#and now he has to witness the horror of losing HIMSELF too.

[razberrypuck]

I think what's driving me insane about this specific arc for qcharlie is watching him slowly become more and more horrified at what's going on with the infection. he keeps brushing it off, and saying he's just going to let it run its course, and that if he has to change to be happy and to keep the people he loves safe, he'll be whatever he HAS to be.

but over the course of this stream, he's become increasingly aware and afraid of what's happening to him. his memory goes fuzzy when his body glitches out. he noticed the infection had spread even more, on his own, and quietly said "oh no." he spoke to maximus about the infection, and jumped from being relatively open about it to scrambling to change the subject when baghera asked what they were talking aboug. he started freaking out when all the glitching and the binary spread to the very land he lived on, and struggled to calm himself down.

and I think, after talking to maximus, he's realizing how much worse his infection is, even if maxo and etoiles have had theirs longer. I think, in the back of his mind, he KNOWS what's happening to him is codeflippa's fault, and that thought scares him more than the infection itself.

denial is something that charlie is very good at. but he's at the end of his rope. he has been for a long time. so I wonder how much more he can withstand before all of this just breaks him.

[aq2003]

twelfth night is not a Shakespeare I have read or seen but now I’m a bit terrified of ever consuming it. I definitely would never touch that audio drama with a 10 foot pole though (so so tempting. I might give in)

i was normal about twelfth night and held many normal emotions about it i really liked it for being this fun very messy queer drama until i listened to david tennant malvolio which ruined my life i cannot stress enough all of my evil derangements are because of david tennant malvolio if he had not done any of that i would have been FINE

[star--anon]

Gally hides a lot of his panic attacks and nightmares that he got after he went through the Changing in a desperate attempt to be liked again in the Glade

He was kind of universally hated in the books, apparently becoming extremely unlikeable after he got Stung

which is honestly so sad. What he saw drove him slightly insane and he couldn’t handle it and shut down.

[llamagoddessofficial]

perhaps maybe some bad guy moth crumbs? Mayhaps? Maybe?

ok ok o kok ok jokojokjfokdsjfokjokJLFKDSLKFJDSKF i love you anon, good question. This also ties in very well to all the fae thoughts I've been having.

Horror has the wings of a great big ragged peacock moth. They're large, heavy, and thick with fur. They drag behind him like a cape when he walks. With the way the mass of fur around his neck clumps and curls, it gives him the appearance of a lumbering bear - if he can fly, he seems to prefer not to, instead stalking the ground and picking off anything that can't get away from him.

His wings are very matted, very dirty. They have been for a long time. He... he would really, really like it if you brushed him. He doesn't mind how long it takes. It's been so long since someone touched him with care. Just... please brush him.

Dust resembles a muslin moth. Smooth, silky, grey. Too smooth - too untouched. The air around him smells strange, when you touch him its hard to tell what's the usual fine powder moths shed and what's something else. The rest of Nightmare's men have cuts and scrapes and imperfections in their wings, tears from battles they lost. Dust has no such imperfections. Almost like... he just doesn't lose. In some lights, when he raises his wings to attack, it's like the edges glow red and cyan. He is not the creature he purports to be.

You're curious about his wings? Cute. Why don't you come closer, have a better look? Why don't you stand close enough for him to see your lovely face. Then you both get something you want.

Whatever Killer was before, it's hard to tell now. His wings have been stained completely black, the only colours are the vivid red of two perfect eyespots, one on either wing. There's probably another moth pattern under all that black. Who knows.

Moth monsters often tend to shed a kind of fine powder, but it's hardly visible and pretty easy to ignore. Killer? His powder is dark, like soot, it clings to anything he frequently touches. Everyone around you can tell that Killer likes you, because his affection comes with great big black marks across your clothes and body. It's his way of declaring ownership. If he thinks someone is getting too cosy he sneaks up on you and hugs you to stain you for the rest of the day.

The exterior of Nightmare's wings looks like a pipevine swallowtail, with a lovely black fading into an equally lovely dark blue. Regal and elegant enough already. He keeps them folded around himself, as a makeshift cloak, and frequently decorates them with silver chains and precious gems.

The interior of his wings sports large, cyan eyespots. If he wants to, he can open his wings and flare the eyespots, causing a sudden rush of uncontrollable terror in whoever witnesses it. It's his decision how the fear affects the victim. He might want to make someone so scared they blab the truth. He might want someone to flee his presence because he's sick of them.

... Or... he might want to stop someone he's interested in from leaving.

[ninibeingdelulu]

— headcanons ft. leon kennedy

You met Leon when he was just a rookie cop fresh out of the academy before that nightmarish first day in Raccoon sent both your lives spiraling into chaos and tragedy. Despite the hellish circumstances, you formed an unbreakable bond fueled by sheer survival instinct.

After the dust settled and you both made it out alive by the skin of your teeth, neither of you knew how to resume any semblance of normalcy. The trauma lingered too viscerally beneath the surface, casting long shadows even during peaceful moments.

In Leon you found a kindred spirit haunted by the same waking nightmares - one who understood the primal, animalistic panic of being stalked and eviscerated by unholy bio-weapons. He may have started as just a well-meaning if slightly naive rookie, but the hardened survivor who emerged from Raccoon's ruins began mirroring your own instincts for self-preservation at any cost.

At first, you kept any intimacies strictly physical and detached, both of you desperately chasing oblivion between the sheets. Losing yourselves to sweat-slicked passion became the only way to escape the pervasive horrors replaying on a constant loop in your psyches.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, those ravenous encounters gradually softened around the edges. Harsh, bruising grips eased into caresses. Frantic, selfish movements gave way to tenderness and consideration for the other's pleasure. Until eventually, Leon's usual rigid exterior would crack just enough to expose the frightened, damaged young man beneath after you'd spent yourselves into breathless exhaustion.

It became your mission to bear witness to those fleeting shards of vulnerability, no matter how quickly he'd shutter them away again post-coitus. You ached to remind him - and yourself in turn - that he was still worthy of gentleness despite the serrated-edge of cynicism he armored himself with.

These days, you share a modest apartment together. A sanctuary, however temporary it might be before the next crisis summons one or both of you into the field again. Leon keeps most of his gear meticulously organized near the door for a quick getaway, ever vigilant. But you've introduced small creature comforts amidst the Spartan decor - lush blankets to cocoon you both, scented candles, tasteful art prints to humanize your den.

He no longer startles awake in a cold sweat with a bellow of terror or panic thanks to your steadying presence curled protectively around him. You've learned to wake him with soothing words and the lightest touch through the night terrors lest his primed instincts kick in first. That stoicism remains, of course, but gradually you've helped him find more ease between the lulls of combat.

Leon rarely initiates physical intimacy first unless freshly separated after a deployment when the ache for closeness simply overwhelms him. But once you run exploratory hands over his sculpted body, his restraint crumbles into fevered need to clutch you flush against him. Possessive. Basking in every inch of warm, living flesh without threat of imminent violence.

He's mastered peeling away your clothing with a tantalizing, unhurried lack of urgency born from long experience now. Reveling in the journey and not just the destination, savoring every exposed swell of skin with hushed murmurs and feather-light kisses until you squirm and writhe beneath his doting attention.

While Leon has grown more vocal during these hushed liaisons when his guard erodes completely, he still struggles to outwardly proclaim those three weighted words defining your bond. You don't need them, though. His actions damn sure speak louder - in the protective steel banding his arms around you from behind, the single-minded focus devouring your curves for any sign of injury or imperfection, the ragged whispers muffled against the sweat-dampened nape of your neck each time you both crest with shared euphoria.

Deep down, beneath the chiseled mask of lethal pragmatism branded by combat and unspeakable horror...Leon S. Kennedy remains a romantic at his core, hopelessly tender and relishing the simple sanctuary you represent after years of turmoil. So he holds you close through the nightmares, inhales your comforting scent amidst the choking stench of death, and reminds himself there's still some flicker of humanity worth fighting for time and again.

[voidcat]

assigned knight!mithrun x royalty gn!reader – hcs and blurbs

a/n: this was supposed to be just some hcs but ended up as a 2.7k beast... nsfw content by the last third/half so minors do not interact ! and to clarify mc is one of the youngest of their family but age wise they're close to mithrun.

renowed hero mithrun, one of the big talents who fought bravely during the war. mithrun who is left broken afterwards, losing all his purposes, all his senses, the deaths he witnessed, the news he received. at the frontlines, he receives news of his brother and his beloved marrying– no longer his beloved now, is she? he feels something inside him break but has to ignore it all away. he was never meant for the throne, not when his brother is in such a state, unable to wield a sword, when there is war raging at all sides, when people need to be led and to be supported at the frontlines.

mithrun who resembles an empty shell now, unsure how to carry on from then on, until one of the kings he fought side by side invites him among their ranks, their kin. "let us be your new home, and you can spend the rest of your days at ease, come now, honorary knight mithrun of house karansil, the leading hero, finishing slash of this war." no reason to refuse, he simply accepts, he agrees to becoming one of king's younger kids' assigned knight. maybe another task like this, this need to watch and protect will give him a sense of purpose, an excuse to keep on living.

and here enters you, the young royal, so oblivious, so unknowing to all those happening around you, not a single care and isolated from the world, you spend your days at the castle, strolling gardens, sketching and reading whenever you can, make a face at the slightest topic of future and marriages. aware of the unstoppable future that awaits you, the fate no royal can escape– save for those who are unelligable, those who fall ill and die or those like mithrun, no longer a part of their own kingdom. the young royal and their knight joint at the hip soon enough, days and weeks pass, years come by and you two never seperate.

loyal knight mithrun who always walks by your side, tailing behind like a shadow and the young royal, they still call you, that walks without a care in the world; who helps him to stop and smell the flowers again, talk over red poppies and shed tears together in seclusion, sneak desserts from the kitchens and taste the sun on berries while taking shelter in the shadow of great oaks, whom he chases after literally and figuratively– he agreed to become a knight, because by default they live by a single purpose, but mithrun notices himself finding his purpose again in the shape of your smile. how your chest moves up and down at night, how you tense and whisper to yourself when plagued by night horrors.

loyal knight mithrun always found next to you, holding your hand when you climb down the stairs, wrapping an arm around and pulling you closer to him when you cannot sleep at night. your breathing a lullaby to his ears, and you a source of comfort to him, as much as he is to you. as goal oriented as he is, and with the war dulling his senses and entire being, he was in a way, the perfect knight, just a man crafted of his duty and nothing else. And with abilities like his, he could come to your aid in no time, carve out the eyes that look at you the wrong way.

