#terror trio characters

[terror-trio]

"They try to hate what they cannot have. They fight for it. Try to fight it, even. They obsess over the unattainable."

[albobeati7]

When the cat bf is OUT of it, but he lets you snuggle anyway

[mallovamp]

finally starting on one of the three lets goooo

[robotsafari]

ok so far i've played 2 hours of 0.2 and wow. im stunned. a modern kingdom hearts game is actually making me feel so much joy and wonder and fear and AUGH THE EMOTIONS AND THE GAMEEE ITS LIKE A VIDEO GAME YOU CAN PLAY AND HAVE A GRAND OL TIME ITS KINGDOM HEARTS BABYYY !!!!!! WOAAAHHH WOOOWW

[merakiui]

terror in threes.

yandere!rollo flamme, fellow honest, & skully j. graves x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight flavoring of religion (father rollo flamme strikes again), murder, death, brief descriptions of blood/gore, age gap for reader (19) and fellow (26), physical abuse (beating), unplanned pregnancy, slut-shaming, kidnapping, coercion, obsession, delusion, stepcest, non-consensual kisses, all three characters written as 18+ note - three short horrors featuring the halloween trio in: MERCY, the terrifying tale of a vindictive priest; ON A DARK, STORMY NIGHT, the chilling caution against getting into a silver-tongued stranger's vehicle; MERRY, the shocking story of a twisted stepbrother led by a one-sided love that is not meant to be. // inspired by this brilliant artwork. thank you to the bestie @heyyy11 for discussing these thoughts with me. :D

MERCY.

Bent over the sink, you watch yourself in the mirror while your boyfriend pounds into you from behind. His fingertips dig into the soft flesh of your hips; your dress is bunched up in messy wrinkles and ruffles.

“Some—ooh—someone might come in,” you grunt, attempting to lift yourself onto your arms and failing miserably when he all but pushes you against the counter with a particularly rough thrust.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he says, gazing at your blissed-out reflection. “Everyone’s gone home. Candlelight service’s over.”

“Yes, but—” you tamp down a bawdy moan— “I just worry.”

About someone catching us. About getting locked in. 

“Aren’t we in God’s house? It’s supposed to be safe twenty-four seven.”

“If you say so…”

“So don’t worry.” He leans over to kiss the top of your head. You collapse against the sink. “There you go. Just relax. I gotcha.”

You shrug off your inhibitions and surrender to the pleasure. One hand slides away from your ass to reach between your thighs. You mewl like you’re in heat, arching your back the moment his fingers brush your clit. Now you feel like you’re floating, every frazzled nerve smoothed out once you feel the waves of encroaching orgasm lapping at your insides. But just before you can unravel, his hand covers your mouth.

Confused, you meet his stare in the mirror.

“Shh.” He holds a finger to his lips. “I heard someone outside.”

You roll your eyes. Either it’s his attempt to scare you or make the situation seem sexier. You think it’s the latter when he tears his eyes away from the door and resumes his thrusting. His hand falls from from your mouth, and soon your voices are mixing together, echoing off the tiled walls of the bathroom.

“I’m close,” you gasp, clenching tightly. “So close. Oh, I’m—”

The door creaks open then. You almost don’t hear it until someone loudly clears their throat. Like well-oiled clockwork, you and your boyfriend turn to look at him. For a moment, you forget he’s Father Flamme. Without his black cassock and holy accompaniments, he looks like a normal person.

“Ahem.”

Immediately, you’re pulling away from your boyfriend and pushing your dress down. “F-Father Flamme, we’re so sorry!”

Stern greens flick quietly from your bare legs to your face. His arms are folded behind his back.

“Damn,” your boyfriend mutters, visibly agitated. You’d feel the same if it wasn’t for the scalding embarrassment rushing through your blood.

He regards the both of you coldly, a disapproving frown etched on his face. “Why are you apologizing on his behalf? He has a mouth of his own.”

Taken aback, you open your own mouth to apologize once again and then shut it. Your boyfriend hurries to stuff himself into his slacks and then stands protectively in front of you.

“Think you should apologize first for looking at my girlfriend,” he sneers.

Father Flamme is silent for a moment. “Of course,” he finally concedes. “I should apologize.”

“Then do it—”

“I should apologize,” he continues, sardonic, “for providing her with a love far superior than the foul, impure lust you’ve shown her.”

“You take that back!”

Your boyfriend surges forward, determined to beat a proper apology out of the priest, and you, rather helplessly, grab at his shirt. He stops rigidly in his tracks when a pistol is pulled from Father Flamme’s back and aimed directly at him. Your gasp hitches at the back of your throat. Suddenly, the world is encased in a jar of molasses. You don’t see the bullet, but you hear it go off. The bang pierces the tranquility of the bathroom, lodging itself in your ears until they’re ringing. You drop to your knees and press your palms into your ears, squeezing your eyes shut. You hear your boyfriend collapse in a heap, but you don’t see the brain matter splatter against the wall.

It’s a clean shot, but just to be perfectly precise Rollo fires once more into his chest. Right at his heart. Chancing a glance at the wall behind you, you scream when you see the blood. Some of it has even managed to get on you, staining your skin and your white dress. Instinctively, you scramble away from the body, pressing yourself into the corner.

“May God have mercy on his soul,” he murmurs, ensuring the safety lock is flicked on before placing the gun on the counter. “And may He forgive these hands that have been soiled in the name of justice.”

You wrap your arms around yourself in a self-soothing hug and stare blankly ahead.

That…just happened. He killed your boyfriend. Father Rollo Flamme killed your boyfriend.

Water rushes into the basin next. He rolls his sleeves up. You listen to him as he washes his hands of sin, scrubbing it from his skin with scentless, antibacterial soap. Your stare falls upon the gun, but the idea is promptly burned away when you meet his frigid stare in the glass. He’s watching you, his lips pursed in a thin line. Not quite a frown, but not quite a smile either.

“It baffles me that you would allow a sinner to defile you like this. You, who are so good and pure, a noble heart… Ah, but you aren’t at fault. That despicable pest has been exterminated, so there’s no need to point fingers. The blame shall die with him.”

You sniffle, tears clouding your eyes.

“I apologize you had to see that.” He dries his hands and then, wetting a fresh towel with soap and warm water, kneels before you. “To have tainted you in that sinner’s blood… I implore your forgiveness.”

Gently, he dabs at the mess. You can’t back up any further, but you certainly try with this startling proximity, squirming uncomfortably when he drags his knuckle along your cheek.

“Why?” you whisper, utterly, indescribably haunted.

“Did you not hear me earlier?” He offers you a warm smile, but it only makes you feel cold. “I intend to love you chastely. His ‘love’ is worthless—nothing but lust disguised as pure adoration. He failed to appreciate you in life, and thus it is a failure he shall die, his ugly sin exposed for the world to behold.”

Father Flamme presses the cloth to your cheek next. Not to clean blood, but to wipe the tear streaks and the nonexistent mark of where his fingertips once lingered.

“I have saved you from that monster. It may not seem so at this moment, for you are a lost lamb blinded by devilish temptations, but you will realize later this was for the best.”

You can’t form the words. You can’t even form thoughts. It’s all static. 

“Do you understand, (Name)?”

You nod, but you really don’t.

ON A DARK, STORMY NIGHT.

You pace to and fro on the side of the road, clutching your stomach every fifteen seconds. Rain pelts your sweater, soaking through that and the little backpack hanging off of your shoulder with its single strap. There isn’t much inside. You could hardly pack it when your mother was in your ear, shouting a nasty set of lines: “You whorish, two-bit cunt! What do you think you’re doing, throwing away your life like this?! Who’s going to afford that parasite? Not me! Definitely not you! Not when you ought to be in school, not hopping on some man’s dick! Where is your shame?!”

Her slipper came down upon your arm, the back of your head, your neck, unrelenting in its whacks. You scrambled about in your room like a headless chicken, shielding your face and stomach when you could. She continued to berate you in that harsh, shrill tone of hers. Whenever your vision became blurred with tears, you had to hurry to blink them away so that they wouldn’t obscure your view of the path to the front door.

On your way out of your room, you managed to snatch an old sweater. She pursued in a furious flurry and this time you were sure, should she get a firm grasp on your arm, she’d kill you.

“Out! Out of my house!” she squawked when you stumbled down the steps in a blind panic. Rain wet your face, or maybe it was the tears. “You’re no child of mine. Don’t think about coming back here.”

The door was slammed so hard it shook in its frame.

So you gathered yourself, lifted your shirt to check the rounded dome of your stomach, and then pulled the sweater on over your head.

You walked. Past houses and storefronts, crossing busy streets, peering into the windows of a bar.

You walked. Under flickering lamp posts, through chilly rain, towards the edge of your broken world.

You walked. Until civilization gave way to sprawling darkness and trees. Until the path was muddied and slick. Until you were wading through thick, tall grass.

Now you walk up and down this strip of road, far from home and freezing-cold. You’re hungry, too. It’s been hours since the last car sped past, blissfully ignorant to your flailing arms and desperate shouts: “Wait! Please stop! Wait!”

You’re beginning to think you might die out here, alone and poor, a worthless nobody.

“Fuck,” you spit, wiping the tears/rain from your eyes. “Fuck!”

You kick a clump of grass onto the road and scream at the sky.

And then headlights roll over the hill, cutting through the gloom. Headlights that are attached to a car. A car!

Hope restored, you scurry onto the slick pavement and wave your arms about. When it seems like the car isn’t going to stop, you skitter onto the dirt path.

“Wait! Please wait!” you cry out, still gesturing wildly.

To your surprise and relief, the car eases to a stop just ahead and a window lowers slowly. It squeaks noisily, and you can hear the broken parts of the mechanism rattling inside the door. Happiness surges through you, and you approach the vehicle slowly. A figure comes into view, most of his face hidden in the shadows of his hood. He looks thoroughly soaked, as does the little boy snoozing in the passenger seat. He’s hugging a shovel in his sleep, a satisfied smile on his face. Both of them are clad in grimy, oversized raincoats. You think it’s dirt when you peer closely, but you’re not certain.

The man lifts his hand in greeting and you realize he’s wearing gloves.

“Well, hello there, little miss!” He flashes his teeth at you in a sharp, close-eyed smile. “Bit late to be out and about, don’tcha think?”

“I… I’m so sorry, but I desperately need a ride.”

A pair of brilliant orange eyes open to view you. He assesses you with a subtle once-over.

“A ride, you say? Hmm…” He strokes his chin with his hand, feigning deep thought. “Awfully unsafe for a lady to be wandering around in the dark.”

He could drive off any minute and you might never get a ride. You’re not sure how much longer you can last in this rain.

“I don’t have much money on me… I just… I really need to get out of this rain.” You cup the small bump hidden beneath your sweater and then flounder for the necklace around your throat. “I can give you this! A-And everything else in my bag. It’s not a lot, but maybe you can do something with it…”

The man raises a prominent eyebrow. The window is cracked just enough so he can look out at you, but you can’t reach in if you wanted to. Not that you would. Something about the filthy appearance of this man and his charismatic aura unsettles you. But he’s the second car you’ve seen tonight. The first car to have stopped for you. You can’t let this opportunity slip through your fingers no matter how suspicious he seems.

“What’s your name, little miss?”

“It’s (Name), sir. My mother kicked me out. I don’t have anywhere to go, but if you can just get me to the nearest shelter…”

He gazes through you rather than at you, his attention pinned on your stomach. A shadow passes over his face, but it’s quickly dispelled when he smiles.

“That doesn’t sound too difficult now, does it? I couldn’t possibly leave a little lady stranded in these elements. Why, anyone who would is simply heartless!” You hear the click of a lock. “Hop in. I’ll take you there.”

“Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”

“Not at all. Thank you for stopping me. Otherwise I might’ve just passed you up.”

“I’m so grateful. I can’t thank you enough,” you confess, choking on your joy. You pull the door open and climb into the backseat. It’s very…messy, and it smells like smoke and wet earth and overall unpleasant things. Your nose wrinkles, but you remind yourself not to judge too scathingly. After all, you don’t look very neat yourself in your shabby sweater.

“You from around here?” the man asks once you’ve buckled in.

“Yes. Well, no. Um… I’m not sure how far from home I am.” You rub at your sore arms, teeth chattering. “I’ve j-just been walking all over, sir. U-Um… If I may, what’s your name?”

He scoffs lightheartedly, almost like it isn’t important. “I’m just an honest fellow trying to get home in this nasty weather.” This honest fellow indicates the boy beside him next. “It’s a bit of a drive and my little brother can’t quite stay up for the entirety of it. Kids, am I right? They think they’re stronger than the world with all of their confidence, but no one’s stronger than the inescapable call of sleep!”

You laugh into your hand, careful not to wake the boy. “I see. You must be coming back from a road trip then?”

“Precisely so, little miss. You’ve keen intuition.”

A comforting quiet blankets the inside of the car. You watch the trees pass while he drives. Eventually, they fall away to reveal a neighborhood you’ve never seen before. The houses are in disrepair, and everything looks grey. This isn’t where the shelter is, you realize, and your horror only multiplies when he turns down another road and parks in front of a decrepit-looking apartment complex.

“Time to wake up now.” He shakes the boy, who comes to with a few sleepy blinks. He notices you and smiles, waving with a flappy sleeve.

“Sir? Mr. Fellow—was it?—what is this place?” You shrink back into the car when he opens the door for you and offers his gloved hand.

“Why, this is the shelter!” He beams proudly. “Do you not see the windows? The roof? The shape of this lovely building? Clearly it is the shelter you’ve mentioned.”

“But this is…” Not that. Not the home I’m looking for. You hold your bag close to your chest and allow the honest fellow to help you out. The rain is but a soft pitter-patter now.

His hands fall upon your shoulders, trapping you in place. “What do you think, Gidel? I’d say this is better than any old shelter. Why, this is a glorious haven! As they say, a treasure is not yet treasure until it’s polished to a shine. Every gem is rough around the edges, wouldn’t you say so?”

The boy—Gidel—nods enthusiastically. You don’t trust him or the shovel he holds behind his back.

“Thank you for the ride. It was nice to meet both of you, but I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Nonsense! A lady should never walk alone at night. It’s much too dangerous.” He holds his hand over his heart and gasps dramatically. “My chest aches at the thought of it! What horrid beasts might lurk out there… You must allow us to show you just a pinch more of our hospitality. At least until this pesky rain abates.”

He smiles at you in a way that doesn’t give you a chance to get a word in. The car is shut and locked, and he twirls the key ring on his finger as he guides you towards the dingy building. Gidel hurries along after you, nodding in time with the honest fellow’s cheery humming.

MERRY.

Christmas music floods your brain, a loud, constant thrum of whimsical bells and chimes. The headphones are pulled from your person next, and suddenly a voice invades your pleasant dreams. Over and over, calling out to you…

“Sister…” A slight nudge. “Dearest sister of mine, please wake up…” A cold finger prods at your cheek.

Groaning, you shift in your sleep. The muscles in your face twitch with every persistent poke.

“(Name)?”

Your eyes peel open slowly, searching through the lamplight to find a pale face. “Huh… Mmh… What’s going on? Oh, it’s you, Skully. What’s wrong?”

He fidgets awkwardly where he stands. He almost looks like a real younger brother when he’s so restless, but his looming height is a reminder that he’s grown up just like you. With his gangly limbs, circular frames that sit crooked on his face, and unkempt bedhead with those troublesome strands that fluff up no matter how many times he smooths them down, he looks more like a deer caught in an oncoming car’s headlights.

You sit up in bed and rub the sleep from your eyes. “It’s way too early. The sun’s not even up yet! Why’re you awake?”

“I couldn’t possibly sleep,” he confesses, the words just spilling out, and he sounds ecstatically happy. “Not when Christmas is finally here. Aren’t you excited, Sister? Don’t you wish to see what Sandy Claws has brought us?”

Aren’t we a little old to believe in him still? you almost ask, but the question sticks in your throat when you notice the crimson speckled on Skully’s sweater vest. It stands out starkly against the white of his collared undershirt. Now you’re fully awake and worried. Very worried.

“Skully—”

“Come, come!”

He tugs at your arm, pulling the limp you from your bed. You allow yourself to be dragged like a ragdoll, led from the bedroom into the hall. The lights strung around the tree shine so brightly you can see their glow against the wall from the top of the stairs. His hand, cold and clammy, slides into yours. He’s always had a habit of clinging to you, of reaching for your hand, ever since the both of you were little. At your age now, it feels…weird. But his fingers are twining around yours and it’s impossible to pull away.

You descend the stairs with him and approach the sitting room. Dread pools in your stomach. You sniff at the air and choke on the acrid stench of iron.

“What is that?!” You pull your shirt up to your nose and attempt to yank away from him. “Skully, it smells gross.”

“No, it’s okay!” he assures, taking hold of your arm. A wobbly smile pulls his chapped lips apart. There’s a giddy mania spiraling in his orange eyes, and his voice lifts in pitch. His next words are spoken in a breathless ramble. “Just trust me. It’s a good gift. A great gift, really. You’ll see.”

You don’t want to see. Not when you spy a splash of liquid red staining the floor, peeking out at you from around the corner.

“Oh! Close your eyes. It’ll be a surprise!”

“Skully, I don’t want to. I… I don’t like surprises.”

“Oh, but this is a good one! I promise.” He squeezes your arm. “Please? You’ll like it.”

You doubt that, but his expression is so full of expectation that you give in with a sigh. Your eyes fall shut and Skully squeals in excitement.

“Wonderful! Allow me to escort you.” He sidles closer, his hands at your waist. “There… Just around this corner here. Oh, careful now. Watch your step.”

Your nostrils prickle at the intense smell. The path he leads you through is deliberate. You’re about to open your eyes, but then his large hands fall over them.

“Not yet! I haven’t done the count.” He inhales a steadying breath. It rattles in his throat. “O-Okay. One. Two… Three.” His fingers part and then the veil lifts. “Merry Christmas, Sister.”

Nothing could have prepared you for what you find lying in front of you. Amidst presents wrapped in glittering foils are the brutalized corpses of your parents. They’re sprawled in a smattering of blood. In fact, blood is everywhere—flecked on the curtains, on the few ornaments hanging from the lowest boughs of the tree, on the wallpaper. You’re not sure if you can even call such slaughter a simple murder. This was a slaying. An execution. You spy the deep gash carved into your mother’s throat and your hands fly to your own neck. A ghastly shriek pierces the air, practically torn from your lungs.

Skully flinches, panic twisting his kind, youthful features. “Oh! Oh, no, no! Don’t cry.” He takes hold of your head, sandwiching it between both of his hands—hands that so cruelly cut down your mother and his father. “Please don’t cry…”

“Oh, my… My God… You… Y-You killed them!”

You peek at your stepfather out of some stupid instinct to hope for the best, and another sob bubbles up when you realize he and your mother are truly dead. Unable to look upon such a grisly scene any longer, you stagger away and turn sharply on your heel. Bile tinges your tongue, but you quickly slap a hand over your mouth and swallow it down. Skully braces you before you can fall over, wrapping his long arms around you from behind.

“For you!” he insists. “I did it for you—for us, dearest sister! They… They were going to send me away. I couldn’t allow that! If we were to be separated… It would tear my heart apart.” He clutches you tighter as if you’re a teddy bear. “I tried to explain it to them—truly, I did—but they couldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand. So I had to do it, (Name). I couldn’t allow them to send me away. You understand, don’t you?”

Gingerly, he wipes your tears away and then leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. When that doesn’t change anything, he frowns.

Seemingly inconsolable, you continue to bawl even though your throat is dry and your head is aching and your heart is hurting. He releases his hold on you enough for you to stumble away.

Ever the adamant one, Skully tries again. He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips. You slide down the wall and he follows you, caging you in the corner.

“Dearest sister of mine, don’t cry…”

His hand cups your cheek next, and his thumb swipes at a stray tear.

“I’m here for you. Always.”

Your shadows are splayed against wallpaper striped with blood. His looms over yours, almost swallowing it whole. In green and red lights, your reflections caught in glass ornaments, Skully seals that promise with a press of his mouth to yours.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

you know how you did bg3 types of yanderes, could you do that for castlevania? Like the trio and isaac, hector, dracula/lisa, carmilla, st. germain??

A/N: For reference, here is the one I did for BG3 villains, and here is the one I did for the BG3 Main Companions. Also, this is unedited as hell so if you see grammar mistakes, no you didn't. 

Castlevania Characters as Yandere! Types: 

Yandere! Trevor: 

Defensive. Calucative. Hardened. Trevor’s seen far worse than you, from humans and monsters alike. He knows the terror and the cruelty that lurks out there. He wants to shield you from it all, for as long as possible. He has this overwhelming need to prevent what happened to his family from happening to you. Even then, he knows your innocence won’t last; it couldn’t possibly. So long as you’re tied to him, you will know hardship. So as much as he babies you, and refuses to grant you complete independence, he is also distant, and frequently unaffectionate. In his line of work, people don’t die of old age; neither of you will be in the other’s life forever. Just let him love you the way he needs, when he asks for it, please. Everything else is so difficult in his life, you don’t want to add to that. Make yourself into the one piece of his life that is easy. And enjoy the easy while it lasts. 

Yandere! Sypha: 

Confident. Feisty. Unyielding. Sypha is always sure of herself. Everything she does, she does with 100% effort and full intent- your relationship is no different. From the moment she sees you, she’s sure she likes you, and she’s certain you like her. Any behavior that suggests otherwise on your part must simply be beginning relationship nerves. After all, she is a scholar and a Speak Magician. Her infectious optimism seeps out of her every pore. Her love for you knows no bounds, and she will not hesitate to throw herself into danger to prove it. I mean, she can conjure fire and ice instantaneously in her own two hands! Who wouldn’t want to be her partner?  Only some sort of complete and total asshole would try and turn her down, or worse, fight against her. She fights for what is right, and what is just. You wouldn’t fight against what’s just, would you? 

Yandere! Alucard: 

Intellectual. Sharp. Melancholic. Alucard is not a stranger to romance nor heartbreak. Losing the people closest to him has left him vulnerable, both emotionally and physically. Instead of processing his feelings, he bottles them up, until he can no longer bear their weight. He feels such pressure to remain composed, remain controlled, not animalistic, to go against the programming of half of his biology. At the same time, he is starving, desperate, and filled with an insatiable thirst for closeness. Such a complicated, disconsolate man, Alucard needs you to stay, more than anything. His life has been so lonely, and so hard; at times it feels like all he knows is loss and the cruel impossible whispers of desire. You need to stay. You need to choose him. He cannot take another heartbreak. It’s quite possible, given his role throughout history, that humanity wouldn’t survive another one of his heartbreaks either.  

Yandere! Isaac: 

Keen. Precise. Self-Righteous. Isaac has journeyed far on his quest for revenge, coming not only into a new land and new role but a new self as well. Gone is the former subservient, sacrificial lamb, who has risen into a stronger, wiser, seemingly benevolent king. Do not mistake this kindness for weakness, however. You must be either admirable or too kind-hearted to pose a genuine threat. Once you’ve caught his eye, prepare for an odd game of cat and mouse, you being the mouse of course. Isaac is not used to having friends, much less romantic companions. You must be patient as he learns the intricacies of your psyche. Surely, you must know he’s been analyzing it since you met? Be an honest, positive presence in his life, and he will keep you safe from all others who may do you harm. Treat him as the wise king he now sees himself as, and perhaps, he will ask you to be his queen. 

