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agnerd-bot · 1 year

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Fate Fanservant: Moll Dyer, The Witch of the Frozen Rock(Avenger)

Ascension Stages:

First Stage: A mess of silver hair covers her head, and pouches full of strange medicines are seen attached to a worn-out white dress by belts. She stares ahead with an annoyed gaze as she leans against an old-fashioned walking cane as dark as pitch.

Second Stage: Atop her head is an old-fashioned witch’s hat, pure white and ragged. Her walking cane has been replaced with a traditional wizard’s staff, and her clothing is much more elegant and refined, akin to a noblewoman’s.

Final Stage: Her left arm has been replaced with a prosthetic made of solid ice, as has her right leg. Patches of ice cover her clothes and face, even blocking out one of her eyes. Points of sharpened ice jut out from her clothes, and the shadow of a white hound can be seen looming behind her.

Traits:

Class: Avenger Alternate Class: Caster, Alter Ego

True Name: Moll Dyer

Source: American History Region: America Alignment: Neutral Evil Attribute: Man

Known as: The Witch of the Stone, The Frozen Witch, The Witch of the White Hound

Voice Actress: Saori Hayami

Deck: QAABB

Parameters:

Strength: D Endurance: B- Agility: B Mana: EX Luck: D NP: A++

Theme:

Donovan - Season of the Witch (Official Audio)

Aviators - Scarlet Vow (Halloween Song | NEW EP!)

Passive Skills:

Avenger C:

It is said that long after Moll Dyer's physical body died and was lost to time, her spirit still lived on as a curse upon those who dared make their way to what remains of her home. The land itself is barren, and lightning strikes the area an abnormal amount of times.

(FGO Effect): -Increases own NP generation rate when taking attack by 16%. -500% Chance to reduce party's debuff resistance by 6% except self. (Including sub members) [Demerit]

Self-Replenishment (Magic) EX:

Her heart has been lost, torn out and crushed by the actions of the small town she had lived in. In its place is only bitterness and hatred, and a grudge that will never truly be satisfied no matter what. Humanity's own paranoia and cowardice, scorned her, destroyed her, and ultimately killed her. For this, the only retribution will be to do to them in kind.

The harshness of winter will engulf everything, man, woman, child. Nothing will be left from the aftermath of her righteous fury.

(FGO Effect): -Charges own NP gauge by 4.2% every turn.

Oblivion Correction C:

She will never forget that night, when she was chased from her own home. When the men shouted accusations of witchcraft at her, and pulled at her hair and clothes to try and have her hanged. When she had to flee from the wreckage of her own burning house for a crime she had never even committed. When she died alone and unloved in the cold winter, cursing humanity's horrible cruelty.

(FGO Effect): -Increases own critical damage by 6%.

Shaper of Lands EX:

A variation on the Territory Creation skill, this power allows the wielder to morph the very world around them however they please. Empowered by the Irish goddess of the land and weather and blessed by the grace of God, the very ground Moll walks on is turned into a barren wasteland of snow and ice, akin to a grand temple where she reigns as the sole goddess and ruler. With the power of the goddess that shaped the land itself, Dyer can fell mountains into valleys, raise canyons into peaks that scrape the sky, and shape the world around her as she sees fit.

In essence, she has no need to make a territory for herself, as Moll Dyer's territory is wherever she makes herself known.

(FGO Effect): -Increases own Arts performance by 12%. -Increases damage by 250. -Increases own debuff resist by 25%.

Active Skills:

Merciless Winter A:

Having been blessed by the goddess Cailleach in order to pursue her vengeance against the wickedness of humanity, Moll Dyer's power manifests as an incredible power over both snow and storm alike, allowing her to bring down divine wrath on her enemies with a terrible vengeance, freezing over anyone and everyone much like how Moll herself ended up frozen in the harsh winters of Massachusetts.

Alongside Cailleach's power, Moll can cast down terrible curses on her enemies, typically manifesting as the four tragedies most associated with her. The plague that drove the town up into a frenzy looking for someone to blame. The fires that engulfed her home and forced her to flee for her life. The uncaring coldness of winter where she froze to death. And the terrible curse that manifested as her undying grudge against humanity and its cruelty.

(FGO Effect:) -Apply buff to self (3 turns): --Decrease ATK for all enemies each turn (1 turn). --Decrease Defense for all enemies each turn (1 turn). -Inflicts Evil Curse status for 3 turns to all enemies. -Chance to Stun all enemies

Innocent Monster (Witch) EX:

The skill given to those whose lives were distorted and broken by mankind, warping their Saint Graph as a result. In the case of Moll Dyer, even though she worked as a healer of the ill and injured, the townsfolk saw her as a witch for her solitary life and status as an immigrant. Soon enough, rumors about her ignited like wildfire, whipping her home of Leonardtown into a fervor once a plague struck them. Believing that they had been cursed by Dyer, the townsfolk set her house ablaze, and forcing her to flee into the forest, lest she be put to death.

Moll Dyer's body was found a few days later by a young boy, frozen solid with an arm raised up into the sky in a silent prayer to god. Yet another victim of the hysteria of humanity.

(FGO Effect:) -Gains critical stars every turn for three turns. -Increases damage against debuffed enemies for three turns. -Inflict Spreading Fire status to self for five turns[Demerit]. -Greatly increase NP Gauge if burned(1 time, five turns).

Aloof Mercy B+:

Despite the fact that she claims to have abandoned any and all humanity she had left, Moll Dyer is still a competent witch with knowledge of many herbal remedies with the ability to cure sickness. While she is nowhere near as talented as Servants such as Asclepius or Nightingale, one can still find Dyer working on her own medicines. If one asks her, however, she will deny it to her very grave.

Perhaps she still has a little faith in humanity left after all.

(FGO Effect:) -Recovers party's HP every turn for five turns. -Removes party's debuffs. -Increase party’s resistance to critical hits for five turns.

Noble Phantasms:

Noble Phantasm: Séadchomhartha an Bhróin - The Moll Dyer Rock

Rank: A++ Maximum Targets: 5000 Range: 400km Classification: Anti-Army

The symbol of Moll Dyer's tragic and untimely demise, the Moll Dyer Stone is a minor artifact associated with curses and superstition that can still be found at Leonardtown, Maryland where she died. It is said that Dyer was found, hands and knees on the stone, frozen to death in a silent prayer to God to destroy the people that had run her out of town and killed her. Many of the townspeople's descendants have attributed personal tragedies to the curse of the stone, and those who have touched the stone have stated to have fallen ill, felt a deathly cold, or even fainted outright in its presence.

