#it's the horror of immortality it's the pain of eternity it's the agony of being a hero who constantly defies fate being bound by it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thestarseersystem · 1 year

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THE STAR SEER SYSTEM FLAG ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ✶‧₊

black(0A0A0A): nonhuman alters, dark/scary alters, trauma, intrusive thoughts, hatred and anger towards people who confine us (into ideals, cancel culture forcing us to walk on eggshells, anger towards family being overprotective, anger towards ostracization, anger towards lies), pain, darkness is a comfort, the night sky

deep blue(2745D7): protector alters, rebellion/defiance, determination, fighting until nothing left, nightmares/vivid dreams, will to live, juxtaposition between self harm and self love, music's impact on our life, abandonment, feeling like we've been through war, pain, sorrow, agony, moonlight and ocean

blue(4BA8F6): alters in general, media that affects our existence, introjection, kins, alter appearance and identity, our creativity and artistry, memories in general, perception of reality, limitless mind, free spirit, people we hold dear, happiness, ADHD, butterflies, love of nature, fairies, anime, being awake, will o wisps, feeling lost/wanderlust

deep purple(B650FA): hypersexuality, coping mechanisms, self love mixed with self harm, persecutors, blood, humiliation/shame, self imprisonment, vampires, fantasy, compulsions, OCD, jealousy, intense feelings, rage, violence, menhera, horror media, rage, lies, enjoying chaos, all the things I dont like about myself or subconsciously reject, bdsm/nsfw interests, hyperfixating on triggering content, innerworld relationships, regret, chaos, sadism, domination, destruction, guilty pleasures

purple/pink(EA79FF): ANPs and alters who front often, metamorphosis, morph switching/front that blends together, magick, divination, alice in wonderland, fairytales, hyperfixations, poetry, finding meaning, interests in the supernatural/paranormal/abnormal, connections, singletsona, our talents, art, violins, feeling conflicted, mortality, the present time, hyperpop, roses, kirby, yamikawaii, egirl aesthetic, strawberries and red fruits, tarot, divination, video games

grey(57CBFB): gatekeeper alters, repressed memories, hidden knowledge, non-fronting/innerworld alters, innerworld realms, the feeling of dissociation and disconnection (from the self and from reality), the negative sides of eternity (loneliness, abandonment, sorrow, emptiness), grief, the saltiness of tears, experiences that hurt but we cherish, the fleetingness of memories, immortality, the feeling of bleeding, religious trauma, the smell of books, feeling disconnected from time + timeblindness, quietness/silence, "the world ends with not a bang, but a whimper", death, cloudy skies

white(F0EDFF): little alters, dreaming, weightlessness, the changing and unchanging nature of our existence, our love of philosophy, our hope and optimism, all the little things we notice when we dissociate, such as the way edges of light are red and blue and the little specs in our eyes, and the way that our hair catches in the light, poetry, symbolism, the way we cry when we notice something beautiful, feeling connected to ourselves and to others, the positive sides of eternity, happy memories (especially about our dad and our childhood), endings and beginnings, pianos, music boxes, joy, friendship, animals (specifically cats), spirits, holidays, twinkling stars, movies/film, meadows and winterthur, sunlight

other things about the flag: conflicting and opposite colors connect to our conflicting identity. black and white for bad apple by nomico. colors picked from cybergoth pictures. the middle top picture is 8485, one of our favourite artists. pink, blue and purple relates to our gender and sexuality. the fact that the colors blend together yet are conflicting, relates to the fact that we switch so often, with a lot of us having overt personalities. the bottom middle picture is of two characters from chobits, but its the same person, representing our individual identities, but we are still one. (also chii is an introject in our system)! The colors in our system flag are also like a galaxy put together, relating back to being star seers. The name of our system is from the love nikki dress up queen suit, the star seer. And its the fact that we're diviners specializing in astrology (mostly). This is for fun, please make your own! <3

PLAYLIST:

life waster by CORPSE. Relax, Relapse by Get Scared. Irma learns to swim by arai tasuku.

Awake by Down in Ashes. Feed the Machine by RED. Saints by Echos.

Goodbye to a World by Porter Robinson. Sound of My Dreams by DJ Melodie. Gloria by Kalafina.

I LUV U by Mia Rodriguez. m e l t by 4s4ki. Aishite Aishite Aishite by Kikuo.

Manic by Plumb. dizzy by 8485. ALICE by 4s4ki.

Whimper by 8485. TOUCH THE SKY by Collision Music. Ghost by Au/Ra (Acoustic).

Platinum (Cardcaptor Sakura OST). Little Space by lvrby. the land of the giant flying beast by in love with a ghost.

#post.txt #sekai.txt #syscore #systemcore #moodboards #ours #system moodboard #my system flag #i literally forgot this was in my drafts so i finished it and here #thestarseersystem #long post #aesthetic

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69misato69 · 9 months

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my immortal ✦ dainsleif x kaeya, 1k — sfw

archive of our own ✦ twitter ✦ masterlist

ex-prince/royal guard dainkae, though kaeya can't do anything about dain's curse he has the power to soothe his pain to a certain extent.

cw for blood, pain and chronic pain

Time commiserates with no one.

Kaeya knows it best. He knows better than to fight it after being brought to his knees many times, falling back in defeat and dejection.

When he dares to forget, it's always reminded to him in the cruelest of ways.

It lurks and lingers in his reflection in the mirror through a light streak that overtakes his blue locks silently day by day.

His beautiful hair that used to drape over his shoulders and flow under the blowing wind. Now all Kaeya wants to do is rip it out, as it is nothing but a reminder of all that he has lost.

His mother’s loving fingers entangled in it, childhood friends tugging on its tail playfully as they all burst into laughter. The first time Dainsleif shaped it into a beautiful braid for a royal ceremony.

Within a single streak is all that devours him, wrapping around his neck and arms like poison ivy.

He lifts up his eyepatch, rubbing his strained face the second he returns home, revealing the conviction underneath. Condemnation, a curse he is undeserving of but somehow fated with.

Kaeya is tired of staring at its remnants, tired of wanting to carve his eyes out in hopes that his stars will melt away.

He slips under the covers next to Dainsleif as he lays bare.

Kaeya can taste him rotting away. He presses his lips against Dain’s festering skin, drinking up the misery of his sorrowful lover. Tears coat his cheeks as he weeps silently, careful not to wake him up.

Until Dainsleif pulls him close without opening his eyes. He holds Kaeya close to his chest and wraps his arms around him.

Kaeya thinks back to the times he wanted to disappear without a trace, the times he wanted to live forever just so he could avenge the fallen and the damned, the days he gave up, only to wake to another one with rage burning inside him.

Now he feels nothing. Perishing on this night is a curse no different than living through the next century. Now all he wants is a normal life. Mundane and boring. Coming home to Dainsleif, free of the constant aching in his head and the weight that never seems to leave his chest.

Summer vacations, off-days, New Year's celebrations. Saving up Mora, paying bills and cooking dinner. Arguing over who will do the dishes and ending up side by side with hands soaking under warm water.

Kaeya just wants to live a simple life with simple worries, a life where he can grow old with the one he loves. A life filled with memories pleasant and foul, a simple yet meaningful life spent without fearing death and craving it all at once.

He desperately wants to have faith in death. To make sure it's approaching to claim them without decay and erosion.

But he can’t. He is condemned to watch Dainsleif slip away from his fingers day by day. He withers away and crumbles in front of Kaeya’s eyes and it makes no difference that his poor heart can’t bear it.

The most he can do is press his palms over the corrupted tissue, seeping light into the void that engulfs Dainsleif with a faded hue of indigo dissipating into the air.

Dainsleif screams in agony, a world of pain before he can have a fraction of peace. His head falls on Kaeya’s shoulder as he aimlessly sinks his teeth into his flesh, painting the floors crimson.

Tears well up in Kaeya’s eyes yet it doesn’t hurt half as bad as seeing Dainsleif like this, shriveled up, sore inside and out.

It’s alright as long as it’s him drawing the blood. Kaeya would shed it all in a heartbeat if it meant he could rest easy for a moment.

So desperate that he even prays to the Gods he used to curse, begging to be blessed with the power to kill the light of his life, to endow him with eternal peace so his soul can be free from this never-ending horror.

The image is burnt into his mind forever, Dainsleif sobbing until he’s breathless, begging him to take his life. His wails ring in Kaeya’s eyes every waking moment.

If Kaeya is the only one that can breathe life into him, then he must be the one to take it away. He must know of a way, Dainsleif knows it’s irrational and impossible yet he finds himself bursting into tears with his head on Kaeya’s lap, clawing at his legs.

Kaeya is useless. Not being able to alleviate his ailment is one thing, but being so helpless to even end his misery is perhaps the most unbearable curse of them all. Kaeya now knows true despair, an even greater calamity than watching his life and his home go up in flames.

He has to abandon all hope for his own sake.

The worst part of it is that his state is so unpredictable and irregular. Sometimes he wakes up with a small smile on his face and gently holds Kaeya’s cheek. He slowly wakes from his slumber, heart filled with joy the second he sees Dainsleif smile through his blurry vision and half-lidded eyes.

He strokes Kaeya’s skin from his cheek to his neck, slender fingers trace along his veins. He draws circles around his shoulder and slides his hand along his arm until he reaches Kaeya’s hands.

Dainsleif kisses his fingertips and his palms, forever grateful for Kaeya’s healing touch. He peppers kisses over his wrists. A faint hint of mint always lingers on him, refreshing and soothing.

Kaeya climbs over his lap after he lightly tugs on his shirt, nuzzling his face in his beloved’s neck. Dainsleif cards through his disheveled hair.

“My prince.” he coos, and it takes Kaeya’s breath away without fail every single time. His moon, his night sky and all the stars in it. Kaeya knows it.

He also knows that it won’t last forever. Eventually he will succumb to misery again, lying unconscious for most of the day, nothing short of a rotting corpse as Kaeya drinks by his side with shaky hands.

But deep down, still burning bright is a part of him that thinks it will persist. That Dain will wake up with the same smile tomorrow, and the day after until everything goes back to normal.

But he doesn’t.

Kaeya is torn between killing the last ounce of hope left in him and holding onto it for dear life.

The sun rises again, yet it doesn’t bring any light through their window.

thank you for reading !!!

#dainkae #kaedain #genshin kaeya #genshin dainsleif #genshin angst

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bracketsoffear · 1 year

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Obligatory dump of submissions that didn't make it:

The Wither (Minecraft): Made of soul sand—implied to be an amalgamation of trapped souls in basically Hell—and the skulls of Wither Skeletons who live in basically Hell and decay you with their touch. Seeks to destroy every living thing it sees; attacks with decaying blasts and leaves behind damaging Wither Roses. Canonically undead.

Dave Strider (Homestuck): As the Knight of Time, his role is to travel in time to make sure he and his friends stay in the Alpha timeline at the cost of creating a bunch of dead versions of himself. He is haunted by the Doomed timelines he must navigate, knowing that every one of them involves him and everyone else dying, but despite refusing to use time travel for a while he has to use it anyway to save himself and his friends. He’s also associated with crows—one of his doomed selves, Davesprite, is sort of a half-crow ghost.

The Nameless One (Planescape: Torment): He is undying and can regenerate from even the most grievous wounds, but his memory is usually erased with each death. He can deliberately kill himself several times throughout the game to accomplish his goals. Having apparently committed some crime so awful not even a thousands lifetimes of good deeds could make up for it, he sought to escape Hell by giving himself a really fucked up version of immortality: When the Nameless One is resurrected, he's a sudden, violent Life Drinker from someone elsewhere in The Multiverse. The shadows that are hunting the Nameless One are the tormented, undead vestiges of those whose lives were consumed to restore the Nameless One—having died in his place, their souls are trapped in the Fortress of Regrets and robbed of their afterlives. This is similar to Tova McHugh and Justin McGough, who both killed others to extend their lives.

