Mystical TMR Bingo

[mystical-tmr]

Hi! Thanks for stopping in : )

Mystical TMR Bingo will run from Feb 1st - April 30th, 2026.

Main Prompt Board

With A Twist Board

Rules and Info

Ao3 Collection

Feel free to send in any questions you may have!

Remember to tag your posts with #mystical tmr bingo 2026

[mazegays]

only see daylight

@mystical-tmr Mystical TMR Bingo Prompts: Magic Mirror, Modern Magic, Cursed Object, Everlasting Masquerade Thominho Week 2021 Day 6: One Bed AU

There’s something to be said for magic mirrors, though Teresa doesn’t know what it is.

They can be simply in appearance, but magically complex, or vice versa. They can be cursed or blessed, they can show your worst fears and deepest desires.

And, unless you are one of the few people who can sense magic, or know the spells to reveal the magic in the mirror, you would have no idea that the mirror you were looking into was enchanted.

Someone has cast something on her hallway mirror. A curse, possibly, or a monitoring spell.

Teresa can’t cover the mirror, or else the person who cast the spell may know she’s onto them.

Instead, she turns on her heel and heads back the way she came–there are other ways out of the house, and she can call Thomas from anywhere in the house.

As long as the rest of the mirrors are normal, that is.

“You want me to subtly diagnose and fix your mirror?” Thomas asks, like it’s an impossible task.

“I’m hosting this year’s masquerade–it’s the perfect time for a drunk guest to ‘accidently’ dispel an enchantment. It happens at least once every year, anyway.”

“I forgot you live in that big house now.”

“You’re here every week.” Of course he is, he and his dream boy still haven’t found their way to each other, somehow.

“I know, I know. It’ll happen this year.”

Teresa’s not convinced, but she doesn’t tell him that.

The shared dreams aren’t guarantees of a future together. Nothing has come of hers, though she’s not yet seen her dreammate’s face. 

“I’ll check it out,” Thomas promises, “Did you see that Newt and Alby are engaged?”

“When? Where? Who proposed? What’s their engagement artifact?”

“Like, two weeks ago, I don’t know, Newt, and I don’t know.”

“You don’t know anything. Why do I even talk to you?”

“I’m the only person who can fix your mirrors, apparently.”

“Shut up. I’m going to find out, since you don’t ask questions.”

“I do ask questions! Everyone says I ask too many questions!”

“Well, those are the wrong questions. I’ll see you later, yes?” Teresa hangs up before he can answer–it’s a game for them, one she knows Thomas doesn’t mind.

At least he agreed to help her with the mirror; she’d thought it would be harder to convince him. continue reading or finish on ao3

Thomas doesn’t openly inspect the mirror during his weekly visit to Teresa’s, but he picks up on the same enchantment she has. There’s something layered behind it, like it’s lying in wait, but he can’t figure out its purpose unless he dismantles it, and Teresa doesn’t want him doing that.

He’s not well-known for breaking enchantments, but they’re really one of his strongest talents. There are few things that come as easily to him as ruining others’ work.

It’s what made him so good in the battle circles, when he was still allowed to participate. He could disband shielding quicker than anyone else, even with intense spell layering.

“Minho, how do you feel about coming to Teresa’s masquerade with me this week?”

“Do we own anything we can wear to a masquerade?”

“We know we do,” Thomas rolls his eyes. One of them attends every year–most people in the area do. It’s a good way to feel out any new arrivals and newly trained mages, as well as do stupid shit.

He and Minho are really good at the stupid shit part. Everything else, not so much.

Well, Thomas isn’t. Minho makes his social rounds look easy, and then he tells Thomas everything later.

“Yeah, sure. Why?”

“She needs my help with something.”

“Ah, am I your distraction?” Minho does a weird thing with his eyebrows that is probably supposed to look cool or whatever.

It doesn’t.

“If I need one. I’m still not sure what’s going on. Teresa wouldn’t let me look today–too suspicious, apparently.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Minho says, “Takeout for dinner?”

“Newt and Sonya are coming over, remember?”

“Right, right. And Alby and Harriet aren’t invited for some reason.”

“They were invited, they’re both working nights this week.”

“I don’t miss that.”

“We’re on the night rotation next month, dumbass.”

“Shhhh. Let me live in peace.”

“Shouldn’t have decided to live with me, then.”

That comes out a little too sad, not nearly as lighthearted as Thomas intended it to be–Minho sits up in his chair properly, he’s so concerned–but he doesn’t push when he sees whatever is on Thomas’s face.

Thomas isn’t one to run away from his problems, but when it comes to Minho, that seems to be all he knows how to do.

Thomas has been attending these masquerades since he was young, though children are typically relegated to a warded room and left to their own devices for the most part.

Teresa’s sent him a very firm dress code anyway.

He and Minho step into the hallway, and immediately Thomas can tell what Teresa was talking about.

Whatever it is, it’s awfully strong–does no one else feel it?

If she hadn’t asked them to be discreet, Thomas would chuck the whole mirror out of a window right now.

It doesn’t seem to have ill intent, but there’s so much going on, so many people in the hallway, that it’s hard to tell.

He can’t linger in the hallway all night, but between the two of them, he and Minho feel out what’s going on.

Slowly, he strips away some of the layering, revealing only further layering and nothing that seems dangerous.

Why go to all this trouble if it’s not for a hex or curse? Thomas’s job isn’t to question the motives of whoever did this, but he and Minho are going to have a lot of fun debriefing this one if it ends well.

Thomas loses track of time as they alternate between mingling and working on the mirror.

Being busy doesn’t mean he gets out of dancing–Sonya, Harriet, Teresa, Alby, Gally once, Brenda, Newt, Minho three or four times–they always seem to find each other–and many others.

The dance floor seems to pull him back in every time. It’s harder and harder to go back to the mirror, but he does it.

“Any luck?” Teresa leans in close to whisper to him at one point. It seems like the masquerade should have wrapped up by now.

