#this is so tragic i had to eternalize it forever

[soldierboys]

THE BOYS 4.08 Assassination Run

[giantkillerjack]

Betty is so relatable I would do the same shit for my wife

[galedekarios]

emmrich & regret

emmrich: rook? darling? i wanted to say... rook: yeah, about that argument... emmrich: (sighs) it's no time to apologise, is it? rook: we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise.

currently thinking about the fact that this is the last thing that emmrich and rook truly talk about before everything falls apart on tearstone island and they can't even do it in private, because the one chance they had, their moment to do so turned into an argument.

and not only did one friend die.

and not only is another friend missing, presumably also dead.

no, on top of all that tragedy -- that affects them all because the companions do care about each other. no matter who you picked, it's tragic: emmrich's picknick with harding and the long talks about their pasts, his discussions and warmth with bellara, his respect for neve and the little ways she cares so much, his friendship with davrin and the way both learn from each other in how to care for those in their care -- rook is gone, too. vanished.

and the last private moment they had ended in a heated argument.

i am willing to bet that "we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." is something that haunts emmrich during those long, long weeks that rook is trapped.

"we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." - not only is the use of 'home' very poignant and loaded and heatbreaking, but... they never do get to talk. then they never do get home. it's only he who does.

it's a promise broken.

it's a huge regret.

it's one of those little things that seem overwhelming in the face of loss and grief. the little things that you never got to do. the little things that you never get to make right. the little things that you never get so say. the way should have, could have, would have makes you spiral.

and emmrich would know, does have experience with it after losing his parents so abruptly, as well as within his professional duty's as a watcher, yet i think that would weigh heavily on him.

he's not prepared to lose rook. we see that time and time again in his human path and in his lich path as well:

emmrich: i will lose you to time, rook. what if i can’t bear that for eternity? - emmrich: i’m afraid i’ll mourn you forever.

i think it also explains very well why he insists on the visit to the necropolis, despite what's looming over the group. at first i thought it's a bit frivolous at this point in the game, until i realised why. he does it to be truly absolutely sure that all traces of whatever solas did to rook are gone:

emmrich: rook, dearest, please trust me. i must take you to the necropolis before we confront elgar'nan. - rook: did we have to risk visiting the necropolis? emmrich: i needed its subtler enchanments to detect what we must know. emmrich: there's no mark of the curse solas left on you. emmrich: darling, i thought i'd lost you forever in the fade. rook: if you and the others hadn't pulled me out...

emmrich doesn't want to repeat his (perceived) mistake. he doesn't want to lose them again, to leave things unfinished and to regret again.

and while i did wish we had an additional scene where we actually do have a chance to both address the argument rook and emmrich had in a meaningful way, addressing what happened after as well as emmrich's fears, it makes this final line in the romance scene all the sweeter:

emmrich: whatever is in store for us - together, my darling. that's how we'll face it. rook: i know.

[ditoob]

Something I find makes the life and death of Achilles far more tragic is the fact that all he is is the Trojan War. His parents’ wedding begins the conflict, and he dies before the end of the war. His entire life was spent in something he had no control over. Did he know Helen? Paris? Hektor? The Trojans became his enemies only when he reached the beaches of Troy.

Hell, if we go by the Achilleid, Achilles didn’t even know what the war was about until he was sailing to Troy. A young boy whose birth produced an unjust prophecy that dictated the rest of his life: Live long and die in obscurity, or die in war and live in the minds of the people forever. No greek man of his time could bear to die in obscurity, but it was especially impossible for Achilles to do so. His father Peleus, a legendary Argonaut whose adventures would be remembered for millenia, his mother Thetis, a towering goddess raised by the queen of the gods herself.

Their child had to be known.

At Aulis the greeks call for Achilles, a legend before he even steps into the battlefield, and he is forced to go to war. And he fights, he kills, he ravages the city of Troy. A boy who has never even seen a battle in his life, living in peaceful Pthia and later protected by mighty Chiron in Thessally, becomes a machine specifically created for one purpose: To destroy Troy.

This is the reason why Achilles refuses to fight after the taking of Briseis. Unlike Agamemnon, who lived before the Trojan War, who had a wife and family before the Trojan War, who will leave Troy. Or Odysseus who will tell his tales to his son and wife after 20 years away. Or Menelaus who after years regains his family and rules Sparta in peace. Achilles has no life, no future, he IS Troy, more than even Hektor, Paris, and Priam are. Thus, when his honor is threatened, everything he has ever lived for has been taken away from him. Realize that before the taking of Briseis, Agamemnon mentioned takingthe “bride prizes” from the other greek kings and despite this not going anywhere none of them attempted to argue. Would Odysseus attempt to kill Agamemnon if his bride prize were taken? Would Diomedes or Greater Ajax?

And yet, after Achilles lives his entire life for war. After he struggles and suffers so much at the face of adversity. At the loss of his everything, Patroklos. At the slight to his honor. He spends the rest of eternity regretting everything he had ever done. Perhaps it is a mercy to Achilles that shades forget their life on earth

[aventurineswife]

A kinda specific and maybe long but fun idea i had for a req:

Essentially, {and bare w me, i’m half asleep writing this lol} Reader x Sunday, and Reader is a childhood friend of his, who he loved, and someday when they were older, Reader was tragically killed in an incident. Sunday however, in a grief stricken state, decides to rebel against his original goal for the sweetdream paradise (penacony arc reference) and decides to shape it into a dream instead where he’s happily married to Reader, although for the sake of the dream he’s altered their memories. ending is essentially up to you!

{some additional ideas i had if you wanted to, were things like an argument between gopher and sunday, or robin and sunday, in whichever points of the story you wanted}

alternatively, a different Aventurine version would be interesting, mostly w the same set up but Sunday met Reader during Aventurine’s mission on Penacony, liked them, and Aven has to basically fight off the dream and Sunday.

but yeah, that’s pretty much it, everything else is up for creative liberties! i hope this one is at least somewhat interesting lol xx and srry if some of it doesn’t make sense 😓🤍

“Sometimes, the hardest part of letting go is realizing that the dream was never real”

Summary: In the idyllic yet hollow world of Sweetdream Paradise, Sunday crafts a perfect life with you—his lost love, altered memories and all—to escape the sorrow of reality. But as others begin to break through his illusion, and you start to remember fragments of a different fate, the dream begins to fracture. Torn between love and the harshness of truth, Sunday must finally face the choice to let you go, or remain forever in his self-made paradise.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, unrequited love, grief, loss, dreamscape, bittersweet ending, altered memories, memory manipulation, moral dilemma, angst, hurt/comfort, alternate reality, surrealism, slow unraveling, denial of reality.

Warnings: Grief, themes of manipulation, psychological trauma, implied death of Reader, reality distortion, emotional conflict, bittersweet resolution, morally ambiguous decisions.

A/N: Don't worry, anon! I appreciate all the details, the more details the more I can try to understand what you want exactly! Though I probably changed some bits of it here 😪

Sunday had always been proud of his role within Penacony, the creator of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where sorrow could be stilled, where suffering dissolved into an endless realm of serene dreams. It was a comforting reality he believed people needed, a soft oblivion to cradle them. Yet, in the depths of his mind, his peaceful philosophy hid a darker purpose, shaped by the ache of a loss he could never endure.

You had been his friend, a constant light in his youth, a companion who grounded his dreams. For as long as he remembered, you were there, with laughter that melted his worries and eyes that could see through his layered philosophies. But the day you were lost, taken too soon in a tragic incident, the world itself had hollowed out for him. The pain of your absence haunted him like a shadow, feeding a grief so deep that he was willing to defy his original purpose. In that moment of desolation, he turned Sweetdream Paradise into something far more personal—a realm where you still lived, where you loved him just as much as he had loved you.

In this new dream, Sunday made alterations. He reshaped your memories, softened the sharp edges of reality, and wove a seamless history where you had married him, where together, you built a life free of tragedy. In this dream, he could protect you eternally, shielded by his crafted illusion.

You woke to sunlight filtering through the windows, lying beside Sunday as the golden morning glow danced over his features. His eyes opened, catching you with a familiar warmth, and he reached over, brushing his fingers across your cheek.

"Good morning." he murmured, voice low and rich, as if savoring the simplicity of that greeting.

Every day was like this—a gentle, perfect rhythm that never seemed to break. You didn’t remember a world outside of this home, this life with him. And as you looked at him, you felt safe, loved, yet there was always a faint unease, like a fragment of something forgotten.

But the days went on, filled with laughter and love. Sunday seemed devoted to making sure you never doubted this world, his every word a reassurance that here, you were whole and happy.

One evening, as Sunday worked quietly at his desk, a visitor shattered the peace of his dream. It was Robin, standing just inside the doorway, her expression dark with a kind of wary sadness.

“Brother, you need to stop this,” she said, folding her arms. Her gaze fixed on him, seeing through the veneer of the dream. “This isn’t right. This… this paradise you’re keeping isn’t reality.”

Sunday straightened, his face hardening at her words. “Who are we to deny people peace, Robin? Haven’t we seen enough pain? Haven’t they?” His voice broke slightly, the facade slipping as he glanced toward where you sat by the fire, unaware of the intensity in his voice. He softened, as if trying to protect the dream from any trace of discord.

“You’re keeping people trapped. Yourself included. And for what? A fantasy? Is that really what they would have wanted?” Robin’s voice grew more urgent, her frustration showing. “They’re gone. You have to accept that.”

Sunday’s fists clenched at her words, every fiber in his body resisting the truth. “How could you understand?” he whispered. “In this place, they’re alive. I’m not hurting anyone. I’m giving them peace. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Robin stared at him, her gaze a mix of pity and sorrow. “At what cost, Brother? You’re keeping yourself from moving on, holding them hostage in a world that isn’t even real.”

In an alternate version of Penacony, Sunday’s paradise faced an even stranger twist. Aventurine, the cunning Stoneheart known for his strategic mind, was on his own mission in Sweetdream Paradise, seeking information that only Sunday could provide. But as he delved into the fabric of this dreamscape, he found himself questioning the reality around him, the shimmering dream where Sunday lived an idyllic life with you.

Aventurine confronted Sunday one night, his tone half-amused, half-concerned. “Interesting setup you have here,” he remarked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he took in the flawless surroundings. “I almost believed it myself… almost. But what happens when the dream can’t hold itself together anymore?”

Sunday’s gaze narrowed, his protective instincts flaring. “What do you mean by that?”

Aventurine shrugged, his gaze flicking to you, sitting quietly, oblivious to the tension. “Everyone in this place… it’s all too perfect, isn’t it? You’re clinging to a memory, one that doesn’t belong here.”

In a rare flash of anger, Sunday stepped forward, his eyes darkening. “This isn’t any of your concern, Aventurine. Leave.”

Aventurine met his glare, his smirk slipping. “You think you’re the only one who’s loved and lost? Reality has its flaws, Sunday. It’s messy, painful… but it’s real. This—this is just a prison you’re keeping yourself in.”

Sunday’s voice trembled, caught between anguish and fury. “Better a beautiful dream than a brutal reality.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened for a brief moment, though he couldn’t abandon his sardonic tone. “But at least in reality, they would have remembered you for who you are, not a god in a gilded cage.”

In the end, it was you—within the dream—who finally confronted him, feeling the intangible pull of memories you didn’t recognize. “Sunday… something doesn’t feel right,” you whispered one night, as he sat beside you. “I keep… remembering pieces of something different, something that feels like it wasn’t supposed to end this way.”

Sunday’s face grew pale, fear creeping into his eyes. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. You’re here. We’re together. Isn’t that enough?”

But as you searched his eyes, you could feel the truth breaking through, the dream trembling under the weight of reality. “Sunday, what are you not telling me?”

He looked away, his heart shattering as he realized he couldn’t keep you here forever. Slowly, he whispered, “I… I just wanted to keep you safe. To give us a life that didn’t end in sorrow.”

With a trembling hand, you reached out, brushing a tear from his cheek. “It’s okay to let go. You have to keep going… even if it means letting me go.”

Sunday’s shoulders shook, the dream beginning to unravel around them, pieces of the illusion fading as he looked into your eyes one last time. “I… I don’t know if I can.”

But in the final moments, he felt your hand slip away, leaving him alone in the vast silence of his own grief. And as he awoke from his dream, Sunday found himself in a world still plagued by loss, his heart hollow yet somehow freer. Though you were gone, he understood, at last, that he had to face reality, no matter how painful it was.

And in that pain, he found a fragile hope—a sliver of light breaking through the dark.

*cutely posts all my drafts that have been dying to see the light* 😇💖

[lordprettyflackotara]

sharp fangs || sam & colby || part two

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. sam and colby are vamps hehe🧛🏼‍♀️. TW: SMUT WITH PLOT. this fic contains blood, brief gore, murder but like it’s justified tbh. mainly you just have two vampire bfs obsessed with you lol. made this shit extra long. ps: part three will not take as long i promise. enjoy my beloved readers. MWAH <3

Sam and Colby absolutely adored you. You were the apple of their eye, the air that made them feel like they could breathe again. They couldn’t get enough of you, making a conscious effort to spend every moment they could with you. When you were away they’d clean your apartment. (Or snoop through your things.) When you went to sleep at night they’d take shifts watching over you while the other went out to hunt.

You were so darling while you slept, the contentment and peace on your face the sight of a lifetime to them. In all of their long years they had didn’t think they’d allow themselves to get attached to another human. After the first two hundred years they saw all of their companions die, leaving them alone with just one another. All of their past lovers met the same inevitable demise, death becoming an old friend of theirs.

The routine was beginning to become old, the two deciding interacting with humans was pointless. Humans were so fragile, so unfortunately disposable. Whoever they chose to get attached to could get hit by a bus and die, or catch a simple cold and it’d end the same. They shared the same fears with you, which they tried to repel by watching over you so heavily. You liked it in an odd way, having your two best friends become angels watching over you. Both Sam and Colby only shared two fears. They feared the day you’d unexpectedly die from a tragic occurrence. Turning you into one of them was out of the question, your soul deserving better than eternal damnation.

The only thing they feared more, was when you truly saw them for what they were. They knew everything about them was appealing to you. Their looks, their voice, even down to their scent. They believed you truly cared for them, but they weren’t convinced you actually comprehended how terrifying they could be. How savage and ruthless they could become. They feared once you realized this, a look of genuine horror spread across your face, you’d wish them away. Forever.

Often times they tried to ignore this fear. After all, right now you were standing in between them, asking them questions about being a vampire. Your fingers were intertwined with Sam’s, Colby’s arm lazily hanging over your shoulders. “Coffins?” You asked. Colby chuckled, an ice cold winter breeze flying past the three of you. “Did we bring coffins when we moved in?” He asked. You rolled your eyes, hoping the boys didn’t notice your visible shivering. They did.

It wasn’t unusual for the three of you to go out for a snack late at night, the empty streets allowing Sam and Colby to be visible without disguises or questions. “Alright alright. How about garlic? I may be Italian, you never know,” You asked. Sam had given you his jacket a few minutes ago, your lips still turning more white by the second. How had they not thought this through better? As the blonde looked down at your eyes, the soft doe kind that made their frozen hearts flutter, he remembered. Right, that’s why.

