#my own little cyclical part of hell

[birinboom]

Me in my head every time a hyperfixation resurfaces:

🎶Mamma Mia, here I go again My, my, how can I resist you? Mamma Mia, does it show again My, my, just how much I've missed you?

Yes, I've been brokenhearted Blue since the day we parted Why, why did I ever let you go? Mamma Mia, now I really know My, my, I could never let you go🎶

[geometricalien]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

awww thank you for including me. this has just been sitting in my box for the past couple of days but HERE I AM- in no particular order:

This doesn't really have a name... It's just called Merman AU

and it's not a 'fanfic' it's half a collection of headcannons for this AU and half snippets from this idea that I posted on tumblr at @haikyuu-aus-cuz-i-cant-write (oops look who has actually written now jfdksalf) basically this is a cross between the little mermaid and the monkey's paw. I really liked this but it was wayyy too big of an idea for me to write and you can see that I stopped after writing Suga's wish which is reallly funny considering this whole idea spawned from wanting a mermaid/human bokuaka AU and i was not near to getting to the meat of the story at all

Things That Hold Us Together: Steel Bolts and Tender Hearts

yes i just recently posted this, yes i've had this in my folders for like 3 years. this one... this was spawned from an old friend - who i don't speak with anymore - offhand comment that a fanart looked like akashi was an android. four hours after they said that i had half of this fic, and they said it was the best writing i ever shared with them. they encouraged me to expand it but i kept hitting a wall and then we had a falling out and through out the years ive been coming back to this trying to add and edit and i decided to reclaim it as my own and publish it. the idea is that it's an introduction to a lighthearted sitcom/romcom between decommissioned war android akashi and engineer who fixed him up furihata

Language Barriers

i cyclically get star trek brainrot and this time it had a dash of akafuri, i really like how i described things in this one since furihata doesn't think in words but emotions and images instead, idk it was a good writing exercise

Horror wip

ive been hemming and hawing at it for literal months now because i have one central driving image behind my eyelids that i want to get to. its just been... harder than usual to get to it. i've rewritten like 3 times trying to get it write. i've currently landed on 2nd person narration with some thrown in spices of 1st person to signify that we are in the being- akashi's- point of view haunting furihata (the you) and its giving me an opportunity to make the reader feel akashi's destroying love from the front seat. my other goal with this is to write some surrealistic imagery soooo yeP

I Will Follow You Down Through The Gates of Hell

i cant not include this. this damn fic/series/idea has been brewing in the back of my mind for so damn long if it was a human child it could hold a fucking conversation. the imagery. the themes. the depth of emotion- AND WE ARE BARELY GETTING INTO THE WAR!? ITS BEEN 50K+ WORDS AND ITS JUST GETTING STARTED (or ending, if you wanna look at it that way) idk its... its been so long since i wrote part 1 that that fic doesn't feel like "mine" anymore? idk but it always makes me smile seeing an email saying that someone else liked the fics too.

[sinkat-arts]

Daisuga WIP Wednesday: Angsty Edition

Context: This is mostly an establishing bit of the first chapter to, uh, set the (not super happy) mood and current mindset of adult Daichi. Things... have happened.

--

December 2021

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First: Turn off the alarm. He will not do it for you. He is not there. 

Second: Let your body wake up. Resist the urge to reach for him. He is not there. 

Third: Open your eyes. Do not roll to your left side. He is not there. 

Fourth: Push the blanket away. You do not have to carefully make sure he remains covered and warm. He is not there. 

Fifth: Sit up and put your feet on the floor, first one and then the other. He will not pull you back. He is not there. 

-- >

Daichi made it to the fifth step before breaking his own rules. Turning, looking over his shoulder - that was forbidden in step six, but he hadn’t made it there yet. Muscle memory dashed forward ahead of thought, and he twisted in place, looking back. Looking for a messy cloud of ash gray hair, looking for the familiar shape of his heart, but finding only a crumpled blanket and nothing else. It wasn’t even his bed. This wasn’t even his home. 

<!--Failure Contingency 1: Don’t react. If you’re still in bed, start over from one. Else, repeat the step you failed and carry on.-- >

Getting out of bed was, by far, the hardest part of the checklist to implement, even now. He blamed it on his sleep-deprived morning brain being harder to wrestle into submission. Easier to say it was that than to go one level deeper and acknowledge all the other reasons it was hard. 

This was our time. Just us, starting the day pulling in closer to each other and bitching about the alarm. He’d complain and cling like a damn octopus to keep me there, and I’d pretend to be annoyed and fight a little before giving in and wrapping him up in my arms. I started setting the alarm just a little earlier so we could have more time like that before the day pulled us our separate ways, and he pretended not to notice. 

But he didn’t dwell on that old morning ritual. He didn’t dwell on the way their bodies relaxed into one another, warm and secure in their nest of blankets and pillows. He called his difficulty with mornings sleep deprivation or confusion and didn’t look any further, not any more. 

Looking at it square - going any deeper - hurt too much, and feeling that hurt made him aware of the other reason it was so hard to make it to step six every morning. A reason that was more frightening than painful because that one, taken to its final and logical end, wouldn’t hurt at all. That one made sense… and being able to see the sense in it came with a terrible, heavy sort of numbness that settled deep into his bones and slowed his breath. 

The first few months were a cyclical sort of hell - weeks and weeks passed, living one moment in a hurt that split him into pieces that burned and scattered like embers in the wind, and the next in a state of frozen indifference that had him stuck dangerously in place. Eventually, he’d asked himself what’s the point? and found that he just didn’t have an answer. The reason it was so hard to get out of bed - to keep going out into the world and pretending to be a human being - was that there was no reason. There was no reason to do anything at all, and the logical end to that line of thinking was just that... an end.

But he’d come back to himself and realized he was being stupid. Melodramatic. People relied on him, expected things from him. He had a job to do, and his siblings looked up to him… and his mother, what would she think… So the checklist was made to keep that terrifying logic out of his head. It was his way of fighting back, of forcing a point to exist. If there was a next step, another task to check off, then he would always, always have an answer to that awful question and neither the hurt nor the nothing could catch up to him. 

The point is to complete the checklist. Properly, no shortcuts.

Today was the first time he’d ever made it to five without having to start over. That was progress, and he was tempted to keep just going but… rules were rules, and he had to complete it properly to count. He was technically still in bed, so he started over from one. 

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Sixth: Stand up. Do not look back. He is not there. 

Seventh: Go to the bathroom. DO NOT LOOK BACK. He is not there. 

Eighth: Take your shower. Do not wait for an interruption. He is not there.

-- >

He made it through the next couple of steps, finishing his shower, brushing his teeth (There is only one toothbrush. He is not there.), getting dressed (You do not have to make sure he did not go back to sleep. He is not there.), and stepping out into the kitchen to get coffee and breakfast started.  

The kitchen was just like the rest of the small apartment - a spartan affair. Daichi didn’t have much in the way of knickknacks or personal affects. What he did have was just enough. Just enough plates and bowls. Just enough silverware. Just enough drinkware. Just enough pots and pans. Just enough everything for one person. Any more than that, and he’d have to think about… 

But it wasn’t important. He had enough. He was making it work. 

<!--Thirteenth: Get your mug. Do not think about the one you had with the volleyball shaped like a heart. He is not there.-- >

He set his plain white coffee mug in the single-serve machine, loaded it with a single-serve cup of coffee grounds (Do not think about the big pot that held enough for eight but somehow only held enough for two. He is not there.), and hit start. That done, he grabbed two eggs, sliced cheese, and pre-cut fruit from the fridge. It was the last of the fruit, so he made a mental note to replenish on his way home tonight… otherwise it’d just be egg toast for breakfast tomorrow, and that would throw his routine off. Two slices of bread toasted as he fried the eggs. (Do not worry about whether the yolks pop. He is not there.) As he finished assembling his breakfast - toast, cheese on top of toast, egg on top of cheese so it melts, repeat - his coffee finished brewing. A spoon of sugar, enough cream to turn it beige (Do not think to yourself ‘would you like some coffee with your cream?’ in his voice. He is not there.), and that was done, too.

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Twenty-Seventh: Sit. Do not look at the other chair. He is not there. 

Twenty-Eighth: Eat. He is not there.

-- > 

Finished, he rose and took his dishes to the sink. A quick rinse had them nestled in the dishwasher, ready to be washed after dinner later that evening. He left the kitchen, went to the entryway, put on his shoes, picked up his bag from where he’d dropped it in exhaustion the night before, and opened the door. 

<!--Thirty-Fifth: Leave. Do not say goodbye. He is not there.-- >

[davy-zeppeli]

I hate finding hope in situations where there isn't any and I mean that wholeheartedly. The smallest little sentence can make me suddenly think I have a chance again but I know that I don't. My head knows the truth but my body and heart say otherwise. Just because he asked me about how I felt about my past relationship, asked if I was on dating apps, seemed impressed that I'm not going the app route - none of it fucking matters. He's being a friend.

It was nice to talk about our past relationship history with no real malice there. we both miss the security of a relationship. he's labelled himself as exploring and free. I'm sat trying to not think about it too hard. I'll always be on the hill of "give him time". Even when giving him time meant he started talking to someone new. Long distance, but still someone new. People say to me that he might be getting the romantic aspect there, but in the long run he's getting his care and wellbeing from me - because I'm his best friend and I want to make sure he's okay. He's doing the same for me.

We've both been doing shit recently. Genuine levels of 'I'm going to end it all', but we've been there for eachother and gotten one another out of it. he's the most important person in my life right now, and I wish I was joking when I say that, but it's true. So to keep having this stupid bit of hope flare up with every interaction? it's fucking torture. My brain isn't aligning with the rest of me and it's fucking ruining me.

Of course there's the part of me that will keep looking for signs, fuelling the delusion. We had one of the most normal days in a long time today - just us, jokes, and goofing around, but also having some interesting conversation (about memory and war, but I won't elaborate on that here). Part of me believes that maybe now we're getting to where we used to be, he might feel something again, like he said he felt at the start to begin with. Part of me also believes that when I was next to him today at his computer helping him, when I faced him, he looked at me like he wanted to lean in - it's a look I've seen before - but it was brief. Part of me believes him asking me how his outfit looks was a sign, but all in all he was looking for fashion advice, not my hand in marriage. Part of me wants to believe he isn't speaking as much with the person he's met online, but I'll never really know (for my own health, I've forbidden myself from looking at any of her socials to avoid obsessive behaviour).

The past 8 months have been hell. I've had my moments of genuine and pure bliss - spending time with Dan, getting to know him, going further than that - and I've had my moments of sheer fucking heartbreak. Breaking up with my partner of 4 years, moving out, losing the connection I had with my work friends and being left with a shell of what it used to be, being just so completely and utterly alone in a new part of town - I'm honestly surprised I haven't killed myself. But I know one of the reasons I'm still going, as much heartache as he's caused me, is Dan. I just want to let these stupid feelings of love and adoration leave me and let me have my best friend, but they won't fucking leave. My sister told me that looking for comfort in my source of pain causes more sadness, and it's cyclical that way, but she doesn't understand that he's all I have. He makes me feel important, seen - I have no one else who looks at me so judgement-free like he does.

All of that, just to say I'm still hoping for something more, even when I know the reality of the situation. My brain and heart aren't aligned; I know it's over, but I don't fucking let go - I can't let go, or I'll drown.

[mocha-sees-all]

Just some late night thoughts.

Should I feel bad that I'm so bitter about still being single?

"well what do you mean mocha?"