Yet as you nurse him back to reality, intentionally or not, he finds anxiety and guilt eating at him with each passing day. The same acts you once performed, he feels himself unable to respond with the same nonchalance now. When you bring another berry to his lips for him to eat, he does his best to take it from your hands without his lips making contact with your fingertips. He does his best to look away when you lick off the excess nectar dripping from the peach you’ve just eaten, even just standing outside your door grows harder and harder, his keen sense of smell betraying him and his body.

You should be guilty too, for not noticing how you’re tormenting him.

Preparing for bath, you take off your clothes, let your private garments drop to the floor like it’s nothing. Stepping into the bathtub, taking your sweet time as you do so, leaning your head backwards and letting out a content sigh— “Mithrun!” You call up to him in a sudden, eyes wide open, “can I ask you something?”

In fear of words betraying him, he settles for a nod. Making a gesture with your hand reachimg out, you signal for him to come closer. Hand diving into his hair like always, stroking his face, his cheeks and over his eyes, “when was the last time you have taken a bath?” You ask, giving him a curious gaze.

As he tries battling for an answer to give you, because if he knows you, he knows what will come after this and he is unsure his poor heart can survive it. “Ah, usually at night when you’re—“ “stop lying, I know you wait by my side every night too.” You cut him off.

Bringing a finger to your lips, you pretend to think. “Oh, I know! There is plenty of space here, why don’t you take a bath with me? Maintaining appearances is important, it keeps you refreshed and ready for everything, no?”

When you stare at him with big, begging eyes, words laced with concern adn worry, and all of it just for him, he finds himself unable to move, until he catches sight of you trying to take his armor off and drag him into the water with you.

There is plenty of space for more than one person, but you stand glued to his side, your warm body pressed up against his, fingers in his hair massaging his scalp, your fingertips tracing over his old scars. Mithrun finds himself vulnerable to your touch, soft and laced with love, colder than the water, sending electric down his spine every time.

Your father, the king, dotes on you and always brags about his trusted knight Mithrun at banquets. Raising a glass in honor of the man who saved his life and protects the life of one of his treasures— not knowing the same man is guilty of growing an attachment to the said treasure. every time the king or an elder praises him for not just past accomplishments but for his current post, he feels guilt beginning to bloom and grow– the knight supposedly in charge of you, protecting and shielding you from bad eyes strrugles to stand by your side at night.

should you really be wearing a nightgown see-through and light, he wants to ask, with just a little breeze you'd catch a cold in no time, he tries to rationalize his thoughts; trying to wipe off the images, how the moon shines down on you, how the thin material sticks to your skin, presenting you before him. he feels the guilt toward you most of all, after everything he has lived through he has gained a bit of instincts and senses and yet he is still the same despicable man of the past; how he repays your kindness, your love and care– why, he remembers it like yesterday when you stroke his cheek and prosthetic eye, placed a kiss there and looked at him like he is still whole. as his affection for you grows, he wishes more and more to return to just the end of the war, when he was still hollow and indifferent toward you.

Mithrun realizes in many ways he is your first witness. First to see you get stung by bees, at which you asked for him to kiss it better, usually the first to see you getting sick, immediately calling in a medic to prepare for you a brew; first to cuddle you to sleep at nights, your head buried into his chest and your legs wrapped around his; first to guide you, first to help you explore the castle grounds, the city, banquets to come and even your body, at your request.

right outside your bedchambers one night, mithrun muses whether should he make a quick trip to his chambers. with the change of weather his usual armor and undergarment feel too thick. before he can teleport himself, muffled sounds of someone reaches his ears– out of breath and erratic, coming from no other direction than your chambers, the voice belonging only to you. frozen in place, he teleports himself into your room without a thought and finds himself nailed to his spot. the sight of you under the pale moonlight, a hand between your tighs, eyes closed shut and your face an expression he can only describe as 'pleasure'. mithrun has no clue for how long he stands there, stuck, feet glued to the floor, until you turn your head toward the door, eyes finding his and before he can see how you'll react, he teleports himself out– for hours he feels his beating frantic, threatening to burst out of his chest.

for the following days, he tries putting a distance between the two of you, replying with few words at most, avoiding your gaze, your touch like the plague. he can stand his guard only so long until he gives in, defeated by the sadness that takes over you after his sudden change of behavior. as if reading his mind, you do anything but drop the matter, eventually what he walked into coming to the surface as well. battling on the fields is easier, he thinks, there is only instincts, sharp and calculated moves, kill or be killed, conquer before you can be defeated– such is not the case outside war, and certainly not by your side, you always find a way to make things twice as difficult for him somehow. the scent of your body still haunts his senses and you have the courage to ask him what was going on with your body exactly!

you complain about all those people you see on castle grounds, exchanging gazes, holding hands, in the narrow hallways or the gardens, stealing kisses and using terms of endearment when conversing. not jealousy but yearning is apparent in your voice and he notices that much. it is not easy spending your whole life confined to a castle– even harder when you are a long life species, the hidden hallways remain a mystery only so long, few decades in and they lose all interest. "i couldn't sleep" you pout, "i was just lying down, must've thought myself in those scenes i often witness, and my hands were wandering around." your voice begins to drop with each word, "it was just trailing my fingers around until it felt... funny, and... ah... some sort of wetness, or so to speak." you finish shyly, turning your head away.

at your confession mithrun doesn't know how to react. such topics aren't exactly welcomed to be discussed so openly among your kind. burrowing his brows, he decides to take a simpler approach, from general to specific. "you see... our bodies have certain reactions reserved for certain situations." he does his best not to stammer over his words, does his absolute hardest to not make contact with those big, bright eyes of yours. "when we enter puberty, certain systems of ours go through changes to accomodate for new things we might experience in the future." one thing you have said bothers him though. "that was one of them. take that sensation you have described for example. it occurs so the act itself might take place easier and without causing discomfort for both sides." you seem to find his explanation helpful, judging from the smile slowly forming on your face. he can see the gears turning in your head, he hopes you reserve those new questions for the books you read.

"your highness, may i ask you something?" he blurts out, now or never. his formal way of addressing seems to catch you by surprise, he continues when seeing you nod. "if i won't be crossing any lines..." "there is no such thing as tha–" you say almost instinctively. "you said you were thinking, who was it?" he asks bluntly. "I..." your mouth opens and closes, head turned to the side, you cast your eyes downwards; he can see a blush creeping up. his ears pick up on you mumbling a 'no one' but he knows you are just deflecting now. if you are uncomfortable, he won't pry further. seeing him walk, you qucikly rush to his side, taking the arm he has offered you. "come now, what was it you said you wanted to do today? the greenhou–"

"could you lend me a helping hand actually!" you claim loudly in a sudden, fists clenched in excitement. "you know i would never refuse you as long as logi–" "i mean it, literally." you cut him off, emphasising on the word, and take his hand in yours, moving it in the air while giving him a determined look. considering the topic of conversation the two of you just had and now that... it doesn't take him long to connect two and two together. "a- absolutely not! i-" you will be the death of him, that's for sure. coughing few times, he tries gathering himself and catching breath. "your highness, acts such as the one you accidentally tried, are private matters. done by one's self or with a special one. you cannot just ask anyone that."

you bring your face closer to his, "i am not asking anyone, mithrun" you speak word by word, "i am asking you." the pronoun rolls off your lips like honey, poisoned. "when i say 'special', i mean a significant other, your highness." he adds the title at the end, already sounding defeated. you know exactly what he meant, why must you make things so difficult for him? "or a spouse, in our cases." he adds on, his gaze cast down, "though i doubt the same still applies for me." his voice comes out in a whisper, the unevitable future of an awaiting marriage haunts you both, and he wonders were he to return home, would he regain his title, be elligable for your hand after all.

in the end, he gives up. knight mithrun finds himself more vulnerable than before. lying in your bed, your body pressed against his with the both of you awake. bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers and trails down your chest, your abdomen, down to your groin. feeling every crook, inch and curve of you, fingers moving smooth and slow, he drinks in your expressions, how your lips slightly part, pleasure taking over your entire body, how you grow wetter with each touch, each movement. he has to bring his other hand to your mouth at one point, it wouldn't be wise to have passerbys hear the sounds you make for him now. how you begin to whimper under his hand, small moans soon saying his name like a plea, 'more, more, more' you begin to chant– a symphony to his hears, he watches how your body begins to spasm in pleasure as you reach your high, coming all over his hand, making a mess.

bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers, savoring your taste. with hazy eyes, you barely catch sight of him, your hand trying to make way to him. Mithrun sees your exhausted attemps and brings his cheek to your palm, the all-too-familiar gesture you grace him with on a daily basis; though rather than stroking, you try to pull him towards yourself. "oh? curious as to how you taste?"

the question leaves his mouth without a second thought, though you don't seem to register his words, too focused on his lips. giving his hand another, long lick; mithrun leans into you and for the first time his lips meet yours– your saliva mixing with his, your soft lips eagerly biting into him with wanton need, how that hand tries desperately to pull him even closer, you taste just as sweet everywhere, his taste buds decide. his lips meet yours once and does not let go ever, even when the two of you gasp for breath, oxygen loses all its purpose and though the thought should horrify him, he realizes and accepts easily: mithrun meets his demise at the mercy of you, far exceeding the point of no return.

