#“He/Hymn” oh dear oh my-

[rafry]

Euclydia, Cults and Need for Control

Disclaimer: this analysis raises sensitive topics. if you are/were a victim of a cult and the topic triggers you, please refrain from reading further(/seek help). Additionally, I am not a specialist on said topic, nor am I a clinician. But I am a survivor, so part of the narrative may or may not be just me projecting the trauma on a silly yellow triangle. That said, reader discretion is advised! :)

The take: Euclydia is likely to be a cult-like society and the reason Bill, after years of abuse, grows up to be as he is: a power-hungry monster. Let's analyze!

For the starters, The Start. Each state has its own anthem. How lucky that we were kindly provided with the Euclidian hymn (hidden under the code "FORGETTHEPAST")! Lets take a look:

"Two dimensions to and from, You always know which way to go If you're lost, don't be afraid, In Euclydia you've got it made! Run too far too right of frame, You'll appear on left again! Jump too high, don't fry or fret, You'll pop up from the ground, I bet! In this place there is no fear, Roles and rules, always clear, Euclydia, we hold you dear…"

That tells us way more than we could've asked for, really. The most important: Euclydia is a state of Clear Rules™. Everything works perfectly thanks to The Rules and The Roles, and the state is loved by it's citizens. It's might be a caricature 2D utopia, but how it reacts when the rules are questioned?

"Eye doctor of a different kind, who wants to make his patient blind The doctor says: 'three sips a day will make the visions go away' Fussy eater, baby Billy Wouldn't drink unless it's silly..."

If there's anything about cults and the way they make people behave, is that the "wrong" ones in the community are usually ostracized and/or heavily medicated to not cause any troubles. Those people are sometimes called 'heretics', but may as well just be called crazy or insane by their peers. Oh look completely unrelated picture:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane Starting fires with his brain"

Honestly, the other time it would be it. Euclydia, if not Is, then sure does Act like a cult in some way. I could've finished here, easily, but there's something missing, isn't?

"The hell do you mean by 'The Need to Control', OP?"

I mean that the BILLVILLE is important.

There's the thing about trauma survivors: some of us, after living a life with no control over ones societal position (ostracization/isolation), body (forcibly medicated) or even mind (feeling of inadequacy), crave for some form of control to be regained.

It can turn toxic very quickly when the only form of control one has ever seen in their life is being The Leader (cult leader/shitty parent/armageddon overlord/you get the idea, it's about becoming an authority figure).

And so, Bill becomes a cult leader! Very possibly covering up the need for control and admiration with what I call "The most inefficient way to build an Interdimentional Portal ever", since, well, he's got to lie to himself every now and then, that's his thing (trauma response).

As for the details:

He uses the dead mans body — the body that wouldn't cause any resistance, thus being perfect for taking under control.

He sees the position of the interviewer as more authoritative than the position of the interviewee — and he swaps the roles. That wasn't enough though, so he demands (politely) to be called "My Lord And Master" for a good measure.

He very possibly recreates some of Euclydia-like order in his own "Town" in terms of expressing individuality. They might've been pretty decent in following scripts, I think.

So, I don't think Euclydia has ever been religious in any way, since that would left some other scars on Bills psyche for sure. But highly authoritative, ignorant, strict in its rules to the point of self-damnation? That checks. That's the place that has formed Bill, after all.

That's the place that he wishes to rebuild.

Maybe not consciously, maybe distorted by his illness and broken memory of a loving-paradise-home that has never actually been that way, but he seeks the comfort of familiarity — most of us do. Familiar stings are better than an uncontrollable too-bright future, isn't?

I hope he does well on therapy.

[fleshofmensis]

!! a continuation of my two previous posts on elden-soulsborne osts

TIME FOR ELDEN RING BABY OORUDHHEHDBR

as much as i love all of the soulsborne soundtracks, i truly adore the ost for elden ring. it's an absolute masterpiece in my opinion, never before has a soundtrack brought me to such emotion as elden ring. and i'm sure that sounds really silly but i'm a very musically inclined person so when i hear certain tracks i quite literally cry and stim lmao AND I'LL BE TALKING ABOUT THOSE TRACKS RN

— starting with elden beast. when i tell you this song brings tears to my eyes bro.. in the least dramatic way possible, elden beasts theme is the most delicious song i have ever eaten. the absolute despair and defeat in the vocals? the sadness as if coming to terms with actions long past and consequences ever quickly catching up. something i saw once which really sticks with me is that the vocals in elden beasts theme is marika herself. her lament, it's her desperation and sadness you're hearing. as you're fighting elden beast, you are hearing the final remnants of marika echoing through the liminal space of the erdtree and the beasts domain. something she herself has become intricately intwined in.

next up is a double whammy, messmers theme and radagons BECAUSE THEY PARALLEL EACH OTHER AND IM SCREAMING AND CRYING. — messmers theme is sort of orderly in a way, cold and brutal, in representation of his siege on the land of shadow. it's second phase opening is signifying his disconnect from marika, the descent into the base/abyssal serpent. there's an audible decline, him losing himself to the serpent, as foretold. and the strength of the instrumental is just so overwhelming and powerful, fit for the empyrean he is. the firstborn or second child of marika. (i'm a messmer simp, can you tell?) BUT with the comparison being made to radagons theme/ph1 of the final battle, they sound similar. messmers being cold and calculating, whereas radagons is just straight aggression and the feeling of finality. the implication of pure power and violence in the tones of it. AND if you listen, there's sounds within it that sound like the shattering of the elden ring. the actions that led to your encounter with this being. this man who wastes no time to dispose of your trespass. obviously radagons second phase being elden beast, that just adds to the story. and listening to both messmer and radagons themes consecutively you can really hear the relation between these two men AND RUAGHHHHRHDHTNG I LOVE THEM

onto mohg, lord of blood. the phase one of his theme is just.. it seethes with grandeur and the fantasized ideal that mohg has been fed (with information from the dlc i am fully confident in saying that it was all due to miquella so i'm saying fed) and that feeling of superiority carries on into his second phase, especially in appearance as well with mohg getting a set of whole ass wings lol. i love mohg's theme, that's all

and finally (for now 😏) THE PROMISED CONSORT OH MY DEAR GOD .. CHAT THIS SONG. honestly all of the dlc songs are bangers but for a "final boss" theme?? the bar is so high now. starting with phase one, we finally FINALLY see the strength and wholeness of radahn that we saw a fraction of in base game. the just.. dominating power of the phase one is so indicative of how truly great and formidable radahn is but in audio form. and as it transitions to phase two, we get that 'holy' eminence of miquellas influence. it quite literally sounds like godly interference. the grace of a god descending to deal with something themselves and as the instruments pick up again with the vocals, there's the sounds of that strong power being used by this holy influence. the fact that there's quite literally almost a prayer/hymn in the middle of ph2 is so INCREDIBLE to me. this is just.. such an amazingly beautiful piece OH MY GOD.

— and that's all for now!!! i totally wouldn't mind doing this more often because i love putting how songs make me feel into words even though sometimes i can never truly express or find the words for it! hope you enjoyed my three part spam on elden-soulsborne osts

[christelightlavo]

Jun 13, Thursday : moceit headcanons & songs recommendations.

Moceit song recommendations :

Lemon boy - cavetown

Lies - will jay

Its alright - mother mother

Pomegranate seeds - Julian moon

Sinners - Lauren Aquilina

Curses - The Crane wives

La Seine - vanessa paradis.

Oh Ana - mother mother.

Love like you(end credits) - Steven Universe.

Stawberry blonde - mitski

Tongues & teeth -The Crane wives.

Me and the devil - Soap&skin

Take me to church - Hozier

Hymn for the weekend - coldplay

We belong - dove cameron

Moonlight shawty - Fatboibari

Somewhere only we know - keane

Running up that hill (cinematic version) - kate Bush

Dear Arkansas daughter - lady lamb

Into the unknown - Thomas sander cover.

Moceit headconons :-

Whenever, janus makes something for patton. He always acts like he poisoned the food or drink. Patton always plays along, eating the food he then acts sick and asks "what did you put in it?". Janus always replies with "my love for you". The other sides roll their eyes everytime.

Patton may make the best hot chocolate but Janus makes the best chocolate bar. Together they create the most tasty beverage that ends up making even Thomas suger high.

Patton makes cute stuff toys and leaves them inside Janus's room for him to find.