“Human food doesn’t bother us. You can make as much garlic bread to your hearts content,” Sam replied, placing a small kiss to the side of your head. Small snowflakes had entangled themselves in your hair, Sam’s lips forming a frown. You were willing to make yourself this cold and potentially sick for a twinkie? The three of you finally approached the tiny store, Colby handing you a wad of cash. “Jesus Christ, a twinkie does not cost more than a hundred dollars Colbs,” You gasped, looking at the wad of crisp and shiny hundred dollar bills. “I read about inflation all the time. Just get a few snacks so you won’t have to nearly freeze to death for a twinkie,” He insisted.

You smiled softly, placing a kiss on Colby’s cheek. “Alright i’ll be back,” You say, before dipping into the grocery store. Sam and Colby preferred to stand outside, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention. “We didn’t have twinkies in our time right?” Colby asked. Sam let out a chuckle. “Dude we were actively there for the salem witch trials. We absolutely did not have twinkies,” He answered. Colby teasingly elbowed him, the two leaning against the brick wall outside of the store.

“Just double checking. Couldn’t recall if we were around to try those hyped up little rolls,” Colby told him. It was odd when they thought about it, how long they had roamed the earth. It was always just the two of them during life and then resurrection. They couldn’t help but feel like you were the final piece to the puzzle, the third to the trio. Yet they feared how long they’d actually have with you. Especially when you opted to eat twinkies a majority of the time instead of actual food. (Colby had agreed to learn how to cook just to get you to eat better.)

Sam’s ears twitched for a split second, the sound of footsteps flooding them. He looked around, both him and Colby as still as statues. “You hear that?” He asked the brunette. Colby nodded, equally as on alert. The weather was undoubtedly freezing. No economic crisis was occurring, there would be no reason for a regular human to be roaming the streets this late at night. “I’ll go check it out. Stay with her and i’ll meet you guys back at the apartment,” Colby huffed, dashing off into the night. The ringing of the bell attached to the store door rang, your happy face emerging into sight. You had already broken into one of your twinkies, taking a big bite. You went to hand Sam the wad of cash, before searching for Colby.

“Where’s Colby?” You asked, wiping the white cream off of your bottom lip. Sam’s mind briefly went to filth, before resuming to the matter at hand. He didn’t want to worry you, but he also didn’t want to lie. Since they had met you they had agreed to not lie, the truth something you’d have to handle if you wanted them around. “He’s off investigating something he heard. He’ll meet us back at the apartment,” Sam explained. You laced your fingers with Sam’s, allowing the blonde to walk you across the street. “You think it’s another one of your kind?” You asked, taking another bite of your twinkie.

Sam purposefully kept you on the side away from the road, ensuring no car would hit you if it came brawling your way. Especially with the icy roads, Sam knew human drivers would be unpredictable. (Big shocker: he wasn’t a fan of automobiles when they came out.) “I doubt it. This is our territory now. Our scent is everywhere,” Sam reassured you. You shoved the empty wrapper in your pocket, leaning on Sam for support as he walked you home. His body was cold and statue like, yet you found comfort the more you touched him.

The three of you didn’t want to make things confusing after you all met. After all, the sex was just supposed to be a one time thing. A peace offering in the boys minds. That’s what it was supposed to be. Yet the memory constantly lingering in the forefront of all of yours minds. There was a not so subtle craving that you all wanted it to happen again, the timing just not seemingly right. Sam and Colby didn’t believe in rushing things, even if you didn’t have all the time in the world as they did. Snow crushed underneath your sets of footsteps, Sam’s hearing acutely on alert for intruders.

Yet he couldn’t find it within himself to hear anything over the soothing sound of your heartbeat. It was music to his ears, the sound gratifying to him. It was so soothing in fact, it was distracting. This distraction created the perfect element of surprise for a man in a ski mask to emerge from the alleyway shadows, grabbing you. “Sam!” You screeched, thrashing against the criminals grasp. Sam was forced to let go of your hand, knowing he’d accidentally tear it off if he held onto you and played tug of war against the criminal. Sam could hear it now, the disgusting blood flowing through the lowlifes veins. He had been so blinded by how ethereal your presence was and now he was paying the price.

The flash of a blade sent Sam into an angry frenzy, baring his fangs at the attacker. “Sam! Help me! Colby!” You screamed, your voice echoing off of the alleyway walls. In the blink of an eye Colby was on the attacker, biting into the side of his neck. The grasp on you was released, your body falling to the ground. You quickly turned around, moving backwards on the icy sidewalk. Colby wasn’t feeding onto your attacker, his gaze was much more intense than that. Much more unhinged. He yanked his head backwards, tearing his throat apart. You barely had time to blink before Sam was on the other side of the attacker, copying Colby’s actions.

Clumps of flesh hit the ground, streams of blood flowing everywhere that you looked. Your attacker was long dead, your heart thumping so loud you thought it may burst out of your chest. You continued to back away, your back hitting a street lamp as you watched Sam and Colby. Any mortality they had, any sense of pride or self control had been washed away by the biggest wave. Neither of them were hungry, the taste of the attackers blood sickening. They received no satisfaction from feeding on him, their animalistic craving ordering them to tear the threat apart.

So they did, the man’s neck now a pile of unidentifiable blood and flesh. You swallowed, staring at your best friends. The ones who did your laundry and watched sitcoms shows with you. The ones who looked over you every single moment of the day, even when you didn’t want them to. The same ones who had once fucked you merciless, your life never having been the same afterwards. Blood coated both of their hands, the same crimson paint dripping down their chins and necks. Sam’s maroon sweater was now soaked, Colby’s leather jacket stained with splatters.

Sam dropped the attacker first, his eyes darting around in search of you. You were a pitiful sight, one Sam wished he didn’t have to see. You were on the ground, your back hugging the closest streetlight. Your hands were buried into handfuls of snow, your fingers turning red from the cold. Your eyes were widen, your gaze refusing to stray from him and Colby. Sam swallowed, the rancid taste of the attackers blood still coating his tongue. He walked in front of you, crouching down to your eye level. “I’m so, so sorry,” He whispered. You looked terrified, surely of them. Sam was very sure, his eyes soaking in what he figured to be the last time he’d see you.

Colby quickly joined his side, the corpse abandoned behind them. You had never seen so much blood before, the color seemingly everywhere you looked. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Colby cooed. He brought his hand up to your cheek, lovingly stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. The blood was staining your skin, the feeling unnatural and making you slightly uneasy. Yet, when you looked at the two killers in front of you, you felt nothing but pure awe. Sam was trying to find the words to say to you, expecting the worst. Colby didn’t seem to have the same thoughts as him, which only made the situation ten times worse.

“I-I-I-” You began stuttering, unable to form a coherent sentence. How could you do it? How could you ever thank them? They saved your life. The faint sound of sirens interrupted the conversation, the boys heads turning to the left at the same time. “Sorry princess the conversation is going to have to wait. Let’s get you home,” Colby said, scooping you into his arms. You curled up against his chest, the stench of blood flooding your nostrils as you nuzzled against his shirt.

\/

The boys had gotten you inside safely, setting you down on the couch gently. “Do you need anything? Water? Food?” Colby asked. There were only a handful of things a human could need, surely there were maybe five max. In his mind at least. Sam’s mind was soaring in the other direction, his mouth running dry. You shook your head no, meeting their gaze. “Thank you,” You said. Sam blinked a few times, trying to ensure he heard you correctly. “We’d do anything for you,” Colby answered, crouching in front of you. The blonde braced himself, sure this was the end.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do my best to protect you. I know what you’re doing to do and I just have to say that I-” Sam began, your widened eyes stopped him. Fuck, you really had no idea the power you had over them. The three forbidden words were on the tip of his tongue, the ones that would only make this harder. You quickly rose to your feet, cupping his face into your hands. Gratitude had washed over you, your body demanding to give them a reward. You couldn’t deny that although unsettling, the sight of them covered in your attackers remains made your heart skip a beat.

“I wanna thank both of you, for saving my life,” You say, looking up into Sam’s red orbs. A thousand thoughts ran through the blondes head, many of them thinking they had broke your sanity or something along those lines. “Are you not scared?” Colby asked, approaching you from behind and resting his hands around your waist. You shook your head no. “You both won’t hurt me,” You answered. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t know that. You saw what we did. We ripped his throat apart. Tore him to shreds,” Sam huffed, “What exactly makes you so confident we wouldn’t do that to you?”

His words were hurtful, even if they did hit the hammer on the nail. “You did that to protect me. I know you. I know you both. You won’t hurt me,” You answered again, more confident this time. Colby exchanged a look with Sam, the gears in his brain finally turning the same way his were. “I think what Sam is trying to say is that what you just saw was a lot to process. It is for us, which means it has to mean even more to a human-” He began, your sharp eyes turning around to meet his. Your eyes were shooting daggers, a look Colby knew to not threaten. “Enough with the whole ‘weak human’ bullshit. I may not be immortal but I have a brain you know,” You snapped.

Yeah, Sam had came to the conclusion that they broke you.

“And what does your brain tell you about what you just saw? About the two blood soaked demons that are standing in your living room?” Sam questioned. Your facial expression softened, your eyes resuming their doe like fashion. “They’re telling me that you’re both vampires. Vampires with habits and tendencies I anticipated. Ones that don’t scare me,” You answered. Why didn’t they understand? Could they understand?

Your words seemed so sincere, both boys back on you. It was Colby in front of you this time, Sam’s chest pressing against your back. “We are so sorry you had to see that,” Colby told you. He grabbed your chin, guiding you to look up at him. They could hear your heart skip a beat, the blood smudging against your soft skin. “It’s okay. If it makes you guys feel better, you both look awfully hot covered in blood like this,” You say, biting your bottom lip. Sam pressed himself against your ass, his hands traveling up to your breast.

“Really, is that so?” Colby hummed, smirking down at you. He centered his thumb on your bottom lip, pulling it down teasingly. “In that case, let us show you how sorry we really are,” Sam murmured into your ear, pressing a kiss against your earlobe. You groaned, his large hands kneading at your breast. “Open your mouth princess,” Colby muttered. You did so, flattening out your tongue on display. The brunette could feel himself getting hard, watching you eagerly suck his thumb as he put it into your mouth. The taste of blood coated your tongue, your pupils dilating as you looked into Colby’s eyes.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking perfect,” Colby praised. He removed his thumb from your eager mouth, replacing it with his lips. His taste made you feel drunk, your body becoming putty in between the boys as Sam tweaked your nipples. He chuckled darkly into your neck as they hardened under his ice cold fingertips. “Always so eager,” Sam murmured, sucking hickies onto your neck. He could feel your veins, hearing the blood flow through your delicate body. Colby’s tongue slid into your mouth, the brunette careful to not nip you with his fangs. Your desperation only made them harder, your sinful noises only becoming louder.

“Fuck, i’ve missed this,” Colby panted, pulling away from your lips. A thin string of saliva hung between both of your lips, your lips now swollen. “We’ve missed this,” Sam corrected, working on his third hickey. Colby dropped to his knees, eager to please you. “Let me taste you, fucking please, just wanna make tonight up to you,” Colby pleaded, his desperation washing over him. You could feel Sam’s hips roll against yours teasingly, ripping a groan out of your throat. “Answer him baby,” Sam encouraged, the smell of your arousal flooding his nose. You licked your lips, your balance unsteady.

Sam’s large hands kept you in place, his assault on your throat relentless. “Please, do whatever you want to me,” You whined, raking your fingers through Colby’s hair. The brunette quickly pulled down your skirt and stockings, accidentally tearing them in the process. “We’ll buy you new ones,” He muttered, bringing your panties down to your ankles. Your slick was drenched for them, Colby’s eyes blown with lust as he admired your cunt. This is all he could think about since the last time he saw you like this, so wet and desperate.

“Go on baby, use Colby’s tongue the way you need,” Sam said encouragingly. You pulled him towards you by his hair, his eager tongue lapping up your juices. Your knees almost buckled, Sam quick to keep you in place. The blonde was having a hard time restraining himself, your blood calling to him. Your smell was always so delightful and it only became more so when you were a moaning mess. “Sammy,” You whined, using your spare hand to grab his wrist. Colby’s lips sucked at your clit, making it harder to form coherent sentences.

“Yes baby?”

“Drink from me,” You panted, grinding against Colby’s face. Sam blinked, unable to deny or question your request. Your blood was sweeter than any others he had tasted, his body always yearning to have another taste of you. He slowly sank his sharp fangs into you, the piercing pain subsiding into a blinding euphoria. “Oh my God,” You whined, clawing at Colby’s hair. His large hands were keeping your thighs pried open, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as Sam drank from your neck like a starving man. “Thats it princess, keep using me. Make yourself cum on my tongue,” Colby ordered, the sight of you crumbling enough to make him want to cream his pants.

Sam managed to pull himself off of you, panting as he did so. Your blood was so intoxicating, so addicting. It’s like you were made for them. He lapped at your neck, cleaning your wound as you felt a familiar knot form in your stomach. “Fuck fuck fuck,” You whimpered. Sam slithered one of his hands around your waist to keep you upright, using the other to guide your head to turn. He brought his lips to yours, swallowing each noise you made with his mouth. You could taste your own blood, the metallic taste sending you over the edge. You pulled at Colby’s roots are you came, your vision clouded with stars.

Colby emerged from between your thighs, bruises of where his hands had held your thighs apart already forming. Sam picked you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. You smashed your lips against his, the boys bringing you to your bedroom. Your back hit your plush mattress, the boys switching positions. Colby stood in between your legs, undoing his belt. “You sure you can handle me princess? I won’t go easy on you like Sam,” He smirked, causing Sam to roll his eyes. You nodded eagerly, reaching behind you to undo Sam’s belt.

“I’m not just a human Colbs. I can handle whatever you throw at me,” You say, as cocky as you can muster. The boys exchanged mischievous looks, their cocks throbbing with excitement. You laid your head back, quickly helping Sam take off his pants. You could feel your core throbbing with desire, Colby making himself right at home in between your legs. He rubbed his tip up and down your folds, soaking in the feeling. You stuck your tongue for Sam, eagerly awaiting his cock. The mere sight of it was making your mouth water.

“You have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to fuck you,” Colby confessed, pushing himself inside of you. You moaned, your noises being muffled by Sam’s cock as he placed it inside of your mouth. The vibrations sent a chill down his spine, your name falling off of his lips. “Fucking hell, you’ve got to try her mouth,” Sam groaned, pushing himself down your throat deeper. Colby grinned as he bottomed out, your walls milking his cock.

“Trust me I remember, everything about her is a slice of heaven,” He replied, gripping your waist harshly. He began to move slowly, slithering one of his hands down to your clit. Your thighs trembled at the extra stimulation, Colby’s thrust speeding up rapidly. Both boys seemed to be in a state of heat, their hips moving faster than you could keep up. “You’re so pretty like this,” Sam praised, watching the shape of his cock go up and down your throat. Colby bit his bottom lip, his sinful noises threatening to spill out at a rapid rate.

