#Cemetary Desecrator

[reuxben]

Here’s our MTGinktober for “Remove,” starring Cemetery Desecrator, Remove Soul, and Path to Exile! And with this last page filled (to the brim with interaction), even this sketchbook is removed from game entirely--what to do...start a different sketchbook or finish off some larger-sized artboard I have left over...

Click this post’s Source link for this piece’s Making-Of.

More MTGinktober here.

Daily art updates on Instagram and Twitter.

Reuxben

[chiropterancreed]

you guys ever have dreams about ghosts and then look up the deceased person on findagrave.com and actually find them? or is that just me?

[crow-aeris]

Okay but like, imagine:

a little phoenix!Tim finding out that Jason died, and goes absolutely balistic. He sneaks out in the middle of the night and into the cemetary. He brings a shovel, a crowbar, and gets to digging.

in the dead of night, illuminated by only the glowing orange-red light of his wings, Tim pries open a wooden coffin with dirty and splintered hands before peering down at the resting body. It was bruised, burned, lifeless, and Tim could feel some part of himself SHRIEK at the wrongness. Tim assumes it’s beacuase he’s desecrating the resting place of his personal hero… but little does he know…

Why does he feel this unsettled? He’s seen dead bodies before, so why does Jason’s make him feel… disgusted?

with shaky hands, tim plucks out one of his primaries, a beautiful glowing thing capable of bringing back dead rabbits and dogs. he gingerly places it on the center of jason’s chest, waiting with baited breath, but…

Why wasn’t it working?

WHY WASN’T IT WORKING?!

Panic seizes Tim’s throat, but h forces himself to remain calm. Surely there’s a reason for this, right? He’s only ever tested his feathers on animals, and- and animals don’t wear clothes, so that must be the thing stopping him, right?

His hands are shaking, trembling and twitching as he tried to undo the suit Jason was buried in. Tim knows he’d hate this- both the suit and the dying- but what can a dead kid do to stop what happens after death?

Nausea rises in his stomach and bile burns the back of his throat, but Tim forces himself to continue. Goddamnit he’ll continue, even if it kills him. As long as Jason comes back, he’ll continue.

The sound of fabric tearing fills the air, but Tim could barely hear it over his rabbit-quick heart pounding in his ears.

Tim tries again, resting the feather onto Jason’s cold, unmoving chest…

But- but there was nothing.

Nothing- why wasn’t anything happening?!

The plucked feather was slowly losing its glow the longer it was severed from Tim’s body. If it had been used, then the feather would’ve glowed brighter before shattering into hundreds of smaller sparks and being absorbed into the creature’s skin. The light would disperse from the original point before settling and healing the wounds from the level of most, to least lethal. The smaller the feather, the less the effect the healing took…

He’s tried to heal the dead before, and it always worked on animals, so why. Wasn’t. It. WORKING?

Tim clenched his jaw, eyes narrowed with frustration before bringing his wing closer to to chest. He reached up for a handful of feathers before YANKING.

The sharp and metallic taste of blood coated his tongue as tears blurred his vision. A fistful of bright glowing feathers lit of Jason’s peaceful expression. Tim felt his breath hitching with the pain, but he shoved past it. Instead, Tim forced his handful of primaries, coverts, and down against Jason’s chest…

And yet, it refused to work.

It refused to work.

Why was it refusing to work?!

He wailed.

“WHY. WON’T. YOU. WORK?!” Tim screamed, tears staining his cheeks, rolling down his chin and splashing against the fading feathers. The familiar tingling sensation spread from his back, reaching his brusied and battered hands before coalescing in his bloodied lip. He sobbed, collapsing into the disturbed earth as his tears stained Jason’s suit jacket. Tim’s throat ached from the scream, but he managed to sob out, “Why won’t you work? I just want Jason back… Please, I just want Robin back…”

Distracted and drowning in his grief, tim didn’t realize the assassing clothed in darkness creep up behind him. Pressing a damp cloth against his nose and mouth. He tried to fight, a strangled scream fleeing his lips for the barest of seconds before everything was engulfed in darkness.

=====

Hey y’all… if enough ppl show support for this little story, I’ll continue to write ;]

I’ve already thought out how tim’s healing works :3 (please ask me, I’m literally going feral here)

Part two is up, and it’s here! (I literally love hyperlinks so much)

[iwonderwh0]

Vampire au

I suppose this scene is happening relatively early, possibly before Connor knows Markus's true identity. I really like it, and I hope you'll love it as well.

