everything from here on essentially either confirms or subverts what episode establishes.  

[dentistscolfax]

Common Oral Health Problems and Their Causes

Your mouth is complicated. Like your body, it is vulnerable to injury and also infection.

Much like exercise, a healthy and balanced diet, adequate rest as well as routine examinations at the doctor's workplace are necessary in keeping optimal general wellness, correct take care of your teeth in the kind of everyday brushing as well as flossing, a healthy diet plan and routine oral exams with the dental professional, are required for terrific dental wellness that lowers your risk of injury, infection, illness and degeneration.

With the disturbing boost of the concern of the dental professional, a growing number of people hesitate to see the dentist. By passing up on these important, advised, twice-yearly cleansings, individuals are placing their dental wellness in jeopardy. They can likewise be delaying treatment of dental health and wellness problems, which can extend the person's pain as well as permit the dental health and wellness concern to advance Preventative Dentistry Colfax

Below is a checklist of typical dental health and wellness problems to look out for:

Dental cavity

Dental caries, more typically called tooth cavities are just one of one of the most common health disorders. It is suggested that every American will certainly access the very least one cavity in his or her lifetime. Tooth cavities can take place at any type of age and also are the result of bad dental hygiene as well as a bad diet plan high in sugars, carbohydrates as well as fine-tuned, processed foods.

A dental professional can rapidly identify a cavity as well as easily load it.

Cavities that aren't dealt with may, in time progression and contaminate the tooth origins and also periodontals. Without treatment cavities can eventually lead to lost teeth.

Tooth Infection

Infections of the teeth commonly trigger relentless throbbing, discomfort and pain. They can significantly influence one's life.

A tooth abscess is normally the source of tooth infections. With a tooth abscess, an infection creates inside the tooth (called the pulp). The infection spreads down into the origins of teeth as well as inevitably right into the jawbone.

Otherwise treated immediately with a root canal, the tooth infection can cause the tooth being lost.

Toothaches and also Tooth Level Of Sensitivity

There are lots of causes to toothaches and tooth sensitivity. The most common causes include trauma to the tooth or dental caries. As toothaches and tooth sensitivity can immoral extreme, daily discomfort, and maybe an indication of tooth decay or a tooth infection, it is highly recommended you make a consultation with your dental practitioner asap.

Gum Condition

Much like dental caries, gum tissue illness is one more typical oral health condition that will likely impact most people sometime in life.

The most common form of gum tissue condition is easy to diagnose, deal with and turn around. If, nonetheless, the gum tissue condition isn't treated, it can proceed into the more serious variation: gum illness. Periodontal disease is tougher to treat and the damages might not be relatively easy to fix. Periodontal disease, if left uncontrolled can lead to damage to the jawbone and lost teeth.

Daily flossing and brushing can help clients avoid gum disease in addition to expert flossing, and also origin planing and scaling.

Dry Mouth

A completely dry mouth may look like an irritating, however harmless oral condition. While the continuous thirst as well as accompanying aching throat may be undesirable, a completely dry mouth can substantially increase one's risk of obtaining dental cavity and also gum illness.

Dry mouth has lots of causes ranging from anxiety as well as anxiety to drug side-effects to incorrectly operating saliva glands. The most effective treatment of dry mouth is to deal with the resource of the completely dry mouth.

Temporomandibular Joint Disorder (TMJ).

Temporomandibular Joint Problem, or TMJ for short is a condition where the joint near the hinge of the jaw, the temporomandibular joint, gets out of placement and also doesn't function as efficiently as it should certainly.

The most common signs and symptoms of TMJ include earaches, discomfort when eating, muscular tissue discomfort and also stiffness in the jaw, and pain in the butt or face.

According to WebMD, approximately 15% of people have TMJ as well as the problem tends to influence ladies more than guys.

The sources of TMJ include: a dislocated jaw, an injury to the jaw, too much teeth grinding, misaligned teeth and jaws as well as joint inflammation.

The treatment for temporomandibular joint problem can differ substantially from simple leisure and also painkiller to plastic mouth guards to oral surgery. The intensity, reason and duration of an individual's TMJ will certainly establish the very best therapy alternative.

Bruxism.

Do you awaken in the early morning with a sore jaw? You might have an oral problem called Bruxism. With Bruxism, one automatically grinds his/her teeth or clenches their jaw. Many Bruxism episodes happen in the evening when the individual is asleep.