“You’re taking me so well. Like you were made for me,” Colby grunted. He drew faster circles around your clit, your waterline flooding with tears as Sam’s cock abused the back of your throat. They were merciless, hell bent on making you cum whilst chasing their own highs. “Made for us,” Sam corrected, his orgasm coming quickly. He pulled himself out of your throat, watching as you stuck your tongue out, desperately trying to lick the underside of his cock. He jerked his shaft above you, depositing his seed directly into your mouth.

“You’re so fucking hot, my fucking God,” Sam panted, watching you eagerly swallow his cum. Your mouth was free to moan now, your mascara smudged and tears peaking at the corner of your eyes. “Just like that, please, feels so good Colbs,” You babbled. Colby grabbed both of your legs, throwing them over his shoulders. He felt impossibly deeper, his cock abusing your g spot as it pleased. “You’re fucking milking me princess, it’s like you want me to cum inside of you,” Colby moaned, his thrust relentless.

Sam snickered as he lowered himself near your ear. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? To be bred by him? By both of us? Such a dirty girl, wanting to be bred by demons,” Sam snickered, licking the side of your neck. You could feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm, your body beginning to tremble. “Shit, i’m gonna cum,” You warned. One of your hands found Sam’s squeezing it tightly as you felt your orgasm wash over you. He now felt what Colby felt before, the butterflies swarming around his stomach at the romantic gesture.

Colby’s hips stuttered, his thrust coming to a halt as he came inside of you. He slowly pulled out of you, collapsing on the other side of the bed. The rooms sounds consisted of your rapid breathing and heartbeat, for Sam and Colby at least. Colby stroked your hair as you calmed down, Sam’s hand never straying from yours.

“Hey guys?” You hummed. Sam could’ve jumped on his feet right then and there. Anything you needed. Anything you wanted. He’d eagerly walk to the ends of the earth to get it for you. “Yeah?” He replied, awaiting your orders. You giggled, looking over at him.

“Wanna have a round two?”

[senseandaccountability]

I never feel older, crasser or more like a dry, boring literature nerd than when people say they find non-ascended Astarion’s ending so sad and wish there was a better one. To me, this is one of the best written storylines in the game. In all of the RPGs I’ve played, even. It’s extremely emotionally rewarding and thematically satisfying and boy, am I not used to that from my favourite media. (Forever looking at you, Lucifer.) Is it bittersweet? Absolutely. But tragic? No. 

Astarion rejecting the ritual despite knowing what it means is anything but tragic - it's powerful, it's the best and most resilient in him shining through. Regardless of how shitty the circumstances were, he made a choice when he made that deal with Cazador. A choice that gave him two centuries of hell. His life as a puppet to Cazador was a tragedy, it left him with no choices, it limited his every move and infringed on the freedom of his mind. It had one driving force: to make him a malleable tool, to help up the stakes in an already viciously brutal system. 

In Cazador’s manor he is faced with a choice once again. To him, as obsessed with the ritual and the lure of power as he is during that questline, the circumstance must feel similar to the ones in that street corner when the Gurs had beaten him to death’s door. Death or power. Except it’s not. 

That’s not the deal and it never was. “Having it all” was never, ever on the table. (None of us can have it all outside of self-help books, come on.) There will be a sacrifice either way, just like there was when he sacrificed his autonomy and freedom for eternal life. Astarion’s quest is about seeing through the delusions and trappings of power. It’s about preserving a sense of self, humanity, your soul if you will, no matter how dire the circumstances. It’s about daring to hope that you can change.

“This is a gift, you know. Thank you, I won’t forget it.”

[megamindsupremacy]

So. ive been going through your billy batson tag bc im very normal and super hinged about this kid and you ARE right about Billy growing up the normal way and how that would effect him, but I need us all to consider the opposite: The Magic went "Ah, he's pure of heart bc he is but a lad", and not *letting* him grow up. Billy being immortal but stuck as a kid forever. The realization everyone is going to grow up w/o him. That he is *always* going to be a kid. That could be a very bad time too.

OH MY HEART. you're so right and i'm kissing you on the mouth. okay i need to marinate in this now stand by

so I think it's fairly accepted now that the Wizard chose Billy to be Shazam when he was so young because all of the previous Champions were adults, and that went Badly (see: Black Adam). So obviously, if the adults can do the whole superhero thing, then we should give the role to a kid. But then, to take it a step further: if the adults can't do the superhero thing, then we should make the next Champion stay a kid.

And like, it takes a hot minute for Billy to notice. Say he became CM at 8 - he doesn't know the average rate of growth for a boy. He just thinks he's not getting as tall as quickly as his peers. It's not like there's adult supervision around to go "hello small small child, why are you still small and a child?" I could see him going at least a few years before realizing there might be something wrong. Then it takes him a little bit to figure out what exactly is wrong, and then a little longer to be in denial, before he finally has to come to terms with, yeah, he really is 8 years old for the rest of forever.

I wonder how it affects him, mentally? Because you could go one of two ways: either he stays mentally an 8 year old forever and doesn't mature, although he gains knowledge and experience with time, or he does mentally mature and becomes an adult, just stuck in the body of a child.

For angst reasons, I like the second one, but realistically, the whole reason he's in this mess is because the Wizard wanted someone who was pure of heart to stay pure of heart. Why go through all the trouble to not let him physically age but allow his mind to change? So now we have an eternally "both mentally and physically a child" situation.

I feel like, when you're that young, you can't really... process how devastating that is? He's only a little kid - at that age, you can't even imagine turning 18 yet, much less living out the rest of your life as an adult. He doesn't know what he's lost. So instead of Billy angst, it's outsider POV angst. Everyone is growing old and watching Billy stay the same as always. I imagine he reveals his identity at some point, a while into being Captain Marvel, and they have a Twilight moment of "I'm 8" "....how long have you been 8?" ("no, but actually, we've known you for 12 years, you can't actually be 8. what do you mean 'a wizard did it'."). Everyone is just quietly mourning the person Billy could have become, had he not been chosen to be the Champion of Magic, meanwhile Billy is living out the eternal childhood dream of Superpowers + Adult Body w/o Adult Responsibilities. It's tragic in a way Billy can never comprehend because of what the wizard did to him.

Feel free to add onto this post!

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Annular Eclipse ଓ♱˚⋆

A long time ago, I binge-watched The Ancient Magus’ Bride and that decision came back to haunt me in my Church AU…… *evil laugh*

As always, thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this piece!! And to my dear mutuals, I hope you all suffer enjoy the sinful story of Cartaphilus! Pierro x Angel! Darling ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

Tw:: yandere, blood, violence, death, suicidal ideation, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 5.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns, with a unique fate reserved for the one who goes by the name of Pierro.

♡ After the Cataclysm, Pierro led a group of survivors to Snezhnaya where they established a new home. For three centuries, it was a peaceful haven hidden from the divine gaze of God and the Church…until it was exposed by a traitor and destroyed with manmade flames. In the ensuing chaos, Pierro was the sole “survivor” in the sense that he managed to escape. The rest were critically wounded, buried alive, and left to suffer for all eternity.

♡ Having lost his second home, Pierro began a search for other Khaenri’ahns, only to be further disillusioned. Many communities had also fallen to ruin, if not from persecution but by their own madness. Others, blinded by dreams of death, had resorted to violence and witchcraft in their fruitless attempts to break the curse. And several individuals had embarked on quests for the Tree of Life, only to disappear far away from their homeland. In two more centuries, Khaenri’ah was reduced to a forgotten myth, and Pierro had lost all hope for his people.

♡ So when he gets into an accident, he sees no point in saving himself. If he were younger, he’d be horrified at the thought of falling off a cliff. At best, he’d end up with more scars albeit another permanent reminder of his tragic fate. As for the worst-case scenario, he’d become paralyzed, trapped below the cliff, doomed to eternity as a living corpse. But now, hanging off the edge by his fingertips, he considers the possibility that his head takes the brunt of the impact. A coma would be the closest thing to a reprieve from his waking hell.

♡ Just as his grip weakens, a hand reaches out and catches his wrist. The action is so sudden, so forceful, that Pierro has no time to think before he is pulled up and his back hits the grass. Above him, eclipsing his view of the sun, is the face of a stranger. A tearful expression. A kind gaze that seems to pierce through his soul.

“Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call for help?! You poor thing, I’m sorry for only seeing you now.”

“I am…” He averts your gaze and instead focuses on the sky. It is the color of twilight—a harmony of blues, oranges, and reds that pale in comparison to the crimson skies of his nightmares. “...fine. Thank you for your kindness.”

♡ Once the shock wears off, Pierro takes a careful look at his savior. You have the appearance of a typical human, roughly the same age as he was when his body stopped aging. Definitely not a Khaenri’ahn, given your lack of cursed marks and star-shaped pupils. Neither are there any religious symbols on your clothing, which is a relief. As for your tears shed on his behalf…he’ll chalk it up to pity.

♡ At your insistence, you treat him to a meal at the nearest inn. When Pierro introduces himself as an ordinary traveler, you make a similar claim and suggest journeying together. It is a tempting offer—the both of you are alone with no destination in mind, and you seem harmless. So against his better judgment, Pierro accepts your proposal.

♡ Over time, he warms up to his new companion. You are kind, competent, a bright presence in his life. Traveling with you is like seeing the world with new eyes—you lead him to bustling cities, picturesque forests, places teeming with life. The only downside is your visits to the Church for prayers and chats with the local priests, but you at least seem to be an open-minded believer. You always tell Pierro that he doesn’t need to follow along but he does so anyway, if only to evade suspicion and admire the religious art with you.

♡ Other than that, you don’t reveal much about yourself. But you aren’t one to pry into Pierro’s past so he gives you the same courtesy. At times, he finds himself looking at you fondly, feeling a spark of physical attraction, dreaming of a happy future with you. But those delusions are always dashed by the fact of your humanity, so he instead resolves to cherish what little time you have left before death claims your soul.

♡ That was his goal until he begins to notice certain…oddities. It’s common for the two of you to share a tent, a room, sometimes even a bed. Neither of you are fazed by it, especially when Pierro’s main concern is concealing his cursed marks with makeup. But a few months into your travels, he makes a quiet realization: In those nights of shared slumber, not once has he fallen asleep without feeling your gaze on him.

♡ At first, he assumes that you merely sleep later and wake up earlier than him. But every time Pierro wakes up in the middle of the night, you immediately sit up and tend to him, acting as energetic as usual. Neither do you appear lethargic after nights when it is difficult to sleep. So he puts it to the test by regularly chatting with you late into the night; you always follow along, not once sounding tired nor in want of sleep. Once, he talks to you all night long and in the morning, while Pierro is plagued with fatigue, you look perfectly awake. And only when he subtly points it out do you yawn and go back to bed.

♡ Other mysteries follow. There is the time the two of you trekked through a barren wasteland and ran out of food. It took you two days to reach civilization and while Pierro was starving, you never complained about hunger. If anything, you still managed to walk and fight off beasts at your usual energy levels. And on the rare chance that Pierro is injured, you are the one who treats his wounds…and they always heal at an unnaturally fast pace.

♡ A year into your travels, he decides to look for answers. One night, he shares a bed with you and feigns sleep. For the next few hours, he just lies there and takes note of your unnatural way of sleeping—no slowed breaths, no involuntary movements, yet the persistent feeling that he is still being watched. Shortly after midnight, he pulls out a dagger from under his pillow and aims it at you.

♡ It was only a test to see if you’d react quickly and reveal your ruse. Which is exactly what you do, eyes fluttering open and your hand catching the dagger before Pierro can stop short of stabbing your chest. The look on your face is calm, utterly devoid of fear, and you make no move to leave the bed. You just stare at him with the same piercing gaze.

“Good morning,” you tell him. “Are you going to explain the sudden wakeup call? I don’t believe this is rooted in any Khaenri’ahn practices.”

At the mention of his homeland, Pierro’s grip on the dagger tightens. “So it appears that my suspicions were not unfounded. Answer me, are you a spy of the Church?”

Your answer is a benevolent smile. A soft light shines from your body as a halo—silver, pierced with nails—appears behind your head, followed by a wispy veil. Luminous wings emerge from your back, caging Pierro in a feathery embrace.

Your hand, marked with a bloodstained scar, wraps around his wrist.

“I’m your guardian angel,” you whisper.

♡ Technically, your statement is untrue. In a calm voice, you explain that Khaenri’ahns can’t be assigned guardian angels due to their immortality. Moreover, most angels harbor contempt for his kind though you are a rare exception, having taken pity on Pierro and chosen to become his unofficial guardian. The last part triggers an offended response—are you mocking him?

♡ As for your true nature, you’re the leader of the Archangels. As an angel of the Third Sphere, you are one of the closest to humanity, a divine messenger with the additional tasks of providing blessings and guiding humans towards the path of righteousness. Only, you’re currently on a ten-year “break;” it just so happened that you noticed Pierro at the start of your sabbatical.

♡ Once he is confident that you won’t smite him in cold blood, he goes to sleep—it’s been a long night and fatigue will only dull his senses. When he wakes up, he can almost believe that last night’s events were a dream…until you loom over him in your true form, wishing him a good morning. After a long conversation, he decides to continue traveling with you. That way, he can keep a close eye on you and gain some useful knowledge.

♡ Thus resumes your journey. In addition to Pierro’s distrust, there are major changes to your dynamic. You still travel in your human guise but you switch to your true form when it’s just the two of you. Since angels don’t need food or sleep to sustain themselves, you stop eating with him unless you’re in public. At night, only one bed is needed and you simply watch over Pierro, wishing him a peaceful slumber. Your gentle gaze is always the last thing he sees each day, though it takes months before he can fall asleep comfortably.

♡ He also learns about your nightly pastimes. As it turns out, while Pierro is asleep, you like to fly around the city to help lost souls. Just small acts of kindness in your human form…and if needed, divine interventions in the Church. It explains why he often wakes up to news about corrupt priests who experienced “visions of an angel” and publicly confessed their sins.

♡ Along your journey, you also stop by the homes of the humans previously assigned to you. At the beginning of each visit, you go to the cemetery and speak to their grave. Afterwards, you bring Pierro to their favorite places and reminisce about their lives. When he asks why you can’t simply see them in Heaven, you give him a sad smile and explain that the deceased reside in a realm beyond the jurisdiction of angels. In a paradise where every soul is purged of sin, what use is there for an angel’s guidance?

♡ You mourn the lives of angels as well. It comes as a shock to Pierro, the idea that even an angel is susceptible to death. To which you explain that many of your divine siblings were killed by demons. And because afterlife does not exist for spiritual beings, both species simply cease to exist once their lives have ended. As for your former brethren, they cut all ties with you after their descent.

