#tied to link and in a sort of way link himself is more fleshed out through how those other characters react to him if that makes sense

[waywardsalt]

:3

[raven-ovs]

On This Night Of Ritual | Papa IV x f!Reader

Summary: On Lust, and Love, and all the sweet emotions in between. Copia and his partner choose to spend their night in a special way, expressing their devotion to Satan and to each other through the pleasures of the flesh.

Content: ~6.5 words, 18+ MDNI, established relationship, religious imagery, ritual sex, body workship, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, soft, they're in love love

Ao3 link - Full art

🥀

You shiver in anticipation, pulling the robe tighter over your chest, your eyes flitting around the bedroom. Your shared bedroom, you remind yourself, little bits of your own style scattered around, mingling with his, a quiet reminder of how your lives have intertwined since he asked you to move in with him.

The fabric feels soft against your bare skin, reassuring. He gifted it to you for this occasion specifically.

You glance down at your bare legs framed by the rich blue silk, a sigh escaping your lips.

Faint sounds of him getting ready reach your ears from the en-suite bathroom. A thud followed by a muttered curse makes you smile. He must be just as nervous as you, even though you've both agreed to this. You've talked about it so many times, fantasised about it, dipped your toes into it without fully committing.

But now... You're ready. Or at least, you want to be.

The bathroom door creaking open snaps you out of your thought, and you look up to find a very flustered Copia making his way to you.

He looks stunning, to say the least.

Divine.

He's wearing a silk robe as well, matching yours. His is in a deeper blue, though, and has golden embroideries all around its lapels and cuffs. It fits him.

A familiar warmth settles low in your belly at the sight of him, all your anxieties starting to melt, replaced by a much more intense eagerness.

You can spot a few lines of his tattoo, barely hidden by the robe tied loosely around his waist. His facepaint is pristine as always.

"Hey," you smile tentatively, searching his eyes. The white one almost seems to glow in the faint candle light of the room, and its magnetic pull only gets stronger as he steps closer. It's mesmerising.

"Amore," he whispers back as greeting, the mattress dipping when he sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Everything's ready." You gesture vaguely around you, a shiver of anticipation running down your spine as he looks around as well.

The crimson red sheets underneath you, the candles burning on every free surface of the room, the little bowl of red paint waiting on your nightstand.

He nods in approval, and you see that flicker of excitement in his gaze that always makes you swoon, until he jolts up, genuinely scaring the shit out of you.

"Copia, che cazzo!" you exclaim, only getting a dismissive "sorry" in return before he's padding off to the other side of the room, mumbling to himself.

"Shit, how could I forget? Eh... Just gotta... Where the hell did I put it?"

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, but don't comment further. Silly rat man.

How you love him.

A pleased little "ha!" follows, and before you know it, soft notes are filling the room, coming from his record player.

Oh... Right.

He's back at your side in an instant, and his grin tells you that he's waiting for a reaction from you. And that this is meaningful to him.

You listen carefully to what sounds like religious music at first, the sort of solemn hymns that you used to hear echoing in Catholic churches, a long, long time ago.

You're confused, until you begin to make out the words of this first song. They're definitely not Catholic.

It sounds like a Ghost song, but not quite... It's softer, more intimate in way, despite still having a grandiose feeling to it. A bit of an oxymoron, just like the man in front of you.

"Unreleased," he chimes in, filling the gaps in your thought process.

"Hm?"

"I... wrote this. Some time ago. Never released it." he explains, a vulnerable note to his voice that you don't fail to notice.

"Oh." You take another moment to listen in silence, feeling goosebumps raise on your skin as his rich voice reaches your ears from the recording. *Oh.*

"Copia... It's beautiful. Why didn't you release it?"

A shrug, dismissive. You nod, realising that it'll be a story for another time.

You both have a plan now, and you want to get through with it.

The music is just an unexpected, yet perfectly fitting addition.

“So…”

“So.” He gives you one of his lovely smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his cheeks, you assume, turning pink under his facepaint. You melt on the spot.

You've come up with it together, this… ritual you're about to do, if one might even call it that. It's a mix of you two, really. Your beliefs, your journeys, your shared faith. A manifestation of your devotion, for each other, and for your Lord, Satan.

