#but decided i'd leave the gore for another day

[gintrinsic-writing]

Redesigned

Inspired by this comic by mmelete, which is very cute and lighthearted! This short fic is not. CW implied body horror.

--

It was there, at the end of the hall—a splash of color on otherwise gray stones. Monster remains lay scattered beneath as though paid in homage. 

“No way,” Hyrule exclaimed. “Is that painting supposed to be Legend?”

Warriors took care to step over a segment of twitching jejunum. “It certainly looks like it. I wonder who or what did this?”

“Other monsters, maybe? But… Hm.” Hyrule glanced around as though the answer to their little mystery might suddenly present itself, ears twitching back and forth. The hall remained empty.

“Paint’s dry,” Warriors remarked, brushing his fingers across the little blue hat, “so it can’t be that new.”

“But not old enough for the colors to have faded.”

“Right. So…” 

“So?”

Warriors spread his hands wide, dousing the curiosity in Hyrule’s stare. “I don’t know. It’s weird as hell, but not the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Creepy?” Hyrule teased, leaning like he might playfully bump Warrior's shoulder. For both their sakes, he kept a sliver of distance between them. “I think it’s kind of fun.”

“You clearly haven’t encountered enough fanatics,” Warriors muttered.

“Ahh, well.” Hyrule laughed awkwardly. “Should we move on?”

“No, let’s stay put. There are no immediate threats, and between Twilight and Sky the others should be able to track us down easily enough. There’s no reason to risk getting turned around or running into whatever killed these monsters.”

“Right. That sounds logical.”

“Don’t look so glum,” Warriors said with a smirk. “You can explore to your heart’s content when we’re all reunited.”

Hyrule huffed. “As if.”

“Enjoy the break, kiddo. If this dungeon’s anything like the last, we’ll find chaos by the end of it.”

Hyrule’s returning smile was crooked and dimpled. “Yeah, fair. What should we do in the meantime?”

“Meditate? Count rocks? Contemplate all of our past regrets? I don’t know, don’t ask me.”

“Lame,” Hyrule concluded, channeling Wind as he faked a yawn. He glanced back at the little painting of Legend again. “I think his bracelet might be off.”

“What?”

“Legend’s bracelet, in the painting. The stone is supposed to be purple, isn’t it? But the artist made it all black and red.”

Warriors blinked, reevaluating the painting. “It’s not exactly a masterpiece, Hyrule. So what if some of the details are wrong?”

“I don’t know, I’m just saying.” He tilted his head, trying to imagine all the ways his friend and mentor were different from this childlike rendition of him. Then, curious to see if he could, Hyrule reached out and scraped his fingernail across the tip of one of Legend’s ears. Flecks of skin-toned paint came away under his nail. 

“Well,” Warriors drawled wryly, “I guess it’s not cursed. Thanks for that.”

“Oh hush,” Hyrule answered without looking back. “I would’ve sensed a curse. Probably.” He grinned suddenly. “Hey, can I have your makeup?”

“No. Why?”

Hyrule began searching through his own bag. “The ears are too long, and the eyes aren’t the right shape. Legend’s eyes are more, um… almond? And I want to fix his fingers.”

“You’re not wasting my makeup on this.”

“It’s not a waste, it’s creative inspiration—ah ha!” He pulled a clump of charcoal from his bag, along with several blackberries. "It's not like we have anything better to do."

Warriors made a futile effort not to look amused. “What are the berries for?”

“Color. The juice won’t be exactly red, but it’ll do.” He leaned away from the painting as if to get a better overall study of it, then started scratching away at Legend’s eye. 

“You’ll chip your nails doing that.”

“Don’t care.” Hyrule stuck out his tongue as he worked, using the charcoal to sharpen the slant of Legend’s eye. Once he was satisfied with the shape, he smeared a tiny amount of blackberry juice where the iris should be. “See? Much better.”

Warriors outright laughed, which earned him a half-hearted glare. “Keep your day job, hero.”

“Oh?” Hyrule attempted to sound haughty, but thought he sounded constipated instead. “I’d like to see you do better.”

“... Yeah, alright, shove over.” 

They worked on the painting for nearly half an hour, using stones, berries, and some of Warrior’s foundation (“sacrificed for a greater good”) to edit things as they pleased. On a whim, Warriors added bunny ears to the top of Legend’s head, and Hyrule erased, redrew, re-erased, then re-re-drew Legend’s left hand. 

“Fingers are hard,” Hyrule complained, frowning as he compared the drawing to his own hand. “Like, what?”

“I can’t get his nose down,” Warriors muttered. “Why do nostrils look so stupid?”

“Uh, guys? What are you doing?”

They both jumped in surprise, whirling around to see the other heroes entering the hall. “Nothing!” Hyrule blurted, then immediately changed his mind. “Look what we found. It’s Legend!”

Warriors stepped away from the painting as if he’d had nothing to do with it. “Everybody okay?”

“Yes,” Time answered, frowning as the seconds passed. “Legend drew himself?”

“No,” Hyrule answered. “We don’t know who—” He blinked, glancing between them all. “He’s not with you?”

“We thought he’d be here, with you,” Sky said, gesturing to the Master Sword. “Fi said so.”

As one, they all looked at the painting on the wall—redesigned with different proportions, half its nose missing, its fingers lengthened and crooked, bunny ears sprouting from its head, lips stretched in a rictus, its single eye smeared with blackberry juice. 

The paint beneath Hyrule’s fingernails itched. He absently picked it out, startled by the wetness he could feel. He must’ve cut his quicks on the stone. There was no other explanation for the blood. 

[kpeanuts]

@tadc-funfair-au's Pomctober/Pomni Inktober Day 5 - @sm-baby's Carnival AU

WALL OF TEXT INCOMING

Hands down, no competition, my favorite AU to read and learn about as it unfolds. On the other hand, this might be the one that I am least proud of after drawing. I know I said that I'd come out swinging for Day 5, but I legitimately couldn't find the vision. I feel like I made so, so many mistakes just on this one alone. Ignoring the practical mistakes for a second, for some reason, I had such a hard time thinking on what I wanted to have as the setting. I thought of using Pomni's tent with her on the dive-board or on a pedestal you see the ringmaster standing on, then I thought in the bedroom hallway, and even after sleeping on it I still couldn't get it right. Eventually I just decided to draw sentient Pomni outside of Kinger's throne room (at least I'm pretty sure Kinger would have an ornate entryway to his room, idk). I'm absolutely terrible at drawing environments, interior or otherwise, only reason why I thought Day 3's background looked remotely good was because I was able to use the horror aspect of it to cover it up, but Carnival doesn't have the same attributes to use as a veil. But it's whatever, I can't bring myself to touch the file further since I know that it's just going to get worse.

I'm going to skip over Day 6 completely for two reasons: One, refresh my mind in terms of drawing TADC and do research for Day 7. Two, I don't feel like logging into Instagram (or twitter, which means that I'm going to skip over Day 10 as well).

Now, while I am going to stop drawing TADC and Pomctober for tomorrow, I've found another Inktober prompt list, Goretober. So I'm going to just do a few drawings for that one and warning people in advance that do not wish to see that kind of stuff: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, GO SET YOUR FILTERED TAGS TO INCLUDE "cw: guro", "cw: blood", "cw: death" AND/OR "cw: gore"! I'll be including the Violence content label but this is just for good measure.

With that, finally, I'm done with the usual ranting. Again, I'm going to be posting a few very violent and bloody sketches for Goretober later on, so go filter out the tags I listed above by going to "Settings" > "Account" > "Content you see" > "Filtered Tags". Those posts won't be showing up often, and I might make an entirely separate blog in the future just to make sure that my usual content isn't mixed in with the mature. I shall leave you with that warning, and safe travels!

[batmanfruitloops]

Hi- I'm addicted to Arkham and how it works-

I'm curious about two things-

How long everyone's imprisonment is supposed to be for their crimes and how their relationship to the doctors/Jeremiah Arkham or Hugo Strange is :3

Have a good day!!!

The length of their imprisonment is actually a bit tricky to answer, but I'll do my best:

As we've stated, a big part of the main au is that Batman and the Joker don't intend to send anybody to Arkham. For those who need help, they need a better facility for that, and for the criminals, there's should be a better jailing and charging procedure.

So, the only way the rogues would end up in Arkham is if it happened before Batman and the Joker could stop it. In this case, the alternate timeline starts with Scarecrow and the Riddler being taken into custody by Batman and the Joker. Usually, Batman and the Joker wouldn't actually hand over the rogues (again, ones that have any saving graces). They always let them get away. But for whatever reason, they do get handed over to Gordon because another crime is taking place that they cannot ignore. Gordon does his best to stall for Batman, but the rest of the force comes to the conclusion that they need to be sent to Arkham. Jo and Ed were uncomfortable, yes, but Batman had made it clear that they wouldn't end up in Arkham. He wouldn't let it happen. But Batman and the Joker continue to be kept busy. And soon enough, Jo and Ed are being driven to Arkham. It sinks in:

Batman and the Joker aren't coming for them, are they?

I don't know much about how one decides how much time someone needs in a facility, but I'd assume they'd (supposedly) get treatment for their "mental ailments" before being charged for their crimes? That said, this alternate timeline probably only takes place over a 3 to 6 months. So the length of their imprisonment should probably be longer if it finished, but it doesn't. Bruce and John are stressing over their stay in Arkham becoming longer and longer. Bruce doesn't want to have become a liar, but he also feels the need to prioritize what else is happening in Gotham. They're in Arkham, it's not like they're going to go anywhere.....

As for their relationship with the doctors, we don't currently have a Jerimiah Arkham (Although we might later if we learn more about him and feel inspired) and Hugo, well...he's not exactly a patient favorite.

Hugo enjoys tearing people's psyches apart and leaving them a shell of themselves. The more strong-minded/determined/resistant someone is, the more he enjoys his work. He is also not above physical violence, and is very unphased by gore and viscera. He's the type of person who'd cut himself open just to see the bodily layers functioning. Nobody knows anything about him before being a doctor at Arkham either; something that Ed desperately tries to find out to gain leverage on Hugo.

Lyle Bolton (no current design, but he is present) may not be a doctor, but he's also important in this timeline. He also enjoys harassing the rogues, especially someone like Ed who can't hide his pain well or dissociate. Again, Hugo doesn't care what he does so long as they aren't dead in the end.

To be a bit more specific about how each of the rogues react to their treatment in Arkham:

Jo - he's been through a lot of pain and needing to put on a face. He doesn't get put in solitary until Hugo is able to push him past his limits, and the easiest way to do that is to go through Ed. Then Jo and Hugo are basically in a battle for control/sanity. Jo refuses to break, and Hugo refuses to give up on him. Other staff might be terrified of how feral Jo becomes, but not Hugo. Jo's only motivation is hearing the updates Hugo's taunts him with about Ed.

Ed - he's absolutely terrified about being in Arkham. It's not clean, it's not safe, there's no escape, and it's terrifying. Jo was his anchor until they're separated and Ed does his best to figure out Jo's condition and how to get out. Usually he could deflect fights away from himself by his use of words, but deflection doesn't work on Lyle or Hugo, so that's devastating.

Jervis - though he doesn't get put in Arkham until later, he and Ed become friends quickly, giving them both some much needed company. Jervis also tries to defend Ed like Jo did, but it becomes harder once he's put into a straight jacket for "insanity and potential of harm to others and oneself" and his maladaptive daydreams are much more pleasant than where he really is.

Harvey - I don't believe we've mentioned him ending up in Arkham in this timeline along with the dorks, but he does. Based on the main timeline of events, he'd have been put in there first, actually. Harvey does his best to stay in his right state of mind, logical and just. He protects any inmates he deems innocent, and attacks those he deems bad. Hugo took away his lucky coin though, so he can get stuck when deciding whether or not to act on his impulses.