♡ Slowly, Pierro grows to trust you again. It helps that you were able to prove yourself a year later by saving him from your own kind. Granted, he could suspect that it was merely an act but the sight of a Principality cowering before you, their cassock staked to the floor by silver nails, is quite convincing. Not to mention your cold gaze overflowing with wrath.

���So tell me. Why exactly did you attack my dear human?”

The room is silent, save for the younger angel’s whimpers. To think that a few minutes ago, Pierro had been sleeping peacefully. Now he stands beside you, blood trickling from a cut under his scarred eye, still gripping his unused sword.

“I…” Despite being a rank above you, his attacker is clearly terrified. “But ______, that man…he is one of the accursed sinners! He—”

“Now, now.” You kneel to their level but all kindness is lost in your tone. More nails appear out of thin air, all pointing towards the angel’s body. “Look me in the eye when I am talking to you.”

♡ In the end, the angel kneels before Pierro and begs for forgiveness. He accepts their apology, but not without harsh words and a swipe of his sword against their face. After they leave, you worriedly turn to Pierro and heal his injuries. Thanks to your powers, all of his wounds close up without a trace. Still, when you take your hand off his face, what he sees in the mirror is not his healed cheek but the cursed marks exclusive to Khaenri’ahns.

*✧･ﾟ

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Despite the nature of the attack, you are the one acting emotional. A tear rolls down your cheek as you trace the cursed side of Pierro’s face.

“You need not apologize on behalf of your brethren,” he mutters. He glances at his right arm, sleeve pulled up to reveal a similar pattern of blue veins and blackened skin. “...or your Heavenly Father. And I believe I’ve told you countless times not to waste your tears on me.”

“Still.” Shaking your head, you look him in the eye. “How can I not cry every time I gaze into your soul? I wish I could save you, put an end to your suffering…but it’s beyond my capability.”

“So why do you still devote yourself to me, ______?”

______. It is the false name you go by in the human realm, spoken by every person who has known you as their guardian angel. As for your true name, it remains a mystery to Pierro.

Still, he’d like to believe that he is the human who knows you best. He knows that you are the First Archangel, one of the oldest beings in existence. He knows that you were opposed to the Cataclysm but powerless in stopping it. He knows that your decade of rest was caused by an accumulation of stress, an endless cycle of giving and saving and sacrificing which will only continue in a few years’ time.

And what then? At the end of your journey, will you still have time for him? Or is he truly cursed to drift aimlessly in eternal solitude?

His half-mask rests on a nearby drawer, a relic from his second home. He picks it up, thumb pressed against a painted gold tear.

“You astound me,” he continues. “You, of all people, know that salvation is forever beyond my grasp. And yet you continue to spare me absolute grace. Anyone else would have deemed me a lost cause.”

“That is because I love you.”

At that, Pierro nearly drops his mask. He turns to you, starry eyes wide with wonder. “Can you kindly repeat that?”

But the moment he sees your face, he realizes his folly.

“I love you,” you tell him, a soft look in your eyes, “as I love all humans.”

Has kindness ever sounded so cruel?

“...I understand.” He puts down his mask, pride shattered. “Such is to be expected from a being for whom the love for humanity is inherent.”

A love which he and his compatriots are no longer beholden to.

“But of course.” At that, your countenance turns reverent. Your wings fold inwards, and you place a bloodstained hand over your chest. “An angel’s purpose is to serve God and to save His creations. Beyond that, there is no other point to our existence.”

Silence. This time, Pierro doesn’t bother to hide his judgment.

“Well, that is our initial reason,” you add, noticing his expression. “After all, what’s not to love when your kind is capable of so many wonderful things? Really, you never fail to surprise us.”

“How so?”

“I’ll confess, many of us angels were once in awe of Khaenri’ah,” you admit. “Think of it: Your people found a way to create life, sorcery, powers that were once exclusive to God. Had I met you during your days as a royal mage, I surely would have been impressed.”

Hard to say. Despite his previous status, Pierro hasn’t practiced Khaenri’ahn sorcery in years. It’s likely that his powers have eroded alongside his spirit.

“Then only a century after the Cataclysm, there was the Angel-Killer who performed miracles using our flesh. As a matter of fact…I made the mistake of assigning his first victim to him.”

Your grief isn’t lost on him. The bed creaks as you take a seat next to Pierro, adjusting the chain of mourning lockets around your waist. It bears mementos of both humans and angels.

“Thirteen angels lost their lives to him, including two of my dearest siblings. Needless to say, we were all relieved when Il Dottore finally died, though I had to be given a century’s worth of rest to recover from grief. Sohreh, Pasithea, Oizys…I still think of them to this day.”

Il Dottore. He is an infamous figure in history, a priest whose sins rivaled those of Khaenri’ah. And yet even he was granted the mercy of death.

 “And there are the humans I was blessed to watch over,” you tell him, eyes shining with tears. “I remember all of their names, their smiles, every achievement they made in their short lives. And I’m sure that there will be more in the future.”

That is the final nail in the coffin.

“You are right.” With that, Pierro leaves the bed. “As such, there is no need for you to dwell on how the world is now. I have no doubt that many souls owe their salvation to you, ______, and anyone would be a fool to dismiss your efforts.”

“...Thank you. It means a lot.”

You don’t let him leave, however. A hand around his wrist is all it takes for Pierro to stop, to yield to your embrace. In the dim room, you are the only source of light, an idol of unparalleled benevolence. Divine, beautiful, yet never within his reach.

“Eight more years,” you tell him. In your eyes, his reflection has never looked more hopeful. “That is the amount of time we have left. And until then, I will never leave your side.”

*✧･ﾟ

♡ The next eight years are content. More travels. Deep conversations. Peaceful nights. Another angelic encounter, in which a subordinate merely reported to you and avoided Pierro’s gaze. At one point, you reveal to him that the Tree of Life is no longer in the human realm, eliminating any hope of breaking the curse. His devastation is softened by your comfort, and he can only imagine the reactions of his compatriots if they knew this truth.

♡ Not that he has anyone to share it with. In the Church of Fontaine, Pierro is surprised to recognize the head priest as a Khaenri’ahn. She is only a descendant and thus spared from the curse—a blessing for Arlecchino, a tragedy for her ancestor who likely mourned the generations between them. After their chat, Pierro leaves without divulging her lineage. It’s enough to know that one of his kind is leading a fulfilling life, though he finds it ironic that a Church ended up in a Khaenri’ahn’s hands.

♡ Other than her, there is the familiar face he spotted in Inazuma. Blond hair, blue eyes with star-shaped pupils, a distinctive half-mask…but before Pierro can approach Dainsleif, you grip his wrist and enable him to see the eagle-winged demon clinging to his former comrade. In a fearful whisper, you explain that she is one of Hell’s strongest demons, the slayer of countless angels. And when she turns in your direction, Pierro feels the weight of her crimson-gold glare. In the end, the two of you walk past them, preventing what could have been a bloody reunion.

♡ As your sabbatical reaches its end, Pierro finds himself making the most of your remaining time together. He smiles at you, holds your hand first, asks you more personal questions. Your travels also end in a surprise destination—a forest near Snezhnaya, concealed with divine mist. Leading the way, you explain that it was a meeting place for you and your closest siblings until they all perished, including the Virtue who created it. And when you turn to Pierro, asking if the area suits him…he accepts the gift with full gratitude.

♡ The last year is spent constructing a humble house in the heart of the forest. On the day of your departure, the two of you enjoy a final meal together. It’s bittersweet with recollections of your travels, though the mood dampens when Pierro asks about your angelic duties. With a sad smile, you tell him that you have a lot of work to do. At some point in your journey, you even laid eyes on a young human and applied for a position as their guardian angel.

♡ At midnight, Pierro goes to bed and you wish him good night for the last time. He only closes his eyes when you disappear, when he no longer feels your gaze on him, when the residual warmth of your embrace has been chilled by the night air. When he wakes up in the morning, you are nowhere to be found.

♡ In the following months, Pierro develops a new routine in the forest. Hunting, foraging, visiting the neighboring cities, admiring the aurora-colored sky, even practicing his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. He doesn’t see you again but there are hints of your visits—a luminous white feather, seeds for fauna exclusive to Mondstadt, a wound that healed overnight. Eventually, he gets used to sleeping in solitude again.

♡ One day, he decides to visit his old home. He knows it is futile to seek out his people; after two centuries, their bodies must’ve fully decayed and mixed with the soil. Still, he might as well see what the Church did with the area…and if he can take revenge on the traitor. So he packs his bags, leaves the forest, and travels to the other side of Snezhnaya.

♡ …There’s nothing left. When he reaches his destination, he finds a glorious city built over the mass grave of his people. Only the cold of eternal winter welcomes him back, but the entire city—the devout Snezhnayans, the stories of the city’s origins, the magnificent church in place of his old house—is unfamiliar. Not even the traitor remains. Perhaps they, too, were given a coffin, forever trapped below layers of ice and concrete.

♡ He gets an answer on his way back to the forest. Near the border of Snezhnaya, Pierro is ambushed by a group of heretics…and when he demands an explanation, their leader holds up a preserved eye, the pupil shaped like a four-pointed star. As their fight continues, Pierro deduces their motives—to achieve immortality using the flesh of Khaenri’ahns. It’s pure mockery to hear those fools refer to his curse as a blessing, but his warnings fall on deaf ears as he is outnumbered.

♡ Just as he is about to lose hope, a bright light shines above him. It’s you, in all of your angelic glory, commanding the heretics to let him go. Most of his attackers fall to their knees, in awe of your divine presence, but their leader interprets it as a sign that Pierro is truly the person they’re after. They swing their sword at him…only for their entire group to be impaled by your nails.

♡ It’s a bloody sight. But once your wrath has subsided, you fly down to Pierro and check his condition. You’re incoherent, healing his wounds with trembling hands, apologizing for your late arrival. He assures you that he is fine, only to be interrupted by a sudden ray of light. But this one is blindingly bright, coming from the sky, the same holy light which shone upon Khaenri’ah during the Cataclysm.

♡ It hits him just then: In harming those humans for his sake, you’d violated one of God’s orders. Yet in the midst of His divine wrath, you muster a false smile and tell Pierro to go home. Then you fly up into the sky, disappearing above the clouds along with the holy light. He does as he is told, but not without killing all of the heretics to ensure that they won’t come after him or more Khaenri’ahns. As for the traitor…he doesn’t bother to ask for their location.

♡ The forest is the same when he returns. The next few hours pass by in a blur—unpacking,  checking the animal traps, cooking dinner, and so on. The whole time, he can’t stop worrying about you. He doesn’t know if God would listen to his prayers but he tries, anyway; it’s not like he can help you in any other way.

♡ He goes to bed early, only to jolt awake when a flash of light illuminates the bedroom. When he rushes to the window, it’s just in time to see a falling star. It shoots through the sky, outshining the auroras, a beautiful sight if not for the fact that it seems to be drawing closer to him. It disappears from his range of vision, followed by a deafening sound and a severe earthquake. Then the world falls silent, returning to its tranquil state.

♡ After a few minutes, Pierro leaves his house to investigate. Seeing how the meteor bypassed the divine barrier of the forest, he doubts it was a natural phenomenon. You once told him that the Fourth Order of angels, the Dominions, are in charge of the celestial bodies—could they have been ordered to destroy his third home?

♡ Thankfully, the destruction is limited to a crater at the edge of the forest. But instead of a meteor, he finds you curled up in pain. Fragments of your halo pierce your body. Your right wing is gone; all that remains of it are clipped feathers and sawed bone. Most prominent are the curved horns jutting from your head, covered in a mix of blood and torn skin. You became a demon.

♡ Your half-conscious cries prompt him into action. Carefully, Pierro carries you to his house and treats your wounds. When he notices your hand on your stomach, he remembers what you said about demons needing food and sleep to survive. So he heats up some soup and feeds it to you; and once your hunger has subsided, he tucks you in bed. In your delirium, you can only muster a single sentence before falling asleep.

“Pierro? I’m sorry…it’s my fault, not yours.”

“Silence. We may talk tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.”

♡ That night, you sleep for the first time. Pierro watches you all night, checking your pulse every so often. When you wake up, the sun is high above the sky and Pierro has already cooked lunch. You’re more coherent now, able to feed yourself, though you wince in pain every so often. And when Pierro asks about your descent, your expression darkens.

♡ In a shaky voice, you explain that the heretics’ ambush had been a test from God. It was fated to occur at the same time as an important event in Heaven, the decennial meeting between God and the leaders from all Nine Orders. As soon as Pierro’s name was brought up, you were quick to defend him. And when you were informed of the attack, you stormed out of the meeting to save him, fully aware that it would bring about your downfall.

♡ And despite it all, you’re the one apologizing to him—for your late arrival, for the danger he was put through, for the “burden” of taking care of you. At the last part, Pierro finally finds the words to chastise you, to say that you won’t achieve anything by wasting your tears on Heaven.

“I wish you would not think so lowly of me. After all these years, do you truly believe that I would harbor anything but gratitude towards you?”

♡ That shuts you up. For the next few weeks, you meekly accept Pierro’s care—he cooks for you, dresses your wounds, lets you sleep in his bed. There is only one problem: Your body refuses to heal. Blood continues to seep from your wounds, and you’re in a perpetual state of pain. Still, he faithfully tends to you day and night. It’s the least he can do for you.

♡ One day, he leaves the house to pick fruit and comes back to find a dark silhouette in his bedroom window. He rushes inside, armed with a weapon, to find a demon. Only, they’re kneeling by the bed, holding your hands, shedding tears of joy. That is when he notices the bloodstained scars on their hands, their tattered veil, your kind words for them…they, too, are a fallen Archangel.

♡ All peace, however, is dashed when your former subordinate tells Pierro that they are bringing you “home,” in other words Hell. As for the matter of your health, they claim that while your divine punishment is unheard of, they should be able to find a cure…from Il Dottore of all people. And despite your conflicted expression, it’s clear that you are seriously considering their invitation. Only for Pierro to take that choice away from you.

“And what makes you believe that I would allow ______ to leave our home?”

♡ Prior to you, Pierro never would’ve dared to challenge a spiritual being. But now, after all he’s been through, he takes a step forward and tells the demon to leave. It doesn’t take long for their argument to turn physical. But before the demon can smite him, Pierro defends himself with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. They’re a formidable opponent, however, and the fight continues until he aims a galaxy-like aura at their heart. Quickly, you protect your former subordinate with a shield of rusty nails, only for the element to refract and hit you instead.

♡ Much to everyone’s relief, however, it has a different effect on you. Your feathers take on a black tint and a deep blue iridescence. The same thing happens to your horns. Most importantly, all of your wounds close up, leaving scars identical to Pierro’s cursed marks. And when he rushes to your side, asking if you are all right, you breathily tell him that you feel so much better.

♡ That is what convinces the demon to leave, but not without promising to return once they’ve informed the Devil. With peace restored in your home, the two of you go downstairs for lunch. You still need Pierro to support you, but it’s the first time you’ve managed to walk in your new form. And your appetite is bigger, healthier compared to your previous portions.

