#major body horror trigger warning

[scottofchromia]

Joel is watching, he's dragged this out for a while. He's still mad that Scott's been communicating. He mirrors the same torment he put Shubble through. His fingers fuse, the skin melting from his muscles to wrap around the other fingers. His bones crack sharply before forming into a single shape. More was yet to come. His elbows crack, her skin pulls back from the joint and the bones bend and contort into a mockery of doll joints. The skin spreads back towards the joints separately forming. His forearms have no sensations left. His shoulders split from his torso the muscles snapping from strain leaving them only connected by magic. Joel smiles as the next half of the transformation finishes and comes down to taunt Scott.

You really shouldn't have interfered with my relationship Scott. :)

(@the-god-ever)

Scott had been standing, pacing, trying to think of some way out of this despite already having lost hope; when it starts:

She doesn’t notice her hands contorting until it’s too late, stiff pain in every part of her body sheilding the way her skin is melting until the bones were cracking and fusing together. Scott’s breathing picks up as he stares at his hands, an attempt at a noise of pain falling from his lips in the all encompassing silence. It hadn’t been his best decision to look up marionette’s earlier, to try and gauge what exactly might happen to him, because he recognised the shape.

As soon as the thought leaves Scott’s head she stumbles back into her bed, collapsing as muscles rip and bones start to break. He trembles in silent screams and sobs as his elbows split and meld separately from his upper arms, becoming doll-like joints. Feeling one by one as arteries, and tissue disappear, leaving nothing behind but hollow porcelain. Scott realises his other arm is pinned and despite the overwhelming pain, moves it as to not break the delicate glass that was slowly replacing his arms with his body weight. Bile spills from Scott’s mouth as red rapidly stains his clothing and bedspread, everything snapping into place. She’s almost… thankful when she can’t feel her forearms anymore.

The pain isn’t over though and Scott continues to writhe in agony. Shoulders splitting from his torso and ripping more pulsing muscle, but the doll joints he was expecting never come. New arms held to her body by magic alone.

The transformation finally seems to be over and she pushes herself up the bed as best she can to bury her face in her pillows, searching for some way to soothe herself in the wake of what had just happened.

The bile and blood still on the bed gets all over Scott, leaving a sick feeling churning in his gut. She feels gross, dirty… but most of all helpless as she lays there, trying not to pass out from the pain. Desperately hoping for help but knowing it’s never coming.

Death would have been better than this. She thinks as tears course down her face, wetting her pillow as she trembles. She doesn’t even hear Joel behind the roaring of her pounding head, unaware that he’s there… yet.

[thenixkat]

#me: people should read dorohedoro the story is very nice #dorohedoro: don't forget that i'm also a * horror* manga

[dancyfeast]

under my skin - jukebox

My skin feels disgusting over my bones and flesh. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins. I can feel my pupils dilate and shrink. I can hear my heart pumping inside my ribcage. I can feel my bones rubbing against each other sometimes. I crack my fingers, my wrists in any ways I can. I crack the bones in my legs, my toes. I crack my neck. I move my shoulders until I hear a pop from one side or the other. It's not enough. There's still too much tension. I know what will satisfy my body, yet I can't do it. I can't have that relief. I cannot break my bones, feel them digging into my muscle and bloom different shades of purple and green as my bone threatens to be freed from it's fleshy encapsulation. I can't shiver as I hear that loud snap. So I think of something else. If I can't break, I'll rip. I shuffle in that familiar black bag until I find a sharpener. It's probably getting dull. It still digs deep into my skin. It's a delightful euphoria, that adrenaline rush as I press the blade deeper, drag it further across my thigh. Blood, dark as wine, beads at the seams of my flesh. I want to see the fat of my thigh. I don't care about the blood. I pull the blade away from my skin and decide where I want to stab. I press it lightly, then I push downwards. It hurts, kind of. It feels like I'm poking myself with a pen. I decide I've gone deep enough, and I drag the sharpener away from my starting point. It's a shorter wound than the others, but it bleeds almost as much, if not more. I take the blade away and I shiver as I see the large bead of blood seep out of the small wound. I rip some toilet paper off the roll and wipe it away, ignoring the sharp sting. It's a beautiful fleshy pink that quickly becomes red again. I didn't go deep enough, but that was expected. I do it again, just once more. It doesn't bleed as automatically, and that's more than disappointing. I frown but I get up off my toilet throne of self-inflicted pain and shut my eyes, holding the waistband of my pants away from my skin as I pull them back up. I wince slightly as the fabric presses against my wounds. A week later, I'm doing it again. I've reached a breaking point. I want more than just slits. I just took too many aspirin, it'll get rid of the pain. I take that familiar sharpener and I rush into my bathroom, taking deep breaths before deciding it's gonna hurt either way. The pain is sharp and bright, but it's wonderful as I dig the blade into my forearm, dragging it and delighting in the sensation of flesh ripping. It's not enough. One more time, longer. Then again, about the same length. That's enough. I wipe away the large amounts of blood. There's some on the sink counter. I wipe that away too. I call my brother. I'm pacing. Talking. I can barely breathe. My favorite show is on. I ignore it. I focus slightly on the wounds on my arm. It's not enough. I'm back in the bathroom. I'm cutting more. None of them are deep enough. It's frustrating. Dad's home. Time to go.

[edenesth]

Scarlet Requiem

Pairing: emperor!Baekhyun x empress!reader

AU: historical au (Goryeo era)

Word Count: 4k

Summary: In his reign, Baekhyun strived to be a virtuous emperor, all for the sake of his kind-hearted empress, steadfastly resisting the temptations of power that had corrupted those before him. He held onto the belief that this was the key to securing her eternal presence by his side. Yet, he learned, to his heartbreak, that this very resolve would lead to the cruellest loss of all.

Genre: heavy angst

Trigger Warnings: major character death, violence, gore, lots of blood

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Capture that demon before she flees!"

Her hands trembled as she gazed at her reflection in the ornate gold mirror. Once healthy skin now bore a sickly pallor, brown eyes turned crimson, tears staining her cheeks red. Even her jet-black hair had transformed to snowy white. Confusion and fear gripped her as she struggled to comprehend the inexplicable transformation.

As guards roughly seized her arms, she pleaded, "No, please! I've done nothing wrong! I don't understand any of this!"

"Of course, you'd deny it, Your Imperial Majesty," sneered the Minister of Rites, one of many who had urged her husband, the emperor, to accept their daughters as concubines. "Little did you know, those potions you received from the royal healer for the past month were meant to reveal your true nature by shedding your human guise."

Horror pierced her heart as realisation dawned. The tonics meant to maintain her health had been a ruse. She had been poisoned, it explained the sudden and alarming changes in her body and health.

"You," she whispered, the weight of the truth settling heavily upon her. "It was all you."

She was not naive; she understood the ministers' discontent with her influence over Baekhyun throughout his reign. Their persistent attempts to sway him, offering their daughters as concubines to bolster their own power and threaten her position, had not escaped her notice. Their frustration must have reached its zenith when her husband adamantly refused their advances, steadfast in his commitment to her as his one and only empress.

"Hm? I'm not sure I understand what you're implying," the man smirked, his deceptive tone belying his words. "We've long suspected there was more to you, Your Imperial Majesty. It appears you're indeed a demon, effortlessly manipulating the emperor. Surely a man of his stature would desire more than one woman by his side?"

Struggling against the guards' grasp, she retorted weakly, "You vile cowards. You'll rue the day my husband learns of this..."

The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, revealing their sinister plot. They had bided their time, seizing the perfect opportunity amidst the chaos of war. With Baekhyun, the virtuous emperor she had wished him to be, leading the army, they saw their chance to poison her, framing her as a demon to eradicate her while he was away.

"Or perhaps we'll witness the rise of the ambitious emperor we've long awaited. He will finally be able to reach his full potential without you here obstructing his path," he sneered, gesturing towards the approaching healer with another bowl of poison. "Just comply and drink your tonic, Your Imperial Majesty. Your suffering will soon end, and our nation will thrive under the rule of a new emperor, liberated from your naive ideals."

As the sinister men tightened their grip, she sobbed in agony, the relentless headache from the past month resurfacing with a vengeance. Each touch felt like a dagger through her skull, each word a cruel reminder of her plight.

With an apologetic bow of his head, the healer cupped her jaw, his hands trembling as he forced the bowl of poison towards her lips. "Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty," he whispered, his voice trembling with remorse. "This will be the last one, I promise."

She gagged as the bitter liquid slid down her throat, burning with each swallow. Crimson tears streamed down her white face as she choked on the vile concoction, feeling her strength wane with each passing moment. In that desperate moment, all she could do was pray for salvation from the nightmare consuming her.

As the healer finally released his hold, she felt despair engulf her. The bitter poison settled within her damaged insides, coursing through her veins like a silent killer, slowly consuming her from within.

"It is done, my lord. The empress will not survive through the night," the healer declared, his voice carrying a finality that chilled her to the bone.

The minister's grin widened with satisfaction. "Excellent. Arrange for someone to confirm her death by dawn. Let her enjoy her final moments in the comforts of her own chambers. His Imperial Majesty will surely be grateful we've rid him of his treacherous demon of a wife upon his return from war."

Laying limply in the centre of her grand chambers, the very space she had once despised before ascending to empress, memories flooded her mind. She recalled the scepticism that clouded her heart when she first found herself falling for the crown prince of the nation. After all, history had taught her that no happy endings awaited the women who loved emperors. But Baekhyun was different—he was loving, caring, and considerate, going to great lengths to prove his devotion to her.

He swore never to take concubines, to resist the allure of power, and to remain hers, and hers alone. Despite the admiration of the entire nation, he remained committed to prioritising her above all else, even if it meant drawing the ire of his ministers and officials. Their accusations of his partiality towards his empress over his nation only served to strengthen his resolve, his unwavering loyalty to her.

But now, as she lay weakened by poison, she realised the tragic irony of his goodness. It was his very commitment to righteousness that led him to the battlefield, refusing to let his men fight in his stead. And it was this decision that ultimately sealed their fate, leaving her to face the consequences of his noble intentions.

As the darkness closed in around her, she couldn't help but wonder how Baekhyun would react upon returning to find her lifeless form in this state. Would he succumb to the poisonous words of his ministers, believing their accusations that she had been a demon all along? Would he entertain the notion that she had bewitched him, clouding his judgement and leading him astray?

Or would he remain firm in his loyalty, unwavering in his belief that this was nothing more than a cruel ploy to rid him of her for good? In the depths of her fading consciousness, she desperately clung to the hope that he would see through the lies, that his love for her would prevail over doubt.

On the brink of death, she yearned to trust in his endless devotion to her, to believe that he would never doubt the love they shared. It was a fragile hope, but in that moment, it was all she had to cling to as she slipped further into the darkness, awaiting the inevitable arrival of dawn and the fate it would eventually bring.

"Forgive me for not being strong enough, Baek," she whispered into the stillness of the chamber, her voice barely a breath against the heavy silence. "Please don't blame yourself for any of this."

As the darkness threatened to swallow her entirely, she couldn't help but reflect on the warnings of history, the cautionary tales of women who loved emperors, only to meet tragic ends. Once again, it seemed, she had fallen victim to the same fate.

Her vision blurred with crimson tears as memories flooded her mind—moments shared with Baekhyun before he departed for battle, blissfully unaware that they would be their last. Each memory stung with bittersweet intensity, a painful reminder of what could have been, had fate been kinder.

As her life ebbed away, flashes of cherished moments with him flickered through her mind like scattered stars in the night sky.

Wrapped in the warmth of silk sheets, doubts clouded her mind one morning, questioning her husband's resolve to remain faithful amidst the pressures of his position.

"Would you truly refuse to take any concubines, Baek?" she inquired, her voice laced with uncertainty. "You're aware that the ministers and officials desire it, and perhaps even the citizens of our nation. For all we know, the people might have grown weary of this same dull empress who has yet to bear you an heir."

He drew her close, pulling the silk sheets higher to shield her bare form from the chill seeping through the open windows. Pressing a tender kiss upon her head, he smiled reassuringly. "Never, my love. I do not care for their political machinations. I won't forsake my vow to you. You will remain my only wife, that is final. I did not ask to be emperor, the role was thrust upon me. Now that I am here, they should at least be grateful I am fulfilling my general duties."

She chuckled, nestling into the crook of his neck as he added, "Besides, if the ministers and officials are so displeased, they could just dismiss me. That would be even better; we could live in a quiet little village, just as we've always dreamed."

In another memory, standing before her reflection, plagued by insecurities instilled by the scheming ministers, his unwavering admiration melted her fears away.

"You look beautiful, my empress. You always do," he reassured, approaching from behind to envelop her in his arms.

"Not as beautiful as those young maidens, I fear. I am old," she confessed, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness after witnessing the ministers' attempts to seduce the emperor with their daughters.

Baekhyun gently turned her to face him. "If you're old, then I must be ancient," he teased. "I believe it's only fitting that I am with someone my age, and that's you, my empress. I have no interest in marrying children or anyone else for that matter; I am a taken man. Don't you dare compare yourself to anyone else again, you hear me? You're the most beautiful woman in my eyes, and that's all that matters."

In the final embrace before he departed for war, hearts heavy with the uncertainty of his return, they clung to each other.

"I will be back before you know it, my love. You'll wait for me, won't you?" her husband murmured against her neck, his arms tightening around her.

"Where else would I go, you idiot? Of course, I'll be waiting right here," she retorted, tightening her hold around his shoulders.

Amidst tears and laughter, he leaned in to kiss her deeply, pressing his lips against her soft ones over and over again to imprint the sensation into memory.

"I love you, my empress," Baekhyun whispered against her lips before pulling away, his eyes full of love and determination.

In the quiet of her chamber, she found solace in the fleeting recollections, clinging to them as the darkness threatened to consume her entirely. And as the crimson tears clouded her eyes once more, she resigned herself to the inevitable, silently bidding farewell to the life she once knew.

"I love you too, my emperor."

"I will not ask again, where is she?!" the emperor's voice thundered through the throne room as he stormed back into the palace, abandoning the battle upon learning the shocking revelation. According to the Minister of Rites in his letter, the empress had been discovered to be a demon all along, concealing her true nature under human skin to manipulate him and bend him to her will.

The eunuch panicked and fell to his knees. "Th-the empress is confined to her grand chambers, Your Imperial Majesty!"

Without uttering another word, Baekhyun stormed over immediately, his heart thumping loudly against his chest as fury overtook his being. Betrayal flooded his veins; he was seething with anger.

"You will regret lying to me," he growled under his breath, his vision zeroing in on the path towards her chambers, the place he frequented more than his own. "You will regret deceiving me."

Upon reaching the entrance of her chambers, he turned to the eunuch. "Gather all the ministers and officials who played a part in discovering the empress as what they claimed her to be in the throne room. I wish to speak with them soon."

"Yes, Your Imperial Majesty," the eunuch hurriedly replied before darting off to carry out his orders. Baekhyun steadied his breaths, his hand resting on the door as he prepared to face her once more. Under his breath, he vowed, "I swear, you will all regret it. How dare you accuse my wife of being what you are—demons."

I'm here now, my love.

Stepping into the familiar room, the emperor's heart raced with anxiety as he mulled over a perfect apology. He needed to express his deep remorse for not being there when she needed him the most, for failing to shield her from the treachery of those vultures. Reflecting on his actions, he realised he should have never left her behind. In his rush to leave for war, he had neglected to arrange proper protection for her. In hindsight, he understood that he should have never left her side in the first place.

Determined to make amends, he vowed to do better. He resolved to never again allow those ministers or officials the opportunity to torment her in his absence again. From now on, he would be her shield, her staunch protector, and her unending support.

But it might be too late for any of that.

His steps faltered, his breath caught in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he beheld the sight before his eyes. The sword in his hands slipped, clanging loudly as it hit the ground, and he sank to his knees in disbelief at the last thing he expected to see.

His shock deepened as he took in his wife's unrecognisable appearance. Crawling towards her limp form on the ground, he pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with anguish. The horror settled within him like a heavy weight as he tried to imagine what atrocities these monsters had dared inflict upon her while he was gone. His mind raced with images of torture and torment, each one more gruesome than the last.

"Oh god, what have they done to you?" he whispered, his heart fracturing into a million shards as he struggled to comprehend her pale skin, her white hair, and the blood-like tears staining her cheeks. With shaking hands, he gently cupped her cold cheek, his fingers tracing the contours of her face as if seeking reassurance that she was still there, still his beloved wife.

"Please wake up, my love. This isn't funny, stop scaring me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "You promised to wait for me. You promised..." His words trailed off into a broken sob as he refused to accept anything but the truth, shaking his head in denial even as he searched desperately for a pulse, even when she remained unresponsive.

"No, no, no... this can't be real. It can't be," he murmured, his mind reeling with the unimaginable horror of what he had found.

Despair and regret enveloped him as he sobbed painfully, holding her lifeless body tightly against his chest. The realisation that she was truly gone, that her final moments were spent alone in the very room she despised just to be with him, weighed heavily on his heart. He grappled with the bitter truth that he had failed her, just as she had feared when she hesitated to be with him.

Gradually, his sorrow gave way to seething rage as he recalled the faces of the ministers and officials responsible for this atrocity. They had callously taken her life, foolishly believing he would be deceived by their feeble attempt to frame her. With trembling hands, he picked up a shard of the shattered bowl nearby and brought it to his nose, recognising the metallic scent of mercury.

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

They had poisoned her with lethal doses of mercury, causing a myriad of symptoms—tremors, headaches, muscle weakness, kidney damage, and breathing difficulties. And the deliberate administration of such high doses to turn her hair white revealed their sinister intent from the outset.

Just how much had they fed her? It was evident they had intended to kill her from the start. Anguish and fury surged within him as he vowed to make them pay.

Gently caressing her cold cheek, he leaned in to kiss her unmoving lips, his own trembling against hers. He blamed himself for everything that had transpired. Perhaps if she hadn't been with him, she would have lived a better life—a normal life with a normal man. She wouldn't have to endure such a painful and cruel death.

It was all because of him.

Regret hung heavy in his heart, but dwelling on what could have been served no purpose.

"I'm so sorry, my wife," he whispered, his voice thick with grief. "Just hold on a bit longer, alright? I'll join you soon, but first, I'll make those bastards pay. Wait for me—I won't let you face this alone. Not again."

With resolve hardening in his heart, he retrieved his sword and sheathed it once more before lifting her lifeless form into his arms. Like a man burdened by death itself, he trudged towards the throne room where justice awaited. Kicking the doors open with a forceful thrust of his leg, he was met with a sea of horrified expressions from the ministers and officials. Clearly, they hadn't anticipated the emperor's dramatic entrance, cradling his beloved empress in his arms.

Ignoring their shocked gazes, he strode past them, his eyes fixed on the throne at the far end of the room. With careful tenderness, he laid his wife down upon the ornate seat, arranging her robes and ensuring her comfort as though she were merely sleeping. Pressing a solemn kiss upon her cold forehead, he turned to face the assembled council, their unease palpable in the air.

The guilty culprits remained frozen in their places, uncertain of what awaited them.

As the emperor's gaze swept over them, the ministers and officials for the first time felt a cold shiver of fear trickle down their spines. His expression was unreadable, his appearance wild and dishevelled compared to his usual polished demeanour. Specks of blood and dirt stained his robes and skin, his hair a tangled mess, half tied up in a disarray that mirrored the chaos within him.

Gone was the warm smile that often graced his features; instead, a slow, unsettling grin crept across his face.

"My dearest ministers and officials," he began, his voice low and laced with an eerie calmness. "Your message has been received loud and clear. I hope you're satisfied now that you've succeeded in eradicating the empress, as you so desperately desired. I've given it some thought, and perhaps... you were all right."

The Minister of Rites, attempting to feign nonchalance, cleared his throat. "A-about what, Your Imperial Majesty?" he stammered.

Baekhyun's eyes gleamed with a frightening intensity as he smirked, his demeanour bordering on madness. "About what this nation truly needs," he replied, his voice carrying a chilling edge.

"Not a good emperor, but a mad one."

Without giving the men before him time to register his words, all Baekhyun saw was red. In a split second, he unsheathed his sword and transformed into a bloodthirsty animal, cutting down anyone and everyone in his path. The Minister of Rites tried to flee but to no avail. He watched in complete horror as his colleagues dropped dead one by one, their blood splattering over the grand walls of the throne room, their screams echoing.

The emperor went on a rampage, leaving no man behind. The Minister of Rites, who had been behind the idea of poisoning the empress, smearing her name by labelling her a demon, and executing her, was now filled with regret. They had turned him into the mad king his empress had feared. Perhaps they had finally achieved their goal, but it wasn't what they were prepared for.

The minister collapsed to his knees before the emperor, realising that His Imperial Majesty had saved him for last. Trembling, he rubbed his hands together in a desperate plea. "P-please, everything I've done, it's for the betterment of our nation."

Baekhyun's humourless laughter echoed through the hall, sending shivers down the minister's spine. "You truly believe that, don't you? Of course, that includes subjecting my wife to all that torment. Yes, because that is exactly what the nation needs. Unfortunately for you, I am the emperor, and I determine what's best for the nation. And in this case, I think it's better off without traitors like you. See you on the other side," were the last words the minister heard before his head was severed from his neck, rolling off to join the others on the floor.

The emperor finally turned back, his eyes softening as they landed on his beloved's lifeless body. Making his way back towards her, he knelt down beside her, tears streaming down his face as he reached for her hand. Holding it to his cheek, he missed the warmth it once had.

"I'm coming now, my love," he whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry you had to wait for so long. I'll be there with you soon."

"Yes, I understand His Imperial Majesty's orders not to enter, but it's been hours. Surely, any assembly would have concluded by now, wouldn't it?" With apprehension and curiosity, a senior court lady pushed open the doors to the once-bustling throne room, expecting to find His Imperial Majesty and his council of ministers. Instead, she was met with a horrifying sight—a scene of bloodshed and chaos spread across the grand hall.

Her piercing scream echoed through the silent room, jolting nearby palace staff into action. Rushing to the scene, they were met with a scene that chilled them to the bone. At the end of the room, amidst a sea of lifeless bodies, lay the empress on the throne, her appearance shocking all who beheld it. Beside her, her husband remained, his head cradled on her chest, their hands tightly clasped together. A gaping stab wound marred his chest—it seemed he had taken his own life before joining her in death.