As a Servant, the Moll Dyer Rock has changed to something completely different. Thanks to the powers of the goddess Callieach, the stone has transformed into a massive menhir that towers over the land, a symbol of her own hatred of mankind. When Moll is in her menhir's range, her magical powers become amplified even further, and in turn all enemies within its range become afflicted by heavy curses. Simply destroying the menhir isn't enough to stop it entirely, either, as thanks to her powers over the land, Dyer can merely recreate another one in a matter of minutes.

(FGO Effect:) -Remove all buffs from all enemies(Applies first) -Increases damage against debuffed enemies for three turns(Applies first) -Deal heavy damage against all enemies -Decrease debuff resistance for all enemies for three turns -Inflicts Evil Curse status for 3 turns to all enemies

Noble Phantasm: Cú Bán Seilge - Visage of My One Friend

Rank: C+ Maximum Targets: 1 Range: — Classification: Anti-Unit(Self)

As a means of remembering the one creature who ever showed her true kindness, Moll Dyer can take the shape of a fearsome white wolfhound that can disappear and reappear like a phantom, passing through walls to shred at the victims behind them or phasing through attacks to avoid potentially fatal wounds. In essence, Moll Dyer becomes a ghost sent by God to destroy the evil and sinful of the world, taking the visage of the one being who protected her from the evils of man.

If the need arises, Dyer can also assume a form that is between human and hound, becoming a towering werewolf that retains both the hound's ghostly powers and fierce fangs and the witch's terrible magics and commandment over both earth and frost, becoming akin to a devil that torments the wicked.

Voice Lines:

Summoned: Avenger, Moll Dyer. I am an instrument of God’s will, carrying out vengeance in His name. If humanity’s heart chooses to harden in the face of kindness, then let the chill of death allow their bodies to match their spirit.

Level Up 1: Do you seek to find mercy from me if you can give me trinkets, child? Hmph. How foolish. My wrath is not so easily bought.

Level Up 2: It appears my old bones are stronger than even I anticipated...

1st Ascension: Hmmm... How interesting, I never wore these clothes back when I was alive, and yet... I see. Is this what the youth today call 'high fashion'? I quite like it, I must admit. It suits me nicely.

2nd Ascension: Well, it seems that my age has yet to catch up with me. I'm surprised how well we're doing as a pair, child.

3rd Ascension: This is the truth of who I am, child. The phantom witch of the white forest. I was robbed of my life by the evils of humanity, and so too will I take the lives of others as recompense through the grace of God. There is no time for screaming. There is no need for despair. All that needs to be done... is silence this world. Then, and only then, will I be at peace.

4th Ascension: You're still here at my side? I must say, it's nice to have the company. Hmph. To think, humanity could ever produce a selfless soul such as yourself... Truly, I have been blessed by God to have someone such as yourself at my side, child. When mankind is consumed by frost... When humanity is buried beneath the earth... I will be sure to keep your grave intact.

Fight Start 1: God has blessed me, child. Let us see if you are half as fortunate...

Fight Start 2: Don't bother trying to fight against the winter, child. You will merely die tired.

Fight Start 3: Look upon the Shaper of Lands, and weep.

Skill 1: You're fifty years too young to even think of facing me, child.

Skill 2: Behold the despair of an eternal snowfall, and despair.

Skill 3: Let God decide your fate.

Command Card Select 1: I want to watch you die slowly.

Command Card Select 2: I will bury you alive...

Command Card Select 3: You will not live to see the sunrise.

Noble Phantasm Select 1: All that lives... Will be consumed in my vengeance.

Noble Phantasm Select 2: You will know the harshness of winter...

Noble Phantasm Select 3: Your death awaits!

Attack 1: Do you understand the terror of winter?

Attack 2: The cold bites at your flesh.

Attack 3: The wind tears at your eyes.

Attack 4: The fear rips out your heart.

Attack 5: There is no escape for you.

Attack 6: This land... Will become your grave.

Extra Attack 1: CÚ BÁN SEILGE!

Extra Attack 2: I will tear out your heart... And feast on your bones!

Noble Phantasm 1:

Humanity's own wickedness and evil put me to death and deemed it to be justice...

Allow me to return the favor.

Behold, the judgment of all mankind.

Séadchomhartha an Bhróin.

Noble Phantasm 2:

This land shall die by plague and frost.

Such is the will of God.

Séadchomhartha an Bhróin.

Noble Phantasm 3:

Ahahahahahahaha…

Run, scream, cry out all you like.

God will not show mercy to you sinners.

I will not show mercy to you sinners.

Such is the harshness of winter.

Damage from Noble Phantasm: Khhhhh…!

Regular Damage: Damn you…!

Defeated 1: God… please, give me strength…

Defeated 2: No… I don’t want to go back!

Victory 1: I think I like you better this way… Silent.

Victory 2: Let the snow bury any trace of your existence.

Bond Level 1: I see no point in us conversing, child. Stop wasting your time and mine, lest I turn you to an ice sculpture and shatter you where you stand.

Bond Level 2: What do you want from me, child? Surely you have better things to do with your time than bother me. Go on, leave.

Bond Level 3: I left Ireland in hopes of finding freedom from persecution. And I died alone in the cold like a common animal because of humanity’s cruelty. Tell me... Is that the mankind you wish to defend?

Bond Level 4: All I did was heal the sick and tend to the dying... And all I asked for was to be left alone. All I wanted... All I ever needed was to be left alone... Why... Why wouldn't they just leave me alone...?!

Bond Level 5: Damn you... God damn you to hell... You're persistent in just following me to the ends of the earth, aren't you? Fine, do what you will, I won't bother stopping you anymore. But if you insist on following me on this path, I will not allow you to leave it. Is that understood, child?

Dialogue 1: Tch. Stand up straight, child. Don't slouch everywhere, you're going to give yourself a bad back. Trust me, I speak from experience...

Dialogue 2: You summoned me to serve you. I will fight on your orders. No more, no less. Do I make it clear?

Dialogue 3: If it's not one stray dog following me around everywhere, it's another, I swear...

Dialogue 4: Let us be off. I don't know if we should kill the sinners, or gather materials for my work, but either way, it is far too cramped in this room.