Yandere! Hector: 

Reclusive. Embittered. Suspicious. Hector has been forced to toughen up. Too late did he realize at the end of the road, that it is the people, not the zombies you command that can make or break a man. That is where you come in my dear. Following Lenore’s death, Hector’s purpose is up in the air, he is suddenly a puppet, free of its strings. He feels much wiser, but just as lonely. Hector cannot help but latch on to you, the first “normal” person to view him as human. He yearns for a simple quiet life, with a dog (a live one) and a partner to call his own. You’re perfectly plain, or perhaps, you’re just odd enough to make him look normal, and he relishes that. You have to understand that he can’t share much about his past. He can’t possibly tell you about his old life, no, no, no. He’s hiding it from you, hells, he’s hiding from it with you. He loves you dearly, he does. But he can’t trust you, not fully. A man with a history like his cannot truly trust anyone. 

Yandere! Dracula/Lisa: 

Nurturing. Captivated. Smothering. Dracula was not keen on humans before meeting Lisa; she bewitched him body and soul. And now the two of them have become enthralled by you. Dracula has learned the ‘other’ humans are not to be trusted, not with you, and certainly not with his wife. Lisa finds it unfortunate how she is no longer able to treat her former patients in Lupu, but she’s also incredibly thankful now that she has you to take care of! Ever the eager student, she still wants to learn so many things, and how wonderful of a practice dummy you are. Dracula is also eternally grateful that his wife will not be completely lonely; he knows how much helping her fellow humans means to her, and now that you’re here, Dracula no longer has to worry about keeping his wife (and by extension, you) to himself for eternity. 

Yandere! Carmilla: 

Prepared. Calculating. Cruel. Carmilla is a sadist at heart, there’s no denying it. She loves feeling the power she wields over all other people, humans, and vampires alike. For you to have caught her attention, surely you must be something special. Either you are particularly gifted in something she’s not (negotiations, necromancy, art, etc.) or you’re just so unbelievably precious, that she can’t help but want to steal you away for herself. She sees you as a possession, as a rare and beautiful gem, not a person. Even if she did ‘hear’ anything you had to say, she’d simply consider it further fodder to be used in manipulating you should it all come to that. She is not a woman who is denied, not by God, not by man, not by Dracula, and certainly not by you. Chin up, pet. Things could always be much worse. You could be thrown in the dungeons and left to rot. How lovely of Carmilla to instead treat you to more luxury than your kind could ever dare to deserve. For your continued safety, may I suggest showing a little gratitude? I mean it’s not like your life depends on it or anything. It does. 

Yandere! St. Germain: 

Wise. Inquisitive. Obsessive. St. Germain is a man who knows his mind. He knows a great deal about alchemy, and that alchemy, at the end of his days, will be his greatest work. That was of course, all before he met you. You opened up a whole side of him that he didn't know existed. Before you, his conquest was kings and courts; his acquaintances were mages and scholars! But now, in his effort to keep you from himself, you have become his conquest; his acquaintances are vampires and demons, all practitioners of dark magic. To him, it’s of little matter, so long as he can secure you, his one true love. To him, it’s the most important to have someone to share all his knowledge with, all that he’s achieved. To bask in the victory alone does not hold the same merit. He needs you at his side, he needs you to be invested in the great work. Without you, without your love, he fears he cannot achieve it. As such, he will do whatever it takes to get you by his side. And I do mean- whatever- it takes. 

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Serendipity

chapter eleven

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): fighting, mentions blood, more angst lol

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The three of you sit in varying states of unrest beside Ron's hospital bed.

Hermione was still gripping his hand, as if her touch would entice him to wake up; Ginny was throwing a ball against the nearest wall as she quietly chatted to Mione, ignoring the glares of annoyance from the matron every time her ball made a thwack sound against the stone; you were sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs, a copy of 'Mythical Lore' in your lap, your eyes darting to and from Ron's chest to check that he was still breathing. Harry was Merlin knows where, but you knew he'd be back soon, never willing to leave his friends in distress for too long.

It had been like this for hours. Your tears had dried up and your anger had simmered away slowly; all that was left was the hollow feeling of helplessness and despair as you sat there.

Helpless against the poison that was slowly leaving Ron's bloodstream.

Helpless against forces that harmed your friends.

Helpless to whatever was happening to you.

A monster is what you were. A mythical, dangerous monster. Your gut churned with unease.

The somewhat peaceful atmosphere was interrupted as the doors to the Hospital Wing behind you burst open in a flurry that alerted Madame Pomfrey instantly.

"What is the meaning of this?" she said to whoever had appeared in the doorway. You swivelled in your seat to see, noting Ginny's incredulous look and Hermione's annoyed one, which could only mean one thing.

"Where is my Won-Won?" the squeaky voice of Lavender Brown sliced through the calm. "Cormac McClaggen told me he was here but I didn't believe him."

Madame Pomfrey tutted at her dramatics and pointed the girl in the direction of where you were all sat. You tensed at the blazing heat simmering in Lavender's eyes as she looked between Hermione's hand in Ron's.

"Y'alright Brown?" you say with a grimaced smile, discontent with the fact that you knew the other two wouldn't dare to speak. "Ron's been out for a few hours. Should be cognisant properly in a week's time."

Apparently you'd taken to snarky remarks to cover up your terror at the fact that he had not so much as stirred from his dreamless sleep. She turns to you then, her features betraying how worried she was for her boyfriend, but she had let jealousy rear its ugly head.

"And what is she doing here?" she hisses, pointedly looking at Hermione as you and Ginny share bewildered looks.

"Well-" you say, awkwardly glancing between the girls, "Well they're friends aren't they?"

"Yes well, you're friends with Theodore Nott, but it's so obvious that you're fucking each other behind closed doors." she snaps and you gape at her in disbelief. "Forgive me if I don't think that Granger's intentions are any less pure."

"I am not fucking Theodore." you jibe, throwing a whithering glare at Ginny who had let out a loud snort at Lavender's self assured statement.

"I've been friends with him for longer than he knew of your existence." Mione snapped, not letting go of Ron's hand, scowling as Lavender lets out a catty laugh.

"You're joking right? The two of you haven't had a civil conversation in weeks. But I suppose you want to make up with him now that he's all interesting." she says shrilly and its Ginny who whirls on her this time.

"You call being poisoned interesting? Are you that dim?" she questions and Lavender's resolve jostles only slightly.

Suddenly, Ron's features contort in discontent.

"Oh look at that." Lavender says smugly, eyes flicking to Hermione's grimacing face. "He senses my presence."

You yelp as she practically shoves you away from where you are sat, leaning over to peak at her boyfriend's face as it twitches with his dreams. He begins to mumble something that you can't make out and Lavender begins to encourage him to speak up, as if he'd be able to hear her.

You just stare at the back of the girl's head in annoyance until she staggers away, mouth agape with shock. You're confused until you hear it for yourself.

"Her- Mione. Mione. Mione." he chants her name like a siren's song.

Hermione smiles gently and her thumbs caresses his hand softly as he continues to mumble incoherently in his sleep. Lavender lets out a broken exhale and promptly flees the ward. You pity her in that moment. Not even the most incorrigible of people deserve that kind of betrayal.

The three of you are silent as you watch Ron. But he's sound asleep again. Still, as if it had been a combined figment of your imaginations. You stand to make the matron aware of this development, playfully shoving Ginny away as she taunts you.

"I can't believe she thought you and Nott are fucking." she laughed. "Unbelievable."

"Shut up." you berate her and she lets out a giggle before replying in a barely hidden whisper.

"Wrong Slytherin Prince, right?"

She smirks as you throw up a middle finger towards her as you reach the matron's office on the other end of the Hospital Wing.

~∞~

Somehow you've mastered the accute art of stealth.

In the week that has passed, you have managed to drift through the castle halls without so much as crossing paths with any of the Slytherin group. Partly due to the fact that you spent your time in the Hospital Wing with a near-cognisant Ron, in classes or in your dorm. You didn't dare go to the Room of Requirement or the library and you were eternally grateful that it was not your week to do the nightly Patrols.

Ancient Runes proved to be a difficult feat, but you somehow coerced a fellow Ravenclaw to switch seats with you in exchange for completing the next essay so that they could focus on training for the quidditch match at the end of the week. Under normal circumstances you would've abhorred the idea of it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

You could feel his eyes practically burning holes to the back of your head in all your shared classes, and you felt him in the corridors, but you didn't dare give in. You didn't want to see him. Couldn't bare to face him.

Mattheo was restless and agitated. All week long you wouldn't so much as look at him, let alone deign to spend an ounce of time with him. He was worried.

When you slammed the common room door in his face a week ago, he had reluctantly confessed to his friends about what the two of you had discovered; each of his friends were wholly willing to help him find a way to help you, if only he could tell you the good news.

And he'd tried. He'd reached over the tether that had connected your mind to his, but each time he was met with an offensive wall of dark stone. You'd blocked him out completely, and he would've been impressed if he wasn't so desperate to hear your voice.

Now he knows how you must've felt all those weeks ago, but it's different now. Now there are feelings involved. Now he doesn't know how to cope without your snark and sarcasm.

When he found Jeremy Stretton sat in your seat in Ancient Runes he found his reigned in emotions snapping. Especially when he saw that you were sat in the front, happily chatting away to Hermione and one of the Patil twins, waiting for Professor Babbling to turn up. He doesn't know why the sight of the Chaser makes his blood boil.

Mattheo slammed his hands onto the desk, bringing his face level with Stretton's, who had looks up in startled alarm. Mattheo was seething, and he didn't particularly care that everyone was beginning to peer curiously at the scene that was beginning to unfold.

"What the fuck are you doing at my table, Stretton?" he snarled, eyes narrowing as his hands tightened around the lip of the desk.

To his credit, Jeremy shook off his stupor and looked at Mattheo obstinately.

"I'm sitting in my seat, Riddle. Problem?" the Ravenclaw chaser replied, challenge flaring in his oceanic eyes.

Mattheo's glare became venomous.

"That...is not...your seat." he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous. He could see you standing up in his peripheral, looking as if your going to intervene, but Granger stops you with a hand to your shoulder, a look of incredulity on her face. "I suggest you move, before I move you myself."

"Well actually," Stretton says with a barely there smirk, "I think you'll find that it is my seat. I don't know why it's taken her so long to do so, but Meadow practically begged me to swap and I can only oblige to her wishes."

He sees red almost instantly and Stretton's shirt collar finds its way into the clenched fists of Mattheo's hands, his hot breath fanning over the Ravenclaw's smirking face. He now knows why fury coats his every being with a tiny detail that whispered to his consciousness. Stretton had taken you to the Yule Ball two years ago. This was a product of pure jealousy as well as rage.

"Oooh did I hit a nerve?" Stretton says. "What could dear, sweet Meadow possibly see in you, Riddle?"

Mattheo doesn't register the feeling of his fist untangling from the shirt collar, until he feels the soft cartilage of Stretton's nose breaking beneath bloodied knuckles. He can vaguely hear Theodore and Pansy telling him to stop, can barely hear the sounds of people jeering and gasping at the scene. But what he does hear is your blessed voice.

"Mattheo stop it." you say, and it's like the sound brushes away the feelings clouding all his senses. He lets go of Stretton, who flops to the floor unceremoniously, but he doesn't pay him another glance. Not when you're looking at him the way you are. With bewilderment and what he thinks is unease. His breathing is ragged as he steps towards you, but you step back.