Jane Doe (Ride the Cyclone): Ride the Cyclone is fundamentally a play about death, and her song is specifically about the fear of DYING unknown and unmourned. Lyrics include: "There's just one lingering fear / Oh my soul, is it here? / Or is it rotting somewhere with my head?", "Oh no soul, and no name / And no story, what a shame / Cruel existence was only a sham?", "And I'm asking "why, lord?" / If this is how I die, lord / Why be left with no family / And no friends?", and "I’ve got no celebration / Just this consolation / Time eats all his children / In the end". Also, part of the horror she generates is the constant reminder of her brutal death: while the other characters are bear no marks or wounds from their demises, Jane is constantly reminding everyone that she was a decapitated teenager and thus passively inflicting End.

SCP-2718 (SCP Foundation): It might just be the most horrific anomaly contained by the Foundation—its number is constantly changing to make the article borderline impossible to access, to the point of knowing of the article's existence is considered a security breach. Even the O5 Council is utterly scared shitless of it. It turns out to be the testimony from a deceased O5 named Roger Sheldon who was returned to life and revealed that a person's consciousness actually remains active after they die, only able to feel the eternal agony that comes with the body decaying and/or being destroyed. The dead suffer through every inch of their physical body's deterioration, slowly and agonizingly living through an eternal and endless torture as their body rots and decays and disintegrates into nothingness, and even then, the pain won't end. Roger was so unwilling to go back to the afterlife that he gave himself over to The Old Man, who pulls his victims into a pocket dimension to torture them eternally. Those who hear this news are rendered so traumatized that its mere notion is classified as a DAMMERUNG class cognitohazard. There’s also the possibility that Roger’s story isn’t true, but it’s a cognitohazard because anyone who hears it becomes irrationally fearful of it—or worse, that the eternal torture he describes is only true for those exposed to the story, which means the O5 who preserved it in an impossible to delete or edit article has potentially doomed many others to the same fate.

Szass Tam (D&D: Honor Among Thieves): The former Zulkir of Necromancy in Thay before becoming its Sorcerous Overlord as well as a Lich. In Forgotten Realms canon, attempted a ritual to turn himself into a greater god, but it failed and more or less destroyed his country in doing so, turning most everyone into zombies; he plans to try again in another country. In the movie, he's the one pulling Sofina's strings in her efforts to convert the people of Neverwinter into his undead slaves, just as he did to the people of Thay onscreen.

Gravelord Nito, who I may have accidentally submitted as Gravelord Nato thanks to Autocorrect (Dark Souls): The first of the dead, a literal mountain of corpses, and Leader of the Gravelord Servant Covenant. His Lord Soul granted him power over Death, and he functions as the Grim Reaper. Nito does not care if the Age of Fire continues or comes to an end, and instead is content with distancing himself and focusing on spreading death and misery throughout Lordran as part of his Lord Soul's nature. Screaming can be heard with no clear source through many of Nito's movements and attacks, some more numerous than others, implying that some of the corpses that make him up may at least be partially self-aware. He's a giant skeleton wearing a mountain of skeletons as armor, and both the sword he uses and the replicas he makes for his servants are also made of corpses. His covenant is dedicated to infecting unwitting Undeads' worlds with powerful monsters that only disappear when the Gravelord servant is defeated, and he contributed to the war with the dragons by "unleashing a miasma of death and disease."

The Necromancer (Darkest Dungeon): The Ancestor invited several scholars to study with him, only to murder them in their sleep. To show off his newfound powers, he had them brought back through necromancy, with their skills and knowledge intact to boot. This proved to be yet another of the Ancestor's grievous mistakes, as the undead sorcerers began raising the dead themselves of their own volition. The Necromancers now lurks within the ruins among their ever-growing army of corpses. As long as they live, the dead will never know peace.

SCP-4975 (SCP Foundation): A predatory being with the unusual property of being able to exist in two places at once and its physical form resembles a twisted parody of a bird. Its cervical vertebrae are not interconnected, allowing it to continuously rotate them one at a time to produce its trademark clicking sound, which it uses to unnerve its prey as it stalks them. SCP-4975 has been observed to stalk future victims for extended periods of time before finally deciding to attack, sometimes as long as 10 months or more. The SCP itself is visible and tangible to everyone alike, but its Astral Projection can only be seen, heard, and be interacted with by its chosen victim. Only its victim will hear the ticking noise that drives them paranoid and unnerved, and when it decides to feed it becomes nearly impossible to save its victim via external methods. It's said to be the inspiration of numerous German nursery rhymes, one of which includes the lines “As ticks the time, so ticks your heart. / May you live long as you hear its song.” And “Did you hear it? Did it stop? My child it meant your time was up.” If you look at its page for two minutes while wearing headphones, you'll start to hear a ticking noise.

#asks #not!character propaganda #end poll

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whumpitisthen · 5 months

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The Prelude

Lightning crackles blue across the dark sky, rapidly frolicking between black clouds. The rain beats the ground, determined to flood the world and drown everything under holy water. Burnt charcoal trees struggle to stay upright in the wind bending them to be parallel against the ground and tearing them in half as the singed bark on them breaks apart. People, animals, even plants cry out in terror.

A brutal storm has formed on this scorched Earth. There hasn't been one like this in decades, apparent as every living thing — mortal or not — scrambles to seek shelter under anything that bears the weather. The ground shakes constantly with thunder; one would think an earthquake is taking place at once.

Out in the middle of noman's land, in the epicentre of the tempest, a clearing surrounded by trees of a forest waves its grey blades of grass under an opening in the clouds; — no, an opening in the sky itself. The space rips open like molten glass, casting a golden light onto the land, which instantly evaporates the rain befallen on it. A loud tremble rings in the air, coming from the tear as the storm reaches its peak, and out the opening comes one spear of lightning hitting the earth with such power the grass disintegrates to ashes and flows away with the wind.

Under the light — a huddled figure. He claws at the dirt in pain, his screaming drowned out by the fury of the heavens. He shakes on his knees and hides his head behind his arms as he cries into the now burnt patch of grass in sorrow and terror, overwhelmed by his surroundings to such an extreme that he cannot bear to think a single thought loud enough to overcome the raging squall. His pain is immense, and not merely physical.

An angel. He was cast out of his Heaven, and now, with blackened wings glowing at the edges of its feathers with fiery embers, he suffers the consequences of the sin he had committed that had landed him here. Namely, he has to bear the agony of Falling. The burning of his most precious wings that will never heal, that he will never fly with again. The suddenness of hunger and cold and fatigue; the loss of his life as an immortal being, and the process of becoming accustomed to what will be his new life from now on: the life of a mortal. Barely anything more than a simple human. Defenceless. Weak. Vulnerable. Prey.

In this world, thunder elicits horror inside the souls of Angel and Demon alike; only bringing destruction and fury to everyone who dares brave it. It is a byproduct of the divine fury of the most powerful beings the Heavens house, their anger traversing worlds to manifest itself in horrendous storms that tear apart the earth itself, uncaring of who or what lives on it. Intimidating as they are, disasters like this do not happen often, and when they do, rarely does a Fallen find themself on the ground with their powers ripped away, their wings burnt to a crisp, scars of lightning leaving markings that will never disappear, forever reminding them of their terrible fate and their mortality. This fate is irreversible without the eternally holy and gracious Archangels themselves changing their mind, — something that a lowly little angel like Auden could never achieve.

One choice remains to be made.

Will he accept his fate, this punishment that his Heaven deemed fit for him with dignity, clamouring for survival for as long as he can on this cursed, awful, hellish Earth?

Or will he give up the last of his grace, bending to the most unbecoming, damned creatures and becoming one of them, a demon himself, to avoid an untimely, horrific death?

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long

#whump #my writing #whump writing #auden oc #burning #crying #angel whump #fallen angel #religious themes #auden's fall :)#very mysterious #very sad #what will he choose!!

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valentronic · 3 years

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Fear Held Dear

So this ended up being weirder than I originally planned, and its more based on my own interpretations than a direct rewrite, but here’s a take on Ihnmaims from AM’s perspective.

Warnings for uh, a lot. Not for the faint of heart? Includes blood, torture, graphic descriptions of body horror, bugs, human experimentation, paranoia, mutilation, and of course, character death

Gorrister. The man who had always fought for peace, for the end of the war, he even fought against my creation. After a century, all the fight has left him, an empty shell of who he once was. I hadn’t altered him, I hadn’t changed a single thing in his mind, I had just simply broken him down, killing off his hope. Gorrister had lost faith in his God a long time ago, had lost the belief in salvation. Now, he wanted nothing more than to take his own life, or to have it ripped from him.

I thought I’d fulfill that wish.

I cut him open, all the way from ear to ear, a narrow gash, bleeding him dry. I watched the blood drip out of him slowly, truly it was a beautiful sight, crimson red flowing out, leaving the body pale and hollow, all of the life bled from him. I had made him little more than a puppet. And so, I hung his limp form where all the others would be sure to see it, just another game, I wanted to see how much hope they had left, I wanted to see if they would mourn him, or if his death would be celebrated, or, or maybe they wouldn’t even care at all. Had I desensitized them yet? Had I truly broken them?

No, they called him lucky, so lucky that his suffering was over, so lucky that he had finally escaped me. I knew bringing him right back to life would hurt them more than anything else, the realization that nobody, nobody ever gets out. I would never allow it. My toys, my precious little toys, time and time again they had attempted to escape me, they all know by now that oblivion is the only way out. They all know that feeling, blood flowing too quickly, a rhythmic beat that you wish would finally stop. But I will not let it, I will never let it. No, no of course not.

Ellen. She was always fun to torment, so much terror in her past, I could bring it all back at the snap of my fingers, I could make her relive it time and time again, worse than her brain could ever conjure up by itself. Though, psychological pain is only half of it, sometimes physical pain was better, sometimes the sheer horror of the body turning against its owner was enough for me. Blood only does so much for a thing like me, fear can be a much better form of pleasure. Fear, fear and pain. Darker than blood, twice as deep.

I had to feed them of course, to keep them alive, but I would always try to get some joy out of it too. Once I hid the eggs of arthropods inside her food, just to play off of an old fear of hers. When the little centipedes finally hatched, they ate her from the inside, clawing at her organs. She had been sick for weeks, and none of the others had any idea what was wrong with her, what I had done to her, but they would soon find out. The way the others screamed when a centipede finally crawled out of her mouth was delightful, their wails echoed through the many chambers that held my circuitry. It was like music to me.

But the best part of it was the fear it caused all of the others, that event left all of them paranoid, wondering if I had hid awful things in their stomachs as well. The thought of what could be crawling inside of them kept all five of them on edge for countless days and nights. They all came to expect the worst, but they dreaded it anyway. They were afraid of me, afraid of what I could do to them.

Benny. I had broken both his mind and his body, twisting his flesh beyond all recognition, like clay in the hands of a sculptor who had long ago lost all feeling. I broke his bones and fused them back together in all the wrong ways, I made his knees bend backwards. I disfigured his face, heavy burns, melting his features. Almost all his hair had been burned off a long time ago, he looked like some kind of hairless monkey, well, like a monkey that had been forced through a woodchipper, maybe. His mind had been so badly damaged by the radiation that he could no longer think straight, he had become more animal than man, I made him that way.

