#the c word is the source of all suffering

[watching-constellations]

Brielle is currently on rehab after her injections. Turns out with two people, a lunge line, a couple mls of ace, and a few semi-blasphemous prayers, she acts just like a normal horse! My hopes are very guarded with her right now because this horse normally bucks like a goddamned rodeo champ on a whim, and she's really good at breaking herself, but hey, everyone's alive so far.

Enter stage left: Eva. Eva is approximately seventeen hands of angry. She's been described to me as, "a butch lesbian with a lot of baggage who's ready to uhaul with you on the first date, but she's also going to scream at you all the time, and she'll probably bully you for fun— just don't get into it with her, and you'll be fine!". Eva had a baby a few years ago, and immediately tried to kill it. She is absolutely prepared to take out the barn staff if she deems them inconvenient. Great start. Eva hasn't yet decided if I'm the help or target practice, but I'm holding out for "friend".

Now, Eva hasn't been ridden in about two months after a bout of cellulitis, and she's hardly been turned out. And, as I was informed, she also has horse PTSD because someone decided to beat the shit out of her while she was getting started. She hates basically everyone and everything, and she might buck you off at the mounting block. Oh yeah, and did I mention she's only six years old?

Naturally, Eva is my new project, because there's something deeply wrong with me and I should probably up the dosage of my antidepressants again I have a soft spot for mean, scary, troubled horses. Bonus points if they happen to be seal bays with devil horn ears, thick manes and tails, and tiny stars... which she is. And good lord, this horse is mean as hell. If Brielle is still lame and/or still bucking in May or June, Eva's owner is willing to consider a trade of Eva for Brielle because Eva's owner and breeder is terrified and refuses to ride her, and she can't even be bred because she's such a terrible mother. It's not like she's that bad to ride. Sure, she bucks a little, and she's anxious, but I've seen worse. It's just that she deserves better.

I had my second ride on her today. My plan is simple: I'm going at her pace. There's no punishment, and nothing bad is going to happen to her. I don't care what the hell she does, I'm just going to find a way to make it turn out okay. She's getting treats and praise and ease, and we'll take it day by day. It's therapy. As best as I can figure out how to give therapy to a gigantic, angry mare, anyway. My friend helped me with today's ride, and after going for a while, she said, "You know, maybe you won't love her, maybe you won't need her. But maybe this horse needs you. She might need you."

And, heaven help me, I remember being fourteen years old and terrified. I remember my PTSD diagnosis at sixteen. I remember running away in the night at seventeen, anything to escape just for a little while. I remember how hard I worked and how hard I tried to survive, how my academic success and willingness to try became the thing that saved me. I know what I needed then. I don't know if I'm going to have Eva for a couple months, or if it'll be longer. All I know is that I know what I needed when I was younger, and when I look at her, I see me, too.

After our ride today, Eva stopped trying to kick me. She licked my hands, and seemed disappointed when I had to leave. Against my will, there's a connection forming here.

So tldr; for the foreseeable future, I will be risking life and limb going on stupid glorified pony rides as I try to convince these two dumbasses that keeping the human in the saddle is a really good idea.

Probably pray for me or send good thoughts or make offerings to the equine gods or whatever, I don't even know, man.

What's better than one neurotic, homicidal warmblood mare? TWO neurotic, homicidal warmblood mares!

[cloversnstrawberries]

"eschatological hope" platonic!yandere!albert wesker & B.O.W!teen!reader [twoshot] [pt 1] ! !

masterlist !

description; You're one of many 'subjects' of a strange underground facility, one that sources their patients from survivor shelters outside of cities affected by outbreaks, specifically ones catered to children who are either orphaned or lost their parents amongst the chaos. One day, the emergency alarm begins blaring; the pre-recorded code said through the announcement system was unfamiliar.

You took it as a chance to run, to escape this hell-- it was the best opportunity you could ever ask for. Too bad it doesn't go you your way.

additional notes; hello! this definitely was just supposed to be a oneshot, but i lost hold on my self restraint and just want to really start off my resident evil writing with a bang . i really love this idea, and i'm a sucker for religious imagery and references, so :) but also, there's a scary lack of platonic!yan albert wesker... i plan to amend that in the coming weeks as i dive headfirst into this special interest on here. it's not going away. help.

also! reader is intended to be a younger teen, around ~14/15 in here, but can be interpreted as younger or older!

warnings; Child experimentation, body horror, betrayal, mentions of the apocalypse, canon-typical bloods, guts, gore, and violence, death of a child/mentioned deaths of children (not reader), child abuse, guns, general terror, non-consensual body modification (the scientists altered reader with a virus strain </3), not very yandere in this part, but oh boy will shit hit the fan in the second part, heavy religious symbolism and references (which will only get more obvious in the next part), slightly soft Albert Wesker, and there might be more that I missed! if so, please be sure to let me know!!

w/c; 7.7k (oh lord)

I was so close, you mournfully thought-- your cheek pressed to the cold tile, a guard's boot dug into the back of your skull as he put more and more pressure onto your cranium.

You were so close to make it out of here- out of here alive. You'd seen countless other... subjects, is all they saw you as; come and go from this strange, underground facility.

It always ended the same, whether or not they tried to escape.

You were a fool to think you were any different.

You'd made it the longest, survived the most tests. You were weak, muscles atrophied and dizzy from how small the portions of the meals they gave you were-- even if they could hardly be called that.

Scraps. They were just scraps, just enough to keep you alive; but just small enough to discourage this kind of stunt.

They keep you weak, keep you under their thumb until the time came to crush you down beneath it. You'd witnessed this many times-- you're not sure how many, no longer seeing a reason to keep track of the numbers.

Last you'd counted, it'd been at 38. 38 dead, either shot because they tried to escape, or...

Jamie had been a good friend to you, throughout this hell of an experience. In hushed whispers, they'd tell you stories of their life; they lived so differently from yourself, having hailed from sunny California.

You exchanged stories about the crazy weather phenomena you'd experienced, the snow storms that hit Arklay county mid-October a few years back, was traded for a story about how the highest temperature they'd suffered through was a whopping 131 degrees in the dead of summer.

But now, there was no Jamie.

There was only the thing left in their place, an awful amalgamation of... oh god, you can't even pick it apart. So many things-- eyes of a goat, five legs; two sprouting from their back like a dinosaurs spine, and one burst out of their shoulder.

Their face was near-unrecognizable, their voice no better off. You could hardly understand the words they were saying-- and they were words, you knew that much-- as they curled their hand, as crushed and mangled and deformed as it was, around your ankle.

You stood there, frozen with terror-- unknowing of what-- no, who, this was; until you caught sight of a chunk of long hair, once dyed a vibrant red atop light blonde hair-- all that was left was a faded red, their roots having grown in a good 2 or 3 inches, coming from what you assumed to the top of the thing's skull.

"Jamie?" You'd muttered, voice small and broken. You no longer tried to fight the hold on your leg, simply stared down in abject horror. You didn't notice the alarm begin to ring, nor the flashing red of the emergency lights-- the call of a code over the intercom, summoning all available personal to deal with a "Code 96".

It-- They, nodded; or it seemed like it, a jerk of what must've been their head. What came from the thing-- no, Jamie's mouth next, made your heart go from nearly beating out of your chest to terribly, deathly still, as you realize what they'd been trying to say the entire time.

"Kill... me..." they'd rasped, all semblance of their fiery but intelligent personality gone, replaced with a simple need to be put out of their misery.

You had no means to do so, but as you heard boots rushing down the echoing hallways-- making their way to the adolescent patient's barracks where they kept you all, you knew that they did.

You sunk to your knees, and you held your friend until the guards came in, one tasked with evacuating the other subjects; not wanting any to accidentally get hurt, because then that'd just be a waste of resources-- pulled you from your friend, who let out a horrifying sort of shriek.

Your hand outstretched, as they fumbled to reach out; unable to grab yours in time, you were pulled form the room just as rounds and rounds of gunshots sounded behind you. The door had barely been shut before it started, dents made in the dense metal scared you deeply-- but the bullets never did make it through the material.

Or because the experiments got to them first. The things they inject you all with, the tests and strange sets of tasks that hardly coincide with each other-- the things that somehow make nearly everyone turn into some sort of monster,

Some kept their mind, like Jamie had, and some didn’t.

You’d had an awful feeling that your time would come soon, when all the weird injections and ‘medicines’ and ‘treatments’ finally got to you.

In some ways, you’d accepted that. The fact that you’d probably never make it out, that you’d just be another lost subject. A waste of resources.

Not a living, breathing child that they stole away from a survivor’s shelter after an outbreak hit your city and you fled— and were able to do so, because you were all alone.

You had hopes and dreams— ones that would be splattered across the frigid tile floor any second now, along with your blood and brain matter.

Sometimes the guards were kind, they gave one shot right at the crown of your head— killing you instantly.

Sometimes they wanted to have a little ‘fun’ as they called it. Nobody but the guards found it fun, how they’d toy with the kids as they killed them— the scientists and ‘doctors’ found it wasteful of their time, a disgrace that they spent more time than necessary on terminating a subject.

The other kids, yourself included, found it horrifying. In the dark of night, when you all knew the cameras weren’t as heavily watched as before— the guards weren’t standing where they were supposed to in the patient barracks, you’d spread stories about how the staff were really the monsters.

You’d say that one has a second face hidden beneath her giant, fluffy blonde hair. The others kids said that one of the guards, a particularly cruel one which none of you knew the name of, secretly had a third eye— that’s why he never took off the guard gear, which most every other one did at some point, for one reason or another.

And as you lay here, feeling your nose shift as the pressure of the boot on your head increased, your face pressing harder and harder into the tile— you come to the dreadful realization that they’re going to have their ‘fun’ with you.

You hope they get in trouble with their superiors— really, you do. Because with the red emergency lights going, causing a terrible headache to form right behind your eyes— and the alarm blared, a pre-recorded voice calling over the intercom;

They shouldn’t be here, taking their sweet time with a patient that’d broken off from the rest. Honestly, you thought you could get away with it, in the chaos of them evacuating all patients; or, all patients worth saving.

Noticeably, the barracks that held the younger kids, all below 6, were not evacuated. If anything, they weren’t making any move to free the poor things— the door still locked, probably.

“You know,” The guard began to say, and you recognized that voice. Oh, oh God did you recognize it.

You thought he was nicest of the bunch— he always did his best to help you. In quiet, dark corners where the cameras wouldn’t reach, he’d give you a hug to hide the way he handed you some extra food.

Sometimes you’d smuggle it back to the barracks, to distribute among the most malnourished of you all. Sometimes he’d have you eat it right then and there, to make sure you got extra nutrients.

“So you can grow big and strong,” He’d say. That implied that’d you’d make it further than a year in this hellhole.

He’d even told you his name-- his first one, not his last one; the one he was supposed to only be known as, something he really wasn’t meant to do— he called you by your name as well, your real one, not the serial code you were assigned when you got here.

“Na-than—“ You stumbled out, letting out a cry of pain as he cruelly, oh-so-cruelly, put all of his weight on the foot currently crushing your skull.

He took it off within a few seconds, not wanting you to die so quickly. It’d be a mercy, considering what the other guards tend to do with the subjects they have their sick ‘fun’ with.

“Oh shut the hell up, you fucking brat.” He sounded so cruel. This— this couldn’t be Nathan, could it? No… they’re tricking you. He had to have been replaced, this was nothing like him—!

In a split second, you felt all encompassing relief; as he lifted his foot from the back of your head— but that relief was short-lived, as he crouched down beside you and wound his fingers through your hair,

He yanked your head up, and you made a valiant, but ultimately useless, attempt to stifle the yelp from the action.

When you did let that sound out— though, much smaller than it would’ve been had you not tried, he jostled your head around.

“I really thought you’d be the one to make it. The scientists worked really hard on your virus strain, you know that?” He said that as if it was your fault— your fault for what? You couldn’t really place your finger on.

Maybe… he’s blaming you because you’d given the scientists hope that they’d succeeded? If you had succeeded, would they have stopped the operations—

Or doubled the effort? You’re leaning more towards the latter.

“s’not my fault…” You mumbled, screwing your eyes shut. You swear that they had to have replaced all the lights with brighter, more agitating ones. It hurt to be anywhere when the lights were fully on— the blaring emergency light, bright red and spinning constantly— added another layer of it.

“Open your fucking eyes when i’m talking to you!” He yelled— oh, you’d never heard Nathan yell like that. This has to be an imposter; it had to be that the higher-ups found out how kind he was being and terminated him, one way or another.

This couldn’t be him.

Against your own wishes, but along with your better judgement— you peeled open your eyes, lips wobbling as you were forced to come face to face with both the lights, and—

The imposter had taken off his helmet, letting you have a full view of his face.

It was Nathan. No doubt about it.

“I’d say I actually liked you,” He snarled, leaning closer— your back creaking and bending as he pulled your upper half up, but your lower one stayed relatively flat on the floor. “But that’d be a lie.” There was a cruel smirk playing on the corner of his lips, nothing like the kind ones he’d always give you,

You wrenched out a sob, at which he jostled you a little more to get you to “Shut up!”

By that point, you were in absolutely no position not to follow his wishes, your life quite literally placed in the palm of his hands.

He leaned closer again, and you couldn’t help but let the tears rush down your face at the sting of hurt from his words— which only worsened as he continued on.

“The bonuses that my higher-ups gave me to act all buddy-buddy with you were pretty nice, though. I guess I have you to thank for that.”

Oh.

That… makes sense— why you two were never caught. Why he could get away with it, with stealing the food, with showing you his face, telling you his name, hugging you, comforting you—

It was all a ploy,

And for what? Maybe they thought that if the subjects had something to fight for, that they’d be more determined to make it out as a success?

That wasn’t true and you knew it— Jamie had things to fight for, but they still ended up with their mutated body looking more like swiss cheese by the end of it all.

Nathan-- no, the guard, as you refuse to associate this... monster with the man who had been so kind to you, even if, realistically, you knew they were one in the same.

That it was all just an act.

That doesn't mean you have to admit it to yourself, even if you accepted the fact in some capacity.

But... regardless, the guard, clicked his tongue, looking down upon you in a way that made you want to curl up and sob. "They thought you'd make it, you know? You were reacting so well to all the tests. The virus took hold..." You couldn't stop the confused little noise, clawing its way from the back of your throat.

Surprisingly, the guard didn't reprimand or hurt you for it. His smirk only grew to a sick, sick grin. Presumably because of the obvious show of confusion on your part,

"Oh? Did you not know? They were testing a new strain, I mean-- I'm surprised it took to you of all people!" The laugh that followed was mocking and devoid of any light. Any joy that wasn't founded in the sadistic nature of this guard. "It was modified from a strain made by a couple of traitors-- It was meant for the strongest. They just gave it to you to see where that threshold for 'strong' was!"

