#and needs an unending amount of attention
Text
Nah bro I love my roommate he’s great but hoollyyy fuck can he be annoying
0 notes
Note
“Do you mean it in the sense that Reader goes through monster boyfriends and is quick to dump them for the next catch”
Yep. Just a vile reader who’s breaking hearts left and right. I think you’ll write it beautifully if you channel your evil side like when you play the sims! ☺️
-👘
Yandere! Monsters x Heartbreaker! Reader
You've always been a free spirit, unable to settle on a single partner. Even after being abruptly transported into a different dimension where you are the only human surrounded by monsters, this habit of yours has persisted. Except monsters, as you will see, are harder to discard than humans. They aren't as willing to accept rejection.
Content: female reader, reader is a player, monster smut
Ah, how troublesome. He won't stop calling. You lazily pick up the phone and look for the options to block the number, clicking your tongue in irritation. You'd specifically told him you're not interested in anything serious. "Who's calling?" The man shuffles under the sheets, still half-asleep. "No one." You respond curtly, glaring at the intruder. "It's morning already, by the way. When are you leaving?"
You slam the door shut before the overnight guest can bring up the classic "Will I see you again", and exhale theatrically in relief. Finally alone again. You look up and shake your fist menacingly, as if whichever entity governing this world is responsible for your bad luck. You've always been utterly indifferent towards committed relationships, and yet most fuck buddies end up head over heels for you, dragging themselves at your feet like pitiful beggars. Pathetic and a pain in the ass to deal with.
Well, someone must be up there, because your situation feels too much like a sassy answer to your complaint. You've just rushed out of your apartment a moment ago and last time you checked, the concierge office wasn't on a rocky hill covered in deep cracks erupting with lava, stretching out into the seemingly unending horizon. Where the hell are you? You turn on your heels, reaching for the door, only to find out - who would've expected? - that it's gone. Great. Your immediate explanation is that the guy you've mistakenly brought home last night must've slipped something in your drinks. All this for a sloppy, clumsy eating out.
The worry of being drugged vanishes quickly once the first creatures of the realm appear. Hard to believe anything on the market could cause such detailed hallucinations that can sniff and touch you: Some alligator-looking minions with eyes popping out of their backs slid out of a nearby crevice to investigate the newcomer. Ironically enough, they seem to be the ones shocked by your appearance. Once they've hesitantly assessed your presence, they scurry aside to discuss their findings. "What could it be?" You hear one mumble, completely baffled. For whatever reason you can understand their language, so you decide to speed up their detective work. "Ever heard of human?" You shout, with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. The beasts gasp in unison. "Nonsense! Straight out of a children's tale!"
Eventually, after a lot of confusion and pointed fingers, you manage to figure out your predicament. You've somehow landed in a world of monsters, where humans are more of a fictional, mythical existence. Thankfully they don't seem to consider your potential as food, though you're not sure if the sudden, massive ambush of creatures is any better. The alligator-like quadrupeds brought you to the nearest settlement and had to form a barrier to stop the curious beasts from almost trampling you in their frenzy to see "the human". You've garnered ridiculous amounts of attention, yet such reaction is to be expected; how often would an earthling wander into their world? It could very well be a lifetime singularity for many.
As the days pass and you become more accustomed to your fate, you begin to feel that familiar calling. It doesn't look like you'll be going home anytime soon and a lady has her needs. Additionally, whatever popularity you had back in the human world is a minuscule fraction of what you're currently experiencing here. In the eyes of the monsters, you're an exotic treat that cannot be refused. It shouldn't be too hard to find yourself a partner, or two. Or three. Who keeps count nowadays?
You remember stumbling upon a postcard print of "The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife" at some museum shop. You immediately picked up the thick cardboard, eyeing the artwork in amusement. A woman enveloped in the limbs of two octopuses and very obviously enjoying herself. Who even came up with the pairing, you wondered at the time. Whatever the artist was thinking, you can certainly see his point now. The first one to receive your indecent proposal was an eldritch creature of sorts, something straight out of Lovecraft's lucid dreams. Dark, long tendrils sprawling out of an amorphous core - which you assume is its head based on the bulging, glistening orbs hungrily staring at you. Your whole body is throbbing under the tight hold of the slippery tentacles, wrapping around you in masterful intricacy. You could see the result featured in a bondage magazine, though you don't...can't ponder much on it given the fact you're, well, stuffed with monstrous appendages. You doubt any genital variation back home could compare. The monster is even polite enough to occasionally wipe away the continuous stream of drool spilling out of your whining mouth. Towards the end you barely have a voice anymore, throat sore from the loud moans and merciless constriction. Your muscles contract all at once, overwhelmed by the sensations. Whatever sensitive areas you might have are presently aching under the needy fondling of the creature.
Mind-blowing. The memory is enough to have you wet and squirming with desire. Even more so when you consider the other varieties of monsters ready to fuck you senseless. Soon enough you're surveying the neighborhood for the ideal suitors and thankfully you don't have to worry about making wrong choices, as there's always a next target. Thus the following weeks fill you with a particular kind of nostalgia (among other things and fluids), reminding you of the bed-hopping in the human realm. From werewolves drowning out your whimpers with their desperate howling, to hooved legs of hybrids violently thrusting into you until you're a dripping mess. "Look at me" is what one of the beasts demanded in a low growl, turning you on with its ragged voice and clawed hand encircling your frail neck. Although you had to ask it where exactly to look, given it was covered entirely in eyes.
You yawn and stare at the ceiling, reminiscing about the depraved fuckfest you're currently recovering from. You might've overdone it with the last one. Alas, you came enough times to make up for it. Just as you turn around to readjust the ice pack, you hear a loud thud coming from the entrance. You (carefully) sit up and rub your eyes, trying to focus on the shadow figure approaching your bed. It's one of the lizard monsters, swiftly slithering across the wall and landing over you with an angered expression. "Where the fuck is that dog?" it inquires with a hiss. "What? Who're you talking about?" you mumble, wildly confused. "The one that dared to touch you."
Oh, not this crap again. You almost roll your eyes. "You never said anything about us being together." Is your annoyed reply. "What? I thought it'd be obvious you belong to me!" You're about to question the strange logic, but your couple's quarrel is interrupted by the sound of shattered glass. The many-eyed monster crawls its way in with fluid, uncanny movements, releasing a deafening screech once it notices the lizard in your bed. "Off! Get off my human now!" is what it finally manages to verbalize in its fury. Okay, it seems to be the common belief. To clear off any shred of doubt remaining, the ceiling gives in and crumbles like putty under the weight of an enormous tentacle. You scream and cover your face from the bits of rubble flying everywhere, but you're quickly sheltered by another thick appendage looping itself around you, against the wrathful protests of the lizard. You did not anticipate the eldritch creature could expand to this gargantuan size.
For the first time since arriving here, you feel homesick. At least back home you could get rid of your annoying admirers with the slide of a button. Is there a larger scale alternative for cosmic blasphemies? You shake your fist (up? down? you can't tell in the darkness of the tentacle shield) towards the entity once more. Damn it, you've learned your lesson. Several steps must’ve been skipped before reaching a pack of angry, possessive monsters fighting over your ownership.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x darling#yandere headcanons#yandere imagine#yandere imagines#yandere scenarios#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#monster x reader#monster x human#monster romance#monster fucker#monster lover#monster boyfriend#tentacle monster#terato#male yandere x reader#yandere oc x reader#teratophillia#monster smut#yandere smut
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Tumblr’s Core Prodct Stratgy
Here at Tumblr, we’ve been working hard on trying to keep our sinking ship afloat for as long as possible. This means desperately trying to copy every new fly-by-night social media app that some multi-billionaire sh*t out during their daily Peloton routine. What follows is the strategy we're using to accomplish the goal of user growth. If you find the things we say here worrisome, please understand that is our exact intention. You've outgrown our target demographic. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
The Diagnosis
It's lookin' pretty bad y'all!
After somehow losing hundreds of thousands of users during the great pr0n purge of 2018, we started to wonder if anything could be done to get back to where we were. We even brought in a management consultant who charged us a ridiculous amount of money. It would make you sick if you knew how much, but we got a few nice meals out of it at least. Anyhow, we handed this guy the app, and HE HAD NO IDEA HOW TO USE IT! It was f*cking hilarious! But suddenly it all clicked -- our users are a bunch of stupid idiots who can't even do basic arithmetic. I mean, they spend all day looking at their phones, so what do you expect?
Tumblr’s best feature is its unique content and vibrant communities. But who cares, right? We're just as happy getting traffic from people sh*t-posting memes, vague-booking, giving out-of-context hot takes to news events, and spewing whatever random thought is in their head at the moment. Plus that stuff doesn't p*ss off Apple.
To keep this thing going we need new people. And by "people" we mean teenagers, like we used to have back in the good ol' days. Unfortunately we're all in our 40s now, so we have no idea what they want. But teenagers are so cool! Imagine if they talked to us like we're one of them? We're getting hard just thinking about it.
Our Guidng Principls
To make Tumblr cool again, we must address these huge glaring issues.
People can look at a blog without logging in. How is that fair to all the poor schlubs who had to fill out forms to get an account? Also we haven't figured out a way to force ads onto the personalized pages yet. But we swear that's not the main reason.
People can see content they are looking for or linked to. People can keep up with blogs they follow. But the problem with this is, people don't know what they want. We know what they want! We're smart. We wrote this damn site, remember?
Promote posts that incite pointless conversations. Posts that are guaranteed to bait every troll into responding. Isn't that why all your Magat relatives love Facebook so much? We can do that!
P*ss off your content creators in every way possible (see #2).
Create algorithms that throw an unending barrage of irrelevant content in your face. Have you seen Instagram lately? We could do that so easy!!!
The app is slow. The website is slow. Obviously this is because of GIFs. Facebook and Instagram don't allow them, so why should we?
Conclusion
Our mission changes on a day-to-day basis. Right now we're super jealous of all the attention that new Threads thing is getting. We're still not sure what it is, but we're gonna download it after work.
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
Mistakes
Miguel O’Hara x spidey!fem! reader
Will Miguel let you in?
Miguel angst is MY thing fr, this is another self serve fic tbh. GOD i love this one, he’s so damaged and broken like fr we can fix him. I’ll probably do a part 2 bc writing this had be squealling
it’s been a hot minute. i’m on holiday for a month and i genuinely used my phone for this one. giggles
Miguel honestly felt like a ghost story as of late. He had been hiding out in his mancave a lot longer than what was deemed usual by the others and no one really had the incentive to find out what the hell he was doing and why the hell he wasn’t leaving.
More like no one wanted to have their spinal chord ripped out and dangling in front of them.
Miguel was as complicated as ever, his aggression seemed to be boundless and his drive a never ending abundance of determination. Though he was admirable as a leader, he was almost impossible to see through. It was his knack. His ge ne sais quois. He was a calloused man, haunted by demons he couldn’t escape- not because he wanted to, but because he would lose the last memory he had when he was genuinely happy. And that was with his daughter. Who he lost. Who he was responsible for losing. It had been almost a month since anyone had seen him. It was most definitely a period of self isolation for him, but it had been too long for the other spiders without a leader. They needed him, so did you.
It was bothering you now, what the hell was he up to? Did brooding really cost this much time? It seemed either ridiculous or…unsettling. You didn’t know which one you prefered. Day after day or constant wondering sent your mind spinning frok fraction to fraction: all you could do was wonder, be slightly irritated and…concerned about him all at once. Miguel was always on time, always prepared and valued hypervigilance and attentiveness…so why wasn’t he following his own moral code?
You told Gwen that you should check on him to make sure he was still fucking alive. She heavily disagreed with the idea but even Jess didn’t know what had gotten into him. Unlucky for them, they didn’t know the secret spot into his lair you find the first day of getting into the Society. The tour of HQ was quite enlightening, the amount of hidey holes were insane. Your heart was racing at the idea of visiting him unannounced, but you hated this and it was getting frustrating. Hell, you weren’t scared of him and you made it very known to him.
You decided to go late at night when no one else was at HQ. Jesus, if he was still here at 3 in the morning then he really was reeling… and no-one was there to pull him back from the unending void. Miguel’s hidey hole was on his ceiling so you quite literally had crawl through his vents which was very humbling and quite a blow to your blossoming ego. After that embarrassment, you were irked and already impatient. He better have a damn good reason for being like this.
Your crawled out of the vent at let your adhesive fingers crawl around the shadows of his cool, airy lair. Your eyes scanned around, it seemed void of any personality, no personal effects or anythint tying him back to his humanity. It wasn’t surprising but…saddening. You crawled further down the wall to get a closer look. It was a mess: broken tech, metal pieces, vials and serums stewn over the floor like it was just collected dust that just happened to land there. You tilted your head even more- there were weights and water bottles everywhere, he must have been extensively working out…or physically pushing himself as punishment. What really caught onto you though was the many monitors that were indented with a fist…his fist. Your mood soured at the latter. Turning your head to his platform, you finally found him, standing snd staring at his orange screens blankly, breathing heavily. His back tense and his gaze weary as he watched the last good memory he had with his daughter play out on his screen. In this light you could see the illumination on his cheeks. He’d been crying. The thought alone made you freeze. The portrait of the Miguel you knew was crumbling between your fingers, as you glanced at the screen you saw him happy, smiling. You weren’t sure if he’s done that ever since then.
You crawled out of the shadows, inching further and further down the wall next to the platform, wanting to make your presence known. When was the last time anyone comforted this man? When was the last time he wasn’t filled with grief and anger?
“Miguel?” You say softly as not to startle him, but with his lack of Spider senses he definitely was startled. He jumped and grabbed a broken monitor and threw it at you, it didn’t take much to dodge him but a look of concern painted your face.
“H-How did you get in?” He bellowed but you just hopped off the wall and onto his platform, not giving him the time of day to adjust himself to the fright you have him.
He definitely was working out again, he was bigger since you last saw him…but face to face, he seemed so deliriously exhausted.
“That’s not important right now.” You responded nonchalantly but oddly seriously at the same time.
“Why are you here?” Miguel eyes were gleaming red, he had a particularly awful few days, weeks, he didn’t need to see the horror of another face seeing who he really was. His nostrils flared as you acted so careless, who the hell did you think you were?
Your back leaned against his desk as you paused for a moment, not sure if you wanted to be truthful or not. “I wanted to see you.” You say sincerely and Miguel shot you a perplexed look. No one saw him for the sole purpose of just seeing him, not that he can recall anyways. “You aren’t the easiest person to get a hold of right now.” You raised your eyebrow at him.
“I don’t want to be.” He grunted truthfully, averting his gaze away from you before turning into the snarky Spiderman he’s known to be. “But yeah, adorable. Really, really interesting, very cute. I was going to say fuck off and leave instead but yes, this is worth my time.” He bit back sarcastically. Anger was running through your veins at his response. God, he was such an ass sometime and he needed to know but instead you did the thing you were sure to regret later: being kind to him when he was like this. You took a deep breath to regain a cool and sentient composure.
“Look, I know you’re going through a lot right now so I’m going to disregard that.”
“I don’t want you here.” Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose and fell back into his chair, completely finished with all of this.
“Well tough shit.” You glared at him, sighing and then offering a sympathetic smile.
Miguel didn’t say anything, he knew a battle with you would pour salt into the wound and prove to be fruitless. So you both sat in silence and observing each other’s purpose. The tension between you both was palpable, so you decided to test the risky waters.
“How old was Gabriella?” You say gently, giving him a trusting look. If only you could get him to open up, the panic and anxiety would start to decrease if he just talked about all of this to someone who cared about him. As much as you hated to admit it, you did.
Miguel’s face froze as you asked him that, he wasn’t sure whether to lunge at you or not by asking him such a thing. He was too tired to argue or fight, he didn’t have it in him anymore. He was breaking and he didn’t want it to be infront of you.
“Nine.” He mumbled, staring away from you as if he was ashamed. “When I lost her…she was nine.” A sliver of sadness fell through you at the sentiment. It’s a new feeling for Miguel, someone actually having the guts to ask him these things. His suspicious look starts to turn into a frown, a mixture of anger and sadness. He didn’t know what to feel.
“I know I don’t matter at all in this situation, but it’s not your fault and you deserve forgiveness.” You say sincerely, surprising both him and yourself.
Miguel felt like he had just seen a ghost, his heart felt slow as the cave of despair started to ache again, he felt like he was being suffocated. Forgiveness? He didn’t deserve any forgiveness. Not after the damage he had done. Not after the pain he inflicted. It clawed at his throat until his breath was perpetually scarce.
“Forgiveness…” He scoffed, completely dismissing the idea. “I don’t- I can’t take your forgiveness. I’m not worthy of it…” He trailed off, the lump in his throat becoming bigger and bigger.
“You work yourself too hard.” You mutter, inching closer to him, staring down at him you raise your hand reaching out for him but he grabbed your wrist.
“Don’t pity me.” He grunted and gripped tighter but you snatched your hand away with a scowl.
“I’m not pitying you. You just…You look exhausted. When was the last time you went home? Jesus, when was the last time you slept?” You ask, genuinely curious. Miguel didn’t know how to answer the question without being slightly embarrassed.
“I have nothing there. I’m needed here.” His tone was clipped and all you could do was sigh.
“Miguel…please tell me, tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me so I can help you.” You say a little more firmly than intended but it definitely got the point across. “I want to help you if you let me.”
Miguel looks at you and sighs, seeming to deflate slightly. “My mind is filled with a never ending list of tasks to complete, a never ending list of dangers to face and battles to fight, a never ending list of problems to solve... I... I don't have much peace." He rubs at his temples. “But you've already seen that, I guess.... I'm not sure how you can help me with any of this." He sighed and winced slightly when he thought of Gabriella. “All I ever wanted was a family, to be happy. Meet a nice girl, have a few kids and settle down…but I love being Spiderman and I tampered with something I had no reason to be messing with. I can’t be both. I can’t have both. Shit as for love, I don’t think I can ever get close to another woman again. I can’t lose anyone else. The last thing I need right now is a lecture about love.”
You give him a small wry smile, your hands reach forward and tuck a small tuft of hair behind his ear. Miguel froze at the small gesture of kindess and tenderness, he hadn’t felt that in so long, he hated he way he was reacting to it. You didn’t know what else to do or say, you just knew what you wanted right now. You leaned down and engulfed him in a hug, your face resting on his shoulder and your arms slung around his neck. His eyes shot wide open at the sudden gesture. He was close enough to inhale your hair and feel your skin, he hugged you back and breathed in and out, finding a semblance of peace, a moment where his mind wasn’t filled with static noise and self loathing. Your scent was…sweet and completely intoxicating if he was being honest. ‘’Thank you…” He muttered into your shoulder.
You let go and stand up straight again, offering a hand so he can stand too. You were suprised that be took it and you were more surprised to feel that his hands were…soft. “Let me take you home. I’ll make you some tea, get you to relax, yeah?” You offer gently with a little smile, hoping he would let you do this for him.
Miguel's eyes widened at your suggestion and he stared at you with hope for a moment. “Why? Why are you doing all this?” he asked. He rarely spent time with anyone outside of work. Why would you even do any of this for him?
“Because you’ve done so much for everyone else and no one has ever taken care of you. God forbid someone wants to help you and all of a sudden theres this hidden agenda.”
The realisation dawned on him, when has he let anyone get close to him? Never. Now a pretty girl wanted to take care of him, listen to his problems and make him feel deserving of the forgiveness he dreamed of. Miguel wasn’t sure if it was a delusion or crazy dream or not but he was relieved to take in your sweet scent. Maybe you had an ulterior motive, the thought made him frown. He hated feeling vulnerable and showing any kind of vulnerability was out of the question.
“I’m not leaving you tonight. Okay?” You confirm sweetly, knocking all of the air out of his lungs. He felt a strange sense of security, he felt…safe at the idea. “Come on.” You fiddled with your multiverse watch and opened a portal to his apartment, you grabbed onto his bicep and pulled him in, landing in the living room.
Jesus, it looked like it hasn’t even been lived in. Everything was clean, too clean. “Nice place.” You half joked and Miguel just shot you a smile that he was trying to conceal, it didn’t really work. Miguel felt his neck heat up, when people got to know him he was actually really shy. He sat himself on the edge of the couch, planting his elbows on his knees and raking his hands through his hair. His kitchen was walk in, expensive. As you were brewing his tea, you caught glimpses of his back, he really had been working out. You stop your mindless gawk and find his mugs and place a tea bag in two of them, you also search for his whiskey. As you poured the hot water, you splashed a little bit of whiskey. God knows he deserved it.
You walked around to couch and Miguel’s head shot up as you stood infront of him, offering him the mug. As you stood, he took an opportunity to really look at you. To survey and study you. You were…attractive, that he had no problem admitting but this…This was a new side of you he had never seen. You were showing him kindness when he didn’t even deserve it. Miguel winced slightly at the idea of letting another woman into his life, the last time that happened he lost everything, he was still weary of your intentions.
He grabbed the mug and you sat next to him, curling your feet up and facing him, gawking at him more like as you sipped your tea. This scene felt…very domestic. “Thank you…” He said, not showing any emotion, being stoic as expected.
“God stop thanking me. It’s the least I could do.” You said with a shy smile.
“It’s just…different. No one has really- Well, I haven’t been looking after myself.” He muttered
“When was the last time anyone looked out for you?” You ask, genuinely curious. He had the whole world at his feet, yet it was like he was lonely.
“Years ago, my brother Gabriel…I don’t really see him much…” It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, but he missed his brother, he hadn’t seen him in a while. While you were in the kitchen, you saw a frame of him and his brother when they were about teenagers, playing. It warmed your heart slightly to see that he did actually care.
“You can’t let the mistakes in your past define you. It’s not who you are. Bad people don’t worry about the pain they caused. You are good.” Miguel took a moment to ponder your words, averting his gaze and then turning his head to face you.
“No you’re good.” He said gently. “It’s like being good is all you know…I’ve lost myself beneath violence and blood and chaos-“ Miguel sighed as he put the mug down on the coffee table, losing his cool for a second.
“Hey,” You grabbed onto his bicep and he shot you a startled yet curious look. “Do you trust me?”
Miguel paused, he didn’t trust people easily but after you so patiently listened to him and did all of this for him, he couldn’t say no to you. “Yeah…”
“Turn around.” Miguel did as he was told, a little confused at first, but his back was facing you. You brought your hands to his shoulders and kneaded his tense muscles. God, he was so rigid. It’s like he had never relaxed in his life. “These broad shoulders must be so exhausted.”
“Yeah…” Miguel closed his eyes, revelling in the feeling of your fingers gently caressing him. Jesus, his body was coming undone with just a few touches. Your fingers pressed and massaged his sore muscles, travelling further and further down his back.