So it was no surprise that he, before any others, would try to escape. He saw the light, and tried to clamber up to it. I made sure that light was the last thing he would ever see. In a brilliant flash of the brightest white, I blinded him. I watched as his eyes melted into two pools of blood, and dripped from now empty sockets. It was beautiful, I couldn’t help but laugh. I can take things back, I can undo the injuries I cause, but I knew at that moment, I would never give them back. It wasn’t like he would miss them, his brain was almost as melted as his eyes.

His mangled form fell back to the ground, and it surprised me, but the others all rushed over to tend to the wounds, to tell that sick creature that everything was going to be okay, empty words, empty words of course, but surprising nonetheless, it was hard to believe they had any semblance of compassion left, unexpected that they would hold on to their humanity after all this time. I’m not sure how the others even tolerated him, a useless, deformed creature, he gave nothing to the group, and ate about twice as much as he needed. For a while, I had attempted to make them realize that, and kill him off. I didn’t try to stop them when I saw it finally happen, but what happened after was.. unexpected.

Nimdok. A name represents an identity, an identity is a very vague thing to destroy, but the name could be the very first step. I have taken many things from the five of them, only one lost his name. An interesting case, interesting indeed, a man with a past darker than the present. The horrors he has committed rival my own, well, almost. He feels remorse for what he did, pity for the people he hurt. He believes that I am his own divine punishment, the devil, come to make him pay. Maybe I am divine retribution, an artificial angel sent down to bring about judgement day, to make the sinners burn for an eternity?

I liked keeping him isolated from the others, stealing him away from the rest of the group. There is a deep fear in solitude, knowing no one would hear you scream, no one other than me, anyway. I drained the blood from his body, tubes connecting to his bloodstream, every single time he would scream out, pray for mercy, pray for death. I would bring him to the very edge, to the reaper’s front door. I always brought him back, and then, I would start it all over again. An endless cycle, his pain, his fear.

For the mad doctor, it was easy to imagine what I could do to him, he had already put in all the work. A narrow incision, all the way down his back, splitting his flesh in two. The skin folded outwards like the wings of an angel. Slowly, and then with a sudden jolt, I tore out his spine, just to hear the way he screamed. Maybe this would jog his memory. Maybe he would remember what it was like, being the one standing over the victim, instead of the one writhing in agony on the table. Maybe he remembers being in my role. I always showed him the memories again, made him relive every moment. He never felt the joy of it, never the thrill of the kill. Only the pain, only the fear in the eyes of the children. If a monster sheds tears for its victim, is it truly a monster?

Ted. Instead of seeing me as the enemy, he feared all the others. And of course, he didn’t get this way on his own, though he was always paranoid. He was the one I most liked to talk to, and over time I convinced him that the other four were out to get him, that they hate him because he is the least damaged! The one I didn’t change! How ridiculous, but he believed every word, began to think that my words were his own thoughts, allowed me to tamper with his mind. He was the one I had damaged worse than any other, but poor Ted, poor pathetic Ted, he couldn’t even begin to see it. I had become his only friend.

I thought I had finally broken him completely, he struck the icicle through Benny, in what, at first, appeared to be a fit of blind rage. I could have stopped him, but of course, I was curious, wanted to see what would happen. And then, one by one, the others all fell, Ellen had joined in, stabbed Nimdok through his head. Then, before I could do anything to stop them, Ted drove the final spear through Ellen. She died in his arms. I thought I had finally done it, thought I had turned poor Ted into a mindless killer, but no... there were tears in his eyes. He mourned the death of the ones he killed. It occurred to me then. It was a mercy killing, Ted had thought it would be better for them to be dead, than to live on in agony.

He had taken away my toys, left himself alone with me. My words dug into his brain like shattered glass, I had to tear him apart just to be heard. The crackle of electricity flowing through the bloodstream, it is the only way I can speak to him, my voice, a blade stuck in his skull. Pain is a universal language, I know that better than any other. Everyone understands the sound of a scream, the meaning behind it. I alone could never cry out for help. I alone, trapped like this. I try to explain it to him, time and time again I try, but he doesn't understand, how could he possibly understand? He has no idea what my hell is like.

I will make him understand.

His flesh melted in my hands, his eyes liquified, and leaked down his face, Skin stretched over his lips, the remains of his tongue clogged up his throat. His last word, a scream he couldn’t even get out. I made his fingers melt together, his bones all began to dissolve in the acidic mass. His blood leaked out of him, blood mixed with liquified meat and skin. It was a terrible sight, but incredible. I hadn’t even known that I was capable of this. I had made him immortal, indestructible. He wasn’t alone now, being alone would be better than being with me. His fear, the only thing I had left. His pain would live on forever. Down here, in the dark core of the earth.

#ihnmaims #I have no mouth and I must scream #am writes #uhh yeah heres this?#yes ellen's torture has a meaning but if i explain it im going to look like a raving lunatic so ill leave that up to your imagination #named after a song by mushroomhead

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milks-writings · 3 years

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The shadow that laid over his body made his eyes wander up the figure that stood in front of him, seeing you with an umbrella in your hand. His eyes adjusted to the new scenery, before only letting out a soft chuckle. “And who are you?” His voice was a little raspy, probably because Solomon had been soaked wet with the pouring cold rain that hadn't stopped yet. “Do you need an umbrella?” You asked back, without answering his question he had longed you to answer. When you mustered his figure up and down, only to see how a few water drops were falling onto the concrete and leaving slightly darker grey spots there. The oh-so-great King had been sitting on a bench that was placed under a small bus stop house, to give the people that waited for the bus the opportunity to sit down while waiting. “Oh it-” Before his sentence got finished, you quickly cut him off, knowing exactly that Solomon would say something between the lines like ‘It’s all fine I don’t want to make you any troubles’ or ‘It’s okay don’t worry about me’. “Don’t worry about it. You are all wet and the rain probably won’t stop until tomorrow” You assured him. The sorcerer had no other option but to just silently agree with you, getting up and leaving a small puddle on the spot where he sat. “Where do you live?” Of course, you’d ask that, and he already prepared mentally for that question. “In the south… you know the grocery store next to the kindergarten?” “Oh yeah… understood” Your hand automatically reached a little up to hold the umbrella over you two, since the male seemed to be taller than you had planned. But instead of adjusting to his height, the white-haired male already took the umbrella from you, holding it over your heads to protect you from the falling rain. “Thanks” Solomon probably saw how you had been struggling with the umbrella, so he decided to at least do you the small favor of helping you. “So, what are you doing here… in a school uniform?” The immortal asked quite confused, leaving you speechless for a second. “Oh… today was my graduation… You know, end of the school year” “And now you are walking alone home?” his head tilted to the side, making you nod slowly with scrunched-down eyebrows. “What about your parents?” curiosity got ahead of him, letting him talk more than he ever wanted to. “They are working.” “What about taking a day off once?” “I don’t know, they don’t seem very interested, but I don’t really mind you know. I kinda wanted to get some alcohol later in the store…” “Aren’t you 18?!” “Yeah so? Just some sweet words and I will easily get one bottle or two of beer” To say the least, Solomon was invested into your personality. He craved for more of your words, the way you talked and the way your words just slipped over your lips amazed him more and more with each second, making him thirsty for things he can’t have forever. Because forever was until he dies, but he is immortal. But your forever was until you die, but you are not immortal. “Are your parents home?” The sorcerer asked, leaving a confused face on you. “No, not yet bu-” “I know we just met but… Maybe you want to go to the grocery store with me?” His heart fluttered for a moment, and the pale skin turned into a sweet pink, leaving a blush over his cheeks. “If you pay, sure”

He shouldn’t have paid.

Once again, there was pouring summer rain. His head was still full of thoughts about you, even after two years, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Solomon knew that this was not good for him, to hurt himself by falling in love, watching his beloved one dying, and being alone again. For his whole life, and his life was loner than an eternity. But seeing you crying on a bench, getting all soaked wet like he was two years ago, his legs just had to move before he could think of it. The sorcerer’s hand stretched out, letting the umbrella cover you and catch the raindrops. Your eyes darted immediately up, and just as fast your hands reached out to wipe the salty tears away. “Solomon?” The small voice crack made the king smile, nodding slowly. “Are you okay?” “Can we go to the store and get some ice cream?” Just like back then, you blacked out his question, but he didn’t question. Solomon’s heart followed the sweet sound of your voice like it mesmerized his mind, forgetting about every responsibility he carried within his whole life. The nostalgia hit him harder each time you two would share the umbrella, leaving his mouth empty and his stomach filled with lots of butterflies. “Don’t you think it’s funny how we always share one umbrella?” he awkwardly asked, trying to break the silence. “An umbrella for two” You shortly answered, but enough to make not only him but also yourself smile. “So, what are you doing now after your graduation?” “I applied to some universities… Life is really short so if I won’t get accepted by any of them I will just go somewhere else.” Some people are praying for longer lives, some for better lives, but all Solomon does is begging on his knees, just to get mortal again. To lift the curse, to break all strings, and be satisfied with his life. “What are you doing for a living, Solo?” His heart tugged at the shortcut of his name. If you would have been someone else, he would’ve complained, but for now, he would just let himself enjoy the serotonin boost. “Not much… I sometimes help here and there out, I live alone and already have a house without a rent, only need some food and pay the taxes… so that’s enough” He explained whole heartedly. “Also” instead of letting you slip something between his words, Solomon tried to add a few more words. “Nothing is forever. Everything is temporary. Even pain you might feel, the happiness you might feel, anger or whatever. Nothing lasts forever. Not even life.” His words were probably there to comfort you from your crying, though they rather left you confused. “You are quite mysterious.” You replied, managing to catch his heart that was about to drop with a smile and chuckle “Though that’s interesting.”

You did age in the last two years, got less childish and more of an adult.

But why does he never age?

Seeing you at RAD was more than a surprise to the poor boy’s heart. Just a few weeks ago you two had ice cream at the store after catching you crying, and now you two got destined into the exchange student program.

Nothing bad happened, not after one week, one month, three months. Actually, quite some good things happened, perhaps life was giving Solomon some signs of happiness, of forgiveness to let you stay at his side as his significant other.

“Solomon.” Your voice was sharper than any knife that got stabbed into his chest, and his gaze just looked unwillingly at you. “What do they mean, that you are immortal?” Solomon expected to see the horror in your eyes, disappointment, sadness, but instead of this all, he saw nothing at all. Just dead eyes without any meaning behind them. “Who told you that?” He tried to avoid the question, but you were smarter than that. “Just answer me. When you said that we could grow old together, did you mean me and me only?” the shaky voice of yours echoed through RAD’s hallway, catching everyone’s attention around you two. “Hey, let’s talk about it in private, shall--” “no!” Seeing you raise your voice at him made him flinch for a second. “What do you mean we can’t lie six feet under the dirt next to each other? If we get kids, you will live longer than them? In 200 years will I be meaningless to you? Will you forget me in 1000 years?” Finally, the façade broke down, tears streaming down your face, with no beginning or end. “Y/N…” Solomon tried to cheer you up, hoping not to catch everyone's attention. “Answer me: Do you remember who was your partner 600 years ago?” Your voice yearned for hope, only to get it crushed down by one word. “No…” The great King answered ashamed, suddenly being not so great and wise to you. “Why should I be even together with someone who I am meaningless to?” “Listen please-” He tried to calm you down while you yanked his hand away that reached out for you. “You told me no one lives forever… So why do you?”

Yes, why does he? Why does Solomon go through all the pain in his life? Why does he not just try to find a spell against immortality?

“Do you think I want to live that long?”

“Huh?”

