#forsakenone

[wcrldcfvtlvs]

@forsakenone asked: [ sit ] my muse sits by your bedside, waiting for them to wake up. — for victoria, from anakin skywalker, m.d., chief of surgery.

𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑝....𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑝....𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑝. Where was she? Icy blue eyes slowly flutter as she looks up, seeing the haze in her gaze. Her head is pounding, and there's a cool sensation of air flowing up her nose and bringing air into her lungs. In her mind, she can almost hear birds, and the scent of flowers lingers in the air. Lavender. Purity. Devotion. Calmness. Serenity. It was a scent she knew too well. She had it in tea; it sat by her nightstand in her apartment so she could be lulled to sleep after a long day at the office at 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐈𝐄𝐒.

Her palms pressed against the surface that she was lying on; however, when she moved her arms, the pain made her wince silently. ❛ What…happened to me? ❜ A thought that echoed in her mind as she tried to keep her heart calm and steady. 

𝐵𝑒𝑒𝑝....𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑝....𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑝.

As her eyes slowly opened more, 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐒 was finally able to make sense of where she was and what was around her. A monitor for her vitals, the I.V. bag that was hung up, and the leads went into her arms. No wonder she felt cold; her mouth was dry despite the hydration she was receiving. Then, almost in that instant, the memories came at her like a tsunami. Overwhelming, powerful, and painful. She finally remembered what happened. 

Despite all the work she put in many years ago, cult members of 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍 were still lurking in the shadows. Humans who felt betrayed by the supernatural viewed them as a stain on the Earth. They followed the orders of a madman who was turned into the very thing he despised. A vampire who could only feed on vampires in order to live. Locked away in a tomb of his own creation. It was a memory that was her greatest achievement but her deepest sorrow. 

To look into the eyes of the man who slaughtered her people and to have him beg for forgiveness from her siblings was something that she never anticipated. An estranged uncle who lost his mind to the creator of all evil; 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒. The twin sister of 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄, 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋. However, where Selene was the embodiment of Mother Nature, Malphas took the appearance of what a person desired most. 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 had fallen victim to her when she took the appearance of a close resemblance to his deceased wife. Falling under her influence and letting her corrupt him from the inside out was his price to pay for power and vengeance. Ever since that day, his cult would come from the woodwork to seek revenge on Victoria. Some of them would almost succeed, others would face her wrath. Who knew how many people she sent to the hospital with broken limbs caused by her magic? All she had to do was look at them, and they would receive tenfold what they would put out to her. 

𝐴𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑝 𝑖𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜𝑤 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝐴𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑠𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤

A spell she'd say in her mind when she finally came into contact with her attackers. However, someone managed to get the drop on her. It was a fight she wasn't mentally prepared for. After dealing with contracts, making sure her employees were paid, most of them went home. Victoria was ready to sink into a bath with a glass of white wine, listen to the new album from her favorite band, and read a book her sister had given her as a just because she could gift.

Lying in the alleyway from a head injury, and from what it appeared as she glanced down at the cast on her leg, and ❛ Ow. ❜ The thought came into her mind as she shifted. Were those stitches in her side? Was she stabbed? 

❝ What the Hell happened to me? ❞ Victoria spoke softly to herself as she tried her best not to move. At the moment, she felt weak. There was no use tapping into her magic to try to heal, and, Hell, who knew if more cult members were lurking in the shadows of this hospital waiting to smother her with her own pillow. If anything, this served as a reminder to make a protection potion, so if something like this happened again, she could be prepared. 

Looking to her side, she saw a doctor, and her brows knitted together as she tried to read the name on the white lab coat. Victoria blinked a few times as she tried to focus on the curved handwriting. Clearly, she was still a bit disoriented from the head injury, perhaps a concussion? Did she have to be monitored? Who would water her plants? Pushing that thought aside, she finally was able to register the name: 

𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑲𝑰𝑵 𝑺𝑲𝒀𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹, 𝑴.𝑫, 𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑬𝑭 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑮𝑬𝑹𝒀 was what she read. Victoria's brows knitted together. ❝ What kind of name is Skywalker? ❞ Another mumble of words lips her lips before she finally looked up to see his face. 