"Are you insane?" you hiss at him and to his utter horror, you turn your gaze to the blubbering boy on the floor and kneel down to help him instead.

"Jeremy?" the way you say his name with a soft tone grates through him and he's about to step towards you again, when Theodore's firm hand on his chest stops him.

"Let it go. You've already caused quite the scene brother." his voice is a gentle caress to his ears and his graciously listens to Theo who sighs in relief, pushing Mattheo out of the door, ignoring the shouts of Professor Babbling, who had just entered the classroom.

~∞~

Wordlessly, you heal Jeremy's wounds as Professor Babbling meanders in, unaware of the turmoil that had occurred only moments ago. Jeremy was hissing and cursing as your magic washed over his skin.

"You can take your godsdamned seat back, Meadow." he spat. "It's so not worth getting another beating over."

You smile grimly at him, guilt clouding your eyes. "Of course. I'm sorry, Jeremy."

"Not your fault, love." It's nearly impossible for you to hide the way the nickname makes you cringe. "Can't say I won't miss the opportunity for some extra quidditch practice though."

He bats your healing hands away as Professor Babbling stands above the two of you.

"What on Earth is going on?" she says, voice stern. "Does it have anything to do with why Masters Riddle and Nott are notably absent?"

Jeremy nods immediately at the same time that you freeze, not willing to give them up so easily. He stares at you incredulously. You clear your throat awkwardly.

"Uh, yes. Yeah." you say in a muted whisper. "But it's been sorted."

Jeremy throws you a look, which you adamantly ignore as you rise and go towards Pansy's table, taking Theo's empty seat. She doesn't so much as look your way, tense as you sit down. You close your eyes and sigh.

"Look I'm sorry that I've not spoken to you." you mumble without turning to face her.

"Ignored and neglected more like." she retorts in response. "I had no idea about Ron, Meadow. You have to believe me."

You reach over and squeeze her hand in your's. "I do believe you, Pans. I do. But it doesn't mean that the others didn't. And I-"

You're cut off by Professor Babbling's introduction to the lesson's topic, but the squeeze that Pansy's hand gives your's is all you need to know that you're both okay. And that's enough for now.

"For what it's worth," she mumbles almost imperceptibly. "You're doing an awfully good job of avoiding him. I've never seen Mattheo so ruffled."

Instead of satisfaction, that statement only brings you an aching sense of pain. And whether you do it unconsciously or not, you'll never admit, but your mental walls break down the smallest amount.

Enough for him to know that you're in as much agony as he is.

~∞~

As soon as Pansy leaves your side after you've walked out of Ancient Runes, Hermione is there immediately.

"Okay, what in Merlin's name happened in there?" she asks incredulously.

"We both know Riddle has a short fuse, Mione. It's not that abnormal to see." you retort and she gives you a disbelieving look.

"Maybe so, but it can't be just me that's noticed that he hasn't resorted in bloody fist fighting in months." Damn her and her brilliant observation skills. "And why was Stretton in your seat in the first place?"

"I asked to swap." you say with a shrug and when you don't give her the answer she's no doubt looking for, she pins you with a glare.

"You've been avoiding them all week. Parkinson, Nott and Riddle. You've spent more time with me, Ginny and Harry this week than you have all year."

"Tired of my presence already, Mione?" you say with the ghost of a smirk of your face. When she doesn't return your humour, you sigh. "I've been a little busy with visiting Ron. And maybe Harry's spiels have been getting to me."

"What?" she questions before lowering her voice. "You think they're Death Eaters?"

"I don't know what to think." you say. "But I can't talk to them. I won't."

"You spoke to Pansy, just fine earlier."

"She's not the one I'm avoiding."

A brief glance into her mind shows you that she thinks you're speaking about Theo. And while the thought of speaking to him after what he no doubt had a hand in helping orchestrate, seeing Mattheo, speaking to Mattheo, makes your heart want to drop right down to your stomach.

You can still feel the phantom of his power all this time later. Though that could just be you imagining it; you don't doubt that the brief feeling you got was exhilarating. It terrified you.

"Are you coming to see Ron after lunch?" Hermione asks as you part ways for your differing classes.

"Yeah. I'll find you in the Great Hall once I've finished Astronomy." you smile in farewell as she makes her way towards her Arithmancy lesson.

Your smile slips immediately as you turn the corner, because you find yourself trapped between a cold stone pillar, and his strong, muscled chest, his arms straining as they pin you to the hard structure. You don't look up to lock eyes, instead glaring intently at his loosened Slytherin tie.

"Hello, Princess." Mattheo spits menacingly. All he gets in response is a huff from you. "Still intent on avoiding me, are you?" he lets out a dark chuckle that sets your skin alight, and you can tell without looking that a sinister smirk paints his gorgeous face.

You feel as he sensually caresses your mind, and it has you keening into him.

Let me back in. His deep voice is demanding and assertive. At your blatent refusal he growls. Why won't you let me in?

I can't. You say back, your inner voice a mere whimper in comparison to his. He tilts his head down to look at you, chasing your eyes with his own. He can feel your fear and self hatred like it was highlighted in bold colours for all to see.

"What are you so afraid of, darling?" he asks out loud in a low and raspy tone that makes you melt. Your eyes shut on instinct, squeezing away the light until your dizzy.

"I'm going to be late for Astronomy." you say, deflecting and he scoffs, pushing you further into the wall.

"It's barely eleven o'clock. I'm sure you're not going to miss a change in star pattern any time soon."

"That's not even the point and you know it." you argue, trying in vain to evade his strong hold.

"Stop avoiding us. Stop avoiding me." he begs. "Do you know how insufferable Teddy has been?"

"What a horrible thing to say about your best friend." you retort halfheartedly. But Mattheo is only partially glad that you're returning his words with quips of sarcasm. He sighs.

"I don't blame you for what happened in my dorm, love." Unlike how you cringed away from Stretton, your heart sings at the nickname. "'S not your fault."

"I could've drained you to death, Théo." you say quietly, and his face heats at the shortened nickname. One that he had not heard in years, since the passing of Theodore's mother. "I don't know how you can stand to be around me."

You're still evading his eye contact, so he lifts a hand from the wall and gently cradles your chin, moving your gaze to his; bloody knuckles contrasting with the smoothness of your skin.

"You're not a monster." he says resolutely, like he truely believes it. "You never have been, and you never will be. Not to me, not to my friends, not to your friends, either."

Your brow furrows and your eyes line with unshed tears.

"I went to Dumbledore." you say and he stills. "After I left your common room. I went to him and he said I was a weapon. Because I can detect certain magical objects and people."

Mattheo's body lit up with fury again. You were not a weapon to be used and discarded. No, you were a person who did not belong on the frontlines of war.

"And what did you say to that?" he asks you, onyx eyes narrowed in anger that was not directed your way.

"I told him that I didn't know how to control it. That I wasn't interested in being fated to die." you say, and it feels good to talk about things you're too afraid to speak to your friends about. "I asked him to grant you all safety too."

At this, Mattheo's gaze snaps right to your own. Incredulity lacing his features. "Why would you do that?"

"He could see right through my shield." you defend yourself at his tone. "He refused anyhow. Said you had to ask for yourselves, and he knows that you won't."

He admired your ire for his friends. But he almost winces at the glare you send his way.

"You knew that he wouldn't help any of you no matter when or how I asked. Didn't you?" you couldn't believe him.

"You learn to expect nothing less from the people who expect nothing but bad intentions from you, sweetheart." he replied with a shrug. "Though I wish they'd help the others, no matter if they associate with me or not."

His face is dark as he lets you go. But you don't move away. Instead you tilt your head and stare up at him, eyes moving across his features: from his onyx eyes framed by gloriously long lashes; to the bridge of his nose, crooked from previous fights with a long scar stretching across the middle of it; to his perfect mouth that pouts slightly as he gazes down at you.

Keep looking at me like that and I'll take you in this very corridor. He snarls in your mind and you smirk.

Kinky. But I draw the line at exhibitionism. You pat at his hard, muscled chest and make to move away and run towards the class that you are no doubt now late for. But he stops you with a firm grip to your bicep and he spins you around to face him again.

"Tease." he mutters with his own smirk as he presses his lips to your's. It's as euphoric as the first time, and every time after that as his lips fight against your's, ultimately winning your miniature battle for dominance. You mewl into his mouth as his tongue brushes against your's, hands clawing at the hairs at the nape of his neck as he pushes you into the wall once more.

You're so lost in eachother that you don't hear them when they turn the corner. Ginny and Harry stop dead in their tracks as they stare at the two of you wide eyed. The former smirks at the thought of finally catching you out but it drops immediately when she turns to the boy beside her who is visibly fuming. And she can't steer him away fast enough to save you from his wrath.

"Shacking up with Death Eaters now, Meadow? I thought that was below you." the spitting sound of your best friend's voice breaks you from your daydream like state and you force yourself away from Mattheo's wondering mouth to gape at your two friends.

Ginny is sending you an apologetic look which you bypass in order to face the scathing eyes of Harry Potter.

"Harry-" you say, stepping out from where you're trapped between Mattheo and the wall, and you're so grateful that he doesn't keep you pinned there, instead he stands slightly infront of you, arms folded, a glare set on his face.

"Don't." Harry says, eying the way Riddle stands infront of you protectively. "All this time, I thought you were only tutoring him for Nott's sake. But, of course you just had to get in his bed, too."

The hand on his bicep is the only thing stopping Mattheo from launching at the boy.

"Watch it, Potter." he snaps, his position infront of you turning defensive.

Harry lets out an incredulous laugh; Ginny's attempts to persuade him to leave it alone, are ignored.

"I overheard you." he continues as if Mattheo had not spoken at all. "In Dumbledore's office. Begging him to help your friends."

You don't know what to say. Starstruck by his anger. But you understand why he's angry at you, and that ache burns ever brighter in your chest.

"The same friends who have tormented us, tormented you for years. How can you even ask such a thing?"

"They deserve to be helped just as much as the rest of us." you say at last, your voice quiet and on the verge of cracking with emotion. The lump in your throat gets bigger with every word you speak. "You know what it's like to grow up in an unwanted home Harry. You know that no one deserves that."

"That's not the point Meadow." he snaps and he visibly delights in the way you recoil at his words. "They're all Death Eaters. Working for his–" he points a steady finger to the boy stood beside you, "-father. Did you ever stop to think that they were buttering you up to take to him once they got wind of your powers."

You blanch at that and turn your gaze to Ginny. She gapes between the three of you and avoids Harry's eyes. "I didn't tell anyone. I promise you, Meadow." her resolute tone is the only thing grounding you to reality right now.

Harry shakes his head. "Dumbledore told me that you can siphon people's power as well as perform Occlimency. When were you going to tell us?" his anger gives way to betrayal as he looks you up and down. And the way he spits out the word 'siphon' tells you everything you need to know. He thinks you're a monster.

"I was going to tell the rest of you." you promise, not looking at Ginny again. "But only when I had a better grasp of it."

Harry scoffs and steps towards you. Rolling his eyes when Mattheo stands directly ahead of you.

"Back off Potter. If you know what's good for you."

The way his venomous lilt travels through you should make you ashamed, but it only sends sparks of arousal to your core.

Harry only looks at you from over Mattheo's shoulder, distain painting his pale face as he utters a heartbreaking sentence before he leaves, with Ginny following quickly behind him, with a silent promise to find you later and apologise for Harry's (entirely justifiable, you think) words.

"Don't go to see Ron later, and don't you dare seek us out again. I don't trust you, and I don't know if I ever will again."