Dialogue 5 (If you have D.P. Upham): That brash young gentleman… What a fool. Written out of his own country’s history, and yet he still chooses to fight for it as a Servant…

Dialogue 6 (If you have Clara Barton): Don’t give me that nervous look, young lady. Stand up straight and pick your jaw off the floor. You’re a doctor, so act like it.

Dialogue 7 (If you have Pecos Bill): Oh joy, it appears that drunken oaf is here as well... I don't know what's worse, the stench of alcohol, or her blind arrogance.

Dialogue 8 (If you have Yehûdâh Ish-Kerayot): The Frozen Hell of Cocytus... The Ninth and Final Ring of Hell itself... How interesting... I wonder whose ice proves colder, Judas Iscariot? Yours or mine?

Dialogue 9 (If you have Simo Häyhä): The sniper that stained red the ice and snow. Hmmm... Best be careful, old man. You never know when your own cover may betray you.

Dialogue 10 (If you have Hessian Lobo): Ohh… That’s a good boy! Yes… People have been kind and wicked to you as well, haven’t they, my king? Hmmm… We’re three of a kind, aren’t we?

Dialogue 11 (If you have Abigail Williams): A young girl, so pure, so fair... Tell me, Miss Williams... However does it feel to have the weight of dozens of bodies hanging around your neck? Must not be pleasant, I assume... But it is something you have to live with now. Until the end of time itself.

Dialogue 12 (If you have Anastasia): Russia's little princess... A beautiful gem stained by the blood of mankind's wickedness. If I had a granddaughter I think I'd like to have one like her.

Dialogue 13 (If you have Scáthach-Skaði): 'Goddess of Ice and Snow', hm? How quaint. Your power as King may be impressive, but can it stand against the Goddess that shaped the world itself?

Dialogue 14 (If you have Barghest): You there, the tall blonde one. Come here. Lie down, I can’t reach the top of your head. Ahhh… that’s much better. It’s not quite like it was back in the day, but it’s nice all the same.

Likes: Dogs are much better companions than people. They’re always loyal, they don’t make meaningless conversation, and they’re quite cute… Yes, the world would be much better if we had more dogs instead of people…

Dislikes: Superstition, fearmongering, moral panics… These are all things manufactured by humanity. These are the reasons why humanity should go extinct.

About the Holy Grail: God has already granted my wish… He has given me the strength to take my vengeance with my own two hands. Whatever more could I need?

During an Event: Hand me my staff, child. I would like to go for a walk today.

Birthday: It’s your birthday, hm? Whatever does that have to do with me, child. Go, leave me be.

Profile:

Default:

"I can't stay here... Not anymore. Not with the stench of death and aura of rot hanging in the air. I don't think I can even look at their rooms anymore. Everything just feels so... wrong without them. It seems my neighbors agree... Everywhere I go, I get looks of fear and superstition."

"Perhaps a change of scenery would be good for me... I hear that the New World is in fashion these days... Perhaps I can find a boat that can take me there. Yes... anywhere but here would be nice. Who knows? Perhaps my fortune will take a turn."

Bond Level 1:

Height/Weight: 177 cm • 71 kg Source: American Myth/Historical Fact Region: America Alignment: Neutral • Evil Gender: Female

Alongside Tituba, Moll Dyer is one of the most famed victims of the colonial hysteria around witches. A former Irish noblewoman, it is said that Dyer left her home country of Ireland for one of multiple possible reasons. Her husband and sons had tragically died. Her family had fallen on hard times and she sought her own fortune. She hoped to find a land free of religious persecution. She had been run out of her own town after being accused of murder.

Whatever her reasoning for leaving, the truth of the matter was that Moll Dyer wanted to escape the demons of her own past, and find a place that would care for her and give her the happiness she was denied.

Bond Level 2:

Despite Moll Dyer's hopes for her future in the New World, she was destined to be made an outcast once again. Her faith, her tendency towards isolation, her mysterious past, and her talent for healing others all combined to make the townsfolk fear and revile her. Even when she worked her hardest to provide medicines and healing for the people in her small town, the people around her treated her with suspicion and vitriol, claiming she was a witch who brought down curses and misfortunes on people, even when she treated their illnesses.

As a consequence, Moll Dyer was banished to the outskirts of town, with no companions, save for a white dog that seemed to follow her wherever she went. No one knows where the hound came from, but it stayed at her side nonetheless. Together the two walked the streets of Seytontown, content to keep the other's company, even as death, disease, famine, and all sorts of misfortunes were laid at their feet. Not a lick of it mattered so long as they had each other around.

Bond Level 3:

The men came in the dead of night, screaming for her head. A plague, the influenza possibly, came through and infected dozens of people, causing many to die in the harshness of winter. For the townsfolk, this was the last straw. Surely, this had to be that witch's doing. The only way they could hope to save their own souls is to put her to death. So they came in, torches and pitchforks, ready to burn her alive.

The door caved in with a wicked crack, startling both the immigrant woman and her loyal companion awake. They grabbed at her, pulling at her hair and spitting in her face as they jeered wickedly.

"Witch!" they cried out. "You've cursed us all! You are little more than the Devil's own whore!"

A blur of white, a flash of fangs, and the accuser found his arm torn open by a hound's vicious fangs, dropping a torch to the ground and setting the frosted cabin alight.

"Damned cur! Back to Hell with you, monster!"

The ghostly hound was slain mere moments after by another hunter. But his sacrifice was able to buy his friend mere moments. She ran, desperate to escape the terrible mob, disappearing into the ice and snow, never to be seen by her pursuers again.

Bond Level 4:

"Cold... cold... I'm so cold... I can't even see in front of my face. I can't even feel my fingers and toes. All I can do is run for my life."

"They burned down my home... They grabbed me and shoved me to the ground... They killed my only friend. And now they've run me out of town to die alone here..."

"God, please... If you're listening to me... I only want to ask you one thing."

"Don't let them get away with this."

Bond Level 5:

Arms raised in a silent prayer to God, the so-called witch is almost quietly serene, like a beautiful glass sculpture. A faint smile is seen on her face as she looks up to the heavens. A quiet prayer is said in the hopes that someone would grant her salvation from her pain and suffering.

They didn’t find her body for days. It was only by chance that a shepherd’s son found her frozen corpse, raised in a silent prayer to God, stuck to a stone. Without ceremony, they pried off her body from the stone and buried her in an unmarked grave.