When Connor parks at the entrance to the graveyard, Markus is completely certain that whatever Connor has in mind, he doesn't want to be a part of it.

Just a few hours earlier, he was just telling Connor about the amount of fake accusations vampires face for deaths that never happened and how the graves for those 'killed' by them are almost always empty. That's when Connor suddenly became heated, insisting that Markus was wrong.

"Empty graves? It's an urban legend kids tell to scare each other," he laughs drily," Surely, you don't expect me to believe that."

"Well, of all the stories kids can share, this one happens to be based on actual facts."

Across the table Connor narrows his eyes, and his chin rises slightly in silent indignation. He turns off the recorder and takes a deep breath.

"You're wrong. And I can prove it." His voice is low and is close to a whisper.

"Please, do," Markus smiles at him, curious to how exactly is he going to do that.

Surely, he wouldn't invite Markus to participate in grave-digging; that'd be absurd.

That's what Markus was trying to convince himself as Connor silently drives the car in what, Markus quickly realises, is the direction of the graveyard. Connor doesn't even turn on the radio, so the only sound inside the car is the noise of the rough road outside and Connor's nervous tapping on the steering wheel. Markus can almost physically feel the heat of his poorly hidden anger, charging the air around the two of them. As they draw closer to their destination, Markus becomes increasingly worried about Connor's precise plan for proving him wrong.

This feeling escalates even further when he pulls out two shovels from the back of the car and strides towards the gates.

Conflicted, Markus follows him. They pass grave after grave, and as Markus looks around, he tries to recall which one of them were empty. He knows the precise location of at least one undoubtedly empty grave in this cemetary, but he isn't willing to consider it. He tries not to look in its direction and hopes to forget about its whole existence. Fortunately, it's far from being the only one empty, and Markus spots two other options among those they pass.

Meanwhile Connor seems to know exactly which one he wants to desecrate. He walks deeper into the park, then stops before one of the tombstones and gazes at it for a long moment before handing Markus the second shovel and sticking his into the ground. For a moment, Markus wonders if whatever is happening is actually real. Could it be that Connor is just waiting for him to give in and admit to be lying under the pressure of digging out the actual grave?

"Connor, what are you doing."

"You said you don't mind putting your theory to the test. And well, that's exactly what I'm trying to do."

"Whose grave is it?" Markus glances at the tombstone, but it's almost entirely covered with a bush of roses, making it hard to read the name or the year written on it.

"My brother. He got bitten when we were twelve and died three days later. If you're correct in what you told me, this grave will be empty, right?" he asks sarcastically and steps onto a shovel forcing it deeper into the stale ground.

"Connor, you can't just go digging up graves. If not for just moral reasons, grave desecration is actually illegal. I'm pretty sure you must be aware of that."

Connor ignores him and continues digging.

"If there's a single person in this universe who is allowed to dig out this grave here – it's me," he says eventually, "And if it is ideed as empty as you say it is, it shouldn't matter anyway."

Markus sighs and looks in silence at Connor digging deeper into the ground. He wonders if he should just turn around and leave. Will it stop him from digging further? Something tells him that it won't.

"It's not empty, I believe you," he says, "Please, stop," Markus reaches Connor's forearm, urging him to give him the shovel, but he only shakes him off sticking the blade of the shovel back into the ground.

"I told you, it's not empty. I believe you! You don't have to prove me anything."

Ignoring him Connor continues to dig into the ground.

"Connor!"

"Shut up and help me."

"If I call the police, you'll get arested," Markus tries, hoping that maybe a direct threat will have an effect.

"Then do it."

With that Markus grabs him by the forearm and seizes the shovel from his hands. Connor huffs and bends down to take the other shovel from the ground, but Markus stepps on it, pinning it down.

Connor breathes in, then out.

"Okay. Fine," he says and Markus sighs with relief, thinking that he managed to convince him to stop, but then Connor turns back to the grave and starts digging it with his bare hands.

"Are you fucking-" Markus searches for the words, but the sight of hands digging into the grave soil pierced his head with pain, "Connor."