Janus makes those old Victorian type love letters and gives them to Patton like they are romeo and Juliet even after the sides become okay with them dating.

Janus is the sun in a cloudy day and Patton is the sun after a rainy day. That means they both are often always smiling and alluring together.

Janus only sings to Patton or if Patton is around him.

Patton sometimes steals Janus's clothes when he feels sad. So whenever janus can't find anything he goes over to check on Patton first.

Janus acts and Patton directs whenever they are acting something with roman or remus.

Janus allows people to touch his face scales but only Patton can press them or hold his face for the matter of face.

Patton carries Janus bridal style.

Janus was once practicing his evil laugh and Patton joined in with a "hueheuehue" It made Janus snort.

Patton watches snake documentaries to know Janus better.

[italicized-oh]

hello hello and welcome back from academia hell!! tis lovely to see you, and I hope you're having the most wonderful of days/weeks <3 for prompts purposes, if you're interested: jace and porter attempting to do research on gods/ascension/divine rituals for the sake of The Plan? (how well this actually ends up going is of course a matter of debate)

you’ve activated my secret codes dear. Get ready for Research and Rituals, baby. They’re looking into the orphic cosmogony bc i have Issues. um. nsft and also light gore? but v v tame compared to our usual fare in this tag lmao

Jace feels Porter come up behind him and slumps backward against the wall of warmth. He knows the moan he lets out when Porter digs his thumbs into Jace’s shoulders is pornographic, and he doesn’t even care. He drops his head back against Porter’s stomach to look up at him.

“Did you know that Protogonos hatched from an egg, according to some Orphic hymns?” Porter hums, listening. “And then created all the other gods in that pantheon? Oh, yes, perfect, right there– and that some people believed there was a son of Persephone, who was raped by Zeus disguised as Hades, called Zagreus, who was torn limb from limb because Zeus– fuck, your hands, Porter– because Zeus was tricked, but Zagreus’ heart is saved and then implanted in Zeus’ thigh, and Dionysos is born from that? Fuck–” Jace cuts off with a high-pitched moan.

Porter keeps massaging, hums again, and leans down to kiss Jace on the forehead before whispering in his ear. “Sweetheart, if you’re asking to ride my thigh, you know the answer’s yes.”

Jace flails a hand backward to slap ineffectively at Porter. “No, you animal, I’m just saying, there’s about a million different ways people think people become gods, all of which are impractical. I’m getting nowhere– oh, fuck me–”

Porter bites the shell of Jace’s left ear. “Again, the answer is yes, starshine, but you can beg if you wanna.” 

Jace is torn between pulling away to make his point and collapsing further back into Porter, who’s now biting at Jace’s neck. “Stop– stop that, I’m working, or do you not– ohh, gods– do you not want to know how to actually become a god?”

Porter bites harder, worrying at the skin under Jace’s jaw. “Hmm, don’t tempt me, sweetheart. Can’t have you working without inspiration, after all. Seems to me anyways that the point is more that the story sounds good than that it makes sense.” Jace goes rigid under him, shooting straight up into Porter’s chin. “Ow, fucking hell, Stardiamond, can’t a man leave a hickey in peace around here?”

Jace slaps Porter’s shoulder. “Oh, hush, you ginormous baby. For once in your thick-headed life, I think you might be onto something.”

Porter wiggles his eyebrows. “Oh, I’ll be onto something, all right. One more smart remark and you’ll find out just how onto something I can be.”

Jace snorts despite himself, failing to disguise a laugh. “Fine, fine, keep gnawing on me, what do I care. I’ve got a hymn to write, I guess. Fuck, I hate wizards. Why do they always have to reinvent the wheel? Blood sacrifices and orgies would’ve been so much fucking simpler– oh, gods, Porter, fuck me, holy fuck–”

“Sounds like you’re a natural at the hymn thing, sweetheart. Let’s see how much more work we can get done, hm?”

[barrenclan]

went absolutely nuts one night at 4 an and stsrted absolutely screaming about how you could have been anyone by roar is rainhaze coded before i just passed out before i could finish writing this

Sell off the licensing rights to your mind

(Very easy to pin this line on Rainhaze, he gave his mind to Defiance whole-heartedly, before he himself had even realized.)

You'll sit through some ads before you can see the light

(Can be interpreted as his heel-digging to embrace the Defiance beliefs, not only the resistance he presented but the gradual process and conditioning he went through. Depending on the perspective this line it can be interpreted as him finally understanding the gift of slaughter, or in a metaphorical sense the light at the end of the tunnel, repesenting the death of the old Rainhaze and the birth of a Defiance broken tom.)

Life doesn't mean a thing until you've almost none

(Can align with the beliefs of Defiance directly, so many animals take their lives for granted, submitting to the roles relegated to them and labeled solely as hunters or prey. Only until you understand you can be so much more and see the beauty in killing can you then understand you have power.)

You could have been anyone

(Very fitting lyric, if only he hadn't gone this path, perhaps a mate would have lied away from him, maybe even kits. A loving uncle who helped support his nieces and nephews through their struggle to unserstand their identities. A brother who could provide care to his deeply scarred sibling. A cat who above all else loved his family, instead of the grotesque, twisted love his mind was warped into believing.)

You can find Jesus in every thrift store

(In every single Defiance member lay a fragment of Deepdark.)

And you can catch hell, condemned by the Lord's billboards

(And when he wills it, he can tower above you as the almighty jury he is and damn you.)

Wildfires opalize the skies

While they try thinking of ways to monetize

Ways to monetize

Life doesn't mean a thing until you've almost none

You could have been anyone

I love it when people do all the analyzing work for me!

Well, I wouldn't blame you for just the name. I like it with her, though! I don't think I've ever gotten a song suggestion for Rosey.

And I've seen the way the seasons change when I just give it time But I feel out of my mind all the time In the night I'm wild eyed, and you got me now

What a sweet and romantic song for such a pair of weirdos! Deepdark is always associated with "paleness", though, and I think Prowl being sappy is pretty funny.

Good morning, how's the weather dear? My feelings are so clear I just wanna be with you Doing what you do, always Show me how to live <- big darkprowl energy

"Death Thrice Drawn" has the word 'pining', automatic Pinepaw song. Haha, but I also like it as a song for both Pinepaw and Cormorantpaw, musing on their relationship.

Hotshot, have you got a clue how long I've been pining for you? Spent so many sleepless nights in unbaptized decline

The awful truth has eluded you for too long Uh-oh, everything you know is all wrong

Oh, more vocaloid! Songs about barren, abandoned wastelands always fit PATFW.

I can imagine this song being sung by a young Pinepaw.

I'm missing a house That I've never called home I'm missing a time that I've never known I remember a tree, had a whole leaf of my own But now we're reaching spring Was it just a dream? I don't know

The children hum a hymn And I'd like to run away But to leave would be a sin

A distant memory that itches my brain Now it remains a dream

I am always here for more Kate Bush! This song is really beautiful, and I'd definitely apply it to Asphodelpaw, though I think Mallowstar is a bit too old for the relevance. Perhaps more young cats throughout BarrenClan's history?

But he didn't have the money for a guitar (What could he do?) (Should have been a politician) But he never had a proper education (What could he do?) (Should have been a father) But he never even made it to his twenties What a waste Army dreamers

Give the kid the pick of pips And give him all your stripes and ribbons Now he's sitting in his hole He might as well have buttons and bows

My mom is a big fan of Eurythmics, thanks for suggesting it. I can imagine Slugpelt walking through the warm spring rain of BarrenClan, thinking about her past with Cashew.

Here comes the rain again Falling on my head like a memory Falling on my head like a new emotion I want to walk in the open wind I want to talk like lovers do

Want to dive into your ocean Is it raining with you?

I think I've been suggested this song before, yes! I agree, though perhaps this would fit Saltburn's Clan even better. PATFW is not set in a desert after all.

When the last light warms the rocks And the rattlesnakes unfold Mountain cats will come to drag away your bones

She twines her spines up slowly Towards the boiling sun And when I touched her skin My fingers ran with blood

I don't believe it has! I haven't even heard this Mitski song before.