You return his smile, and adjust your posture, sitting cross legged in front of him, a silent confirmation that you're ready, that you want this.

He mirrors you, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it and then folding his hands in his lap. The gray strands at his temples stand out in this light, and you love it.

So… There you are. First step. Soul gazing.

You scoot a little closer, trying to get comfortable before your eyes meet his. You sigh. Focus.

This part is all about building connection, stating your intentions, tapping into the right mindset.

“Our Father who art in Hell…” You hear him whisper, his low voice taking on that edge he has when delivering a sermon during Mass, but more muted, just for the two of you. You glance down when his inverted cross catches the light, shimmering in the middle of his sternum, then your eyes return to his as soon as he starts speaking again. “Guide us through this journey. Let the worship of our bodies be a token of our devotion to You. Watch us sin, and rejoice.” A pause, a breath escaping his painted lips. “Nema."

“Nema.” you repeat, your voice small compared to his, but no less firm.

You already feel the hypnotic nature of this exercise, your breathing slowing down the longer you look into his eyes, trying to sync to his. The mismatched green and white of his irises draws you in, and you can see every emotion playing out on his face, just as he can do with yours, you think.

His soul… Can you really see a person's soul, through their eyes? What does it even mean, soul? As a child, you were taught that your soul would be damned and cast to Hell if you sinned, but you don't believe in any of that anymore. It's not you, and it's definitely not him.

What you can see in his eyes is an energy, burning bright. It's the same energy you see when he's singing to his fans, when he's eating his favorite dish, when he’s petting his rats, when he's making love to you. Now that energy is focused, though, and it's all on you.

It makes your breath hitch, but you immediately school it back into the slow rhythm you two have built. In… Out… Again. Again.

His pupils are dilated, be it from the darkness or from arousal, you cannot tell. Most likely both.

You're not sure how many minutes pass like this, but it doesn't matter. Not when his hands reach forward, nimble fingers gently tugging your robe open. You do the same to him.

Step two.

You break eye contact to take in his revealed torso, the brown and gray dusting of hair on his chest that turns into a darker trail from his belly button down. So beautiful. Yours.

His gaze almost burns your skin in its intensity, and you imagine him already painting symbols on your body, his fingertips tinged red, making you shiver and sigh with every brush. Not yet.

“Still good?” You hear him ask, his voice barely above a whisper, an hopeful light in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course.” You smile.

The music has already faded in the background of your mind by now, but you're still grateful for its presence, for the way it fills your silences between one breath and the next. With measured movements, you each bring your right hand to the other's chest, over the heart, and then cover that hand with your own left one. A deep breath, and then you’re gazing into each other's eyes again.

There's a part of you that wonders at the single minded focus he shows in this moment. He's usually easily distracted, his thoughts scattered between his endless tasks and nerdy interests, fluttering from here to there like a moth at a lights fest. But not now.

The more you breathe, the clearer you can hear his heart thrumming under your fingertips, your pinky finger barely grazing his nipple. If he feels it, he doesn't let you see his reaction. When he's thoroughly fucked you, and lets you rest with your head on his chest, that's when you feel his heartbeat the strongest. That, or when he gets really anxious, and comes to you for reassurance. When he looks at you with eyes wide, a little lost, and you place your hands on his chest, guiding him to breathe until the darkness dissipates enough to keep going.

Now it feels just as strong, a steady, reassuring rhythm that proves to you that he's actually there, in front of you. The man of your dreams. Not a figment of your imagination, but real, solid, human.

You wish you could read his thoughts right now. Is he thinking about you the way you’re thinking about him? You almost want to ask him, whisper a “penny for your thoughts” just to see one of those smiles that light up the whole room, but no… No, this is about something else. This is about laying yourselves bare for the other to see, and to love. Words are not needed for that.

You breathe in his love for you, and breathe out your love for him. An exchange. Again and again. Time passes, but again… It doesn't matter.

For the next step, you need to be bare. Literally.

You're not sure who reaches out first, who switches position first, but your next breath is taken on your knees, his hands on your shoulders, sliding the robe off of you. You let it fall somewhere behind you, and watch him kneel as well, his own robe open, splayed out from his back down to his feet like a wedding veil.