I mean, all of my dearest friends are in relationships, all of my family members are in relationships, the only one who isn't, has a very real reason (that I will not be saying) to not be in a relationship, and they are pretty happy where they are, but still encourage me to have one.

My Parental Figure talks sometimes about how I'll be such a great Mom one day, how I'll have a husband who loves me and everything will be fine. Only every day that passes by that I'm still single, I believe those words less and less.

I love children (when they're old enough to communicate, so about 4 and up) I do want some of my own , (2 at the most) I plan to adopt because while being "pregnant" is such a miracle to some, my inner male counterpart is very against it, and the female part could do without the pain. So, adoption.

All that to say, when I hear about other's relationships, I find myself frustrated at them sometimes. I'm happy for them, as any friend would be, but a part of me seethes in anger towards their relationship.

"How come they are happy with someone and I'm not?"

"Why is it so hard for me and easy for them?"

"why the hell does my family tease me about this so much?"

I feel lied to that curvy busty women are now desirable. I'm curvy, I just went UP a bra size, where the hell are my suitors?!

I struggle with self image often. It's gotten better, where about 70% of the time, I love myself, I love being me unapologetically, I try new things to make me feel happy and pretty. And then 30% of the time I'm depressed, I feel ugly and worthless, undesirable.

Part of this is my condition of cyclical Depression, and years of self hate, but it's still something to mention .

I know I'm only 18 turning 19, so I have all of my 20s to think about. But most people date in highschool- freshman year of college. And my first actual relationship ended TWO DAYS after it was established. Very abruptly, very hurtfully, and with little warning.

And Everytime I hear about "oh,I'm in a relationship now" outwardly, I'm like "oh really? That's so great! I'm super happy for you!" And internally I'm like "Fuck you, you and your relationship, how dare you be happy in my presence, how dare you rub the salt of me still being single at my age In my wounds of insecurity "

And it makes me feel horrible that I internally feel this way to a friend. Who I am genuinely happy for. I feel like a terribly selfish person, and like someone like that doesn't deserve a relationship . Which frustrates me further, because if I had one, I wouldn't feel this way. So... should I feel as terrible about this as I do? Or is this something normal?

[velvetporcelain]

going up on a tuesday

Not gonna lie. I had intrusive visions of me logging back into instagram. And I shook repulsively.

Slow down little one. No need to run away from yourself. Standing there and thinking in an uncomfortable silence is encouraged. Can you handle the uncomfortable silence with yourself? Why do we need to escape? Fight of flight from self? Fuuuuuckk. Intense.

See the thing is? I know myself now. A bit more clearly. I know what things can and won’t do for me. And there’s nothing there for me. This is where I use my hate language constructively. To motive the wolf in me. Salivating.

Maybe I’m a bit starved. And I’m in hunt mode. I’m in my prime human nature.

Do you know? While I was cooking yesterday- I actually considered asking my husband if he would allow me the experience of fucking another man. Ha. Seriously justified this with each stir of my dinner. It’s like I was perfectly in sync with my mind and body that I was happy to be standing there stirring the pot. Ha. Being a housewife is so cool.

I literally was like- did I just think that? Yes. I did. Obviously this thinking is very interpersonal, not selfish. I refuse to take accountability for human nature. I’m doing what feels natural, thinking. 🤔 👀😑🤘 anyways. He wouldn’t expect anything less of me honestly. He would literally laugh at me and be like “you’re fucking crazy” 😂 but yes maybe I am, but MAYBE crazy is me. He knows I’m a sexual person. I love sex. Damn that felt good to say.

Now? It’s too the point where I want to have other sexual experiences to see what kind of flowers I can bloom in my garden. Literally open up new parts of me. This isn’t “oh my god I don’t love my husband and he neglects me” type shit. NO. I AM NOT A MAIDEN. this is me listening to my existence.

I have even considered the possibility of an “open” marriage- but I don’t know if could handle him being with another woman, or the thought of another woman pleasing him. It doesn’t settle in me right when I look at it that way. This is some honest and raw shit. I feel no shame, only liberation, in the fact that these thoughts do not create hell inside me. Some get to escape. Others get rerouted back into the void. It is cyclical.

I refuse to let society be my puppeteer. I am nobody’s slave but my own, and I even refuse to be my own slave! Thinking is GOOD!!! Thinking is healthy. Is it because I feel that my mind is a bit innocent?

I have fantasized about the neighbors. Yea. I know, kinky right? Especially the cop at the end of the street. He’s a twisted freak, I know it. I knew it the day we stared at each other during the veterans parade. Now you have to know, I am the really odd quiet woman who goes home and smokes weed and does whatever the fuck I want because I literally hate humans, I am not some bippity, big titty air head whore. Got it? Good. I’ve spent my entire life as the observer, I know how people behave, I have a good eye for people. This is an ability that I love about myself. And I’m usually pretty spot on.

Jesus. I’ve said too much, and I laugh because it feels so good being present.

Fuck.

I gotta call my mom.

i love you

-x

[monorayjak]

Wedge Talks - Abzan (Part 1 - This one got looooooooooong)

Black, green, and white - Power through opportunity, growth, and structure. Black: Power is all that matters in this world White: Since when? Black: Since forever White: Ugh… why do I have to work with you Green: same reason I have to deal with them Black: Ah great, I’m with you two this time, fun times White: Yeah no shit. We aren’t exactly happy about this either. Green: For fucks sake can we just get this over with already? Black: Yeah, lets do what we got to do already White: Good… so how do we start? Black: Guess I should give my vision of a perfect world? Or goal? White: Everyone but you being dead? We already know that. Black: That is not what a perfect world looks like. That sounds like a personal  hell. Green: Wait, seriously? Black: Yes! I’m all about myself but that doesn’t mean I want to be alone for the rest of eternity. White: Ok, ok, so give us the run down then. Black: Ok, so, to me, a perfect world is one where I am in charge. One where no one can help or even fathom to oppose me, that those I care for are treated as I feel they should be, that those I hate be treated as I feel they should be, and that everyone obeys my will. Green: So……..dictatorship? Black: Eh… I guess? White: Honestly I can understand Black: I’m sorry what? What did you just say? White: A dictatorship can be the easiest distribution of power. Green: Ok this is a little terrifying White: What? Green: You two are agreeing on… being a dictator White: And? Green: That doesn’t make you feel just a bit odd? White: Not really. As much as I dislike working with this asshole, they have things I can respect. Black: Say what now? White: What? Black: You respect me? White: In some ways, yes. Black: Like…? White: Ugh, well, I guess I respect your dedication to a goal, as fleeting as that dedication can be. If you want something, you make sure you end with it. Black: Huh… neat. I guess… I guess I also respect the both of you? Green: Ok, so as odd and unsettling as this has been, I do have to admit I can respect your own brand of survival. Black: What do you mean? Green: No matter the case, if something is linked to you, it will find a way back to the world of the living. No matter how deep in the dirt it winds up. White: Isn’t that like… antithetical to your whole point Green? Green: No. Life and death are cyclical. One ending is the exact same as the other beginning. Life, say for example, a lion being born, leads to death, say a prey being killed by that lion to feed itself. The lion is not in the wrong for killing for food. Black: See! Power means everything! Green: Not exactly. Black: What?! But you just said! Green: Yes, but also the lion will one day die, no matter how much it fights. White: But how does that…? Green: The lion will die. Their body will decompose. Fungus feed on that decaying meat. The plants grow from the infusion of materials the fungus fails to eat. Those plants will in turn be eaten by a prey animal. A prey animal that yet another lion will eat. And the cycle continues. Things change, yes, but one leads to the other. Cause and effect. White: …wow… never thought of it like that. Black: Ok… so I guess I should admit what I respect of you both?

[aliengoose]

JUMPING ON HERE TO ADD BECAUSE YOU ARE CORRECT AND I NEED TO ALSO SHARE!!

“I’m that perspective you cannot doubt, see how i look”

We saw almost everything that happened through the same filter as Ranboo. When his mask failed is when we were able to see the slime was actually blood, hear people screaming in pain, SEE THE CAMERAS. We literally see how he sees - thus “see how i look”. And for the first episode we did NOT doubt his perspective at all.

“Control the narrative reliably, baby it’s all about me”

maybe not gl!ranboo themself but very much that twisting the story in favour of “the hero”. plus we’re meant to at least at first believe that ranboo IS a reliable narrator (see above)

“Beating my dead high horse off the high road to low ground”

beating a dead horse means to repeat something over and over and over again without any change and without any meaning behind it. fits with the cyclic never-ending loops that showfall traps their “characters” in.

ranboo is being forced by showfall media to act as though they’re on a “high horse”, frequently pushing others towards their gruesome death to save their own life - because they’re the hero, they’re the protagonist, they’re ‘above’ everyone else. plus in this ranboo is pushed off the moral high ground

“So God forbid I’m seen just as an average human being”

ADDING ON FROM OP BC THEIR COMPARISON IS ALSO VERY VERY GOOD.

SO with the carousel the other streamers (most notably niki and austin) are flattened into two dimensional archetypes that represent how they’re seen frequently in their careers. people often don’t actually see niki as her own individual, instead they discuss her relations with others, and it’s always that she’s so ‘nice’. Austin is made into a joke, the little description just says “gay” and he’s forced to constantly talk as if he’s part of a typical family sub-unit. his entire personhood is flattened out into a joke. ALL THIS IS TO SAY the same is done with ranboo. their characters in genloss are heavily influenced by the ways in which they’re perceived by the public.

A considerable number of people put ranboo on a pedestal, (i could link this with the crucifixion imagery at the end of part 3 but i’m tired. you see my vision) even though they are literally just some guy. He got lucky (?) and was pushed into the spotlight very suddenly and when they were literally a child. Very suddenly they had people who look up to him, who defend him even when they themselves admit they fucked up, fans who refuse to believe he can do wrong.

I mean god FORBID they’re just an average human being who makes mistakes and need help occasionally, they’re the HERO for fucks sake /s.

“I mean, imagine if protagonists just died in the first scene”

OP YOU ARE BANG ON. Ranboo kills multiple people and/or is miraculously saved by being in the right spot at the right time by showfall’s management of the situation. he is not allowed to die until their tragic end, at which point that’s it, there’s no more story. what’s a story without a protagonist? After ranboo dies there’s nothing, the music stops abruptly and the credits roll. there’s no story without them.

“I’m the gap between a tragedy and comedy”

AGAIN BIG AGREE WITH OP. because we see what ranboo sees, the first episode is a comedy! it sure as hell wouldn’t be comedic without the filter! ranboo being forced to see through the filter and being the protagonist, he is indirectly the reason that we see through the filter. him breaking free of that is how the show transforms from a goofy comedy into a tragic horror!

“I’m the main character, and you have to like me”

Again, ranboo is the protagonist, literally referred to as the hero, he’s the main character.

and we are meant to like him, that’s an integral part of the story and the emotions tied to it. that’s what makes the ending so jarring and terrifying. if we didn’t like them, choosing to either kill them or keep them alive to suffer eternally would not be as terrible a decision as it was. I mean the main point of The Social Experiments was to see if we would collectively vote to kill someone, especially someone that we LIKED. Ranboo’s role as the protagonist is for us to like him so that the ending is that much more tragic.