I better ace that interview I better ace that interview I should tell them that I'm not afraid to die

I wanna see the whole world I wanna see the whole world I don't know how I'm gonna pay rent I wanna see the whole world

[monk-has-a-phone]

as i'm typing this, the blizzard is getting worse and i am at the worst sighting possible. my limbs reject to move as i'm forcing myself to leave a friend's rotting corpse behind and i have only the saddest memories of the hymn playing as of now. it's devastating to see him in such state now, and to have witnessed his downfall, all of it. not that it was unpredictable, truly, how else would it end if not in such miserable way?

i had to finish this later but now i have lost my thoughts, because i cannot believe i'm still haunted by Miros Birds, truthfully. they're so terrifying when you're so little! no matter how many cycles go by, i cannot get used to it.

i apologize for this little speech here, but i thought of how delightful it is to have someone to share my feelings with in the world where i presume i am soon to be left completely alone in, so i decided to share my little mourning of my dear friend. he is still alive, but i do not think he will be for much longer in this state, and i pray for mercy on him as i hope his sufferings end sooner.

- truly yours, anemone

Oh, i am sorry for you and your friends unfortunately situation.

I dont know what's happening to you, but I'll be here as long as you have the phone. The cycles will care for you two well.

Stay safe.

Maybe the phone can make me feel sad. Really sad.

[renaisguy]

How ██ ███ Reluctantly Saved Count Varley From an Assassination Attempt

Continued from here

To recap the plot of this fine yuletide night,  An assassin gave Varley a terrible fright,  Forde was one of two sent to set these wrongs right,  And from the clues found he has a target in sight. 

One of two? He then questions, and looks back behind,  Yes Sennō’s still there, why was that on his mind?  He blinks once then twice, and to his surprise,  █en█ō’s gone, disappeared before his very two eyes. 

Forde rushes forward to confront his mark,  His appearance is jolly, though his heart must be dark,  Forde hurls his javelin, which of course doesn’t miss,  At this terrible villain, the man known as… Chris. 

Why was Forde so sure his target was here?  Well first was the rumour of flying reindeer.  When questioning villagers, a woman did flinch, “There’s only one man around who has used the word ‘Grinch’.” 

“Chris Crinkle’s his name”, another did tell, “And I’ve never seen him without those damn bells.”  Finally, Forde would bet on his life,  The dagger by his side is that candy cane knife. 

“Why’d you do it?” Forde asks, restraining the man.  Chris snickers, explaining he isn’t a fan. 

“Count Varley’s a bitter man, filled to the brim,  With hatred and malice, don’t you think he’s grim? I wanted the holiday spirit in him, What choice did I have? My chances were slim,  To convince him instead with a carol or hymn. This knife wasn’t just gonna give him a trim.” Chris Crinkle’s the name, and I wanted him dead,  I’d crumple him like paper, and tear him to shreds.”

“And then I’d-” “Please shut up!” Forde says with a shout.  “I’ve got no damn clue what you’re talking about.  There’s just one more thing that I’d like to know, Just now, what did you do to my partner, ███nō?”

Chris looks up at Forde, with genuine shock, And that feeling returns, that great mental block.  Forde whacks the man, who lets out a groan. “I don’t know what you mean! You came here alone!” 

Forde returns to Count Varley, villain in tow, Though his days are now numbered, his spirits aren’t low,  “Any final words?” He’s asked, to which he says, “Oh, 

“You think you’ve won Varley, but in the long term oh no,  A foul grinch like you, who would stoop so low,  Will never be happy! Ho Ho Ho Ho!” 

Still laughing, he’s struck down, with a single blow. 

Count Varley, still shaken, goes to thank Forde,  And brings out, as promised, a fitting reward.  But the Count looks confused, oh what’s he to do? “Wasn’t there another man with you? Take his share too.” 

Though Chris Crinkle was wrong to enact this ploy,  It’s never wrong to spread some holiday joy.  We hope you’ve been filled with some fun festive cheer,  Have the merriest Christmas, and a happy new year. 

Later, as Forde has returned to his place, The smile is missing from our bright painter’s face.  Maybe it’s just the memory of Chris, the villainous scum,  Tell me, dear Forde please tell me, what has got you so glum? 

“It’s █████.” He sighs, “Now where could he be? He may be unpleasant, but I didn’t think he’d flee. I asked around the school, every answer’s the same, No one’s ever heard of a man by that name.” 

Well you see- “I’m not finished.” He speaks with a blank stare.  “When I say the name █████, it’s like there’s nothing there. And how did I not notice it? This entire time,  Everything I’ve said has been compelled to rhyme.”

What Forde doesn’t know (he couldn’t, I’m sure), Is that this sort of thing has happened before, The memories usually fade right away,  But instead of threads ending, what happened today,  He was forced to finish this fine Yuletide play. 

“It’s happened before?” Forde says, rather blue.  “No- but that couldn’t- it cannot be true! Though I guess not remembering’s kinda the point,  I don’t think my memories could be that disjoint.” 

You forget when they leave, that’s always the rule.  Though you’ll recall them once more should they return to the school.  Now please, take a nap, it’s fine if you snore. When you wake up, this will not burden you anymore. 

“If I’m going to lose my memories anyway, What other times have my thoughts gone astray?”  Do you really want to know, though it may hurt you? Forde gulps and nods, “I promise, I do.”

E███y█, ███ri██e, █u██s██, ███ll, ████.  Sir ██████, Li████, your friends, but they went. 

“Thank you.” Forde says. “Even though they are gone,  I am grateful for every one of my bonds.”  A very good answer, that’s very on theme. 

And at that moment, Forde awakes from his dream. 

No memory of those names is still present,  So no time to think about what that all meant.  But thank you, dear reader, for playing your part, And thanks for the bonds that Forde keeps in his heart, I’m eternally grateful for how this year went, Now onwards and upwards, to the lore event!

Now, here’s something that we haven’t seen in a while,  On his face Forde wears a bright beaming smile.

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 18. Hackneyed

Featuring: @scrollsfromarebornrealm Weird West AU Characters: Themis, Rrahnald Chai (U'rahn Nuhn), Fordola Lupis Expansion: Endwalker Rating: T Summary: Rrahn arrives at the total honesty part of his relationship well before Themis. Notes:

“In the same fleeting moment thou shall live, die, and know.”

Themis closed his tome and looked out into the sparse congregation only having a handful of the elder townsfolk in attendance along with Claudien Hephaistos in front nodding reverently along and Rrahn staring dreamily at him with Fordola beside him at the back. He felt the side of his mouth twitch, wanting to smile; however, kept his even composure. “Now, let us bow our heads and give thanks to the Mother and Father,” he said, closing his eyes and lowering his head.

The room fell into quiet murmurs and shifting, many going to their knees, Fordola among them. Rrahn squirmed a bit then joined his friend, settling beside her before leaning over. “What are you wishing for?”

“Wish!? What do you mean-,” Fordola balked before shaking her head and pushing Rrah’s head to face downward, “I’m wishing for you to have some damn sense. Be quiet and sit still if you’re not going to pray.”

“Okay,” Rrahn mumbled, putting his hands together to stare at the floor. “Dear Zodiark and Hydaelyn. It’s me, Rrahn. Please take good care of my family and friends. Also, I would really like a new repeating muzzleloader. Thank you.”

Fordola scoffed then jabbed him in the side before she got back up into her seat. Themis seeing the congregation start to rise, leaned over his pulpit. “Go forth and walk in the light of the Mother and be protected by the shadows of the Father. I hope to see you all this coming sabbath.”

People began to make their way out of their rows, some coming up to shake Themis’s hands and others taking their leave to their homes until only Rrahn remained, smiling at him in his earnest way. He felt his heart flutter, a feeling he’d not felt since he was, well Rrahn’s age. Realizing this, the feeling turned into guilt, having yet to approach the subject of his past with his budding paramour.

Wandering down the aisle, he moved to sit next to Rrahn, the other patiently waiting for him. His hand gently laid over the other’s giving it a small squeeze as he looked up at the dark blue tapestries with white and violet inlay. “How did you like the sermon?”

“Ah, well. It was okay,” Rrahn said, squeezing Themis’s hand back as he sat up to free his tail to wrap about the other’s waist.

Themis blinked, surprised at the other’s lukewarm reception compared to his usual clumsy attempts at flattery. “Only okay? Did you find something wanting?”

“Well. It’s kinda dark and dreary in here and you’re talking about hope and stuff. The townsfolk say it’s kinda spooky here so if you open up a few windows and let the light in. Oh! And then I’d be able to see your handsome face more,” Rrahn explained, scooting his thigh against Themis’s.

“Well, there’s a certain-” Themis started before Rrahn perked up.

“Oh! And you need better songs. They’re all so sad,” Rrahn continued.

“The, ancient, sacred hymns?”

