#【 ♛ › OUT OF CHARACTER 】 — ❖ ❝ Sweet Nightmare

[vertraumend]

guys im trying to cook but i am, in fact, just burning the house down

[mlmxreader]

Always Be My Demon | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ “all your friends are fucking dead” w/ ghost & gn!reader 👀 @mockerycrow ❞

: ̗̀➛ Ghost's significant other is killed by the Shadows, and although he tried to save them, they'll get their revenge from beyond the grave.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption, gore, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, death, body horror, burning alive, SUICIDE, stabbing, violence, blood

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Ghost had not been the same, not since the incident; the one person that he had fought to protect, fought to ensure that they saw the end of the war, and he had failed. It kept playing back in his head, no matter what he did.

He had not been the same since you had died. He had not been the same, and he never would be again. You were inseparable, once upon a time, and now, even though your burned discs hung around his neck on the same chain as his own, he knew he would never be at your side again.

Yet, he dreamed of you so often.

Ghost just wanted to haunt you, for forever and a day. He wanted to go back to being at your side once more, but he knew that such a thing would never happen. But he dreamed of you, he couldn't stop dreaming of you. It was the only time that your death didn't replay in his head; burned alive and trapped within a shed.

The Shadows had danced and sang as you burned, screaming out for Ghost to help. Gaz, Price and Soap had held him down as they looked away and tried to block the sight of the flames. Yet the smell clung to the air, and the screams only stained it even more.

Ghost never stopped thinking about it, but his dreams were so, so sweet. Your appearance had changed so terribly; covered in blisters and burns, your skin cracked and charred. Your uniform, once proud and spotless, was frayed and torn, black smears across the desert khaki.

The red and green striped jumper you had worn underneath your uniform had ripped and the strings dangled from your torso, exposing the blistered flesh that was once your chest. Ghost didn't really bat an eye at first, when the Shadows started to die in their sleep; the rumour was carbon dioxide emissions, he didn't care.

They deserved it.

They deserved it for what they had done to the one person that Ghost truly, absolutely, loved. But then things got weird. Soap reported it first, complaining about weird dreams to Price; he would furrow his brows, and describe a figure in a burned and torn uniform, wielding a kukri and wearing a dark brown beanie.

Chasing him down, but every time he tried to look properly, he would wake up. Every time they caught him, he woke up.

It was odd. Soap never had dreams like that, and from the descriptions, Ghost was only more confused - it sounded like you. At least, in appearance. Even down to the weapon of choice.

Even when they were sent back home, with Ghost sitting beside your coffin the entire time and weeping, something just didn't feel right. The Shadows were all gone, sure, but something didn't feel right.

Ghost's dreams became more vivid, almost like they were real. He could actually hold you, actually feel you in his hands, and when he looked into your eyes, he thought, just for a moment, that you were still alive.

"I love you," sounded so real coming from your mouth. "I really do."

Soap's dreams got worse, too, nightmares. He would scream and thrash around in his bed, tell everyone that he had seen faces pushing through his chest when he looked in the mirror.

The weirdest was when he had a dream that he had been slashed with a knife… and had woken up with a long, jagged gash across his chest. Exactly like a slash wound from a blade.

He told Ghost all about it, and was convinced that he was going to die; Ghost told him not to worry, that it was probably just trauma from how they had all watched… watched that day and had done nothing to save you. But Soap was adamant.

He really was.

It was late when Soap returned home from a pub night with Gaz, Price and Ghost; he almost didn't even take his jeans off when he flopped into bed. Dizzy and tired, he muttered that he would never drink again as he closed his eyes.

Convinced he had probably dreamed of going home, Soap was hardly surprised when he woke up to find himself in a warehouse. Pipes burst, hissing thick smoke, and Soap coughed as he shook his head.

"How tae fuck did I get here?" He murmured, pressing his hand to his temple. "Fuck… must'a been that fuckin' Jäger…"

"One, two, they're coming for you."