“There’s a lot of layering. Nothing dangerous yet, but it’s hard to say. It’s strong magic, too.”

“If you and Minho need a break, your normal room should open for you.”

“There’s only one–” She’s gone before he can tell her that there’s only one bed in there.

She doesn’t mean at the same time, right?

They’ve been here a while, and he is tired, so he goes and tries the door.

It doesn’t open.

“Break time?” Minho’s already taken his mask off–it’s not likely that any of the other guests will come back here, so Thomas unties his as well.

“Yeah. But the door isn’t opening.”

“Let me try.”

Thomas steps back and Minho twists the knob, shoving his shoulder against the door, but nothing happens.

“Like I said,” Thomas puts his hand on the door, intending to push off and go find Teresa.

Minho catches him before he can hit the floor, barely.

“Maybe we just both needed to be touching it,” Minho says. Or at least that’s probably what he says; their faces are very close together and concentrating is hard.

“You must be really out of it, huh?” Minho guides him into the room; it’s the same as always.

“You take the bed first, I’m going to shower.”

Thomas rolls his eyes, but only when Minho can’t see.

He’s not sure how long he sleeps–the clock that was on the nightstand is flashing, like the power went out at some point and it was never fixed. But the door must open with only one of them, because Minho’s not in the ensuite or the room. He’s sore all over, and he can’t tell if it’s the mattress or exertion.

Thomas finds him dancing with their friends; even under their masks, everyone looks tired.

“Back to work?” Minho murmurs, right against Thomas’s ear.

He’s here to help Teresa out. He can’t get distracted.

The mirror seems to be more heavily enchanted than before he left, but he can’t figure out why.

Maybe the perpetrator is here, and noticed that they’ve been taking it apart.

Thomas strips the layers more aggressively. If that’s the case, then he doesn’t need to be as discreet anymore.

He and Minho go back to the room twice more; each time they come out, they linger less amongst the crowd.

“Man, I could use a good nap. Don’t tell Teresa, but that bed is terrible.”

“The floor would be worse.” Thomas points out, but he’ll sleep there if he has to.

“No, let’s just share. I bet I’m more comfortable than the mattress,” Minho grins at him, but it’s strained at the corners.

It’s been so long. Thomas doesn’t want to cross the room and open the curtains, but it must be near sunrise now.

The clock is still flashing on the nightstand.

He and Minho settle in under the covers, but Minho’s sitting up only a minute later.

“Thomas, do you always sleep like a board? Relax.”

Thomas can’t relax, because then he might do something stupid like try and kiss Minho.

“Come here,” Minho arranges them so that Thomas is the little spoon, “Go to sleep.”

The mattress feels better now, somehow–maybe Minho was right.

Or maybe it’s like with the door. They have to be together to make things work.

They should try that on the mirror… 

Thomas is asleep before he can work out a new plan with Minho.

Teresa opens Thomas’s door slowly. Finally. 

They’ve been orbiting around each other for years; a normal masquerade would never have been enough for them to get here.

She’ll probably never be asked to host another masquerade, either.

Before she eases the door shut, she sees that the clock on the nightstand reads 9:24 PM–who knew an hour and a half could feel so long?

[mystical-tmr]

Hi! Thanks for stopping in : )

Mystical TMR Bingo will run from Feb 1st - April 30th, 2026.

Main Prompt Board

With A Twist Board

Rules and Info

Ao3 Collection

Feel free to send in any questions you may have!

Remember to tag your posts with #mystical tmr bingo 2026

[mystical-tmr]

last couple of days to get your submissions in!!

[nomoreusername]

What Won't Be

Pairing:Thomas x Teresa

Summary:Teresa pulls Thomas out of danger.

487 words

Living at the beach couldn't possibly have any consequences. The house was on stilts to protect them from high tides, waters swishing under them. He had picked up fishing while she could be found among the shore searching for creatures.

As the sun set, they sat on their back patio, their pinkies hooked together. Every now and then, he would look away from the pink and orange sky to admire her instead. She was still in her suit from earlier, a sheer cover-up protecting her from a cold. Her frizzy, wet hair smelt like sand and salt, the scent entangled with both of them.

The air grew different the later it got, a chill that swirled around them. The stars twinkled in the sky, the moon reflecting off the water's surface. It was an irresistible peace, enough to lure them to sleep in the safety of the outside.

As they were both dreaming, arms brushed together, a different sound filled the air. It was a soft melody, a quiet yet perfect voice that awoke something in him.

With his eyes still shut, he rose, his subconscious drooling at the words.

The siren stayed above the surface of the water, short brown hair soaked no matter how much she strayed from her home. Her pitch black tail glistened under the sea, dark brown eyes calling to him.

He listened to a promise of the life he already had. A life with the soulmate beside him, a life with friends that made it over whenever they could, a life of paradise. He heard everything he ever wanted, and like he always did, he practically ran to it.

Sensing the loss, her eyes fluttered open. She found herself staring at the sky as she shivered, goosebumps trailing up her arms and down her spine.

Glancing over, she reached for him only to see emptiness. Running a hand through her tangled hair, she sat up to go inside only to see an unsettling sight.

Thomas walked slowly towards the water in a perfectly straight line, each step leaving a print in the sand. He listened to something she couldn't hear, a temptress of happiness in reach.

She called his name only for no response. With her senses going off, she stood up, following him. He paid her less than no mind, trailing after something remarkable.

When he increased his pace, the siren singing more desperately, spotting her figure, she ran to him, her arms outstretched. Before his feet could make contact with the water, she firmly grabbed his arm, turning him around. Going against every sleepwalking thing she heard, she started shaking him, demanding he wake up.

His eyes slowly opened, his face dazed as he took in reality. By now, the siren had retreated. She only had one voice and was in no mood to fight off a stubborn fiancee.

She would be back though.

She was always back.

@mystical-tmr

[mazegays]

tossing pennies in the pool

@mystical-tmr

Prompt: Wishing Well read on ao3 here!