“Yeah Yeah! Those are real downers! You gotta get everyone super excited to be here! Maybe get a whole chorus that can rile up the crowd for you! Put a spin on them!”

Themis stared quietly at Rrahn as he looked eagerly back at him. “You don’t perhaps think the tonality is to be soothed by the Mother’s love and the Father’s sacrifice?” he asked.

“Yeah, but you can be excited about those things too, right?”

A sigh escaped Themis, conflicted as to whether he should feel a bit insulted by the other’s criticism of his life’s passion or happy the other felt close enough to him that he could be so honest with him. The latter was winning out, though that didn’t come with the pangs of guilt.

“Ah. So um…we’re all alone now and more modestly dressed. Do you think we could maybe exchange a few smoochies,” Rrahn asked, waggling his eyebrows as he drew. 

Themis recoiled, standing up while untangling the tail around him.

Rrahn fell forward, catching himself in the pew before looking up at Themis as he held himself. What’s wrrrong?”

 “I think you might benefit from the chapel’s intended use instead. Quiet, self-reflection,” Themis said before moving to start blowing dark flamed candles around the room.

“There’s no mirrors in here though,” Rrahn said, watching Themis pause, hang his head, then return to what he was doing.

[midnightlitterateur]

Our Lady of the Lash

Pairing - Abdirak/oc m/f

Summary - A late night confession gets a little out of hand.

Warnings - bdsm, whipping, restraints, oral sex (fem receiving), penetration, voyeurism, bleeding, aftercare.

18 +

“Do you have a moment,” an uncharacteristically nervous Leah asked as she lingered in the doorway of the Pains makeshift chapel. The wreck of a room was sparsely lit with candles, just enough to make out the face of the priest of Loviatar.

“Of course, I have time for all of the penitent. Come child, sit.” He shifted over on his bunk and made room for her to sit beside him, brushing the blanket clean and placing down the book that he had been reading. “You are a true soul, yes?”

Leah nodded and took the offered seat beside him, “I was here earlier and I heard what you said to Tav about…”

Abdirak nodded sagely “I remember. Our eyes met briefly but I saw your pain. Your need for the lady's grace,” his voice was soft and it invited her to trust. “Unburden yourself.”

Leah cleared her throat and tried to find the right words and once she found her voice they began to tumble out, “I was…I gave myself to someone because I thought that I would die if I didn’t. That this person would kill me…They took me - roughly. At the time I was disgusted with myself for letting it happen but I couldn’t stop thinking about it - about him… I went back for more - I mean, they told me to…the things I let him do to me…things I would never have thought that I could…It’s almost as if I was - am, frozen, like I couldn’t feel anything unless it was with him. I think about him - a lot. I know I should hate him but I don’t. I want to but I just can’t. And that’s it really I just can’t feel anything.”

The priest placed his hand on her shoulder, a look of concern clouding his features. “Oh, my dear. I will gift to you the kiss of the lash, child. It has a way of releasing those…emotions that we have trouble giving voice to. As we offer our pain to our lady of the lash so she releases us from it”

She understood his meaning entirely. It was similar to what she had shared with Gortash. After the cruelty, after the sex, it left her bare and she had sobbed openly into Gortashs hairy chest and he had held her close until she fell asleep. It was what she needed, it was what she missed. “What do I need to do?”

Abdirak bade her to stand and disrobe, “we must come to our lady Loviatar naked and willing, dear one.” she did as she was told and allowed him to shackle her raised arms, elongating her lithe body. “Yes, just like that,” he positioned her body as he whispered and murmured to his goddess, covering her naked back in blessed oils he began to pray. When he had finished he took Leah's hips in his skilled hands and pulled her close, “are you ready?” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear.

“Yes,” she breathed, steeling herself for what was to come.

Leah sucked in a gasp as she almost jumped out of her skin at the first lash of the flail. She knew he was holding back, testing her tolerance for the pain but this was not her first joust - so to speak.

“Breath deeply, child! Let her love wash over you like a cleansing wave.” His eyes lit up with religious fervour as he delivered the willing penitent to his goddess.

He struck again and this time she cried out, the sting of the nine tails igniting the same arousal that Gortash was able to inspire. Sweat broke out on her pale skin and she moaned as she felt the next lash of the whip. It was far more savage than the last, it made her scream and sob in agony, it lit a raging fire between her thighs, “Again, yes! Again” she wailed.

“Yes! Yes! Sing her hymns my child! Offer yourself to the maiden!” The final lash of the flail was the fastest. It made his penitent shake the chains that she hung from as she screamed her devotion. He noticed with an erotic satisfaction that her skin had broken and thin stripes of crimson began to appear. The blood began to flow in narrow rivulets down her toned back and his balls tightened. She was utterly impressive and the shudder that ran through him told of his goddess favour.

Leah was so ready to be fucked into the middle of next tensday. Usually Gortash would take her further at a slower pace but the priest had given her what she wanted and now she needed to be finished off. She felt his hands slide down her ribcage and grasp her hips. As he spun her around to face him her erect nipples scraped torturously across his flail ornamented chest. “Praise the goddess,” she sighed and smiled at the skilled torturer.

“Oh you are a pious little treat, aren’t you?”he remarked as he held her close. She could feel his cock through his robes, it poked insistently into her in her belly. He was incredibly aroused and of course so was she.

“I am so wet right now,” she whined, begging him to use it. Her gaze flicked between his eyes and his lips as she leaned in to claim them.

“Sex is not how this ends, sweet one.” He made no move to extricate himself from her willing body though.

“You’re solid as a fucking rock, priest. Don’t tell me you don’t want it.” Leah moved her body, using it to provoke a reaction.

Confliction clouded his features but he tried to remain stoic “keen arousal is often a by product of worship but we must not give in to the temptations of Sune,” he swallowed, passing a dry tongue across his lips as he stood captivated by her heaving breasts. His actions however, belied his words as his clammy hands cupped her generous tits, weighing them approvingly in his palms. Seemingly making up his mind he leaned in.

His mouth covered her pink nipple, drawing it into his mouth. Sensually devouring them each in turn as his penitent gasped in pleasure. “Oh, sweet child,” he breathed “you are a gift, surely.” The Lovite met her lidded gaze and sank down to his knees beneath the beauty of her naked form. He parted her folds with his thumbs and pressed his face to her cunt. Placing a chaste kiss to her swollen bud and inhaling her perfume deep into his lungs.

“Mmmm” she hummed as he suckled on her clit, her teeth grazing her bicep as she nuzzled her skin, losing herself in his tender ministrations when he began to lap at her vulva. Fervently exploring her with his tongue he let the delicious tang of her juices cover it.

Leah gripped the chain above her head and arched her neck, “Uhh, so good,” she sighed and gasped with untold pleasure as he worshipped her cunt. Using her body as a profane altar to sinful delight he held her hips and lifted her onto his face with ease, forcing his tongue inside of her. Eliciting a guttural groan of pure lust as the Pain tongue fucked her hole. It jabbed and swirled within her, making her hips buck as she rode his long, sinuous oral digit to a raging climax.

Leah couldn’t take much more, “I need your cock, priest.” She loudly gasped, desperately needing to be filled by his rigid dick. She whimpered pathetically as his hot mouth left her aching cunt. “Fuck me…please,” she wailed, as she watched the priest stand to shed the robes of his order.

His naked body scarred by years of worship pressed against hers as he cupped her cheeks reverently, his grey eyes searing his desire into hers. They panted heavily against each other’s mouths but he denied her the taste of his lips, letting her wait before he plundered her mouth the same way he had done her cunt. Their tongues glided and danced over each other in an erotic frenzy, sloppily licking open mouthed in a filthy display of explicit profanity. It was disturbingly beautiful to watch. When he tried to pull away Leah bit his lip hard before she let him go, licking his blood from her lips.

He lifted her thigh and held it against his hip, letting her feel the slippery head of his cock against her before he gripped it in his fist and shoved himself in, wasting no time in finding his stride. He set a savage pace but it was nothing she couldn’t handle, she simply wrapped her legs around him and met his every thrust. Moaning in bliss as he bottomed out inside her. He was good - so good she forgot where she was and let herself go. Cursing and screaming her intense pleasure, howling profanitys between deep passionate kisses and bites.

Abdirak himself was not given to loud displays of sexual pleasure but he matched her volume and more as he ploughed her mercilessly, so much so that they had drawn an audience.