He almost looks too good to take it off, but you know it's part of the process. Both of you naked. Vulnerable.

“Sei bellissimo,” you find yourself whispering as your hands find his sides, sliding up his torso and towards his arms to start guiding the robe off. The blush you earn in response is enough to make your heart stutter, the red so vivid that it's visible even under the layers of white paint.

Copia averts his gaze, but you know he's silently preening at your words. Always a sucker for praise.

He shimmies out of the embroidered sleeves, and then the robe falls behind him just like yours did, discarded. It almost feels like unwrapping a gift.

“I can feel Him,” he mumbles, making you look at his face again.

“Who?”

“Satan. Watching us…”

“Oh.” You blink, finding that notion a bit foreign, but not unpleasant. You can't deny the buzz in the air around you, the almost palpable promise of what's coming. Your Papa knows what he's talking about, that much you're sure of.

“Is He pleased?”

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, his shoulders raising a bit. Cute. “Think so. But… He, eh… He's waiting for the next bit.”

That makes you chuckle, and you find it reassuring that now, now that should be the most ritualistic phase, you’re acting more casual, connecting in the way that you're used to, that's familiar to you.

“Right, yeah.” As if on cue, you turn around to grab the little bowl you had left on your nightstand, bringing it between you two and placing it on the covers. Strategically red, yes, but alluring too. Red paint on red sheets. That will look good.

You discussed which symbols to draw and on whom. You remember his words distinctly. The way his rich voice explained to you the meanings and differences between each one, the fervour of his belief as he spoke to you of his life’s work. That had ended in a very intense, unforgettable night of sex. But tonight will be different, in a way.

“Should I, uh… Should I start?” you ask tentatively, seeking his approval.

He nods, laying his hands back against the mattress, leaving his whole front open to your view and to your touch. You know he'd trust you with his life.

Trying to rein in your trembling, you dip your fingers into the bowl, shivering at the feeling of the cold, burgundy liquid. Not blood, of course, but it does look like it. You take in a shaky breath, and let it out, and then your clean hand is cradling his jaw, tilting his head up as you lean closer.

As precisely as possible, you draw a small, inverted pentagram on his forehead. The first symbol of your faith. The stark contrast between the red and his black and white face paint is striking. Gorgeous.

Next, you draw an inverted cross on his left arm. The design matches that of your own makeup, a gothic feel to it that reminds you of the tapestries and stained glass artworks you always admire around the Ministry. He simply kneels there, watching you, embracing the solemnity of this moment.

One last symbol for him. The Sigil of Lucifer.

You take your time drawing it, your index finger sliding along the curves of his stomach. His abs tense as you pass over them, and you have to bite your lip at the noise he makes when you draw the little swirls at the bottom, framing his happy trail. Framing his cock.

You've tried not to focus on it, but it's near impossible now, knowing that you’ll be touching him soon. He's been hard since the moment you started all this, but now… Oh, by now he's leaking, his head flushed a deep red, the vein on the underside evident as his cock twitches against his belly, almost smearing the paint you've just placed there. You barely stifle a giggle.

“Don't be so smug about it,” he grumbles, his brow furrowing as he glances down at himself. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth for a few moments, his lipstick fading in that spot, but as soon as you're done painting he lifts his head again, an air of confidence about him that makes your cunt throb. “Your turn.” he declares, reaching down to grab the bowl and slide it closer to himself.

You brace yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his fingers dipped in red tracing lines around your nipple, drawing a pentagram of his own. You clench your thighs together, and you know he notices, but he doesn't say anything. Only smirks.

“Turn around, tesoro,” he instructs in that seductive voice of his, a voice that could bring a nation to its knees if he only ever asked. He doesn't need to, though. He has you on your knees for him, almost every night.

You do as told, and present your back to him. Your ass, actually, as you shift to place your hands on the mattress, on all fours. He actually groans at the sight, the little bastard.

You huff in reply, your head hanging low between your shoulders to hide your blush. “Don't get distracted…”

“Never, piccola.” You can practically hear his shit-eating grin in his voice, but you press your lips together, silencing yourself from further remarks. Not the time for banter, as much as you love it.