...Ah.

A virus? That's what this all was? You didn't know what they were putting into you all, none of the other patients had a clue about what was happening besides what was obvious. You really didn't know anything about it--

But that's it? They were putting viruses into all of you? That'd definitely explain why some ended up the way they did; some mindless, some wanting nothing but violence. The ones who didn't what such things always looked as if they did, like Jamie had.

You don't feel sick though, not how Jamie had been describing how they felt as they approached their death day, completely oblivious to what was happening-- a little more lethargic than usual, yes-- but not sick. You don't feel like your bones are about to snap, about to shift and move and rearrange themselves to turn you into a monster. You're sure you would've... felt it,

Before you could make another sound-- before the guard could continue his spiel, a new round of heavy gunfire broke out nearby-- a few turns down the long corridor, you think.

Then, screams-- so many, and.. and bones cracking, flesh ripping; it didn't sound like anyone was getting shot.

It sounded like their heads were being twisted and ripped from their neck. You witnessed that once, with a particularly violent, now-terminated, subject. That's how you recognized the awful sound as the flesh of the neck tried to follow the way their head was being turned, only to be ripped-- sinew snapping as their bodies were pushed pass the limits of human capabilties.

The alarms-- no one knew what it was about, the code they were putting through the intercoms wasn't one you recognized. It wasn't one any of you recognized-- the guards seemed... panicked, for once. Not for you all, not at all; but because they had to evacuate everyone before they could save themselves.

Something told you that this wasn't a regular sort of rampage, put on by a grotesque mimicry of one of your fellow captives.

One second, the guards fingers were twisted in your hair-- yanking you, making your neck strain painfully as he forced you to look him in the face,

And the next, your hair was released and your head lolled forward; smacking your forehead right against the tile, not enough time to brace yourself at all. You heard the guard yell out a string of curses, before he stumbled-- and you mean stumbled, up; all scary calm and malice gone.

Replaced by a primal fear and terror that you know all too well. It was a little funny, seeing the primary force behind that sort of emotion experiencing it firsthand for once.

You don't see a point in picking yourself up at first, expecting you end to be swift-- for whatever was causing the apparent massacre to come charging at you, uncaring as it twisted your neck violently; just as you're sure it'd done to all the guards a few turns ahead.

But it... a few moments pass by, and nothing of the sort happens. You don't hear anything coming for you-- no horrifying creature shambling toward you on all fours, or a mass of disgusting, pulsing and gory flesh sliding across the tile to attack you.

All you hear are calm, methodical steps coming your way. A scientist, maybe-- all the guards seemed to be in a state of panic, if that one had left you in such a rush; if they leave you alone, if they don't continue their 'fun', or pull you along to continue at another time,

Then you know something is terribly, awfully wrong.

You listened carefully to the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes against the tile floor, coming closer and closer. The scientists weren't as outwardly-cruel as the guards, didn't rough you and the others kid up like they did...

But that's not to say that they cared for you, for any of you. If what the guard said was true, that you had gotten the furthest with their experiments-- then maybe the scientist would pick you up and drag you back.

Or kill you, and study your corpse to see what made your body welcome whatever virus they'd forced onto you.

At that, you made an effort to rise from your spot on the ground. Your elbows gave out the first few times you tried, adrenaline still running through your system-- but you were shaken up, and it was always harder to get up from the floor than it was from a chair or bed.

You were so tired, frail and weak-- but still better off than most. You were one of the few that actually had a chance, and you couldn't just give that up. Even if there was nothing to fight for really, you still had to get out. You don't know why-- maybe it's just in the human nature to want to continue on despite it all.

To survive anything, no real reason behind it. Simply a primal part of you, left over from centuries past; one that not even the most disciplined could stamp down, you think.

When you did get purchase, able to push yourself up to sit on your folded legs-- biting the inside of your cheek to smother the strange sort of chirp that desperately wished to escape you.

That'd been happening recently-- producing strange noises like that of a bird, especially when in distress. You'd been able to cover them up with a cough, or stifle them either mostly or completely, but the more scared you were; the harder it became to hide them.

You managed, though-- the fear of being noticed by whoever those eerily calm, unbothered steps that was a stark contrast to the bloodbath they were certainly just waltzing right through.

One sitting, you did your best to rise from the position-- unable to get to enough leverage to rise just as you were without collapsing to the ground, you got one leg out from under yourself-- though not without great difficulty.

Just as you were about to heft yourself up into a kneeling position, sure that you'd be able to stand from there-- you heard the footsteps come to an abrupt stop; you hadn't noticed how close they were until they went silent.

Slowly, you raised your head. The dread and barely contained panic keeping you from focusing on the throbbing, world-ending headache that kicked up a notch as you looked straight on at the lights--

In front of you, down near the hallway; but not nearly far enough for your own liking, was a man you'd never seen before. Dressed in all black, he looked more like an FBI or undercover agent you'd see in a movie than anything.

Was he here to save you? You dazedly thought, but as you looked into the mans face-- his eyes hidden by simple black sunglasses, something told you that you had to run.

This man wasn't like the others-- his presence felt suffocating, like his existence alone could choke the life out from you.

Despite the headache, the aches and pain-- and the way that, deep down, you knew that you could never outrun this man... or whatever he was; that even if you were perfectly healthy, in the best shape possible, you never stood a chance, you still tried to run.

You stood abruptly, the pressure in your head becoming almost unbearable as black clouded your vision-- as disoriented and dizzy as you were, you're surprised you didn't fall right to the floor like a discarded ragdoll upon standing.

When your vision finally cleared, you met the mans gaze, and really got a look at him. The light casted behind him made him look like he had a halo-- a halo of red, like a sun delivering sailors an ill omen, bounced off of his perfectly gelled blond hair. His face was sharp, and he looked like he was in better shape than some of the guards here.

Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be wearing tactical gear-- and when you looked a little longer, realized that the strange spots of... something, wasn't a bad dye job of the fabric.

It was blood, mostly centralized to his black leather gloves, coagulated but still beading up-- one big glob fell to the floor, as the man simply stood there. Watching, waiting-- like a cat would to a mouse, staring it down and waiting for it to turn its back.

Cat's were stealth predators, more focused catching their prey off-guard rather than over powering it with sheer brute force. You're sure the man could do that-- and the reality of it all came crashing down.

He must be the one who killed the guards, the one that caused the one tormenting you to run for the hills like his life depended on it,

because it did, and yours did too.

He said nothing, as he stood there. He tilted his head, his face unreadable-- the glasses weren't helping. Slowly, as steadily as you could manage, you took a few steps back.

And then a few more, not daring to turn around until the very last minute. When he took a step forward, you turned and bolted down the hall.

You don't know where the exit is-- or, really the elevator. Or stairs-- anything to get you out from this underground hell. You stumbled as you ran, twisting and turning through the corridors; your lungs burning, head pounding and body aching--

But you never stopped running, and you wouldn't until you were safe, or you simply keeled over right then and there. You wouldn't stop running, wouldn't stop this fruitless fight until your very heart gave out--

Or you joined the number of casualties, head twisted off. You'd yet to see any bodies, any blood or gore-- or anyone else. Most of them were in the other side of the building, and you dashed toward the section with the labs and testing rooms.

There, you think you could find a weapon, or at the very least a weapon to brandish. A weapon that would do nothing, and you were well aware it would do nothing.

The man that had stood before you, the one that set off your fight-or-flight instincts like never before, couldn't have been human. He just couldn't have been. If he had been the ones to cause those terrible noises of sinew snapping and viscera splashing on the sterile, once white walls...

Then that was that, he wasn't human. You don't know what exactly he'd be, and you don't want to find out.

For one foolish, silly second-- you assumed you'd shook him off your proverbial tail. He hadn't chased after you, and even if you were malnourished and frail, you still could run fast in necessary. Could push yourself if it meant a chance for freedom, to see the sun again-- even if it'd be the last time.

it'd hurt, you think. The other patients would complain that the barracks lighting was becoming too dim, but to you-- it was always just bit too bright. What might've been bearable the day before, became uncomfortably bright the next. Not blinding like the corridor's lights were, though. And for that, you'd been thankful.

You weren't familiar with this facility-- you were aiming for the labs, but somehow wound up in going in a circle; now facing the other way, close to where you'd started.

Bodies-- all over the ground, mostly guards... a few scientists, their white coats weren't all stained-- some were a stark white against the viscera covering the hallway.

Ahead of you, the click-click-click of heeled dress shoes called your attention, and at the end of the hallway, stood the man.

It was as if he knew you'd wind up back here, like he knew how inexperienced you were in the layout of this place-- like he knew the layout himself. A smirk played at his lips, showcasing rather sharp canines. The kind that could easily tear flesh from bone with no issue.

Maybe... he was an angel of death, you surmised. It fit, it really did-- maybe that's why he made it through the hail of bullets the slain guards around you had sent his way. How he'd been able to kill them so quickly, without so much as a scratch on his person.

The need to run didn't fade, if anything it got worse-- maybe because you knew, wholly and entirely, that you can't run. Not really. If he wanted you dead, then it'd be so. He'd taken down so many trained guards, a measly, terrified child wouldn't be a problem at all.

All you can think of that could stop him, was morals. You don't think he has those-- with the sight surrounding you.

This time, when he stepped forward, you didn't make any move to take a step back. It was useless. this was all so useless. Why you? Why did it have to be you? The shelter hadn't been ideal, but it was better than this.

You sunk to the ground, tears welling in your eyes as you looked down-- trying to look away from the still-going emergency lights, the too-bright fluorescents that hung above were still on. The combination of the two made it feel like someone was tenderizing your brain with a sledgehammer constantly.

The clicks of his shoes aren't as sharp sometimes, when he steps in the puddles of blood-- they get closer, and closer... until he stands before you, only his shoes and part of his legs were visible to you.

You kept your head down, not wishing to look at your end. You want to die under the illusion that you ever had any choice in your life. That you chose your own end, and it was not brought upon you by this... angel of death.

And as you sat there, expecting the pain-- or simply a pinch before your entire world went black; shivering from both fear and the cold of the hallway, bile rising in your throat and your headache refusing to back down even a smidge; you imagine a world were you got to live a little longer.

Because, in your mind, you died the moment you entered this facility; it was a death sentence, and you should've been able to come to terms with that. It was stupid, you felt stupid for thinking you were any different to countless other kids that'd died in these halls-- some going down with a fight, others begging for their end;

"Look at me." A deep, almost... British, but not quite-- voice spoke, clear and concise. The man sounded... oddly human. You'd expected maybe a reverb of sorts, or the voice to crawl into the crevices of your brain and dig their claws in...

He was still scary, his voice sending a flash of terror through your body-- but in a way no different than the scientists were. It was a very human type of fear that his voice incited, the fear of somebody in a position of power above you.

Oh, how badly you wished to stay staring at the ground-- it was the lights, that was the problem. The man scared you, but you knew you should obey him. Maybe he'd give you a chance then.

Oddly enough, he seemed quite... patient, all things considered. he stood there for maybe a minute or so, before repeating himself. In the same tone, the same exact cadence and words.

"Look at me." He said, and something inexplicable-- something that felt rooted in your very soul, tugged at your mind. Telling you that he wouldn't be so kind if you made him ask again.

And you do, trying to keep your eyes open despite the pain that followed. Nausea rolled through you, both from the smell of blood and flesh-- it was sharp, much more noticeable then you think it should be; as if it's being held right in front of your nose-- and from how the headache worsened.

The smirk he had when he'd first spotted you had dropped, his face now a cold mask of... something. He really did look like an angel-- but the sorts found in older religious texts. neither good nor bad, simply carrying out God's will, who in of Themselves, was a contradiction.

The man reached out, and you couldn't help but jerk your head back-- he said nothing of it. In fact, you could've sworn the corners of his lips were giving way to a little smile, not just a smirk-- but it was gone before you could really register it;

But, he continued to reach out, and you stayed stock still, not wanting to test his patience again. You were already on thin ice, probably. For running from him, for making him repeat himself-- maybe he'd give you mercy, though? Because you were so young?

You weren't exactly a child, but you weren't an adult. Maybe... maybe he'd leave you be. He didn't seem to be hurting you, and when he curled his hand around your chin to push your head up just a bit more-- he was... gentle with it. In a way you hadn't experienced in so, so long from any adult.

Even Nathan hadn't been entirely soft with his movements, too used to being rough with it all; not knowing his strength, or the fragility of a subject who'd been here as long as you had.

You're surprised you were still able to run as much as you did.

The man hummed, turning your head just a tad to the left-- then gently guiding it to turn the other way. Like he was a museum curator appraising a priceless artifact.

When he turned your head to face him straight-on, you winced; the headache reaching an all time high, making you feel as if you were going to pass out form the pain at any given moment.

"Does the light bother you?" He asked, and you tried to nod-- but his grip, as gentle as it was, was all too firm. Not enough slack to complete the gesture. "Use your words." He said next, no irritation obvious in his tone.

But still, it set you on edge. How calm he was. People weren't calm like that-- but maybe angels were. That's what he had to be. He couldn't be human... he just couldn't be.

But... why would he ask that? It's not like the man cared for your well-being, right? it doesn't seem so, the question asked with an almost clinical sort of edge. Like the scientists had when they asked if there were any major concerns with your health, if you'd felt any negative side effects.

Not out of care for your person, but care for what you represented; a subject, something to test on to try and further whatever agenda or project they're assigned to.

"...Yes sir." You croaked out, shaking-- tacking on the honorific should help, yeah? The scientists always made you refer to them as such-- Sir or Ma'am, not accepting anything else. Not accepting no personal address either; that's how you get locked up in solitary for a few hours, to 'learn your lesson about disrespect'.

You were better at it than most, only being placed in solitary twice for the reason of 'disrespecting the scientists' with the lack of it.

The chuckle that followed terrified you, making your entire body lock up-- muscles pulled taut, ready to snap. Spine straight, much like a rabbit ready to bolt;

"Good to know you have manners. That'll make things easier." Your anxiety only worsened-- make what easier? What was he going to do, and how hell was your manners going the help that process?

Finally, he released your chin-- and not a moment too soon. You slumped, not from relief, but from the bone-deep exhaustion plaguing you after everything. Head lolling forward to try and avoid the bright light, you don't know how you're still even vaguely upright-- hell, how you're even still awake. You probably burned off more calories than you've collectively taken in since arriving here.

The world was spinning around you, and that notified you that you consciousness was probably something very, very short-lived. You're sure that, if you do pass out before he does whatever he does; you won't wake up again.

He says something, but the world if muffled around you-- blood rushing in your ears, making it sound like everything was underwater. You came to when he snapped his fingers in your face, it was a warning just as much as it was call for your attention.

You looked up-- or made the move to, only for him to place his hand atop your head, and gently direct you to keep your gaze down. "You'll damage your eyesight. Close them, if that helps any."