[str8rat]

Today we're talking about Change God Cults in my ISAT/Fear and Hunger AU!

WARNING!! The following post contains really fucked topics. If you can't handle topics such as sexual harrassment, all sorts of body horror, murder and gore, please keep scrolling. ( If you're any familiar with Fear And Hunger then you can most likely imagine that it gets B A D here. so proceed with caution )

~ ~ ~

NEW Gods;

God of Change - Among the most revered deities in Vaugarde, the God of Change represents the ever-shifting nature of existence. However, some Vaugardians have taken this belief to dangerous extremes, becoming fanatically obsessed with the idea of constant transformation. Over time, this obsession has spread like wildfire across the country, gaining popularity to such an extent that even Isabeau, known to be someone who 'Capital-C Changed', now distances himself from the belief entirely, even going as far as to claim that the Change belief is something completely different to what it used to be a few years ago.

In their fervor, many parents have forced their children to undergo drastic changes against their will, believing it to be a sacred duty. Others, consumed by the need to change constantly, in some cases even daily, each time adopting a new persona. This relentless pursuit of transformation often leads to insanity, as they become overwhelmed by the chaos of countless personalities battling for control.

One particularly disturbing example can be found in Dormont, where a man known to Mirabelle exemplifies the madness that has taken hold. If Siffrin chooses to speak with him before heading to the Clocktower, they will witness the man’s unsettling behavior: with each sentence, he switches tone, language, and attitude, as if he’s a dozen different people trapped in one body. Yet, beneath the turmoil, it's quite clear that the man is still good-hearted and kind, despite everything.

~ ~ ~

Change God Cults;

The Children of Change; the name surrounding all kinds of Change Cults, which take the concept to an extreme, twisted degree. Examples of the most popular cults known to exist;

The Body Crafters; A cult emerges in the dark corners of Vaugarde, where followers of the God of Change take the concept to an extreme. These individuals use Body Craft to reshape their bodies. They believe that constantly altering their physical forms will bring them closer to divine enlightenment. However, the grotesque results leave them disfigured, with limbs twisted into unnatural shapes, faces mutilated beyond recognition, and bodies often barely functional. Their minds, too, begin to warp, as they lose their sense of identity, becoming trapped in a cycle of endless, horrific transformation.

The Skin Walkers; Some Vaugardians become so obsessed with Change that they seek to embody others completely—by wearing their skins. These fanatics hunt down those they admire or envy, skinning them alive to create a "new self," usually in the circle of other Skin Walkers, brought together to witness the ritual. They believe that by donning the flesh of another, they can absorb their traits, memories, and personality. The ritual often leaves the victim alive and screaming until death finally claims them. The Skin Walkers then parade through the streets, proudly displaying their new "selves," only to discard them once the flesh begins to rot, seeking a fresh "change."

The Memory Eaters; In their desire to experience every possible life, some Vaugardians develop a twisted ritual where they consume the memories of others. Using forbidden rituals and Crafts, they extract the essence of a person's mind, leaving the victim an empty husk. The Memory Eaters then live out the stolen memories, believing that by experiencing as many lives as possible, they can achieve ultimate enlightenment. However, the process slowly erodes their sanity, as the cacophony of voices in their head grows louder, each demanding to be the dominant personality. Eventually, they lose control, their minds shattered by the weight of countless lives they can no longer distinguish, becoming crazed, bloodlusting maniacs in search of people they can stole the memories of. One of such individuals can be encountered on the second floor of the House, somehow having avoided being frozen by the Curse. If a party member ends up being hit by the Memory Eater's 'Mind Steal' Skill, they will become mere husks of their former selves. With no tonics or healing Craft being able to help, the rest of the party will be forced to leave them behind. Shields can reflect this Skill.

The Perfectionists; In some of the more remote regions of Vaugarde, there are rumors of parents who take the concept of Change to a horrifying extreme. Obsessed with creating the "perfect" children, they subject their offspring to dangerous experiments and rituals designed to force rapid, unnatural growth and development. These children are subjected to forceful use of Body Craft and invasive procedures that twist their bodies and minds. Some become hideous monstrosities, unable to comprehend their own existence, while others are molded into mindless puppets, their free will stripped away in the name of Change.

The Cult of Marrige; Deep within the shadowy corners of the world, a cult has arisen, known as the Cult of Marrige. This twisted sect is devoted to the Change Belief but has taken its teachings to horrific extremes. They believe that true Change—the ultimate transformation—can only be achieved through a grotesque ritual they call "Marrige." Despite the name, Marrige is not a bond of love between two beings, but rather a nightmarish fusion, where two souls, bodies, and minds are violently merged into a single, monstrous abomination. This cult sees Marrige as the highest form of devotion to the God of Change, a symbol of love twisted into something far darker. They believe that by merging two beings into one, they are embracing the most profound and eternal Change, transcending the boundaries of individuality. To them, Marrige is a sacred act, a final, irreversible transformation that elevates the participants to a higher state of existence—or so they claim. In reality, the result is a horrific amalgamation of flesh, mind, and soul, where both beings lose their identity and sanity, becoming one, monstrous entity driven by pain, rage, and madness. One of such monsters can be encountered on the third floor of the House, and the battle with Marrige is incredibly difficult and horrific, as the disturbed party truly gets to see what lengths the followers of Change can reach to prove to be worthy of the Change God's blessing.

Due to all those terrible twists to the Change Belief, rumors began to spread, of the Change God becoming ashamed and furious with their followers, that have came to such an extent of insanity, just to follow their belief. And so, they left, leaving the human race to fend on it's own, not wanting to associate with the awful Cults that originated from them.

~ ~ ~

The Marrige Cult Encounter;

Shortly after Siffrin joins the party, consisting of himself, Isabeau, Odile, and Mirabelle, they find themselves seeking shelter at a large encampment while en route to Dormont. The camp houses over a hundred members and, despite appearing welcoming and respectful towards the Saviors of Vaugarde, the group quickly realizes they are in a precarious situation. Odile immediately identifies the inhabitants as members of the Marriage Cult, a fact underscored by the horrifying amalgamations wandering openly throughout the camp. Despite their discomfort and heightened vigilance, the party has little choice but to accept the offered refuge for the night, deeming it the safest option available, as this particular area is simply filled with strong Sadnesses, which they would be safe from while they stay at the camp.

Each member is assigned their own tent, but Siffrin finds himself unable to sleep, opting instead to stay awake and keep watch for any suspicious activity. In the early hours of the morning, he hears faint footsteps outside but initially dismisses them when the sounds quickly fade. An hour later, a piercing scream shatters the silence, sending a jolt of dread through him. Recognizing the voice as Mirabelle's, Siffrin springs into action, racing through the maze of tents toward the source of the distress.

What he discovers chills him to the core: Mirabelle is bound and trapped within a sinister summoning circle alongside an unknown man, surrounded by a gathering of cultists eagerly observing the unfolding ritual. Siffrin wastes no time, lunging forward to slash the man across the chest and force him away from Mirabelle, before he can hurt her. Trembling with sobs and pale, Mirabelle struggles against her restraints, managing to pull her dress back down over her legs, as Siffrin brandishes his dagger, demanding an explanation despite already grasping the horrifying intent.

The wounded man staggers to his feet, enraged by the interruption and shouting that Siffrin has no right to interfere. Moments later, Odile and Isabeau arrive, alerted by the commotion. The cult leader steps forward with a twisted grin, explaining that upon seeing Mirabelle, he perceived only weakness and failure. Believing the party needed more strength to defeat the King, he took it upon himself to initiate a Marriage ritual with her, intending to create a more powerful being through their grotesque fusion. Mirabelle's sobs and visible terror only fuel the party's determination to protect her. Isabeau, seething with uncharacteristic anger, carefully moves to free Mirabelle while Odile and Siffrin position themselves defensively between their Housemaiden and the advancing cultists.

As tensions escalate, the cult leader commands his followers to capture the intruders, sparking chaos throughout the camp. Odile and Isabeau fiercely defend Mirabelle against the onslaught, while Siffrin confronts the leader directly, delivering a fatal stab to his neck and leaving him collapsing to the ground, choking on his own blood. Seizing the opportunity amidst the disorder, the party fights their way through the frenzied cultists and makes a desperate escape into the safety of the surrounding wilderness.

