#the only thing that can hold us back is nihilism

[druidposting]

This isnt the kind of post i typically make on here. Im an environmental science graduate - ive been bombarded by facts of the state of our planet on the daily. I entrench myself in US politics. I feel i have a decent grasp on the broad reality of things. Given the current news cycle, i feel compelled to share something that keeps me going.

There's a favourite quote of mine.

"In the dark times, should the stars also go out?"

Theres a difference between realism and nihilism. I think it is very true that we are on the verge of entering a dark time the world over. I also find hope in those who fight tirelessly and endlessly for our better future. I hope that i am one of those people. The long arc of history shows that humanity continually strives for the better - there are pockets of darkness throughout, but never once have our stars left us.

I do not think it is over. I think it will be hard, and i am scared, but i will do everything i can to keep looking for those stars. I hope that other people can find them, too.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆.˚ 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕍𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕪 ⋆.˚

𐙚Yandere! Qimir X Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He steals you in summer. Castaway on a planet with no name. But the way his eyes shine under the hot sun has your heart beating out of your chest.

⁀➷ Does this count as "That's that me, espresso"?

🪐 Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Stockholm syndrome, blood, and gore.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ Espresso by Sabrina Carpender

Dark Vacay by CAS

The heat licks at your neck dangerously. The scathing red glow cleaves through flesh, through bone.

Warm, warm, warm.

The sort of swelter befitting rampant volcanos and rebirthing suns.  

The man, no, the Sith has you pinned to his chest. His force,a dark pulsating thing, coiling through your body, keeping you rooted.

Sol's voice echoes through the canopy. Sending ripples through the blood-matted forest floor. "Release her." His saber is drawn, pointed.

Blue vs red.

Hot vs cold.

"Give me the relic." The voice lacks emotion, empathy. It demands, it takes. There is no room for formalities here, no chivalry you've long believed in. This monster deals only in dark. Taking and taking. "And I won't hurt her".

You try to push him away, to fight. Your force against his, clawing at the dark ether around you, hunting for an aperture, a splinter anything to infiltrate. But he is resilient, strong the way most volcanos are.

Impenetrable.

You moan against the tightening noose. He demands and you must obey. Such a dark thing can even make your master bow, make him give up the ancient blood-red relic. "You have your relic, now release my pupil." Behind you the monster chuckles, an airy noise overflowing with malice, "I said I wouldn't hurt her, not that I'd give her back."

The lights dull. Neon fading into a fuzzy mess of colors too tangled to decipher. Voices weave bending to the blaring buzz echoing from within. The world grows darker, you try to clutch onto something, anything. The cool colors of saber light, the soothing tone of your master's voice. The monster's dark cadence. But it's no use, the darkness prevails, pulling you under its crushing waves, burying you in a sea of nihil.

The world is dim upon resurgence. The air tastes of salt, fresh and dry upon the throat. The earth you lay in is warm, not like the smoldering heat of a bloodborne saber, but the warmth you imagine a mother's embrace to hold. Soft in every way that counts.

The place is alien and abandoned. No family, no monsters. Just rock upon rock and makeshift furniture to further the illusion of a makeshift home. The pounding upon your temples has yet to cease, you wonder if the outlines of a bruise have yet to bloom.

Slowly, you emerge from the cocoon of worn blankets. Bare feet scraping across the jagged floor. You feel the monster's presence linger, his essence strong within this place. You remember the dragon dens you used to read about in fairy tales. The gold-adorned caves where little princesses were forced to dwell.

It's funny you should feel like one now.

There are clothes sprawled across the floor. Vanilla ice cream in shade and shape, they feel too pure to have been chosen by a man like him. Too pure to have been tainted by the darkness of his fingertips. It's only now that the dress glares back that you notice your bareness, Jedi robes stripped and discarded.

That fiend...

You feel skinned, alone. No saber to grasp, no golden drapes. Nothing to paint you as Jedi. It's with reluctance that you lace yourself into the sweet dress, with utter reluctance that you step out onto the beach of rocks awaiting outside.

You spot the man,

the sith.

Qimir

His name reverberates within your head. You lick each letter, rolling them across your tongue and drinking in their condensation. "Qi-mi-rr" the name shouldn't taste of exotic fruits blended and bled. It shouldn't taste like fruit cocktails and coconut cubes but it does.

It does and it's disgustingly delicious.

He walks with the steady strout of a man who knows he is the most dangerous thing on this beach, on this island, on this entire planet. A volcano among mountains.

You follow behind bare feet on smooth rocks. Fumbling across the beach.

Chasing shadows. Chasing monsters.

He sheds his robes like skin, peeling away sabbath vestments to reveal cutis. Tanned and scarred, marred flesh risen like volcano veins cascading across his spine.

You shouldn't admit how desperately your fingers ache to trace the tragic thing. You glid your nails across the notched igneous rocks. Dreaming its soft flesh, his soft flesh beneath your touch. He would shutter under your fingertips as you pull apart his secrets. Nibbling on them like picnic cookies.

He's stripped bare, soft skin caught in the dim sun. His open wounds glisten under soft gold rays. You skate away from the sight, that forbidden sun-drenched sight. Eyes averted and hidden behind the rocks, twice locked, to avoid a rogue glance.

He is nothing if not haunting, forbidden in every way.

Odd how the memory of his bare ankles is what lingers. Carved too steep and too deep in a way that looks too marble. They merge into long robust legs. You can't help but imagine the sculpture of his thighs after, the thing at the end of those perplexing ankles. They too must be strong, carved to define each muscle. You imagine being trapped between them, their forceful push against your meaker body as his ankles intertwine with yours.

"You can open your eyes now."

You taste his darkness in your mouth again. Potent tropical fruits laced with sea salt. He couldn't have known you were trailing after him, you'd been quiet, silent like a whisper.

"It's improper to strip out in the open. What would you have done if someone should have come upon you?"

He treads in the water like a pearl unearthed. Shimmering alongside the blue-green of the lagoon. "You came upon me and nothing happened."

"That's because I had the good graces to avert my gaze from such a sight."

"I'd prefer if you'd look."

He pours water over his face, sparkly droplets cascading down sharp cheekbones. Eyes wide with an odd groggy wonder. The sky and the sea and him ethereally in between. He shouldn't look so magical. Some water nymph playing spike ball with the sun. Drinking in the clouds and blue. Before diving back down into his aquatic galaxy.

"Join me"

"I'd rather impale myself"  

he's treading closer, water shielding his body like liquid lapis lazuli. "I wonder what your lips will taste like blue?" and it's the first time you've ever thought of your order's regalia as something so macabre.

His eyes are half-lidded, licking over your body like a melting Sunday. Or maybe he actually is, you can feel something wet and sinister sliding across your body. Slipping over and under the dress, sucking at pulse points. Anticipating soft vanilla.

You want to rip out his tongue and harbor in your mouth. You want to devour him as if he were ice cream on a summer day. Butterscotch cone with drizzled caramel and star sprinkles. Your teeth ache desperately for just one small bite.

He's standing, growing into a full man, no longer just a boy nymph memorized by soft whites and bright blues. The water droplet clutch greedy to taut muscles, refusing to leave such a Promethean thing.

The wet thing freezes. Running water to ice cube. His force evaporates from you, you bask in the mist of him. Before the shadow roots behind you impenetrable all over again. Qimir steps closer and you close your eyes on instinct. Stepping back, following the flow of sand in breeze.

Such sights are not for us to love.

It tips you off balance, You can't see Qimir but you can feel him. He's closer and closer. That's why you're stalking back. But the plasmic thing behind you nicks your ankle. Lurching you back. In the blink of an eye and the start of a scream, you're suspended in mid-air. Floating above the sands, save in the gossamer of his black mist.

"Careful" Qimir jests

And you crack your eye open just enough to see his outstretched hand.

"I want to take a shower"

"The lagoone is over there" he throws over his shoulder all so causally. like spelling out sea cemetary.

the warmth of the cave is suffocating. Lacing through your body making it breakout into little pearls of hidrosis. You roll over, watching Qimir, solder the cracks of his helmet. The rampant sparks cast him in a galactic white halo. Some intangible creature from the far reaches of the universe.

You wonder back to the incident by the lagoon.

You wonder if his tongue, his real tongue, would feel cool against your flaring skin. Muscle-bound ice cube rolling across your arms, your chest, drinking in your essence in half kisses and open-lipped moans. Sucking tenderly on the veins of your neck.

But shouldn't the tongues of monsters be spiked? cutting deep in search of blood?

Qimir swats the sweat from his temples. Pulling up the back of his shirt in an effort to fight the humidity. His scars transcend so low. Rivers weaving through him, overflowing with treasured secrets. You suck in the force through your lips drinking in its cold confidence. Marching up to stand behind him, only half admiring the rugged skin below the sandy shirt.

"Ahem" Spine straight, head held high. Your stance is practiced, sculpted in the confidence that the order demands. Lightside in every way.

Jedi, Jedi, Jedi

"I know it is futile to ask a treasonous sith like you to abide by the laws of common decency. But I'd ask that you do not come to spy on me while I bathe" Your hands ball into firsts. Glaring death and shark teeth at his blemished back.

He leaves the workbench with all the grace of a crushing tide. Elegance carved from salt rocks and years of walking through stars and shadows. But this time you refuse to step back. There is no dishabille to fear, no sand lines that may be passed.

But he doesn't confront you. He doesn't bask in his rage and stands proudly in front of you. No, instead he paces, or rather almost floats. He's in front of you one minute and behind you the next. The eerieness of it all only comes from the feeling of entombment. He is your cage, your coffin. Burying you under the sand with his precious secrets and red relics. Your nerve beats out of you in little droplets.

Qimir's fingers lace with your own, his hot breath fans the shell of your ear, "How can I make such promises when you act so cute" his voice is coconut shavings upon white sand. You aren't even sure he spoke. " I thought Sith only dealt in absolutes?" his laughter cuts like fractured seashells. Cutting through heartstrings. You want to hear it again and again until you've memorized its melody. "That's what we want the Jedi to believe."

His teeth graze the nape of your neck. That's the last straw, gravity crushes your nerve, and you take off running.

The pearls that shine within his sockets are entirely too dark. You shouldn't be thinking such this as you disrode. But the glimmer of pure drown isn't a worldly sight, it's something unplaceable.

Sith can not be trusted, even if, until mere days ago they had been things of fairytales like dragons and sea monsters. Mystical monsters used to frighten little padwans into finishing their plates. But the stories are true now, they've ripped open the holobooks and sprouted from the screen. Your fingers flex, feeling the weight of his hand in yours.

The monsters are real...

You keep your undergarments on as you descend with the sparkling tides. Qimir may appear at any moment. And you wish to confront a Sith in a Jedi's skin, or what little is left of it.

You're sinking into the watermelon greens and crystal blues, sinking into him... because even so far from the grotto his presence haunts your thoughts still.

"You wouldn't mind if I invite myself in?" The water laps at his feet, he's standing over the liquid threshold.

"What are you doing here?! I told you not to come."

he shrugs and you can't help but notice the definition of his muscles. "It's hot in the cave. Plus you don't own the beach."

He pulls the shirt over his head.

You scream for him to stop.

But this time as he pulls the waistband down you notice something underneath.

Swim trunks.

Bell-bottomed and shaped like a nebula, but only midnight in hue. The cuffs glimmer with red intricacies, patterns from a different time, a different solar system. Each stitch tells some tale of horror or history. Sith things that you'd rather not know. But why engrave them into a swimsuit? Why paint a tapestry on something so jejune?

He treads through the water, deadset on you. And again in every step, you notice a mettle valor that can only come from having killed and kissed your greatest fears.

The rocks are slippery beneath your feet, running, swimming, gliding whatever gets you further from him. But the rocks form barricades of their own. Igneous confines housing prey and beast.

"I meant it when I said you were cute." He has you pinned to the mineral mountains, eyes prying you open, studying your inner workings like a gutted bot. "So fragile so malleable..." You feel his power rolled over your neck.

You didn't expect the kiss. The taste of coconut shavings and caramel. Your heart hammers as he tugs on your hips, pulling you closer. Your lungs burn, filled with salt water and dark force energy.

But suffocating is a small price to pay when he parts your lips and pushes iced star fruits in your mouth.

That night Qimir had tried to feed you soup. Boiled fish and herbs in a cauldron that looks, entirely witch. But the refusal comes not from the perturbation of poison or the primal mistrust shared between star-crossed enemies.

No the refusal comes because you simply do not like fish.

"Just try a spoonful, it's from a rare breed. Considered a luxury on most planets". His entreaties fall on deaf ears, outvoiced by the stubbornness of a crashing tide. You retire hungry, and maybe it's hunger that stirs you in the dead of night.

Or maybe it's the heartbeat echoing from his mask.

He called it cortosis. But it looks more terror than diamond.

You sink to your knees in front of the haunted heirloom, cradling it gently within your palms. The iron flavor upon lips makes you part them, tongue fleshed tracing every welded scar. Sucking in the solder and crystal and every other poison.

You want to be a part of it, to pry open your ribcage and shove the empyrean taj within.

Let its darkness mingle with your blood. You want to feel it's royalty in the marrow of your bones.

In the morning you do not speak about the pulsating thing within. But the mask stares at you as you eat mint and bread from Qimir's hand.

It knows...

It knows things you can never admit.

You'd been planning on narrowly avoiding him. Tiptoeing across the cave to evade stirring him. But the plans die when first light breeches the aperture.

Qimir's gone.

And in his place, he's left yet another raiment.

The dress is summer and doll. Bowed in the back and studded.

Bar'biee in every way.

The hysterically placed designs parody the crisscross of twilight roses and all their thrones. Checkered in shades of obsidian and ink.

But the black of your dress doesn't quite match the ebony of his robes.

It simply plays testament to your ripeness. You're starting to feel like his little doll.

He lies on a beach towel overlooking the sea. So ordinary it makes you choke. Beach ball in the corner by his feet, waiting to be played with.

Fearless.

You wonder just who he had to kill to reach this hubris?

You float down the little exclaves toes barely touching the ground.

He's adorned the rocky beach with a comically large parasol too dark to even have a name. Another towel, a picnic basket, and little coconut cups with straws. Despite his black tainted sunglasses, he knows you're watching him. Caught in the bosom of this haunted shore. Awaiting your capturer's orders.

"You can sit if you want." again he's saying words without realizing how crushing they truly are. Their full weight pulling your bones until they slip from skin.

Might as well have said shark attack and death at sea.

But you obey because despite everything, the towel looks nice and so does the drink.

"The sun doesn't come out very often. But I figured we could at least enjoy it today."

"Thanks," you mutter chewing on the pink straw. You shift your limbs rigidly. Plastic doll coming to life. Pushing tense bones straight as you rest your uneasy head. The waves hum in your ear and you swear you hear the rocks buzze like star songs.

"Why did you bring me here? Why not kill me."

"Well, you're not really any use to me dead" He offers you a melon slice.

"So I'm bait." Qimir sighs, your query exhausting. He simply sips from his own drink. You notice the jounce of his throat with each gulp. How you'd love to ring to those bones, feel them crack between your fingers.

He turns to you, lips a breath away. He hasn't kissed you since that day in the lagoon. But you wish him too so very much.

This isn't the Jedi way...

What?

Qimir's fingers trace over your thighs and hips. Finally, they land heavily on your shoulders, pushing you into the rocks with zeal. He blocks the sun and you can't help but think he's lovelier than any red goliath in the macrocosm.

Qimir's teeth gnaw at your throat, kissing the blood and smearing it with his tongue. Traling open-mouth kisses to the plinth of your neck.

Your nails, rasp curiously at his back, tracing scars, tracing cortosis veins.

His fingers dig into your ribs, painting it in seastars. Kissing starlights and pearls in your bones. His body is hot, scolding. And you wonder if the minerals he surrounds himself with were all nursed in the womb of a violent volcano.

The result of destructive habits is knife bites called kisses and a heart that's finally exploded.

When he pulls off, he poises himself on his knees before falling back to his side, searching for something in the basket. You stare, dress distorted, and breath hitched. You taste the exotic fruit blend again. Burning, caramel, and coconut that linger across your body.

"Hey, can you put this on me?" reality blurs back in, he's dangling a yellow bottle in front of you. "What" he shouldn't have this ease with you. He shouldn't be playing make-believe lovers on the beach with the girl he kidnapped.

But he does.

And you play along too.

"it's sunscreen, believe it or not, I burn easily."

"No"

"please"

"N-"

You don't control your hand as it pours the cream onto his chest. He touches you with such familiarity, the force on this planet is just an extension of him. But you shy away at the thought of running your fingers across his muscle bound chest. What is the force if not a child's toy? If not another doll.

He notices the shyness. Or rather reads it from the air. His force pokes at your arms, laughing at the discomfort. Before you know it he's harbored between your thighs. Large hands holding your wrist.

Firm yet delicate.

He moves your hand over his chest, charting every bump and muscle. Coating the blocker over his skin. It feels like piecing together armor. Preparing him for a battle you've never been invited to.

You don't want this.

Well not quite.

You want to feel his body jolt under your touch and hear the sweet little quips he offers to lighten the mood. You want to capture the fleeting moment where he bites his lip and preserve it for eternity.

But more than anything you want to peel away his armor, his flesh, and bury yourself beneath. Become another one of his secrets and staying inside him. Safe and warm forever.

"Qimir"

He makes pomegranate soup that night. As he nestles your body over his lap. Kissing the half-healed bruise on your forehead. He brings the spoon to your lips and gently nudges your mind to let him in. You part your lips, welcoming him in with the shyness you've been raised on. Blushing little bride-doll.

Legacy. You realize when the seeds erupt inside your mouth.

He's feeding you his secrets, his bequest. Boiling you like the fish and the fruit. And birthing you anew.

You sleep with your head buried in the crux of his neck. Listening to the lullaby of his tattered heart, singing psalms of conquest.

That night you dream of a river red. You blame it on Qimir, the pomegranate seeds were too maroon in color and flavor.

From the crimson water the helmet surfaces. Bobbing in the waves, beckoning you. You cup your hands inside the river, guzzling down the water and licking your fingers after. You let the red kiss your lips and fill your lungs choking you by essence alone. You want to die drinking from the bloodlust. Die in front of his helmet.

So maybe he can call it love.

Or Devotion.

Or anything else equally sweet.

The river doesn't taste like pomegranates, or fruit cocktails, or iced coconut.

It tastes of salty iron, volcanic diamonds and Qimir's lips.

You plunge into the red...

He's thinking about you again. You know it from the moment you awake. His voice is loud inside your head. Reverberating from wall to wall until it is the only thing you hear.

This time the garments are waterproof. Swimwear. Two pieces in black, just black. And adorned with red trees on the seams.

Right, because you beat me in the forest.

Clever.

He has left bangles too, jagged and bruised purple with veins of white. cortosis. Accompanied by a golden necklace that looks like a beating heart, ripped freshly from someone's chest.