Many wishing-wells have decades of history, of toddlers and schoolchildren, young adults and adults alike making all sorts of wishes into their waters. Over these decades, stories became twisted–the first wishing-well was not created because a young girl fell into a perfectly normal well and her parents and sister spent the rest of their days sobbing into it, wishing for her to return, though that will be the tale one hears. The first wishing-well was created because a young girl did not fall into it, her skirts caught by her older sister before the tragedy could become truth. The girls’ embrace after, the wishes they held in their hearts and minds as they clung as if they intended to never release the other, held enough magick to create the wishing-well. Once one was made, the little creatures whom are the caretakers of magicks took up the duty of spreading them as far as they could reach. Some say that the young girl in the first wishing-well story saw something in the well before it became a wishing-well. Perhaps she did. What many do not remember is that the magicks of a wishing-well are fragile and tricky. Wishing-wells may show what one desires more than anything, or they may show a passing fancy. Wishes keep the magick from fading–without them, the wishing-well would return to being a regular well. The young girl who nearly fell into the well, if asked, would have told her parents and her sister that she saw the future while she was drawing up their water for the day. She would have insisted that she saw her unhappy marriage and her sister’s early passing in childbirth, leaving behind a widower and three young children. She told her daughter of this, in whispers, but her daughter had only seen good in that very same wishing-well, so the truth was discarded and spun into the sensational. What one must not forget, reader, is that wishing-wells can show the truth alongside one’s desires.

Even on stormy days, Harriet would insist on going to the wishing-well. Before her days clutching at her mother’s skirts ended, it became her greatest source of comfort, and her parents’ greatest source of worry, for she would not come away from it for anything. Harriet knew only the children’s tales of the wishing-well; she, nor her parents, knew what a wishing-well could truly do. As a toddler, she babbled endlessly about what the wishing-well showed to her–pretty dresses and amusements; her parents, dancing; her playmates never having to leave her side. As a child, she selected fewer of her peers into her confidence, though perhaps not wisely. For Harriet, there were no less pretty dresses than before, though she saw more dancing, and the dancers were not always her parents. As a schoolgirl, she kept her own counsel about the day-trip amusements the wishing-well showed to her, for they never properly matched the ones she attended. Her wishes shifted alongside her understanding of the world, as she made her way through her arithmetic and grammar. As a young girl, she caught flashes of a face she’d never seen in town; of hair and eyes that were not her own in her reflection. Her friends spoke of the wishes they made; little things, like taking the top of the class or getting a new dress for their birth-day. Harriet did not make those wishes, because she did not see those things. But she pretended, desperately, that she did. As a young woman, she saw her own reflection–her hair braided in rows and the length of it gathered to the top of her head. The flashes of the girl–for it could be none other than a girl her age–grew longer with each visit to the wishing-well. Sometimes, she would see herself dancing at a party, or wish for the rain to cease for a week-end. Usually, though, she found herself wishing to meet the girl whose visage she could not escape.

“You’re going to waste away over the wishing-well if you don’t stop staring,” Minho put his back to it, as was his way–he swore off staring into it for the rest of the year. Harriet has caught him at it, though he refuses to admit to it. “You’re going to ruin my reputation,” Harriet says dryly, “Behaving as you do.” “I could never. The whole town knows that your parents would never allow a scoundrel such as myself to ruin you.” “If you’re not looking into the wishing-well, then leave me to it.” Her temper is usually more in line with Minho’s little games, but today she finds herself wanting peace. Minho glances over his shoulder at the well–she catches him, but leaves him to it as long as it means he’ll leave her be–before he strides away from her. Her days at the wishing-well will only grow shorter as her responsibilities become more numerous. Her parents no longer speak into the wishing-well; Harriet cannot recall ever seeing them do so. Not even when she was still below their knees and had to be lifted to see into the water. She is determined to never stop visiting. She does not make wishes often, despite all the things the wishing-well shows her–she knows her desires, at this age. There’s a girl in the wishing-well, one whom she is sometimes allowed to glimpse. Harriet wants to know about her. She dares not wish for it, but the wishing-well serves its purpose all the same. It shows her the girl just often enough to keep her coming back, and never more. When Minho passes by her again and she has not spotted the girl in the wishing-well, she knows it’s time to go home.

Harriet does not see the girl in the well that often–not often enough to justify going every day for as long as possible–but it is what she has done since she was young, girl or no girl. So she continues the habit when she can–there are dinner parties to attend, and visits to be made, she is not permitted to ignore the company of her peers whenever she chooses. She brings a book to the wishing-well, sometimes, and reads while she listens to young children make their first wishes. There is no shortage of questions about what she sees in the wishing-well, but Harriet doesn’t answer any of them. Not even her parents, who are determined to discover what has her so distracted from her chores and schooling.

After some time, the girl’s visage vanishes entirely, and Harriet’s daily visits lessen to every other day. Then she sees the girl. Not in the wishing-well, but standing in front of it. The girl looks at her, and recognition lights up her face. She’s a handsome girl, proper posture and a pleasant face. Harriet almost speaks into the wishing-well, but she’s not certain if she wants to be this girl or love her dearly. “Did you come here to find me?” Harriet cannot stop herself from asking. “I am accompanying my brother; he has business on behalf of our father here. I see you in every wishing-well I look in.” “And I you,” Harriet says, though she only ever looks in one. “Wishing-wells are tricky.” “Yes.” “But I imagine you must be as clever as you are beautiful, so any wishing-well would have to work hard to trick you.” “Is it really a trick if we’re standing before each other?” The girl smiles, prettier when it’s not distorted by the water. “Sonya Collins, from Netherfield.” “Harriet Woodhouse.” “I don’t expect my brother to return for several hours. Would a long walk suit you today?” “I think it would, Miss Collins.” “Sonya, please, Miss Woodhouse.” “Harriet, then.” There is no one around, so they don’t need to stand on so much formality. As they walk, they find they have no shortage of topics to discuss, something Harriet does not get to enjoy with many.