♡ After a few days however, the effect wears off. Your body loses its blue luster, your feathers fade to their original color, your pain returns. Once you’ve fully reverted to your original state, Pierro decides to try out his Khaenri’ahn sorcery again. This time, he holds your wrist and carefully channels his power into you…and it produces the same healing effect.

♡ For the sorcery which doomed his nation to save the life of his beloved…the irony leaves him at a loss of words, on the verge of laughing. But it does explain why you landed in Pierro’s home instead of Hell, and why God allowed the two of you to reunite. The knowledge brings a dark smile to his face. You’re at his mercy now, dependent on him for all eternity.

♡ When he faces you, he can tell that you’ve reached the same conclusion. Still, you entertain the thought of moving to Hell—surely, there must be a way for you to live without forcing Pierro to expend his energy on you. That is when he grips your hands, pulls you towards him, and tells you that you aren’t leaving him. If the two of you are truly fated to suffer, then it is only right that he returns all of the love you have given him.

♡ It’s easy to persuade you. After all you’ve experienced, you’re tired so you just nod and lean into his embrace. And in the following days, you slowly adjust to your new life. You help Pierro around the forest. A new bed is built, to fit two people. At night, the two of you engage in your usual bedtime conversations but you’re the one who falls asleep first.

♡ When your former subordinate returns, Pierro stands his ground. With you asleep, he is able to fight them outside and easily subdue them; he even had the wisdom to enhance his weapons with blood from your used bandages. And with his argument that any attempt on his life is equal to risking yours, they have no choice but to accept your situation.

♡ You’re still asleep when he returns to your shared bedroom. Careful not to wake you, he changes out of his bloody clothes and leaves his sword on the table, next to his old mask. Then he takes off his glove and traces your features with his cursed hand. And when you open your eyes, the look he gives you is one of pure hope.

“Pierro? What time is it?” you mumble.

“Far too early,” he replies. “Go back to sleep. I will join you shortly, ______.”

“...All right.” Yawning, you snuggle into the pillow and close your eyes. “Can you wake me up later? I don’t want to oversleep again.”

He smiles, caressing your cheek. “If you wish.”

It doesn’t take long for you to return to the world of dreams. Your sleeping face is truly a wonder to behold—an expression so tranquil, well-rested, vulnerable to his kiss.

“And when you awake, I want you to tell me your true name.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

..…Don’t ask me how Pierro ended up with the highest word count in this AU. All I can say is that it was very cathartic to make him suffer, which is a recurring theme in his fics. If y’all enjoyed his story, do let me know (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

Also, soft launch for the next couple + story!! I’m rlly excited to write for Dainsleif, and just know that he’s in for a lot of surprises <3

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @naraven @euniveve @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @oofasleep @mistymem0ryy @lazyroseart @teabutmakeitazure

[bowlofworms]

Ya know, when watching NPMD it’s easy to think that Grace choosing to sacrifice her chastity was the best option. Either Steph had to kill Pete, Pete had to kill Steph, or Grace has sex. It seems so easy. This is not to say that this wasn’t the morally correct decision, but

that was THE most important thing to her. It was what she cherished most. It was equivalent to killing someone, at least for Grace. Losing her chastity is just as psychologically damaging to Grace as killing someone.

And to those who don’t have experience with purity culture, to Grace this cannot be undone. She is not only irrevocably changed, but also irreparably damaged. She is eternally tainted. She engaged in the pleasures of the flesh and that’s a BIG sin. Lust is one of the seven deadly sins.

I would argue that killing someone is actually more acceptable (self defense, death penalty, war, ect) to an evangelical like Grace than it is to engage in, not just premarital sex, but sex with someone she wasn’t even dating.

And, not that having to kill someone you love won’t haunt you for the rest of your life, but losing her chastity is also going to haunt Grace for the rest of her life. Her chastity is something she’s supposed to give to her husband on her wedding night. So it’s ruined that for her. It will haunt her every time she showers. Every time someone even mentions sex. Every time she prays. Every single Sunday. This will HAUNT Grace. She will forever view herself as damaged, impure, and unworthy of salvation.

Yes she’s influenced by the Lords in Black now, but the conditioning since birth doesn’t go away in an instant. In fact, the Lords in Black probably ENJOY her suffering. That she is suffering because she worships them.

Not to mention, Grace’s family will likely disown her, her church (her social circle too) will turn on her and reject her, and she is still gonna be hated at school anyways.

She lost everything. Most tragically though, she lost what made her Grace Chastity. The nerdy prude.

[kathleen-koi]

Kind a follow up to a previous post of mine about how I think if Darlin was too be turned it would be by Alexis or William

I think it would be so emotional if it was Alexis who turned Darlin especially if she did it for Sam. Like in Alexis’ head, turning Darlin so they would have to spend eternity with Sam, in her mind might seem like a kindness like she’s giving Sam something he loves and keeping it preserved forever.

And then all it does is make Sam kill Alexis because we haven’t really had a Maker Progeny fight/violence. The Summit kind of had that but ultimately not really and I guess it would be boarding into kind of what Vincent killing Adam was but even then not completely

And just think of the shit show that would follow because first of all Alexis drained/killed Darlin who we can assume Sam has a claim on but it’s not like 100% confirmed since it hasn’t been said he has which gives him a reason in the eyes of vampire society to kill her (side note this is just a personal opinion of mine that nothing is canon till said that’s why I say “we can assume”)

Secondly a progeny killing their maker we know it’s possible we know William killed his maker and I think Sam finding out what Alexis did to Darlin, was exactly what she did too him with not giving them a choice on being turned but depending how it would play out that being Alexis finding Darlin already almost dead and turn them or just waking up and deciding she was just going to do it herself for Sam, I think he’d have more then enough reason too kill her

It would be so traumatic and tragic it would be beautiful

And I personally just want more depth to Alexis I want her to be so fucked that she genuinely thinks she’s doing something nice when it’s such a horrible thing in reality like. She accepts she can’t have Sam and decides if she’s never gonna be able to be there for him she might as well might sure the person who can be there for him is there for him forever no matter their feelings on the matter

And I want to see Sam be violent I want him to be so angry and upset and let the 15+ years of hatred for this women too come out all for Darlin because I don’t think Sam would be violent or actually show his anger unless it was for Darlin’s sake.

[windybreeze12]

DBD Quotes that are my Roman Empire (and my reactions to them)

No version of this where I don't come get you - Charles S1 E7 (SIR???? IM SORRY??? If someone said that to me, i'd faint. Edwin is a strong one) .

Do you think it must be torture? Being the way we are? - Simon S1 E7 (I swear you could audibly hear my heart break when he said that) .

Teethface, what the fuck? - Esther S1 E6 (I love her. She's an awful person and is literally irredeemable but dammit she does her shit with style and sass and i love her) .

He did not feel the same way. But I think we are better friends because of it - Edwin S1 E8 (THEM. JUST THEM. I CANT WITH THEM.) .

You, Charles Rowland, are the best person I know - Edwin S1 E5 (It's like they want me to go throw myself off a cliff their friendship is everything to me) .

And we've got literally forever to figure out what the rest means - Charles S1 E7 (Charles is raising the bar too high i fear. the standards are through the roof) .

When you punish yourself, everywhere becomes hell - Edwin S1 E7 (*starts sobbing in the corner*) .

Imagine thinking there was only one way to do any one thing. How difficult would life be? - Kashi S1 E6 (I swear Kashi walked into this show to spit straight facts and then was never seen again. Icon.) .

We didn’t matter, he and I - Edwin S1 E1 (No because the way I swore to myself that I would protect these boys with my life the minute he said this) .

I will always hit a demon with a cricket bat for you - Charles S1 E6 (Fellas, never settle for anything less than Charles Rowland) .

I wasn't talking about you - Edwin S1 E5 (I'm not even kidding I paused the show, got up and had to take a minute because OOF Monty darling) .

As more than a friend, I’m afraid. Charles, I'm in love with you - Edwin S1 E7 (No joke this is one of the best scenes in a show I have ever watched. The acting, the dialogue, the pacing, the emotion??? UGH!!! Perfection) .

I certainly hope not, that story ends tragically - Edwin S1 E7 (There are already a million and one posts about the implications of Charles referencing Orpheus' story so go check those out but holy hell the way it made my heart twist) .

I could- we could lose Charles - Edwin S1 E3 (This was such a tiny detail but GOD I replayed it ten times before moving on) .

Honestly I just find her so charming - Edwin S1 E2 (I knew from this moment that Edwin and Niko were going to be a pair to watch. And boy was I right) .

That was my third life you bitch—i only get nine; would you fuck off - The Cat King S1 E8 (now THIS is how you creatively use a cat's nine lives in media I love it I freaking love it) .

You sacrificed me to a demon who traded me to another demon who traded me to a thing that is worse than a demon and this is your punishment! An eternity of papercuts! - Edwin S1 E7 (Honey I have an eternity of questions cause what the FUCK is this human trafficking system down in hell??? but also go off king??? 😭)

I'll update this whenever I remember anymore. Tell me more quotes in reblogs/replies i'll add them into this!

[heartmii]

TOA 01

✮⋆apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: angst, mentions of blood, anything else anyone sees and is uncomfortable with please let me know!

✮⋆˙ woo chapter two!! I'm excited to release this but also super nervous because I added a twist that I'm not sure everyone will love but I mean, it's a story about mythical beings so I decided to just have fun with it!

✮⋆˙previous

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“What did you do?” Anger seethed through the ex-god, his shaky breath competed with the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. Apollo’s eyes snapped to the now smug smiling emperor, the fury in his chest growing. 

“Oh? Are you not happy with what you see?” Caligula asked, voice laced with fake concern. He clicked his tongue, his eyes surveying his servants in dissatisfaction. “The gods,” he sighed, shaking his head. “So hard to please. You surprise them with the dead love of their life, and still, it’s not enough for them to say thank you. Such egos, it’s a shame, really.”

Apollo swallowed, an attempt at soothing the dryness that was now overtaking his throat. “That’s not possible. It’s an illusion. It has to be…” he faltered, his body deflating as he dropped onto the ground.

 Apollo was a god turned mortal. He was from the mythical world and saw many things, things that one alone could not comprehend, things that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be able to happen because it went beyond the natural order of the mortal and mythical world. Yet, somehow, you being brought back from the dead was not an acceptance that came easily to him. 

It’d been years, years, since your death, but you lived. Alive in Apollo’s mind. There was not a day, not a century, not even a millennium, that Apollo did not think of you and the bittersweet memories you two shared. Your grace and your beauty, along with the essence of your soul, were immortalized for eternity in his heart, where he could forever nourish your memory and honor your legacy. 

Please… Who was he kidding? Honoring your legacy? Him? Apollo had done nothing but trash on everything you stood behind! If anything, he went against what you fought so desperately for. There was blood on his hands. The blood of many innocent lives he so easily discarded with no regard for their being. The option of others having a choice was previously nonexistent in the ex-god’s mind. He’d force many people to do his bidding and castigate them if they rejected. 

Including those he loved after your time. 

His heart clenched as Daphne’s horrified face filled his mind. Her expression contrasting his hopeful one as he chased her through the forest surrounding mount Olympus. It was Eros who, so full of spite, caused her to hate the mere thought of Apollo’s face. So much so that she begged her father, Peneus, desperate for help. He’d heard her prayers and granted her salvation.

 But even after the last branch formed from Daphne’s outstretched arm and she had fully become a prospering laurel tree, Apollo did not allow her to rest peacefully. He had plucked the leaves from her branches and formed what was now known to be one of his most notable symbols. The laurel reef.

 Daphne didn’t love Apollo. No, she despised him so much that she believed death was better than remaining on earth with him, but even that he had stolen from her. 

Just like you, Daphne was immortalized in the memories and stories of people but met the tragic fate of being forever tied to the very god that she had died escaping, tainting her name with his own and taking away her right to a peaceful death. Apollo may not have been the one that forced her to take her last breath, but it was he who pushed her to such a state of helplessness that she felt there was no other option. 

Perhaps that was why the thought of you being alive was so agonizing to him, because then you would learn about the monster he had become and how all of those promises he made to you under the moonlight had become nothing but empty words he spewed under the drunken spell of love.

 How could he look you in your eyes now? Eyes that always glimmered with determination as you spouted your ideals and all the great you planned to do in the world…how could he look at those same eyes and say that he failed to do what you had dreamed, what you both dreamed. Even if that dream died for Apollo a long time ago. 

Caligula considered Apollo for a moment before grabbing your arm and moving you back into his line of sight. He turned back to the ex god, his smile now wicked and sadistic, vastly enjoying the conflicting grief in his eyes.

“You haven’t taken a proper look at him. As he was once your lover, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ve memorized his body. You should have no trouble deducing if he’s a fake or not.” 

How odd was it that Apollo, who had been literally fighting for his life these past few months and wanted nothing more but to evade conflict, wished he was dodging swinging swords, and running from giant monsters that chased him and his friends instead of being here, simply standing and being forced to stare at the person most precious to him. 

Yet, he had succumbed to the small part of him that was a tad curious if it truly was you. 

His breath staggered, and he stood on wobbly legs, anxiously meeting your stare, only to regret it immediately. 

There they were, those eyes. Hypnotic as they had willed Apollo into your grasp, and enchanted him with an infatuation that ran deep in his blood. The same hunger swirled within them in a way that could only be described as honest passion. The intensity made Apollo’s heart skip a beat, and he trembled under your gaze. 

It was said that one’s eyes were the window into their soul, a quote which honestly was quite dated and overused, but as you searched deep within Apollo, he felt his own soul stir in response. His body had recognized its missing piece and, like a magnet, it fought to connect again.

Your souls were bound to each other. The fates decreed that the moment you two met. There was no way Apollo wouldn’t have known if you were a fake. 

In case he was completely wrong and in over his head, he took action to make sure he was absolute in his observation. It hurt to tear his sight away from your face, but he allowed himself to survey the rest of you, as Caligula suggested. 

His eyes roamed your body with a frown. 

 How strange. You appeared to be… out of this world. 

Your aura, although it had always been charming, was different in a way Apollo could not put his finger on. Something about you filled him with an irresistible sensation he had never felt with you before. 

Could it be Lester’s human hormones could not handle the gorgeous sight of his past lover and therefore appeared to be more appetizing than usual?

No, that couldn’t be it. Yes, mortals could definitely be extremely tempting creatures, but they didn’t hold the same weight and power as they did with gods. Many felt enchanted just by the mere sight of one. It was not a simple task to break away from their inviting aura and fight the urge to give in to their desires. 

Your aura was similar; An inviting force emitting from you. But how? You weren’t a god… were you? 

Apollo gagged internally at the thought, his insides twisting at the possibility of you being a deity. 

Being mortal was the very essence of your existence. It was nauseating how you nurtured the role like it was your life’s purpose, facing no fear towards things such as death or illness, claiming that these tragedies were simply just a part of being human and running from it would do nothing but force you to live in a world of clouds where you’d constantly be lost amongst the fog. 