"You look beautiful," he remarks after you've dressed in his colors. When did he come in? You need to get better at hearing the man born from shadows. The man who's walking between worlds unseen, unheard his entire life.

He pulls you close, nails picking at the soft flesh of your tummy. Scratching skin and leaving red crescents. He kneels and licks and bites, claiming this new chart of unmarked skin.

This has always been about possession, domination, damnation. "Qimir" you moan and it feels so wrong and so right. Like saber to the heart.

Oh force, how far you've fallen.

Qimir laces his fingers with yours pulling you outside the cave. The sun shimmers off his lopsided smile and he really does glow brighter than every star in the known cosmos.

The lagoon is red.

It shouldn't be red.

"You killed them" Since when have such dire words spilled so easily from your lips? Sol, Jacki, Yord. Are they in this pool? shimmering translucent awaiting a vengeance you do not think you can deliver?

"Yes...But not your Jedi, not yet. These were just some self-pious knights who got in my way."

He brings his arm up showing you a fresh saber cut, before pulling you into the water. It's so warm boiling, lava meets water. You think your skin will peel off.

But you stand your ground. Force directing your every breath. Spine straight head high. Darkside in every way

Sith, sith, sith

You grasp at his forearm, pulling it to your lips. Your tongue finds the slit in the skin and dives it. Mapping out the muscles and drinking in the red.

Exotic fruits bled and blended.

"I think I'm finally getting through to you," Qimir says, brown pearls glazed over with pride. "My sweet little acolyte."

You giggle at the term. It tastes so bitter, like a raw espresso before dawn.

"Oh, master" you moan. As you pull him under the red waters. Lips and legs entwined.

ᯓ♡ : @feedmestraycats @moonlovefairy  @wicked0clouds @phoenixes-and-wizards @peridedarling @morax-on-my-mind @magikmaik @lov4gor3 @manchuria @bucksdonkey @embersofimagination @hauntedhedgehogs @peter-laufeyson @papitas-con-sal @f0odie @boredtone @bluechissbrain @yourfilthydevil @n0t-skywalker @xsister-serpent @gabriqllas @zionysuss @i-love-my-babygirls @pagingoswin @jxp1ter @faebirdie @deezhutts565 @thesithdiaries @pagingoswin @hauntingwolf @scentedbanditlampwobbler @uwingdispatch @mask-knife-is-buggys-girl @lunarsvertigo @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku @penny44224 @suburbanlegendzzzz @jihyos-wifey @reylo-imperium @ladyofyourdreams @sassybananaweaselpsychic @96jnie @@jxp1ter @sunnymoonxx @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku @smutmaniac @alena1100 @marice23top @ohdearmaggie @strawberrycat69

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 4

In the face of such deep hurt, you have no choice but to come to terms with your feelings.

friends with benefits, f!reader, 6k words

A/N: don't really like this chapter cause it feels like a nothingburger but there it is... i swear i didn't mean to end it like that but the next block would have been too long to be in the same chapter so i had to chop it in two, forgive me 😞

also, it’s definitely still the weekend on the west coast so i am not late!!! we’ve officially written like 20k words for this series when it was supposed to be a couple crack fics, what even is going on

part three

Every so often, tremors travel through your legs to reach your twitching fingertips like a hundred tiny earthquakes along your limbs while you sit there, passive and morose. You stare at your open palms and observe the natural disaster occurring beneath your skin. Past the white walls of your apartment, the sun continues its ascent among the clouds but its warmth is fought off by the thick curtains of your living room and the heaviness settling inside of you. The blow of previous revelations has made your organs twice as heavy and has brought an ache to your trembling hands, birthing a sense of lethargy only the lost are familiar with. Not for the first time, you don’t know where you’re heading. For the first time, none of it matters; there is just the weight of your body rooted to the couch and the lines of your palms staring back at you, forming crooked letters that disappear with a blink. Your thoughts are a mess devoid of rationality focused on the sting of betrayal that you can feel at the corner of your eyes. She doesn’t deserve them, your tears. Then again, there is a lot that she didn’t deserve that you still gave willingly: your time, your attention, the flutter deep in your abdomen at the sound of her genuine laughter or the naive hope that you mattered more to her than you believed. Your mind is a whirlwind of possibilities that will never come to be and feed the dejection in your bones until your vision blurs at the edges from tears you refuse to let fall. 

You recall the nonchalance with which she addressed her actions, the excuse of destiny as if you were all merely pawns in the hollow of its cold and detached hands. Some things are inevitable and all possibilities are already written. You wondered once what kind of life she must live to be so carefree, you understand now that it stems from a lack of responsibility and a distance between herself and accountability. Her nihilism reduces her to a footnote in a published novel, a droplet in the raging ocean; it takes away enough of her to make her believe that whatever she does is not a choice she fully makes herself. It feels like an excuse to justify not only her existence but everything she undertakes, blaming consequences on fate will always be easier as it relieves her from the pressure of guilt. In a way, it’s not so much carefreeness as passivity. You swallow to soothe the tightness of your throat. Some part of you pities how she lives and you wish you could choke it out with a pillow. Even now, you can’t snuff out feelings that have taken months to develop and solidify within you, and they feel like stones obstructing your blood vessels. It hurts this much because you unknowingly carved a seat for her inside the walls of your heart with her pocket knife, the same one she used to cut you. You can no longer differentiate then and now, whether you started falling for her the last time she left your bed or the first time she kissed you. However, you can’t deny that you’ve got her under your skin and the realization could not have happened at a less opportune moment.

This sucks. You don’t count the minutes you spend staring at your hands like they hold answers to questions you won’t get to ask in the future. At some point you find yourself laying on the couch again, looking ahead while your phone lies on the coffee table, undisturbed for the time being. Hours pass and your eyelids eventually grow heavy, each blink slower to come than the last. Your mind, perhaps to torture you, replays some moments you didn’t remember before this instant; falling asleep as she lights up a cigarette on the balcony outside your bedroom, moonlight stroking her hair and smoke blurring her face; nimble hands undressing you layer by layer with a patience that borders on reverence. The first time you met, your impression of her was that she took care of appearance and found it very important how she presented herself to the world. It was because of her clothes, partly, but mostly the confidence she radiated. She didn’t say too much or too little, and looked at you with a smile you selfishly wished was just for you. Her attention felt like a treasure not many were deserving of and her taste in fashion matched yours, she helped you pick out some clothes then you exchanged phone numbers in front of the store. You went your separate ways after that, but receiving a text from her an hour later turned you into a schoolgirl with a crush. 

You thought you were making progress yesterday, that her seeking you out meant something more than a refusal to see a medical professional. The look in her eyes when she stared up at you in the bathroom… you wish you understood it, but something screams that it wouldn’t have changed a thing. You reminisce and ruminate until your eyes close and unconsciousness generously gives you a reprieve from the assault of your mind.

It’s almost 11 in the morning when you wake. Your neck is stiff from the armrest and your legs beg to be stretched after staying bent for hours. You rub the drowsiness out of your eyes with one hand and sit up slowly, brows furrowed and lips in a frown. It takes you a moment to do anything else, your phone buzzes with a notification three times in a row but you only look at your lock screen blankly. You don’t feel like doing anything, and after remembering the events of earlier today,  you dread checking up on work. Still, your concern for the colleagues you get along with eventually wins out. You pick up the device and sift through the messages that were left unanswered yesterday, replying to your friends to assure them of your safety. Your thumbs travel across the screen mechanically, like you’re writing a professional email you have no interest in, but you are genuinely relieved to find out that they’re fine. You hesitate over Himeko’s contact name. She surely hasn’t heard of what transpired yesterday unless there was an IPC broadcast about it. You hope she hasn’t. You want the truth to come out of your lips, not some news network. Worry makes you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at her last text from the evening before. Himeko is one of your best friends, she’s understanding, compassionate and an expert at comforting others. You’re not worried that she’ll put the blame on you, just that your feelings will come to the surface once you start relaying everything that’s happened in detail. 

You steel yourself, swallow once, and press the call button under her contact name. You bring your knees to your chest. The line rings a couple of times in your ears before the call connects and Himeko’s joyful voice sounds through the phone. 

“Hey.” she greets you with a smile you can hear, “are you okay? You hung up on me yesterday.”

Your suspicions are confirmed, Himeko has no idea what went on the previous night.

“Sorry,” your own voice is strained from sleep and you cringe before clearing your throat. “Something… came up.”

“Is everything alright?”

Your stomach churns uncomfortably. You look at the floor and inhale quietly to calm the unease slithering up your trachea. “There was… an incident at work,” you say hesitantly. “A serious one.”

Himeko picks up on your tone and hers softens with her next question. “Are you alright? What happened?”

The words spill from your mouth all at once and Himeko doesn’t interrupt you as you give her a retelling of what you read in that article this morning, Kafka’s identity as both a Stellaron Hunter and the woman you’ve been “seeing”, how she showed up at your door injured yesterday and the moment you found out the truth just hours earlier. The line is silent save for your sometimes faltering sentences. Your eyes fall shut in the middle of your story and your fingers clench the phone in your hand, the knot in your throat tightening near the end of it. Saying it out loud, you realize how stupid you’ve been even if the clues weren’t obvious; you should’ve been more suspicious of her absences and deflections, shouldn't have been blinded by her attention and the way she made you feel, should’ve… You feel like an idiot in the face of Himeko’s silence. She digests the information you dumped on her before it’s even noon, and after a minute of quiet she finally speaks.

“Where are you now?”

“Uh, home,” you stammer, blindsided by the question. You half-expected her to lose her mind at the situation you find yourself in considering she was the one who tried to discourage you to enter a friends-with-benefits relationship, and now people have died by the hands of the woman you have feelings for. You pointedly omit the romantic feelings part for now. 

“You should stay at a friend’s house, to be safe. The Stellaron Hunters are very dangerous and you could easily get wrapped up in their dispute with the law and the IPC. Take precautions and be safe, please.”

“Is that all you have to say…?”

“What do you want me to say, ‘I told you so’? You were manipulated, that’s what Kafka does. She bears all the blame here. And I’m sorry you were caught up in her schemes.”

You pause, staring at the coffee table in front of you. Her reassurances bring you no comfort. Your reply sounds small in your ears, “...A lot of people died.”

“I know…” You can almost picture the soft look in Himeko’s eyes. “But it wasn’t your fault. Whatever they had planned, they planned it long before you were brought into the picture. You couldn’t have stopped anything from happening.”

You nod slowly even though she can’t see you. You do your best to internalize that, but guilt still swirls within you and makes you nauseous. You stand from the couch to make your way to the bedroom, footsteps quiet along the wooden floors. You let the morning light envelop you once you reach the glass doors of your balcony and slide them open so the fresh air can enter your lungs and chase away the unpleasant feeling. 

“No wonder you didn’t know anything about her,” Himeko continues, an edge to her voice, “it’s easier to play mind games when you’re kept in the dark. She’s truly despicable.”

You think of what Kafka said this morning about the source of her injury, how she got it looking for you amidst the chaos. You lean on the railing, observe the circulation of cars and pedestrians down below, but say nothing. 

“I hope she never contacts you again. Did you block her number? Is it even her real one?”

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should block it anyway.”

She’s right. You put Himeko on speaker and let out a breath as you open your contacts, scrolling through the list and finding Kafka’s contact among it. For a few seconds you feel weak for your hesitation, thumb hovering over the “block caller” button, then you shake your head and press the red letters. You won’t make yourself available for her anymore. 

“I did it,” you tell the woman on the other line and redirect your gaze to the buildings on the horizon. 

“Good. What are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you… eventually work there again?”

“Ha. Not a chance.”

You don’t know what you’ll do, you haven’t planned this far ahead and were still on the fence about quitting your job before everything went down but there’s no way you’re going back to doing office work after today. In a way, the incident gave you the push you needed to do it. The price to pay for it was far too high.

You talk to Himeko for another half hour before she has to bid you goodbye to take care of the Express. She reminds you to pack a bag and go stay with a trusted friend, and she makes sure to be certain that you’ll take care of yourself before hanging up the phone. She’ll call again when she can, but in the meantime, you’re on your own. You don’t tell her that you don’t think Kafka means to put you in harm’s way and that you don’t feel comfortable leaving your apartment now. Knowing that you could have been one of yesterday’s victims if you had simply gone about your daily routine worsens your anxiety, and even if Kafka’s been inside your apartment countless of times before, you still feel safer within familiar walls. 

You spend the day in low spirits, half of it sitting on your balcony with your knees to your chest and the other half laying face down in bed. You tell yourself that your free time will be dedicated to finding out what you want to do with your life. Then another day passes you by and when the third one comes around you still haven’t gotten out of the gray bubble you’ve unconsciously created for yourself. Your thoughts are repetitive and oppressive, so you sleep for hours to escape them. You avoid going out by ordering food or groceries. Your phone is constantly on ‘do not disturb’ because you can’t handle the grating alerts about funerals and financial compensation, you only pick it up to talk to Himeko once a day. She encourages you to see your friends, to not let yourself be swept away by the waves of negative emotions, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that you’re just not in the mood anymore. You make promises you don’t intend to keep in order to alleviate her concern and the guilt nesting in the pit of your stomach grows bigger with each one. You’re not helping yourself, you know, but it feels like all you can do is sit in your feelings as they ripple around you and you stare at the disturbances for hours, crestfallen. 

In the evening, you await the takeout you ordered 30 minutes ago. You’re laying on the couch despite the TV not being on and feel drowsiness creeping up on you from doing absolutely nothing all day. Who knew inactivity could be so exhausting… You reach for your phone on the coffee table and tap the screen to see if your driver is nearby. He’s parked in front of your apartment building, so he should reach your door soon. You close the phone and wait some more until you hear firm footsteps on the other side of your door. You only stand up after a couple of minutes have passed to make sure he’s truly gone and won’t see you bringing your food inside. Opening the door reveals an unexpected find; the takeout bag lies next to a rectangular package that wasn’t there in the morning. You pick up the bag but stare at the box with a crease between your brows. Outside of food, you haven’t ordered anything else from the internet. You wonder if it’s a misplaced item and bend down to check the postal information. There’s no return address, but yours and your full name are written black on white. You decide that you must look like a weirdo, inspecting a package in the hallway with takeout in one hand, and you pick up the box before retreating inside. 

Putting down the brown bag on the kitchen counter, you think perhaps the package is from a colleague or a friend, maybe even from Himeko since her return address is hard to find. You look for scissors to cut the tape holding the box shut and lift the lid. A pair of black velvet gloves lie on a similarly coloured coat, the inside of which is a dark shade of blue. The material is expensive judging by the gentle  sheen on the fabric in the light, and you blink in confusion. It’s beautiful and a piece you would definitely feel compelled to buy if you saw it in a store, which means it must actually be meant for you. You pick up one glove to find that it fits perfectly with the size of your hand. It’s soft to the touch, you bring it to your cheek to feel the material against your skin. You spot a small card sticking out from one of the coat’s front pockets bearing only three words written in curvy letters: ‘Thought of you, K. <3’

The glove falls from your hand like it burns your palm and lands on the floor without a sound. Suddenly, the clothes aren’t a thoughtful gift but a mocking gesture meant to get a rise out of you. You tear the card into pieces. If anything, one could admire her limitless audacity, not you, but someone out there. She’s playing with you, taunting you to see how far she’s allowed to go before you lose your mind completely. That, or she deludes herself into thinking that she can buy your forgiveness with meaningless peace offerings. Either way, her obvious lack of care for your feelings hurts more than it should, and you’re once again reminded of your own weakness. You know that she doesn’t care, there’s no need to twist the knife in your already infected wound. Does she only see you as a toy for her entertainment? Is she incapable of even a bout of empathy or do you simply mean that little to her? The thought rotates in your head endlessly until you put everything back in the box and throw it in the trash. 

Two days later, you find another package on your doorstep; two expensive pairs of slacks and three tops that are all exactly your size and your style. The note has only a handwritten K and a slim heart on it. You donate the clothes to a thrift store in the afternoon. It's the first time you’ve left your house since you learned the truth about Kafka’s identity.

Next Thursday, you accept a friend’s invitation to go out for drinks. Kafka’s stunts made you internalize what you've been telling yourself for weeks; you won’t pull the brakes on your life for a broken heart, certainly not for her. Being hung up on somebody who isn’t thinking of you at all is embarrassing enough, to allow her such a place in your mind after what she’s done is just pathetic. Despite your heart still not being it in, you dress up in clothes that always make you feel pretty and let your friends drag you to a bar where they dance for three hours and flirt with strangers for two more. The loud music makes it impossible to hear any words that aren’t shouted or whispered in your ear, its bass reverberates uncomfortably through your chest like a second heart. The night goes by with a drink in your hand that is replaced by another the instant its last drop lands on your tongue. Inebriated and surrounded by sweaty bodies, you forget all about the world beyond the cheers of your friends as you make out with a woman on the dance floor and the flavored liquor on your lips. The events that occurred between midnight and 3 AM are a haze when you wake up before lunchtime the next morning, body halfway off the couch and head throbbing so intensely you think you might pass out before you reach the bathroom for some aspirin.

You stumble into the room, squinted eyes barely seeing two feet in front of you, and fumble with the small plastic bottle of what you believe to be your magic pills. You swallow a couple of them and bend low to take a few sips of water directly from the running faucet. Your skull feels like it’ll split open with any strong enough stimulus. You sink to the cool floor and close your eyes, breathing as steadily as you can through your mouth to relax a little. You think you fall asleep for a while, leaning against the cabinets while the medicine does its job of reducing your headache to a dull pulse. Three firm knocks on your front door wake you up abruptly and you jerk away from the sink in surprise. You wipe the corner of your mouth. Blinking away remnants of drowsiness, you shakily stand on your bare feet and run a hand over your face as you walk to the entrance of your apartment. You hope you don’t look as bad as you feel, but you know that’s likely the case. Still, you adjust your clothes and your hair before opening the front door. 

A mailman is waiting for you with a package in hand and thrusts a form in yours after a disingenuous greeting. You sign the paper confirming whatever delivery you just received, a little out of it. He leaves once the small square box is given to you. You walk back inside, turning the package over in your hands before tearing it open. A glittering necklace lies inside, nestled in suede. The gems embedded into it easily catch the light and would make a strong statement resting on any person’s collarbones. You stare at the jewelry, puzzled. Checking the package again reveals no return address, and if your mind was less hazy from this hangover, you would have guessed who the gift was from immediately. Your cell phone pings with a text, bringing you out of your confusion long enough to find it on the floor in front of the couch. You press the message to open the private conversation. The recipient has no caller ID and is texting you like you’re supposed to know who they are. You lay the jewelry box on the coffee table and reply quickly.

“Who the fuck is that…?” You slowly ask no one in particular, brows twisting in a frown. 