- Sarsee

a bit less important, but in the Arkham timeline, Waller reaches out to Hugo for help figuring out how to exploit a certain rogues powers, only for said powers to be ruined in the process...I wonder who it could be? :)

(I started getting a bad headache finishing this post, so I apologize if some written parts make more sense than others - I can try to explain anything confusing in the comments)

[shi-daisy]

The Last Evergreen Heir

Hello everyone! We start the week for best book boy today and I am ready to bring feels. Here's a lil fic of Tamlin's eldest brother seeing snipets of his reign. (Follows A Court of Threads & Daisies continuity) Hope you like!

@tamlinweek

Tamlin Week 2024- Day 1- Heir of Spring

The Last Evergreen Heir

"If you end up getting high from eating those tulips I'm blaming Ciaran." Dorevan said as he held baby Tamlin.

The giggly baby had eaten more than half the garden, as his tiny hands were faster than Dorevan's adult ones. Still, as he looked back Tamlin had used his magic to make the flowers bloom again after her ate them.

"That's a lot of a magic for a tiny child like you...Does this mean you shall be heir?!"

Tamlin didn't respond he just tilted his head as the loud question and coed, reaching for Dorevan's face.

His eldest brother rolled his eyes. "Don't even think about it kiddo. It's between me and Cece, and I don't intend to lose the court to the stoner or to you, flower eater. I've been here longest and dealt with father before either of you were born. I'm the heir, do well to remember!"

But Tamlin didn't remember, because he was just a baby who didn't see a man lecturing him, or at least attempting to, he just saw his eldest brother carrying him back to the manor.

***

He'd said it, been cruel about it, drilled into the youth's head that he was not to threatening his claim.

It didn't matter. By process of elimination Tamlin Evergreen was now High Lord of Spring.

He could see his body as a ghost, he died reaching for his father who was but a spalt of gore on the wall. Rosabella was still on the bed with the life choked out of her, while Ciaran was slumped against the bed, trying to comfort Tamlin before he too joined them in death.

He knew the pair reconciled today, mere hours before Night came to them and slaughtered everyone in revenge. Dorevan tried to place his hand on Tamlin's shoulder as he cried for his other brother. Neither deserved the tears, but when had that ever stopped the musician from giving them all undeserved love?

"No more tears, you're the heir. It's time to toughen up! You'll do well...You'll do better than either of us..."

***

He'd been right, for Spring bloomed under the rule of the unexpected High Lord.

Dorevan remained a ghost while his parents and brother reincarnated. He decided to stick around and see what Tamlin would do as a ruler, someone had to tell him he did a good job, even if he couldn't hear it.

The flowers bloomed, the court was paradise, the people loved him and Tamlin remained ever humble and sentimental. He was indeed the best out of them.

'If only I'd seen it sooner, and been a better brother.'

Lamenting would do nothing now, but he did stand beside the throne and smiled, placing his hand upon Tamlin's head. "I'm so proud of you, I know mother would be too."

Tamlin's emerald eyes darted around the room, as if he'd heard him...

***

His baby brother wept again as another sentry was lost. Lucien held him in his arms while the pair kneeled on the floor, the other soldiers present grieved by his side, still none of them refused their duty. They never would, not with this High Lord.

Amarantha had cursed him...Bloody wench always gave the impression she'd be trouble, Dorevan just didn't think she'd be this much!

"Falling for a fae hating human...pity we can't make Jurian turn back from the ring, he's your type...Maybe I shouldn't be joking around."

Dorevan remained with Tamlin until he fell asleep in tears. The man tried to be though, well not tried, he was though.

"If I was in your position right now I would've jumped off the roof...You're a though cookie Tam. Let it out, they'll understand. I know you'll make it. You're a good High Lord.

***

Andras was with him when his brother brought the girl, and throught their cute romance that resulted in the broken curse and the restoration of Spring.

But just as he thought Tamlin got his happy ending and he could leave...the cursebreaker became a cursebringer tearing down the court that had been unwavering for milenia.

Oisin would be furious, Ciaran disapointed...Rosabella might understand but then again their mother was a saint and a sensitive sould.

Dorevan just broke, upon seeing the once proud ruler of Spring become but a beast swallowed by pain as he court emptied and left him tot he decay.

"We can't help him. Dore, we need to trust him. He'll rise again."

Dorevan wasn't so sure, he knew how frail his baby brother's heart was. He just hoped in time Tamlin would heal and recover, making the court bloom again as only he could.

"Don't worry, little one. We will look over you, until you rise again."

***

He wouldn't, not as High Lord of Spring or Evergreen Heir. Tamlin was now a civillian of Spring, after his wrists spilled crimson and he nearly joined him and the other ghosts of the manor.

Dorevan thanked Lucien a thousand times for saving his baby brother, but he hadn't been able to save his power.

"So, Tamarand shall be heir now?" He asked Daphne as they waited in the foyer with the other ghosts.

"I suppose so. Don't worry, he'll have Tamlin to guide him, he shall be good."

"I don't doubt that...I'm just saddened at the end of the Evergreen dynasty. This isn't how Tam would've wanted it to go."

It had been a shock, to meet a half sister in the afterlife and find out he had triplet half siblings. The two living ones were probably heading to the manor now, with the new Heir of Spring.

Still, even if he trusted things would work in the end, Dorevan's eyes couldn't be pried from Tamlin and Lucien. They seemed to think the same as him.

Tamlin is heir no more.

***

Though one could argue it didn't matter. That he was able to shine far brighter and work much better with another man as heir. Tamlin had carried the weight of the crown better than any man in his position could and now he was helping another be better than him, wiser than him, maybe even more beloved than him.

No, no that last one was debatable. Tamarand was an exemplary man, and he'd be a great High Lord. But all of Spring reveared and still adored one Tamlin Evergreen.

He'd been pulled back to life by Rhysand, just an experiment, a way to torment him and his baby brother more, but Rhysand didn't know that his own wife and cousin were on their side, and that between them all they'd put an end to his cursed reign and his circle.

He had the honor of fighting alongside Tamlin, and seeing how the little baby he once held had become a fierce warrior that helped snuff away the Night.

When the battle was over and he went back to Spring his with his family Dorevan had been able to see a court blooming beautifully. It was better than what Oisin could've done, better than what he or Ciaran could've done, it was perfection, achieved by the youngest and kept by their half brother. Truly the ending they deserved.

Dorevan walked the same gardens he did as when they were young. Tamlin was no longer a baby, and thankfully he didn't eat the tulips but rather he helped them bloom.

"You better not eat that or I'll blame Cece."

The youngest Evergreen chuckled. "Can't, he isn't here..."

"Yeah. I miss him, but I am happy to be back, and even happier to see you still standing here. I'll make up for lost time, and I'll be a better brother, I promise."

Tamlin leaned on his shoulders. "Thank you. I'm happy to have you back."

"There's something I don't regret though. Something I stand by even after centuries in the afterlife."

"What's that?"

"You were the best out of us three and I'm so very proud of you Tamlin. You let our dynasty go out on a high note."

Just like he did as a baby, Tamlin smiled with teary emerald eyes and a sense of pride.

"It was an honor to have been heir of Spring."

[dumbassalex]

Ok, as someone who sorta defended The Crow 2024 reboot, and now that i've seen it, i have thoughts about it and i wanna share them... (More under the cut, spoilers ahead)

So firstly i liked the action, it was clear and you could see what's going on and the gore in those scenes was good, so no real issues with the action scenes. I really dug the soundtrack, the songs they chose to play were good and something i'd listen to.

I also like that Shelly had more screentime and got to be more of a character, that was fun and FKA twigs played her well in my opinion. Bill Skarsgard gave a good performance, as basicly always, with his Eric too.

Now my biggest issues is with the story itself, and especialy the pacing, it was SO slow, we spent like half the movie on Eric and Shelly while watching the villians look for Shelly, while also barely any real time has passed for Eric and Shelly, or at least it didn't feel like much of a time has at all passed between Eric and Shelly running away and being murdered.

And even once the couple gets killed by the villians, it takes us like another third of the movie for Eric to really become the Crow, for most of the movie he's just Eric with healing powers, and only becomes The Crow right before the opera scene, whitch is way too long for something based on a comic that's mostly just Eric being The Crow and hunting Shellys killers.

Another thing i dislike is the villians and their story, the original idea for the villians was just a group of street criminals coming across Eric and Shelly on a random day in the rain as their car broke down and deciding on a whim to do what they did, that was the tragedy, that it was random, senseless and didn't have to happen if a single thing happened differently. And changing it to a group of rich people hunting Shelly specificaly due to an incriminating video is such an odd change, along with the change to give the main villian superpowers.

Another thing that i feel like is a big difference between the comic and the movie is that the movie is very literal and very open about Eric coming from the death, healing super fast and there being supernatural entities and superpowers, while in the comics it was all more lowkey with Eric not feeling pain and healing slower than what the movies show, with his walking around wounded and scarred, the crow talking being in his head, same for the skeleton cowboy and the vision of the white horse that was a metaphor for the conflict of the story, it was a random senseless act that Eric had no control over yet he couldn't leave it be and blames himself for what happened.

In the movie it's a literal thing that happened to child Eric and doesn't set up his character arc and personal conflict of not blaming himself and moving on. Whitch was WHY he came back for revenge, because he was angry, blamed himself and couldn't move on, something he was only able to do at the end when he died at Shellys grave.

Whitch brings another change i disliked, the ending, the original ending of the comics is about Eric finaly being at peace and being able to move on and die, joining Shelly in the afterlife. But in the movie the reason he keeps going on is from pure love (somehow he felt such love after such short time) that can waver and make him loose his powers until making a deal for Shelly soul and becoming The Crow, bringing Shelly back to life while Eric stays dead. That just kinda misses the point, there wasn't no coming back and living again, it was about Eric having to come to peace and move on, it was a bittersweet ending but it was fitting the story and the themes, but just like the white horse methaphor, the movie ignores that.

So all in all, as a movie it's alright, but as a Crow adaptation it's overall kinda awfull in most ways. If you enjoyed the movie, good for you, but i personaly didn't really like it as a Crow adaptation and think it could've been much better. One thing i will give the movie for sure tho, is that it skipped Shellys assault, something i think wasn't entirely neccecary to motivate Eric to do what he did.

[luveline]

maybe grumpy!r with zombie!au jonathon ? totally fine if this doesn’t work haha have a good day <3

tysm ♡

The river kisses the rubber toes of your shoes, rushing water loud over stone. If Jonathan knew you were sitting by the river defenceless he'd worry in his way, sweetness first and annoyance second.

But Jonathan won't know, you decide, tracing the silky blue water until it turns to froth. 

It's not his fault, not Will's, not any of your group's fault that you resent your life with so much passion, and so you try to leave them alone when you know you'll lash out. Will says your sullen, Jon just says you're tired, but it's Hopper who hits the nail on the head, every time. 

"You're a grump, kid. Old man in a young girl's body."

You're not sure about young —you feel like living to this age is impressive enough in the circumstances— but you agree to being thought grumpy. You're kind of awful, actually. 

"How many times do I have to tell you?" 

You jump at Jonathan's voice at your shoulder and almost smack your skulls together. "How many times do I have to tell you?" you ask, glaring at his easy smile. "Don't fucking sneak up on me." 

"Don't sit by the river alone. Idiot. It's too loud, you'd never hear a geek coming up behind you and then I'd have to put you out of your misery, and how is that fair? I don't want to kill you. Will would never forgive me." 

"That's your reason?" 

"Sure is. I got you this." 

A hand thrust in front of you, a flower twirled by the stem. You're not sure what kind it is or where he got it, but it's tall and strong, petals all shades of purple. You accept it with tender fingers. It feels foreign to see something as starkly beautiful as his clean flower between all the gore and grit of your life on foot. 

"Thank you," you murmur. 

"Anything for me?" 

Jonathan looks at you head on. Christ, he's handsome. He doesn't seem to think so, but it's in his smile, and the way he talks, the easy roll of his shoulders now and his more timid moments, too. It's in his laugh, his eyes. 