In the days after her passing, many of the mob who had invaded her home claimed to be afflicted by terrible curses. Disease, loss, and misfortune all followed them to their graves. A curse, or an act of God, it’s unsure to say. All that is known is that Moll Dyer died as she lived: an outcast.

Extra (Clear Lostbelt 4.6 “Great Rebellion”):

In life, Moll Dyer was nothing more than a fantastical legend; a footnote in the history of mankind, and one of many victims of a cruel and unjust system. She was nothing more than one of countless people who prayed to God for salvation, but went unanswered as she died alone and unloved, and left nothing behind but burning emotions of hate and fear. There aren't even true records proving her existence. All that Moll Dyer left behind were phantoms, and all that Moll Dyer was was a phantom.

Her Avenger incarnation from the American Singularity, however, is a different story. There, her prayers were answered by not one, but two gods. Granted the ability to shape the world as she saw fit and to manipulate the very elements themselves, Moll Dyer sought to achieve the justice that was taken from her and so many others like her, even if it meant that she was to become the very witch they accused her of being. It didn't matter how many lives were lost, what devastation was wreaked, or who begged her to stop.

No one would ever take anything from her. Never again.

#fate #fate fanservant #fanservant #fate oc #moll dyer #behold the second of my three avenger fanservants #apologies if any of the translations suck #i tried my best to make sure that they made sense #but all i had at my disposal was wikipedia google translate and deepl #regardless #moll dyer was a really fun servant to put together #i love witches in fiction so having the chance to try and make a fanservant based on one is pretty fun #especially since we don't have a lot of witches from colonial times in fate #not even tituba who is arguably the most famous victim of the salem witch trials #while moll dyer has a fairly minor place in history #what little is known about her is pretty interesting to me #especially with the story of her famous curse #i don't have a visual reference for her because i haven't had a commission done yet #and also there's really not a lot of fictional witches that match the vision i have of her #either way enjoy this werewolf ghost witch grandma

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dreamsicle262 · 9 months

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that moment when you receive a comment on one of your fics and it's in portuguese

#dream's textposts🖋️#relatable author problems am i right #im glad that my work is enjoyed by everyone though #anyways i translated it (not with google translate obviously i know of better translators) and it was rlly nice #this is about the zombie dazai au btw #ao3 #bsd au

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that-angry-noldo · 2 years

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The Wind in the Leaves

[There once was a bird, Treebeard remembers.]

Now, it wasn't some... ordinary bird. It hadn't have wings nor feathers. It had long legs and long hands, and a patch of long golden fur on it's head. But it would sing, and it didn't hurt his trees, and it would listen to the whisper of the winds in the oak's leaves and to worms minding their business in the soil, so Treebeard didn't mind it.

Treebeard learned later that the bird wasn't alone, and it's species were called Eldar, and that other Ents already encountered them; but Treebeard paid it no mind, for Eldar rarely wandered in his forests, and rarely hurt his trees, and sang merry songs, and laughed, and their laughter was the one of the spring streams, of the shiny stars, of the worryless birds.

And these birds loved his forest, and they loved his trees, and they would wander off to the most surprising parts of his lands, and then they would get lost, and then they would find their way back - always tracking their steps, always consulting the stars, yet never listening to the forest itself.

It's almost like they were deaf.

It's almost like that practicular bird knew it was deaf.

Yes, that's how the story goes.

There once was a bird, Treebeard remembers. Golden hair crowned with the silver circlet, eyes looking around with questioning curiosity, head tilted on it's shoulder, like it was listening.

Like it could actually hear.

There once was a bird, Treebeard remembers. He also remembers that he loved that bird.

The bird would come and sit, listening to the whispers of wind, to the mumbling of worms, to the murmur of leaves; it would close it's eyes, and at one point, Treebeard wasn't that sure it couldn't actually understand.

He never reached out to the bird, always eyeing it from the distance, wondering in silence.

Sometimes, the bird would feel his gaze and startle, but it was young and inexperienced, and it could never find him. Sometimes, Treebeard almost wished the bird found him, seen him, heard him.

But then, the bird disappeared.

It was a dark time, time of smoke, screams and fire, time of orcs and axes, time of blood and anger. Many trees died. Many birds burned.

Treebeard never left his forest, healing what could be helped, growing what could be planted, mourning what was lost forever. He never forgot about the bird.

(Sometimes, he felt the urgent need to find it, to make sure it's okay, because the bird was his, and he had to protect it.

But the bird was gone.

Sometimes, Treebeard would forget it wasn't a bird at all.)

And one day, the bird showed up, and Treebeard wanted to reach to it, to hold it close, and so did the forest, and trees whispered in concern, and birds stopped chirping for a moment.

The bird changed.

It was thin and weary, and it's hands laid weakly on it's chest, and it's gaze was tired, and Treebeard could feel the smoke and the fire, and he almost moved, almost reached-

"There you are, Findarato."

"Tyelko."

Treebeard never heard the bird speak before.

The other bird was harsh and tall, and had silver hair, waved into a single braid. It smelled of horse sweat and hound howls.

Treebeard remained still. This Elda wasn't a bird. It will never be.

"You know, me and Curvo were getting really worried about you. You shouldn't disappear this sudden."

"Oh. I-"

'I guess I don't care,' the leaves sing, hopping onto bird's thoughts. 'I guess you were worried for wrong reasons,' branches suggest, reaching to the bird.

"- I guess I just wanted to get some break, you know? I also- I think I told Edrahil and Orodreth were I was going, didn't I?"

The silver-haired snorted. "Yeah, you did. Edrahil said 'tree stuff' and refused to elaborate. Care to explain, Ingo?"

"I- uh-"

"Not really," the trees suggest, and the trees never lie. The bird groaned, shook its head.

"I- you know how you talk to anilmals, Tyelko?"

"Doesn't explain tree stuff, cousin."

"I just. I used to come here before the- before the- Bragollach and. Stuff," the bird exhaled, closing it's eyes. "Kind of. Listening to trees. Resting."

"Listening to what, cousin?"

"Please, Tyelko, I'm tired. I just wanted some time alone."

"Are you saying your people struggle with their everyday life and you, their king, just wandered elsewhere from your direct obligations? Listening to- for Morgoth's sake, Finrod, trees can't talk! "

"Rude," whispered the old birch, and Treebeard couldn't agree more.