Becoming a deity would’ve made your death a vain sacrifice for what you believed and enduring an eternity of grief would’ve been for nothing. Days of forcing the sun to shine upon the earth when Apollo himself was lost in the overwhelming darkness of his heart as his guiding light, his sun, was gone. Constantly, he searched for another you because the void left in him hurt too much, but of course, none had come as close to his heart as you did because in the end, all he wanted was you and he caged his heart behind iron bars out of fear of experiencing grief on that level ever again. 

There was only one who had been close to unlocking his heart again after you. His dear Hyacinthus. Oh, how the boy had reminded Apollo of you in so, so, many ways. The both of you were graceful, heads held high as you smiled at all that you loved. Adored by many as anyone who came to meet you was always enthralled by your allure and hearts of gold. But alas, love was never in Apollo’s favor, and his precious Hyacinthus met a tragic fate when he was murdered by the conniving and envious wind god, Zephyrus. 

It was almost comical how similar your deaths were. A sadistic joke played on Apollo. All hope he ever had for another love as great as you and Hyacinthus went out the window and following that was a now numb and manipulative god who allowed himself to know his lovers but never allowed them to know him. 

All of that guilt he felt for abusing his authority and refusing to see his lover’s as equals, all the shame for not living up to par with what you wanted, would’ve been for nothing. Along with the stab of knowing that you didn’t choose HIM over your ideals when he would’ve burned the world for you, was all too much. No, you couldn’t be a deity because then Apollo would never forgive you. 

He could not bear these thoughts and, for once, Apollo was glad when Caligula spoke to him as he had distracted him from the fogginess building up in his eyes.

Caligula waved his hand in the ex-god’s face, surveying him. “I’ll take the dumb look on your already idiotic face as confirmation that you’ve recognized that this is the real deal.” He turned to you, “I know how, uh… different…Apollo must look to you. Surely, it must be traumatic to come back from the dead and your once powerful and radiant lover is now pathetic, weak, and ugly. Do you believe this to be the god you once loved?”

Apollo huffed, once because he could not deny that Lester’s face was, in fact, idiotic and again because of Caligula’s question. Your eyes were good, but they weren’t that good. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been blessed with seeing beyond the mist, a trait that could’ve saved your life.                  

“You ask him a question he cannot answer. He would not recognize me in such a body—“ 

“Yes.” You cut him off and stepped closer. Apollo sucked in his bottom lip as your hands had come up to run your fingers through his hair. Oh, how he missed your touch. The way you handled him like he was a piece of glass. Then you spoke again, your voice being in that delicious and melodic tone that made heat travel up Apollo’s neck to the tips of his ears. Damn this body. 

“Although in a different body, your scent remains the same… how bizarre. Might it be your soul I smell?” You muttered, your fingers dragging down Apollo’s cheek. 

Apollo shuttered at your touch, the coolness of your finger soothing his warm face. But as much as he wanted to allow you to continue your exploration of his body, he could not shake off what you had said. “My scent—- What does that mean? — How is your nose even that good?—“

“Bravo! It appears love truly conquers all!” Caligula clapped, pulling you away from Apollo and making the ex-god frown. Something wasn’t right about you, besides being a walking corpse. Death was not his domain, but as far as Apollo was aware, coming back from the dead did not include the nose of a hellhound. 

“What did you do to him?” He asked Caligula, pinning his arms to his side as they had once again trembled. 

Caligula stared at Apollo questioningly. “What did I do?” He laughed. “You are funny, dear. This fiasco was not my idea. All I want from you is to squeeze out the final essence of godhood that’s left in that lanky vessel. If you were smart, you would’ve directed your attention to the only witch in the room.” 

Apollo’s eyes swiftly met Medea’s sadistic ones. She had silently been watching the previous conversation from the side. Gods, he was so caught up in the sight of you he had forgotten all about the Wicked Witch of the East.

“How rude of you to put me on the spot. I haven’t prepared my speech.” Medea purrs and approaches, circling around you before landing her hands on your shoulders. “On the contrary, love does not, in fact, conquer all.” She said, referring to Caligula’s earlier comment. 

“Instead, it leads people to their doom. It makes them think with their hearts and not their heads. The most powerful beings,” Apollo cursed himself for flinching after she had eyed him with a knowing look. “Have been brought down onto their knees in the name of love. As you all know, I, myself, have been a victim of this. After Jason betrayed me.” 

“I don’t understand.” Apollo interjected. “I had nothing to do with Jason’s betrayal against you.” 

“Oh, I am aware. But that is not why I brought him up.”

“You see, my heart had never bled as much as it did when I was in love. I yearned to serve Jason. To become half of his soul as his life, his goals, had become my own. I was high on that feeling. A feeling you must know well, yes?” The smile on her face was one Apollo did indeed recognize. 

A smile that did not reach one’s eyes, that was all for show to hide your true misery. He hated sympathizing with the witch, but he knew exactly what she meant. 

It seemed his face wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings either, as Madea had nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction. “I needed something against you, Apollo. But what was something that would hold such great power over an ex-Olympian God? It couldn't be physical, no, that would be too merciful. I needed something, or someone, that could cause such turmoil within you that the thought of even fighting against it would cause you great sorrow.” 

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Putting in all that effort into destroying little ol’me.” 

She sneered, her eyes narrowing. “I studied you. Studied how I could control you, and imagine my surprise when I found out about an unclaimed lover of yours.” Her hands go to you, caressing your arms and making Apollo livid. “It seems not everything made it into the history books.”

Grime stained Apollo’s face, becoming one with the hot tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands ached as he pulled apart dirt from the ground with none other than his fingers. He could’ve called someone and ordered them to do the laboring task on their own. But he refused. He had to do this alone. He had to bury you himself. 

 No one should be able to see you, to touch you, to be around you. Not anymore. You were too sacred, too precious for this cursed world. But Apollo was selfish. He took you away from the earth, took you away from the rest of your family, just to have you rest under his domain. 

The god’s choked cries turned into loud sobs as his fingers dug deeper into the sacred dirt of Delos, shimmering gold tainting the soil. He welcomed the blood seeping from his hand; the pain was deserved. It was nothing compared to what you must’ve felt when his father had struck you down, but he needed to feel something. Anything that would compensate for the agony you went through before drawing your final breath. 

Delos, where he and Artemis were born. The land that had once been his aunt, Asteria, who had transformed herself into a floating island to get away from the advances of Zeus.  Where she provided sanctuary for his mother as she ran from the wrath of Hera on earth. This is where Apollo would bury you, a place that would now provide you sanctuary as it did for his family. A place where you could rest unbothered by the world. 

The hole was deep enough now, and Apollo had pulled himself out of it. A coffin waited for him and he involuntarily walked towards it, dragging his hand against it. The coffin had been turned from a simple block of stone to a grand piece of imagery. All along its sides had Apollo carved into it, creating depictions of milestones in your relationship. The first time you met, along with the time he revealed to you he was a god followed by the countless times he’d let you play on his lyre and of course, the first ‘I love you.’ Amongst many more. 

He was gentle with the coffin when he picked it up, moving slowly when he brought it over to the open ground. Apollo bit his lip, holding back his weeping so that he could focus on lowering you into the hole. 

It was done. You were really gone, and Apollo would never be yours again. 

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes bleak. He was sitting on the ground, painting a gravestone. 

Grass crunched behind him as someone approached. “You’re burying him here?” 

Apollo’s wrist kept moving, his brush creating faces on the gravestone. Still, he answered, “Cut the crap, Artemis.”

Artemis crossed her arms, frowning at her brother’s words. “I was born here too, Apollo. I have just as much right to be here as you do.” 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Apollo snapped, the brush falling from his fingers. 

“Knew what?” Artemis asked. 

“Don’t lie to me Artemis.” Apollo stood, finally facing his twin. “You knew father would kill him!” 

Artemis flinched as she caught wind of Apollo’s face, the puffiness under his eyes red and throbbing. Yet she recovered quickly, shaking Apollo’s arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He placed his hands back onto her, gripping her in more of a desperate plea than before. “Please, sister, tell me the truth. Did you know that father would kill him?”

. “I…” she started, her chest growing heavy as she felt Apollo’s fingers shake against her. Swallowing carefully, she moved her eyes to your grave. “Yes, I knew… we all did.”

Apollo’s grip on her tightened, his eyes becoming glassy at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sworn to secrecy? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Father is frightening. I understand if he forced you to swear on the River Styx—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.” 

“What…?” 

“Oath did not bind me to not say anything to you. I simply chose not to.” Artemis stated, throwing Apollo off of her once again. Her head held high as she watched for his reaction. 

Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. “You knew how much I loved him, you knew father was going to kill him and you didn’t tell me! I don’t understand, Artemis. You are my sister, my twin, my blood. How… how could you?”

“That is exactly why! Apollo, you are my other half. We are two sides of the same coin. We might be related to the others, but their bond is not like ours. That boy was leading you to your demise. I have nothing against him, but you are who I care about most. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I didn’t want to see my brother subjected to an eternal punishment, either.” Artemis finished, her own resolve fading as she too shook at the thought of Apollo being hurt. 

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Well, sister,” he started, malice seeping into his voice, “It seems you’ve failed anyway because a life without him is the worst punishment I could ever endure.” 

“Demigods!” Medea yelled out, bringing awareness to Meg and Jason’s presence in the room. They couldn’t speak anyway, not while they were stuck in the wind tornadoes Medea had stuck them in. “This is important. Pay attention.” 

“Delphi was a known city-state of ancient Greece. A city state where you, Apollo, were the patron god of. But the Delphi that lives in myths, the one that we know, is not the Delphi that has always been.” 

Through the corner of his eye, Apollo watched as both Meg and Jason’s expressions formed into one of confusion. 

“Once upon a time ago, Apollo betrayed Zeus. However, that’s not a surprise, that is a story that still lives. What didn’t make it, though, was the entire punishment your father had you experience. The gods said you were forced to build the gates of Troy alongside Poseidon. But what they failed to mention was the part where Zeus took everything from you. Your lover and your city. Isn’t that right?”

Apollo opened his mouth to speak, eager to defend his story. He knew where this was going and dread filled his stomach.  

Medea spoke before he could. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part! The original Delphi had its own royal family, a family that your boy-toy had been born to.” She comes to your side, raising your hand up. “Here stands the last prince of Delphi before its initial destruction. After a few years, Apollo rebuilt Delphi and got rid of all the evidence of its history. But thanks to my digging, I could uncover all of this.” 

Behind him, the Pandai were ready to lunge forward and capture Apollo as he had taken on a defensive stance against Medea. “Who told you this? The only person who knew about where I buried him was my sister.” 

Medea scoffed. “Oh, please, if you want to hide the body of your dead lover, do it somewhere that’s not your famous birthplace that everyone knows about. It was the first place I checked.” 

Apollo’s eyes ripped away from hers as blood rushed to his head. She was right, and he was an idiot to think that if someone wanted to find your body, they wouldn’t look on Delos. In his defense, it had been four thousand years since your death. 

Medea smirked at the red dusting Apollo’s cheeks. 

“Everything fell into place for me after that. You preserved his body well, I expected dust only to find that his body was enchanted to stay in good shape. It was perfect for my plan. I needed to bring him back from the dead without actually bringing him back, as I did not want to deal with Hades. He needed to be undead. I looked for spells beyond Ancient Greece and came upon the perfect solution within the dark arts—

“I’ve had enough of your talking,” Apollo sneered, glaring at the witch. “What have you turned him into?” 

“Patience.” She hissed, “I sacrificed my rarest properties along with human blood to create an elixir that would wake up this sleeping beauty. It took days to restore him to full health. But finally, when he did wake, he was radiant. No longer was he a meek mortal. His senses had heightened as he was now strong and blessed with speed, his ears picked up on sounds from miles away, and a nose made for hunting. There’s more, I'm sure of it, but he is still fresh and needs time to develop. So what did I turn him into, you ask?”

Medea sent Apollo one last wicked smile before dropping information that made the ex-god wish he was dead. 

“I have turned the long-lost Prince of Delphi into a vampire.” 

[apeninastory]

ivan as a tragic-love character (pt.4e?) | Cure edition

Here we go! Last step - for now, because I'm definitely looking forward to Ivan's solo part 2, they own it to us!!

But first, part 4 HERE + a little recap!

Vivimeng gifted us three beautiful tracks with glimpses of Ivan's mind and feelings - and for that, I'll be forever grateful. I can't even begin to say how fascinated I am with this character, it feels like an eternal mistery the more we are shown about him.

Song-wise, we have Nowhere, Black Sorrow and Cure - listed in order of composition/performance and in a somewhat chronological order of the hints about the growing maturity of Ivan's character. Taking into account that the last two were probably not written by Ivan (but are still meant to partly speak about him and his relation to Till), the first his definitely the best portrait we have. Nevertheless, each of them gives us a piece of Ivan as seen from his own eyes/the eyes of Vivimeng, each with something more and something less.

Where Nowhere recounts his life, from his childhood to his years at Anakt up to his graduation (how he tries to fit in, how he imitates to compensate, how the dissonance between the Ivan he is and the Ivan-character he builds forms the mask everyone sees, how he learns to control his emotions, even those he doesn't comprehend and make him bitter, numb, resigned), the delivery of Black Sorrow is its direct outcome.

Nowhere has a flat rhythm, but it's full of complex, vibrating emotions, memories, considerations and images. Black Sorrow has a much more monolitic scenary (black everywhere), but has such richness in the way Ivan sings it and portrays its content - how the power in his voice builds with past flashes of Till, coming out hoarse and breathtaking. I love the play of opposites here, it feels like we are discovering two sides of the same character - the inner, numb voice of a Ivan who offers us a window to his soul and the charming, smiley boy on stage who tells us the story of a sorrowful unrequited love (where in reality, much deeper, it is not only about that, but also about how this world is taking the chance of keep loving Till from the shadows away from him).

Ivan doesn't pretend love from Till - that's not the kind of violence Ivan or his love are made of. It is more a type of intensity, of desperation born from lack of understanding and small, sudden epiphanies - from a need that is also quiet, wary and respectful.

Ivan's love is not pretty, soft and rosy. It blooms in secret, it is obsessive and requires petty attention. How could it not be? Imagine a boy who has never had anything for himself making his first friend. Imagine him being charmed by him and thinking about him and finding his eyes on him all the time - imagine him provocking him, hurting him, feeling guilty and fascinated and confused, because he doesn't really know how people show affection to each other, has never received love and care during his childhood, when it is most important and educational. Imagine him projecting all his hopes and positive feelings onto that person - would his mind accept that person slipping away from him? Till represents so much to Ivan - and contrary to many opinions, it is not Mizi who keeps Till away from Ivan (Mizi is part of what makes Till special in Ivan's eyes). On one hand, it is Ivan himself; on the other it is, of course, their lack of proper communication that makes Till iperaware and wary of Ivan.

Ivan's love is the result of normalized abuse and the lack of stability of an entire life, of the newfound happiness, quiteness, intimate dependability he formed with Till slowly slipping away from him because the alien society decided that they were meant to participate in a game where only one of them (or none) would come out alive. No matter how obedient Ivan is, the stage awaits both him and Till, and he will either die or have to live without Till.