“I loot plot armor from NPCs, well they are to me”

1. i agree with OP

2. all the other characters in generation loss are treated as expendable, like NPCs. they exist to help ranboo progress through the story, being sacrificed for the sole purpose of protecting ranboo. not to mention the reason they’re protected is BECAUSE they’re the protagonist, they LITERALLY HAVE PLOT ARMOR. PLOT ARMOR THAT IS TAKEN FROM “EXPENDABLE” CHARACTERS RESULTING IN THEIR DEATHS

3. Another NPC-like thing is the “expendable” characters ability to come back to life as though we’d forgotten their death? Charlie dies in every episode, as does Sneeg. Hetch talks about being able to “reboot” people after their death. Ranboo doesn’t get to have that though, he’s the playable character, they only get so many lives and once ranboo’s gone, the game is over.

“So tie me to the traintracks, laugh and snidely twist your moustache, snidely whiplash, boris badenov”

This to me relates best to the puzzler. he’s a caricature of a villain, he’s very clearly based off of Jigsaw and in general has the vibes of kinda retro horror villains who don’t seem to fully have a motive but come up with “fun” strange ways to hurt and kill people. He’s here to have fun, even if he’s a little incompetent for how long he’s been doing this for.

Both Badenov and Whiplash are your classic silly villains who act all sneaky and villainous (literally just look up images of them and you’ll see what i mean, tho whiplash falls into a couple antisemitic tropes). It lines up with the puzzler being a bit of an incompetent villain who doesn’t seem to have much of a motive other than it’s fun and he’s the villain, that’s what he’s supposed to do!

“judge me by what my cover shows, author becomes beyond reproach, you don’t know the prose, or if the spine is still intact”

similar ideas to what i said earlier about the genloss characters being flattened out versions of the irl streamers.

judge them by their cover, take them at face value. don’t critique the “author” writing their characters (showfall).

the characters are being controlled, they cannot stand up for what they believe in, we can’t know that they believe what they are saying - aka is their “spine still intact”.

“come astroturf my overton”

THIS LINE!!! FUCK THIS LINE FITS SO WELL OH MY FUCKING GOD

This line is a reference to politicians staying within the realm of what is considered acceptable, how they can appeal to their voters and all that. Astroturfing is when they take on a position that is favoured in order to drown out the grassroots movement who genuinely are working towards change. the overton window is the area of politics and policies deemed acceptable to enact.

I do think there’s something in there about Austin insisting that he has a loving wife and children despite literally being told that he’s gay has something to do with that. In media for a long long time (tho it has been changing a bit more recently), queerness could never be explored authentically, it was purely just for jokes, because queerness is only viewed as acceptable if it’s being mocked in some way. Similarly ethan suggests dressing up in disguises, puts on a wig and a dress, and immediately fucking dies. queerness is only viewed as acceptable if we don’t get a happy ending. ranboo is the protagonist, while the others do at least something fancy with their outfit and walk, ranboo just wears a black jacket and walks fairly normally iirc. showfall censors their queerness into what can be seen as acceptable.

finally RANBOO being CENSORED ASGSHSHSH. He is bound by showfall to only act in an “acceptable” manner. can you imagine how differently the show would have been if they were allowed to genuinely react to all the gruesome deaths that they watched?

ALSO THE SWEARING COMES IN HERE. They’re not allowed to swear until they’re released from the mind control, at which point their immediate first words are “what the fuck”. they’re literally being censored to be acceptable for a large media corporation. GOD. I cannot put it into words.

OK I’M DONE ITS 1AM I’M TIRED BUT I THINK THATS EVERYTHING I WANTED TO SAY

would anyone be interested in an animatic of this because when i tell y’all i have so many thoughts and feelings.

"the main character" by will wood is a very gl!ranboo-coded song and here's why

(lyrics of the song are bolded and in quotation marks, analysis is in plain text)

"So, God forbid I'm seen just as an average human being" 

gl!ranboo isn't even seen as a real person with a life in generation loss. they're just a character-puppet-plaything for showfall media and nothing more. 

"I mean, imagine if protagonists just died in the first scene" 

SHOWFALL JUST WOULDN'T LET RANBOO DIE. THEY JUST WOULDN'T LET THEM DIE UNTIL CHAT ACTUALLY CHOSE FOR THEM TO DIE.

"I'm the gap between a tragedy and comedy"

rewatch The Spirit of the Cabin. now rewatch The Choice. THAT IS THE BIGGEST SWITCH FROM COMEDY TO TRAGEDY I'VE SEEN OCCUR IN A SHOW WITH ONE EPISODE ON BETWEEN. GL!RANBOO IS. THAT. GAP.

"I'm the main character, and you have to like me"

they are literally the main character of generation loss, and we have to like them if we want them to continue to be that main character, because if we don't like them, guess what! we can kill them! and no more ranboo main character funtimes! 

"I loot plot armor from NPCs. Well, they are to me." 

every single side character in the show, namely those in The Mastermind of the Warehouse, was a real person. however, because we don't control their choices, they aren't important to us. we see them as NPCs. they die as NPCs. 

"Villains are everywhere, that's how I know that I'm a hero." 

do i need to explain? gl!ranboo is referred to as The Hero multiple times, and for all three generation loss episodes, they are surrounded by villains, whether it's demon charlie, the puzzler, hetch, or even just the showfall media employees.

[tommybaholland]

when their drunk s/o is in their feels [pt.2]

featuring: dabi

the other part to this request! switching up the style and a little bit of the content. please be advised that this contains some themes of toxic relationships as well as unhealthy coping skills, such as drinking. there’s also some swearing and slander since we’re talking about this burnt, bitter man (who needs love :’( ). mostly angst but with a happy ending(??) idk i figured i’d switch it up lol enjoy :)

“let me have another, kurogiri,” you requested, your voice slightly slurred and your movements delayed as you held out your glass. 

he complied, pouring another round of your drink of choice for the night. you hoped to get rid of that feeling of regret, including everything you said to him because honestly, you were right. 

“why can’t i ever go out anywhere? it gets really boring in here, you know,” you reasoned. 

“i know, sweetheart, but people will see you,” he explained vaguely, trying to remain logical and persuade you by using his soft voice.

“i’ve never even been associated with the League or you!” you remarked harshly, growing tired of the same, cyclical conversation. “it’s not like people know who i am.”

“look, people know that you’re still missing. did you ever think of that, huh?” he threw back at you, making you cross your arms defensively. 

“so you really don’t trust me that much?”

“how can i when you don’t even use your brain? or lack thereof,” he insulted, turning away from you. “i’m the reason that you’re not dead or living on the streets, remember?”

you looked at him with a dumbfounded expression as if he wasn’t in that same situation several months ago.

“what are you talking-- we came here together, you-- you know what? i don’t have time for this. just go,” you replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

suddenly, icy blue eyes were right in front of your own, his hands tilting your face up to look at his.

“look, if you want to leave, there’s no one stopping you but don’t make it my problem and don’t think about coming back. you got that?”

you nod reluctantly with a scowl.

“good,” he responds before squishing your cheeks. “aww, look at that cute angry face,” he coos as he leans in to plant a kiss on your forehead. you decided to pull away right before his lips touch your skin. 

“what the hell?” he snaps. 

“just leave me alone and go do whatever you need to do, dabi. i don’t care,” you reply solemnly, turning away from him.

usually, you’d call him one of the stupid nicknames you had for him, like ‘dobby the house elf’ with that god-awful british accent that you do when you say it. but the emphasis on correctly saying his name let him know that you were really pissed off. 

“fine. sit here and sulk. see if i care,” he grunts before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

“that’s all i ever do,” you mutter after he left. 

so now here you are, trying to drink your feelings away. 

you had accepted a long time ago that a relationship with him would be less than ideal but all the hiding was getting old to you. you wanted to go out every now and then, just for some fresh air. you were even delusional enough to think that maybe you could get him to take you out somewhere, like a normal couple. 

but that wasn’t the case. you did this to yourself and somehow, you still don’t regret it. 

you never thought you could love someone as much as you love him. you were both lost souls who had found each other through some thin strand of circumstance, call it fate if you want. you didn’t know everything but clearly he had been through some shit which made it only natural for you to gravitate toward him. you didn’t have the greatest track record either but it made you feel good, even hopeful, to find someone in a similar place. 

how could you let go of all of that now? 

“hey,” a distant voice called. “come on, wake up.” 

your eyes openly slowly to reveal your boyfriend. apparently, you had fallen asleep at the bar. 

“you can’t sleep down here,” he chided.

you blink, still processing the spinning images in front of your face. he wasn’t wearing his familiar jacket, leaving him in just his loose white shirt.

“da- dabi?” 

“yeah. it’s me. come on. we’re going up to bed,” he instructs, tugging lightly at your wrist. 

you allow him to pull you off the bar stool but it seems you overestimated your ability to stand up straight, as you immediately stumble to the ground. 

albeit exhausted, you giggle from your little blunder. “whoopies.” 

he sighs, looking back and down at you. “jesus christ, how much did you drink?” 

“just a few,” you answered. 

“yeah, right. not with how you’re walking, you clumsy dummy.” 

“carry me, please?” you ask, reaching out to him as you pout. 

he sighs once more, knowing that he cannot resist those eyes. he throws one of your arms around your neck as he lifts you up from under your knees and back. 

“whoa, it’s like a rollercoaster ride. woo-hoo,” you cheered drunkenly, hanging your head back. 

“quit moving,” he warns. “you’re gonna hit your head and then you’ll really be sorry.” 

“gosh, you’re grumpy,” you noted, reaching a hand up to boop his nose.

“i suggest not doing that unless you want me to drop you.”

thankfully, he was able to make it to the bedroom without such a casualty. he placed you down on your side of the bed before getting you all tucked under the blankets, not even letting you change out of your day clothes. he didn’t say anything and ignored all your incoherent babbling as you were settled into bed. when he was finished, he intended to turn around and walk out. unfortunately, you didn’t want him to leave just yet as he felt your hand tug at his wrist. 

“wait, where are you going? i have something to tell you,” you announced to him. 

“okay. well, say it,” he urged, turning slightly towards you. 

“nooooo,” you whined, shaking his hand. “can you get in the bed with me, please?”

you gave him that look again. “you and those damn eyes. alright, fine. move over.”

“yay!” you cheered as you made room for him. he took off his shirt before climbing in with you to which you naturally snuggled up close to him. 

“hmm, you’re so warm,” you hummed as you pressed yourself against his bare chest. 

“what were you going to say?” he asked in an annoyed tone.

“oh, yeah. i just wanted to say that i love you, even if you can be a head ass sometimes,” you spoke.

“what a sentiment,” he replied facetiously before hearing some sobs. “why are you crying?”

“because i love you so much! and i, um,” you stuttered, feeling more and more emotional. “i don’t want to lose you. i know you only keep me here to protect me but how do you think i feel? if you die, i want to die with you.”

he listened, his heart feeling both shame and warmth at the same time. he rubs a hand over your head as his other arm wraps around your body.

“sometimes you’re so sweet to me that it makes me sick,” he confessed. “but i guess that’s what they mean by ‘lovesick’, huh?”

“i love you and i’ve been in love with you since the beginning. i never really thought that i’d get this far, to be honest. i’m sorry that i can be a complete asshole to you when you don’t deserve it. well, maybe you do sometimes.”

he expected you would look annoyed and was shocked to hear you start laughing. he let a small grin appear on his face.

“only when you say dumb shit like those stupid nicknames that you call me,” he clarifiied.

he covered your mouth before you could even open it. “don’t. say it,” he warned. 

“i’m not done yet. i was thinking that maybe possibly we could try to go out somewhere...together,” he offers.

“really?” 