You huff in annoyance and kiss him. 

"Don't be like that," he says against your lips, punctuating with two quick kisses. 

"I'm not being like anything."

"Don't kiss me if you don't want to," he says, his fingers wrapped around your wrist. You love his touch, the firm, almost rough brunt of his thumb against your pulse and his forehead as it rests on your shoulder. "It's fine. I'll just die miserable." 

"You're not funny," you say, staring at the top of his head. 

"You're not, either, but I usually laugh." Jonathan stops his teasing, his voice shining with sincerity as his lips skip over your sleeve. "Are you okay? I was worried about you. I am worried about you." 

You look down at your flower, a perfect little gift. It staves away the dirty feeling that lingers on your skin. 

"Do you think I could press this? Keep it forever?" you ask. 

Jonathan sits up, spinning away from you so you're staring in opposite directions, hip to hip. "Yeah, you can. You just need a little tissue paper. But if it doesn't work, I'll find you another one." 

"What if it's winter?" 

"I'll find you something else." 

"I want something pretty as this," you warn. 

"Then I'll find you a mirror." It's awful because he's not joking. 

You take his hand and put it on your thigh to watch his cheeks turn pink. The river roars, the smell of roasted frogs and hare drifts along the breeze, and Jonathan Byers can't look at you. He's all talk. 

"Thanks, Jon," you murmur, rubbing his knuckles. 

He coughs. "You're welcome." 

[vilsoo]

୨⎯ CHAPTER TWO ⎯୧

incubus!fushiguro toji x fem!reader

꒰ ✟ ꒱ GENRE: horror, demon au, nsfw 18+, porn with plot.

꒰ ✟ ꒱ SUMMARY: Sex demons are not as provocative as you think they are. Not only do they engage in sexual acts with humans, they thrive off their flesh and haunt them in their nightmares. When an incubus disguised as a Reverend turns a hungry eye on one of the parishioners, gruesome events at the cathedral slowly unfold; blasphemy, gore, and terror…

꒰ ✟ ꒱ CHAPTER WARNINGS: blasphemy, WC: 2,396

PREVIOUS • MASTERLIST • NEXT CHAPTER

written in toji's pov, narration style similar to the Netflix show, "You." pov may also change in future chapters. this takes place in a fictional setting; St. Reze University & Cathedral.

"Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession..."

Father Getou Suguru, the priest who ordained me as a clergy member and who I work for now, would sometimes put me in charge of confessionals whenever he’s busy. Obviously I hated it. Sitting in this mahogany booth, listening to the sins and confessions of these miserable penitents that don’t even matter to me. Sometimes out of boredom I'd feel tempted to manipulate them out of their faith, but I couldn't afford to lose my job. I had no choice.

This evening I was starting to feel a bit sluggish while confessionals were ongoing. Some were short, some were emotional, and some just didn't know what to say in the midst of nervousness or inexperience. I didn’t even have to say much except for making up their penance as I try not to fall asleep. But as I sat down and pondered while this young male penitent babbled to me, the memory of you on your knees before me during Eucharist… haunted me.

“…But this one nightmare I had a few days ago, Reverend— call me dramatic, I don’t care… but when I woke up, I woke up literally gasping for my life. I couldn’t stop thinking about it that I got so distracted in class. It disturbs me when I even think about it. What should I do?”

And suddenly a wave of clarity washed over me when the male’s unsettled voice blended with the flashback of us under the rain hours ago. It took awhile to register what he said, especially when he mentioned nightmares.

Across the decorative screen, I frowned and remained silent. It was a little frustrating taking my focus off of you and onto another concern. Perhaps this evening confession had slightly intrigued me, especially knowing the true, daunting origins of nightmares that have been ongoing. And not just any plain nightmare that adults get from stress or medications. Majority of people tend to forget those that come and go, but if they continue lurking within one’s mind for several weeks…

“Hm. You got insomnia or something, kid?” I inquired, deciding not to think too deep about this. Whatever the fuck I smoked earlier had me overthinking too much. I’m peeved about it.

“Um. I'm twenty two," the man demurred. "But, no… I don’t have insomnia, surprisingly.”

“Then don’t sweat it. Just know that you can expect spiritual nourishment in a religious campus like this," I assured sardonically. “But in case that doesn’t work… start booking your therapy sessions.”

“Therapy?” he marveled. “Wow. This is the first time a Reverend gave me a penance like that. I thought you were gonna suggest something, like, plain old prayer and scripture.”

“Churches are all full of narcissists like that, kid. Now end off with a prayer and go.”

The man thanks me and proceeds with his final prayers and blessings before leaving. I sat alone in the booth for what felt like more than five minutes, waiting for any penitent left to come in. I couldn’t sense any human presence roaming about the ambulatory and transepts nearby, which had me relieved. But just as I was about to open the door and make my way from my debased duties as a Reverend, I can hear someone scurrying towards the booth and entering inside.

I sighed exasperatingly and cursed under my breath, throwing my head back against the mahogany wall and sulked. Though it was strange that my heightened senses weren’t able to detect anyone outside the booth, I was feeling rather passive aggressive. Whoever this person was caught me off guard completely; it’s always been a bad habit of mine to put my pride first before anything.

“Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession."

That voice. That silky, radiant honey and velvety voice— You. I decided to not speak and peered through the latticed opening into the opposite side of the dark wooden compartment and see that it was really you as the penitent. My penitent. An opportunity for me to see you plead for advice and dwell in your personal relationship with your god. My disinterest may or may not have been lifted after recognizing you…

“I confess that I have been distracted from my relationship with you,” you continued bashfully. “All of my time has been taken up by school, work, the people in my life… I even encountered someone that I couldn't stop thinking about the whole night."

I shifted in my seat, the wood slightly creaking as I crossed my legs and waited for you to elaborate. My heart felt heavy with anticipation, but I still remained silent. I could see you, but you couldn’t see me. I must admit, the way you’re indirectly speaking to me right now did bring a little amusement…

“He’s… he’s a Reverend for the church that I’ve never seen before. An older man with a gravely voice and a scar on the corner of his mouth. But there was something about him that makes me feel, I don’t know— bewitched, probably? Is that the right word? Well, I couldn’t focus during the Eucharist because of my… unwanted lust for him…”

After indulging in your confessions and finally hearing your lascivious truth, what you confessed to me seemed to bewitch me as well. And I felt a growing flame of rage from allowing this to happen to me, intoxicating my inhibitions like fire to gasoline, stinging me like push pins sliding into my skin. After our unexpected encounter tonight, all you could ever think about was me, just how all I could ever think about was you.

“I always come on Sundays. But this is my first time coming to the Saturday sermon, which means I might never see him again. I ask for your forgiveness of my sins, father. I also pray for your guidance to avoid whatever leads me to sinful thoughts and temptations like this. You are my god. I would never worship another being like you. In his name, my god, have mercy.”

You left the booth shortly after that, not giving me the chance to speak at all. Surprisingly that was the first confessional where I didn't have to respond to my penitent and only remained silent. Props to you for making my job easier.

But after hearing you beg to your god to avoid the sinful thoughts of lust and covet because of me… I've never felt so captivated over this. Over a human. You were the key to my dark little fairy tale that I'm so aching to taste. A chance for a lost little lamb to experience danger, corruption… and sin.

The way you’ve been provoking me tonight has me infuriated, I admit. My ongoing battle of cunning, dark, and sinister thoughts within my conscience, where I’d be tempted to corrupt these Catholic sheeps for my own satisfaction. Now I’m the corrupted one. I hate you for that. You're so ashamed to face sin, ashamed to face me. If I am your sin, then you're my impiety; I will forever have irreverence for your god without giving a damn. And what every demon like me caters to mortals, we fulfill them until they're dripping with sin and corruption.

When I left the booth and wandered down the nave, I sat on the front pew and grunted in exhaustion. I sat there for awhile, arching my neck back against the top edge like I was floating. Manspreading, my hands slid into my pockets then halted when I felt something. Your rosary.

I scrutinized it once again. Immediately my mind is cascaded by the thought of you during communion. You looked at me like I was no stranger, drinking the sight of me instead of that holy wine. A glimpse sublime, the most hypnotically sensual thing I’ve seen in this life. So ruthless of you to do. I find myself smitten by it when I play it in my mind, sanctifying me more than any holy concept in this church. I just couldn't get enough. I just couldn't stop replaying it in my head…

I glanced down at my slacks. When you looked at me drinking that wine on your knees… Oh, I was a man gone wild. Arousal had blossomed in my pelvis like an unwanted guest. My vivid imagination of you right there, right between my legs, kissing and worshiping me like how you kiss and worship the grace of your god. The never-ending eye contact. Bestowing that sweet mouth for my cock until I fuck into your throat…

Suddenly there was a noise. A noise that sent the synapses of my brain frozen, immediately taking my hand off my slacks and darting my head to the left. A strange echo reverberated through the stair tower. I held my breath and tried to make out another sound that would come from downstairs. Such eerie sounds don't really bother me, but it made me realize I wasn't the only one here at church late at night.

At first there was a hiss-like sound— like a giant serpent slithering, or the sharp growl of a feral beast. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination fucking with me again, but such grotesque noise made me think someone's flesh was getting torn apart, followed by a prowling snarl.

There were faint screams, similar to the faint screams of the putrid souls back in Hell. But I couldn’t exactly tell because of the incense on the altar taking over my senses. My heart rate staggered and I could feel my lungs tightening from holding my breath. I was slightly perturbed, I admit. But just as I was about to stand up and investigate, a soft-spoken voice was suddenly heard from my right side.

“Toji?”

I averted to the opposite direction as if I was pulled back into a quieter reality, seeing a brunette woman in a habit. Her pale face emanated from the dark corners, approaching closer to the pew I sat at.

"Oh. It's you." The corner of my mouth stretched to a small smile as Sister Shoko Ieiri stood nearby, shoving the pearl rosary in my pockets. "What'cha doing here so late, hm?"

"I could ask you the same thing,” Shoko taunted. "I was closing the church and then I found you here. Were you on confessional duty?"

I nodded, letting her sit beside me and sighed out of exhaustion. Something shiny from her chest caught my eye— a hematite and aurora crystal bead rosary with a sterling silver pendant. It was much larger than the wooden rosary she would usually carry around. I watched as she weakly twisted it between her fingers, her expression growing melancholic.

"Everything alright?" I spoke low, trying my best to be sympathetic for the nun. She remained inanimate for awhile, like she was lost in her own complicated thoughts.

“Well, I’ve been getting less sleep..."

"Why's that?"

“…I’ve been feeling a little sick lately.” Sister Shoko rubbed her eyes and sniffled. “I’m gonna be locking the doors now, so you coming?”

This woman was obviously lying. However, I didn't really care that much to force her to open up to me. My intentions aren’t to get too involved with humans and their problems, especially with Shoko since she has a lot weighing down on her shoulders. As merciful as I can be, I followed her and waited as she locked the church doors outside.

"Want me to walk you to your car?" I ask.

Shoko hauled the keys off the doors to the narthex, slightly turning her face to me. “Uh, sure," she vacillated, smiling weakly. "I didn't take you as that kind of guy, honestly."

I pushed my shoulder off the walls and head down to the parking lot, my hands fidgeting with your rosary in my pocket. Then I kept thinking about what I've heard at the staircase tower near the cathedral’s balcony, glancing at every corner warily. The winds were small tonight, a tranquil stillness of the dark night surrounding us both while the beams of the moon shatter the sky.

"So. How are you and Sister Utahime?" I inquired, breaking the silence and my thoughts.

The brunette nun smiled down at the gravelly pavement, softly scoffing as a shade of red glowed at her cheeks. "Ah, you know. We're doing good. Thinking about moving in together next year."

"Oh. You could've brought her with you tonight, you know."

“I know," she pouted. "But she's usually asleep at this time and I didn't want to bother her. What about you, Fushiguro?"