Without another word, his fingers meet your skin again. He starts at your hip bone and makes his way along your ass, drawing another pentagram. This time, though, he adds more strokes, tracing lines with practiced ease to form the Sigil of Baphomet.

He hums once done, sounding pleased with himself. You turn around again, careful not to sit on your heels any longer, not wanting to mess up the paint before it has dried. A small penance for the ineffable amount of pleasure that you're going to experience soon.

“Last one.” He reminds you with a smile, his expression softer now, more caring. You wonder what came over him. “You're being so good, baby.”

That really makes you blush, hard. You're not sure who likes praise more in your relationship.

“Ah… Grazie.” you mutter, your gaze falling to the bowl in front of you, unable to sustain his stare.

He laughs fondly and shakes his head before dipping his fingers in the paint one last time. You did his belly, so it's only fair that he should do yours too. Satan's Cross. Right in the middle of your stomach. All goes well until he draws the infinite under your belly button, his finger scorching like fire on your already over sensitised skin. You moan, unable to stop it. He winces, his hand trembling as he pulls away.

“Amore… If you keep making sounds like that, this will be over much sooner than we want.”

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. You're both more worked up than you've probably ever been, and you can't help but wonder how exactly you're going to last as long as you're meant to, edging each other to ecstasy. Satan will guide you in that, you hope silently.

You take a moment to appreciate how perfect he looks with all those symbols painted on his skin. A fallen angel, worthy to stand beside Lucifer himself.

You wipe your fingers on the sheets below you, and watch him do the same. The paint is sex friendly, sure, but you don't want to stain his whole body with it. Neither does he.

“I want you, Copia… I want you so bad.” You search his eyes, finding that same desire reflected in them.

“I'm all yours.”

That's all it takes for you to move forward, still on your knees, and cup his face in both hands. Is this what they mean when they talk about holding the world in your hands? The thought makes you grin.

“What?”

“Uh? Nothing.”

“What?”

You can't deny him when he's looking at you like that.

“I love you,” you whisper simply, hoping it can somehow convey the depth of your feelings. You're not sure, but if his smile is any indicator, at least part of that sentiment reached him.

You brush your thumbs over his temples and at the corners of his eyes as he whispers an “I love you” in return. You must have heard those words coming from his lips thousands of times, but they still make your heart flutter like the very first.

“May I kiss you?” As if you even need to ask. He hums, pretending to think about it, that mischievous twinkle crossing his gaze as he leans closer, your lips now mere inches apart.

Copia looks up at you through his lashes, in a way that looks almost coquettish, and you're unsure whether to slap him or kiss him stupid.

“Ti prego…” he murmurs, his breath fanning your lips.

Fuck, this man.

Before you can stop yourself, you've closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. You don't know if it was the synced breathing, the symbols, or just staring into each other's eyes for so long, but this kiss feels so powerful, so meaningful that it makes you swoon, and you have to grab his face tighter, ground yourself. He moans in response, feeling that same intensity.

Heat pools in your core as you feel his tongue swiping along your lower lip, asking for entrance. His arms snake around your waist to pull you closer, and could almost swear you heard a muffled “please” against your lips. You’re powerless.

The kiss turns messy the moment you part your lips and let him in, your tongues pressing against each other, lips fusing together as if you can't get close enough fast enough. You swallow each other's moans, licking and nipping until you're both panting.

You pull back just enough to breathe, your gaze falling to his kiss-swollen lips. Fuck.

“Amore…” he starts, but goes silent again when you wipe the spit off his bottom lip with your thumb, your fingers grasping his chin.

It shouldn't be like this. You should go slow, keep that energy going. But dammit, it's hard.

“Sorry, sorry… I know.” Your hands leave his face, and you breathe harshly. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Like before. Kinda.

“I can't get enough of you.” you admit, your fingers trailing down his chest, following the contours of his tattoo. Focus. Focus.

You always knew there was something about you, a craving that you never seemed to satisfy. You deemed it wrong for so long that it almost felt like second nature to chastise yourself. He's taught you to indulge, though. He has embraced that part of you, and that flame has grown, threatening to consume you both. What a way to die, that would be.