“but we’d have to wear disguises of some sort or go somewhere more secluded,” he reminds you. 

you gasp. “we could get matching raincoats!” 

“that’s the exact opposite of what i was thinking.”

“opposites are good. they attract, did you know?”

“that’s not true,” he countered before pulling you closer. “in fact, i think you’re a lot like me.”

“except my name isn’t da-beeee,” you pointed out while laughing, booping him in the nose again. 

at this point, he was just humoring you. “yeah, yeah. laugh all you want. just wait until the morning when you’re sick everywhere.”

“maybe if i knew your real name, you wouldn’t get so much hate,” you said in a sing-song voice. 

“i told you, i’ll tell you when you need to know,” he replied. 

“i need to know-whoa,” you sang. “i like that song.”

“alright, it’s quiet time now,” he hushed, beginning to rub the back of your neck to lull you to sleep. 

you sighed against his skin as your eyes drooped more and more. “love you.”

“love you more, sweetheart. i’ll talk to you in the morning.”

he figured it was time for him to completely let you in, planning on getting you sobered up enough to tell you everything about him. you are his one and only true love with whom he would try to build a more suitable life.

good night for a bnha night! send all your confessions...

big thanks to the lovely patrons for supporting this blog:

Syd

for exclusive nsfw writing and extras, join me on Patreon!

[earlyspringtranscendence]

so far this is all still very loose and based on watching the ep once but i wanted to write my initial thoughts on the themes in the ep

keys & being unable to open doors: in dream psychology & literature homes are the visual representation of the inward self, to be unable to get into his house to me means beard is having a hard time coming to terms with himself and what he wants—he keeps wandering from his core ideals (& towards jane i might add) & other people have to show him the way back, have to give him his keys and say “coach, i’m offering you your life back, will you take it?”  inability to open doors also often part of nightmares & feeling a lack of control in waking life

moons, stars & the night sky in a general sense: having a tough time really cracking into this one specifically even tho it’s the most overt one, part of it makes me think of the cyclical nature of the moon OR (and this is contradictory to the last one) the full moon as an ending to one thing & the beginning to a new, different thing. thinking also of light in the dark, external forces having uncontrollable effects on one’s life/the world in general, the whole concept of lunacy

identity in two parts; part one—changing clothes & changing lives: the episode starts with beard and the boys getting changed to go toward better, more exciting & fun life. part of beard’s original identity is stripped away from him forcefully (his richmond pants) while other parts are held onto specifically. at one point i was wondering whether we were being taken through beard’s history throughout his life, back to when he was a raucous youngster wearing flares and dating oxford professors and getting chased away, but i def dont think thats true. i will say though that beard picks a cap out of the box (or was he already wearing it ??? i dont remember but i dont Think so ??) which is the same model as the one jane gives him at the end of the episode in which higgins criticises jane’s controlling nature (moon? is she the moon, maybe?) and once again feels like beard is trying to change himself to run away from something which exists within the original version of himself, towards jane who offers escape and love (albeit twisted, but from beard’s pov she offers the opportunity for love). what else is interesting here is the way the boys’ path ends up diverging from beard’s—they get to nelson road and throw off the assumed identity of the evening which never truly fit them (they couldn’t even keep up the ruse in the club for long) returning to who they are as we know them, richmond fans with little influence over the plot. beard, on the other hand, ends the episode while still wearing the flares thrust upon him, the identity so far removed from his own

part two—his name: let’s get into fairytales for a second. what the hell is up with beard’s first name. jane calls him beard. ted calls him beard. why does this man keep his true identity so close to his chest ? why is he scared that if he reveals his name it will be taken and twisted and used to force him into doing things he doesn’t want? i believe ted knows beard’s name but doesn’t use it out of (an incorrectly placed) respect towards his friend, i do not believe beard has ever told jane his name. i don’t think she’s asked, either, but that’s not part of the point. out of all the characters in the show beard really does come across as the most fairytale trickster of all, he has no name, he’s there and gone in the blink of an eye (see: when he calls nate out) he’s always hunting for knowledge and he frankly knows everything. why is he so mythologised ? who is coach beard, really? and why is he so afraid of himself?

[000rache1]

it feels as though it’s been a while, now, of returning to your ask box every so often. the passing of time looms over me, although I’m slowly learning to be enveloped in its grove, instead of succumbing to its perceived might. time is precious, certainly. piecing together the puzzle of time and experience can cause delirium.. and yet, feel ethereal. simply acknowledging this (perceived) truth feels freeing. it’s likely part of my cycle, to reset my processes. all of my asks akin to prom dresses.

my work and my life allow me to fall in love with people and things, assuming I’m attentive and proactive. I am not where I want to be, but the grove is still growing, yes? hell bent on feeding flowers and showering knowledge cyclically as I myself am watered. the world looks bleak at times, so perhaps I start smaller. I cannot stress how grateful I am for your camaraderie. these are moments in between that keep me going. thank you, really, for reading and responding.

tell me anything, if you want, about your life. large or small, concrete or abstract. what have you left on the asphalt or kept in your backpack? have you seen columns of basalt or the salt flats? I believe my asks once had more rhymes.. perhaps for the moment, we’re past that ;p

always wishing the best and again, eternally gratefully,

inbox catharsis anon ( ˘ ³˘)♥

first off, apologies for such a delay in my response. sometimes I come back and read these over and over but I hesitate on my responses because I wish I could word things as beautifully as you do. truly. people who are able to make you feel a certain way with just there words are special, and you my friend are special! (at least to me)

life has treated me well lately. can’t say i’ve been lucky enough to see any columns of basalt or salt flats but it’s definitely been tacked to my mental clipboard to refer back to later.

in this moment, in life, I have to say i’m pretty content. i’m trying to spend my days around the people who bring me joy but sometimes I can’t help but to admit that I enjoy my own solitude most. i’ve become a bit of a recluse these days. i’m alone but.. i’m not lonely.

i’m working on trying to reignite the passion for hobbies that bring me peace of mind. like painting, or photography or anything that allows me to have creative input/freedom. for such a long while that was a large part of who I am, and unintentionally over time i’ve stopped pushing myself to make time for those things. so i’m trying to be a little bit more conscious of that now while still being gentle with myself.

I hope my message finds you well anon, i’ll be looking forward to your next msg ❣️

[onedaughterofman]

YET ANOTHER FUN FACTS POST

The title comes from Ghost's "Dance Macabre" song. This references not only the whole "Copia and his lover always danced with each other" but also how Nihil and Sister's relationship started in the lore (during the Dance Macabre video).

When Mary says "you can't rely on a man's loyalty" that's a wink to my "Mary Goore used to date young Papa Nihil" fic.

Primo's garden is based on Minerva's gardens in Salerno, Italy. I've been there once and it was beautiful!

The Codex Gigas is a real book, stored in Sweden's National Library (I'm not sure if it's open to the public eye now). And yes, ten whole pages are still missing. One of the biggest particularities of the book is a big portrait of Satan. Some people believe it is, indeed, cursed.

The Antichrist prophecy written here is based not only on the lyrics of "Prime Mover", but also on the song "Prophet's song" by Queen (probably one of my fav songs).

It is mentioned the crows were "incredibly loud" the night Goore was born. This is a small wink to @calitmediondell idea of Mary as Eric Draven and @ghestie93 The Crow! AU Mary Goore fanfic.

In the song "Under the Spell", Mary sings: "They kept me for ages in prison called earth, wearing the mark of the devil since my rebirth" and " The dark era's rising, you've been forewarned. I was born to this world to take it by storm. Unleashed from the pit, straight out of hell, behold my return". That's what gave me the idea of them being the original Antichrist.

The whole Copia vs Goore is an allegory of "natural born monsters" vs "man made monsters". Yes, a natural born Antichrist is scary, but one created by men actions seemed way scarier to me. Copia wasn't born to become the Antichrist, even if Imperator tried her best to make him the prophecy boy. Copia was given all the potential to become it, he only needed a little push.

The Goore vs Ghoulettes part is inspired on the short story "The Night Face-Up" by Julio Cortázar. He's one of my favorite writers and you should check his work if you can!

Mary getting buried under a cross is a "Mary on a Cross" word-play. It was fun in my head.

Copia's underground safe-place is based on the entrance of Hell written in the Divine Comedy. I thought it was fitting to make Copia feel "safe and at home" in a place like that. Specially since Prequelle's cover shows the Hellmouth (or jaws of Hell).

When Copia and Reader first met, it is mentioned he was staring a ta painting of an Ouroboros, a snake or dragon biting it's own tail. This creature reflects an eternal cycle, something that's the core of this story. Everything is cyclical. Copia's story starts with Nihil and Imperator dancing in "Dance Macabre" (which lead to Sister dating him and then getting pregnant), continues with Copia and Reader also meeting in a party and ends with them dancing their own "Dance Macabre".

Reader talking to Copia doesn't mean they have regained sentience. They are trapped on a memory loop, repeating past scenes like a broken record. Copia is the one who moves on, by accepting his destiny. He lost his religion, casted away all other deities to hail himself as God.

The rain finally falls this chapter. During all the previous parts, it was threatening to fall, but never did. In a way, symbolizes Copia's self discovery journey coming to an end.

The night I wrote the part where Copia is talking to the Ghoulette about wanting to become Satan, I dreamed was getting choked to death by a demon while someone was yelling at me in a very deep, booming voice. Woke up gasping for air and shaking. I think Satan didn't like that part too much.

You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go. Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.

A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."

Breathe.

The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.

Breathe again.

Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.

The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.

You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.

That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.

Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it. 

 It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.

Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.

Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this. 

If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.

In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.

“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”

One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.

And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.

The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.

Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.

It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.

Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?

Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?

It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.

Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.

Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.

“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”

“What have you done to them?”

As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.

“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”

“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”

No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror. 

You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.

The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place. 

When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”

Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”

Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.

Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.

“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”

Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”

“You’d say it’d work.”

“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”

A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.

It’s awful.

“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"

No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth. 

Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come. 

But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”

“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”

“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”

Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now. 

 It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.

No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.

In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.

There should be only men, only himself. 

Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time.  “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”

Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.

In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin. 

“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”

There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords. 

Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.

“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”

In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.

Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.

When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.

If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.

It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.

Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.

Copia is tired, so tired all the time.

There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.

What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.

And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.

Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.

There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.

No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.

You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.

Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.

A whole new figure.

A whole new person.

You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.

And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.

Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.

It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.

Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.

Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.

Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?

Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.

It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.

Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?

Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.

Then…

Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.

Who…

Who are you?

Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.

What happened?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you. 

“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”

“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”

The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.

“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”

Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”

“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.

The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”

The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”

“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”

Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.

No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…

That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…

Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”

“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”

The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.

As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.

No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…

Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.

An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”

Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”

From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.

It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.

The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”

Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.

Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.

No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.

Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."

Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.

“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”

“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”

The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.

And yet…

The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.

“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”

Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…

Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.

Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...

“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”

Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be.

There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”

In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”

“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”

“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”

“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”

The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”

It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.

With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.

It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”

“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”

In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.

There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him. 

“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.

The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.

It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.

Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.

And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.

A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.

The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.

The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.

Yes.

Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.

The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.

Oh, there she is.

One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.

Is this it, then?

The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”

No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.

Right next to them.

The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.

“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.

Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”

Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.

Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.

Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.

“Should we play with it first?”

“Papa said to have fun.”

Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.

Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.

If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.

Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.

“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”

“Amore, careful there, please.”

This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.

You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.

Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.

Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"

“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.

It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.

Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.

If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.

It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else. 

Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.

When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.

The world seemed so small back then. 

Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.

Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.

Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”

There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.

He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.

A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end. 

The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.

Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”

Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.