In the days that follow, Mirabelle remains quiet and withdrawn, barely speaking or eating as she grapples with the trauma of the attack. Her companions stay close, offering unwavering support—Isabeau provides comforting embraces, Odile offers gentle words of reassurance, and Siffrin becomes notably protective, seldom leaving her side, especially when they enter a new town two days later. This harrowing experience solidifies the bond between them, with Siffrin realizing just how deeply he cares for his newfound family and affirming his resolve to defend them with every ounce of his being.

~ ~ ~

that's all for now! I still have a few ideas when it comes to this AU, but i've got no clue if i'll be able to publish them, as i am starting my final school year so i'll be very busy. as for the Anon that has shared some more ideas about this AU, if you're reading this, feel free to write more, if you have anything else in mind! I got super giddy reading your suggestions :3 I'll be sure to include it, whenever i'll have the time to post ._. we'll see how things will turn out :D

[abilouwrites]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS

I KNOW THEY’RE LOSING AND I PAY FOR MY PLACE

Sometimes I wonder if my marriage is worth it, the late nights checking my phone for a text from Ayana telling me that he’s dead. Maybe that would relive me, free me from this marriage I’m clinging too. I know she’d call, but at night I still anxiously await the ring.

I fight for my place beside him at every gala; try to understand what he means but he’ll never try to understand me. I wonder if he knows what I do for work. If he knows how old our daughter is, how she sleeps in my bed the nights he’s away. How Momo sat with me and held my hand at every doctors appointment. I wonder if it would be easier to leave; to walk out the door with no note; no call. Pack my things one day and leave. But it’s easier to stay; stay with those rushed apologies, silent whisper fights in the dead of night. Easier to put my earrings and jewelry on and slip into a dress a size to small and walk next to him like the dream couple we should be.

He’s changed, from the boy I fell in love with. The boy who pushed me to do what I wanted to do, now.. now I don’t know anymore, “you look good” he says gruffly. Fixing the cuffs on his soft orange suit. Complimenting the similar shade I wear. It billows at the waist, and overall looks very flattering on me. Accented by a tin necklace and diamond earrings.

“Thank you” I murmur, pulling my hair out of the straps of the neckline, “are you drinking tonight?” I ask, as he steps closer to me; planting a soft kiss against my cheek. The rarest show of affection, it makes me wish he could be like this all the time. Instead of him waking up in the middle of the night thrashing around. Shaken by nightmares of horrors he’s witnessed.

“No, I’m driving” He says, holding my hand as I slip into my heels, “good to go?”

“Yea, I need to say goodbye to Suki” I tell him, dropping his hand and picking up my daughter from the floor, “I’ll be home late tonight, Ame is watching you tonight” I say, kissing her cheek softly as I set her down again. Thanking Mina’s son again for watching Suki, “there’s money on the counter for pizza and there’s food in the fridge if you’d rather cook; thank you”

“No problem Mrs. Bakugo” My smile falters and I scramble to pick it back up, wishing him a goodbye as I close the door.

I miss my maiden name, I miss myself, the me who dreamed to be a surgeon, now sliced into an ER nurse. I miss who I was before him. Before I met him and was stuck in this relationship.

I love hero galas, I love the people and the networking, sitting next to Momo and drinking our champagne as we smile and talk about our children. Katsuki and I know how to PR, his hand on my waist. Slowly sliding until it reaches the curve of my ass; corrects himself and places it back where it’s supposed to be. The whispers in my ear reminding me what his publicist wants tonight. A soft kiss against my cheek, maybe my lips. A feigned sight of intimacy that I haven’t truly felt in years.

We walk the carpet, and sit. My leg crosses over the other and I lean in to Momo, throughly engaged in our conversation before I admit to her, “I want to leave him” I confide; scooting my chair to her as Katsuki walks onto the stage, “I love him but it’s so draining to love him” I confess.

“The ptsd has been hard, but maybe if you talked to him?” She recommends, “that typically works”

I shake my head, “no. He just apologizes and it doesn’t change” our conversation is halted as the microphone taps silencing the room and bringing attention to the most voted hero.

A moving PR driven speech, I fake a fear and when the cameras are off me I pour another glass of champagne. It annoys me, bores me, I’ve grown resentful. Hateful and angry at him. Leaving me pregnant at eighteen, and now at twenty three I’m trapped with a five year old who hates when her daddy leaves. Asks if he’s dead each night he doesn’t return at the time he promises.

Divorce feels sweet, a comforting day-dream as he prepares his speech. How he ‘couldn’t have done it without my support’ ‘wouldn’t be here with out the girl he met seven years ago’ it becomes all to claustrophobic as the years pass and no change is made. Divorce leaves me with nothing. Trapped by my inability to work full hours.

It leaves me frustrated as I toss and turn, we sleep in separate rooms and I still find myself walking to his room as he’s awoken by another nightmare. Afraid to speak too loud, to cause a racket of pots and pans. I await anxiously for an outburst- a cry of pain, a sob of messy tears and Suki standing in the hall. Her big eyes scared of her father, waiting. And watching.

I sit, dull and empty in my big house. The lights off, Suki asleep. Katsuki preparing for tomorrow, “what’s wrong with you?” He finally asks, he finally speaks to me. Talks to me, it makes me desperate for another word- another grasp to him.

“Nothings wrong with me” I respond, pouring coffee beans into the coffee machine, “I just had too much to drink”

“That’s fucking saying something. Yeah down a whole bottle between you and Yaomomo. You got a problem or somethin?” He pushes, staring at me. His jacket on the couch, tie undone and I see the faint scar peeking from his jaw down to his stomach. I know him too well.

“It’s not your place to be worried about me” I remind him, setting my heels by the door. The sweet relief of flat feet washes the angst Katsuki feels away from me.

“Yeah it is. Im your husband” he asserts, standing cockeyed at the hall. Our voices hushed

“You can be my husband when you act like it, when you be a father to Suki. Y’know she’s terrified of you. She loves her daddy but watching him scream and cry every night scares her. Watching him refuse to get help? That scares me. Katsuki you can’t keep doing this” I tell him, he reaches for my wrist, and I flick away from him, “we haven’t slept in the same bed since the accident. I’m so exhausted from being a single mother but somehow- I’m still married to you”

“Then get a divorce. File for it y/n”

It dawns on me, he doesn’t care if I’m here or not. He doesn’t care he’s married to me. To him. I’m a PR profitable. And I can’t find it in myself to tell him how he’s cut my wings. I don’t have money for lawyers, custody battles let alone a house. I’m truly trapped.

I slink into my room, closing the door and sleep. And when I hear him screaming in the night, I stay there. Glued to my bed. Stuck in place.

(Idk how to end this one)

[redladydeath]

Okay, so last night I decided I wanted to do something with Vox and body horror and this story concept ended up manifesting in my brain. Massive CW for psychosis that's not actually psychosis, as well as self-harm and body horror.

Vox and Alastor meet in the 1940s while they're both doing electrical engineering work for the war effort. Vox is only 22, so he falls fast and hard for Alastor, who decides to use the younger man's infatuation with him to his advantage. One night while they're out drinking, Alastor convinces Vox to make a blood oath with him. He tells him it's just symbolic, but in reality, there's magic involved; if Alastor kills him, he'll get all the years Vox was supposed to live added to his own lifespan, which is dwindling. He lures Vox into the woods and tries to murder him, but is shot by a hunter who happens upon the struggle. Vox nearly loses an eye, but survives the encounter and is able to go on with his life, albeit with some pretty intense trauma.

Twenty years later, it's the 1960s. Vox has been a successful television presenter for 10~15 years now. He's rich and is married with children, but is less than an ideal husband/father. When he's not at work, he's usually with Valentino, a young male prostitute who he's been having a secret affair with for the past year or two. The two of them are currently somewhere between a sugar daddy/baby arrangement and a legit relationship. Vox is overall pretty content with his life and hasn't thought about Alastor in years. That is, until things start to change.

At first, it just seems like a bad cold; his joints are stiff and he has the chills constantly, but that's nothing too unusual, and he continues going about his daily life. But then the delusions start. Vox begins hearing things whenever a radio is on– words and phrases that shouldn't be coming out of it, said in a familiar tone of voice. He starts seeing shadows moving just out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look at them, they're gone. When Vox looks in the mirror or watches clips from his show, there's something different– uncanny– about his own eyes that makes him feel like he's looking at a stranger. It must be stress, he thinks; he's been working himself too hard.

But things only get worse. Vox's body is stiff and jerky and cold– suddenly very cold to the touch, although no one other than Vox can feel it. Food and drink and cigarettes lose their taste. His emotions feel muted– all except fear. He starts hearing this loud, irritating humming when he's in the studio which makes it hard for him to work. People are starting to get worried. He's acting erratically, asking if they can hear or feel things that simply aren't there. His wife thinks he's building towards a nervous breakdown, but Vox knows that's not true. Something's happening to him, something no one can perceive but him.