“Yeah, go on priest! Give her one!” The small crowd of goblins gathered at the door followed their mouthy leaders' cue and began to catcall the illicit couple. At the back Astarion and Shadowheart were gawking open mouthed as they enjoyed the pornographic tableau before them.

Leah was too far gone to care as was Abdirak. Their cheers only spurred him on as he fucked his captive lover with wild abandon. She screamed for him over and over, into the cold air of the ruin and into the heat of his mouth until he approached his own peak “Out,” he commanded breathlessly to the small pack of onlookers and he cast darkness upon them. This moment was not for their eyes but for hers. “Look at me, dear one” he asked, desperately trying to hold off until she unscrewed her eyes. Those sad, beautiful eyes that had caught him so off guard earlier that day. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled triumphantly, watching him pull out and spray his seed over her belly with exquisite intensity, grunting with every pump of his cock.

Gently he unshackled her wrists and put her down carefully, making sure that he was steady on his feet before he scooped her up in his arms and placed her on the narrow bunk. Leah's arms wrapped around his neck as he lay beside her and she quietly sobbed into the crook of his neck.

“Let it out, dear one,” he crooned as he stroked her damp hair, “Let it all out, you are safe here in her glory.” As he spoke he bestowed upon her the full blessing of his goddess, hard earned and well deserved.

“Thank you,” Leah sniffed, “for everything.” Abdirak smiled benevolently and kissed her sweetly on her forehead, “The pleasure was all mine,” he whispered.That night she slept safe and sound in the Pain of Loviatars warm embrace.

[sgiandubh]

So about TCND. NO I'M KIDDING. Don't throw me away. What else are you watching or reading or interested in lately? There isn't actually anything to talk about regarding OL (the show or actors therein) and TCND is off the table until someone has actually seen it. Anything interesting going on?

Dear What Else Anon,

Oh, I am definitely not going to throw out such a wonderful question! I do think there are more things of interest regarding OL and actors therein (more on this, tomorrow and mood/current drama allowing). But your ask reminded me (and should remind anyone) there are other things happening under the sun than this.

I am still fighting with The Fiery Cross. Sometimes, I get tired of its unjustified slow burn and briefly seek solace somewhere else. While I quit the horrible habit of reading two books simultaneously years ago, I find soothing to sometimes take a break with a good poem.

This one, for example: Brecht's Questions From a Worker Who Reads (translated into English by M. Hamburger - probably the most satisfying version I could find on the Internet, right now - the original is um, more complex)

Who built Thebes of the seven gates? In the books you will find the name of kings. Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock? And Babylon, many times demolished. Who raised it up so many times? In what houses Of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live? Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finished Did the masons go? Great Rome Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song, Only palaces for its inhabitants? Even in fabled Atlantis The night the ocean engulfed it The drowning still bawled for their slaves.

The young Alexander conquered India. Was he alone? Caesar beat the Gauls. Did he not have even a cook with him? Philip of Spain wept when his armada Went down. Was he the only one to weep? Frederick the Second won the Seven Years' War. Who Else won it?

Every page a victory. Who cooked the feast for the victors? Every ten years a great man. Who paid the bill?

So many reports. So many questions.

Speaking of Byzantium, this reminded me of Bissera Pentcheva and Jonathan Abel's absolutely remarkable experiment into reconstructing (by computer) the acoustics of Constantinople's Agia Sophia and use it as an audio filter for sacred music recordings. In order to do that, she simply had to pop a balloon inside the cathedral (with special permit and adequate measuring and recording equipment) - it took her five days to get the perfect pitch. As a result, we now can hear those hymns the same way someone would around 1400, AD. This is probably the closest we could get to time travel:

Oh, and I am also watching The Crown's sixth and last season, as many in this fandom, I suppose. More on this, when we are completely done with it. OL was the only exception to my read/listen/watch it all before discussing it rule.

You are obviously Anon but I have to thank you for this! Brought up wonderful memories of week-ends in Constantinople, staying at the Hagia Sofia Mansions and nearly touching its roof from the window of my room in the Yeșil Ev villa. Today, it's over: the Hilton guys took the whole complex and revamped it, Mafia style.

But this memory will never go away:

... a room

....with a view:

Would it be a good idea to make a new, weekly series out of your ask, perhaps something along the lines of Life Beyond OL? I am seriously toying with it, if that's what it takes to try and keep a modicum of sanity during promo: you decide on this one, here is a poll.

[cor-lapis-candy]

Mmm who else wants to think about perhaps a demon playing priest in a church, mayyybe even with Pantalone being said demon?? And playing said role, instead of joining the harbingers he takes to the church and enjoys the benefits of luring people under his control and wasting them away...

Haa, I just wanna think about him with like a long thin tail and swooping horns okay? And what better place then in a church to put a demon!

This is fully GN or I am pretty sure it is (feel free to correct me, and very obviously religious themed so if you're not down to clown in the priests gown this may not be for you!

He was the preacher, a man on the most holy soapbox calling to save the many that would listen, a true Reverand so the people whispered, the last person you would have thought to be a liar, a sinner, a soul burned in damnation and a thing with fingers dipped black in corruption. Yet here you are, pressed to the central altar, his human glamour cast aside and forgotten as his whip-thin tail curls around your wrists, a once soothing voice rumbling with menace as you try to tug it away, anything to give you room away from this thing.

But that's not how this starts, no. This starts with an offer, a suggestion, it starts with bait.

Your family, oh so new in the capital, called into his halls, offered into listening to the voices of his congregation and how they sing praises to the Tsaritsa, and hymns for the cryo archon, and yet there is one voice that carries the whole crowd. The preacher, a man of smiles and softly falling curled black hair, his robes pressed perfectly and a rosary hanging from his gloved fingers as he walks the rows, voices raising as he passes each pew, each line of people, true devotion made into form and yet when he passes your family, the silent ones amongst so many eager parish members.

"You are always welcome here, I am one of the few always on the grounds. I have nothing but time to spare for my dear lambs, we'll have you singing with us yet..."

He had been swift in pulling you from your family, offering an ear to voice what must be troubling you as you had been so quiet, almost silent in the songs he knew you would know, and offering teaching you how to sing the if you lacked the knowledge.

Always with gentle hands too warm for the chill of the eternal winter.

Those words should have been enough to keep you just cautious enough to stay away from the private lessons, but something in how he spoke made the offer too good to pass over. Thus you were always there, after services, helping, cleaning, singing, ignoring how Pantalone's hands felt pressed against your shoulders as he stood behind you, 'to keep you standing straight' was the reason you had been given.

But each lesson was bleeding further and further away from holy worship, where they had once started as help to light the candles now were spent on your knees before the central altar, hands clasped together, bound in Pantalone's rosary as he wanders the pews tending to those that linger, casting off curiosity with whispers of seeking penitence, emptying the hall before his own hands come to rest over your own, broad chest pressed to your back.

A position you would never think a preacher to take, not so casually.

You could feel the warmth of him seep into you, and yet you still shiver, voice silenced as he hums, a familiar song the same one he had been making you sing day in day out, words woven together in the old tongue, the meaning lost to you, never explained even as you had once begged for in the beginning. You had learned that day, when you had whined for the meaning and his hands had come to cup your face, drawing you close and smiling as you flushed, cooing about sins and attending a confession for the sheer greed for knowledge you had shown.

You would wait till the humming became more pronounced before you joined in, everything so learned and perfected, not a single move out of time, not a single thought of how the candles that had been lit were now so dimmed, no flickering light to cast shadows against the walls, only the feeling of the beads weaving around your fingers and the warmth of Pantalone at your back, or they had been.

Soon the beads are being unwound, placed on the altar as wide palms encircle your waist.

"You are so devoted, so easy to lead and so eager to follow, aren't you? But I wonder if the lamb at my alter is as pure as they seem, unfaltering in the face of sin, ready and strong against all that could damn them..."

"I-"

"Shhh, shh, no words little one, just shh. We will test your voice, your faith, and your dedication to me and our archon divine."

"Reverand?"

You catch it out of the corner of your eye, the shift but it is too late, the once gloved hands were now digging into your waist tipped in black nails, no black claws, fingers just as dark as the gloves he had once worn, they flex and tear into the clothes you had worn to the service.

"Oh no little lamb, you know what comes now, what you must do... But once I'm done, there will be no holy man, nor Acrchon strong enough to save you."