"Hm?"

"Do you have any girl on your mind right now?" she simpered, pretending to act like some nosy high school girl. "C'mon, you sure look like you can pull anyone."

At first, I thought she was bluffing. "Nah," I replied, clutching the crucifix of your rosary chiseled firmly and sharp to my fingertips.

We finally reached her car, waiting as she fumbled with her keys to unlock it. "You sure?" she teased. "What about that girl I saw with you earlier today for the Eucharist?"

I deadpanned. "What girl?"

Shoko's shoulders dropped in disappointment. "Are you serious? The girl that drank from your wine! I've seen the way you looked at her."

I gazed into the sky as if I was pretending to remember. "Oh. Her," I spoke slowly. "I barely even know her, Shoko."

The brunette pulled her car door open. "Well, when I saw you two, it definitely looked like more than that."

"That’s insane. All she did was take the drink, what made you come up with that?” I say sardonically.

“Oh, don’t gaslight me, Fushiguro.” I wait as she stepped inside to the driver's seat and turned on the engine. "But, I thank you for keeping me company tonight.”

I smiled weakly, disregarding everything that she just speculated. “No problem. Have a goodnight.”

“You too, Toji.”

I close the door for her and watch as the nun drives away, left alone under the pale moonlight. I turn my head at the cathedral again for awhile, scanning the east stair tower outside. If the doors were unlocked and I had the motivation to investigate where that noise came from, I would've done so already. But I decided to drop it for now…

What am I to do with a stranger like you from now on?

TAGS: @suget @azanthys @haezen @heavenlyevil @saturniac @vampnyx @killzenin @diorsbrando @endurablerose @slut-manifesto @maxytx-blog @sugucidal

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO/POISEUNS © 2023. originally published April 10, 2021. do not steal, plagiarize, or translate without permission. do not repost or share any of my works where minors have access.

[prpfz]

good day, everyone! i'm a 23 transmasc writer, looking for an 18+ partner to pair a F character against my M mafia enforcer guy! before you slam the like button expecting a stereotypical age gap smut plot, PLEASE read more about what i'm looking for! this plot is dead dove 🕊️ in some respects (i.e. gore, torture, potential abuse, etc.), and not in others.

the plot i have in mind is as follows: YC is in debt to the mob, either due to a desperate personal situation, or a family member's debts being passed onto them. regardless, she has a choice: pay back the money in full (which she doesn't have), or take on a part-time job within the family. she ends up forced into the role of a cleaner, scrubbing up the blood and viscera after people get on the wrong side of the family. MC (early 20s) is a particularly reliable enforcer, almost a right-hand man of the boss. he's a strong, silent type, with more blood on his hands than he cares to keep track of. he's forced to stay after his work is done to keep an eye on YC for the first two jobs, and they end up begrudgingly bonding. i'd love for this relationship to extend beyond just work! getting to know one another, YC helping MC out of his shell, MC helping to protect YC, etc. really allowing things to develop slowly and naturally between them. note that MC will take quite a while before warming up to anything too romantic, hence why i'm seeking to make this a slow-burn.

the vibes i'm hoping for here are a slow bonding, humanizing a 'monster,' adapting to terrible circumstances, bonding through mutual suffering, and finding some hope at the end of it all in one another. i would love a partner who's open to playing other characters on the side as needed, including friends, family, etc. a way to build the world out, really. being able to muse and discuss with me is a plus, as i work two jobs and can't get a reply out every single day. my response speed varies from once to three times per week, usually, though it may pick up a bit by the end of august. we'll see!

i write only on discord, and prefer advanced literate to novella plots (at LEAST one full discord message, but i can go upwards of five if given enough to work with). i love getting into the environment and how the characters are thinking and feeling. i do have a real life FC for him picked out that i won't be changing, nor will i be picking out one for you. YC is yours to decide! POC and trans F characters more than welcome. if you don't vibe with real life FCs, though, i'm more than willing to adapt and stick to descriptions only.

if this interests you (and you're going to contribute to plotting beyond just agreeing with everything i throw out), then please drop a like! i'll shoot you a message. when responding to it, please give me an idea about who you are as a writer and any potential ideas or questions you may have for me. thanks! 🖤

Leave a like, and anon will get back to you!

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

Agent Rushmore (CH 6)

Leroy Jethro Gibbs X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 1118

Warning: Mild language, violence, gore, guns, fluff, smut, angst, PTSD, graphic scenes…

Prompt: Special Agent Locklyn Rushmore, a highly trained Russian assassin who is skilled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, negotiating and more. When her cover is blown, she is returning back to NCIS headquarters in D.C…

Locklyn Rushmore's POV

My eyes open as sunlight shines through the curtains. I glare at the window, hearing a quiet groan as I'm pulled closer.

I look down, smiling when I see Gibbs' arm around my bare waist. My head was rested on his chest. Our legs were intertwined. My own arms were wrapped around him.

This was the safest and the most relaxed I've ever felt. I feel his fingers rubbing circles on my hip and I knew he was awake. Neither of us said anything. We just stayed in each others hold.

The blankets were hardly over our hips I didn't miss the growing tent in the blankets. I look up at him and he looks at me.

"Need a little help?" I ask.

"And here I thought you'd be sore after last night." He muses.

My cheeks flushed. Last night was the most epic sex I've had in my life. It started out slow when he realized it's been years for me. But, it progressively got faster and rougher. In fact, he has to repair a few spots on the wall where the headboard was hitting against the wall so violently.

I was sore. It was more uncomfortable than anything. I kick the blankets off of us, straddling him and looking down at him. He moves his arms behind his head, a small smirk on his face as he slowly looks over me. I grab his hard length, slowly lowering myself down on him.

I moan softly, feeling myself stretch and he grunts, moving his hands to my hips.

We so easily got lost in each other.

We didn't need words. We just moved. It was like we knew each other for years, when in fact it has only been a matter of days. Yet, we clicked so perfectly. Like a bunch of puzzle pieces.

The both of us seeking comfort in one another from our haunting pasts.

"Jethro!" I moan, coming and he grunts, pulling my hips down roughly as he comes.

I lean forward, breathing heavily and he leaves a kiss on my temple as his arms wrap around me. We stayed like that for a few minutes before we decided to get up. He let me have the shower, telling me he'd make breakfast.

I was relieved and so glad to get cleaned up. I pull the toothbrush out of my bag, brushing my teeth before styling my hair in loose waves. I pull on a white v-neck that hugged my figure perfectly, leaving nothing to hide. The neckline dipped lower than normal and showed quite a bit of my cleavage.

I pull on black dress pants that hugged my legs and my ass before my eyes dance across the different hickeys. I did not have all the makeup needed to hide these. I sigh, pulling on some heels before doing a light thing of makeup. I grab blazer, pulling it on before going downstairs.

He hands me a plate, the both of us sitting it eat in silence. He mumbles that he's going to go get ready. I finished eating, deciding to clean the kitchen up before I go to the living room to grab my sidearm and badge. I sit, staring down at my hands.

"Svetlana, get over here!" Kenzo snaps.

I leave his family, a feeling of nervousness washing over me. I've never felt this way. I've always be calm and collected just how I like it.

He pulls me into his study, closing the door before turning to me with dark eyes. I could see the fire burning in them and I knew I stood no chance.

"Yes?" I whisper.

"I told you to stop talking business. You are a woman. Learn you place." He snaps, smacking me.

I nod, staring at the floor. It was moments like these I wished to no longer be undercover. I desperately craved to return to my normal life, but I knew this case was far from over.

There were days when no one was around that I'd stand in front of a mirror to remind myself that I was Locklyn Rushmore and not Svetlana Yákov. The longer I was undercover, the more my identities mixed.

Both Svetlana and Locklyn have had pasts so cruel and brutal. Not to mention that both identities had a fiery red-head Russian woman.

"You okay?" Gibbs asks quietly.

I look up to notice that he was leaning against the doorframe. He was dressed for work, but I'm going to guess he's been there for a few minutes.

"Yes. Sorry." I say.

"Rule six, never say you're sorry." He says.

"You have a rule for everything, don't you?" I ask.

"Almost. Do you want to...talk about it?" He asks.

"You've gone undercover before, right?" I ask.

"I have, but never as long as you." He says.

"I think that's my issue. I was undercover so long, it was getting to a point it was like...my identities were mixing. There was me...then Svetlana." I say.

"Yeah." He murmurs, urging me on.

"It got to the point I would stand in front of a mirror when I knew I was alone and I'd remind myself that I was Locklyn Rushmore, not Svetlana Yákov. Both my undercover identity and true identity have gone through such tragic lives that I think the lines started to blur. But, there was no one I could talk to—as Locklyn. I was alone and had to be Svetlana. Any information I had, I would leave at drop offs or I would text from my burner. even doing that was risky. And there was no casual conversation. I'd get one little response back. Received." I explain.

"Locklyn...your right. Your not Svetlana. Your Locklyn Rushmore. An NCIS agent with one hell of a track record. You are a phenomenal agent and person." He says.

"A good or bad track record?" I ask quietly.

"Good. You may not have had anyone when you were undercover, but you have an army now and we are all here for you. We weren't there and we don't even know where to begin to understand what you went through. But, we will be here to listen and to help you through this. Being undercover is hard enough. I can't imagine five years. Your a very strong and brave woman, Locklyn." He says.

"Thanks Gibbs...the same goes to you. I know your probably not much of a talking person, especially about feelings...but it does feel good to let it out." I admit and he hums, smiling slightly.

"I'll think about it. Come on. Let's get you back to NCIS." He says and I nod.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

hi its me your local cerus enjoyer 🖤 may i request #5 and #2 from the “whump fun” section of that prompt list game for him?

Thanks for sending prompts! you know it's a good combo when I immediately know exactly what I'm gonna do with it

a spark of hope + revenge

cw: referenced abuse, blood, explicit gore

from this game ///// Penumbra Masterlist

§•§•§

"Are you alright?"

It was a question Cerus hadn't heard since he was a very young boy, a question he hadn't expected to ever hear again, especially not in this coaldust-streaked hell.

He almost thought he'd dreamt it.

He'd been sick for days now, a fever burning away at his strength like fire on candlewick, and the tiresome, never-ending work had finally become too much for him. Only by some miracle had he made it out of the mountain before collapsing.

"Are you alright?"

The question came again, insisting on its own reality, and when Cerus managed to lift his head, he found himself staring into the bright eyes of a sandy-haired young man. He was half-crouched above him, an expression of concern on his face.

Concern. Didn't he know who he was standing over? Didn't he know better than to care?

When Cerus didn't answer, the man didn't shout at him, or try and beat a response out of him. Instead, he fully knelt.

"You don't look well. Please, let me help." He extended a hand, and Cerus watched it warily. Not that he'd be able to prevent it, should the hand decide to harm him.

"Why?" he asked.

"I am to assist the Healer. It will be my job to see to the well-being of the miners."

"It's not seventh day. The Healer isn't here," Cerus muttered, and the words felt like sand in his mouth, grating against his tongue and throat. Why was he even bothering to speak? Either this would end in pain or it wouldn't, and he certainly had no say in the outcome.

"I wanted to meet the people I'd be helping," the man said, breaking into a sunshiny grin. "My name is Yven."

"Cerus," he practically spat in return. If the man had been oblivious before, surely now he'd—

"A pleasure to meet you, Cerus. Shall we get you to a bed?"

Impossible.

"You… don't you know who I am?" 

Puzzlement crossed Yven's face as he wrapped an arm around Cerus's torso. "You are a convict," he said. "And a former mage, judging by the marks you bear."

Standing proved difficult, even with assistance from Yven, and though it had been months since his shattered bones were mended, pain still spiked through his legs when he placed his weight on them. But right now, Cerus could ignore it. Right now, he was wholly preoccupied trying to figure out what to make of this young healer.