You type in a text and send it. The reply you receive sobers you up like an ice cold shower. You rub your eyes with one hand and hold your phone a bit farther from your face as if it poses a threat to your safety, disbelieving. The nerve… There’s a familiar flutter in the depths of your belly but the sensation is uncomfortable now, eating at you and forcing you to take a deep breath.

You block the number before another message can pop up. Frustration bubbles up inside your chest, Kafka’s dedication to remaining a part of your life like a coffee stain on a white tablecloth is seriously messing with you. Make amends? She can’t be this dense. The gifts, her promise to send more— is her image of you so shallow that she believes you can be bought with fancy clothes and jewelry? None of these have been thoughtful or paired with a note that contains more than three words. She’s hurt you more than she understands, clearly. Your issues with her behavior are evident, you don’t believe the idea of them not computing in her mind, she’s smarter than that. She’s kept key details of her life from you, lied to you and caused over a dozen scientists to lose their lives for a component that could surely be found elsewhere, not to mention her treatment of you afterwards and her lack of remorse for the emotional damage she’s inflicted on you. Your feelings are more than justified and run deeper than petty grievances. You don’t understand her at all, and at this point, you don’t care to.

An offended scoff escapes your lips and your first reflex is to tell your best friend about the situation, looking to vent your irritation to a person that’ll stand by you no matter what unlike Kafka’s fickle attitude. You video call Himeko’s number and wait until she picks up at the last ring. Her fiery hair is slightly disheveled, held up tightly in a ponytail. She’s not wearing her usual elegant clothing and is instead clad in overalls with a plaid shirt underneath. Motor oil stains her cheek and fingertips as she waves at you through the screen. You think you can see engines and steam behind her, you can definitely hear hissing noises in the background. 

“Uh… Are you busy?” You ask, taking in the dark stains on the front of her overalls. “Are you working on the Express?”

Himeko makes a sound of agreement. “Don’t worry, I always have time for you though. How are you?”

“Hangover. What’s wrong with the train?”

“Nothing as of three minutes ago. I just finished fixing some issues but it wasn’t anything too serious. I’m due for a shower. You said you’re hungover? You do kind of look… disheveled.”

“I appreciate the euphemism,” you sit cross legged on the couch. “I woke up not too long ago and immediately popped some over-the-counter medicine.”

“So you went out last night? Or were you drinking alone?”

“I went to a bar with some friends, took your advice and drank until I passed out.”

“That was not my advice.” Himeko’s frown makes you smile. “At least you left your house and returned safely. I told you it’d be good for you not to stay cooped up in here.”

You hum absentmindedly. “I don’t remember most of the night, honestly. I think I made out with someone for like… twenty minutes, four songs. But that’s not why I called— I got something in the mail today.”

Before Himeko can ask what it is, you reach for the jewelry box on the coffee table and hold it up to the camera so the necklace is in full view. You tilt it this way and that, the outside light reflecting prettily on the clear-cut gems. You watch Himeko’s eyebrows raise as she moves from her spot in the engine room, likely headed to her room for that shower she mentioned a few minutes ago.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous. Did you try it on?”

“No.”

“Is that a treat for yourself? You deserve it, you had a really rough week and it’d look good with that fancy low-cut top you have— the silk one?”

Maybe it would, too bad you’ll never wear it. 

“I didn’t buy it, I got it as a gift,” you put the necklace down next to you and close the small box, making sure to put an emphasis on the last word.

“Oh? It must have cost a small fortune. From who?”

“Kafka.”

The easygoing smile Himeko wears disappears in an instant. She stops moving somewhere in a hallway, near panoramic windows that show the galaxy beyond them. Tiny creases form along her brows and she stares at you intently, worry and affront clear in her gaze.

“Kafka sent that to you?”

You nod. “She’s been sending me stuff all week, clothes mostly, but this one really took the cake because she texted me from an encrypted number afterwards.”

“Why won’t she leave you alone?” Himeko looks vexed on your behalf and you shrug, relieved that your feelings are validated by her anger. “What did she say? Please, tell me you blocked the number immediately.”

You hesitate a couple of seconds too long, Himeko’s shoulders slump and her lips part to reprimand you but you interrupt her readily, “I blocked her! I swear. She said she wanted to ‘make amends’ and it pissed me off so bad, I blocked her number again. Can you believe her ego? Does she think my world revolves around her, that I’m just waiting for her to make it up to me before I take her back with open arms? We didn’t even have anything. We used each other for sex and despite the semblance of good-natured relationship we had, she still chose to betray me!”

Himeko studies the hurt in your eyes at your outburst and pauses, her gaze flitting across your face for a moment. You exhale, willing yourself to calm down. Your heart rate has picked up a few paces and you despise how easily Kafka gets a rise out of you without even being in the room. The redhead leans on a nearby wall.

“You have every right to be as angry as you feel,” she starts, meeting your eyes with a knowing look in her golden ones, “but… You’re this angry because you have feelings for her, don’t you?”

“W-What?” Your stutter sells you out and Himeko tilts her head in a silent gesture to not lie to her. 

“I had my doubts. You talked about her a lot, I don’t even think you noticed. And your word choice just now; ‘betray you’?” You wanted to trust her and hoped she'd let you in, but she manipulated you instead. It’s normal to be hurt, and while I have… opinions about that, you can’t help what you feel.”

You look away from the screen, lowering the camera in resignation. There’s no use in arguing Himeko’s point because you both know the truth already and you’re too out of it to fight the obvious. You don’t say anything so the line is silent for a while, Himeko resumes her walk towards her cabin and gives you a moment to gather your thoughts. You didn’t know you talked about Kafka this often but the information doesn’t surprise you, she made your days exciting and you genuinely liked her for more than sex. You used the latter as an excuse to justify the former countless times. From the beginning, you were attracted to more than her body, and from the beginning, you were more attached to her than she was to you. Even though these are facts that you’re aware of, your throat tightens at the reminder. 

“I hate it,” you say quietly after a while, facing Himeko’s figure in the camera.

“I know, sweetheart. Nothing’s easy about what you’re going through right now, but it’s not the end of everything. I’m here to help you through it and you have your friends that are there for you too, just don’t isolate yourself while we figure out a path forward, okay?”

“What if she contacts me  again?”

“Then you tell me immediately.”

“What, you’ll come to beat her up?”

Himeko laughs softly. “I don’t resort to violence without at least a conversation first, but….”

Her long pause brings a white toothed smile to your face and Himeko’s eyes crinkle at the corners at the sight. 

After assuring you that she’ll text you in the evening, Himeko hangs up the call. You run a hand over your face, chest heavy. You’ll donate the necklace once you feel less like a wet rag that’s been wrung until no moisture is left. Someone will probably be happy to stumble upon a find like this one, and if Kafka’s ill intentioned gesture can bring happiness to one person then perhaps that cancels everything out. 

The next afternoon, you find yourself in a clothing store that resembles the one you first met Kafka in months ago, browsing the racks for whatever catches your eye. Shopping for clothes relaxes you; feeling the different fabrics and textures under your fingertips, finding a piece that resonates with you, admiring the craftsmanship and creation process of the items on display are all things that take your mind off the mundanity of your life. You’re not that well-versed in fashion, not really, even if it interests you. You’re approached by one of the store’s consultants and it’s as you politely decline her help that you realize that this is something you could do. You could take classes about a subject that actually matters to you and work in that domain afterwards— maybe you’ll learn how to make your own clothes and sharpen your personal style. The idea makes you smile among elegant blouses. You can deal with your parents’ expectations of you if it means you won’t spend another day in an office researching mechanical components for projects you don’t care about. 

You pass by your local thrift store to donate the necklace, but they won’t accept it. The employee’s eyes widens after one look and drags her manager to the front, who in turn adamantly refuses to take such a precious item from you. They wouldn’t know how to price it and its value is a few zeros too many to belong in a thrift store. You leave the place a little dejected, you don’t want to make any money out of it or it’ll feel like Kafka did you a favor in the end. You look at the box in your hands for a minute, then make up your mind. You’ll pawn it and give the money from it to the families who lost their loved ones during the incident last week. It won’t bring them back, it might not alleviate their families’ grief at all, but at least they’ll be set for years in the future and that’s something, right? That’s one thing Kafka would have (indirectly) done to make amends. 

You decide to pawn the necklace after doing a bit more research about it to make sure you don’t get ripped off. You put it back in your bag for the time being and make your way back to your home, shopping bags around both of your wrists. By car, it takes less than half an hour to reach your apartment building. You carefully park in the designated spot and struggle to carry all of your bags to the elevator. Maybe splurging on clothes wasn’t the best financial decision when you plan to return to school and are currently unemployed. You repeat the phrase “I deserve it” like a mantra all the way to your floor. Standing in front of your door, you’ve almost completely deluded yourself that you do, indeed, deserve five new pairs of pants, nine pretty tops and two jackets you’ll wear at most three times in the next year. You’re not too sure about the pairs of shoes you bought afterwards… 

You free one hand to turn the key into the hole and push the door open. Picking the shopping bags back up, you step into your apartment with a sigh, wondering how you’ll begin to start this new chapter of your life. The door hasn’t fully closed behind you that you freeze where you stand, assaulted by the various colors and fragrances of flowers resting on every surface of your home, some in bouquets twice as big as the other ones and all of them transforming your apartment into a disorganized greenhouse. Your mouth opens, bewildered. You can’t count the different kinds of flowers that are there, you only recognize a handful of them. You’re so shocked by the sight that you don’t notice the figure stepping out of your kitchen until she speaks and a sharp scream of surprise flies from your lips.

“Hey– It’s just me,” Kafka lifts her gloved hands in a gesture she means peaceful.

Stupefied, the bags in your hands fall to the ground with a soft thud. Your heart races wildy in your chest and you cover your mouth with a palm, eyes closing with the next shaky exhale that you let out. It takes you a minute to slow the drumming of your heart enough to utter words that aren’t strained. 

“How did you get in here?”

“You didn’t change the locks. Seriously, it’s like you wanted me to show up again.” Her joke lands flat and her smile falters an inch at your glare. “Not in the mood for jokes, alright.”

She walks to the couch and picks up an item your eyes previously skimmed over. It’s an intricate hexagonal vase with a soft brown tint, clearly meticulously made. The glass looks very fragile judging by the way she carries it and outstretches her hands towards you, presenting it to you like a gift. 

“For the flowers you want to keep,” she says. 

You’re going to break it over her head. 

[hoyotournament]

FINALS!!! Furina vs Kiana Kaslana

(Propaganda under the cut)

Furina:

the girl who saved fontaine. condemned herself to a life of silent pain and suffering without any warning or preparation. she could confide in no one, seek out help from no one, all while bearing the weight of her entire nation on her shoulders. not only did her willpower save everyone in fontaine, but after the prophecy was averted, she was finally allowed to live a normal life.

Kiana Kaslana:

TLDR: she's kiana kaslana what do you MEAN!!!! kiana is a beautifully written character who fully encapsulates what hi3 is about and she's so full of love and guilt and (most importantly) hope. she's a clone who struggles with her own identity/inhumanity and traumas extending from when she was a young child and her guilt but is so so resilient and so so so so compassionate which ultimately reinforces her humanity :)

kiana's character IS the honkai impact thesis statement. i don't even mean it as in she's the literal main character and face of honkai i genuinely mean it when i say she just IS honkai impact. she reflects every single theme that they portray [hope over nihilism (chapter 25 || the flame chasers and just. the previous era in general), having agency over your identity and your own story (himeko, her being k423 and being so linked to sirin, everlasting flames || the kaslana household name honestly, bronya, fu hua, mei, sirin), believing in the humanity's inherent worth (chapter 25, arc city || elysia <- important since as a current era herrscher, she is a successor to elysia AND as kiana kaslana, she is a narrative parallel of elysia), having faith in the youth (himeko, kevin || the other flame chasers! notably su), etc.] her character being so reflective is also sooooo OUGH to think about when you view it as a reflection of honkai's 50,000 year samsara because kiana is a representation of these themes coming full circle (especially since many of these stretch back to the previous era and elysia).

SHE FEELS SO MUCH. she's so full of love and guilt. she clearly prioritizes others over herself and part of her arc is her learning to value and love herself as well!!! she would give herself for the world ten times over because she holds so much affection for humanity!! (WHILE FEELING DEHUMANIZED BECAUSE OF HER IDENTITY AS BOTH A HERRSCHER AND K423) and it's actively apart of her character's growth :'')

dear god her growth… okok. so i think first you have to understand that a lot of kiana's growth obviously coincides w general maturity as she grows from a teenager to a young adult. but aside from that i think people often forget that younger kiana is incredibly self sufficient since her father literally left her with little to no explanation when she was like. what 8? the insecurity she feels at that! the anger she has to navigate while also balancing it with her own feelings of missing and loving him. basically: kiana has struggled a lot w instability and is thus kinda good at navigating it. ex: she isnt shaken by nagazora and literally tries again and again and again to save mei and convince mei to let her help. the thing is this fucks w her a bit though because a big thing that she does as a means to cope w instability is avoiding them (not reflective of real life of course, but in the fictional hi3 this is partially represented in kiana's repressed memories about her actual origins as k423). she can not stand the realization that she killed himeko that she's so deep in denial and doesnt truly realize it until more than 10 chapters after himeko dies! she's so horrified with her being a herrscher she actively tries to not use her powers out of fear, even when it puts her in harms way (the chapter XI-EX CG!!!!!! her literally trying to kill herself!!) she literally runs away from her friends and loved ones because she's so scared of hurting them!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! which is why her promise to himeko to not run away is so important!! because it addresses one of kiana's biggest flaws!!!!! this is especially important bc her refusal to continue her avoidance feeds into her arc during the herrscher of dominion chapters where she both faces her own guilt/identity and deliberately chooses perseverance and hope over nihilism!! she is hope!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ramblingoak]

Napping in the Clouds

~ A special edition of Naps With Copia ~

This is for @megachaoticstupid who wanted a nap in my Steampunk Verse between little Copia and his big brother Secondo 💙

Huge thanks to @tasty-ribz for the art and to @ghuleh-recs for my steampunk dividers!

This technically takes place after Building A Family but it can be read on its own. There are also two other fics in this universe: Capitano Copia and Clockwork Friends.

Warnings: angst pertaining to Copia's time in an orphanage and Secondo's feelings towards his family otherwise it is very soft and fluffy, sfw, 2,600 words

They were running out of clocks.

Secondo brushed the toe of his boot against some of the debris on the floor.  The delicate metal parts scraped against the polished wood and he winced briefly at the scratch left behind.  Not that it mattered, Emeritus Manor had countless rooms that hadn’t seen a soul in years.  No one would care about the condition of the floor in some dusty study.  Secondo couldn’t even remember if he’d been in this room before.  Copia however had clearly been busy exploring.

Busy doing other things too.

“He’s up to three rats now.”  Alpha’s voice preceded him as he appeared out of the shadow in the doorway.  “And some toys.”

“Aren’t the rats toys?”

“No.”  Secondo turned with a raised eyebrow at the sharp quality of the ghoul’s voice.  To his credit, Alpha lowered his head briefly in apology before looking back up with a smirk on his face.  The red eyes of the demon glowed with mischief as he answered.  “They’re not toys at all.”

Copia was singing when he finally tracked him down.

He had a strong voice for his age.  Strong and bright Italian words drifted down the hallway and Secondo felt such an intense moment of something that he had to pause before he turned the corner to confront the boy.  Music hadn’t traveled the corridors of the manor for a long time.  Not since Terzo had decided he’d rather spend his time in the sky.

Or, as was the case lately, in prison.

Secondo turned the corner to find Copia hunched over something in the middle of the hall.  Parts and tools were spread out around him as well as what he assumed were the little clockwork rats Alpha had watched him build.  He was content to stay back and listen to his song but one of the rats twitched and turned his way.  Copia instantly quieted down, his head snapping back and his eyes widening as soon as he saw Secondo.

“I’m sorry!  I’ll put it back together!”

Copia stumbled onto his feet, grabbing an armful of parts and quickly going over to the quiet clock.  The rats were right at his heels save one.  This one went right for Secondo, pausing at his boots and gazing up at him.  There was a blue glow right below its chest, bright enough to illuminate the little creature’s eyes.  It was something that had Secondo holding his breath, memories of his own childhood here springing to his mind.

Memories of what he used to be able to build.

“What’s his name?”  His little brother turned his way, a small screwdriver clamped between his teeth.  Secondo crouched down slowly, not wanting to scare the rat away.  “Your friend, does he have a name?”

“Brizio.”  Copia timidly walked his way, the other two rats never straying far.  Only one of them had the same glow as the one Secondo was studying.  “I named him after a friend.”

“Friends are important, where is this friend now?”

“I-I’m not sure?  He was at the orphanage with me and got adopted…”  He dropped to his knees and reached a finger out to gently touch the rat’s back.  “I miss him.”

Secondo stayed silent as he watched the boy fidget, his little fingers tapping along his knees.  He could see a bit of himself in the boy’s features, the eyes being the most obvious thing.  The Emeritus family having had the white eye for generations at this point.  Nihil always claimed it was a gift but most of his sons at some point had considered it a curse.  Primo had hated it enough to replace it with one of his “enhancements”.

A tiny hand on his knee pulled Secondo from his thoughts.  Copia was looking up at him, his eyes wide and his face unsure.  

“It’s ok to miss friends and loved ones.”  He bit his lip for a moment, a memory from his own life here as a child coming forward in his mind.  “I used to have a pet rabbit, she was a gift from my mother.”

“What was her name?”

“Snowbell.  Because of her fur.  All white, beautiful and soft.”  He couldn’t help but smile softly, thinking of that first day he met Snowbell.  When his mother brought her into his room in her arms.  It was one of the last times he saw his mother healthy, before everything in his life changed.  He was so lost in his memories that he missed Copia saying something.  “What was that fratellino?” 

“Fratellino?”  Secondo found himself staring into a familiar set of eyes.  They shimmered in the gas lamps in the hallway, unshed tears threatening to drop.  “Are you…you’re one of my brothers?”

“Si, I am Secondo.”  He smiled when Copia reached a small hand up and Secondo gamely shook it.  “Primo is here as well, although he is rarely seen.  He likes to spend his time in his lab.”

“Do you have a lab?”

Secondo placed a hand on the floor to brace himself and then moved to sit cross legged.  Copia stayed close, his hand never leaving Secondo’s leg, almost like he was afraid that if he let go he’d lose the older brother he just found.

“I do, although I don’t use it as much anymore.  My study is where I spend most of my time, usually reading or designing things.”  Copia cocked his head and guessing the question he was about to ask Secondo continued,  “Designing things for my airship.”

“You have an airship?!”

The sheer joy on Copia’s face was infectious and he couldn’t help but match it,  “I do!  Secular Haze is her name.  She’s the fastest ship in the skies.”  Secondo made a show of looking around to see if they were alone,  “But don’t tell your brother Terzo that, ok?”