The weight of the man, no, the thing behind you keeps you pinned, knees boxed in by its own, chest pressed to the lip of the altar as it further bends into your space. From the corner of your eye, you can see it, the once welcoming face of the Reverand now morphed, soft black curls hiding the flick and curl of horns, once warm eyes nothing more than ash grey things staring you down.

"Now, now that's no way to look at your Shepard, all I wished for is to guide you and you were so eager for it. Now lest your voice fail you, there is singing to be done, hmm"

No matter the strength you may have had, there was no getting away from this thing that wore the face of the Reverand, mind denying the very idea of it being the same person, but when you push away his thin black tail wraps tighter around your wrists, keeping you pinned with only its tight coil. One of the clawed hands that were still at your waist is quick to move upwards, wrapping around your throat, pressing lightly and making the world spin, your head tipping back against the broad chest behind you.

"That's it, relax little one, I know, I know it's all so scary, but you sing so sweetly for me, now let me guide you once more. After all, I still have so much yet to teach you..."

Even as his grip eases, the hand around your throat holds steady, keeping you bent in an awkward position before the world tilts again and your pressed face down on the altar. Body pinned by strong hands, one on your neck and the other your hip, the tail that had held your wrist slipping away, somewhere unseen.

A voice in the back of your head whispers of dreams, and falsehoods, yet that voice still sounds so much like the thing behind you, so much like him, Pantalone. Who would begrudge you if you listened? If you gave in and let the thing, the man that had lead you so far lead you further?

Even if he was leading you down into the abyss with him and his honeyed words, who could ever think to condemn you if they could not see you, not a single witness to the way you shudder and whine as sharp teeth dig into you neck, as bruises bloom an clothes are shed, as the purity of this churches alter is stained with tears and cum.

Not a single member of the parish would ever see who you bend and buck into the press of their beloved preachers cock, you were his lamb, his lost soul to guide, and if anyone ever thought to ask him of you it would be nothing but a soft smile and penitent words on the sins you were working to repent for. Who would ever come to look behind his stand to the small room tucked away just for him to look for little old you, his dear sweet lamb...

[elektrischemaidchen]

Lisztober #12: Roman Catholic Guilt

Good morning from the beautiful Rhineland, @franzliszt-official

which is shrouded in the deepest fog outside my window. Pure Rhine romance and also fitting for today's theme.

‘Cool, are you doing a ‘Pretty Addicted’ cover?’ , Lacelove asks me.

No, not really. Today it's another „boring“ German ballad. (Noooo, please don't!!!) But  good news: it's ‘only’ 6 minutes long. Sorry ;)

The reason is quite simple: My dear band mates are both not baptised (Heathens!) and unfortunately can't contribute anything (except jokes ;)). On the other hand, I started about 10 text drafts and discarded them. And then I went back to where I found what I was looking for, a few days ago: Liszt himself.

In the beginning, I got stuck on St Cecilia, whom Franz greatly revered. That would be the precise moment when my band mates would really have me committed: Drosselmeyer had written a hymn about a Saint. And we would really lose all of our listeners. And then I remembered that, apart from ‘The Blind Singer’, there was another melodrama that had a promising title: ‘The Sad Monk’, based on a poem by Lenau. Although it doesn't have quite the same overwhelming, deeply sad verse as ‘The Blind Singer’, it is still beautiful, though. Why do these melodramas hardly ever appear in biographies and if they do, only as a side note?  The poems ,he had chosen, tell us so much about Franz's inner life. You can find an English translation on this website.

I have incredible respect for Franz's religious side and his handling of theological motifs. But here too: It is this strange ambivalence that makes his life so interesting and in some places intangible. Could „Génie oblige!“  & „Caritas!“ exist side by side at the same time? They could! Did Franz stop shagging hords of piano students after he received the lower orders? HELL NO! (Unintended pun.)

For one thing, Franz came from a very Catholic family and would have liked to pursue a career in the church from the outset, but thanks to his busy dad, this wish was dashed to the ground.

Anyone who comes from a Catholic family knows the struggle with the often frighteningly deep-seated guilty conscience. (Even I can't completely absolve myself of this... and I'm anything but a good Catholic ;) My cousin, for example, is a priest and only runs around in a robe. Even in his free time. Just the sight of it is enough to make me feel guilty ;)

On the other hand, he probably longed for stability at some point - and since this was lacking in his unsteady life, the return to his faith probably came at just the right time. And as much as many made fun of it: It was the right path for him and perhaps for his peace of mind. Oh, Franz.

So you see: no Pretty Addicted cover. Although they are really cool ;)

Amen.

[genevawrenn]

Chant the Tales and Legends Told, Strengthened by the Hymns of Old

✨q!Philza & q!Chayanne & q!Tallulah, c!Philza & c!Technoblade [Emerald Duo] ✨4.6k W.C. ✨q!Philza-centric 🎵Traveler’s Song by Aviators

‘Tell me about Technoblade’.

The Angel of Death’s new charge commented a dear name to the ancient crow on the sign in front of him, a small blonde child looking at the avian hybrid with wide blue eyes filled with an ocean of curious questions. A dragon skull encased the top half of his face, held by some unknown force as wild gold curls spilled around it. His rose scaled wings were held close to his spine, peering up at the tall older blonde with an expectant stare.

“Oh Goddess, where do I start with that bastard?” Phil said with a wicked smile, thinking of his piglin partner-in-crime fighting a god in a different realm.

They had outlived everyone else they held fondness for, the ageless Blessed of the Goddess always did, but still every few hundred years they went off and did their own thing for a while. The blonde crow fidgeting with the emerald he always wore, a physical marker that matched the jewellery Techno also wore of who they made an eternal vow to.

Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like the worst agony when all he wanted was his pink-haired best friend at his side, ready to destroy the world if needed.

Chayanne nudged him again, his expression impatient which Phil laughed at.

“Tell ya what mate, how about the story of when we first met? Only one tale tonight though, my little dragon boy, you must sleep!”

[jaybluebugs]

More The Dear Hunter song recommendations cause I’ve been hyperfixated on him for years now

@justahuman667 If you wanna check these out too when you have the free time go ahead

Gloria from Act V: Hymns with the Devil in confessional

Gosh I can’t even begin to describe how much I love this one. It’s just so whimsical and beautiful and makes me feel happy and safe whenever I like to listen to it. I like to daydream my oc, Shadow, to it dancing around and being guided by the overly-enthusiastic God(dess) of the world he lives in (Lore drop will come eventually I swear)

Ring 7 - Industry from Antimai

This one is so funky wunky I love this one so much RAGHHHH. OH, IF YOURE TOO LOW TO GET DOWN TO LOTOWN

Ring 6 - LoTown from Antimai

Honestly, I kinda just love his whole Antimai album but THIS HAS GOT TO BE ONE OF MY FAVS FROM IT. The start, the lyrics, the vocals, the beat, the chorus, THE ENDING OH I JUST LOVE THE INSTRUMENTAL OUTRO SM

Let Go from Migrant Returned

Okay now THIS has got to one of my favorite songs from him, hrehehwknewkkwnwkw just drooling at the mouth I LOVE THIS SONG SM I CANT EVEN PUT IT INTO WORDS

Waves from Act IV: Rebirth In Reprise

Listen I know I keep saying this but.. I LOBE THIS SONG WAHAHAHUAHA. Okay so I fricking adore this album so much oh my gosh, this is the last song I’ll be listing. It was either this or The Old Haunt from the same album. But I just chose this one because this song reminds me of one of my favorite ocs, Bonesong; about his forbidden romance and how he was basically destined to have a pretty terrible and tragic life. But YES YES I LOBE RHIS ONE TOO

Sorry for being annoying lol, I can’t help it 🫶

[wolveria]

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 28

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: "The sword of Damocles, hanging by a hair."

AO3

You awoke from muddled dreams, confusing images of grinning masks dancing in your head. It was nothing more than a product of your discussion with 049 the night before, but that didn’t bring you much comfort.

049 watched you as much as he was able, faint concern in his eyes, only averting his gaze for your morning shower and getting dressed. It was almost funny, how much he cared about your modesty. With the camera bolted in the corner, he was the only one in this place who hadn’t seen you naked.

Maybe that wasn’t as funny as you thought.

You got dressed in your usual—a white smock, white leggings, socks, and a pair of hospital slippers, leaving your dirty clothes by the outer door for the D-Class to collect. You wished they give you a pair of scissors, or at least a hair tie. You had started to lose track of time in the way one did without access to a clock or calendar, but the growth of your hair reminded you that life still marched on. It was almost soothing, to have physical proof that even the Foundation couldn’t control time and its passage.