"Yes?" Connor stopps and locks his eyes at Markus, his eyebrows rising, "It will be a lot quicker if you give me a shovel. Even more so, if you help me."

"It won't be empty," he repeats.

"You said it will," Connor says, turning away from him, focusing instead on getting more ground from the pit onto the surface.

"That's not-" Markus presses his hands to his head as another outburst of pain dazzles his vision," That's not what I said"

"You said," Connor says rising from the pit to step closer in Markus's direction, "that half of this fucking graveyard is empty as, let me quote you 'no one really dies from just a bite'," he imitates Markus's voice. He's unnervingly good at the impression, "So. Why wouldn't it be empty? Enlightened me."

"It will not," Markus struggles to find words as Connor lifts the shovel from the ground and goes back to digging. His white shirt is partially black with mud, and the sight of it is all Markus can think of.

"And why is that, Markus? Tell me."

Markus doesn't know what would be the right way to say the truth. 'I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but it is likely that your hunter dad was actually the one to kill your brother, because he most definitely didn't die from a bite.'

Connor probably wouldn't believe him the same way he doesn't believe him about the existence of empty graves.

Connor keeps digging.

"Are you going to help me or not?"

Markus looks down at the digged ground with a nauseous feeling rising up his stomach. His head ringing with the imagery of dirt on Connor's clothes.

"No."

Connor scoffs and presses the shovel back into the ground. Markus turns away.

"Okay then. It'll take some time."

How much time exactly? The local cemetery had the occasion to be located on a piece of land with unfortunately shallow bedrock, causing for unusually shallow graves for which Markus was generally thankful. Any other day of the year, but this.

Trying to ease his headache Markus faintly hopes that Connor will exhaust himself and abandons the idea before he manages to get to the bottom.

Why would he even keep digging after Markus agreed that the grave isn't empty? Markus wonders as the sound of shovel hitting into the ground continues in almost equally spaced intervals. If it wasn't for the fact of digging out the literal grave, Markus would probably consider this speed to be almost impressive. For a human, at least.

He should leave. He can't leave.

He needs to find a way to make Connor stop.

"Was it an open or closed-casket funerals?" he asks, trying to find anything that could help him in convincing.

"Closed. Mother insisted I shouldn't see him," he bends down to throw away the cobblestone from the pit, "probably has to do with the fact that we looked completely identical. I'm not completely sure, but it's entirely possible we were even dressed the same way."

Twins.

"Oh," Markus manages in response.

So he didn't see him. For a moment Markus almost considers the possibility of the grave being indeed empty, but as he recalls all the local vampires he knows to be converted at the early age -- only six in total -- he can't think of a single one that'd look anything like Connor.

And then it hits him.

"You want it to be empty," he says, more to himself than to Connor.

The digging stopps. Markus turns around and watches as Connor looks down on the mud, swallows, then shakes his head and continues digging.

This is hopeless.

Markus turns back around and tries to ignore the sound of the shovel hitting the ground. He notes the moment Connor starts to get out of breath, the interval between the hits of the shovel stretching longer. He can hear Connor cussing something under his breath before digging out another rock out of the way.

Eventually, shovel hits the hard surface of the casket.

Markus turns around and watches Connor cleaning the mud around it to find the right side to open it. He wonders once more if he should stop him now, by force if necessary, but the sight of the casket lid covered in soil and mud makes his vision go dark, freezing him to the ground. If he were buried in something like this, he would stand no chance of ever getting himself out.

Connor breathes heavily struggling to find a way to open it. He sticks the shovel back to clean his way to the side of the lid from one side, then repeats the same action from another, and after that, leans down to try opening it again. It works. He opens it slightly and instantly shuts it back. Markus doesn't see the content of what's inside. He doesn't need to.

Connor backs away, rises to his feet, and walks to the fence, turning his head around as if looking for something.

"Empty?" Markus asks him, knowing the answer already.

Wordlessly Connor shakes his head. He stares blankly into the fence, avoiding turning back to look at the grave. Markus walks closer to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. At first Markus thinks that Connor flinches under his touch, but then he realises that he's actually shaking.

He tried to stop him. He foresaw the outcome. It wasn't enough.