"You are right on both counts," he said, and mentally debated if he should say more, or leave it there. Letting Yven help him when he didn't know the full truth was cowardly, but Cerus was almost too tired to care. Misery was a constant, would now always be a constant. Why not let the younger man help him in his blissful ignorance? Why not allow himself some scrap of comfort, no matter how dishonorable it felt?

And so he said no more, leaning heavily on Yven as he guided him towards the Healer's barracks. The little building was empty when they stepped inside, another small thing to be grateful for. More time to rest in untruth.

Yven helped him into a bed, a real bed, and pulled a soft cotton blanket over him. It was nothing short of bliss. The thought of getting true sleep, of being allowed to hide here, unbothered, for even just a day was almost too much for Cerus to grasp.

He barely noticed when the healer stepped away to lock the door. The click of a lock—of shackles, of doors—was a daily occurrence, and Cerus couldn't find a reason to question it.

Yven returned to his bedside, setting a heavy-sounding bag on the floor beside him. The back of a cool hand pressed against Cerus's forehead, accompanied by a small 'hm'.

"You're burning up. I ought to get you some good hot broth from the kitchens." He sat on the floor. Cerus heard the sounds of metal hitting metal as he rummaged through his bag, and thought nothing of it. One by one, Yven withdrew things he couldn't see and set them on the floor beside the bed with muted thuds. Then he stood, a small pot of blue dye and a brush in his hands.

Mender's paint. A tool for apprentice or novice healers, or sometimes masters if they were taking on a particularly complex or life-threatening wound, it was used to draw runes on a patient's body to assist in concentration and lessen the magical load.

Once upon a time, when Cerus was a child naive enough to think he could master light magic without consequence, he'd practiced with the substance. Now he lay still as Yven dipped the brush into the pot and drew lines of blue over his torso.

Was he trying to quell the fever? Most healers dealt solely in wounds of the flesh, and while Cerus's flesh certainly wasn't unbloodied, Yven seemed more concerned with his illness. Perhaps the younger man thought closing half-healed wounds and mending cracked bone would ease the strain on his body. He certainly wouldn't be wrong, were that his intent, but the runes he was painting seemed far too intricate for simple work such as that.

Yven seemed to register the confusion on Cerus's face, and offered a small smile.

"You'll need strong bodily healing to survive," he offered, making one final curl with the brush before tucking it away.

To survive? The phrasing only brought on more confusion, steeped in a sense of unease that coiled inside him like a viper.

"After all, you've been sentenced to live, haven't you?"

As Yven said the words, panic shot through Cerus like darkness converging on a snuffed candle. Momentarily heedless of his weakened state, he sat up, eyes wide, only to be easily shoved back down by Yven.

"I know who you are. Of course I know who you are," the young healer hissed, leaning in close, one palm flat and heavy in the center of Cerus's chest. His heart pounded against it, blood rushing in his ears, head spinning.

"How could I forget the shadow that fell over my home? The unholy things that crawled from their graves and tore apart the living?" Yven's hand raked through his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking his head back. "Your evil has stained all of Feyadel. No one will ever forget what you've done."

He knew that, he knew that, why had he expected this new healer's treatment to be anything other than this?

Yven suddenly pulled away, reaching for something on the floor, coming back with a knife.

Cerus was too shocked to even scream as the younger man plunged it into his stomach, right between two blue runes. The pain only reached him when Yven withdrew the blade, blood following the metal out of the wound. And with it came a numb sense of relief.

That it was finally over, that someone had at last had enough of seeing him continue to live and breathe. Cerus embraced the pain in his core, and willed his vision to darken, willed his body to shut down quickly…

But then Yven was covering the split flesh with his hand, chanting under his breath, eyes and runes glowing a cool blue, and Cerus felt the wound begin to close. Within minutes, the skin had sealed, leaving Cerus silently shaking with the memory of it.

He had little time to register what had just happened before Yven dug the blade in again, burying it to the hilt, pinning Cerus with his free hand as he dug a scarlet line from hip to hip. Cerus's scream didn't sound like much of a scream for long, rising in pitch and desperation until it sounded to his ears like something inhuman. A death keen of a dying beast, a shriek from an unholy demon.

Maybe that was all it really was.

It tapered off into a helpless cry as Yven slid a hand into the wound, and that weakened to shallow gasps as the healer began to dig around inside, fingers tangling through guts, brushing organs, tearing at the bits of tissue that held everything together.

He couldn't remember how to beg, or even scream. He couldn't remember how to breathe. 

He convulsed as Yven squeezed and pulled at the parts of him that were never meant to see the light, the pain and deep feeling of intrusion, of wrongness drowning out everything else but the ripping, squirming hand.

The feeling eventually began to fade, and with it his consciousness; an icy numbness spreading through his body like frost, slowly reaching up to take away his senses. But by then, Yven's hand, gloved in scarlet, was hovering above his stomach, and the wound was closing.

Even with the healing, the residual pain left Cerus gasping and trembling, unable to form coherent thoughts or pleas. It felt like a den of snakes had burrowed into his gut and were set on eating their way through him.

The second healing looked to have drained Yven, and there was a tremor to the healer's hands as he washed away the blood. He didn't say another word to Cerus, not that it would've mattered if he had. He'd done what he'd come here to do, what so many others here itched to do.

Blood for blood. Pain for pain.

And as Cerus watched the young healer exit the barracks on shaky legs, the image hazy and distant, he found himself unable to blame him.

§•§•§

Tag list:

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them , @pigeonwhumps , @itsmyworld23 , @andromeda-liske , @starlit-hopes-and-dreams , @haro-whumps , @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

[rimupon]

While I wouldn't say I'm new to Youjo Senki, I'm not particularly deep into it either. (Watched the anime a few years ago, rewatched it every few months, only recently started the manga) However, I would still like to ask for fanfic recommendations, because I'd like to see everyone's favourite child soldier in Situations. So yea, recommendations?

Omg I’m sorry it took so long for me to answer I completely forgot this was in my inbox aaaa

So, a long while ago I actually did write up a fic rec list. but I think by now I have a few more things I could add to it…? I don't really have a lot more, so I’d recommend checking that one if you want more than what I have here.

Ok first, I wouldn’t necessarily say this is one of my personal recommendations, but literally since I saw the name 'necromancerfan' in my notifications, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I was like 'Do they know? Are they referencing it? That couldn’t possibly be the case, but…' So, purely because of your name:

The Necromancer by LeviTamm The author is a really good writer, Tanya’s inner dialogue & reactions are absolutely fucking hilarious, she’s so sick of everything. But I can only really 'recommend' this with a HUGE warning and disclaimer that this fic has some pretty heavy and graphic descriptions of gore and violence. I’m talking five whole chapters of mutilation and torture. Quite disgusting descriptions imo. I personally did not finish it, but I also have friends that swear it’s good and the gore isn’t that bad. It's a matter of taste and sensitivity, I think. I really recommend you read the full author’s note at the beginning so you know what you’re getting into and from there decide whether it’s something you can read.

Ok, that was probably a bit of a weird one to start with, but I couldn’t not mention it, y'know. Moving on!

This would not be a fic rec list if I did not expound the virtues of my dear friend Tan. (Ao3 Link)

You should read all their fics really, they’re great. If you’re looking for a place to start, a non-exhaustive unordered list of my recent personal favorites: Paradise Praxis, Keychains, How I Met Your Uncle, Those Who Dare, Just Guys Being Dudes, The Ending You Desired

There’s more but if you let me continue we’d be here all fucking day and by the end I would’ve just linked their whole account.

The Devil on the Throne by springpoweredtoaster In summary, the whole Commonwealth royal family dies, leaving the government to scramble to find a still-living blood relative. This leads to Tanya becoming the Queen. I don't believe I’m fully caught up anymore, it’s been updated since I last checked in, but I remember really loving the first book.

A Young Girl's Delinquency Record by GremlinJack I think this is one that gets put on a lot of rec lists, but I didn't include it in my previous recommendations because I hadn’t read it at the time. Now that I have, I’m doing so. In summary, Tanya becomes a wanted international criminal on the run, and starts picking up many successful business ventures. Also Visha/Tanya is the focal ship.

Hostage by TheVideoGamer This is another one I kinda hesitate to recommend, but this time it's because of the subject matter. I really do feel like it’s a good fic if you’re looking for angst, but I have to recommend it with a huge trigger warning. This fic covers the topic of child sexual abuse, absolutely don’t read it if that’s a trigger for you.

The only reason I can recommend this fic is that it is NOT written as a lolicon rape fetish to get off on, it’s treated as the serious and delicate matter that it is. Summary for this one is that Tanya ends up taken hostage by Loria.

If you’re (rightfully) concerned, here are spoilers below if you want to know how it ends to determine whether you want to read it.

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While it is attempted, sexual abuse is stopped before it can happen. Physical abuse does happen in this fic, though. In the end, Tanya does end up rescued and brought back to the empire, and Loria is killed.

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Alright, I think that's the end. In the end I didn't really have much to add, I suppose? Thank you for asking though!

[gurokichi]

I could never become bored of you, not that easily, at least! You are my Bon, you can't get rid of me that easily <3

Yeah, I got 2 kitties! Both of them are boys, and their names are Pickle and Bean! Maybe one day you'll get to see pictures of them! I also have a dog, snails, isopod, beetles, chickens, and hermit crabs! Got a bit of a zoo around here!

I'll definitely watch some of your suggestions, and I will be sure to tell you my thoughts! Just another excuse to talk to you!

I will hopefully be posting on my blog again soon, and I am so excited to now that I know you will be watching my blog (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

I mainly read fiction, distopian, and horror/gore. But also, like when books have lgbt+ characters, and have read a few Manga! I just borrowed a book from a friend called "The Corpse Queen" by Heather M. Herrman, I strongly suggest it, I've also just started reading a GL Manga series called "Whisper Me a Love Song" and so far have been really enjoying it!!! I like plants in many ways, I learn about plants, I grow both indoor and outdoor plants, and I have a fascination with all living or once living things,,, and they happen to fit in that category too!!! I don't think I could pick just one flower as my favorite, but I do enjoy Asters a lot! Bleeding hearts? awe, it makes sense that a sweetie like you would love a poisonous flower!

What video games do you like to play? I'd love to hear all about your current favorite game! What part of history do you like so much? Oh and you collect things too! I would love to hear all about your little hoards 💕

-Dolly

I’M YOUR BON?? ASJHFSHBHKHGSGHFHJKSHLJS (＞＜)

Okay. Anyways. Sorry, got a lil excited there... I’m your Bon, and you’re my Doll!! All mine!!! I’m glad to hear that you wouldn’t get bored and leave. I’d do anything to make sure my precious doll stays with me!

AWH, they sound so darling. You have so many… how do you keep up with all of them??That’s really cool, though! You definitely have some uncommon pets.

I’m excited to hear your thoughts (๑>◡<๑)

I will definitely be watching my doll’s blog! How could I not? Anyone would find it hard to take their eyes off you. Besides, I’d love to see more of your posts when you decide to go back to it.

Ah, those are all good genres! Thank you for the recommendation, and I’ll check out the manga you mentioned later. Asters are gorgeous; my doll has great taste in flowers!!

I usually prefer games with long stories. I like RPGs and visual novels the most! I find pixel art really nice to look at, so a lot of my favorite games feature that. I’ve been playing through a farming sim called Fields of Mistria lately; it’s been really enjoyable so far! The best way I could describe it is as a mix of Stardew Valley and Animal Crossing. As for my current favorite games, they’re probably… Minecraft, Danganronpa, Persona 5 Royal, and Identity V. I’m not finished playing through P5R, but I like it so far. I’m currently replaying and trying to get all achievements in every Danganronpa game! I’ve finished Trigger Happy Havoc, and I’m now working on Goodbye Despair. Having a bit of trouble though, because I have a friend I’m sharing my Steam library with who is ALSO playing through the Danganronpa games. I can’t play the games until they get off, bleh. AH, I also started a playthrough of Red Dead Redemption 2. I suck ass at it. I ended up punching my horse when trying to get on it. I also drew my gun on it multiple times. So sorry to my horse, it did not deserve that. It took me like 10 minutes and frantic googling to figure out how to get back on my horse after I accidentally got off (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Do you play any videogames? If you do, I’d love to hear about what you like to play.