That was… children? Soap furrowed his brows, taking a look around. Why the fuck were there kids in a warehouse?

"Three, four, you'll be no more."

He started to wander through, trying to search out the echoing nursery rhyme; or at least, he guessed it was a nursery rhyme.

"Five, six, you won't make it out alive."

He paused, wondering what the fuck kind of nursery rhyme that could have been.

"Seven, eight, they're full of hate."

He continued, painfully aware of his footsteps echoing.

"Nine, ten, never sleep again."

Shaking his head, Soap was about to go through a corridor, when he froze; he became tense, all too aware of something, someone, watching him closely. Something lurking in the dark nearby.

"Going somewhere, John?"

He knew that voice, and slowly turned around. You weren't too far away, he could see you clearly and he grinned as he met your gaze.

"Oh, it's only you."

He was relieved, it was only a dream. He was safely tucked away in his bed.

You took a few steps forward. "Only me… y'know, I've been Craven some… closure."

Soap cocked his head to the side. "Huh?"

"Don't worry," you tapped his cheek as you grinned. The flesh around your mouth cracked, thick scabs leaking soft streams of red. "It's all in your head."

Soap nodded slowly, clearing his throat. "I know you ain't real, but, erm… Simon misses you, y'know."

You hummed. "Don't worry, I'll be seeing him soon enough… as for you, though, John, I'd say it's your lucky day."

"Eh?"

"I'm the one of your dreams," you whispered, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him in close. Your mouth right next to his ear. "And I always have been, haven't I?"

"I don't-"

"Relax, John," you told him softly. "This is all in your head."

Soap shook his head, taking a few steps back as he clenched his jaw. "Yer dead."

"You made your death bed," you laughed. "You'll have to die in it soon enough."

"I don't understand."

"Oh, don't worry, MacTavish," you tutted, tossing him something round and coarse to the touch. "You'll go out with a bang, at least."

Soap examined the object, his jaw dropping and a shaky breath leaving him when he realised what it was; he looked at you, voice shaking. "Why?"

"Because…" you hummed. "I wanna see what your insides look like."

He wanted to throw it back, to get rid of it and to try and save himself, but when he went to throw it, you shook your head.

"I wouldn't… I know your temper can be a little explosive, but c'mon, John. Think."

Soap sniffled, nodding as he sat down and let the object clatter to the floor between his legs. He knew there was no escape, he wasn't an idiot. He had seen it coming.

"Atta boy," you took another few steps back, and put on a pair of sunglasses as you hummed. "Bomb voyage!"

There was a sharp, bright, orange light; it took a few seconds, but the sound was almost deafening. Everything that Soap had been, flesh and bone and blood, splattered and hit every available surface.

"Huh," you hummed, scooping something thick and gooey from where his skull had been. "Well, I wasn't wrong when I said his head was stuffed with wet sawdust."

The news of Soap's death had wrecked Ghost; he hardly slept, wondering why the fuck Soap had a bomb on him at home in the first place. It wasn't like him.

Soap would never be… no. Soap would have reached out if he had thought about taking his own life, Ghost knew that. He was certain of it. Soap would have said something, anything. Soap would never have been in possession of a bomb, either; all of his demolition equipment was always organised neatly back at base.

The only thing he ever took from it was the fancy coffee sachets that Price bought. Soap would… no. Ghost knew that something was wrong, something didn't make sense and didn't sit right with him.

It wasn't a suicide, it couldn't have been - but then, Ghost wasn't entirely sure what it could have been… until he fell asleep one night, and saw you juggling bombs whilst sitting on a chair and wearing sunglasses. That was… odd. Ghost tried not to think about it as he sighed, sitting down before you.

"Soap died…" he said softly. "Everyone says it's suicide… and I know, I know you ain't here, not really, but I… it's nice to talk to you, even if I'm only dreaming…"

You nodded, gently putting the bombs aside and tossing away the sunglasses. "I'm sorry, Simon."