“Is Terzo here too?”

Secondo winced and gave a slight shake of his head,  “Unfortunately Terzo has landed himself in prison.”  Copia’s eyes widened comically, but he moved his head closer when Secondo leaned in.  “Piracy.”

“Wow!”

Of course to a child that was exciting and Secondo tried not to let his face fall and ruin the mood.  But Copia didn’t know what it was like dealing with the worry of how long Terzo would be gone this time.  About what sort of damage his ship Mummy Dust had taken.  Mostly though he was worried about what the city would find in the airship.

And what that would mean for the whole family.

He cleared his throat, taking a quick look around the hallway before leaning in close to Copia once more,  “I have an idea.”

“We ride around in your airship!”

“We will fratellino, I promise you that.”  Copia beamed up at him, following Secondo and standing up as well.  “But first we should clean this up, find something to eat and then maybe have a little tour of the manor, yeah?”

“Oh, yes!  Per favore!  Alpha showed me around a little but Papa Nihil caught us and made him take me back to my room.”

“Nihil is a dickhead.”  Copia’s little gasp had Secondo chuckling and he knelt down before the boy, his hands resting on his tiny shoulders.  “I will show you all the secret passageways, all the hiding spots.  I will show you how your brothers and I avoided him when we were your age.”  He stood up again, winking when he held out a hand for Copia.  “We still use them even now.”

He squeezed Copia’s hand when the boy reached out and then led him over to the silent grandfather clock.  Without direction Copia knelt down and began to put the old thing back together, his fingers quick and precise.  The little rats whirred at his feet, Brizio even picking up small gears and bringing them over to the boy right as he needed them.  Secondo chimed in whenever Copia held up something with a questioning look, helping the boy find where the part belonged.

When Secondo saw Copia’s triumphant grin as the clock came to life and a series of chimes rang out in the hallway he knew then and there that the boy was where he belonged as well.

From that day on Copia, and his rats, were rarely away from Secondo’s side.

Alpha and a few of the other ghouls had cleared out a space in Secondo’s study for the boy.  An area where he could work on whatever he desired, where he could build whatever he wanted, and Secondo was there to watch.  To lend a hand whenever Copia needed it.  It was amazing to witness the ease in which his fratellino could create things.  Amazing to see the familiar blue glow in each creation.  It was a special kind of magic the world didn’t see much of these days.

Secondo took a sip of his drink and continued to stare into the fireplace.  His study was quiet today save the crackling of the fire.  It was strange how fast he had gotten used to Copia’s chattering, to the sounds of the boy working as well as the sounds of his rats running about.  Copia loved to sing as well and Secondo found it hard not to join in when he did.  They made him ache for a home he had barely known but one he hoped to build here for himself and Copia.

Perhaps for Primo and Terzo as well if they wanted.

His ghouls had taken Copia out to see Secular Haze, something that the boy had been begging to do ever since he found out she existed.  He had also begged Secondo to come with but he couldn’t bring himself to go.  It had been so long since he had seen her, since he had last sailed through the skies on her, that the guilt for leaving her dormant was too heavy.  

He wasn’t even sure he could sail her again.  Wasn’t even sure if she’d let him.

“Papa?”  Secondo startled at the old honorific from Alpha, a title no one had bothered to use for years.  “We’re back.  Copia is in his room, he wanted to see you but he was asleep on his feet.”

“What did he think of her?”

“He was amazed, running around to study every part of her.  Asked a million questions.”

“I’m sure he did, I’ll have to dig out her plans so he can look at those.”  

Alpha stepped into his line of sight, the tall ghoul moving close to the fire and staring right into it.  He was far too close to the fire than most could handle but each ghoul had a specific element they called their own and fire was as natural to Alpha as breathing.  There was a tenseness to the ghoul’s shoulders, like he was debating whether or not to say something.  When he finally turned around Secondo set his glass down and crossed his arms.

“Is there something else?”

“Some of those questions were about you.”  Secondo shrugged, not really surprised at that.  The boy always had lots of questions for him.  Recently he had been mostly focused on the story Secondo told him of his rabbit, Snowbell.  “About what you were like at his age.”

“Too smart for my own good and desperate for someone to notice.”  

He froze after the words left his mouth, surprised he had said something so personal.  Although it didn’t really matter, Alpha had been there when he was young and angry at everyone.  Lost in the Emeritus Manor without another Emeritus in sight.  Nihil annoyed that Secondo even existed and Primo gone all the time for whatever reason.  

“I told him you were lonely.”

Secondo couldn’t shake Alpha’s comment.

The old ghoul was right, he was lonely.  It was just an odd thing to think about considering he’d felt that way most of his life.  While Primo had eventually warmed up to him, and Terzo had moved into the manor not long after Secondo did, they never truly felt like brothers.  Each was different enough in their attitudes and abilities that it had been hard to bond. 

It didn’t help that Nihil always tried to make things a contest between the three of them.  Who could develop something better, who could build something faster, who could propel the family further?  Those were the things Nihil cared about and if one of them failed at any of those aspects, or anything else, he was quick to lose interest and ignore them.  That in turn made the brothers quick to ignore each other, something that was easy to do in such a big house.

He got up to throw a few more logs into the fire, easing back into his chair as the loud popping sounds from the wood filled the room.  It was funny how quickly he had gotten used to Copia being in here because it already felt strange not to hear him tinkering away at something.  Ever since he had visited the airship he had been spending more time in his room.  Alpha said he was fine, just busy working on something.  The ghoul wouldn’t elaborate any further and when Secondo had finally decided to go to the boy himself Copia refused to even open the door.

Perhaps Copia had already grown tired of him.  The thought hurt and Secondo quickly took a swig of his whisky, wanting to bury that idea as deep as he could before it started to hurt worse.

“Fratello?”  Copia’s little voice had Secondo coughing mid swallow, the whisky burning his throat when it went down the wrong way.  He leaned forward with his arms on his legs, trying to catch his breath.  A small hand started to pat his back, the boy’s voice frantic when Secondo continued to cough.  “Are you ok?  Should I get Alpha?  Please don–”

“I’m ok, I’m ok.”  Secondo turned and placed a hand on top of Copia’s head, lightly ruffling his light brown hair.  “You just startled me, that's all.”  

He turned and set his glass down on the nearby table before looking at Copia again.  The boy had something in his arms, an object made of gold metal with a familiar blue glow shining bright in its chest.  At first Secondo thought it was Brizio but when he looked closer he realized the ears were much longer than what he was used to.  The body shape was different too.  Secondo straightened up in his chair abruptly, his eyes widening when he realized what it looked like.

“I made you something.”

It felt good to be in the sky again.

It felt good to have his ship under his feet, his ghouls at his side and the Secular Haze racing through the clouds.  This is where he belonged, the sky had always felt more like home than the ground.  The hum of his ship resonated through his bones and he didn’t realize how much he had missed it until now.  This partnership between him and the machine he had built.

The body next to him shifted and he looked down at a familiar mop of brown hair, his fratellino fast asleep at his side.  A small fist was latched onto his shirt, machine grease tucked under his nails like always.  Nearby Secondo could hear the familiar sound of small metal feet running about, the gentle whir of Copia’s creations ever present.  

When he looked over he met the gaze of one such creation Copia had made for him.  A gift that Secondo would cherish always, just like he planned to always cherish the small boy who made it.  Snowbell’s ears clicked as they moved around, the mechanical rabbit rearing up onto its hind legs when two of Copia’s rats ran by.  It soon dropped back down onto its feet, chasing after them around Secondo’s cabin. 

He leaned back and closed his eyes, soaking in the sounds of his ship around him.  Soaking in the warmth of being with his family, both old and new, as he began to drift off to sleep.

He didn’t feel lonely anymore.   

~ Naps With Copia series masterpost ~

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[erin-writes-ghost-fluff]

Thinking about the laughs of the brothers, someone take my brain privileges away.

Primo: Doesn't laugh often. It's a rare sound, often muffled into the back of his hand, or held back. If someone makes a rude comment about Nihil, however, that gets him pretty bad. When one manages to somehow really get him belly laughing, it's shockingly warm sounding, interspersed with wheezes, the occasional snort, and he bounces his knee if he's sitting. Deep sounding laugh that grows in volume, if one catches him off guard enough. The last time this occurred, Copia made a comment about Nihil's wrinkly sack, and Primo violently inhaled his tea through his nose. Might stomp his foot if something is funny enough.

Secondo: Similarly to Primo, this papa's laughter is hard to come by. He tries harder to hide it too. Quiet snickers, turning his face so no one sees him crack a smile. He has a reputation like his brother to uphold, and he doesn't need to be seen laughing. He can't help himself, however, if he sees someone fall or trip. And he won't be able to stop himself. If he sees someone trip in the middle of a conversation, expect sudden chuckles to break up his words. Laughter sounds gruff coming from this brother. Though he's been heard cackling, the rare times something strikes him as terribly funny. He has a sense of humor but it's dark and dry, like Primo's. Been known to pound tables or arms of chairs if he laughs hard enough.

Terzo: He tries to be like his older brothers but he can't. Hates his laugh, because Sister made a comment when he was a teenager that he sounds like Nihil. He covers his mouth, bites his lip, covers his face, all things Omega doesn't like to see. To Omega, Terzo's laugh is perfect. And Omega tells him this every time he hears it. Very bright, bubbly laugh. High pitched giggle, if someone gets him laughing hard enough. The sisters of sin love his laugh and will do anything they can to hear it. Like Primo, comments about Nihil are one of his weaknesses. Omega will tickle him until he's giggling too much to try and stop himself. Old, slapstick films will get him laughing too. Secondo rage quitting Uno never fails to make him bust up. Prone to holding his stomach during laughing fits.

Copia: The only brother that doesn't try not to laugh. The brother with the most broken sense of humor. His laugh is similar to Terzo's. One can definitely tell they're brothers, especially if they start laughing in the same room. Tries to be mature but if someone farts, instant giggle fit. His brothers used to call him "hyena" when they were younger. They still occasionally did up until their deaths. Squeaks every so often like a rat in between his laughter. Sister used to call him "giggle box" when he was a boy. He will vehemently deny this now. His ghouls love making him bust up and it's not hard to do. Watches early seasons of SpongeBob, and the random explosions make him lose it. Slaps his thighs when he really gets going and begs for whoever's making him laugh, to stop. Doubles over a lot.

[tabathawillet]

My first post! 😹 I’m still not super tumblr savvy yet so forgive me.

‼️WARNING‼️

RHRN SPOILERS….

My theory after watching the movie.

I was never a ‘Terzo is coming back’ believer but after watching the movie three times it makes me think maybe it could be.

1. The twins: one had light hair and one had dark, Copia had lighter hair than Terzo.

2. Sister said everything is circulation, which means things come back around.

3. There are lots of theories about him not being actually dead. In their virtual game, it said Terzo didn’t have an autopsy. His foot moved in the morgue, the scratches on the coffin, Etc. (I personally don’t believe the magazine cover with Copia holding Terzo’s head is “cannon” but even so, Tobias sometimes retcons his own lore, but i believe he does it purposely) I think if Terzo were the other twin (meaning he is imperator’s son too) she wouldn’t have killed him, besides it makes sense that COPIA was the “secret” twin because Nihil wasn’t aware of him at first, he didn’t even know Imperator was Copia’s mother, because although he’s a dickhead I’m sure he can do the math, so it makes sense that she gave him the son that looked more like him (Terzo) and kept Copia a secret. I also don’t know how she would have finally told all her truths on her deathbed to ease her mind and kept the other twin a secret.

4. Copia’s name means copy and everyone said he was a copy of Terzo. Their original hairstyles were similar. They had the same style and aesthetic. They even do some of the same moves and rifts with songs. So maybe it’s been in our face the whole time, as is often the case with Tobias hiding things in plain sight.

5. When Copia was introduced sister said someone “slightly younger” we all assumed Terzo’s age because of the “he’s three months younger than Secondo” thing, but in the movie Nihil said that he’s 80 and for now let’s consider the 4 sons he has: the Papas. In the new song, it’s based in 1969, it said 15 years was 1984 & 55 years was 2024. So Copia is 55, I could easily see Terzo as 55 too, he wasn’t graying yet when he “died” and neither was Copia at that time. In fact sometime last year the mask maker that Tobias uses posted a Copia looking mask with Terzo’s black hair.

6. The whole shoe bit in the movie seemed like a nod to Terzo’s hole in his shoe and served no other purpose that I could think of.

7. The movie is literally titled from a Terzo song, and in that video at the end there are two Terzos and that’s where Copia was introduced. If I’m not mistaken Tobias did an interview and said there was another hint in that video that no one caught yet.

8. I think Tobias is a genius and he knows Terzo was a fan favorite and he has potential, he became a favorite BEFORE Ghost really blew up from MOAC. But I don’t think he will be the one who tours. I think Terzo will be used in the chapters. The movie went out of its way to explain some lore to us that we already knew JUST so it could be pointed out that “Technically” Copia is the “5th Papa”. Copia didn’t want to stop touring, he asked “who’s in charge” and at the end it’s him, he could totally say no I’m not done and continue touring while we have some great content online of the brothers bickering especially now that I think we will do all the chapters with Alex the director now. I believe the chapters are about to massively increase in quality and production.

9. I also think the soundtrack might be the only album we get this year, if the interview with Richie is correct and he’s doing things with Ghost in November. Also there was a recent post about someone from Iron Maiden being asked if Ghost would tour with them later this year and he said no Ghost wants to do an arena tour. Copia (as Cardinal) and Terzo both did 3 years of tours so a third leg of this last album cycle isn’t out of the question especially after the issues they encountered on the last tour with venues/weather/cancelled shows.

10. Finally and this is just my hopeful thinking. I don’t think Tobias would take Copia from us when we didn’t have a fair chance to “meet” him at meet and greets as Papa. There was only the small opportunity during the 2022 tour with masks and plexiglass and it wasn’t ideal. I just don’t feel like he’s okay with that, but maybe it’s just my wishful thinking! 😹

[revelforevermore]

The Ministry and How They Would Cuddle With You

Context: How each of them would like to cuddle with you. 

Sister Imperator: She prefers to cuddle where there’s complete silence and privacy with no chances of being disturbed. She’s a switch between being held and holding you; she enjoys both. Cuddling is something she likes to do after really hard days and she finds that being near someone distracts her from the world for a while. She likes to cuddle side by side with arms entwined or with backs pressed together (she gets overheated). She doesn’t cuddle often so when she does it’s always for a reason.

Papa Nihil: He can be a real pain when it comes to cuddling. He’ll complain that his arm falls asleep, your head is too heavy, his chest is starting to hurt—but once he’s settled down, he’s pretty calm and quiet. He isn’t used to cuddling much these days but he enjoys it when it’s with you. He prefers to cuddle in front of the TV so he can catch up on his soap operas. He’ll frequently get up for one reason or another, like wanting a snack, needing a drink, or needing the bathroom. If he falls asleep cuddling, he’ll rest his head on your shoulder and snore in your ear. 

Primo: Contrary to some belief, the man really loves to cuddle—he’s just limited in his abilities to cuddle or the time he has to. He loves to cuddle in living spaces or out in his favorite places in the Ministry. When cuddling, he prefers the standard “arm over the shoulder” or the arm around the waist. He’ll run his fingers through your hair and talk about anything and everything; if you get him on a roll about things he loves, he’ll talk to you until you change the subject or doze off. In bed, he sleeps on his back and will welcome you to his side anytime. 

Secondo: Secondo isn’t an affectionate man; it makes him somewhat uncomfortable. Loving touches are foreign to him so it takes time for him to warm up to the idea of cuddling, and he only cuddles with someone he trusts completely. It’s a slow process—it’ll start with holding hands on the couch, then an arm around your shoulder. It might take weeks to get him to properly cuddle, just be patient with him. He prefers to cuddle on the couch since he gets too hot in bed, and he always has to be the one to hold you (there’s a hunch that he would break down in tears if it was the other way around). He prefers to lay on his back as you cuddle into his side or lay on top of him. 

Terzo: Cuddling is a whole production for Terzo; he’s all about aesthetics, so he likes it when the mood is just right. That isn’t to say he doesn’t always like cuddling—he demands it a lot—but there’s nothing like cuddling in bed, under a very toasty blanket, with soft white noise and some ambient light (side note: he can’t use candles for this anymore, he fell asleep once with candlelight and almost set the curtains on fire). He prefers any positions where you both feel safe and secure. He's a switch when it comes to big or little spoon, but he’s a sucker for being the little spoon. If he had to choose a position, he prefers it when you’re both on your sides facing each other with your arms entwined. He’ll speak softly and often falls asleep while talking. He doesn’t always get the chance to unwind and relax his “playboy” stage persona, so cuddling in bed is the only time he feels like he doesn’t have to face that pressure. 

Copia: He’s such a cuddle bug; he loves everything comfort, and his bedroom is his favorite place for it. The more pillows and blankets, the better; just don’t take his favorite pillow please. He loves it when you lay against him while he’s playing video games so he can rest the controller on your head, or he likes to lay on top of you so you play with his hair. Will make noises of approval when you spoil him with affection. It usually takes him a while to fall asleep but during cuddling he’s out like a light. He especially loves cuddling when he’s had a bad day and will often pour his heart out while laying on your chest.

Cirrus: She enjoys cuddling and sees it as an opportunity to tease you. She prefers to cuddle in cuddle piles, but one-on-one is nice, too; she likes laying down on the couch together to watch movies or TV so you can both add commentary while watching. She prefers to be big spoon and hold you from behind so she can bury her nose in your neck. She doesn’t fall asleep often while cuddling, but if you do she’ll scratch your scalp and make sure no one disturbs you. 

Cumulus: Of all the ghoulettes, she loves it the most. She’s the perfect cuddle partner and she knows it–anywhere you cuddle is absolutely going to be cozy and welcoming, but she prefers her bedroom. Her bed has lots of stuffed pillows and animals and she likes to create a nest from blankets. She loves being held during cuddling and having her hair played with. She’ll press soft kisses to your skin as you lay together. Her favorite position is being little spoon, but it’s a close contender with your head on her chest. 

Sunshine: She prefers group cuddling like some of the others, since it makes her feel safe and secure. One-on-one is the same way: she loves to feel completely comfortable. She really enjoys being sleepy while cuddling since the Pits were never this serene. She likes to be held and if she’s able, she’ll leave soft caresses on your arms, chest, etc. to show her appreciation. She falls asleep almost every time you cuddle. 

Aurora: Like Cumulus, she’s all about comfort, and she’s more than once wiggled her way through a cuddle pile to get the best spot. She prefers to curl up on top of you when cuddling since it makes her feel safe; sometimes she’ll curl up into a ball, even! She’ll purr if you run your nails up and down her back, and she’ll nip your neck to leave a scent mark. She doesn’t care where the cuddling takes place as long as it’s safe, comfortable, and warm. 