To her perception, his overall appearance was cold and distant, but there was power there. Maybe it was his confidence? Or how he stood. However, his eyes seemed gentle. Maybe even a little sad, as if he lost something he would never get back. Overall, he was handsome. Almost too handsome. The amount of handsome faces she's seen over the years that only seemed to lead to her doom made her stomach turn, and she attempted to inch away from him as a way to protect herself despite the pain that coursed up her side. 

❝ Fuck. ❞ This time, the curse was louder as she finally gave up the fight. 

Blonde hair spread against the pillow, and some stray hairs framed her face like a picture frame. Part of her wondered if her face was cut or bruised. Perhaps 𝑫𝒓. 𝑺𝒌𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒆𝒓 could enlighten her on her current state. Looking up at him once more, she finally decided to speak louder than before, clearing her throat as she did so. 

❝ How long do I have to stay here? ❞ 

Despite how weak she felt and how she sounded, she wasn't the type to beat around the bush. Victoria didn't want anything sugar-coated, and she didn't want to be pussyfooted around either. She wasn't fragile like a flower; if anything, she was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. She knew the minute she was released, there was hexing to do, protection spells to create, and Hell to pay. Her only hope was that they kept her clothes. With all the episodes of Law & Order: SVU she watched, she knew DNA was still on her clothes, and from what she remembered, she fought back. So there was at least something to work with, so she could do a location spell on the person who attacked her.

𝓗𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓱𝓪𝓽𝓱 𝓷𝓸 𝓯𝓾𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷 𝓪 𝓹𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓯𝓯 𝓐𝓽𝓵𝓪𝓼.

[wcrldcfvtlvs]

@forsakenone asked:  we're not gods. we just play them until the shift ends. — for donatello, anakin skywalker, m.d., chief of surgery

Sitting in the attending lounge, 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 held the pocket-sized sketch book and examined the page with fine detail. fingertips running over the page of the scene he had illustrated weeks ago. He knew he should never have agreed to surgery when 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐶𝐻𝐼𝐸𝐹 asked. However, Donatello perceived it as a 𝘿𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙉𝘿, not a request. Chief 𝑆𝐾𝑌𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐾𝐸𝑅 had an aura about him that shook Donatello to his core. There was a chill in the air that made the staff often part the hallways like it was the Red Sea whenever he was on the OR floor, hell, any floor for that matter. At least that was Donatello's perception

It was almost impossible to say no, but apparently rumors that Donatello was pitching a no-hitter within the OR had lingered and reached the big boss man himself. Why did people in this god forsake teaching hospital run their mouths? Mainly, the bright-eyed residents. Many of them wanted to be on service, but he already had the ones he needed. The competent, the resourceful, the ones who didn't talk too much and only asked questions when needed. 

Staring at the sketchbook, he felt his stomach turn as he saw himself standing with his gloved hands covered in blood and even the finer details of sweat seeping through his clock-themed scrub cap. Donatello wanted to rip out the page and burn it; this gift wasn't a gift. It was a curse. 

To see the future of anyone he came close to was a burden he wanted to be rid of. Maybe he admired Chief Skywalker too much, and that's what triggered it. Perhaps it was time to keep a professional distance. 

Pulling out his phone, he sent his girlfriend a text,, his person:

[ 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐄 😘💕🍰 ]: 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? [ 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐄 😘💕🍰 ]: 𝐈 𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭.... [ 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐄 😘💕🍰 ]: 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬. [ 𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐄 😘💕🍰 ]: 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.