Mattheo is onto you the second the pair depart, wrapping you in his arms as you collapse from the onslaught of emotion that crashes down on you.

What have I done? What have I done? What have I done? You say over and over and he does his best to comfort you, going as far as to sit against the wall, cold floor stinging against the fabric of his school trousers, cradling you into his chest.

It's okay. I'll fix it. I promise. Is all he can muster up in comfort as you crumble before his very eyes, sinking into his embrace.

~∞~

i love writing angst lol i hope you enjoyed this shortish chapter (lots of time skips im sorry)

the coming updates will probably be slow since i've gone back to uni - i have to complete three presentations and come up with a product idea and a lab report in like 5 weeks 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲

i've tried to fix it and i've reported the bug but i'm still incapable of editing pretty much all of my posts (not the serendipity masterlist post though, thankfully) and its getting quite frustrating now but we move 🫡

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

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[hippielittlemetalhead]

So... I lied about getting a full fix-it to This → Part 1. Y'all get parts focusing on different characters for now as Hop traverses his guilt trip. I won't say it gets worse before it gets better but... kinda in places? I promise it's a happy ending though!!

What do you want from me I'm stressed and depressed and I like making my blorbos suffer (a.k.a projecting my trauma instead of doing the healthy shit my shrink tells me to)

You've been warned... But I do hope you like it.

So here we have Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce Edition)

He goes to Joyce about it first. Thinks about her gentle herding of the trio that has become the Hopper-Byers brood. Thinks about how she put everything he was feeling about Mike and El and their giggling and the fucking door into words that kept him from looking like an imbecile (if he'd have ever used them instead of fucking it up 'winging it'). Thinks about the way her voice stays soft and kind of quiet even when she's spitting in his face about listening to her (and every time she's been right) and how that's translated to talking down government goons and wrangling the army of children that seems to get bigger each time they have to fight interdimensional terrors. So he goes to Joyce about what Murray said, the noise Steve made with That Look in his eyes and his bandages peeking out from under a shirt that looks like one of the Henleys he's been missing since coming 'back from the dead' and they dug out his clothes from storage. (El wouldn't let her throw anything out, not until she was ready to say goodbye. Thank whatever god[s] there may be she never needed to)

He doesn't expect Joyce to make a face like he suggested inviting Owens to family dinner. He doesn't expect the scoff and eye roll as her shoulders tense and her hands flex at her sides like she's about to let loose her (honestly really attractive) righteous fury. About the Harrington kid.

Maybe he should have asked when the kids weren't home. Before El quietly told them the bullying wasn't as bad as it was in California but some people still made fun of how she spoke and how all of her friends were boys (and just as quietly asked they not do anything. Asked that they let her and The Party handle it until they couldn't). Before Will came home sulking about something idiotic Mike said or did or something the kid missed (though lately the latest Wheeler mistake is followed by bashful mention of the Emerson kid doing something specifically to make Will feel better in the moment). Before Jonathan came home from 'job hunting' or 'volunteering at the school's relief center' reeking of weed and his long-haired friend in tow (less than usual but still enough to make Joyce feel guilty for missing it for so long, for making the boy grow up so fast that he spends his days out of his mind instead of the weekend bender like when they were kids). Before The Party had come by with what homework the school was still giving out and talking over each other about all the latest small-town gossip a teenager can get their hands on (Eddie's name has been cleared but he's still laid up at the hospital. Susan Mayfield has been noticeably absent according to every nosy housewife in Hawkins considering her daughter is in a coma. The Hagans, Carvers, Perkins and a handful of other 'well to do' families have skipped town taking most of the sports population with them. Steve has been letting people displaced by the damage crash at the Harrington mansion. Steve has kept up hours at Family Video somehow and is a regular volunteer at the various relief centers in town. Steve has been giving all of them rides and may have told Dustin he's thinking of trading in the Beemer for a bigger vehicle for all the kids and people he chauffeurs about. Steve keeps a room empty and waiting for when Max wakes up before her mother makes an appearance. Steve. Steve. Steve.)

He doesn't expect the way she spits his name like she's talking about Dick and Margaret under the bleachers over a smoke before the yard teacher catches them. The rant about bullies and broken cameras and trashed kitchens and dead monsters in her fridge. The crack in her voice when she crosses her arms to stop their shaking as she lays sin upon sin at this boy's feet.

And maybe before that would have been enough.

He doesn't expect the stone in his stomach or the burning in his chest as he looks the woman he loves in the eye and says "So I guess we should tell Nancy to break up with Jonathan before he pulls a Lonnie, huh?" It's a low blow. He knows from the hurt anger on her face and on the purse of her lips. He knows that's why he said it. "That kid is lucky to be alive let alone walking and have we ever even thanked him for keeping the fucking kids alive each time they pull their dumb shit when the world goes to hell? Does that sound like anything his folks would have ever done for us? Hell for their own fucking kid they practically signed over to ME of all people?"

He's shaking now too and Joyce has her hands fluttering between them like she wants to reach out. To touch, comfort. Pull him close and tell him to take a breath.

"He called me 'His Hop', Joyce" He barely has enough breath on him to squeeze the words past his tight throat. "Called me His Hop and watched Ellie and the kids when I just couldn't and you were at work. I don't think I've seen his folks in town since the mall was opened and all the donors had that big party. Don't think I've spoken to them since '83 and they made me the kid's guardian when they aren't around cause they didn't want to fly down for a government sized concussion."

By now he knows El and Will are peeking around the corner, their eyes wide and worried. Jonathan has his door cracked and Angus (is that the hippie's name? He can't remember) is whispering something about heavy auras. Joyce is staring somewhere off in the distance, wringing her hands and biting her lips like she's facing an interdimensional portal shaped problem.

"The kids are planning to have one of their games in a few days." Her voice is brittle in a way he's not used to anymore. Not since she pulled her youngest out of hell and faced down a demon clawing through her walls. "He always drives them over and- and disappears until they need to head home. I can make sure he stays for dinner. Like the rest of the kids. I know Claudia has been having him over so I- I can get some recipes from her that he likes."

Something in his shoulders shakes loose and he reaches out to pull her practically shaking from into his chest.

"I don't know what to say to him Hop. He's not Mike and he's not like either of my boys. In my head he's just always been..."

"Dick and Margaret's brat." He sighs out and rests his cheek on the top of her head as she nods and presses herself in closer.

He's aware of eyes on them. Confused and worried and judgemental and he'll pay that piper next. These kids taught him how to be a dad again once, they can do it again, right?

Part 3

Part 4.1

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth

Part 4.2

Part 5

If I missed you in the tag list I'm sorry I tried 🙃🫡 Tell me what you think? 🫣🥲

[celepom]

It’s Pride 2023! Time to put up some more comic recs!

This time I’ve put together some stories about discovering one’s own queer identity, outlining a family history of queerness, and several stories where being queer isn’t the focus - queer characters are simply allowed to be.

Belle of the Ball By Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her. And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

---

The Moth Keeper By Kay O’Neill

Anya is finally a Moth Keeper, the protector of the lunar moths that allow the Night-Lily flower to bloom once a year. Her village needs the flower to continue thriving and Anya is excited to prove her worth and show her thanks to her friends with her actions, but what happens when being a Moth Keeper isn't exactly what Anya thought it would be? The nights are cold in the desert and the lunar moths live far from the village. Anya finds herself isolated and lonely. Despite Anya's dedication, she wonders what it would be like to live in the sun. Her thoughts turn into an obsession, and when Anya takes a chance to stay up during the day to feel the sun's warmth, her village and the lunar moths are left to deal with the consequences.

---

Hollow By Shannon Watters, Branden Boyer-White & Berenice Nelle

Isabel "Izzy" Crane and her family have just relocated to Sleepy Hollow, the town made famous by—and obsessed with—Washington Irving's legend of the Headless Horseman. But city slicker-skeptic Izzy has no time for superstition as she navigates life at a new address, a new school, and, with any luck, with new friends. Ghost stories aren't real, after all.... Then Izzy is pulled into the orbit of the town's teen royalty, Vicky Van Tassel (yes, that Van Tassel) and loveable varsity-level prankster Croc Byun. Vicky's weariness with her family connection to the legend turns to terror when the trio begins to be haunted by the Horseman himself, uncovering a curse set on destroying the Van Tassel line. Now, they have only until Halloween night to break it—meaning it's a totally inconvenient time for Izzy to develop a massive crush on the enigmatic Vicky. Can Izzy's practical nature help her face the unknown—or only trip her up? As the calendar runs down to the 31st, Izzy will have to use all of her wits and work with her new friends to save Vicky and uncover the mystery of the legendary Horseman of Sleepy Hollow—before it's too late. 

---

Until I Meet my Husband By Ryousuke Nanasaki & Yoshi Tsukizuki

The memoir of gay activist Ryousuke Nanasaki and the first religiously recognized same-sex marriage in Japan. From school crushes to awkward dating sites to finding a community, this collection of stories recounts the author’s “firsts” as a young gay man searching for love. Dating is never ever easy, but that goes doubly so for Ryousuke, whose journey is full of unrequited loves and many speed bumps. But perseverance and time heals all wounds, even those of the heart.

---

Is Love the Answer? By Uta Isaki

When it comes to love, high schooler Chika wonders if she might be an alien. She’s never fallen for or even had a crush on anyone, and she has no desire for physical intimacy. Her friends tell her that she just "hasn't met the one yet," but Chika has doubts... It's only when Chika enters college and meets peers like herself that she realizes there’s a word for what she feels inside--asexual--and she’s not the only one. After years of wondering if love was the answer, Chika realizes that the answer she long sought may not exist at all--and that that's perfectly normal.

---

M Is for Monster By Talia Dutton

When Doctor Frances Ai's younger sister Maura died in a tragic accident six months ago, Frances swore she would bring her back to life. However, the creature that rises from the slab is clearly not Maura. This girl, who chooses the name "M," doesn't remember anything about Maura's life and just wants to be her own person. However, Frances expects M to pursue the same path that Maura had been on—applying to college to become a scientist—and continue the plans she and Maura shared. Hoping to trigger Maura's memories, Frances surrounds M with the trappings of Maura's past, but M wants nothing to do with Frances' attempts to change her into something she's not. In order to face the future, both Frances and M need to learn to listen and let go of Maura once and for all. Talia Dutton's debut graphic novel, M Is for Monster, takes a hard look at what it means to live up to other people's expectations—as well as our own.

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Golden Sparkle By Minta Suzumaru

Himaru Uehara’s first year of high school is off to a good start, minus one problem—he keeps having wet dreams. With only his mom and sister at home—and having skipped health class in middle school—he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him. Thankfully, a new friend has just the remedy and teaches Himaru exactly how to deal with those pesky dreams! But his solution only leads to more confusion, and the two find themselves navigating feelings they’ve never felt before.

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Thieves By Lucie Bryon

Ella can’t seem to remember a single thing from the party the night before at a mysterious stranger’s mansion, and she sure as heck doesn’t know why she’s woken up in her bed surrounded by a magpie’s nest of objects that aren’t her own. And she can’t stop thinking about her huge crush on Madeleine, who she definitely can’t tell about her sudden penchant for kleptomania… But does Maddy have secrets of her own? Can they piece together that night between them and fix the mess of their chaotic personal lives in time to form a normal, teenage relationship? That would be nice.

---

Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic By Alison Bechdel

Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian home, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with his male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned "fun home," as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescense, the denouement is swift, graphic -- and redemptive.

---

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat By Sakaomi Yuzaki

Cooking is how Nomoto de-stresses, but one day, she finds herself making way more than she can eat by herself. And so, she invites her neighbor Kasuga, who also lives alone. What will come out of this impromptu dinner invitation...?