Aether: He is, hands-down, one of the best cuddlers in the Ministry. He’s like a giant teddy bear and he’s always game to cuddle if you ask. He’s always at the center of cuddle piles with the ghouls, but one-on-one, he prefers to cuddle in his favorite chair in the living space with you curled on his lap, or in his bed with him as the big spoon or you laying on top of him. Play with his ear piercings—he’ll absolutely melt. He likes to play with your hair and will talk about your days and whatever comes to mind. He likes to snack during cuddle times especially if you’re watching TV. 

Dew/Sodo: It’s complicated. He is the type of person who longs for affection but will make you feel like it’s an obligation. When he wants to cuddle and he initiates, he’ll approach you with an agitated demeanor, drag you to his room without a word, and initiate cuddling. He’ll do this quietly so you don’t even know what’s happening until you’re curled into his side and he’s silently simmering next to you. He’ll never shove you off when you initiate cuddling; he might tense if he doesn’t fully trust you yet or if he’s taken off-guard, but he enjoys your company. He pretends to not like being little spoon, but he loves it.

Swiss: It’s a whole production since Swiss is incapable of holding still for long periods of time. He has to go through multiple position changes—he’ll get comfortable, then decide it would be better if you laid this way while he moved to his back, so on and so forth. The only way to get him to hold still is to let him starfish on top of you and scratch his scalp or base of his horns. He’ll start purring and finally calm down. He likes to hold you extremely tight and prefers to rest his head on your chest. He doesn’t have a favorite position besides that one; as long as he gets to hold you close, he’s happy. 

Rain: He purrs a lot when you cuddle. A lot. He enjoys the closeness of cuddling and it’s one of the most intimate things in the world to him. When cuddling, he prefers any position where he gets to snugly wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tightly against him. He really enjoys it when he’s reading and you come up and cuddle with him; it always brings a smile to his face. He doesn’t sleep very easily unless he’s cuddling with something at night, but he always prefers when it’s you. 

Mountain: He’s a giant beanstalk of a ghoul, so cuddling can be awkward at times (for example, he can’t get comfortable on loveseats or short couches). He prefers to cuddle anywhere that you can both lay comfortably, whether that be in a pile of blankets or in bed. Cuddling is one of the most important things to him in the physical relationship. He prefers to hold you rather than being held so he can play with your hair or run his hand along your arm. He likes it when you cling to him like a koala. 

Phantom: He’s a lot like Swiss in that he physically cannot stop moving; and most of the time, cuddling will turn into other things, like kissing. He does enjoy it but his mind is always moving in so many directions that he can forget to stop and relax. On the occasions you can get him to simmer down, he likes to hold you from the side with your arm around him while he talks about whatever comes to his mind. When he’s feeling down or when he’s tired is the best time to cuddle with him since he finds physical touch to be the best way to relax.

Hullo! Just a reminder that these are just HCs - not factual. Just an interpretation based on what I've seen from the characters and intuition. :)

[eatingfireflies]

I want to talk about this thing

And I have a proposal:

The name of Dr Ratio's warp event is connected to this and, incidentally, Aventurine

Disclaimer: 1) I'm not normal or rational about Dr Ratio. 2) The conclusion is supported only by the English translation as far as I know. 3) Maybe the conclusion is a bit of a leap but I'm serious about everything else.

Let's go!

The conversation Aventurine and Acheron had towards the end is probably up there with End of Evangelion for me in terms of comforting. There's something comforting about Acheron's Nihility because there's still a drop of colour in there and she thinks it's enough. It's the kind of emptiness that accepts anything and don't we all need a little black hole to chuck all our worries into? 🥲

Before the 'grand finale', Aventurine says that sleep is a rehearsal of death. After his death, Acheron agrees and adds that we sleep in order to prepare for the real thing.

And then Aventurine asks her a question:

And Acheron's answer is: this isn't true and Aventurine knows this himself. We don't get born to die. There's no reason for being born, just like there is no meaning in life.

(There's only chance. In stories, things happen for a reason but life isn't story-shaped.)

So: there is no meaning in life. But the way we live our lives gives meaning to our deaths.

Then she tells him to look at his pocket because his friend has already given him the answer.

And I was like 'Finally !! I've been waiting for this reveal!' because what can be said at this moment that could help Aventurine?

There are 2 phases in his plan:

1) Prove that death is possible in the dreamland. Since all the visitors in Penacony are protected by Harmony, this is pretty hard to do but not impossible. We know other people have done it before. Aventurine uses Acheron the emanator of Nihility to cut through the Harmony protection and finish him off.

And Aventurine wins his wager! But the plan doesn’t end there.

2) Move forward to the Real Penacony somehow and investigate the truth about the Watchmaker. And then figure out how to come back. Which honestly sounds like a tall order, but what else can Aventurine do?

Well, he can stop at phase 1.

Acheron says that the conclusion of phase 1 is a win-win situation for the IPC, which is true. Aventurine's death will give the IPC a reason to investigate Penacony and the Family. We know Jade and the others aren't even allowed to go into the dreamscape, but with the death of the IPC envoy, they'll have the right to make some demands from the Family.

If Aventurine stops here, he still would have won.

We know from his conversation with his future self that he's tired and ready to stop. He wants to come home and be with his family.

Aventurine is pretty much a mess: he's a child blessed by Gaiathra Triclops, which gives him godly luck. This luck has prevented him from dying countless times before (even the times when he was actually fine with it). He wants to die but also he's terrified of... dying?

Truly embodying the 'Why is it so hard to die, so impossible to live?'* vibe.

(*From Tanith Lee's The Secret Books of Paradys 1, if you're interested)

Or maybe more accurately, he's terrified of losing everything just like he did in Sigonia. You can look at it in 2 ways: without Mama Fenge's blessing, Kakavasha would have died with the rest of the Avgin. Or Kakavasha's luck came at the expense of literally everything he holds dear.

With Acheron's help, he has finally achieved the death his own luck has been protecting him from. So why should he move forward?

Well, let's see what Acheron meant when she said Aventurine's friend has the answer.

And I... have no idea.

The underlying message here is easy enough to understand: Acheron has already answered Aventurine's question. He can move forward and keep living because that's what will give his eventual death more meaning. But hearing this from Acheron is a bit of a cold comfort: she accepts everything and also views everything impartially.

Ratio's note is a reminder to Aventurine that someone in the waking world is personally invested in Aventurine's well-being. Not because of what Aventurine can do for the IPC (as a consultant, I assume Ratio gets paid whether Aventurine succeeds or not, but also Aventurine has already succeeded with Phase 1).

And not because Ratio gets anything out of it... well, the Stellaron files maybe? But he already has that. Or whatever it is he went to Penacony for, because the two of them are being cagey about it.

Whatever it is, Ratio has already gotten what he wanted. This note is an extra then, something that he gave Aventurine because he wanted to.

I'll come back to what I think he meant, but I need to talk about the Jp translation (sorry I know I should check the original Cn instead but I don't know Cn at all 😭 it's hard enough for me to catch the nuance in Jp let alone a language I can't parse at all), because the word used is different and this is why I'm unsure.

Post by a Jp user about Ratio's note. I can't post a screencap because there's no more space 🥹 But here's the text:

「処方箋」

夢の中で不可能なのは「死」ぬことではなく、「熟睡」することだ。 生きろ。幸運を祈る。

In this note, Ratio uses 熟睡 (jukusui), which means deep sleep. This is deep uninterrupted sleep, the kind that you wake up from feeling refreshed. Or the kind that you have when you take sleep meds. Or the kind that you have when you're contented with your life and not burdened with ambition or anxieties or curiosity.

I don't know.

We know that it's possible to sleep in the dreamscape because Ratio wakes Aventurine up in the beginning of the quest. At the very least, he seemed to be dreaming so I assume he was asleep? And they seem to be in the dreamscape because there's an origami bird tail behind him... except Dr Blues also appears in reality so maybe we can't rule anything out just yet.

I'm not 100% sure what Ratio means about 熟睡. But what about 'Dormancy'?

This is easier. The disclaimer here is I'm not a big fan of the English translation in general (especially the way Dr Ratio was translated in English) but I'll let myself have this.

Dormancy is (thank you wiki) a period in an organism's life cycle when growth, development, and (in animals) physical activity are temporarily stopped. It's also connected to 'deep sleep'. Hey, we're getting somewhere!

Basically, hibernation. Ratio seems to be confirming what we already know: the dream is falling apart because everything in the universe will succumb to Nihility in the end. Maybe the dream was created to preserve a memory (just like how the IPC was preserving Chadwick's memory in Penacony), but the dream is also starting to crumble.

Maybe this isn't the most comforting thing to tell Aventurine, but it does confirm what he probably already suspected (about the truth behind Penacony) and it also tells him that change is constant. Moving forward means he could potentially get out of a situation he doesn't like.

And he does move forward. He tells his past self that there will come a time in the future when he'll come home to his family, but not now. For now he can keep changing and making his own meaning.

Dr Ratio's warp banner is called Panta rhei. 'Everything flows', which says that things are always in a state of flux (change). For example, you can't step into the same river twice because the water is moving and is constantly getting replaced (thanks again, wiki). This is the same about humans: we are always changing both physically and mentally. We both are and are not (wiki again).

Doesn’t it sound like what he said in his doctor's prescription?

[moodymisty]

death and reader but death is in his reaper form? Just some fluffy protective stuff. Love your work! :)

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: By the gods this request made me borderline feral. I LOVE big monsters having soft spots for their little humans. Also Death's reaper form is super... cool looking. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Summary: When Death reverts to his Reaper form when something goes to attack you, you then realize that you're stuck with this form until he manages to calm down.

Relationships: Death/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Monster/human fluff, Time to nuzzle the Reaper

Word Count: 1918

Death looks over at you; The pale, sickly green glow of the various torches illuminating your skin, and sighs.

He regrets bringing you here, with every fiber of his being. The Realm of the Dead isn't for humans, it isn't for anything alive. Hell, even he isn't technically supposed to be here. He just holds the door, throws souls through. Figuratively speaking.

But humans and their ever all-encompassing curiosity will always seem to work against their better judgement. Your, better judgement.

Death looks back over, and notices you now staring at an old pot.

A burial urn, most likely. Why you find it so fascinating he could never guess. When you bend over to pick up a gold coin off the ground just in front of it is when he decides to interject- and stop you before you can pop the lid on some angry spirit and make this realm just a bit worse off.

"I never took you for a thief,"

He says, coming closer and grasping your wrist gently. The coin stays between your fingers as you look up at him.

"I wasn't taking it, I just wanted to see what was on it." Death squeezes your wrist in a way that forces you to relinquish the coin, and it drops into his other palm. He lets it fall to the floor and it bounces three times, each with a quieter tink.

"To these souls, that is stealing. Now quit touching every single thing in sight. We have a tomb to find." Hand dropping from your wrist, Death turns from you and begins walking away, having stopped you from whatever potentially dangerous thing you'd been fiddling with.

He still regrets taking you here even as you grasp his fingers, so you can attempt to keep up; Or slow his gait down.

But Death admits within his own mind, he doesn't dislike the company. Dust and Despair don't exactly provide the most interesting commentary, and your positive attitude is not unpleasant change to the dread and nihilism he's used to facing throughout the realms. He wouldn't be so apposed to you joining him, if this place wasn't constantly seeking to rend your soul from your body at every possible moment.

"For someone who's all 'I don't care what anyone thinks',"

You make a mocking tone of his voice when you refer to him, and Death glances down at you from the corner of his eye with a fair amount of disapproval. "You sure do love being all rules when I'm around."

Death does it to keep you safe, though he always finds his tongue tied whenever he tries to say that out loud. The only time he has, it came out as him being annoyed you always get into trouble, and he'd hated the way it made your face fall slightly. He'd spend the next while being softer to you just to make up for that slip up.

You let go of his hand, speeding up your pace just slightly in order to take a look around before the Horsemen has a chance to stop you from doing so.

"Back here."

You're not far away from him at all, maybe ten paces or so, looking over your shoulder. Your hand brushes against the wall as you curiously look at something you have no idea what to call.

"I'm barely away from you. Can I not look at anything?"

Humans and their encompassing curiosity, and their stubbornness.

You step closer to look at whatever has caught your interest, before you suddenly hear something.

Death reacts to it faster than you possibly can, instantly pulling Harvester off his back and forming it into it's long, single bladed form, and rushing towards you. You don't quite register what's happening as it passes by so quick, but you still step back to as he nearly slams right into you.

Once his body is blocking yours and whatever is coming has been cut off from making it's presumed way towards you, he moves forward to try and run his scythe right through it.

When you catch sight of it from around Death's arm, it's easy to see that it's a Lich, as he'd once called them. You scramble backwards out of the fray, wisely staying close to Death, but not enough so that you'll get hit by the back swing of a weapon. You know Death himself would never slip up that way, but you doubt the undead resident has the same overall care about your well-being. If anything, it seems to want to kill you outright, if the way it tries to swerve around Death towards you is any indication.

But the Reaper continues fighting with the Lich, slicing his blade through it's ghostly mockery of flesh. He makes sure to keep himself firmly inbetween you and it, knocking it onto the floor and sending the end of his scythe directly through it's chest. It lets out a ghasty wail as it struggles and grips the weapon to free itself from Death's pin, and you scurry backwards as it attempts to move again.

Perhaps you stirred something in your retreat, or maybe it was there the entire time and only now had decided to strike, but in his tunnel focus on the main threat Death hadn't noticed in his tunnel focus that there was a second and Lich, coming from behind you just as you hear Harvester get torn from the first Lich's chest and it's wail sharply ends as it's finally destroyed.

You yell for him when you turn around and see it, tripping over your own feet as the Lich comes right for you; Since Death had taken his brother's pistol back awhile ago, you have not a thing to defend yourself from it.

An arm instinctively raises up to protect yourself, but instead of getting hit, you see the glint of a massive reaper's scythe split the massive lich in twain. It lasts nowhere near as long as the previous one, and is torn asunder in moments. It barely had time to react, let alone try and attack you.

However, it feels that Harvester- or maybe the hands holding it- seem different than usual.

Following the trail up the pole you reach Death holding it; Or more accurately, The Reaper.

He yanks the curved blade of the scythe out from the creature's chest cavity, letting flop to the ground without so much as a whimper. It fades to dust with little fanfare shortly after. The blade however is still clean, not coated with blood like whenever he's fighting demons or angels.

You glance upwards towards his face, seeing the hood obscuring it all under a haze of void black. You can just barely see the outline of his face with what little hazy green torchlight is around.

It seems in his sudden fury over your being almost harmed or at worst killed he'd toppled over the edge, shedding the form you're most used to and becoming, this.

His head jerks around in fast, rapid motions, looking around for any other threats; As Harvester remains firmly lodged in his grip. You look around as well and when you don't spot a thing, you turn your focus to the Reaper.

"Hey... Death,"

This form seems to not have any sort of real mouth to speak with, the pallid skull lacking the ability to do so. He still looks at you with interest, watching as you speak with an almost uncomfortable amount of intensity.

"I'm fine, and there's nothing else to kill, so there isn't anything to worry about now."

You hesitantly reach for one of his hands, his fingers long and thin wrapped around the scythe's pole. The Reaper doesn't stop you, and you hear the shifting of fabric and clinking of metal as he watches you. But before you can touch his hand he moves to hoist Harvester onto his back, freeing them.

Those long, talon-like fingers reach for you and it takes a good bit of effort not to flinch away, and they brush over your body and even your hair; Slowly, and soft as if enjoying the sensation. Every time you think he's going to stop and pull away, he only shifts and continues to do what you only describe as petting. You can't think of a word that fits better, but also doesn't sound as demeaning.

It's odd, however. You never would've thought this version of Death would be so, touchy feely.

As if you weren't already confused enough, you hear an odd rattling noise come from him as you watch. If you had to describe it, you would use words like pleased rumble, or perhaps even purr.

He gets closer to you while he does it, the frayed edges of his long robe brushing against your skin and clothes. Both of his bony hands cup your jaw at one point, a bit rough but clearly trying to be gentle- and you look up at him in awe of the tenderness this creature, this other part of his soul, is showing you.

This is only the second time you've seen his Reaper form; The first had been when you were safely far out of the way of any conflict. He had regressed back to normal quickly denying you more than a few short glimpses, wherein now he seems quite firmly stuck.

You know that it's Death in there, so any fear you have stays firmly lodged in your throat before you swallow it down.

"You, did a good job back there. But I think the more talkative Death might want to come back now."

More talkative might be a bit of a hopeful statement. It is Death you are talking about.

The Reaper lets out an odd noise and one of his thumbs brushes over your lip, pulling it slightly wonky. You don't know if it's the sound of his breathing or bones beneath his cloak shifting, as you hear a soft rattling sound as he watches you.

You know this being is dangerous, but knowing that it's simply another part of Death manages to quell some of the fear in you.

When you move to take a step backwards the Reaper's grip quickly tightens and he makes a noise, covering any minute amount of space you might've moved. Then even more, and you can't help but gasp as his hooded face quickly dives in-

And begins nuzzling the side of your face.

Your hands grip handfuls of his tattered cloak, squeaking at the cold feeling of his bone and hood against your cheek.

Is this even really Death? The amount of outward affection in this motion alone makes you wonder. Perhaps him being in this form makes him more unabashed, almost more primal in some sort of way. It's not as if you're going to complain, hearing that odd purr-like noise rumble against your skin.

"Alright, since it doesn't seem like normal Death is gonna be back for a bit, can I at least sit down?"

The Reaper makes a noise almost like a hum, which you can neither discern if it's positive or negative. Either way, when you actually move to attempt to sit, the Reaper tightens his grip again. So you aren't going anywhere it seems, and must accept your fate as The Reaper's newfound comfort plushie as you lean your head back against his own pale skull.

Death will certainly love to hear about this when he's back to normal, for sure.

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Meta-Analysis

Literary/Conceptual/Psychological

About Black Mirrors (an exploration of the relationship between Dream and The Corinthian, both as a literary concept and in Jungian terms)

The Mother Wound (or what if one of your major arcana was possibly created in the image of the parent who emotionally abandoned you over and over)

“Tales in the Sand” in Context of “The Doll’s House”: About Patriarchy, the Madness of Pure Dream and Nada & Morpheus as mirrors of each other

Where the Blood Fell, Red Flowers Grew”: Red Flowers as a Symbol for the Loss of Innocence & Guilt in Tales in the Sand & Brief Lives

Hob Gadling’s Involvement In The Slave Trade Between The Late 16th And Early 19th Century (This is a new, revised and expanded version of this addendum to someone else’s post)

Perspective Requires Being Anchored in Reality—About Holding the Entire Collective Unconscious and Dream’s Struggle with Connection

The Importance of the Dreamstones—The Ruby as Dream’s Essence (and the consequences of locking it away and then receiving it all back)

He Hears the Sound of Her Wings—When Death Equals Solace

“But He Loved, He Should Have Been Forgiven”—About Free Will, Responsibility and Agency: Lucifer and Dream as Foils

When Destiny is Inescapable or: He Truly Is the Worst Older Brother (Based on a fun ask prompt that turned into a serious meta)

The Portrayal of Womanhood in A Game of You

The Sandman Overture and Exiles: Omnia Mutantur, Nihil Interit—Everything Changes, Nothing Is Truly Lost (Not Even Hope)

The Ultimate Character Tag Library

The Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known (Or: Does Morpheus Really Have Commitment Issues?)