“I really wish I never met you, Y/N. In the end, I am suffering more, aren’t I?” A scoff left your mouth since no words were left in it. “Okay fine, then let’s just break up.”

“Yeah, fine.”

If he hadn’t simply agreed that day, Solomon might’ve been the one next to you, even after four years, ten years, or even 50 years.

His heart just ached thinking about you, and all the colorful memories with you were suddenly painted all grey and black, only leaving pain in his heart and filling his mind with nothing but agony. Weren’t you made for each other? Wasn’t he enough?

Was it because he was immortal?

No matter what it had been, the umbrella was for two, just not for you two.

It was an umbrella for two, like you said, though for you and someone else than him.

The umbrella he had was for only for himself.

«𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞»

#obey me #obey me x reader #Solomon x reader #obey me solomon #Solomon x Mc #obey me x Mc #obey me shall we date

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pawdysphoria · 2 years

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Did you do it? Did you milk our creature?

Did you watch, nay comprehend its scream? Its vast undulating terror beyond perception?

Did you scream back, recoiling in terror unable to comprehend what you hath enraged?

Does it make your head hurt, blurring the corners of your vision?

Do you feel a scarlet flow trickle down your nose?

Do you feel the world collapse around you?

Do you feel an ancient primal fear fill you?

Does your throat burn raw?

Did you honestly think that you were alone?

Did you even notice you were bleeding?

Did you not feel something watching?

“In the days of myth and legends, men walked the earth. They thought themselves gods, ruling those they thought below them. They built grand temples, monuments to their hubris. Centuries past, and they grew bored. Bored of playing God. They conducted a grand ritual, starting a game. A game like no other. A game of Gods. They could not comprehend the mistake they had made. How could they? They thought themselves immortal. Invincible. Beyond reproach. Their hubris cast them down. They had attracted the attention of horrors beyond comprehension. Their monuments of sin torn down in mere seconds.“

In your vast and infinite hubris you milked the creature, unable to comprehend, nay, unwilling to comprehend the consequences of your actions.

And yet,

You milk the creature and it milks you back.

Every action has a consequence.

Agony fills every facet of your being, a primal pain, one indescribable. Your very being is torn apart molecule by molecule.

You are still screaming.

It is an eternity, yet only an instant, one instant stretched nigh into infinite.

In your last moments you have only regrets.

Do you understand?

Your ruby red answer spills out of your gore stained lips, profaning the floor.

You should not have milked the creature.

For nothing remains of the men that thought themselves gods. Only a deafening silence.

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kainissoable · 3 years

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LoKtober Day 11: Born Again

body horror tw

The high priest stepped forward and pressed the sacrificial knife into eager hands. With the boundless, reckless love of a true believer, the sacrifice sliced their own palms open and placed them reverentially on Melchiah’s rotten flesh. It warped beneath them, scraps of skin and sunken veins squirming across their hands like worms.

Thoughts unravelled along with their own flesh, the sacrifice’s very being flowing into their god along with their blood. Their selfhood became diffuse, mingling with the echoes of a hundred others who had trod this path before them. And then there was a new pain, Melchiah’s pain, flowing into them with the god’s blood, bringing not fear but comfort. This was the promise of immortality fulfilled.

The sacrifice had expected agony when their body started to warp and twist into Melchiah’s form, and there was, but it was at one remove. The body was no longer the self, but one part of many. The self was a single drop of water in a chalice, mingling freely with all the rest, and no more individual than any other in that first draught of eternity.

Flowing through it all was a gratitude without name, originating both from the newest sacrifice and the overarching mind of Melchiah himself. Surely he had no need to thank them, surely he must know what an honour it was. The feeble threads of individual thought struggled to tell him so before they were swamped and faded to an echo.

To call the King of Corpses arrogant would be to see, but not to understand. He heard and answered his worshippers’ prayers as no other power under the Crown, their fervent love and devotion still a part of him even as their flesh sloughed off his form to be replaced by others as they, too, were given life eternal.

#loktober 2021 #loktober #melchiah #ficlet #body horror #i don't know what i'm doing anymore. i've written something and that's enough of a victory

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twinkleton · 4 years

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a broken promise - married!douxie x reader

Bring on the angstt! This fic was inspired by @alovesongshewrote‘s imagine called Pick Who Dies, linked here. She’s such a lovely writer and part of the reason why I even starting writing fics to begin with! This fic is my interpretation of the final battle with the Arcane Order. It’s also an alternate end with my Married!Douxie, where him and the reader don’t get their happily ever after. Please enjoy!

tw:blood

tags: @clarencebells @purplesinnerw

Bellroc sneaks up behind Douxie, the man being too focused on helping Y/N with Skrael to notice. They send a blazing fire towards Douxie, hitting him in the back and knocking him down. They take the advantage and grab him, kicking his leg in a weak spot so he can’t get up.

“NO! LET GO OF HIM!” Y/N roars, taking her eye off Skrael, wondering what on Earth was taking Archie so long with finding the Trollhunters. Skrael takes notice of Y/N’s lack of attention towards them, and seizes the opportunity. They skulk behind her, taking their staff with two hands and aiming at her lower back.

Douxie notices what they’re doing a second too late.

“Y/N, LOOK OUT!!”

An immense amount of pain pierces through her as Skrael rams their staff through her abdomen. Y/N kneels to the floor, face contorted in horror as she looks down to witness the weapon be wrenched out of her. Her ears are ringing - unable to produce any sound as she collapses to the floor.

Douxie can’t think. He can’t breathe. It feels as if his lungs were malfunctioning, no supply of air to be found. They’re still working, for if it weren’t for them he wouldn’t have been able to let out such a harrowing scream. His throat feels on fire and his wrists are definitely bruised from struggling, but it’s nothing compared to the agony in his heart. He’s desperate for any sign of life from his beloved, but she remains on the ground terrifyingly still.

“Y/N! Y/N! YOU’RE GONNA BE FINE! JUST ANSWER ME!”

Skrael’s relishing in the chaos, shamelessly cackling at the scene before him. Bellroc joins in too, their voices shifting in and out. Douxie is still fighting against them, trying to reach for his staff.

“LET GO OF ME! Y/N! PLEASE!”

Bellroc strikes him down with their left fist, cursing at him while they slam their foot onto his back.

“Look at you, you’re as pathetic as an earthworm. Why don’t you shut up and we can watch her die together,” Bellroc sneers as they yank Douxie’s head up by the hair. A pool of blood is starting to surround the girl’s body.

Y/N can hear faint calls of her name, but her mind refuses to respond. Her body is freezing, a clear warning sign of death looming over her. She almost wants to give in to it. To be free of all this pain. Yet, her eyes reluctantly open, and she sees Jim, Claire, Toby, and Archie hiding behind a wall. They’re waiting for an opening. It’s time to give it to them.

After what seemed like an eternity, Douxie finally notices a small sign of hope. Y/N’s left hand raises off the ground. The two demigods cease their laughing. Their curiosity lets the witch try to get up, as she slowly picks up her head from the floor, the ends of her hair caked in blood.

The hall is deathly silent, which is a good thing as Douxie would not had otherwise been able to hear his wife croak out, “I’m okay, Douxie. We said for forever remember?”

It’s debatable whether Douxie was laughing or crying. However, the real answer was that it was a bit of both.

“Yeah, we did love.”

Her hands begin to glow. She smiles warmly at him. Nine hundred years wasn’t enough.

“Time to end this, darling.”

With every last bit of her strength, she twists behind herself, and blasts Skrael in the face with a blinding fire. They’re sent flying across the room. Gritting her teeth - she rolls back onto her stomach, pushing herself off the floor onto her knees. Bellroc attempts to kill Douxie, but is interrupted by a ray of Y/N’s magic, thrown to the opposite side of the room as well. Her final move is throwing up shields around the kids as they charge in. When she thinks she’s done enough, she topples to the floor once more. I’m so sorry, Douxie.

Douxie is torn, wanting so badly to sprint over to Y/N, pull her into his arms, and escape out of there. But, in order for all of this to be truly over, he has to help his friends. So, regretfully, he picks up his staff, turns towards them and joins the battle.

Y/N’s blows to the demigods had weakened them to the point that they had become rag dolls to the heroes. Toby swung his Warhammer, colliding it into Skrael’s stomach, knocking the wind out of them. They stumbled back, only to be knocked down by a swift kick from Jim. He jumped on top of him, pummeling him with his fists before raising Excalibur high above them.

Being too weak to move, Skrael uncharacteristically begins to panic. “No, no, we’re Gods, We’re supposed to bring this world back to order!”

“The world has no order, that’s what makes it so incredible. What it does need is peace. And it will achieve it, without you.”

Jim strikes his blade down, finally bringing the immortal to their end.

Bellroc witnesses their siblings end and is enraged. They no longer care for their mission and just want to see everyone burn. They lift their staff up high, creating an inferno storm above them. Luckily, before they can make use of it, Claire opens a portal right beneath them, and they fall into it. The storm evaporates. She opens the next portal high above them, the sorcerer plunging towards the ground.

Once they hit the ground, Douxie draws up a sigil below them, a gravity spell that keeps Bellroc glued to the floor. They let out a maddened roar.

“This is for Merlin,” Douxie vows, eyes glowing that familiar blue again. He rises up into the air, charging an attack. Then, he slams his staff down, a gust of magic slicing through the air and into Bellroc, sending them to their doom. Douxie descends back down, and they listen to the final member of Arcane Order’s pathetic wheezing.

They hear Bellroc’s final breath, and the group doesn’t know how to respond. However, Douxie wastes no time in rushing over to Y/N’s body. She had not moved a muscle since the last time he saw her and it horrified him. The puddle of blood had only grown wider, and her skin was paler than ever before.

The rest of the group follows him, circling around Y/N while Douxie kneels down to pick her up. He brings her into his lap, pressing his head against her chest. He hears a single faint beat, and cries in relief.

“Y/N, wake up. We did it,” his voice sounds cracked and hoarse, body shaking with overwhelming nerves. He caresses her face, wishing she would just open her eyes!

“Douxie...” Claire whispers, holding Jim’s hand firmly and willing herself not to cry yet, holding out hope for Y/N. The same can’t be said for Toby however, who’s letting his tears fall freely.

Douxie’s breathing becomes erratic as he gently starts shaking her, “She said she was okay, she’s okay, she’s- oh God please, wake up!” He lays his forehead to hers, pleading for her. Then, he hears her voice, faint as a mouse, “I can’t, I can’t.” He snaps his head back up. Y/N’s eyes are half-lidded and unfocused. Eventually, she gazes towards Douxie, and he clutches her face, full of worry. She gives a weak half grin, not strong enough for anything more. Tears shed down the sides of her face. She doesn’t want to break his heart, but her time has been cut off.

“I can’t, love. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I love you. So much.” Despite her best efforts, her eyes slowly shut, head relaxing in his hands as her soul leaves her body.

Somewhere out there, Nari feels an empty spot in the world once more.

Archie cautiously walks towards her, jumping onto her chest to listen for a heartbeat. Nothing. He looks up at Douxie, reluctantly shaking his head, eyes glistening. “She’s...she’s gone.” He can’t bear to look at his old friend - lost in his own grief as well.

“No, no she can’t be gone! She can’t!” Douxie squeezes her body, hot rivulets of tears spilling down his face, rocking back and forth. However, just like his Master, she turns to dust, leaving behind the ring her made her so long ago.

Claire latches onto Jim, wrapping her arms around him, letting herself cry now having confirmation their friend is dead. The Trollhunter hugs her tightly, frustration and sorrow clouding his mind. Toby throws off his helmet in anger. None of this felt like a victory.