Things continue to deteriorate. Vox thinks he can hear metal creaking when he moves. His face won't show up on camera anymore; the footage always ends up damaged for reasons no one can explain. He smashes the family radio in front of his kids when he clearly hears Alastor's voice coming out of it, taunting him. He asks Valentino, who hasn't even been to church in the past decade, to connect him with his childhood priest because he thinks he's being possessed and wants an exorcism. If the Protestant God won’t help him, maybe the Catholic one will. It still doesn't work.

Things come to a head one night when Vox, desperate to prove to himself and everyone else that he's not crazy, takes a knife and cuts deep into the hand he used to make the pact with Alastor all those years ago. He cuts and cuts and cuts until finally– finally– he sees it: metal and wires and no blood. He was right. He tries to show his wife but only succeeds in scaring her out of her wits. He flees the house and takes the family car. He needs to go see Valentino, show him, ask him for help. He crashes the car into a lamppost while trying to drive with one hand. A cashier working late in a nearby electronics store tries to help him, bringing him into the shop to wait while he calls an ambulance.

When the cashier leaves him alone to go make the call, Vox hears it again. He hears Alastor's voice coming out of a radio, telling him that his time is up. He's been living on borrowed (or rather, stolen) time for the past ten years and now it's time to come join him, down where they both belong. Vox can feel his "bones" cracking, his skin stretching and tearing. He can't hear anything except Alastor's voice alongside the blaring static emitting from all the TVs and radios in the store. He's dying he's dying he's dying– until he stumbles into a fusebox and the whole store is engulfed in an electrical fire.

When the firemen dig through the rubble, they never find a human body.

[someone-will-remember-us]

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/02/world/europe/france-husband-rape-drug-trial-mazan.html

France Confronts Horror of Rape and Drugging Case as 51 Men Go on Trial

A man is accused of drugging his wife and then inviting dozens of men to rape her over almost a decade. The questions raised by the case have unsettled the country.

For years, she had been losing hair and weight. She had started forgetting whole days, and sometimes appeared to be in dreamlike trances. Her children and friends worried she had Alzheimer’s.

But in late 2020, after she was summoned to a police station in southern France, she learned a far more shattering story.

Her husband of 50 years, Dominique Pelicot, had been crushing sleeping pills into her food and drink to put her into a deep sleep, the police said, and then raping her. He had ushered dozens of men into her home to film them raping her, too, they said, in abuse that lasted nearly a decade.

Using the man’s photographs, videos and online messages, the police spent the next two years identifying and charging those other suspects.

On Monday, 51 men, including Mr. Pelicot, went on trial in Avignon, in a case that has shocked France and cast a spotlight on the use of drugs to commit sexual abuse and the broader culture in which such crimes could occur.

The accused men represent a kaleidoscope of working-class and middle-class French society: truck drivers, soldiers, carpenters and trade workers, a prison guard, a nurse, an I.T. expert working for a bank, a local journalist. They range in age from 26 to 74. Many have children and are in relationships.

Most are charged with raping the woman once. A handful are accused of returning as many as six times to rape her.

The victim, who has divorced her husband and changed her surname since his arrest, is now in her 70s.

Since his arrest, Mr. Pelicot, 71, has “always declared himself guilty,” said Béatrice Zavarro, his lawyer. “He is not at all contesting his role.”

Other defendants have denied the rape charges, with some arguing that they had the husband’s permission and thought that was sufficient, while others claimed they believed the victim had agreed to be drugged.

When the police showed the victim some of the photographs they say her husband had carefully classified and stored, she expressed deep shock. She and her husband had been together since they were 18. She had described him to the police as caring and considerate.

She had no memory of being raped, by him or the other men, only one of whom she recognized, she told the police, as a neighbor in town.

The first time she will consciously witness the rapes, her lawyer Antoine Camus says, will be in the courtroom when the video recordings are played as evidence.

The trial comes at a moment of heightened scrutiny of the handling of sexual crimes in the country. Rape is defined in French law as an “act of sexual penetration” committed “by violence, coercion, threat or surprise.” A number of feminist lawmakers want to amend that wording to say explicitly that sex without consent is rape, that consent can be withdrawn at any time, and that consent cannot exist if sexual assault is committed “by abusing a state impairing the judgment of another.”

“There is a kind of naïveté on the topic of predators in France, a kind of denial,” said Sandrine Josso, a lawmaker who led a parliamentary commission into what is known in France as “chemical submission” — drugging someone with malicious intent. She started the commission after she says she became the victim of a drugging last year. A senator is being investigated on accusations that he slipped ecstasy into her Champagne.

Ms. Josso hopes that the Avignon trial will draw attention to the use of drugs to prey on women, and also shed light on the wide profile of predators. “They could be your neighbors, without falling into paranoia,” she said.

Mr. Pelicot seemed like a classic man next door. He was a trained electrician, an entrepreneur and an avid cyclist. His middle child and only daughter, Caroline Darian, her pen name, described him as a warm and present father in a book published in 2022 about the case, “And I Stopped Calling You Papa.” She tried to turn her family trauma into action, forming a nonprofit association, “Don’t Put Me to Sleep,” to publicize the dangers of drug-facilitated crimes.

Her father, she wrote, was the one who drove her to school, picked her up late from parties, encouraged her and consoled her. Her mother was the stable breadwinner, working as a manager in a Paris-area company for 20 years.

When she retired, they moved to a house with a big garden and pool in Mazan, a small town northeast of Avignon. The couple regularly hosted their three children and grandchildren for summer vacations peppered with late dinners on the terrace, where the family debated, held dance competitions and played Trivial Pursuit.

“I think of us as happy,” his daughter wrote. “I thought my parents were.”

None of them harbored any suspicions. Then, in 2020, three women reported Mr. Pelicot to the police for trying to use his camera to film up their skirts in a grocery store, and he was arrested.

The police seized his two cellphones, two cameras and his electronic devices, including his laptop, before releasing him on bail.

On the devices, the police say they found 300 photographs and a video of an unconscious woman being sexually assaulted by many people. They said they also found Skype messages in which the man boasted of drugging his wife and invited men to join him in having sex with her while she was unconscious.

Over the course of their investigation, the police found more than 20,000 videos and photographs, many of them dated and labeled, in an electronic folder titled “abuse.” The timeline they built began in 2011. The list of suspects grew to 83.

Two months after his initial arrest, Mr. Pelicot was arrested again and charged with aggravated rape, drugging and a list of sexual abuse charges. He is also accused of violating the privacy of his wife, daughter and two daughters-in-law on suspicion of illegally recording, and at times distributing, intimate photos of them.

If he is found guilty, he faces up to 20 years in prison.

During interviews with the police, the details of which were included in an overview of the case by the investigative judge, Mr. Pelicot said he began drugging his wife so he could do things to her, and dress her in things, that she normally refused. Then he started inviting others to participate. He said he never asked for or accepted money.

He met most of the men, the investigating judge’s report stated, in a chat room on a notorious, unmoderated French website implicated in more than 23,000 police cases in France alone from 2021 to 2024. It was finally shut down, and its owner arrested, in June after an 18-month investigation stretching across Europe.

The chat room where most of the men met Mr. Pelicot was called “a son insu,” which means “without their knowledge.”

Over the years, Mr. Pelicot told the police, he developed rules for the visitors to ensure that his wife did not wake: no smoking or cologne; undress in the kitchen; warm hands under hot water or on a radiator, so their cold touch would not jolt her. At the end of each night, according to the investigating judge’s report, he cleaned his wife’s body.

Of the 83 suspects, the police identified and charged 50.

Only one of the men is not charged with rape, assault or attempted rape of Mr. Pelicot’s wife. Instead, that man is accused of following the same model, and drugging his own wife to rape her. Mr. Pelicot is also charged with raping the man’s wife while she was drugged.

Five of the men also face charges for possessing child sexual abuse imagery.

Mr. Pelicot is also being investigated in the rape and murder of a 23-year-old woman in 1991 and the attempted rape of a 19-year-old in 1999. He admitted to the attempted rape, according to Florence Rault, the lawyer representing the victims in both cases, but denies any involvement in the 1991 homicide.

The story has prompted some soul-searching among doctors, since Mr. Pelicot’s wife had visited gynecologists and neurologists over a series of mystifying symptoms, but had received no diagnosis, according to her daughter.

“What I found disturbing for us doctors was that no doctor considered this hypothesis,” said Dr. Ghada Hatem-Gantzer, a well known obstetrician-gynecologist and expert in violence against women. She and a pharmacist, Leila Chaouachi, have now developed training for doctors and nurses on the symptoms that victims of drug-facilitated assault can experience.

Contrary to popular belief, most cases occur at home, not at bars, said Ms. Chaouachi, who runs annual surveys on such offenses in France. Most victims are women, the surveys show, and around half of the victims do not remember the attack, because of blackouts, she said.

In the case going to court in Avignon, some of the accused admitted guilt to the police. According to the investigating judge’s report, many claimed that they were tricked into having sex with a drugged woman — lured by a husband for a three-way encounter and told she was pretending to sleep, because she was shy.

Several said they believed that she had consented to being drugged and raped as part of a sex fantasy. Some said they did not believe it was rape, because her husband was there and they believed he could consent for both of them.

“It sends shivers down the spine regarding the state of affairs in French society,” said Mr. Camus, who is also representing Ms. Darian and many other members of the family. “If that’s the conception of consent in sexual matters in 2024, then we have a lot, a lot, a lot of work to do.”