It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.

The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…

There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.

Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.

“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static. 

Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.

"I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you. 

No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.

"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed." 

The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.

No.

He’s God now.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails. 

“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”

2 Thessalonians 2:3–12

The end.

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Four

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note ::  you should also check out my ao3 and wattpad my username is LEVIATTACKS on both platforms. ao3 usually gets to see my updates first, feel free to leave any comments you have i appreciate all feedback ^___^ → next part is here!!

"Refer to me with that name once more and I'll see to it that your neck is snapped in two. Fucking Brat." His voice curls into a low hiss.

He rises from the bed making you jolt, if he's moving towards his dagger everything will be over in a matter of seconds. The tension between the two of you is foggy and uncertain.

Your line of vision is cloudy, bleary tears seize it. You should have tried harder whilst researching, found a way to make Lev stay, it hits you like a sack of bricks - you didn't try hard enough, was that the issue, was that the mistake you made this time? Mind full of harsh expletives you continue to curse yourself. Of course he left, of course he fucking did. Your life was one large cyclical narrative of earning the love of others and ultimately losing it along the way some how.

The world conditioned you to become independent, to not rely on others for affection, earn what you must on your own. Making your own way through life is all you know yet here you are. On the verge of tears because this damn fool won't remember you. Happiness is a privilege.

Staring into the distance you don't see the way your husband's glare thins out, neither do you notice how he leans forward invading your personal space.

"Care to explain how we got into this situation?" Breath fanning across your face exactly the same way it had months ago you gulp and realise he's staring at your lacy nightgown in sheer distaste. Oh no, He's got the wrong idea completely.

You jerk your head up to explain and only then is the close proximity between the two of you evident, you nearly knock your head against his as if you're inebriated. "No, no. We've never done that. I promise we haven't. I wouldn't take advantage of you." You're sputtering and are all over the place trying to hold some sort of ground in this conversation.

"I see that you saw no issue with taking advantage of me in other ways. You scheming money hungry roach."

You want to clear your name and tell him you really haven't touched any of his money. None of it at all to the point it's shameful to admit, especially considering the fact that everyone else sees you as Duchess Ackerman.

"I have not spent any of your money I swe-".

A deafening bang resounds through the room - in his fit of rage he kicks one of the solid oak drawers at the side of your bed to the floor.

A squeaky gasp falls out of your mouth and you flinch away as you cover your chest defensively. Your arms aren't the best armour but they work for now. If he's to stab you your worst fear is him piercing through your heart. What you fear most is him ripping the vital organ out of the confines of your chest. If he laughs hysterically and watches it bleed out you'll never forgive him. Your worries and doubts are internally eating away at you as you witness the darkness seeping into the corners of his vision.

It's quiet and dark and with him as well as a heavy silence looming over you, the pressure on your shoulders is quite literally immense.

He takes a hold of your chin and obnoxiously squishes your rosy cheeks together, dark tundra eyes never falter from yours, that is until they abruptly sink south and he catches drift of the way your night gown has ridden up. Thighs on full display you want to pull the edges of the material down but are too afraid to move under his deathly stare.

"Do you know how long I was stuck inside of my own body? Having to act like a fool on the daily."

"What?" You shakily reply through parted lips.

He was able to see everything he did under the spell? This changes the dynamic significantly. Cheeks flaring up in embarrassment you recall how you ate up all the sweet nothings he whispered into your ears, the scarlet blush creeps to the back of your ears when you think back to how you fervently kissed him goodbye whenever he was sent to venture outside the walls. The sanguine tint only intensifies when you think about the night where you accidentally let his bare hands venture a little too far.

"Naive little thing," he grunts. "You will never be my wife." He scowls sniffing at you in pure repulsion.

Whiskey, cigarette fumes and strong sweat infused cologne revoltingly is what you're reminded of when you hear those words leave his mouth. The stench isn't present but nevertheless you feel your throat constrict, never expecting to see any sort of parallel form between Levi and that man. The one time you stood your ground against Father it led to you being dragged away from the palace grounds, beat until you were unresponsive and left for dead. He left you there with the intention of extermination, his final words as he bid you goodbye that night had been - "You will never be my daughter."

You have no words left to offer, you're tongue tied. Expressionless whilst he gauges your reaction, the both of you don't register how Levi's grip on your cheeks loosens, that is until the look in his hooded eyes changes. They're inky now smoldering with resentment, he lets go of the hold he has on your face completely.

The separation between your face and his palm is stony.

All you want at that moment is for Lev to come back and wake you up from all of this. You've had enough of this sick and twisted nightmare where he doesn't look at you the way he normally does. The way he manhandles you irks you and lights a dangerous fire in your stomach.

Blinking your tears away you finally speak after your long silence "I know that My Lord." taking what may be one of your final breaths you announce the unthinkable "Feel free to finish what you were unable to last time."

"No begging?" he chastises you pulling you by the back of your ear.

"Would you spare me if I did?" The close ended question you respond with leaves him stiff.

Snatching your forearm you note that even when he's not under the constraint of the spell physical touch is consistently one of his ways of getting a point across. He jerks your tired form forward. "Who do you work for?"

Blood running cold you know he won't kill you now. He thinks you've come here with a purpose, a motive, a reason. Hell, all you did was ask to be loved, to experience something before the candle which was your life burnt out.

"No one. You said you were conscious in your mind whilst it all happened, correct?"

He nods albeit begrudgingly.

"Then you must have seen how I tried."

His right eyebrow cocks upwards ever so slightly. "Tried?"

Now it's your turn to be frustrated. "Tried to keep my distance, tried to ignore your advances, tried to refuse your gifts, tried to maintain a level of respect so the both of us would have some dignity remaining if you were to return some day. When I realised you would not stop with your persistence I accepted." You fumed - the fretful irritation you feel only increases by the second.

"Cut the crap." He snarls at you.

You want to snarl back with just as much impatience but you bite your tongue.

Maybe it's because it's late at night, maybe it's because you're fatigued or maybe it's because you already felt feverish and emotional - Honestly, any other reason apart from your husband turning his back on you and announcing you're a mongrel. Feeling light headed you clutch at your scalp harshly trying to control yourself, even Levi's firm hand which until recently held your left arm recoils away.

Falling to your knees you feel the way the floor grates against your bare legs. Your urge to pass out is nearly met but then you hear him.

"Honey???" The concern in his voice which had made you fall in love with him now repulses you.

Fists balling at your knees you silently sob, pitifully shaking your head.

This can't be your reality.

It can't be.

You won't let it be.

That night you find out nightmares can happen in real life.

Levi Ackerman being a prime example.

After the bitter encounter you leave the room and order Lev to not come after you, you need your own space and as much as you want him to return to his sweet, loving self it's pathetic to seek any comfort in him. That tyrant is bound to make another appearance soon enough and mock you for falling into his trap again, but really can you blame the man? Is this his fault or your own?

Whoever is at fault there will still come a time where the Levi you love won't come back and call you his Love. You'll have to get used to that bleak desolate reality. Assuming he doesn't kill you before you have to.

Day has now broken and the brisk morning air bites at you, scantily clad in your nightgown, It's abnormal, you think to yourself. The position you're in is one you imagined countless times but you never really thought you'd end up this way. You're about to drift off to sleep right there in the middle of the Estate's field of hydrangeas, too tired to actually care anymore when you hear a rustle from one of the surrounding bushes.

"Duchess?" Your head turns when you hear Mikasa's soft voice emerge from the hedges, she steps through them and you both stare at each other. Mouth open, gaping in shock she takes in your appearance. You can only imagine how you look right now. Dark eye bags, you aren't wearing your usual noble attire not to mention Levi has accidentally left a bruise on one of your arms. It's faint because it is accidental (you hope) it does not go unnoticed by Mikasa.

Her gaze hardens and she approaches your disheveled form kneeling in front of you.

"What happened?" She whispers, the panic is evident in her voice and you awkwardly chuckle in response.

"I had a horrible nightmare. That's all, honest."

"And it's Y/N need I remind you again?" Mikasa is big on respect and sure, it is cute but you want to remind her it really is okay to call you by your first name. After all you would consider her a friend, you hope she sees you the same way.

Giving you a look of disbelief she takes the hint that you don't want to talk about it but much to your delight she does take the advice regarding your name. She sounds hesitant but that's how she usually is, she'll get used to it in no time at all.

"Well...Y/N, Breakfast has been prepared." You can see the way she eyes your unkempt hair and shivering form. "Would you like to eat with me and Sasha?" this is her way of comforting you.

Your lips quirk up into a smile for the first time in a while.

"I would love that."

Twenty minutes and a change of clothes later you've all relocated to your tea room, Sasha doesn't ask questions about your hair or odd choice of clothing earlier this morning. The shadows Levi's fingers left on your arm are now carefully hidden by the sleeves of your baby blue dress. "Oh! Viscount Kirstein me and Y/N saw him yesterday. He's just like the rumours." Sasha exclaims as she stuffs her face with a croissant.

Mikasa takes a short sip from her tea cup. "And the rumours would be?"

You pick a cinnamon roll from the center of the table."Undeniably handsome. I mean he's not my type though."

Sasha looks momentarily confused. "He was drop dead gorgeous what do you mean?"

You laugh a bit at the disbelief on her face, Mikasa chooses to not intervene - she's obviously yet to come to her own conclusions about him.

"Yeah but you said it yourself he fucks anything in a skirt." Sasha, is wide eyed at first and chokes on part of her buttered croissant, you have never been so vulgar before. You guess the argument has left you more likely to voice your reckless thoughts. Snorting you try to keep your laugh in, the ghost of a smile makes its way to Mikasa's face and eventually she too dissolves into a puddle of laughter. The three of you laughing together genuinely eases the recent burden on your soul.

Just as you're about to crack another joke the door to your tea room rumbles.

BANG!  You seem to always be cut off when you're here because Eren Jaeger has burst inside perhaps for the seventh time this month. It's the same routine as usual, he's panting and catching his breathe before he speaks. You're in no mood to hear what he has to say.

"If the Duke has sent you please leave."

Mikasa gives him a "You better not ask any questions and take the damn hint" kind of look but bless Eren for he is completely and utterly clueless.

"It's urgent."

"Still rejecting." You hotly reply.

Mikasa icily interjects "Eren, would you stop being so bothersome?"

He looks between you and Mikasa helplessly. "The Duke says he expects your refusal but I can't return empty handed, I'll be given a punishment and it'll be worse than being made to clean the stables." He gives you a pleading look and he's so much younger than you, it makes you feel like he's your responsibility. Eren has a charming way of making himself feel like everyone else's annoying younger brother. You accept that he can't suffer because of your selfish denial.

Sighing deeply you take a final bite of your roll, if you're going to die you may as well do so on a full stomach. Before you depart you awkwardly get to your feet dusting your dress to buy some time as you bid Mikasa and Sasha goodbye.

You're now following Eren through the halls of the estate. Deep down inside, you know you aren't fearful. He won't kill you, not yet at least, he thinks you're a useful source of information relating to his external enemies, he would be stupid to overlook that detail. You'll exploit it for now, your key is survival, it always has and always will be that way.

Bumping into Eren's back you apologize for being absent minded, you swear the walk to Levi's office has always been much longer. He spares you a worried glance and looks as if he's about to offer you words of support but he stops himself before he opens the heavy door to Duke Ackerman's office. Perhaps he doesn't find it appropriate. Good, you think to yourself. You don't wish to hear motivation from anyone right now, it's nothing personal, it's that nothing can possibly be of motivation right now.