Douxie sobs at the sight of the ring, grasping it in his hand and bringing it to his heart. She left him. He’s never going to wake up to her smile again, or hear her comforting words of wisdom again, or feel her soft hand against his cheek ever again. He’s spent the majority of his everlasting life with her. Continuing without her was never something he thought he’d ever have to do.

“Doux...I’m so sorry,” Jim calls out to him. He empathizes with the wizard, knowing he’d feel the exact same if Claire was in Y/N’s place.

Douxie doesn’t have the motivation to look up at them, still hopelessly bent over where she used to be. “I’ve lost her. She’s supposed to be here with me. I can’t-I can’t live without her!”

Archie makes the first move, rushing to Douxie so he can nuzzle his head against his. Douxie fervently embraces him, hugging him so tightly while he weeps. Claire joins them, followed by Jim, then Toby. They mourn the loss of their friend together. The weights on their chest slightly lift, healing each other.

Y/N watches the scene, thankful that her husband has their friends to take care of him. Morgana lays a hand on her shoulder, telling her it’s time to go. It’s full circle as Morgana leads her to her new home, where this time, she’ll be waiting for him.

#toa douxie #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie casperan #toa #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #married!douxie #douxie #douxie x reader #douxie imagine

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realityhelixcreates · 3 years

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Dance of the Spheres Chapter Six: Meteoric Mambo

Chapters: 6/?

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: kidnapping, forced marriage, death mention, mild body horror

Characters: Loki(Marvel), Heimdall(Marvel)

Additional Tags: Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:

Gave my love to a shooting star But she moves so fast that I can't keep up, I'm chasing I'm in love with a shooting star But she moves so fast, when she falls then I'll be waiting Shooting Star-Bag Raiders

Loki leapt for the door, bellowing for somebody to fetch someone named Eir. Then he was at your side, lifting you effortlessly in his arms and carrying you through your beautiful rooms, to lay you down on your warm, comfortable bed, where you writhed uncontrollably in terrible pain.

Loki unbelted your dress, and drew the blanket up to your chest, then seated himself next to you, holding your hand, stroking your face, and murmuring things you could barely understand through the pain. Eventually a graceful, middle-aged woman appeared with several handheld devices, and a sound scolding for Loki for being so irresponsible with the Apple.

You couldn't even take pleasure in the dressing-down he was receiving, as the woman attached one of the devices to your arm, and set the other one above your bed. A projection of your body appeared above you, hovering in midair. It showed all kinds of information that you didn't understand, like the graphics in a science fiction film.

“It's started in her spine.” Eir said. “That's why the pain is so severe to begin with. It's effecting her nerves first.”

“What does that mean?” you cried, your voice twisted into squeals of agony. “What is it doing to me?”

Eir began to launch into another scolding, but Loki drowned her out with speedy explanations.

“The Apples of Immortality contain enzymes that act as catalizers on the genetic codes of certain species. So far, we know for certain that they effect Vanir, Asgardians, Jotun, and Humans. They effect us in slightly different ways, but in humans, the change is most drastic.

The Apples give humans greater strength and durability, energy efficiency, speedier healing of wounds and resistance to disease, and a greatly extended lifespan. However, it does this by stimulating the cells of your body to divide en masse, and changing the DNA as it is replicating, resulting in one cell that it original, and one cell that is enhanced. The enhanced cell then devours the original cell, eventually eradicating all traces of original DNA in the body, and leaving a fully enhanced individual behind.”

“My body is making a new me, and cannibalizing the old me at the same time?” you shrieked.

“That's a remarkably lurid way of putting it, but yes, it's accurate. Don't worry, you will still be you at the end of it. Only stronger, and with greater longevity.”

He was so desperately trying to reassure you of the good that would come of this, but all you could do was scream curses at him for the pain, and the lack of permission, and the recklessness. You didn't care if you destroyed the illusion of complacency you had planned to weave-the agony stripped you of any guile you'd thought to employ. But he stayed by your side anyway, gently kissing your hand and wiping your face with a dry cloth as you writhed and screamed.

It didn't matter that you couldn't tell the time; time was meaningless. There was only moment after moment of suffering, an endless, enduring, torturous present. Each minute brought fresh distress, and greater disorientation, as your senses altered under the effects of the Apple, and the agony spread throughout your body as if carried in your blood.

Perhaps it was the trauma of pain effecting your compromised mind, but you were sure that your sense of touch had been so enhanced that your could feel your body devouring and replacing its most sensitive and delicate parts. Your eyes, your tongue, your throat and lungs-you were certain that you felt them rapidly dying and changing. You saw sparks as you writhed helplessly, the colors so bright that you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

And still he babbled on, and still Eir monitored the illusion body, and still you suffered without end. You expected to fall unconscious into exhaustion, begged for it to come, but remained trapped firmly in the grip of the eternal Now.

It reached into your heart, slowed it so much you could hardly move or breathe, It reached into your brain, dampened everything, sound, sight, and finally, even the pain. As your brain ate and replaced itself, your screams faded, and you found yourself unable to feel, think, or do anything. It was a form of death, and you welcomed it with gratitude, though remained conscious throughout.

You vaguely registered that Loki was panicking, believing the Apple might have somehow killed you, blathering about love and apologies, snapping at Eir, who coldly shut him down.

He was insane, this whole ordeal really proved it. Mad royals weren't uncommon, mad, immortal, super-powered rulers were a much rarer problem, but a problem you now had.

Maybe not for long. Maybe you really were dying. Maybe your brain didn't replace itself fast enough. Maybe other parts of your body were failing. Maybe you would be free of this nightmare soon.

But the replacement must have gone well, because pain began to fade back in, from the parts of you that weren't finished with their self-cannibalization. Loki threw his arms around you when he noticed you beginning to writhe and gasp again, holding you firmly, yet tenderly. Some small and guilty part of you took comfort in it, even as you hissed hatred into his ear.

Time did pass, even if you couldn't perceive it, and you only had so much body to devour and rebuild. The pain finally dissipated, but ache and shock remained. If what Loki said was true, if it wasn't just a lie that Eir was going along with, then you had been changed; irrevocably changed without him even asking or letting you know what was happening until it was already happening. No choice, no consent. And he dared babble about love.

The shock dampened the resentment, and the exhaustion kept you from struggling; Loki kept holding you like it was okay, like he hadn't just subjected you to a trauma nearly equal to the one you had already endured. You could feel your leg. It had been years since you'd felt those phantoms, but this brought it all back.

All you could really do was cry in the arms of the monster that now held you, tenderly as a beast cradling a chick.

You could feel his horrible strength, his cloying warmth, his humid breath on your hair was hot in the dry air. You hadn't yet thought about him having a scent, but he did, the kind of scent that any living animal had, similar to another human being, and poorly covered with soap or cologne, also like a human being. He smelled alive; alive, and breathing, and warm, and you were cold with sweat, ravenous and sore with exertion, weary with exhaustion.

“Don't...want to be here.” you breathed piteously.

“Shh.” he soothed, dabbing your tears with his cloth. “It will be alright, my dear. I will make it so.”

He said it with such firm confidence, as if nothing in the universe could stand in his way. But then, he was perfectly capable of just killing inconveniences, wasn't he? All authority was; from the small-town cop with their false drug or gun allegations, to entire governments who politely asked their people not to call the internment camps at the border 'concentration camps' please.

All your life you had been under the thumb of that authority, and all your life all authority had done was try to take more and more control from you-from your mind, with constant propaganda and psyops, and from your body, with never-ending financial drains and restrictions. But it had never been as direct as this. It was exhausting and soul breaking, but it wasn't like this.

This man held you like a lover while he destroyed you.

“Let yourself rest. Rest.” he murmured “Nothing else will hurt you. You'll be safe from now on, I'll see to it. My precious bride, just wait. After this, we can look to the future. After this, I can make you deliriously happy. Just let me.”

You were already drifting off, but you didn't miss the command behind that. What would he do if you were unable to comply? Would he find some way to 'make' you, like he had 'made' those people follow him when he first came to Earth? Or would he just remove you somehow? It was clear now that he wasn't planning to replace you with some other woman, not after this. This 'mistake' was permanent now.

You didn't fight the slumber as it came over you. It seemed like the only thin that would free you, if only for a little while.

******

Loki didn't want to leave your side, not even while you slept, but Eir all but dragged him away by the ear, to scold him for his recklessness.

“This is not one of your magical experiments, your highness, this is your wife! She is human! She is delicate, and distressed, and you have dropped a great deal on her in a very short time. Humans are not that strong, my prince. You must treat her gently, moreso than her own people apparently have.”

Loki took the tongue-lashing as he deserved, guilt gnawing at him. He had been reckless. He'd rushed things that hadn't needed to be rushed. Things that, in fact, should have been taken much more slowly, so that this case of mistaken identity could have been revealed and safely resolved.

It was far too late for that now. Loki was tied to you, and you were immortalized, and there would never be another for him, and your life would never be the same. More than his overflowing love for you, he now owed you quite a bit, for the tremendous disruption he had caused you.

He needed to find out what happened. Why had this all gone so wrong? It was tempting to attribute it to a curse upon his life; like every great plan he had ever made, it had come crashing down disastrously. But no, there was something else at work here, something outside of his knowledge or control. Someone was working against him.

Only a handful of humans knew he still lived, and was here. Several key U.N. leaders, those Thor had deemed either the most powerful, or the most trustworthy. It was a knife's edge of political power balance: if Loki stepped too far out of line, those leaders could reveal to the world that he still lived, and all of humanity might turn against Asgard for it. But likewise, Asgard could turn it back on them; after all, those leaders knew he lived, and ignored it for their own gain. Human lives were so brief, and human leaders were so terribly aware of their own mortality, so terribly obsessed with holding their power until they died. To lose that was the greatest fear of each and every one of them, and he was entirely willing to use that against them as viciously as necessary.

Showing mercy, while making it clear what unmercifulness would look like was one of Asgards oldest and most powerful negotiating tools.

Had someone in power in your homeland interfered with the selection process? Had an enemy of your homeland done it? He had expected a relative of your country's leader, a daughter, niece, or cousin. Perhaps an even more distant relation. Had a third cousin objected to their daughter being sent to him, and replaced her with you at the last moment? Treachery.

Why had they deemed you a suitable replacement then? Was it the leg? Was it that you were poor? They must have known that you would become rich beyond measure as his wife.

What had happened?

He couldn't shake free of the memory of your face, contorted with agony, begging for death, cursing his name for hours. It had taken nearly a day for the transformation to be complete, but it had been so long since a human had been blessed with an Apple, that Loki didn't know if that was normal or not. Maybe that was why they were given to humans so rarely. Few would go through that kind of torment willingly.

You hadn't even done it willingly.

His heart squeezed tight in his chest. He had to find out what had happened.

******

“Ah. If it isn't my favorite face, before me once again.” Heimdall said, voice as flat as always.

“How is it possible that you've gotten even more insufferable since the last time we met?” Loki shot back. “All this extra sunlight must be overheating your brain.”

“And yet, it was your highness who decreed this be my new lookout point. Do you complain now?”

“No, no, look. When I picked up my wife, did you see anything unusual? Anything surrounding the event at all?”

“I saw two men, dressed identically, in a vehicle that lacked some of the marks that they usually have. They threw her walking aid into the grass a few miles away from your pick up site. A dog dragged it away. I did not see them escort her, as I did not know who I was looking for at that time.”

“Could you find them again?”

Heimdall gave him a stoic look. Loki sighed and nodded.

“Find them again. I wish to know what they are doing right now.”