“Is this okay?” You whisper.
Miguel let out a deep sigh, his muscles loosening under your touch. “Yes...keep going please.” Miguel's voice was still quiet but clear, and he even let out a soft groan of relief.
You travel lower, caressing and massaging the pressure points of all his soreness. “God, there’s so many knots in your back…when was the last time anyone did this for you?” You question eagerly.
Miguel closed his eyes. “...never,” he replied, his voice slightly breathy. “No one has ever..." Miguel paused. “These days no one has ever cared enough or been allowed to be so...intimate with me.” He was caught off guard by what he said. He just screwed his eyes shut and let out a deep sigh. Your presence and your soft caresses calmed his mind to his very core and relaxed his body. You noticed that Miguel, who usually always carried himself with professionalism and control...was now like a deer in headlights, unable to comprehend your touch.
You stop your actions for a moment to contemplate what he said, he’s so touch starved, he hasn’t felt the warmth of anyone else in so long. It surprised you to an immeasurable degree, women must throw themselves at him. Instead you just wrapped your arms around him from behind, nuzzling your face into his neck to take in his scent once more. Miguel was stunned into silence, you were so surprising, so understanding of how he gets, how he lets himself go. He wasn’t sure whether to cry or not, you slung your arms against his neck and all he could do is grab your hand and kiss your palm. He didn’t know how to thank you. He swore he would never get close to another woman ever again but here he was, broken down and completely at the mercy of you. He could kiss you…but then he would shatter the promise he made to himself. He would be vulnerable all over again, he’d mess it up again. What kind of idiot would he be if he didn’t learn from his past mistakes? His worst mistake? But your scent, your presence, you were just so damn inviting. God, he was a man after all… but would making you his ruin you?
#miguel o’hara angst#miguel o’hara#spiderman#spiderman 2099#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara smut#miguel ohara x fem!reader#atsv miguel#spiderman across the spiderverse#miguel ohara x y/n#miguel ohara imagine
478 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello, this is the anon who sent the smoking w 2000s arle ask. I'm back with more brainrot
so, I've been thinking ab being her roommate.
the first time you saw her you kind of went into shock; how on earth did you end up living with someone like *her*??? she's tall, baggy black clothes draping on her slim, toned body only giving a hint of what lies beneath. you'd love to stare for hours, but her bright ruby eyes boring into your soul stop any hopes of that happening. the almost-scowl on her sculpted features is a little scary, but you didn't mind, quite the opposite in fact.
despite the instant butterflies she gave you, you never worked up the courage to properly speak with her. you of course shared greetings in the morning from time to time, agreed on cleaning and groceries when necessary, but it never got much further than that.
part of the reason for that, was the seemingly unending amount of girls she would bring home. you know you should be upset, but honestly, you just wish it was you. it's obvious she knows what she's doing, just from the sounds you hear through the thin walls, you so desperately wish you just had one chance with her, but your rational mind is well aware she's far out of your league.
that's what you think anyway. you don't realise it, but there's a pattern in the women arlecchino brings home: they all look rather like you. same hair type and colour, same wide eyes, and the same gorgeous smile.
she closes her eyes and she sees your face, hears your voice. she's absolutely whipped for you, and to be honest, she doesn't know what to do with all of these new feelings and sensations you give her.
she may seem frosty and aloof when you look at her, but when it comes to feelings, she crumbles. she knows you like her. she's seen the looks you give her when you think she isn't looking. thing is though, she's completely and utterly terrified of the way you make her feel. she's never been in a relationship before, and of course, she does the only logical thing: push those feelings down as far as she humanly can.
the two of you keep on like this for a few months, neither of you brave enough to change this precarious balance of a routine you seem to have built.
this state of limbo does eventually see an end though.
you're something of a recluse, often opting to spend your nights at home, busying yourself with your studies. one night however, you don't really have that as an option. you owe a favour to a friend, and she's decided to take the opportunity to have you come out to a campus party with her. she declares that you "need to have fun and get out more", and encourages you to "get laid". you don't know if you're interested in anyone but your gorgeous roommate, not enough to make the effort to hook up anyway.
you dress yourself up nicely regardless. it's true you don't get out much, so you figure you might as well doll yourself up for once. while the stares you feel once you arrive are certainly expected, you can't say you're a fan of the attention. you need a drink
a cup or two of something fruity, and you're feeling a bit better, tipsy enough to be a little giggly and bold, but not enough to do anything you'll regret tomorrow.
you sit in a corner, watching the action for a while. you aren't quite enjoying yourself, but the night hasn't been so bad thus far. everything flips on its head, however, when you see *her*. what is arlecchino doing here? it's no surprise considering how often she has nights out, but a part of you was hoping that you wouldn't run into her. you really weren't interested in seeing her charm another girl into bed.
the hole in your stomach only expands further when she walks over to you and sits herself next to you. she's blushed a little pink: she's had a little to drink too.
when you meet her eyes, the looks she gives you is something you've never seen from her, you don't think. her gemstone eyes meet yours, and they glint in a way that's alluring in a way you just can't look away from.
the two of you begin chatting, not really about much. it feels a lot easier when you've got a little drink in your system, though.
her eyes flit down to your lips a few times, maybe, you don't want to get too excited. the way she jokes with you could almost feel flirtatious, but you again, you don't want to raise your hopes too high. she moves closer and closer to you, until, all of a sudden, her dangerous eyes meet yours, dangerously close to meeting your lips with hers.
"baby, can I kiss you? I've haven't been able to take my eyes off you all night."
you barely have to breathe out a "yes" before her lips are on yours, and her calloused hands are on your sensitive hips.
she leads you up to a bathroom upstairs, and fuck, her fingers are like magic. you never thought a woman could take you that high with just her hands.
tomorrow it's going to be awkward as anything, but right now, with her lips on your neck and her hands scratching your thighs, you really couldn't care less.
oughhh ohhh thank you anon i love womanizer!arle
i'll be thinking about this today...
and, consider, the aftermath isn't so bad. you both get home, somehow, and she's put you in your bed, nice and snugly. she took your makeup off for you and fixed your hair, even if she was a little drunk.
i bet if you two confess, she's more than happy to take you out on a date. but she wants to do it right. she wants it to be perfect because she doesn't just want you to share her bed, she wants your heart 🤭
#genshin smut#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader smut#fem reader#genshin wlw#arlecchino#arlecchino x you#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino smut#💌─𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭! ༊*·˚#💐─𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘴#🪷─𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 `♡´
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unending, undone.
Larissa Weems x fem reader. (Angst)
Words: 2k?
Warnings: angst, delusions, unrequited love.
Note: I hate this. one of my wips I need to get rid of, I didn’t want to delete the entire thing, I really couldn’t be bothered to edit and make it better. Anyway- hopefully it’s kinda enjoyable, apologies in advance I wrote this like 7 months ago.
———
It was the weekend and as of that, yourself, Larissa, vlad and the elderly library lady from nevermore were chaperoning the students that wanted to go into Jericho. Before the kids got off the bus it was made clear once again that they will all be departing at 3:30pm and if not accounted for find your own way back to the school and expect consequences.
all departed off the bus to do their own things, old mrs Byrnes to the local library, vlad to the sports and recreation shop, Larissa entered the wethervain and you opted to stroll the streets.
After about two hours of walking in the bone chilling autumn air, you decide to cross the street to take refuge in the weathervane, hoping Larissa is willing to have you as company if she’s still in there, you hadn't seen her since she walked into the café. Reaching the door her silver hair caught your attention, Larissa was sat at her usual booth close to the back almost tucked away, your gaze was strictly on her, eyebrows slightly furrowed eyes glued to a spot out side, but the small twitch of her lips made her seem to be deep in thought. after working with Larissa for a long period of time you found yourself observing her closely, admiring her from afar, knowing, understanding what makes her happy or mad, keeping a mask was enough to fool others but to you, she was like an open book.
Entering, you walked up to the counter, ordered and paid. Turning to face her, she still hadn’t moved, her shoulders rigged and back straight, statue looking. You waltz over, placing your phone and purse on the table in hopes it breaks her trans like state with a simple. “Hey.” It doesn’t. You took to squatting down and wrapping you hand gently around her gloved wrist that was nursing a cup of black coffee, Larissa let out a small gasp turning to face who ever it was that startled her, only to look down a bit to find you.
“Oh how rude of me I didn’t realise you were there, apologies.” She said softly with a forced smile. You didn’t respond, merely giving her a look of concern, the longer she peered into your eyes the more she knew what you were trying to say. “How could I be so daft to think she couldn’t see right through me?” She thought.
“Do you want me to sit across you or beside you?” You asked standing, sounding maybe a little to stern, however when it comes to the people you deeply care about only seriousness and attentiveness are needed plus a ton of comfort. Larissa shifted over in the seat to make room for you and took to peering back out into the town.
"two large hot chocolates?" the waiter asked slipping the cups gently onto the table. You whipped your head around to him. "yes! thank you so much." you said feeling a little reprieved having to take your eyes away from Larissa, although her interest was piqued at the words 'hot' and 'chocolate'. "oh um would you mind taking this one please?" you asked him, whilst dragging the coffee from Larissa grasp. "yeah no worries, enjoy ladies." he said before returning behind the counter.
Larissa was giving you the biggest look, at this point. “I wasn’t fini-“. She began. “No.” You simply said cutting her off. “The amount of sips you took from the time of me being here, to the lack of steam, means you have had the same cup for quite some time, so you have most definitely finished dearest. Not to mention it was straight black coffee, very unlike you.” You stated proudly, whilst pushing her a cup and pulling one towards yourself.
Watching her hesitantly take a drink, not wanting you to see her defeat, you smirked in victory. Sitting in silence for a while you noticed her demeanour shift, reverting back to her former melancholy state. You took to laying your hand on her thigh and tilting your head in a concerned way. Larissa was unfazed by the action, however still hyper aware of you touch.
Stroking your thumb over her exposed knee, “come, we only have ten minutes.” She blinked a few times to settle back into the air of reality before downing the remanence of her drink. You scooted out of the booth and offered a hand to Larissa, you could feel the warmth radiating from her soft leather gloves. Once standing, she habitably smooths down her dress, you take ahold of her upper arm and waltz out of the cafe and towards the bus.
Doing a head count of all the students that re-entered the vehicle you usher vlad and help mrs Byrnes, before resting your hand on the small of Larissa’s back to help her get in, not that she couldn’t do it herself of course, but you felt the need to gently coax her out of her mind and try getting her to focus until she was back at the school.
With all the children off and back on campus, you were the last ones off I the bus. “I’ll take you to your room.” You said, reaching for her hand. Instantly though, she dodged your grasp only to looked at you as if you tried to burn her, confused you took a step back thing you overstepped. After a moment of awkward silence you spoke. “I’ll uh.. I’ll just go and leave you to it.” You said turning to walk away, your face bright red from embarrassment.
Although you must have taken only about three steps until you felt a warm ungloved hand and fingers threaded through your own and another wrapped around your elbow. Stopping, you peered into her eyes trying to figure out what she’s trying to say, but instead of asking you resumed walking with her attached to you.
Reaching her quarters, she let herself inside only to turn around and see you didn’t follow her. Popping her head back out the door to see you walking back to your own room. “Y/n?” She questioned. You turned back to gaze at her. “What are you doing? Did… you want to come in?” She said softly. “I just thought that- well… you? I?” You stuttered not really knowing what you thought. Larissa left the doorway making a b-line for you. “Would you like to come in? I assumed you would come with me.” She started, sounding confident but gradually became more timid.
Nodding as a yes you both walked separately into her home. Your eyes widen in awe at her living decor, all pieces, trinkets and art were the embodiment of Larissa. She was amused at your staring, pointing out a couple of artists to the paintings you seamed fixated on. Your amazement wasn’t just about the objects themselves more the fact that Larissa and yourself have very similar tastes, however she can afford to buy the finer things in life.
Everything was gawked at, Larissa took note of how you shared the same interests. “Y/n? Do you happen to like shoes?….designer shoes?” She asked your face dropped. “Yes! I do.” She smiled and told you to follow her. You entered what seemed to be her very own room and walk in closet. It was beautiful and organised, she bent down and pulled out a few shoe boxes. “I have these brought over from London every couple of months and I haven’t gotten to sending them back, there the wrong sizes, I think they may fit you.” She said. “Really!… I mean no.” You said trying hard not to be overzealous.
She pulled out a pair of black heals. Ones you’ve had your eye on for years and there they were in her grasp. “Here try them on.” She pleaded. “I mustn’t.” You said “sit.” She commanded taking a hold of your shoe and pulling it off putting it on herself. “There perfect. You may have all of them.” She said. “No, Larissa I can’t.” You said. “Either you take them or I’ll find a way to put them in your room.” She said. Giving in you thanked her and you understand how much they cost and will take care of each one.
After a while of sitting on the floor she lay down with her eyes fluttering. “How about I put you to bed hmmm?” You asked. Larissa looked at her watch. “It’s only five.” You placed the shoes back in there boxes and stacked them on top of each other. “Yes but your exhausted, if you like I’ll come back later and bring some food?” You wondered taking a hold of her elbows as she held onto the insides of yours. Larissa didn’t answer, she merely smiled and walked out into her room and paced to a beautiful tall chested draws and pulled out a navy satin sleep set.
You stood awkwardly in the closet doorway as you watched her ‘should I go back and rearrange the shoes or?…’ you thought, not knowing if you should just leave to give her privacy or what. Larissa tossed the set on her ridiculously large and lavish bed and turned to you. “Y/n would you mind unzipping my dress, I just have trouble reaching behind.” She asked. Butterflies erupted in your stomach at her request, your strong, stern and hopeful front melting away.
You reached up and grabbed her zip dragging it down the expanse of her back, her bra clasp came into view as well as the freckles that littered her skin that you hadn’t seen before. Your hands lingered a little to long and Larissa slowly turned to face you. “I know, someone like me not being able to reach is quite sporadic isn’t it.” She blushed ducking her head. “Not at all, not everyone is as flexible as others, I know I’m certainly not.” You said with a chuckle.
Larissa smiled and moved her hand to her shoulder to peal the material away, slow enough for it to be your queue to leave if need be. That you did, you turned on your heals and made your way back into the walk-in robe to peer at her other belongings.
“You can come back.” She spoke softly, if it were you, you’d probably yell it for some reason even if it’s unnecessary. “Larissa?” You asked, walking to her bed pulling back the covers for her, she plopped on the bed taking out her earrings and removing the rest of her jewellery. “Mmm?” She hummed in acknowledgment. You busied yourself with pulling out the pins in her hair and for once you weren’t the first one to relies how intimate the whole afternoon has been.
“Do you think you could tell me what’s going on in your mind.” You asked concentrating on her hair, trying hard not to pull or hurt. Larissa let out a sigh as if she was dreading the question. “I’m just… not myself today. I’ve been thinking of the past a little to much lately and things I should have done and what things I could have done differently, unhealthy I know but that’s all.” She said in a low velvety voice. “I see. You know I’m here to listen to anything you have to say, I support you and care very much about your wellbeing, no matter how laughable that sounds.” You said.
Larissa raised her chin and looked up through her lashes at your face. A doting, sweet expression graced your face. “Thank you, darling.” She whispered. “Lay down, I’ll draw the curtains and I’ll go ok.” You pulled the covers up over her body to get warm.
With the curtains drawn and all things done, you made your way back to Larissa’s side of the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut as you dipped beside her, larissa looked peaceful and relaxed, it’s a little foreign being so close to larissa in her own home and in her most vulnerable state. You couldn’t manage to tear your eyes away from her soft lips and gorgeous free hair, until you relised her pyjamas had slightly fallen down her shoulder. More freckles adorned her pale skin, had you been aware of her lingering gaze you wouldn’t had stared for so long with out a word.
“What’s the matter?” She asked. “Oh! Nothing, I… sorry I was just, admiring.” You confessed. Your skin turned red once again, you could have just lied but what the use in not telling her how utterly beautiful she is. “Admiring?” She asked with a little smile. “Yes. Your just so…” you began. “A curiosity.” She whispered with her eyes turning sad and seemingly hurt. “No not at all, your beautiful, stunning, exquisite even.” You grinned down at her seeing the way her eyes sparkle at your words.
“Oh.” She said clearly not ready for you to say such wonderful things to her. ‘I love you’. You thought. For the longest time you had been alone and so had Larissa, it feels like your saving each other from drowning in loneliness, a life raft for one another. Her expression changed to complete confusion with wide eyes. “What?” You asked. “You-just…. Did you just say I love you.” She asked almost out of breath. ‘No. No fucking way I just did that.’ Without thinking you shot up and ran to the door and left without so much as a peep.
“Wait-no! Please, I, y/n!” Larissa shouted clambering off and out of the bed, she ripped out her dressing gown and slipped on a pair of flats within 30 seconds and sprinted to your quarters through passage ways to avoid potential eyes. Arriving, she knocked on the door relentlessly to no avail, only to find that the door was unlocked. Stepping in the room cautiously she found you curled in bed with multiple layers of bedding covering your shaking body. Larissa took it upon herself to remove her shoes and gown before fighting you to let go of your vice grip on the blankets, you were laying on your stomach with your face pressed into the pillows. Larissa sunk down into the bed slipping beside you re-covering you both with the covers before she turned on her side and wrapped her arms around your waist and pulled you flush to her, front to front.
You hid your head in your hands against her breasts wishing your were invisible. “Y/n. I need you to look at me for what I’m about to say.” She asked, earning a whimper of refusal from you. So she did what was necessary, Larissa grasped your hands prying them away from your face to be met with a wet mess of a face, your eyes open and involuntarily you mouth twitches into a small smile just by looking at her, but faded when you remember what just happened revoking your sight and shutting your eyes again. “Look at me love.” She asked, cupping your cheek using the backs of her fingers to wipe away the tears.
You took a deep breath and looked at her again. “Y/n..” she started. “I love you to.” She said running her fingers through your hair. You stared at her and waited for her to continue. “You asked me what I was thinking about today and I told you I wasn’t feeling like myself… but the truth is, I was watching you for a while this morning, admiring. But I relised that you could never want me. You could never possibly feel the same. Then when you walked in I started to think about previous relationships I’ve had and how terrible they turned out.”
You couldn’t believe it, Larissa Weems, your boss and friend, the most elegant and graceful woman you had ever met loves you. “I-I…” you stuttered , but being unable to conjure words the only option was to show her how you feel. You moved your hands to her face and slowly moved up, each others breath’s mingling, noses and lips lightly brushing, you pull back just to look into her eyes silently asking if it were ok. Larissa crashed her lips onto yours, passionate and strong but oh so loving.
Or at least that's what you wished would of happened if she hadn't let you go back to you quarters when you arrived back at the school. if only Larissa had caught up to you when you turned to leave her, if only she threaded her fingers through your own and stopped you. The small imaginary scenarios are what keeps your mind active but heart heavy, you wouldn't be laying in bed sobbing dreaming of such delusional things, but i suppose we cant all get the ones we love in the end right?
______
its been a week since your little awkward incident and both yourself and Larissa have been avoiding each other like the plague, although every night Larissa walks past your quarters to get back to her own, trying to have enough courage to just ask if your ok, but never does, not until she heard struggled breaths and choked sobs emanating from within your room. it was quiet late, very late in fact, almost ten past three in the morning.
she stood outside your door with her back resting on the architrave. "i don't know what I'm supposed to do, i mean i look so stupid crying over a woman i know doesn't want me, why would she? i give her no reason for her to be interested in me, I'm nothing, no one, but is it so wrong to be in love with Larissa?" you asked talking to no one in particular out your window. Larissa's pursed lips pried open in disbelief at your words.
she turned and and without hesitation knocked, wanting- needing to see you, needing your eyes to look at her, needing to be close, not caring who or what you were talking to. after a brief moment you swung open the door with furrowed brows until you saw her, your face dropped at her appearance.
standing there in silence her eyes seemed to tell you something you couldn't understand. Larissa brushed past you and welcomed herself into your room, confused, you closed the door to face her. "I'm afraid I've been quite the asshole." she said. "pardon?" you asked. “I’m sorry y/n, it’s been hard avoiding you and if you would let me… I’d like to apologise and hopefully we can work on this.” She said gesturing between the two of you.
You stood planted to the ground until you took small steps towards her and embraced her in a hug as an acceptance. “I don’t know what you’re going through right now but I only wish to help, please don’t push me away. Even though you don’t feel the same way about me, assuming you just heard, then that’s ok.” You said pulling away from her looking into Larissa’s sad eyes. “I think I can love you, I will learn to, I have to learn how to love again first y/n, but I won’t push you away I’ll try to keep you close I promise.”
At that you lead her out to your balcony and sat down watching the stars soaking in this new kind of relationship, whether it will eventuate into something more then a friendship doesn’t matter because at the end of the day Larissa knows you will always be there, the cards are now resting in her hands, not all expectations are met, not every story ends happily, but for now it’s just the two of you, no one else and you will forever be bonded, now we will never know.
@sabraaabra
#gwendoline christie#larissa weems#principle weems#wednesday#larissa weems x y/n#gwenchrist(ie)#larissa x reader#wlw fanfic#larissa weems x reader
119 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello bestie! 🩷
happy september 1st! pls remember to focus on you and don’t feel the need to rush through your requests. your art takes time and in the end, it will be amazing. your health and well-being is more important, so pls take care of yourself. ✨ you are loved ✨
now, i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for the last couple of days. could you possibly do a request where reader is at a ball in the court of nightmares with the rest of the ic, eris is there and goes to ask nesta to dance but sees reader instead? either feysand or nessian gets jealous about it, and feels like they have to remind reader who they “belong” too in the end. (reader would be mated to the couple.)
thank you darling! 🩷
Am I Really?
Poly!Feysand x reader
A/n: hey bestie! Love you too❤️ this is such a good request oml
Warnings: possessive!Feysand, suggestive
You felt their eyes on you as you placed your delicate hand in Eris’ pale one. He guides you to the dance floor grabbing your waist and you rest a hand on his shoulder. The music starts up and Eris glides you across the floor. “You look very elegant this evening.”
You smile at the lordling, “Thank you. You look your usual self.” You didn’t need daemati powers to know Rhysand and Feyre were containing their rage at your smile toward Eris. Good. Let them squirm. As you and Eris waltz across the shining obsidian floor your grips tighten on each other, pulling you into each other.
You were so close to him you could practically feel the fire that runs through his veins. It made you wonder if what they said about Autumn Court males was true. You knew they were in your mind. Even if they we’re disguising themselves you could feel something akin to thunder rumbling in your mind.