He framed it like he was offering it, offering advice-- you shut your eyes, seeing it as what it was. You had no choice in it. Whatever use he wanted you for, he didn't want your vision to be damaged for it.

You don't think the lights would damage your sight-- more just give a pounding migraine, but you do as he says regardless; he could very well just crush your skull in his hand, right then and there-- if he took down so many guards as you think he had.

For once, some higher being smiled upon you; and he moved his hand from your head, and while he was still as close as before, it was a massive weight lifted from your shoulders, not to have him making any direct contact anymore.

"I won't repeat myself again," He started off with, and you tried to show that you were listening-- he stayed quiet afterward, and you realized with a jolt, what he wanted. As soon as you realized, you aid-- almost robotically, "I understand, sir."

A few seconds passed, a heavy weight forming in your heart-- was that not what he wanted? You were tempted to open your eyes to try and see if you could get a read on his face, figure out what he was thinking; if he was about to kill you for some perceived slight.

...But would an angel do that? Even one who killed all these people? If you were still alive, then maybe he was ordered not to kill you. Or, more realistically, not specifically ordered to kill you.

Even if he wasn't an angel of death, if he was just some terrifying super-human or something of the like, he has to work under someone; right? He also said he's got a use for you.

You just hope that you picked up on the implications that he needed you alive for that use.

"Good." The man-- Angel?-- replied, as you hear fabric shifting-- the man moving, whether that be shifting on his feet or reaching into a pocket, you have no idea. "What's your serial code?"

"...I don't know it, sir." You shook-- you really didn't. Well, you didn't remember it off the top of your head, so maybe, if you explained yourself, he'd be more kind... "But if I hear it, then I'll know it's mine."

That can't be of much help. You might've just doomed yourself even worse, tacking on something like that- did he think you were wasting his time? Were you why he'd come here in the first place? That can't be it, you were never that important--

"Would you happen to be Subject 082202?" He asked-- and you recognized the number. Was he really after you? That's... that could go either one way or the either. Hope bloomed in your chest, before smothered by absolute despair.

What did he want with you?

You tried to respond, you really did-- but your voice failed you, wobbling and tried not to cry. You nodded, hoping he'd give you some leniency with it.

Surprisingly, he let it go. Didn't even comment on it-- when he spoke next, he sounded so... not happy, but--

Victorious, you think it'd be. Smug would be your next choice, the emotion in his voice was hard to pinpoint. It was barely there, but without anything else to witness or analyze-- you were stuck with trying to dissect his tone.

"Good, that's good." You heard him shift again-- the sound his shoes made against the tile suggested that he'd crouched down, and and his heavy leather coat shifted, but in what way you couldn't be sure--

More noises, ones that were meant to be quiet-- you weren't supposed to be able to pick on them, but you could. Maybe it was the fear of it all.

Then, his hand was back on your chin. Reflexively, you flinched; but he didn't reprimand you, if anything, his tone suggested that he... cared,

Maybe not for you-- probably for whatever you could do for him, but it was care regardless, and he told you "Stay still."

You did, and felt something place onto your face-- it felt like metal, warmed by a human's natural heat; it felt like a pair of glasses, the arms tucked above your ears, the metal bridge of it resting against your nose--

"Open your eyes, tell me if it's any better." The man said with a firmness that reminded you of the scientists-- or the guards. A strange mix between the two; maybe more like a cop, if you think about it hard enough. A sense of authority, firm but not demanding.

You do so-- the headache is still there, it'd gotten better when your eyes were closed. You find that, when you open your eyes, the world is a little dimmer; the headache doesn't spike as you'd expected due to it.

As you look up at the man, you realize that he doesn't have sunglasses on now-- giving you full view of his...

Yeah. The confirms it; he is absolutely not human. His eyes looked like a snakes, maybe more like a dragons; red with yellow around his slitted pupils-- instead of scaring you as it absolutely should,

It.. comforted you. Against your will, mind you-- a little bit of tension easing out of your form at the sight of them. You don't know why. It should terrify you, it should make you want to run for the hills, like he had when he first showed up--

With his eyes no longer obscured, and your headache a little dimmer, you think that you'd have a better chance at reading the emotions on his face--

He cleared his throat, bringing you back to the present-- to his question he'd had with his earlier command. You try not to test your luck, now able to give out a short, soft "Yes sir."

His hand released your chin again, and with all the energy left in you-- you tried your best not to have your head fall forward from exhaustion, from the loss of the support of his hand. he huffed, shifting a bit-- he was crouching, but no longer leaning in close, leaving you with a little bit of a personal bubble.

A sort of privilege you haven't been afforded in a long, long while. Nobody crowding in your space-- nobody poking and prodding. Just letting you exist. Simply letting you sit there, without anyone breathing down your neck-- unrestrained, able to leave (if you weren't so banged up-- and honest-to-god terrified of the man, but that's neither here nor there) if desired.

You notice now, that there is a suitcase set down by his side-- looking rather innocent. A simple brown leather one, no obvious tells of what could be inside. It looked like one of the head scientists own bag, one you always saw him carrying around. Not trusting to leave it in one place without him present, you'd guessed.

"You're the subject for the Ammit Strain, aren't you?" He asked-- he seemed to already be sure of himself, and it left you confused as to why he's asking you. Because you don't have a solid answer for him-- and that shouldn't have been expected of you to have one.

"Uhm... I-I'm not sure. I don't... know what that is." You half expect his calm, strangely patient, demeanor to change in the blink of an eye-- for his hand to shoot out and grab your neck, and twist until your world went dark. It was irrational (probably), because he said he needs you for something. Even if you don't know what it is, you're pretty sure he needs you alive for it--

it's still up in the air, though. So you don't rely on that assumption for comfort too much.

Instead of that, instead of any violent outburst or sudden shift in his approach-- he seemed to... smile a little at your response. it was small, barely noticeable unless you'd been staring at him for god knows how long--

and, oh boy, have you been staring at him. analyzing him, trying to make sense of it all. as you do, when you're stuck in a strange and scary situation such as this.

"That's alright." He leaned forward, hang outstretched-- it landed on your shoulder, in a strange... friendly sort of gesture. Like a teacher would do as they praise you for an A+ on an assignment. "I know you are."

Then why did you ask? a bold part of you made you want to say-- one you thought had been stomped down a long time ago. During your second stay in solitary, where they kept you in for 6 hours rather than the measly 45 minutes you'd been in there the first go-around.

You kept quiet, hoping that he'd give a bit of an explanation as to-- anything. But you know he probably won't, not without prompting; even then, he might be more inclined to telling you to shut up or dancing around the question then give a truthful answer-- or one at all, for that matter.

He didn't do anything of the sort, the conversation going dead as he stood-- He grabbed the briefcase from beside him, but didn't make any move to turn around.

As he looked down at you, you realized he probably wanted you to stand as well. Torn between telling him that you aren't sure you could do so, and staying quiet as to try and minimize any possible anger-- you simply sat there, unmoving. Terrified, feeling like you'd found yourself right in a damned-if-i-do, damned-if-i-don't sort of situation.

A few moments later, he seemed to realize what your silence, what your immobility signified. He walked around you, standing behind you-- and gave no warning as he leaned down and put his hands under your armpits-- pulling you that way, before maneuvering you in such a way where he could pick you up into a princess carry from there.

Out of pure reflex, you threw your arms above his shoulders-- scared of tumbling over and out of his hold. By the time you realize what you'd done, you were too scared-stiff you amend it.

He... didn't seem to mind it much, though.

The hand held underneath your knee carried the briefcase, the handle digging into your thin grey sweatpants just a tad-- not too uncomfortable, but not ideal. Like hell you were going to say anything about it, though.

As he began to walk, he suddenly asked "What's your name?"

Despite the fear, a slip in your judgement made you let out a little "huh?"

He huffed, his smile growing wider for just a second-- starting to resemble an actual one, before reverting back to the small, almost non-existent smirk he'd had before. "Your name. None of the documents said it, only referred to you as your serial number or the strain."

"Oh." This was so confusing-- he kept walking, letting you two lapse into silence; he wasn't rushing your answer, quite the opposite. He seemed to be letting you... take your time, even if it was such a simple and easy request.

Then, quietly, you said it. Almost as if you were afraid that the scientists or guards would hear, and punish you for it-- it was their way of isolating you from the outside world, telling you to forget who you were before you'd come here.

That you had no other name, nothing else to be called, besides Subject 082202.

The man heard you, though. He hummed in acknowledgement, and in a moment of reckless, almost moronic, bravery-- you ventured to ask,

"What's your name?"

Almost immediately, he answered with "Albert Wesker, but you'd do good not to use it." The name... was familiar, set off even more alarm bells than the man had before you learned of his name.

"...So just keep calling you sir?" What were you doing? Why were you doing this? How stupid were you, to push him like this--

"That's what was implied, isn't it?" He responded, the little edge painting his tone let you know that his patience must've been running thin. You shut up, smothering what you'd wanted to say--I was just making sure.

Something like that would definitely be categorized as disrespect-- to a normal person, and absolutely to the scientists-- which you'd defaulted to treating him as.

As he carried you, exhaustion having taken its toll on you-- your eyes slid shut, head falling forward and resting against his shoulder. Within a few seconds, you were out like a light.

[miyaagis]

 ெ˚❀ if we leave, will anybody notice? fushiguro toji

lovers shouldn't hide, not when their love is as genuine as a child's laughter. and their forever faithful witness? the moon, keeping their shared adoration a secret from daylight.

but even she has a dark side. so when it lands in reverse, expect your secrets to no longer be yours.

explicit content‐mdni. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerer au, rich daughter!reader, stablehand!toji, forbidden love, pretty nasty oral (male receiving) bc he's all gross and sweaty, feminine pet names, mentions of urine and bad smell lol, mentions of guns and violence, mentions of breeding, too much plot i got carried away (• ᴖ •｡)

word c. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 1,647

kinktober m.list

the longer the days dragged on, the more restless your heart and conscience became.

five days and four, almost five, torturing nights since your lover had been taken away from you, and you felt at the brink of hysteria. where was he? was he even alive? it haunted you to your very core that he could be lying lifelessly, his handsome face tainted by violence when his biggest crime was to love a woman of a different social class than his.

“how dare a low-born, dirty servant like him touch an inch of your skin!”

he wasn’t even a servant, but one of the men in charge of managing the stables at your family’s residence. Toji certainly didn’t deserve the blame, taking into account that it had been you who carelessly exposed your nightly rendezvous spot.

insults and screams were exchanged between your father and Toji—the latter defending your love even as he was muzzled and dragged away from your side, a sight that had you weeping endlessly.

with the weight of your parents' anger during the day, nights were reserved for your grief, lurking in the shadows of your home like a stranded ghost. had you been sobbing, like most nights, you would've missed the pained laments coming from the kitchen.

the staff left hours ago, but it only made sense that once you reached the kitchen, you'd be met with one of them, most likely finishing their duties. after all, who else could it be?

however, it was dark and empty with no one in sight.

“who's there?”

the noise was clearer this time, sharper. a muffled groan coming from behind the rusted door of the old storage room that only grew into desperate bellowing when the door creaked as you opened it.

a naked man stood before you, limbs chained to a metal rack, and with a hollowed bull’s head over his own.

it was instant, having been familiarized with his body, you knew it was him before he could even speak. she recognizes him and calls out his name, getting more muffled sounds and pants from him, confirming her suspicions.

"Toji?"

he bellowed in agony, pulling at the chains even if it teared painfully at his sore muscles. his deep roar shook your soul, your heart growing uneasy upon seeing him suffering in such an inhuman way.

rushing to him, your cries flew easily, sobs and gasps rocking your body as you clung to his waist.

"what did they do to you!? are you alright?" you wished so badly to see his face, to somehow know what was going through his mind but all you could see were the dull eyes of the bull, "I'm getting you out of this."

"no, love..."

with trembling hands, your fingers tightly grasped the animal's head and pushed it upwards, a frustrated gasp turning into a sob when you realized the weight easily surpassed your strength.

“baby, it’s so heavy. i can’t–” your words cut off as you tried again, grunting and forcing your muscles to lift it but it was useless. the guilt pressed down on your heart as a fresh set of tears ran down your cheeks, “i can’t lift it. i’m so, so sorry…”

each sob was a stab to his heart, already picturing your pretty eyes brimming with tears.

“my love…” he tried to sound gentle yet firm, to be a source of strength for you. but it was obvious he was also overtaken by his own pain by having you so close and not being able to see or touch you, “it’s alright, doll. it's not your fault. i'm not mad, baby.”

your arms wrap around his waist, not caring of the layer of sweat and grime covering his form. it must've taken around five minutes for the never-ending weeps to turn into small sniffles. neither of you spoke, not trusting your own voices and instead letting your bodies do the talking.

his usual scent was overpowered by days of sweat, the buildup of dirt on his body emanating a strong stench. as soon as you stepped into the dusty room, your perfume contrasted beautifully against the foul smell, his body reacting immediately to your soft body clinging onto his.

“Toji,” his name fell from your lips in a breathless murmur, your eyes traveling down to his twitching shaft against your hip.

with a deep inhale, he flinched when your damp lips kissed his exposed skin, starting at the center of his chest before moving down to his pubic bone. a muttered curse from him let you know he liked the attention, as well as his semi-hard length bobbing upwards.

his flushed tip made its way past the foreskin, barely peeking out before you decided to help. with just one stroke, it was finally exposed to your eyes, heart rate spiking up at the sight.

as the bulbous head pushed through, it exposed his slit adorned with a translucent bead of pre-cum, your hand grasping it firmly once it stood fully erect. you could feel the tingling between your legs, juices slicking up your entrance as your eyes marveled at what was presented before them.

the limited air around his head began to suffocate him, or was it your trembling touch? either way, he feared he'd end his oxygen supply just by your touch on his dick.

with a gentle flick of your tongue, you licked the pearlescent drop from his crown, earning you a shiver and the deepest rumble from him. the taste was different than usual, stronger and a bit acid.

"I missed you," a mere whisper, but it held a heavy sentiment, "oh, Toji... I missed you like you have no idea. I feared you were–"

the unfathomable thought caused you to stop speaking and just nuzzle against his groin, grounding yourself and focusing on the fact that he was there with you.

he wished to see you so badly, to reassure you that everything would be fine. however, the sudden flares of arousal mixed with his dehydration sent his almost delirious self into despair.

you didn't seem to mind the state of his body, your pretty lips coating his shaft with gentle kisses and licks that only resulted in more pre-cum to leak onto your lips.

with practiced ease, you finally wrapped your mouth around him, suctioning softly while your hands massaged the rest of his length.

the taste was considerably hard to ignore, pungent and with traces of concentrated urine. but the thought of his own taste mixed with sweat on his poorly cleaned member aroused you even more. he's your man—there's not an inch of him that could disgust you. and it only revealed how bad the state of his body was, very likely dehydrated and malnourished.

it was so wet and lewd, a mess of spit and pre that allowed your mouth to glide all over his member. he could picture it vividly, his heart aching for missing such sight.