Following that, the next prince in line promptly ascended the throne and found himself compelled to appoint an entirely new cabinet of ministers and officials. The entire nation descended into chaos, particularly since it was still embroiled in a war, with endless theories circulating about the events. While some speculated that the emperor succumbed to madness and killed his own council, others whispered of a conspiracy, suggesting that the ministers had orchestrated the demise of both the empress and the emperor.

Amidst this uncertainty, the new prince faced the daunting challenge of restoring order to the kingdom. With a heavy heart, he pledged to uncover the truth behind the tragic occurrences and ensure that justice was served to those responsible.

In the end, the truth of what truly occurred remained shrouded in mystery. All those involved had departed from the realm of the living. As centuries passed, that chapter in history became known as the Scarlet Requiem, a haunting tale that lingered in the collective memory of the kingdom. Despite countless efforts to unravel the enigma, the events surrounding the tragedy remained obscured by the sands of time, leaving future generations to ponder and speculate about the dark secrets of the past.

"What do you think really happened?" a woman asked her boyfriend as they studied a painting depicting the throne room scene in a museum dedicated to the events of the Scarlet Requiem.

He pondered for a moment before responding with a shrug. "It's hard to say. But judging by the way he's holding onto her, it seems he must have truly loved her. Let's hope they've found peace and happiness, whether in the afterlife or their next life."

She nodded in agreement, leaning into his comforting embrace. "Yeah, I hope so too."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "I'm just saying, if I were him, I wouldn't have left her for war in the first place."

She rolled her eyes and gave him a playful smack, though a smile danced on her lips. "I'm sure you wouldn't. I bet it's because the empress was described as beautiful as a celestial being."

He scoffed. "Doesn't matter to me how pretty she was. I'll stay only if you're my empress."

Unbeknownst to them, the couple had been contemplating their own past lives. Perhaps the emperor and empress had indeed found each other again in another existence.

Believe it or not, this has been on my mind for months ever since seeing those AI-generated photos of Baekhyun. I had an epiphany while looking at them again yesterday and just had to write this. It's my first EXO fic, and I hope it's decent hehe~

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Master Tag list:

@the-kpop-simp @itstheghostofmypast @green-agent @vantediary @tinyteezer |

@hollxe1 @pandabur666 @lilactangerine @oddracha @evidive

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[push-tet]

what I've done

The town of Veronaville is one built on little love and one big feud. For years, the Capp and Monty clans have been at each other’s throats; yet this hatred cannot stop the younger generation from crossing borders and falling for one another. Will their actions bring both feuding families to ruin, or spark reconciliation? Can their love truly heal such deep wounds?

Wouldn't you like see Veronaville in entirely different light? K-he.

WHAT’S NEW:

Added a massive storyline! The familiar Сapp, Monty and Summerdream families will be seen in a whole new light🌟

Added three brand new families with their own stories and secrets! 🌟

Added some new and special townies. At the end of the town album there will be a list of townspeople who have biographies and memories, so no need to add/resurrect literally everybody on your lot. 🌟

Added 20 new community lots + remade the old ones as well 🌟

DISCLAMER AND TRIGGER WARNINGS!!!

This hood is not a retelling of Shakespeare's plays, nor is it a mere makeover of the Maxis’ Veronaville. Think of this neighborhood as an alternate universe.

The Neighborhood contains themes of: fantasy, s*icide and self-harm, body horror, OC X CANON (?)

I may have (unintentionally) spoiled some of your favorite simmies… 

ISSUES THAT I AM AWARE OF:

Some townies’ memories could disappear. It happens even with the mod that forbids the townies from losing their memories. I don't know what the reason is so I recommend checking them before you play the game, namely, by going into the family and teleporting the townies to the resident lot. If the memories are already gone, then please re-download the hood.

Hoodchecker might show some minor errors connected to the wrong memory subjects. This was intentional so don't be alarmed! It doesn't affect your game in any negative way.

Don't try to resurrect Julien Cooke. Just forget about him.

Oberon originally had an overlay with a mechanical prosthetic. But for some reason in some testers’ games the overlay was affecting Oberon's complexion, turning his skintone white… So I removed the overlay entirely. You can add it back if you wish!

RECOMMENDED MODS AND PROGRAMS:

Cyber Parts by @themeasureofasim (optional, Oberon’s prosthetics)

Restore Default Names for Sims in Subhoods (if you intent to play a subhood version of it)

🐸DOWNLOAD MF - SFS

THE CONTENTS:

VD01 ENG is a main hood; contains some of my CCs.

VVBS CC is an archive with some custom content from me for the hood (consists of: some cosmetics, contacts (in the masks section) and one female haircut).

VVBS SUBHOOD is a subhood with two major differences from the main hood: it does not contain pictures from Storytelling folder (so the nhood is less heavy) + you can pick and choose whether you want it with or without my custom content.

EXTRA CONTENT folder is not necessary to download; it contains some extra stuff from my project. This file is locked, but you can gather the password in main hood itself through the storytelling pictures and a little game in the community lots (you can find the rules of this game in the description of 2 Pentameter Parkway lot). Think of it as a reward for your attentiveness!

If you find any errors or bugs, just let me know! THANK YOU!

idk what to put in here so that dads' ranking

P.S. Destroy this town with your crazy ideas. :))

Well, the English version of this interactive fanfic is finally OUT!

I have Pahleen (translation) and @f1shart (English editing) to thank for that! And I also want to thank the many wonderful testers and people who supported my project!🌹🌹

I will continue to post materials about this neighborhood on this blog, but I also have plans to expand this universe, so for that I created a blog @vv-bs so you can follow the development of the project!

[astray-anomaly]

Equivaltale’s story! (Part one)

Trigger warnings: Violence, character death, major character death, descriptions of body horror, cult activity, child abuse/neglect, mentions of grooming; physical abuse and sexual abuse, transpobia, child labour

Be very mindful of the trigger warnings! If you can’t handle some of these topics then don’t read!

This is very long so you better be prepared to go through a big chunk of text

Many Eons ago when the multiverse started to branch out there grew three trees. One of Life, one of Magic, and one of Feelings. The trees secured the balance of the multiverse, and each tree was protected by a guardian. All remained that way for centuries.

Until the downfall of one of the guardians. Nim, the Guardian of Feelings.

She had fallen by the hand of a mere mortal who wielded a dagger made to kill a guardian. Nobody knows how he got such a weapon as it was never recovered, yet he suffered a terrible fate. Being strangled by vine and bramble, left to bleed after the guardian had fallen.

Nim was losing blood fast, too weak to heal herself, yet there was one thing that she could do. She took all her energy, morphing it into two beings of light. One of positivity and one of negativity, Dream and Nightmare, two entirely new guardians.

Treating them like her children, even if she knew she couldn’t stay with them forever, but she couldn’t leave them without proper vessels either. After many attempts she finally found the perfect vessels for them that allowed their energy to flow perfectly, two skeletal bodies. But afterwards she had to fuse to the tree to heal. Leaving nothing for the twins to remember her by but the notes she left them and the tree she was binded to that they were to protect.

The twins lived peacefully for six years. Running around, playing with each other, catching bugs, and watching the stars, Then sleeping up in the branches of the tree after the sun had long set. It was just them and they were happy with that.

Until one night, it was different. When they woke up they found people, settlers not far from the tree, just ways down the hill where they were. Dream was excited, rushing to see the settlers; wanting to meet new people. Nightmare was cautious but followed their twin to look after them.

The settlers were overall nice people to the twins when they first met them. Some were skeptical, after all it’s not like the twins were ‘normal’. Nobody knew them. They didn’t understand basic things the villagers were used to. They were considered wild. After all, they didn’t know what “society” was.

But the settlers accepted them nonetheless, though it wasn’t long before they had to be taught how things worked by the standards of the people. Many things were unknowingly forced onto them, It wasn’t long before Dream and Nightmare had referred to each other as brother and sister. It was new, but they had gotten used to it even if they always referred to the other as ‘twin’.

Nightmare didn’t like it though, the title just didn’t fit. She wanted to be the same as her brother, she didn’t understand why the village disapproved of what she wore and how she acted, saying it was not very feminine. Like she cared what those stupid people thought though.

The village still tried to relatively respect them ,as they were related to Nim, the guardian which they had worshiped for a long time. It wasn't uncommon for people who lived around the trees to worship the guardians since they were god-like figures.

They viewed Nim as a symbol of growth, clarity, and spirit. Even having a temple built for her in the center of the village…At least that is how it started out.

It didn’t take long for the village to become more corrupt over time.

The people who ran the temple realized that they could use the twins for their own benefit, mainly Dream. Nobody wished to be unhappy, afterall. All they ever needed was happiness and it wasn’t long until Nightmare had been forgotten, discarded. Not being given the same attention that the temple leaders gave Dream, being looked at with disgust and disappointment.

The leaders would always grab away Dream from his sister and Nightmare would be left alone to suffer at the hands of persecutors who thought she deserved to be punished just for being the Guardian of Negativity.

It started as light insults, yet the words cut like a knife. Then it became actual cutting.. breaking.. Screaming…

One occasion leaving Nightmare’s right femur cracked from being stabbed. But she didn’t dare tell Dream. She didn’t want her brother to worry so she bandaged it up herself even if it left her with a permanent limp and pain, only forcing her to just stay by the tree more. Not explaining it to Dream and always brushing it off.

It wasn't like Dream would say anything to Nightmare either. He wasn't in the best place either . He tried to help Nightmare, going to the villagers to see if they knew anything about his sister getting hurt, but he was always scolded for asking. Dream could never question anything, he just listened to the temple ministers. If he didn’t he would be punished.

He just did what they said, even if it was tiresome to always be praised, looked up to, and running around helping the people, even if some things they did made him uncomfortable too. He didn’t like some of the praises, they felt weird, but he never said anything against it. After all he would always be rewarded for his work, even if the gifts they gave him barely equaled the amount of work he did.

He always listened to what they said, being molded (groomed) into what they wanted him to be like. Soon becoming more and more blind to what they were doing, becoming the perfect little guardian in their image. A being they could have complete control of and exploit.

Both twins were tired… so tired.

Nightmare would barely talk anymore, it worried Dream but he was pushed away again. The darker guardian couldn’t help Dream either, when she tried to convince him they should run away, he refused. Even if he cared for his sister, the lighter guardian was completely blinded by the village now. There was no convincing him to leave.

Nigwhtmare let herself drown her own negativity. Suffocating in her own body.. The days went by in a blur, always waking up with new injuries she didn’t know came from. And the cycle continued to repeat. It’s not like she even felt the pain anymore. She felt numb.

The only friend she had now was the voice from the black apples.

She didn’t know where it came from but it was comforting in a way, even if it was just a voice, it listened to her. She could pour all her feelings out to the apples, not really caring if it was real or not. It slowly convinced her to do what just felt right and listen to its advice. Promising help to her.

One day she decided enough was enough. She couldn’t stay like this, the voice was right. What was she doing?! She couldn’t let the village hurt her like this, she couldn’t let the village hurt her twin! She needed to get Dream back, they couldn’t take him away like this!

She snapped, finally lashing out, attacking the people who tormented her for so long. Hoping to get away, to injure them enough so she could run. Go to her twin, take the apples and run away with him from everything as fast and as far as they could, even if he would try to fight back.

..Her fighting really didn't do anything, she was outnumbered, and her bones were fragile. She was broken down and badly injured, bleeding out on the ground for just trying to protect herself.

The numbness was broken, she was broken. In pain, left to die like her mother before her. She didn’t want it to end like this, she wanted to see her brother again. Just once to see him again. Feel close to him again for one last time before fading away.

Everything was spiraling and echoing. Her head hurt badly, part of her skull cracked, now with only one eye to see. She forced her legs to carry her, reaching for one of the black apples. She didn’t think, she was just listening to what the voice was telling her to do. What the apples were telling her..

She needed the apples to be stronger.. to survive.

She would die without the apples. So she listened, after all the voice promised her help, it was the only thing that stayed with her. She trusted it. She bit into the first apple.. then the second.. then the third…

She didn’t stop, she couldn’t. No matter the damage, the negativity, the vile taste; she continued to eat and eat.

She was blind in her hunger, she didn't realize how badly the negativity began to grow. . The golden apples started to rot and snap off of their branches, turning into dust. Everything became dark as the moon began sheathing the sun, causing the sky to bleed a red hue.

A crowd gathered around her, horrified by the scene. The temple leaders demanded other people to try to stop her. To get rid of her before it was too late.

Dream watched in terror from the crowd, one of the first arriving in the scene . He yelled out and cried for them to stop. Trying to get to his twin but he was restrained. He clutched the last surviving golden apple in his hands while the villagers tried to drag him away to ‘save’ him.

A horrid scream pierced through the air and everything was frozen. Dream watched through tears of dread as half of his sister’s skull shattered and black twisted tendrils broke through the frail bone.

The last thread finally snapped and Dream broke away from the restraints, running to his sister. He didn’t care about the village anymore, he ran as fast as he could to Nightmare. Pushing those away that tried to stop him.

He held the last golden in his hands for dear life. Surely.. just surely.. There was a chance he could help Nightmare. There had to be a chance. He reached her even if Nightmare yelled at him to run away through her pain and cries.

Dream didn’t listen, pulling his twin close even if it burned. Trying to produce as much positivity as he could to counter the corruption. Using the help of the golden apple’s magic, trying to help Nightmare absorb its energy.

It didn’t go how Dream wanted, he was hoping the positivity would get rid of the corruption but it latched onto it instead.

Blood curdling screams were heard as the two souls fused together. The sound of bones breaking and mending back together filled the air with the disordered cries of the twins. There was nothing the villagers could do but stand there and watch, horrified as they saw the twins melt into this painful mangled mess. None of this would happen if it wasn’t for them.

Soon the cries went quiet for minutes after.

It was too quiet..

Then the sounds of bones snapping was heard again as the mush of goop and bones that was once the twins took shape into a single disfigured skeleton. Its purple and yellow eyes darted around, looking at its sudden surroundings.

It looked horrified and resentful at the villagers, feeling threatened. All it knew was the villagers were bad.. that they caused them pain. The sudden movement of one of them who tried to run caught its attention and triggered it to attack.

It was a bloodbath, one after another, each villager was ripped apart. There was no fighting back, it only caused the creature’s rage to grow. Blinded by its own fury until every single one was dead. Until every single one who threatened and hurt them was gone.

Once brought back to their senses, they saw the bloodshed that they had done. Not realizing it was their own doing, scared. Retreating back to the one place they remembered was safe, the tree.

Yet the tree was gone.. nothing but a torn stump. How did it get like this, what happened? The creature cried, collapsing by the tree. Their pain and shock finally caught up to them and they passed out at the roots of the rotting tree…

Part two

[ponderingmoonlight]

Kento Nanami and his wife losing their unborn child in Shibuya (major tw!)

Pairing: husband!Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: It seemed like a normal evening when you passed out on the couch, not aware of Haruta sneaking into your shared apartment until he pierces his blade through your pregnant stomach. How will your husband react, finding out what happened to you?

Warning: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!, if you feel uncomfortable with child loss or it triggers you in some way, please don't read this, heavy violence, heaviest angst but comfort (bc Nanami is the best husband ever), didn't proofread this because it hurts my soul, please note that I never experienced something like that and wrote it out of stories from family and it might be bad

This is like the bad ending to Haruta seeking revenge on Nanami's heavy pregnant wife. You can find it here

Thank you @wifenanami for breaking our heart (I love your requests babe) 😭

Your mind is a blur when you open your aching lids against a harsh light. Damn, everything hurts, you feel like someone has stabbed you over and over again. Your stomach aches so bad…why? The last thing you remember is…

A toe-curling scream coming out of your own mouth. Hands that keep you from falling to the ground. Darkness, unimaginable agony, grief. But why? What happened? Out of instinct, your hands wander to your belly. Weren’t you at home passed out on the couch with your heavy belly laying on the side, waiting for your husband to come back to you?

You were, but there’s something else…

Suddenly, a wave of memories washes over you, memories that make your whole body tremble with overflooding emotions.

“I-I can’t feel her anymore. Shoko, I can’t feel her, she isn’t moving!”, you cry on top of your lungs, hands roaming around your blood-soaked stomach in a desperate attempt to find a heartbeat.

You weren’t fast enough. The minute that blond-haired man with the ugly ponytail stumbled into your apartment and shot a sword directly through your belly, you were lost at words, lost at actions, lost at control. As if frozen in place, you watched as he pierced through you over and over again, your blood spilling onto the cold marble floor, discolouring everything in your crimson blood within seconds.

And hers. Your precious daughter. It was only a matter of time said Shoko the other day. A matter of time until you’d be finally able to hold her in your arms, a matter of time to see your husband putting her to sleep.

But time ran out for both of you.

“Send my best wishes to your husband! Well, you probably can’t do that anymore though…See ya!”

You can’t remember what happened next. How did you even manage to let Shoko know that you’re injured? It doesn’t matter anyway. The look of pure horror on her face was enough for you to know that it’s too late.

“Y-you…you need to save her”, you hush, tears now taking your sight completely.

You are nothing but weak. Too weak to defend yourself, too fucking weak to even move an inch when someone attacks you.

Too weak to save the life of your daughter.

Your daughter…

“Tell me she’s okay”, you mumble into the light above you over and over like a prayer.

Maybe all of this was nothing but a bad dream. Maybe Shoko was really able to use her reversed technique on both you and your precious daughter. Maybe she’s laying in her father’s arms right now, safe and sound. Her father…where is your husband? Is he alright?

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I tried everything I could but…I couldn’t save her, she was already dead when I arrived…”

“No”, you interrupt her immediately.

You hold your breath. How often did you imagine what she might look like? Your little angel. Oh, you were so excited when you found out you’re expecting your first child back then, Kento was so overwhelmed that he even cried. She was the blessing in a world full of curses, your little ray on sunshine in the dark.

She…She can be dead…

“You were there, right? You saved both of us, right?”

Shoko leans down towards you. And for the first time since knowing her, you see her cry. Not only a single tear runs down her face, but a never-ending waterfall while she holds onto your shaky hand.

You feel numb, want to laugh and cry at the same time, want to scream and to stay silent all at once. This…This can’t be reality. This isn’t how it’s supposed to turn out. You’ve read enough books to know how happy endings work, that the people who deserve it will always find happiness.

“My darling.”

His voice catches you off guard, makes your glossy eyes widen and heartbeat pick up. This is him, without any doubt. Your husband is here.

Gently, he grabs your other hand and leans forwards.

Your breath hitches in an instant.

“Kento…”

Half of his body is burned, bruises cover his gorgeous face. But the worst thing is the unwavering sadness that gleams in his orbs. It hits you like a wall.

The things you saw, Shoko’s words.

Everything is true.

You lost your child at Shibuya.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). Everything is my fault. I should have saved you, I should have stayed with you, I should have killed him…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

And then he breaks down on the side of the bed you’re laying in, head pressed against the soft mattress while crying so horribly that you feel like dying right on the spot.

This, everything that happened…Everything is only your fault. You should have listened when he instructed you to stay at Jujutsu High, you should have locked the door like he always said. You are not only responsible for getting hurt, but also for losing the way too young life of your unborn daughter.

She had her whole life ahead of her. Her first steps, her first time saying “dada”, your precious husband buying her clothes, bringing her to school on her first day, comforting her when he first boy breaks her heart only to scare this poor boy to death…

You didn’t only kill her, but her whole future. And Kento’s on top.

“How are you feeling, love? Are you still in pain?”

You don’t even dare to look at him, numb eyes just staring at the ceiling. No, you don’t deserve this man kneeling in front of you, you don’t deserve him even talking to you.

“You should leave.”

Thick silence hangs in the air, Kento’s eyes darted towards you in sheer disbelief. Why would you ever suggest something like that? When he woke up, the first thing on his mind was you. When Shoko told him what happened, that your daughter died and she isn’t sure if you’ll make it, it felt as if a part of himself is vanishing. You, the love of his life, the baby both of you waited for…

“I will never leave your side, love. Not when we both need each other more than ever”, he replies as calmly as possible.

“Why would you say that when I’m the one who killed your daughter?”

Your words hit him with full force, tear the ground from under his feet. It already hurts enough to know you lost your little angel in than senseless battle to that disgusting creature. But hearing that you make yourself responsible for what happened, that you think he doesn’t want to be with you anymore…

“Look at me.”

Carefully, he cups your cheek with his large hand, forcing you to return his gaze. The empty look in your eyes makes him tear up all over again.

This is so unfair, so unbelievable cruel. Isn’t it enough that you’ve lost your child? Why are you plaguing your mind with blaming yourself for that tragedy, why are you even thinking he’ll leave you?

“Let me tell you from the bottom of my heart that I love you more than ever. Let me promise you that I’ll never leave your side, no matter how numb you feel, no matter how often the pain gets overwhelming. Let me tell you that we’ll get through this together. Because you are my wife, (y/n). And even though it rips me apart to know that we’ve lost our daughter to this fucker, I will always be thankful that you survived. You did so well. I’m beyond proud that you’ve managed to call Shoko, that you pushed through and fought for your life. I will NEVER blame you for what happened at Shibuya. And I will love you through everything.”

“Kento…I miss her so much”, you breathe against his hand with so much grief in your voice that it takes him all his strength so not break down all over again.

“I miss her too, darling. But she’s always with us, she’ll never leave our side”, he whispers gently.

“I don’t deserve you…You, you are injured yourself. What happened to you?”

“Nothing but a few scratches. Let me stay by your side, okay? I never want to leave you alone again, (y/n).”

You can’t contain yourself any longer, it seems like the world around you collapses as you let yourself fall into your husband’s arms. Everything is too much, all the grief, all the sadness seems to swallow you whole. But oh does it feel good to lay against his chest, to feel his fingertips stroke your hair gently.

“I will always stay by your side. And so does our little angel.”

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopstick @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @gojosrealwife  @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain  @risuola  @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp@wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Misdemeanor of the Heart (Chapter 12) Human Alastor x Married Reader

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Domestic violence

AN: I'm sorry for the delay, I've been sick since Thursday and most of today. Please accept a 5k word chapter in exchange for being a day late.