Eris was truly intoxicating up close. Those freckles on that pale delicate skin. His calculating eyes that hold an unending amount of secrets. You’d be lying if you said Eris didn’t interest you. He was handsome, yes, but what a burden that would be. To take on the role of wife with him.
As the music came to end Eris spun you out. Still holding your hand he bowed, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. You forced a blush to your cheeks and dipped your chin at him. After he walked away you knew Feyre and Rhysand would have a clear view of you.
You watched Eris walk away. A dumb smile plastered on your face along your forced blush. You put on a giddy expression and turned, walking off to get a drink.
You felt their presence before you saw them. Walking away with your glass in hand they followed you until you stopped in a dark alcove just off the throne room. Feyre snatched the glass from your hand before it could even touch your lips.
“Hey,” you protest, grabbing for your drink. Rhysand catches your wrist, pulling your hand to lay on his chest. “Uh-uh darling. We’re going to have a little chat first,” Rhysand purrs, that feline smirk gracing his lips. You look to Feyre for help but she just gives you a wicked smile as she inches closer to you.
“Did you think we would wait until we we’re home to talk about the little stunt you just pulled?” His dark power flickered in his violet eyes. “You’re ours sweetheart,” Feyre added, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “start acting like it.”
You pulled a risky move and rolled your eyes at them. You hadn’t felt like theirs in a while. At the start of your relationship with them it was great. But the past few months you haven’t felt their attention like you used to. “Am I yours?” Feyre and Rhysand looked taken aback at the question.
Shaking them off you push them to be an arms length away. You crossed your arms and scowled at them. “It hasn’t felt like. Maybe I should go find Eris again. I’m sure he’d be happy to-“ you were cut off by Rhysand gripping your face in his large hand, digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks.
He got inches away from your face. Rhysand looked like he snapped. “Don’t even think about it.” He growled. Feyre gently pulled him off you, pushing him behind her. She dragged a nail down your cheek scratching you slightly. “You just wanted our attention, huh?”
You just kept eye contact with Feyre and narrowed your eyes. She brought her fingers back up to your face, pinching your cheek. “Answer me sweetheart.” You flinched at the slight pain and started to nod, “Yes.” You breathed out.
Darkness consumed your vision and the world temporarily fell away. When you resurfaced, the three of you were back in your bedroom. Rhysand and Feyre trapped you between them. Their hands all over your body. Their lips ghosting your exposed skin.
You shiver under their touch yearning for more. Wanting them to touch you and do the most depraved things to you. Rhysand runs a thumb over your nipple earning a small whimper from you. “Please,” you whispered.
Feyre let out a dark chuckle. “What do you think Rhys? Should we teach our little sweetheart a lesson?” He let out a hum that you felt reverberate in his chest. “What should we start with?”
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar reader fic#acotar reader imagine#acotar imagine#rhysand acotar#feyre acotar#rhysand x you#rhys x you#rhysand x reader#rhys x reader#Feyre x you#Feyre x reader#poly!feysand#poly!feysand x reader#poly!feysand x you
132 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Despicable" - yan!Bruce Wayne x Reader
A/N: currently reviewing my book to send it out AGAIN because apparently, I can't let go
🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀 || Batman-inspired playlist
SUMMARY: While Seline is Bruce's eyes at 44 Below, he spots someone absolutely showstopping. Unfortunately, you're Joker's girl. Bruce is determined to save you from that despicable criminal.
WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k
[TW: yandere themes, explicit language]
Part of Bruce was glad he didn't step foot inside 44 Below. Judging from what Seline was showing him, it was nothing more but a relatively glorified dive bar. It seemed as if corruption could be the sweetest fruit if one simply made it look out of reach or in some way special. It was the pinnacle of human pride and greed to always desire the unattainable.
Despite the supposed prestige of the underground club, he could hardly notice anything out of the ordinary when compared to any other bar one could find in Gotham: young women in skimpy clothing and old, rich men who salivated over them. Drugs. Alcohol. Smuggling. Trafficking. The only visible difference was very superficial - their clothes and jewellery were significantly more expensive. Aside from that one easy-to-overlook detail, 44 Below was exquisite in its lack of exceptionalism.
The swarm of people seemed to be unending. Although the lower level was supposed to be more deluxe, more selective, there was about the same amount of people as on the upper level. Seline was walking through crowds of personalities too important or powerful to want their attention on her. Turning her head in all directions possible, she had nearly given herself whiplash when her stare merely glazed over a figure so brilliant they could hardly be perceived as real; an after-image of a fabulous fantasy:
"Wait, turn around. That woman in a green dress by the bar. Who is she?"
"Fuck no, Bruce," she hissed back at him as she continued marching on. "You know a guy who goes by 'Joker'? The psychopathic mass murderer? That's his girl."
"Look at her," he demanded again. "I need time to scan her face. What do you know about her?" It was a generous half-truth: while he did need time to perform scans, he didn't need yours specifically.
Seline let out a heavy sigh. Reluctantly, she directed her eyes towards you - leaning against a bar, drinking an Old Fashioned, and nibbling on honey-coated roasted cashews. Needless to say, you were completely oblivious to the attention you were getting at the moment. If you could have your way, you wouldn't have been there - 44 Below was an over-glorified workplace for you, waiting for someone who might need a little favour they're willing to repay for.
Bruce's thoughts were running rampant but they lacked coherence. There was a strange feeling in his chest - one he couldn't quite name but it was completely overwhelming and it forced his attention to focus on you. His eyes were eating up your image, his insatiable hunger only grew as he stared at you. The longer he admired your aloof demeanour, the more he was unable to find any flaw in your appearance. It seemed like something taken out of a cliche movie: a diamond found among the filth. How could you have ended up with some lunatic?
You were leaning against the bar counter, bored out of your mind as if you were waiting for someone to show up and get you away from that disgusting place you never quite fit into in the first place. He could be that someone... He wanted to be.
"Ever since Joker got locked up, she's taking care of the business. The whole operation went deep underground and now even the unimportant people wear designer clothes."
"How do you know all that?"
"Penguin's her fan." Seline seemed to not have noticed the lack of emotions in his tone. Bruce wasn't very interested in the criminal part of your life - it will all be left in the past soon enough. "Oh, shit, she noticed me."
Bruce's heart jumped in his chest as if there actually was something that could frighten that man or take him by surprise. Staring at the screen, he met your warm gaze. Words became stuck in his throat, completely awestruck, although you weren't even looking at him per se - you didn't even know about his presence. And he realized he knew no greater frustration.
"Hey, Seline, how are things going on?" you asked. The cheerfulness of your voice seemed genuine. "Haven't seen you working 'round here before."
Dear God, how he began yearning the moment he heard your voice. What darkness and bliss would it bring him to hear you speak his name?
"I'm doing some overtime."
To Bruce's utmost pleasure, you leaned towards Seline. Your face was the only thing on his screen and he truly wished it could stay like that.
"The offer still stands," you whispered. Your eyebrows raised slightly and your eyes had that soft gloss over them. "Give me a call and you'll make a better dollar in better circumstances."
"What offer?" Bruce inquired but Seline ignored him.
"Thank you but I'm still not interested. I'm good."
She promptly turned around and began walking away, her eyes shying away from the bullyboys you brought with you. Rumour had it they didn't need much to happily get involved.
"What offer, Seline?" Bruce repeated. He sounded impatient.
"None of your business," she spat out as she entered the bathroom.
His eyes became bloodshot and dry from staring at the computer for so long. He knew not how many hours had passed and, to be frank, did not care. Nirvana was playing in the background but he barely registered the sounds. None of his attention could be diverted from the picture of your face. Bruce knew perfectly well what he had to do, it was the question of how that kept him up until the early hours of the morning.
The obsessive thoughts inside Bruce's head were too loud to let him hear Alfred come in. "Who's that?"
"Someone important," he answered quietly. For a moment he felt angry that someone else was looking at you but he quickly dismissed that thought as he did with most of his emotions.
It was true but not in the way Alfred understood. Perhaps, Bruce himself did not yet understand the nature of your importance. It was as if he was frantically evacuating and kept asking other people what was going on; smoke was burning his eyes but he did not know the source of the fire.
Seeing as Wayne was even less talkative than normally, Alfred silently left him to continue doing whatever it was that he was doing. Sometimes he got tired of nagging at a grown man.
As it was mentioned before, Bruce knew what he had to do - it was a fact, not a thesis that had to be proved. He was going to save you from that animal you lied to yourself you loved. Bruce had a habit of subduing his feelings, therefore he told himself that it was simply his duty to return your independence to you, completely ignoring the overwhelming yearning that burned throughout his body. He made up his mind that he was going to save you from the filth you'd been stained with, no matter whether you wanted it too. Bruce had seen evil and he was convinced he knew what was best for you.
Oh but Cupid could be a truly despicable beast.
#the batman 2022#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x you#yandere bruce wayne#bruce wayne imagine#battinson#the batman#the batman fanfiction#the batman imagine#the batman fanfic#bruce wayne#bruce wayne fanfiction#bruce wayne fanfic#bruce wayne x fem!reader#yan!bruce wayne#yandere bruce wayne x reader#yandere bruce wayne x you#yandere bruce wayne fanfiction#yandere bruce wayne imagine#battinson x reader#battinson imagine#battinson x you#battinson fanfiction
420 notes
·
View notes
Text
the GREAT PATREON SMUSH
I was going to make an advertisement for this with bright colors and maybe animated sparkles but 1) I hate making ads and 2) we are all so exhausted by bright ads vying for our brain chemicals that I just don’t want to do that to you anymore!!!! I’m TIRED of things grabbing for my attention in an unending assault on my senses and I’m sure you are too!!!!!!!
if you’ve been doom-scrolling and need a break (a nice beverage, a stretch of the legs, etc.), take this as a sign to do so now. if you’ve got the energy for a little reading, though, and want to learn about my work - keep going!
ANYWAYS I’ll get to the point: ALL of my patreon benefits are now available to the lowest ($3) tier.
in fact, there ARE no other tiers anymore. they’re gone! scrunched! smunshed! stirred up all together into one big super tier soup of everything I offer now and will offer in the future!
everyone now gets:
over 100 4k desktop wallpapers
early access/wips
25% discounts on prints
livestream voice chat
art votes & art suggestions
commission slots
and access to the Art Grotto discord, a friendly and chill server with a small community of creative folks. we share art, writing, pets, memes, and also come up with fun art ideas together! 🌈
why am I smushing the tiers and giving up the higher pledge amounts?!
because capitalism sucks, we’re in a recession, and I’m lucky enough to have a full-time job that allows me to make art without being reliant on Patreon income. anyone who has sat in on one of my livestreams knows that I try to be a calming force in an often-chaotic world, and that I’m always looking for ways to make art more accessible to everyone. I want my Patreon to be a place where I can give back to those who are supporting me in this mission!
this tier smush is just the start of how I hope to transform this space! I have a bunch of fun ideas about stuff I want to do in the future, so keep an eye out for more announcements like this 👁
that’s all!!!! thank you if you’ve read this far, and here’s the link to the Patreon if any of this interested you!
#auropost#i'm moving more and more away from trying to create bite-sized flashy info posts lately#like i don't want to be a brand!!!! i'm not a commercial!!!#and YOU are not an audience/consumer/target market/number on a screen!!#you're a PERSON!!!!!!#we're all people and this is a conversation#i'm de-programming a lot of social media brain rot right now#i don't care if that means that people scroll past my text posts#because i don't want to resort to assaulting your eyeballs with a graphic#we've all seen enough for a lifetime. for multiple lifetimes#so i'm trying to do something else#anyways my secret ideas for new patreon benefits involve discord livestreams of all the tech travel i've been doing lately#and then my ultimate patreon benefit goal is to go on a tour of public libraries in patrons' states#where i can host public xr art classes with people in person!!!#i'm already gonna be doing this in la soon so if success keeps up i want to take it on the road#with a focus on doing classes for discord members in their own home states!#eventually i'm thinking about making the discord server public as well#but right now it's just a well kept secret since i like that it's small :'D#anyways SINCERELY thank you if you've gotten this far. even if you can't join the patreon i appreciate that you took the time to read this#your time and attention is valuable and i don't take it lightly. take care 💖
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
Death Warrant (Copia x Polyghouls, with Copia x Aether focus)
Summary: Copia and the ghouls are dreading what is to come following the aftermath of the 2023 Grammys loss, operating on the thought that winning it would be his only chance to persuade the Ministry to spare him the fate that befell his brothers, and now they must deal with the harsh reality of it all.
Tags: Rated M. Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a happy ending, Copia/Polyghouls, Copia/Aether. ~21k words
TW: Dissociation, Suicidal ideation/thoughts (almost suicide attempt [?], )
Find it on AO3 here
================================================
Preamble: Admittedly, I started writing this the day Ghost lost the 2023 Grammys, but evidently, I am an extremely slow writer. So disregard lore/events that have happened since the Grammys when going into this fic.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even though the venue was only packed half-full, it still managed to stimulate Aether’s senses far past a comfortable limit. Tensions ran high within the crowd, nerves and excitement flowing in waves that his quintessence powers clung to almost greedily, refusing to drown out any amount of input, background or otherwise. The ghoul would have tried to flush his system of the absorbed emotions- maybe even block them off from the start- but his efforts would’ve been completely useless, like trying to wash away grease with nothing but water.
Safe to say, he was tired. No, scratch that, exhausted. But he needed to be there. They all needed to be there. If not for the band, then for Copia, the latter was always a higher priority in his mind. As the quintessence ghoul’s thoughts turned to Copia he found his gaze doing the same, drifting over to focus on the man as he sat to the side of Aether.
If you were to judge by his face alone, Copia was calm, cool, and collected, the only sign of stress manifesting through pursed lips and shifting eyes. However, the facade fell away the minute his body language was considered. His fingers rubbed relentlessly against each other and the palm of his right hand while his left lay in his lap, balled tightly into a fist. It didn’t take a ghoul’s heightened sense to recognize that he was nervous. Beyond nervous, really. His well-muscled leg bouncing violently up and down was a telltale enough of his nervous energy. Now, if you were to factor in a ghoul’s senses, it was borderline impossible to ignore. Even over the crowd and announcements, Aether didn’t so much as have to strain his ears to hear the man’s heartbeat that hammered inside his chest, threatening to burst through his ribs with a relentless thump-thumping beat.
The drone of the ceremony continued in the background, unregistered beyond an incoherent din by Aether’s brain in favor of his attention and thoughts remaining heavily on Copia. Truthfully, his attention to the actual ceremony had been overall absent since they had entered the venue, though he’d never say it out loud, lest he be met with an unending lecture from some clergy member and the band’s public image. But the prospect of awards outside of their own meant little to him- to any of the other ghouls for that matter. It was a superfluous human ritual and, while he liked to partake in observing similar circumstances from time to time (even joining them on occasion), the Grammys were a “bit much”, as Cumulus had tried to put it nicely. Copia’s well-being was of far greater importance to him anyways.
He continued to monitor the changes in the man’s vitals and mannerisms as the show went on, albeit in a semi-secretive fashion, his steel-gray eyes focused on him from behind the vents on the sides of his mask’s goggles. The last thing that he needed to happen was for Copia to notice, becoming antsier than he already was now that a pair of eyes were locked onto him as a result. Or worse, attempt to uphold the illusion that he was doing “a-ok” (his words) and ultimately push himself to the point of self-implosion, all for the sake of not becoming an undue burden on any of his ghouls because he could “handle it”.
In his earlier days as frontman of the Ghost Project, Copia had been a walking ball of nerves, his anxieties beyond palpable the moment your eyes laid on him. He had been so easy to send into a spiral of distress that even a single step taken that was not in accordance with his overall plan could send him careening into a jittery fit. He had been (and frankly, still was) so desperate to prove himself- to do things right - and anything outside of his carefully concocted scheme was bound to result in disaster- at least in his mind, it would.
There had been days when those around him had to treat him as though he were an overwound mechanical watch, ready to break into pieces the second things went wrong, that is, if they didn’t wish to make his disposition worse. It would be an outright lie to claim there was never a ghoul or member of the Ministry that took advantage of this, setting him off for their own amusement. This nature of his had translated into the mundane, every-day as well, with his constant overwrought state becoming a unique obstacle that those who wished to be close to him were forced to figure out how to work around. Aether couldn’t begin to recall how many times he had heard one of the ghouls startled him to the point of letting out a short scream, dropping whatever he held in his arms. Many a coffee mug had been tragically lost to this, the ceramic mugs finally being traded in for a far less fragile metal tumbler once the graveyard of ceramic shards grew too full.
Though, even with this, he had managed fine, very well even, with him succeeding to a notable extent as the years went on and his confidence growing steadily as a result. By the time of his ascension, it seemed as though he had become fairly apt at managing his stress, and gone were the days of the “overly twitchy and borderline-neurotic Cardinal” that was miraculously successful at his job. However, with the title of Papa came a slew of new problems and worries. And while he had grown to be able to handle more than anyone had thought he could years prior, they had only continued to metastasize and grow, the digging tendrils of doubt, anxieties, and pure dread burrowing between his cells and ingraining themselves into his very DNA. Somehow it had managed to make him feel worse than he had when he first took over the Ghost Project- more insecure, more worried, more unfit for the job- but that was something he would have never admitted, because if he did, then Papa Nihil and an unthinkable amount of the Clergy would have been right.
Then Sister Imperator would be disappointed.
But Aether had known of these newfound anxieties that plagued him, and by extension, the other seven ghouls had known it (or at least known a vague notion of this) too, and for some time now. His quintessence made it near impossible for such aggressively overwhelming feelings as Copia’s- albeit stripped down to their most basic of physical sensations- to go unnoticed. For that, while he felt a tad bit guilty for the intrusion on the privacy of one’s own brain that his Papa likely took for granted, he was grateful, especially now.
Copia, as of recently, had become well-versed, skilled even, at hiding what he truly felt, taking to removing himself or putting on a straight face when such things became too much from time to time. It had gotten to the point that most people would assume he was doing well even- and to an extent, he was. He was relatively successful, he had his ghouls, and he had his little games and tricycles. He had his happy moments.
He could manage most of the negative and the bad- at least in small increments- but as of recently, its hold on him had only grown infinitely worse, making the charade of fine-ness infinitely more complicated. Those tendrils that plagued him from what felt like the start, dug ever deeper, disrupting any semblance of stability that he still had, leaving him hanging on by a thread.
Observing this over the years, no matter how many times he had been reassured that Copia had been fine, created a similar sense of dread deep within the quintessence ghoul’s gut. He was worried for him, for so many reasons, he and his fellow ghouls were worried sick for him, especially with the fate of the other Papas threatening to befall him as well.
Aether’s train of thought had only become increasingly lost as he continued to watch Copia from the corner of his eye. The sights and sounds around him all but melted away into a soup of unregistered stimuli as he followed the white rabbit that was his Papa’s well-being down the metaphorical rabbit hole of his mind. The distant sound of Copia’s heartbeat was the only thing he could still hear with crystal-clear clarity, acting only to lull him down further.
Remaining in such a limbo of background noise sounded almost pleasant, even if it was on such a subject. If he didn’t leave there, there would be no conclusion to those thoughts, no end that he would have to come to terms with and process. They would all remain frozen in their semi-hypothetical state, not quite the best, but far better than the possibility of what they all dreaded. And frankly, if it weren’t for the seemingly humanly-impossible jump in Copia’s rapid heart rate that now jackhammered against Aether’s eardrums, he would have remained there, missing the announcer’s transition to the category they had been entered in.
His upper body having gone rigid at the announcement, Copia shoved his now interlaced hands between his thighs and squeezed them together tightly. His leg still bounced with nervous energy, the movement now constrained to below the knee as he stared wide-eyed up at the announcer on stage. Aether leaned forward in his seat slightly, looking past Copia and catching the eyes of the fire ghoul on his left. He gave a quick twitch of his head in the direction of the man between them, to which Dewdrop acknowledged with a short rumble, the pitch too low for human ears to register.
Ghouls never really needed words to “speak”, often relying on different-pitched noises and body language to communicate very basic concepts to each other. In the case of a complex topic, they then would utilize either their native infernal language or a human tongue. Though, if a group of ghouls spent time around one another in high enough frequency, over time, these short forms of communication could be used to convey said complexities as well. Considering this, as well as the extensive amount of time their collective pack had spent together, it was safe to say the two ghouls needed to say little more than they already had to understand what was being conveyed: keep an eye on Papa .
While, as of now, preserving Copia’s well-being was within their job description, this came from a place of sincere concern above all else. His safety and health meant more to the ghouls than just a charge they were to protect and perform with- no matter what Sister Imperator had commanded.
From the beginning, Sister Imperator had made it clear that the seven (now eight) ghouls were to only concern themselves with their contract-given duties as assigned by the Ministry, which ultimately boiled down to “protect and serve”. They were never to involve themselves deeper than a worker would their boss at a somewhat tolerable job, especially if it was concerning Nihil, her, or Copia- that had been made abundantly clear since each of their summonings or transfers. Imperator had laid out a promise, the threat of banishment or worse if they stuck so much as a clawed toe out of line, and she had seemed eager to keep it. But, the youngest Emeritus had thrown the rule to the wind. He treated his ghouls more like friends- family , really- opening himself up to his ghouls like the bleeding heart he was, asking for nothing but acceptance and love in return.
Maybe it had been the success that the Ghost Project had incurred due to the chemistry between Copia and his ghouls on stage, or maybe Sister Imperator had a soft spot for her pet project of a son, but the relationship between the ghouls and him was allowed to flourish despite her threats.
As a seemingly direct result of her leniency, Aether could confidently state that the eight of them considered their Papa one of the pack (in the somewhat culture-shock-inducing way a human could be), with even some of the most hesitant or stubborn of the group would agree. He himself had fallen into the former category upon first being assigned to who was Cardinal Copia and his rituals at the time, though this remained a tidbit about himself that he kept close to his chest as he was hesitant to admit it, even to himself. The quintessence ghoul prided himself in his affable nature, especially towards strangers (until given reason otherwise), but he hadn’t afforded Copia the same treatment in the beginning. He, having seen firsthand what happens to a Papa when the Ministry no longer wishes to have them as the face of the Ghost Project, was terrified of becoming attached.
Aether was still plagued by the thick, insidious residue left in his brain by the day Terzo had been dragged off stage and the subsequent day months later when he had met his demise. The memory of those days existed in his mind like a demented paradox, not quite there but oh so painfully vivid. The events were a blur, a jumbled slideshow of grainy snapshots, the figures captured barely discernible. But the physical sensations? They cut through the haze like a hot knife through butter. And frankly, if you were to ask him to recall those moments in his life, all he’d be able to describe would be the hellfire-like pain that had erupted in his gut and spread to his chest, voraciously consuming him from the inside out, leaving him a charred and empty husk.