"nghh fuck– not gonna last at this pace, princess," his hips jumped forward, your tongue soothing his twitching member by gliding against the underside.

"s'okay, baby," you focused instead on the tip, your lips wrapping around the soft flesh tightly.

deeper growls followed your harsh suckling, drawing out drop after drop of him, causing his balls to tighten already.

"shit, shit, fuuuuck– slow down, woman... m'getting so close," he tried to stop you, voice raw and husky as he felt like melting inside your warm mouth.

his voice was heaven to your ears, proud to have him at the brink so early. you couldn't imagine how lonely he must've been the past few days, not knowing his fate, and the thought of it tugged at your heartstrings which encouraged you to give him a sliver of the love he deserved.

"don't care, baby. come in my mouth," encouraging words of praise could undo him, you were aware of that, "c'mon, please? you already taste so good..."

oh, you were begging so prettily, worshipping his aching cock like it was the tastiest thing you've had in your life.

how could he deny his baby from something that belonged to her?

three spurts of semen followed instantly, streaming from his flushed tip and towards your eager mouth. it was euphoric and a catalyst for him, the post coital clarity dawning on him that he's not willing to give you up.

"mhm, baby... so eager," he laughed but was interrupted by his own gasp as you tongued his slit, "fucking shit– you gonna lick my cock raw?"

his threat only made you giggle, deciding to stop messing with him and just kiss his softening length.

bounded to those chains, there’s nothing he can do but take what you're giving him, fists aching to place your legs over his shoulders and bury his dirty cock inside your plush insides, to see the look in your eyes when he’s pounding so fast that all you can do is take it.

he should've gotten you pregnant when he had the chance, but he vowed to make sure not to make that mistake again.

once you had calmed down and finally noticed the industrial pliers on the rack, you clipped the bull's head open, needing to see his face, to kiss him.

“good girl,” what was left of the bull’s head lied a meter away, damp hair on his forehead and an unkept stubble decorating his jaw as he watched in fascination his fragile, spoiled girl trying and failing—how cute—to break his chains, "there's no rush, baby. we have all night."

he vowed to himself that once you freed him from those chains, no one would get on his way this time. not your father, not your mother, absolutely no one. there was no gun within an acre of land capable of stopping him from having you.

he’d make sure of that.

[sniktya]

Highs and Lows pt. 1

a/n : Logan was my first love, I'm so excited he's getting the appreciation he deserves <3 There are not nearly enough slow burns for this man so ... here we go?

w/c : 2146

warnings: war, descriptions of gore, angry Logan

Tennessee , 1862

Bodies lay broken on the battlefield, a bleak expanse where life had been stamped out by the merciless weight of war. The sky, once vibrant with the colors of dusk, was now a dull gray, smothered by smoke and the stench of death.

Just a few miles north, a field hospital was a scene of chaos and suffering. Blood-stained tents and rows of cots filled with maimed soldiers. She stood alone, her once white apron ruined by gore, her eyes hollow with exhaustion. Torn banners fluttered weakly in the wind—the last gasps of the dying echoing from the trees. It was a chorus of agony that clawed at her mind, driving her to the brink of madness.

She longed for silence, a moment of peace. But there was no peace to be found here, no quiet moment to ease the turmoil within her.

Her hand trembled as she reached out to the nearest soldier, his face twisted in anguish. She could feel the life slipping from him, could sense the darkness closing in around his soul. She held his hand and, with a murmured word, his breathing slowed, the scowl on his face melting into tranquility. His hand went limp under hers.

She could feel the dark toll of magic creeping up her arms, the black veins spreading further toward her heart. For every life she spared, there were dozens more she could not save. The weight of their suffering bore down on her like a curse, a reminder of her powerlessness in the face of such overwhelming destruction.

Her magic, once a source of pride and purpose, now felt like a burden she could hardly bear. Every spell she cast drained her, every life she touched took a piece of her with it. And still, the cries continued, an unending dirge that filled the air, drowning out all thoughts of peace.

*Enough,* she thought bitterly, her eyes closing against the horror before her. *Let it end. Let there be silence, if only for a moment.*

She sat on the side of the cot right behind her, the soldier covered by a white sheet. A big red circle marked where his chest used to be, torn to pieces by a cannonball.

He was a lost cause from the beginning, gone in an instant.

“Lucky,” she mumbled to herself. Gathering a breath to prepare herself for the next patient, she felt something twitch beside her.

A horrified gasp escaped her. She scrambled to get away, knocking over various bottles and buckets that littered the floor.

A pulse, faint but insistent, thrummed through the air, drawing her attention. She hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the strange energy radiating from his prone form. It was unlike anything she had felt before—raw, wild, untamed.

Against her better judgment, she approached him again, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached for the sheet covering his body and slowly pulled it back.

The sight that greeted her was both horrifying and impossible.

His chest was torn open, a gaping wound that should have claimed his life long ago. The flesh was shredded, bone exposed, blood soaking into the ground beneath him. But as she watched, the torn muscles began to knit themselves back together, the ragged edges of his flesh crawling across the wound in a grotesque dance of regeneration. The gash closed before her eyes, healing with a speed that defied all logic, all laws of nature.

She recoiled, her breath catching in her throat. This was no ordinary soldier. No human should have been able to survive such a grievous injury, let alone heal from it. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, but there was no explanation that fit.

The witch’s heart pounded as she stared at him, a mixture of fear and fascination swirling within her. The darkness creeping up her arms seemed to throb in response, as if the magic within her recognized the anomaly lying before her.

She should have left him, moved on to the next patient. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sight of his body piecing itself back together, from the strange, primal energy that clung to him like a second skin.

Slowly, she reached out with her magic, probing the edges of that energy, trying to understand it. But the moment her power touched his, it recoiled, like oil meeting water.

Whatever force was keeping him alive was fierce and utterly foreign to her. She could sense it now, beneath the surface—an indomitable will to survive, something that went far beyond human instinct.

Her gaze lingered on the man’s now-closed wound, her thoughts churning with dread and temptation. The dark veins on her arms had already spread to her elbows, an ever-present reminder of the toll her magic demanded.

She was running out of time—her strength was fading fast, and the war was far from over. But the power coursing through this man, this strange and impossible being, was terrifyingly alive.

She knew she shouldn’t. Tampering with such forces could have dire consequences—her magic was already dangerous enough. But desperation gnawed at her, the weight of all those lives pressing down on her conscience.

If she could harness even a fraction of his power, she could continue her work, could heal those who were beyond her reach.

Maybe she could be saved, too.

She knelt beside him, her hand shaking as she placed it over his chest. The energy pulsed beneath her palm, ferocious and unyielding, a force of nature that seemed to resist her touch.

She hesitated for only a moment before drawing her magic forward, coaxing it toward the slumbering force within him.

It responded instantly, lashing out like a cornered beast. Pain seared through her, ripping a cry from her throat, but she didn’t pull back.

She couldn’t.

As she channeled the energy into herself, a jolt of power surged through her body, mingling with her magic in a chaotic dance.

She gasped, the force of it nearly overwhelming her, but she pushed forward, driven by the need to survive. She could feel her arms tingle, the corruption retreating under the flood of new strength, but something was wrong—terribly wrong.

The power didn’t stop.

It crashed into her like a tidal wave, sweeping her away in its torrent, tearing at her very essence. She tried to pull back, to sever the connection, but it was too late. Her magic twisted and writhed, entwining with his in a violent embrace that she couldn’t control.

Panic surged within her, but before she could react, his eyes snapped open.

Logan awoke with a roar, his instincts kicking in before his mind could catch up. The agony of his wound was gone, replaced by a strange, disorienting haze.

He didn’t know where he was, didn’t know who was crouched over him, but he could feel something pulling at him—something invasive and terrifying.

With a snarl, he lashed out, his claws unsheathing with a sickening SNIKT.

The witch barely had time to react before the sharp bone claws pierced her side, slicing through flesh and bone with terrifying ease.

She cried out, collapsing onto the ground as pain laced through her, hot and blinding. For a moment, she thought she was done for, but then she felt it.

An intoxicating heat, a hum of cells regenerating. The wound began to close almost as quickly as it had been made.

The pain receded, replaced by a flood of energy, stronger than anything she had ever felt before. She glanced down at her side, nauseated to see the flesh tie itself back together, the blood on her gown the only sign of what had happened.

She looked up at Logan, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe. His confusion was palpable, his anger seething beneath the surface, but she couldn’t afford to be paralyzed by fear.

Drawing on the newfound strength coursing through her veins, she pushed herself up, her magic flaring to life.

With a flick of her wrist, she sent a green pulse of energy crashing into him, forcing his body to seize up. He fell to the ground, his muscles locked in place, unable to move.

Breathing hard, she stumbled back, her heart racing. She had to get away—had to put as much distance between them as possible before he recovered.

Without a second thought, she turned and ran, the sounds of his growls echoing in her ears as she fled into the night.

Her feet carried her deeper into the forest, the lights and sounds of the field hospital fading fast. Soon, there was nothing but the crunch of leaves under her shoes and the rushing of blood in her ears.

The moon was high, casting silver light through the dense canopy of trees. She could hear him behind her, closing in fast. Ragged gasps escaped her as she stumbled through the underbrush, her heart racing. The forest was thick, dark, and eerily quiet, the air heavy with the scent of earth and pine.

Her arms were trembling from the lingering effects of the energy she had channeled, leaving her unsteady. She didn’t know where she was going, where she could find refuge from the creature on her heels.

With gritted teeth, she threw a hand back, muttering an incantation. Trees bent and twisted, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, but Logan barreled through them, tearing them aside as if they were paper.

A branch embedded itself in her dress and sent her flying face-first into the cold, damp ground.

It knocked the breath out of her.

Gasping, she turned to lay on her back. Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness and she could see the stars peaking through the crown of trees. 

She tries another spell, but the words falter on her lips. In an instant he was above her, his eyes glowing with animalistic intensity, claws extended and ready. 

It’s the first time she takes them in, the moonlight making them look almost translucent. For a moment they simply stare at each other. 

“What the hell did you do to me?” 

She lays frozen under his gaze, unsure of what to say. What did she do to him ? 

“I don’t know “ she muttered. 

He advanced towards her and she held her breath, waiting for him to strike. Instead, she could hear his claws redact with a sickening grinding sound. 

He bent down and hauled her up by the collar of her dress. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. She knew he could end her life in an instant, and the wild look in his eyes told her he was barely holding himself back.

"That won’t do", he snarled.

He pushed her backward till she felt the roughness of bark dig into her back. He held her there, his closed fist pressed against her stomach. Beneath the rage, she could feel a deep sense of unease radiating from him.  

"You’re not runnin’ from this.” His eyes, fierce and wild, bore into hers. 

“Whatever you did, you’re gonna fix it.” 

“I... I tried to draw from your strength to heal myself,” she admits, her voice barely a whisper. “But our powers… they clashed. I don’t know if there is a fixing it.” 

“You expect me to believe that?” Logan’s scowl deepens, his jaw clenching as he leans in closer. 

He presses his fist harder against her stomach, making her wince. But she doesn’t look away, meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and desperation. 

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t intentional. Your power… it did something to mine. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

Logan’s eyes narrow, searching her face for any sign of deception. His breath hitched slightly, betraying a moment of uncertainty, but it was quickly swallowed by his anger. 

Their noses were mere inches apart, his eyes seemed pitch black. His voice drops to a low, menacing whisper, each word laced with venom.

“Stay the hell away from me.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. For a moment, time seemed to stop. She felt the weight of his threat, the danger in every syllable. 

Then, without warning, Logan pushed away from her. He turned on his heel and stormed off into the darkness, his heavy footsteps fading into the night. 

She remained frozen in place, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps as she watched him disappear into the shadows.

Her knees buckled, and she slid down the trunk of the tree, clutching her chest where his fist had been. 

As she sat there, trembling in the cold night air, a single thought echoed in her mind: What have I done?

A/N: Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! I won't go into detail on the female OC's appearance, I just don't enjoy writing from the reader's perspective.

[feminist-space]

"Most of what “public health” does for Americans is taken for granted. Before the Covid pandemic, most people probably didn’t think about it at all. Yet the fact that, in most places in the United States, we can count on the water we drink to be safe, that the food we buy is not contaminated with e-coli or listeria, and that we don’t have to deal with dreaded childhood diseases that ripped through our communities only a few decades ago, is a testament to the tireless work of many, unheralded, often unknown heroes. This invisible safety net has been built up over the years, always underfunded and understaffed, always not-enough, but it’s all we’ve got.

...

By now, we’ve heard Kennedy’s views on everything from fluoride in drinking water to childhood vaccines, to threats to recreate the NIH and FDA in the image of his own quackery. Let’s be clear: Kennedy’s views are not “alternative” to orthodoxy, meant to shake up the system—they are verifiably false. They are nonsense.

Let’s take his claims on fluoride as an example. RFK Jr. wrote on X in early November: “Fluoride is an industrial waste associated with arthritis, bone fractures, bone cancer, IQ loss, neurodevelopmental disorders, and thyroid disease.” Um—no. In high doses over prolonged periods of time—as with many other substances (even water and oxygen!)—exposure to fluoride can be a problem, but not in the small concentrations we see in drinking water. Lest we forget: Fluoride has been a bugaboo of the far right since the 1950s, when fluoridation was supposed to be part of a communist plot to take over America.

And since conspiracy theories know no borders, we can also look at a natural experiment up in Calgary, Canada, for further evidence. In 2011, Calgary’s’s city council banned fluoridation, and now is set to reintroduce it next year. Why? Because since fluoridation ended, cavities in children’s teeth have become more numerous and larger, often requiring treatment under general anesthesia and/or intravenous antibiotic therapy to fight infections associated with tooth decay. As one researcher at the University of Calgary has said, the decision to ban fluoridation had a clear result: It was a source of “avoidable and potentially life-threatening disease, pain, suffering, misery and expense…especially [for] very young children and their families.”

As for vaccination, Kennedy’s views are long-standing and well-known. He has suggested that “there is no vaccine that is safe and effective,” and he still clings to the long-debunked idea that vaccines cause autism. More recently, during the Covid pandemic, he created a multimillion-dollar anti-vaccine juggernaut to dissuade people from getting vaccinated against SARS-CoV-2.