Death’s Wedjat Eye: Deeper Symbolism or Random? (Based on an ask)

The Women of the Sandman: A Collection of Meta-Analyses, Fics and Art

Spun Stories And Hard-Hitting Realities As Bookends To Brief Lives

The Thing About Daniel (is that he is not a palette-swapped Morpheus)

The Sandman Timeline As Published In The Annotated Sandman (timeline with a few meta thoughts)

The Truth Of Mankind Is Also Dream’s (short comics panel/show quote comparison)

The Endless Are Not Their Opposite—They Only Define It

Only Hope (!) Calls You Out Like That (Dream, Desire, Hope And Loneliness),

The Difference Between Daydreams And Desires Or: How Dream And Desire Wouldn’t Have Saved The Universe Without Hope (Based on an ask)

Dream's Relationship To His Emotions & The Differences Between Show!Dream and Comics!Dream (Based on an ask)

About Love As The Catalyst For Change

Morpheus and Calliope: About Inspiration, Personhood and Change (Based on an ask)

What Does Morpheus Like in Women? (Based on an ask)

Dream’s Loss of White Hair as the Loss of Innocence: The Killalla-Situation

Touching Death or: Why Dream is Not Simply Touch-Starved in The Sound of Her Wings (Addendum to someone else’s post)

Keeping Them In Character: Could Morpheus Be Saved? (An exploration of fanfic, but lots of good meta thoughts, so I included it here)

Did Morpheus Want to Die? (Addendum to someone else’s post)

When Desire Stops Being the Villain

When a Story About Stories Can Be Read in More Than One Way, and Why a Story About Change Changes With Us

If It Is Implied Lucien Is Adam, What Does That Make Lucienne?

Sunday Mourning—About Dream Entities and Stars (Why Head-Canons Are Wonderful, But Forcing Them On Creators Isn’t)

Who Is at Fault for Dream’s Death? The Endless as Concepts (Based on an ask—I accidentally deleted the OP 😩, but thankfully, I still had reblogs to link to)

Dream and How He Experiences Love (Or: When the Unreal is at War with the Real, and Finally Understanding Unconditional Love Tightens the Noose Around Your Neck That Has Been There All Along)

Tales In The Sand—Did We Find the Women’s Story? Or: The Rejection Of Dream/Hope As A Concept

How Do You Solve The Orpheus Problem? (an exploration of ideas for fanfics, but too many good meta thoughts not to include it here)

Nuance in (The Sandman) Fandom

To Be Human Means To Die (Even For Morpheus)

Let’s Talk About Thessaly (In The Context of Second and Third Wave Feminism)

The Blood on Morpheus’ Hands (more a processing attempt than a meta)

Why The Order of the Last Three Issues of The Sandman Matters

The Facet is Not The Jewel (old post about the ubiquity of Dreamling)

#sandman meta: Even more metas of all kinds, like those of others I (sometimes quite extensively) participated in.

Sandman Comics Reread & Netflix Sandman Rewatch: All my Sandman Book Club contributions, ordered by issue/episode (we are currently discussing on a weekly schedule, join us!)

Next: Sandman Meta-Analysis Music >

Link to full pinned post

[gravehags]

my blood is singing with your voice

Pairing: Aurora x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit

18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: Aurora being a crafty little ghoul, flower meanings, blood drinking, scissoring, semi-public sex, angst at the beginning and end i am sorry to say

Words: 3,353

Summary: Flowers are a romantic gesture, you think. What they lead to is quite something unexpected.