The smell of damp soil makes Markus's throat tighten. He turn away to face the grave once again and stares at the surface of the black casket. It stares right back at him. He lifts one of the shovels, careful not to touch the soil around it, and starts returning the ground from around the grave back to where it belongs. For the longest time Connor doesn't join him. Markus glances at him once in a while as he's working on the burial, but every time he looks Connor stands right where he was, frozen. When Markus's is about half way done, Connor finally picks the other shovel from the ground and joins him in burying back the grave that they now both knew wasn't empty.

They don't talk. Not before they're done, not after. Markus locks his eyes on the shovel in his hands as Connor joins him, avoiding accidentally looking up to where his shirt, pants and hands are still covered in soil. He tries not to breath in the air, contaminated with memories. But despite his best effort, he can still feel the earthy taste of it on his tongue.

As they're walking back to the car Markus is once again confronted with the sight of black mud on white surface of the shirt. He would still see it even with his eyes closed, just by knowing that it is there.

No.

He stops Connor by the shoulder and gets reminded of him still shaking violently.

"Put this on," he takes off his coat and hands it to Connor. He looks at it without any expression on his face.

"Please, just do it," Markus looks away and prays for Connor not to argue and just take the damn coat.

To his relief, Connor takes it with no further questions and does as Markus asks.

"Zip it," Markus orders and waits until he's sure Connor is done.

They get to the car and sit in silence. Markus presses his head against the cold surface or glass and tries to throw away the image of the grave or muddy clothes from his vision. He can hear the pulsating pain deep inside his skull and Connor's shaky attempts at breathing. He sounds like someone who's about to freeze to death, no less. Markus eyes him. He watches him gripping the steering wheel, eyes shut closed. He breathes in, then out.

He probably shouldn't drive like this.

Markus thinks, but then right in front of his eyes Connor takes another breath and then stills. In a few seconds he stopps shaking, then opens his eyes and looks right in front of him. The next time he takes a breath it stabilises as well. He pulls a small bottle of hand sanitizer along with a few napkins from the glove compartment, and cleans his hands from the remaining dirt, then straightens out and fastens his seat belt.

Whatever magic Markus has just witnessed he wishes he could learn it for himself. The smell of the soil is still aggressively present in the air, burning his eyes. It would seem that getting away from the grave would make him feel better, but to his regret grave followed him to the car. It will follow him home, and tomorrow he'll wake up still crushed by the pure pressure of its presence.

He almost regrets not pointing Connor at his own burial, angry at him for not knowing and at himself for not telling, but from all Markus gathered Connor isn't even fully convinced that he is a vampire. Telling him in plain text would be completely out of the question. Still.

Coming to the cemetery he was afraid of seeing his grave, but he couldn't have possibly expected Connor to show him his own instead. Or at least the one he thought of as his own, in some odd way.

Connor turns on the radio, and it fills the room with the sound of awfully upbeat music. Markus is not sure of whether he would prefer the silence or this. Connor seems to think the same way and turns the stations around, but all the neighbouring radio stations seems to be in some kind of collusion, playing disgustingly joyful tunes.

"Tell me where I should drop you off," Connor asks, starting the engine.

Markus swallows the knot in his throat and unable to remember any address says

"Anywhere."

[omegawizardposting]

I log onto tumblr.

Another Jewish cemetary has been desecrated.

I log onto tumblr.

Another popular blogger is spreading blood libel.

I log onto tumblr.

No one is talking about the LA pogrom or the twelve-year-old who was gangraped in Paris.

I log onto tumblr.

People are calling the rape and murder of 1,400 civilians "resistance".

I log onto tumblr.

I see pictures of a pro-Palestine protestor holding a sign that says, "Kill the hostages!" I see another holding a sign that says, "They're not coming home!"

I remember that one of the hostages is an infant.

I log off tumblr.

I hope my Jewish friends haven't seen what I have. I know they have.

[asphyxiating-endless-darkness]

Black Witchery

Photographs from the Desecration of the Holy Kingdom (2nd pressing).

Taken by Thorns/FMP in a cemetary in Lakeland Florida.

source

[sarroora]

☝🏽

Let me also add something western media probably ignored to show you:

Zionazis have already moved onto the next atrocity - after bombing historical landmarks, they’ve taken to bulldozing graveyards, such as the historical cemetary of Beit Hanoun. See the video here.

They desecrated the tombs with war artillery, destroyed headstones, and even drilled holes into graves.