(archive)

[ruporas]

imagine if your plant au ww grew and mutated like the plants in trimax. cuz it's not often, but sometimes they almost seem to Melt. limbs fusing, growing tendrils, extra joints, all the fucked up shit.

vash did it once or twice i think, but as a plant himself didnt seem that bothered to me. but as a human mentally, i feel like wolfwood would Panic to destabilize like that. anyone would, i think. its kinda playing on an innate fear in humanity

(pretty sure this was supposed to be a domestic comfort au but i couldnt help thinking about this haha whoops sorry)

YEAHHH yeah Yeah………. Fantastic tasty concept… i’ve considered that before but never poked at it too deeply because he doesn’t have a lot of power and if he uses all of it to result in a destabilized form, he’d die. from what i’m assuming out of the scenes i remember, the destabilization tends to happen after a great burst of power so…

tw body horror, blood

but let’s say his body Is able to keep up with it and he does accidentally start to destabilize. my first thought was that he wouldn’t be cognitive when it happens and if he was, yeah i think he’d freak out 😭 he already has a disconnect with his own body in more ways than one so seeing these feathers engulf him and his body shifting in ways it never had would scare him. i also think he’d benefit from his history with vash though and having bore witness of the “monstrous” ability time and time again, he wouldn’t be as petrified by it

along with the fact his body had been fucked up by serums and the EoM experiments, after he has a moment of calm to himself, he’d think of it as no different. it’s just now more obviously visible to people other than himself. i think the main thing that would scare him is the losing control part because he’s Also witnessed what that was like for vash 😔 like said, his body is wholly unfamiliar territory for him and since it’s New for humanity too, no one has any solutions, even vash. every new found thing is played by ear and both vash and wolfwood are hopeful that whatever vash knows will apply the same for wolfwood.

it’s a fair assumption considering what wolfwood inherited is a bit of vash’s energy; what’s given to keep him alive was vash’s originally. i have thoughts about that but none i can verbalize properly,. but have some more sketches and thanks for sending this in for the brainworms

[luimagines]

BOO! Hewwo!!!

I’m sure someone’s requested this already but I wanted to add into the hype- Part 2 for “there was only one bed” 🥺 ILY HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

Of course! Thank you, Anti! You got it, Bestie!

Masterlist

This follows the first part, where you can read right here!

It includes Legend, Wild and Warrior.

Content under the cut.

Legend

Legend woke up in the middle night as thunder shattered the peace of the hour. Lightning lit up the room for brief moments of time before he was shrouded in darkness once more.

There a spark in Legend’s mind that he was home again. This was his bed. the storm was raging just before and the lightning... lit up the silhouette of his uncle as the lantern light caressed his old face. “Link.”

Legend’s breath hitched. He blinked and the vision was gone. The effects however were anything but. With his heart pounding and his breath becoming harder and harder to obtain, he could barely hold himself anchored to reality anymore.

It felt... wet? Was there water on his face?

Lightning strike again and Legend feels like he’s losing balance. He’s tossed left and right and up and down. Lightning strike again and it’s closer this time. He jumps and yells, trying to hold onto the rope and he sails the seas- no seeing an single island in sight-

“Link!” Hands land on his shoulders- shatter the second illusion of the night.

You look up at him, wide eyed and concerned. There’s a question in your eyes but it’s a gentle look. You take a breath and rub his shoulders consolingly. “It’s ok. We’re ok. It’s just a dream.”

You’re wrong about that. It was real. It was very much real and he was there and he can never see their faces again-

“Link, look at me.” You guide his face towards yours. You reach up and wipe the tears that have traitorously leaked form his eyes. Legend gulps and meets you head on, only vaguely remembering your earlier taunt. “Legend, you coward.”

He’s not a coward. He won’t let you think that of him. So help him-! Not you.

You sigh and run your hands over his hair. You stay there with him in the quiet, letting him get his breath together without saying a word. He can hear you gulp after a while and he realizes that you’re still tired too. But he’s not in a place where he can use his voice just yet. 

You don’t seem to mind though. You just keep petting him and rubbing soothing circles on his back. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Legend shakes his head. He won’t share those horrors with you. Not now. Not like this.

You hum and look away from him. You reach behind and set the pillow up again, fluffing it for good measure.

“Come on.” You push him back, letting his head rest against the pillow first. You make yourself comfortable against him next and bring the blanket back over the two of you.

Legend can feel his heart beat continue to pound against his ribcage. there’s very little that he can control in this situation. This isn’t a side of him that he wanted you to see. But like most things in his life he doesn’t get to decide who witnesses it and who gets hurt from it.

“....I’m sorry.” He croaks out at last. “I didn’t mean to wake up.”

“I don’t mind.” You reply quietly. Legend isn’t inclined to believe you.

Suddenly you start... singing? Humming. The tune is unfamiliar to him and you go back to playing with his hair. Your heart beats much calmer against his own and your breath is quiet and soft.

Legend focuses on that instead, letting the melody drift over him. Between the warmth, your weight, your attention and your song, Legend begins to let go of his panic and sorrow. The memories fade away and the storm calms down. The rain is unrelenting but the the thunder has stopped and the lightning has moved to other places of the world

Legend falls asleep once more.

Wild

Wild woke up after the sun had risen for a change. He was used to early morning and earlier chores to complete. So the quiet and undemanding morning was well worth the welcome.

He stretched and yawned, nothing thinking much of the night before before he collided with unexpected mass.

He freezes and finally opens his eyes and comes face to face your with your own. Wild gapes like a fish and can feel his heart stop beating in his chest.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You smile. “Sleep well?”

Wild nods and daringly looks down to get more information about your position.

He didn’t anticipate to figure out that he slept with his head to your chest. The blush covers his face instantly and he scrambles to get off of you. “ Oh by the three! I’m so sorr-”

He falls off of the bed.

You blink and dive to the edge of the bed, reaching out to grab him but you were a second too slow. You pop your head over the side and scan Wild for any new injuries. “Are you ok?”

“Fine. Awesome. I’m awesome. You?” Wild can feel his body struggle to keep up with the movements that he wants to do so that he can save face and get back up to his feet.

Wild feels only a marginal drop of despair drop into his soul when he sees you grin at his expanse. By the look in your eye, you want to laugh but he’s thankful that you don’t.

“I was kept warm and comfortable.” You tease with a little wink. “But I also feel awesome too.”

“Right.” Wild brushes himself down, hoping that his blush isn’t as obvious as it feels. “Um... I should get started on breakfast then.”

“Don’t bother.” Your words cut him from his escape route. “Warrior came by earlier to see if you were awake but I told him to shut up and let you sleep. So someone is taking care of the food this time around. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get a taste of what the inn has to offer.”

Wild knows that his blush is gone by the way he pales. “Warrior came by?”

“Yup.” You reply easily.

Wild bite his lip.

You finally laugh a bit. “Don’t worry. I think I scared him enough that you won’t be teased for drooling on me.”

“Drool-?” Wild pales even further, feeling his chances slip through his fingers.

You nod and finally get out of the bed. You pull on your shirt and sure enough, there’s a small wet patch by your shoulder. “Not bad, all things considered. At least it wasn’t the entire time.”

Wild brings his hand up to cover his mouth. “That’s so embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”

You giggle and shake your head. “It was cute. I can’t even be mad. You were so out of it. How tired were you?”

A cough. “Very.”

“I could tell.” You smile and walk over to pat his head. “But don’t worry. You look a lot better now. There’s a bit of color to your face and you’re back to yourself.”

You do a little twirl and strike a pose. “What about me? Am I good?”

“Incredible.” Wild blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Good to know I wake up like this then.” You laugh and pat his shoulder as you make your way towards the door. “I’ll try and buy you some time to get ready for the day.”

“Thanks. Love you.” Wild puts his foot in his mouth and freezes.

“No problem robblem.” You respond before his other words hit you. “Wha-”

Someone calls you from just beyond the outer corridor and you’re forced to respond instead of questioning him. “Coming!”

“I’ll see you there!” Wild grins and ushered you out of the door. “I’ll be there soon enough. Thank you. You’re the best.” 

Wild shuts the door and collapses onto the floor. “Why am I like this?”

Warrior

This was a mistake.

Warrior woke up early as he normally did and found himself in a situation.

It was one he was dreaming about for a while now but he wasn’t about to hope for them to be a reality. The issue with these dreams of his suddenly becoming real was that you were the unwilling participant. And how he longed for your willing participation.

Your legs were intertwined with his. His arms were around your back and your arms held him close. You were sound asleep against him, forgoing the pillow and using his chest as your head’s resting place.

It was an honor, in his eyes. But the question is now, how does he get out without waking you up?

The sun had barely begun to rise above the horizon. It wouldn’t be fair to you to have you get up at the same time as he does. You deserved to sleep more. Especially since you mentioned having slept so horrible the night prior. 

Warrior sighed, absentmindedly running his hand over your hair. He tried to relax but this was beginning to stir something within him. Slowly, and it had to be slowly or else he risked throwing you out of the small bed as it was, he turned you around.

From there, he came to another problem. One, was that he had to get up now or else he would have to start putting his weight on you and two, you wouldn’t let go. Sure your head now rested on the pillow beneath you, but that didn’t change the way you clung to him.

Warrior let out a huff and and shook his head. With one hand to hold his body up, he had to use the other to pry your hands away from each other and eventually put them by your side once more.