Sonya cannot stay long, though, and within the week she is traveling again. They write when they can, though sometimes their letters are not reliable. The wishing-wells are. Whenever they can, they catch glimpses of each other in the waters, though they cannot speak through them. On their return journey, her brother extends an offer to Harriet’s parents–he is taking Sonya to town for the season, and wouldn’t it be nice if Harriet could join them? Sonya and Harriet are not seen outside of each other’s company throughout their stay in town, and though they become acquainted with a number of potential suitors, none quite catch their eyes. The year Sonya’s aunt passes and leaves her with a small house and a piece of land, she and Harriet move in to ensure its upkeep. The first thing they do is dig a wishing-well.

[nomoreusername]

The Glass Ceiling

Pairing:Newt x Thomas

Summary:Thomas can only watch Newt grow tired of it all.

334 words

⚠️ Suicide ⚠️

Thomas mumbled as he tossed and turned. By now the blanket was on the ground, his hands gripping the pillow as tears spilled down his cheeks. Everything was right in front of him, and he was helpless to stop it.

Newt has been retreating from everyone more and more in the Glade. He was short with people, even his best friend. He was slower to leave the Maze, as though he was reluctant to get out at all.

Thomas knew what it looked like. He knew what it could be.

But if he pretended not to, it wasn't true.

Newt didn't hear the yelling behind him as he looked down at the ground. The walls were higher when you were on top of them, the ground an everlasting fall that would prolong his suffering.

It would stop eventually though. And that was the goal.

He didn't do it carelessly. He tried to list why he should bother to live. Greenie nights that brought him a little more joy, his days with Minho in the Maze where they were somehow able to joke around, his morning greetings to Alby.

He had reasons to live.

He also had no memory before this. He didn't know who his family was, if they existed at all. He didn't know who he was outside of all of this. He didn't know if he would keep letting everyone down at the end of the day, keep letting himself down.

Thomas was quiet for the first time in his life, watching one foot leave the ground. His eyes were wide, watery and desperate as he tried to scream.

Then, the other foot dropped.

Simultaneously, they woke up with a gasp, their hearts hammering in their chests. Sweat ran down their foreheads, their faces pale as reality came back in the worst way possible.

Newt was given a preview of what it would feel like today.

Thomas was given a preview of what he would be helpless to do anything but watch.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

A Place to Belong

Summary:The forest takes an interest in Chuck.

540 words

Chuck sighed as he picked at the dirt with a stick, leaning against a log. Greenie night looked fun, was fun, but some of the other boys would hush when he was around. It made him roll his eyes every time. He was trapped in a Maze and had seen people banished into it for goodness sake. It doesn't get much more grown than that.

He looked miserable, a frown on his face and eyes on the ground. It was completely pitiful, something sad and lonely.

The Forest had never bothered with any of the others. If she cared for every boy who was sad, she would lose all her energy.

She was particularly fond of little ones, and it had been so long since she had seen one.

‘Chuck.’

His head slowly lifted, every curl bouncing with him. His brows furrowed as he glanced around, looking for the voice.

‘Follow the stones.’

He stood up, staring at where the female voice was coming from. He felt lost on what to do, on whether or not this was some type of test from the makers of the Maze.

As he heard more cheering behind him, he figured there really wasn't that much left to lose. Not until he got out.

Clutching his small figurine, he walked into the Deadheads, looking at the ground. Sure enough, there were small stones laying there, gray and round beneath his feet. While they were scattered about, the line itself seemed clear enough.

He walked through the woods, waiting for something to happen. A Griever to snatch him up, someone to jump out, maybe even a magic death flower. None of those would be the most insane thing to happen to him.

He kept going, his eyes focused on one thing and one thing only. He was on a mission now, though he didn't know what it was for.

Suddenly, there was a sharp turn to the left. He looked up, taking in his surroundings in case he needed to get out quickly. There was a tree with dark vines beside him and a large rock under it. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

She watched him follow, his trusting and curious nature making her smile. He looked around for a second, searching for some sort of clue.

When he looked at the ground again, he saw himself at the last rock. And as he looked beside it, he understood why.

Flowers. Flowers of all kinds. Roses and Marigolds and Lilies. It was a rainbow of color, a brightness he had never seen. When he looked up, his mouth dropped open in shock. He saw a running creek in front of him, the water clear enough to see small fish. A weeping willow provided shade for the bit of light coming from somewhere he couldn't see. An apple tree was beside that, every fruit looking perfectly ripe. It made the water sparkle, bright and demanding.

He took off his shoes as he made his way to the water, a genuine smile on his face as he took in the feeling of it running past his ankles. He splashed in it, laughing as he was finally in a world that didn't look down on him.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

Does it hurt to fall from grace or does it hurt worse to not be saved?

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

What You Need

Pairing:Brenda x Teresa

Summary:A glass vase leads two opposites into each other's arms.

1,618 words

Teresa was the first to wake up. She always was. Just like she always fell asleep on the couch and woke up beside the strong-minded girl each and every time.

She sighed as she crept out of bed, wincing at the springs. She tip-toed with her bare feet and squeezed past what was barely a crack in the door. She held her breath at each movement, as though she had always cared for Brenda.

She walked through the kitchen, where the coffee was already made. The short haired girl set it every night for her, ensuing she would wake up to her morning drink with a dash of vanilla. She never wanted to know that, never even consented to it, but the glass vase didn't give her a choice.

They could leave the cabin. In fact, they had made it to a small town miles away once.

They just woke up where they were that morning.

She walked outside with her book that she never had to worry about setting on the counter. With her mug in hand and novel in the other, she pushed out the screen door into the morning air. There was fresh dew on the grass and birds chirping from the trees. The air smelt clean and fresh as a river flowed not too far from them.

She sat on the swing and tried not to think about it.

Do not touch! This artifact will give you what you need whether you like it or not!

She wasn't sure she was what Brenda needed. Especially with their less than savory history.