a/n: HAPPY INTERNATIONAL LESBIAN DAY FROM NOTORIOUS GHOULETTE LOVER...ME. part...who tf knows in the ghoul bicycle series. One last part left...

~~~

When Phantom finally departs your quarters the next day, you grab him by the front of his shirt and give him a soft, lingering kiss in your doorway while blatantly ignoring the sibling walking by giving a disgusted look at your show of affection.

“Thank you,” he finally says when the two of you pull apart, “last night was great.”

You nod, fidgeting with the clasps on his vest and reach your arms around him for a tight hug. When the two of you finally pull apart, Phantom cups your face in his beautiful hands, fingers brushing against your flushed cheeks.

“You are so special,” he murmurs, gazing down at you, “and you don’t even know.”

Something twists a little in your stomach, and that uneasy feeling you’ve been having for a while now is back.

“What does that even mean?” you ask suddenly, reaching up to grab and lower his hands, simply holding them in yours. “You guys keep saying that to me but like…how? Why? I don’t…”

Phantom cocks his head to the side but remains silent.

“...I don’t get it. I don’t see it.”

“I can’t tell you,” Phantom murmurs, squeezing your hands, “not yet. It’s not my place. You only have to wait a little longer, I promise.”

“A little longer ‘til what?” you ask, but Phantom is kissing your hands and pulling away already, leaving you standing in your doorway. He waves at you before rounding the corner out of sight and you give him a half-hearted wave in return. After you shut your door you’re struck by the feeling of how alone you are, tears slowly begin to slide down your cheeks. You feel as if you’re being strung along, used, and no one will give you a straight answer. When your tears begin to fall more freely and sobs heave your chest, you collapse on the floor next to your bed.

It takes two days to shake off most of what is bothering you and return to your duties. Once again, Sister Marguerite intercedes on your behalf and explains that you are “out of sorts” to the head librarian and Papa Nihil. The librarian you knew would be kind about it but you don’t want to know what sort of things Nihil said about you and your absence and Marguerite keeps that information to herself. On the morning of the third day, you get ready and open the door to your quarters to head out. What sits on the floor in front of your door baffles you.

Inside a wrapping of simple brown paper is an abundance of beautiful and brightly colored flowers. When you pick them up and bring them to your nose, the smell is fresh and heady. You can only recognize a couple of them: orange roses, red tulips, and some kind of lily but there are others you are not familiar with. Confused, you look up and down the hall to see if anyone is lingering who might have left them or who might know who left them but the corridor is empty. There’s no tag or note pinned to the bouquet to give you a hint but one thing you know absolutely for sure: these flowers came from Papa Primo’s garden. Closing your door, you make your way down to the ground floor to where you know the old papa will be tending to his flowers and herbs with other siblings.

The gardens of the abbey are vast and beautiful, and you regret that you’ve only spent a small amount of time working in them. Various siblings are hunched over vegetable patches assessing growth while others are pruning beautiful and fragrant varieties of flowers. You finally spot Papa Primo, wearing a sunhat over his long white hair and bent over at the waist to breathe in the scent of a large, pale purple rose. When he sees you, he straightens and smiles. You’ve always liked Papa Primo - working with him when he holds mass is always a delight and he’s soft spoken and kind. And his talent for growing things is positively unmatched, which you admire deeply. When you approach him he holds out his arms to give you a light embrace.

“Ah sorella, so nice to see your pretty face. You’ve escaped the library, then? Come to put your hands in some earth, eh?”

You smile and gesture with your chin down to the abundant bouquet in your hands.

“Actually Papa, I have a little mystery that I think I could use your help in solving.”

He looks down at the bundle in your arms and a little smile spreads across his wrinkled face.

“Bellissima,” he says, holding his hands out, “may I?”

You nod and pass the flowers to Primo which he looks down at thoughtfully. You explain to him how you found them outside your quarters this morning and how the selection in the bouquet seems odd. 

“I know they come from your garden because where else would someone get flowers so beautiful? I just don’t know who they’re from or…what they might mean? I can only recognize a few of them, nothing more.”

He preens a little at your compliment before letting out a thoughtful noise.

“This is indeed an unusual collection of blooms,” he says, nodding, “I believe whoever gifted them to you is trying to tell you something.”

“Oh?” you say, crossing your arms, “Like those Victorian flower meanings?”

“Sì, sì,” he replies and uses a long finger to point out different flowers, “this…this is calla lily. She represents beauty. And this, as you know, is an orange rose. Beautiful, no? She means desire. These delightful little pink and purple flowers are sweet pea - they represent ah…blissful pleasures.”

You blush, pointing at another grouping of small white flowers on abundant green stems.

“And these? And the red tulip?”

“These small beauties are called savory and I believe they indicate interest. And the red tulip represents deep passion. It would seem, sorella, that you have caught someone’s eye. And from what I hear these days, you’ve caught many eyes, hm?”

You’re blushing a deeper shade than the tulips. Sathanas, does everyone know about your on-going trysts with the ghouls? Perhaps it would explain the ire with which a great deal of the siblings treat you, not to mention how several of them in the garden are regarding you now. Primo watches you quietly for a moment before handing the bouquet back to you.

“Ignore them, dolcezza,” he says as if reading your mind, “ignore them and I will tell you who picked this beautiful selection for you, sì?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes meet his.

“You knew all along?” you say in a hushed, exasperated voice.

“Eh, it was more fun to make a game out of it for you,” he says, shrugging with a smile. “I will tell you that a certain little ghoul came to me with the desire to create something so exquisite it would capture your attention immediately. I daresay it worked.”

“Little ghoul?” you say, confused, before it dawns on you a moment later who he means.

Aurora.

“She’s quite taken with you,” Primo says, looking down fondly upon you. “And she wanted me to tell you she is waiting for you by the pond near the woods.”

Your jaw drops a little. “I…I can’t, I have duties to attend to–”

“Let me take care of that,” Papa says, waving his hand dismissively, “if Nihil has a problem with your absence from mass he can take it up with me, sì?”

A rush of affection makes you want to throw your hands around the aging Papa, but you settle for squeezing his forearm and thanking him profusely. With a newfound spring in your step, you leave the garden and begin to head for the large pond on the abbey property. It’s a beautiful day, the sun warms your skin and hair as you pass through the orchards. The view that opens up to you always takes your breath away, the light glittering on the vast stretch of water (more lake than pond, really) with an expanse of trees lining the shore. You reach the edge of the water and regard yourself in the surface. How you’ve changed since last you were down here for your unholy baptism. How you’ve changed in the past few months alone. You heave a deep sigh and finally look away over to your left where you see an enormous ancient gnarled oak tree. Underneath the tree is a large dark red blanket spread on the grass and sitting on that blanket is a small ghoulette who even from a distance, you can tell is beaming at you. Returning the smile you head her way over to the secluded spot between the water and the woods. Reaching the blanket, you plop down, still holding your flowers.

“Do you like them?” Aurora asks, hands folded in her lap and tail wagging behind her.

“They’re gorgeous,” you say with a smile, “I love a good treasure hunt escapade.”

Reaching her hands out, she takes them from you and sets them at the top of the blanket between the two of you. You regard her form - her long hair, bright eyes, and the fact that she has removed her boots and socks makes you grin.

“Put your feet in the water?” you ask, gesturing to her discarded items of clothing.

“Actually,” she says, leaning in, “I was hoping we could put more than our feet in the water.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, cheeks lighting up, “kinda early for a dip, no?”

“Never too early for skinny dipping,” she says, undoing the clasps on her vest. “Join me?”

She poses it like a question but it feels more like a command from the petite ghoulette. There’s no one around you shrug as you remove your own boots, socks, and habit. She strips down to her skin without a second thought and you admire her lithe body, mouth going dry as your eyes sweep across her breasts and narrow waist down to the junction of her thighs. Before you can look away to reach your hands behind your back and undo your bra, her hands are doing it for you. She takes her time sliding her palms along your ribs and embracing you. When she pulls away with the garment, discarding it, her eyes regard you as hungrily as you did her. You stand up, ready to head towards the water when she tuts at you and grabs your calf.

“All off,” she grins, reaching upwards toward the waistband of your underwear, “I wanna see all of you, pretty girl.”

She slides your panties down achingly slow until they’re pooled at your feet and then she smiles with her whole teeth as she looks at your bare cunt. Leaning forward she places a chaste kiss to your mound that makes you jump out of your skin.

“Mine,” she says sweetly, looking up at you with her fangs out. When she begins kissing all around and down your thighs you feel your knees weaken and taking advantage of the moment, she pulls you down to the blanket with her. She’s on you in a heartbeat, straddling your waist sliding her lips against yours. Her kisses are languid, passionate, and just a touch possessive as she pins your wrists above your head and licks into your mouth. The way she feels pressed against you, breasts brushing yours makes you moan into her mouth and struggle against her grip with the urge to touch her. She giggles and relents, trailing her lips down your jaw and throat to the junction of your neck and shoulder, where she slowly licks the pulse point.

“Can I?” she asks, breathless against the shell of your ear, “can I taste you? Would you let me?”

The request makes your head spin and even while not fully understanding the implications, you nod, sliding your hand down her back to massage at the base of her tail. The action makes her hips kick against you and your cunt aches when you feel her slick on your skin. She’s sucking marks into your neck, nibbling at the delicate skin when all of a sudden she bites. You jolt and grab onto her hips as her fangs sink deeper into you. You feel pain, only for a moment before she removes them and begins sucking at the wound in earnest. The little noises she makes in your ears as she drinks you in make your hips grind into hers. Her hands wander as she sucks at you, fingers drifting down to toy with your pebbled nipple, pinching and rolling it between her long, painted claws. You’re almost certain that she could make you come like this, lips on your neck and fingers caressing your breasts. Every surge of your heartbeat makes her grip you tighter and drink from you with greater fervor. You can feel the edges of your vision start to get fuzzy and you reach up and tap her lightly, slurring your words when you say you feel light-headed. She pulls off you in an instant, lapping at what remains around the punctures. Each swipe of her tongue feels warm and soothing, like sinking into a hot bath, and after a moment you no longer feel the tell-tale wetness of your blood on the wound, only the cooling of her saliva. Aurora gives you a moment to take several deep breaths and when you reopen your eyes, you moan at the sight before you. Her face is a foot away from yours and her mouth is smeared crimson with your blood - a sight that would under any other circumstances nauseate you, but seeing the way it clings to her lips and chin with her pupils blown only heightens your arousal. She lets out a nervous giggle, and your eyes follow the path of her pink tongue as it slips out to clean up some of the mess.

“So good,” she purrs, stroking the side of your face, “you taste divine, baby. A nice little treat, all for me.”

You reach up and swipe some of your blood off her chin and she watches you like a hawk as you bring it down to your own mouth and take a lick. It tastes like blood, sure, but the way Aurora watches you with her jaw hanging open is well worth the stunt. Before you can make a smart comment about how you think you taste, her mouth is on yours. Now you can really taste yourself, the intense metallic tang hitting the back of your throat as she slides her tongue against yours and grinds down on you. When you move your hands upwards to fist in her hair, your thumbs brush the base of her horns and her tail thrashes behind her.

“You really know how to play us all like violins now, huh babe?” she grins, rotating her hips into yours. “You know just what we like. But don’t forget, ghouls like to talk. And I know all about what you like.”

Aurora slips from your grasp and slowly begins to lick her way down your body, paying specific attention to your breasts. She cups and squeezes them, thumbing circles around your hard nipples before descending upon them with her mouth. Idly, you wonder who told her you like your tits being played with. Swiss? Cumulus? Aether? Could be anyone at this point and for once you’re grateful for the way the ghouls discuss you amongst themselves like you’re a meal to be devoured because Aurora is luxuriating in them now. The flat of her tongue runs along the underside and your back arches, desperate for her to taste all of you.

“Mmm, so good Aurora. Feels perfect.”

She pulls off your nipple with a pop and grins, hands moving downwards to knead at the fullness of your hips. 

“Love your body,” Aurora says, sliding her hands down and over your thighs to nestle herself in between your legs. “Want to make you scream so everyone can hear you, baby.”

You’ve practically forgotten that you’re technically in a public space and that anyone could stumble upon you, but instead of deterring your lust it increases it. When Aurora leans away for a moment you make a whine of protest which is quickly silenced by the way she repositions herself and angles your legs so that your cunts are a breath away from each other. A moment passes as you stare up at her, watching the midday sun halo her infernal features and she gives you a beatific smile before lowering herself onto you. The contact immediately makes you twitch as she slowly rotates her hips, spreading both her slick and yours before pressing down harder. When she grinds against your clit, and you against hers you both moan in tandem. You want to throw your head back against the blanket but doing so would mean you couldn’t watch her. And oh, does she look glorious, handling your body as if it is a toy in order to reach her pleasure. Not once does she look away from you as she rides your cunt, her moans high pitched and wanton.

“Aurora, don’t stop,” you pant as the breath is stolen from you with a particularly hard grind, “Please don’t stop.”

Aurora beams at you, and leans over to kiss your leg she holds in her tight grasp. It’s an awkward angle, to be sure, but any ache in your back or legs is muffled by the rolling pleasure that comes from each contact you make. 

“Mine, all mine,” she coos, rubbing herself even harder against you in such a way that has your back arching off the blanket, and when her folds catch divinely on your clit you cry out. She grins with all of her sharp teeth and works the spot faster and faster. The friction between the two of you has you both gasping and panting and you swear she’s timing it out to make sure you both reach your end at the same moment. When the pressure begins building in your stomach and chest and your cries become louder and louder, hers do too. 

“‘Rora, please! Fuck!”

She lets out a wild peal of laughter as she brings the two of you over the edge, your moans surely loud enough to attract attention. Lights twinkle and fade in your vision as you scream her name and she yours. Her hips make a few more rotations against you before finally she drops your leg and collapses on your chest. Your bodies remain entwined for a few more moments before she rolls off of you, leaving you to breathe deeply once more. Without her on you you’re suddenly aware of how chilly the air has gotten and the dark storm clouds that roll over your little hideaway.

“So much for skinny dipping,” you say, turning on your side to face her.

“Eh, it was a ruse anyway. Easy way to get your clothes off.”

You roll your eyes, reaching up and behind you for the beautiful bouquet.

“Hmm, think I should get these in some water,” you muse, inhaling the lovely fragrance once more. “You coming with?”

Aurora trills before sitting up and gathering her clothes. You both manage to get dressed, despite sidelong lustful glances at one another and she packs up the blanket. The two of you make your way back to the abbey, and while there is great joy in your heart there is also great sorrow. Aurora was the final ghoul. Potentially the last tryst you’d have with any of them…forever. What if they don’t want you now that you’re…all used up? When you try to hide the way you brush the tears off your cheeks behind your bouquet, Aurora looks over at you curiously but doesn’t say anything. You’re going to do your best to enjoy the time left you have with Aurora and then…who knows.

Perhaps you’ll be all alone once again.

[honimello]

all papas general headcanons

basically just headcanons i have about their past, childhood, and personalities! and some other stuff like physical description and personal experiences.

—

a/n: these honestly probably might not fit the canon like at all or what some of you might head canon but that’s okay cus i’m just letting my brainrot fester at this point. i left their relationships open ended so there would be imagination room for like an x reader thing lol. also i picked their birth dates based on vibes alone and i know very little about the zodiac signs i just thought it would be fun lol

warnings: angst, vaguely implied abuse, poor childhoods, character death, mentions of sex and sexual orientations, (nihil fucking sucks and sister imperator kinda does too), (also all papas are alive), vague mention of eating issues, mentions of wanting children, mentions of marriage, one nsfw bullet point for each so 18+ MDNI!! also not proofread

primo: 68, born september 14th, 1955 virgo

5’10, around 140ish pounds, blonde with shaved hair, but used to have long hair that he would braid and came down to below his lower back. speaking of his back, he has a hard time standing up straight now so he appears shorter than he is.

his mother was a random woman from a bar, nihil only found out about her pregnancy until she was 7 months pregnant. sister imperator was rightfully very angry finding out about this, but she had her suspicions of his promiscuity. she often took out her anger on primo, especially when he became papa and she gave him more work than he probably should’ve been doing. although, she did slightly lessen up on him around the time when he had taken in copia.

he’s actually quite sad he never really got to meet his mother, but he didn’t have much time to think about it once his brothers started coming along. he stepped up more often than not in taking care of them, he was more of a father (and a mother honestly) than nihil would ever be. and sister never really had any interest in interacting with him or his brothers, except for copia.

speaking of copia, primo found out about him when copia was around 11-12 and he took him in quite fast. it only took one look at that little boy for primo to know it was his brother. when he was younger he used to get a little jealous that sister imperator was so invested in copia’s wellbeing and upbringing given that she had never been a mother to him or his other brothers but primo eventually just found himself feeling grateful copia had a mother, even if she wasn’t a very good one.

when primo became papa he got rid of the prime mover position, seeing how it destroyed sister and nihils marriage as well as his brothers childhoods made him incredibly angry. he also didn’t care for the connotation that women are made to have children and carry on the bloodline only. he’s a romantic (and a feminist), and that notion always made him nauseous.

secondo visits primo the most out of all his brothers, copia often visits too but doesn’t have much time. terzo only really visits when he is having some sort of emotional or personal dilemma that he cant figure out on his own. primo doesn’t mind, he’s willing to help his brothers and see them whenever he can. though in his old age he does get quite lonely and wishes they could make more time for him, but he doesn’t hold it against them.

primo finds himself wanting children now that he’s older, even if he might not be able to bare his own anymore he often entertains the idea of adopting one of the orphans at the ministry. he wishes he had someone by his side as well, and while his random sexual encounters with few siblings are enjoyable, he longs for a more steady companionship.

it’s harder for him to get erections now but still enjoys having sex, even if he doesn’t always come. is very good at oral and fingering and definitely loves to spoil his partner. will probably cry happy tears if someone sucked him off even if he couldn’t get hard all the way, he still enjoys it. can still fuck hard but will probably be very sore afterwards. pls give the old guy a nice warm bath after and maybe a kiss on his wittle head.

secondo: 57, born august 18th, 1966 leo

6’2, around 180ish pounds, brunette but has shaved his head since he was 20, huge resting bitchface even when he was a baby, muscular but has put on some pudge since becoming papa.

his mother was the first prime mover in around 100 years, she was a sibling of sin who nihil had a passing attraction towards and decided to torture sister imperator by naming her prime mover. she died giving birth to secondo. secondo blames himself, and tends to despise himself because of this.

in his teenage years he often spent sleepless nights crying for her, how much he wished he could’ve met her or at least seen her as there were no pictures of her. he wondered if she would love him, be proud of him, or fight to be his mother like terzo’s mother did. or if she would leave and never come back like primo’s. now, in his older age he has come to reconcile with the fact that he will never know. but even though he never got to know her, he still misses her dearly.

after secondo loses his papacy, he throws himself into ministry work. he works long hours, well into the night and spilling over into the weekends. he’s an archivist and restoration expert, working on artifacts important to the church. he feels like this is the only way he will not go insane. he loves terzo but he does not believe him to be ready or fit to be papa when it comes terzo’s time. and he is partially right, as terzo definitely lets the power go to his head but over time he becomes more in control. secondo finds himself feeling sorry for his little brother when terzo loses his papacy, it was wrong of sister imperator to take it away from him like that and secondo hates to see what losing the limelight has done to his brother.

secondo is known around the ministry for his intimidating visage and aura, as well as his wrath. but what people don’t pay attention to, is just how often he bites his words. he has worked very hard to keep his anger at bay, even going to therapy to find more healthy ways to cope with his trauma and rage. in fact, he does his best to be polite and kind to everyone in the ministry. but his kind is different than others kind, he comes off as cold and calculating. his emotional range is very limited and he finds himself struggling to open up to anyone. the only person he’s ever opened up to was primo, and even then it isn’t really opening up if his brother can just read him like a book. secondo often doesn’t have to say much for primo to understand what he’s going through. primo helps him through it regardless, as he’s always done since secondo was a baby.

secondo isn’t sure if he would want kids of his own, but he does love children very much and is very good with them. he often volunteers to run events for the orphans at the ministry.

he would like to fall in love but thinks he is much too old and not nearly attractive enough to find a long term partner. has flings here and there with some siblings of sin but they aren’t very serious. he isn’t sure if he’s really quite ready to give up the party life yet no matter how much his aching bones say otherwise.

does frequent bars and clubs to feel like he’s still a part of the scene after losing papacy, but it doesn’t quite feel the same and most nights he leaves drunk, angry and alone. the few nights when he finds company are not as fulfilling as he hopes they would be, and it isn’t the other persons fault it’s his. he feels so melancholy now it’s hard to focus on simple pleasures like sex, especially when he hardly has the time with how hard he works. he often lays away most nights wishing he could’ve done better as papa, even though he knows people love him and respect him he still feels like he never quite did enough. he feels like he isn’t enough.

loves sex, and can get quite rough but is very, very good at aftercare. definitely not picky about sexual partners but tends to prefer people who are shy cus he enjoys bringing them out of their shells and getting them to snap at him. secretly wants to be fucked and dominated.

terzo: 54, born june 12th, 1969 gemini

5’3, around 120ish pounds, black hair like nihil and wishes he looked more like his mother who was a redhead, definitely spot treats grey hairs, hates the idea of getting old and is very insecure about having wrinkles, is quite small but still a little chubby, though he lost lots of weight since losing papacy. might be bigender or genderfluid but is afraid to really think about it too hard.

his mother was also a prime mover, but she fought to be in his life even as sister imperator tried to push her out. she was a very loving mother who did everything she could to teach him to be a good man, to be nothing like his father who she had come to despise. she taught him many things, she taught him how to dance, to draw and to cook. he loved her very, very much and it tore him up when she passed. he was 14 years old, and that’s when he decided to put up a façade. he did not want to be vulnerable anymore, he didn’t want to have to be sad or scared at least not where anyone could see him.

primo often held him in his bed when he would cry about losing his mother, he had nightmares for years. he vowed to himself to not let himself ever be so vulnerable in front of any one again. to this day thinking about her kills him little by little, though he is much better at expressing his feelings.

his flirtatious and playful persona is something he really relies on in his older age, he thinks it’s all he’s really good for anymore. a show and a good lay. and when he loses his papacy he absolutely crumbles. the persona completely falls away and he hides himself in his quarters most days. he loses weight and wallows, he becomes enraged by fate but he finds he could never really be mad at copia for taking over, it’s not his fault anyways.

in his teenage years he was quite promiscuous and took on many lovers, and while he still has casual flings with some siblings of sin, he never lets partners overlap anymore. he’s a gentle soul at heart and he learned that very fast, he can’t stand seeing someone upset, even if he’s only attracted to them in a more primal way it would kill him to see someone upset because of him.

i believe he is very loyal and if he were to get into a relationship with someone, even if they didn’t state that they were exclusive, he would still ere on the side of caution and not have sex with anyone else. i think if he were in love he would be hopelessly devoted, he’s more sensitive than he tends to let on and cheating is not something he would let himself do. maybe when he was young, he might’ve slipped up somehow, but not now. he’s much too intelligent and much too mature, he’s grown and he knows how to control himself now.

and while he does have quite a lot of sex, i think the sheer abundance of partners has been greatly exaggerated through false rumors and gossip. people tend to lie about having slept with him just for the five seconds of fame it brings them, and that often causes problems with people thinking he has cheated on many people.

is terrified of marriage but longs for it desperately, he wants to feel like someone wants him for him and not because he is/was papa. he’s not sure if he wants kids, he’s horribly afraid of being a bad father.

is horrified of being like nihil in any way, and nearly throws up when someone mentions that he has the most resemblance to nihil out of all his brothers.

is a huge giver sexually, could literally come from just watching someone else come. loves to overstimulate and go above and beyond. doesn’t really require someone to reciprocate and take care of him as well but it is deeply appreciated as he can also be quite the pillow princess.

copia: 52, born october 15th, 1971 libra

5’8, around 130ish pounds, light brunette hair that is going grey at the sides, is very petite but with a softness to him especially around his belly, hips, and thighs, he has light freckles all over his body,

he was an accident, sister imperator never meant to get pregnant but she had planned to tell nihil about the baby until she had caught him with yet another sibling of sin. she decided it would be better for copia to grow up as an orphan in the church, and to be raised by her secretly. copia didn’t even find out she was his mother til primo had found him and taken him in at age 11. sister often pushes copia to work harder, her hopes for him to become papa one day slowly begin to become his hopes as well. and it’s hard for him to say if he really wants the papacy or if he just wants her to be proud of him.

he grew up very lonely and outcast, the other orphans in the ministry thought him strange and unappealing. he had been told from a young age that he was ugly and weird. now that he’s older, he’s since found out that he’s autistic, but he knows that’s not the entire reason they didn’t like him. he thinks maybe he really is just strange and ugly. and as a young boy, when he’d found a rat scavenging for food outside of the ministry, he thought to himself he’d finally found a friend who was like him. unloveable and unwanted. misunderstood.

growing up he never understood the importance put on sex and romance, it isn’t until he’s older that he realizes that he’s demisexual and demiromantic, but it doesn’t really phase him. he never really cared about those things, he doesn’t care that he’s old now and hasn’t had sex, it’s not something he would want unless he really loved someone and had a deeper connection to than just passing lust. although, at night he often dreams of meeting someone he could have a connection with, and those nights are the only ones he really partakes in lust alone in his bed. dreaming of something that could be, but in his mind, is more likely to be just a dream.

when he becomes papa he is terrified, not only of the immense pressure on him to be the best he can be and do good for the church but also of losing himself. yes, he loves the new attention this is giving him and yes, he loves feeling important now. but something just doesn’t sit right in his stomach. again, he’s not sure if he really wanted to be papa anyway or if he just wanted to complete a goal that was thrust upon him at a young age. he tries not to let his papacy change him, and for the most part all it really changes is it brings him out of his shell a little more. he begins talking to more siblings and higher clergy members, but like always, he ends up lonely. they’re never quite interested in copia and more interested in papa, and he doesn’t understand because to him they are one in the same.

his stage presence is very different to his real presence, he likes to let out his “wild side”, as he calls it, when he’s on stage. he feels more comfortable, more free to be sexual and flirty, as well as quite commanding, when he is in front of the crowd. mostly because he knows they like him, that they’re there to see him. it gives him quite the confidence boost, in his performance and his personal life. he doesn’t get quite as depressed as often as he did as cardinal but now his depression holds much harder topics to grasp. things like his identity and where he belongs in the grand scheme of things, and if he will turn bitter like terzo when he eventually is traded in for a newer papa. he hopes not, but envy was a sin that often came easily to him.

is terrified of aging in a similar way to terzo, he feels like he is already very ugly and now that he is getting older he feels like he is becoming even more unattractive. he tends to avoid mirrors as much as possible because his reflection nauseates him, he hates his face and his body with a burning passion.

he does not indulge in the willingness of siblings like his brothers do, while his stage presence may suggest he is a sexual person (which he is honestly) he hasn’t felt any sexual attraction to any sibling of sin so far. most of which only really approach him because he is papa, and while he has no problem with guiding and helping his flock, he does have a problem with it when they ask for him to fuck them. it’s not something he wants.

is also the only papa to not participate in sexual rituals and black masses, though he does oversee them and encourage siblings of sin to participate if comfortable. he celebrates others choice to lust but doesn’t feel tempted to lust for anyone else.

when he is in a relationship with someone, and he does feel sexually attracted to them, he is incredibly eager. he has done his research i can assure you, countless videos and articles on sex and hours of “research” watching porn of the porniest variety. he gets quite horny, and before his partner he masturbated quite often, he isn’t innocent by any means. he is a virgin and is quite awkward, tends to fumble and trip over himself a lot but he isn’t subtle about wanting someone when he does want them. definitely a switch, pls someone peg this guy.

——

hope you liked these!! and if u have any questions or just wanna indulge me in conversation, i would love to talk more in depth about these headcanons!!!

[crguang]

sfw headcanons about what it would be like to live with acheron? :3

ACHERON MY BABY.

living with her would be actual bliss, she’d want to keep the bad stuff as far away from you as possible and would protect this little haven you’ve made for yourselves with her life. her strength is destructive but you can only see it as comforting, it reassures you when you’re worried or scared because you know she’ll only ever use it to protect you.

acheron is used to the quiet, she might be too comfortable with it, so she can spend a long time without speaking. she’ll hum and nod along with your mundane chatting. she can also be a yapper too sometimes, even though her voice is always low and soft; she’ll talk your ear off when it comes to philosophical conversations it’s so endearing. her insight is always relevant.

an act of service girlie to me HANDS DOWN. she does little things for you around the house (definitely one of those women who’ll build a porch if you so much as mention that you want one), you barely register them anymore because of how deeply embedded in your routine they are. if you’re smaller, she’ll breeze past you in the morning and reach for the coffee over the fridge before you lift a finger. she sleeps very little and wakes up before you, so she opens the curtains in the bedroom because she knows you like the morning light. it’s a wonder how she remembers so much of the small stuff. you ask her about it once and she says it’s like muscle memory.

your home is somewhat colorful, to make up for the ones she lacks. it’s in mirror frames and figurines, in pictures pinned to the walls and fridge magnets. it makes her feel like she’s part of this vibrant world you live in and adds to that warm sensation she can still sense despite being almost entirely tainted by nihility.

acheron can be a clingy baby, i think. she’ll wrap her arms around your waist as you stand over the stove, her forehead resting against the back of your neck. she comes home and immediately looks for you cause she wants a hug. she’s soo touchy, but when youre home it’s not just a hand on your back or her fingertips grazing your thigh, she’ll wrap herself around you whenever she can. holding you, having you so close, it feels like your warmth seeps into her and she becomes less “emanator of nihility” and more “acheron”, whatever that means.

lost puppy. she knows the way home, of course, but you get text messages that are variations of “where was that again?” “i don’t know where i am” “which aisle? oh. im in the wrong store” SO OFTEN. she’s the embodiment of oblivion and she manages to be this precious, i’ll never understand it

don’t let her near the stove. she can barely taste anything just trust me and ban her from the kitchen, it’s for your own safety

living with you is so… normal. it’s something she can’t remember ever experiencing and it feels almost eerie at times, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. she holds the world on her shoulders and you’re the only one who can make it feel light.

[fairymischief]

"From Descartes’s skepticism came the radical belief that the individual seeking certainty trumped a God or king bestowing truth. The resulting Enlightenment, of course, led to the concept of human rights and freed many from oppression. But as Dreyfus and Kelly emphasize, for all its good in the political arena, in the domain of the metaphysical this thinking stripped the world of the order and sacredness essential to creating meaning. In a post-Enlightenment world we have tasked ourselves to identify what’s meaningful and what’s not, an exercise that can seem arbitrary and induce a creeping nihilism."

-- Deep Work

I read this text and what struck me is this is the same with us. Radical feminism sure changed our lives. But with it, I feel it also demolished the sense of "security" that having a family will give you meaning.

I can't indulge in patriarchal practices which got tme thinking "How am I gonna find meaning in this life?"

How'd you apply victor frankls Man's Woman's search for meaning?

I've always been a firm believer that our existence is enough and that the individual creates their own meaning in life, so I think that what radical feminism has done is remove other people's ability to just *hand us* a set of responsibilities as women and say "THIS is your purpose, THIS gives you meaning, so go do these things." We get to decide for ourselves now what gives our life meaning, and its only until we figure out what new direction to take that we have that "lost" feeling of having no structure or purpose.

For example, as empty as my last relationship was, I also felt that my life had no structure after it ended. This was only temporary, and very deceiving. We all need something to do, but isn't my time better spent now doing almost ANYTHING rather than catering to an ungrateful man? And yet I felt that I had far more structure in my life when I was doing just that, and that my life had more "direction" when I was thinking of marrying that oaf. A bad plan feels better than temporarily having no plan, but it's really not. That's why this feeling of drifting aimlessness should not be seen as anything more than a recalibration and an invitation to choose a new path.

"How am I going to find meaning?" Well, it's a matter of what fulfills you. I'm fulfilled by a lot of solitude and quiet, studying, the company of animals, and a few people around me who I can do things for (cooking or helping in some way.) If I lived this way my whole life, then I've had a meaningful life - much more so than being run ragged by being up from 6am til 11pm every day to tend to a family and husband.

If I first find what lifestyle and activities actually make me happy, I can create structure around that (if I get a sense of safety from structure.) Of course there are some people who find structure stifling and want to live in a more spontaneous, free-spirited way!

My reading of Man's Search For Meaning was fragmented (I read 5 pages or so every few days) so my impression of it is fragmented, but from when I remember it was more about trying to find meaning in a cruel world where everything has been taken from you. While what you described is a sort of "loss," the things we lost - the structure related to marriage and childcare responsibilities- are willfully relinquished by us and easily picked back up again if we choose. What he talked about was suffering well (with dignity), holding onto your humanity, and continuing to be honorable, courageous, and hopeful. The overall message to me was that no matter what's taken away from you or done to you, no matter where you end up, your life has inherent meaning and value, and that how you deal with it is meaningful in itself. Naturally, I agree with all of this.

[portaltothevoid]

you're losing me part v -- copia x reader, ex!terzo x reader

A/N: photos used in the banner aren't mine. i've never photographed ghost (not yet anyway...) that's all i got. run along now and go find some answers, some more questions, and a cliff hanger.

songs: elizabeth and ghuleh/zombie queen (bet you can guess the artist)

warnings: none, really. angst, obviously. fleeting comfort from copia. roughly translated italian and google translated latin.

word count: 4.1k

taglist: @bitchywitchygardener @da-rulah @deetz-ghuleh @fishwithtitz @ivycasket @water-ghoulette

Sister Imperator was shaking as if she was caught in a snowstorm without a coat. You held your sinister stare for a moment longer until you started chuckling and shaking your head. “Satan in Hell, what’s happened to you?” she mumbled through her trembling lips.

Your clever retort was stopped by a light knock on the door. Whipping your head towards the door your features turned into straight lines. Before anyone could blink, you swiftly opened the door and grabbed whoever was behind it by the throat. Kicking the door shut, you held them up, their feet dangling above the ground. You looked back at Imperator who looked so pale she might faint at any moment. “You know, I really hate being interrupted.” You turned your head back to the poor soul who was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. “Especially when I’m having a private conversation.”

Copia’s eyes were wide enough that even his green one appeared to be mostly white. You were smaller than him. You probably couldn’t even lift the man more than an inch off the ground, if at all, let alone holding him a foot above it with one hand. He saw your blackened eyes stare into his. The sight of you chilled him down to the bone. 

When you looked into his eyes, it took you a moment before you registered what you were even doing. He grasped at your arm, making a weak attempt to loosen your grip, or at least get your attention. You inhaled a sharp breath, before you eased up on him, guiding him down the door until his feet touched the ground. He coughed as he rubbed his throat. You dropped your hand and took a step back. Copia watched as the darkness in your eyes faded as if a fog was evaporating, as if smoke was being sucked out of you. 

“C-copia?” you whimpered apologetically before your body went limp. He lunged forward and caught you in time before you hit the floor.

“Seestor, you alright?” he strained as he adjusted to the weight of holding you after not being able to breathe. 

“I-I’m unharmed.”

“Good. Well, don’t just sit there blubbering. Get Primo and Secondo and Nihil to the lounge. Adesso (now)!” he barked. He groaned as he managed to maneuver you to carry you bridal-style. 

Imperator scurried around to get the door for Copia. “Terzo knows,” she rasped. 

"Sanguinanti figli dell’inferno (bleeding sons of hell)! What in Satan’s name fucking happened?” he growled. 

“I don’t know. I’m afraid it’s… I’m afraid he’s right. It’s the Awakening.”

“I told you we should have told. We should have told her last night.” Copia shook his head in disgust at himself for keeping in the dark for so long. “Why was she in your office?”

“She must have left the Summons and just barged in, talking about how,” she lowered her voice, desperately trying to keep up with Copia’s stride, “we’re playing some game with Terzo and she doesn’t know her place because we wouldn’t tell her anything, but she didn’t care about that because… The only thing she wants i-is… Terzo’s head.”

They exchanged an apprehensive look with each other before Imperator opened the door to the Emeritus lounge, a place for the past and current Papas to convene with other select members of the clergy in a relaxed setting. 

“At least… something’s… going right today, eh?” Copia huffed when he saw Primo, Secondo, and Nihil were all together already as he laid you down on the couch.

“What kind of trouble has the girl gotten into now?” Secondo groaned.

Primo rushed over to Copia. “You shouldn’t’ve brought her here!” he hissed. “Why do you think we’re all here?! He’s on his way–” the rest of his sentence fell off as Terzo charged into the room. 

“Is she alright?” he asked, rushing to your side.

Copia stiffened, slowly turning to Terzo beside him. “Potrei farti la stessa domanda (I could ask you the same question).”

“Pensi che sia colpa mia, fratellino (Do you think this was my fault, little brother)? I was simply having una conversazione with her about what had happened between us. She was getting upset. Her eyes… they went black,” he lied smoothly, but Copia didn’t trust a single word that left his lips.

Nihil took a deep breath from his oxygen mask, his eyes never leaving Terzo. “It’s starting much earlier than anticipated, no?”