Kasuga and Nomoto promised to spend their Christmas and New Year’s together. Now, they find themselves learning more about each other’s families through the food sent by Nomoto’s mother. Cute character bento, salmon and rice, stollen, fruit sandwiches, roast beef…Nomoto and Kasuga warm up to each other over a cheerful holiday season.  

[cozage]

Hi! I really like your writing , each of them makes me feel all the emotions.🥺💞 I have an idea for a request, maybe someone has already suggested this (sorry if that's the case) I think it will be interesting, cute and sad🌱

Monster trio, Ace, Low with fem S/O, whose body was under the control by the enemy, she did not want to harm her nakama, but could not prevent it because of a uncontrolled body. Thereby hurting someone, but not of their own free will

Sorry for the mistakes, English is not my first language :(

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this one for a long time because I knew how painful it would be to write. I only did three of them, but if you want Luffy and Sanji’s, definitely send me a request when I reopen them!

Characters: female reader x Zoro, Ace, Law

Cw: angsttttt

Total word count: 2.2k

Enemy Control

Zoro

“What the hell are you doing?!” Zoro yelled, jumping away from your swinging blade. 

“I don’t know!” you cried out. “Just get away from me, I can’t control it!”

Your body suddenly changed direction, jerking you to the side. Your arms raised your sword and swing, aiming directly for Nami. 

“Nami!” you screamed, but there wasn’t enough time for her to jump out of your way. Your blade made contact with her flesh, causing her to scream out in pain. Blood dripped down her arm; the wound was deep but thankfully not fatal.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed. “I can’t stop it.”

You raised your blade again, ready to strike Nami again. She cowered in fear, and you swung as if you had the intent to kill. 

Metal hit metal, and Zoro stood in front of you, blades raised to defend. His good eye was scowling at you, full of confusion. 

“The enemy must’ve gotten ahold of your blood. He’s forcing you to fight us to keep us occupied.”

“Just run!” You jumped back, aiming to strike Zoro. 

“You are faster than all of us and you know that!” He yelled at you. “We just have to keep you occupied until Luffy knocks the guy out. It’s not that hard.” Your swords clanged together again, Zoro easily deflecting your blows. 

You kicked him, using him as a springboard to push him backwards and propel you towards Chopper. You hated that your body knew who to target, and Chopper ducked as you swung, screaming in terror. 

“Please, Zoro. Knock me out or something!” You sword jabbed towards Chopped again, but your boyfriend was back in front of you, defending his crew mates. 

“The ability still works if you’re knocked out,” Zoro said, keeping his sword against yours.

Tears were streaming down your face. You had already hurt Nami pretty badly. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you hurt anyone else. Or worse. 

You pulled away and swung again. You changed your trajectory at the last second, almost catching him off guard. 

“Kill me then!”

Zoro gritted his teeth at your request. “Not an option,” he growled. 

He swung his blade around to make contact with your sword, sending a shockwave through your body. He used your brief disorientation to flip his blade around yours, causing it to fly out of your hand. Once you were disarmed, he tackled you to the ground and pinned your arms down.

You thrashed against his body, and he struggled to keep you still. You were still sobbing under him. 

“Nami,” you said. “How is she?”

“She’s fine.” Zoro tightened his grip on your wrists. He was trying to be gentle with you, but it was difficult when you had such strong bloodlust. “Chopper’s helping her now. Just relax.”

After what felt like an eternity, he finally felt your body go slack. He looked down at you, waiting for you to fight back against him, but you seemed to be free from the curse. 

“Can I let you go?” He asked, watching you carefully.

You flexed your fingers and toes, checking to see if you had control back again. They responded to your desire, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. 

“I think so, just be ready in case something goes wrong.”

He nodded and released your wrists, still sitting on your core to make sure you kept your cool. 

“Nami?” you asked, propping yourself to look around for the orange-haired navigator. 

“She’s fine.” He got up and offered you his hands to take. You accepted, and he pulled you to your feet. He dropped one of your hands as you stood, but interlaced his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly. 

He squeezed your hand tight, trying to comfort you. “Let's go see her. Everything’s okay now.”

Ace

“Ace!” you screamed, your fist infusing with haki as it aimed for the back of his head.

“Huh?” he turned just in time for your hand to connect with his cheekbone. The force was so intense it sent him staggering a few steps backwards.

“What the hell!?!” Ace yelled at you. “Why did you do that? That actually-”

You pursued after him, readying your fist again. “Ace, get back!” you screamed. 

You punched at him again, but this time he was ready, and he grabbed your fist as you swung. “Stop it!” he cried out in frustration. “Just tell me what I did!”

“Something’s wrong,” you said, swinging your other hand. You connected with his freckled face, and he grunted out in pain.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, jumping back a few paces. He rubbed his cheek, trying to soothe the pain. 

You continued towards him again, and you could feel yourself winding you for another punch. 

“Can’t we talk about this?” he said, backing away from you. 

“I’m not doing it!” you cried, increasing your pace to him against your will. 

Ace created a wall of fire between you two, trying to give himself time to think. “Please, Y/N! What’s-”

Your screams cut off his question, and he watched in horror as you stepped through his flames to get to him. “Ace,” you sobbed. “Help me.”

Your fist drew back, ready to hit him again, and he leapt backwards as you aimed for him. He was fast, but you were faster, and you closed the gap yet again and punched, making contact with his face again. 

He groaned in pain and pushed you away. He instinctively lit his fist on fire to attack, but quickly diminished it when he realized it was you he was fighting. He couldn't harm you, even when he knew it wasn't you attacking him.

“Shit,” he hissed, dodging another one of your relentless attacks. 

“Knock me out!” You screamed, punching at him again. 

“I’m not going to hurt you!” He could see the fear in your eyes as he continued to evade your attacks. 

“You have to do something!” You cried back. You could see him debating the idea. “You won’t hurt me! Just do it! Please!”

He dodged your next attack, slipping behind you. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, smacking his hand against a pressure point in your neck, and everything went dark.

You woke up in the infirmary of the Moby Dick, the soft beeping and whirring of machines around you. Your eyes found Ace, slumped in a chair across the room, and you sat up to look around. 

Marco must’ve been alerted to your consciousness somehow, because he quietly slipped into the room and smiled at you. 

“You’re okay,” he assured you, seeing your panicked eyes. Marco’s voice caused Ace to stir, but he didn’t pay the fire user any mind. “You were under the influence of an enemy, but it appears that it was temporary. Whether it was time related or range related, we’re not really sure.”

“Can it happen again?” You asked, scared for the danger you could put your crew in. 

“Unlikely,” Marco said, looking at your chart. “When you first came in, there was an unknown toxin in your system - likely whatever was causing your body to act on its own. But that’s disappeared now. I’ll keep testing you for a few days, but I’m not concerned about it.”

You nodded, and Marco left the room to give you and Ace some time alone. As soon as he was gone, Ace got up and walked over to your bed. He stroked your hair affectionately and planted a kiss on your forehead. 

“You scared me,” he whispered. 

“I scared me,” you said. “I didn’t know what was wrong with me.”

“I’m sorry I burned you.” You could see the pain and regret in his eyes from a simple mistake. 

“That wasn’t your fault.” You gave him a pained smile. “It was just a bad situation.”

You shuffled to one side of the bed, and patted it for him. “Come join me.”

You’re not sure who benefited more from cuddling together, but you were thankful for his warm embrace. 

Law

“Something’s wrong,” you whispered, your heart in your throat. Your feet moved without you telling them to, your hand reaching for a knife. 

“Hm?” Law hummed. He still had his back to you, chopping vegetables. He was completely vulnerable and unexpecting of what you were about to do. 

“Law,” you said, more urgently now. You hands grasped the hilt of the knife, and you turned to face him, raising it above your head. But he still didn’t turn around.

“Law!” you shrieked, full panic now. He only had a few seconds before you...

You swung, Law turning around just in time to see the flash of silver. Just before your knife made contact with his shoulder, something shoved you hard in the side, and you heard a groan. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Shachi yelled. He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you. You could feel the knife wedged in his shoulder blade, a warm, sticky liquid flowing out from the wound. 

Your knife was removed from his back and stabbed into him again, and Shachi gritted his teeth from the pain. He switched his position to hold your arms down by your sides. 

“Captain, get your girlfriend,” Shachi shouted, and your eyes looked over to the captain. When you looked at him, you knew that Law was your target, but it was best to get rid of the weaker enemies first. 

Why were you thinking like that? What was happening to your brain? You were scared, and you could see your own fear mirrored in Law’s eyes. This ability - your body moving separately from your thoughts - reminded you of Dressrosa, and the man you defeated there. 

“It can’t be…” Law whispered, backing away from you. “That’s impossible.”

You kicked Shachi in the groin, causing him to loosen his grip on you and fall to his knees. You looked down at him, just as terrified as he was. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your foot whipped back and you kicked him in the jaw. Shachi slumped to the ground, unconscious, and your eyes turned back to Law again. 

“Please run,” you begged him. But Law only stared at you, horrified. Even as you picked up the knife and aimed it at his skull, he just stared at you.

“Law! Do something!” You screamed again. You threw the knife at him and he finally moved into action. 

“Room. Shambles.”

Suddenly, you were behind a locked gate, Law standing in front of you, safely out of your reach. Your body instinctively lunged for him, and he stepped back out of surprise, but you still couldn’t reach him.

“I’m sorry about this, Y/N-ya.” He sat on a barrel and watched you for a few moments, you desperately clawing at where he stood. Your vision was getting blurry from the tears in your eyes, but you could see that his eyes were still filled with fear. 

“Go help Shachi,” you sobbed. “Please.”

Law shambled a med kit to the room you all were in, and pulled out a tranquilizer. “Stay still,” he muttered, flicking the syringe and walking up to the bars you stood behind. 

“Law-” When you reached out to grab him, he quickly took hold of your wrist and flipped it over, injecting the sedative into your veins. The last thing you saw was his face, looking down at you as you crumpled to the ground. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed when you woke again, but your mouth was dry and there was a blanket over you now. The events came rushing back to you - the lack of control you had over your body, the prison, Shachi. 

You were too tired to move, so you balled up as small as you could on the cold metal floor and you let out a sob of despair. 

You heard movement from outside of the prison, and then the soft creak of the cell door opening. Your entire body tensed, afraid of what might happen, and you squeezed your eyes shut in fear. Maybe if you didn’t see the person, you wouldn’t hurt them.

Calloused fingers rubbed your arm, and you leaned into Law’s touch. You would know his touch anywhere, and it made you feel a little bit better knowing he was so close. 

“Shachi’s okay,” he whispered. 

You could feel hot tears slipping past your closed eyelids and down your cheeks at the mention of the news. Relief flooded through your veins. 

“You can open your eyes,” Law said, still running his fingers up and down your arm. 

“What if I-” you choked on your words, unable to finish. 

“You’re okay now. It was a devil fruit power that could control the person through some kind of virus. But I removed it while you were sleeping.”

Law wouldn’t lie to you, and your eyes opened to see his golden irises. There were dark circles under his brilliant eyes, a sign that he hadn’t slept in a very long time. But you could see relief flood through them now, and you knew everything would be okay, just like he said. 