Ghost shook his head, swallowing thickly. "Dunno what to do…"

"Just breathe," you told him. "Just breathe, while you can… oh, and answer the phone. It's annoying me that you're letting it ring."

Ghost smiled as he closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, he could only sigh heavily; he picked up his phone, bringing it to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Simon."

"Price."

"Have you, erm, have you been having… nightmares?" Price sounded worried. "About, erm… y'know."

Ghost shook his head. "No, Sir. Why?"

"Soap," Price sighed heavily. "Soap said he was having them, and now he's… y'know…"

"Yeah."

"You alright?"

"Yeah."

Price hummed. "Call me in the morning. Me, you and Gaz - I'm gonna take you lot all out for a day next week or something. Y'know, get away from… everything."

Price started having the dreams that night. A figure in a ripped uniform, dark brown beanie, holding a kukri and smelling distinctly like burnt flesh, It was… odd, to say the least.

Price tried to stay awake as much as he could, but he wasn't as young as used to be, and he eventually succumbed to the siren call whilst signing paperwork for Laswell at his desk; the last one he signed, now smeared w his drool, was about Soap's death.

A warehouse, empty and desolate. Yet he could hear children singing, echoing through the walls as if they were far above him.

"One, two, they're coming for you. Three, four, you'll be no more. Five, six, you won't make it out alive. Seven, eight, they're full of hate. Nine, ten, never sleep again."

Knowing that it was just a dream, he shrugged, and decided to sit down on an old crate; he searched his pockets, but his cigarettes weren't there. Bugger.

Maybe it was like his phone - he might have had them constantly, but when he was dreaming, he obviously didn't pick them up. Maybe. He shrugged, leaning back a little so that his head softly hit the cool wall. He didn't think much of it, until he saw the figure approaching.

"Oi!" He called out.

"Evening, Cap," you smiled, mockingly saluting him. You pointed to his pocket. "Nasty habit, that. Good thing you forgot 'em… it'll burn you alive."

Price rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing this is just the trauma."

"Incredible work, Sherlock."

"Take a seat," Price huffed, gesturing to the crate opposite him. "So, what? You're gonna convince me to see a therapist?"

"Only if it was Hannibal Lecter… after all, you have been known to kill in poor taste, haven't you?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You let me die," you growled out. "You stopped Ghost from saving me."

"It was us or you."

"You let them set fire to that shed," you hissed. "You let them do it…"

Price clenched his jaw tightly, pursing his lips. "This is just my subconscious."

"Is it?" You growled lowly, approaching him and sitting on his lap as you gently traced the kukri from his throat to his belt. "Look at me. Look at what they fucking did to me! I'm like a pork scratching fucked burnt bacon!"

He swallowed thickly. "This is just a dream. I know that."

Slowly, you sank the kukri into his arm. "Is it, John boy?"

"This isn't real!"

You withdrew the blade from his arm, and set it against his mouth, forcing him to open his mouth like he was grinning. "That's it, smile you son of a bitch… let's see how you like it when your loved ones find your corpse mangled, shall we?"

Price fought back, forcing you off of his lap and pouncing on you; he did his best, but he wasn't as powerful, and you eventually managed to pin him down on his back again as you grinned.

"Here's Johnny!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Price hissed. "This isn't real!"

"Aw, don't worry," you taunted. "Our film is nearly finished - you're just prime time television!"

Price struggled, but he didn't know that you could fight dirty; you clicked your fingers, and sat back slightly as you watched cigarettes fill his mouth one after the other until his mouth was stuffed with them. He choked and gagged, trying to spit them out as you laughed.

"Well, aren't you just s-s-s-s-s-smokin'!"

You put your foot on your chest, bending over as you offered him a lighter. "It really is a nasty habit - like I said, it'll burn you alive."