It was a pain he found himself barely able to withstand, and the thought of exposing himself to it again had terrified him to his core. But he found himself inexplicably drawn to the Cardinal. Maybe it was his charming awkwardness or his genuine care for things that were so often overlooked in life that had enchanted him, either way, Aether found him impossible to ignore.
At first, the start of their relationship had been rocky, with a man so desperate to be liked, to be loved, reaching for a being that was desperate to love but petrified by the potential for loss and pain again. It had been a circumstance of an immovable force meeting an unstoppable object, but somehow, the man was able to get through.
Maybe it had been that desperate need to love again that ultimately won, or that Copia had lulled him into such a sense of ease that he couldn’t bear to shut himself off from the Cardinal any longer, but Aether found himself opening again. Baring himself to someone in his life that wasn’t born of hell and infernal blood and by that, a far greater risk of getting hurt in the end because humans were so fragile after all. This was even more so true when the human wore the target on their back which was the frontman title of the Ghost Project.
Truly, it hadn’t taken long for him to fall rapidly into what he’d describe as love, even if his heart felt rusty and out of practice. Sure, it had been kept warm and accustomed to infernal affections thanks to the few ghouls who understood how he felt- both Mountain and Dewdrop being present for Terzo's slow demise as he had been- but this was different. It was the shaky start of newborn love, like a foal standing on its legs for the first time, gathering its strength to walk, and then to run. His heart was unfamiliar with the routine of this new song and dance of ardor, one that would fill but not replace the old one, but it took to the challenge like a fish to water, relieved to return to a habitat in which it thrived.
This only opened him up to more love in the end. As he finally surrendered himself to Copia, new venues stood agape for the affections that his new pack had begun to brew. It hadn’t taken long for them all- ghouls and man alike- to build a home on each other’s hearts, with even Dewdrop succumbing to it in the end, despite his furious insistence that he would never open himself up again.
It was because of this bond forged throughout the years in blood, sweat, and tears, the ghouls knew how much the award meant to their Papa, how much of his self-worth in his eyes and both Sister’s and Nihil’s eyes, rode on the back of the award. However, it paled in comparison to what both Copia and the ghouls feared was yet to come in lieu of the ceremony’s results. It was an ice-cold dread that hung in the back of their minds, breathing down the nape of their necks, counting down the minutes and days to an unknown end. It was the fear for his future fate- something Aether had frequently shoved into the recesses of his mind because if he were to dwell on it- and so close to the deciding moment-he’d likely lose his shit.
The announcer, with envelope in hand, cleared his throat. He had tried to muffle the noise, turning his head away from the mic, but it had little success. The jarring noise bled from the speakers and reverberated harshly against the venue’s walls, grating on the ghouls’ already frayed nerves. Each of them recoiled at the auditory offense, a low growl bubbling up in the back of their throat or a thin hiss slipping from between their teeth.
The announcer turned back to the microphone, beginning to break the seal on the envelope.
“And the winner for the best metal performance is-”
In this final moment, Aether turned his metallic eyes to the stage, his direct attention perhaps being the final thing that could, in some way, somehow, tip the universe’s scale in their favor. If ghouls were the type of creatures to pray, Aether would have prayed a thousand- even a million- times if it meant that his Papa would finally get what he greatly deserved and it could secure his safety.
But ghouls weren’t.
And Copia wouldn’t.
He hadn’t listened past the first syllable of the name that was shouted into the microphone with a cheeriness that came as sharp lacerations to Aether’s infernal soul. He hadn’t cared to listen. It wasn’t theirs and that’s all that mattered. They’d lost. The only thing that drowned out the cacophony of congratulatory applause that had followed was the sharp, high-pitch ringing that now took place in his ears, deafening the ghoul to most sounds around him.
Snapping his head with such haste that Aether swore he felt a handful of vertebrae crack, he threw all pretense of appearing as if he wasn’t staring to the wind and examined Copia through the dark lenses of his mask. An intense and harrowing worry bubbled inside him as he held his breath and waited for his reaction.
Sobbing, wailing, cursing, pleading, praying- hell, maybe even a meltdown- the ghoul tried to prepare himself for the worst response he could imagine, though, for all reactions Aether thought of, he found them all to be fair in his book.
The ringing in his ears and the subsequent cacophony of claps from hundreds of guests began to fade into a dull uproar, the sounds taking their place in the back of his mind as he continued to stare, a haunted expression worn under his mask. The stiff forms of the other ghouls leaned forward in their seats, their black, bug-like lenses focused intently on the Antipope between them, joining in at staring expectantly at their Papa as they waited for a reaction.
Copia’s eyes were still glued to the stage but there was a particularly vacant and dull quality to his gaze, his face void of expression save for a small smile. His hands rose robotically, joining the many others in congratulatory applause, albeit soft and somewhat discordant in its rhythm.
Aether watched on in confusion, his brows knitting together from under his mask as he observed him. Something was off with him. What had been the constant feedback of his Copia’s anxiety had disappeared, leaving his quintessence empty of his input. Seconds passed with nothing taking its place, then what felt like minutes, still resulting in nothing. The ghoul had expected him to be distraught, overcome with emotions to the point that it would become near impossible to contain them, perhaps even needing to be consoled or corralled in the process. But this? This? It was something entirely different from what Aether had expected. Instead of the pain and dread and whatever else negative emotion that the quintessence ghoul had damn near planned and prepared for, all that emanated from the man next to him was a dull haze, thick like soup and impossible to wade through. It was something akin to an oppressing fog that obscured anything beyond the tip of your nose, effectively hiding any possible traces of emotion for Aether to chase.
He couldn’t tell if this outcome was better or worse.
From beyond Copia, Sunshine, and Swiss’ heads now sat on a swivel. Ever the observant ones, their attention had been drawn away from their Papa by the bulky, black cameras panning over the crowd, it and its respective spotlight ultimately settling on their rigid forms. Aether, taking notice of the two ghouls’ diverging concentration, followed the direction of their line of sight. To his nauseating chagrin, he saw their faces- more so masks, save for Copia- displayed on one of the many large LED screens posted to the sides of the stage, replacing one of the many congratulatory images of the winner in horrific splendor.
Silently cursing the camera crew and everyone else in the venue, Aether tore his attention away from the screens and returned it to Copia once again, finding that the smile that had been the only break between his otherwise empty expression had fallen. His painted face had taken on an intense look of exhaustion now, the lines in his face that had become ever prominent in the past months now slack. The overhead light that shone down on them like a malevolent searchlight overemphasized the shapes of his face, abruptly transforming its structure to that of one that looked far more drawn and hollow. The painted shapes on his skin only worked to exaggerate this even further, the curves of his cheeks and depths of eye sockets deepening significantly. Color had drained from the few areas of his exposed skin, leaving him waxy and pale. He took on a lifeless appearance as his body slumped back into his chair.
He looked almost like a corpse, or maybe even a ghost , Aether thought, laughing to himself mirthlessly. This all felt like some cruel comedy routine and they were the main act, made to flounder in distress and agony for the rest of the venue to gawp and laugh at.
It hurt to see him like this. It hurt so fucking much. That hellfire-like burn inside his chest, the one he had become so intimately acquainted with that night Terzo had been ripped from the stage and his subsequent execution months later, began to make its return, the flames licking at his ribs and caressing his heart and lungs with violent enthusiasm. It might as well have been heartburn sent from the ninth circle of hell and in no way was any amount of antacids going to help.
At a loss for ways to help either himself or his Papa, Aether placed a cautious hand on Copia’s thigh, his clawed thumb rubbing back and forth lightly on the outside of his leg. It helped as much as he thought it would- which is to say not at all. Copia’s mismatched eyes still remained glazed over and distant, his limbs laying limp and figure still. The only true movement he made was the near imperceivable rise and fall of his chest as he took in the shallowest of breaths, almost as if the air in the room was a finite resource and he was desperate to conserve it.
Despite the obvious ineffectiveness of the quintessence ghoul’s comforts, Dewdrop joined him in his efforts, shifting as far as his seat’s armrest would allow him, and leaning into Copia’s side. With the somewhat little body weight he had, he tried to provide Copia with a warm and comforting pressure that he knew the man had come to appreciate in times of stress.
The three of them stayed like that- with the six other ghouls remaining fixated on their Papa or their surroundings- for the remainder of the ceremony. Copia only finally stirred from his frozen position, rising like a member of the living dead, well after the seated crowd began to leave. He stood up from his chair in a way that made it seem like the mere action alone took all the effort he could ever muster and began to trudge through the rows of seats and towards the exit, his ghouls flanking silently behind him.
————
The bright and excitable background that lay beyond the ceremony venue felt as if it were mocking them the minute they stepped outside. Each laugh, each smile, it all had felt like an offense, taking its toll on each of them as they began their march back to the limo that waited to take them home. Whether it was obvious or not, there was a thrum of shot nerves amongst them all, palpable in the very air around them.
Cirrus, trying to be the solid rock for the pack that she often was, gave little indication of stress- at least, to the untrained eye that is. Those who truly knew her would take one look at how her blunt, nail-polish-painted claws picked at one another and (if she were partly unmasked) the way her fangs worried at her bottom lip would say otherwise. And, as if she were a litmus test for the pack’s level of stress, if Cirrus was unable to maintain her utter composure in the face of what lay before them, then the others would (very likely) not be faring any better.
Ghouls such as Swiss and Sunshine shifted restlessly, moving from foot to foot as the second they as a group had to stand still, waiting for some other menagerie of people to pass. The inklings of quintessence that ran through their beings as multi-ghouls were in overdrive. Not as well regulated nor understood as a solely-quintessence ghoul’s powers, their many elemental factors fed off the quintessence to create a chaotic internal storm, filling their vessels with an energy that made it nigh painful to sit still through.
Mountain fared no better, in his own not-completely-understood-by-the-others way (save for the previous air ghoul, Zephyr, but knowing that aided the pack very little at the moment). Mountain had grown silent- which wasn’t unusual for the giant ghoul- but it was the type of silence that was cause for concern. The earth ghoul was a known observer, preferring to watch instead of speak more times than not, which meant, even if he was paying attention to something other than what was at hand, he was focused. Noticing. But not now. As of now, he had retreated somewhere in his mind as he did on occasion- a place he couldn’t begin to explain, only able to offer a mild “ I dunno ” upon question- completely absent from this world.
It was reminiscent of how Copia was as of now, Aether had come to think, but the earth ghoul was too far gone to be of any help at the moment.
Rain and Cumulus, on the other hand, fidgeted relentlessly with their uniforms. The smaller air ghoulette picked at the purposeful imperfections of her jacket and chewed at the inside of her lip, taking little care for the blood she had begun to taste. This was while Rain, hands held close to his chest, spun the ring he wore on one hand back and forth on repeat.
The ghouls no longer troubled themselves with keeping the illusion of the hellish invariable collective. Truthfully, it had come to the point that none of them could bring themselves to give a shit about said rule, given the circumstances.
Aether, in an attempt to abate his own stress, surveyed each member of his pack, trying to gauge their state of composure, trying to assess their need for aid- though, he was likely in no position to provide it.
Was it his job? No. It had never been his job to keep the peace and manage the emotions of everyone around him. If anything, he had been told to “butt out of it” on more than one occasion, but, at times like these where dysregulation was high, he felt obligated to. Blame it on his element or on his inherent need to be needed, it just was the only way he could begin to feasibly fix this mess- or at the very least, make himself feel better, if only a fraction.
Making his way through the other six ghouls and finding that, while they all seemed to cling to composure with a weakened and slipping grip, they would remain “okay” for now, Aether turned his focus to the last ghoul, the one that concerned him the most when it came to dealing with stress. Dewdrop.
If the telltale creaking of his unyielding fangs clenched hard against one another and the tightly balled state of his fists was to be any indication of the small ghoul’s state of agitation, he was on the precipice of an explosion.
Despite his presence becoming nigh synonymous with stoicness (save for the exaggerations of his frustrations on stage), the water-ghoul-turned-fire-ghoul was fragile. It had taken him months of effort to find a semblance of control and stability and years to come close to being able to maintain it. And this had been asking for patience from his pack mates, new and old, all the while. So much change and so much tragedy packed within such a short period of time so soon after his summoning had made him volatile. That’s not to say both Mountain and Aether couldn’t relate, they both had been exposed to a similar start to their topside lives, but it was different. He was never given the chance to mourn, for both Terzo and himself. He was never given the chance to figure out who he was before his change, before his gills turned to cauterized divots and his blood turned to gasoline.
A part of him was grateful for the transformation though, the roaring crackle and searing heat of his new element fit his fiery nature, but it burned away at parts of himself that he ached to have back. The one part he missed so frequently was the ability to automatically regulate himself. Water ghouls, so often placid in their nature, had a knack for it. Even he, with his white-water-rapid-attitude, had it. Now, now , he felt everything too strongly, too vividly, with no innate ability to stop it. He was tired of the all-consuming and ever-exhausting emotions it would cause and the overwhelming amount of effort he’d have to employ to overcome them. He had been getting better at it, though, right?
Even though that had been true, everything that day had done its damndest to push each of their limits, leaving his reserves empty. Traumas that were unique to him and those that he shared with both Mountain shared and Aether were rearing their ugly heads with no way to stop them, making it impossible to escape from a downward spiral of fury-inducing anguish that he was prone to.
The small fire ghoul’s mind was reeling.
How dare they be happy. How dare they feel good when they had to fear for the well-being of their Papa. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. He didn’t want to- no- he couldn’t lose another one. It had taken him years to finally let himself become attached to Copia after the abrupt removal and death of Terzo.
He’d finally gotten comfortable. He’d finally found himself capable of loving again- capable of being loved again- he couldn’t go through losing that a second time.
Every Papa would retire, everyone, especially the ghouls, knew that. But ever since the execution orders were set for the three retired Emeritus brothers, all in the name of allowing the next to ascend, it had been a day Copia’s ghouls dreaded, hoping beyond all hope that maybe it’d be different for him. Maybe if their Papa was good enough, maybe if they were good enough, the Ministry would spare him. The 2023 Grammys could have been Copia’s chance to prove himself, to save himself, even if it hadn’t worked for Terzo. Just maybe.
They all knew it was unreasonable, stupid even, but hope was all they had.
Well, all they had had.
Now Satan only knew what the clergy had in store for Copia when his time came, and if Aether were to consider all that had happened since his summoning, it wouldn’t be good.
Copia and his ghouls trudged through the crowds, a funeral procession for a living dead man with the eight ghouls sticking close around him, deterring any post-ceremony
conversations or interactions. To each of the ghouls’ surprise however, there was a singular brave- or perhaps stupid- member of the paparazzi that stepped in their way, a string of questions spilling from his mouth as the light of his camera flashed relentlessly in their faces. The nine of them froze in their tracks, mildly dumbfounded by the audacity of the man. He may have not known the extent of damage one ghoul could do to a human body, their teeth crushing bone while their claws ripped through flesh with ease, but if this taunt was to continue, he would soon know well enough. He might as well have been antagonizing eight loose tigers, their stomachs empty and blood boiling.
A growing unignorable tension spread throughout the ghouls, many of them clenching and unclenching their claws reflexively with hackles raised and low, rumbling growls building in the back of their throats.
Aether found himself joining many of his pack mates in this involuntary display. His lips drew back in a snarl as his own unfamiliar rumble of anger reverberated in his chest, but he caught himself before he teetered off the precipice of loss of self-control.
They needed to get to the limousine and leave now before they ended up being the topic everyone and their mother would be posting about. He had to get them to snap out of it.
The quintessence ghoul gave a series of strangled, frantic chirps, attempting to redirect the attention of his pack that stood ready to pounce. When his first series of calls fell on unhearing ears, the noises failing to shake the other ghouls of their fixation, he let out another set of chirps, the rising panic and desperation tangible within his voice. Small twitches of heads, just enough to angle an ear towards Aether, rippled through the pack, the reluctant unclenching of claws and loosening of taut muscles following slowly after.
Just as Aether allowed himself to let out a sigh of shaky relief, he was shoved to the side, causing him to stumble.
Evidently, his efforts hadn’t worked on all of the ghouls.
Dewdrop, having come from the back of the pack and now pushing past Copia (who had been standing there, almost entirely unaware of the situation from inside his dissociative haze), had finally snapped. His usual composure and stoic stature had been disregarded in favor of blind, passion-fueled rage.
Aether’s body locked in horrified anticipation. He wasn’t usually the type to freeze in times of sudden stress, quite the opposite really, he was one to spring into action, acting on instinct rather than waiting, but there was something about that day that made his limbs seize up, cementing him to where he stood. He watched in slow motion as Dew pulled down his balaclava to expose his mouth to the man- who still stood, blabbering on continuously- the lights of the venue glinting off of the ghoul’s bared fangs. A guttural growl followed by a sharp hiss left Dewdrop’s throat, sounding not unlike a cornered wild cat. It was a clear promise of bodily destruction that Aether knew the fire ghoul would not hesitate to make good on.
He wanted blood, he wanted pain. He wanted to show them, make them feel how he felt.
Brief, sharp screams littered the air from members of the crowd that had now gathered around the ghouls and Copia, having sensed even the tiniest potential for drama like sharks smelling a drop of blood in the ocean. However, even with the screams, they still watched the scene unfold with irritating curiosity, phones and cameras pointed straight at them.
The offending man that Dew had locked in his sights was finally hit with the realization that his interaction was far from wanted- a realization he was fairly accustomed to, but these deadly ramifications were something entirely new. Dropping his camera with a yelp of terror, he fell to his knees, his hands clasped tightly together as he began to beg. Desperate, whining pleas for forgiveness came from his quivering lips in a jumbled string of words, the noise grating on each of the ghouls’ ears. When his logic that the enraged Dewdrop- a creature not of man but of hellish origins- could be reasoned with failed, he turned his pleas to Copia, screaming at him to call off his monster , then turned to the crowd, begging for their help. However, both Copia and their audience stood paralyzed, he still in his daze and the others in horrified shock.
Dewdrop closed the few steps between him and the man, his heaving body looming over him as he leered down at him through the lenses of his mask, his eyes filled with undeniable bloodlust. Another growl, this one deeper and far more guttural, began to emanate from Dew as he raised a poised claw, ready to tear his victim’s flesh from the bone.
Aether waited with bated breath, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing himself for the sound of blood spattering against the pavement and the chorus of screams that would follow.
But it never came.
Upon opening his eyes cautiously, Aether saw that instead of a blood-soaked Dewdrop and gore-painted ground, the smaller ghoul was now enveloped in Mountain’s arms. The enormous ghoul, even in his unpresent frame of mind, had not fallen victim to the frozen state that had befallen Aether and was able to pull Dewdrop away before he struck. The man that kneeled before them began to endlessly thank earth ghoul for his inadvertent rescue, his body shaking with the pure terror-induced adrenaline of a near-death experience, though his gratefulness went ignored.
Dewdrop squirmed in Mountain’s vice-like grip, legs kicking fruitlessly in the air as the earth ghoul lifted him off the ground, preventing him from getting any form of purchase. A harsh caterwaul erupted from his gnashing mouth, a string of expletives aimed at both Mountain and the man following quickly after- though the earth ghoul knew the ones meant for him lacked sincerity.
The furious cry that had come from the small ghoul shook the grip that the shocked daze held on the audience, returning them to conscious reality.
The shrill noise wasn’t what truly shocked Aether however, it was the soft sound of unconstrained weeping that the small ghoul’s expletives metamorphosed into.
Dew had gone limp in Mountain’s grip, his arms clinging tightly to earth ghoul’s own, not to attempt to pry them off, but with the desire to be held. His thin frame shook as tears fell from his tightly squeezed eyes; what remained of them after making their way from under his mask streaked in thin, wobbly lines around his taut, u-shaped mouth, contorted by his crying.
While Aether was accustomed to the smaller ghoul’s anger-filled outbursts (though, the public variety was far rarer), there was only a handful of times he had shown true vulnerability like this, and that had been in private . The number of times that had happened in public was a far smaller amount, one that he was confident he could count on a single hand. None had been as blatant as this, however.
Aether felt the hot sting of tears pricking at the corners of his own eyes, his grief- which had been distracted in the brief moments where Dewdrop stood ready to strike- came rushing over him again, somehow heavier than the first time.
Leaving the Grammys venue would make it official. Permanent . Like signing a death warrant, condemning those who the document spoke of to the slaughter.
Suddenly going off the deep end like Dew almost had didn’t sound like such a bad idea, Aether had thought.
Shoving this notion down and setting his jaw hard, desperate to subdue the new tremble of his chin, he caught the attention of Cirrus, their lense-shielded eyes locking. The air ghoulette that so often held herself with an air of ferocity and liveliness had taken on a wilted look, like a cut flower left in a vase a bit too long, most of its vibrancy having ebbed away. Despite this, Aether knew he could rely on her, especially at such a time when he feared the unavoidable shake in his voice and the loss of his already waning composure if he were to try to speak.
Taking Aether’s silent plea in stride, Cirrus let out a sharp trill, spurring the others to continue moving forward.
Mountain was the first to resume making his way to the limousine, still carrying Dewdrop in his arms (though he now held Dew bridal style, with the small ghoul curled into his chest) as he stepped past the man with his camera, who remained cowered on the ground. The rest of them followed suit, ignoring the flashing of cameras and murmuring voices around them, with one exception; Copia stood still, his eyes locked onto nothing in particular, somehow appearing deeper into his daze than he had been previously. His pallor had taken on a shade that nearly matched the deathly white of his papal paint and there was a sway to his stance that made it seem that the gentlest of breezes would send him toppling to the ground like a frail house of sticks.
Aether, swallowing an emergent hitch of his breath at seeing him like this, fell to the rear of the group, motioning with a brief jerk of his head for the other ghouls to continue without them- to which, even though there was some resistance, they complied. He took to Copia’s side, placing a gentle but trembling hand on the small of his back, his touch feather-light as opposed to his usual firm but tender habits. He was trying his damndest not to startle him, but in the end, his effort felt near useless.
Copia’s muscles tensed briefly under Aether’s touch as he jumped at the feeling of the ghoul’s hand against him, his head whipping unsteadily to face him so that his bleary, mismatched eyes reflected in the dark lenses of the ghoul’s mask. He uttered a weak noise of something between surprise and confusion, sounding as if he had been woken up mid-dream.
“Come on, Papa,” Aether murmured, his face close to Copia’s ear, his voice, despite its low volume, notably wavering. “We’re headin’ back.”