"It's not like they won't survive a day without me," the bird said uncertainly. "Please, Tyelko. I'm just... really, really tired."

The silence fell between them. Silver-haired eyed the bird cautiously, and then sat beside it.

"You can always come to me and Curvo, you know."

"I- yes. I know. I just... I hadn't visited this place in eight years already. I... I can take you with me next time? Maybe?"

"Hell no," hissed the green ivy, and the Ent closed his eyes in the agreement.

More silence.

"What- What do the trees talk about?"

"Oh!" the bird perked up and smiled. "They say-"

"Tell him he's a dwarf."

"- they talk about the weather, and about the winds, and also gossip about the birds nesting in their branches - it's pretty interesting, actually, bird drama is the best drama - and... honestly, sometimes they describe the winter and the snow in the way that makes me want to lay down and hibernate for a solid tree month - and oh! They also talk about squirells hiding their food and not managing to find it later, it's hilarious, and-"

The bird can understand, Treebeard thinks, and he can't help but feel a bit proud.

The silver-haired thinks, and then snorts.

"Very funny, cousin, but trees don't talk."

"They do!"

"Whatever helps you to sleep at night, Findarato. Stop behaving like a goddamn child."

"I- just leave, Tyelkormo. Please."

The bird didn't come the day after.

Or the week after, the month after, the year after.

It's nest remained empty. It fell to time pretty quickly, gave in to merciless rains and winds and snows.

And when he saw his kin again, they talked and they talked and they talked; and he heard of the nightingale princess and the one-handed man; and he heard the tale of Finrod and Sauron, and he stood still, and the forest mourned with him.

There once was a bird, Treebeard remembers.

He shooks his head and continues walking.

#silmarillion #tolkien #lotr #tolkien fic #finrod #finrod felagund #treebeard #celegorm #dagor bragollach #/end of classification tags #i randomly remembered someone saying finrod would befriend ents and my head went brrrrr #finrod learning treelanguage: looks like we can't speedrun friendship this time guys #edrahil: can't you be normal for just five (5) minutes??#orodreth have lost faith in his uncle long ago #also i wrote this without using google translator! that's an achievement!#anyways i hope you enjoyed :D

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mxliv-oftheendless · 2 years

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Demons, the Lady of Dreams, and Tripled Fees

Horrifying nightmares of his worst mistake haunting every attempt to fall asleep. A member of the royal family possessed by a demon. A graphic exorcism performed in the dead of night, where one of the people involved would not live to see the morning.

Y’know, just a normal Tuesday night in the life of Morpheus Constantine. Or at least, it started out that way.

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HELLO EVERYONE!!! I had this idea last weekend while I was working, of a role reversal AU where Morpheus is the Constantine and Johanna is Dream and got so fucking excited that the first thing I did upon coming home was run to my laptop and start writing. It is twelve pages long in my Google Doc, so let’s hope Tumblr isn’t a dick about letting the whole thing be in one post. I had so much fucking fun writing this, it was an absolute joy, so I hope you all enjoy it too! I’ve also posted it here to Ao3, so go give it a kudos if it’s not too much trouble. OH ALSO: Netflix didn’t put the Latin words Johanna says in the subtitles, so I had to write out the words as they sounded, so this Latin will probably be incredibly awful. But other than that, happy reading!

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It was storming by the time Morpheus arrived at the nightclub. The droplets made the neon lights of the sign gleam even more harshly. There seemed to be no sign of anyone there, but he could still feel what was inside. It was emanating from there, like the entire building was vibrating from a silent scream.

As the cab rolled away, Morpheus took out his phone and looked down at the lockscreen. The messages were still there, the same place they had been when they flashed across his screen an hour ago.

Morpheus its happening again You need to get over here i’m really really scared I’m with dad at leland city club PLEASE HURRY

Seemingly on cue, there was a loud rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning.

The capital letters reminded Morpheus he couldn’t waste any more time. He put his phone back in his coat pocket and went to open the door and head inside. He didn’t regret giving Jed his phone number, because someone had to be there for the poor boy besides his sister. But he was rather frustrated that Cori fucking Walker made Jed have to use it so much. Whatever. He would just fix this and go back home… and definitely take Jed and Rose with him.

Sure enough, the nightclub atrium was completely empty. It was completely dark, save the neon light fixtures that were blinking weakly. The energy he had felt outside was even stronger now, enough that it vibrated through his body. The hairs on his neck and arms stood up and, despite the amount of years he’d been doing this, a chill ran down his spine. Because bright light was bursting between the cracks of the doors in front of him. That had to be where it was.

Morpheus swallowed to harden his resolve and stepped towards the doors. He was seriously debating just finding Jed and Rose and leaving, letting their father deal with the mess he had undoubtedly made. But no, he couldn’t do that. That would make the mess even worse.

He reached for the door handle, ready to throw it open. He would deal with this as quickly as possible. Hopefully it wasn’t too powerful a demon…

“Morpheus!”

Morpheus whirled around and saw Jed hurrying towards him from where he’d hidden in the bathroom. “Jed!” He rushed towards him and knelt down, relieved to see that Jed looked unharmed besides the incredibly frightened look on his face. “I came as soon as you texted. What happened?”

“We have to go!” Jed grabbed his arm and tried to drag him away. “We have to get out of here!”

“And we will,” Morpheus said calmly as he stopped the boy. “Just tell me what’s happened.”

Jed looked at him fearfully. “... He said it was an accident. Like when Mom died.”

God fucking dammit. A part of him had really been hoping someone else had done this. He bit back his frustrated sigh and instead asked, “Where is your sister?”

“S-She’s not here. She’s sleeping over at Judy’s house.”

Well, at least that was a good thing. One less Walker to worry about. “Good.” He straightened up and looked at Jed pointedly. “Now where is your father?”

Jed turned and pointed to a door off to the side. Morpheus strode towards the door, hearing Jed’s quicker footsteps hurry after him. He was going to give Walker the ass-kicking of his miserable life when this was over.

The door ended up leading to a backstage area of the club, which turned out to be far less destroyed than the rest of the place. And among the strewn about instruments, containers, shot glasses, and alcohol bottles was Cori Walker, passed out on a pentagram drawn on the floor in white chalk.

This time Morpheus did sigh in frustration and marched over to stand over the constant source of disaster and despair… and the pentagram he was lying on top of. “Walker!” he barked.