You lit the cigarettes, and watched as the flame grew bigger and brighter as it engulfed his face; he squirmed and struggled, but there was nothing he could do. The smoke infected his lungs, and the ash clogged his mouth and nose as he choked and gagged. When you knew he was dead, you laughed, shaking your head.

"Another life taken by smoking, when will it end?"

Ghost answered the phone when Gaz rang. Price was dead. Fell asleep with a cigarette and very nearly burned his place down. Smoke inhalation got to him before the fire brigade and ambulance could.

Ghost swallowed thickly. It wasn't like Price to fall asleep with a cigarette, he would go absolutely berserk - for one, it was stupid and foolish. Two, it was a waste of good tobacco. Something definitely was not right.

First Soap, then Price?

It was all too uncanny. Dying in ways that they would never even risk. But, the loss was too much for Ghost to burden himself with; he knew that. He cut Gaz off. He cut everyone off. Threw his phone in the canal and smashed his laptop up with an old sledgehammer. Your sledgehammer.

He didn't feel right using it, and when he was done, he held onto it, and sobbed loudly. Snot dribbling from his nose and splattering onto the floor as a thick, transparent goo. His throat hoarse and raw. His head stinging and pounding. All Ghost could do was fall apart completely.

He was losing everyone. He lost the person he loved, his best friend, his mentor. Everyone around him was fucking dying, and he couldn't stop it.

Gaz wondered for days why he had not heard from Ghost, he worried a lot; Ghost had lost nearly everyone he had cared about, all that was left was Gaz, Farah, Alex and Laswell. Nobody else.

Ghost's entire family had nearly been wiped out.

Of course Gaz worried. Ghost was like a brother to him, and to not hear from him was unsettling, but there was little that he could do except drive down to see him. He asked Laswell for the address.

She provided it happily when Gaz admitted that he was doing a welfare check. But halfway there, he had to stop for a rest, and as it was a cold, bitter day with too many hours ahead, Gaz didn't see any reason not to snuggle down on the backseat of his car after pulling into a layby.

He practically launched himself into his dreams the second his head hit the seat.

He groaned when he realised he was standing in an old warehouse, blinking a few times to cure the grogginess from his eyes.

"You were the only one," he recognised that voice, and turned to see you smoking a cigarette. Your uniform was ripped and torn, burned just like your blistered skin, he could see the red and green striped jumper you had been wearing beneath your uniform that day, the hole in it showing off your charred chest. Or, what was left of it. "You were the only one who actually wanted to help."

Gaz nodded slowly. "Corporal?"

"It's me, Kyle," you nodded, licking your lips. "I know you wanted to help Ghost… I know you were only following Price's orders… I had to do it, y'know."

"What?" He shook his head. "No, no, this is just… just some sick dream."

"I liked you a lot, Kyle," you admitted, approaching and putting your hand on his shoulder as you sighed. "You were like a brother to me… you really were."

"This is a fucking piss take. You're not real - this is just a dream!"

"I'm sorry," you whispered as the room went dark. "But sometimes, you just need to take a stab in the dark."

You were certain that you hit him in the right place when you stabbed him in the back; he froze for a moment, the air pushed up through his mouth. He went limp, and you gently set him down, kissing his forehead.

"I love you, brother."

Ghost read it in the newspapers. Gaz was in the hospital after suffering sufficient nerve damage in his back. Apparently it had been something to do with the position he had fallen asleep in whilst in his car.

It didn't sound right, but Ghost was thankful that Gaz was at least alive. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew that, somehow, it was connected to Soap and Price's deaths.

He knew it, somehow, and when he fell asleep on Gaz's sofa after agreeing to look after the place, he wasn't sure why he woke up at his old flat. The one he shared with you.

Yet there you were, sitting on the sofa with a bar of soap, a packet of cigarettes, and a union jack baseball cap on the coffee table. Ghost swallowed thickly.

"It was you," he grumbled. "Wasn't it?"

You nodded. "All your friends are fucking dead, Simon."

"How?"