That didn’t work.

Somehow, despite your still unconscious state, you felt the disturbance and weren’t having it. You clung tighter and managed to bring Warrior down to the bed once more.

Warrior has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the absurdity of it all. He looks down at you, in way that could be described as lovingly and gently brushes the hair from your face. He sighs to himself and smiles. “Good morning.”

“..mmhmh...”

Warrior grins and tries again. You hold on tighter once more and Warrior chuckles to himself. “...You’re not making this easy...”

You don’t reply.

Warrior blows some of his hair out of his face and tries to come up with another solution that resolves with him getting out of the small bed, and with you still sound asleep. Frankly, he doesn’t see how to do it without trying what he did before and just... go slower. Warrior doesn’t have much faith in his own plan.

He reaches around again, gently putting as much of his weight onto the bed next to you and tries to unlatch you from his body. He goes slowly and quietly, trying his best to not over stretch himself this early in the morning.

You blink your eyes opens despite his best effort and pull your hands back to rub your eyes. “...Link?”

And oh how he longed to hear you say his name. So soft and innocent with early morning tenderness. His heart clenches in his chest and he finds himself reciprocating the tone. “Easy. Go back to sleep.”

“...What time is it?” You mumbled, already fighting the way your eyes close. “Come back to sleep.”

Warrior shakes his head. “I won’t sleep. It’ll be ok. I’ll wait for you.”

You hum and Warrior reaches over again to tuck your hair away from your face again, finally getting his feet to touch the floor as he slides out of the bed. Warrior picks up the blanket and pulls it over your shoulders, tucking you in.

“Promise?” You whisper, not remotely looking his way.

“Promise.” Warrior chances it and kisses your temple. “Sleep. We’re ok.”

Part 2

[kairiscorner]

some things will never be the same. — miguel o'hara x reader (angst)

summary: he once loved, and that was his the only time he ever loved. he loved with all his heart, he loved till it was taken away from him. now that love slumbered in his still beating heart, it could never be shaken off, nor forgotten--not that he wanted to. but when that love awakens, is a part of him revived, or killed again? pairing: miguel o'hara x gn!reader genre: angst. word count: 1,353 author's note: i blame the song 'mister loverman' for all my pain making this. also, i'm so sorry for the crappy spanish TT

he didn't believe in ghosts as a young boy, he was a skeptic–believing whatever was in front of him was real, whatever was gone... was gone. it would never come back unless he could do something about it, unless he knew how to bring what was lost back. he was too quick to lose hope.

"i've go this shake in my legs, shaking the thoughts from my head."

and that was his fatal flaw.

"but who put these waves in the door?"

because despite convincing himself the one he called 'cariño', 'mi amor', 'mi vida'–his life–'mi esposa'–his spouse... he can't go one day without wondering where you would have been had he not forced himself into your life. he made you his spouse without you ever knowing this wasn't the miguel o'hara you vowed to love and be with, in sickness and in health... whom you finally parted with, with you never knowing–not even when you disappeared before his eyes.

now, he has only the ghost of you–the ghost of you whom you never loved, loving only the man who he resembled too well–whom would never be able to see, hear, touch or speak to again.

"i crack, and–"

until he went to that fucking train station.

"i... pour."

that stupid fucking train station.

he wish he never went there to begin with, wished he never looked ahead of him when he heard that recognizable clicking and clacking of heels that hurried against the platform's pavement, wished he never picked up that familiar scent that he can only relive in his dreams faintly when he imagines you in his arms, whispering to him that you love him, you need him, he's your lover.

he wished the past would just stop sinking that blade it pierced in his heart that day when he saw you in the kitchen, sheer horror and shock filling your face--petrifying you as you saw the hologram of your dead, real husband's body on the other end of the call from the police department at the morgue.

he could never forget the way you looked at him that day.

you looked at him like you didn't know him, that he was completely alien to you--that all those evenings of loving him, all those mornings of kissing him awake and teasing each other with gabi acting all grossed out over the romance you two shared... all those 'i love you's you told him... you were never really with that man you meant them all for.

and he will never forget the way those tears rolled down your cheeks as you asked him...

"who are you?"

"i'm mister loverman."

he also wished his feet would stop carrying him everywhere subconsciously as the past was busy dealing him painful, blunt blows everywhere internally.

he also wished... he didn't reach out for you.

he wished he didn't call out your name.

he wished you didn't look so much like her.

"and i miss my lover, man."

he felt a lump form in his throat, staring at your face that looked like you but not quite like you; seeing those eyes that he always swam in and got lost in every time he held you in his arms and locked his gaze in yours made him feel like he had messed up again, that the universe had witnessed the crime he had committed of prodding at old wounds and calling out that name of yours that he told himself, convinced himself, that he buried deep in the dark entrails of his mind.

but you never left his mind.

never one day, one hour, one minute, one second of his life.

"i asked, who are you?"

you asked him through gritted teeth as tears ceaselessly poured out of your bottom eyelids, your eyebrows contorting into all kinds of expressions that only boiled down to one to many feelings, until back to the one feeling you were expressing right now with your tone, shaky body language and resistance to hitting him right now with every fiber of your being: helplessness.

and you truly were helpless that day.

it was the day when everything came crashing down.

the day you discovered your husband had been long dead, that your daughter was now orphaned of a father, that you were now a widow, that this man who shared his mornings and evenings with you both at your table, singing to and playing with your daughter, carrying her to bed after a long day and retiring in your arms as you kissed him good night and sought for his embrace in the cold late hours of the night... was anybody but your husband... you felt like everything you lived for was all a sham.

you lived with a fraud, you loved a fraud.

he understood. he finally understood that feeling you felt back then... he knows he could be feeling euphoria right now; an intense, overwhelming longing that had finally been answered, had been granted to him. he should've felt grief, after having lost you that day, after losing the one person in his life he really found the space in his heart to care about... but all he felt was something close to unworthiness, a helplessly overwhelming guilt in the pit of his stomach.

"hello?" you called back out to him as you looked at him, gently waving at him with a slightly awkward smile as he seemed to still be frozen in place. "sorry, i... do i know you?" you asked him with a nervous voice, worried what could've happened to this poor man who seemed so troubled and lost.

"i'm mister loverman..."

"um, sir?" you called out to him again as he slowly began to move and reached out for you, nearly stumbling over, but his gaze never once leaving you and your face. his mouth twitched, it opened and closed, and you thought you saw his eyes glisten a bit; had he been crying? you hurriedly offered him a couple of tissues from your bag, tissues you always carried. "here, sorry they're crumpled, they're for emergencies, y'know?" you said with a sweet smile.

those damned crumpled tissues he knew all too well.

that damned little catchphrase you quipped every time you handed him one.

that damned, sweet smile.

"...i know." he muttered back as he lowered his hands and pulled away from reaching out to you, his gaze finally casting downwards, not even taking the tissues you offered him. you looked at him with confusion in your eyes, but you didn't force him to take any, it just meant more for you now. before you could even ask him what he wanted from you, the minute you looked up from your bag after stowing your tissues back in, he was gone as quickly as he came.

though at the spot where he was standing, in its stead, there was an old photo; it was yellowing by the white borders of the portrait with a few stains of aging on it due to the years not treating it very well. it was soft and tender to touch, almost like a fragile piece of the past. you took a look at the back of the photo that was facing upwards when you saw it, it read: "para mi amante, i hope you remember me every time you see this."

"for my lover."

you flipped the photo, and you couldn't make out the other person on the photo, but... that man you met earlier, the distressed-seeming man who seemed to want something from you, was the very man in that photo. he was kissing someone on the cheek, but you couldn't tell who. their face was out of the picture, you didn't know why it seemed like out of everything else in the photo, that person the man was kissing was the only thing obviously removed from the photo.

as if they were supposed to be erased.

as if they weren't meant to be kissed by that man you met.

as if... they weren't meant to be in that photo at all together.

"oh, and, i miss my lover."

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @fiannee @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @ophanimgold

[simpingforclaudette]

This is the main account of rrpexp. I was wondering if you had any more thoughts about randy and Stu (and billy if any). Please 🙏 I'm so starved for content!

omg hi! i'm SO sorry for the late answer. i don't check my inbox very often. thank you so much for the ask! and yes, i have more thoughts (:

my first thought is an au where stu lives and is in jail during the events of scream 2 and randy goes to question to him to figure out who are the new ghostfaces.

i feel like this could be an interesting dialogue-heavy fic where stu keeps derailing the conversation by bringing up things that happened between him and randy, things randy is desperate to forget because he's struggling with coming to terms with his bisexuality and the fact that he's had a thing with stu, now known as one of the most infamous serial killers in america.

bonus angst points if randy still dies and stu completely loses touch with reality afterwards, using his phone time in jail to "talk" to him.

my second thought is an au where stu dies, but becomes a ghost and starts haunting randy, going as far as possessing him to commit more murders. but as time goes on, randy's body starts rotting, which means he has to find a way to get rid off stu before he dies.

i just love the idea of zombie! or ghost! stu and body horror and this is a perfect mix of those two things. i also love this scenario because i can't see stu being a genuinely healthy partner for randy, even outside of this au, so it could showcase how toxic their relationship would be and how randy could learn to accept his sexual orientation and stand up for himself and move on.

my third thought is more of a stu/randy/billy thing. it's basically a pre-canon au where randy gets romantically involved with stu and billy. they have secret meet ups, both at stu's house and outside of woodsboro. at some point randy starts sensing something's off about them. he’s convinced, knows, they have something in mind, but he's not sure what. and then the first movie's events happen.

i love the idea of randy being this sort of secret witness to billy and stu's relationship and how they came to plan their killing spree without actually seeing anything (does that make sense?). could it be because stu and billy are manipulating him or because he finds too much comfort in the attention they give him to want to see what's happening in front of him? seeing him try to deal with his guilt afterwards would be very interesting to me.

my last idea is just stu stabbing randy in the third act, leaving him in the garage with tatum’s corpse (because who doesn’t love some homoerotic stabbing?) so he doesn’t get back into the house with stu and doesn’t get shot by billy.

this one is interesting because i can see stu stab him on a non-vital part of his body, giving him a chance of survival, and making some joke that he’ll live since he’s a virgin. and hiding him in the garage could be an attempt to hide him from billy, to make sure he doesn’t find him and finish him off.

that’s pretty much all i have in mind for now. i hope you’ll enjoying reading this as much as i enjoyed writing that reply! if you have stu/randy thoughts too, feel free to send me an ask!