[dragonnova]

My Unruly List of Pinned Links

Trigger Warnings for Blood, Depression, Canon-Typical Violence, and some physical trauma. "Happy Ending" is promised though. (No Ships. Relationships are familial/platonic)

-Resonance-

Cover Current Page

Prologue- Long Distance Call -1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11 Time Ripple 01 -1&2-3&4-5-6 Chapter 1 (coming soon)

Resonance Omake 1

-Turtle Tot Comics- It started as random art of the babies, it's turning into a series of shorts. Mikey -1- Donnie -1-2- Leo Raph Splinter

-Sea Turtles AU-

Character Refs: Leo, Donnie, Mikey, Raph, and April

Story nuggets: Bale of Sea Turtles, Glasses (sketch), Tourist Terror Trio, Spoils of War,

-Links- Patreon (early access to comic pages because the support is what's giving me the chance to work on this, art progress, and sticker club) Ko-fi (Commissions, Tip jar, USA sticker/charm shop) Big Cartel (Small Pre-Order Shop) Etsy (Mostly International Shop, does not have full catalogue) Instagram (I go by Psiibee there)

This list will be updated as needed!

[terror-trio]

"Well then, maybe him likin' me'll do me some good. He can't be worse than you two loons!"

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I think malleus mentions, maybe in his dorm vig, that he tried approaching other students when he couldn't find the meeting place but they scream and run away from him in terror. If this is how people have been reacting to him approaching them then it makes sense for him to stop trying at one point. also think the senators never allowed anyone to meet him. Remember melanoir blessing. She blessed him to be feared by humans. Perhaps that is also at play. I would like to hear your thoughts on this.

One thing I take issue with is how inconsistently written the world’s reactions to Malleus are. On one hand, we're constantly told that people fear him and run away at the sight of him (which does happen with various mob students). On the other hand, we get dozens and dozens of instances of Malleus interacting with his classmates, staff, and the locals of Sage’s Island (Magicam Monsters) and other countries without issue. (Granted, the locals of other countries did not recognize him as Malleus due to how he was dressed, but the point still holds that Malleus can have normal interactions with people.) How he is received varies greatly across the main story, vignettes, and the events. You cannot have it both ways because it creates this cognitive dissonance about how we’re supposed to perceive his presence.

As for the senators, it is canon that Malleus was often kept inside the castle. However, that doesn’t mean he was entirely barred from interacting with people and that doesn’t mean Malleus never left. Clearly he still had tutors and servants around (although interacting with them would be different than interacting with peers), and surely he would have met his grandmother or foreign dignitaries as part of his training. He has also visited Silver and Lilia in their cottage which is far away from the capital city. Malleus has realistically had opportunities to engage with people, no matter how much the senators try to leash him.

Finally, on the subject of Meleanor’s blessing: firstly, there is no immediate indication that Melanor cast a spell of any kind. If you compare the scene where she utters the “blessing” (7-77) to when Lilia blesses Silver and changes his hair color (7-81), there is no sparkle effect to indicate magic. Meleanor asks Lilia to take care of her kid, hands her egg off to Lilia, summons thorns to drag him away, then vanishes away to fight, so the sparkle effect that proceeds is most likely to show her teleporting off to combat (which is finally when the sparkle effect comes in). Right before leaving, she says, “May the Night bless you/Night's Blessings (in EN)”, which is where I believe people got the “Meleanor blessed/cursed Malleus to be feared by humans” headcanon comes from. However, the phrase “May the Night bless you/Night's Blessings” is not a magic incantation as far as we know; it seems to be a saying among nocturnal fae to wish one another good luck. We see Lilia and others saying it in other parts of book 7. However, Lilia does utter “May the Night bless you/Night's blessings” prior to Silver’s hair color change, so I imagine this also plays a part in the fandom interpretation/headcanon that Meleanor blessed Malleus in a similar manner.

Even if it was a real blessing, it doesn’t work for me with how they’ve set up Malleus’s interactions with his peers. If the blessing/curse is supposedly making him feared by humans, how come there are several blatant exceptions who don’t fear him at all? This includes the light trio and arguably even characters like Leona or Rollo—because even feelings of hate or rivalry are still not fear. Additionally, Meleanor’s phrasing is that she’s sure that Malleus will be a good omen/“auspicious star” for the fae of Briar Country but a “fearsome, malevolent star” for humans. With the coming of book 7, Malleus is posing a real threat to both fae and humans alike. Furthermore, she directly follows up these lines by saying she entrusts her son to Lilia. She’s emphasizing the importance of Malleus to their country’s future before handing him away; it does not read like she’s blessing her child. This, combined with the very delayed sparkle effect in 7–77, leads me to believe that Meleanor’s words were not actually magically binding or a blessing, but rather a hope or a prayer about the kind of person Malleus would be someday: a leader that their country needs and someone who will strike fear into humans (who were enemies of the fae at the time). Until the canon says otherwise, this is how I interpret Meleanor's "blessing" for her son (ie it’s not a magical one).

I feel like none of these should completely dissuade Malleus from like... I don't know, going out of his way to locate a few open-minded people (again, like the light trio) and trying to make conversation with them? Maybe invite them over for tea? Taking little steps like that. I understand why he would be hesitant to try or adopt a defeatist attitude, but again Lilia is right there to help facilitate or to ask questions to. But he doesn’t really do that or seem to truly take what anyone says to heart; instead he gets moody, pouty, and sulks when he feels rejected because the situation is artificially set up for failure 💦

It sometimes feels like TWST wrote itself into a corner with Malleus’s presentation due to the nature of the original game format. His lore calls for him to be sinister and feared through all the land, but the devs are simultaneously compelled to write him in cute and silly social scenarios to show how likable he can be (so open up your wallet for him/j)… He’s supposedly always forgotten but you’d think that someone with a presence as fearsome as his would be remembered vividly or make a strong impression regardless of the contrived ways they try to keep him out of the picture… and that results in the clashing tones I notice now.

[reaper2187]

Jenna ortega x co-star reader x Mikey madison

As you walked onto the set of your new horror movie, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and thrill. As a horror lover, being a part of this film was a dream come true. But what made it even more thrilling for you was the fact that you would be playing a killer on screen, a character that you could embody and unleash your inner darkness.

Your co-stars, Jenna Ortega and Mikey Madison, were also known for their love for horror and their ability to quickly slip into a killer persona. The three of you were starring in a new horror movie, 'Blood Moon', as a trio of killers who terrorize a small town.

During rehearsals, you had noticed the chemistry between the three of you. There was a certain intensity and playfulness in the way you interacted with each other, which only added to the dynamic of your characters on screen. But as the cameras rolled and the director yelled 'action', the three of you transformed into ruthless killers, giving your all to make the scenes as terrifying and realistic as possible.

Off camera, the three of you bonded over your shared love for horror and your passion for acting. You spent hours discussing your favorite horror movies and exchanging tips on how to perfect your killer personas. Despite playing villains on screen, you found yourselves becoming good friends behind the scenes.

One day, during a break in filming, Jenna suggested watching a classic horror movie in order to get into the right mindset for their next scene. The three of you huddled around Jenna's laptop, watching intently as the characters on screen were brutally murdered. Instead of feeling disgusted or scared like most people would, the three of you were engrossed and even took notes on the killer's techniques.

As the night wore on, you found yourselves wandering around the set, still hyped up after the movie. Suddenly, Jenna suggested a game of 'tag', with a twist. The three of you would take turns being the killer and the others had to try and evade being 'killed'. As soon as Jenna tagged you, you could feel your body shifting into your killer persona. Your eyes narrowed and your movements became more calculated.

You chased Jenna and Mikey around the set, relishing the thrill of being the one in control. The game went on for hours, with each of you taking turns being the killer. As the night grew darker and the set became eerier, it was almost as if the line between reality and fiction was blurred.

When it was your turn once again, you had a brilliant idea. Instead of just 'killing' them, you would actually scare them. You hid behind a prop and waited for Jenna and Mikey to pass by. As soon as they did, you jumped out and let out a blood-curdling scream, causing them to scream and run in the opposite direction.

The three of you collapsed into hysterical laughter, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. As you lay on the floor, catching your breath, you couldn't help but think that this was exactly where you belonged – in the midst of horror and chaos.

The next day on set, the three of you were still buzzing from the events of the previous night. As you filmed a particularly intense scene, your co-stars couldn't help but comment on how convincing and terrifying you were. But what they didn't know was that it wasn't just acting for you. As you stood over them with a fake knife in your hand, you felt a sense of satisfaction and power, knowing that you had the ability to make others feel fear.

But as the cameras stopped rolling and the director called for a break, you immediately snapped out of your killer persona and rushed over to Jenna and Mikey, making sure they were okay. They chuckled at your sudden change in demeanor and you all shared a knowing look, understanding the duality of your roles as both actors and killers.

As filming continued, the three of you became known as the 'horror trio' on set. Your chemistry and ability to slip into your killer personas quickly made for some of the most chilling and memorable scenes in the movie. But for you, it was more than just a role – it was a way to embrace your love for horror and unleash your inner darkness.

As the final scene wrapped and the director shouted 'cut', the three of you hugged each other, knowing that this experience had brought you closer both on and off screen. You couldn't wait for the world to see the terrifying trio that you had created, and for them to witness the bond that had formed between three horror-loving, killer actresses.

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 3

Pairing(s): Lucien X Plus Size Reader, Azriel X Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Danaan X Plus Size Reader

Chapter 3 Summary: Nesta confronts Rhysand and Azriel pays a visit to the Moonstone Palace.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Talk of nightmares, mentions of blood and violence.

A/N: Hopefully the characters aren't too OOC for this one. I'm sorry this chapter is so short! Work got a bit busy so free time for writing was reduced. But I still wanted to keep my schedule of every other week. Just means there will be more chapters in the long run. This is Azriel's POV. The story will mainly be from Reader, Lucien, and Azriel's POV moving forward.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 2

Azriel swiftly made his way to Rhysand’s office in the House of Wind for a debriefing with Cassian, Nesta, and Bryce after their return to Prythian. The group had been successful in their rescue efforts and the trio returned with Bryce’s mate and brother in tow. His shadows had told him that the two new arrivals had been beaten and bloody with healers rushing to the northern residential wing of the Moonstone Palace. He knew he should have accompanied them on their trip, especially after hearing of their losses of at least two spies as the group made their way out. If he had gone with them then he certainly wouldn’t have been forced to subject you to – He stopped short at the scene before him, at the absolute fury that radiated off the eldest Archeron sister. His shadows and siphons immediately responded to the small thrum of power emanating off of her. He smized he finally had his answer regarding the amount of power the cauldron determined she was worthy to keep after helping Feyre deliver Nyx. Nesta stood before his brother’s desk, her hands balled into fists at her sides, chest heaving. Rhysand sat in his high back chair, elbows resting against the dark wood of the desk. Only the swirling rage in his eyes giving any indication of his emotions. A large stack of books laid sprawled on the floor. Loose papers fluttered their way back down. A well of black ink had been topped over, its contents staining the already dark mahogany and the High Lord’s face. Bryce sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk, picking at her nails. Her eyes darting between the fighting in-laws.

“I don’t know what more you want me to say Nesta,” Rhys rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I have apologized to the woman and have provided for her. Lucien is keeping her company and assisting her in finding a way back to her home, but she will remain in the eastern wing for the time being.” Fuck. So, he hadn’t removed the letter Lucien left in the House before either Nesta or Cassian read it. Not that Azriel wanted to hide (Y/N)’s existence from the pair, he just wanted to explain that he agreed with the male. The human girl was of no threat, despite her highly unexpected and unsettling arrival. Given Nesta’s current disposition it appeared that she had already gone to the Moonstone Palace as Lucien requested. 

“You have her sealed inside the place just like that Spring Court bastard did to Feyre,” Nesta spat, the information hitting Azriel square in the chest. The image of (Y/N)’s terror filled (e/c) eyes flashed through his mind. Had his word not been enough to convince his brother of her innocence? Yes, she was no longer swathed in the darkness, the darkness that he was solely responsible for, but to still be a prisoner… He hadn’t wanted that for her. He wanted her to feel safe. She deserved at least that much, if not more. Azriel’s attention snapped back to the conversation before him.