(optional fucking off AN): I did try to quickly edit it quickly for posting today but alas, my illness quickly slipped out of control and I quickly slipped into a four hour nap and my condition quickly slipped worse. We must spare a moment of thanks to @redvexillum for quickly slipping in and quickly plunging her fingers into MisD's raw core. This is how I repay her.

Prev

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The couch was uncomfortable under you. Was it the couch or the way you sat with your back straight and teetering  on the edge of the seat? Emotions curdled in your stomach, settling in a ball you struggled to identify as anything more than an overwhelming feeling of dread as you watched Laurence slip on his coat. 

For the majority of the week, your husband had hardly been home. At first, it was a welcome reprieve. You took solace in the peace and safety of having the home to yourself in the evenings. You made simple, small dinners that you enjoyed and didn’t require much clean up. The radio kept you company, the rich tenor of Alastor’s voice carrying through the house as you cooked and cleaned.

When Laurance wasn’t home, he wasn’t hitting you. When he was away, he wasn’t desecrating your body for his own carnal pleasures, leaving you sore and broken from serving your wifely duties. When he was away, you could eat to your heart’s content without his biting remarks about how much you ate and didn’t eat. You could indulge without having to hear his cruel excuses about why he refused to let you update your wardrobe to stay on top of the latest fashion trends.

How nice it was to have the house to yourself did nothing to change the simple fact that him spending so much time away from your marital home didn’t sit right with you. It was a wife’s protection to have her husband present in the evening. His absence left you vulnerable, even though his presence had its own danger, at least it was familiar and predictable. 

“Where are you going?” The question was out before you could stop it. You feared you already knew the answer, but what harm was there in letting him lie to you?

“Got a business meeting,” Laurence said despite not being dressed for a business meeting.  He looked too casual for that, open collar and sweater vest clinging to him, highlighting the frame that had once been nothing but muscle but now held a layer of softness.

It reminded you of how he looked when he would take you out to dinner during the courting days For a business meeting, he would wear a meticulously pressed suit, his hair perfectly styled, and every detail about him polished to a shine. 

“Is that so?”  It wasn’t your intention to question him but the murmured words were out before you could stop them. It wasn’t a wife’s place to question her husband’s whereabouts or his business. Stay home. Take care of the home. Raise babies when they come along. Don’t ask questions. 

Long strides took him across the room before you had a chance to soften your words or make yourself scarce. He loomed in front of you, reaching out quickly and for a moment, a panic you had never felt before flooded your body as his hand wrapped around your neck and squeezed. 

Laurence inflicted countless horrors on you throughout your marriage. He’d violated you against your will, used your body while you slept. He’d taken you against your will, he’d taken your body in your sleep. He’d struck you and thrown you, filling your days with screams and pain. But through all that, one thing he had never done was make you truly fear for your life - until now. 

“It’s not your place to question me,” Laurence reminded you, squeezing. Your hands reached out, wrapping around his arm as your eyes widened. Gasping breaths struggled to push through the constriction of his hand. Your heartbeat drummed against your ears, beating rapidly from the adrenaline that flooded your body as Laurence ensured your eyes had nowhere to look but at him. “Unless you want to piss me off again. Is that what you want, sweet thing?” 

“No, Laurence.” Your voice trembled as his grip slowly loosened around your neck while his lips curled into a sadistic smirk.

His thumb caressed your jaw as his smile suddenly softened. Leaning in, he closed the final gap between you. He pressed a sickly sweet, mocking kiss to your lips, a cruel imitation of the stolen kisses lovestruck girls would dream about.You had never understood the desire to have the lips of another on you. You were thankful when he pulled away and his hand completely dropped from your neck.

Laurence reached into his pocket, pulling his wallet free. It was a crisp leather billfold. It was newer, a recent gift from his father before he had passed. His final gift to your budding family was leaving Laurence, his only son, the family business. The clinking of coins was loud, almost louder than the heartbeat still thundering in your ears as he moved coins around, hunting for a few quarters.

“Here,” he grabbed your hand, turning it palm up after slipping his wallet back into his pocket. The weight of the coins settled into your palm and he curled your fingers around them, touch soft. It was nothing like the harsh way he had been grabbing you just minutes prior. 

“Don’t lose them,” he teased you softly. The smile on his face and the tone of the teasing had reminded you of the hopes and dreams you held in the past, when you were little more than a girl dreaming about what married life would be like. You could see the young man, hardly more than a boy himself sitting between his parents on the other side of the table from you and yours, looking at you with curiosity and hope. Was this what that young man had thought married life would have been like?  “Buy yourself something nice. Treat yourself.” 

“Okay,” you said as you watched him turn, making his way out of your marital home. A small voice in the back of your mind screamed that he was going to the bed of another even though you dedicated your life to being a good wife for him, taking beatings and affection without complaint. You took everything he gave you without complaint in the name of being a good wife. You silenced that voice, strange and out of place though it was. It was just a business meeting. Nothing more. Just a casual business meeting. 

It was like you were frozen in place as you waited for the sound of the car leaving the driveway. The memory of the kind man with sweet words you had met a lifetime ago warred with the still too fresh feeling of his hand around your neck.

As the engine faded in the distance, you finally stood and made your way over to the small table that held your purse. There was nearly nothing in it at the moment, it was a few more days until he would give you the money for the week’s shopping. The quarters clinked together as you dropped them into the small coin purse, rattling against a few pennies.

It would be nice to go out, you told yourself as you absently rubbed your hand against your neck, trying to rub away the memory of Laurence’s hand constricting around it. It wasn’t like he had squeezed that hard, you told yourself as you walked through the house, shoes echoing with each step. It startled you, that was all. You overreacted, you told yourself as you stepped out of the back door and onto the porch.

The absence of sun didn’t mean you were taking the day off washing. The air was cool but the clothes would dry just the same, as long as the rain held off, that was. First you would finish scrubbing the smear of pink off Laurence’s collar, ink he assured you, and then you would head to the pharmacy.  

The pink smudge on his collar screamed liar. It screamed that he was lying to you. It screamed that you were lying to yourself. 

It was just ink, he told you. Paint. Don’t be daft. . 

Don’t be a silly woman. 

Heavy clouds covered the sky for as far as you could see and the chill of early spring was biting in the air. If you were unlucky, they could mean rain for you but their light color told you it was doubtful, though not impossible. 

Excitement sparked in your chest, spreading through you as you saw a familiar mop of brown hair on an imposing figure. He looked tall and lean, even wrapped up in a long coat that would leave other men looking softer and wider.  

“Alastor!” You called out to him, waving your arm over your head to catch his attention. 

He turned toward you, his smile radiant and welcoming, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made your breath catch. You hurried to his side, heart racing, though you had managed to maintain some semblance of composure despite the way you had called out to him on the street. It was something you’d normally never do, it drew attention. You had to remind yourself to walk, not run, no matter how much you longed to close the distance. 

What would people say?

“Darling! Lovely to see you.” Alastor greeted you, his warm smile making your pulse quicken, though you couldn’t understand why.  “What are you up to today?”

“Just finished at the pharmacy.” 

“And what’s next for your adventures of the day?” Alastor motioned for you to join him, walking down the sidewalk together. He kept himself between you and the street, ensuring you were shielded from traffic and the dangers that they could pose. There was nothing his presence could do to stop a car going off the road but he was far less likely to be overlooked than you. 

It was strange how the same action Laurance would do felt different coming from Alastor. Why was that? Was it the way he rested his hand on your back, ensuring you felt secure? When his hand would drop, he would take your hand and tuck it around his arm. Somehow, he was always connected to you, not just walking alongside you but walking with you. 

“Probably nothing,” you confessed before remembering, “Oh!”

“Oh?” Alastor mimicked the sound though it did not sound mocking coming from him as it would have if Laurance had done it. There was something about him that put you at ease. Perhaps it was his smile? 

You pulled your coin purse out and fished out two dimes. Again, propriety slipped your mind as you grabbed his hand, turning it palm up. His hand was warm in yours. The coins clinked against each other as you softly dropped them into his much larger palm.“I still owe you for how you took care of me.” 

“It’s unnecessary,” Alastor offered you the coins back, however you just pushed his hand back. “Helping pick the curtains was more than enough.” 

“Then to pay you back for the handkerchief,” Alastor could see that you were not going to let this go. The pace had slowed as you both gave each other near total attention.

“Please? I would feel better about it if you took it. I,” you hesitated, “I don’t want there to be any debt between us.” 

“If it’ll put your heart at ease,” Alastor smiled at you as he let the coins fall into his breast pocket. 

“It’ll put my mind at ease,” you corrected him, marveling at the fact that you felt safe enough with him to do so. If you had dared to do the same to Laurance you would have been swiftly reprimanded. It wasn’t a woman’s place to correct a man. If you were unlucky, it would be a painful lesson that would leave bruises healing over a few days. 

“That too,” Alastor’s smile twitched a bit higher. “I have a suggestion, rather than going straight home and wasting away as a lonely housewife, how about you and I pass some time? Or is he waiting for you?” There was a tone to the way he said ‘he’, refusing to say your husband’s name as if speaking of him more directly than necessary was poison or would ruin the day. 

“That wouldn’t be proper.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, feeling the twinge of pain as hard teeth grazed over a still healing split you hadn’t realized was still present. 

“So, he’s waiting for you?” Alastor looked at you, eyebrow raised. 

“No,” you admitted and his smile grew wider, beaming at you. 

“Wonderful, let’s get coffee.”

Your eyes grew wide as you looked around. It would be bad enough to be seen walking together so closely, you realized but to be overheard making plans? You couldn’t agree, this was already far too much risk. Temptation to agree wrapped around your heart. “Alastor, someone could see.” 

“Nonsense, the alley is just ahead. My car isn’t too far. You can wait for me, I’ll grab it, swing by for you and we’ll be off.” Alastor motioned toward an alleyway ahead.

“What?” 

“Just tuck yourself into the alleyway and you can jump in the car when I pull up.” He snapped his fingers, emphasizing his perfect plan, “I know a hole in the wall joint on the other side of the city. We can sit out of view, have a cup of coffee and pass some time. I can drop you off on my way to the station.” 

You hesitated as Alastor held the car door open for you. This wasn’t the best part of the city. Trash gathered, swept into the corners and against the curb by wind. People wearing tattered clothes milled about, some clearly intoxicated. Poverty colored everything, from the people to the buildings and yet the sound of children’s laughter carried down the street, reminding you that there was joy everywhere if you were just willing to see it. 

That didn’t make you hesitate any less when it came time to step out of the car. Eyes flitted around, trying to reassure yourself that you would be safe. Would someone run up and snatch your coin purse? Could you blame them when it looked like many of the people were rubbing pennies together?

“It’s alright,” Alastor’s fingers wiggled as he held his hand out for you. “There’s no one around here who would tattle to him about where you are or who you’re with. They’ve all got bigger things to worry about.”

“Is it safe?” After a moment more of hesitation, you offered him your hand, letting him enclose it in his. He steadied you as you braved stepping out of the car. 

“Of course, my dear! I’d never take you somewhere I wouldn’t be able to assure your safety.” Alastor tucked your hand around his arm as he led you from the car. Your heart pounded in your chest, only speeding up when his arm would brush your shoulder as you walked closely together as your simple heels clicked along the sidewalk along with his polished shoes. 

Part of it was fear. Part of it was something you couldn’t name. Maybe you could, if you let yourself think on it for longer but you were not sure if you wanted to. You were married. This was improper, yes, but it was still just a coffee shared between friends. 

The hinges of the door squeaked loudly, screaming in pain from years of lackluster maintenance as Alastor opened it. He held the heavy door open and ushering you inside with a hand on your back, just a bit too low to be proper. Was it intentional or accidental? Did it matter? Why did you care?

His hand remained on your back as he guided you to the counter. It was a small, informal cafe with lively talking filling the air. Most of the small tables were filled with people, talking, reading newspapers but almost all with a cup in front of them. It had a neighborhood feel that transcended social and financial class lines but lacked the suffocating weight of eyes found in your local cafes. 

“What would you like?” Alastor leaned into you as he spoke, shoulder brushing against yours, breath washing over your cheek and down your neck. Closing your eyes, you tried to ignore the feelings that were trying to spark to life within you. “Are you hungry? The beignets here are wonderful.”

“Oh no, I’ll just get coffee.” There was a tremble to your voice that you couldn’t understand. You didn’t want it there. You wanted to sound cool, calm and confident. There was no reason for Alastor to get to you as much as he did and even less reason to let him find out that he was. 

Alastor stepped up to the counter, keeping his hand on your back. You could swear that you felt it run a little lower down the small of your back as his attention was focused forward. Or was that your imagination? 

“Alastor!” As Alastor reached for the bell, the door to the kitchen burst open in a flurry, a woman with a curly crop of graying hair and rich dark skin carrying a tray of confections. “It’s been a minute since you’ve been around these parts.”

“I drive through these parts every day, Delores.” His voice was different talking with the woman, you realized. The showy transatlantic accent was softer, just a smidge and his words were lighter.

“And now you bring a pretty little thing on your arm? Oh, and she is a darling, isn’t she?” The woman may have been around for a few years but she was as sharp as ever, Alastor was pleased to see. It had been a while since he had stopped in, though as a young man he had frequented this cafe. 

“Oh, thank you, ma’am but-” 

Alastor’s voice cut you off, “Two coffees, Dee?” He held up two fingers as if his order was confusing before pointing at the steaming pastries on the tray. “Those fresh?” 

You could have protested being spoken over but instead simply let his words wash over your ears. It was strange to hear him now, his voice warmer and richer. Whatever this place was to Alastor, it was a place he felt secure enough to just be in, even a little. 

“Of course they’re fresh, boy.” Delores laughed, swatting Alastor’s shoulder with a towel. “Ya want some too?” 

“Of course,” Alastor laughed and it was lighter, “Two?” 

“One for you and one for your lady.” Dolores made quick work of setting the tray down and putting pastries in baskets. 

Alastor pulled the coins you had given him from his pocket and set them on the counter as Dolores worked. His hand dropped from your back as he pulled the wallet from his pocket. From his wallet he added a few more pennies and you realized with a flash of annoyance that he was paying for you both and using the coins you had given him to even your debt to do so. 

“Hey, wait a minute,” you rushed to grab your own coin purse. He didn’t wait for you in the slightest as he pushed the coins across the counter, ignoring your attempts to cover your half. 

“That was supposed to pay you back.” You protested as Delores took the coins, eyebrow raised and a slight smile on her face. She told you both to go sit down and wait rather than do anything to allow you a moment to cover your share of the bill. “Now I owe you again.” 

Alastor guided you, soft pressure on your lower back constantly keeping you connected to him as he led you away from the counter. You wanted to argue, to continue to protest but what good would it do? All it would do is cause a scene.

“Oh, no.” Alastor pulled out a chair for you, finally letting his hand drop from your back. He grinned at you, eyes dancing with mirth as you sat in the chair. “Whatever will we do. I guess that just means you’ll have to see me again.” 

“Alastor?” You wanted to ask him what game it was that he was playing. You wanted to ask him if he knew how he was acting. Did he know the way it looked? Any of the people here could look at the two of you and see you as a couple. He made it so easy for anyone to assume you belonged to him. Did he care at all about that? Did he care how the idea tried to worm its way into your heart? 

“What’s on your mind, dear?” Alastor’s warm brown eyes looked into you from across the table. In another lifetime, maybe this could have been your life. In another lifetime, maybe what everyone saw looking at the two of you could be true. 

“You know, Al-” Delores came up to the table, drawing attention before you had a chance to make a fool of yourself in the moment. She carried two mugs, hanging off her fingers with practiced expertise, a pot of coffee and two plates with beignets covered in powdered sugar in her other hand. “You two make a handsome couple. She’s a bit bright, you know, and well dressed but she must not be too bad if you got her on your arm.”

“Oh,” a flush climbed up your neck and face as you realized the misunderstanding. 

“You know, your dear Ma would be proud to know you finally married.” Dolores was all but beaming with pride at Alastor as she filled the coffee mugs. 

Oh. It was worse than you thought. 

You blanched, looking to Alastor with panic in your eyes. This had to be explained, corrected, somehow but you were at a loss how. Anyone could overhear such a bold statement and it could get around town. If you told the truth, right here and now to this kind woman, wouldn’t that look too much like an affair? 

“We’re only friends, Dee.” Alastor said with ease, as if he wasn’t digging your grave. 

“That so?” The older woman looked pointedly at the ring on your hand. Her eyes on it made the band feel more and more like a shackle as you covered it with your other hand. “Well, we’re not ones to talk around here, missy. What you two get up to and your so called friendship is between you and the Good Lord Above.” She flicked her hand up, waving away some unseen force for emphasis. “We got bigger things to worry about ‘round this neighborhood so don’t you get to fretting.” 

“We’re not-” You tried to protest.

Delores cut you off with a warm smile of her own, “It don’t matter to me. I just want to see that boy not alone for once, even if it’s just for a while.”

“It’s fine,” Alastor said simply as Delores walked off. “She’ll think what she thinks but she’s not one to talk.”

“You know her well?” You refocused your attention on him, only to dart your eyes down. It was too much to meet his gaze. It was easier to take in the scuffed and scratched table top and the swirl of the cream you poured into your mug. 

“Grew up around here.” Alastor had his transatlantic accent once again perfectly in place as he watched you. You could feel the heat of his eyes on you, burning into you. “I know how these people are, no one will talk. Plus, we’re just getting coffee and Mrs. Dee does make the best beignets.” 

“She thinks we’re…” you were scared to even voice what the kindly woman thought. “And that doesn’t bother her? Or you?”

Alastor shrugged and pushed the small plate closer to you. “You should try it, it’s lovely with coffee.” He was silent for a moment, taking a long drink from his still very black mug of coffee before speaking again. “Dee would look the other way if it’s what I wanted. Maybe not approve but she’d look the other way.” 

You ripped off a piece of pastry and shoved it into your mouth. It was the only thing you could think to do to keep words you shouldn’t, couldn’t say from tumbling from your lips. Sweetness exploded on your tastebuds, washed away by bitter coffee as you forced down the question that almost rushed past your lips: did he want that?

It was silly. Pointless. Don’t be a silly woman. You were just getting swept up in a fantasy. He was a friend and that was enough. A friend was more than you could ever dare to have hoped for. There was nothing wrong with having a male friend, you were sure, beyond appearances so why did you feel your heart beating faster? Why did your face flush so easily?  

“Is she close to your mother?” You asked instead, stealing a glance at the woman behind the counter. You had so many questions about her and her connection to your new friend. “You were right, by the way, this is lovely indeed.” 

Alastor’s lips twitched up, mouth opening slightly before closing again as he hesitated. You could see the gears turning in his head as he weighed if he wanted to answer. There were things he held back from people, you could have guessed that. A man like him, walking the line of too dark to be a welcomed member of polite society would have things kept to himself. 

“They were close for as long as I can remember,” he finally said, “Right up until she passed. Dee’s been like an aunt to me, regardless of if I wanted it.” He chuckled though it sounded dry, forced.

“She’s passed?” Reaching out, you rested your hand over his. Though you didn’t know the pain of losing a parent, it was etched on his face. His smile fell for a moment, lips twitching down and his eyebrows furrowed and then the smile he seemed to always wear was back in place. “I’m so sorry.” 

He looked down and a single eyebrow rose as he looked at your much smaller hand atop his. Instantly you realized the move was too much. Reaching out to hold his hand was too forward. That was something limited to female friends, family or your husband. 

You pulled your hand away quickly, as if the touch burned you as you looked away from him. He caught your hand as your fingers dragged down his, preventing you from making any real distance. It was his turn to be forward, weaving his fingers between yours.

“I miss her dearly,” he admitted, “She never stopped pushing me to make something of myself, to not let my blood limit me.” 

“She’d be proud of you,” you had no doubt at all of your words. Alastor’s smile, soft but bright, told you how much such a thought meant to him. 

“For some things.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked as Alastor popped a chunk of sugary beignet into his mouth. You couldn’t help but watch as his mouth worked, sugar dusted on his lips. 

“Not everything I’ve done is things that would have made her proud.” Alastor finally said, washing the sugary treat down with a sip from his mug.

“I can’t imagine the great radio host doing anything that would make his mother feel anything less than pride.” 

Alastor only laughed, a knowing glint in his eye before changing the subject to you and your childhood. As you sat, talking in that dingy cafe one cup of coffee became two, though eventually he did allow you to take your fingers back. 

While he hadn’t been willing to offer much of his life  story, what he would share fascinated you. You couldn’t imagine being raised without both parents with the bayou stretching out behind your home. He had come so far and found himself an informal family to make up for the lack of family connections. 

All the while, he didn’t make you feel ashamed for your much more comfortable upbringing. He listened attentively as you spoke of lessons and expectations that all resulted in your arranged match with the much more well off Laurence.

“If you don’t love him, why did you marry him?” Alastor asked and you were struck by the thought. Never had you questioned if you loved Laurence or not, you just expected that you did because you should and if you didn’t, you would. 

“I- I do love him?” A snort of disapproval came from across the table. “Why wouldn’t I love him? He’s my husband.” 

“If you say so.” Alastor smiled at you like you were the only one not in on the joke. 

“I do say so,” You protested as Alastor stood from the table, offering his hand to assist you out of the chair. It wasn’t needed but you indulged in the chance to touch him again. 

“I’m not sure,” Alastor admitted as his hand took up its guiding presence on your lower back while you walked to the door. “But I’m told love is something magical that can solve the world’s ills and if you have it, even for a moment, you’d risk anything for it. I don’t recall anyone singing the praises of the beatings one delivers on those they love though.”

“Maybe we’ve been told different things” you said, a hollow laugh escaping your lips, the sound shattering like glass in your own ears. “Your idea of love sounds like a child’s story I’ll never get to experience because it’s not real.” 

“Who says you won’t?” Alastor smiled down at you before looking up, focusing on bringing you safely to his car. As promised, he needed to deliver you home before it was too late and he would, though he was far from eager to be rid of your company. 