Ah, I just like history in general. I love to learn about things. Some things that caught my interest for awhile in the past though are torture/execution methods, the Chernobyl disaster, the Carrington event, WW2, old medical treatments, and Greek mythology. I haven’t been into history as much lately.. so I probably couldn’t explain anything here well.

I do collect stuff! I have a collection of various plushies, figurines, keychains, and knickknacks stored in my room. I think my favorite things that I own are probably my jar of uranium glass and this stunning piece of bismuth I got just a couple weeks ago. I’d like to start a full on collection of uranium glass, but that’s expensive, and I have no idea where I’d put it. Uranium glass is absolutely gorgeous, though! I hope to at least get a couple more pieces in the future.

[blubushie]

RANT/NSFT/SOME TRAUMA-DUMPING INCOMING

Sometimes I think about how I could just suddenly decide to make this a Sniper roleplay blog one day and not tell anyone and no one would notice because nothing would change.

"Yeah nah I'm out in New Mexico for a job–" I've already been to New Mexico for work. Expected.

"This month's target is–" Sometimes I do have specific targets. Sometimes I take bounties. Massive razorback that's already gored 2 sheep to death and wounded a third? Gonna pay me $500 to kill him? I'm on it. I'll bring the bastard's hide back in two days.

"Dad's yelling at me about my job again. Mum's begging me to come home. I've always been an other in my own country. I've never fit in. My own country doesn't want me." All me, baby.

There'd be no difference.

And sometimes people forget that this is my life. That I'm not a roleplay blog. Sometimes people kinda romanticise the whole bushman thing. They only see the upsides and don't see the downsides. I've been involved with some rough crowds. I'm damaged as a human being. I've done some bad things to survive. I'd done bad things because I wanted to. I've lost my head a few times too many. I've almost lost my life a few times more.

How do I look into my father's eyes and expect him not to see the person I've become? How do I hold my mother's hands and expect her not to see the blood on mine?

What people think my life is like—maybe that's my fault. Maybe I talk too much about the fun bits. Maybe I preach too highly of the stars, or the sunrises and sunsets, or the summer storms, or the beaches, or my encounters with the wildlife. Maybe I don't talk enough about how terrifying Australia can be. What it's like to wake up to the smell of smoke and be forced to outpace a bushfire with a smoking engine and a terrified, screaming dog next to you. How I'll wake up in the middle of the night to thunder in the Outback and I'll get Misty and leave because I'm not going to be caught in another tornado. How I've had my windscreen shattered with hail the size of billiard balls. How I've been chased up trees by angry pigs. How I've been caught in floods. What it's like to feel the moisture evaporate off your tongue as you die of dehydration. How I've been so thirsty I've drank my own urine. How I've been so hungry I've eaten dog kibble.

I can't read social situations. I'm autistic, so that's always been difficult, but I've lived in the bush since I was 19. I have spent most of my adult life without human contact. I've tailored myself to Australia's wildlife and that makes me act strange sometimes.

I piss in jars so I can pour them out near my camps to keep dingos away. I think I could take a dingo, but I'm not going to risk the safety of my dog.

I have a tendency to stare because when you stare at dingos and keep eye contact it's a territorial challenge. Stand your ground and they won't attack you. I find myself doing this to people that are no threat to me. It's the clerk at the servo, an old man at the shops, the lady across the street. I've been told it's creepy, and I can't help it.

I've forgotten how to act around people. I've built up this façade all my life to mask the autism because it's ostracised me, so I can appear more "normal," and it's funny how 15 years of masking can be thrown out the window by 3 years alone. Combine that with gradually going more and more feral over the past 3 years and is it any wonder why I can't hold conversations?

I don't smile with teeth because showing teeth to a predator is a challenge. I wake up at every little thing that goes bump in the night. In a house—a house, it's been years since I've lived in a building—sleeping out on the porch is the only way I can sleep. It works until someone drives past the street and I hear tyres and then I'm awake, and it's another half hour until my heart calms down enough to sleep again. I can slow my heartrate by force to get a good shot, but it doesn't work for waking up in a panic because I can't hold my breath long enough to make it work.

I have to sleep with a knife. Usually it's one. If I've had a rough day it becomes two or more.

There's things you see in the bush that change who you are as a person. Things you can't unsee. It's not all peaceful campfires and stargazing and pretty sunrises. There's things that are out there that people know are out there but no one talks about. That other people would call you crazy for saying you saw. Sometimes you'll meet an old blackfella in an Outback town who'll talk to you about it. Most won't, but every now and then there's one that will. It's no consolation. He'll just give you a name, something muttered under his breath that you probably don't catch and definitely can't pronounce, and he'll clap you on the back and tell you that it happens, and if he really likes you he'll give you a tinny and offer to shine your boots "to get the bush off." He'll act like he understands but then he'll turn to the bloke beside him, the one who's just listened in silence the whole time, and say "He's crazy" in words he doesn't know you understand.

Chihuahuas are popular in California. They sound like dingos, and I can't take my dog to the dog park.

I can't sleep. I wake up in cold sweats like I've been running a marathon. I dream of eyes watching me from the darkness, always the same dream. They get closer and I'm trying to keep some pitiful little fire going but it always goes out. I grab my torch, and the battery dies. I hear howls. I wake up. My dad's neighbour has huskies and they let the dogs out every morning at 5:30 on the nose and I can't sleep.

I don't know how to be intimate with people. My clothes stay on. My hat stays on. My sunnies stay on. I treat it like a job. I do my part, and I leave. I've never pursued someone. I've never approached someone first. I don't know what people see in me. I've never let someone kiss me, but I dream about it.

I can't sleep unless I have my back to something. I always have to face the door, see the door, when I'm in a building. I'm left-handed, so my left hand is always empty. I carry four knives on me at all times, or five if I'm in the bush and you count a machete.

Touch was never an issue with me before. Now it is. What few mates I have know not to stand behind me. I have to be approached like a horse--don't approach me from behind and if you do, make sure I know you're there.

I don't show emotion. I express it through touch—hands, or arms, or shoulders. I communicate love like I do with my dog, my best friend and my only companion. I feed her. I provide for her. I pat her head, I pat her back, I run my fingers through her fur, I share my meals with her. I hope she knows I love her. Matilda is my home, and I tend to her carefully. I wash her windows. I keep her petrol tank topped off. I keep her clean and tidy. I fix her flats myself, I never curse her when something goes wrong, I keep her parked in the shade when I can so her engine doesn't overheat. I hope she knows I love her. My rifle is my lifeline, and without her I am useless. I clean her every night, even if I don't use her. I buff out her scratches with a gentle hand, I handload the ammo she fires, I polish her walnut stock. I've memorised her serial number. I know her better than I know myself. She knows me better than I know myself. She's seen me at my worst and at my best. I hope she knows I love her.

I hit a low point last year. I saw a therapist in Melbourne for three weeks. I hate the cities. She wouldn't call me Blu. She called me by my legal name. Strike one. She asked me too many questions about my job, about where I go and what I do. "You said you live out in the bush. It's the 21st century. What are you doing out there that makes you flinch when a car backfires? That makes you so untrusting of people?" Strike two. "You have PTSD symptoms on par with a veteran who's seen combat," she said. "I want to refer you to a doctor who can get you on medication for your anxiety." I've been put on it before. I asked if it'd make my hands shake. I can't shoot with shaking hands. "Living in the bush isn't any way to live. You should sell your guns-" I hate that term, guns. She's a rifle. "-And move somewhere permanent. You should reacquaint yourself with society." Strike three. I never went back.

I can't communicate well through words. People forget that, or maybe they aren't aware to begin with. I'm a good listener, I've been told, but don't expect an articulate response.

Too many people think that trauma is just "something bad that happened to me." Bad things happen to everyone. Most people don't have any kind of trauma. Most people do not have PTSD.

It's one of those things that really bother me. It's usually just edgy teenagers going "oh I'm so traumatised" or just people on social media proclaiming their trauma when it's just "bad thing happened" and not actually trauma. It's been downplayed to a detrimental degree, to a point where any bad thing that happened is now trauma and so nothing is. This also applies to things like intrusive thoughts. I have intrusive thoughts. They're not random impulses like you hear people talking about on TikTok—they're obsessive, disturbing thoughts that you can't stop thinking about. That's what makes them intrusive. Oftentimes they include violence toward yourself or others. Sticking your hair in a bowl of pasta is a random impulse—it isn't an intrusive thought. Seeing someone walking down the street and picturing their dead body is.

One thing about actually having trauma is that you become really good at picking up when people actually have trauma or when they're just saying shit to be edgy and get a reaction out of you. Here's the tip: if they're constantly bringing up their trauma, fair chance they're lying. The thing about trauma is that it's traumatic. It's traumatic to remember, it's traumatic to think about, and you don't want to talk about it. You might bottle it up so much that you end up screaming into the void like I'm doing, or if you really feel safe with someone you might be willing to discuss it, but you don't talk about it unless it's really eating at you. You don't bring it up out of nowhere all the time to remind people of how traumatised you supposedly are. That's attention-seeking, edgy behaviour.

I had a mate dump some pretty heavy stuff on me without warning a few days ago, about some violent thoughts they said they have. That's another tipoff: people who actually have violent thoughts are ashamed of them. They don't talk about them unless very prompted, they don't bring them up out of the blue. I'd only been talking to this person for a month. They were the edgy type, but they're overall kind. I was edgy as a teenager too. I was hurting and I wanted someone to listen. I understand where they came from. I grew out of it, but I understand.

That said, I've got my own stuff going on in my life. Stuff that's happened to me that I don't talk about. Stuff I've done that I don't talk about. I've got my own secrets that I'll take to my grave. I don't have the mental capacity to really handle more. Sure, I can take some venting. I can even take some trauma dumping if you warn me first and don't blindside me with it. If I know someone well enough I can make the effort and try to figure out how to smooth things over, but most of the time I'm at a loss. I am not the person to come to for an emotionally compromising conversation. I am not a therapist.

I told them this and they laid into me. "Can't I tell my friend how I feel? I'm not a therapist either but I listen to people I care about." I reiterated that it's a discussion for a therapist and I'm not one. I was uncomfortable with this conversation. I told them I'm not good at handling emotional stuff. Their response?

"My advice? Fix that. No one will stick around with someone who can't even pretend to care. It took me a long time to learn but I did. I help even when I'm at my lowest. I listen and I care, or I pretend to." I've pretended my whole life. I'm tired of pretending. It's exhausting. "Whatever, you can't help people who don't want help."

People wonder why I don't open up, why I'm stone cold, and that's why. Because when you open up, people will use that shit against you. My job's taught me to be ruthless. I must fire true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will.

And sometimes there's a crack in that façade I've made. Sometimes the soft parts seep through like the solder in a bad weld. Sometimes it drips through my fingers, or my mouth, or my eyes. The difference is that in my line of work it's not something I can let people see. It's a weakness I can't afford to have. But I think the desire for companionship is human. To desire to be intimate, to form friendships, is to be human. My hands were made for holding more than rifles and cartridges. I have more of a purpose in this world than being an equaliser. I'm more than the weapon I've made myself to be.

But then I hear things like that. I hear the parting words of a mate I've lost—"With this attitude you will go on being alone in the bush"—and I wonder if I've already stopped being a person. If I've just solidified the other I've always felt I've been.

I think I lost my humanity a long time ago.