A book lying on the floor by Walker’s head caught his eye, specifically it’s title of SATANIC RITUALS displayed on the cover. He angrily snatched it up and smacked Walker across the head with it. “Hey! Walker!”

He hit him again, and this time the man startled awake. He looked around, then turned to look up and found Morpheus glaring down at him. He simply gave him an unconcerned grin, like a sheepish child caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “Hello, Morpheus,”

“What the fuck did you do?” Morpheus growled.

“We were just havin’ some fun,” Walker insisted.

“Some fun?” Morpheus brandished the book cover at him. “Summoning demons is having some fun?” Walker simply shrugged sheepishly and he forced himself to not hit him with the book again. “Who is “we”? Where are they?”

“They must still be inside,”

“Inside the club?”

“Yeah… You don’t wanna go in there, man.”

Morpheus scowled down at what surely had to be the bane of his entire existence. “No. No, I do not. But someone has to clean up your mess.”

He threw the book back down on the floor and straightened back up to head back into the atrium. Jed moved to join him. “I’ll come with you,” he insisted.

Morpheus stopped and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re safer in here with your father, Jed, shocking as it may seem.” He squeezed Jed’s shoulder comfortingly. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Jed still looked unsure, but nodded hesitantly. “C-Can I go with you when you leave?”

Morpheus couldn’t help his small affectionate smile. “Of course you can. We’ll go home, get some sleep, then call your sister in the morning. In the meantime, stay here. All right?”

“Okay,” Jed nodded. “Be careful.”

“I will, Jed,”

With that, he left the room and strode purposefully across the atrium towards the doors. They were shaking now, holding surprisingly well against the demonic force inside. Whatever demon was in there was most likely feeding on Walker’s friends, too busy snacking to leave. Oh well. If they were friends with Walker then their deaths probably weren’t that great a loss.

Morpheus suddenly found himself inside a long, dark hallway. Did his surroundings suddenly change or had it always been a hallway? He couldn’t remember now. He slowly, hesitantly lifted his hand to turn the doorknob and open the door. But something inside him was telling him to run, to turn around, grab Jed, and leave.

Turn back now. This can’t happen again. You can’t let this happen the way it did again.

But before he could seriously think about it, his hand was on the doorknob, and the door was swinging open.

An explosion of light blinded him. The heat of flames hit his face. Unholy screams and wails overwhelmed his hearing. Then something grabbed hold of his foot and yanked him into the room.

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Morpheus snapped awake and sucked in a deep breath. He could feel his heart racing as his eyes adjusted and he tried to see where he was.

“Alright, bruv. We’re here.”

He wasn’t back at the nightclub, facing a demon with Jed waiting for him to take him away. He was in a cab, completely alone. And Jed…

Morpheus tried to ignore the stab of guilt that went through him. “Sorry,” he said absentmindedly as he fumbled for his seatbelt. “It’s been a long day.”

“My day’s just gettin’ started,” the cab driver sighed tiredly.

“I have a feeling mine is as well,” Morpheus muttered. He pulled out his wallet and took out his credit card to pay the fare, then got out of the cab.

The cool night air hit his face and he breathed it in to clear his head. He looked up at the looming cathedral as the cab drove away behind him and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. He wondered if his work would feel more important if he had gotten more sleep, but as it was, he just wanted to get it over with and go home. Just home, not back to bed–he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. The memory of that nightclub and what happened to Jed haunted him at night. The shadows on his walls seemed to taunt him with his guilt, whispering “Your fault,” over and over. The daytime wasn’t much better–waking hours spent wondering if Rose would pick up this time if he called… not that she ever did.

Morpheus took another deep breath of the crisp air. He had to focus. He couldn’t change what happened, nor could he make Rose hate him any less. But he could do this. He could do this job. It was why he was called. So with that, he began to walk towards the steps of the cathedral.

“Morpheus Constantine!”

The voice behind him made him freeze. He turned around and couldn’t help smiling wryly as he walked towards the man dressed like G. K. Chesterton standing under the streetlight.

“It’s rather late to be going to church, dear boy,” the man said cheerfully. “Even if you’ve dressed up quite well for it. Is that a new black coat?”

“What are you doing here, Gilbert?” Morpheus asked in amusement.

“Oh, the same as you, I expect,” Gilbert replied, eagerly shifting the hat and cane he had tucked under one arm. “She’s coming, isn’t she?”

“Who?”

“Oh, you surely must know who! Lady Johanna.” At Morpheus’s confused blinking, Gilbert went on. “The Lady of Dreams. The Oneiromancer. You know, the Sandman!”

“The Sandman,” Morpheus repeated, wondering if Gilbert had another screw loose. “The woman who puts little children to sleep? She’s only a fairy tale, Gilbert.”

“Oh, she is no fairy tale, dear boy. She’s back, and she wants her sand.”

Morpheus just smiled amusedly. Yeah, right. “Thanks for letting me know. But I’m late for work.”

He nodded goodbye to Gilbert, then turned to head towards the cathedral steps. “Take my word for it, dear boy, she has returned!” Gilbert called after him. “I know! I am two hundred and eighty years old, and I know!”

Morpheus couldn’t help laughing quietly and turned to briefly wave at Gilbert. Crazy old man…

“Constantine.”

He turned and abruptly stopped again (how many times would this happen tonight?). This time he had been stopped by a woman, who had appeared out of nowhere on the steps in front of him. She looked about the same age as him and had long brown hair. She had a fancy white trench coat over a black turtleneck, dark pants, and black combat boots. And strangest of all, she was looking at him like she knew him… even though Morpheus was sure he had never seen her before in his life.

Morpheus scrutinized her, trying to remember if he had ever met her before. “Do I know you?” he asked aloud.

“We’ve got business, you and I,” was the woman’s response.

Business? What business? He was certain he’d never met her before.

He glanced at the cathedral and looked back at her. “With all due respect, you’ll have to wait. I have business with God first.”

The woman said nothing as he walked up the steps past her and towards the church. But he could feel her eyes on his back, watching him. He had half a mind to turn and yell at her to fuck off. But it was far too late and he was far too tired of life to deal with anything besides the job he had to do. So he ignored her stare and walked up the rest of the steps to shove open the cathedral door.

The sound of his boots against the floor echoed through the vast, empty hall as he entered, looking around for any sign of life amongst the many candles. “Lucienne?” he called out, hearing his voice carry.