"I made a deal," you shrugged. "When I died. That I could come back…"

"You're a demon," Ghost whispered.

"Dream demon," you corrected, but then you grinned. "You could come home to me, y'know…"

His eyes went wide for a moment. He had been left without anyone else in his life, so he nodded slowly. "How?"

You offered the kukri to him. "Slit your throat… we can be together forever."

It was all too tempting. He expected them to do so, but when he took the blade from you, his hands didn't shake at all. He didn't even hesitate as he brought the sword to his throat, and quickly swiped it along his skin; choking, he dropped to his knees, and coughed as he watched his blood pool around him.

"That's it, baby," you reassured, patting his back. "It'll all be over in a second."

You could see his appearance change; his eyes lost their pupils, and all colour drained from them, leaving behind only bleached irises. He stopped choking and coughing, and gagged softly as he regained some composure. You smiled, kissing his temple.

"I can't feel anything…" he grumbled, lying down and laying his head on your lap. "I'm cold."

You shook your head, sighing. "You're not like me, that's why."

"What?"

"You'll never die," you explained, "you'll never age. You'll only decompose so much, and then you'll walk among the living…"

"You said we'd be together!"

"We will," you reassured. "You are the only one who can bring me outside of dreams, Simon. Whenever you want, all you have to do, is fall asleep and pull me into your world."

Ghost sighed, shaking a little as he shook his head. "Why did you do it?"

"I had to," you admitted. "Soap and Price… they stopped you from saving me… and Gaz… I made sure it was quick for him. I didn't want to make him suffer, I know he… he wasn't guilty."

"Gaz is alive," he told you. "He's in hospital recovering."

You breathed out what he could only describe as a sigh of relief. "He'll come after us… but I'm glad he survived."

"I don't want to wake up…"

"You don't have to," you shook your head. "You can sleep for years and years at a time, if you want to… you're not alive anymore, Simon, but you're also not… really dead. You're forever haunting."

"So we can be together?"

"Always," you nodded. "We'll never have to be apart again."

[arr0s]

Straighten up, soldier. Something's made your eyes go cold.

Location: first bit is a farm then the lost lands camp Characters: Arros "last name" Synopsis: Arros is upsetti about everything that happened and is sad and stuff and becomes part of the legion of the dead! yippie!!

“Oh little pup, you’ve gotten your paws all dirty. Go wash up before your mother sees, you know how she gets.” A kiss on the top of her head and a nudge towards the stream; you can still remember the crinkles that bunched up in the corner of his eyes whenever he smiled, and how his hands were so rough from working the farm, but his voice so sweet and warm like honey on fresh bread.

You would often hear your mother scolding him for being so soft on you, but she was just the same. Her voice was more strict but when she took you in her arms there was no mistaking the unequivocal love she had for you

When nightmares came they would kiss your eyes and lay you back to sleep.When the flames and smoke licked at the walls and scorched your home, no one was there to hold you. You cried and cried and cried, alone in your bedroom clutching at your chest and whimpering like a wounded dog. 

And when they found you in the ashes, they didn’t really find you did they? That girl was gone, replaced with something rotten, something sharp. You don’t feel very human anymore.

You died that day, that young girl's tears turned into rage, your smile turned into fangs. Time and time again you are told you are a weapon, you are a force, you do what you’re told. You don’t cry anymore. It makes you tremble, to think back and remember how you thought life was going to be. So you don’t. How does it feel to be dead, little pup?

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

Surrounded by the rush of faces, you stand in a sea of people and somehow you feel more alone than you have in a long time. (cliche right?) Something had changed when you escaped. They weren’t your friends, they never really were, were they? 