This is the background on which Cure is performed.

12] Cure, or Ivantill at their best (and our worst)

Cure holds a special place in my heart, and I think we all know how impactful Round 6 was on all of us. While a big part of my previous posts were closely related to Ivan as a character experiencing the world, here I can finally delve into my babies' round however I like!

I don't really know how to talk about Till's verse, but I've been looking forward to it. I'd love to analyse him as a character, and I may do that in the near future, but I feel like I wouldn't do him justice - even though both me and Till are INFP and are quite similar. So forgive me if I lose his characterization along the way.

Allow me, to the tips of your fingers Allow me, to the ends of your feet Dissolve me in your gaze I don't want to let you go Please, leave me scars Please, hurt me so that Not a single drop of me remains Let me drown in you

If Till wrote these verses and I was on the receiving end of them, I'd swoon so bad I wouldn't know what to do with myself. But I can't help but think how well they match the second part of the song, when Ivan comes in, so I'm guessing the lyrics were written by the same person (alnst directors or whatever, but neither Till nor Ivan) with a precise theme in mind? Like, impossible love, a love that can never be?

That being said, we know he is thinking about Mizi. (But.)

There is none of the usual bite in Till's voice, but it is still full of emotions. The verses he sings seem like a prayer. A request to touch someone, manifesting his wish of not wanting to let go of that person. It's like he is saying through Cure's lines, "if I am really forced to let you go, if there is nothing I can do, please leave scars on me and make me forget about everything by drowning and losing myself in you/your memory - make me numb to everything so that I don't have to face this alone".

It feels to me that, since Till knows he is about to lose either himself or the one he considers a dear friend (death, either way, will be the outcome of this round), he reaches out to what has always been a source of solace and relief, his safe heaven - the memory and image of Mizi -, to get strength from her. So, while it is true that he is thinking about her, I also think he is reaching for her hand in his mind as a mean to brace himself for the inevitable. There is none of the usual heat in Till's tone, it's like he already perceives the defeat looming over him - he dies or Ivan dies, and either way, it is a loss for him.

There is another interpretation that I want to add, though (one we can make in retrospective, one we all probably matured after Till's death). Let's think about R7 Till - a Till that has already lost Ivan. I feel these words would take a deeper, more desolate nuance, one where Till is asking Ivan to either stay or scar him in a rhetorical way, because Ivan is already gone and he has already hurt Till beyond belief with his sacrifice and the feelings he never revealed. During Blink Gone, Till can't help but drown in his last memory of Ivan.

So maybe, while singing these verses, he is not directly asking Mizi to scar him, nor is he asking Ivan - maybe he is asking god, any god. Maybe there is no one behind those words as Till sings them - after all, I can think Till writing/saying this to Mizi, nor would he say it to Ivan (not pre-Round 7, at least). Those lines are for us, for the ivantill we see and could have been.

Until these falling stars Are buried in the blur of time On your icy lips Read my soul Yes, my soul, oh, oh

I love how perfectly these lines fit ivantill from an outer perspective.

Stars are an important element for both of them, and here, it feels like Till is buring that particular memory deep into his mind - to forget? To hold it dear one last time, since he starts to feel he doesn't have the strength to go on? Without Mizi, Till's chant is teary, a prayer with no god in sight, something sang as a last resort.

On your icy lips - another plea to the singing partner, almost like a prediction of who'll die and have their lips turn cold. If this song is meant to follow the theme of impossible love (not unrequited, just impossible, since one of the two has to die), how profound it is? Something like, "On your lips linger the words with which you will read my soul", as if the first singer is asking the second to dig into his soul and tell what he found there. "Read my love/affection for you in my soul, you know it's there, even if this is the end for us."

Maybe it's time I drown.

Oh, the irony! If only Ivan would do that! Read the affection Till has for him, find it engraved in Till's soul and heart - not romantic in nature, perhaps, but affection nonetheless. Till is unconsciously making a request that Ivan doesn't really hear and has no time to fulfill. Who is contributing in making this love impossible? Huh?!

Even if your cold words Carve scars beneath my eyes May they linger on your tongue You can break me apart Noticе my pain And mend me right now To quiet my fеars I'll drown in you

Ivan's verse are meant to be for Till. No discussion about that. Whoever wrote/chose the song knew - their relationship is made of harsh words and scars, but it holds especially true in Ivan's case. I'll go slow here.

Even if your cold words carve scars beneath my eyes, may they linger on your tongue - It starts with "even", so we already know that whatever comes after, no matter how bad it is, they are not considered totally negative on the singer's part. This song - this moment - makes Ivan realize that despite the harsh threatment he and Till reserved to each other, despite how he himself was far from gentle with the younger boy, he accepts it all. Till's "cold words" can "linger on [his] tongue", can be directed at Ivan, Ivan is fine with it and is giving him his permission: you can break me apart.

Why? Because maybe, like that, with Ivan bleeding from the harsh threatment, Till may notice [his] pain and decide to mend [him], make him whole again. Ivan's words are also a prayer - an hopeful, honest one, contrary to the resignation we find in Till: "do to me whatever you want, I'll accept all of you. Can you please heal me right after destroying me?"

One last request. One last hope, as if hoping to finally have Till look at him.

To quiet my fеars, I'll drown in you - This is probably the part that breaks me the most. Because I don't believe that Ivan wasn't afraid in that moment. For him, these are his last moments, the last minutes he gets to live and to see the person he loves. No matter how indifferent he is/fakes to be of everything, I can see him being afraid and reluctant in those instants - not to die for Till, but to die and say goodbye to him.

I think this is the moment Ivan knew for sure - or at least, since I am bad and am angst-addicted, I like to think it. This is the moment Ivan knew, despite all his own quirks, that he loved Till, and that he should have threated him differently. That's why his comic has so much of what he felt during Round 6 - regret, gratitude for Till being a victim to his shallow emotions and relief, I fear, for being able to do something that can be universally recognized as a symbol of true love (sacrificing himself).

Sick of these nights to come To be engulfed in silence In your gaze, where I'm seen Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh

I said before that something Ivan probably liked about Till was that he didn't have to pretend with him all the time. He could be annoying and a bit violent and unsufferable, and Till would yell at him but still let him stay near. Fake smiles didn't work with Till because Till is sensitive to emotions and their autenticity.

These linese are another fitting set of words for Ivan. I imagine him envoloped by the silence of the night, day after day, as he waits for the inevitable round, imagining him and Till singing together one last time. And of course, the one thing he has always (consciously and unconsciously) wanted - to be seen by Till. He pleas to be consumed, "consume me before death comes to me, before I take the last step and close my eyes and won't be able to see you ever again. Consume me with your eyes, for there is no other way I'd want to die".

To this everlasting melody Face to face, we dance With our story Lost in forever's embrace

Only the first two lines are delivered before the foreseeable tragedy strikes.

To this everlasting melody - I love the use of "everlasting". In a way, this moment will remain eternal, to us and to both of them, as it is the last instance of Ivan and Till together.

Face to face, we dance - These words hold Ivan's desire, but will never come true. Or in a way, perhaps, they do. Ivan's hands are on Till and he leads the younger boy to the end of the song.

These lines offer us the image of something that never will, a truth that is explicitated by the following words: With our story lost in forever's embrace. This song is meant to create a fixed moment of something that the two singers will never be able to replicate.

But we don't even get there, because Ivan notices Till giving up, can't even fulfil the entirety of the song and directly stalks toward him, reaching for Till and granting himself one last selfish wish - something Ivan had asked of Till at Anakt, but was denied.

And the rest is history.

SPECIAL] Of Ivan, Till and love.

Cure represents ivantill not because the words that compose this song are written by them and have to fit them (since they weren't, I think), but because these words describe what they are, what they are not and what they could have been. They mirror their known and unclear dynamics, the feelings they awarely hold for the other and those they can't perceive but that we can see.

This song is meant to be a melancholic love story of inevitable loss between the two singers, but the roles appear to be unclear, like the two of them don't fit perfectly - like they are being forced in those roles. Despite that, they are the perfect pick for the song. Why, then, can we still perceive this as an ivantill song? It's because we know that Ivan loves Till and that Till cares about Ivan, and no matter what we see, Till does feel anguish at the idea of losing him. It is not a conventional performance of an impossible love - it's the ivantill version of it, where what makes it impossible is not only the system they live in, but their miscommunication, antics and reciprocally hiding their true feelings for each other, be it love or something else.

That's why the round and the interpretation of the song are so complex. Mizi was Till's inspiring force and now, in Roung 6, she becomes the source of his remaining strength. It's either he lives or Ivan does, and since he doesn't have the will and energy to go on, Till gives up. He taps on his memory of her and closes his eyes to everything around him, lets himself go and accepts his own death. Maybe that's the moment the idea of Ivan's departure stops weighting on him, because it's when Till stops fighting and singing and knows that if he'll die, Ivan will live, so he stands there and waits. Little does he know...

Till's reaction to the kiss (surprise, resistance, resigned acceptance), the point where the song is interrupted - it is all emblematic of the armonization they should have reached at that point of the performance but never achieved, not on stage, nor in their relationship. The first time I saw the kiss (as an outsider to the fandom, since the kiss was the first thing Alnst related I ever saw - yeah spoilerr I know, twt's algorithm is cruel but knows me best), I had the impression that the gray-haired guy's rejection of the kiss wasn't out of disgust or anger, but of shock and apprehension - like he didn't expect it and was worried they'd get caught. I didn't know they were on a stage (and I though Ivan was police lol), so I was sad when the black-haired guy was shot, but I remember thinking "omg did he do that stunt the protect the other one? Does he love him?" and was immediately sold.

I stand there even now. Ivan does not hesitate - and the moment he reaches for Till, Till's pupils dilatate at Ivan's touch. My brain literally exploded at this detail. Till doesn't start resisting until after Ivan initiates the kiss, and he is just half-heartedly trying to get away - he probably has no energy and is confused as hell. Ivan's closeness doesn't seem to bother him, it's only the kiss that he has no explanation for. He doesn't even struggle when Ivan strangles him.

We know why Ivan did all of that - we know Till was in his mind until the very end, that he probably attacked his opponent to e disqualified and killed. Ivan's sacrifice reflects his last thoughts - I should have been kinder. His last little peck on Till's lips looks like an apology, for the previous forced kiss and everything else.

Heart-breaking highlight of this section: affection was something Till taught Ivan without even realizing. Better, it is something Ivan learned by watching Till nuzzling flowers, raging against injustices, blushing for love, getting offended and sad over something hurtful. That's why Ivan's love was unclear to him but so painfully obvious to us.

Let's remind ourselves a couple of things. Till wasn't aware of Ivan's feelings for him. I feel like he is the type of character that has great empathy and perception, that can easily resonate with the emotions other show and project on him or their surroundings. That's what makes him so vivid, so enraged. Till can't un-feel - it's what makes him so dear to my heart, and what probably made Ivan so intrigued with him. So he probably feels guilty and confused and angry. Those emotions fuel him during the last round, and even if we know (and he probable knows, too) that is isn't enough, he fights.

On the other hand, the Ivan we know loves surprisingly quietly. In secret, in the privacy of his mind and in the background of his own song. The Ivan we know shows affection loudly, hungry for attention, but from behind a wall. Then he brushes it off as if he is mocking his own crush, teasing and childish about admitting his interest. Letting Till know that his affection is real is useless, and nothing will come out of it. Each action has an effect, a consequence, and he probably thinks that a love declaration is done in the hope of receiving affection from someone special. Ivan believes love is unrelated to him, so what's the use? Till would reject him and grow awkward with him and Ivan wouldn't be able to stay by his side anymore, so he only has something to lose. He can't pursue it, can't be greedy for more, because he would be undeserving of it all the same - of Till's good heart, of whatever hunch of affection Till would confirm of having for him.

Ivan wants, but doesn't know how to deal with it. And despite it all, he still reaches for Till - because how can you suppress love in those little moments where your body moves before your mind?

I am not sure if I covered eveything I wanted to say, but writing about them is such a beautiful experience, I probably won't refrain from adding stuff on tumblr if I feel like it. In the end, we go back to the original question I had in mind when starting all this - the idea of Ivan being a tragic-love character, and what it entails.

For someone thinking to be unlovable and with his "unrequited" feelings for Till, Ivan's character has as much to do with love as all the other characters, if not more. Alien Stage itself is a question, reflection and celebration of love. I think that ultimately, it is open to interpretation, as we all have different degrees of sensitivity and can read things in different ways, just like Ivan's askewed perception of himself and how, in his constant, quiet search to fit in and imitate others, he never truly understood that he was indeed loved.

Each character has their own definition of love, and Ivan felt like he did not belong to any of them - while in fact it is not a quest of fitting definitions, but love itself that adapts to the people we have and want in our lives.

So, does Ivan want to be a tragic-love character? Does he willingly become it? I don't think he wants, but in the end, his character intertwines with this vision because even if he can't accept the idea of being loved, he is loved - and his unawareness enhances the tragic nuance of it. Does he actively reject love? Yes and no. I think he'd be happy if Mizi or Sua or Till were to manifest affection toward him, but he'd probably accept it on surface level, or believe they fell for his facade/are doing it out of pity or without truly knowing him.

Consciously, he simply believes that just like people breath and exist, he can't be loved. He didn't have the time, the means and the chances to actively overturn this belief. The tragedy of his character hides in his nature, upbringing and dissonance: it is partly an obvious, inevitable outcome and partly something he didn't stop from happening (because for him it was equally unavoidable). For us, he is a character doomed to a tragic love story. For Ivan himself, love has never been in the picture - his affection was a quiet, brimming thing, and he could only... bury it with himself.

[radioisntdead]

Bittersweet

Alastor x reader

I was going to post this Saturday mornin' but I'm in a SUPER good mood today so y'all get this early!

The drabble sequel to too sweet that no one asked for

Song used!

Warnings:

Death, song lyrics don't really go together with the story but it's too late for me to change it, implied rebellion and skimming through the whole hazbin hotel redemption thing getting approved by heaven and that's about it!

You didn't like bitter things, having parents who came from old money they could afford such luxuries like surger even if it was hard to come by with the sugar shortages.

You were spoiled with sweet desserts after dinner, rewarded with a surgery treat after you did well in school, you liked the sweet stuff.

Someday, we'll have our last conversation

So it was a little bit of a shock when you began falling for Alastor of all people, he could be described as charming, creepy, murdery, dangerous, energetic but never sweet, and not to mention he had a strong preference for bitter things.

And drink our last cup of coffee

It was just supposed to be a small crush, you've had them before, you had a track record of romancing people and leaving them once they wanted to take the next step, usually involving a bed.

You weren't completely afraid of commitment,

You just wanted the pure, sweet parts of romance not the rest, but the pure sweet parts only lasted so long, once they ended you would leave your darlings alone, heartbroken and confused because things were going great, and while courting Alastor wasn't super sweet or 'pure' like your past relationships it was comfortable, and a little tart, a perfect balance like coffee cake.