Plastic or rubber nightguards from the dental expert workplace are the most effective treatment for Bruxism.

[magneticmage]

I'm in the mood for it (plus it's Disability Pride month) so here are all my disabled ocs;

Under cut for Length

Additional Notes; Please do not judge me too harshly. While I have a few of these disabilities (most notably PTSD, anxiety-depression, and visual impairments) myself and personally know people who have some others, every person and their experiences are unique. I try my best to give these disabilities the space and gravity they deserve in my writing, but it is difficult for ones that I have no personal experience with. In addition, I am still learning and only human. If I have done something wrong or phrased something badly at any point now or in the future, let me know and I will do my best to fix it/do better. Apologies for the abrupt disclaimer but there we go.

Anyways!!!!

On the the List!

RWBY;

Selene Argent=Has PTSD, one prosthetic eye, and some physical scars on face and torso. I'd safely say she counts.

Baldur's Gate;

Sable Shades=Is an albino and was rendered mute at birth. He sunburns extremely easily and is near-sighted. He also often communicates through sign language.

Roan Roarke=Beyond some minor PTSD symptoms (increased anxiety and stress levels) surrounding fires, he's perfectly fine.

Faenerys Elendir=Has PTSD from her time imprisoned particular involving whips and brands as torture implements.

Rune Mistsea=Post-lycanthropy encounter, he is notably more short-tempered around the full moon along with a distinct craving for meat and violence. Otherwise, nothing else of note.

Lucine Mistsea=Beyond a notable paranoia issue when it comes to demons and cambions (but not fellow tieflings), she's fine.

Lyr(e/a/an) Lovemoor=Autistic. Too much light and noise and surrounding activity is draining and makes them short-tempered with occasional blowouts/meltdowns. Has a Thing about certain textures (very much hates slimes and oozes and squishy things for this reason, likes silks and furs and leathers). Has a fascination for all things shiny and glittery (gems and currencies are a special interest). Also often fidgets with their daggers.

Saga Musehart=Was rendered blind due to torture at the hands of prison guards. She also lost a hand (initially) and a forearm (later due to infection) and wears a prosthesis.

Cei Gloomdraft=Autistic or at least neurodivergent of some kind. Might have some ADHD, it's not quite clear yet in the few pieces I've written so far to help develop her.

Mass Effect;

(Solo Shepard Canon)

Annette Shepard=Has some lingering PTSD symptoms from surviving a raid on Mindoir, then thresher maws in Akuze, and then being spaced at the beginning in Mass Effect 2. She also suffers from some survivor's guilt Post-Virmire due to losing Ashley, and then all of Mass Effect 3 puts such a huge burden on her that she's fighting off some severe depression and despair from all the losses. She's got an old war injury in her shoulder that acts up from time to time, occasionally making her biotics misfire a barrier. She's on immuno-suppressant drugs to prevent her body from rejecting her Cerberus-added cybernetic implants and upgrades, and also some antidepressants for depression and anxiety symptoms for said lingering PTSD symptoms. Girl's a walking disaster-fire mentally but she keeps on surviving and she still looks for the good in life as it comes, so there's that.

(Shepard Siblings)

Joanna=Like Roscoe and Riley, she's also on immuno-suppressants to prevent cybernetic implant rejection. Notably, she's the most well-adjusted of the three mentally, although the losses and struggles of ME 3 start to take their toll due to depression. She spends an awkward month on the Normandy adjusting to the new medication while adjusting the amounts needed. In addition, she also goes through a whole existential crisis come the Citadel DLC about if she is really Joanna Shepard or a clone (which Riley, Roscoe, and the Normandy crew snap her out of). Her survivor's guilt is much less pronounced than Riley's though she does start the early stages of a martyr complex (it's a source of frequent and well-humored debate between Riley and Roscoe if it was already there or not) about the of Thane's death. But she does her best and keeps on going.

Roscoe=Definitely mentally ill. He's got some trauma around abandonment that starts to get fully addressed around ME 2 in part due to Jack and Miranda and is mostly resolved around ME 3 though naturally scars remain. It often manifests as anger, depression, and even callousness. Like Joanna's and Riley, he is on immuno-suppressants to prevent the potential rejection of his cybernetics. He's also got an old wound from Torfan in his abdomen that acts up under stronger pressures like before a rainstorm or different gravity levels as well as drastic temperature changes such as cold (he HATES Noveria for that reason in particular though it isn't the only one, man). Beyond all that, he's very strong-willed and gives no fucks to shit.