Listen, we’ve been saying this for ages - none of this was ever about ‘self-defense’. It was never about Hummus. It has always been about colonizing a land and stealing all its resources and ethnically cleansing its people.

Did you know Gaza is a natural gas gold mine? I’m not kidding, look it up. Its reserves are enormous. And of course, Israel prohibits Palestinians from using their rightful resources. Because Israel and the USA think they own the Middle East.

Destroying everything in Gaza and taking it over has been the real plan for a long time - search the leaked Israeli documents on the real estate Zionist projects planned for Gaza long before they began genociding Palestinians this October.

The fact that there was an international outcry over the burning of Notre Dame , but not a single word uttered for the desecration and destruction of worship places, archives and libraries of Gaza and rest of Palestine ,many of which are FAR older than Notre Dame and other buildings in Europe should tell you enough about which countries are deemed worthy of respect and preservation in the West .

[fobredactedove]

Back in autonecrophile Joe world

He has sex and he likes to play dead, not moving, just laying motionlessly as his partner rides him, sucks him, or fucks him.

He jerks off to the idea of someone one day digging up his grave and desecrating his corpse.

One day, Joe gets experimental, hooking up with his bandmates for corpsejoe roleplay.

Andy tells Joe he is not interested, but Joe begs him until he obliges

Patrick is curious at first, but gets into it after a while

Pete was into it from the start, but sees Joe's chest rising and falling, something Joe cant for the life of him stop, as making the fantasy difficult, Joe makes an impulsive decision right there

Fuck life, fuck everyone else, fuck the band, FUCK IT! I CAN'T GET OFF WHILE I'M ALIVE! And steals a gun conveniently lying around, telling Pete to fuck him, and shooting himself.

Pete is shocked to see his bandmate unexpectedly commit suicide during sex, but he tries to get his mind off it by fucking Joe's corpse, oddly feeling Joe completely unmoving makes Pete cum harder than usual.

After the sex, the gravity of everything kicked in. Joe was dead.

Months later, Pete would head to a cemetary in chicago, shovel in hand, approaching the gravestone marked "JOSEPH TROHMAN" and fulfill his dead bandmate's wishes once more

<3

[docholligay]

Oh also, the Juri stream has been moved to Saturday because my temple is having a vigil tonight I ASSUME Y’ALL WILL UNDERSTAND

[eideard]

Israelis destroying historic Muslim cemetery to build a park

Israelis destroying historic Muslim cemetery to build a park

Ahmad Gharabli/AFP A few metres away from the Al-Aqsa Mosque compound’s eastern walls lies the centuries-old Al-Yousufiya Cemetery, also known as the Bab al-Asbat (Lion’s Gate) Cemetery. Over the past few weeks, videos and images of Palestinians clinging to their family members’ graves as Israeli forces arrest, beat, and attempt to forcibly pull them away have widely circulated on social…

[fenmere]

Would like to submit that it is possible that any conseqcrated ground can become desecrated, and that might allow demons to enter it safely.

Could have been a desecrated cemetary. Someone was, after all, gravedigging in it.

Hi Neil,

I was having a debate with my friend last night, and I couldn’t find an answer in the pinned FAQ. So hopefully this isn’t a repeat question.

From previous asks, we know that Demons can walk around Heaven and Angels can walk around Hell because they’re more like office space and aren’t Holy ground.

So, if Demons can’t walk on consecrated ground, like the church in 1941, then how come Crowley, Ligur and Hastur were all able to meet in a graveyard for the antichrist exchange?

Are graveyards not considered consecrated? The book says they meet in a “ruined graveyard,” so are they only consecrated to a certain extent?

I’m pretty sure I’ve answered that here before but the answer is either

A) they were in an unconsecrated area of the graveyard

Or

B) in consecrated ruined creepy scary graveyards, the ruined creepy scary outranks the consecrated as far as demons are concerned.

[alexislp7]

What if Cordell Walker met Dean Winchester on a hunt in Austin, Texas. This happens during a time when Sam is dead after season 5 or so Dean thinks he doesnt know about Soulless Sam being brought back. He has lied to Lisa and told her he is in Austin only to visit and old friend. But Bobby sends him there because there maybe a shaman who can help Dean get Sam back but the shaman needs real human remains for the spell to woek.