Oh well, he thought as he settled you into the passenger seat. There would be other times. He would ensure that he got to spend more time with you later. It would just be a matter of time. 

AN2: A note on word choice- I've spent way too much time on 1920's slang and phrases. Calling someone 'bright' in relation to another person was often how one would subtibly remark on differences of skin tone. While this is a Reader insert, by nature of social and class standing, it is needed that reader have some traits to be historically accurate. This is what Dee is remarking on, not Reader's brains.

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[alena-draws]

Beware of major Trigun spoilers!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Read from right to left

Trigger warning for violence, blood, gore and body horror! Hooray!

If you want a little background music, try listening to "Everybody knows that you're insane" by QOTSA. I was listening to this when I worked out the chapter in my head and it fits Nai SO well, especially the lyrics! Yeah so, both boys are back from being human to part human/part plant now...I hope you like how this played out, even though it got a lot bloodier than the first parts. Please imagine me continuously knocking Nai on the head with a squeaky toy hammer. This is what I'm doing here in blorbo speach. Also, let me know what you think! I'd love to hear your thoughts and any feedback is welcome, as always! <3

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader xWoods)

Previous Intel | Next Intel

Sixth Intel | Watch

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabble Format

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman

Words: 1.6k

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You were observing for days.

Picking apart the papers, the plans, the tools they have at their disposal with Sims. Hawkish tired baggy eyes, always seeming to stray at the itch of your skin that is getting irritated from your nails than anything else. No other outside source. (Nightmare.) 

It was hard for the others to cajole you out the cage you built around you, the storage room with the arcade game you used to play with but now is stock still. 

Dead. A waste of energy. 

(Why are you here again? Ah. Solovetsky. Always about going to Solovetsky. That’s all they need of you. They aren’t your friends. He’s not your friend.)

You even locked yourself in. To keep them out. To keep you in. Concentration. Watching. Planning. Eying. 

You had a fire to your ass and this time it wasn’t Adler that caused it, (his hands around your jaw or your throat, squeezing your cheeks together unforgivingly or pressing down warningly to your carotid and air supply, Bell, open the door. He said good work. ) but instead it was your head, your thoughts, the feeling of blood pumping to your ears and grim determination clenching your jaw and hands around the pens and pencils and office supplies you have hoarded in this cage you made yourself.

You ignored how Woods cursed at you and your behavior, but your eyes couldn’t help but study his deep blue. The ocean normally with its high tides to make up for the hurricane of a man, only for it to be swimming in concern and worry on what is causing this frantic episode of yours. 

The tornado of a man cursed at you with no intent, looking haggard with tired shoulders as if he was there in the cage with you. Only for them to tense when Adler, who is ice and cool and hard to read and what is that look in his eyes when he stares past your cage and into your face, tells Woods to leave you be, to let you plan the finishing touches needed for the cell tower and you will come out when you decide to. 

“Stop babying her.”

“Wha—you conniving fucker,” the hurricane spat at the arctic breeze, dangerous and unbelieving wild grin upon his face. “You ordered her to do this. You think I’m going to let you dig around your dirty shitty claws around her brain again? You used the trigger phrase, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

(You talked to Woods once, that the trigger would still probably work. The lot of you have no time to deprogram a terrorist. You were concerned, worrying your lip and how easy it would be to become a mindless puppet again. Frank, all grim faced, only tugged you to him with your eyes widening as you met the gear covered chest. Safe . Secure . The immovable mountain and the chaotic hurricane turned firm like a rooted tree that shall never bend. Can you make a home here in these roots? Is he letting you? And a rumble to your ear “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about that. No one will say that sentence again. Until we get you back to Washington and we’ll fix you up, you’ll be able to say the words yourself as easy as you can decode.”)

Face to face.

The storm and ice. 

And, despite you wanting to see Frank punch the ever living lights out of Adler again, you stepped out the cage and intervened with a gentle yet firm hand to Woods shoulder before Mason or Sims could, back to Adler who you can feel his eyes on you.

When he glanced down in bewilderment, he met your grateful little smile playing on your lips and a shake of your head.

“It’s okay. He didn’t do any of that. I wanted to.” Woods didn’t seem to believe you, and your hand wandered from his shoulder to his wrist to do a squeeze of his hand. Woods blinked, eyes on the hold before meeting your somber ones. “We need this plan. Adler is right on the importance of this. We need that cell tower.  Him and I gotta do this right with all of you. To plan with all of you. ”

Woods face began to sour right when you mentioned Adler. Glancing up to where Adler was only to sour more. 

He tugged his hand away and turned his  back on you. You tried to not let it affect you. (He always touches you and accepts yours like you accept his. He’s not distant.) 

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just don’t…” his tone lost his gumption when he turned his face back towards you. You can spot his swallow before he waved a hand flippantly, (not the hand you touched. The hand you touched is tucked in his jacket pocket. Like a secret.) before he made a dramatic puff of air out his mouth. “Just don’t fall over dead or electrocute your brain over there.”

The joke fell flat, your brows pinched in concern and your back still itched with eyes on you.

You turned, almost missing the smug smirk Adler had around his cigarette but not missing his upturned brow when he looked at you. 

He dipped his head in a semblance of a nod, nicotine smoke around them both as he breathed, “Don’t let him keep treating you like glass. You’re not made of it.” 

And off he went, whisking away to his corner of the safehouse. 

Your jaw clenched when his scent and presence left you, irritation building at the pretense(How would he know how you wanted to be treated? He doesn’t know you. You used to lick up those small nods as if they were ambrosia, his pride towards you like nectar. He broke you. He can’t tell you what to do.) before you went back to your cage. 

Later, after your three day planning confinement, with you and Park atop a nearby building of the cell tower to study the zombie horde and the strange crystals that keep appearing like never ending amethysts, you were questioned by the MI6 agent.

Or what may be left of the MI6.

“Is Woods a wise choice, Bell?”

The question came from left field(Woods taught you that saying) and it made you take off your binoculars, your face twisted into deep befuddlement.

“What?”

Park’s face didn’t change, it was the expression where she expected no nonsense. Her attention on you and not the sniper rifle who has an impressive scope and what she should be using to watch. 

“Don’t play the oblivious card, Bell. It doesn’t suit you.”

You were starting to get annoyed at the non answers. (You hate non answers. Hums that don’t mean anything or everything. You’re sick of it.)

“What are you talking about?”

Park huffed.

“This dance you’re doing with Woods. Is it genuine? Or are you trying to get back at Adler?”

Your eyes flashed, your grip on your binoculars tightening.

That’s all it goes back to. Your genuineness. 

(Stop lying, Bell. Start again and tell me how you met Perseus.)

“Frank and I are genuinely friends. Just like me and Mason are.” Park’s brows pinched together and you really want to shout at her but you stick with a hissed “What?” instead.

“You’re getting that look in your eyes when you look at Woods. And don’t think we can’t all see how touchy you two are with each other. Especially with what happened earlier.” (You touched Woods hand, yours were gloved. But you still felt it. How warm he can be. The curious inquisitive side of you wanted to know what would happen if your hand was bare, what would the valley of his knuckles feel like? Would it match the mountain of a man?) “Woods is…” Park cleared her throat. “Woods is showing deep care for you. But the last thing we need is something to split the team apart. So. Is it genuine?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking through the binoculars again to dismiss her.

“Didn’t you say to give a certain man a wide berth?” 

“And I’m glad for you for it. But Bell,” a hand moved stops yours, shifting the binoculars down and you were met with concerned gray eyes, a soft voice. “. . .Adler is the type of man who has a hard time giving over control. Can you honestly say you won’t fall upon his hands again if he asked?”

“Adler,” you spat, fury and rage and vindictive and hot on your chest. It made Park’s eyes widen, which made you blink and deflate and appear like the kicked bunny that you are instead of what you were before. “. . . I know what kind of man Adler is. But. . . Woods is. . . Frank is. . . ” You clenched your teeth, bowed your head. “I. . . don’t want to hurt him. . . He’s been. He’s been kind to me. He makes me laugh.”

Park’s eyes gave you a once over, assessing and scrutinizing before you felt a hand atop your shoulder. A gentle squeeze. You looked up and spotted gentle eyes to match before she focused back on her sniper and looking through it.

“It seems we may have similar taste in men, Bell.”

You glanced at her in pity. 

Lazar always found a way to make her laugh.

If they achieve this, create the line again for Washington—to Weaver—than perhaps Park can find someone again. 

You and Adler’s plan can’t fail.

(Adler’s protege will make a way.)

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…hahahahahaha… hi?

I’m back in the writing pit of this universe! Thank you to @makeyourpeacenow and @junkyardhound with their wondrous works in AO3 I recently discovered thanks to me trying to scour for Adler x Bell fics again. And that inspired me. And for the BO6 trailer. Where I’m back to wanting the Officially Wanted Man Russell Adler.

May this fire not die until this fic is at least completed. And than maybe I can hop back into my other Adler x Bell fic.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121

Are any of you guys still here? I sure hope so. I miss you guys.

[rottmnt-residuum]

Some Things You Aught to Know (this also the index)

“At the end of it all, what’s left of you?”

The long reaching ramifications of an alien invasion… it all starts here. After the Kraang were defeated, the boys have taken a back step from their usual activities to heal. Which has been surprisingly easy due to sudden lack of activity from their rogue gallery. At least, until Donnie disappears.

Hi! Welcome to the side blog that hosts my comic, Residuum. This little brain baby of mine was conceived in a dream my subconscious cooked up one night and then refused to leave me in the morning! Yes, yes, very interesting, but why is that relevant? Well, my darling reader, dreams can get really, really fucked up. As suuuch, this comic gets kinda, okay a lot, fucked up (￣▽￣|||)

So, this handy dandy pinned post is both the content/trigger warnings and where to find parts. The warnings do contain some spoilers for future installments, so I’ve put them under the read more. I do stress again that this comic is fucked, but to those who don’t read the warnings:

Probably don't read this if you're squeamish. It will contain a lot of, uh. Gore. Seriously. I'm not kidding around here.

This comic will not contain anything sexual, consensual or not. Nothing implied, either. (I can’t believe I have to say this, but no incest, and yes, I am kink-shaming you.)

Directory | F.A.Q.

Parts

Parts that have gore or the more extreme tw's will be red. Parts with mild-ish tw's will be yellow. Censored versions of extreme gore will be blue.

Read it chronologically: [censored gore] [full gore] (only works on desktop as far as I am aware. also! part 17 isn't showing up in either of the links, and i don't know why...)

[ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18 C - part 18 G | part 19 C - part 19 G | part 20 C - part 20 G | part 21 | part 22 | part 23 | part 24 | part 25 | part 26 ] - Arc I Complete

part 27 | part 28 | part 29 | part 30 | part 31 | part 32 | part 33 C - part 33 G | part 34 | part 35 | part 36 | part 37 | part 38 C - part 38 G | part 39 | part 40 | part 41 | part 42 | part 43 | part 44 | part 45 | part 46 | part 47 | part 48 | part 49 (September 29th)

(Updates every other Sunday)

Content/Trigger Warnings

Subject to change, I’ll tell y’all if they change when I update. They probably won’t change much, but the creative process is annoying :)

Feel free to message directly for any reason, be it clarification or something else

Desturbing Imagery, Trypophobia, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Guns, Gun Violence, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Ableism, Coercion of Minors, Solitary Confinement, Contractual Slavery, Blood & Gore, Implied Death/Actual Death, Major Character Death, Animal Death, Animal Experimentation, Dismemberment, Disembowelment, Non-Consensual Medical Procedures, Irreversible Alterations, Cannibalism, PTSD, Anatomically Correct Organs, Lobotomy, Imprisonment of Innocents, Medical Experimentation, Body Horror, Police Brutality, Corrupt Government Institutions, Xenophobia

[yuri-is-online]

Pas de Deux: A Fyuuture Kid au pt. 2 (Rook x Yuu)

Once upon a time there was a house in the woods. Three people lived inside it and they were very happy because soon there was going to be a fourth One day a man in a suit came and knocked on the door of the house, but he did not want to say hello. He was not interested in how happy the people in the house were or that that day was very important. The man was there because he had decided there should only be two people in the house, and because the world is not always kind, and not all houses are happy ones, the man in the suit got his way.

And now there was only one person in the house and he felt very alone.

notes: this will not make sense if you have not read pt.1, so please do. They/them used for Yuu, and the name Oliver is used interchangeably Yutu. This contains lengthy one shot parts, but does still have some hc bullet points. WARNING: major character death, body horror, angst with a bittersweet ending. This is part of the fyuuture kid au, more of which can be found on my masterlist here under the series section.

"Is Oli awake yet?" The new boy, Roland, is an absolute mess and if he didn't look so pitiful you would have told Rook to dry him off outside and not in your Lounge. Rook isn't deathly serious about much, but he is about this and you can't help but feel a bit out of the loop even if it is clear that it somehow revolves around you.

"Non, I'm afraid you gave your brother quite the fright." Rook gently says, carefully massaging Roland's head to dry his hair and try to soothe the tension currently shuddering across his body. "Focus on yourself for now and let our dear Trickster take care of Monsieur Caneton." He smiles at you and you break eye contact to catch your breath, coughing to excuse yourself up the stairs to Yutu's room and away from your personal problems, content to let Grim bother the pair about cleaning up their mess.

You aren't as observant as Rook, but seeing Yutu's face had sparked a strange dissonant feeling in you that you think was triggered by his appearance. The color of his hair, the fat of his cheeks, the way his nose wrinkled when Rook had laid him in his bed (and not so subtlety flexed his biceps while you were watching) felt familiar to you. Absent his hood, he looked like you had spun DNA from yourself into yarn and knit him into being, borrowing ever so slightly from another source to sew his eyes and nose in such a way that a sideways glace would send even the strongest of beasts running. Even before those eyes fluttered open you knew what color they would be, but still you laughed at the forest green that looked up at you.

"Sleep well?" Yutu scrambles away from you, yanks the covers over his head and turns frantically around looking for his hood and mask you know are tucked away downstairs well out of reach. He is stammering, saying a random assortment articles together but failing to describe anything as you try to stick what you had planned to say. "Is it just 'Oli' or is that short for something?" Yutu pauses his searching, but he keeps the sheet between you and his face.

"... it's Oliver. But Yutu is still fine if that's easier." There are a few ways you can go about this, you think as you lean back in your chair.

"I don't really care about what's easier." Because it's true, if you did you probably would have run away from this school the second Crowley turned his back. Damn crow probably wouldn't have gone looking for you either. "I care about what will make you comfortable, since I don't think you planned on ever having this conversation with me." You reach forward slowly, making sure to pause just before you reach the sheet counting on him to intuitively know you are asking for permission. He lets it down himself, allowing you to go back to crossing your arms as you look at him. Oliver mirrors you, holding the sheet around himself taking several breaths before clearly trying to collect some thread of a thought before the damn breaks.

"I'm from the future."

"I should hope so." You hum. "Not that I would put it past him, but Rook would have some explaining to do if you weren't." He coughs and you smile.

"Well- you. You aren't intimidated by that at all? Rook I mean, not... me." He's much quieter than any child you'd expected Rook to ever contribute too, much more jumpy but that's not as disturbing as him calling his father by his first name.

"I've accepted what I feel for him for a while now." The window is much more appealing than your son's face but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "The idea of him reciprocating is- or well was given you're here, something I thought was never going to happen."

"But he writes you letters! I-" Oliver shouts before remembering said man is downstairs and undoubtedly listening for every breath he takes. "I used to read them." Now it is your turn to be embarrassed as you cough and think about the little box you have so carefully hidden upstairs. Not carefully enough it seems, but then again this isn't just your child.

"Well he didn't sign them. And besides..." It was perhaps a bit harsh to count against Rook's statement that he felt like he was fickle and his heart easily captured. No one had really wanted to propose to the ghost bride so it was natural of him to say something like that and it wasn't like he had known you particularly well back then either. He hadn't said he would never want to get married, just that it was too early to think about and if you were being practical that was the most reasonable position to take- "Look it doesn't really matter! What does is that you're here and not for fun right? And what's up with your brother? I clearly didn't raise you in barn so what gives with him?" It's obvious you're embarrassed and deflecting, but still it works as Yutu, or Oliver you now suppose, takes a deep breath and begins to tell you a story, the ending of which, in a way, you already know. ~~~~ Roland was ten when the changes started. Papa did not come home immediately when the night fell, which was not strange. He had been old enough not to worry. It was not strange for Papa to come home injured, it was not strange for there to be blood. But the blood had been dull that time, dull and Papa hadn't said much. He had held him though, hummed a song that felt like home. No matter where they had traveled he had never heard a song so wonderful, it had a name but Papa said it wouldn't help to find it. It was a yuusong, from "beyond the rift." Roland liked it a lot even if he could only remember a few strains of the words and understood none of their meaning

"Mon poussin, are you afraid of being alone?" It was a silly question of Papa to ask. "No matter where you go, your parent and I will always watch over you. So long as you live this world will be a beautiful place. I love you, so much more than my heart can give me words to describe." It was a scary thing to say. Such a silly and scary thing to ask and say that Papa forgot about it when he woke up the next morning, he would have forgotten about Roland too if he hadn't have yelled at him for it. Papa had said nothing at all that morning actually, not even a twitch of a smile or a laugh at his protest. Roland's mind must have painted over how there was no blood anymore, there was the ink- the blot he had been training so long to avoid instead. The Hunter had allowed him to follow and that allowed him to do all of the lying he might have needed to think things were fine to himself.

And on some level Roland knew that's what he had been doing all of this time but now that he was here, wherever here was, he was being forced to think about it.

"Are you hungry or somethin?" The racoon stares up at him, angry he thinks because its paws are on its hips. "Ya keep staring off into space and it's creepy!"

"Is it?" Roland tries to blink and the racoon jumps away from him so he moves closer so as not to miss anything it says.

"Y-yeah! It is! You're really creepy! And Rook's here so that's sayin something." The racoon mutters the last bit and Roland turns to look at Rook. He's too young, there are creases missing in his brow and a cruel bend to his gaze that isn't present when he looks at him. If anything Rook is looking at him in a way he thinks he should recognize, but doesn't remember the word for anymore.

"Are you hungry, Monsieur Poussin?" Rook smiles, the word that his mind supplies now is kind but it is still not the word he wants for the way Rook looks at him. Poussin... his focus breaks and Rook calls his name gently, fear is a word he remembers and holds onto. Most humans use that word when describing things so it grounds him somewhat.

"I guess." Turning down food is a bad idea even if the new sights and smells are almost too overwhelming to want to eat. When he looks back at Rook the fear has changed, he knows this look too but the humans he met never lived long enough to explain it to him. He thinks he still knows it though, but from where he doesn't want to remember. Not if there's actually going to be food. And thankfully Oliver comes down the stairs just in time to take the attention away from him.

"Roland?" He's still confused and Roland swallows the need to hug him, but he can't stop himself from shaking. "Where- how did you get here?"

"Where is here?" The strange person next to Oliver makes a noise like letting out a breath, and he thinks the racoon screams but he has never heard one do that before so he doesn't know. "Is this where you were? I've been looking for you, and for our parent too but if I've found you then they've got to be near." Roland hasn't thought about them much, dad always got so sad when he talked about them and after he stopped talking it was hard to get answers about anything. Talking about them always made him violent so he had tried his best not to do it. Oli sways a bit, almost like he's going to collapse again but the strange person moves to support him before Roland can.

"Thank you for doing that Roland, you sound like you've been a very good big brother." Something about their voice makes him want to cry, and he has to really work to remind himself that would be a waste of water when they smile at him. "But the answer to that is a bit complicated."

So. Roland. He has no real idea that the portal he went through was going to take him to the past, he just decided to race his "dad" for it and won. It's clear from talking to him that he's not the most educated or aware of things, he knows that he is "from" the Shaftlands, that he is a mage but he's not very practiced on how to use magic and says his dad "punishes" him when he tried to learn. He says he grew up traveling Twisted Wonderland looking for his parent and baby brother, but that his father was always present with him. He has memories of lots of places in Twisted Wonderland before the apocalypse began and while his descriptions are very child like, it gives Yutu some context for things he says will be useful in formulating a plan to stop the bad future.

In Roland's mind, Rook just got sick and became unable to talk after a while. It's clear he is aware on some level of what happened, he calls the phantom dad instead of papa, and while he plays off what were very clear attempts at murder as "games" the way he instinctively flinches at Rook's touch suggests his body knows even if his mind doesn't. His time following the phantom of his father around has clearly taken its toll on his body, his skin lacks the same level of pigmentation as his brother's, like someone has turned the saturation on his melanin up in a way that's clearly unnatural.

He's unused to actual food, he cries the first time you feed him even if it is just a cup noodle. Grim instantly forgives all of his weirdness when he agrees that canned tuna is the best thing he has ever tasted, he has a new favorite henchuman now (until he realizes this means he needs to share, then he demands Roland get a new favorite food). Rook insists on being the one to cook for him, he is genuinely terrified of the future that Roland and Oliver have described and he wants more than anything for his children to know he would never do anything like they experienced of his own free will. He is a hunter of love, not a practitioner of filicide.

There is of course, the small matter of how to explain all of this to Crowley, or if you even should given his suspicious absence in every story you just heard. Rook doesn't want either of his chicks out of sight, so he firmly rejects Yutu's suggestion to entrust Roland to his friends, something you second; you don't trust a bunch of random people with such a traumatized child, let alone one that's technically yours. Yutu suggests asking Idia for advice then, something you can't say you are surprised by given his glowing description of how the guy turns out in the future but still...

"So let me see if I understand this correctly." Idia has his head in his hands, not even bothering to use his tablet from just how done he is with this conversation, even though this marks his first participation in it. "Yutu is from the 'Bad Ending' timeline and he's come back here to make sure you get together with Rook."

"No!" You cough scream as Ortho dutifully pats you on your back in encouragement. "He's here because everyone overblots! Again! Except for you apparently. And Vil but that's only because of you?" He waves a single hand in the air.

"Yeah skill issue or whatevs- look." He finally looks up from his hands, if you didn't know any better you would say he's bored but it's clear from how he actually pauses and minimizes the game he was playing that's far from the case. "If Ortho didn't back up what you were saying about your hellspawn-" you take a deep breath and remind yourself said childrens' existence relies on this moron's help "then I wouldn't believe anything you just said, but it does kind of make sense."