Riley=Much like Annette except a bit more well-adjusted due to a larger support network and character drive. Has notable flashbacks/triggers around batarians, thresher maws (this one includes panic attacks once the direct danger has passed), and hardsuit complications (they always makes sure that their helmet and everything is in working and optimal order). Has survivor's guilt from their losses on Mindoir and Akuze but between meeting Talitha and Toombs in ME 1, they confront and deal with it, beginning to heal from it. Even on Virmire with the loss of Honora and all the failures of ME 3, they do better at handling it though it still remains to varying degrees. Like Joanna's and Roscoe (and Annette again), they're on immuno-suppressant drugs to prevent issues with their body rejecting the cybernetics, with the additional ones of antidepressants to help manage some of their anxiety-depression symptoms. They also have some degree of chronic pain (maybe some kind of cystic fibrosis?) due to past overuse of their biotics that damaged part of their nervous system and occasionally causes it to misfire for no reason, often causing intense pain. Rarely and only if the pain isn't treated with extensive biotics-free rest periods and numbing agents in the form of more pills, the biotics will manifest and they'll accidentally move shit around, including themself a few times. This is most notable in ME 3 due to the nature of the larger and longer combat sequences with shorter and shorter rest times between. Though they manage as best they can with the help of their crew and family, it is still a struggle and they notably stop joking about retiring when they're dead and seem to consider it more seriously around ME 3 but save the final decision for the end of the Reaper Wars.

(Shepard Family)

Honora Hartford=She had an eating disorder when she was younger that left some lingering issues with her health but overall she's fine up until her death.

Riley's deceased siblings were overall healthy though Payton had Down's Syndrome and Brooklyn had ADHD. Harley had moderate asthma and used an inhaler.

Clover has anemia quite often and takes iron pills daily

The rest of the Shepard cousins don't have any disabilities to much knowledge though I am still fleshing them out.

(Andromeda)

Sara and Scott Ryder have some lingering damage from their cryopod accident and the Kett leader fucking with them, but otherwise they are okay.

Asher has ADHD while Shiloh struggles with a mild form of chronic fatigue. Evander, Rebecca, and Lucas are all able-bodied.

Dragon Age;

(Fereldan Wardens)

Lynera Mahariel=Dunno if this counts, but am putting it here anyways since it affects her overall health. Occasionally suffers from a type of sleep paralysis that is mixed with night-terrors. It doesn't appear to have a rhyme or reason as to when it occurs beyond perhaps stress and it's only every few months. However, it often leaves her completely drained for at least a week afterwards. She also occasionally has insomnia post-terrors as well which she self-medicates with sleeping draughts. She also has crippling period pains that appear to be consistent with ovarian cysts on her left side (though she later has it removed by Catriona once it ruptures due to injury). She also suffers from bouts of depression during Origins but that could be due to the extenuating circumstances she was under at the time.

Isemaya Tabris=When overly stressed, being exposed to strong amounts of concentrated Taint in a short period of time, or sometimes simply for no apparent reason, she suffers from intense migraines that are often treated with herbal painkillers and lying still in a dark and quiet room. Also due to a past injury to her left eye by humans, she has a harder time seeing on that side but is not completely blind.

Catriona Surana=She seems to be autistic due to her ability and predilection to hyperfocus on various studies (often Blight and magic-related but other areas do occur) as well as her obliviousness to social cues (she didn't realize she was liked by her suitors until Cale outright told her and by then she had decided she liked them already). Notably, she adapts a bit better Post-Origins due to Alistair and Leliana's influences but it still happens.

Cale Amell=Had some minor amnesia surrounding the exact events leading to his magic manifestation but later learned it was because he had set his eldest brother Azul on fire and believed he killed him as Raven helpfully supplied (Azul had instead faked his death as Cale discovers around the time of Awakening).

Fion Cousland=Briefly suffers from a minor alcohol addiction but has treatment while he is still in the functional phase courtesy of Catriona. Since then, he heavily monitors his intake and even helps Oghren get treatment for his own. He also occasionally has painful muscle twinges due to an injury that stretches from his temple to his eye and ear down to his neck on the right side. This is most notable in bad weather or when he is sick.

Barran Aeducan=Suffered from a superiority-inferiority complex towards his siblings growing up though it has greatly lessened with time and experience. It is mostly gone by the time of Inquisition though prominent traces still remain.