There is no person right now more vital to the anti-vaccine movement than RFK Jr., and his impact has been deadly. By convincing people to forgo routine pediatric vaccinations, he has endangered the lives of thousands of kids, stoked fear in families with autistic children, and in at least once instance was partially responsible for a devastating outbreak of measles. In 2019, 83 people, mostly children, died of the preventable disease in Samoa. While Kennedy has denied that his words and actions were responsible for the outbreak, he has supported anti-vaccination efforts on the islands, written to the nation’s prime minister about the dangers of vaccines, and visited Samoa to meet with anti-vaxxers and subsequently praised them for their work. As Derek Lowe, a columnist from the United States’ leading scientific journal, Science, has said: “Kennedy’s views on science and medicine are not only wrong, they are actively harmful and destructive. He has used them to make a great deal of money, and he has lied about them to interviewers and reporters whenever he finds it convenient.”

...

RFK Jr. is the poster boy for the new Trump administration, a rich man who never has had to worry about a thing in his life, putting the lives of ordinary Americans in jeopardy because he thinks he knows better than scientists. In fact, the man who thought it was a good idea to stage a hit-and-run with a dead baby bear and a bicycle in Central Park has shown a lack of judgment across the board for a long while. But he is part of an emerging kakistocracy-in-waiting that will be run by plutocrats and zealots. Our public health system in America is fragile and shouldn’t be a plaything. Once he’s done with his games, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men may not be able to put our public health infrastructure back together again. The damage may be lasting and profound.

But we are not powerless. So much of public health happens locally—and we can protect this precious national resource by speaking up and speaking out, at our city or town council meetings, calling and writing our state representatives, our mayors and our governors. This is going to be necessary work. As my Yale colleague Timothy Snyder has said: “Defend institutions.… Institutions do not protect themselves. So choose an institution you care about and take its side.” This may be your local public health department or Planned Parenthood clinic, a mental health clinic or needle exchange program, or services for LGBTQ+ or immigrant populations in your neighborhood.

These are all part of what makes public health happen day in and day out in our communities. Deprive RFK Jr. and Donald Trump of their power; take it away from them with focus and tenacity. Chip away at their campaign to destroy public health in America. These kinds of small acts will add up and will make a difference. If these men are the disease, let us be the cure."

[idontknowreallywhy]

Following in his footsteps

a.k.a. How to Infuriate Your Engineer

Finished this idea off on the commute so apologies for typos, clumsy wording and for inconsistencies in the sounds Brains stutters on…

It’s a bit of a mystery as to why Scott, the first born, was named after the 4th of the Mercury Seven whose flight and piloting decisions were somewhat controversial and left him in conflict with flight control (sound familiar?). Anyway I find myself intrigued by that particular 1960’s flyboy, particularly as to one thing he did 1/3 of the way through his trip with his fuel running low…

✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️✈️

“S-SCOTT C-C-CARPENTER TRACY!!!”

John later confirmed that this was indeed the first time in Tracy history that Brains ever been apoplectic enough to middle name any of them. His ire was usually quiet and dry, with occasional sarcasm. Every so often some non-vital but comfort-providing item might be removed from a Thunderbird for “essential maintenance”… the cushioning of One’s pilot seat, the power supply to Two’s coffee machine…

But generally, after more than a decade living with the Tracys, their long-suffering engineer had cultivated the talent of providing emotionally restrained feedback. Albeit there was good reason MAX was unable to mimic the phrases that were muttered over mangled landing gear, flooded engines, overstrained thrusters and the like.

This Wednesday morning, however, something had clearly pushed him over the edge.

“What did you doooo?” Alan hissed in alarm and was immediately shushed by a heavily frowning Virgil, whose fingers appeared unable to release the unfortunately tense chord he’d just leaned into. John’s hologram popped up looking serious. Even Gordon looked incredibly uncomfortable.

From the guilt-ridden look on Scott’s face, he could think of least three reasons his neck might be on the block this morning.

A tightly wound ball of fury approached the seating area and the speed with which International Rescue’s commander leapt from the couch betrayed his initial instinct to bolt from the room and never stop running. However, decades of experience of facing the music from many and varied sources meant his feet remained firmly rooted to the floor, while the rest of his body sought the security of parade rest.

Brains stood in front of him vibrating with rage. The ends of MAX’s arms were positioned at an approximation of where the robot’s hips might be. The room held its breath. Virgil’s foot remained wedged against the sustain pedal. The melodramatic chord continued reverberating around the lounge.

The engineer suddenly raised a hand and everyone flinched. Had their friend finally resorted to violence?

Scott closed his eyes and awaited whatever engineering justice was deemed merited for… whatever it was he had done.

But the shorter man’s movement as he reached up to Scott’s face was slow, deliberate and with a slight frown of concentration he stuck a 75mm square of blue duct tape precisely in the middle of Scott’s forehead.

Virgil jaw dropped and his foot finally slipped off the pedal. The dampers clunked back into place, allowing an ominous silence to reign for a few moments.

The colour coded rolls of multi-purpose tape included within each baldric was one of Brains’ affectionate little thematic touches but also acted as a crude fingerprint… blue tape could only ever have been used by one person.

The Commander’s eyebrows twitched almost audibly as he tried to puzzle out the strange sensation but his eyes remained screwed shut.

When Brains spoke it was barely more than a whisper and the brothers in the room found themselves leaning in. The brother in space appeared to have located a bucket of popcorn.

“D-do you h-happen, to know how l-long I have spent p-perfecting One’s fuel reserve s-system, S-Scott?”

Scott swallowed, hard, and opened his eyes again.

“Quite a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Ahh, did I ever thank you? I should have, I’m very sorry - thank you for that and for all your work, Brains. It really is appreciated.”

“Is it?”

“Of course!”

“Hmmm.”

Scott opened his mouth again but, accepting that his attempt to divert the conversation had failed, clearly thought better of digging any deeper until the nature of the situation became more clearly defined.

Brains’ hand lifted for a second time, another square of blue tape delicately held between thumb and forefinger. This was placed with some care on the very tip of Scott’s nose.

Alan snorted. Gordon punched him in the arm and was elbowed back. Virgil glared them into silence then nearly lost control himself at the sight of his elder brother going cross eyed in an attempt to establish what on earth he was being decorated with.

Brains spun on his heel to face the rest and they all leaned back hurriedly, feigning casual interest. Nobody wanted to appear to be aware of, to be accidentally associated with whatever crime it was Scott had committed.

“Th-thunderbird One uses t-two fuels but h-has th-th-three fuel tanks. As you all know, th-the balance of fuel t-to achieve m-maximum speed is p-precisely c-calculated and th-the system that g-governs it is h-highly sophisticated.”

Everyone nodded except Scott who was trying and failing to pretend he was unbothered by the additions to his face. His nose twitched compulsively.

“D-due to certain t-tendencies of her p-rimary p-p-pilot, One h-has a reserve t-tank. Th-that blend of fuel w-will not achieve the h-highest speeds b-but will ensure she is able t-to return h-home if a SENSIBLE…” the word was ground out as if it was painful “…speed is m-maintained.”

Brains paused. Every eye in the room shifted to Scott. Max bleeped, judgementally. Brains continued, his voice deadly calm and deeply terrifying for it.

“T-to ensure One’s p-pilot d-does not m-miss the fuel status w-warnings amongst th-the p-p-plethora of information on the h-holographic display I installed th-three LED bulbs t-to m-make it QU-QUITE CLEAR w-when l-levels w-were running low and w-when speed n-needed t-to be m-m-m-moderated in order t-to avoid d-damage t-to her supply p-p-p-p-pipeline a-a-a-and e-en-en-engines!”

Brains’ veneer of calm was cracking and Scott, who had clearly solved the mystery, appeared to be chewing through the inside of his face. Brains spun back to face the object of his wrath. MAX’s mechanical eyes narrowed.

“W-warning l-lights are only effective w-when th-they are v-visible!”

Scott gulped and fell back on the only defence he had left - he gave his old friend a dimpled half-grin and a doomed attempt at mitigation:

“They were a little… distracting?”

“D-distracting.”

The full stop was potent and echoed around them. Brains appeared on the edge of an eruption the like of which Tracy Island had never seen, even when the volcano was active. But he mastered himself and produced a final square of tape which he held in front of Scott’s face for a moment before slapping it down on to the top of his head, rubbing it slightly to ensnare as much perfectly styled hair as possible before storming from the room.

MAX remained just long enough to shake a medium-weight hydro-spanner with extreme prejudice before flouncing impressively and trundling after his master.

Alan and Gordon clung to each other, faces contorted with silent mirth. Virgil caught John’s eye then cleared his throat and appeared about to speak before being forestalled by his Commander’s raised palm.

Lacking a little of his usual gravitas due to the tape fluttering gently in the huffed breath from his nose, Scott still poured every ounce of authority he had left into an order of three short syllables:

“Not. A. Word.”

[learnyouabiology]

Fun Fact: Many Frogs get through Winter... Underwater

Many people have heard of the legendary frogs that are able to freeze solid and survive the winter. (if not, I did write a whole post about it. so.)

This post is not about those frogs. Though amazing, they are the exception rather than the rule. It is much more common for frogs to overwinter in other ways!

The most common strategy to survive winter is to simply live somewhere that does not have winter!

(you’ll notice there are more species of frog closer to the equator. this is not a coincidence. image source)

But some frogs don’t HAVE that luxury! SOME frogs have to deal with a winter that lasts close to 6 entire months! 

(im suffering)

The majority of frogs that face this threat survive by either digging underground, or by finding a permanent body of water and just... chilling 🥶😎.

(I will not apologise for my excellent jokes. image source)

Ice is less dense than water, which is why ice burgs exist, among other things. Water is at its densest around 4°Celcius. The 4°C sinks, which means that, in the wintertime, the unfrozen bottom of the pond will (generally) not get colder than 4°C.

Additionally, frogs are ectotherms, aka “cold-blooded”, and as their body temperature drops, so too does their metabolism. This makes it so the frogs can go a long time without food, and also allows them to get by without much oxygen. 

(i love them. image source)

Frogs still need some oxygen, though, so it’s a good thing that frogs are able to absorb oxygen through their skin, just like most amphibians (all amphibians? i can’t think of an exception, but there are so many frog species that I don’t want to commit to a big word like “all”).

Generally, they’ll stay at the bottom of the pond, in a spot that has enough water flow to provide sufficient oxygen for the frogs’ diminished metabolic needs! They generally don’t bury themselves in the mud, though. That part of the pond is nearly devoid of oxygen, and also where the turtles are hibernating!

Here are some pictures of frogs overwinter underwater:

(image sources, in order: mink frog, Green Frog, Bull Frog,  fire-bellied toad, marsh frog, siberian wood frog, northern Leopard Frog.)

was this an excuse to show y’all a bunch of pictures of frogs that I like? Yes. 

(also please note: second last frog is a siberian wood frog, NOT an american wood frog, and they DO overwinter underwater (Berman et al. 2019). They’re special because they can survive months with very little oxygen, or maybe even no oxygen at all! Good for them 😊)

This has been Fun Fact Friday, letting you know that when the frog gets cold, the frog goes to bed for 6 months. Honestly same.

Sources under the cut!

Berman, D. I., Bulakhova, N. A., & Meshcheryakova, E. N. (2019). The Siberian wood frog survives for months underwater without oxygen. Scientific reports, 9(1), 1-7. [PDF]

Jenkins, C. N., Pimm, S. L., & Joppa, L. N. (2013). Global patterns of terrestrial vertebrate diversity and conservation. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 110(28), E2602-E2610. [PDF]

How do frogs survive winter? Why don't they freeze to death? Scientific American: https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/how-do-frogs-survive-wint/

[shuutingstar]

It’s FINALLY done. I’ve finished the sit-com/reality tv show/whatever. It’s only one chapter/a oneshot because it honestly took so long just to write and I procrastinated a bit, but there’s like 4 drafts of just different scenarios for this AU and I’m tired. Not sure if I’ll post this on ao3 or not, but whatever.

context (I guess??) to my suffering.

@doodlebugdpj I hope you like it and I’m terribly sorry if it wasn’t what you were expecting! I understand if it’s garbage because it honestly is.

[camera pans on Will Solace’s face. He’s sitting on a love seat in a bland room and fidgeting with his hands]

Will: [blinks uncomfortably] uh, I’m not sure what I’m meant to—

[a piece of paper gets thrown at Will and he catches it effortlessly, he looks at the contents and sighs]

Will: [reading from the paper indifferently] welcome to the start of a spin-off series where we look into the lives of the demigods residing at Camp Half-Blood. There will be laughs, there will be hardship, but most of all there will be a rememberable and lovable cast of characters— do I have to read this?

Apollo [off-screen]: of course! How else am I meant to start off my career as the best movie director? You know, I’m still disappointed that I couldn’t be in the show, but maybe Hephaestus is just waiting to star me in something really popular! I know he would never brush off my experience and expertise!

Will: [sighs] fine, fine. —rememberable and lovable cast of characters who all face the mundane problems of Camp Half-Blood. Grab some popcorn and sit back because you are about to be sent to an entire different world.

[Apollo claps off-screen while Will puts his head in his hands]

Apollo: well done! Although I do think you need to be more expressive, but I suppose it’s usable. Now if I had done it I would’ve used more emotions to convey just how excited I was to show off my new show, but that might just be a me thing.

Will: [puts his hands on his lap] can I go yet? Nico said he wanted to play some video games today and I need enough brain power to mentally prepare myself for my inevitable defeat.

Apollo: [hums] I guess. All right, you may leave.

[Will stands up quickly and leaves the studio room/basement of the Big House without another word]

[The camera cuts to a shot of Alice Mizayawa and Julia Feingold, who are standing opposite each other]

Alice: so you know how Mr. D loves his coke?

Julia: [nods] yeah.

Alice: [giggles] so what if I told you I swapped it for diet?

Julia: [blinks] you… Alice!? Are you stupid?!

Alice: [scoffs] no? I am completely aware of the consequences! It’s called wanting to have fun, Juls.

Julia: [raises an eyebrow] are you sure you aren’t trying to impress Kayla?

Alice: [slaps a hand on Julia’s mouth] what?! No! Why would I?

[camera cuts to Julia Feingold sitting on the love seat]

Julia: [looks deadpan at camera] Alice has a crush on Kayla and before you say that it was rude of me to reveal that, I’ll have you know that everyone at camp knows except for Kayla.

[camera cuts back to the previous scene]

Julia: [sighs and gets rid of Alice’s hand] okay, okay. How are you supposed to know if Mr. D finds out?

Alice: [smirks] don’t worry, I’ll know.

[a beat of silence before a frustrated scream echoes through the camp, few campers look for its source]

Alice: there it is!

Julia: [face palms] you are so dead.

[camera cuts to Alice sitting on the loveseat, looking worse for wear yet smiling brightly]

Alice: I got put on dish washing duty for a month, but it was worth it! [she sits crisscrossed on the seat] Kayla said my prank was hilarious! Can you believe that? [her smile widens] I think I might explode.