~~~

Your mind was clouded in confusion as you came to. “Where the hell am I…?” you muttered quietly after your eyes fluttered open. As your senses returned, you found yourself in a great hall. Surrounded by stone, there was a chill in the air. You didn’t remember the Ministry having some secret medieval castle nearby.

Without even realizing it, your feet began to pull you to the other side of this long room. Gothic windows to your left were as tall as the high, vaulted, marble ceilings letting in what appeared to be moonlight. On your right, sconces with lit torches burned brightly every few feet. At the end, were pillars of marble, framing one large throne with two smaller ones on each side of it, all of which were occupied. As your eyes adjusted and you got closer, you were able to take in the sight of those sitting before you, waiting patiently. Behind them was the sigil of Baphomet… who you realized, after doing a double-take, was sitting in a throne on your left. Given everything that you were going through, it would be easy to completely miss a man with a goat’s head and hooves right in front of you. At least, that’s what you told yourself to make up for your obliviousness.

Sitting in the center throne was a woman. Probably the most divine and beautiful woman you had ever seen. Her aura was regal and commanding, yet she emanated motherly energy. She wore a dress similar to yours, only floor length. To her right, was this gorgeous man sitting casually. His black button up had lantern sleeves, fitted trousers, and knee-high riding boots. He had an air of mischief surrounding him.

You quickened your pace when you realized wherever you were, it was of monumental importance and you did not want to keep any of them waiting. When you reached them, you curtseyed. “Your Excellencies,” you said. 

“Aw, precious,” the woman sighed.

“Lucifer sends his regards, child. It is not time yet for you to meet,” the man drawled, seeming a bit bored.

“I… uh… With all due respect, um… What’s going on?” you blurted out, your eyes darting from each figure, hoping they wouldn’t take offense from your manner of speaking. 

“You think you know, child, who you are. You know nothing. You know nothing of what you will become,” Baphomet said to the others. Even with the head of a goat, you could tell he was encouraging the two at his side to get on with it from the side-eye he was giving them. “You will leave here with answers to questions that have yet to present themselves to you. We are here to bring you out of the dark they have tried to keep you in.”

“You have only just begun. You are awakening to your true self. You are being activated to bring forth a new age,” the man said.

“Who’s they? I’m what now?” you blundered. 

“The Emeritus clan are trying to take matters into their own hands. Should they continue on their current path, it will be the end of our Church,” he clarified.

“The scales must be balanced. It is why I present myself to you,” Baphomet said eloquently.

“The one who holds the power is blinded by it. He uses it for selfish motives. He must be stopped by cunningness and force. It is why Lucifer has sent myself, Belial, in his place.” No big deal, you are just having a simple conversation about your destiny with the Baphomet and a prominent king of Hell.

“The one in power has gained knowledge through another's ritual. The others know of the prophecy, but hoped it to be a myth. This is their confirmation that The Awakening is happening. Each side is trying to control fate,” the woman finally spoke. 

“But… why me? Why am I so special?”

“As the Emeritus line descends from Princes of Hell, you are the descendant of a much higher lineage. When our sanctuary on Earth is threatened, we activate those who possess that power to right their wrongs.” The woman smiled sadly at you. “Unfortunately, it is through pain and trauma that allows one to truly awaken. He knows this and has abused this knowledge. He is fully aware there is a ritual that could have been done. Your prayer to the Dark Lord was heard by us all, my child.”

“Is that… Was he the one that was speaking to me when…?” you trailed off, unable to say what had happened out loud.

The woman nodded. “The one in power thinks you will submit to him and rule beside him. He underestimates you.”

“He is what has awakened the beast inside you,” Belial added.

“There’s a beast inside me!? Is that why everyone was so scared of me?”

“Yes. It is a part of you. There is a way to control it. Your love who has brought you suffering brings out your darkness,” the woman said solemnly. The sympathetic concern on her face was as if she had felt your pain like it were her own.

“To balance shadow with light, the halfling will be what reminds you of your humanity. While there is someone to bring out the beast, there is also someone to tame it. The halfling will be the sole survivor. Together, you will lead the next chapter. Together, you will continue to spread our message.” Baphomet ended by pointing two fingers up and two fingers down in a salute.

“How? How am I going to do this? I don’t even know what I am or–” you frantically blurred your words together in your frenzy. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

You instantly stopped when Belial held up his hand. “The pure Emeritus line must be eradicated before you will be able to fully ascend.”

The woman held out her hands for you to come forward as she stood. You forced your cemented legs to move until you were directly in front of her. She grabbed your hands. You felt whole, you felt at peace, you felt loved.

“I’m to ascend?” you said through barely parted lips.

“Yes, to the mother of all demons and sin on Earth.”

~~~

Terzo crouched down beside you, scanning your body for any signs of harm. “It was time, Nihil. None of you had the balls to do anything about it.”

“The girl was oblivious! She still is!” Sister Imperator shrieked. Terzo shot her a glare. 

“Was she even made aware she was rumored to be a Prime Mover?” Secondo asked, still sounding so bothered by being involved in any of this.

Terzo rolled his eyes. “She is destined to be much more than that. What was the point of filling her head with Prime Mover cazzate (bullshit)?”

“What do you know?” Copia snarled.

Terzo looked over his shoulder to smirk Copia whose face was reddening, fists balled at his sides. Though immediately it was forgotten when your eyes sprung open and you jolted awake with a gasp. 

You felt disoriented as your eyes scanned the room. You knew you hadn’t been dreaming. You knew that was more than a dream, despite desperately trying to convince yourself that was all it was. You would keep it to yourself for as long as you could.

Being thrown back into reality after having your body chemistry changed drastically left you not knowing where you were or how you got there. The first person you saw was Terzo. Involuntarily, you bolted upright, pushing yourself back into the corner of the couch. “No, no, no!” you cried as you curled up into the fetal position, trying to make yourself as small as you could, and squeezing your eyes shut.

Terzo almost lost his balance as the Cardinal bulldozed over to you, but his stare never deviated from you like a predator watching its prey. Copia scooped you into his arms. You tried to get away from him. “Cara, cara, it’s me,” Copia soothed as he tried to move into your line of sight. Once you realized it was him, you rolled yourself into his side. You weren’t crying, but your breathing was erratic. He rubbed your back as you calmed down. 

“Are you alright, amore?” he asked, brushing hair out of your face as he held it. 

“I… I’m– I… No, no, of course, I’m not! I don’t know what the fuck is going on!” You moved your hands up by your face to get Copia off you, not in an aggressive manner, you just needed some space right now since your brain fog was slowly lifting and the day’s events were returning to you in full force. You got off the couch and turned to face everyone in the room. “What is happening to me?” you pleaded. They all exchanged unsure glances at each other. No one dared to speak. 

“Do you remember the story of Elizabeth I had you translate for us?” Terzo’s voice was inquisitive and calm.

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything right now?” you snapped.

“It has everything to do with what is happening right now, tesoro.”

“Terzo, maybe we should–” Sister Imperator was interrupted by Terzo cutting her off.

“She deserves to know!” he shouted. When he directed his attention back to you, he softened considerably. “That text was bound by a ritual. Only her descendants would be able to correctly translate any of it. That project was supposed to have taken you months, but you completed it in merely a few weeks. I knew the moment I saw you there was just something… special about you,” he moved closer to you, causing you to turn your scowl directly to him, “something dark about you…” he added low enough for only you to hear, stroking your cheek. You could feel the coolness of his white satin glove, a fresh clean pair. You shot him a deadly warning glare. He took a few steps away from you to address everyone else. “And so, of course, I took it upon myself to reach out to The Seers in Roma. They confirmed that you come from a long line of very powerful women.”

“You involved The Seers? Why are we just hearing of this now, Terzo?” Secondo grunted. Even he was becoming annoyed with all these games, not that it would take much. 

“Sì, because I needed proof. Just because she is a descendant, and that much we all knew–”

“Everyone except for me!” you cut him off in a huff.

“And for good reason,” Terzo picked right back up, not pausing long enough for you to get another word in. “Being a descendant did not mean you were chosen. E ma figurati (and come on), Secondo, a man of your stature should know that. We all knew about the text. Do not patronize me for inquiring further, fratello.”

“There is a prophecy, cara. It was merely regarded to be a myth. We never thought it would be in our lifetimes that we would see its truth,” Primo said gently in an attempt to give a semblance of an answer and quell the bickering between his brothers. You gulped as Primo said almost exactly word for word what the ethereal woman had said to you. 

“Sì, that is precisely why I went to The Seers. You all would have dismissed any possibility of this, called me un idiota.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, your head was throbbing. “So I’m Prophecy Girl now? Care to elaborate on what this fucking prophecy even is?” you said through your clenched jaw.

“‘The descendant of the Mother will turn the tides through blood and sacrifice to breathe new life into the mission of Lucifer,’” Terzo quoted.

You could only stare at him. You’ve never heard any of this before in your life. The similarity to your dream… Your breathing labored as you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it wasn't anywhere near a dream. It had been a vision. “H-how do we know… I-I’m really the one?”

Terzo strode up beside you again. He placed his hands on your shoulders very delicately, using just enough pressure to turn your back to everyone. “She has her mark,” he said, tracing the birthmark on your shoulder which looked like an inverted cross with a curved line starting from the bottom right which wrapped under to the other side of the edge of the cross. “When I first saw it… bene (well), that’s when I had her try the translation.” 

His touch was so tender in comparison to the summons. Still, you felt your heart rate increase and your breathing start to shallow, breaths becoming rapid in pace as the overwhelming feeling of your vision dissipated. Your wrath was slowly taking center stage once again. His proximity to you alone was like dropping a lit match next to gasoline. You turned, lightly batting his hand away. 

“And this is why you kept dodging our suggestions of an engagement and moving her status to Prime Mover?” Nihil prompted with a raised eyebrow.

Terzo’s eyes batted between Nihil and you, noting how your fists clenched. “Eh, in un certo senso (kind of)... being a Prime Mover is beneath her.” His eyes became distant, seemingly lost in self-loathing. “My treachery is why I could never go through with an engagement,” he muttered.  

You let out a scoff as you shook your head. “Oh, treachery!’ What a poetic way to say how you fucking half of the clergy is what kept you from proposing,” you sneered. 

Second rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sweet Lucifer, can we focus on the real problem at hand?” he griped.

“Domestic issues aside, it seems like all the more reason to be engaged publicly. It would be a show of power, would it not?” Nihil suggested.

“Nihil, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” you growled as tensions rose further. “Who do you need to show off your fucking power to? Lucifer in Hell, this isn’t a damn monarchy! It’s a church with a glorified high priest to lead the way!” You shot Terzo an ‘I told you so’ look when you mentioned the monarchy thing, again proving your point.

Careful, dear child… do not fly too close to the sun. The same voice from earlier sounded in your head. Your eyes widened at first, now knowing Lucifer had a direct line of communication to you, but quickly you shook your head as if in frustration to disguise your reaction. 

“Amore,” Terzo began, rolling his eyes, “why must you keep–”

“I say we table this conversation for today and let the girl rest,” Sister Imperator suggested as she saw you start to shake when Terzo dared to counter you. “Perhaps do some research of our own.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Terzo tutted. “Did everyone forget the rest of the prophecy? Et de flamma irae nascetur. And from the flames of wrath she will be born.” Terzo gripped your arms where he inflicted bruises which had yet to show themselves as he pulled you to his chest. He didn’t hold you as tightly as before, but he used just enough pressure to cause you to wince as you pulled your arms into your sides. Before you could wriggle out of his hold, “Don’t forget, amata, you left some things in my office, hm? Pick them up tomorrow,” he purred.

Jutting your arms forward to get out of his grasp, you took a step forward. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you warned.

He stayed close to you then delicately placed his hands on your shoulders, bringing his mouth to your ear as he lightly trailed a finger down your arm, he whispered, “That’s not what you said an hour ago,” he laughed darkly before pulling away.

Copia saw the way he grabbed you, how you reacted to him, your quick shudder at his touch. That was enough for his eyes to fill with his own wrath. You whipped around to face Terzo, eyes ablaze with a fury unlike anyone in that room had ever seen. With your eyes focused on Terzo, and your back to everyone, they all missed how the blackness started to seep into your eyes. Nonetheless, Copia stepped in between you and Terzo. “If you touch her again–”

“What are you going to do, concubino (lover boy)? Ram me in the shins with your tricycle?” he taunted with a cocky laugh. Suddenly, Copia leapt forward, grabbing Terzo by his shirt and shoving him against the wall. “No need to be so rough, eh? Tuo topolino can fight her own battles.” He used his chin to point at you. “Vedi (see)? Et de flamma irae nascetur. Aveva solo bisogno di un sforzo (she just needed a push),” he sniggered.

“Copia, get out of the way,” you demanded gravelly as your voice darkened. 

He turned to you, his grip on Terzo went slack. You reached to push him away, so you could get at Terzo, but Copia’s reflexes kicked in. You weren’t as fast as before, so he was able to grab your arm. His touch halted you. “No, amore, you don’t want to do this,” he whispered tenderly to you, yet his voice shook with fear. 

You blinked rapidly and your eyes became normal again. It was too much for your body to handle. You stepped backwards, holding your head. The world started to spin as the door flew open. Three ghouls marched through and surrounded you as Copia guided you to sit back on the couch. 

You looked up to see Swiss leaning over you, placing a hand on your shoulder. We felt your distress. We’re here to protect you, Your Eminence. You heard him say in your mind. Don’t verbally speak to us. They cannot know the full extent of your powers right now.

Thank you, Swiss, you thought. Your look of awe at the ghoul in front of you was quickly discarded as you winced, your head throbbing worse than before.

You need to rest, my child. At this point, you couldn’t even tell who was telepathically speaking to you now.

The others in the room only saw an exchange of nods between you and the ghoul, if they were even able to tear their eyes from the scene in front of them. Mostly they all focused their attention on the other ghouls who guarded you. One had white horns protruding out of his mask and the other wore a distinctive blue cape draped over her shoulder. They usually worked in tandem with Swiss. Always being around Terzo, you had grown quite fond of these other ghouls. It was a relief for you to see them. Their stance, however, was intimidating as they growled at Terzo and bared their clawed hands, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Wh-what is the meaning of this! This the one room that is off limits to ghouls! They shouldn’t be in here!” Nihil spluttered while grasping for his oxygen mask.

“They’re here for her, Nihil,” Terzo scoffed as he adjusted his jacket. “How much more proof do you need, vecchietto (old man)?”

“So it’s true… it’s all true,” Primo muttered, his voice airy due to his surprise. 

“Proof? Proof of what!” you cried out. Tears started to well up in your eyes as the stress and fatigue of everything caught up with you.

First, it was the ghouls that kneeled to you, the first ones to speak to you. Then you realized the mark on your back and where you had seen a sigil just like it. And now you had ghouls rushing to your aid, ready to defend you. The woman from your vision. That’s when it dawned on you. All the pieces were fitting together. She never identified herself. She didn’t need to. Her presence was so calming, so… motherly to you. She said you would ascend to become the mother of demons on Earth. Mother of Demons.

Terzo outstretched his hands at his sides, shaking his head like this was an obvious fact as he plainly said, “Proof that you are the daughter of Lilith.”

part iv | part vi