Tatha Brosca=She is hard of hearing and has manged to cope by learning to lip-read (not always successful, however, especially with languages she is not familiar with) in Origins and a pair of hearing "horns" designed for her by an admiring Smith caste man by Awakening. She often jokes that now she has even more in common with her Bronto companion, Salroka, due to their shared horns.

(Origins)

Vireth Mahariel=Suffers from epilepsy and often treats it with various herbal remedies, though it is not completely effective and large amounts of intense stress on his body make it worse. He also begins to develop cataracts around the time of Act 2 of Dragon Age 2, though the cause is unknown (presumed genetics or simply age at the moment).

Elthorn Tabris=Has a stutter speech impediment.

Alaros Surana=Unknown at the moment as I haven't written too much about him.

The Amell Siblings=Probably doesn't count but Azul gets motion sickness, especially on boats. Raven, Carmine, and Reed are all perfectly healthy and fine, however the latter two are the ones I've written least at the moment. Marigold has asthma that she treats with herbs.

Aelynne Cousland=Nothing comes to mind. She does have some old injuries (mentally and physically) she acquired from the attack on Highever by Arl Howe that color her later interactions with the family during the Fereldan Civil War.

Valda Aeducan=Has a notable visual impairment that is corrected with glasses, albeit there is nothing to be done for her slight colorblindness (she has a hard type distinguishing between greys, greens, and blues).

(Orlesian Wardens)

Dion Caron=Suffers from sleep apnea that is eased by a special breathing herbal-incense infused mask he wears as well as whomever in his group is on watch to check on him periodically to ensure he still breathes (most often this is either Victoire-Ainsley or Garam). He also snores and coughs due to this. Loudly.

Victoire-Ainsley Caron=Nothing of note.

Isenna Andras=She's an albino and so burns and rashes in intense light and heat. She also has a lame leg that cannot be fixed with magic and so wears a reinforced brace to aid her walk. This creates a noticeable limp.

Garam Kader=Alcohol makes him sick and he suffered from intense gender dysphoria before paying a huge sum to have an ex-Tevinter magister turned fellow Warden help him transition.

(Hawkes)

Jasper, Skye, and Violet Hawke are perfectly healthy. Albeit with some diet restrictions due to various allergies.

Gray Hawke=He is diabetic and so often has to monitor his energy levels to ensure his health. It's part of the reason he doesn't actively endanger his life like his siblings (not that he won't, just less often in comparison). He acquires a truly impressive diet regime and treatment plan upon becoming a nobleman of the Amell family, allowing him much more freedom than before.

(Marquises)

Aurore and Marcel de Serault both suffer from mild hemophilia. Marcel also has a lyrium drug addiction he is trying to break (and is actually doing quite well via weaning himself off it) due to a brief stint as a Templar while serving the Chantry.

(Inquisitors)

Armashok Adaar=Poor eyesight that cannot be fully corrected by glasses and later loses an arm due to the Anchor. He also lost a few fingers and some right hand mobility due to pre-nquisition injuries as a mercenary. He also wears a brace on his left shoulder. He wears a prosthetic eye and replacement arm.

Ransley Trevelyan=Like Cullen, he is working on breaking his own lyrium addiction from his time as a Templar and, like the other Inquisitors, loses his arm due to the Anchor. He had it replaced with a prosthetic arm for his shield side.

Paeriel Lavellan=She loses an arm alongside all the other Inquisitors, but takes the loss much harsher due to her archery skills suffering. While she will wear a prosthesis in battle or when hunting, she doesn't wear it in her day-to-day life, instead preferring to make due as needed. She also has anxiety.

Naranka Cadash=She loses her Anchor-wielding arm and gains a crossbow-and-dagger prosthetic one courtesy of her Inner Circle, much to her delight. She also suffers from some damage to her reproductive tract due to past injuries and is uncertain if she could have children.

(Inner Circle)

Kara Adaar=Beyond an intense hatred of slavery due to being kidnapped and almost sold when she was younger before being rescued by her father, she's perfectly healthy. She does require bedrest for her periods though.

Emilyse Trevelyan=She suffers from some PTSD from her abuse at Templar hands in the Circle, though she begins to recover towards the end of Inquisition.

Samrel Lavellan=Has dyslexia and uses reading aids and memory devices.

Pyrmar Cadash=He might have some PTSD from his Carta days due to a notable cave-in that lasted for a few days before his rescue.