Almost in answer, Lucienne’s shaved head poked out behind a corner and she smiled happily upon seeing him. “Oh good, you’re here,”

“Not a favor,” he reminded her as he made his way up the small set of steps to her. “I’m getting paid or I’m going back to bed.” He decided not to mention that going back to bed would probably involve watching crap reality shows on Netflix instead of actually sleeping.

“And I’m sure you won’t accept “the honor of doing a service to devout followers of God” as payment?” Lucienne drawled as they walked through the vast chamber.

Morpheus chuckled wryly. “I never do. So tell me, why have I been summoned this time?”

“The usual reason. There is a soul in need of your help.”

“Who is it?”

Strangely, Lucienne paused before saying, “Oh… does it really matter?”

She sounded far too casual. Morpheus gave her a suspicious look.

“If I double your fee?”

He stopped walking and stared expectantly at her.

“Triple it?”

Tempting… but he still wanted to know.

Lucienne sighed. “Let’s just say, her family has means,”

Oh, not this shit again…

Morpheus sighed. “If her family is in any way royal, the answer is no. I’m done with that.”

“I know, but none of them know she’s here,” Lucienne argued.

“Who is it, the princess?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny. She came here about an hour ago, demanding that I marry her and her boyfriend before the palace and the press find out.”

Morpheus frowned. “Why? Who does she want to marry?”

Lucienne looked like she was biting back a laugh. “Kevin Brody,”

He blinked at her. “The football player?” Lucienne nodded. “Perhaps she is possessed, then. She could do far better.”

“I don’t follow sports, so I really can’t say,”

What was this, a bad romance novel? “Lucienne, just because a Goldsmith-educated princess wants to marry a subpar football player–”

“It’s not just that,”

“–does not mean she needs an exorcism.”

“It’s not just that,” Lucienne repeated with a sigh, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Just talk to her, and you’ll understand.”

“It’s far too risky with royals,” Morpheus argued. “If this goes wrong, there will be a dead princess, a demon running riot, and no one to…”

“Let me go! FUCK OFF!!”

Morpheus trailed off at the echoing screaming and turned to look in the direction it came from. “... Well shit,” he couldn’t help saying.

“Told you,” Lucienne muttered.

“Is that her?”

“Can you not smell the sulfur?”

He could, actually. But he’d gotten so used to it by now he hadn’t noticed it at first.

Morpheus paused, weighing his options. Either he went in there and tried to exorcize a member of royalty who potentially didn’t need an exorcism… or he could go back home and fight off sleep, just so he wouldn’t have to relive the memory of that godforsaken nightclub again.

He sighed. “Where is she?”

Lucienne smiled happily and they resumed their walk. “In my office. You’ll need this,” she handed him her Rituale Romanum, “and should I get holy water as well?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Morpheus hummed, thinking about what to do. “I cannot burst in speaking in Latin… Has she been restrained? Is that why she sounds like that?”

“She sounds like that because she’s been possessed by a demon,” Lucienne huffed.

“We could tie her up,” Morpheus said thoughtfully. He had half a mind to continue the joke, just to see how scandalized Lucienne would get. “Do you think she would enjoy that?”

Sure enough, she stopped and looked at him like he’d just told her he didn’t care for The Godfather. “She is British royalty!”

“We don’t have to drug her,” Morpheus insisted, trying not to laugh at her face. “It would all be very consensual.”

Lucienne looked like she wanted to smack him upside the head. “Have you got any other ideas?”

Morpheus looked in the direction of where the princess was still screaming. Then an idea popped into his head. “I do.” He turned to Lucienne. “But I’m going to need your clothes.”

A few minutes and a decision to not remark to Lucienne how they somehow were the same size later, Morpheus stood, fully clad as a vicar, in front of the princess and the football player. After getting a good look at him, he stood by what he said before–the princess could definitely do better. Both of them were so eager to get married as quickly as possible that neither of them noticed that the vicar performing the ceremony had messy, unkempt hair and eyeliner.

He could smell the sulfur in the room (it was so strong he was sure he’d have to put his clothes through the wash to get the rotten egg smell out), and could feel the presence of something unholy. The problem was, he couldn’t tell where it was coming from. He was pretty certain it was coming from the princess, since Lucienne was rarely wrong about who she thought was possessed. But still, he didn’t like any kind of uncertainty.

“Do you, Princess, take this–”

“I do.”

Morpheus trailed off at the slightly rude interruption. But the princess, clad in a simple yet becoming white dress, simply stared back at him with hardened resolve.

Kevin Brody, being the second-tier football player he was, seemed less certain, glancing at his fiance hesitantly. “Wait–babe, are you absolutely sure you wanna do this?”

The princess turned to him, and Morpheus half-wondered if she would ask if she fucking stuttered. “I said “I do” because I do, Kevin.”

“No, I mean… Are you sure you don’t want a big royal-wedding-of-the-century-type wedding? With, like, the queen and photographers and stuff?”

Oh dear, trouble in paradise already. If it turned out there was no demon, Morpheus may be convinced to get a social media account just to see how this marriage played out.

The princess’s face softened into what had to be the most loving, adoring look Morpheus had ever seen. If not for the circumstances, he would’ve admitted it was genuinely sweet. “I just want you,” she told him.

Ew. Definitely the plot of a bad romance novel… not that he read those.

Her words seemed to persuade him, and they both turned back to him. “Let’s get on with it, please,” the princess said politely.

Morpheus nodded slightly. “And do you, Kevin–”

He heard a cracking noise, then Kevin Brody yelped. “Ow! Yeah! Yeah, I do.”

“Wonderful. Then repeat after me. Da locum derisimae.”

“Da locum derisimae.”

“Da locum empi isimae.”

“Da locum empi–”

Kevin Brody suddenly stopped and hunched over, coughing loudly. Both the princess and Morpheus’s heads immediately turned towards him as he cleared his throat and straightened up, trying to laugh it off. “Sorry,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Been fasting. Just in case there were photographers. You know what I’m sayin’?” The princess looked like she very much did not know what he was saying, and his awkward grin faded. “Doesn’t matter.”

She gave him what looked like a warning glare and turned back to Morpheus. “Keep going,” she demanded.