"It does?" Idia pulls up some stills from what you assume are the school security systems of portals similar to what Rook described the one Roland appeared out of.

"The sentient blot phantoms isn't like anything S.T.Y.X. has recorded before, but if you assume monsters can experience evolution similar to how other species do it makes sense that it could happen. Especially if some sort of curse is involved, which it sounds like there has to be. Speaking of which, hellion 1." Idia doesn't bother to look at you so he misses the way your eye twitches.

"Roland?"

"Yeah. We're going to need to run some tests on him." Idia actually looks at you this time, which improves everything but your mood.

"Aren't you supposed to ask permission first?"

"If the world is going to end in roughly twenty years then no." Idia snorts. "I just don't want his parents showing up at S.T.Y.X. again demanding to see their favorite boy." "If his description of what his life was like is real, then he was raised by a phantom. If he's a mage, then it's miracle he hasn't overblotted and he's at real risk of hurting himself if he tries to learn to use magic at this point."

"Is there anyway you can do the tests here?" You don't like the thought of Roland hurting himself, but there have already been so many changes in his life in such a short period you are afraid one more might make him overblot anyway. "Or at least let Yutu go with him, he trusts him. I just- he's really skiddish."

"I can take some samples and send them for analysis, but if he's as fucked up as I think he is then he's going to need a detox that can't be done here." So Idia has the same set of thoughts that you do, that relaxes you somewhat even if you know very little is going to convince Rook to unwind.

"I can keep an eye on him." Ortho volunteers helpfully. "It would look weird if another student got added to Ramshackle out of nowhere, but transfers to Ignihyde aren't unheard of so we could have him stay with us!" Idia, surprisingly, doesn't shoot the idea down immediately, though he notices your confusion.

"What? Kid grew up in a blot infested forest, he'd probably be more at home here since it's so dark and gloomy. And besides he's going to need to learn how to use tech anyway if he wants to survive. Sides, it'll give us an excuse to keep him away from the other dorms."

You hate to say that Idia is right about anything, but he is about this. Roland really likes Ignihyde, tells you it doesn't smell as weird as Ramshackle (Rook has yet to introduce him to Pomefiore) and the Headmage accepts Idia's explanation of him being a S.T.Y.X. project ready for field testing easily enough. You suspect it might have something to do with him covering up all the overblots but wisely hold your tongue. He still comes to visit you and Yutu, but he's very slow to warm up to you. It's not that he doesn't love you, it's just that you were ripped away from him while he was still a baby so there's some trauma screaming at him that you don't really love him, otherwise you would have been there. The first time you really hug him, he breaks down ugly crying and holds on so tightly you swear he cracks some bones.

Roland is a mage, but his magic is weak from years of never practicing. He's very frustrated by this. Idia's surprised how willing he is to participate in the tests he wants to run on him, but not complaining. Roland tells him why quickly enough anyway, he's the oldest so he should be the one protecting his little brother and his parents but he can't if he's got something wrong with him. And just like that Idia regrets asking because he's feeling things like Rook Hunt's kid is being #relatable right now instead of a demon hellspwan from an overblotted future like he's supposed to be. Whatever he'll just take revenge by teaching him how to play video games. It'll be good enrichment for him probably, help him with that vocab.

And I mean it does. Roland certainly learns some new words. It's just that now you are having to explain to Vil that you are married to Rook in the future and yes, that child who talks like an mmo world chat is yours, you promise he's going to be better once the timeline gets fixed and you will have a chance to actually raise him. Vil is surprisingly supportive, both of Roland and Yutu. He already really liked Yutu, the magic of time travel must have made him remember how fond he was of the little sapling, and he is extremely proud to know he was in Pomefiore. Roland's life is a horror beyond his comprehension so he's determined to help teach him what it means to be human. Vil sees it as a test of his character development this far, sure he has an idea of what Roland should look like and how he should act, but what's the best way to introduce these things to him?

Epel is a huge help with Roland. He doesn't understand the gamer speak but he gets the rough and tumble phrases that come out when he's frustrated. He even surprises himself with how much he agrees with Vil on what Roland should do, and how his much of his advice is taken. It's such a beautiful sight Rook cries in pride every time he thinks about it. Roland wasn't super interested until Oliver told him about Vil being the reason he knew he had an older brother. He's still not 100% sold on what Vil tells him to do but if Epel reassures him and explains it then he'll do it.

The tests that Idia does prove that Roland isn't a danger to others, but he is very sick. Extended exposure to blot in its purest from has made him extremely sensitive to it, coming to this timeline has helped improve his chances somewhat but Idia doesn't think he would have lived more than two or three more years if he had stayed in the past. His magic is more or less killing him, so Ortho and Idia double down on teaching him how to use magical technologies. Idia makes sure to tell you and Rook this won't be a problem if you manage to create a good future, and that understanding this helps but still. Hearing your son only has a few years to live, and only if he stops actively using his magic hurts. No parent wants to hear that.

If Yutu has Rook's cunning and stealth, then Roland has his brutality and outgoing nature. He's very friendly, his only problem with speaking is that he lacks the vocabulary he needs to get his point across. Since he was raised by a phantom in the wilderness for a part of his life he has next to no problem hunting and killing., especially if it means he gets to keep his family. It's one of the things that allows him to connect with the real version of his father, Rook has a similar line of thinking, especially after hearing Roland's fate and the more he gets to spend time alone with you. He'd do anything to give his friends a happy future, but for you he would do anything. It's a disease, what is that poem you spoke to him about? Something about the poison from your lips being the deadliest of them all, he'll die if he has to live in a future without your kisses. It just will not happen, he won't let beauty leave this world forever.

Rook hates knowing you had to raise a child alone, he hates thinking that Oliver thought even for a second he abandons you. He hates knowing Roland thought you abandoned him and stole his brother, that he watched him die and refused to believe it. He hates seeing Roland run away from Trey holding onto his jaw, he loves all of Yutu's friends dearly and can't wait to meet their parents in the future. He loves sitting with you and hearing all of the thoughts you were too shy to tell him when you doubted his sincerity. He loves seeing Roland's efforts to adapt to his disability, he hates the fact his son is sick in the first place. He loves watching Yutu chase Azul around and he loves how Ace and Deuce fight about who would be the better Uncle even though it's clear Grim has already won the fight.

The future is always worth fighting for, and you will always be worth crying over. Has he mentioned he loves you yet today? Even when the day is won and the memories begin to fade, the compulsion to tell you remains. Rook knows you have no magic to speak of, but there is something about you when you hold him close that makes him think that can't be true, not really.

"Why Trickster?" Vil doesn't question his choice of nicknames ever, but now is as good a time as any Rook supposes. "I would have thought you would jump to something more romantic now that they've... accepted your invitation?"

"Non non beautiful Vil." Rook carefully sets aside his beaker, making sure that his project is in a place that he can pause before elaborating. "You do not understand, trickster is the most perfect description of my true love." Vil has a look that he makes sometimes that would make lesser men cease, a certain purse to the lips and blank look to the eyes that Rook never fails to ignore. "My true love is plain to the untrained eye, in our world power is thought to be strictly magical in nature but that isn't true. Just as the Fairest Queen was known for her unrelenting effort in the face of adversity so too does Yuu face down any and all that stands before them. Their determination is breathtaking, a magic all its own."

"You do seem quite powerless before it." Vil says dryly, but his smile betrays his true thoughts. Rook is eccentric, someone others only tolerate and, if Vil is as honest as he prides himself on being, the same could probably be said of you, the magicless prefect of a magic school. Of course Rook would love you, it gives him a few ideas for a movie, assuming he manages to hold onto them once time has been set right again.

But Vil will keep that to himself, it will make a lovely wedding gift for his dear hunter. He'll make sure to get you something much more practical.

[getvalentined]

I've never done a full breakdown of everything that happened to my version of Vincent while he was under the knife (although there is a partial breakdown from like 12 years ago on Ask Vincent Valentine), but @spinejackel tagged my recent Vincent doodle gushing about autopsy scar (Vincent Has a Y-Incision headcanon supremacy!) so I figured it was probably a good time. This is also probably the best method, since I can apply the right tags and trigger warnings to hopefully keep it from hitting the people who would be disturbed.

For anyone who doesn't know, figuring out the fucked up physiology of victims of science is like my entire jam. I think this is what happens when you let a chronically ill child watch Akira and the original Bubblegum Crisis OVA and most of the works of Masamune Shirow. All that before FF7 even existed. This means that the explanation under the cut may seem excessive, and this post is very long. I've been building it over over a quarter century, I don't think there's any avoiding it at this point.

Warnings for body horror, nonconsensual body modification, medical horror and torture. Basically, if there's anything you can think of related to becoming a victim of science under the rule of an unethical sci-fantasy oligarchy, it's probably in here to some degree. It's explained plainly and simply, in clinical but not visceral detail.

My headcanons for what Hojo did to Vincent are pretty specific, albeit not precisely comprehensive; 27 years later I still don't really have a particularly solid concept for how he turned Vincent into a shapeshifter, although at least we know it's not something entirely specific to Vincent���Hojo repeated that facet of the experiment in Azul, but not in any other SOLDIER operative even in DeepGround, implying that it's only possible if very specific physiological conditions are met. The minimal concept I do have involves a twisted application of the concept of incarnate summoning as it appears in FFXIII-2, but it's very vague and also not the topic of this post. Maybe later.

Regarding the Y-incision/autopsy scar, my headcanon is that once Hojo tweaked Vincent into being able to regenerate from any injury—an enhancement that is confirmed to be entirely Hojo's work in Dirge—the professor of course felt it necessary to run various tests quantify the usefulness of his handiwork. He did this first by inflicting various surface injuries, then by causing more extreme bodily trauma, which eventually culminated in Hojo removing the majority of Vincent's internal organs in order to measure how long it took them to grow back and, assuming they did grow back, how the new ones compared to Vincent's original parts.

To be able to observe this as closely as possible, Hojo kept Vincent's torso open for the entire process—which he repeated twice more in order to check the weight, size and structure of the newly-grown organs in comparison to the originals. This study proved that most of them did grow back, but the majority of them stopped developing much earlier than was appropriate for Vincent's age and size. The difference was consistent, Hojo just never figured out why most of them grew back smaller and less-developed.

The reason this happened is based the fact that most of the organs in the human trunk are used in digestion and other related processes, and Vincent's regeneration means he doesn't need to eat or drink anymore. His body only expended as much energy as was completely necessary to develop those organs to the point of being functional rather than normal, because they're not really necessary. Vincent is glad he still has them, though, because he does still occasionally eat (usually in social situations) and also he'd be really sad if he couldn't even have coffee.

Vincent's brain activity remained normal during the entire process, although that may have something to do with Hojo driving a bunch of fluid lines into his head and flooding the inside of his skull with mako to keep him awake the whole time even while deprived of oxygen. (Rebirth spoilers, but seeing the bit in the Nibelheim Protorelic questline where Hojo does something super similar to this, after this has been my headcanon for decades, was a trip.)

Two organs didn't grow back at all: Vincent's appendix and one kidney. This was also the result of efficient energy expenditure, as the human appendix isn't necessary for survival, and only one kidney is really required. (Each time Hojo removed the new kidney, the one that grew back would be on the opposite side, which bothered Hojo to no end.)

His lungs grew back a little larger, possibly because his skeletal structure never quite recovered after his first transformation into Galian—his arms and legs are noticeably too long for his body, although not to the point of looking impossible, and likewise his ribcage settled to breadth that would allow for larger lungs. He doesn't really need these anymore either, related to his brain being exposed to so much mako during the process that it can now operate without oxygen if necessary, but switching himself over from aerobic to anaerobic respiration is really unpleasant and Vincent tries to avoid it when he can.

His heart was pretty normal by the time Hojo was done with him, although his heartrate had dropped to like 20bpm even when elevated. Again, if respiration isn't necessary, there's not much reason for the system to be active. (By the time Lucrecia was done this had dropped to around 5bpm on average, although it's completely arrhythmic and jumps all over the place when he's not either particularly active or on the verge of a transformation.)

This was the experiment that left Vincent susceptible to degradation, which Hojo didn't realize until after finally closing him back up. Upon realizing that Vincent's body wasn't responding properly to a different test (a repetition of an earlier experiment related to the regeneration of external tissues and features), Hojo just kinda threw him in a tube to be disposed of at a later date, kinda like that scene in Arrested Development where there's that dead dove in a bag in the fridge. The incision healed at some point during the period that Lucrecia was working on him, but early enough in her work that the tissue couldn't flawlessly regenerate (like it does in the present), leaving him with one more gnarly scar on top of all the rest.

Vincent is self-conscious about all the physiological changes brought on by what was done to him, often to the point of loathing. His left arm is the worst—it rotted off while he was in the throes of degradation and grew back as something that he hesitates to call his arm—but Vincent hates that Y-incision scar almost as much. Some days they tie.

(It has come up in appropriately horrified conversation with Shalua that, considering how his regeneration works, Vincent could probably get rid of all the scars on his chest if he somehow peeled the skin off his torso in a single swath. He will not be doing that. Besides, it might grow back the wrong color/texture/etc, like his left arm. Not worth the risk, much less the suffering.)

Also I gotta finish off this entry with the extremely stupid headcanon reveal that Vincent's (honestly fairly impressive) dick was cut off during the first round of bodily trauma regeneration tests—and Hojo has never felt the sort of rage he experienced upon discovering that it grew back bigger than before. This occurred early enough in the experiments that Vincent was not awake for it, and thus has no idea how the fuck this happened, and does not want to talk about it ever thank you very much. I've never mentioned it in public anywhere because it is extremely stupid, but I hope someone out there finds it as funny a concept as I do.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Day 31 - Halloween

Monster Fucking, Ghost!Papa Emeritus III x Plus Size!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 14.2k.

Warnings: Teratophilia/monster fucking; graphic depictions of blood; graphic depictions of death; graphic depictions of beheading; detailed grief; major character death; death of a loved one; haunting; public sex; teasing; fingering; vaginal fingering; not actual dubcon, but dubcon elements (a character’s hand gets grabbed and squeezed during a scene, but the character has no idea what’s going on); groping; nipple play; public cunnilingus; squirting; hurt/comfort; partner worship; praise kink; vaginal sex; piv; possessive Terzo; implied depression;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog @saturnhas82moons @starscream-squarepants

Author's Note: Hello, lovely!

I just wanted to take this time to thank you profusely for your support every day this entire month. It has honestly meant the world to me that you're taking the time out of your day and enjoying my content.

I wanted to give an extra shout-out and super thanks to @da-rulah for not only beta reading a bunch of my fics and making sure you could understand my droning, but also giving me inspiration when I needed it and helping me workshop ideas on days when the list just wasn't working out for me.

Also major thank you to @copias-sewer-rat and @sodoswitchimage for constantly being in my replies and reblogging the fics and just generally being gorgeous people. I appreciate you two so much for consistently hyping up the fics.

One final thing before I let you enjoy this final piece, I just wanted to double check that you've read the trigger warnings and are comfortable enough to proceed. This is dark fiction, horror based with graphic depictions of poor mental health and physical violence, and I want to make sure that you're aware of this before you go ahead. As this is dark fiction, I will be rating it 21+, so I kindly ask you to respect this rating.

Thank you so much,

Mel

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You sat in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of your shattered world. Your body was cloaked in his clothes, his suit jacket that he’d intended to send down to laundry hanging off your body. His scent lingered on the fibres, comforting you even if it was just momentarily, and his Grucifix hanging from your neck and resting against your soft breasts, a small weighted comfort that you couldn’t liken to his touch - it was too cold.

The suffocating weight of grief consumed you, its tendrils winding around your every thought and breath. The image of his lifeless body, his head cruelly severed from his shoulders by the unforgiving hand of the Ministry’s authority, replayed relentlessly in your mind, tormenting you with its vivid brutality. The look in his lifeless eyes haunting you to this day every time you closed yours. The feeling of Cardinal Copia’s hands on your body, trying to shield you from the horror you were never meant to see. The sound of Imperator’s voice claiming pity for the fallen Papa as she stepped away from his pooling blood so her shoes wouldn’t soil. Her hearty tone of congratulations aimed at her estranged son, while you wept on the floor, reaching out for Terzo’s lifeless body.

With trembling hands, you reached for the Ouija board, the only thing you had left to reach Terzo. The board felt cool and smooth under your fingertips, its letters and numbers arranged in a circle, an eerie portal to the unknown. You had heard the whispers, the warnings about meddling with forces beyond your understanding, but your need to speak to him, to find any sliver of solace in this maelstrom of despair, drowned out the cautious voice within.

The room fell silent as you placed your fingertips on the planchette, your breath caught in your throat and mind silencing itself in order to fully focus on the task at hand. You closed your eyes, trying to summon the fragments of his memory, his voice, his touch, anything that could guide your hand. Your voice, shaky and grief-laden, calling out to him in the abyss. Your soul was crying, begging, screaming for anything from him, nursing a heart that broke further with every second that passed, every second that he didn’t make his presence known to you. Tears began to well in your eyes, the hopelessness overwhelming your senses. “Terzo, please!” You begged to the open air, eyes pointed skywards even though you knew Heaven wasn’t his final destination. “Come back to me.”

A sense of unease crept over you, the air thickening with an unseen presence that seemed to seep through the cracks of your fragile reality. The planchette shuddered under your touch, then began to move, its deliberate motion spelling out words that echoed like whispers from a distant, forbidden realm. The tears you were shedding as the planchette moved froze alongside your blood, as your eyes focussed on the board in front of you, unbelieving it was actually moving.

Your heart quickened as the letters formed a message, disjointed and cryptic, a reflection of a presence that both frightened and thrilled you. The room grew colder, shadows dancing along the walls, and you felt a chilling breath on the nape of your neck, as if unseen eyes were watching you from the darkest corners. Despite the mounting terror, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go, to sever this ethereal connection with the one you loved.

A sudden gust of wind extinguished the lone candle, plunging you into absolute darkness. Panic surged through your veins, but even in this black void, the planchette continued to move, etching out words that seemed to emanate from a place beyond the realm of the living. It was then you’d realised that in your panic, your hands had left the planchette, breaking your physical connection to the board, and yet it was moving now of its own accord; spelling out messages to you that were shrouded in darkness. The darkness hid the messages from you, but the deafening silence made sure you could hear every single scrape of the wood against the board.

The room seemed to pulse with a palpable energy, a presence that surrounded you, enveloping you in a web of otherworldly sensations. You realized, with a dawning sense of dread, that this connection you had forged was not just a bridge to the afterlife, but a gateway to something far more sinister, a realm where the line between the living and the dead blurred into an indistinguishable haze of terror and despair.

“I close the bridge!” You shouted, your voice trembling with fear. “I close the bridge. Goodbye.”

You forced the planchette to the goodbye in the bottom corner and ran for the lights. Your fingers fumbled in the darkness, searching desperately for the light switch. When your trembling hand finally found it, you flicked it on, and the room was once again bathed in an artificial glow. You squinted, your eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness, and as the shadows receded, you realized there was nothing else in the room. Only you, surrounded by empty walls that seemed to close in on you, suffocating your already fragile spirit. But your eyes fell upon the board, the planchette still sat atop “goodbye” as though nothing was wrong - as if your feelings of dread were unfounded and childish, as if it was taunting you.

A sense of profound isolation settled over you, deeper than anything you had ever felt before. The stark emptiness of the room now felt like a reflection of the void within your own being, the absence of your beloved Terzo amplifying the desolation that threatened to engulf you. There was a hollowness that echoed through the air, a palpable absence that seemed to seep into your very bones, reminding you that you were utterly alone in your torment.

A sudden chill swept through the room, the hairs on your arms standing on end, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something lingered in the shadows, something that watched and waited, biding its time. The light, once a source of reassurance, now seemed feeble, unable to dispel the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow you whole. It was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted, revealing a sinister undercurrent that had always been there, just beyond the reach of your perception.

You realized then, in the harsh glare of the light, that the Ouija board had not brought you solace, but had opened a door to a darkness that threatened to swallow you whole; and as you stood there, surrounded by the emptiness of the room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had invited something insidious into your life, something that hungered for more than just a fleeting connection with the world of the living.

In the subsequent days, the unsettling occurrences began to multiply, each one chipping away at the fragile facade of your sanity. Objects would shift from their original places, relocating themselves without any logical explanation. A book left on the table would inexplicably appear on the shelf, a photograph moved from the mantle to the bedside table. You knew you hadn’t done it, yet there was no one else in the confines of your home within the Ministry walls.

The air itself seemed to thicken with an otherworldly presence, a feeling that someone, or something, was always lurking just out of sight, watching your every move. Whispers, barely audible at first, began to weave through the stillness of the apartment that didn’t resemble your roommates in the slightest, indistinct murmurs that insinuated themselves into your thoughts, sowing seeds of doubt and fear. You strained to catch the words, but they remained just beyond the reach of comprehension, leaving you with a deep sense of foreboding.

Footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, faint but unmistakable, as if someone were pacing just beyond your line of vision. You would hear them in the dead of night, when sleep eluded you, or in the quiet hours of the morning when the world outside was cloaked in silence. Your heart would race as you threw back the covers, expecting to catch a glimpse of an intruder, but there was never anyone there, only the lingering echo of something that defied rational explanation.

Taps, like a Morse code from an unseen sender, would break the silence, their rhythmic pattern reverberating through the walls. They came at odd hours, disrupting the stillness, a persistent reminder that you were not alone, that there was an entity that defied the boundaries of the physical world, teasing and toying with your senses. You would rush to investigate, your pulse thundering in your ears, only to find empty rooms, devoid of life, devoid of any explanation for the inexplicable phenomena that haunted your waking hours.

As the days bled into nights, and the nights stretched into an endless cycle of unease, you found yourself teetering on the precipice of reason, questioning the very fabric of reality. The once-familiar spaces of your home had become a labyrinth of uncertainty, each creak, each whisper, a reminder that something beyond comprehension had taken root in your life, and it showed no signs of relenting.