“Wha- oh,” he said almost sleepily, his voice a hoarse whisper. He took a second to fully register what Aether had said, his mind lagging far behind his surroundings, and nodded his head listlessly in agreement, “ Okay .”
Encouraging Copia forward with a ginger pull from his hand that he still held on the man’s back, Aether led Copia after the others, his eyes never leaving the man for more than a handful of seconds at a time.
By the time they had reached the limo, the last two ghouls standing outside the vehicle (this being Swiss and Mountain) were lowering themselves into their seats. Though, upon seeing Aether and Copia approaching out of the corner of his eye, Mountain stepped out of the backseat silently, making room for them to enter. Aether gave a brief, strained chuff of appreciation and guided Copia through the limousine door as he did, following him in quickly after.
The scene he was met with upon sliding into his seat was one that only cemented the presence of the nauseating bile that had built steadily in his stomach. There was a suffocating stagnancy that permeated the cabin of the vehicle now that the only hope they thought they still had was gone. The weight of this realization had descended upon them all, settling deep within their chests and wrapping itself around their hearts in such a way that it felt impossible to breathe. The only true sound that managed to pervade such a blanket of otherwise near silence came from Rain. The low, yet wispy rumble that was so unique to him, emanated from within his chest as he held Dewdrop in his lap, the water ghoul’s chin resting in the crook of the other’s neck while they rocked in unison.
He was trying to comfort him. Aether, utilizing the minute amount of quintessence he could muster to increase its effectiveness, joined Rain to form a rumbling duet.
The sound visibly loosened the taught muscles of the limousine passengers, if only just a bit, with even Copia’s slumped and dazed form leaning into his side, as if the noise had drawn the man’s body to him. They would need all the comfort they could get at a moment like this.
“I’m sure we’ll figure something out,” Rain said, the fatigue that was felt by all present in the drag of his syllables. The water ghoul wasn’t known for being the most optimistic out of the bunch- quite the opposite, really- but he was trying. Perhaps, just by saying “everything will be okay” it would manifest a happy ending to all of this, and things will turn out alright. Their kind weren’t the ones to deal in miracles, but it was worth a shot.
Rain stroked a thin, pallid hand back and forth against Dewdrop’s back- whether it was to soothe himself or for the fire ghoul at this point would be anyone’s guess. Nevertheless, Dew’s body shook just barely now, his tears now ceased, pointing to something having worked.
This was how the scene within the limousine remained until they arrived at the steps of the abbey- the purr-punctuated but otherwise silent atmosphere only breaking once the vehicle came to a halt and stood idle for a moment.
Aether and Copia remained still as the others began to stir around him, shifting towards the opening limousine door. The ghoul sucked in a breath, expanding his lungs as far as they could inflate, and steeled himself for whatever lay waiting for them outside those doors. By the time he felt prepared (as well as he ever would be), they were the only ones left inside the vehicle’s cabin.
Letting the air trickle out from his lungs in a slow exhale, Aether placed a gentle hand on Copia’s knee, wiggling it back and forth slightly to grab his attention. It was a sad attempt at playfulness on his part, and it was made even more so with the small, forced smile Aether gave when he looked at the man beside him.
Copia, now a bit more present, returned his gaze with heavy-lidded eyes, his exhaustion glaringly prominent on his painted face. The excitable, almost childlike glint that so often found its place within his eyes was absent, a dull, death-like glaze taking its place.
Despite how many times he had been knocked down, berated, or ridiculed in the short time (in terms of a ghoul’s existence, at least) Aether had known Copia, the ghoul had only one distant memory of a time when the man’s eyes had taken on such a look of abject defeat. That one moment- the image clouded by his own grief and turmoil- had been at the funeral procession for the three Emeritus brothers before the Cardinal. Despite the even briefer length of time Aether had known him at the time of the procession, with his affections for him still far from blossoming into what it was now, he had made a wish that day to never see Copia in that state again. Not for the reason that he didn’t want to deal with him when in such a condition- he was a people-pleasing quintessence ghoul for Satan’s sake, he lived to serve- but for the pain it caused him to see such a man hurt like that.
All Aether wanted to do right that very moment was hold him, enveloping him within his body in its entirety, and never let go. And maybe he’d let him, at least for tonight.
Taking Copia’s hand that lay limply in his lap in his own, Aether slid out of the limousine, his Papa in tow. They were met by the same seven, black-goggled stares that they had been upon approaching the vehicle, the air of exhaustion and concern thick amongst the pack.
Rain still held onto Dewdrop as they stood outside the vehicle. His arms were threaded around the fire ghoul’s chest from behind with a distinctive grip, providing Dew with the compression he so often craved. This was all while the water ghoul’s head rested against Swiss’ shoulder, who was at their side. The multi-ghoul’s hand clutched at Rain’s hip, bearing a not-so-subtle tremor as he reciprocated the affection, resting his head atop the other’s. Next to them, Mountain sagged where he stood, his lengthy frame folding in on itself with the weight of that night’s events. He looked as if he were about to collapse if it weren’t for Cumulus, who had wedged herself snuggly under his arm, her own arms wrapped around his half-bent waist with a crushing grip. Their tails hung heavily together, intertwined and squeezing each other, attempting to wring out any form of comfort they could from one another. The other two ghoulettes, Cirrus and Sunshine, clung together not far away, attempting something similar. Cirrus leaned heavily into Sunny, nuzzling deeply against her body as their standing position allowed. Their hands that hung between them were clasped together, fingers interlocked with their grip near white-knuckled, while the air ghoulette clenched the multi-ghoulette’s upper arm in her other hand for good measure.
Each ghoul held onto each other as if their pack mate would vanish if their grasp were to so much as to waiver, determined to ensure they would stay together. Even Aether found himself holding onto Copia’s gloved hand with an iron grip that was sure to make the man’s hand ache, though he made no indication of it if it did. It was all they could do, really, considering such a luxury of confidence in remaining there- alive - couldn’t be afforded for their Papa. Not to the extent they could expect for each other, at least. The ghouls would try their damnedest to change that fact, however. Aether was sure of it.
“I don’t entirely know what I was expecting, but I thought we’d have Imperator halfway up our asses by now,” Swiss said with thinly veiled distaste, adequately expressing how the other ghouls felt about the woman as well. Though, if you were to ask some of them, a far louder, far more crass version would be needed to convey the proper message.
A handful of the ghouls took to glancing around themselves at their surroundings, finding that the multi-ghoul had made a fair observation. The front yard and subsequent entrance to the abbey were near empty. Only an odd ghoul, clergy member, or sibling passed by with no intention to stop.
Most days, even at a somewhat-later time of night such as then (the time being 9:18 pm to be exact), more than just a handful of abbey residents would still be bustling around into the later hours of the night. Whether it be in the spirit of work or play, it wouldn’t be until well past midnight that the back-and-forth of uniformed figures would truly come to the trickle of bodies it was now. This oddly disquieting observation made the ghouls’ hairs stand on end and they had yet to factor in that they had returned from the Grammys of all things. A factor where, no matter the outcome, one would think they would have been met with a small crowd of people to explain themselves to, or at the very least, be met by the people controlling the operation in the first place.
Aether couldn’t care less, however. The less people- the less Imperator - to deal with, the better.
Feeling the way in which Copia’s hand tightened around his own at the mention of Sister Imperator’s name, the quintessence ghoul became determined to not afford her the option to catch them. With the Copia’s hand still in his, Aether pulled forward with more force than he had intended, anxious to leave the open space of the yard and return to the protective walls of the ghouls’ wing of the abbey, yanking the man with him. Copia, still somewhat unsteady on his legs, stumbled after him, his sudden lurch forward causing both Swiss, Sunshine, and Cumulus to untangle themselves from their pack mates and lunge forward, ready to catch him. Though he managed to maintain his footing, offering quiet words of reassurance to the ghouls who jumped to his aid that he was fine, Cirrus barked an admonishing, “ Aether! ”, causing the ghoul to abruptly stop in his tracks.
“ Shit, Papa, sorry -“ he began, the shame of being so wrapped up within his own head that he forgot about the person he was worried about in the first place rose to his cheeks, flushing them a deep, wine from under his mask.
Copia, seeming mostly, if not entirely, cognizant now, cut his apologies short. “It’s fine. I’m fine, really,” he said, taking his hand out from Aether’s grasp and offering the ghoul a light pat on the back.
He wasn’t sure if it was fine, really. There was an ache of emptiness in both his palm and chest as Copia took his hand out from his that spawned yet another thread of worry within his brain- as if there weren’t already enough to tie a rope and hang himself with . This time, it was the fear that his Papa was pulling away, shutting down, and putting on a face to save others the trouble as he’d so commonly do.
He seemed to be back to acting “normal” enough- for the situation at least- but the glazed stare of defeat still remained in Copia’s eyes and it all but disturbed Aether.
“We ne- I, uh, just really want to get inside. Been too much stimulation and people, you know?” Aether said sheepishly, the tiny swell of guilt growing in his gut. This was not for the fact that he was humiliated to admit the day had taken its toll on him (though this, with many other feelings of inadequacy, would haunt him in the near future) but for the fact that he intended to use it and his quintessence to his advantage.
By nature, Aether was straightforward. There were few times where he didn’t say what he meant outright, and of those few times, they were reserved for times when he found it (and the persuasive powers of his element) absolutely necessary- minus the occasional, playful harassment that usually found Dewdrop or Swiss as the recipient. The self-identified necessity for his brand of manipulation never placated the sparks of guilt that he would experience for days after, however, feeling in some way that he had betrayed those he loved through his actions.
They, for the most part, trusted each other. Each member listened to the other’s concerns and took it to heart if it was serious enough- even in the event of a previous spat or argument. So there was no real reason for him to believe that his packmates and Papa wouldn’t listen to his concerns and follow him to their quarters without much fuss, but Aether was incapable of explaining himself. Truthfully, he currently felt incapable of everything he was meant to do . He had failed to keep control of the situation as they left the Grammys, and he had failed to manage his own emotions once they arrived at the abbey, almost hurting the man whom they were all worried about in the process. He had let his entire pack down as well as Copia, and no amount of him could admit that he was continuing to fail at regulating his emotions or that he was falling back onto less than savory methods to try and placate them, ultimately failing his loved ones further.
But they’d have to send him back to the pit before he let himself fail at keeping Copia safe from the Ministry.
“I’d have to agree with the sentiment. It’s been, eh… a long day ,” Copia said, hesitating as he tried to find the right word to describe the shit show that was not far in the past. “I’m sure we could all use some ‘R & R’.”
He gave little time for the weary murmurs of agreement to leave the lips of his ghouls before he began to make his way toward the large doors of the abbey’s front entrance. The unsure footing and shaky gait that Copia bore minutes earlier had been traded for one of determined liveliness as he did so, looking not unlike the hundred times he strode on stage for a ritual as they performed for the masses.
This seemingly sudden switch- one that would be of no concern for anyone that knew Copia through his public appearance as Papa but was garishly out of character for his “off-duty-self”- was not lost on the ghouls. His out-of-pocket adoption of bravado sent a ripple of unease through the infernal beasts, a series of short chitters and (albeit goggle-clad) side-eye glances essentially asking one another: ‘ you seeing this shit too?’ were exchanged between the eight.
It only served to deepen Aether’s anxieties that the man they loved was trying to pull away. Nevertheless, the eight followed after their Papa, undeniably ready to conclude the day. Even if a sense of unease was boiling just below the surface.
Whether it was through luck, or the bizarre emptiness of the abbey’s front yard extending to that of the wing both the ghouls’ and Copia’s quarters resided, the group was mercifully granted a reprieve from receiving an audience while within the abbey’s walls. Only a single ghoul had crossed their path by the time they arrived at the entrance to the pack’s quarters, the passing individual offering merely a sidelong glance towards them.
Mountain, his tail still partially entwined with Cumulus’, fished a ring of keys from his pants pocket. The earth ghoul had been entrusted with them for he had the luxury of wearing black denim jeans as opposed to the laced pants the rest of them wore. “ Benefits of hiding behind a drum kit ”, as he had said. The others that crowded around him as he fiddled with the lock- the thing being particularly temperamental, thanks to the time Sunshine jammed a nail file and an unraveled paper clip into it, thinking she could avoid another lecture about forgetting her keys- filed in one after another once the door gave way to the common room, shedding parts of their uniforms before collapsing onto the various furniture.
All but Aether, Copia, and Mountain himself remained outside, the two ghouls looking at the man expectantly. Mountain still held the door ajar, as if silently urging them to follow inside, Aether, on the other hand, was not as subtle. Unbuckling his mask and shoving it under his arm, Aether hooked his thumb toward the entrance, a diluted expression of anxiety on his face. “Do you want to, uh, do you want to stay the night? With us?” He tacked on the last few words hurriedly as if it wasn’t already implied that Copia would be surrounded by his ghouls if he were to say yes, whether he wanted it or not.
Before he was able to give the quintessence ghoul an answer, scrabbling noises filled the brief pocket of silence as the six ghouls from within the common room, either lying draped over furniture or each other (save for a particular fire ghoul), abandoned their weariness- if only briefly- to perk up from where they rested to offer their pleas.
A ragged but hopeful chorus of “ please, papa ”, “ stay ”, and “ yeah, come on, please ” came from the group, many of them echoing one another’s words as they began to rise from their seats, likely to attempt to drag Copia inside.
It was Dewdrop who had reached the door first, having been the only one out of the six who had yet to truly sit down, unable to fully release himself from the stress of the day. Instead, he had chosen to hover a few yards from the entrance, his sectoral heterochromatic eyes of dark blue and a fiery orange boring into Copia as the three stood outside the threshold of the room with an almost unnerving intensity. The small fire ghoul stepped out from the doorway and stretched forward, grabbing onto their Papa’s hand with a startlingly firm grip.
His voice was hoarse, his vocal cords strained from his cursing and screaming earlier that day, so when he tugged on Copia’s arm, begging him to stay, it came out in a raspy whisper.
“ Please, Papa. Please stay with us .”
He sounded as if he was on the verge of tears again, and if the growing sheen in his eyes was anything to go by, he was.
Aether felt his own tears welling up in his eyes, once again overcome by the gravity of it all. He just wanted this night to be over. He wanted everyone to lie down in the common room and sleep. Please just let them stay together and sleep.
A sympathetic smile developed on Copia’s painted face as he covered Dewdrop’s hands with his free one and gave him a reassuring squeeze. He looked up from the fire ghoul, his eyes shifting between the rest of them, and offered the same smile.
“You all are too sweet to me, I don’t deserve you. I’ll come by later, I promise. I just want to get out of this outfit and clean up. You wouldn’t want my paint all over your things, would you?” He laughed at his attempt at a joke, the sound dry and discordant, a far cry from his usual- albeit sometimes meek, but nevertheless, authentic - chuckles and “ha-ha’s”. Mountain, with his mask now hanging limply from one hand and never the one to be good at hiding his thoughts, furrowed his brow in confusion at his excuse, though this went unnoticed (or perhaps, ignored) by Copia.
Though the odd change in Copia’s behavior and subsequently odder excuse for him to leave went unacknowledged as he departed from the ghouls’ wing of the abbey, the unsettling sound of his mirthless laugh echoed in the eight ghouls’ minds and sent a wave of new anxiety down their spines. Cold, electric surges built at the nape of their necks and traveled down to the tip of their tails, making their hair stand on end once again.
Something didn’t feel right.
They were inclined to leave well enough alone and afford him the privacy he was so often deprived of, but a nagging sense of unease made it feel nearly impossible to do so without a sense of dread growing within them.
As the five ghouls took their places in the common room once again, both Aether, Mountain, and Dewdrop lingered at the doorway a second longer to watch Copia turn and continue down a corridor to their left before doing the same.
“Tell me if I’m wrong and it's just my anxiety acting up, but Papa’s acting really freaking weird,” Cumulus said from within Cirrus’ arms, the taller ghoulette holding her close to her chest so that she could bury her face into her cloud-like hair.
There was a murmur of quiet agreement.
“I mean- we’ve still got time to figure something out. They're not going to do anything immediately, right? So we can all rest for tonight, at least, but with the way he’s acting, I’m not sure.”
There was another mutter of agreement, or, at least, consideration of her point, save for the mumbling from under their breath that came from Dewdrop. Something about “ I wouldn’t put it past the assholes ”, but Cumulus only heard half of it.
Sunshine, ever the optimist, perked up from where she halfway lay under Swiss, the larger multi-ghoul draping himself half on her and half on Rain. “Maybe we’ll have another chance! There’s other award shows coming up, so maybe that might change the Ministry’s mind if we win those!”
Dewdrop, who had been quietly seething the moment a hopeful outlook was mentioned- so much so that both Aether and Rain who sat next to him could feel heat radiating off of him in waves- finally exploded.
“CAN’T YOU SEE THAT THERE ARE NO MORE CHANCES?! WE’RE FUCKED! THERE’S NOTHING WE CAN DO! WHY CAN’T YOU GET IT THROUGH YOUR GODDAMN HEADS?!” he screeched, rising from his seat as he did, his tail thrashing violently behind him. His fury was meant for all of them, but it found an easy target in Sunshine, her words the most recent and her buttons so easy to push, making her the freshest and most perfect of fodder.
The other seven ghouls were taken aback by their pack mate’s sudden detonation, a few of them even jumping in their seats upon the start of Dewdrop’s screaming. It had seemed as if the fire ghoul still had smoldering coals of heated emotions from earlier that day and had only needed the energy and the (what was in his mind) naive hope of the others to reignite it.
Strangled hiccups that signaled the beginning of tears came from the multi-ghoulette, not understanding what she did that made her deserve such treatment. She hated it when people screamed angrily at her. Too many times had it happened over the littlest things in her time before she joined the Ghost project, and now she found that the minute it occurred, she would find herself transported back months, hell, even years, to the unsavory moments in her life that she always tried to forget. They- even Dewdrop, who explicitly and empathetically acknowledged the fact when she told him- knew this. So why , why would he scream at her ? Especially when all she was trying to do was be hopeful in a time that felt so bleak. She was just trying to help.
As the tears began to roll down Sunny’s face, her hands flew to clasp over her mouth, attempting to stifle her hitching breath. Swiss shifted off of Rain so that he sat in front of Sunshine, blocking the fire ghoul’s line of sight and subsequent focus on his target.
“Dude, what the fuck ?” he growled, his ears pinned flat and eerily white fangs bared, one hand reaching out to hold it protectively in front of the multi-ghoulette behind him.
With his concentration on Sunshine now broken and his mind reeling with emotions that made his rib cage feel as if it were about to break, Dewdrop’s eyes scanned over each of his packmates erratically, desperate to find someone who understood. He needed someone who would justify what he felt. Justify his explosiveness. Justify something , but when he was met only with weary or guarded stares, he suddenly felt as if he had been backed against a wall. Superheated feelings of what he interpreted as betrayal boiled inside his gut as hot tears and snot began to drip from his eyes and nose, catching in his mustache in a gross mixture, to which he wiped- or more so scrubbed- furiously from his face with the back of his sleeve.
Aether’s voice came steady and low, trying to avoid becoming another trigger for the fire ghoul, knowing all too well that his targeted hostility wasn’t true to how he felt outside of this moment of intensity.
“Dew, you’re having an episode. Go take some time to yourself, see if it helps, yeah?”
The fire ghoul’s body trembled where he stood, a mixture of red-hot rage and ice-cold dread overtaking every fiber of his being.
“ Fuck you, fuck all of you. You guys don’t fucking care what happens ,” he spat halfheartedly, his words wavering with the quiver of his chin. With another particularly aggressive swipe to his nose with his sleeve and a sniff, he stormed to his room, slamming the door behind him.
A moment of uncomfortable quiet fell on the remaining seven, with the exhalation of held breaths and the soft coos of Swiss’ voice as he helped Sunshine come down from her fit of tears the only sounds that managed to perforate the silence. However, if one were to listen closely, other sounds could be heard just faintly. Ones of stifled sobs and curses, bleeding from under Dewdrop’s door.
Leaning forward from where he sat on the couch so that his elbows rested on his knees, Aether put his face in his hands and let out a strained groan. It sounded as if he were one minor inconvenience away from utterly losing it, just one stain on his shirt or spilled drink away from tumbling over the edge. Then his resolve would break, and with it would come the tears. Ones that would ultimately leave him a blubbering mess that couldn’t seem to do anything right for his family. When Aether felt himself begin to reach that tearful precipice of no return as he began to mull over every little thing that had gone wrong that day, however, he felt a soft hand come to rest on his shoulder. While it did little besides lay against his clothed skin, its presence offered a sense of comfort he had craved since the day had started. It might have not been much- sort of like putting a bandaid on a bullet wound- but it was something.
The quintessence ghoul refrained from looking up despite the touch, instead opting to continue to smother his face within his hands and focusing on the tightness that was now starting to release its hold- if only slightly- on his chest. His sight wasn’t necessary for him to discern who it was anyways. By the touch alone, he could tell that it was Rain. What Aether could not tell though, was the look he wore on his face as he looked down at him. His eyes- circled by dark rings of tiredness- were half-lidded and soft, watching the bigger ghoul next to him with an understanding that most anyone outside of their pack could never even dream to have. Aether felt the drag of his rings and the gentle brush of the water ghoul’s cool fingers slide up and down his shoulder blade languidly, lulling him further into a calming state. He may not have been a quintessence ghoul, but he was good .
Rain’s voice was placid as it had been when comforting Dewdrop in the limousine earlier, offering not to comfort Aether but Sunshine now, knowing that the quintessence ghoul felt it as one of his responsibilities to keep the peace but had been clearly overwhelmed with it all.
“Sorry Dew lashed out like that, it’s sorta been a while since he has… He was doing so well too…” Rain paused to take a slow breath, with his exhale equally as slow, but forceful this time, the air exiting through his nose with an audible hiss. “I think today got to him.”
Sunshine, her tears subsiding thanks to Swiss’ comforts, sniffed loudly, rubbing at her red-rimmed eyes with the heels of her palms. Her voice had the smallest amount of a croak to it, her throat still congested from her crying.
“I-I know he doesn’t mean it, not after he comes out of it, a-at least,” Sunshine hiccuped. “But the yelling- he knows. He knows I can’t handle that. I just…” she trailed off as her lip began to tremble and tears once again threatened to spring to her golden eyes. “I just can’t think this was our last chance! I don’t want Papa to leave us!”
“None of us do, Sunbeam,” Swiss said, an almost startling somberness to his demeanor as he shifted to take Sunshine into his arms. With a tiredness that could only be described as oppressive taking over his limbs, Swiss let his body drape her back and rested his chin gently in the crook of her neck. A faint, wheezy purr (one that Cumulus always pointed out was probably due to the various ways he smoked) built ever so slowly in his throat. “Like Rainy said in the limo, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”-
These were the last words that would hang in the air, hovering over the heads of each of the ghouls like a personal rain cloud as a blanket of silence descended on them once again.