Expecting to eat breakfast alone, you were surprised when 049 sat next to you at the lab counter, a stool perched beneath him. He leaned closer, as if curious about the food, but his gaze didn’t leave your face.

“Are you all right?”

The simple, harmless question pressed at something inside you, nearly bending it out of place. God, it was unnerving how easily he could reach within you and wrench apart your perfectly placed walls.

“Fine,” you said, giving him a smile even you knew was weak. “Just tired.”

“You are not well-rested.”

You weren’t sure if it was a question, or an observation he’d made from watching you sleep. The thought wasn’t disturbing, as it might have been once.

Reluctantly, you met his eye, wondering how much to say and what to keep unsaid.

“It’s hard to relax.” You pushed a fork through the leftover syrup, all that remained of the pancakes that was your breakfast. They’d been thin and rolled, almost like crepes. “Hard not to know when that door will open again.”

There was no need to explain what door or why you dreaded it.

“The sword of Damocles,” 049 said, “hanging by a hair.”

Despite the grim subject, a genuine smile escaped you, even if it was small and muted.

“Something like that, though this is no feast laid out by a Greek tyrant.”

“Another tyrant, then.”

“You can’t say that,” you whispered, but your attempt to scold 049 was undermined by your stifled laugh.

“Oh, I assure you, I can.” 049 turned until his back was to the counter, staring at the darkened observation window with narrowed gaze, as if daring the Site Director himself to do something about it. “But for your sake, my dear, I will refrain.”

It felt dangerous to openly defy the Foundation, and it probably was, but in that moment, the light mood was… nice. Maybe you could never fully relax again, but at least you had these little moments of respite where you could breathe. Where you didn’t have to flinch at every sound or let fear of the future consume your thoughts.

And all because of 049.

When you raised your eyes to him, he was already watching you, as if expecting your gaze. Or maybe not caring that you looked. His eyes were curious, expectant even, and you opened your mouth to speak even though you had no idea what you were going to say.

You never got the chance. With a clunk, the heavy outer door opened, and four armed guards marched inside.

Your respite was over.

“Into the inner containment chamber. Now.”

You couldn’t have disobeyed even if you’d wanted to; 049 had been on his feet in the blink of an eye, pulling you behind him as he braced for whatever the guards had in store. But they only watched him, guns ready but not aimed, eyes hard as they waited for you both to follow orders.

Gripping his arm, as much for comfort as it was to keep 049 from doing anything foolish, you pulled him back into the inner containment chamber, and the door slid shut by remote operation.

“What are they doing?” you asked, not ready to release 049’s arm just yet, but he didn’t seem to mind. He stayed close, eyeing the door as if sizing up an opponent.

“I do not know.”

Your stomach clenched from the sound of metal scrapping against the floor, as if someone was rearranging furniture, and your thoughts ran wild with the possibilities. You held onto 049 tighter, as if he could keep you from being washed away in the ruthless waters of your imagination. Before, you might have been ashamed for holding onto someone else for comfort, but you didn’t have room for pride when fear took up so much of the space inside you.

049 didn’t move away from you either, and you waited in strained silence until the inner chamber door parted once more, revealing what the guards had done in your absence.

They hadn’t done much, and yet, it was quite telling. Three metal chairs had appeared, two on one side, a single chair the other. In between them, a table that looked it like had been taken straight from one of the interview rooms.

Exchanging a confused glance, you followed 049 into the room when a guard called out, “Step inside. Slowly.”

A man stood on the other end of the chamber behind the guards, a tablet in his hands and a somber weight to his face.

“Dr. Puli?”

“Hello, Reid.”

“What is this?” you asked, but the captain of the guards spoke as if you hadn’t.

“Both of you, sit at the table and place your hands on its surface. SCP-049, take the chair at the left. You, take the chair on the right,” he said, stern eyes on you. “Do not resist.”

Resist what? you thought, but your question was immediately answered with another guard brought out a piece of rope.

You stared at your old boss, voice harsher this time.

“What is this?”

“Just a simple interview. Nothing more, I promise.” His words were quiet and earnest, but if he thought his assurances would make you feel any better, he clearly didn’t understand the hell he’d complicitly created for you.

“Come on,” you said to 049 under your breath, your hand dropping from his arm down to his hand. They were going to make you clasp hands anyway, you might as well do it now, if only to encourage 049 not to lash out against the guards.

The SCP followed willingly, even as his eyes were fixed with a sharp unfriendliness on the doctor. He remained quiet as you both sat, putting your hands on the table as instructed and keeping still as they were bound in rope. You wondered why no lavender this time. Was Dr. Puli that confident that you could keep 049 in line? Or did he somehow think that 049 would willingly cooperate because he wasn’t the Site Director?

Too many questions, but the only questions that were going to be answered today would be Dr. Puli’s. You had to admit, your curiosity brimmed under the surface as to what kind of interview this would be. Still, compared to other tests they could conduct, you much preferred this. At least it wouldn’t hurt.

The rest of the guards filed out as Dr. Puli took his seat at the other end of the table, but two remained by the door. He gave them an annoyed look.

“You are supposed to clear the room.”

“Site Director’s orders, sir,” spoke one of them.

“And this is my interview. Clear the room, please.”

The guards glanced at each other, and the other stood taller, his tone brooking no argument even if Dr. Puli technically outranked him.

“We can’t do that, Doctor. If you wish to call the Site Director yourself, you may do so.”

Dr. Puli scowled but turned back towards you, taking a moment to school his features back into something more familiar. Kinder.

“I’m sorry for this. I understand the need for precaution, but… I was hoping to afford you a little bit of privacy in this, at least.”

You pressed your lips together and said nothing. 049 also remained silent.

Dr. Puli cleared his throat, brought up his tablet, and began.

“This is a standard interview with the entities designated SCP-049 and SCP-6830, conducted by Doctor Amin Puli—”

“What?”

So much for your silence.

Dr. Puli sighed and set aside the tablet, clasping his fingers together on the table as he stared up at you.

“You were… given an official designation after the last round of tests. SCP-6830. I can’t give you any more information than that due to clearance levels, but this is a good thing.”

“Really?” Your eyes narrowed, your words holding a scathing edge you never would have used when he was your boss. “And how’s that?”

“There are protections in place for SCPs, far more than there are for instances of SCPs or for E-Class.”

You looked away, disgust rolling in you. Not at being considered an SCP, but for the justification that Dr. Puli was so readily willing to accept.

“You know this,” Dr. Puli continued, his words quiet. “I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure thus far but, think of it this way. Cross-tests between SCPs require a much higher authorization than if you were an E-Class. It’s very unlikely you will be further subjected to tests of that nature.”

“Unlikely, but not impossible.”

It was 049 who spoke this time. There was something in his tone that made you look at him. His spine was ramrod straight, his eyes laser focused on Dr. Puli. In fact, his entire body language had changed as soon as he’d set eyes on the doctor, an underlying tension throughout his body.

A hint of unease stirred in your chest.

“As with all things at the Foundation, Doctor,” Dr. Puli responded evenly, though he too watched the SCP carefully. “There are no certainties here.”

“Indeed.”

That unease began to coil into dread.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you said. “It’s done. Let’s just… get this over with. Whatever this is.”

Dr. Puli gave you a small smile, but there was no happiness in it. He picked up the tablet and began again. Stating for the record the subjects of the interview he would be conducting, where it was being conducted, and when. You nearly jolted right out of your chair.

It had been three months. Three months since you’d been trapped in this place. Three months since you’d been treated as a person by the Foundation.

It was enough to drive you to distraction, Dr. Puli’s questions not enough to hold your attention. They were things such as how you were both feeling, how you felt about their work healing Foundation personnel, how you felt about these strange, new abilities.

How you felt, how you felt, how you felt… You were fucking tired is what you felt. You were afraid, enraged, and scared all over again. You were going to lose your mind because nothing worked on you anymore. Not amnestics, not 999’s happiness, and certainly not your faith in Dr. Puli.

All you had was the SCP sitting next to you, and he wasn’t paying attention to the questions either, leaving you to give short, half-answers that only served to seek an end to the questions.

You frowned. 049 might not be thrilled with the interview either, but he was usually more polite, indulging in interviews at previous Sites even when the interviewers were hostile.

Slowly turning your head, you observed 049, and froze.