But they helped me.

b̶̤̈́ẻ̷͓̠ć̷̗ausȩ̴͎̔̂ ̴̐̎ͅt̷̖̺̽ḧ̸̗́ē̵̪̄ŷ̵̬ ̸͖͛ñ̴͕̹͠e̷̮̖͛̽e̵̝̗̒ded ̵̢̪͐̾y̴̡̫̓o̶͎̯͆ư̶̧͉̾

You were approached by the Shield Maiden - the one that watched over you when you were dying. The one who bore your burden as her own. The one reason you made it out of the tundra alive - the way she spoke to you. The softness of her voice and the worried turn of her brow; it was unfamiliar. If anything she was proof you could walk through hell, with the hounds tearing at your spirit and still hold onto that soft, gentle humanity you weren't used to. It bites at your cold heart. Another reason you feel so… sighted, your misery on display through some scope you can’t conceive of. Or maybe it’s the fucking trauma eating you alive, Gods knows there’ll be plenty of that to sift through.

You weren’t left alone for long, with the Blight subsided only for the time being; you were approached by the Legion, criminals and urchins with no other place to go - left fighting the blight for the rest of their lives. You swallowed. You knew there were no other options for you, there wasn’t a way to completely clean you from the blight, either you join the damned or you die. It was a simple choice - so why did it feel like yet again another choice was being made for you.

Why was it you were never able to control your own fate; just some plaything for the cosmic unknown - being led like a doll to some sort of fantasy they had for you. 

You drank from the goblet, you heard the screams, the roars, the unnatural and sickening calls from the other side, you were certain you had more poison than blood running through your veins. You hurt. Like someone’s taken sanding paper to your bones, bruises riddling every inch of you that has blood enough to call itself alive, because you damn fucking sure don’t feel like you are.

The woman who accompanied you, didn't need you anymore - you likely wouldn't see them again. Not like you cared right? The Witcher, born to be used and forgotten, with a bite to every word and an attitude that keeps everyone away. Fuck them, you don't need anyone. a fighter, a bitch, a sword, that's all you're meant to be.

And for some reason, this is what brings on the tears, a punch of heat behind your eyes, though it doesn’t quite spill over yet. Your fate has been sealed Legionnaire - you no longer serve the king.

So you stay there till your legs finally give out, and you crumple to the floor.And you lay there in silence, and in darkness, thinking everything, so much that it becomes nothing.

White noise in your skull, your bones, your blood. Carrying you so far away from yourself until, finally, you are gone.

Finally, if only for a while, it is all gone.

[vertraumend]

I've been working on comms as of late, and I've been sucked right back into Black Desert. (I made my spouse's OC in it as a scholar bc why not, and then it turns out that the scholar is sick and I love her lore and moveset like holy fuck ... the overarching story is still shit but I'm over here bludgeoning enemies with two huge hammers.) ANYWAY I'm behind on PtN and HSR.

incoming rant below

but ... I am most likely going to stop playing Twst. I'll keep up with it via translations from JP, but the game just??? It's not fun for me. I'm tired of the continuous disappointment when I pull on any banner. Like since the year started I haven't pulled a single SSR, and trust me I've blown through more than enough pulls that at some point I should have gotten at least 1 or 2. But pity doesn't work in twst like it works in PtN or HSR or even F FUCKING GO. I think in total I only have like 27 SSRs since I started playing, which feels like a lot until I am harshly reminded that I had to put down over 500 in cash to get that amount. And the grind isn't fun. The official localization is mindbogglingly bad at times. The mischaracterization ... ughhh I could go on.

I hate bouncing between twst and PtN, doing only like 50 pulls or less on PtN and walking away with up to two S-ranks, while twst gives me nothing. it's kinda disheartening. ummm also PtN's localization is really good?? like really fucking good. HSR suffers a little because honestly, it takes a bit to get a 5* to show up, at least with my luck. but frankly for games that I've put less money into, I tend to get more bang for my buck than I have with twst. Why does it take 100+ pulls to get a fucking SSR?? is this f/go??

so yeah, I'm probably going to drop twst bc I can't do it anymore. the game isn't fun for me. I'll keep up with it bc I'm invested in the characters, and the overarching story, but I'm just not into the gameplay.