Walker catches him desecrating a grave digging up a mans body at the same cemetary his wife is buried in. At first Walker thinks Dean is some low life creep and arrests him but Dean thinks Walker must be a shapeshifter wearing his brothers skin to provoke him. Dean manages to escape his handcuffs and kidnaps Walker drags him to one of Bobbys secret safe houses in South Dakota to test him find out what he really is and perhaps kill him.

This is the real reason why Walker spends 11 months away from his family and children, he was being held captive by Dean who assumes he is evil monster taking his dead brothers form, but every test comes back negative. Dean discovers Walker is not a shapeshifter, witch, demon nothing. Walker is only a human that just happens to look a lot like his brother. Dean is bewildered by this and breaks down in tears missing his brother, but eventually decides to let Walker go, but Walker convinces him to let him stay there.

By this point Walker has developed stockholm syndrome for Dean and doesnt want to leave him. Broken over the death of his wife Emily and now discovering that in fact monsters are real. Walker falls for Dean hard and refuses to leave his side. Walker begs Dean to call him Sam while they are together and they start a relationship that lasts for several months. Walker moves into a run down motel 20 minutes from Lisa's home.

Walker rides Dean's cock like a horse every Thursday night while Lisa is at her book club and Ben hangs with his friends. Sometimes they meet up while Dean pretends to be out golfing but really he fucks Walker in the country club showers instead. They are together but no one else knows about it not even Bobby. It feels so good they both need each other for the time being, they get drunk a lot and go dancing at bars and gay clubs but they never kiss one another on the lips only on the body or blow jobs.

Dean cant do it he still misses his real brother, he knows Walker isnt Sam and Walker knows Dean isnt Emily. They both are using each other to fill a void for now. And oh how well they fit each others void. Finally their secret affair ends one day when Soulless Sam and Samuel Campbell show back up and Dean discovers his real brother is alive. All he does is leave Walker a voicemail message telling him its over and to go back home to his kids. Walker is crushed but knows deep down Dean is right and that they both must chopse family first.

[rjalker]

Me: wow it's been a while since Daniel did anything that I need to kill him for. That's a nice change of pace.

Daniel, immediately,,,,,: they were domesticated slaves. He's the alpha male. I am aware that my people are planning to attack yous but I'm going to sit here and pretend to talk peace with you while they do that. Oh hey guys guess what? We invaded their planet, desecrated their sacred grounds, murdered them in their own cemetary, and now we're going to use them as slave labor :) :) :) :) :) :) :) also the writers brought in a Black general just for this episode just to take the fall for being racist and trying to commit genocide :) :) :) :) :) :) and we're going to have the native aliens we are murdering and enslaving literally bark and snarl like dogs :) :) :) :) :) :) they're going to act like dogs :) :) :) :) everyone and everything will treat them like animals :) :) :) :) :) I will refer to their enslavement as domestication :) :) :) :) I will not call them people :) :) :) :) :) we are the good guys :) :) :)

[anti-encomiums]

They are proud to have razed to the ground half the buildings in Gaza.

Proud of destroying schools, hospitals, cemetaries and places of worship.

If Palestinians even thought about doing this to them, they'd be called monsters. But, Israel actually decimates and desecrates Gaza and they congratulate themselves for destroying a defensless people.

[golemn]

               ❝ DON'T. ❞    THIS GRAVEYARD DOESN'T welcome outsiders. Too many wrongful deaths, too many memories ceded to the victors. The victims of history are nameless, while the perpetrators retain longstanding notorioty. They call it a warning sign, a cautionary tale, but Emet only sees an altar, built to honor tragedy over joy. Never forget is the chant, a hymn by any other name, but five, ten years from now, who will be left to remember? 

               ❝ Not...for you. ❞   A hand lingers on the stonecut Star of David on the entry sign in a lazy, weighted gesture. Emet moves with the slow consideration of a predator, a deadly passivity that speaks of the raw might contained in his massive form. It's far past visiting hours, and Emet guards the cemetary nightly ever since a series of antisemitic attacks left four of the graves desecrated with hate symbols. Whatever drew this stranger to the gates will have to wait until morning without a good explanation.

||: SHINEDIED liked for a starter.

[tulireboi]

Eternally, Yours.