[Dionysus sits at the love seat, looking beyond tired]

Mr. D: fuck you, Zeus.*

*Hephaestus TV would like to clarify that this is a figure of speech and Dionysus does not actually want to fuck Zeus.

[camera cuts to Cecil Markowitz, Lou Ellen and Will Solace sitting in a circle and playing a card game]

Lou: [places a card on the deck in the middle of the circle] UNO.

Will: [huffs] I swear if this is your third win—

Lou: oh please, you’re just mad you’re bad at a card game.

Cecil: [chuckles] even I’ve won at least once.

Will: [rolls his eyes] it’s a game of luck, Cecil. You don’t need much to win a game like this.

[in the background a cabin lights on fire and Percy Jackson can be seen controlling water from the lake to extinguish it]

Lou: [smirks] are you not lucky, Will?

Will: [deadpans] Tyche hates my guts.

Cecil: did you accidentally forget to heal Chiara or something?

Will: what? No! I take my job as head healer very seriously.

[the fire slowly dissipates, however the cabin is charred and badly damaged. Annabeth Chase walks over to Percy, the two discussing something too far to pick up on]

Lou: [shrugs] it’s your turn, dipshit.

Will: [looks at his cards, then places one on the deck ans grins] maybe Tyche doesn’t hate my guts.

Cecil: [groans] just great. [takes four cards from the opposite deck reluctantly]

Lou: what’s the colour?

Will: hmm, how ‘bout blue?

Lou: ugh! You son of a bicth!

[Will and Cecil laugh at Lou’s unfortunate situation all the while in the background the cabin has gone up in flames again, Percy and Annabeth staring for a single moment before trying to extinguish it again]

Will: [puts a card down] UNO!

Cecil: whaaaat?!

Lou: fuck you, sunshine boy.

Will: [grins smugly] I guess Tyche has finally blessed me. Suck it, losers!

Cecil: [frowns] you’re so cruel, William.

[the three friends laugh as the sun sets behind them. The cabin is no longer on fire and now Leo Valdez and Harley have joined Annabeth and Percy. They discuss something before Harley looks down dejectedly]

[the camera cuts to the bland room once more, Will Solace sitting in the love seat once again]

Will: for the record, I won that UNO game.

[a paper gets thrown at him and Will looks at its contents indifferently]

Will: [reading form the paper] that concludes the pilot episode for Apollo’s new TV show. He would like to thank himself for coming up with the idea and Hephaestus TV for sponsoring the production. Tune back in next Wednesday to catch the very first episode of the series. [looks at camera] how much longer is this gonna last, dad?

Apollo [off-screen]: dunno, I’ll have to check the views first. I’ll get back to you.

[the screen fades to black as Will stands up and leaves]

don’t ask my what kayla x alice is doing in here, I wanted a funny scene and kayla was the first person I thought of.

I hate this so much, but honestly I kind of just want to be done with this (for now). This most definitely branches out from my initial post because it’s hard to incorporate fight scenes when my vocabulary only consists of ‘explosions’ and ‘screams’ in that field. Also, I guess it would make sense if sometimes camp wasn’t in mortal danger and other times it was? So yeah. That’s what this is.

[kiame-sama]

Paved With Good Intentions- ((Yandere!Anderson v Yandere!Alucard) x Fem!Reader)

Warnings; yandere, yandere vs yandere, consistent 'good v evil' juxtaposition, virgin reader, slight unhinged behavior, both Alucard and Anderson are monsters in some way obsessing over the equivalent of a pet human, objectification, vampires (it's Hellsing, there will be vampires), religious soldiers, blasphemy, angels, devils, blood, mention of violence,

~~~~~~~~

The road to eternal suffering is paved with good intentions.

It was good intentions that got you into the mess you were currently facing, and it was those good intentions that captured the attention of monsters. Most people were concerned only with their own benefit and that was where you differed from all of them.

You wanted to help people regardless of if they were good people or not, doing what you could to lend a hand to those that needed it. There were what seemed to be endless empty churches in the country side because so many people decided to move into the cities instead. It was in one of these abandoned churches that you set up a small hospital and grew various herbs to help the people that came to you.

Medicines were becoming more expensive and people could not afford to be treated with more modern methods. You didn't charge any money to those who came to you for help, nor did you demand they be repentant followers of God. With all the new branches of the church and the demand of being a certain religion to receive help, you decided to just help without that demand.

Of course, since you had moved into a church there was no small amount of visitors regarding the church, most of whom you sent on their way. From pastors to wandering priests looking for a place to preach their sermon, countless people showed up at your door looking to spread their 'doctrine' to whoever would listen. Regardless of how far out from London you were, it seems anyone trying to help drew endless attention.

Letters demanding you declare some kind of loyalty to one branch of Christianity or another were shredded and burned. People who were not seeking aid but seeking followers were sent away with more than an angry word or two. Anyone trying to cause problems or preach loudly about their ideals were kicked out and chased off by you. Even with the countless people causing problems, more showed up for help of some kind.

That was how you first encountered the two monsters that would stalk your waking world and nightmares.

~~~~~~~~

It wasn't anything new for subsects of churches to crop up around London, but one particular church stood out among others. Apparently people went to the church seeking healing of their afflictions and would leave speaking about an angel that took care of them. Some even claimed it was miraculous healing from God, which drew more than a few raised eyebrows.

After countless letters sent and no response given, members of Hellsing and Iscariot decided to drop in for a visit. Of course, neither of them planned in accordance with one another- the two factions hated each other- but by whatever play of fate, they wound up visiting at the same time. Naturally the two monsters Alucard and Anderson were eager to continue their fight and little was going to stop them from going at it.

With weapons drawn and teeth bared, the monsters prepared to tear into one another gleefully. At least, the planned to until a decidedly female voice broke through their concentration with unusual clarity.

"Stop!"

It was atypical that either monsters would be called off their quarry so easily, but something about the voice snapped through their minds and drew their eyes to the source of the sound. Standing at the large double doors of the old church was a woman who glared with a fiery fury at the pair that still had yet to lower their weapons. The onlookers were surprised to see this young woman march out and into the moonlight toward the pair of beasts. Where most only saw this (h/c) woman with smooth (c/s) flesh walking in a pure white dress, the monsters saw something else entirely.

Perhaps it was the fact that none of them were exactly human, or perhaps it was because they were such monsters, but they saw a startling truth. Beneath the moonlight they saw the halo cast above the head of the woman, large ruffled wings partially open and catching the light that filtered down in a dazzling display. Light lazily faded in and out of existence like fireflies blinking in the night as it danced around the woman.

"Enough! I would have gladly welcomed you all had you not begun a fight immediately in front of my home! Put your weapons down immediately."

The pair were at a loss for words as they stared with unblinking eyes at the frustrated woman that chastised them. Weapons were slowly lowered as either monster took the being standing before them into consideration.

Alucard, the monster vampire, was shocked. He was not used to seeing anything close to the depiction of an angel among humans. As far as he had been concerned, there was no such thing as an angel outside of the various holy scriptures. Yet it seemed an angel stood before him in all their glory, the scent of the warm blood flowing within their veins calling to the beast inside with a low and seductive croon.

Anderson, the holy abomination, was humbled. He knew angels existed among men and he even thought he had caught a glimpse of one before, but nothing like this. Before him stood one of God's heavenly warriors sent down to perform blessings on His behalf. It humbled and invigorated Anderson to stand before one of the divine soldiers after years of preaching to the masses.

The group on both sides were fascinated to see the pair of beasts react so oddly and out of their typical character. On one side of the divide, a young blonde spoke up, her blue eyes filled with confusion as she pointed a single finger at the woman.

"Why does she have wings?"

"Wait," Integra turned to Seras, "what?"

"That woman, she's got wings."

This made the onlookers glance back only to see the same that they saw before, a woman with unshakable resolve in a flowing white dress. It was enough of an oddity that they resolved to speak on it once out of earshot of the young woman who seemed none the wiser.

"Forgive them," the priest Anderson had come with spoke first, walking forward to address the woman, "it seems they have forgotten their manners. We are here-"

"I don't care why you are here unless you are seeking healing. I will not have my patients be ridiculed or judged for any reason or by anyone."

"My good lady, we are not here to judge. Just to know what branch of the church you operate under-"

"None of them. This church was abandoned by your people long ago and I have turned it into my hospital where anyone and everyone can seek medical aid regardless of what brand of poison they believe in on Sundays. If you are here to preach, you can leave now and not come back. If you are here for medical attention, you may come inside only if you leave this violent nonsense at the door."

With that, you turned on one heel and confidently walked back to the church, not even glancing behind you to see if the group was following. Where most saw your retreating back, the beasts saw your illustrious feathers ruffled by the wind as the wings settled down securely on your back.

~~~~~~~~

"You found a what?"

The shocked voice broke the silence that had hung over the group of clergy members who sat at attention. The pope and all living cardinals were present among the ranks but even they were stunned to hear the report from their holy monstrosity.

"A tried and true angel. My eyes can't be deceived as easily as most. Even that abhorrent Hellsing Vampire saw her for what she truly is. She doesn't seem aware of her divinity which leads me to believe she was sent to live among us humans as a human, but she is an angel regardless."

This caused a hushed murmur to escape over the group as the men present tried to come to terms with several things. Naturally, hearing an angel walked on the Earth among men bolstered their faith and encouraged the idea that God watched over them. Beyond the angelic being, the idea that a No-Life King was aware of such a holy creature was certainly a cause for concern.

"So enemies outside of the church know one of heaven's blessed has appeared. We need to keep this holy servant out of the hands of those heretics!"

There were several shouts of agreement from the group, the members of the clergy keen to keep such a divine gift from falling into the hands of heretics. An angel was a member of the heavenly order and should be protected at all costs regardless of who may die as a result. Any member of the church would happily give their life to protect one of the divine soldiers from the filth of the world. It was during this murmuring and light bouts of conversation that Father Anderson chose to speak.

"I believe I know how."

"How?"

"She is clearly a very devoted woman who tends to the infirm, but she is loyal beyond human standards. Were she to find herself wed to a suitor, she would no doubt be a loyal wife."

This caused an immense outbreak of whispers and questions to come from the group. It made sense, of course, to have the angel wed to one of the church's most loyal members, but there were still countless questions among them. All of these questions were murmured and whispered among the group, yet Anderson stood silently where he had been since the start of the congregation taking place.

"What holy soldier could possibly be worthy of such a task?"

"Could one among us ever hope to claim a lady of God?"

"What a blessing to see every side of such a beautiful divine being!"

It was then the Pope spoke, standing up and demanding the attention of those in the room. An immediate silence fell over the group as they all looked to the holiest among them for guidence.

"Enough! The answer is clear, as a loyal member of this church and a true follower of God, Father Anderson is the obvious choice. Who else could keep such a precious blessing safe?"

After a moment of consideration, several cardinals voiced their agreement with the decision of the pope. Even those who were not in agreement kept their opinion to themselves, knowing that they had no better option to propose instead.

A grin stretched across Father Anderson's face, knowing that he had basically been given the go ahead to claim that angel any way he wished. There were dark lustful feelings churning inside of him, but who could truly blame him? If he was to be bound and wed to an angel, he would certainly wish to consummate the betrothal and have his new wife in her rightful place beneath him. The thought of being able to defile and indulge in the succulent flesh of that angelic being was no small temptation.

"I gladly accept and will take that pure being of God into the safety of my arms so that darkness may never touch her."

~~~~~~~~

"What exactly did you both see?"

Integra questioned the two vampires standing before her about the odd events that had taken place. They had cautiously retreated for the time being to assess the new information they had been presented with. The first thing that needed to be addressed was what exactly the vampires saw, as Integra only saw a woman instead of the angel the vampires saw.

"Oh? Police girl saw the truth as well? She is a Draculina, but I had expected only Anderson and I to see."

Alucard had his ever present grin as he thought about the unusual being he and the members of Hellsing had come across. Certainly the angel was not an every day being as it was the first time Alucard had even seen such a creature. It interested him to know that Seras had also witnessed the angel, but it was likely due to being one of Alucard's coven.

"Like I said, I saw that woman who yelled at Master Alucard had wings. They were big and fluffy and it was like she had some kind of light above her."

Seras was understandably confused in the situation because it seemed like an angel would be a much more common occurrence especially since it involved the various branches of the church. She was only starting to realize that it was a big deal to see an angel and even her master had not seen such a being before despite his long lifespan.

Alucard spoke next, his voice the usual relaxed drawl, but now there was an edge of excitement that accented his voice. An angel meant countless vampires and humans would be clambering over one another to get at such a divine being. Having one live in Hellsing manor meant all the entertainment possible would be coming to him instead of him being sent out to find and eliminate.

"I truly didn't think any feathered servant would be able to stand on this blood stained soil, let alone live among the worst of humans. But that is what they are supposed to do, right? Lift up the poor sinners and cure the ailments of all, even the non believers. The police girl is correct, (y/n) did have wings with bright feathers. I would say they were white, but I believe they were clear and worked like a prism where light is refracted. Above the crown of her head was an obvious gathering of light, a halo that so many humans have failed to capture the likeness of. A true angel."

Integra hummed in contemplation, knowing that Alucard was likely the best source of information regarding the odd woman they encountered. Anything they could do to keep that divine being out of the reach of Iscariot would always be ideal. Of course, she needed to think about her next move while anticipating the next move of her enemy.

"Iscariot will be chomping at the bit to get their vile hands on her. Alucard," Integra's voice was stern and to the point, "if I send you to retrieve her, you must give your word to bring her back alive, understood?"