They had built something different now. Something cozy and normal. Something that could let them pretend.

Brenda woke up an hour later to the sun in her eyes. She groaned as she rubbed her face, snuggling further into the blanket. It would be nice to lay there forever, to disappear.

She couldn't do that though. She couldn't let Teresa go hungry.

The only reason she actually got out of bed when she woke up now was for breakfast. The fridge was always stocked with something. This time it had granted them eggs, bacon, cheese, tomato, and spinach. She knew what fit that instantly as she got to work, chopping and turning on the stove and grabbing pans. She multitasked effortlessly, filling up cups with water, only one with ice, and making two at once.

She placed them both on a tray when she was done, walking outside. The fog was mostly gone by now, leaving the forest even more tempting.

“I see you're still here,”she greeted, sitting beside her. Teresa smiled as she set her book to the side (a true rarity) and accepted the plate. Brenda reached over, tucking her hair behind her ear as she started eating.

She wasn't much of an omelette person, but she did enjoy the look on her face when Teresa got her favorite breakfast.

The blue eyed washed the dishes before she could take over again, doing her best to add something. Even now, they were in competition, Brenda making up both their beds as she was elbow deep in soap. There was no real need for it, but it had become part of their routine.

The forest really was lovely, bright and cheery. Brenda never strayed from her hiking boots and shorts while Teresa would never dream of letting her hair down out here. This life was theirs, and only they had to understand.

“So how’s your day been?”she teased, her shoes crunching the grass under her. The fair skinned girl gave her a look, shaking her head as she nudged her side.

“How do you think?”she asked in that voice just a decimal different. That decimal was all she needed to know she was teasing, that the tone wasn't meant to be hurtful. She never used that tone anymore, not like in the beginning when pure pettiness continued overtaking them.

Now they couldn't even remember what started it. Something about a boy or a grade or something that was never important.

Teresa closed her eyes as she stopped for a moment, listening to the music of nature. Brenda watched her take in the sight, her shoulders relaxed and face peaceful.

When she opened her eyes, letting out a breath, she let out a small laugh, rolling her eyes as she moved closer to her.

“You're such a weirdo,”she teased as they started walking. They ignored the way their fingers brushed together at every synchronized step, hands threatening to lock together until they were stuck that way.

They ate the dinner Teresa prepared, steak and buttered potatoes and asparagus. Brenda’s had cheddar cheese for her potatoes, exactly the way she liked. The apple pie was waiting patiently for them, a taunting scent in the air.

“I have a nine,”Teresa said with a straight face. Her cheek remained resting on her palm, her dark hair flowing in front of her face.

She made one mistake though.

Her back slouched just a millimeter more.

“Bullshit,”she called, confidently leaning back in her seat as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you sure you don't want to take it back?”

“Nope. I’m calling it.”

With a sigh, Teresa revealed her three, almost slamming it on the table. She wore a bitter frown as she rolled her eyes at the loss.

“So close yet so far,”she grinned, taking another bite of her steak.

“Yeah, yeah. When Scrabble comes back, I’m going to bed with victory.”

“I’m sure you are, Tess.”

The two stayed at the table way past when they should have, talking and laughing as the stars twinkled in the sky. Their cheeks were flushed with happiness, eyes glimmering with what had become their unlikely comfort. Life here was isolating yet never truly lonely.

“I think I’m going to head in for the night,”Teresa spoke, standing up from her spot. Brenda watched her walk over to the couch, her oversized sweater hanging past her fingertips as she prepared for the same spot as always.

“You can sleep in the bed with me,”she suggested, her heart hammering in her chest. She froze in place at the words, her brows furrowing and lips parting as they hit her before she was ready.

“I uh, I woke up there already,”she nodded, turning to face her. She saw the way a visible breath left, her eyes closing in relief for just a second.

They didn't speak as they went down the hall, shoulders pressed together. Teresa was hugging her pillow to her chest for comfort, gripping it like a criminal as she tried to breathe. Brenda's mouth was dry as she wondered whether she had completely screwed up, ruined what little bit of a relationship they managed to build.

The bed was unnaturally warm when they got in, Brenda holding the covers up for her. Her face flushed at the action, her palms sweating as she accepted. Something about it, about lying awake together, cuddled next to each other in the small bed, made everything in their life real in a way they never expected.

Teresa closed her eyes, but that did nothing to make her tired. Brenda's breaths were soft and even. She looked over every few minutes, admiring her beautiful face in the moonlight.

Suddenly, she stirred, her head resting on her shoulder. The wide eyed girl could only stare in shock as warm skin hugged hers, an arm draping over her waist.

Who knew the independent Brenda was a sleep cuddler?

She dozed off eventually, bathing in the presence of her past rival.

When they woke, everything had changed.

Teresa was lying on her own bed, turned on her side. She was holding her stuffed bear close to her while staring at her niche book poster on the wall.

Brenda was on the leather couch in her room, shoved against a wall. A knitted blanket covered her, along with her glittery, pink nightshirt she was too abashed to wear in front of people.

She reached for the armrest, breathing a sigh of relief when her phone was there. Instantly, she opened Instagram, seeing as they would have never bothered with numbers before this.

A ring came through, and with it, a username.

Teresa_A_48

“Hey,”she breathed out, her voice soft as she put the phone to her ear.

“Hi. I'm, uh, are you home? Your . . . real home?”she asked, hesitating on that dreaded word. Even if what they had was a fabrication, a hallucination, something they couldn't explain, what they felt was real.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m at my old house,”she answered.

“Cool. I am too. Back in my old bed,”she awkwardly explained, drumming her fingers against her arm as she was filled with something new. Even newer than the night before. It gave her butterflies, made her heart drop, forced her to admit something she wasn't ready for but had anyway. “It's kind of weird now,”she said as casually as possible, crossing her fingers.

“Yeah. I don't like it either.”

She silently pumped her fist in the air, smiling from ear to ear.

“Would you like to meet up later? I could use an afternoon walk.”