Snippets inspired by @cuttoothed​ ’s piece, and as well thank you @aphchiptease​ for talks that spawned some of the ideas here and for letting me use them. No specific characters, more a description piece.

On AO3 now as well

Warnings: I mean. It’s the Entities. Literally everything you’d expect to be warned for

What is it like, to love an entity?

i. the vast

An endless, depthless love, reaching heights that you can’t fathom, depths that you don’t understand. You fall in love every day, every hour and every minute, always falling more, yet never reaching the ground. That love is boundless, limitless, and it is soon the only thing you know of. A desire that you can’t express, leaving you breathless, words slipping from your mind in gentle whispers that you can’t hear over the thrumming in your ears. It takes you for a ride, highs and lows, a rollercoaster that never ends − that you never want to end. And it goes on, a waltz with the emptiness, with the eternal.

ii. the lonely

It’s a strange feeling, loving alone. Loving something that may never feel real, that may never have been real. Every time you get too attached, it all disappears, and your arms are left empty, your heart hollowed by the presence you miss. It’s to love something that is not yours to keep, that grows colder the more you kiss, that becomes fainter the more you love, that thins into a wisp of fog when you try to cage it. It shimmers under your touch, ripples of silk that vanishes under your touch. You miss it when it’s not there, but the presence of it makes you feel more alone. You love the nothing, and that’s alright with you.

iii. the dark

It’s quiet, and there’s nothing in the darkness that surrounds you. And yet you feel the presence, something there, holding you in its empty embrace, its blackness blanketing you in a warm keep. You never want to leave, and you love how peaceful it is. It makes you feel safe, where most people are terrified, and you love what the Dark whispers into your ear at night. Promises of perfect paradise, an Eden, left empty forever, just for you and that which will bring you to oblivion. A kiss leaves a darkened trace, dripping from your cheek and smudging into your hand, and your smile goes unseen in the neverending darkness. There is nothing more you would ever ask for.

iv. the beholding

It knows every part of you, and you’re little more than an open book. You’re laid bare in front of its thousands of eyes, watching incessantly. Not that you ever see them, but every cell in your body can feel them, the scrutiny, the darkest parts of your mind ensnared by its witty tendrils. You love how it knows every inch of you before you even say a word, and your silence is all it needs to know your most burning desire and your deepest fear. Perhaps once it picks apart every part of you, and that you have nothing to give anymore, perhaps it may grow bored of you. But for now, you love the way it feels like everything it is, focuses on you. You are the centre of the world, and you love it.

v. the stranger

To love the Stranger is a love for the adventurous. The normal bores you, makes you feel like you’re dragging through the mud of the mundane. No, the love of the Stranger is ever changing and always shifting, becoming something new each day, each second. Waxen kisses that linger on your skin even when you no longer recognise the person in your arms, it is a love that takes each part of you and molds it into something entirely new. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to love that which is a constant metamorphosis. How long until you begin to miss all those you loved before, that you’ll never see again, and all those you’ll love in the future, but can’t keep?

vi. the spiral

Love-driven to madness, a theme you’ve read of in all those poems you’ve perused, in every book whose romance you’ve clutched to with tender hands, and you’ve never appreciated what a crazed state love truly is. And when you wander that endless feeling of confusion, of left and right turns where there should be none, you wonder whether this is the love they’ve all sung about. It sends a shiver down your back, and you spiral further down, further away from what others call sanity − but the freedom of insanity is what you seek. Its promises are unintelligible, but you know what they mean anyway. Twisted kisses are all you know from it, and when it holds you, you feel like curling inwards. You love the hold it has, and you let it take you.

vii. the web

It feels like you’re bound, tethered into the hold it has on you. Silver threads wrapping around you, keeping you close, safe, under its control, and you don’t mind. It doesn’t want you to go too far, wander off into the unsafe, and you’re happy to stay in its hold. You’ve gotten used to the cobwebs and the spiders, and you let them find comfort in your home. After all, what is yours is just as much theirs, and you wouldn’t think of depriving them from the safety you benefit from. You love how it protects you, whispers gentle requests and quiet promises all night to you, allows you to be held and never straying away. You let the filaments capture you, and you feel their hold tightening on you. You take it as a sign of the strength of your love, and you let it. You let it happen. You’re happy.