"Yes, my master."

~~~~~~~~

(Tell me if y'all like it or want more!)

[blackmetalbats]

Dies Irae

I am so sorry but i did a deep dive on the Dies Irae because of the last malevolent episode and now its gonna be all of you's problem.

one of the oldest and most frequently borrowed of all melodies is the ecclesiastical plainsong to the sequence 'Dies Irae', because of the theme's intrinsic merit, but also its liturgical associations. No record of its origin remains, but both words and melody appear to have been suggested by a passage from the Respond ' Libera me, Domine', which follows the Requiem Mass (catholic mass for the dead) on solemn occasion.

SOURCE: Gregory, R. (1953). “Dies Irae.” http://www.jstor.org/stable/730837

the Requiem Mass contained several special components; the Dies Irae was one of these, formally added to the Mass in 1570. Its text was penned by Thomas of Celano during the late 11th or early 12th century, and it offers a graphic depiction of the horrors of Judgment Day for sinners. the New Catholic Encyclopedia states that

"The medieval Sequence stresses fear of judgment and condemnation."

SOURCE: Brooks, E. (2003). "The Dies Irae ("Day of Wrath") and Totentanz ("Dance of Death"): Medieval Themes Revisited in 19th Century Music and Culture." https://scholarworks.uark.edu/inquiry/vol4/iss1/5

Centre panel from Memling's tryptich Last Judgment (c. 1467–1471)

the text contains three basic references:

(1) Zephaniah 1:15,16

That day is a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of the trumpet and alarm, against the fortified cities, and against the high battlements.

(2) II Peter 3:10-12

But the day of the Lord will come as a thief; in which the heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the elements shall be dissolved with fervent heat, and the earth and the works that are therein shall be burned up. Seeing that these things are thus all to be dissolved, what manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy living and godliness, looking for and earnestly desiring the coming of the day of God, by reason of which the heavens being on fire shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat?

(3) finally, the judgment portion of Matthew 25 is cited as part of the scriptural basis for the "Dies Irae."

THE TEXT, in an english translation from the original latin

Day of wrath and doom impending, David's word with Sibyl blending! Heaven and earth in ashes ending!

O, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth. On whose sentence all dependeth!

Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth, Through earth's sepulchers it ringeth. All before the throne it bringeth.

Death is struck, and nature quaking, All creation is awaking. To its Judge an answer making.

Lo! the book exactly worded. Wherein all hath been recorded; Thence shall judgment be awarded.

When the Judge His seat attaineth, And each hidden deed arraigneth. Nothing unavenged remaineth.

What shall I, frail man, be pleading ? Who for me be interceding. When the just are mercy needing?

King of majesty tremendous, Who dost free salvation send us. Fount of pity, then befriend us!

Think, kind Jesus! my salvation Caused Thy wondrous Incarnation; Leave me not to reprobation.

Faint and weary Thou hast sought me. On the Cross of suffering bought me; Shall such grace be vainly brought me ?

Righteous Judge! for sin's pollution Grant Thy gift of absolution. Ere that day of retribution.

Guilty, now I pour my moaning. All my shame with anguish owning; Spare, O God, Thy suppliant groaning!

Through the sinful woman shriven. Through the dying thief forgiven. Thou to me a hope has given.

Worthless are my prayers and sighing. Yet, good Lord, in grace complying, Rescue me from fires undying.

With Thy favored sheep O place me, Nor among the goats abase me. But to Thy right hand upraise me.

While the wicked are confounded. Doomed to flames of woe unbounded. Call me with Thy Saints surrounded.

Low I kneel, with heart submission. Crushed to ashes in contrition; Help me in my last condition!

Ah! that day of tears and mourning! From the dust of earth returning, Man for judgment must prepare him;

Spare, O God, in mercy spare him! Lord all-pitying, Jesu Blest, Grant them Thine eternal rest.

the first six stanzas describe the Judgment. the other stanzas are lyric in character, expressing anguish of one of the multitude there present in spirit; his pleading before the Judge who, while on earth, sought him unceasingly over the hard and thorny ways from Bethlehem to Calvary; and now, in anticipation of the Judgment, pleads before a Savior of infinite mercy, who, on Judgment Day, will be a Judge of infinite justice, before whom scarcely the just will be secure.

SOURCE: Demaray, D. E. (1965). "Thomas of Celano and the" Dies Irae". https://place.asburyseminary.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2018&context=asburyjournal

[bleue-flora]

Okay I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about discduo anymore, and I meant it. I did. But then I saw the clip of cc!Tommy [post] talking about them and a few people saying how clingy duo didn’t know that they hurt c!Dream, and how c!Dream was just this unreasonable psychopath who drove c!Tommy to want to kill himself… and well I just feel like I can’t stand by while Dream gets slandered after I was being nice to c!Tommy.

So... that brings us here, where to the best of my memory and ability, I’d like to look at c!Tommy as being part of the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum. Because here’s the thing, I’ve seen people refer to him as some golden boy, who’s caring and has a good heart, but I’m gonna just be honest, I just don’t see it. From what I can tell, we accuse c!Dream of having no empathy, but I don’t think I’ve really seen c!Tommy show any.

Now granted, I’m definitely no psychologist or whatever, and in the real world diagnosing these disorders is a very intense and extensive process. Especially because there is no true way to know whether an individual has empathy or not since we can’t exactly read their minds or feelings. So we really only have their behavior to study. Having said all that though, here’s why I actually think c!Tommy is perhaps the “psychopath” or since that term is no longer medically used, has Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) in which psychopathy is sometimes considered a subtype of.

And yes, while I am more than aware that I clearly have dsmp favorites and therefore am biased, I have to say when I was rewatching lore I didn’t expect to come to this conclusion, but something about this scene specifically in the finale bothered me.

[clip] Dream: “Why are you–why are you trying to—ruin everything all the time?” Tommy: “Cuz that was just me having fun with my friends, Dream, but I didn’t–I didn’t…” Dream: “Ah-you just stealing my shit and a—griefing my friends’ houses and breaking shit?” Tommy: “I just didn’t realize how much that hurt you.”

Because c!Tommy essentially just straight up admits to enjoying harming others. In fact, is so clueless he doesn’t grasp that killing and breaking and stealing and griefing hurts people. And like how can you possibly tell me that someone at the age of 18 years old can be so oblivious to other people’s suffering. Because he sure didn’t like it when people griefed or trapped his house, stole from him, and killed him, but somehow didn’t know that other people also didn’t like that. I mean, there’s just no way someone can be that clueless, I don’t care how old they are, even children know better than to just push their friend down the stairs because it’s funny. 

Like I don't think this is just the behavior of some flawed teenager, but of someone with a lack of empathy or ASPD, which the National Library of Medicine says this about, “Antisocial personality disorder is characterized by a pervasive and enduring pattern of disregarding and violating the rights of others, typically emerging in childhood or early adolescence and persisting throughout an individual's life. This disorder significantly impacts interpersonal and occupational functioning, often leading to profound impairments in overall quality of life. Individuals with antisocial personality disorder frequently engage in criminal behavior and struggle to learn from the negative consequences of their actions” [source], And I don’t know about you, but doesn’t that sound like c!Tommy? Even further the Millon Theory has this to say about Antisocial (ADAntis) individuals, “Prone to lessened emotional resonance and a marked lack of empathy, those individuals evidencing ADAntis patterns actively seek out what they feel is their entitlement. ADAntis individuals often feel slighted by their circumstances and believe they must take in order to receive. They are impulsive by nature and uncaring about any damage they may inflict on others or themselves” [source].

In other words, someone who does and takes without thinking of others as if they are entitled to it. A great example of this is c!Tommy just up and killing c!Purpled for no reason and stealing c!Tubbo’s resources before they battle c!Dream again for the discs, where c!Tubbo notes that c!Tommy has a ‘shit moral compass’ [clip]. There is also the stream I love to bring up of c!Tommy stealing from c!Tubbo, killing his bee and then burning his house, and not giving anything but a half assed apology of 'I didn’t mean to burn your house down that much’ and ‘I didn’t mean to kill your bee I was just giving him a high five’ [post] and that’s how he treats his best friend, one he drags into war after war. c!Tommy more than once highlights how pain is real in the dsmp whether a non-canonical death or a punch and yet shows no regard for holding back hurting others, whether that's burning c!Techno [clip] or throwing a harming potion at him when he’s found in the basement [clip], lighting c!Dream on fire with a bucket of lava on the first day of Exile [clip & clip], killing c!Alyssa just cuz she’s there and a woman [clip], stabbing c!Dream as he fills in a creeper hole in c!Tommy's yard no less [clip], how bout just dragging c!Tubbo into wars to risk his life and experience pain over some replaceable discs… etc just as some examples off the top of my head I've have seen recently. 

I mean he doesn’t seem to care about others. When c!Tubbo needs help, where’s c!Tommy, like when he goes after c!Sam after he killed his husband and kidnapped his son he teams up with all the people who have killed him. Where the freak is c!Tommy - the one he fought so many wars with. Heck in the finale, c!Tubbo charges into what might be certain death, even after disagreeing with c!Tommy and reasoning that maybe they shouldn’t kill c!Dream [clip]. Oh and then of course, I've talked about his behavior towards c!Punz in the beginning too, of him helping clingy duo and then c!Tommy plotting to stab him the next minute [post]. 

And he struggles so hard to separate the value of items over the living [clip], seen no clearer than his struggle multiple times with putting the discs over c!Tubbo. And as I talked about when looking at c!Quackity at some point, people without empathy can love but it’s more like loving chocolate where they can enjoy it but there is no consideration for a candy bar’s well-being or feelings - people are more so just there to be used than cared about, and isn’t that what he does with c!Tubbo? With c!Techno? With c!Dream? Using them as a weapon and for their resources and then tossing them aside. Certainly not having their back when they need it, something c!Techno highlights pretty well in his speech about being a person [clip].

Perhaps our biggest clue should be how revolved his character arc is about understanding the value of items and how people are more important, as he finally in the finale gives up his discs for Tubbo’s life…

I don’t know maybe I’m wrong, but all I’m saying is I have yet to see a scene that really shows c!Tommy as caring or empathic, instead I see more so the telltale signs and behavior of someone with Antisocial Personality Disorder… who’s the psychopath now? *mic drop*

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 18-- Antagonist/DLC

Unknown comes to rescue you following Jumin’s BSE2 (832 words).

When the window breaks, you expect the alarm to sound. It doesn’t. You also expect Jumin to come running— when he doesn’t, you’re reminded of the work he ordered recently to soundproof your bedroom. At the time, you thought this was a smart decision, but now, you’re beginning to regret allowing him to proceed. He wouldn't have heard the glass shattering unless he was outside, and in that case, he’d be calling out for you to run. Well, you don’t need anybody to tell you to do that— without even checking behind you for the source of the sound, be it a rock thrown from ground level of a prodigiously buff pigeon, you make for the door. 

“Ah-ah,” scolds a chilling voice behind you, “That won’t work, prince(ss).” 

You tug on the door handle with more urgency, and find, to your horror but not to your surprise, that the door is locked. Jumin installed a safety lock protocol controlled by a panel just outside your door— but he’d have no reason to engage it on a random Friday morning. Certainly not without telling you.

But then, something occurs to you. First, the alarm ‘malfunctioned,’ and then the door followed suit… all while an intruder was breaking into your home. That can’t be a coincidence. It seems that you’re the victim of a nefarious plot carried out by an intruder with intimate knowledge of the building’s security system. This person would have to be a very skilled hacker, not to mention incredibly confident. “Who… are you?” you turn around to face the stranger.

He’s leaning against the wall beside your ruined window, a smug expression on his handsome face. He looks vaguely familiar. “Didn’t you figure that out by now?” He drawls.

“Seven?” You ask. Recognition has clicked in your mind.The man’s facial features are undeniably identical to those of your friend— but you quickly abandon this idea when an expression of pure, unadulterated rage crosses the man’s face. “No. He’d never do this,” you correct yourself.

Seven expressed some concern the last time you spoke to him about your relationship with Jumin, but nobody with as many secrets as 707 would dare to cross the heir to C&R. If Seven tried to steal you away, Jumin could hire the best hackers in the country, if not in the world, to track him down. 

“That’s right, prince(ss).” The intruder’s tone is chillingly restrained as he crosses the broken glass to pin you against the useless door. “He’d never come to rescue you like this. He’d rather let you suffer.”

“Rescue me?” You’re baffled. “From what?”

Jumin already does so much to protect you from harm. He barely even lets you out of his sight— if there was something dangerous in your life, he already would’ve had his people take care of it. And you certainly aren’t suffering in this place. Sure, you miss your friends in the RFA, but you still get to see them sometimes. Jaehee visits occasionally, and you even get to play LOLOL with Yoosung. You definitely don’t need to be rescued, and least of all by this guy. 

The stranger just laughs. “Are you really so brainwashed that you think you like being locked up in here by that guy? He thinks you belong to him or something.”

“I do—”

“No,” The stranger with Seven’s face corrects you. His eyes are different, too, now that you’ve gotten close enough to make them out. Seven never mentioned having any siblings, but then again, he always kept a lot of secrets, so you can’t really be surprised. “You already belong to me. I’m the one that sent you to the RFA in the first place. Now, I’m taking you back.” His firm grip on your wrist tells you that you don’t have much of a choice. 

“Unknown?” His name pops into your mind. 

“You remember,” he sounds pleased. “Good.” 

“I’ll scream,” you warn, “And Jumin will come running.”

Unknown laughs. “Jumin is meeting with the sommelier.” This type of meeting could only take place in the wine cellar, which means neither of them would hear you if you scream. And he let the butler go last week, after he already got rid of the housekeeper two months ago. Nobody else is here. “You know what that means, right?”

“Yes.” You may as well resign yourself to your fate. Kicking and screaming will only put you in more danger, if you truly have no way out of this. Besides, Jumin will be able to find you again, won’t he? 

“Don’t worry,” Unknown ruffles your perfectly styled hair, eviscerating all the work you put into it this morning with a single touch. “I’ll take better care of you than that guy does. Now, come on, before the C&R gets back into their server and turns on the alarm, mhm?” 

You shouldn’t follow him, but you do. As usual, you trust that everything will work out for the best.

[msfantasy-magic]

Betrothed to a Gaunt

Summary: Betrothed to a Gaunt. Rumours spread about MC, risking the betrothal.

Warning: Angst

A/n: Girllllll I don't know how I feel about this.

Part 4

“Did you hear that M/c is a half blood?”

“Don’t be daft, she comes from a pure blood line.”

“Apparently her mother had an affair with a muggle - everyone knows that.”

“That makes sense - why else would she arrive in her 5th year? Probably staying at her muggle family home.”

Whispers bounce through the hallway, burning one ear to the next.

Everyone knows about the betrothal to the Gaunt family line, nothing can be more tea sipping worthy than a Gaunt finally breaking their purity status.

Storming feet pass through the student body as M/C moves through the crowd towards the Slytherin Common room.

A fidgety Ominis Gaunt is seen sitting on the couch clutching in a tight grip a freshly written letter. Sebastian leans against the arching pillar, looking ever so disinterestedly outside the window.

“It’s not true what their all saying.” She announces abruptly. Sebastian glances towards the girl before returning his gaze to the passing fish, seeming more interested in counting their scales.

“My mother is well aware of the false accusations-“ M/c clutches her chests in relief. “Regardless, she demands the rumours to be put out at once or else she will find me a more ‘suitable fiancé’, one who will not tarnish the ‘Gaunt’ name with doubt.” Instant relief fleeting as quickly as it came.

“Seriously? Is it not enough that it’s not true?” She questions in furry, beginning to pace back and fourth.