Still, he looks hopeful now, and his eyes are burning, yes, but so soft. So soft that it makes you think you would do anything to make him proud. Suddenly you feel calmer, and reverence replaces hunger. After all, works of art should be admired quietly, carefully, taking your time. And he's the ultimate masterpiece.

“That's it, sì…” He nods down at your hands on his torso, and soon reaches out to touch you as well. Slow. Gentle. Light as if touching the most delicate porcelain. It's almost funny, when you know that he can fuck you hard enough to make you cry. And that you can do the same to him.

Your hands wander, fingertips still stained red, even though the paint has dried by now. You do nothing to suppress the sighs and gasps that his touch elicits, knowing it emboldens him, lets him know it's okay to make noise. Knees parted, you both lean closer, breathing each other in as fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He mirrors you, you mirror him. Like a dance. A slow… Slow dance.

You let your nails scrape lightly at the juncture of his pelvis, and he groans, a deep, needy sound. You love it.

He spreads his legs some more, encouraging you, and you take in on his offer. Of course you do. You reach his taint, your touch so light that it's almost ticklish, and you can hear the thought forming in his head even before looking at his face. He's grinning like an idiot.

“You're impossible.” You shake your head, unable to suppress a smirk of your own, and then press harder on the spot, your thumb massaging his skin until-

“Oh! Fuck…” His eyes widen, the noise coming out of his mouth sounding positively sinful.

You won't be going into a full prostate massage, but you know what it does to him. Indulge, no? That's the whole point.

You keep rubbing there until he goes a little cross-eyed, and you have to stop then, worried that he'll come right then and there. You can't have that.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to regain his bearings. “Cazzo, amore… You can't just do… That.” He pouts, and it's the most adorable look he's given you all night, with his lips still puffy from your kiss and his lipstick smeared into a dark gray around the edges.

You giggle, but retreat your hand, resorting to stroking the top of his thigh in soothing motions. Copia huffs, running a hand through his hair to brush some unruly strands out of his forehead.

“Better?” you ask with a small, self-satisfied smile which earns you a glare from him.

His hands find your waist again, and he pulls you closer, one of your knees going between his. He leans back with one hand on the bed, exposing himself to your gaze in an almost challenging manner, his eyes roving over your body, almost as if trying to commit it all to memory. Then, his hand reaches between your legs for the first time tonight, and you're done for. You're drenched. So drenched that it actually draws a gasp from him as he dips his fingers between your folds. Satan below, how are you meant to last?

His thumb finds your clit as his eyes meet yours again, your lips parting in anticipation. “What a sight you make, piccolina…”

“Copia…” You close your eyes, trying to maintain at least a semblance of control even as he starts rubbing tiny circles around your clit, his moves practiced and precise.

He's grown confident with it. Not that he wasn't great to begin with, but oh, now he knows just how to play your body, how to make you gasp, and moan, and whimper, and scream until your throat feels raw.

You try to focus on your breath, as you're meant to, and let your hand slither back towards his crotch. It needs to be mutual.

You cradle his balls in your palm, feeling them hot and heavy in your hold, ready to burst. His lips part in a silent moan, so close to you that he could kiss you if only he leaned forward a little bit. He doesn't. So instead, you slide your fingers up and wrap them around his cock.

“Ahh-” His eyes widen, and he does brush his lips against yours then, his tongue barely peeking out. He slides a finger inside you, another step in your dance.

A stroke, all the way up to his tip, and his finger pushes further in. Your thumb swipes over his slit, slicking him up with his own precum, and his finger curls inside you, the pad of it pressing against your front wall just right. You're staring at each other through half-lidded eyes, and it doesn't feel like you're fighting anymore. You’re both breaking in front of each other, bit by bit, unashamed.

“Copia…”

“Mmmm…” He leans in properly, and your mouth finds his. It's wet, and just as messy as before, with him licking past your lips, and you sucking on his tongue. That makes him growl. The sort of noise that you sometimes beg him to make. Deep, and feral, and so fucking hot.

You clench around his finger, desperate for more, and he seems to sense your need, sliding a second one inside you with almost no effort at all. Your left arm rests on his shoulder, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull back to look into his eyes again. They're almost pitch black now. Two pools of pure Lust, surrounded by thin crowns of green and white.

