#othread

[slyhxnter-blog]

Terror managed his senses; his heart felt heavy with grief. The mirror before him reflected a horror unknown until now. It’d been predicted, Lorenzo had mentioned it but Riccardo had hardly lingered upon the subject. Eyes wide, he watches as the flesh of his face cracks. As if it were glass; his skin shatters.

Fresh wounds ooze blood down upon his features; he tastes the familiar metallic flavour with disgust. The alchemist backs from his reflection with fright; his breathing is heavy now, his body weak. 

Hands tremble beside him; his eyes search the room for aid. Fumbling through the darkness; he desperately washes over the wounds with fresh, clean water. The searing pain of his agony dulls for a moment before the water becomes tainted by his blood. Crimson paints the sink; his environment now as bloody as his face.

“I need...help...”

The words are forced; reluctantly pushed from swollen lips. He stumbles back before collapsing against the tiles of the bathroom. Crouching himself against the bathtub, he holds his face tightly as his sobbing slowly turns to laughter. Such pain was expected, who was he to be such a fool, after all? 

“It’s finally happening...”

[slyhxnter-blog]

A moment of silence bridges the gap between his thoughts and his words. In the distance; he can see a figure obscured by the shadows of nightmarish surroundings. They were too small to be the maid or the giant, too able-bodied to be his defied master. As groundskeeper; he was expected to know - ALL - within his castle. The failed experiments, the keepers, even the damn dog was under his watch. 

To see a stranger among the fray was delightful to say the least. A stranger meant an outsider, an outsider meant a lack of knowledge and lack of knowledge meant an easy target. A crooked smile creases his lip; were his hood down, one could’ve seen the scars etched upon his face twist and turn with the maliciousness of his grin.

“I wasn’t aware that we were having any visitors...” 

His smile fades; blue eyes shine coldly from beneath his disguise. He takes a few, slow, casual steps forward. Darkness makes him all the more imposing; despite being of average height with a slim frame, something about him appears dominant. He dresses as a modest religious-like figure and yet he screams RULE ; a real wolf in sheep’s clothing. 

“Though, a new face, is always welcome here. Of course.” 

His words creep through the darkness of the distance that separates him and the stranger. Illuminated only by candle light, one can see a small smile lingering upon his features. 

“Tell me. What brings you to the castle?”

[dxvall-blog]

His reflection had become a beautiful lie, one he’d convinced himself was his only truth. Morpheus pined for beauty; he found himself lost in the bags (nothingness) beneath his eyes. The small lines and cracks highlighted beneath a dim light made him feel sick with relent. As much as he denied it; as much as he’d hated it; he was imperfect. 

Years of products, plastics and desperation had done nothing for him. The man could be as beautiful as the morning sky and yet his own mind would convince him otherwise. Despite his sharp features, his feminine handsomeness; the man remained unconvinced.

In his mind; much more work still needed to be done. 

Feeling a sweat dampen his forehead, he panted before turning from the mirror. He’d taught himself to time his preening. Others became angry when he spent so long making himself great. They accused him of not spending enough of his time on them.

Taking leave from his haven, he breathed heavy; his cold steely gaze meeting subordinates with displeasure.

“Who wants me and why?”

[artilleryandexcuses-blog]

NIGHTMARES had plagued his mind. Brutal flickers of a life without his wife. Without his child. His mindset had been scorned by the roaring fires of his hometown and twisted by the attack of the ShinRa army. 

A man writhes and twitches upon a desert floor much harder than one would imagine a sandy surface to be. It's anything but the delicate substance one feels against the soles of their feet when at the beach. This sand is rough and sharp, bathing his wounds in a heated salt that only pains him further. 

His vision is blurry and his senses dull when he pulls himself from his nightmare and into his REALITY.

How long had it been?

Hours?

Days?

Perhaps even weeks?

No matter the length of his dream, his gaze is welcomed by the mangled remnants of what used to be his forearm and hand. A shooting pain erupts agony over his leg and Dyne quickly finds himself roaring with an AGONY never experienced before. 

Realization hits him as hard as the anguish of his injuries as he spies toward the top of the cave. He'd been DROPPED. Left like nothing more than a piece of trash by a man he'd considered to be his BEST FRIEND. 

How could Barret have done this? WHY DID HE DO THIS?

Quickly his mind turns to his family. His wife, his baby girl; they're in DANGER. They're in danger and there's no goddman way he could ever get to them in time. 

Now the man is screaming even harder. Desperately calling out into the remnants of a nightmare; praying to awake once more in the arms of Elanor. With Marlene close to his chest and the sun against their backs. Such a vision is torn from his as ruthlessly as the ShinRa had taken everything away from him.

Moments pass before shadow looms over him; a STRANGER. 

The screaming stops and those dark, pained eyes of his look to the being with a cruel look of HOPELESSNESS.

[theunlikelyones]

"Yeah, Oli?" Nathan smirked down at his younger brother, holding the boy by the curls.  "You want another kiss?" Oli nodded eagerly, looking up at his older brother with wide eyes. Nate licked Oli's lips teasingly before leaning down again and kissing his younger brother passionately. They both didn't realize their Dad was standing in the doorway before Oli pushed away from Nate with a gasp as he spotted John. "D-Daddy."

never-never-lxnd

[theunlikelyones]

The young witch looked down at her work, watching the blood trickle on the sacrifice alter. She wasn't a fan of the killing, but what had to be done for the craft had to be done. Ophelia always felt a little off after a sacrifice.

She turned to wash her hands of the evidence, her back to the alter now. It was done, she had ensured the protection of her family for another season. 

This spell felt different from the one she had done ever season for a while now. There was an anticipation, as if she should be waiting for something. 

She ignored it though, proceeding to clean up. 

[theunlikelyones]

"You're absolutely ridiculous. I have no idea why I hang out with you." Ophelia laughed, shaking her head at them.