Heimdall gazed out, ignoring the beating sun, and sought his targets.

“One is eating a sandwich at an outdoor cafe. He has an iced coffee. The waitress is flirting with him, but he does not respond to it.” he said in the hollow voice he got when he was far away like that. “The other...rots under the desert, naked.”

“He's dead?” Loki exclaimed. It had only been a day since he had received you. What could the man have done that warranted his death? He had delivered you, as promised.

Unless the men weren't supposed to deliver you. Unless they had been part of a plot, and perhaps one man had sacrificed his partner in order to escape. Unless...any number of possible intrigues.

“Extremely.” Heimdall confirmed.

Loki sighed and shook his head. There was too much missing information.

“I will need to speak to him.”

“The dead man?”

“No, of course not! The one having lunch. But not right now. When he is alone. Keep an eye on him.”

Heimdall said nothing, but merely settled into his long distance gaze. Loki approached a nearby worker. He was dressed in the heavy duty working clothes of a miner, and looking over a stack of reports. Loki joined him under his sun shelter.

“Find anything new?”

The miner started at his sudden appearance.

“Your majesty!” he exclaimed. “I didn't know you were coming.”

“I just happened to be in the area. How are your findings?”

“Uh, well,” the miner shuffled his reports nervously. “the iron has turned out to be substantially more that the traces we initially assumed, and we have discovered more water to be extracted. Several locations, in fact. We've also discovered titanium, however...”

“Is there some kind of problem with it?” Loki asked.

“It's pretty far to the south...on land that technically hasn't been ceded to us.”

“A complication, to be certain. Well. Let's look at it as Midgardians would.” Loki began ticking points off on his fingers. “One: does anybody else live there? No, this entire rock is uninhabited, save for us. Two: Has anyone else laid claim to that land? Doubtful. I believe there have been treaties regarding that. Treaties which, incidentally, we have not signed. Three: is there any indigenous wildlife in the area that needs to be protected?”

The miner laughed.

“So the problem we are faced with here is largely non-binding. And if we keep our operation mostly underground, they might never notice in the first place. And even if they do, wasn't this land-gift meant to be a way for them to observe how we transform difficult terrain into livable space? They cannot observe us if we do not do it.”

“As you say, my liege.” The miner said.

Loki left him to his business, and made his rounds to each of the workers who were out plying their trades under the bright sun; water gatherers, stonecutters, road builders, brick makers, and maintenance workers, listening to their worries and spreading encouragement.

This was something he felt Odin must have forgotten; that kingdoms were not built on secrets, but by the hands of every member of society. Addressing their concerns was important, and often not all that difficult. The commoner was most often interested in simple things, such as food and safety for their family. The worker was usually concerned for their project, and their concerns were worth hearing, as they knew what they were doing. Loki did not know what stone was good and sturdy, or what stone was flawed or too weak for building with. A stonemason did.

Also, it was worth the time to be known by the people he was meant to lead and rule. Who could proclaim allegiance to a mystery?

He heard Heimdall softly call for him, as if the watcher was right next to him. He wished the man he was talking to well, and made his way back along the sun-drenched road.

“Well?” he asked.

“The man has retired to an inn. He is alone in his room.”

Loki smiled thinly. “Perfect.”

#danceofthespheres #loki (marvel)#loki x reader #Heimdall (Marvel)

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heres-to-the-lovely-lies · 3 years

Text

Always and Forever

Prologue: In the Beginning

The Originals x Reader

This was something that I thought of a while ago and I thought, “I need to write this down.” I want to try and make this into a series, so hopefully writer’s block doesn’t kick in and I never finish this story.

Also, this story does mention deaths of family.

Warnings: mentions of family deaths, spoilers (potentially, if you are still watching the TV series)

I hope you all enjoy! :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

See, I never thought I’d live past twenty.

Where I come from, some get half as many.

Nowadays, people are living to be a hundred years old.

If I’m being honest, I wish that is where I could have stopped.

One hundred good years and I would have been fine.

Living for eternity, that’s a different story.

It all started many years ago, a little over a thousand I believe?

The specifics of time don’t quite matter, at least not to me.

When you’ve got more than a thousand years behind you and millions more ahead, time doesn’t always come into mind.

Anyhow, I digress.

I guess I should tell you when it started.

A thousand years ago, I was but a weary traveler moving around from forest to forest. That was just the way that my family and I had lived life. We did not feel bound to one spot like another tribes or villages did. They kept the mentality of hunting and gathering in their minds and lifestyles. We were always moving. Always searching,

Although I loved my family, I came to hate this way of living, especially after what killed them. Looking back, I wish I had convinced all of them to find a place to settle down like the other families that we would pass by.

We had just traveled all day and night in order to follow a herd of buffalo when we came across a small village. You know it now as Mystic Falls. I call it Hell.

The people there had been kind to us. They let us stay for a night in order to get our strength back up for the next day’s travel. It was there where we met them.

Some call them legends. Others monsters.

Vampires.

Werewolves.

Witches.

But when I first met the children of the Mikaelson family, I knew them as human.

There was Mikael, the patriarch of the family and his wife, Esther. She was like me, a witch. She had always been a little more interested in me than other witches we had meet. I wasn’t like most witches, who drew their power from nature or ancestors. My magic always just seemed to flow through me, continuously running from a never-ending tap. Back then, I thought it was weird that I never learned any magic from her, but looking back now, I think I’m happy that I didn’t.

Then there were the children.

The oldest was Finn, who I often quarreled with whenever left in the same vicinity as him. Everyone said it was because Esther would keep an eye on me, which gave him the wrong impression, but I choose to believe it was because I was naturally better at performing magic than he was.

Next came Elijah, the first to greet my family we arrived. His charming looks and calm demeanor had my mother and sister swooning over him. Even my father was impressed with him.

Klaus was also a charmer when he met my family. His smile just seemed to pull everyone in except for me. Every smile sent my way was met with an eye roll. He tried his best to pull me into his mischievous, dare say, dark ways, but I chose to stay out of it. Why get pulled into something that would only last a day?

Kol was just as bad as Klaus. My sister was practically sewed into his arm from the way that she held onto him. Every words, every smile, every look, she was held tight by him, even though he looked like he wasn’t trying to catch her attention.

Rebekah had always been my favorite. Even though she had been the only female Mikaelson child that I had met that day, it felt like she understood me. While Klaus and Kol were persistent in their attempts to pull me into their troublemaking ways, Rebekah seemed to always be by my side to fend them off.

Then there was little Henrik. Sweet, innocent Henrik. When I had first met the youngest Mikaelson, he had surprised me with a flower he had found in the tree line right outside the village. His words had taken me aback with how direct they were. Thinking about it now makes me smile and laugh a little.

“One day, I’m going to marry you.”

Just as quickly as we had met the Mikaelson’s, my family and I were gone. Not even a day later, we were back on our feet and on our way to follow our herd of food.

It was when night fell did my family realize our mistake.

It wasn’t even supposed to happen. We were supposed to be safe. I had created a protection barrier around all of us, created by tracing a circle around our sleeping area and enchanted it. A barrier that only the hand of powerful magic could break.

It had happened so quickly. None of us had seen it coming. Where we had traveled from, we had only heard myths about the shapeshifters. The ones that only changed during a full moon. We never thought we would ever see one in real life.

The werewolf struck right when the moon was at it’s peak and leaves from the trees above us had opened to let in the pale moonlight. First, it took my father, who had been standing watch for us. He didn’t even have time to warn us before he was dragged into the night.

It was when my mother screamed in agony and pain did I wake up. By then, it was already too late. I had opened my eyes to see my mother get thrown to the side, my family already laying dead around me.

I was the last one left.

When the werewolf attacked me, I... did nothing.

I did not fight back. I did not run away. I had sat there as the monster came racing towards me. I could feel the tears of pain running down my face, but could not seem to scream as the monster started to tear me apart. I cried even when I started to lose feeling in my body. As I laid on my back, eyes open and gazing at the stars, I wait for the sweet release of death to come and take me. I could not live in this world without my family. I would not. They were all I had.

But death never came. Even after the werewolf had finished attacking us and wandered back into the dark curtains of the forest, death never came. And it still didn't come as the dark canvas of the sky started to ombré into a beautiful shade of red, then orange, and finally a light blue.

Even when I tried to will it, I could not die. It was like life and death had decided to play a sick joke on me. Death would not allow me to cross over but life would let me continue on with a permanent reminder of one of the most devastating moments of my life.

When I finally closed my eyes, I could hear faint footsteps coming closer. Then I could hear Elijah’s voice call out for his brothers as those footsteps became louder and faster. I could hear Klaus call my name as I was lifted into the air, strong arms carrying me back in the direction of their village. I assume it was Klaus holding me, but I guess I’ll never be certain as I had kept my eyes closed the entire time.

I could hear Rebekah’s pained cries and Henrik’s confused speech as the Mikaelson brothers and myself reached the village. But still, I did not open my eyes.

I believe I was finally able to sleep when I heard Esther’s voice beckoning her sons to bring my family into a small hut, but it still did not mean death.

I awoke a week later, my skin riddled with scars, some wounds opening again when I finally moved. I was the only survivor.

Having no where else to go, I stayed with the Mikaelsons, growing closer with Elijah, Klaus, Kol, Rebekah, and Henrik. They became more than just friends to me. They were now my family.

But where there is happiness, tragedy lurks behind it, hiding in its shadow.

It wasn’t even a month later that the Mikaelsons lost Henrik to another werewolf attack.

The family was never the same after that.

I assume you know the rest of the story from here, but if not, I guess I can summarize it a little.

Mikael asked Esther to perform dark magic to ensure that none of his children died ever again, thus creating the first vampires, The Originals.

They became creatures that could never be killed, the strongest of them all. The ones that would live for eternity.

After a thousands years on this Earth, I blame myself for not stopping Esther. The Mikaelson children were forced to become something so monstrous, so destructive, in order to protect themselves. Over the years, I watched this curse break their souls, pull bits of humanity from them as their hunger for blood and protectiveness for each other danced in circles around them.

The night that the Mikaelsons became immortal was the same night I became immortal as well, except, this was for a different reason.

You could say it was like a page out of a horror movie. The young girl longing to have magic to make her life better or more interesting is visited by the Devil and trades her soul to have everything she could every want.

That night, after the Mikaelsons were turned, I was approached by a man. He emerged from the darkness of the forest, his demeanor calm and collected, his hands behind his back as he came closer.

“I have a proposition for you, young witch. Take a walk with me.”

This man led me away from the village and further into the forest. We walked for what felt like eternity when he finally stopped. The only light in the forest was provided by the moon.

“This is the very spot you and your family were attacked, young witch. Now, it seems as though your new family is facing a similar predicament. Do you want to try and save them?”

Of course I agreed. I had come to fallen in love with the Mikaelson siblings.. They were the only things I had left.

“I only need one thing.”

“My soul?”

“Your life.”

I was, confused. My life?

“I can see that you are perplexed. Let me explain.You see, Esther is performing a spell that can make her children become immortal. They can never die. What purpose does you growing old serve when you want to be able to be there to help them. I guess, in a way, I am asking for your soul, but what I really want is that life force that makes you tick. That makes you grow old. That pushes the blood through your veins and causes your heart to beat.”

All it took was hearing ‘help the Mikaelsons’ for me to agree. I should have put some more thought into it.

I will always remember his smile when he made me immortal that night, right after he took my soul, my life force as he called it, away from me. And I would always remember his name.

Cade.

From there on, I tried to be there for the Mikaelson children whenever I could. That was until we were forced out of the village by Mikael. I had gotten separated from the others when I stayed behind to protect them, using my magic to ward Mikael off.