“Yes! I mean, yeah, cool. Whatever,”she tried to keep her nonchalant attitude. Teresa laughed, lighting her face on fire.

“I’ll pick you up.”

“It's a date,”she agreed before her mind could catch up. Her eyes widened in horror as she cringed at herself. Way to ruin everything.

“Yeah. It's a date.”

“I’ll see you then,”she agreed before she could change her mind. Then, before she could say something even more embarrassing, she hung up.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

Uncured Mess

Pairing:Newt x Sonya

Summary:Saving Newt from his attempt doesn't fix him.

338 words

⚠️ Suicide ⚠️

Newt could only stare at the dark ceiling. With his leg elevated with a pillow and a cast around it, he was stuck in bed. They were too worried about how fragile he was to give him homework, to tell him what came next, to let him live.

The four walls were strangling him, trapping him in one cage. He had just flown, had just felt the air finally hit his wings, had just figured out what it meant to be free. It was right there.

And then it wasn't.

His parents were home of course, sporadically checking on him to make sure he hadn't slit his throat with a pencil. He never realized how many sharp objects he had until they were gone. The pencil sharpeners, thumb tacts, and even the glass cup he liked by his bed had vanished overnight.

He heard conversations through the walls. Words like therapy, hospital, and medication swarmed around him until they were floating. Despite how sick it made him, he didn't feel like distracting himself. All he wanted to do was sleep and maybe die during it.

Sonya stood out of sight by his door, trying to think of what to say. She knew he hated her more than anything right now, that she had become the enemy. Maybe if her magic was a little stronger, if she could have taken away the physical injuries too, he would be just a little more understanding.

She wasn't sorry. Why should she be sorry? She saved his life. He was the one who promised to always be there. He had been the first to clap when her training wheels were off, had escaped with her to the river on chaotic Thanksgivings, and had come up with games for when their summer days were too long. It wasn't fair for him to take that from her.

He wasn't that person anymore. Neither of them were those people. Somewhere along growing up, something had gone terribly wrong, and nobody knew how to fix it.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

Post-Greiver Gally Moodbooard

The Greiver sting was supposed to end the way it did for everyone else. Death, punishment, or the limited cure. It was supposed to be a warning to the other’s of what was to come. It was supposed to be a punishment for living.

It almost was. Gally was inches away an early grave.

He came back though, and he came back much, much more different.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

In Her Place

Pairing:Sonya x Aris

Summary:Something unknown replaced their child.

949 words

Sonya hummed as she rocked the small child back and forth in her arms, smiling down at her. Claudia’s eyes seemed to get darker every day, barely a shade off from when she was first born. A few strands of hair seemed to turn from blonde to brunette depending on the light, as though she hasn't figured it out yet. Her pale skin and freckled face looked at her with something impossible to decipher, even when she was reaching for one of them.

Still, she rocked back and forth, her heart lighter at mere sight. It was easier than the alternative, than living a life of pain and wonder. Searching for something that could never be found would only send her in distress.

She would always be in pain. She would forever be stuck wondering what she should have done differently, what advice she should or shouldn't have listened to, what exactly had taken her child and who had taken her place.

Whatever it was was outside of her realm of understanding. It could warp reality in ways she couldn't wrap her head around. If she knew where to go, she would already be there. If she knew what she had to sacrifice, she would already have rid herself of it.

She didn't. She didn't, so now this was her Claudia.

Closing her eyes, she let herself remember for just a moment. She was no accident. They had good jobs that would let them work and see their kid, they had a nice home, and they were happy together. They had talked long into the night about it, looked up school districts and discussed what rules came when.

It had been fairly easy. That was one of the worst parts. They didn't have to fight for it, didn't need to do anything out of the ordinary. One day she wasn't pregnant, and then she was. It was all so right. The dinner that followed to celebrate, the excited looks on their friends faces, the way he held her hand when she doubted herself. It was the cliche fairytale.

The pregnancy itself was far from glamorous. There's nothing magical about constant nausea and strangers thinking they can touch your stomach. She didn't think it would be a walk in the park, but that didn't mean reality was different from planning.

She did it though. They had a healthy baby girl to bring home. Aris switched between watching over both of them until he couldn't take it, making sure his family didn't suddenly stop breathing.

A few months in, she babbled constantly. She giggled at everything and reached her small hands out for strangers. She was everything they wanted.

Then, one day, after months of her pointing at the window, she stopped. If there weren't photos of before, of features that were barely off, it could be brushed off as something else. Nerodivergency, a phase, something they would be able to get through.

It had gotten better the longer it was her. It was almost a perfect replica of their little Claudia by now. Sometimes, when she closed her eyes and forgot enough, she could fool herself into believing it. Whether it was a gift from whatever stole her child or a cruel joke was unclear.

She looked at her again, at what had become hers, and kissed her head. As she was dozing off, her chest rising and falling, she gently placed her in the bassinet, watching the moonlight illuminate her tiny frame.

He was still outside when she left, staring out at the forest like it had the answers. He peered into it with caution, waiting for something to look back. Because when it did, he was ready. He didn't know what he would do, what he would find, but that wouldn't stop him.

When the door opened behind him, he moved over, his hands folded in his lap. The soft wind blew around them, setting off the wind chimes and cooling their skin.

When she sat beside him, he took her hand, lightly squeezing. Resting her head on his shoulder, she took in the way he was still trembling months later. Neither of them mentioned it when they woke up with tears staining their cheeks. She didn't scold him for refusing to look at it, and he was never angry for how she immediately gave it everything she could. This wasn't even close to what they talked about and even if it was, there was no true right thing.

It was just pain. A deep, simmering pain that they could tell nobody else about. Who would believe them? Who wouldn't think they were overprotective and letting their fears get to them? Who had been there her entire life to learn every last quirk?

“You know it’ll never be her,”he whispered, pushing down a lump in his throat.