viii. the corruption

You can feel the love burrowing into your skin, navigating every part inside you, and it tells you it’s just for your sake − to make you a part of it. And soon enough, you learn to not pay attention to the squirming inside you. It’s only love. And you love it back, and you let it have your body as a feasting ground. You let others think you’re infected, contaminated, and you let them think that. They just don’t understand − none of them would ever really understand it, and you don’t particularly want to explain to them. You want to keep it all to yourself, and all of it is yours. You cherish every one of the bugs it gives you, grants you, blesses you with, and you let it spoil you with its love.

ix. the hunt

Love is exhaustion. It is the taste of stale salty spit in your mouth and the desperate panting of your lungs as it chases you further, even if it’s already found you all too long ago. You feel primal, when those talons dig into your skin, those claws capture you and grip you, before releasing you again. The Hunt begins again, never ending, and it’s the eternity of the chase that you love. Hard-to-get, is how some have described it, but it’s so much more than that − you’re the prize at the end of the race, and you race against time itself as you attempt an impossible escape. It always catches you, and you can only smile between gasps when it threatens to tear into you, before it lets go all over again.

x. the flesh

You want nothing more than to take each piece of yourself, and let it meld into the larger being of the Flesh. Let it grow, take more form, turn into even more beauty, but you can’t give up everything at the same time. You want to watch as your love feeds it, and it does − each day, you surrender a bit more, and each day, you love a bit more. The embrace is tender and warm, and the clicking noise of bones is soft to your ears. It doesn’t matter to you whether you lose a bone, a muscle, or a lung, you will give it everything it asks for. And your happiness grows with it. It’s never enough, and it won’t be, until you belong entirely to it.

xi. the slaughter

The blood slides on your tongue, your lips, and you let the acrid taste slip into your memory with tender adoration. You’ve gotten used to cold metal against your skin or the smell of gunpowder whenever it’s around, the leaden, heavy scent of it pervading the air. Bruises litter your skin, testament to the mindless violence it so cherishes, that you’ve learned to tolerate, and then love, a sign of what you’ve come to adore yourself. Loving the Slaughter is painful, red slits against your skin, ink-dark kisses and bone-breaking touches. You drink the devastation it gives you, a castaway in a sea of red water. You fall prey to its love and its hate, both different names for what really is the same thing in your love. And it takes your heart and your being, desecrates it into a tomb for empires, a cemetary of the thousands of fallen it never cared about.

xii. the desolation

You feel like Icarus, letting yourself so close to something that for sure will destroy you. You can feel the trembling heat, radiating from the barren terror of the burn you so long for, but don't let yourself have. You love a scorching desert, that can never return to you what you give it. You want to get closer, but every time the heat starts searing your skin, the dryness in your mouth, your throat, your body starts to clench your innards, your eyes burn with tears they can’t cry from the ecstasy you can’t achieve. You want more, you need more, but it’s the abandonment of cracked earth, burnt land. It’s begun seeping into your skin, into your bones, and you feel colder with each blistering touch. One day, you want to burn for love.

xiii. the buried

A chokehold touch, encompassing your entire self in what it is − you suffocate, but you know that it’s normal. It’s only what you’d expect. It’s not easy, always, to be subject to an asphyxiating love, feeling the rough earth sliding against skin as you gasp for breath. It’s the gravel you taste on your tongue, the sand in your lungs, the dust in your throat, smothering you in all it is, and you surrender to the feeling of dying in your lover’s arms. And yet you never do − it won’t let you die, and even as it gets harder to breathe, you feel all the more loved.

xiv. the end

To love the utter destruction at the end of everything, to feel the gripping fear of every soul on the planet, and yet feeling so small in the face of that shattering love, is what loving the End means. It feels like the voice of a thousand pains, of a million eternities and millennia of agony washing over you, drowning you in their endless fear, and you let it wrap you in its cold, cruel embrace. The god of all, that final fear, the End of everything, it wraps you in its arms and presses despair and ruination against your skin, with delicate lips as white as bone. Decay coats your skin, your eyes turn blind and your breath becomes shallow, and you give your life away in return for its undying love. A symbiosis, symphony for the dead. Perhaps someone might find the irony amusing, but you find your laughter captured by the eternal chill, your smile frozen, unmoving as a corpse. And maybe you are − maybe that’s what it made you into, that’s what became of you. It gave its love. You gave your life.