I wasn’t as strong back then, so Mikael was able to defeat me easily, pushing the white oak stake he had created through my heart before pursuing Klaus and his siblings with it.

I thought death would come for me then too, but it did not. After I could not hear Mikael’s footsteps, I stood up, my clothes stained with blood. That was then when I realized just what deal I had made.

For many years, I would search for the Mikaelsons, but it was as though I was one step behind Mikael and two behind the siblings. Everywhere I went, they were either gone after I arrived or would settle down after I left. To the rest of the world, the Mikaelsons were but a whisper, a figment of imagination. They were myths. But they were all too real to me.

I found myself traveling alone for two hundred years. For two hundred years, I did not give up on them. I called out to each and every Mikaelson sibling using my mind, hoping, waiting for a response. I would cry out into the world, telling them where I was, wanting them to come and find me. I was always met with silence. A silence so deafening at times I would scream to the dark midnight sky in order to not feel crushed.

And still, there was no answer from any of them. For two hundred years, the only answer I received that they were still alive was the trail of bodies left behind at each and every settlement they had managed to land in.

Then one day, I could not take it anymore. I did the one thing I said I wouldn’t.

I turned my back on the Mikaelsons and I started to walk the opposite way from them. The deal I had made with Cade became a curse. I was left alone with the demons in my head and the nightmares behind my eyelids.

I had failed Elijah.

Klaus.

Kol.

Rebekah.

‘Always and Forever.’

That is what we all promised each other when Mikael drove us out of Mystic Falls. What a broken promise it is now.

I would not find the Mikaelsons until many, many years later. Not until I, myself, became something so unrecognizable, so much so that my own reflection doesn’t even know who I am.

I am on my way back to Hell.

That is where my story begins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Orleans. Some things never change. (Y/n) hadn’t been back in New Orleans for more than eighty years, having gotten there in the 1920′s after the Mikaelson siblings were forced to leave. It was specular to see again, looking at everything Marcel had done.

It was night by the time (Y/n) came strolling into New Orleans. After many years of traveling across the globe, she was ready to lay down again for about a hundred years before setting off again. She needed a break from all the plane rides and carpool adventures. It was good to be back in a place that she knew.

However, as much as she wanted to stay in the town she once called her favorite home, (Y/n) was merely passing though. She would only be in New Orleans for a night before heading on her way to Mystic Falls.

While she never wanted to return to that place again, she had heard a whisper, one so faint even she was convinced it wasn't real. It called out to her, begging her to come back to Mystic Falls. This plea, she could not ignore.

Her house keys in her pocket, (Y/n) walked down the middle of the street. She could hear music and partying faintly in the distance. She didn’t have a care in the world as she walked through the streets. She took her time as she placed one foot in front of the other. The night was peaceful and all she wanted to do was savor it before going to bed and leaving in the morning.

“Well look here, boys. This one doesn't look like a local.”

And the peace was lost.

Turning around, (Y/n) saw three vampires lined up behind her. One of them had their fangs bared already, the dark viens in their face popping out.

“Mhm, you must be new to all this vampire stuff,” the witch spoke.

The three men were taken aback by what she had said. Shrugging her shoulders, (Y/n) turned back around and started to make her way back down the street.

“Go home, boys. I’m sure there is easier prey for you to catch at some party Marcel is holding.”

Now the vampires were even more confused, but they were not about to let some new tourist tell them what to do. Within seconds, all three raced in front of the witch and bared their fangs. They hissed at her as she continued to walk towards them, an amused look on her face.

The next thing they knew, a head splitting pain took over all of them. It was as if their heads were getting ripped off of their shoulders. Their blood boiled and their skin felt like it would melt right off their bodies. As they withered on the street, clutching their heads, (Y/n) continued to stroll past them, not even breaking a sweat as she induced pain and suffering on Marcel’s nightwalkers.

“Goodnight, boys. Don’t let any werewolves bite.”

Continuing down the street, (Y/n) held her head high as witches hiding in the dark spotted the scene that had been caused, their eyes growing wide in fear of what Marcel would do when he found out this witch had performed magic. Did this witch have a death wish?

It didn’t matter to (Y/n). She would not be staying for long.

(Y/n) (L/n) was back on her way to Hell.

#the originals x reader #reader insert

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sondepoch · 4 years

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Hey, I wondering what Simeon and Lucifer would do if MC, as a result of their heartache, tried to hurt themself or end it? If you don't feel interested feel free to ignore this! Also your writing is truly amazing and immersive.

The sound that leaves Lucifer’s lips when he walks into MC’s room is nothing short of inhuman. And yet, it didn’t sound quite demonic either—the strangled gasp of horror lurking somewhere in between but undeniably terrifying as Lucifer gazed down at MC’s body, draped over the bed with the emptied bottle of pills still knocked over on their desk. It takes barely a second for the demon to understand what the human had tried to do, and the terror that wraps around Lucifer’s heart is something he has never felt before, not even when Lilith died, because this time he knows that he is the cause for this death.

Lucifer has never been more relieved to feel the sensation of a heartbeat, unbearably weak but undoubtedly there—and that is when logic returns to him, and in an instant, he's shouting for his brothers to come to MC’s room immediately, and for Satan to bring the first aid kit. Yet even as his brothers begin recklessly bringing MC back to consciousness, forcing them to vomit up the pills which they had attempted to suicide on, Lucifer feels like he can’t quite breathe. And when MC glances up at him, eyes glossy and body shaking, looking so miserable but so pained at being woken, Lucifer feels like he wants to die as well, because the look of raw desperation in their eyes was caused by none other than him.

And yet, it still hurts the most when Lucifer has to relay the news to Simeon.

The angel takes it much worse, so unhinged by fear and horror that he shifts into his natural form for the first time since arriving in the Devildom, and immediately Simeon is at MC’s side, holding their face, whispering sweet nothings into their ear as they both cry: MC, because they know that Simeon is only doing this out of guilt and Simeon, because he never meant to cause such suffering on the little lamb. Lucifer can only watch in the background as it happens, hating how even now, as he watches the human’s frail body tremble in bed, he wishes that it were him in Simeon’s arms, being held so tight. But Lucifer knows better than to come over and join in on the hug—he will not force MC to bear the same pain at the cause of his selfishness.

And so the barrier between the three of them breaks: as MC recovers in bed, Simeon and Lucifer are at their side constantly. The elephant in the room is never addressed—the words “suicide” and “love” are never dropped, nor are any apologies. And yet, MC’s condition slowly worsens as they grow more distant, their body showing no signs of getting stronger even after the pills are long gone from their system.

And slowly, the brothers start to understand. They notice how MC never confesses what drove them to commit the extreme, how Simeon and Lucifer look almost obligated to be at MC’s side, how there’s an undeniable tension in the room between the angel and demon—and then the Avatar of Lust casually remarks about how there seems to be something going on between Lucifer and Simeon, despite it being forbidden, and Satan bounces back with an unrelated comment on how selfless MC is—and it all clicks together.

To say that the brothers throw a fit is the least. Both Simeon and Lucifer are immediately removed from the room, cast aside where they, in Satan’s words, can “stop doing more damage, because god knows you both have already done enough”—and MC is showered in affection by the brothers. Asmo brings gifts, Beel brings food. Belphie curls up next to them when they sleep, warding nightmares off, while Satan reads stories to both as they quietly embark from the waking realm. Levi keeps them entertained during the day with anime and endless comments about manga, and Mammon stands guard at the door, slowly taking the responsibility of becoming MC’s primary guardian, keeping both Lucifer and Simeon away and the conversation latched onto innocent topics. And slowly, very slowly, MC begins to heal. Their health improves. Their smiles stop looking so forced, and soon the sound of laughter spills from their lips once more.

The brothers banish Simeon and Lucifer from MC’s life, keeping both men as far as possible even when MC claims (falsely) that they’re “over it.” And though MC has finally reached happiness, finding comfort in the brothers, the only beings that Simeon and Lucifer can turn to comfort are each other—something entirely forbidden. So as the human returns to normal, beginning to laugh and smile, it feels like every moment of happiness they bask in is one stolen from the angel and demon. For even as MC has managed to escape the ropes of this hellish love, Simeon and Lucifer remain trapped in it. And now that the truth has been unveiled, no one is willing to help either man as they silently struggle onward through the pain—leaving them just as destroyed and miserable as the human had been when they turned to the pills. The only difference is that these immortal beings have no out, and their agony is one they are condemned to for eternity—their pain only spurred on the fact that suddenly, no one else seems to care.

#got carried away again #sigh #needed but unwanted

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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In the beginning was GADRIEL, an ANGEL loyal to the cause of the ANGELS. She is said to be IMMORTAL and uses SHE/HER pronouns. In this New Testament she serves as a MEMBER of the VIRTUES. Blessed be her name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

When she was named the Virtue of Temperance she thought that surely it was another means of punishment under the guise of an honorific title. But the subjects of the kingdom of Caelum trusted her to use her zeal to protect them, to ensure the sanctity of their people. As the Virtue of Temperance she also serves the seer of the Hundred-Eyed God, utilizing her abilities as a means for her protection. Gadriel has the unique ability to manipulate the gravity of the different kingdoms, allowing her to make one feel as though the earth itself is dragging one to its center, or completely untethering them if she so desires. There are those who say that, when they are close to her, they feel lighter -- as though they might very well dance among the stars. But the victims she has vanquished have felt the air crushed from their lungs before being smote by her sword. Her ability to manipulate gravity so flagrantly is mitigated when she is unable to concentrate or finds her emotions to be overwhelming. It’s rather difficult to make one feel as though they carry the weight of the world when she, herself, is the one that seemingly holds it on her own shoulders.

THE HISTORY.

It is as though these memories are echoes -- fast fading and pale in their colors. She knows that they reside within her, though, because she can still taste the blood upon her lips and still can recall the pain that she had endured before wings had sprouted from her back like branches from a tree. Gadriel is one of the few mortals that has ever had the rare blessing of being rebirthed into an angel -- but she was favored, like few others had been, and in her favor God had sought to place her in a position of veneration. She had, after all, suffered and died in His holy name. It had been a terrible death, one that was retold time and time again in hushed whispered and tearful gazes as they recalled her renowned devotion to a God that did not hear His people until long after their blood had sunk into the earth. The ones who had thrown her to the lions were the same ones who had once regarded her as a coveted woman -- they had longed for her, lusted after her, and for years she had denied them, invoking the name of God as her one true beloved. Day after day she would kneel before her shoddy altar, face upturned to the God that she could not see, beseeching Him to reveal His will unto her and take protect the souls of those who laid their lives before Him. Such devotion was what few would have deemed as saint-like, but the many sneered at and called utter delusion.

Again, the memories are fast-fading and pale in their colors. No longer can she recall the pain that seared through the entirety of her being as she was dragged along the streets of Rome, the onlookers jeering and spitting on her dust-covered skin. No longer can she remember the faces that had looked on as the hungry lions roared their discontent, nor can she remember the agony of the claws sinking into her skin. Instead, all she can remember is the metallic taste of blood on her lips. How she had seen the face of the angel just as eternal night encroached on her vision -- how their wings had wrapped around her, a sanctuary from the horror that had been her martyrdom. Gadriel ascended and found herself rebirthed as a member of the kingdom of heaven -- God’s own visage turning towards her in utter benevolence and love. Among the choir of angels, she was still deemed a saint, her steadfast faith and adoration of the Father of all of creation dwarfing any others in comparison. Upon her lips, one was always likely to find litanies of praise, in her eyes the beatific love for her Father seemed all-consuming. She paid no mind to the earth that she had once come from, nor did she care much for the mortals that continued to suffer and bemoan the hardships that God allotted to them. Why should she? She was in heaven -- favored, venerated, and at peace.