𝑉𝐼𝑉𝐼𝐸𝑁𝑁𝐸 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐷 was his 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒. He could almost picture her arms wrapped around him, the gentle press of her lips against his skin, and the soothing sound of her voice. As he closed his eyes, he let his mind drift as he locked his phone and placed it in his pocket, as well as his cursed sketchbook, awaiting her reply. In his mind, they were lying on his couch, his arms wrapped around hers as his hands would run through soft hair strands and his fingertips would twirl around the ends. Donatello would whisper sweet nothings to her, maybe even tell a joke to make her smile and laugh. The smile is what brought him peace after a day like this. The image of her standing in the kitchen as she whisked away whatever was in her bowl. The sun would illuminate her body as she was his own personal angel. It was almost like a movie scene: gentle music would play, and everything would move in slow motion as she cooked or baked. She'd wipe her forehead with the back of her hand that was probably covered in flour, and her smile would only grow as she did so because she loved what she did. That is what he pictured; that is what brought him peace and happiness. And the moment she'd look up to make eye contact with him and call his name, ❛ Donnie ❜.  Oh, how his name coming off her tongue sounded like a prayer. He knew he could see the rest of his life with her. To wake up and go to bed with, spending his free time doing whatever she pleases. As long as it made her happy.

In his simplistic fantasy, he'd make his way towards her just to feel her warmth with love-sickened steps. Donatello would come behind her and pull her into him despite her protests of attempting to focus and nuzzle himself between the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent (in his mind it was vanilla and almonds) and pressing a gentle, chaste kiss against her flesh, and then he'd tilt her head back so her kind eyes that reminded him of a doe would meet his forsaken ones. However, with her, he felt anything but forsaken; if anything, he felt blessed to have her in his life. She was like coming up for air while he was drowning. ❛ 𝑖 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 ❜ Donatello would whisper against her lips until she could feel his breath against her lips along with the steady beat of his heart and then….

❛ 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒔. 𝒘𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔. ❜

Donatello's eyes snapped open as he was brought back to a cold, harsh reality. The sun was hidden by the cloud, and the image of Vivienne faded away from his mind as his eyes were met with no other than 𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙚𝙛 𝘼𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣 𝙎𝙠𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧.

In that moment, Donatello wanted to snap at him. Tell him to ❛ get the fuck out ❜ and leave him to his mind palace, where he'd do his best to picture Vivienne in his arms until he could go to her later in the day. However, the shift wasn't over yet. Looking at this Samsung smart watch, he looked at the time: 1400. He was nowhere near done; if anything, he was just getting started, and he still needed to debrief the residents on Post-Op care for the patient he had almost lost earlier in the morning. 

There was that feeling again, the pit in his stomach. The bile rising to his throat that he'd push back down so he could speak to the man himself. 

❝ Playing a god is not a role I'm fit to play in this act. ❞ Donatello's words came out more as a mumble than a direct statement. Sighing heavily, he sat up straight on the Attending Lounge sofa and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the cold sweat beneath his palms as he looked up at Chief Skywalker with cold, emotionless eyes. A mask he always wore at the workplace. It was what he was known for. The Ice King. Despite being named after the philosopher, he knew some of the residents nicknamed him 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒─ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑁𝑜𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑊𝑖𝑛𝑑 & 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟 for his cold demeanor alone. ❝ I should have been more prepared. I apologize for my incompetence. ❞

The least he could do was apologize to Chief Skywalker. It wasn't like he wanted to impress him with his skill. Donatello didn't give a damn about the rumors and whispers that lingered in the air. If anything, he was trying his hardest to keep his patient alive during the operation. From checking every suture, making sure that everything that was once broken was repaired. The look he had in his eyes during that time was a mix of determination and fear. He held a life in his hands, and it was his responsibility to make sure the patient would return to their loved ones in one fucking piece. If anything, Donatello was thankful for Chief Skywalker stepping in as he was having his internal panic. 

That was one thing Donatello prided himself on; he never froze, he never shook, and never gave in to fear publicly. Whatever he was feeling inside would be stuffed down, and he'd feel it later. He'd feel it when he felt like it was safe to fall apart. He and a certain Atlas were like that as they got older. Even though he didn't talk to her much, Donatello King understood 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐒 extremely well. Two sides of the same coin in a way. 