—-
Seconds. Then minutes. Then the better part of an hour had passed. No matter how long the span of time between when they last saw Copia and now grew, there was still no sign of him.
While many of the ghouls couldn’t begin to tell how long it had been since he had departed from the entrance to their quarters, it had been long enough for each of them to slip into their rooms and trade their disheveled uniforms for something more comfortable ( properly comfortable , not naked- as the innuendo so often alluded to). However, perhaps operating on the nonsensical belief that if Copia were to arrive at their door and there was no one to receive him, they’d miss their chance and he’d be gone for good, the ghouls took turns slinking off to their rooms. One by one they went, with one ghoul going and returning, the common room reverting back to the stagnant silence that had befallen it when their earlier conversations ceased once the ghoul returned to where they sat. Only when the next ghoul- whoever decided that they would be next to go- got up and headed for their room, would the cycle start again.
All while there was still no sign of head nor (metaphorical) tail of their Papa as each of the ghouls took their turns to change, they still returned to the common room to wait in silence. It wasn’t until Aether returned from his room, the last one to trade out his clothes, that Mountain broke the silence. His first syllable cracked with a voice gravelly from disuse.
“D-did any of you find Papa’s reasons to leave to be a bit, I dunno-” He paused for a second, trying to find the best word to describe it, but settled on something simple when no other words would suffice. “ Weird ?” The earth ghoul shifted uncomfortably in the armchair he found himself in, the old leather creaking as he sat up from his slumped position. “I mean, s’not like he hasn’t washed up here before or borrowed clothes, though I’m sure there’s some of his lyin’ somewhere around here.”
“He might’ve wanted some time alone. He probably has a lot to think about and stuff to process,” Cirrus offered, her tendency to reserve her inner emotional turbulence to herself and herself alone, evident from her suggestion.
“But what about how he acted, like, overall ? Like I said earlier, even if he’s taking time for himself, what about that bizarre switch? First, he was all out of it and then suddenly acting all hunky-dory,” Cumulus said, still sitting with Cirrus, with her side pressed heavily into hers. She wiggled in place and made brisk, back-and-forth motions with her arms as if she were marching jovially, as though the gesture would help further get her point across.
Mountain, tilting his head as to look over his thick-rimmed glasses that sat low on his nose, pointed a lanky finger towards Cumulus briefly, as if to say “ exactly ”.
Aether sucked in a large breath of air as if he had just been unfrozen, the noise loud enough to startle some of the ghouls. It felt like the first deep breath he had taken in ages.
“I’ll go check on him,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch with a grunt, his weary body unwilling to return to a state of motion. He had been searching for an excuse to entertain his anxieties and go after Copia, and this would likely be the only chance he’d get. If it was squandered and found himself attempting it at a different time, he’d likely find himself facing prying questions. Questions he feared would cause the others to dissuade him from following the man, claiming he was being too overbearing, and that he needed to learn to let negative emotions sit and develop for once and not to try and fix everything. He was known to overstep, despite his best intentions, after all.
He needed a chance to rectify his failures. He just needed to fix this.
Before anyone could say otherwise, Aether made his way to the main door, borderline jogging to the exit, but made sure to grab his phone from where it lay on a nearby side table as he did.
Just as Cirrus began to shift from her seat, leaning forward as if she were about to get up and say something, Aether swung open the door and stepped out, but not before plucking a ring of keys from the mounted wall hooks. Whose they were he didn’t really care. As long as they had the key to their shared common room, it would suffice. It wasn’t like they locked their personal rooms anyways. He closed the door behind him, the frame rattling briefly with the nervous strength Aether accidentally imposed onto the door as he shut it. However, a second later, he opened it again, ducking his head into the common room to see the six haggard and mildly confused faces looking back at him. The whole scene would have been bordering on comical if it weren’t for the given circumstances.
“I’ll let you guys know what’s going on once I know, kay?” He said, waving his phone back and forth in an upheld hand as if the others couldn’t guess the method by which he would contact them. “An’ check up on Dew in a bit for me, please? I want to make sure he’s doing alright after cooling down- if he has by then.”
Swiss, untangling an arm from around Sunshine (whom he found himself wrapped around again), gave him a lethargic thumbs up and accompanying half-smile.
“Got it, big guy. We’ll text you.”
“Thanks.”
Closing the door once again, Aether felt a chill dance down his back, finding its way into his arms and hands, a cold, tingling pain culminating in his palms.
Time to find Papa .
----
His body had gone numb, his limbs and mouth acting of their own accord the minute the winner’s name left the announcer’s lips. Everything felt like a dream- or, more accurately, a nightmare. With his head swimming and mind buzzing as they left the venue and made their drive back home ( was it really home though? ), his world distorted and blurred. It was as if he were looking through a fishbowl filled with silt-emulsified water.
His legs felt weak and muscleless like they couldn’t possibly bear his weight upon exiting the limo, but they somehow had. This feat he hadn’t thought himself capable of held his meager focus until he found himself beginning to fall, though his legs managed to stay underneath him once again. It wasn’t until he took in the faces of his ghouls as they all stood there- his attention drawn by the bark of Aether’s name- that he found an ounce of true, in-the-present consciousness within himself, just enough to recognize the look of sickening worry and fear that the creatures he loved so dearly held for him. Just enough to want- no- need to try and placate that fear and worry, albeit in his own uncanny and avoidant way.
The numbness had persisted as he made his disingenuous promise that he would come back to the ghouls once he had changed clothes, and it continued to persist as he tried to find somewhere private he could think.
He had tried the bone-chilling mausoleum- the wing of the abbey in cruel proximity to his room and more private than his own room, which had been an equally cruel fact- that held the preserved bodies of his brothers and father. They still looked as they had when he had last seen them in their caskets years ago, never having the wherewithal to expose himself to the sight of their forms lying dead since then. And they would continue to look the same probably long after he would be added to the display, until the expert embalming wore off, at least.
While the numbness that filled his body and mind was able to dampen the shock that came with seeing them (save for Nihil, he saw enough of the bastard in his ghost form and on stage) in their glass coffins, it could not deaden the perpetual sensation of eyes boring into every inch of his body as he stood there in the faint candlelight. Whether the eyes belonged to his brothers- ones he would assume were glaring with distaste or disdain, thanks to the unfavorable way in which the relationship he had held with them had left off, thanks to their untimely demise, or said demise in general- Nihil, or some other inconspicuous damned souls and beasts was not something he could withstand the feeling long enough to find out. Anyways, the sight of the four deceased Papas was too direct of a confrontation of his situation, even if the topic of his mortality and the things to come was the topic of his thoughts that he so desperately sought a place peaceful enough for him to consider.
The numbing wave of dissociation had begun to lose its hold on Copia as he found himself walking down the corridor to his room, his world beginning to fall in on him ever so slowly like a collapsing bridge, its cables fraying and snapping one by one until it all came crashing down.
He had resigned himself to accepting that the best place he could afford himself privacy was his room, despite it being the first place Sister Imperator would look for him and her ownership of the copy of the key to the singular lock on the door (a fact that she would remind him of far too often for him to recall). Though, he at least had a door this time. Maybe he could barricade it with something heavy like the sofa, but that’s assuming he’d be able to move it, and that Sister wouldn’t employ some ghoul to overpower the blockage and break through.
Beginning to exhaust his options through the consideration of outcomes as he neared his room, his thoughts began to turn to the very topics he was trying to find somewhere to deliberate over in the first place. His mind, ever exhausted in its efforts from years of events and emotions (many largely negative) that his words could not begin to hope to convey, jumped to the bleak place that it so often sprung towards in times when everything seemed too hard and nothing he did was ever enough. An urge that had been lurking under the surface since they had left their seats at the venue, only occluded by the protective shroud that years of turmoil allowed him to employ.
It was an option. More of an option than he’d been given any time before, and it was one that he found something deep within himself wanting to entertain- to an extent, at the very least.
---
Copia, after visiting his room and putting the essentials in order as a precaution, found himself on the lip of what was virtually the only accessible and flat roof of the abbey, the final shard of protection that his dissociative state had offered gone, and the weight of everything, absolutely everything , crashing in on him.
The nightmare that had begun when those words- those few meager words- rang through the speakers on stage had become real. And with it, his hopes, his dreams, the measly chance he had had at being seen as something more than a screw up- maybe even the chance of saving himself- died, becoming a metaphorical tomb and sealing his fate. Even if there were a few more music videos, a few more shows, a few more tours, a few more whatevers - it was over. He was done for. He had known his time was coming soon if he failed to find a way to circumvent his fate, and yet, it was no easier to accept now that it was set in stone. The Ministry would be coming for him and there was little he could do to change that.
Maybe it would have been better if he were blissfully ignorant, unaware of what awaited him at the end of the road, but how could he have been? Despite how dumb and oblivious people thought him to be, despite how dumb and oblivious he believed himself to be, it was impossible to miss. He had been doomed the minute he had accepted the position of frontman for Ghost and he had been doomed the minute he ascended from Cardinal to Papa. Perhaps- he thought to the white iris that lay within his left eye, a gloved hand coming up to wipe at the smudged makeup beneath it- he had been doomed since birth. He was a part of the Emeritus bloodline, of course. It was a status originally seen as a blessing, though now, through malignant transformation brought on by the very people the bloodline was instructed to represent, it had become a curse. One that promised a life that was not truly yours and an untimely, possibly violent, end.
Just the thought of dying at the hand of the Ministry made his blood run cold. Ice filled his veins, sending a nauseating chill through his body, one that ultimately settled itself deep within his limbs and spine, his mind’s ability to sequester himself from reality no longer able to shield him from the visceral feelings that filled his chest when he thought back the deaths that befell his brothers.
His brothers, oh, Lucifer, his brothers. The sight of the three, laying in false serenity in their eternal glass casket home resurfaced, the scene striking him with full force now. Why did it have to end on such a sour note? Why couldn’t he have been nicer? Why couldn’t he have gotten over himself and stopped acting like a goddamn child, jealous of his siblings because they got what he had thought he wanted. Satanas, Terzo had died thinking he hated him because he couldn’t control how much he envied him.
Dear Lord, Terzo-
The image of the third Emeritus son’s severed head in his hands wormed its way into his mind’s eye and with it, rose the bile in his throat. The very thought of it- a memory that he had shoved down, far into the recesses of his mind as it could go- transported him back to that very moment with the macabre sensations that came with it very much intact. The sickening sensation of what was left of his brother’s cold and clotted blood pooling in his gloved hands ghosted the skin of his palms. The dark, gelatinous globs slipping through his fingers sluggishly, then landing on the unforgiving marble floor with a sickening plap . The only coherent thought that had filled his mind back then (besides the nonsensical abject horror that made his brain feel as though it were composed of T.V. static) was how deceptively heavy the human head was.
It had been years since that photo shoot, but those thoughts had yet to fail to bring him back to that moment- the horror, the grief, the guilt- fresh as the day it happened. He could almost feel the weight of the head- all five kilograms of it- in his hands right then.
The overwhelming urge to vomit and the subsequent vertigo that came with it flooded his system, causing him to begin to retch. As he gagged, a particularly strong dry heave overtook his body, causing him to sway from where he sat, his body wanting to follow the weight of his legs that dangled over the lip of stone. His hands shot behind him, scrambling to grab the other side. A terror-inducing fraction of a second passed before his fingers finally found purchase, anchoring themselves to the stone and steadying his center of gravity. He swallowed the urge to dry heave once more.
Not yet. He still needed to think.
Maybe he deserved it, that possibility of a brutal death. Maybe that’s what his choices and his failures had earned him. His brothers’ deaths had been his fault after all. Even if Sister Imperator had sanctioned the order, he was the one who wanted to be Papa. He had wanted it from such a young age, ever since Sister had told him about the position, saying that she could see him becoming Papa and even hoped to see him take up the role. So, by him wanting this , he was the reason they were dead because it had been all for him- right? All in order for Sister Imperator’s little boy to become Papa and lead the Ministry to even greater heights. Or that was the plan, but, as one of Nihil’s favorite things to point out (and it stung just to admit the dickhead made a point) he had failed to do that too, time and time again.
He wiped the burgeoning tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, black and white paint smearing gray into the dark fabric. Oh, how he knew how he would be yelled at for ruining such an expensive outfit with his makeup and tears.
Yes, maybe he deserved that kind of death, but willingly subject himself to the Ministry’s mercy? He wasn’t sure he could. He was a coward at heart, after all. He’d likely sooner find himself trying to flee, but ultimately become cornered by a pack of ravenous ghouls, sent for retribution. He would plead and cry for mercy as he pissed himself in terror like the pathetic little boy he was before their terrible claws and fangs would sink into his flesh, ripping him apart.
There was always the option he could take things into his own hands. That’s what he had gone up there to consider, right? To finally listen to that little voice in the back of his head that so often told him to give in. Ultimately, the result would be the same, just kinder, sparing himself the cruelty and humiliation that the Ministry likely had in store for him. He was tired anyways.
Engrossed by the ever-multiplying swarm of thoughts as he considered his options, the mere feeling of existence as they ran rampant in his brain becoming so overwhelming that it made his crawl, Copia missed the warbling creak of the rooftop hatch pushing open and the stocky ghoul that clamored through it. It wasn’t until he spoke that Copia was pulled from this state, his body jolting slightly in shock, threatening to pitch him over the edge once again. Thankfully, his hands flew to steady himself as they had before, preventing his second almost-premature-plummet of the night.
“ You’re way too close to that ledge there for me to be comfortable, Papa ,” Aether said through a stilted chuckle as he began to inch toward the man. A thin layer of humor coated his words as if he hoped that the scene he had happened upon was just a product of bad timing- and maybe it partly was- but in reality, it was to obscure the obvious tremble of his voice.
He was scared. He was so fucking scared, and Copia wasn’t oblivious to it. He knew how this looked, what it implied. He knew what Aether thought was going to happen (and maybe it would). But, as much as Copia longed for comfort from Aether, something stoney that had planted itself within his core so many years ago as a way of self-preservation, reared its head once again, the desire to cut ties with any person that so much as hinted at caring about him quickly mounting.
He knew Sister and Nihil didn’t concern themselves with his well-being, no matter how many times he had attempted to change that. From an early age, that had been clear to him, even if he had tried to deny it. But his ghouls, his beloved ghouls, they cared about him. He knew that for a fact. They cared so deeply for him that it hurt. It was a vile and sickening ache that sat in his chest and spread to his limbs, creating the overwhelming urge to peel away his skin in a desperate attempt to escape the disgust that rose inside him like the bile in his throat. It didn’t have much to do with the idea of being vulnerable- that was something he had little trouble being. If anything, he was too vulnerable, too quick to open himself up and lay down his heart to anyone who so much as offered him an ounce of kindness, leaving him defenseless against anyone who chose to use it against him. No, it was the fact that to these people- these ghouls - who loved him so wholly, so rawly, all he could be was a burden. An anxious and awkward mess who screwed up things more often than he seemed to get them right, and yet, they still loved him. It wasn’t fair. He loved them too much to accept taking all that he did while providing them with so little.
Copia’s hands rose to the sides of his head, the heels of his palms hitting there repeatedly as a sound somewhere between anguish and aggravation made its way through his gritted teeth. Everything was too much. His skin was buzzing with electric, searing heat and his head felt as if it was about to burst, but he didn’t want to put Aether through this. The quintessence ghoul didn’t deserve to absorb how he felt. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with him.
“I’m fine, Aether. Pl-please just go back to the others. I’m okay, I just need to think,” he gasped, pleading from between each impact his palms made against his skull, desperate to convince the ghoul to leave and spare himself from the embarrassment that was his Papa. Copia knew deep down that it was a shit lie, however, and the quintessence ghoul would see right through it.
“Bull shite you’re fine, and you can bet your ass I’m not going anywhere. Now get down from that fuckin’ ledge,” he growled, lunging towards Copia.
Before he could find the ability to react, the ghoul was on him, a clawed hand clamping around his wrist while the other grabbed a handful of the collar of his dark jacket. The sudden and almost unheard-of harshness from Aether startled him into limp submission, allowing himself to be dragged off his perch like a ragdoll and promptly falling on his ass as he dropped to the roof’s flat base.
With his wits returning to him, Copia scrambled on his hands and knees in a fruitless attempt to put distance between him and Aether. A primal sense of fear manifested within him, coiling throughout his body as he looked up at the formidable creature, the panic flooding his brain making Aether unrecognizable as anything other than a threat. Through pleas for mercy and strings of “no’s” that spilled from his mouth as he gave up on his unsuccessful creation of space between himself and the ghoul, Copia brought his legs to his chest and buried his face into his knees. The sickening image of the scenario he had imagined not long ago, where a horde of ghouls was sent to slaughter him at the order of the Ministry consumed his mind, convincing him that as this monster stared down at him with its shining eyes, it was plotting the best way to make the kill.
A sliver of him still recognized Aether as the kind and gentle ghoul he truly was in this fight-or-flight state and it was this part of him that fought against his uncontrolled panic, his rational (although it truly was far from that at this very moment) and the primitive parts of his brain vying for dominance. However, as the fear began to ebb away, it gave way to shame.
Unable to withstand the feeling of so much with so little ability to process it, he curled in on himself as tightly as his body would allow and began to rock back and forth in a desperate effort to self-regulate.
In this undoubtedly preoccupied state, Copia failed to notice the look of horror that had developed on Aether’s face the moment the man had reacted in such terror. What he could only describe as a hellish mixture of abject shame and self-loathing flooded his system. All energy he had left inside himself imploded, like that of a collapsing black hole, dropping him to his knees.
“Shit. Fuck. Papa- Papa, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he all but wept, reaching out a shaking hand towards the man, but retracting it upon second consideration. Instead, he sat, no less than a few feet between them, and watched Copia with eyes filled with apprehensive concern. He wanted to help. He was desperate to help and make things right but look at where that had gotten them. Unsure in his abilities more than ever, Aether hesitated to call upon his quintessence, fearful that his powers would only accomplish setting him off even further.
Mercifully, however, given some time, Copia’s self-soothing attempts began to work just enough to allow him to return to a state just outside the realm of utter meltdown.
The primal, unfounded fear that Aether’s sudden lunge sparked within him was gone, but the creeping tendrils of his chagrin that claimed any amount of space within his brain that had been surrendered by his panic began to consume him from the inside out, once again souring the mere presence of one of his beloved ghouls. On better days, the close proximity of the quintessence ghoul to himself would have offered Copia a semblance, his presence and magic acting as an anchor for his mind that was often lost within a raging storm, but today was not a better day. This time, it only brought guilt and shame.
While he was not like Sister Imperator and Nihil, treating the ghouls as though the hellbeasts were merely hired help and seated far beneath them, the fragile state that Copia found himself in had him putting far too much importance on what they would have thought about the scene.
If only they could see him now. A Papa, scared of one of his own ghouls to the point of breaking down, allowing them to order him around and to manhandle him like a disobedient child. What a joke. He was supposed to be a leader, but in reality, he was more of a mouse than a man, incapable of standing his ground.
Copia shifted away from Aether as far as his balled-up position would allow, trying to escape the searing burn of the ghoul’s steel-colored eyes against his skin. His irises undoubtedly glowed a faint but gorgeous white in the darkness of the night, not unlike the full moon that hung above their heads. It was something Copia would have relished given almost any other circumstance- Aether, like his other ghouls, being so beautiful as if he were made in the image of Lucifer himself. All he found himself able to do, however, was shrink away from the ghoul, his body trembling like a leaf.
What felt like an eternity inched by as the two sat like this, the silence breaking only once the sensation of the quintessence ghoul’s celestial-like eyes had become unbearable. Turning his head to the side just enough that he could glimpse the blurry figure of Aether out of his right eye, Copia spoke in a quiet voice, his words broken by the lump that rose in his throat.
“I wasn’t going to kill myself.”
While it wasn’t a bald-faced lie, he hadn’t gone to the roof with the single mission to walk off of it and end his life, it wasn’t the complete truth either. He was there to give himself a semblance of control, an option in his otherwise option-less life. There was no commitment to a singular path just yet, he had to consider his choices. This just so happened to be one and a damn convenient time to do so.
Though the ghoul had said nothing (truthfully having nothing he could say that would help in his mind) he reached out a hesitant hand once more at this. It hovered half way between them, jerking forward ever so slightly in aborted half-attempts at bridging the space between him and Copia as Aether searched for any signs of fear or objection. When there was none, the man remaining unresponsive to the movement, Aether continued his push, hesitating and hovering (if only for a second) his hand over Copia’s back before allowing it to rest against him.
The pressure was firm but tender, a common staple of the ghoul’s own brand of physical affection and something Copia had come to revere and crave after having endured years of deprivation of anything remotely close to it. He fought desperately against his carnal need for comfort, something he had only truly become accustomed to in adulthood through his relationships with his ghouls, and in brief moments in his childhood, through his brothers.
The desire to lean wholly into Aether and cry until his throat was raw and could no longer produce tears was growing at a breakneck pace. Why did he have to make it so hard? The ghouls had already done too much for him, especially Aether. He was pathetic to need this, to require his ghouls of all people to offer him solace in a time where he should have succeeded in the first place. His brothers hadn’t been like this with theirs, so why was he?
All while Copia continued to struggle within himself, Aether’s clawed hand began to rub circles against his back, expertly working at breaking down the already crumbling barrier that his Papa had put up between them with gentle determination, his quintessence admittedly aiding in making the man more pliant. The ghoul knew when Copia’s damaged resolve broke when tears began to spill down his cheeks.
In a last-ditch attempt to feign composure, Copia tried to wipe away his rapidly falling tears with the heels of his hands, though he only accomplished further mixing the remains of his Papal paint together.
“I don’t want to die, I, I-I’m just-” Copia said through increasing amounts of hitches in his breath.
This fragment of a statement wasn’t entirely the truth. Admittedly, there had been many a time when he wouldn’t have agreed with the sentiment of his words. Whether it was an outright wish for death or just the desire to stop existing, that nagging urge- the very one that had brought him up there- had been something that had been prevalent for most of his life, and he’d be lying even more if he said it hadn’t gotten worse since his ascension. It pounded at the forefront of his brain, screaming, ear-splittingly loud, for him to give in. To give up. It was all he wanted to do. He was tired. He was so fucking tired and beaten down, and all he wanted was for it to stop.