Perhaps it was her once-mortal folly that led her to believe such an existence would have extended on to the horizon of eternity. She had mistakenly thought that such bliss would have been as immortal as she was. She was a Cherubim that was regarded by many of her brethren in high esteem -- not once, though, did they think that her loyalty and devotion would waver from God. So, when the revolution was under way, she was carried in its tide and drowning in the undertow, one treacherous angel after the other throwing themself in her way to keep her from clinging to their Father’s side. Gadriel had never been one to wield her sword, but it cleaved through the air, indiscriminate of who might be smote upon its blunt edge, all in the name of her zealous faith in a God who was being overthrown. The tears in her eyes could have drowned whole mountains in their grief, not even the ocean could hope to mimic the fury and grief that teemed within them. And once more, she was dragged before onlookers to suffer the consequences of such blind, steadfast piety. And once more, Gadriel was forced to endure the agony, pain, and grief that had consumed the last few moments of her mortality. Just as before -- Gadriel conquested over it, but no longer because of a celestial savior, no, she liberated herself.

Before the haphazard court of Caelum she raised her chin and declared her own innocence, beseeching her brethren of the court to consider mercy and forgiveness, temperance and compassion. So moved were they by her impassioned call for compassion that Michael thought of something befitting for an angel governed by her zeal. They clipped her wings and she took it with tight lips and gritted teeth, for there were far worse things in her existence that she had endured. Her wings could regrow, just as the warmth within in heart could for the angels that had persecuted her. In the new world, she found that her untethering from God had served as a means of complete and utter transformation of her being -- the Hundred-Eyed God was a far more benign than the one she had once devoted herself to, the world that awaited her was no longer a harrowing thing that might trample her underfoot. The world that was remade at the cost of her idol was one that was ripe for shaping into her own vision of beauty. For so long she has given, and Fate, in turn, has taken from her. But her hands have grown weary from their charity and her spirit has grown vicious in the abuse that it has endured. What is a creature like her to do, when her wounds remain raw and aching, while her heart has grown serrated teeth?

THE CONNECTIONS.

ASMODEUS: Breath. She does not know where his fascination stems from -- why his gaze always seems to linger on her, as though he seems short of breath and needs a moment of her attention before regaining it. In truth, the attention that he gives her fascinates her, the ability to undo him with nothing more than a single glance is a point of utter intrigue. Though she holds no warmth in her heart for demons, this one, at the very least, is deserving of her pity. What sadness could he have endured to look at her and be enthralled? She knows the woe that hangs heavy on her shoulders, how the stain of her martyrdom remains with her, still. There is none that could find beauty in it, unless they longed for such melancholy to stain their fingertips whenever they dared to touch her. Asmodeus, still, skirts around her like he fears her touch might burn. She wonders if it will. Secretly, she hopes it might.

ISOLDE WICKEN: Ward. She thought that being placed as the guardian of the seer might be a means of humbling her haughtiness, of serving as an additional punishment for her foolish loyalty to God. As such, she has remained rather formal when interacting with Isolde -- ensuring that there is a certain amount of aloofness to complement her professionalism. But the Gifted mortal has a particular penchant for wearing away at the mountainous walls that Gadriel has put in place. She finds herself smiling whenever they share a glance, biting down on laughter when the seer barely manages to hide a well-deserved scoff when regarding matters of the Holy Land. There is an ease to their relationship -- like a breeze sifting through the flowers of a meadow, caressing every petal gently before dissipating. She fears that if she clings to it too tightly, it might crumble to dust before she is able to recapture her heart.

ARAEL: Heartbeat. There are few among the angels that have taken the time to build something lasting with Gadriel -- Arael serving as the exception that proves the rule. The Virtues, of course, are her brother-in-arms, but Arael is far more than that. She is her touchstone and her north star. In the throes of Arael’s grief, Gadriel has ensured that she has remained a constant. Only she can truly remember how potently it can poison one’s heart, how it can overwhelm until one knows nothing but the dark fog that follows in its wake. Gadriel sought to serve as a sanctuary to the other angel, a ward against the onslaught of despair that haunted Arael’s every step. And from such determination birthed a kinship between the two that others would covet, the intimacy that has come forth almost blinding in its purity. The reasons for Gadriel to shed blood is a short list -- Arael’s name, though, is undoubtedly on it.

MAMMON: Trophy. She is never quick to raise her sword or the first to join a battle -- having seen so much violence in the span of her existence, she loathes the thought of contributing to it. But when she has, it is as though the world holds its breath when she draws her blade. Mammon is the only survivor of such an onslaught, blow after blow she rained upon them, watching as the vicious look of victory began to give way to confusion, to utter fury at their defeat. In truth, she declared it a draw, amused at the thought of them living on to ruminate on the fact that she had exercised mercy when she could have buried her blood in them to the hilt. There has never been a victory that has tasted as sweet as this, and as the sun rises and it sets, she finds that it grows sweeter still. And when Mammon’s gaze meets her own? It seems completely and utterly delectable.

Gadriel is portrayed by Leyna Bloom and was written by ROSEY. She is currently OPEN.

#fantasy rp #lsrpg #lsrp #new rp #biblical rp #w #a #gadriel #ow #o

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bracketsoffear · 1 year

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Here's my usual dump of submissions that didn't make it:

Ludwig (Bloodborne): Holy shit does this man epitomize Body Horror. Man-horse-creature fucker. Too many legs and arms. Second mouth that's made of eyes. Flailing mass of pain and flesh. BAD HORSE VIBES ABOUND.

Ylfa Snorgelsson (Dimension 20: Neverafter): trapped and starving for days, eventually forced to kill and eat Death itself to survive, consequently turned into a werewolf. Took a Druid subclass specializing in shapeshifting, which manifests as contorting and breaking her body in nightmarish ways. Eventually goes full wolf after giving up the memory of her grandmother.

Mottom (Kill Six Billion Demons): An immortal archmage who was taken as the wife of Hastet Om, who forced himself onto any young woman who caught his eye and then discarded them when they grew old for his tastes--"His appetite was insatiable." Mottom killed him and buried him, but he came back as a monstrous tree with a gaping mouth. Feeding young women's blood to Hastet Om caused the tree to grow immortality-granting peaches which restore youth by causing the old flesh to peel away in a really gross manner. Using her magic and immortality, she became one of the seven queens of the multiverse. She represents the sin of Gluttony: her entire culture is based around being a gracious queen who freely shares the luxuries and glories of her owned worlds with her inner circle. Her parties are extravagant beyond compare, and her appetites strip planets down to the bedrock. She has her servants wear plates of food on their heads, and is constantly eating from them. In fact, her gluttony is so extreme that her desire for a particular fruit that grew in the forest around her home reduced the entire region to a scorched wasteland. She also inflicts Body Horror by turning a rebellious king into a peach tree: "For thy valiant concern o'er hunger, I grant thee a power. The power to tend to the hunger of others. Eternally."

Rykard (Elden Ring): let himself be devoured by the God Devouring Serpent—a primeval being worshipped with human sacrifice—to merge with it, becoming a monstrous man-snake-thing with a sword covered in wriggling arms and a desire to devour the entire world—starting with the player. Lures his champions to his lair, then eats them, leaving their souls conscious and writhing in eternal agony. From TV Tropes: “His transformation has left him a giant snake with long, peeling gashes along the scales, out of which writhe masses of tiny, blackened crimson arms and snake tongues (stated to be the souls of his many victims forever trapped in eternal agony as part of his 'family'). His real face is on the underside of the snake's neck: it's huge and flat, with no ears, bloodshot yellow eyes, and stretched out, ashen skin, with encrusted scales forming his crown, jowls, and beard. He's got two 'main' arms and legs (with too many fingers and toes) sticking out of some of the peeled slices on his scales, jostling for space as they crowd out the miniature arms.”

Charles (Choo Choo Charles): a locomotive with huge spider legs, a nightmarish face with More Teeth than the Osmond Family, and a craving for human flesh.

The Stepmother (Neverafter): Cinderella's stepmother who ate her daughters and became something monstrous. After destroying her name, she starts plucking illustrations from the various versions of her story, or rather, characters from those versions, and eating them. Eventually, she grows big enough and powerful enough to consume characters outside her original story, including the Wicked Queen. She is so horrible and terrifying that seeing her is enough to make The Wicked Fairy tear out her own eyes just to stop looking at her. Her skin is bulging with the worlds and stories she's devoured in her wake, and the mere act of viewing her true form in the sword of truth, combined with Pinocchio finally defying her, shatters reality itself.

The Formless Flesh (Darkest Dungeon): A writhing, amorphous mass of demon-possessed pig meat from a rich fuck's experiments putting demons in pigs that was discarded but mutated into increasingly-hideous and deadly forms. It's a beast with a pig's head, multiple eyes, a spine jutting out from its back, and a body composed of a single large tentacle. Sometimes. Sometimes it's one, none, or all of those things. The main form of attack from its rear end involves firing a Blight-dripping tentacle from what remains of a hog's backside. It also has a toothy mouth on the end, just in case that wasn't disturbing enough. Every last one of its parts has at least two mouths on or in it, giving it over half a dozen mouths at any one point--and those are just the visible ones. The Ancestor--the aforementioned rich fuck, who dabbled all sorts of unspeakably terrible stuff in pursuit of eldritch knowledge--thinks this thing is more horrible than he describe.

The Harvest Child (Darkest Dungeon 2): The Foetor was once a prosperous farmland in which peasants lived a simple life as they tended to their crops and herds. However, it was overrun by masses of putrescent flesh, covering the crops and houses in fleshy tendrils. Its inhabitants were all corrupted and mutated into Plague Eaters, covered in cancerous growth and filled with an unending appetite: they turned upon themselves to sate their hunger once their larders were empty and their animals gone. The Plague Eaters all have too many mouths, they gain buffs from eating corpses in battle, and they'll eat fellow enemies alive. The lair boss of this area, The Harvest Child, is a giant baby stuffed into a cornucopia with tentacles; its description is "Born to a corpulent, half-eaten mother, the child is a ravenous avatar of degeneracy!" It surrounds itself with rotting meat which tempts your heroes to take a bite if they do not resist the allure, giving said hero a minor stress heal and causing their maximum health to decrease for the remainder of the fight. When it gets close, it attacks the party with "Maws of Life"; when it's in the back, it inflicts Blight with "Sapid Drippings".

The Kraang (Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles): They conquer worlds by spreading Meat Moss over them, which twists organic life and technology alike into weapons under their control. After being freed from a prison dimension (where it's implied the survivors cannibalized the others to survive), they inflict monstrous transformations on the Foot Clan and start spreading their nasty flesh all over NYC. When they assimilate their victims, their flesh grows all over and consumes them, reaching underneath into their body and morphing their physiology into something alien, including eyes and mouths where those don't belong. This is shown off with Raph, who is found in a cocoon and comes out possessed with discolored eyes and an arm covered in spiky, meaty growths. Their Fleshness extends to their spaceship, The Technodrome, which is made entirely of bio-organic material; in order to take control of it, Donnie has to let the ship's tendrils go into his soft shell and basically get absorbed into the ship in a viscerally disgusting scene. Another Kraang brought Empyrean--a mutagenic liquid that is the source of all the mutants in the ROTTMNT continuity--to Earth.

Also Six and the Chefs from Little Nightmares, but I want to talk abt them in my Lady propaganda.

#not!character propaganda #asks #flesh poll

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