“Maybe not. But that doesn't mean she doesn't deserve love,”she murmured, blinking away a tear. His grip tightened for a moment, his lip quivering as he waited for the trees to answer.

They said nothing.

“I . . . I don't know if I can.”

“Then pretend. Until she grows up, just pretend.”

He wished he could say he would try. But the truth was when she went to sleep, curled up to his side and counting on him to be there, he would consider putting it on someone else's doorstep. Maybe he could drop it off at the fire station or find an adoption agency he could lie to. Whatever guilt he felt had to be better than at least eighteen years of this hell.

She had already lost one child though. Real or not, he couldn't let her lose another.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

From the Sea to the Sky

Pairing:Brenda x Teresa

Summary:Love is felt from the opposite sides of the Earth.

474 words

Teresa flew through the clouds, her dark hair tied back and out of her face in a simple braid. The air was cool against her skin, along with the raindrops that hadn’t fallen yet. She belonged here and here alone. Mostly at least. There was no physical proof, but she was born for this place. This was where she was the safest, where nobody, not even her own thoughts, could hurt her.

Brenda weaved through the waves, swimming calmly on her back. She looked up at the sky as the water brushed passed her body. She barely had to kick her legs to move. She moved smoother than the fish themselves, graceful and hypothetizing. The ocean was literally made for her. Air made her feel as though she had asthma while water cleared her lungs until she was greater than human.

When she glanced down, wanting to see how far she had gone, she spotted a familiar figure in the ocean that made her beam. With pure and unfiltered joy, she dove down, her arms close to her for the sake of speed. Her heart was thumping in her chest, screaming at her as she was overwhelmed with emotion.

Brenda waited patiently, a small side smile on her face as she was seen from miles away. Powers or not, it made her feel pretty damn special every time it happened.

Teresa stopped barely an inch away, eagerly grabbing her wet face with her hands. Placing her palms that felt warm to her and chilly to her girlfriend over them, she looked into those deep blue eyes.

“Morning to you too,”the short haired girl smiled.

“You weren’t in bed when I woke up,”she pointed out, the tip of her braid touching the water as she let herself remain upside down.

“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I may as well do something with that time.”

“You didn’t want to spend it with me?”she teased.

“There was just a bit too much snoring for it to be peaceful.”

“Really? After I made you tea for good dreams?”she pointed out, shaking her head at her.

“It was great. You just should have used some too.”

“I’m going to lock you out,”she threatened.

“It’s alright. You’ll fold immediately.”

“Sure, Bren. Sure.”

Air felt different when her feet weren’t on the ground. The lower she was, the more suffocating everything became. She was different, and that was one of the prices for it.

So, with great reluctance, she pressed a soft kiss to her lips. While Brenda wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, to feel her loving and gentle mouth, she barely remembered that wasn’t a choice. Pulling away was physically painful, as though they were supposed to be glued together.

“I’ll see you later. Okay?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find you if you don’t.”

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

How Night's Go

Pairing:Platonic Minho x Gally

Summary:A night out ends with a dragon bet.

520 words

Was it an ethical bet? Debatable. Was it going to stop them? Unfortunately, no.

Gally was the first one at their spot, though he didn’t mind. He had his wood, he had his knife, and he had skill. What more did he need?

He watched the weapon glide over the piece, scraps falling on the forest floor. With nothing but his thoughts, he worked on the leopard, adding spots like they had always been there. Some people read to pass time, some listened to music, and he made figurines.

Fry joined next, which was someone he put his tools down for. The snacks in the basket were a taunting scent, something definitely more than sandwiches.

“What Pinterest recipe you’d find now?”he questioned.

“Actually, it was a good old fashioned cook book. I can’t trust the internet after the cupcake incident,"he explained, practically whispering the last part. He couldn’t help but shudder at the memory. So many years priding himself on his craft and he still screwed up something so basic trying something new. It didn’t matter that he came up with something perfect four hours before the party. He had never felt genuinely talentless until then.

“What ya’ blokes doing?”

“Waiting for the other two,”he answered, taking a spot beside Gally. Newt nodded as a greeting before taking a spot on a rock, his bad leg still straight out of habit. The walk through the forest was a struggle sometimes no matter how clear the path was, though he’d never say that aloud. Not that it stopped anyone from knowing.

“We always are,”Fry sighed.

“Maybe Thomas won’t show up,”he suggested, daring to let himself have hope.

“Guys, guess who showed up on time?”

So much for that.

“Hey Tommy,”the blonde smiled.

“Hey Newt. Fry,”he nodded, sitting against a tree. Only then did he add Gally, barely resisting an eye roll. The tall boy was always doing something, throwing him around when he thought he was being careless and purposely towering over him. Was it intimidation? Sexual tension? Nobody could tell yet, not even them.

“The party has arrived!”

“Yeah. And arrivin’ bloody slow for a runner.”

“I knew I could count on you for support,”he agreed, clapping him on the back.

The group was together.

And nothing good happened when that group was together.

One and half bottles and five hours later, it all went south. Thomas and Newt had disappeared somewhere at the same time, though one of their shoes and a jacket just so happened to be sloppily hidden behind a rock. Fry was smart enough to get out early, lying peacefully in bed. Gally and Minho ended up in front of a damp cave that dragons tended to enjoy. And maybe, possibly, they each left with an egg they were careful with despite how the world was spinning. And they may have made a bet on whose dragon could be trained better.

There were two choices when they woke up. Give up and return it or give in and try to win.

Gally and Minho weren't fond of losing.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

A Peaceful Escape

Summary:Gally just needs a minute alone.

232 words

Gally walked silently through the forest, his hands shoved in his pockets. The quiet was a rarity, soft chirping and squirrels scurrying on the ground. It really did keep him sane from his chaotic . . . everything.

He woke up Newt scolding Minho for some stupid prank. Teresa was a blushing mess as she sat in Brenda’s lap, both of them watching everything go wrong at eight in the morning. Thomas was teaching Chuck something he definitely shouldn’t in the corner while Aris ate at the table with his headphones on. Sonya and Harriet were picking up last night’s heated game of Monopoly while Fry tried to play mediator.