Someday, we might be dead

You decided if Alastor was a type of sweet he'd be a rich bitter dark chocolate or maybe some type of licorice? Maybe that cinnamon hard candy that burned your throat.

And think about the different things we used to say

Unlike your past relationships with Alastor you didn't have to worry about "the next step" that made you abandon your former darlings, that step was skipped over completely much to your relief, in replacement a certain three words would be that step, unfortunately neither you or Alastor were prepared to say it outright but you'd make it evident with acts of service, bringing snacks, reading over radio scripts or seeing something the other would like and purchasing it.

And with that you silently vowed that your relationship with Alastor would be the one that lasts for the rest of eternity.

All the memories of you will just become a ghost

You truly did love Alastor, more then You've loved anyone in a romantic sense before, and that's why you didn't regret taking Adam's hit for him,

Sure bleeding out in Alastor's Radio tower as the man's permanent smile attempted to twist itself into a frown, grimace or something, anything other then a smile, it hurt like a thousand knives were thrown into you but you'd do it again if you had too, a million times if you had too, if you weren't already in hell you would've said you'd go to hell and back for him.

Of a smile caught in the wind

You said those three little words that held so much and then proceeded to close your eyes forever, the last thing you felt was Alastor's arms pull you in as he returned those words.

What a tragic ending, it wasn't sweet at all, just bitter.

Someday, It'll be the last day

You and Alastor made plans for after extermination, talked about the future, What were you supposed to now?

One day, it could be over

You and Sir Pentious were greeted by an ecstatic seraphim who quickly introduced herself as Emily and another more shocked one who was introduced as Sera,

Tears swelled up in your eyes as you asked if you could go back because your dearest Alastor must think you were gone, double dead!

The moon could seem so far away

You couldn't go back, you tried, you really did, you fought remaining exorcists in an attempt to leave, and you tried to fling yourself off the clouds but you were stopped by Sir Pentious who had taken it upon himself to keep you safe, after all you were his friend.

You were glad you had a friend with you at least.

Despite all the adventures

Heaven was changing as the possibility of sinners being redeemed started petitions, polite riots, and more.

People had loved ones down there, and if they were still kicking then maybe, just maybe they could see them again! But on the other side, there were sinners that could, and should not ever be redeemed, maybe they could be targets for extermination!

That we promise we'd go on

You missed Alastor more then words could express, it was like a part of your heart was missing and it hurt.

You didn't know if you'd ever get to see your beloved ever again.

Again and again

You missed how Alastor balanced out your overly sweet nature, how when you'd take that overly sugary drink of yours he'd take something more bitter,

While your cup of coffee was filled with milk, whipped cream, surger and more, his was just plain ol' black coffee,

You missed when Alastor would take your hand and you'd dance the night away, you missed when he'd, on occasion, let you braid his hair because it calmed your nerves, you missed when he'd make something from his mother's cookbook for you.

You missed the unnatural beef he had with the little cat thing that uncannily resembled him.

The two of you were a good combo, a good match, you liked sweet things, he liked bitter,

Bittersweet things are a nice combination, aren't they?

All the memories of you and all the stories

Eventually it was decided that redemption was a viable option, that it was proven, You and Sir Pentious were living, walking, talking proof.

We were part of, lost in the wind

So after a few long drawn out months, they decided to finally contact Charlie about it and a plan was set to bring some of the hotel residents, just to get an idea of what was to come.

Someday (someday)

And to visit Sir Pentious and you!

It'll be the last day

You wore your best, you preened your newfound wings, making sure the heart motifs that donned them looked nice, they were a stark reminder of what or rather who you died for, you died for love, you died for Alastor.

You regretted nothing at all but you must wonder, would he have done the same?

I won't forget how it feels to be loved

No matter that it was time to reunite with your friends and see the one you died for once again.

To be remembered by someone as special as you

You and Sir Pentious waited for your signal to enter the room where Charlie and others were discussing things related to the hotel.

Someday, I will drink the last cup of coffee with a smile

You heard Emily call for you and Pentious to come in, you hesitated for just a moment, hand hovering just over the door knob,

What if Alastor didn't hold you in the same regards as before? After all you did die in his arms, that's pretty traumatizing and you highly doubted that the overlord would go to therapy and even if he did the poor therapist would probably end up being his lunch.

I won't forget how it feels to be loved

You took a deep breath and opened the door, you could see the shocked looks on your friends faces that soon turned into tears, smiles and words of "you're alive! You've been redeemed! Swear words!"

To be remembered by someone as special as you

Your eyes glance around your friends, looking for a certain red-40 themed deer.

You smile, you smile that sugary sweet smile that causes Alastor to let out a loud screech of radio static that makes your friends flinch but you didn't mind that as you proceeded to shout his name and practically tackle the deer in a hug.

Completely ignoring the other people in the room.

Someday, I will drink the last cup of coffee with a smile

Just for a moment it was like you didn't die in his arms, like it wasn't almost a year since the two of you were separated because of said death, like you hadn't been haunting Alastor's mind, you didn't know how this would work but it wouldn't hurt for this moment to pretend that this wouldn't end and he'd have to go back with the sinners below while you got to stay with the winners above.

You didn't like bitter things but you'd wholeheartedly indulge in bitterness if it'd keep you with Alastor.

Good evening folks, thank you for tuning on in, I hope you enjoyed this little drabble! I ended the first part with angst so figured I might as well give this a 'happy' ending!

[shall-we-die]

I need something angsty about OM character's reactions to MC's death...

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{"Open your eyes...!"}

What are their reactions after MC's death in human world by an accident?

☰[Main list]•⊰ Obey me!

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[Lucifer]

The thought of losing his beloved to an accident in the human world would be a devastating blow to Lucifer. He would be deeply saddened and utterly heartbroken, feeling empty and lost. He would also be filled with grief and guilt, blaming himself for not being able to prevent the tragedy and thinking he should have done more to protect them. Lucifer would be grief-stricken and consumed by sadness, feeling as if he lost his own light and hope. However, Lucifer would never give up on the idea of seeing his beloved again and would fight for a way to bring them back, no matter what it takes. When Lucifer hugs MC's dead body, he would be filled with sorrow, grief, and regret. He would sob and weep, his tears falling upon the body of his beloved. Lucifer would mourn deeply and not want to let go, wanting to stay by their side forever. He would whisper words of love, comfort, and apology, apologizing for not having done enough to protect them. "MC... I'll love you forever... no matter what, I'll find you again..." "sorry for always being grumpy and cruel with you... I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Lucifer's love for his beloved is eternal and will never fade away, so the thought of saying goodbye forever would be too painful for him and he would do everything in his power to find a way to bring MC back.

[Mammon]

If MC were to die in the human world due to an accidental incident, the news would no doubt hit Mammon hard. He would be in shock and disbelief, unable to accept the truth. Once he finally processed the truth, he'd be filled with grief and sadness. He might lash out in anger and denial, blaming the world and himself for allowing this to happen. He might even feel like he's to blame, believing he could have prevented the accident if he had only been there. Eventually, he would come to terms with MC's death, but his grief would always remain. If Mammon were to embrace MC's dead body, he would likely be overcome with grief and tears. He might cry out in despair and frustration, cursing the universe for taking away his precious love. He might also ask for forgiveness and beg for the ability to turn back time. Mammon would likely cling to the body, not wanting to let go of the only thing remaining of  MC. He might whisper sweet nothings into MC's ear, or even try to wake them up, hoping that it's just a nightmare and that MC isn't really gone. He would whisper their names, saying things like, " MC... MC... please wake up... don't leave me... please..." (OK, this dude hurts for the second time because of MC's death and it's sad...)

[Leviathan]

Leviathan would be absolutely devastated if MC died in the human world. he would be in denial that it was true and search for months on end to find a way to bring them back. he would be unable to cope with their death and would become distant and quiet. he would struggle to carry on with his duties in the devildom and would struggle to focus on anything else. it would shatter his world in a way that he would never recover from, and he would never forgive himself for letting such a tragic thing happen. Leviathan would likely be hugging MC's dead body tightly, not wanting to let them go. he would cry and mourn their death. he would say things like "no, no, it's not fair. it can't be real" and "why did you leave me alone?" and if MC's death was caused by an accident, he would likely blame himself and say things such as "I should've been careful. I should've done more." and "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for things to end this way." he would be in utter disbelief and despair, as he struggles to cope with the loss.

[Satan]

Satan's reaction to the death of MC would be one of grief and sorrow. He would be deeply affected by the loss and would likely mourn intensely. He would be filled with sadness and guilt, wondering if there was anything he could have done to prevent it. He would also feel a deep sense of loneliness and emptiness, as a part of himself would be gone with MC. He would likely blame himself for not doing enough to protect them and would be haunted by the thought of having lost someone so precious to him. When Satan finds himself hugging the dead body of MC, he would likely be filled with intense grief. He would cling tightly to MC's body, wanting to take comfort in them even though they are no longer alive. He may also speak to the dead body, expressing his sorrow and anguish. He would probably say things like "I'm so sorry" or "Please come back." He might even cry and wail in grief, unable to come to terms with the fact that MC is gone. He would likely be unable to think of anything else, consumed by sadness and pain.

[Asmodeus]

The news of MC's death would hit Asmodeus hard. He would be devastated and inconsolable, as the love of his life was taken away from him without any warning. He would be filled with so much grief and regret, that MC had to die such a horrible death, when they were supposed to be happy and together. He would likely shut himself from everyone, as he couldn't handle the pain or talking to anyone. He'd just stay in his room and sob, remembering all the happy memories he shared with them and wishing they'd be able to create even more. Asmodeus would hug MC's dead body tightly and desperately while crying and sobbing, refusing to believe that they're gone. He would say things along the line of "No, this can't be happening.. please.. Don't leave me.. I need you..." and even ask for MC to wake up and answer him, as he can't believe that they're really dead. He'd try to talk to MC's dead body, wishing that it'd answer and come back to him, while hugging them tighter and refusing to let go.

[Beelzebub]

Beelzebub would be absolutely devastated by MC's death. He would be in shock, denial, and disbelief all at the same time. He would blame himself for not protecting MC and for not being with them at the time of their demise. He would grieve deeply and mourn their loss. He would feel empty without MC in his life and would be haunted by memories of their time together. He would try to hold it together and stay strong, but the grief would be too much for him. He would eventually try to find a way to revive MC, no matter the cost. Beelzebub would cling tightly to MC's body, unwilling to let go even in death. He would cry and sob, regretting all the times they fought and wishing he had appreciated their time together more. He would beg for MC to come back to him and would plead with every deity he knows to revive MC. He would swear to give up anything if it meant having MC back with him. As he gazes down at MC's body, he would recall all their happy memories together. The time they met, their first kiss, and all the special moments they had shared would flood his mind.

[Belphegor]

If MC passed away in the human world, Belphegor would be absolutely devastated and heartbroken. They would be overcome with grief, guilt, and regret, wondering if there was more they could have done to prevent this from happening. They would feel completely and utterly lost. They would be unable to comprehend how someone so precious to them could suddenly be taken away from them. As time passes, Belphegor may learn to cope with the loss, but the pain of missing MC would never fade or go away completely. Belphegor would be in shock and denial when they find MC's dead body. They would refuse to believe that it's happening and would beg and plead for them to wake up, to come back to them. When reality finally sets in, Belphegor would be stricken with grief and sorrow. They would hold MC closely, crying and sobbing, whispering apologies and expressions of love. They would want nothing more than to go back in time and save them, but they would also know that nothing could make it better. They would feel lost and empty, empty of love and of hope.

[Diavolo]

Diavolo would be absolutely devastated by MC's death and would struggle to find words to describe how much pain and sorrow he is filling.  He would blame himself and be overcome by guilt and regret, tormenting himself over what he could have done differently.  He might even shut himself off and distance himself from everyone else as he tries to process the devastating loss of MC, and might even become depressed and hopeless, thinking nothing matters anymore.  He would most likely consider following them after death, as he sees no point to living in a world without MC's warmth and light. When hugging MC's dead body, Diavolo would most likely cry profusely, sobbing and clinging to them as he is overcome with unbearable sorrow and agony.  He might even be shaking and trembling for a while, completely at a loss for words and unable to function properly.  He could say things like "No, no, it's not true, it can't be.  You can't be gone, I can't be without you," or "Why did this have to happen? I tried so hard to save you, I should have been more careful, this is all my fault."

[Barbatos]

When the news of MC's death in the human world reached Barbatos, he would drop everything he was doing and flew as fast as he could to see for himself that it was a mistake. He would spend hours looking for MC, checking around and in the most unexpected places, hoping it was all a mistake or a lie. Even if there were any signs that the news was true, the demon would deny it and hold to the hope that everything was a lie. He would not believe MC is dead until he himself saw MC lying still with his own eyes. Barbatos, when standing before MC's lifeless body, would break down completely. His wings tucked themselves underneath his clothing as he took in the sight that was burned into his mind. He would blame himself because he had the power to see the future, BUT he didn't use that damn power... He refused to believe that MC was dead, holding on to their body and clinging onto it as if trying one last time to bring them back to life. He'd kiss their forehead and whisper words of comfort. The demon would stay like that for an eternity, sobbing and hugging MC's body before accepting the truth.

[Simeon]

Upon learning about MC's death, Simeon would be deeply saddened and grief-stricken. He would likely be overcome with regret and guilt, and blame himself for not being able to save them. Simeon would grieve deeply for MC and have trouble coming to terms with the loss. He would also feel lonely and empty without MC, and would likely question the meaning of life without them. He would struggle to cope with the loss and would need time to heal and to move on. When Simeon first finds out about MC's death, he would likely be in shock and disbelief. He would rush to MC's side, hoping against all hope that it was a mistake or that they were still alive. Upon seeing their lifeless body and realizing that it was true, Simeon would be overwhelmed with grief. He would spend time hugging MC's body and refusing to let go, trying in vain to bring them back to life. He would likely say things like, "No, it can't be. This can't be happening. Please wake up, my love. Please." And finally, he has to break the news to Luke. But he will be so sad and upset that he can't comfort Luke either.

[Solomon]

If MC were to pass away in the human world due to an accident, Solomon would be utterly heartbroken and devastated. His grief and sadness would be immense and all-consuming. Solomon would be overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness and regret, as he would likely blame himself for not being able to protect MC, or for not being there at that moment. He might feel a sense of guilt and longing, and mourn the loss of the love, the future, and life that they were meant to have together. His mourning process would be long and difficult, and it might even bring him to the point of despair. Upon meeting MC's lifeless body, Solomon would likely be filled with shock, disbelief, and overwhelming grief. He would embrace their body and cradle them closely, not wanting to let them go. He would likely say things like: "This can't be happening...this can't be true...please, wake up..." "How could this happen? I...I should have been there...I should have protected you...." "Please, don't leave me, my love...not like this..." "You...you can't leave me alone...Please, I can't survive without you..."