He glared at Dr. Puli, unblinking, his muscles taut and stiff. Poised.

“—I’m sure you can understand your joint efforts are a great benefit to the Foundation, and it will show favorably to the O5 Council that you two—”

“Are you feeling well, Doctor?”

You were completely frozen in place, barely able to draw breath, as if watching storm clouds gather overhead and waiting for the first crack of thunder. You knew exactly what that kind of question meant coming from 049, and Dr. Puli knew it too. He managed to sit up straighter and appear calm instead of like the man in the sights of a hungry lion.

“Well enough, though I suppose I’ve had an increased workload lately that prevents me from getting the sleep I should. Thank you for your concern, 049.” Dr. Puli cleared his throat again. “As I was saying, the continuation of the project is important enough that—”

“If I may, I do not believe it to be mere sleep deprivation that ails you.”

The stillness of the room was a tangible thing, only broken by 049’s voice.

“It is regrettable,” he said, the coldness in his words not doing much to relay regret, “but I must inform you that you are ill.”

“I feel fine.” Dr. Puli smiled, nothing happy about it. “I’ve had a recent exam and—”

“Regardless of your subjective opinion, you harbor the disease within you!”

The two guards stepped forward, but Dr. Puli raised a hand to stop them. His gaze shifted from 049 to you, but you couldn’t offer any help. Not with this.

Please, you silently begged, hoping Dr. Puli would read the warning in your eyes. Get up and walk away.

“Of course,” 049 continued, his voice low and only marginally more composed, “your machines would not detect the Pestilence. How can the tools you created understand something you cannot? I am asking, one doctor to another, submit yourself to my care.”

Dr. Puli shifted in his seat, laying the tablet flat on the table before speaking, his words carefully chosen. But not careful enough.

“While I appreciate the offer, we are still in the early testing stages to ascertain if your cure can be considered safe for high-level staff.”

049’s hand was no longer in yours, his fist twisted around so it was against the surface, your presence entirely forgotten.

“This is no time for cautiousness, sir!” 049 leaned forward, that hungry lion sighting down the meal. “Not only is your life in danger, but there is the possibility of spreading the disease to others. No, this is unacceptable! We must act swiftly!”

“SCP-049, you will calm yourself, or I will cut this interview short,” Dr. Puli said, his earlier caution replaced by a stern tone. “We are not here to talk about the Pestilence, but to gauge the psychological well-being of you and Reid—”

You were on your feet, but not by your own volition; you were yanked upward by the bond holding you to the SCP. The chains connecting between his wrists and waist should have kept him from raising his hands higher than his chest, but they were ripped apart in that terrifying display of strength you’d seen moments before he’d torn the guards to pieces.

Dr. Puli leapt out of his chair, and you were dragged along as 049 descended on the doctor, your resistance ignored.

Before the guards could even raise their guns, 049 gripped Dr. Puli around the throat and shoved him against the observation window. The exact same spot where he’d killed Daniel.

But 049 didn’t snap his neck. He leaned close, eyes blazing as his fingers dug into Dr. Puli’s throat, his words a snarl.

“A doctor who neglects his own health dares cast a prognosis on others?”

“049, stop!” you cried, but he ignored you.

“Put him down! Or we’ll shoot!”

049 ignored that, too. The guards couldn’t shoot, not with you in the way, and not when they might miss and hit Dr. Puli.

You tugged at his arm, unable to dislodge him even an inch. It was as if you were trying to move a statue, one that was intent on punishing someone you’d once called a colleague, if not a friend.

Dr. Puli’s face turned red, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, his nails digging into 049’s fingers, bloodshot eyes wide with terror.

“You’re killing him!”

You didn’t know if it was the words themselves or the desperate way you screamed them, but 049 took a sharp breath and released Dr. Puli.

The guards yelled at him to step away, but 049 was already doing so, helped along as you pulled him toward the inner containment chamber. You didn’t want to take the chance they would shoot, so you placed yourself between the guards and 049, now pushing him to the inner chamber and hoping the added distance will keep them from firing.

No bullets came, and as soon as you got 049 over the threshold to the room, the containment door slid shut behind you. The last glimpse you saw of Dr. Puli was of the security team surrounding him, fear scrawled on his face.

You suspected it wasn’t for himself at all.

Next Chapter

[rueroyale]

From The Nine Tailors, this stream of consciousness passage, annotated:

"And people may say what they like," thought Wimsey again, "about the services of the Church of England, but there was genius in the choosing of these psalms. 'That I may be certified how long I have to live'--what a terrifying prayer! Lord, let me never be certified of anything of the kind. 'A stranger with Thee and a sojourner'--that's a fact, God knows.... 'Thou hast set our misdeeds before Thee' ... very likely, and why should I, Peter Wimsey, busy myself with digging them up? I haven't got so very much to boast about myself, if it comes to that.... Oh, well!... 'world without end, Amen.' Now the lesson. I suppose we sit down for this--I'm not very well up in the book of the words.... Yes.... This is the place where the friends and relations usually begin to cry--but there's nobody here to do it--not a friend, nor a----How do I know that? I don't know it. Where's the man or woman who would have recognised that face, if the murderer hadn't taken all those pains to disfigure it?... That red-haired kid must be Hilary Thorpe ... decent of her to come ... interesting type ... I can see her making a bit of a splash in five years' time.... 'I have fought with beasts at Ephesus' ... what on earth has that got to do with it?... 'raised a spiritual body'--what does old Donne say? 'God knows in what part of the world every grain of every man's dust lies.... He whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints' ... do all these people believe that? Do I? Does anybody? We all take it pretty placidly, don't we? 'In a flash, at a trumpet crash, this Jack, joke, poor potsherd, patch, matchwood, immortal diamond is--immortal diamond.' Did the old boys who made that amazing roof believe? Or did they just make those wide wings and adoring hands for fun, because they liked the pattern? At any rate, they made them look as though they believed something, and that's where they have us beat. What next? Oh, yes, out again to the grave, of course. Hymn 373 ... there must be some touch of imagination in the good Mr. Russell to have suggested this, though he looks as if he thought of nothing but having tinned salmon to his tea.... 'Man that is born of a woman ...' not very much further to go now; we're coming into the straight.... 'Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts....' I knew it, I knew it! Will Thoday's going to faint.... No, he's got hold of himself again. I shall have to have a word with that gentleman before long ... 'for any pains of death, to fall from Thee.' Damn it! that goes home. Why? Mere splendour of rhythm, I expect--there are plenty of worse pains.... 'Our dear brother here departed' ... brother ... we're all dear when we're dead, even if beforehand somebody hated us enough to tie us up and ... Great Scott, yes! What about that rope?"

Annotations

Psalms 39.

5 Lord, let me know mine end, and the number of my days; that I may be certified how long I have to live.

…

14 For I am a stranger with thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.

15 O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I go hence, and be no more seen.

Psalm 90:8 KJV

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, Our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

1 Corinthians 15:32 KJV

If after the manner of men I have fought with beasts at Ephesus, what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not? let us eat and drink; for to morrow we die.

1 Corinthians 15:44 KJV

It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body.

Donne’s Sermon LXXXI

One humour of our dead body produces worms, and those worms suck and exhaust all other humour, and then all dies, and all dries, and moulders into dust, and that dust is blown into the river, and that puddled water tumbled into the sea, and that ebbs and flows in infinite revolutions, and still, still God knows in what cabinet every seed-pearl lies, in what part of the world every grain of every man's dust lies; and sibilat populum suum, (as his prophet speaks in another case) he whispers, he hisses, he beckons for the bodies of his saints, and in the twinkling of an eye, that body that was scattered over all the elements, is sat down at[ the right hand of God, in a glorious resurrection.

That Nature is a Heraclitean Fire and of the comfort of the Resurrection, by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Flesh fade, and mortal trash

Fall to the residuary worm; | world's wildfire, leave but ash:

In a flash, at a trumpet crash,

I am all at once what Christ is, | since he was what I am, and

This Jack, joke, poor potsherd, | patch, matchwood, immortal diamond,

Is immortal diamond.

Job.14

1 Man that is born of a woman is of few days, and full of trouble.

2 He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down: he fleeth also as a shadow, and continueth not.

Book of Common Prayer

Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts;

Shut not thy merciful ears unto our pray'rs;

But spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty.

O holy and most merciful Saviour,

Thou most worthy Judge eternal,

Suffer us not at our last hour,

For any pains of death to fall away from Thee.