[vertraumend]

how are things going w/ hsr circe?

oh, you know ...

she wasn't supposed to come home. i had no pity after Acheron, but i am the biggest fool after all

[vertraumend]

the best part of star rail!Mary Ann is that she and Sparkle can disguise themselves as other people and just do the fucking Spider Man meme

some small things to note: Mary Ann is the Emanator of Baal-Peor, sometimes called Belphegor, the Aeon of Stagnation. she is the last of Baal-Peor's chosen, and so is considered their Daughter. she is marked as Imaginary on the path of Nihility.

i'll do an actual summary later when i'm feeling it tbh. but the ideas are coming

[vertraumend]

so i've been making banners and like these are my favs tbh

[vertraumend]

i passed out not long after pulling her last night, but i did it! i pulled hsr's most Mary Ann coded character. i must now suffer to get her lc

[vertraumend]

IM GOING FUCKING FERAL YALL HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCK AISNO YOU BEAUTIFUL FUCKERS

[vertraumend]

Now that I have calmed down from the PtN hype, I'm going to watch the HSR stream and maybe manage to write a little

[vertraumend]

hello darlings, happy new year. i caught the flu shortly before xmas, and i'm finally on the road to recovery. so still extending my holiday vacation until this lingering cough and pain have finally cleared up. all this to say, if you haven't gotten that flu shot, please do. it's a really nasty bug, and its experience has been very close to my experience with covid years ago.

now all that aside, i care for you all. if you need me, i will be available on dis.co. if you don't have mine and want it, please just reach out.

[vertraumend]

listen, listen, I've had a thought, but Sunday reaching out to personally invite Mary Ann to return to Penacony after her initial banishment? terrible, awful, the fucking worst thing he could ever do, and yet he does.

he invites Mystery, Babylon the Great, to enjoy the festivities, to bring with her all the knowledge she has garnered, the Mother with a Thousand Faces, Daughter of Baal-Peor. to give audience to those in attendance, and not the wanted criminal Mary Ann.

it allows Mary Ann to cross paths with the Trailblazer once more, and for this special occasion, she wears her true face, as they have seen it only once before.

[vertraumend]

I will find a way to continue Mary Ann's theme of being/being akin to Mother Harlot in Virche Evermore. just you wait. I haven't worked out how just yet, not fully anyway, but I think when I get to Yves' route, I will know exactly how to do it. it's become a very core aspect of her character, after all, she has always been the mother of monsters and abominations since her inception as one of the Looking Glass Queens, so of course it should bleed into this verse as well.

I can at least confirm that my very basic idea of who she is in this verse remains :

a recluse who lives on the outskirts of Coene in a manor house that is too large for one person. an artist who specializes in creating portraits and sculptures of the recently departed, even if they have never met. she has made no recorded appearances in public, so the idea of who Mary Ann is and what she looks like is ever-changing (but she has gone out in public quite a few times to do her own errands)

[vertraumend]

just some general things I want to do soon-ish, very specific to verses :

HSR - Mary Ann is wanted by the IPC for murder, arson, grand theft, larceny, forgery, assassination, impersonation of multiple political figures, and so much more. I want to explore her shapeshifting ability, how she is able to become a near carbon-copy of a target. what happens when she meets the Trailblazer in Luofu. does Jing Yuan know that she's active aboard the flagship, disguised as Kafka for a brief time, why doesn't he go after her.

Looking Glass - it's just everything about her actual canon. what does it mean to be a Queen of Looking-Glass. how she came to be, how that affects the story of Alice Liddell / Alice Underhill. what are the rules of Looking-Glass, etc. just the usual tbh.

Virche Evermore - you know, as soon as I progress far enough in the game, I will absolutely make a verse for it. I already have a faint idea of how I'd like to approach her existence here using only the summary.

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my birthday is friday. i will be old as dirt.

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going to try and finish my carrd tonight, or at least finish writing what i can manage, and tomorrow i'll start moving my very important meta posts and such