[buk0wskis]

the only time doug allowed himself to grieve the loss of lynn, ethel, and big bob was when he was locked in the freezer. let me explain.

in hills ‘06, a lot of loss happens, and it happens fast. in a single night, not even a span of two hours, doug witnesses big bob burn to death, and while he is trying to save his father-in-law, his wife and mother-in-law are respectively killed and nearly killed, and then he watches his mother-in-law die as he does what he can to make her comfortable before she does. like any horror protagonist that loses part of their family, he knows he has to be strong. for bobby, for brenda, for himself. the kids have their opportunities to grieve, and can’t hold themselves back from it. doug, however, doesn’t have this opportunity yet.

yes, he does scream in the trailer, slumped on the floor against the cabinet. though i argue that that wasn’t him letting himself grieve. i like to think of that as, simply, the shock. now, i’m not saying that wasn’t grief; it just wasn’t the singular moment he allowed himself to feel his grief.

what was that moment, then? the freezer.

think about it. he’d been knocked out, and he has no idea how to tell how long he’d been out. doug was already surrounded by death, the death of his family, and now he is literally surrounded by death. parts of strangers that he has no idea how long they’ve been there. a realization sets in: what if he’d been out for so long that catherine, bobby, and brenda were dead, too? that sets in as a truth he has no means of proving at that moment, and it sets in that he couldn’t save them. that’s all he’d meant to do, going out to save catherine and get them all home. in his mind, he’d failed them. he’d failed big bob, ethel, lynn. his siblings-in-law, beauty and beast, his baby daughter. even himself.

it comes to a head in his panic, trying desperately to escape this cramped prison he’s found himself in. you hear it in his voice, see it in his strength: every stage of grief is being expressed in some way, all at once. i like to think it’s mostly expressed physically. sure, that freezer’s been there for so many years, unkempt, dirty, rusted. the lock can’t be too good, likely rusted to all hell. but it did lock, which means it works to an extent. the fact that doug had the strength to bust the lock at all, and from the inside, is a feat.

doug is certainly no bodybuilder. i don’t think the guy’s yoked. he’s well on his way to a dad bod (god bless). that strength in that position from him was likely more than he had ever expressed in a single moment, and i strongly believe that is an expression of his grief.

one would think he would give up, let himself die in there. but he wanted to live. think of a part of him shaking him through the pain and suffering that he could be wrong. those kids could still be alive, waiting for him. catherine could still be alive, waiting for him. so he chooses to escape. to live. and that was the best choice he could have made.

this isn’t to say any of his grief was processed. i certainly don’t think it was. it will be a very long time, and a very difficult process, before any of his trauma his processed. and hell, i wonder if it ever will be. but he allowed himself to grieve, if only for a few moments in his panic. and it was those few moments made him stronger.

[aruanimess]

Hello Myrtle!

Regarding the fanfic authors ask game, what about the Armin in Liberio AU?

Fanfic Author Never Have I Ever

Hello, Anna!

I'm answering based on the assumption that you mean non-Warrior Armin in Liberio (if not, welp, sorry).

To me, an Armin in Liberio AU has one major snag: when Annie leaves for Paradis, the plot stagnates. The way I would work around that would be to have Armin sneak into the Marleyan ship that got the young Warriors to the Paradisian harbor.

Basically the story would start with your usual Armin in Liberio shenanigans: Armin and Annie meet, they become friends, he hates her dad, she in turn loves his grandpa etc. Then, Annie is chosen for the Female Titan and everything changes.

She is forced to go to battle, facing indescribable horrors every single day. She's missing for months and months on end, and when she comes back she's sullen and unapproachable (well, more so than usual).

Armin is worried. His only friend is turning into a shadow of herself, the country is constantly at war, the only option viable for Eldians who don't have an established trade within the internment zone is soldiering and Armin knows what that means (you get turned into a mindless titan and sicced on innocent civilians). So when his grandpa catches a nasty cold, which turns out not to be a cold at all but consumption, and dies, Armin is put in an impossible position.

Faced with the option of the orphanage for Eldian children (and everybody knows what's going on in there), he decides to take to the streets. He evades the social services (disguised government goons) that come to collect him and runs away. Soon, he hears talk of the Paradis mission, perhaps he's even in the crowd that waves the young titan shifters goodbye, and... well... he has nothing to lose. It's death by starvation or joining Annie. There's no question in his mind. He hides in a crate of supplies and boards the ship.

For her part, Annie is distraught with guilt. Over her deplorable actions abroad, yes, but also because she didn't pay enough attention to Armin when he needed her most. She didn't even know his grandpa had died until a week after the fact! And now Armin disappeared and is probably alone, scared and hungry, hiding in the forest or some grimy abandoned hovel. So when the Paradis mission is brought up, she takes it as a personal punishment for her failures. Her dad is asking her to come back, but she doesn't feel like she deserves it.

(In this AU Annie is more prone to questioning the morality behind her actions (even more so than in canon) bc of her friendship w Armin and the countless hours she spends with Grandpa Arlert and his books. Also, she and Pieck are more open with each other in this, again bc Annie has influences other than her dad, and the two of them can discuss their scruples to a greater extend As a matter of fact, when she withdraws from Armin she turns to Pieck, because she believes (correctly) that she will have a better understanding of her situation and will not judge her for her actions.)

Meanwhile, on the ship, Armin is hiding from the guards left and right. He manages to get off when they reach the harbor without being noticed by sneaking out during the change of shifts. He steals some supplies and starts following the group of Warriors from some distance. For a while, it goes great. Until the night Marcel decides to reveal to Reiner the truth about the decision behind the Armor.

The Warriors are clearly in samples after the revelation and Armin, amidst all the panic, takes this opportunity to reveal himself. (He's spent too long alone and afraid in this strange land filled with monsters, everything seems to be going downwards anyway, he might as well gain some company).

Annie is shocked, relieved and horrified that he'll witness all the monstrosities they're about to inflict. Bertolt is speechless and wants everyone to get along. Marcel is angry that a civilian is with them. And Reiner is shaken, insecure and ready to lash out.

They all fight. Ymir's Titan shows up. Marcel saves Reiner. Marcel dies.

After this, both Reiner and Armin blame themselves for his death. Only Armin is at an even greater disadvantage because except for Annie they all consider him a liability. So Armin tries to figure out a better plan to attack Wall Maria to prove his worth. He improves the strategy somewhat (idk how but probably sth to do with Annie NOT passing out from exhaustion).

They go forth with the Shiganshina plan. They succeed.

After the battle, Reiner begrudgingly agrees that Armin could be an asset, but in reality he's pissed off at him for getting involved and stealing his thunder. Bertolt is also somewhat hostile towards Armin as he slowly figures out that Annie has feelings for Armin, and he is therefore his rival to her affections.

On the other hand, Annie is ecstatic. Her hope for the future has returned. Now, Armin understands what she has been going through for so long and he’s here with her and more importantly alive. She wants to make quick work of the mission and return to Marley… but there’s a problem. Armin doesn’t want to return.

He’s seen the horrors, he’s even been responsible for some of them, now he wants to live in peace. There’s nothing for him to return to Marley. As far as he’s concerned his only friend is here with him. He promises to help the Warriors find the new Jaw Titan because he feels guilty over Marcel, but that’s it, he wants to be left alone in Paradis to live out the rest of his years. (He’d die in a war for Marley anyway, he might as well enjoy some years of peace.)

He tries to convince Annie to join him, but things are not as easy for her. She still has her father back home, and Pieck. Not to mention that, unlike Armin, her time is limited by the curse of Ymir. If she manages to persuade Armin to return to Marley, everyone she cares about would be in one place.

This creates a situation where they’re in a bit of a standstill. They agree to disagree for the time being and continue with the mission, both of them secretly hoping that the other will change their minds. 

Of course, as the mission goes on, they unveil more and more secrets that complicate things further. They become friends with the locals and discover that their feelings for each other are stronger than they initially suspected. They fall in love and become closer as a team (with each other but the others as well). In the end, they probably figure out a way to bridge the gaps between their conflicting desires. 

And, anyway, I gotta stop now, because I'm running the risk of starting another WIP… hahahaha… ha… 😰