One night, as the moon cast its pale glow through the window, you woke with a start, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. Your gaze fell upon the figure standing at the foot of your bed, shrouded in shadows, yet unmistakably possessing the same contours, the same silhouette as your beloved Terzo. Your heart quickened with a surge of hope and desperation, but as your vision adjusted to the dim light, a sinking dread replaced the initial flicker of relief.

The figure exuded an aura of malevolence, an energy that seemed to twist and contort the familiar features into something twisted and sinister. The shape resembled Terzo, yet its essence felt foreign, an imposter donning the guise of your lost love, a specter that mocked the memory of the one you held dear. There was no distinctive features on his face - simply just a shadow of him watching you as you slept.

A sense of primal fear rooted you to the bed, rendering you incapable of movement, your voice trapped in your throat, stifled by the weight of the moment. You tried to convince yourself that it was a trick of the shadows, a manifestation of your own grief-stricken mind, but the palpable presence before you defied any rational explanation. It was as if a malevolent force had seized upon your deepest longing, your most profound sorrow, to manifest itself in the form of a distorted, twisted version of the one you yearned for.

As the figure lingered there, its gaze boring into your very soul, you sensed a wave of darkness emanating from it, tendrils of a presence that seemed to seep into the fabric of your being, infecting you with a terror that transcended the physical realm. The air grew colder, the room suffused with an oppressive weight that threatened to suffocate you, and you realized with a shudder that this entity, this phantom masquerading as Terzo, harbored intentions far more sinister than mere visitation.

You dared not speak, dared not move, as the figure loomed over you, its form shifting subtly, as if it reveled in your fear. It was a twisted reflection of the one you loved, a corrupted specter that had breached the boundaries of the afterlife, determined to torment you in ways that transcended the limits of mortal comprehension.

Despite every instinct screaming for you to remain still, to avoid provoking the sinister apparition, you couldn’t resist the primal urge to banish the darkness that threatened to consume you. With trembling hands, you fumbled for the switch, and as the room flooded with light, the menacing shadow dissipated like smoke in the wind, leaving behind only the faint echo of its chilling presence. Relief mingled with lingering dread, as you realized that the source of the terror was not just the unknown, but a darkness that dwelled within, a darkness that threatened to devour you whole.

You arrived to work the next morning, throwing yourself down on your chair in the office you shared with the new head of the church. Your body was exhausted beyond belief. Your lack of sleep had caught up with you, manifesting itself as dark circles around your eyes. Cardinal Copia looked at you, faux concern in his mismatched eyes, those very eyes boring into your soul to try and figure out the sickness plaguing you. “Is everything okay, Sorella?” He asked, his voice cautious.

The way you looked at him was deadly: the very epitome of ‘if looks could kill’. His presence was a stark reminder of the night that had claimed Terzo’s life, a cruel twist of fate that elevated this thing to a position that rightfully belonged to your beloved. The clutch of animosity wound tightly around your heart, each beat a reminder of the seething hatred that consumed you, wishing that it was him, not Terzo, who had met a gruesome end.

You forced yourself to endure his presence, the facade of civility barely concealing the churning storm of resentment that raged within. Every word, every gesture from him was a reminder of the irreparable loss, a wound that time could not heal. And as you bore the burden of his company, you couldn’t help but silently wish for a reversal of fates, for the one who was truly deserving of a fate so dire to be the one occupying the space that he callously usurped.

You sought comfort in his arms when you found Terzo’s blood spilling from his neck for no other reason than he was the closest person to you. You remember how long you rotted in your bed for after Terzo’s death. How you would sell your soul to any willing customer if it meant Terzo could come back and hold you in his strong, capable arms just one more time. If it meant you could get a proper goodbye.

The rage you felt when you had finally finished rotting was terrifying. It was if your body had been set ablaze by the very fires of Hell that had taken your beloved from you. For the first time in two weeks, you left your bed and stormed to Imperator’s door, intending on introducing her to the world of pain that she’d thrown you into. Luckily for her, she wasn’t there. But her office was.

The rage that had been simmering within you for so long finally erupted, surging through your veins like a torrential wave. You couldn’t contain the flood of emotions any longer, the injustice, the sorrow, the burning desire for retribution all gathering into an overwhelming, burning, red-hot inferno that propelled you into action. Without a second thought, you stormed into his Imperator’s office, the bitch who had been instrumental in orchestrating the events that led to Terzo’s tragic end.

You overturned her meticulously arranged desk, the clatter of papers and office supplies a symphony of your fury. The framed photographs that adorned her shelves met the same fate, crashing to the floor in a cacophony of shattered glass and splintered frames. You spared nothing in your path, fueled by a primal need to lash out at the source of your suffering, to make them feel even a fraction of the pain that had consumed you since that fateful day.

The very act of desecration, of defiling a space that represented the sanctity of another’s life, only served to stoke the flames of your vengeful rampage. You tore through the room with a fervor that bordered on madness, each item, each trinket, each cherished memory of a life you would never get back meeting a violent end at your hands. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the visceral release of the anguish that had festered within you, and you were determined to leave nothing unscathed in your wake.

Your punishment: removal from your job at the Ministry’s beautiful library and thrown into Copia’s cramped office space as his only personal assistant. As if she couldn’t twist the knife any further.

If Copia was the one who benefited from Terzo’s death, his sick and twisted mother was the one who orchestrated it with his waste-of-space father trailing behind like an ancient, lost child. Sister Imperatrix of the Ministry with the power of a Prime Mover - no - the power of a Papa. Ordering the execution of the only light in your world and the result was now sitting there in ridiculous paints reminiscent of a rat’s skull, in Papal robes that were magically whipped up in the short time between Terzo’s death and Copia’s concave where all cardinals voted for him with an overwhelming majority. You wondered how many strings Imperator had to pull in order to get her pathetic son into the top spot.

“Everything is fine.” You responded, curtly. You didn’t want to give him the time of day, especially now that you were severely sleep deprived.

“Is something bothering you?”

Your eyes that had finally drifted from his face turned back to his, head turning slowly as if to ask him if he was serious. The look on his face told you that he was. “I said I’m fine.”

“That’s no way to speak to the head of our church, is it, Sorella?” A woman’s voice asked from the door. Imperator.

You saw red. “Oh I can get much, much worse.” You stood from your desk, raging eyes fixated on the face you were so desperate to rearrange. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Copia stood, too. He rushed to your side and put his hands on your shoulders. “S-Sorella, please. Calm down.”

You shook him off. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“Ghouls!” Imperator shouted.

“No, Sorella, please! She’s still grieving.” Copia pleaded. “Leave her be.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!” You shouted. “How dare you stand there barking orders when this was never meant to be your position in the first place!?”

You saw two Ghouls enter from the second room, one of them belonged to Terzo. The bastard even took one of his Ghouls! The other one was new, fresh out of training.

Imperator, “Escort Sorella ____ to-”

Copia interjected. “The library! I… I have a l-list of books for you to get for me, Sorella.” He rummaged through the drawer of his desk frantically looking for a small piece of paper with his list. He handed it to you, almost flinching at your gaze, but his eyes were pleading with you to obey. “Please, Sorella. It’s urgent.”

You snatched the piece of paper out of his hand and sighed sharply. “Fine.” You stormed passed him and headed straight for Imperator, barging passed her and smacking your shoulder against hers. “Move.” You snapped, before slamming Copia’s office door.

The library breathed with an eerie stillness that seemed to whisper of secrets long forgotten. As you stepped through the labyrinth of towering bookshelves, the soft shuffle of your footsteps echoed like a solemn requiem, the silence wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. A sense of foreboding settled in your bones, each creak of the floorboards beneath your feet a sinister murmur that taunted your senses. The subtle flicker of the overhead lights cast grotesque shadows along the rows of books, distorting the familiar into monstrous silhouettes that seemed to leer at you from the corners of your vision.

Amidst the oppressive silence, a faint murmur began to weave through the air, distant whispers that curled and twisted like wisps of smoke, reaching out from the fringes of your perception. You strained to discern the words, but they remained just beyond the threshold of your understanding, an indistinct sound that hinted at a presence lingering just beyond the realm of the living. Your heart quickened, a drumbeat of mounting apprehension, as you tried to dismiss the inexplicable sounds as mere figments of an overactive imagination. But as you continued to gather the books, the whispering seemed to grow more insistent, more insidious, as if the very walls of the library were conspiring to confound your senses.

A chill slithered down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you became acutely aware of a gaze fixed upon you, unseen yet palpable, like a weight pressing down from above. You turned, your breath catching in your throat, and there, mere inches away, stood the ghostly apparition of Terzo. His form wavered in the dim light, a translucent specter suspended between the worlds of the living and the dead. His eyes, hollow sockets that seemed to bore into the depths of your soul, emanated a sorrow so profound it threatened to swallow you whole. A blood-curdling scream tore from your lips, reverberating through the library’s cavernous expanse, as the books slipped from your grasp, their clattering descent a discordant symphony to the nightmarish encounter that had shattered the illusion of normalcy, plunging you into the unrelenting grip of a horror that defied reason and reality. You fell to the floor yourself, staring up in horror at the sight.

In that fleeting moment, the veil of horror that had enveloped the encounter seemed to unravel, revealing a facade that had concealed a prank orchestrated by the mischievous spirit. The shadows that had loomed large in the corners of the room now appeared benign, mere illusions conjured by Terzo’s playful spirit. The whispers that had chilled your spine with their ghostly murmurings now sounded like echoes of a shared joke, a spectral trickster reveling in the intricacies of his spectral jest.

You sat there, shaken and bewildered, as the ghostly apparition of your beloved Terzo exuded an air of lighthearted amusement, the weight of the previous horrors lifting with each flicker of his ghostly form. His eyes, once filled with a haunting sorrow, now sparkled with an impish delight that hinted at the lingering essence of his vibrant personality. It was as if he had found a way to bridge the gap between the worlds, to offer you a glimpse of his enduring spirit, and he used it to fuck with you.

“Sorella!” A voice sounded behind you, making you turn to look at the Sibling, looking on at you in concern. They reached out to you. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I-I’m fine, thank you. I just-” You turned to look at where Terzo was standing to find that he’d disappeared again. “Lost my balance. Heavy books and all.”

“Here, let’s get you up.” The sibling pulled you to your feet and helped straighten your habit, before bending to pick up your books for you. You didn’t recognise them from when you worked here, they must have been your replacement. All the while, you stood there, dumbfounded by your encounter with Terzo’s apparition, apprehensive to fully believe what you’d just seen. It must be the grief causing you to hallucinate.

“Are you okay?” They asked once they saw the look on your face. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just having trouble sleeping, is all. Thanks.” You took the pile of books off them and went to walk away.

“Listen, people talk… and they’re talking a lot about you, these days. The other librarians - well, they filled me in on what I missed before I was hired here. I remember seeing your face every time I came in here and, well, wondered where you went. They told me everything. I… I’m sorry to hear about Papa Terzo. It hurt us all to hear of his passing, but you were much closer to him than the rest of us.”

“I don’t want to be rude, but I really need to get these back to the Cardinal.”

They nodded. “Just, if you need a friend, I’m always about and available for a listen. And we have loads of books on grief… if you need them.”

You nodded awkwardly. The relationship you shared with Terzo was particularly unusual for a Sibling of Sin and a Papa, especially when that Sibling wasn’t the Papa’s Prime Mover. You cast your mind back to the very start of your relationship, how you instantly became famous for being Terzo’s favourite whore: the one to lock down the fuck boy. Now you were his grieving widow in the eyes of the Ministry, and their looks of pity as you passed them in the corridor didn’t escape you. Nor did their sad, little whispers commenting on your demeanor, or appearance. Though this Sibling seemed kind, there was no doubt in your mind that you’d be unable to trust them as far as you could throw them. Confide in them and your business would be all round the Ministry by tea time. Instead, you thanked them for their kindness, gathered the remainder of your books and threw them on Copia’s desk, announcing to him that you’d be taking the rest of the day off. Any protests he had died on his tongue before he had the chance to utter the words. Despite his authority over the church now, he was still as cowardly as he used to be.

As you stepped through the threshold of your home, the faintest hint of Terzo’s cologne wafted through the air, infusing the space with a familiar warmth that enveloped you like a long-awaited embrace. The fragrance, a delicate blend of musk, cedar, and coffee, carried with it a sense of comfort, a poignant reminder of the one you had loved and lost. It wrapped around you like a soothing blanket, dispelling the remnants of fear and uncertainty that had clung to you since the spectral encounter at the library.

Each inhalation brought forth a flood of memories, of moments shared and cherished, of laughter and tenderness that lingered in the very fabric of your being. It was as if Terzo’s essence had found its way back to you, a gentle presence that sought to reassure you, to offer solace in the wake of the day’s unsettling events. The scent, once a haunting reminder of his absence. Tears welled in your eyes the moment the door closed, and you collapsed onto the floor, sobbing into your hands until a headache formed. Exhausted and emotionally spent, you eventually fell into a fitful sleep right there, at the entrance of your home, the cold floor beneath you a stark reminder of the emptiness that now pervaded your life.

As you stirred back to consciousness, the darkness that surrounded you seemed to press in closer, enveloping you in a shroud of impenetrable blackness. You had no idea how long you’d been asleep for, but you recognised the familiar ache in your back from hours spent in an uncomfortable position, and the moonlight shining through the window gave you an indication. You’d been dead to the world for a while. Despite the ache, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, remaining parallel to the floor in your misery.

A sense of palpable presence lingered in the room, an intangible weight that settled upon your consciousness, evoking a feeling of being watched, yet not with the malevolence that had haunted your previous encounters. Instead, it carried an air of quiet companionship, a spectral reassurance that you were not alone in your moment of vulnerability.

Though the shadows obscured the source of the presence, you felt an inexplicable warmth, a gentle energy that seemed to radiate from the very air around you. It was as if a benevolent spirit had taken residence in the room, offering a silent solace in the wake of your ceaseless mourning. In the stillness of the night, you found a strange comfort in the notion that Terzo’s spirit, in whatever form it had taken, lingered close, a silent guardian watching over you in the darkest hours of your grief.

The weight of the encounter at the library and the haunting scent of his cologne now seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of peace that settled within the quiet space between heartbeats. It was a moment of communion with the unknown, a shared understanding that transcended the limitations of the mortal realm, offering a glimmer of solace in the infinite expanse of your sorrow.

In the stillness of the night, with the enigmatic presence as your silent witness, you allowed yourself to surrender to the gentle embrace of sleep once more, secure in the knowledge that even in the absence of the tangible, the spirit of Terzo would continue to watch over you, a silent sentinel standing guard over the shattered fragments of your grieving heart.

The sensation of a gentle touch, a warm pressure on your shoulder, stirred your emotions back up, more tears beginning to form in your eyes. In the darkness, you could almost see Terzo sitting beside you, his presence a soothing balm to the ache that had settled deep within your soul. His hand, though insubstantial, carried with it an unmistakable tenderness, a gesture of comfort that transcended the confines of the physical world.

That hand travelled from your shoulder, tickling your bicep and holding onto your hip as he so often did when you lay in bed together, naked and exhausted from a night full of passion. His scent, as it did then, enveloped you entirely now. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. “Why did you scare me?” You asked.

As the gentle spectral touch of Terzo’s hand gradually dissipated, a newfound sense of courage welled within you, buoyed by the lingering reassurance of his presence. The memory of the Ouija board, once a source of trepidation in the wake of recent spectral encounters, now resurfaced with a renewed sense of purpose. Though the thought of delving into the ethereal realm had initially filled you with a sense of dread, you now felt a resolute determination to connect with Terzo once more, to bridge the gap between the living and the departed in a bid to seek solace and understanding.

With a steady resolve, you retrieved the Ouija board from its place, the weight of its wooden surface a tangible reminder of the mysteries that lay beyond the veil of the known world. You positioned it before you, the letters and numbers now aglow with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. The planchette, a conduit to the realm of spirits, beckoned to you, and you placed your fingertips upon its smooth surface, ready to invite Terzo’s spirit into the sacred space between the living and the dead.

The room seemed to hum with a quiet energy, the air charged with an anticipation that transcended the physical realm. You closed your eyes, allowing your thoughts to coalesce around the memory of Terzo, your love for him pulsing through every fiber of your being. With each deliberate movement of the planchette, you sought to establish a connection, to bridge the gap that separated you, to invite his spirit to commune with you once more. In the hushed stillness of the night, you whispered his name, the sound carrying on the breath of a fervent prayer, a fervent plea to transcend the boundaries of mortality and find a semblance of peace in the communion of spirits. You lit candles, and called out to him.“Terzo?”

Anticipation coursed through you as the planchette stirred beneath your fingertips, its smooth surface gliding across the letters etched onto the Ouija board. The movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if guided by an unseen force that resonated with the very essence of Terzo’s spirit. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering with a mixture of trepidation and awe, as the planchette continued its mysterious journey across the board.

Yes.

“Is this actually you?”

More movement, only to bring you back to the same word: Yes.

“If this is you, then tell me something only you would know. When did you first realise you loved me?”

O-B-S-E-R-V-A-T-O-R-Y.

The Ministry prided itself on knowledge and spared no expense when it was being built all those millennia ago. The library itself was a stunning space, and one of your favourite locations to be in, but the observatory was next level. The room was circular and made of white marble, with Italian columns spaced equidistant between the large wall high windows. There was a short ledge between the walls and the perfectly domed glass ceiling for structural reasons, but that was also covered in long, rectangular windows so more light could get in. There was an arched door on the other end of the room that led out to the balcony, which allowed for complete unobstructed stargazing if one so wished. On the other side of the room, right near the entrance was a white, leather, curved sofa that extended the length of the wall, with desks on wheels that allowed for extra work space.

Terzo caught you during one of your shifts, laying on the wooden ground with your ankles crossed and your hands resting on your stomach. A pillow was beneath you head yet your eyes were open. You were taking a break and had come to bask in the sunset. He’d opened the door quietly so as not to disturb you and continued to watch you for a few more seconds before he spoke. “Ah, Sorella. We don’t pay you to sleep on the job.” Because of how empty the room was, his voice echoed a little giving it more power than he intended.

The sound of his voice scared you and you sat up sharply, turning your head quickly before you locked eyes with him. There was panic reflected there, like you’d been caught misbehaving by Satan himself - but you’d essentially been caught by your boss’ boss’ boss slacking. You stood quickly. “I’m so sorry, Papa! I was just taking a quick break.”

He laughed at you, not cruelly, just because you were cute. “Va bene. You looked like you were having a great time, sì?”

“Sì.”

“Dimmi i tuoi pensieri.”

“Hm?”

He chuckled softly. “The Italian lessons are going well, I see.”

“I start tomorrow.”

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You sighed and looked back at the sunset, but he continued looking at you. “Just having one of those moments where you stop and take stock and appreciate what you have. Italian sunsets are something else, aren’t they?”

No words were needed at this moment, just a soft noise of agreement. He hadn’t realised how quiet the room was until you looked back at him, and your eyes met. In the light of the sunset you were truly breathtaking. He shook his head and took a small step away from you, pulling himself out of whatever spell you’d bewitched him with. But it didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, he was falling head over heels in love with you.

It really was him. A sense of frustration washed over you. “Why the fuck did you scare me like that?”

F-U-N-N-Y.

“Fuck you!”

S-U-R-E.

You rolled your eyes. This was a typical Terzo conversation, and usually it would end with him on your body, or as he would prefer, inside it. “Nice try, dipshit. You’re dead. That wouldn’t work.” Your final sentence took on a sombre tone, your excitement washing away and replacing it with sadness. Your brain had forgotten that little detail all too quickly, and the reality was about to come crashing down around you. The sound of the planchette moving distracted you, temporarily at least.

W-A-I-T.

“Wait? Wait for what?”

Nothing.

“Terzo? Wait for what?”

You waited for a little while longer, trying desperately to regain the connection you just had with him, but it had vanished. Terzo had disappeared.

In fact, he remained gone for three days. There was nothing. No cruel jumpscares, no smells, no sounds, no touches. Not a single thing from him. You left the board out just in case he wanted to talk to you while you were at home, but the planchette only moved at your touch and not his. The cold shoulder hit you like a shock to your system. Finally, after weeks of being without him, you’d made contact with him. For days he’d been around you - even if it was at the expense of your sanity. And now all of a sudden there was nothing - it felt like you’d been thrown into ice cold water and left to fend for yourself.

But Terzo said wait. And so, wait you would.

This was your first Black Mass since Terzo’s execution, and so it felt weird sitting in the large chapel of the Ministry after so many weeks away. Of course, as you expected, all eyes were on you as soon as you walked in, the congregation whispering to each other to spread the news of your arrival like wildfire. In order to keep yourself as private as possible, you chose to sit in the back row, and as more and more Siblings and the Ghouls of previous Papas filed in, you realised they all didn’t want to sit beside you… the exception being Terzo’s Ghouls,who had also suffered a great loss.

Moss threw himself on the pew next to you, gripping onto your hand like a friend would. You weren’t sure if you could consider Terzo’s Ghouls your friends, but it was nice to have a familiar face. “It’s good to see you here today.” He said, softly.

You nodded. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t want to be here today. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to come back.”

“Small steps. Papa would hate for you to become a recluse.” He squeezed your hand in an attempt to comfort you further, and encourage you to keep this up. “This is already a huge step. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Moss.”

The entrance of the Clergy Officials, garbed in their varied black and red regalia, sent a ripple of apprehension through the congregation, marking the imminent commencement of the Mass. Everyone stood out of respect, but you and the other Ghouls remained seated in protest of the Clergy’s actions thus far. Stream had explained it to you a while ago: during the mourning period, they would remain seated. You observed with a simmering contempt as these figures, each a pillar of the dark hierarchy, took their seats, their presence casting a formal cloud over the gathered worshippers. Their eyes, shrouded by the dark recesses of their Cardinal makeup, seemed to linger with an unsettling scrutiny, as if they could discern the innermost secrets of those in attendance.