❝ I hope I'm not coming off as cavalier, but did you need something in particular, Chief? ❞ Regardless of what he felt on the inside and whatever inner turmoil he was dealing with in his head, he would never disrespect Chief Skywalker. Donatello admired, respected, and feared him. And if he was here to comfort him, he didn't want to waste his time with small talk. He needed to remind himself to maintain professional distance and keep his emotions in check, after all; his admiration and fear triggered something that he didn't want to happen.

[wcrldcfvtlvs]

@forsakenone asked: [ vitals ] my muse checks your muse's vitals. — for rosalie with anakin skywalker, m.d. chief of surgery

Sitting on the hospital bed with her legs dangling back and forth, 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐒 took a deep breath in and exhaled as 𝐴𝑁𝐴𝐾𝐼𝑁 𝑆𝐾𝑌𝑊𝐴𝐿𝐾𝐸𝑅 listened to the sound of her heart with his stethoscope. Hospitals had always made her nervous; too many times in the past, she had to make impromptu hospital visits because of 𝘾𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙇𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙩. It was many years ago, when she was much younger, that she had to take small trips to the ER with lame excuses⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ for her bruises, cuts, and cracked ribs. Oh, how he charmed everyone he came in contact with and was able to distract them with a pretty face & a smile. Those were memories best buried deep until it was needed to talk about in therapy with 𝘿𝙧. 𝙔𝙖𝙣𝙜. 

Rosalie fidgeted slightly once Anakin was done listening to her heart. She was almost in her early thirties, and the idea of being here longer than she had to made her rub the side of her arm for her own comfort because the blood pressure cuff was placed on her bicep. 

❝ You know, I have my own health care provider; you don't have to personally check on me. ❞ Rosalie said as she felt a chill run up her spine, as she felt the slight graze of Anakin's fingertips against her skin, as the cuff was slid up her arm properly and securely. The smell of Anakin's cologne or perhaps aftershave made her nose crinkle in response before she relaxed her body to the best of her ability so the machine could get a proper read. 

Her legs hung limply, and she sat up straight so he could document the result once the machine beeped upon completion. Turning her head slightly to read the numbers on the screen: 120 /129, Rosalie tilted her head and looked back at Anakin. Her brows were furrowed together before she took it upon herself to take off the cuff and hand it back to him.

❝ Why are those numbers so high? Is that normal? ❞ He probably was going to tell her that, but this was the first time she ever read the numbers on the screen. Normally, she wouldn't question or ask for clarification when it came to a normal healthcare provider, but having the 𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑬𝑭 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑼𝑹𝑮𝑬𝑹𝒀 examine her wasn't normal, at least not to her. Last time she checked, she didn't need surgery. 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐈𝐂 took extremely good care of her, every minor scrap, cut, bruise, or joint pain; he remedied them with his strength and power. 

The lights within the room flickered in response to Rosalie and her abilities. The faint buzzing of the fluorescence lights above grew a bit louder as she gripped the edge of the padded hospital bed. Her hazel eyes locked in with Anakin's as she did so. 

[pinktombs]

" you appear displeased. "

the blond huffed at his words, arms folding beneath chest. " you've been away all day and i've been here all by myself. how is that even fair? " kelsey asked with a pout on lips. she walked forward, blue eyes locked on anakin. " i'm just feelin' lonely. "

[wcrldcfvtlvs]

If they had a kid meme — with Victoria

If they had a kid meme: Send a pairing | accepting regardless if we have a ship or not

Name: Ivy Adelaide Atlas-Skywalker Gender: Female General appearance: 5'6, dark auburn hair with hazel eyes. Personality: She is basically the female version of Anakin. She has his temper, his attitude, but she does take after Victoria's introverted personality, along with dry humor. Special talents: Along with being a Lewis Witch, she is force sensitive. Who they like better: Victoria Who they take after more: Anakin Personal headcanon: She has a soft spot for baked goods. The type that makes you warm and fuzzy instead. Primarily, if it's cupcakes with pink frosting. Face Claim: Sadie Soverall