#bcwtched

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Wanda flicked her tail at him. She was sitting in the lotus position and looking away and out the window down at the red and barren landscape. She did most nights, now. Sleep was hard, and she didn’t need as much of it ever since she’d drank that foul potion of Salem’s. 

“But Why? I can steal you a better pair of boots.”

leans in. just. so close to the mic. 

homies. my dears. my lovely friends. 

passive racism is a thing that exists. 

Retreating to his office after a visit to Salem’s water, the Headmaster found himself exhausted. Though, that was hardly a rare emotion at this point. His school had become a gutted shell. Too quiet and empty to offer any comfort. A tragically haunted thing. 

Thankfully, Arthur had things to do after their debriefing, and he managed to avoid Tyrian...wherever he had wandered off to. Perhaps he could get a few hours of quiet in his office before heading o---

Door clicking behind him, the lion gave quiet a start as he turned around to find Hazel not only in his office, but in the upper most storage part. 

His life was bound and determined to get stranger by the day.

@bcwtched​ sent:  “Right now, you’re in more danger than you’ve ever been in your whole life.“

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Arguable. While Barty could recall each time his life had been in danger of an imminent, messy demise in unfortunate clarity, he could not say whether or not he was in more danger then, just simply a new brand. He could safely say that the massive man in front of him inspired a particularly thrilling level of absolute terror.

“Hazel Rainart,” he replied, voice not nearly as strong as he’d like it to be. The other man looked like a giant as he trusted his weight to the small café chair, like a man playing dolls with his child. Information worked through Barty’s head, snippets of who the man was churning under the surface, finding a home in the Archivist’s brain. 

Almost all of them were full of the sound of pipes and the scent of copper.

Bruised fingers flexed over battered knees, just to remind himself that he still could. Lank hair brushed across his forehead and hung limp in his eyes. Copper coated his tongue from flesh chewed raw, better than letting them hear him scream. But how much was his dignity worth to him in a place like this?

Sweat and blood soaked his collar, marbling his shirt into a mess of pink and red like raw meat. If there was anything to be grateful for, it was that he’d grown accustomed to the smell. Hatred festered in the walls like a disease. Fear soaked the very bones of this mansion, it reeked of despair that crawled in through his lungs and infected his blood like a rot. How long had it been now? Days? Weeks? Did the sun even rise in a place like this? True rest evaded him anyway. Sleep dragged at his eyelids, but he couldn’t close them. A moment to himself, a reprieve however brief, was nothing more than wishful thinking.

His fingers ached for the familiar weight that would take away this clarity, but his breast pocket sat empty and his lips stayed dry.

And then the deadbolt clicked free, and the door creaked open.

“I told you to stay outta h-- oh,” he muttered flatly, lifting his gaze to meet the newcomer. It wasn’t the buzz of electronics that greeted him, the steel gaze rusted with pity, nor was it the light feet of a thief with pleading eyes. Instead, he was greeted by a hulking figure looming in the doorway. Qrow had thought James Ironwood cut an imposing figure, but this was a true brick shithouse of a man. He brought with him vague memories of being punched into the stratosphere, and lightning shooting through his jaw til his teeth cracked. Fun guy. What had he said his name was? Castle? Hustle?

@bcwtched

Screams had echoed throughout the Grimm, distorted and prolonged as they bounced off twisted walls. It was a sound that chilled Mercury down at the bone as it awoke memories within him he thought he’d long forgotten. So similar to the ones he was forced to produce at that age by the hand of his father. It was like reliving those moments, yet absent of the pain. Emotions stirred within him and he to take a few deep breaths to keep himself composed. 

Once he got himself under control, Mercury slowly realized the screaming had ceased and the halls became quiet once more. Had Hazel finally stopped? He had to see for himself. The teen made his way to the area where the boy was being held and came across Hazel. His back was turned but he could see spatters of red painted across his knuckles.

Immediately, his eyes narrowed at the man and he felt the seething emotions swelling within him again. Rage seemed to be the most prominent. It was all too familiar to him, even if he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of the punches. When he spoke up, there was a bite of venom that punctuated the name.

SHIPPING MEME.

are you open to on-the-fly shipping with your muse?

look stat asked me a question and goodomen happened. i made a shitpost about clover x pilot boi and now maddie ruins me with mauve. i think i’m just weak, easy prey. come hunt me. 

how easily does your muse fall in love?

a while. i don’t write him saying ‘i love you’ often because he has these walls around his heart. to him loyalty is the other side of the coin of love. i mean, it’s essential in a relationship. it’s what we say when asked when looking for a monogamous partner. for them to be loyal. clover is naturally loyal. that’s a form of love he can express without really exposing his heart. 

what is your muse’s love language?