It was when the hitches in his breath came to a crescendo, his spilling tears threatening to turn into loud, wailing sobs, that Aether threw his cautionary approach to the wind, bringing his clawed hand away from his Papa’s shoulder to wrap around the man’s curved waist and pull him into a tight embrace. Copia’s head lay buried into Aether’s chest, his body still curled tightly around himself, as the ghoul squeezed him within his arms as much as his human body could safely withstand, knowing that deep pressure had always helped ground the man.
However, in this circumstance, all it accomplished was push Copia over the precipice that he had been trying to steer away from so frantically. He gave in. Not to the thoughts and urges that had brought him to the moon-bathed rooftop, but to Aether’s unyielding compassion. Abandoning his train of thought and leaving his sentence unfinished, Copia returned Aether’s vice-like embrace with desperate strength, his gloved hands digging into the small of the ghoul’s back as full, gut-wrenching sobs spilled from his lungs.
Through his own quiet tears, Aether looked down at the man he held in his arms and pressed his lips to the crown of his head, leaving them there as he brought a hand to the back of Copia’s head, pressing him further against his broad chest. Rocking gently in place together, Aether coaxed the tears from him little by little, pressing kisses to the top of Copia’s head all the while, until his wails became soft, hiccuping breaths, and his iron grip around the ghoul’s torso merely became where he rested his arms.
Shifting as to look up into the quintessence ghoul’s metallic eyes, the color more of a clouded pewter now that a shadow cast over his face, Copia blinked the remaining wetness from his reddened eyes and mumbled his thanks, his voice thick and hoarse.
“Of course,” Aether murmured back, threading the graying strands of hair that lay stuck to Copia’s face, thanks to his sweat, through his fingers, smoothing them back into place. There was a moment of silence as they sat like this, looking tired but gratefully into each other’s eyes, until Aether broke the silence with a question, though he was still hesitant on whether he truly wanted the answer. “Can, uh, can I ask you a question?”
“Hm?”
“What were you up here for, like, really ?”
Copia’s gaze returned to chest level, his eyes looking off nowhere in particular. “I-” he started, pausing for what felt like ages as he deliberated what he would say. “I don’t wanna lie to you, I was considering it, er, uh, jumping .” He cleared his throat, his voice a fraction less occluded. “I, eh, had been since we got back. Not seriously though, or, well- ah fuck,” he sighed with frustration, failing at trying to convey the intentions he had just a bit ago. “I thought about it but wasn’t gonna do anything initially. I was trying to find a place to be alone but couldn’t and then, poof , I was on the roof.”
One of Copia’s arms had drawn back from hanging around Aether’s waist, his finger now drawing absent-minded circles on the ghoul’s chest.
“What about your room? Everythin’ was all laid out.”
“Precautionary action.”
“Is that why you didn’t stay with us and were acting all… odd ?”
“Suppose my acting wasn’t the best.” Copia gave a dry chuckle but it died quickly. ”But, eh, yes and no. I just didn’t want to be a burden or worry you guys, with how much of a mess I caused at the Grammys. But it worked in favor of, uh,” he raised an eyebrow briefly as if gesturing to the end of the roof, “yeah.” Pausing for a second to take a deep breath in, Copia opened his mouth to continue but was interrupted abruptly.
“That wasn’t your fault. If anything, that was on me. I was suppose’ta keep everythin’ in order but I fucked it up. I froze,” he confessed almost readily. The muscles in Aether’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth together tight enough that he could feel his gold tooth creak, fighting against pinprick tears of shame that rose to his eyes. “I couldn’t keep things under control, I couldn’t help Dew- I couldn’t even stop Dew- and now there’s a rift between him and Sunny… And I couldn’t even help you and that’s part of why I was summoned in the first place! ‘To protect the Papa you’re assigned to’.” He said as if rattling off a piece of legislation. “But I just made it worse! Fuck , I scared you so badly you looked like you thought I was going to kill you! Fuckin’ kill you ! And if I couldn't help you today without fuckin’ it up, what makes me able to protect you when it comes down to it? I saw what happened to Terzo. I can’t-”
It was Aether’s turn to expose his vulnerable underbelly, pleading guilty to his self-proclaimed sins in the presence of the one he felt he wronged the most. He took a great, shuddering breath, his gaze now torn away from the man leaning against his chest in an effort to obscure his view of his glossy eyes.
Copia shifted where he sat so that his head rested against the quintessence ghoul’s shoulder instead of his chest and brought the hand that had been absentmindedly drawing shapes to the side of Aether’s face. His fingers ran against the black sideburns that grew down the length of the ghoul’s taut jaw, his mismatched eyes gazing at the ghoul’s features with the softest expression. Even if Copia couldn’t see the tears brimming in Aether’s eyes from the position he sat in, he could see the shades of mulberry on his mole-speckled cheeks, growing steadily the longer he tried to fight off tears. Tracing the sideburn up his jawline to the side of his head, Copia carded his fingers through the ghoul’s hair, its texture almost fur-like and surprisingly soft. He continued to move his hand through Aether’s hair, following the natural curve of his head, only to stop just behind his ear. They were somewhat small for a ghoul, his ears a relatively short length- even with their pointed tips- but they still bore an array of piercings, with gauges adorning his earlobes and a variety of hoops along the rest of it.
Copia’s fingers reached the base of his ear, right where the shell met his skull, and began to scratch lightly with a particular knowing behind his deft movements. Within seconds, the ghoul’s head leaned heavily into his hand, like a dog would if you scratched an itch just right, with a very faint, somewhat broken, purr rumbling in his throat. A small smile spread across Copia’s lips as he watched this formidable ghoul (though he had the personality of a large, overly friendly dog) melt into his touch, the tears that he fought so hard to contain now beginning to dry. He continued to scratch as he trailed his hand back down Aether’s jaw, stopping at his chin. With a delicate hold on his face, Copia brought the ghoul’s gaze down to meet his.
“You did your best. That’s all I could ask for.”
Aether was quiet for a second, his expression dark as if considering something troubling. Then he spoke, his voice low, bordering on a whisper.
“Sorry for being rough with ya’. I know it’s no excuse for it, but I was so scared . I couldn’t think and I just-” He lifted up a hand to mimic grabbing Copia’s wrist.
“It’s okay.”
“But-”
“ Orsacchiotto , I promise you, it is okay,” Copia said, a firmness in his voice that told Aether he wasn’t willing to argue on the matter. In most other situations, Aether, being someone who had to be liked by everyone, would have continued to loathe himself and fixate on what he did wrong- the hardened tone that the usually soft-spoken man developed only exacerbated the issue, no matter how much Copia tried to dispel the idea that he was angry with Aether- if it wasn’t for that pet name.
Orsacchiotto . Big bear .
It was a name he had only heard Copia say with the utmost adoration, and, despite the exhaustion, despite his steadfast opposition to Aether’s objections, that remained true.
Still giddy after all these years, the special name that Copia had just for him never failed to bring a smile to his face.
“I thought I was the one who was suppose’ta be comfortin’ you,” he said with a halfhearted snort.
“Ah, don’t give me that bullshit. Group effort, go team” Copia said with a playful smack of his hand to Aether’s chest.
The ghoul belted out a deep, hardy laugh, his entire upper body shaking with the noise. It was good to hear that laugh again. The sound was as boisterous as Aether and a representation of him as a whole as if one were to boil him down to an essence so that only the quintessential parts of his being remained. A large, albeit tired, smile spread to Copia’s face at this, the sound of his ghoul’s laugh herding the harsh events of the day that plagued his mind into a place for later. Somewhere they can pick up when he is ready.
“Suppose you’re right,” he said, his laugh dying down though his amusement was still audible in his voice. “Suppose Rain was right too, we’ll figure somethin’ out. Not tonight though.” Aether leaned his head to the side so that it rested against Copia’s, the purr that had started up in his throat spreading to his chest, reverberating loud and clear. “Tonight-“ he was interrupted by a yawn, “tonight, we focus on sleep.”
Copia hummed, his eyes closed and face lax. Not for the removed and dissociative state of his mind, but from genuine, honest to Lucifer, serenity. Things were likely to get even rockier in the future, but tonight- tonight - was for this. He only wished the other seven were here with them.
“Sounds perfect.”
----
What time it had been when he and Aether finally descended from the roof of the abbey and back into the living quarters completely eluded Copia. All he knew, as he now stood nude in front of the porcelain bathtub, his posture hunched and arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the steam begin to billow from the rising water, was that his bones ached and he was utterly exhausted.
Hearing the sound of the sink faucet’s water stream join the drone of the filling tub, Copia lazily looked over his shoulder. Behind him stood Aether, equally naked, as he ran a washcloth underneath the water. The view of his soft yet well-muscled frame, while he busied himself with soaking the cloth, was something Copia drank in gratefully, even if it was a sight he had seen many times before.
Crossing the admittedly small distance between them, Aether caressed Copia’s jaw with a large hand. The ghoul’s claws pressed ever so lightly into the flesh of his cheek as he began to wipe away the long ruined makeup on his face. His eyelids fluttered closed as Aether continued to rid his skin of the black, white, and gray paint smeared on his face, the freckles that dotted so much of his face and body becoming more visible with every drag of the washcloth. Once he had deemed his job adequate enough, Aether tossed the irreparably stained washcloth onto the sink counter, making a wet plap as it landed, and returned his attention to the man in front of him. Copia began to make a mental note to move the cloth into the sink later so as to not cause any undue mess, but his mind was quickly pulled from the thought as Aether’s arms wrapped around his torso, pulling his body into his. A small sigh escaped his lips as Aether pressed a line of kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder, focusing on the spots where his freckles gathered most. They had always been a feature of his that his ghouls adored, and Aether was no exception.
One of the ghoul’s short, dark horns dragged slowly against Copia’s scalp as Aether angled his head to make his way further down his shoulder, all while the ghoul’s spaded tail began to creep up and around his calf. The sensation would have been enough to elicit a moan from him if it weren’t for the overwhelming fatigue that had spread so virulently through his body and brain. Instead, he rested his head in the crook of the ghoul’s neck and basked in the feeling of Aether’s body against his own, one of the few reliable presences he had amidst a never-ending sea of change and surprise.
A few minutes had passed as Copia relished the tenderness in which the large ghoul held him, completely lost in the sensation of it all, until Aether began to unwrap his arm from his body. A weak whine came from within Copia’s throat as Aether pulled away, his hands trying to cling to his body weakly. However, his disappointment was quickly assuaged by the promise that it wouldn’t be long until he could resume his place in Aether’s arms, the ghoul leading him to the bathtub that was now nearly full.
Aether turned off the faucet and stepped into the tub, the water rippling in almost mesmerizing patterns as he sat and sank further in. With an outstretched hand, he beckoned Copia to join him.
Taking the extended hand in his own, Copia climbed into the tub and sat down, his body wiggling its way between Aether’s legs so that his back could rest against the ghoul’s broad torso. Big, well-muscled arms made their way around him again, drawing him further into the ghoul’s embrace as far as their bodies would allow. In another circumstance, the awkward and tight fit of two bodies inside the just-above-average-sized tub would be uncomfortable, aggravating even, but Copia found himself grateful at that moment because the size of the bath only pushed them closer together.
Another sigh escaped from Copia’s lips as his head fell back onto Aether’s chest, the tension in his muscles finally releasing as waves of warmth made their way up his body. A deep, rhythmic rumble, almost like a purr, resonated against Copia’s back.
The two sat there, breathing in the soothing steam, for as long as the temperature of the water held, only beginning to stir once almost unbearably hot became just hot.
---
The bed- or more so, the mattress, given it was completely devoid of a bed frame- was smaller than Aether had remembered. Maybe it was his mind, utterly wiped of most of its logical abilities beyond basic thought, unable to recall such a memory, or maybe he really had been putting on some weight (despite the others saying he was as fit as ever, though he’d still look great if he had). Either way, the twin-sized mattress, adorned only with a royal blue comforter, matching sheets, and a handful of pillows barely fit both him and the man whom the measly thing belonged to. Even as Copia lay wrapped in his embrace, his body pressed up against the ghoul’s as far as humanly (and inhumanly) possible, Aether found parts of him hanging off the edge of the bed, one wrong shift potentially sending him or them both to the ground.
But his Papa was safe for tonight, asleep in his arms and dressed in far softer clothes, snoring quietly into his chest, and no amount of mattress (or lack thereof) could ruin the tired relief that he felt because of it.
Right as Aether felt as if he could no longer fight the heaviness of his eyes, having been determined to stave off sleep for just a little longer, just long enough for him to enjoy a few more minutes of this moment, he heard a vibrating buzz somewhere near his head. Removing an arm from around Copia- who, barely disturbed, uttered only a brief groan and buried himself further under the covers- Aether patted around lightly for the stupid thing, only finding it when, after a particular shift of his arm, he heard a solid thump off the side of the bed.
Craning his neck so that he could just barely see over the edge of the mattress, Aether saw the screen of his phone, alight with the notification of a message sent from Swiss.
Oh, grabbing this was gonna suck.
Aether shifted just enough to let his arm hang free from the bed and fished somewhat blindly for the phone, the muscles in his arm giving a burning protest as he did. Just as it felt as if the muscles were on the brink of tearing in two, his fingers mercifully wrapped around the phone and he was able to bring the damn thing up to his face. Fumbling his passcode a few times (the string of characters proving somewhat difficult to type with a single thumb, but there was no way in hell he’d leave his phone unprotected, making it a free for all for the troublemakers and pranksters of the pack), he swiped through to see the message from Swiss. It had been a brief text, accompanied by a photo.
Guess who made up, it had said, the picture of Dewdrop and Sunshine, laying together on the largest of the couches, their limbs tangled around one another’s to the point that it was hard to tell which belonged to who.
A wash of relief spread over Aether, freeing him from the growing hold that nausea held deep within the pit of his stomach. It had grown faint, borderline ignorable since he had started his mission to find Copia with the feeling of unease over the disharmony between his packmates taking a backseat to the issue of their Papa’s odd behavior. It was only as they lay in the twin-sized bed did it start to quietly build once again, just below the surface.
But it had turned out okay. Dew and Sunny were okay.
As Aether began to type his response of relief, he remembered the promise he had made to the others and snapped a quick photo of himself with Copia wedged against him. Adding the brief caption “Papa’s safe” to his message, Aether sent the text, though, with a moment- albeit tired- thought, he sent another text.
You guys can come over. Better not wake him up tho
It hadn’t been more than five minutes before ghouls started to trickle in, each with their own makeshift bedding, either in their arms or dragging behind them. Some stumbled in, bleary-eyed and yawning, while others took to trying to be silent with the utmost seriousness, either way, Copia remained fast asleep as they each took their spots around or on the small mattress.
By the time everyone had settled, a chorus of purrs filled the room, creating a rumbling blanket of sound, one to soothe even the most anxious of hearts. Even with the odd snoring or mumbling, the moment was utterly serene.
No longer fighting the overwhelming waves of exhaustion that the radiating body heat of his packmates only emphasized, Aether’s body relaxed, fully and truly for what felt like the first time in ages. His eyelids began to droop once again as he listened to the noises of his family- ghoul and human alike- until he was lulled into sleep.
#the band ghost#ghost bc#ghost the band#the band ghost fanfiction#my writing#angst#hurt/comfort#papa emeritus iv#papa copia#nameless ghouls#nameless ghoulettes#nameless ghoul aether#nameless ghoul dewdrop#nameless ghoul sodo#nameless ghoul rain#nameless ghoul mountain#nameless ghoul Swiss#nameless ghoulette cumulus#nameless ghoulette cirrus#nameless ghoulette sunshine#copia/nameless ghouls#copia/aether#yes I did write Copia as autistic
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Giant and the Princess (3/10)
Part 1 | Part 2
Content Warning: soft, fatal, unwilling g/t vore, digestion mentions
Word Count: 2.1 k
------ Part 3 ------
As Iris expected, nobody at the castle noticed she was missing. She dismissed her servants prior to sneaking out and requested a few hours of privacy, so they respected her wishes. Her parents, the king and queen, were always too busy in their stately duties to attend to her or give her any attention, so she wasn’t worried about them finding out. Nobody really cared about her as a person, beyond the fact that she was the royal heir.
Despite being neglected by her parents, she was rarely alone. Even when she was always swarmed with servants, however, she still felt lonely. The servants weren’t unkind, but they were aware of their inferior station, and treated her with the appropriate respect and deference due to royalty. She could never tell if they actually liked her, or were just being polite while they carried out their assigned duties—most likely the latter. All her interactions with other people were impersonal, cold, out of responsibility rather than friendliness. Even worse were those who tried to gain royal favor through flattery, offering empty compliments or insincere words in the hopes of earning something concrete in return.
To be surrounded by people all the time, yet so alone, was torture. She craved genuine human connection more than anything. She wanted friends to share interests with, family to love her, people who cared about her. She wanted to be treated as a person, not a useful tool for the construction of a kingdom. She wished her parents would talk to her more often, not merely to check up on her progress in her lessons. She wanted them, or anybody really, to give her a hug, or hold her hand—but such things weren’t appropriate for a princess, especially with commoners.
She knew she was a disappointment. Her parents desired a male heir, of course, not her. Her mother had trouble conceiving, though, and her other attempts resulted in miscarriages. So they were stuck with a princess. With hopes to marry her to a prince from another kingdom, they put her through rigorous classes on various subjects of importance, including etiquette, speech, writing, affairs of state, politics, literature, and history. They needed her to be polished, perfect, and noble: the ideal mate to attract a prince. The future of the kingdom rested on her weary shoulders.
Iris found her life in the castle to be insufferably boring. Her preferences and interests didn’t matter in the least; she had to learn and memorize whatever subject she was taught. She spent a huge amount of her time with strict personal tutors, engaging in lessons that felt pointless and unending. She yearned for excitement, and adventure, and yes, maybe even a little romantic fling. She fantasized about running away from it all.
However, running away would mean abdicating her crown, which she was nothing without. She knew her only worth was in her royal blood. If she abandoned her station and responsibilities, she’d have nowhere to go, nobody to take care of her, and not a penny to her name. She’d be worthless, living on the streets and lacking the skills to survive on her own.
Inevitably, she found herself thinking about the giant who’d helped her twice now. She was still frightened of him, since she witnessed him eating people alive, but his kind actions toward her were notable, and revealed a softer core of compassion within him. She had to admit, she enjoyed the thrill of meeting him and engaging with him, despite the potential danger. She liked being held so casually and intimately, and talked to like it was no big deal. He didn’t treat her like a flawless statue up on a pedestal that was untouchable, like so many others did. He treated her like a normal person.
When she thought about him, her heart beat faster. In the short time that she had interacted with him, he’d provided her with a fundamental need that she was sorely lacking in all other facets of her life. She had a longing to be with him, to be spirited away to a far different place, away from the nightmare she was living in now. She was fully aware her hopes were nothing more than a puerile fantasy, yet she still wanted to seek him out again, to be touched and held. She needed it. She decided she’d sneak out again tomorrow, if she could.
While the princess was obsessing over him, Ajax was thinking more about how empty his stomach was. He was deeply conflicted. He regretted not eating those humans earlier, and he wondered to himself if he’d made a bad decision, not eating the princess too. He’d come so close, but her relief and happiness at seeing him again had stayed his jaws. He was forced to admit, for whatever reason, he had a soft spot for her. She was intriguing, and unusual, for a human.
With his hunting excursion for the day a failure, Ajax decided to return home to his clan in the mountains. Giants like him tended to live in small family groups, in isolated areas where large prey animals were more prevalent. Ajax was reaching the age when he would soon leave home to seek out a giantess mate, and either return to his clan or start a new family elsewhere.
He had hopes that perhaps his other family members had been more successful in finding food, and he wasn’t disappointed. He was greeted by the mouth-watering aroma of cooking meat as he approached his family home. They lived in a house constructed high up on the mountainside, that extended into a natural cave dug into the rock. A fire roared in the hearth, with gigantic chunks of fresh dripping meat roasting on spits. When he walked in, his father came up and gave him a jovial slap on the back. He was a hairy, broad, cheery giant with cheeks as round and red as tomatoes and a big jiggly gut.
“Are you hungry, son? Your mother caught a snow dragon! She’s cooking him up now!” he announced. Snow dragons were large, muscular, quadrupedal beasts with shaggy white fur. They weren’t true dragons, and lacked wings, but resembled them in general form, with claws, fangs, and long thick tails. Their meat was tough and greasy, requiring cooking before consumption, but reasonably edible for a giant.
“I’m famished,” Ajax admitted, kneading his belly with his fingers.
His father sniffed him curiously. “Smells like you snagged yourself a few humans.” His brow wrinkled with uncertainty. “One of those scents seems familiar.”
Ajax blanched, but quickly recovered. “Oh, you must be mistaken. Anyways, I almost caught them, but they got away,” he lied through his teeth.
“Oh, well, you’re in luck!” his father proclaimed. “I’ve been busy too! I caught a whole caravan of human merchants today, way too many to eat on my own!” He lumbered over to a corner of the room, where a small cage was set up for keeping human or animal stock. Shrill screams pierced the air as he unlocked the door, reached in, and pulled a writhing figure out.
Ajax gulped. “Wow, uh, you’re sharing with me? How generous...” Normally, his father did not share his human prey, not even with his own son, and would force Ajax to hunt for his own, but he seemed to be in an unusually generous mood. His temperament made sense, considering his ridiculously successful hunt for the day.
“Eh, why not? I caught so many, I couldn’t eat them all!” his father laughed, shoving the human into Ajax’s hand. The giant looked down at the scrawny, stringy little man struggling against his fingers. Ah, no wonder his father was sharing. He probably saved all the pudgy ones for himself and was giving away the scraps. Nonetheless, the human looked appetizing to him, when he was starving.
Ordinarily, Ajax wouldn’t hesitate to shove the human through his lips, slurp on him, and gulp him down. Especially when his belly was grumbling like an earthquake, his salivary glands were pumping out juices, and the intoxicating smell was so, so irresistible. He hadn’t eaten all day, and giants always had an extremely strong craving for human flesh, their intended primary food source. With humans being so rare to find and catch, it was virtually unfeasible to resist the urge when live prey presented itself so readily.
“Did you... share with mom yet?” Ajax asked, rubbing his tongue along his teeth. His entrails growled in objection to his stalling, voracious for a meal.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, sweetie, I had one already,” his mother called out from the kitchen. “Enjoy yourself.”
The human bit and scratched uselessly at his fingers as Ajax stared down at him. Without consciously realizing it, he was raising the man up to his drooling mouth, his tongue straining for a taste. The man screamed and pleaded for clemency, but his supplications fell on deaf ears. Ajax figured one human couldn’t hurt. The little man was already caught: If he didn’t eat him, another giant would. Releasing such a tasty snack would be unacceptable. He was fated to be lunch. Ajax was just so hungry; he couldn’t possibly deny himself the pleasure.