The door opens ever so slowly, your brain races making everything move at a sedated pace. Then you find yourself jolting upright in surprise. You soon realise expecting Levi to be the only person there was naive on your part. Eyes tensely land on the blonde in one of the cushioned caramel chairs. It's the Commander of the Empire's entire battalion — Erwin Smith.

Levi has ratted you out for sure, you spare a glance towards him and see the way he's trying to hide his feelings of amusement. You want to lunge over his desk and wipe that smug smirk off his face. The playful lilt in his usual unreadable expression is driving you mad. Next to Erwin is respected and high ranking Squad Leader Hange Zoe, you're quite well accustomed with them you've exchanged your fair share of words together and Hange has never failed to bring a smile to your face. The amusing air around them lights up any room they're in... Apart from this one that is.

Eren closes the door behind you and you're silent not really knowing what to do.

"Take a seat my beloved." Levi drawls. This isn't Lev you know that much, he's always enthusiastically jumping to his feet when he greets you.

Awkwardly sitting in the chair next to your husband you shake Hange's hand first then move to shake Erwin's. His warm palms envelope yours and he places a hand on your left shoulder. It's not at all similar to the way Levi held you earlier in the morning, the feeling is genuine. He has no ill intentions, all he seems to want to do is open a conversation.

"Y/N, we may not have much time but." He stops, unsure if it's for dramatics but you still intently listen.

The sea that is his blue eyes draws you in, you've only ever seen him from afar. If honesty and gentleness were a person it would be him no doubt about it.

He pats your shoulder and you snap out of your day dream. "Y/N. Thank you for your sacrifice and commitment to this Empire." His warm yet serious smile which follows simply confuses you, in fact this entire situation is doing that.

Jaw slacking you're dazed and bewildered, your thoughts are diverting in all sorts of direction now.

Whatever does he mean by sacrifice?

[bakubitch-minusultra]

Not Alone: Chapter Eleven

-> an apocalyptic series with bnha characters but without quirks because im the writer and i can do whatever the fuck i want :P new character unlocked

-> Word Count: 2.1k

-> Warnings: none(?)

-> Taglist: @5sosfckss @laudthingcat @zphilophobiaz

The sun set as they reached the top of a hill she never climbed. It was in the opposite mountain range from where she had been and she was nervous of it. She didn’t know what lied on the other side. Her feet hurt and she was tired.

He layed a bunch of bows on the ground and gave Y/n a very appealing look. It made her stomach hurt.

She walked to where he had chosen to sleep and smiled at it. There were branches on the ground which made a mat for sleeping. He had chosen a huge tree with great bows to protect them in case it rained. He was like her father, more than she expected him to be. Not that she ever expected to meet him.

“They think you’re dead.”

He put the last bow down and sat on it. He took the jacket he had brought with him and put it down, patting it for Y/n to sit beside him. Her steps hurt her feet now that they had stopped walking. She dropped onto the ground beside him and watched his eyes sparkle as darkness took over the night sky. She tucked her bow and quiver next to her, always close.

“I was taken to the work farms. We were hiding in this old house like your farmhouse. I wasn’t smart like you though. I never thought about bunkers or having a few different houses and traveling between them. I was an idiot. Anyway they came. I hid Mina and Kirishima and let them take me.”

His face was stoic. She wanted him to kiss her again. She started to wonder if he was going to.

“How did you get away from the farms?”

“I met some people while I was there. Doctors who were forced to work the breeder camps and other scientists. They convinced me I needed to start a revolution from the outside. I escaped with some of him.” He shook his head, as if his thoughts entertained him and brushed his hand through his hair again. He looked at Y/n and smiled, “You know a good spot to clean up around here?”

She shook her head, “Never been here before. You’re starting a revolution?”

He nodded, “The camp we were just at is one of our peace camps. It’s like a retreat. The children and young and old stay there. We have people coming and going constantly. Didn’t you notice how easily you were welcomed?”

“I guess. I just thought that’s what people were like when they live in a camp like that. Aside from the machine gun escort that is.”

He laughed again. She liked the sound of it but it reminded her of Kirishima.

“Well that was a big wolf Y/n. How’d you end up with him?”

“His mother gave birth and must’ve gotten sick shortly after. Hades was waiting for me at the door of the cabin one day. He was tiny then. I could hear his brothers and sisters in the woods. I found the mother dead and half eaten surrounded by the other cubs who were weak and sick. It was awful. I shot them and burned them. It’s the closest the infection ever got to my cabin. He was immune anyway so that’s helpful.”

“He’s immune? Naturally? Maybe he never ate any of the mom.”

Y/n shook her head, “Nah, she wasn’t the only sick thing Hades has eaten. He likes the infected.”

He grimaced, “That’s disgusting. Disgusting and lucky all at the same time.”

“It is.”

“What do you know about the start of the infection?”

Y/n shrugged, “People got sick and some died but others lived and went a little crazy.”

His eyes looked dark as his expression lost its humor and the sun set completely. “No Y/n, people didn’t just get sick. The infection was spread on purpose. Everything that’s happened has been a plan all along.”

“That can’t be true.”

“I wish it weren’t. There was something called the United Nations. They did all of this.”

Y/n felt sick, “They were evil?”

“Not evil, just detached. The world was running out of resources and everyone was constantly putting a hand out to them and asking for aid and food and money. The UN had been warning us forever about global warming and the ice melting and the ocean becoming acidic. Anyway in 2012 all of Greenland's ice and snow melted in a week. The earth started to enter a drought. We thought it was a cyclical event but it wasn’t. It was man made. We had pushed it too far. The same time all this was happening, a conference was held in Rio about the environment. Canada, the US and China pretty much pulled out and admitted they had no intention of slowing their pollution to the recommended level. It would be too hard on their economies. That was the final straw. Apparently the UN had a backup plan for a worst-case scenario such as that. They had a plague. It had a vaccine, which made it easy to spread and then control. The problem was it mutated. They spread the virus at the same time they had bombs placed deep in the ocean along the Japanese coastline. They bombed the shelf and pretty much wiped Japan off the face of the earth and made the west coast of North America a target for huge tidal waves.”

It felt like a movie to Y/n. It didn’t feel real. It felt like the ramblings of her father, before.

“How could you know all this?”

“The work farms. I met people who had been part of the initial plan. The plan was to reset everything. Instead the UN decided they wanted to start humanity over but set it up to succeed this time. The breeder farms were built where only the fit and healthy were allowed to reproduce."

She shivered just imagining it.

Bakugo laughed, “It isn’t what you think. I know what everyone thinks happens but it’s not. The girls only breed every three years and only up to three times. The pregnancy isn’t the result of rape, it’s done using science. The baby is made in a lab and then inserted into the woman’s womb.” Y/n gagged and Bakugo laughed. “The religious had the same reaction. The UN never mentioned this plan to anyone but the very high ups. It never went well.”

“The girls are still taken against their will and made to make babies against their will.”

She saw his head nod in the dark, “Yup and the babies are not God’s children to the Christians. Anyway the UN runs the military but again, they sit in their closed office and plan using numbers and facts and data. They don’t leave it to see what the world looks like or how corrupt the military is. They’ve built six cities world wide from the ashes and rubble of previous cities. They plan on cleaning every inch of the world.

Y/n’s head was spinning, “What about the borderlands?”

“They can’t use anymore bombs without affecting the weather and pollution again, so the plan stands at leaving us to our own devices until they have this part of the world cleaned up. Then they’ll come round us up.”

“Why?”

“They want the diseases and illnesses bred out. They won’t allow those people to live and breed.”

“Oh my god it’s like a nightmare.”

“It is. On that note, we need sleep. You sleep first and I’ll keep watch.”

“That’s some bedtime story.” She liked Kirishima’s better. He laughed and Y/n watched his silhouette in the dark for a moment. He didn’t lean in to kiss her. He was watching the hill they climbed. “How long have they been breeding science babies?”

His outline turned to her and she saw the shine of his eyes in the dark,”A long time.”

“Are the babies different than the rest of us?”

“Yeah.”

The broken branches led them to a camp in a valley on the opposite side of the mountain where her farmhouse sat. The size of the camp was disturbing. Bakugo smiled as he saw it and walked directly up to the man holding the gun amid the trees.

“Halt.”

“Oi dunce face!” Bakugo shouted.

The gunman smiled, “No shit, Bakugo you’re alive. I heard they caught you.”

Bakugo laughed, “They think they did. Is Monoma still in charge?”

The man Bakugo called dunce face pointed to the camp, “He’s still in the smallest tent, you know what he’s like. Still paranoid they’ll bomb us.”

Bakugo laughed and pointed towards Y/n, “This is my friend Y/n.” She felt hurt when he called her his friend. She didn’t know why but the word stung.

“I’m Denki,” He put a hand out and Y/n noticed he had a nice smile. She met his golden eyes and smiled back, “Nice to meet you.” His eyes flickered to Bakugo and an even bigger smile crossed his lips, “So where’d ya two meet?”

She looked at Bakugo.

“She walked up to the mountain retreat the other day with a huge wolf for a pet and an unruly teenager.”

Denki’s eyes grew wide, “You have a wolf?”

She nodded. She wanted to find Mina and Kirishima. She didn’t understand why Bakugo wasn’t busting inside to see them. She felt herself fidget in place,

“Well I’m gonna go see Monoma and see what’s new on this side of the hill.”

They walked toward the camp as the sound of birds squawking filled the forest. The gunmen lower their weapons as they hear the sound and they walk past them. The camp opened as the forest spread thin. It looked like the camp they were at before except that everyone was wearing a firearm or knife. At one point Y/n swore she saw a sword. There were no children here.

“Bakguo! You’re alive!”

A girl with long blonde hair and cut off shorts ran and jumped into his arms. Y/n’s heart stopped as she watched the girl kiss his lips. The lips that only just kissed Y/n the day before. She felt heat radiating from her cheeks. She heard about men who weren’t tied down in romance novels and felt sick thinking that she had fallen for one. All the years of reading the novels and judging the ladies who seemed strong and smart and then fell for a jerk. Reality hurts. She wanted Kirishima and Mina and her cabin and Hades and Jirou. She wanted to let the world kill itself and hide up in the mountains. She never wanted to kiss Bakugo again. She couldn’t believe she was so reckless.

“Camie what the hell. You know me better than that,” He twirled her around and looked sheepishly at Y/n, “This is Y/n.” Y.n nodded and gripped her bow.

Camie beamed at her, “Wow nice find Bakugo, He save you from the farms too?”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, “I don’t need a hero.”

Camie looked at Bakugo, who was staring at Y/n. Y/n walked past him and started to look around. If he didn’t want to find his friends then that’s his problem. Y/n would be damned if she would let them live another moment without the knowledge that their asshole of a friend was alive and well.

“You pissed at me?” Y/n didn’t turn and continued along, eyes desperately searching the crowds of people.

“Bakugo.” He shook hands with a very tanned man with the whitest smile Y/n had ever seen. People continued to greet him, but she couldn’t hear them anymore. She saw what she was looking for. She saw a tall guy limping with shaggy red hair. She broke into a run and dived into his arms when she was close enough to him.

As she made contact he turned. His face was exactly as she remembered it. He had her in his arms before she could speak a word.

“Y/n oh my god. Y/n it’s you. Holy shit I thought they got you.” He was planting kisses everywhere across her face.

“Where’s Mina?”

Kirishima’s kisses stopped but his grip on her face was still strong, “They took her.” Y/n felt her heart drop and wanted to collapse into his arms and sub.