[nagitosasshole]

𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅

Vampire Copia / Papa Emeritus IV

(Dracopia)               x reader 

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤:

◇ Mentions of the Sibling from the first chapter (Meaning mentions of gore. If you haven't read the first chapter, I will try to link it) ◇

◇ Descriptions of sadness, fear, isolation, etc (If you're not in the right headspace for that, please look out for yourself!) ◇

◇ Copia isn't depicted as a 'soft' vampire ◇ 

◇ This is not a 'dark' Copia fic, he's still babey, i just like inflicting trauma upon the characters i write :^) ◇ 

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this chapter includes the ghost fandoms fave tool- google translate!!

yea so sorry bout the obligatory poorly translated italian but im not italian so-

translations will be added at the end

(and further apologizes if copia is out of character. this is just how i think they'd talk / react to things)

thanks!! 

-

ali

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◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇☆☆☆☆☆☆☆Chapter☆2☆☆☆☆☆☆☆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

I stare blankly into my mirror; finally uncovered after nearly a month. The blanket I used to cover it lays damp and discarded on the ground beside my feet, the steam from my shower still clinging to the fuzzy material. With a sigh, I kick the bundle of fabric away, not wanting to even see it. 

Maybe I just need something to vent my emotions, but even my tiny fit leaves me with nothing. Looking back into the mirror I only get the same sunken-eyed, tired face as before.

The droopy, blank expression I've been sporting for the last few weeks is in stark contrast to what it's like internally. 

It's almost funny, really. Inside, my thoughts run rampant, never ceasing from day to day. Endlessly plagued by what I saw and the loss of the only friends I had. Just too much. Always too much.

But outside, you'd be lucky to pinpoint any emotion other than pure exhaustion. I wonder if that will be the case when I see Copia…

Maybe I'll finally show just how much I've missed him, or maybe show my mortification, maybe- maybe I'll even give him one of those terrible wide grins I do when I'm anxious enough. 

Or maybe the sight of him will leave me speechless, making the month's worth of pain and fear come pouring out as I helplessly cling to him-

In turn, clinging to what scraps are left of my normalcy.

I choke a dry sigh from my unused throat as I half heartedly untangle my hair with my fingers, hissing every now and then when my fingers get caught in my messy hair. Afterwards, I brush my teeth and wash my face once more. Having washed it in the shower doesn't feel like enough. I have time to spare before 9:00…another wash couldn't hurt. Maybe then I'll look less pale and more lively. As if I haven't been locked up in my room for a month. 

Once I'm finished, I send my reflection one last empty look before leaving the bathroom, making my way to my closet in search of clothing. Messily routing through my closet,  I find a plain black dress. I send my habit a fleeting glance before quickly looking back to the soft black fabric in my hands. I'm definitely not wearing my habit. 

I don't think I can bear to.

Luckily, the other Siblings will be retired to their rooms by then… 

Hopefully, I'll be unspotted on my way to Copia's room, especially out of uniform. 

With a sigh, I sling the dress over my shoulder and grab my socks and shoes, lazily taking them to the bathroom with me. I set my socks and shoes on the counters neatly, dress folded beside them. Once there's no more needless straightening I can do, i send my clothing one last look before slipping into the empty bathtub. 

my skin slides against the slick surface of the tub still dotted with water from my shower. I plug the tub and fill it with water, trying to pad out my time and keep myself as occupied as possible until 9- deciding that if I were to wear a dress, I'd need to shave my legs even though neither of us will even notice. I just want to feel in control, like I actually look like a person when I see him. 

I crane my neck against the back of my tiny bathtub, head rolling to the side to glance at my dress as my wrist lazily drags the razor against my calves. 

'he likes that one on me…' I drawl out dryly in my head, unable to help the memory of Copia not so subtly stumbling over himself to awkwardly compliment my attire. Muttering under his breath, "Assomigli a Lilith stessa…"

Quick to catch himself, he stumbled out a response that if talking to anyone else but me would make them cringe, 

"E-eh, do not worry about that. I meant to say…you look nice, lovely- Lovely in your dress."

Finishing off his rushed-out compliment with his signature awkward 'eheheh'. 

The memory makes my cheeks flush like it did back then, feeling as if I were a schoolgirl as I force my gaze away from the folded dress. In recent time, when I think of him the blush still follows as it always has- only now followed with an undercurrent of shame. I should be thinking of my fellow Sibling who lost their life. I should be praying for them more, praying that their soul may find peace through their cruel and painful death. 

I'm truly terrible, I know it.

I shouldn't be thinking of better times, face flushing as I helplessly picture the Copia I knew. My face flushes hot with shame as tears prick my eyes, arms firmly locked around my aching knees as I attempt to will my thoughts away.

I can feel the regret and sorrow for my departed Sibling bubbling in my chest, making my heart pound hard and fast against my knees until I have to rest my dizzied head against my knees. 

Funny.

I didn't think I had anymore tears in me. 

◇

Getting ready surprisingly was a breeze. No distractions as I got my clothing in order, deciding that I shouldn't put too much into my appearance. The sole reason being that I just can't. There's a heavy weight in my soul that no cleaning up with decent clothing can hide. Besides, Copia would see right through it. He always has. 

So,

Pointless.

With a weak huff, I stuff my phone under my arm, not really seeing the point in bringing a bag with me to carry the one thing. I pick at and click my nails together as I struggle to steel my nerves, eyes stuck on the door in front of me. 

My nails need to be clipped…

Haven't done anything to them in a month or so. Too long and uneven for my tastes. 

Some are long, longer than even I would like while others are chewed to points, some chewed down to nothing.

Bad. Very bad.

Maybe I should go fix them. I mean, it would only take a min-

No.

No.

Stop it.

Just get it over with.

He's Copia. Your friend.

You can trust him.

I set my jaw in place and grab my doorknob, opening it in a way that would look a whole lot more confident if not for the trembling in my hand.

'I hate this', I humorlessly laugh in my head, body rigid as I glance around the halls.  No sign of any of the ghouls…

Good. Very good. 

I never thought that after everything I've gone through that the ghouls- my friends would make me feel so naked, so exposed. I feel helpless. 

The walk to Copia's quarters is a long one if you're a sibling, but I know the route like the back of my hand. Only serving to make that tight, ever expanding balloon of dread in my stomach feel like it will pop any moment. I know I'm getting closer, I know it. 

'My Lorde, I'm sorry for bothering you, but please look after me tonight. I am lost…please allow me to understand all of this…' my pathetic prayer trails off and dies upon it's arrival, mind overtaken by the sight of Copia's door. (yes, he has a door in this. sorry I don't want this super serious conversation to be heard by Jesus down the hall/j) 

Fuck.

I'm really fucked, aren't I?

Biting down on the inside of my lip hard, I taste pennies as I turn the knob, letting my hand rest in a twisted position for a moment before I finally push on the knob, opening the door with a slow and deafening creak. 

I'm sure I look as meek as I feel as the soft glow of candlelight lightly illuminates my figure, the faint draw of my brows together the only traces of emotion on my face despite my eyes telling everything my face cannot. My eyes scan over his dim room before skidding to a halt. 

There he is.

After all this time.

He stands with a stiff pose, his underhand clenched around the rounded tip of his cane, his upper hand draped over the other lightly in a loose hold. Glancing over the cane, I recognize it from a portrait Sister had done when he was Cardinal and freshly introduced as a leader. I haven't seen that in so long…it feels so familiar yet alien at the same time. 

His pose exudes faux power, but the subtle shifting of his legs and the way his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he tries to will down his anxiety makes it apparent that he's still the same Copia he was back when he was the Cardinal. 

He's only gotten better at making a show- being a Papa. But he's still the same. It's apparently in all the tiny clues on his body. Even the way his eyes shake ever so subtly as he forces himself to hold eye contact. 

But it still infuriates a small part of me. 

It makes me want to walk over and shake him, make him act like a normal fucking person again. His poorly strewn-together Papa personality makes my heart sink and blood boil.

It makes me question why the fuck he even wrote that letter if he's not even going to pretend like he's himself. Acting like I'm just a Sibling, as if I was an underling and I didn't know Copia, I knew Papa. It makes me sick.

More so than anything, the way silence blankets us, gripping us both in silent mortification as we stare into each other's eyes. The same thought running through both of our minds. 

They were so young. Came to this ministry to escape a volatile life, to leave their horrible family in search of a truly understanding one. They found their true family here. Friends, even. They were happy, and always kind to everyone. They vowed their loyalty to the very man who promised a life ripe with pleasures, wealth, and love if only they gave themselves over to their dark Lorde and their Papa- 

The man who consumed their mared flesh out of wild hunger. 

The memory of my fallen Sibling makes my eyes sting, giving me an excuse to look away from his own.

He's asked me to come here, and he wants to seem more put together than he really is. Almost like he thinks I won't want Copia after all these years of us growing closer, only Papa Emeritus IV, the newest, freshest Papa. 

Maybe it's that he's doing this for himself, perhaps to be "strong". It's sad how far he still sinks into his insecurities, even after all these years of me building him up. It's like a moment alone can still make him crumble under the weight of expectations and pretend to be anyone other than himself, at least mostly. 

Sometimes I wonder if he knows Copia.

This is the first time he's asked for my presence since I found out about his little predicament- what he did, accidentally or not. It feels strange how we spent nearly every moment either of us wasn't swamped with work in each other's presence for the better part of 6 years, only to be completely void of interaction for a month. It feels empty without him, I regrettably decided almost immediately.

I admittedly regret that after only a week of fleeting looks and poorly placed letters, I gave up. My chest hurt nearly everyday, pushed forward only by sparse, short letters he'd write back- hardly half of them did he respond. 

When I'd see him return a letter, it filled me with as much excitement as it did pure dread. 

He didn't even sound like himself in his notes. Hardly a hint of fondness or affection my usually starved brain can pick at. 

'Perhaps he's as much of a coward as I am,' I'd think to myself, thoughts halting for a moment before I'd let myself give into my (then) weeks-long soured mood, dryly continuing with, 'Too scared to be rejected in person, or maybe he just doesn't want to see me. I don't blame him.'

My sourness doesn't last long.

It never does. 

It only helps me disguise how truly lost and saddened I feel by my closest companion's departure - by such a catastrophic reveal, no less. 

It's laughable how I should fear him, only for the lingering dread and terror twisting in my empty tummy to be from the thought of our connection being severed.

The thought of being without him. 

  

I'm a terrible person.

"Sister."

I shouldn't be sad for myself.

"Sister."

I can feel him staring at me, I should say something.

"Sister."

At least look at him. Do something-

"Sister!"

I choke out a muted gasp as my eyes dart up to his, body ridged from surprise as my eyes become blurry. His eyes soften immediately at the sight, shoulders slumping from their forced position as he calls out again, softer.

"Sister, please look at me."

I force myself to keep my gaze up as I will down the tears that threaten to spill. It's just too much. The pain, the anxiety, the past weeks, the memories, his eyes, his voice, his mere presence- 

I block out my thoughts completely, doing my best to lock away my emotions and thoughts as I stare up at him. With a voice that sounds foreign to even myself, I speak, "Sorry, Papa." 

That was it. I couldn't think of anything else to say, and really, what could I say? An emotionless apology that says everything and nothing. What I was truly apologizing for, I don't know, but I silently praise the dark Lorde for the fact my apology counts as a response. 

Copia's brows raise and furrow into a look of sympathy, the action making the already deep wrinkles in his forehead all the more apparent. I curse the part of me that wants to press my thumb between his brows to softly smooth against his worried flesh, but I scream at the smaller part of me that wants to smack that sympathetic look off his face. 

Neither reaction is appropriate or right. 

I fucking hate my brain. 

"Sister, i-" Copia halts, brows digging downward, seemingly in distaste before smoothing back into a hesitant expression as he continues, "I want to apologize, (reader). I have kept much from you…" He dryly licks at his painted lips. A nervous habit of his. "I never- I want to tell you that I never wanted you to find out like this. Eh, at all, actually. I- I did not mean it like that-" He cuts himself off with a choked 'eheheh' as he stiffens, coming off far more nervous than he intended. 