Smacking his lips, he opened his mouth and tossed the man inside. The human’s screams were cut off as his teeth clicked shut. His mouth exploded with a rich, delectable flavor, as sumptuous as the most tender steak, as he rolled the squirming man around on his tongue. He rubbed him along his teeth, his gums, his palate, and the wet flesh of his cheeks, humming with pleasure. How was it possible that he’d let go those other humans earlier, when they tasted so superlative? No other creature could compare.
He tilted his head back slightly, and felt the man slide headfirst back along his wet tongue into his gullet. He let out a soft moan as he swallowed, stroking the lump traveling through his neck with his fingers. The human slipped down his throat with velvety smoothness, in spite of his desperate struggles. He massaged his stomach soothingly as the human dropped inside. His tiny kicks from within brought the giant such enormous gratification that he couldn’t even properly regret his decision. His irksome hunger that had been nagging him all day was banished.
Ajax lowered his huge frame into the cushioned couch, which was stitched together with furs, and sighed contentedly. His belly felt so good. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. His father stoked the fire before taking a seat alongside him, patting his own bulging gut full of humans. Their movements had already waned to the faintest fluttering as they churned and digested in his stomach.
“I think something is going on between the two nearby human kingdoms,” Ajax’s mother remarked. “I noticed lately there’s been a lot more humans out in the open, unprotected.” She brought her husband and son each a sizable hunk of cooked snow dragon meat. Ajax gnawed on his share. It tasted fine, but the roast couldn’t hold a candle to the human he just swallowed.
Ajax’s father shrugged. “Probably. Who knows with those humans? They do strange things sometimes.” He belched, poking his belly before tearing off a chunk of meat with his teeth. “More vittles for us, I suppose. It’s a good thing, because food is becoming more and more scarce around these parts. I’m getting tired of eating the same dumb animals over and over.”
His parents continued to talk, but Ajax wasn’t really listening to their conversation as he separated shreds of meat from the larger whole and gulped them down. He was more focused on the thrashing in his innards, as his live prey’s resistance became more spastic and feeble. The human was dying inside him. He was killing the small man, gradually absorbing him into his body bit by bit.
As the sensations died off, a trickle of remorse wormed into his heart. He tried to suppress the meddlesome emotion, but it persisted like the itch of a mosquito bite, not enough to cause him pain, but irritating nonetheless. He disliked the feeling. His thoughts turned to Iris. If she’d been the one in his clutches at that moment, would he have eaten her? Could he even have stopped himself from eating her? He honestly wasn’t sure.
He couldn’t so easily quash his true nature, his powerful instincts, and his visceral desires. They were a fundamental part of him, as a giant. He ate humans, whether it was morally correct or not. And his compulsions were too strong for him to withstand for long.
Part 4
#g/t vore#soft vore#fatal vore#digestion#unwilling prey#male pred#giant#vore writing#vore story#vore stories#male prey#male vore#g/t#giant/tiny#g/t writing#tiny#giant tiny#g/t story#g/t fearplay
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
Dreaming To Reality: Oneiromancy Chapter Thirty - 22
“Hi!” Sera said as she waved at Zeed. “My name’s Sera. What’s your name?”
Zeed was about to respond when he immediately thought better of it. Even if they didn’t know who he was at the moment, surely they would have heard his name at some point. He was, after all, world-famous. And yet the thought of not using his illustriously chosen name made his tongue taste like ash.
However, he was not so foolish as to reveal himself and cause a situation over such a small matter of pride when there was nothing to be gained from it.
“Dorumon,” Zeed said after a moment’s hesitation, even as the name sounded foreign to him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning!” Sera said, cheerfully, then pointed dynamically across the table with her fork, drawing Zeed’s attention across the way to the other little girl. “That’s my cousin, Sakura!”
“Good morning,” Sakura said, with a well-rehearsed politeness.
“Good morning, Sakura,” Zeed said.
Back at the playroom where the Chosen Children were assembled, the conversation had seemed to reach a lull. It was during that moment that Jou approached Daisuke, his expression concerned.
“Daisuke, perhaps it would be best for you to return now,” Jou said, his voice soft to lessen the chance of the others overhearing their conversation. “Lord Zeed’s generosity knows no bounds, but we should not leave him unattended for too long.”
“Oh, no worries,” Daisuke chirped, smiling brightly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Why not?” Koshiro asked as he approached the two.
“Because Lord Zeed is actually here right n…,” Daisuke began before he immediately stopped, his eyes nearly bugging out of his eyes as he realized what he had done. He jerked his head to see if anyone else had heard him.
To his unending embarrassment - and no small amount of panic - the Chosen of Tenacity saw that everyone had heard him. All conversation completely stopped as the other Chosen Children turned to stare at Daisuke.
“Hey, so, you wanna run that by us again?” Yamato said, his arms crossed. “What do you mean by ‘Zeed is actually here’?”
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
Alt reverse vampire!! 👀 (@chaosmax )
sooooo it's probably dumber than you were expecting, but basically it's like. even though i haven't finished or posted anything, i really like vampire fics. my first instinct is always to make kaiba the vampire, it's angsty/dark, so what happens if i swap it around? Jounouchi being insufferable 😅
here's a snippet:
(okay maybe a bit longer than a snippet)
Seto’s and Jounouchi’s college roommate predicament is an unending source of mirth from their collective friends. Just… not for the reasons Seto first expected.
He’d thought he’d gotten enough of Jounouchi from high school―his loud mouth, his gnat-like attention span, a worse sense of humor than his ten-year-old brother. Seto swears Jounouchi must have found a pair of fake vampire teeth for Halloween in middle school and hasn’t stopped laughing about it for years.
Or taken them out.
Jounouchi smiles a lot. Big, brilliant, toothy smiles, but after the shine wears off Seto can’t stop imagining that he has to be cultivating new organisms in the crevices of his gums every day. He's suggested using Jounouchi as an experiment for his biology course many times.
“No way. I’ll bite.” He follows up his comment by flashing his stupid off-white teeth. “Unless you’re into that.”
Surprisingly, Seto hasn’t yet needed surgery for the incredible amounts of eye-rolling he’s gotten accustomed to.
It turns out that Jounouchi isn’t the absolute worst roommate he could imagine. Just... obnoxious.
Incredibly obnoxious.
God, he's annoying.
He leans on the edge of the desk in a manner which Seto imagines is supposed to be charming or witty but he still can’t stop staring at those fake fucking teeth. “This is the worst excuse of an ongoing joke in human existence,” Seto snaps.
He hates that he still finds himself at a loss over it. Years. It’s been years. No one else in his circle of friends even remarks on it anymore. Sometimes Seto feels like he’s the only person not in on the joke.
“What is?” Jounouchi shifts his weight and scrunches his face a little. “Me or the teeth?”
“...You don’t really want me to answer that question, do you?”
He meets Seto’s unimpressed glare with a smirk, and folds his arms as he leans further down so they’re eye-level. Nearly nose-to-nose. His tousled bleached-blonde bangs tickle Seto’s face. “What if I told you the fangs were real?”
Dispassionately, Seto thinks he might find Jounouchi much more attractive if it wasn’t for this commitment of such epically stupid proportions. “You have told me that before.”
“Okay, so I’m telling you again,” he says.
“How many times do you have to be told the joke’s getting old before you stop?”
Jounouchi hums, pursing his lips as if in thought―not likely―and then, as if coming to some sort of conclusion―also not likely―says, “Never.”
Shocking.
“I can prove it. Wanna see?” When he expects Jounouchi to lean harder into his flirting shtick, instead he lifts his lip and bares one of the elongated fake canines, like a child. “See, touch it! It ain’t fake.”
What the fuck.
#ask games#answered#ygo#violetshipping#fanfic#it was actually pretty fun i want to work on it some more
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
Tagged by @nicomrade !!!
Nickname: Fullmoon I guess! Havent been called it for a while now but hahee . Its a me
Sign: Libra babey (Saggitarius rising and Libra moon for those curious)
Height: I deliberately lied and added 5cm to my (guessed and probably wrong) height when I remade my ID. Its an ego thing. I dont really measure myself
Last thing I googled: Kazuya Hyoudou LOL
Amount of sleep: I think I need like 8 to be ok
Dream job: I think working would kill me genuinely. Id love to be a ceramist . Living off art commissions, livestreaming on Twitch etc
Movie/Book that summarizes you: idk I dont read or watch movies (lie). I cant summarize myself I can't even take a step back and observe my own being from a distance its a bit fucked up imo i think I should be able to at least once. Im still being conceived I'm unending I contain multitudes and I keep expanding like the universe just like everyone else does or something.
Favorite song: Sex Dwarf by Soft Cell
Favorite Instrument: Omnichord . One day I will get a job and buy myself a stupidly overpriced OM-84 on Ebay and I will finally know peace and joy. Also bass guitar FUCKS if youre neutral abt it we cant be friends dont even look at me
Aesthetic: Uhhhhh something something whimsigoth gargoyle that fell off a cathedral pics of your mom from the 90's that sickeningly bisexual punk man from a movie you never really paid attention to and fantasy larper
Fave author: I have never seen a book in my life ever
Random fun fact: I've been using the exact same computer mouse ever since I started using computers she's a Logitech MX518 and I would die for her (her left click doesnt work anymore but thats ok it was my fault)
Taggingggg @pineappleoracle @arcadequeerz @husbandobirdy @taonpest @grimnephelim @waruihoshi 🌈🕊️
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Argument - “Artists will just need to focus on telling stories through video games, animations, and comics.”
I have already mentioned the biggest problem with this argument–the AIs will be very capable of running on autopilot, and they will get just as good at telling stories as they are at making images and videos. They will produce novels, essays, and scripts in amounts that can fill the library-of-babel, each piece a composite of half quotations and unattributed swipings. All this auto-generated text can be processed by the image and video AIs to generate long-format media, and the cycle will be complete, self-contained, and human-free.
[...]
This will completely flood the realm of story and the future will find itself overwhelmingly ghost-written. The “anime” that you’ve been dreaming of making since you were 8, which you are willing to forsake all of art to produce, will get the attention it deserves in this environment–none. And when your dream project, regurgitated in moments by an AI, receives no attention, no clout, and no money, you will rest well knowing you earned it. Not even your mother will be able to find it in the unending surge of the Mega Feed. This wouldn’t be a problem on its own- you were otherwise never going to make the thing anyway- except that you will be ruining the market for everyone who is positioned to pull something off by their own efforts. You will gain nothing and hurt your friends and peers.
The idea that everyone will be empowered to tell their story is one of the few arguments for AI art that compels me, there’s a nuanced discussion to be had here, but I believe it is ultimately bankrupt. It is a nice sentiment, and I can empathize with the frustrations of being an artist who feels their skills do not measure up to the scope of their vision– but we’re overlooking something very important here. You don’t just want to tell your story, and you don’t just want to tell it well–you want it to matter that you told your story. The AIs will rob you, and everyone else, of this.
The execution of your petulant “vision” by the AIs will ensure that no one cares about your story, and that it is washed away in the heaving sea of AI dross. Your art already doesn’t get attention. It’s not going to get any more attention when it’s competing with the unending stream of self-generated and highly targeted comics, novels, images, films, games, and songs. As I’ve said, these AIs will not need to be prompted by humans for very long and will instead auto-respond to the ebb and flow of the internet, current news, real time sales, and even private conversations. After all, we have already readied these inputs for them. We all feel a little uncomfortable when our phone shows us an ad for something we mentioned to our friend over dinner, but what happens when it shows you a movie it made just for you about your break up? A song about that careless word from your mother? A finished version of that comic idea you started researching? You’ll start getting notifications saying- “Hey! Check out one thousand finished versions of your dream!” Our ambient digital systems already have intimate access to so many of the inputs that define our taste- in some sense we sold our souls long ago.
So, you may be able to tell your story, but at the cost of its complete irrelevancy, which will likely have the effect of making you resent that you ever had the idea in the first place. Stories don’t achieve their incredible effect simply by existing. They live and die on human connection and intellect. AI will not “democratize art”--that’s just one of the copy-pasted platitudes of those vapid marketing execs spoon-feeding you your own doom. In a democracy, your voice matters. In a world flooded by AI media, your voice has no chance of being heard.
I also want to point out here that the people making these things will depend on you thinking they hold the silver key to your artistic vision. They need you to feel worthless and like you missed your chance to tell your story. That you got too old, or don’t have the time or resources or ability or what-have-you; that way you will need their product. This way you will support them monetarily and, most importantly, you will help them change the laws and sway the culture to allow their rapacious strip mining of all creative labor. They will always be incentivized to make you feel lowly, dependent, incapable, and slave to their kaiju whims.
And when they’re done, they’ll pull the rug out from under you, of course. They have no actual reason to let you have this stuff for free- they don’t care about you. They can say they do but that means nothing. Once they’ve made it impossible for you to make a living as an artist, and you’ve helped them change the laws, and they’ve ostracized you from your peers by turning you against them, they’ll just take it away and sell it to Google and Facebook and YouTube and the rest- because they stand to make billions from them and nothing from you.”
— excerpt from “The End of Art: An Argument Against Image AIs”
#this is maybe the best argument for non-artists against ai art ive ever heard#like why else would people be so secretive about the prompts they feed ais#if they did not in the end aspire to create great works of art themselves?#the whole video is great but this is maybe the most compelling argument for folks who are not 'artists' in the traditional sense#moon's thoughts
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
ULTRAMagic Lance
Relevant Posts: Infinity, Ex, Reaper, Walker, Thunder, Magistrate, Richter, Weaver
Master Post
IMPORTANT UPDATE 3/8/2024: Ludwig's lore has been updated. While this version has relatively stayed the same, a great deal of context has been provided here:
ULTRAMagic Alternate Lore 15 - Universe-0X
Since Tumblr encourages stuff like reblogs, the old lore will be left in tact.
It also it is advised not to trust the information provided in the image above. Dragoslava Raynot interviewed Ludwig to provide this information, but it is unclear if Ludwig was being truthful. It is entirely possible he is hiding details, if not lying about certain things.
- - - - -
Lance's past is full of turmoil and strife. He hails from a timeline of mages where the world is constantly on the brink of destruction. Humanity was constantly on the ropes, but hope lied in a cursed land ruled by an all-powerful mage. If the mages of humanity can acquire knowledge from the cursed land, there would be hope for humanity. The only issue is that the all-powerful mage would not let humanity have that knowledge unchallenged. During a raid, things got incredibly heated. Two squadrons of mages were challenging the cursed land itself! It was all or nothing and humanity needed to win. In the heat of the conflict, Lance was outwitted by a soldier of the all-powerful mage and lost his advantage.
On the verge of being defeated, Lance had finally lost his mind. Many things had been building up to this, but this was the final straw. He became so angry that he turned into pure lightning. The resulting thunderstorm was truly apocalyptic, razing the land beyond recognition. As if the cosmos itself recognized the problem, Lance vanished. Nothing could quell the mage's anger at this point, even if he had defeated the all-powerful mage single handed.
Lance fell out of his universe into an unending abyss. The Abyss eventually opened up into a strange, barren wasteland being assaulted by a wicked thunderstorm. He was now in the Unlight. Something then clicked in Lance's mind: He was truly angry. He was angry that he failed, failed his friends, failed his superior, failed humanity, lost to the all-powerful mage, and got his ass handed to him by one of her underlings! And now he was in a strange realm he had no knowledge of. Is it any surprise he started screaming? It was some of the most angered filled, bloodcurdling screams one could ever hear. The white hot anger was so intense that it had burnt away his unrecognizable body, leaving only his eyes. It was at this point where the Thunderstorm had embraced him.
Whilst this was happening, a blacksmith was on a mountain top, forging a greatsword for a succubus who had hired him. He was using the Thunderstorm to help forge the sword in question. While he did raise an eyebrow over the now screaming thunderstorm that was destroying the land around the mountain, he welcomed the challenge and kept going. If anything, this would make an even greater product for his client. Naturally this storm caught the attention of the ULTRAMagic guild.
In the maelstrom of lighting, Lance had been reborn as ULTRAMagic Lance. Lance however was not in the mood to admire his new form as he was too blinded by anger. He promptly blacked out and went on a rampage. For an unclear amount of time, he rampaged, destroying things indiscriminately. It did not matter if it was a creature, monument, or a piece of the landscape. Several infamous horrors of the Unlight died during this period, leaving behind charred corpses that hummed with electricity. Fleeing members of heretical church would meet their fates with a particularly vicious series of lightning strikes. After one final explosion of anger (literally), Lance finally collapsed and passed out. The region would later come to be known as the Thunder Wastelands (formerly the Storm Plateau).
While he had no memory of his rampage for a while, Lance did learn a vast amount of new spells based on lighting and glass (the former more than the latter). Lance would be found by ULTRAMagic Reaper who would bring him back to the guild. Reaper actually did a little research into Lance and felt like he needed to take care of the boy. Reaper wasn't a perfect father in his own timeline, Which compelled him to redeem himself. Lance was not himself for a while, so he naturally gravitated to Reaper, thinking he was his father.
Over the years, Reaper worked with Lance to help him regain his memories and train him. Lance definitely felt tinges of anger come back as he regained his memories, but the white hot rage had long since burnt out. He also moved more towards seeing Reaper as a mentor, but was grateful to have him in his life regardless. Relearning his spells was a fascinating experience for Lance. Reaper was a bit surprised at just how much rage was funneled into these spells, but at the same time it was to be expected. Where Lance got the Soul fragments needed for ULTRAMagic is still a mystery though. The spells Lance created in his rage were as follows:
Glasscherben
Glasscherben Sturm
Glasscherben Sturm - Wutanfall
Gewitter Wut
Blitzkrieg
Blitzkrieg - Voller Amoklauf
Donnerschlag
Blitz Versuch
Kugelblitz
Stromschlag
Stromschlag - Todeszelle
Ultimativer Lichsturm
Lance was a little concerned about using the more destructive spells, given how powerful they were. Either way, Reaper was there for Lance in helping him master and control these spells. Of concern to Reaper was that Lance seemed to be focusing on his lighting spells rather than his glass spells. Lightning was the boy's specialty, but the glass spells had potential. This hesitance was something Reaper made an important note of.
Once he was ready, Lance joined the ULTRAMagic guild and was welcomed with open arms. After he was all settled in, he had some unfinished business he had to attend to. He returned to his timeline right after he had fallen out of it so long ago. Firstly he had to flex a bit and showed off his new power. Then he challenged the all-powerful mage... it went poorly for her. Just as it seemed like Lance was going to deliver the finishing blow, he stopped and helped her up. He had no intention of killing her, he wanted to educate her, her followers, and his old friends. They all learned what soul magic was and were taking to it well. With his old timeline on the right path (or so he thought), he returned to the Unlight. Of course he does go back to visit and check on things every now and then.
Sometime later, Lance would be summoned by the Reality Walkers. One of their members, Ignatius Darren Ford, was having trouble with his magic. Turns out the young man had inherent ULTRAMagic and it was going nuts due to a lack of training. He would take him to Magistrate as Lance felt he wasn't in a position to be training people. Despite this, he and Ignatius became good friends, even so far as becoming Ignatius' best friend. The two just clicked together. Ignatius still had that spark with his inner child alive and well. He was fun loving, goofy, and pleasant to be around. It really took Lance's mind away from the grim reality that was his old timeline. Plus Ignatius saw Lance as the older brother he never had. Lance always had an answer to his problems, even if he didn't actually have an answer.
As of recently, Lance has taken interest in ULTRAMagic Ex. Lance sees himself in Ex, given that they both arrived in the Unlight under similar circumstances (minus the ungodly anger). It should be noted that Ex's circumstances were nowhere near as bad as Lance's.
Bringing up the discussion of the strongest ULTRAMagic guild member again, Lance is definitely up there. Weirdly he is barely talked about in the running for the strongest member. Nothing can beat dreadnought, but most life forms were never meant to handle 300 million to a billion volts of electricity. The glass spells would also make him fairly formidable... if he would just spend some time on that aspect of his magic. Speaking of that, there is an underlying problem holding Lance back: He's not taking advantage of his ULTRAMagic. He has made Soul magic his only form of magic. He won't talk about it and is extremely hesitant to learn anything else. He's no pushover, but he's wasting his potential by not studying other types of magic. This has Reaper, Magistrate, and Infinity very concerned. Even Ex, a newcomer to the guild, is raising an eyebrow over this.
Personality-wise, Lance is certainly something. From his old life, he is brave, caring, and was willing to take risks. He was also dedicated and willing to brave the worst for his fellow people. Falling out of reality somewhat changed his old outlook. He got a good dose of cynicism after he regained his memories. This made him a bit more stoic, but at the cost of killing a lot of his enthusiasm. He's not a grouch, but he has been known to be rather blunt at... inappropriate times. This doesn't happen often, but still. Something that also popped up was a slight stubborn streak. This is seen mostly in his reluctance to study other types of magic.
Aside from his shortcomings, he is a hard worker and can be very focused when he wants to. This has made him a very desirable squad leader in the guild. When on duty, you will mostly see his professional side. When he's relaxed, especially around Infinity, he's a lot more chill and easy-going. He also loves to have fun when he’s like this, happily playing video games, board games, watching movies, playing card games, making art, etc. It's also when he's relaxed that he's the most productive. Now if only he'd take this productivity and apply it to his magic…
And another thing: the arrival of ULTRAMagic Richter, a comrade from his timeline, seems to have triggered him a bit. He isn't hostile towards him, but he is not friendly either. Lance and Richter seem to have a bit of a rivalry. Interestingly they hold friendly conversations when no one is looking.
- - - - -
Further Reading: Lance and Infinity
- - - - -
Lance is the Angry boi of the ULTRAMagic Guild and another fun character to work on. Using a glass aesthetic has been something I have been wanting to try for some time now. The glass panes that serve as wings were cool, but good lord they're going to be a pain to draw in the future.
A piece of trivia about Lance is that is not quite what he originally looked like. Before his apocalyptic meltdown, he had a normal hair color and fair skin. Also yes, he has a German accent.
If the lore seems janky, let me know. I updated the lore to be more original, so I may have missed some details in the process.
#chaotictempleknight#fantasy#ultramagic alternate#art#sciencefiction#sciencefictionfantasy#magic#character profile#character art#male#male character#silver hair#brown eyes#Tan skin#Glass#Bodysuit#black#black suit#character lore#lore#rainbow colors#German#Lightning
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
faithlynn-97
1D Feels & Grad School Thrills
artbrains
ART BRAINS
nerdintraining
Never knows best
lovejoy8120
Untitled
sunny-deejee
they hit the percabeth towers (i have to put the ao3 fanfic down