“Shitty hair.”

Kirishima dropped to his knees in front of Y/n. His hands left her face and fell onto the tops of his knees.

“Bakugo? Bakugo is that you?”

Bakugo rushed at him and lifted him up. He pulled him into his embrace. The friend’s hug was fierce but all she heard was the sentence ‘they took her’ repeating in her mind.

Kirishima looked back at her, “You found him?”

Y/n shook his head, she had no words. They hug and cry and laugh but she was stunned. Finally able to speak, she muttered, “Where’d they take her?”

Their reunion no longer meant anything to Y/n.

[silvermuffins]

NieR:Automata: Cat stop eating my pretzels

For the record, individual post titles basically never have anything much to do with actual post content. Now then.

see ya twobee get yer own moose

HOLY FUCK WHITE MOOSE

IMMA RIDE THAT ONE

SPRINTING ON MOOSE WRECKS ENEMIES

okay we will come back to this another time actually

i must go my people need me

OKAY WE ARE BACK, SEVERAL DAYS AND MANY TEARS LATER

i will still be taking another break for pasta before long

uh oh my ps4 seems to be having a problem of some sort

u ok buddy?

it...lost power, somehow, at some point?

when?

what the fuck happened??

guess we'll see what we need to do, i don't think i lost anything much....didn't exactly do much last time

looks like i lost my adventures in moose-riding

ah well onward toward the amusement park

was there a cutscene here before?

???

treasures with different shapes????

wahoo!

i dont have tons to say rn bc, you know, i already did this part

.....i might kill the tank this time just to get it in my intel,,,,

i know they're just having a good time but like, they'll respawn, right?

and they're past the dude who warns dangerous and broken so it's IC, right?

yeah 9S even says "let's take it out"

time to ride the coaster

simone time

i aam very bad at hacking

"I want your eyes to look upon me alone"

this is...backstory?

blue stone. brilliant blue. BLUE THUMP--

(jokes only amber will get)

machines can vomit?

i guess eve's were going full carnivore (....machino...vore....????) on the Resistance last run

simone just wants senpai to notice her

madness mantra

uh oh

and so i scream

god, 2B acts emotionless but is so eager to save her companions

i do wonder what's with the pile of TVs in the basement

! my first fisty weapons!

to the machine village!

i seem to recall my game likes to crash on the way to the village so let's save before we get out of the park's save bubble

okay that bit with the sending parts and supplies up HAS to be foreshadowing SOMETHING....but what???

was this flash of white here before?

eve eating an apple.

oh my god

adam raising his brother to wear underpants

not what i expected!

just talks to Pascal off the bat

yup, nobody wants to fight

i need to go see about pasta

nop no noodles yet

anyway.

what i remember is that now....it is SIDEQUEST HELL!

i do not like how this machine mama talks about her son

i already feel bad about this

oh....okay i feel better now

it's okay kiddo, communication IS hard

ah looks like i might have to restart the sidequests i didn't finish before...

that'll be a pain

noodles should be ready very soon....letty hungy letty wamt meal

penne with vodka sauce if anyone's curious

(nobody is)

okay actually it's apparently four-cheese sauce

which is weird because it tastes like it needs cheese

anyway i do appreciate getting to know the different Operators a little...

also it's kinda weird just how little the androids know about humans isn't it?

the machines almost seem to understand more about humans and how people live

though i guess the androids probably got all kinds of propaganda

especially yorha

OKAY CONSPIRACY THEORY TIME

adam and eve, the first people. WHAT IF the machine wars are separated by like...earth being populated, and whether it's machines or humans switches between every war?

what if the cyclical implications are because these wars always play out the same?

listen i'd believe weirder shit at this point

i am also not convinced that this 9S playthrough i'm doing is the "same" playthrough as got me to ending A

like. hear me out. same shit but it's *fucking happened before*, exactly the same almost, and this either takes place *before* playthrough 1 started or after it ended

and for some reason 2B remembers shit across cycles but has to pretend she doesn't

repeatedly attempts platforming my way to chests

OKAY now let's beat up daddy servo and see if he's done yet

i feel weird about papa serves us having a head in his crotch now

"taste the forbidden fruits" or "go hungry" i LOVE how sassy the options in this game are

anyway im level 45 let's fuck him up

of a random and unspecified god

nice i already have his shit

nice star wars reference

seriously though, he's gonna have me come at him AGAIN???

next time might be the last....i hope so im getting sick of him

huh the same message from humanity.....i think that's a recording folks

i think the humans are dead

where my white moose buddy at

not here :(

oh fuck i accidentally killed a moose with fall damage

sorry

wait but....there's a chest back there, why can't i get to it....

gimme a few levels and i'll be back, papa servo....but i see there's another sidequest in the village?

there's one out in the desert...

there's another in what looks to be the amusement park's castle?

you know what i'm gonna blast ahead to when i get fast travel, actually

wait what's this "novel" thing in my intel...oooh is that Simone's text?

picture books, too...

rams moose into another moose

nearly fell down the chasm....by which i mean i did but only a little, i found my way back up

....uh? moose dude? you okay? u chillin'?

he's just kinda right at the VERY EDGE of the waterfall like his model is hanging half off the cliff

im gonna leave him be

oh goddammit is the quest that kiddo locked himself in again?

aww he's got a crush

OKAY TIME TO FIGHT ENGELS AGAIN

that was easy

there goes the neighborhood!

oh boy LOTS of sidequests on the map now! so like i said imma go get fast travel then do a lot of these

i think i get fast travel once i go see adam and eve again?

wait there were only the wormy ones down here before....

but now there's one of the big ones that 9S became at the end of ending A

is this about to deviate?

apparently not

also imma go to the flooded city early to see about that one couple

50,000G? Is that all?

tis but a pittance

uhhh i just got an exchange of dialogue between 9S and Pod that i dooooon't think I have context for.....

there's "anothere of those machines" and he's like "i guess it's going to attack me" and his pod says something about this type of machine specifically seeking out androids for revenge....

OH WAIT NO I THINK IT'S THE GOLDEN ONES

ALL IS WELL

fuck i'm bad at hacking

but you have to kill the big one first and then the little one, right?

STOP FUCKING TARGETING THE LITTLE ONE

9S refuses to not target the little one! i want to hack the big one!

okay NOW we can work on the little one

that machine's dying speech hits hard...

dafuq, the music?

okay there's no giant standing wrecked fish machine here

i AM gonna try to platform over to those chests i saw before before i go

okay i got over there

Legion? with a capital L?

anyway let's get down into the cave!

woohoo the latest locked chest had a crapton of good shit!

...i think it's been a while since i saved, actually. i should do that. but i'm already down the hole, how do i get out to go save?

i guess i don't!

to the alien mothership!

okay, i remember fighting Eve as 2B. I didn't realize it was two 1v1s, that's pretty cool. And I'm thinking about how Adam's the one who fucks 9S up and mmmmmmboy.

OKAY WE SAVED

ALRIGHT we have to go to the Bunker to progress plot but it's time for sidequest hell!

oh the kid's a hikikomori again

oh. he just wants to play with 9S doesn't he....

first one i've done in one go, of his quests. am i getting better at this?

he's....giving up on not being a shut-in

oh my god i guess....if he wants to make the best possible lock......good for him ig?

and his mother is proud of him for this

im jealous

quest from pascal!

wait weren't these questions part of the main plot....im confused....

oh well

the machines other than adam and eve only ever seem to discuss living together with androids, never humans?

do they know something

whoops i missed a question but i got the quest

the fuck is numismatics

the weird machine's very smart, as expected

okay the opera house sidequest isn't available yet ig

next, the tower

machine's thoughts.....

don't love that i killed philosophybot but ok

oh i found another

pain because it can't find meaning in its existence....and now 9S is questioning....

oh this MUST be another one

....so that's why they were always in high places....

and 9S was starting to be affected by getting in their heads

fuck

okay so what we have left is....serve me daddy, racing star, something in the resistance base, the wandering couple, something in the desert? and oh something in the one building Engels smashed through, too. and whatever the fuck is in the opera house.

i do not want to do the race we're ignoring him til later

there is a resistance member who recognizes 2B

all i can think of is how Anemone called 2B "Number 2" at first meeting....same thing she called A2

oh no....this is going to be feelsy isn't it. the life log.

oh no....she was murdered by another Resistance member?

fuck this woman murdered her friend didn't she

lady i think "the bastard who murdered [your] friend" might...turn out to be you....

am i going to sidequest another resistance member into committing suicide

2b wtf? "i know she's pretty but"

what happened to emotions are prohibited

what happened to playing unflappable

ohhh this is the photographs quest again, okay

because i couldn't reach the destination out in the desert

i can't upgrade both the phoenix sword and the engine blade bc they need the same components and i only have enough for one....

gotta be the engine blade then. gotta support my boy noctis.

wtf 2B

what is your PROBLEM

time to check the desert then, i've got three goals out thattaway

maybe i'll be allowed to get to the photo site?

fuck yes, boar in the desert, that will make traversal less of a pain

piggy won't go that far....hum. i'll see if i can press onward on foot after i accept this sidequest.

okay i can get SO CLOSE to the destination for the desert photo, but i can't seem to get through the sandstorm, i think i'm getting redirected around it...

i got through!

f i s h i n g

ugh all im fucking catching are killifish

it's gonna be fucking hard to ever get back here

would be nice if there were an access point out here....

oh great. hunting down ALL the old world shit. fun times, love quests that don't make the end goal clear....

i gave up and used a guide just for this one quest and even WITH one it was awful

im probably not done

i did find a new weapon though!

nation here lived under an absurd number of laws

mask is for a woman

nation was wiped out suddenly, because of a king passing...

9S is rightfully baffled by westerns

"Facade"....

i am so glad for that fuckin mars rocket beacon giving me a gd landmark i can see from anywhere

idk if there's anything else out in the desert....like, past the sandstorms....shit to find? new areas??? idk presumably something will direct me

or i'll beat the game and look it up

lets get out of the fuckin desert

oh no....the poor wandering couple....

swindled by someone they thought would help them

okay i now have two goals in the park ruins so that's next

oh neat i already have the memory alloy she needs

oh my god that's cute, pascal

wait why close his eyes isn't he blindfolded?????

oh no....running away together being too perilous, or forgetting their feelings....

fuckkkkk

i have to do it????

I AM NOT HAPPY

oh

oh my god

lady i....think that's cruelty???

that does not seem healthy

okay THAT is DEFINITELY not healthy

THE SIXTH TIME?????

WHAT THE FUCK

THAT WAS FUCKING WEIRD

AND CREEPY

BADFEELS

i.....i think we are stopping here for the night

[vampiresuns]

A Songbird Sings, The World Could End | Part 2

✴︎ A SONGBIRD SINGS, THE WORLD COULD END: PART 2 ✴︎

2.3k words. Now in the Magical Realms, Leon and Anatole decide to work together trying to keep the Hierophant’s realm standing for as long as possible. Leon is upset at their own feelings, and the Hierophant reads him for filth.

Leon (He/They) is @apprenticealec​‘s. This fic is best paired with Honest, by Joseph.

You can read Part 1 here.

Leon had air magic.

Leon could cross distances quicker than the average person, if they so desired. It happened to be that he desired such a thing now — in a game of miscalculations, neither Anatole nor him aligned their timing, emotionally overwhelmed and with their own priorities in mind. 