Following closely behind the officials, with an air of regal authority, came the figures you despised the most: Copia’s parents, Sister Imperator and the idiotic Papa Nihil. Their commanding presence exuded an aura of foreboding power, their very essence a testament to the malevolent legacy that had entrenched itself within the heart of the Church. The smirk etched across Sister Imperator’s face as her gaze met yours sent a chill down your spine, the shit-eating expression on her face threatening to engulf you in a suffocating shroud of dread. She was so sure she’d won whatever war she had fought; she was so sure she was invincible. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, a potent mixture of anger and indignation boiling within you, demanding release in the face of her insidious mockery. The weight of her disdainful gaze seemed to sear into your very soul, a silent reminder of the hierarchy of darkness that ruled over the congregation.

Beside you, Moss, sensing the uproar of emotions raging within you, placed a reassuring hand on your arm, his touch anchoring you to the present moment. His silent gesture of solidarity implored you to remain composed, to resist the urge to confront the Imperator, whose every calculated move seemed designed to provoke and unsettle.

And then, with a quick stride, Cardinal Copia entered the hall, his visage an unsettling blend of awkwardness and authority, as though he had to keep reminding himself of his position. As he ascended the dais to lead the congregation in the unholy proceedings, you felt a surge of revulsion, a potent mixture of hatred and disdain directed at the figure who now wielded power in the name of the malevolent forces that governed the realm of darkness, and his lineage who had taken a comfortable seat on the wooden pews of the front row.

Copia had always seemed somewhat pathetic to you, a character whose uncertainty and timidity had once been palpable, but it appeared that he had undergone a transformation of sorts, now imbued with a newfound confidence that emanated from his position as the leader of the dark congregation. He was introverted and not conventionally attractive, which meant many members of the Ministry had it out for him. Rumours about him spread like wildfire, and all of them were more unbelievable and cruel than the last. Before all of this, you refused to believe them, and couldn’t understand where they came from. But now? Now you’d believe them just to spite him. Given how much everyone loved Papa Terzo, no one could imagine him being deposed by… well… a Cardinal who didn’t really have any friends. He often stumbled over his words and spoke quietly, had terrible posture and a gaze that always lingered for moments too long. A wallflower tasked with taking command of a congregation. He never should have stood a chance, yet there he was, making speeches and reading texts, shunning Catholicism for its evils while he was speaking with the voice of hypocrisy.

The congregation, an eclectic mix of followers, now hung on Copia’s every, quiet, word, their devotion to the sinister doctrines palpable in the eerie silence that pervaded the hall. As he intoned incantations and recited dark liturgy, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease, a discomfort that mingled with your disdain for the man who had once been a mere annoyance but now held a position of dark power.

A shiver coursed down your spine as the sensation of a presence lingering behind you tugged at the edges of your awareness. With a mounting sense of anticipation, you slowly pivoted to steal a glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to find the spectral form of Terzo standing there, his gaze fixed upon you with a reassuring warmth. However, to your disquieting realization, there was no one there, no discernible figure or apparition to account for the palpable energy that seemed to permeate the very air around you.

As you turned back to face the front once more, you carried with you the unreal comfort of Terzo’s spiritual presence. The mysterious energy of the room seemed to shift, imbued with a faint glimmer of hope that defied the darkness that threatened to consume it. You felt the hairs on your body stand on end, electrified by the energy now surrounding you. A weight appeared on your shoulders, not too heavy to burden, but heavy enough to remind you that he was there. You felt feather light touches on your bicep as Terzo’s scent filled your mind and clouded your senses, soft grazes against the sensitive part of your neck - a favourite spot for Terzo when he was alive, he loved to hear you gasp.

The gasp that left your body at that moment was loud enough to disturb the people around you, causing them to turn and look at you in alarm or concern. You nodded and mouthed a silent apology to appease them, but Moss’ eyes still lingered. He said nothing, but you could see that a question was bubbling in his throat. Meanwhile, yours had the ghostly feeling of Terzo’s lips pressed against the skin, tormenting you in front of all the Siblings. This would usually be the part of the proceedings where he’d whisper sweet nothings in your ear, remind you that you needed to be silent or people would suspect something. But you knew him well enough to know he’d claim you in front of the entire congregation if he saw fit to do so. Lucifer, how you wished you could hear him right now.

The feeling on your bicep ended, only to be replaced by fingers pawing at your clothed clitoris, rubbing deftly over the fabric simply to torment you and tease you. You released another gasp, this time repressed enough to disturb only Moss, who was now staring at you intensely. Your toes pressed against the marble floor to keep yourself sitting upright as your thick thighs parted involuntarily, granting better access to Terzo’s phantasmal fingers. Terzo, of course, took advantage of this - you could almost feel the rumbling of his chest as he chuckled at you for being so desperate for him, during Mass no less.

The fabric of your panties never moved or shifted, visually it was as if nothing was wrong, but you felt Terzo’s fingers much more solidly on your clit, as if he’d moved the fabric to the side and was now making direct contact with the bundle of nerves, set alight for the first time in weeks. He applied more pressure with each circle he rubbed into your folds, before you felt his fingers dip inside you.

You were so wet and ready for him, and despite him beginning with two fingers, your body was feeling no pain. There was the familiar stretch that you loved, but none of the delicious bite that accompanied it. Your mouth fell open with the unbridled pleasure only his fingers could bring, with the way they tapped upwards immediately and hit against your g-spot in a way that almost had you screaming out loud if it wasn’t for your hands against your mouth, muffling your cries to absolute silence.

“Sister,” Moss whispered from beside you, “are you okay?”

You simply nodded in response, not trusting your voice to answer for you. The hand that wasn’t clasped against your mouth flew to Moss’ open hand and began to squeeze, searching for comfort. Your hips had shifted, pressing your covered clit against the wooden pew, gently rocking them back and forth and rubbing yourself against it for the extra stimulation. To Moss, it just looked like you were in pain. He didn’t see the way your nipples were erect and rubbing against the lace of your bra, and he certainly couldn’t hear the way your wet cunt was succumbing to Terzo’s fingers, ebbing you ever closer to an intense orgasm at the back of Black Mass, your fingernails digging into the meat of Moss’ hand.

Knowing that you hadn’t orgasmed in so long, and knowing what Terzo’s fingers were capable of, apparently even in death, you knew that what was building inside of you was going to explode at any given time, and it would overtake your entire body. You had to go. You had to leave before he made you cum.

“I h-have to g-go!” You whispered to Moss, straightening yourself up and quietly running out of the Church. In your haste to escape, you didn’t notice the way Moss and the other Ghouls were staring at you - and you certainly had no idea that Copia had witnessed your escape.

The sunlight glared onto your face as you made your getaway, looking around the courtyard frantically for shelter or somewhere you could cool off. Terzo’s fingers had retracted from your cunt, but you could still feel him on your body. He wasn’t finished with you yet. Ideally, you’d make your way back to your home and deal with this there, but as you stood outside trying to force your clouded brain to make a plan, you could feel Terzo’s body pressed against yours, his hands running all over your soft body, grabbing at you as he saw fit. He pulled at the fat of your hips, squeezed your pillowy breasts, rubbed your hidden nipples between his fingers as he groped you for his own pleasure -and perhaps yours. Your body felt like it was on fire wherever his touches landed.

You just let your feet carry you round the back of the Church to the quiet gardens. This would do - it would have to. You felt Terzo’s hands back on your body, pushing against your shoulders and pinning you against a nearby tree. You still couldn’t see him - you had no idea where he was or what he was planning as his hands disappeared. That was until you felt extra wetness press against your panties. His tongue. Oh, fuck, his tongue. It laved over the gusset of your panties, savouring the taste of your wetness and rubbing you over and over again. Your panties fit you perfectly, but in this moment, in this desperation with the feeling of Hellfire burning your entire body to a crisp, it felt like too much. They needed to be off of you; and so, in a frantic movement, you pulled them off your body and threw them somewhere onto the grass, leaning back against the tree and spreading yourself open for your spectral lover, who dove back into your folds like a man starved. He began roughly licking and sucking on your clit as your hips bucked wantonly against his ghostly face, providing you with as much stimulation as he could to get you to climax as quickly as possible. He seemed just as needy as you.

Your hands were itching to tangle in his locks, desperate to tug on the black strands and push his face into your cunt. You needed to ride his face and take what you needed from his tongue, but there was nothing to see - nothing to grab. You needed to grab something. So, you pulled your habit up over your breasts, exposing your voluptuous body to the elements and any lucky passerby, and pulled and tugged at your nipples through your bra, whining at the sensitivity. Your moans after that fell naturally, easily, just as they always did whenever Terzo was in-between your thighs.

“Fuck, Papa! Just like that. Please.” You begged to the air, pulling at yourself hard. “I’m so fucking close, Papa! Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Oh, fuck!”

You felt his mouth suction against you harder, the vibrations of an unheard growl shocking you and making you scream a little louder. It felt incredible to have his magical tongue lavish you in pleasure once more - almost intoxicating. You needed this. You needed him. You were so close. Just a little more - just a little longer.

Yes.

Yes!

Yes!

With one final suck of his mouth on your clit, and a particularly hard tug from your fingers, your orgasm struck you, hitting you like a freight train and knocking the wind out of you. Your lungs burned with the need for oxygen, but your entire body cramped and froze as your orgasm took control, filling you with pleasure that started at your cunt and ran all the way through your body, nerve-endings screaming at the exertion, and cum oozing out of your cunt and running down your thighs as the majority of it flooded the ground and the tree’s exposed roots beneath you.

When your orgasm subsided, you were exhausted. It had been so long since you had one, let alone one of that strength. It was in the haze, you’d realised what had just happened. You realised that your cum was dripping down your legs and that your entire body was exposed. You realised that you were alone. How you’d kill to have Terzo’s arms wrapped around you right now, to tell you how good you’d been for him, to tell you how much he loved you as he always did when you were recovering from his onslaught. Before you had the chance to break down against the tree you’d just been pinned to, you picked up your panties from the grass and trudged all the way back across the Ministry’s grounds, knees like jelly, and threw yourself on your bed once you arrived home.

In the days that followed the unsettling encounter during the Black Mass, the memory of Terzo’s spectral presence lingered like a ghostly echo, a haunting reminder of the unbelievable nature of his existence beyond the realms of the living. His touch haunted you as though he was still there - the places his fingers and mouth had been still burned through to your soul, and had you touching yourself in the darkness of your room in an attempt to recreate that feeling. It didn’t matter how many times you orgasmed at the thought of him, how much your own fingers traced against your skin, it didn’t feel the same. It never did - even when he was alive and away on tour. The longing to see him, to feel the warmth of his touch, to hear the timbre of his voice, gnawed at the depths of your being, leaving an ache that seemed to seep into every crevice of your soul. The inability to bridge the gap between the real and the ethereal only served to magnify the sense of loss that pervaded your every waking moment, casting a shadow over even the most mundane of tasks.

Each passing day brought with it a relentless yearning, a longing that refused to be assuaged by the fleeting memories and spectral encounters that punctuated the fabric of your existence. The knowledge that Terzo’s spirit lingered just beyond the veil of perception served as a bittersweet solace, a faint glimmer of hope in the vast expanse of grief and longing that threatened to consume you whole. Yet, the inability to fully connect with his essence, to share in the tangible manifestations of his love and presence, left you feeling adrift in a world that seemed to have lost its vibrancy and meaning.

As you navigated the mundane rhythms of daily life, the ache of his absence remained a constant companion, a silent echo of a love that transcended the limitations of mortality. The void that Terzo’s departure had left in your life seemed to expand with each passing day, a cavernous emptiness that defied the passage of time and the distractions of the outside world. In the silence of your solitude, you grappled with the enigmatic nature of existence, with the elusive threads that connected the realms of the living and the dead, and with the unyielding longing for a connection that surpassed the boundaries of life and death. There must be something you could do…

The library welcomed you with its familiar hush as you stepped through its hallowed doors, seeking respite from the ceaseless agitation of your own thoughts. The soft rustle of pages turning and the faint murmur of distant conversations enveloped you, offering a semblance of comfort in the labyrinth of towering bookshelves that lined the expansive halls. With a determined resolve, you navigated the aisles, the scent of aging paper and polished wood a soothing balm to the turbulence that churned within your restless soul.

As you perused the countless volumes that adorned the shelves, your fingers traced the spines of books that promised insights into the enigmatic realms of the afterlife and the mysteries that veiled the boundaries between the living and the dead. You delved into the intricate narratives of spiritual encounters and spectral manifestations, each page offering a glimmer of understanding, a fragment of solace amidst the haunting echoes of your longing for Terzo’s presence.

Amidst the neatly organized rows of books, your fingers alighted upon a weathered tome that seemed to emanate an aura of ancient mystique. As you withdrew it from the shelf, the book revealed itself to be a relic of another era, its faded leather cover bearing the weight of countless years and the touch of countless curious readers. The rich, earthy scent of aged parchment and ink enveloped you, infusing the air with a sense of timelessness that seemed to transcend the confines of the library’s walls.

The cover, weathered and worn with the passage of time, bore intricate embossments of ethereal figures and swirling mists, hinting at the enigmatic knowledge that lay within its pages. Traces of gold leaf, faded but still resplendent, adorned the edges of the cover, their faint glimmer serving as a silent testament to the book’s storied past and the wisdom it held. Your fingertips traced the embossed grooves, the texture of the leather yielding beneath your touch, as if imparting a tangible connection to the ancient mysteries that the book sought to unveil.

As you dared to open its timeworn pages, the delicate rustle of aged paper echoed through the air, each turn revealing a tapestry of meticulously inked illustrations and intricate script that danced across the parchment. The words, etched with a precision that spoke of a bygone era, seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, their meaning transcending the confines of language and time. The sepia-toned illustrations, rendered with a meticulous hand, depicted ghostly apparitions in various states of ethereal existence, their forms wreathed in shadow and light, their spectral presence an enigmatic blend of the tangible and the intangible.

The weight of the book in your hands seemed to grow heavier, as if bearing the weight of the knowledge it contained, the essence of countless narratives that had woven themselves into the fabric of its pages.

As you delved deeper into the pages of the ancient tome, your eyes alighted upon a ritual that promised to bridge the realms of the living and the dead, to summon forth the spectral essence of those who had departed from the mortal plane. The words, etched with an archaic elegance, seemed to beckon to you from the faded parchment, offering a glimmer of hope in the face of your relentless longing for Terzo’s presence. With each line that you perused, a sense of anticipation bloomed within you, a fervent desire to transcend the boundaries of mortality and connect with his spirit once more, even if only for a fleeting moment.

The ritual, intricately detailed with symbols and incantations, unfolded before you like a map to the ethereal realm, its instructions offering a pathway to channel the energies of the unknown and summon forth the ghostly apparition of your beloved. Your fingers traced the ancient script, committing the intricate steps to memory, each syllable resonating within the depths of your consciousness, a whispered promise of reunion and communion with the spirit that had once been your guiding light.

In the back of your mind, you remembered the Sibling you encountered the last time you were here and how they reminded you that people talk. You knew that whoever was at the front desk would talk about how you’d borrowed a book about apparitions and ghostly rituals. So, you did the next best thing: you took a series of photos for each of the pages, allowing you to keep the information close to you and not get caught in the process.

You made your way from the sanctum of knowledge that was the library, the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, driving you forward on your quest to reunite with Terzo’s spirit, even if only for a fleeting moment. The path to the Ministry’s ritual supply shop unfolded before you, each step a testament to your unwavering determination to see the ritual through to its completion. The bustling corridors and busy hallways seemed to blur into the periphery of your consciousness as your mind remained fixated on the sacred task that lay ahead.

Upon arriving at the ritual supply shop, the air seemed to thicken with a palpable sense of mystique, as if the very atmosphere resonated with the esoteric energies that permeated the space. The shop, adorned with an eclectic array of mystical artifacts and arcane paraphernalia, offered a glimpse into a world that existed beyond the confines of the mundane. The soft flicker of black candles cast an ethereal glow, while the sight of crimson paint, rich and vibrant, beckoned to you with a silent promise of the ritual’s imminent fruition.

With a focused determination, you gathered the necessary materials, each item a vital component in the intricate dance of summoning that you sought to perform. The vibrant red paint, symbolizing the blood that pulsed through the veins of life, and the stark black candles, emblematic of the shadows that cloaked the realms of the unknown, spoke to the potent energies that the ritual sought to harness. Each item you procured held within it the potential to bridge the chasm between the worlds, to beckon forth the spirit that had eluded your grasp, to offer a glimpse of solace in the enigmatic communion that lay beyond the boundaries of mortal comprehension.

With the ritual supplies in hand, you felt the weight of the imminent encounter with Terzo’s spirit settle upon your shoulders, a burden that mingled with the fervent hope that guided your every step. The journey back to the confines of your abode seemed to pass in a blur, as your thoughts remained steadfastly fixed on the ritual that now loomed on the horizon, promising to unveil the secrets that lay veiled between the realms of the living and the dead. You were going to see him tonight - you’d make sure of it.

As the cloak of night enveloped the world outside, casting the surroundings into an eerie shroud of darkness, you stood within the designated room, a place now transformed into a sanctum of otherworldly intent. The air seemed to thrum with an otherworldly energy, charged with the anticipation of the ritual that was about to unfold. With a steady hand, you traced the intricate lines of the Satanic pentagram in vivid red upon the floor, each stroke a deliberate invocation of the esoteric forces that lay dormant within the confines of the symbol. The pentagram, a testament to the unyielding power of the occult, now bore the weight of the ritual’s purpose, serving as a conduit between the realms that sought to unite the living with the departed.

At each point of the pentagram, you placed the black candles, their flames flickering with an ethereal luminescence that cast dancing shadows across the room. The soft glow of their light lent an otherworldly aura to the space, imbuing the ritual with a solemn reverence that transcended the mere act of conjuration. As you knelt at the center of the pentagram, a profound sense of purpose enveloped you, the incantation poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to breathe life into the ancient words that had beckoned forth spirits for eons.

With a voice that quivered with a potent blend of determination and trepidation, you began to intone the incantation, each syllable a whispered invocation that resonated with the pulsing energy of the room. The words, spoken with a fervent reverence, seemed to weave themselves into the very fabric of the air, each verse carrying the weight of ancient wisdom and the fervent desire to bridge the gap between the worlds. In the flickering light of the candles and the crimson hue of the pentagram, you channeled the essence of your longing, the fervent plea to summon forth Terzo’s spirit, to invite him into the sacred space that now pulsed with the promise of communion between the realms of the living and the dead.

As the final syllables of the incantation lingered in the air, a profound stillness descended upon the room, punctuated only by the soft flicker of the black candles and the radiant glow of the pentagram that now seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. And then, amidst the charged silence, the figure of Terzo appeared within the confines of the sacred circle, his form transparent and wreathed in a soft, ethereal blue aura that pulsed with the rhythm of the spirit realm. His presence, though you were unable to touch him, cast a spectral light upon the room, his essence a haunting blend of the familiar and the enigmatic.

You gazed upon him with a mixture of awe and longing, your senses heightened to the subtle nuances that marked his spectral manifestation. The transparency of his form, a mere echo of the physical solidity he once possessed, allowed you to see through him, to discern the faint outlines of the room beyond his spectral figure. Yet, in the ethereal light that bathed his essence, you found a familiarity that transcended the limitations of the physical world, a connection that pulsed with the enduring bond of love and longing that had persisted beyond the confines of mortality.

Though you couldn’t reach out to touch him, the echoes of his presence seemed to weave themselves into the very fabric of your being, his voice carrying on the subtle currents of the air, his gaze meeting yours with a silent reassurance that transcended the boundaries of the spectral plane. The scent of his cologne, now an intangible whisper that lingered in the space around you, evoked a potent wave of nostalgia and longing, intertwining with the enigmatic aura that surrounded his ghostly form.

You couldn’t touch him, but he could touch you. He saw the tears in your eyes and ran outside of the circle, hands cupping your cheeks and looking into your eyes. There was life in his despite his current form, much different to the last time you saw them. “Tesoro!” He breathed, throwing himself down to the floor to your height to offer you some comfort as you felt all of the emotions a person could possibly feel all at once.

You sobbed. Relief flooded your body along with the pain of the grief you’d felt for all this time. The accumulation of all the agonising days rolled into this one meeting, and the shattered pieces of your heart began to stick back together piece by piece, starting with when you saw him standing there just moments ago, and continuing passed the sound of his voice calling for you.

You felt his lips trace ghostly kisses all over your face, starting at your forehead and working all across the expanse of skin, even moving his hands to get to your cheeks. For once, his paints didn’t transfer onto your face as it rubbed against you - and there was something so sad in that; something so heartbreaking in the notion that it would only be your makeup you’d be washing off your body tonight, and not his too. That you wouldn’t hear him come into the bathroom and laugh at your complaints every time his black paint stuck to your cheek and stained it temporarily. You’d give anything to have that just one more time.

“I m-missed you so much!” You wept into his spectral clothes, but your tears dripped onto the floor. You felt his arms wrap around you, but your own hand slid through his body and rested on your own when you tried to grip his arm.

“Lo so, amore mio. I have been with you this whole time.”

“Why did th-they do that to you? I d-don’t understand.”

He looked at you with sadness in his eyes. “You won’t understand. You don’t know everything, yet.”

“Then please explain it to me.”

He sighed. “Non posso. It is not the right time, and I am not the right person to do it. But I need you to remember that my brothers and I were not the only victims here. Besides you, there is another who lives and suffers daily through no fault of their own.”

“What does that mean?”

He shushed you and kissed your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. Non pensarci. Just enjoy this moment while we can, hm? I cannot be here all night.”

You nodded, but cried again. “Did you feel any pain?”

“No, no, no, tesoro. Do not torture yourself with my death, especially not now.” He kissed your lips in an attempt to kiss away the grief. “I need you here with me, now, sì?”

You nodded.

He kissed you again. The kiss was soft, yet full of passion, dripping with the love and adoration he felt for you even in death. You longed to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss and show him just how much you missed him, but what you had would have to do.

Despite the tender moment, despite the sweetness you were experiencing in his presence, you needed something more - something stronger. He’d done it before, you craved him to do it again. You let out the faintest of whimpers as you kissed him, and he picked up on it immediately, deepening the kiss and pulling you flush against his spiritual body.

His hands, like before, began wandering over your body, roaming over your curves and caressing you sweetly, tentatively. He slowly moved forward on his knees, pushing you down onto the cold wooden floor and hovering above you, his lips still attached to yours. One hand propped him up, the other ran from your knee, up your thigh and rested on your hip, your legs parted out of habit to allow him to kneel in between them.