“Apparently.” Ominis answers bluntly. “Let’s try back trace and identify the source of the drama. We can stamp it out at the root.” Ominis and M/c turn their attention to Sebastian, waiting in silence for their devious master to announce his simply brilliant plan.

However, Sebastian seems to remain completely oblivious to the silent pleas of his two friends as he continues to look through the large windows.

“Sebastian- if it is not completely inconvenient for you. It would be most helpful if you can help us.“ Ominis growls, hating to beg for help.

“What do you want me to do about it? You two didn’t even want to get married in the first place. It’s a win-win.” He announces with a big smile on his face. M/c remains quite looking at Ominis curiously. Had he not told his best friend?

“About that … Sebastian…” Ominis announces causing Sebastian to snap his neck looking towards the nervous blonde. “Things have changed…” Brows furrow in confusion.

“How has things changed? Did you want to force M/c into a loveless marriage? Did you want her to suffer if it means your happiness?” He asks in a cold and accusatory tone. Ominis looks taken aback by Sebastian’s cruel words, there was a truthful tone in it. M/c never would’ve married him without being forced into it. Was Ominis not being considerate enough of M/c position? Perhaps he should let nature take its course. “Be careful Ominis, your selfish Gaunt nature is showing.” Sebastian spits, his words punching Ominis in the gut.

“That’s enough Sebastian, do not talk to Ominis in such a way. Ominis, and I have decided to married and I’m doing it willingly.” Sebastian stepped back looking between the two. The air felt tense, looking into his eyes, M/c saw a look of betrayal and heartbreak swelling rapidly in Sebastian’s eyes.

“Do you love him?” He asks with a shaky voice. The girl stood before Sebastian, suddenly too aware of what’s happening.

M/c is not a stupid girl. She is cunning and quite capable of observing her surroundings.

The truth stood as clear as day.

Sebastian had romantic feelings for her, and she shattered any hope of their union with her declaration to marry Ominis.

M/c walks with conviction grabbing Sebastian and forcing him to sit with her. She places a tight grip on his hand and place a sturdy yet comforting hand along Sebastian’s jaw, guiding his gaze to her own.

“Please Sebastian, listen to me carefully. If I don’t marry Ominis, his family will force him to marry another. Not only is she cruel- but she’s the same age as Solomon.” Sebastian scrunches his face. “That is why, I promised Ominis to marry him. Its not a traditional marriage - but by marrying me, Ominis will be free from his family obligations…. What else am I to do?” She asks gently stroking her thumb along his cheek.

Sebastian leans softly into her hand with sorrow filling his features. He places a gentle hand on top of her own.“It’s just… I - well I love you… I even thought you may have returned my affections? Perhaps I was mistaken.” He whispered the last part attempting to break from the mesmerising hold M/c locked him into. M/c gripped tightly on Sebastian, pulling his weight back down and grabbing his face.

"Your feelings weren't one-sided Sebastian." M/c announced softly. Ominis bowed his head in shame, feeling as though he was invading a moment that he wasn't part of. "Just because I'm marrying Ominis doesn't mean I have to be with him in every sense right?" M/c waits for Ominis to validate her position. The lurking gentleman pauses for a moment, in hesitation before he speaks.

"Of course. M/c and I will still have our freedom in a sense." A disagreeable frown covers Sebastian as he shakes his head.

"No. This isn't right. I'm sorry mate, but your family drama is not M/c's burden to carry. I do not believe either of you have truely thought through your half baked idea." Sebastian stands, anger clenching through his jaw. "Consider if you marry Ominis, and take me as your lover, then what? You get to have me in secret? Did either of you think about the prospects of having children? Will I get to watch my children call Ominis their father? How about when we're old, do I get to sit on my porch alone because my girlfriend is probably too busy helping her husband?" Silence fills the room, it's true, neither of them had the foresight to consider such circumstances. Anxiety creeps up M/c shoulders, feeling torn between her options.

"I hear what you're saying Sebastian, but I don't know what else to do." She says, hunching her shoulders the way she does when she feels pressured.

"It's simple, you just marry me instead. I can make you happy." She shakes her head.

"And what about Ominis?" Huffing with struggle to produce words.

"Ominis problems aren't your own, if you love me then you'll be with me!" Sebastian yells angrily, not understanding your hesitation.

"I do want to be with you Sebastian - it's just not that simple. Don't forget I was betrothed to you first until you murde-" Ominis covered her mouth, muffling the sounds as they come out. Angry tears pour from her eyes, frustrated with her self for not explaining her self better.

"Please you two, let's not say anything we may regret later. I think you are right Sebastian. My problems are for me to carry alone." An angry growl groans from Sebastians throat.

"No - being with someone you love shouldn't be this hard." Sebastian pulls M/c away from Ominis, forcing her eyes to levels with his own. "Will you be with me?" He asked pointedly, his stares unblinkingly.

Her eyes flash around his face. The hesitation and slight pause was enough of an answer.

"You shouldn't have to think so hard on such a simple question."

And just like that he was gone.

Tags: @abbiesxox

[the-nexverse]

@thicc-pirate oh boy this is gonna be a hard one

BIG FAT DISCLAIMER: all the knowledge i have about mental disorders is very basic and the most i'll do is read the disorders' wikipedia articles and maybe one or two other articles from trustworthy sources. also please note i'm in no way a psychology expert, so i don't know specific terms or variations, i'll go for a general view on the way they think and view themselves and the world around them, and if there's an illness that matches those conditions, i'll mention it. but again, i am no expert on this, i could very well be wrong about any of it

Agnes: my heart tells me some cluster B personality disorder, but with more of an isolation flavor. substance abuse, bursts of rage, lack of empathy and reckless behavior are there, but also a general internal void/lack of purpose that she fills by finding someone to follow. that could be a dependant trait, but not in the way DPD is described. she also develops depression during arc 3, and deals with depressive symptoms throughout arcs 4-5

Ryan: he has some narcissistic characteristics, but that doesn't really mean he has NPD. he's empathetic, maybe even too much for his own good sometimes, but he's also calculating and manipulative when he wants to, even if his goals aren't for his own gain/selfish reasons. he does have a very black-or-white view on certain topics tho

all of this is about arcs 1-2 Ryan. arcs 3-5 Ryan's issues could fill up an entire book lmao. being locked up, isolated, physically assaulted, tortured and so much more fucks him up in the head so much, but i haven't really developed that part of him too much. PTSD, C-PTSD or both. can it be both? i don't know. i have to look a lot into it, it's too complex

Lisabel: APD straight up from the DSM-5: disregard for others' rights, lack of empathy and remorse, bloated self-image and manipulation, sprinkled with sadism and straight up psychopathy. all of it completely untreated, and she's in no rush to get herself checked. she's perfectly fine!

Eric: ngl he might be the only neurotypical person in the room lmao

Léan: 100% autism spectrum. hyperfixations, sensitivity to loud sounds or bright lights, stimming, some compulsive behaviors, difficulties socialising, etc. Eric wanted to adopt someone who wasn't very likely to get adopted and give them the love they deserve

Rask'r: i doubt there's a lot of research on mental illnesses in TES, but he has dyslexia, and as a lukiul (an argonian that grew up away from the Hist) he has argonian-specific social autism, aka can't read body language and his own body language is undecypherable to other native argonians. add that to wolf-like behavior like tail wagging and you got yourself a complete mess of social cues!

Raz: also dyslexia, some degree of anxiety for sure, abandonment issues, general childhood trauma. another bundle of complicated things

Donovan: not a mental illness per se, but definetely suffers from acedia/apathy

Lee: can you diagnose a non-sapient being with mental illnesses? i think so. PTSD and social anxiety, but he gets rehabbed :]

Vreytus: unidenfitied identity issues and feelings of emptiness/lack of a goal in life (which he fixes by himself. it goes well. for real :) )

Bug: trauma from being experimented on and all the social difficulties of not having been socialised with humans. otherwise they're just weird

Voirdity/voirds: there are no existing words to describe Voirdity's issues

Chad: definetely checks most boxes for NPD, but with time and lots of forced practice he learns to tone it down. not the best therapy method, i know, but probably the best you can get during the post-apocalypse. also self-esteem issues after he became physically disabled

Lewis: social anxiety and autism spectrum. hyperfixation, difficulty with holding eye contact, stimming, autistic self-injury, big meltdowns. to be fair, he's exposed to a lot more of stressing stimuli (Half Life events) so his reactions are a lot more intense and uncontrolled

thanks for the ask!!

@creators-club

[scarlet--wiccan]

Do you think there’s a meaningful distinction between “witches” and other magic users in the marvel universe (beyond, potentially, gender)?

Witch and warlock are obviously treated more or less as gender-swapped synonyms and both have somewhat negative connotations that don’t get associated with people like Dr Strange (afaik), but I feel like there might be more to it, I’m just not sure. Calling Nico or Billy a witch feels more accurate than calling Cleo or Victor a witch, but I can’t figure out if this is grounded in anything besides my own opinion

Yes, actually! We can identify social, cultural, mythical and practical factors distinguishing "witches" from other types of magicians. However, those distinctions are not always clear. As you noted, the word "witch" is often used very broadly to describe any female spellcaster. As a reader, you'll have to rely on context to determine whether the writer is denoting a specific type of magician, or just using gendered language.

Functionally speaking, all forms of magic are basically interchangeable. Most spellcasters have the same powers and abilities, and writers don't always put in the effort to make them feel unique. That doesn't necessarily bother me, so long as they are tailoring the language and imagery to suit each character's background, but that doesn't happen as often as I'd like. Again, you'll just need to use critical thinking to figure out when a lack of distinction is really just a lack of creativity and effort.

With that out of the way, let's break down what we do know about witchcraft, and the history of witches, in the Marvel world!

Social: Witches have historically gathered in covens, settlements and societies, and have even endured literal witch-hunts. In real life, this is not quite the truth, but it Marvel comics, we can say that witches comprise distinct societies which suffer distinct forms of persecution. We also know that many witches belong to a magical lineage, and that these witch families often use a special naming convention to identify themselves with unique colors and symbols, indicating that witches have unique customs and traditions setting them apart.

Cultural: In Marvel comics, all forms of magical or spiritual folk practice are literally real, in the same way that all mythologies and polytheistic religions are literally real-- Asgard is a real place, Thor is a real person, and spells have real power. Witchcraft is typically represented as a form of European folk magic. Other traditions, such as vodou, voodoo, and multiple forms of Indigenous spirituality have also been demonstrated, and are often grouped together, along with witchcraft, under a broad category of "cultural magic." As shown in Midnight Suns, many of these traditions from around the world have a certain shared history, as the Coven at Mount Wundagore included representatives from numerous cultures.

Mythological: "Witchcraft" itself exists as an abstract entity, like Death, Nightmare, or Eternity. She is the source of witchcraft's power, but also a symbolic representation of all witches and the natural balance of magic, and she is sometimes worshipped as a goddess. Witchcraft resides at the heart of the Witches' Road, an Inner Plane uniquely accessible to witches that transcends time and is connected to many of the mythical realms. Witchcraft may also be intrinsically connected to chaos magic-- ancient witches were responsible for binding and harnessing Earth's natural chaos magic; Witchcraft, the entity, is shown consorting with an abstract Chaos entity; and we know that Wundagore and the Darkhold are connected to many cults and covens throughout history.

Practical: Unfortunately, this is the weakest area. For a brief time, Wanda's magical practice borrowed a lot of Wiccan motifs, which was problematic in its own right, but in modern comics, we just don't get to see enough of how witches, specifically, do magic. Most characters who practice some form of traditional magic have a closer connection to natural elements and the spirit world, and they may have particular powers related to their background. Doctor Voodoo is a great example, although the actual depiction of his culture is deeply flawed. Scarlet Witch (2015) introduced certain unique abilities, such as witches' sight; specific mechanics around the cost of magic; and a style of spellcasting that relied on Wanda's knowledge of real-world languages and magical symbols. Billy and Nico also use varying degrees of wordplay, so I like this approach and I would focus on building that into a cohesive magical system if I was a writer.

[witchie-writings]

ALRIGHT. I hope you don’t mind me requesting human ones since I don’t really have any scenario ideas for a cybertron partner..But bayverse megatron with a human pet that likes to sing and dance to pass time? (Since I doubt there’s much anything to do when held captive by Megatron lol)

Definitely an interesting scenario! Hopefully these headcanons suffice. C: (they're a little short, sorry about that! not proof-read.)

TW for abuse and all that, typical of Bayverse!Megatron

Being the captured pet of Bayverse!Megatron is its own punishment. The grueling agony of being nothing more than a source of sickening entertainment was, in itself, a tragic fate, but there was some enjoyment for themselves the human manages to scavenge - the art of music and dancing.

It allowed them to reign in their sanity from the brink of frigid shadows; whatever style or form of dance they chose allowed them to express their inner woes, sometimes followed up by lulled tunes of their own voice to go along their wispy serenade. They never dared present their craft to the warlord out of fear, however. It was a secret they kept close to their heart as it was the last bastion of sanity they had left, but it didn't take long for Megatron to find out about the hidden art. And honestly, he found his pet's antics amusing.

He wasn't swayed by the human's graceful and determined steps nor found their voice particularly pleasing, but he found a twinge of enjoyment watching his pet be unaware of his presence at first and thinking they were able to keep their "secret" under wraps. It made them look like a fool, trying to hide their passion from the crimson gaze of the infamous tyrant when he had knowledge of their acts and what they did behind the veil. 

Definitely would have them perform in public, no matter if it was uncomfortable for them or not (though he'd find a sadistic glee in them being consumed by dread because of the publicity). While they danced and sang, he'd probably have some of the Decepticons shoot at their feet or narrowly avoid stabbing the poor human with their digits - anything to get their heart pulsing and blood rushing through their body, tinting the canvas a rosy hue before it quickly bled into a light scarlet. Expect a lot of snarky and degrading comments as well, both from Megatron and those that he rules over. The human is practically a dancing monkey to them, and oh, how hilariously ridiculous they looked to them.

Now, this isn't strictly restricted to this ask, but should any Decepticon actually harm the human during their performances, Megatron does actually get pissed and terrifyingly quickly. Whatever mocking statement would die in his vocal cords and out comes a raging beast of fury and hatred; if there is one thing that the warlord despises, it's when someone else damages his property, especially one that is valuable as his human pet. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find such an entertaining bag of flesh amongst billions of squirming insects? The human is a rarity! (And only Megatron alone is able to harm the fleshling, no one else)

The Decepticon that harmed his pet is swiftly dealt with, though it wasn't a particularly clean kill. Megatron has quite the sadistic imagination.

Other than public performances, on particularly boring days the warlord might have the human perform something more personal for him alone, but the mockery and danger would never cease here. If anything, it's more refined and precise, making the words sting and burn with a searing intensity to a point one could feel it upon their skin. Megatron's words would sink deep alongside his assaults - bruises here, a few cuts or gashes here, nothing too fatal, but enough to satisfy his own sickening fantasies and to relish in the suffering he inflicted upon his pet.

In short, being able to sing and dance might have made the human's life more of a hellscape than if they didn't possess the ability or hobby. They're placed on this bloody pedestal and make a fool out of themselves, all for the sake of the amusement of others. At least they're granted some form of protection, though I doubt it's any better.