When Anatole spoke to him, something old and angry had snapped in Leon, there to tell him Anatole was just like everybody else, sitting on his high horse with his duty, eventually leaving him alone for reasons which just didn’t make sense. Rage in Leon was vast, more accessible than grief, and for a moment it terrified him. It terrified him to see himself give Anatole, his Anatole, the cold shoulder, even if another part of him thought he deserved it. 

Yet there was another part of him, a part tender and open, starved for Anatole’s presence, following him like religious people in Vesuvia followed the various chimes of the City’s many temples. It was the part of him that had made him go after him that night Camia had gone to the market, travelling all day to drop himself at his door. It was the part of him that had cried and crumbled in front of him, because he knew he would listen. Anatole never said a word he didn’t mean, Anatole never did anything half-way. 

It was the part of him who touched him under the starry nights in Camia’s hut, trying to commend the shape of his face to memory — the softness of his lips, the slope of his nose, the light change of texture in his scars. The way his cheeks filled when he smiled, or the way his throat vibrated when he laughed. That part of him, against all odds, rose against the other and said: “You’re wrong. He loves me, and if the world ends, there will be no world for him to love me in.”

It was just as paralysing, albeit in a completely different way. He was still angry at Anatole. He was still upset he didn’t tell him any of this before, or that he assumed so many things about Leon’s own feelings — granted, Leon hadn’t said anything too, but that didn’t mean Anatole could just assume when Leon had done all those things, when he had given himself so willingly. This specific source of terror came from losing him, and the horror that followed as they stood in an empty hallway, thinking they might have lost him anyway. It propelled Leon forward like he was fighting for his life. He couldn’t let Anatole think he didn’t care. Leon knew they would not be able to live with themselves if that happened.

Leon did not know what the hell Anatole saw in Vesuvia, or in any City, ever. They were all people just trying to survive, with their momentary distractions, and Leon doubted they stopped a second of their days to actually consider Anatole at all. He couldn’t even say Anatole did it in some sort of saviour-complex stunt, because it would be both wrong and offensive to Anatole as a person.

He didn’t understand; right then he was feeling too much to keep track of his thoughts, but even in this overwhelming fog he found himself in, he realised that even if he was right, and Anatole was insignificant (even if thinking it felt wrong), he would not forgive himself for becoming a reason why he felt that way. He would hate Anatole thinking he didn’t deserve all the love in the world, thinking that it is wrong of him to care. Even if Leon sometimes thought he cared too much about things Leon did not comprehend.

The realisation that he loved him too much to not do this, all of it, with him, that pulled Leon forward. It was Anatole’s voice in his ears saying that the point of having a future was to live it with Leon. It was that Leon not understanding why he hoped and dreamt what he did, deep down those hopes and dreams weren’t stupid to Leon, because they were Anatole’s. Leon could forgive the world, maybe, because Anatole existed in it.

That’s how he ended sitting on Anatole’s stomach after throwing the two of them into his gate, the gush of wind from his own magic shutting the door behind them, making the gate inaccessible without Anatole to open it from outside.

Anatole thrashed underneath him, and Leon moved as soon as he realised that he couldn’t breathe. 

Not far away from them, Fishraya gently flew closer to the ground so she could let Antu down safely. It was the first time he did not puff and hissed at her. It wasn’t nothing Fishraya had done to make Antu on edge near her, he had always been scared of Fish’s size. He tended to be scared of things which were bigger than him and could grab him from above without giving him a chance to fight back. 

“Why did you do that?” 

“You gave me no choice!”

“What the hell are you talking about, Leon?”

“Well, arguing you isn’t getting me anywhere — don’t groan at me that way, I’m still upset at you —”

The sound of disbelief and indignation that escaped Antole’s mouth would’ve made Leon laugh in any other circumstance. “Upset?!”

“Please just let me say this, Nana,” the plea in Leon’s voice was so tangible, Anatole couldn’t do anything but to let him speak.

“I don’t understand you. Sometimes I think I do, but then I realise that I don’t. I don’t understand what it is about your job, your place in society or whatever else you call it that makes you do these things. I don’t because I never had anything like that, and sometimes I think we are so different we’re not going to work out…” Leon paused, a knot in his throat as he came closer to Anatole, his hands resting on his face. He tensed, but he didn’t push Leon away.

“Please tell me there’s a but there. I can’t handle collapsing realms and emotional overcharge.”

“If you have to do this, then take me with you. I don’t understand why you’re doing this, but I know it’s important to you.”

“You can’t just say those things and—”

“Yes, yes I can.”

“You’re terrible. You’re being terrible right now.”

“Why, thank you.”

Anatole shook his head. “I think I hated arguing with you, even if the conversation will have to wait.”

There was a rumble from the forest behind them that pried Anatole away from Leon’s touch. 

“I don’t think we have time to go retrieve my family.”

“I wouldn’t risk it either.”

“It’s just you and me, then?

Leon paused, turning to Anatole’s direction, and smirking.

“Just us, we’ll make it work. What direction is the Hierophant’s realm?”

“East.”

Fishraya was already onto Leon’s train of thought, carrying Antu into that direction, as her magician took Anatole’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Have you ever felt what it’s like to run with the help of air magic?”

“No?”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole had never seen The Hierophant’s temple so desolated. The old Ram was waiting for them, surprise overtaking his features as he saw Anatole arrive alone with Leon.

“I was expecting a bigger entourange.”

“A mishap,” Anatole said.

The Hierophant simply took a drink from his glass of wine, smiling. “Lovers' quarrels are easily resolved with a common cause. Welcome to my realm, Leon, or whatever is left of it.”

The Hierophant excused himself — he suspected he couldn’t help them much to slow the process of decay, as he needed to concentrate the remains of his power in aiding Alec and Lucio, but if he was not needed, he would turn to aid them. It would be only Leon and Anatole, they’d have to be enough, the weight of it making both of them feel like their skin was being pricked by something invisible. Anatole hated the sensation, but powered through it: in the face of incommensurable tasks he did what he always did, steel his heels, divide them into chunks, building up strategy until he had a fully formed picture.

He would do the impossible twice, or at least, he would try.

After some awkward lingering he turned to Leon. There was work to be done. The plan was simple: they would use wards. It would at least buy them time to protect the realm from falling. The longer it stood, the longer others would take to be taken, the more time Alec would have.

“Let’s just hope Valdemar themselves doesn’t make an appereance,” Anatole grimanced.

Their wards were different in structure but they’ll have to do. They fractioned the territory, so they would go at it quicker, sometimes the Hierophant coming to them to chat. Breaking Valerius’ chains and his willingness to set things on track gave the Hierophant some of his strength back; a “Not so bad place to start” as the Ram himself said. 

“The intention was in the right place. Sometimes you need a little push to turn a situation… upright.” 

Anatole ignored the pun with the exasperated fondness only someone who had a close relationship to someone else could have.

However, the Hierophant’s main focus this was on Leon. Except for a couple remarks to Anatole here and there, he followed Leon with his eyes, and struck him in conversation when it did not seem to interfere with his work. For example, when he paused his own tasks to feel Anatole’s magic around them.

“His magic is stronger here. Not the strongest but stronger,” the Hierophant said, sneaking up on Leon. “I assume so it would be in the realm of your patron. May I guess?” 

“Sure,” said Leon. 

“A knighthood, swords.” 

“You already knew.” 

“Yet, you entertained me.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what, child?” 

Leon’s brow quirked in amusement. “I am not a kid, am I?” 

“Next to me, you are. I am older than you will ever be, even if right now, I could die. You asked why. I asked what reason you seek.” 

“Why would it be stronger here or there? I don’t really believe in all of this to begin with.” 

The Hierophant laughed. “It’s less about belief, and more about fact. Humanity is cyclic, and as complex as simple as the answer you seek: those of us who come in contact with someone who is loved by our beneficiaries, become partial to them.” 

The Hierophant paused, taking some drinks from his glass. Leon stood there in silence, not daring to ask if his love was that obvious. The Hierophant cleared his throat. “That, and he is actually incredibly adept at the magic he himself has chosen, but,” a smile, “pride and true humbleness coexist in him. He’d make a great beneficiary of my own, alas. If you excuse me.” 

Leon got back to work, layer after layer of magic, he felt his and Anatole’s merge in a single thing, seamless, welcoming each other home. Leon’s head was swimming with thoughts, but at least their hands were busy.

Home, they thought: was Anatole home? How many homes had they lost? Themselves and him, both. Leon was abandoned, found, abandoned and found, he himself living in a constant wheel of being lost and returning someplace for the sake of some faces.

When words failed him, Leon acted. He didn’t know what Alec was doing with Lucio, he didn’t know what Alec was doing, period, but if he could give her even five more minutes, he would. He didn’t know what Anatole saw in the world to make him so in love with it, but if this would give him a chance to live in it, then he would. He didn’t know how Camia woke up every morning and decided to live on, to carry forward a destiny she had had to fight for, so the people who were called to protect her didn’t take it from her. If he could give Camia one more morning, he would. 

He even thought of Jamil, and as much as he still hated how he didn’t say goodbye that one time, for once he thought that maybe goodbye wasn’t needed — it was a see you soon. Alec needed him, as Alec needed Leon now, even if she didn’t know nor remembered. If Leon could give Jamil one more catch up, one more smile upon seeing Camia’s hut in the horizon, he would. 

The feeling was disgusting, it disgusted him, and yet he didn’t want anyone to pry it away from his hands ever; if someone tried, he’d bite them. 

Maybe this was how Anatole felt, all the time. Maybe it was the reason why he tattooed Love Conquers All on his chest. He groaned; if Anatole made him love the world, he was going to spend the rest of his life making his impossible for it. No, he would not think of the implications of that, of spending the rest of his life besides him.

Damn him for throwing him into things he didn’t understand. Damn him for making him like it. 

When he was finally done, he found Anatole already waiting for him, sitting on some steps. Leon sat with him, neither of them saying anything for a moment. 

Leon broke the silence first. “What are you thinking about?”

“My family has a vineyard not unlike this one back in Balkovia.” 

Leon hummed. Their next words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, let alone make sense of them. “I was born in the Fennekh desert, I think. I don’t know. I used to speak Zadithi. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Silence fell between them again. This time, Anatole broke it, his voice watery as he spoke. “I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier. I shouldn’t have exploded like that on you.” 

“You didn’t explode, you just talked,” Leon laced their fingers together, bringing the back of Anatole’s hand to his lips. “That’s what you do when you’re overwhelmed. Or nervous. You talk.” 

“Still. Are you still upset with me?” 

“Are you?” 

He sighed. “I am upset that it all had to be this way. I keep feeling like I could’ve done better, but I didn’t, and now we’re here, and perhaps we would be here anyway. Now answer the question, Leon.” 

“I am, but not at what you think.” Leon exhaled, finding that tendril of courage now in his heart, a tendril warm like the rays of the sun on his skin. “It upsets me more that you would assume I don’t love you back, or that you don’t matter to me.”

Leon sighed. “It’s all very mushy and disgusting, but I suppose it’s—“ 

Anatole’s lips had found his own, and they were kissing him like he was his anchor to this world, with an intensity and a passion so unyielding it made Leon want to melt at the realisation he was its sole depositary. Leon couldn’t finish his sentence, nor he remembered how he wanted to finish it. 

Anatole, like him, had a hunger more ravenous than most, a hunger for something undetermined and overwhelming that Leon knew too well. 

When Anatole kissed him like this, Leon felt like that hunger might finally satiate. When Anatole kissed him like this, Leon felt like it would all turn out alright, even if somewhere around the edge of the realms, one of their wards had begun to break.