“She’s just a girl Rhys,” Cassian spoke up from his position between his mate and the desk. “Nes and I spent the whole day with her. She-”

“You have dedicated an entire part of your court to the protection of traumatized females,” Nesta snarled, “You have created laws to ensure those that cause harm to innocents pay for their actions. Yet you violate everything that you’ve built by having her tortured and locked away for the past month! What does she have to do to convince you that she is not a threat?” Rhysand let out a breath, despite his efforts to exude a sense of calm, it was clear that the male was exhausted. 

“I honestly don’t know at this point,” The admission was one that Azriel didn’t expect, “But my decision stands.” Nesta clicked her tongue, arms crossing as she finally removed her gaze from the High Lord.

“I will not be keeping this from my sister,” Nesta seethed. Her steel infused eyes landed on Azriel and he tried not balk from the fury now directed at him. Her gait was steady as she approached, arms crossing over her chest. Despite him being a good 5 inches taller than her, Nesta managed to look down her nose at him.

“Not keep what from me?” The entire room went still as Feyre stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and brows furrowed in annoyance. Her stance mirrored her sister’s, highlighting their similarities all the more. Azriel shifted in spot next to the door, glancing at his brother who slow stood up from his desk. The tension in the air thickened as Feyre looked to each individual in the room.

“What are you keeping from me now Rhysand?” Her glare at her mate would have had any other male cowering. This was perhaps the most frightening Feyre had ever appeared to Azriel outside of that battle field nearly 3 years ago.

“We will discuss the events in Midgard later. If you all will excuse us,” Rhysand swallowed, “I have something to discuss with my High Lady.”

Azriel struggled to keep his shadows in check as they buzzed around the closed doors that did little to muffle the shouting match between the rulers of the Night Court. While the group had been dismissed, Azriel still had questions for his brother. He supposed those questions would have to wait, provided the Night Court still had a High Lord in the morning. He was grateful for the distraction when Bryce asked him to return her to the Moonstone Palace to be with her mate. It also gave him a reason to check in on (Y/N). Something he hadn’t been able to do since the day he and Lucien walked her out of the catacombs. He knew that keeping his distance would be best for her, but he couldn’t help the worry that invaded him on a nightly basis. That week had not been kind to either of them. It had been a long time since he experienced nightmares as a result of his…duties as spymaster. A long time since the tang of a person’s fear embedded itself in his memory. Maybe actually seeing her in a new setting would help ease his conscious.

He winnowed Bryce directly into the suite that had been set up for her and her family. A fire roared in the large black onyx hearth of the large sitting area. The set of doors to each of the two bedrooms were wide open, allowing the healers to run back and forth between them. It appeared they were in the process of packing up their things, when one approached him.

“Both males are asleep,” the elder female whispered, “The mate is in that room. He’ll need the most care for the next few weeks as his wings begin to grow back. The other might need to have healers from the Dawn Court take a better look at him, the High Lord too. There’s a heavy barrier around his mind.” He nodded and relayed the message to Bryce.

“Thank you,” The red-head squeezed his shoulder before dipping into the room on the left. Azriel awkwardly stood in the hallow space. Now that he was here, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had never spent any significant amount of time in the Moonstone Palace and the morning was a long way off. He had a general idea of where the unoccupied spare rooms were, but he wasn’t tired. He debated on making his way to the gardens when a wailing scream ripped through the halls. The sound caused Azriel’s heart to drop. The elder healer scurried over to the doorway of the room on the right, calling out to whomever was inside.

“Wren, the tonic, is it ready for her?” Her. (Y/N) had made that sound. Nausea whirled in his stomach. A young male appeared in the doorway with two medium sized cups in his hands.

“I’ll take it,” Azriel’s shaky voice passed over his lips before he could stop himself.

“Its for the human girl,” Wren gathered a funnel and metal flask from a corner table in the main sitting room. Slowly he poured the contents of each cup into a metal flask. “The male that’s with her says she suffers from nightmares. He asked us to mix this for her. It’s a concentrated brew, so it must be diluted with water or tea, preferably a sweetened tea as its quite bitter. No more than an ounce before bed.” The male grabbed a second smaller cup and placed it into Azriel’s covered hands. He nodded in understanding, his shadows already racing to find her. Another scream echoed, the terror laced within latching onto his bones. He had caused these nightmares. He knew he would never be able to atone for the trauma that she would now carry with her. Something in his chest snagged as yet another cry ricocheted through the palace. His shadows returned and swirled, urging him out of the room. A male groan came from the room Wren had exited and he quick scurried back inside.

“Hurry, before her screams wake them,” Azriel’s lips curled into a snarl at the insensitive remark as he was ushered out of the room. “They all deserve some rest Shadowsinger.”  The female healer amended, the entrance door to the suite clicking shut behind him. He made his way as quickly as he could to her room. His shadows frantic as muffled sobs could be heard bouncing off the stone walls of the eastern wing. He didn’t even bother to knock on the door before entering the bedroom. His breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight.

The bed was disheveled, the cream duvet pushed to the ground alongside several throw pillows in various shades of blue. Lucien was sat in the center of the bed, (Y/N) cradled in his lap. Azriel watched on as Lucien rocked her back and forth, shushing her and rubbing her bare back. The green top, clearly torn and discarded on the floor, was stained dark with sweat and…blood. Sobs and muffled apologies tumbled from her lips and into the golden skin of Lucien’s neck. Her hair, slickened with tears, plastered itself to her forehead. Her trembling hands held a vice like grip, her knuckles white from the force of her hold on him. The tips of her fingernails were stained red. Azriel’s eyes roamed over her for any signs of injuries. He wasn’t able to assess her front as she pressed against the male comforting her. It took him second to realize that the Autumn male’s shirt was also missing, and something ugly curled its way through Azriel’s thoughts. That was until he saw the upturned couch, and what was clearly spare blankets and pillows pinned underneath. Likely overturned in Lucien’s haste to get to (Y/N). It took him another second to realize that the room was sweltering. Every light in the room was on and the fire in the fireplace was twice the size it should have been, leaving no space for his shadows.

“Are you just going to lurk there?” The female started at Lucien’s words, letting out a whimper and he immediately consoled her. The male’s russet eye landed on Azriel, who cautiously approached the bed. Before he could get too close, the red-head held up his hand in warning. Close enough.

“(Y/N),” Lucien whispered against her cheek, the action far too intimate for Azriel’s liking, “I asked the healers to make you another sleeping draft. Go draw yourself a bath, and I’ll get the tonic and bed prepared for you.” He brushed her hair out of her eyes as she pulled back slightly. She nodded in understanding, and her grip on him lessened.  Azriel felt like an intruder as he watched her separate herself from Lucien, catching sight of the outline of her full breast underneath her arm before she fully faced away from him. The woman seemed to become aware of her bare chest and reached for a pillow to cover herself with. Azriel noted that Lucien’s eyes never strayed down wards and remained fixed on the headboard behind her. A better male that he was. Once she was out of the sight, Lucien rose from the bed and approached Azriel.

“How is she?” Azriel blurted. He wasn’t a fool. He could clearly see she wasn’t doing well, but the question fell from him nonetheless. He continued to stare at the spot she previously occupied on the bed. Lucien studied him, the golden eye whirring and zeroing in on whatever information he was trying to read in Azriel’s expression. The spymaster’s training set in and his features hardened. The emissary did the same. His shadows spluttered at the doorway as he took a step into the room.

“How is-”

“I heard you,” Lucien let out a heavy breath and carded his lean fingers along his scalp. “You want to know the extent of your handiwork? This is what I have come to know of her through my comforting her every night since arriving here. I have become more familiar with the sound of her screams than her laugh. I smell the fear that leeches out of her every pore. So potent and thick that even my own instincts have me searching the room to make sure there is no one here to harm her. Her body thrashes violently-desperately-to break the grip the nightmares have on her own mind. There are bruises on her ankles that won’t heal because she kicks against the bed posts everything night.” Azriel felt the color slowly drain from his face.

“She doesn’t always wake from the nightmares right away either. Tonight, was one of those nights. She was crying, pleading and begging whatever was haunting her to stop. She was clawing on her own throat and chest trying to pry what I can only assume were memories of your shadows away. You ask how she is doing? She is not well, and she is terrified of you Azriel.” A flame burned within his red iris despite the calm manner in which he spoke, and Azriel felt his body recoil in shame. He didn’t want to know any more. He knew this was his fault and didn’t need to be reminded.

“You want to help her?” Azriel nodded simply, not daring to speak after hearing Lucien’s tone laced with a bitterness he hadn’t heard in years. “She needs and deserves to be let out of here. Allowed to live far enough away from the Hewn City to know that she won’t be sent back down to that cell. But for now, she needs a dreamless sleep.” The Autumn male approached him slowly, his hand held out expectantly. Azriel handed over the flask and small cup.

“Mix an ounce of this with tea or water,” His own voice was barely above a whisper as Lucien continued to hold his stare. Shame and guilt clung to him. Without another word, Azriel turned on his heel and left the room, unable to bare witness to your suffering any longer.

Next: Chapter 4

Tag list: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower @iimichie @fightmedraco @nikkitc0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion @randomness-it-is

[ridingtorohan]

Subtle ways the Warriors Trio know you

Spoilers for AOT Seasons 1-3.

Annie knows you in ways she doesn't know herself. Knows how you boil your tea, how you lace up your boots, right down to the wrinkles in your sleeves. How your hair falls when you sleep, what words someone says to make you laugh a little wider, a little longer. The thin scars, the long and deep gashes, each individual freckle and mole- she knows it. Knows each quality of yours that makes you a real person.

Whispers of a life that you've never told her, words never spoken to her. Every little thing, she's memorized and tucked away inside her head. You're the closest thing to a friend that she has, that she wants.

Sometimes she'll slip a fork onto your plate when she sees that you forgot yours, or trains a little differently with you when you're paired up.

When you join up with the Military Police with her, her fingers clench around her gear, heart skittering in her chest. For every way that she knows you, it doesn't compare to the real thing.

Reiner knows you like he's supposed to. Mission first, friend second. Knows the way you hold yourself, each defensive posture. Knows how fragile your wrists are under his hands, knows the exact words to use that'll make you see red. Knows it all because once he nurtured it from you, scabbed it over with kind words and friendly slaps to the back.

He knows each weakness like he knows his oaths, knows how you sway in battle. The right position to hook his foot under and sweep you out. Knows every ache and bruise, what makes you cry or rage, has tempered you back when the days were too hard.

Every story you've told him about friends - family - siblings - lovers, he's ushered it into a slot designed just for you. He's the one you go to when you wake up, frightened by terrors in the dark, when titan feet rumble the earth.

Reiner makes you feel safe in ways that you haven't in years. But he knows just how to make you bleed, even if all he wants to do is make it stop.

Bertholdt knows you like he does his gear. Reliant, steadfast, how to sway into the wind, the exact pitch he has to do to run up buildings. He's seen the frustrations and anger that seems through your anger, the raw drive that pushes you forward.

Hears your every word, every dream that lingers in your head and mouth, knows the way you sharpen your blades. Feels it echo, echo inside his head, drumming and insistent. Has practiced beat for beat every word that you've said.

Despite what they're here to do, what he's sworn to, he sees you and admires you for it. The strength and resolve that lingers. How you hold yourself in check, devoted to the mission. All things he wants to learn for himself, better himself by learning from you.

No matter your final grade, or your skill in battle, it's your character that he admires most. Each thing that gives purpose, each muffled fit of laughter. How your words settle over his skin like armour. He truly sees you as a friend, someone he admires.

Which makes it all the worse when he sees you and he has to explain exactly the right way to counter each move you make.