He stops himself from rambling again,  frozen in place as he looks to the side, trying his hardest to find the best sentence he can before ultimately scrapping every rough draft his brain conjures. With an internal sigh, he abandons his cane against the side of a nearby shelf and takes a tentative step to me.

His eyes hold mine, but it's not like before- No, his eyes are soft and honest. 

That is not the look of a Papa.

That's the look of Copia. 

I audibly choke back the noises the efforts to hold back my tears cause, the soft straining in my throat noticeable to both of us despite my blank expression. I let him speak.

I want to understand.

He hesitantly reaches forward and gently clasps his larger hand under my own, lifting it up between the two of us as he lightly wraps his other hand utop mine, effectively blanketing my trembling hand with the warmth his leather gloves provide. The way he touches me as if my body is as fragile as my emotional state makes me want to break down right then, to cry until he wraps his arms around me and lets me let it all out- But I don't say anything, not yet.

The only evidence that I'm listening is the few stray tears that fall without my consent. 

"Ti prego, perdonami…Mi dispiace tanto, amico mio…" His eyes shine as he stares into my eyes, the candlelight making them look impossibly glossy as he leans down. He makes a point to bow to my level instead of lifting my hand to his lips, an apology. I feel the traces of his newly grown mustache against my skin, making my paled skin feel hypersensitive to his touch.

I remember when he shaved it.

When he became Papa.

I remember being so distraught over his new face, the loss of his pouty lips, rounded face, but most of all… that wonderful, strong, pointy nose of his and that pencil mustache.

I remember playfully lamenting the loss of his mustache to him and any ghoul that would listen, flooring him since I never did have the courage to compliment it like I wanted to until it was sadly gone. 

He started growing it back a few weeks later. Shaving it periodically when he had to go on tour so he wouldn't have to fight to hide it beneath his opaque papal paints, only to grow it back when he came back home. 

Proudly showing it off when he had his informal paints on around me.

It was endearing, to say the least.

My breath hitches harshly in my throat but neither of us dare make mention of it. I can only stare as his lips linger against my chilled skin, only now gaining some warmth and life. 

I can't help the tears that slip past me as I silently watch him, his words replaying in my mind as my tears softly pelt against his soft brunette hair. 

It would be too much if not for the fact he's here, he's touching me, the real him. I can't bear to pull away from him in fear of him disappearing from my life again, leaving me lost and confused. 

"Non ti merito-" His lips lifts from my skin only long enough to speak, quickly moving forward to press another light kiss to my flesh.

"Mi dispiace-" another small peck, lingering only a bit longer than the previous.

"Sono come sono-" Another, now moving to the bend of my hand, teasing at my wrist as he gently turns my hand.

"Perdonami per favore…per favore…" He whispers out with a wavering tone as he presses a kiss to my now exposed wrist, lingering there with the softest of pressure as he takes in the feeling of my heartbeat. 

Silence blankets us once more as I stare down at him, lashes damp and heavy as my hand shakes in his loose hold. The sight of him as he finally looks up at me makes fresh tears spring in my eyes. His eyes are wet and glossy with unshed tears as his hand lightly twitches against mine, subconsciously seeking the comfort I usually offer him.  

I give his hand a pitiful squeeze. Hardly enough to even be called a squeeze, but it's all I can manage. 

My body feels like lead. As If I could fall, yet stay frozen forever. I feel like fucking shit. 

But even at the tiniest of comforts, his eyes widen almost comically. 

His cheeks move subtly at his attempt to voice something, but it dies before he can even try to entertain whatever is going through his head. Instead, he squeezes back, eyes telling me everything I need to know. 

There's a drawn out silence before I suddenly speak up. Voice meek and pitchy.

"I know…I know you d-" my voice stops, cracking pathetically in my tight throat. "You didn't…mean to. You-" My eyes dart up to look at him, only to have to look back at his chest instantly. His expression is too much. 

"You're not…a monster…"

Silence. Pure silence. 

"You didn't…" I shake my head in a useless attempt to rid myself of the memory of that Sibling. Eyes stinging as my throat squeezes around my words. "I-"

With that, a choked sob rips it's way up my throat, forcing itself to be acknowledged as I lean my head against Copia's chest. My other hand reaches up to blindly grip onto his papal robe as my other holds onto his as if he'd disappear. I incoherently sob out apologies to my departed Sibling and pathetic 'I miss you's' to Copia as he wraps his arms around me. 

He only quietly shushes me when my shaking or cries become too much, only to calm me and keep me away from a worse breakdown. His free hand softly smooths over my hair, the familiar feeling of leather calming me and making me think of better times. 

He leans down and rests his nose against the top of my head, pressing a tiny kiss there as he inhales my hair's freshly washed scent- surely seeking comfort of his own. 

After a while of him holding me, he reluctantly parts, speaking in a soft voice, "You are alright, Tesoro?"

I only give an unconvincing nod in response. He gives a hesitant nod in return, licking at his lips again as he gives my hand a squeeze with both his hands. "Do…you wish to know everything?"

I nod.

He takes a long, silent breath in before speaking again. His voice is plain and stable as he says, "Then I will tell you everything, Mia cara."

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Translation notes:

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____________________

Assomigli a Lilith stessa 

-

You look like Lilith herself

_____________________

Ti prego, perdonami…Mi dispiace tanto, amico mio

-

Please forgive me...I am so sorry, my friend

______________________________

Non ti merito

-

I do not deserve you

_________________

Mi dispiace

-

I'm sorry

_____________

Sono come sono

-

I am as I am (yes, i meant to write it that way. meant in the way someone would say "i am sorry i am the way that i am")

_______________________________

Perdonami per favore…per favore…

-

Forgive me, please...please...

_______________________________

Tesoro

-

Treasure (treasure being the most solid meaning, while some say it loosely means or translates to sweetheart, darling, honey / hunny. General terms of endearment, but I meant it as sweetheart. Treasure also works. I am not Italian)

_______________________________

Mia cara

-

My dear (feminine)

________________

(italian readers PLEASE help)

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additional notes:

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ah the drama!! it is s p i c y!!

and by spicy i mean s a d, but fun either way :^D 

hope y'all enjoy my amateur attempt at writing enough to stick around for the next part. i'd amaze me,, but i'd be eternally grateful.

okie dokie then,, thanks so reading all the way through!! 

thanks ghesties!! 

-

ali.

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[crashandswirl]

MUSE INFO

Name: Cassandra Dimitrescu

The 2021 video game Resident Evil Village. When interacting with her, there might be violence, blood, gore, body horror, cannibalism, and death. Except for violence, all of these things will be tagged as cw: [subject] when applicable.

Eyes: Amber

Hair: Dark brown

Face claim: Elisa Duncan

Pronouns: She/her

Age:

Biologically twenty-four, which was her age when she received her Cadou.

Actually ninety-five during the events of Resident Evil Village in 2021.

Height: 6'3"/190 cm

Sexual/Romantic orientation: Graysexual/biromantic

Occupation: Noblewoman

Personality: Cassandra is a sadist who finds immense joy and entertainment in torturing, killing, and hunting down her prey. Humans are her favorite since their blood and flesh taste the best, but she'll stalk and strike down anything that'll give her a decent challenge. To her, it's no fun when there's no fight or chase. She often treats it like a game.

She loves showing off and talks a big game, bragging about the dangerous beasts she's killed and calling herself one of the best hunters around. However, she struggles with feelings of jealousy and seeks attention, recognition, and validation.

It's not impossible to form a bond with Cassandra, but it isn't easy and takes persistence if you aren't already in the small group of individuals she cares about. Even if she's standoffish or dismissive at times, she's fiercely loyal to and protective of those few people.

Cassandra was born under another name. She has no memory of it, though. She has no memory of her past life at all, which began in a remote Romanian village in the early twentieth century with a mother, father, and no siblings. Like many, Cassandra became a victim of Mother Miranda, the village's cult leader and goddess. Cassandra and two other women had a parasite known as a Cadou implanted in their heads, and they were given to Lady Alcina Dimitrescu, one of the village's four lords, to oversee what would happen. They stopped moving, but they weren't dead. Blowflies consumed them, leaving nothing but writhing masses of insects behind that took on the appearance of human bodies again within six days. Then, they awakened as new beings. Because they weren't useful to Mother Miranda's end goal, Lady Dimitrescu decided to adopt all three of them.

Verses:

Another day, another hunt. (Pre-Village) – Takes place any time before Mother Miranda sets her eyes on Rosemary Winters as the next vessel for her reborn daughter. Cassandra is living with her mother and sisters in Castle Dimitrescu. Things are as normal as they can be in such a place.

I haven't cut open a man in a while! (Village) – Early 2021. Ethan Winters is in the village in search of his daughter. Canonically, he kills all three daughters, the four lords, the village cult leader, and the whole place is destroyed... But I'd love to run through different ways things could've gone down!

An endless supply of fresh meat... (Dead By Daylight) – The Entity claims Cassandra as its newest killer. I imagine it's a Legion-type deal where other members of her family are claimed as well, and it happens sometime during Ethan's fight with her.

What do we have here? (Crossovers) – A generic verse for crossovers.

Other:

Thanks to the parasite, Cassandra has turned into a hivemind of mutant flies that sustains itself on flesh and blood. She can disperse all or parts of her body into a swarm at will, has a heightened sense of smell, and is marginally stronger than she used to be.

Cold temperatures can force her flies into cryobiosis, making her movements stiff and leaving her unable to swarm.

The Cadou was implanted on the left side of Cassandra's head. She has a massive scar there and her hair grows patchily there, so she keeps it shaved.

Her right eye is lazy. The eyelid droops slightly.

She enjoys collecting bones. She uses them to make decorations and jewelry.

Her sisters are Bela and Daniela. Bela is older than her and Daniela is younger.

If she's not in Castle Dimitrescu's dungeon torturing people or out hunting, Cassandra is probably in the armory. She loves weapons.

[littlewalken]

Ap 15

So far plans are to go to a doll show today. I will be carrying Xavier, who fortunately has something other than his David S Pumpkins outfit in his box, and I'll have my Blythe in her carrier bag to see if I can find a new wig for her. Might have Britches and my Barbie box of Littles in the car for the sake of having them.

If I still had the umbrella stroller I'd be more in to taking more ball joints. All I have is the pram style buggy and I'm not going to be that person with a giant ass stroller in what looks to be a moderately sized community center.

Also I'm a bit hyper vigilant to unwatched children, especially at a doll and toy show, wanting to help themselves to my children. Back in the day of taking Shi Shi out he learned the fine art of being held too high for grabbing unwatched children to reach him.

Xavier is smaller and easier to keep out of reach but the Blythe carrier is life a purse and will be about face height.

Also see the separate post about how to almost kick a child in the head.

Today we shall see what happens when the sole of a Violator boot meets the face of a preschooler.

The red and black versions of those Doc Martens are back in stores. I have my pair, I do not presently require another pair, and if I did I'd gravitate towards purple. Or the ones with the zippers now that they sell ones with zippers.

What I would really like are a pair of their oxfords with roses on them but in walking around int he boots yesterday it kind of hit me how much they weigh, compared to my other shoes, and if the arthritis in my ankles gets worse I might not want heavy non boots. In that the boots help support the ankles.

I want to put together a general 'Martin Gore' hoodie and knit hat outfit to go with these.

Next time I go to that mall I want to take one of the twins, or at least their shoes, and see if I can find a big version of their creepers. They have one of those Elvira-Dave Vanian-Wednesday Addams stores there.

Of the two places we might move one is a couple blocks from the mall and the other is on the San Andreas fault but brand new and behind a grocery store. Already put in an application for the fault line place, going to look in to applying for the other one next week.

Either place would be good so I'm kind of leaving it up to fate I suppose to decide for me.

I have ADHSquirrel, making decisions is physically painful, and for all the logical and I can't remember the other word thinking I do have, and a personal experience of enough of my decisions being forced in to tits up territory by other people, I... have no idea where I was going except to this day I don't really know what it's like to have my choices supported.