“Tesoro,” he whispered, breaking the kiss and allowing his lips to travel across your cheek, to that sensitive spot on your neck, “the only woman I ever loved. The angel amongst the devils. Even in death, I yearned for this moment.” He kissed your neck, revelling in your gasps and sighs. “Will you undress for me, amore mio?”

He pulled himself away from you and watched you stand, undressing yourself slowly for him. You looked at his eyes the whole time, but didn’t begrudge the fact that his eyes were travelling everywhere. He watched your hands unzip your habit, darkened and hooded eyes watching it pool at your feet. Your bra was removed next, Terzo’s mouth slightly agape and almost drooling at the sight of your breasts falling free of their confines. He groaned deeply, a noise coming from the back of his throat, so low it sounded like he was purring.

He loved your body more than anyone else did. He loved the plush softness of it, how it jiggled when you moved, even slightly. How even repositioning yourself on the couch could get him harder than anything else in the world, just because your thighs would splay against the cushions, and your tummy would jiggle with the force of you sitting down. There were so many times he wished he could paint, because he would have painted you over and over again like you were Michelangelo’s favourite subject. It saddened him to know that this would be the last time he would ever get to see you like this, but at least his soul could rest happily in Hell with Lucifer as this being his final memory.

When you removed your panties, Terzo groaned. “Oh, bella!” He bent at the waist, allowing his forehead to touch the ground, his hands slamming against the wood of the floor. What followed was a string of Italian sentences you had trouble discerning at your low-level, but the way he was talking made you believe whatever he said should be written in a book for the rest of time. He was worshipping you, the very ground you walked on, playfully in true Terzo fashion, but no less insincere. His reaction to seeing you completely bare for him had you giggling, your previous tears long gone. He got to his feet and charged over to you, cupping your face in his hands when he reached you and pulling you into a desperate kiss. “Come, lie down for me.”

Once he had you spread out for him on the floor, he lavished you in kisses again. His lips and his tongue ran wherever they could, savouring every inch of you until there was nothing left to be explored before finally settling on your cunt. He began gently licking and sucking on your clit as your hips bucked wantonly against his ghostly face, providing you with as much stimulation as he could to get you to your end. This time, he wasn’t rushing his work. This time he was making sure to appreciate you, dining on you like a 12-course experience where each bite was a culinary masterpiece - because you were a masterpiece.

Your hips bucked at the sensations he was bestowing upon you, hands still desperate to tangle in his hair and frustration clouding your mind when you realised you couldn’t.

This time, you could hear every single noise his mouth was making against your pussy, the suction, the sound of his saliva swiping against your sopping folds. He worked you like it was his job, hitting every single spot to have you singing for him, writhing beneath him, driving him crazy. In a desperate need to do something with your hands, you moved to your nipples again, pinching, pulling, adding to the onslaught that his mouth was putting your clit through. His hands were clutching onto your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin there, but leaving no marks as much as you both wanted him to.

“Papa, I’m so close!”

He growled into your cunt, not wanting to stop and have you lose the feeling. You knew he wasn’t going to make you hold back - not this time. He wasn’t going to play with you, or torture you in the most delicious of ways, you both craved each other too much.

“Your tongue feels so good, Terzo! Fuck! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-”

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave crashing against the rocks of a cliffside. One of your hands moved to your mouth and got caught beneath your teeth as you bit down, your body freezing with the intensity of it. Drool spilled from your open mouth, your eyes glazing over and rolling back into your head. Your hands tightened where they were, forcing you to bite down hard on your finger and pinching hard on your nipple. Your lungs refused to fill with air, and your back arched off the floor. Your mind became filled with dizziness from the way your body was convulsing as a result of the intensity, even your voice could no longer work.

As soon as your body relaxed, Terzo detached himself from your core and crawled up over your body, frantically kissing your lips when he reached them. “Always so good for me, hm?” Another kiss, this time his tongue entered your mouth. “Cumming so well on my tongue. Amore mio, I cannot wait.”

“I need you inside me. Quickly, please!”

Terzo nodded dumbly, his hand fiddling at his crotch. Seconds later, he pushed inside of you, stretching you out to make you fit him perfectly inside. You always did. You were always so perfect for him, made specifically for him. To ruin him, to strengthen him. And he was made for you, to offer you pleasure beyond your wildest fantasies, have you seeing stars as you cum around his cock. He fit inside you just right, always hitting your cervix in the most delicious of ways and dragging against your walls, making your body feel alive in the most primal of ways.

Usually, Terzo would wait for you to adjust to his size; but like with his fingers there was no pain with the stretch - no need for adjustment. So instead, when he didn’t see the familiar look on your face that told him everything he needed to know, he just began to move. The first thrust was a tender motion, but it was so strong you felt like you were going to pass out. Without a moment’s hesitation, your hands collided with the ground as your fingers searched for something solid to hold onto. Normally, you would go after his back. Terzo yearned to see the red lines in a mirror that represented your pleasure and to feel the scratch of your nails against his skin. The second felt exactly as good. The rhythmic yet soft movements of Terzo soon picked up speed, leaving your brain turning to mush and your lungs gasping for air. The third thrust had you rolling your eyes back.

The feeling got more and more intense the more he thrust. Your screams, which initially served as a release for your bliss, were no longer effective. As much as it was possible, your back arched off the ground to accommodate him deeper inside of you. Now that his hips were moving more quickly, you were going crazy even more than before. You were completely oblivious to the way you appeared, how perfect you looked all red-faced and sweaty beneath him.

You were living artwork carved by Lucifer, made for pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. You belonged in his bed, lounging lazily as he spoiled you, worshipped you, gave you everything you could ever possibly want. Your body, all curvaceous and plump, jiggling beneath him with the force of his hips. Your thighs wobbling at the movements, your breasts, heavy and full, nipples begging to be played with and sucked into his mouth. His eyes enamoured by the way your tummy shook with the rest of your body, he could no longer resist. He bent down and placed kisses wherever he could: between the valley of your breasts, all over your chest, your sternum.

“Touch yourself for me, tesoro.” He told you, his voice shakey but gentle. “I want to watch you.”

He sat back on his knees and followed your hand as it moved downwards to your clit, thrusting hard when he heard your scream of sensitivity as your fingers made contact. Terzo knelt between your legs and let your hips buck to meet his movements. His gaze was fixed on your face, and the picture of you stretched out in front of him like his favourite meal made his cock twitch inside of you. He gripped your waist for leverage and watched your hand rubbing furiously at your clit, desperately trying to reach another orgasm. He bit his lip at the sight of you - you were so beautiful. You belonged to him; his perfect girl, laying there with her hand on her pussy and his cock slamming into her. It was almost too much to bear.

You had to cum first. You had to. There was no arguing. He needed you to cum again. “That’s it, tesoro. You look so beautiful right now. Taking me so well. Cazzo! You gotta cum, amore. I don’t know how much more I can take. You feel so good! Cum for me, tesoro!”

It didn’t take you long to do as he said, your second orgasm hitting you just as powerfully as the first. You screamed as your fingers moved faster against your clit in an attempt to keep up with both Terzo’s cock and your own orgasm, hips bucking to chase the pleasure. Though you were in the throes of your own orgasm, you fought with your own body to keep your eyes open and your brain focussed so you could watch Terzo reach his own. His hips thrusting erratically inside you, his brows furrowed, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt was creaming at the sensation, running down your body and gathering on the wood. His mind showed him images of the way your juices used to gather at the base of his cock when he would ravish you over and over again. It was that thought that had him orgasming, burying himself deep inside you as he came.

You were always enraptured by the face he made when he came; mouth hanging wide open, a dark look in his eyes that told you he was the only one who got to do this to you. That you belonged to him and no one else. His hands gripped onto both of your hips tightly, as though you’d try and run from him before he had the chance to finish.

When he finally did, and both of your bodies had finally stilled, you both remained where you were in silence. You allowed the quietness to bathe you both in an intimate moment where only your eyes connected as you calmed, savouring what you both knew would be your final moments together. He pulled out of you, making you both wince at the feeling. His borrowed time was coming to an end and you both knew it.

A lump formed in your throat again when you heard the sadness in his voice. “Would you dress yourself for me, tesoro?”

You nodded and slowly dressed again, this time the lethargy was your way of procrastinating. When you put your habit back on, he’d have to leave. When you were dressed and decent, he’d walk back into the pentagram and his soul would return to Hell where he was supposed to remain. “I don’t want you to go.” You said once you were dressed, tears spilling from your eyes and fingers playing with your habit.

He stood from his position on the floor and walked over to you, kissing your forehead. “Amore mio, it brings me solace to be with you, if only for this fleeting moment. I’ve watched over you, felt your every sorrow. But my time here is ephemeral, and Lucifer wants me back.”

“Fuck what Lucifer wants! I can’t bear to let you go again! I still feel your absence every day, and it’s like a piece of me is missing. Dead.”

Terzo was crying, now, too. Eyes glassy and glistening as he wrapped his spectral arms around you and let you sob into the air where his shoulder should have been. “You must find the strength within you to carry on, tesoro. I will always be with you, in the whispers of the wind, in the warmth of the sunlight, and in the quiet moments of your solitude. You are not alone, and you never will be.” He took your hands in his. “But you have a life to live, and you must do it without me now.”

“But it’s not the same without you here. I ache for your touch, your laughter, your presence beside me.”

“I know, tesoro. But remember the joy we shared, the laughter that echoed through our days. Hold onto those memories. They’re the threads that bind us, even across the chasm of existence. You carry a piece of me within your heart, and I, yours.”

You nodded, even though you were still wanting to clutch onto him and never let him go. “I love you, Terzo. I will never forget you.”

He sniffed. “You better not forget me, or I’ll send Hell’s legions to come remind you.”

“Why can’t I hit you?”

“Lucifer has favourites, clearly your Papa is one of them, hm?” He paused, taking in your appearance one last time. “You were the very breath I breathed, amore mio. Towards the end, you were the only thing that I got out of bed for, the only reason I carried on. Love is too weak a word to describe my feelings for you. You are my sanctity, my guiding star in the night sky, the very life in my lungs. Your laughter is a symphony that resonates with the very essence of my being, echoes with a melody that reverberates through the chambers of my heart, a melody that I wish to cherish for all eternity. My heart will forever be yours.

“But, one day, when your heart no longer belongs to me-”

“Never gonna happen.”

“I want it to. I cannot bear the thought of you alone, pining after me for the rest of your life. Tesoro, you are young. Your beautiful heart still has so much to give. Don’t squander your life waiting for a man who can never return. One day, when your heart no longer belongs to me, I hope that the echoes of our love linger as a bittersweet melody, a testament to the timeless moments we shared in the embrace of a love that once knew no bounds.” He kissed your lips one final time.

Through wracked sobs, you echoed him, forcing the words out of your mouth because you knew you’d regret it for the rest of your life. “Goodbye, Terzo.” You wanted more to come out of your mouth. You wanted to tell him just what he meant to you, how his love made you a better person, how he was everything to you, too. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you get the words out. “I love you - I always will. I-”

“I know. Goodbye, ___.”

Terzo backed up into the pentagram, his eyes never leaving you. It could have killed him a second time to watch your heart break once more, shattering into a million pieces on the ground as you finally got to say the goodbye you both deserved the first time. Through blurred vision, you watched him blow you a kiss, before disappearing from this realm altogether, only to exist in your memory. From now on, his voice would only come through a speaker from the videos fans took at concerts, his face would forever remain unchanged and unaltered in the pictures on your dresser.

You fell to the floor, your heartbreak doing as much as it could to commit him to your memory before it faded and time began to heal your wounds. One step at a time. One day at a time. One day, you’d heal from this, but for now, all you could do was let yourself feel.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[yanderes-galore]

Gotta ask for that Infection AU Twilight Sparkle concept cause she's just the most interesting pony in that scenario for me! 😍

Of course! Here is the first concept in CHRONOLOGICAL order of the AU, even if it was not written first.

Start of Infection found here!

Next - Fluttershy

Yandere Virus! Twilight Sparkle Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Yandere virus, Possessive behavior, Love spell gone wrong, Jealousy, Violence, Body horror, Kidnapping, Murder/Major character death, Horror themes, Restraints, Blood, Graphic descriptions, Forced relationship attempted.

The whole incident starts with Twilight, the original Yandere Pony in this AU.

Twilight plans an experiment to make her beloved obsession fall in love with her.

She had found a love spell in a book and her already growing obsession drives her to try it.

You're invited to Twilight's castle for an experiment.

After all, you're friends, aren't you?

Being a good pony you enter Twilight's home... completely unaware of the trap the alicorn is leading you into.

Twilight's alone, Spike being sent off so he can't stop her plans.

It's just you, her, and a book full of forbidden knowledge.

It starts simple enough... you're sat in front of Twilight while she eagerly reads the spell book.

If she does this right... you can be all hers.

Once she's ready you're asked to hold still as she conducts the spell.

It isn't too eventful, surprisingly enough.

Pink magic surrounds you but you don't seem different.

Twilight seems confused, looking over the book before noticing that the spell takes a few days for results.

With a sigh and a smile, Twilight thanks you for the practice before allowing you to head home.

When you leave... neither of you have any idea of what you've released.

This was no ordinary love spell.

It wouldn't make you fall for Twilight... instead it would make you a pony magnet to a destructive degree.

Twilight begins to realize something is wrong when she feels her yearning for you grow stronger.

To the point all she can think about is you.

Soon the Princess is neglecting her own needs.

Spike becomes increasingly worried when he notices Twilight stop eating or taking care of herself.

In only a few days the alicorn becomes a mess.

The first afflicted by the love curse, she sneaks out of her palace and hunts you down.

While you sleep the alicorn takes you away... dragging you to her castle with newfound dark intentions.

When you wake up... you're in a bedroom.

A chain is clasped to your back leg and you hear hooves enter the room.

In front of you stands Twilight... a pink glow in her bloodshot eyes.

Her mane is a messy, her coat littered in red scratches and gashes.

She seems skinny, her ribs showing due to a lack of sustenance.

You cringe when you see her wide grin.

"You're awake, my love! I couldn't bear to be away from you any longer...."

The curse make afflicted ponies neglect themselves.

To the point they almost look undead... when in reality they seem enhanced.

You notice the gashes on Twilight's coat and begin to worry for Spike... the alicorn notices.

"Spike insisted there was something wrong with me... there isn't! He tried to stop me from having you..."

The alicorn steps closer, bloody hoof prints being tracked in the room.

Your heart nearly stops.

"He won't bother us anymore... no pony will... it's just us."

You flinch away when Twilight nuzzles into your cheek, an affectionate look in her crazed eyes.

You're no doubt held captive in Twilight's castle for a day or two.

She always turns away the rest of the Mane Six, saying she's busy or under the weather.

It works for awhile... until you escape.

Eventually you manage to slip yourself out of your restraints and sneak away.

Purple feathers scatter around the castle, the alicorn shedding.

You cringe at the blood on the floor... along with the smell of something indescribable.

You manage to either pick the lock, break the door, or crash through a window to escape.

Twilight no doubt notices and chases after you.

You feel fear soak into your heart as you see the distorted alicorn chase after you.

By the time you manage to escape the crazed affection of the alicorn, you're still not safe.

Twilight doesn't plan to let you go.

You leave your altercation covered in red scratches and filled with exhaustion.

You want to stay low for now, having no idea what has come over the alicorn.

So you walk through the woods, towards the cottage of a friend you know quite well.

You feel if you stay with her for a little while you'll have time to recover and ask for help...

Completely unaware that you may be the problem in the end.

[astray-anomaly]

Equivaltale story, Part 2!!

Make sure to read Part 1 first!

Trigger warnings: Violence, character death, major character death, descriptions of body horror, cult activity, child abuse/neglect, mentions of grooming; physical abuse and sexual abuse, transpobia, child labour

Be mindful of the trigger warnings but this chapter is more calm then the last

The sun beamed bright in the clear sky when the creature started to wake again. They could feel the gentle breeze caress them, the grass and growth lightly brushing against their melted bones.

How long has it been?

Their body moved stiffly as they started observing their surroundings. All the blood dried up and the bodies now hidden in the ground like nothing ever happened. They barely remembered anything, their memories were very fuzzy but all they knew was they were no longer in pain, at least not as terrible as before.

They were cautious but curious of the world around them. Everything felt so new and yet so familiar to them. They explored the village down in the valley, all the buildings now in ruins and reclaimed by the foliage and small wildlife who made homes in the cracks.

In the ruins there were still useful things that they would take, like clothes, books, and anything that they found interesting. Collecting shiny items and small toys, ranging from dolls to wooden figurines. After all they were still a child, they were rediscovering the world but they were far from unintelligent.

They needed to figure out who they were and what happened, that was their goal. Deep down they knew they weren’t always like this, they needed to find the answers to their past.

Even with all their searching they still couldn’t find many of the missing pieces, they found scriptures that mentioned two children by the names of Dream and Nightmare, they felt a connection to the two but couldn’t figure out why. It didn’t help that most of the scriptures were faded or crumbled.

They tried to figure out as much as they could, maybe they were related? Then who were they? That’s when they realized they had no name, nothing to call themself. Until they found something, a painting of the sky, the galaxy. Talking about the symbolism between the sun and the moon and the connection to the twins, yet there was something else in the painting, a shining star that caught their attention, Sirius.

…Sirius

That would be their name.

Even if Sirius had figured out a name they still were lost, there wasn’t much to do after all. Just day in and day out of going to the village then back to the tree. However one day they felt like they weren’t alone, there was another’s presence.

Suddenly they would be face to face with another being, who they viewed as a threat, after all everyone who had come before had hurt them. Yet she held no fear to them, coming forward and introducing herself as Lanny, the Guardian of Magic.

She was sent to look after them after feeling their soul awaken, she would train them to be the new guardian. They had the last piece of Nim’s magic, the last apple keeping the balance of feelings, they couldn’t die. Even if they didn’t trust each other and Sirius was still a child, they needed to learn quickly.

Lanny had decided Sirius would stay in this world and she would come to train them. It didn’t seem like they would want to leave anyway, given their stubborness. It was easier to watch over them and she wouldn’t have to worry about them doing anything to the tree of magic.

The corruption was still resting within them so she was cautious, no matter how passive they were she never let her eye leave them every time she was there.

Lanny would visit them almost everyday to teach and train them. Providing them information of Nim, the tree, and the magic they now possessed.

Yet she didn’t explain everything to them, not yet.

Eventually they would be training to defend and fight for themself, having to be taught how to make the most of what they had. Their body was different, they could move very fluidly, like liquid. They also had wings however it would be a few years since they could be useful for anything. They were still too small to carry them currently.

Next they had to choose weapons of their own to work with, trying a large variety. They decided their main weapons would be a bow and a spear. The spear allowed swift movement for closer range and they were surprisingly naturally good at archery.

When they weren’t training on certain days they would try to figure out more about their past. The things Lanny wouldn’t tell them, but they’re not sure if she even knew the full story.

As they got older they started to remember more and more. Remembering moments of joy and ones of torture, but some memories seemed blocked from their view. They were all mixed up, sometimes they remembered things from different perspectives.

At first they just thought it was weird dreams till they started to piece everything together. Some memories they were Dream, others they were Nightmare. Then it finally clicked together, why didn’t they figure this out sooner?

They weren’t related to Dream and Nightmare, they were Dream and Nightmare.

Everything made sense now but it hurt so much more. They cried for the twins, sad, confused, and enraged. Now having to carry the burden of everything that happened to them, the torment, the lies, the pain.. everything.

It caused them to snap at Lanny for hiding such a thing, but she said it was for their own safety, they were still just a teenager. Even if she wasn’t the best mentor she wanted to try to help them with their pain when they were ready but it seemed fate had other plans.

She was already going through her own pain of losing Nim, someone she held so close to her, someone she had shared her whole life with. She had to push all her feelings down in order to train Sirius, but everything just spilled when the two fought. Like a cracked vase holding still water finally shattering.

Then they realized that they were both hurting and yelling at each other was useless. Sirius couldn’t forgive Lanny for hiding such a thing, the very explanation for their very existence, but they understood her. She had her reasons, but it still was very painful to find out.

After the fight Lanny hadn’t visited for days and Sirius was alone to process their memories and who they were. They had to come to terms with the truth.

The twins were gone, their mother was gone. They were so young and they already had blood on their hands, they killed the villagers. Though they felt no remorse for those cruel twisted people. Yet that just meant in the end they were all alone.

Alone to deal with the guilt they now felt for just existing. Their body was nothing more than a vessel, it couldn’t even be called their body, it wasn’t. Their only purpose here was to keep the balance, they didn’t even feel like a person.

Though in the silence of their loneliness they could hear whispers, the voices of the twins. Like they were speaking to them, they felt so close yet so far away, just out of grasp. Maybe it could be possible they weren’t so alone, even with the twins gone. Maybe, just maybe there were parts of the twins with them other than just their bodies and magic, something to help guild them.

They couldn’t give up, no, they would be weak if they surrendered themself like this. To give up just because of everything that happened, everything that created their own existence in the first place. There had to be a reason for them to be here or this would all be for nothing. They would keep going for the twins, for the two children whose lives were taken away from them too soon. They would live for them in spite of everything that happened.

They still had no choice but to be the new guardian however they would do it their own way. There would be nobody to push them around or try to control them like some puppet. They were free now, they were no longer trapped in a cage, forced to never fly.

They had their wings, they were finally free.

Still, they had to finish their training before they could even get to that point.. They weren’t exactly a real guardian yet..

When Lanny returned they had a long discussion, in the end both learned to come to terms with each other. They couldn’t blame each other for everything that happened, it wasn’t in anyone's control or anyone’s fault.

Sirius learned to accept that, it was all in the past now. Still it was going to be a long time before they could come to terms with their existence and the pieces of trauma passed down to them. They needed to learn how to cope but learning to accept the past was a start.

Right now they had to focus on the present, now that they completed their training it was time for them to help the balance become stable again. To help all the other worlds, to help those who were suffering like they once were. Help them escape this twisted game of fate.

It was time for them to become the new Guardian of Feelings..