Turns out, renting a giant beach house and shoving a bunch of maniacs inside doesn’t end well.

If he could stay here forever, he would. He had an entire week to go, and that was if he didn’t drive away in the middle of the night.

He came to the blue, floating circle before he was ready. He could see his blurry and tired refertion in it which made him sigh.

Newt made an itinerary though, and he couldn’t be the only one to mess up the itinerary.

The second he put one foot in, he heard something shatter. With that being the only answer he needed, he pulled away from the portal and back into paradise. Maybe just one more hour would be fine.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

The Last Laugh

Pairing:Thomas x Aris

Summary:Aris ensures Thomas takes care of himself.

516 words

He had locked the door before he went to bed. He always made sure it clicked shut and the deadbolt was firmly in. Every window was tightly shut, and every entrance was sealed off. He checked every room before collapsing in their bed, the jacket he used to tease him about still wrapped tightly around his body as he tried to breathe in the fading scent.

Every night he tried to make sure the ghost stayed out.

Every morning the stupid cat his boyfriend just had to feed was on top of him.

“You’re a nuisance.”

The creature simply meowed, looking up at him as she laid on his chest. Her bright green eyes and midnight fur made her look like a witches pet, and that wouldn't even surprise him at this point.

Aris would kill him if he caught him talking like that. Black cats get enough of an awful reputation, he always felt the need to explain. Pet stores couldn't sell them around Halloween, because they would be sacrificed. They were the last to be adopted in shelters and the most likely to be euthanized. They were the sharks of the pet world, and all of them deserved to be protected at any cost.

Why couldn't he have just liked talking to actual people? He really should have dated an extroverted opposite. Then, he wouldn't be stuck with a new playmate.

“I’m going to find how you're coming in one day. You know that, right?”

She purred as she stood, her back arching as she stretched. Her claws dug into the striped hoodie that claimed her fur as an accessory. He swore his lover loved that cat more than he ever loved him. He was always holding her, talking to her and cuddling her on the couch. That was basically his child.

She jumped down and looked at him expectantly. It was the only reason he still bothered to get out of bed or move around. If he let her starve, he would be haunted. If he let her get obese, he would be haunted. If he did anything at all, he would be possessed in his sleep.

As he dragged himself out of the room, following Althea’s lead, he looked at the fireplace. There, sitting politely, was the silver urn put right on display. It was a great conversation starter and wonderful decor for parties.

“You're a shuckface. You know that?”

He could see it now. The way he smiled innocently while knowing exactly what he was doing to get on his nerves. He couldn't believe that even dead, Aris was looking after him. Always keeping him alive and making sure he was taking care of himself. He thought him being literal ashes would stop him from being stubborn, but of course not. He just had to get the last upper hand.

“When we meet in the ghost world, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

She pawed at his leg, reminding him that they both needed breakfast. Looking at the urn again, he offered a forced smile before making his way to the kitchen.

@mystical-tmr

[nomoreusername]

Built to Win, Backfired to Lose

Pairing:Minho x Newt

Summary:Newt has to fix Minho's attempt to cheat.

650 words

Minho knew winning was in his capabilities. He had been earning medals since middle school and ran out of room on his wall in high school. He was literally here on a scholarship.

But this meant more than anything. He wouldn't get a trophy if he won, no celebratory crowd or new time. There would be no physical proof to put this in the history books.

It was purely about beating Gally. Because sure. They were friends.

But he'd be damned if he lost.

The gray brandless shoes had been thoroughly washed after the trip home from the thrift. His face burned the first time he wore them, stomach churning as he was unable to look at himself. He remembered the way everyone else had their Nike’s and name brands made for success, and he remembered how the rage fueled him. He ran until he didn't even have to think about them, until he was over the line without even realizing he left them in the dust.

Those were his shoes, and he would wear them to his funeral.

He looked at them, then the door. That anger was long gone as he grew, finding strength and resilience even when having less than. There was plenty he did have, and plenty more he would gain.

Gally had this way of getting under his skin though. They had been friends for over a decade. They knew each other's every weakness, and they knew exactly when to use it.

Giving in, he placed the bags inside of each shoe, shoving it as far as possible. The mix of herbs and spices weren't ones he ever considered using before, ones he ever made. Luck, money, protection, those were all things to make his life better so he could focus on his skills. He never actually considered using it for the skills themselves.

It was a one time thing. After this, he was done forever. His competition with Gally had overtaken his morals, and he was going to give in.

When he woke up to the buzzing alarm, he groaned, slamming his hand on the phone. The sun was a taunting trickster, shining on him even when he turned over and buried his face in the pillow. The early bird may get the worm, but he wasn't a damn pigeon.

If he didn't get up now, he knew there was no chance for the rest of the day. He had to suffer through the hard part.

Letting out a groan, he sat up, rubbing his face. He didn't care to be conscious at eight in the morning. He didn't even care to be alive.

When he stood, running a hand through his hair, he froze. He blinked like that would change the sight. When it didn't, his eyes widened as he started cursing, picking up his most beloved item. Even in his panicked mind, he knew there was only one place to go.

Newt sighed before he even opened the door. Nobody ever was here before noon unless they had screwed something up. Fortunately, someone was always doing that, so he was never truly alone.

He stared at Minho in his baggy plaid pyjama pants that fell past his ankles. There was a hole in one knee, and they were held up by the string and half the band. His bare feet and revealing beater seemed far too intimate for an apartment hallway.

In his hands, was a pathetic, Barbie sized pair of gray shoes.

“You're an idiot.”

“So can you fix them?”

He let out a deep, deep sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This. This was exactly why he needed morning affirmations, tea, and meditation.

“You're buying my coffee after.”

“Anything,”he nodded, already halfway inside.

Was having Newt fix everything helping him learn a big life lesson? It didn't really matter, because he was on his doorstep anyway.

@mystical-tmr