You stroke him faster, the slide made easier by his own arousal. “Cazzo, ahh…”

“I'm… I need you. Fuck, I need you. Please…”

Your words snap him out of his pleasure fueled haze, and he blinks at you before glancing down between your bodies. So connected and yet so distant. It's not enough. His fingers pull out of you with a sloppy sound, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“Shhh… I know.” He reaches down to grasp your hand, stilling it with your palm against his tip. Your fingers intertwine with his, and for a few precious moments, you move together, your thumb rubbing along his frenulum as he guides your palm back and forth, your slick on his fingers mingling with his own. He whimpers, actually whimpers, resting his forehead against yours. And then he's pulling your hands away, to your disappointment.

“Amore, please…” You watch him pull away, and rearrange himself so that he's sitting with his legs in front of himself instead of kneeling.

“Come here, piccola.”

You scramble towards him, eager, and straddle his firm, perfect thighs. “Like this?” you ask. He shakes his head.

Last step.

He reaches for your hips, squeezing affectionately, and guides you up. “Oh…” You know what he wants. What you both want. Yes. Oh, yes.

You reach down, grasping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. The way he twitches against you is almost enough to make you come.

“Breathe, yeah?” he reminds you, even though he's pretty far gone himself.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He waits for eye contact, for your nod of consent, and then slowly, slowly pulls you down, breaching you.

“Ah- Fuck… Fuck…” It's agonising, almost, how good it feels.

You have no idea how much time has passed since you started, but it feels like hours. Hours in a constant state of arousal, each sense heightened, bringing you higher, until every touch feels like pure bliss. Pure, damned bliss.

“A-amore… Mmmm.” He holds your hips in a death grip, and you can almost feel the bruises forming, knowing you’ll smile at your reflection tomorrow when they'll remind you of the night you had, of the pleasure you shared.

He bottoms out, your ass meeting his thighs, and you've never felt so full. Physically, yes. But not only that. You're in tune with him, your chests rising and falling in sync, even as your breaths grow laboured. You can't look away from his eyes, not for an instant. You're one.

No more words are needed then. There's just him, and you, an “us” that feels more genuine than it ever has.

You breathe, and breathe, feeling the pleasure building despite you both staying still. A thought strikes you then, that Satan actually is watching, and that he's letting that energy build more and more. How could it feel so good otherwise?

You shift forward, angling your hips so that his tip can press against that perfect spot inside you, your arms circling his neck. His hands unclench from your hips, and he hugs you. Properly hugs you. His arms around your back, his chin resting on your shoulder. You close your eyes, sighing. You can practically feel his heartbeat inside you.

It's intimate, more than you think you can bear. But it's with him. Him, whom you've loved for years. Him, whom you've admired for even longer, silently, from afar. Him, who’s yours. Your Papa. Your Copia.

It's intimate, and raw, and a little scary. And perfect.

You stay like that for as long as your bodies allow, your walls clenching around him in a vain attempt to get some friction. You hug, and breathe, your nose buried in the crook of his neck. And then, you start moving. A slow roll of your hips, a timid rock up of his. You gasp in unison, stars sparkling under your closed eyelids.

It wouldn't be so bad, dying like this, so wrapped up in each other. And if you did things right, you will die soon. A wonderful little death, or a few, maybe.

The rocking of his hips soon grows more purposeful, and you feel him pressing deeper, where he belongs. You moan against his neck, your lips parting to mouth at his earlobe.

“Ohh… Oh, please…” He squeezes you tighter against himself, snapping his hips up until you feel like you're going to pass out from the pleasure.

“S-shit. Slow down. Oh, Satan… Slow down.” you pant into his ear, not wanting this to end yet.

Not yet. You're greedy like that.

He groans in frustration, but eventually stops moving, just in time. You pull your head back to look into his eyes, finding him with his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed. It reminds you of when he's trying to poke the straw into one of his juice boxes. You giggle.

“I love you… So damn much, you know?” you whisper, your voice rough from all the moaning, and shaking with the effort of still holding back.

“And I love you. Ti amo.” he whispers back, just as wrecked at you.

“Ti amo.”

And with that you're moving again.