Morpheus, however, wasn’t looking at her. He was studying Kevin Brody suspiciously. Maybe he’d been right all along, and the princess wasn’t possessed at all… but someone in this room still was. “Da locum christo…”

“Da locum christ–” Kevin Brody doubled over again, this time looking like he’d been about to throw up. He held up a hand desperately. “Sorry, can we–”

Morpheus kept chanting, the words coming rapidly. “Vonelium venistido perebustubis,”

Kevin Brody grabbed his throat and doubled over in pain, actually gagging this time. The princess just looked at him, aghast. “Are you going to be sick?! Kevin! Are you going to be sick during our wedding?!”

Morpheus just studied him and went on. “Quotis boliavit quam regnum tuom destrucit.”

The princess kept looking back and forth between him and her fiance, who had been sent down to his knees. “Kevin!”

Kevin Brody gagged… and then a green hand with black nails slowly slithered out of his mouth.

Oh shit. “Quivit emigavit, evasa tuem eripulit!”

And Kevin Brody, or at least his body, was rocketed to its feet and its head was thrown back as a green arm and hand burst out of the mouth. The demon inside growled, the sound booming through the cathedral, as the hand clawed at the air. Then another green hand slowly appeared, then an arm, tearing through the mouth and face as it fought its way out of its constricting vessel. Then both hands reached back to grab the top of the head, and tore the body in half. What used to be subpar football star Kevin Brody exploded in a mess of blood, bones, and flesh. In the body’s place stood a huge, hulking demon. He had green skin, pointed ears, spikes of purple-gray hair atop his head, completely black eyes, and a darker green vest and pants. The demon exhaled with an enraged snarl and stood to his full height, towering over the princess and Morpheus’s heads.

Morpheus’s mouth dropped open in surprise as he vaguely registered the princess bursting into terrified tears. Wow. He really hadn’t seen that coming. Lucienne had been convinced the princess was possessed, not the footballer, and she was never wrong. That’s a twist.

Speaking of whom… “Lucienne!” he called, not taking his eyes off the demon. The demon glared right back at him as his arms and legs slowly cracked and snapped back into place.

Footsteps echoed, then Lucienne appeared, clutching his coat around her. She froze in shock upon seeing the demon. “You won’t believe this,” Morpheus said to her, “but you were wrong about who was possessed.”

“Oh dear,” was all Lucienne responded with.

Morpheus glanced at the princess, who had backed away in terror and had her hands over her mouth to conceal her hysterical sobs. “Get her out of here.”

Lucienne nodded and went to place her hands gently on the distraught princess’s shoulders and hurry her out of the hall. “Come along, dear. There we go. Come with me.”

The demon’s head and body turned and he seemed to be watching as Lucienne and the princess left the room. He let out a growl of frustration. Morpheus didn’t want to find out if that meant he was going to attack them, so he began to chant again, stepping down to the floor. “Visitas vasuomos dominae. Habitatione istum et omnis–”

“You… talk too much,” the demon snarled as he turned around to face him. “Especially for a little twink in eyeliner.”

Morpheus chose to ignore the very original insult he had never heard before. “If you tell me your name, I’ll stop,” he retorted.

“Now why would I do that,” the demon said, advancing on him with a very lecherous smile, “when there’s far more enjoyable ways to make you stop?”

“His name is Choronzon.”

Morpheus whipped around and found the woman from outside in the white trench coat standing behind him. Her chin was raised regally and she gazed at the demon—Choronzon, apparently—with a very intent look, like she wanted something from him. “A Duke of Hell,” she finished.

The green-skinned demon grinned at her. “Surprised you remember me, Lady Johanna,” he sneered mockingly, “after your little vacation away.”

The woman simply smiled dryly at him. “Nice to see you too, Choronzon,” she said mildly sarcastically.

Morpheus, who had backed away a few steps, turned to look again at the woman, this time remembering what Gilbert had said to him. “Lady Johanna?” he repeated to himself, astonished. He couldn’t believe it…

Choronzon apparently heard him. “It is indeed, little twink. Though she looks a bit different without her helm.” He grinned at her. “Now where do you think that could be?”

“I’m guessing it’s in Hell with the demon it was traded to,” Lady Johanna shot back.

“Yeah, but which demon? Gimme the princess and I might be willin’ to tell you.”

Fuck this. Morpheus was out of patience. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on here between these two primordial beings, but he was past the point of caring. It was far too late for this shit. So he grabbed his crucifix out of his boot, held it out towards Choronzon, and began to chant again. “Exis ergo, Choronzon!”

A panicked look appeared on Lady Johanna’s face. “Wait!”

Flames began to appear around Choronzon’s feet with a blast of heat as Morpheus kept chanting. Choronzon yelled in surprise and fear as tendrils of flames wrapped around his arms and pulled him down.

“ALRIGHT FINE!” he yelled, whipping his head around to Lady Johanna. “I’ll tell you where your fucking helm is. Just don’t send me back!”

“Erventis tutis suom memuoquis–”

“Constantine!” Lady Johanna yelled, running down the steps. “Stop!”

“–engentium Choronzon! Visitas vasuomos dominae!”

“I SAID STOP!” Lady Johanna screamed as a portal opened below Choronzon’s feet and he was slowly sucked down. “STOP!”

“DREAM OF THE ENDLESS COMMANDS YOU!” Choronzon roared at Morpheus as he finished his chant.

“Make like a good demon and fuck off back to Hell!” Morpheus shot back.

The floor rumbled under his feet and flames appeared between the stones. Ash and flame shot up and twisted around Choronzon’s body, consuming his form, until with one last despairing roar, the demon was dragged back down to Hell.

Morpheus slowly lowered his crucifix as the embers blinked out, and finally turned his eyes to look at the woman across from the mess of soot on the floor. Lady Johanna looked down at the place Choronzon had just disappeared from, then slowly lifted her head to give him a mortified look.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” she asked him.

With a flourish, Morpheus snapped the Rituale Romanum shut. “I do,” he replied, finally allowing himself to smile in satisfaction. “I have just tripled my fee.”

Then he turned on his heel and strode away. Tonight was turning out to be pretty okay after all. “Lucienne? Will I be invoicing the Church of England or Buckingham Palace for this?”

#the sandman #the sandman netflix #sandman #sandman on netflix #sandman fanfiction #role reversal au #morpheus #dream of the endless #johanna constantine #cw noncanonical character death #i seriously had so much fun writing this #jed i'm so sorry i did that to you sweetie #yeah sorry again about the latin #i tried using google translate but that wasn't much help so #hope you enjoyed!#fanfiction #my writing #thanks for reading!

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