It builds much faster this time. It's exhilarating, and it goes straight to your head. You're both overstimulated, your bodies quivering. And yet… More. More, more. Satan, please, more.

You don't want to stop. And that fire spreading in your core tells you that you can't stop. Not now.

“Amore- I can't… So close…” He seems to voice your own thoughts, and you nod desperately, struggling to keep looking at him with your eyes rolling back at his every thrust.

You brace your hands on his shoulders, and ride him as you've done countless times before, but with more purpose now, more focus, and with hours, fuck, hours of buildup. You start out slow, lifting yourself up almost all the way, and sinking back down, your thighs burning.

He's holding on for dear life, and you can see it clearly. His chest is heaving, his eyes unfocused, his lips parted, a flush spreading from his ears and cheeks all the way down to his chest. Debauched. And yours. You're sure you're not doing much better.

He grabs your hips again, and makes you speed up, the litany of moans escaping his lips telling you that he's past reason. Like a destructive tsunami, it can't be stopped.

You cling to each other, and it builds, and builds, and builds. And oh, the edging worked, because the more you move, the surer you are that you’re going to touch Heaven, only to fall down past the crust of the earth after, down right into the pits of Hell. You'd be welcome there.

His moans and yours mingle in a symphony of your own, and an outsider could almost think that they're in time with the music still playing in the background. That you're part of that music now.

You climb higher and higher, and wonder for an instant if that is how the people of Babel felt, as they got closer and closer to God. But you're not looking for God. You have your own piece of divinity right in front of your eyes. The love of your life.

“Ahh- Ah!” your love cries out, and you feel him tense beneath you, rocking his hips as far up as they'll go, burying himself fully inside you as his eyes roll back into his head, and his orgasm hits him. You feel his cock kicking inside you, his familiar warmth flooding your core, and you hold him tighter, hoping to prolong his high.

You're right on the edge yourself, and he's still twitching in you when he reaches his hand between you two to rub your clit. Just a few strokes, and you're joining him.

You press your mouth against his still open one, muffling your scream, and clamp down around him, your walls, your whole body really, pulsating with ecstasy. It's all consuming.

He gasps sharply when your climax seems to trigger another one from him. Unlikely, but even if it is just one, it lasts an ungodly amount of time. Thank Satan.

You keep grinding down on him until every last ounce of pleasure has been pulled from your body, and you're left drained, completely. You don't really know how many orgasms those were. Maybe one, maybe five. Who cares, when you're practically about to pass out on top of him.

Copia pants against your shoulder, sounding pretty close to hyperventilating. But then it dies down, the euphoria, leaving just buzzing static in your minds, your ears ringing, your hearts still racing.

“That was-”

“I think-”

Your voices clash, and you end up laughing, his cute little chuckle in your ear making your heart do a somersault.

“You first, amore,” you prompt, pulling back a bit to meet his gaze. He's a whole damn mess, but you know you look the same.

“Eh, just… That was… One of the most intense experiences I've ever had.” he mutters, sounding back to his usual self, not the agent of Satan on earth, just Copia.

“Yeah. It was… A lot.”

“Mmm.”

You smile at him, but then that smile splits into a full on-grin when you watch him making a face and shifting his legs under you. You know what that means, yet you ask anyway. “What?”

“‘M sticky…”

It's true, you can feel his seed dripping down your inner thighs as he goes soft inside you, but it doesn't bother you, it never does.

You roll your eyes, but still gently lift yourself off of him, wincing when he slips fully out. You miss him already. He flops down on his back over the mattress, and you join him, draping yourself against his side, your arm around his waist and your head resting on his shoulder.

Sometimes he likes it too, staying inside you, letting the feeling linger. Sometimes that turns him on again, and he fucks his seed deeper into you, until you’re both completely exhausted. Other times, he just wants this, and you love it just as much.

“Shower?” you offer.

“Hmm, in a bit.”

“Alright.” You tilt your head up to place a kiss on the underside of his jaw. It always makes him shiver. “I think He liked it.”

“Huh?”

“Satan, He liked it. I could feel it, I think, near the end…”

That makes him peek down at you, a hint of a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “He likes you.” he tells you in that rumbly, sultry voice that never fails to make you weak.

“Well…” You avert your gaze, blushing, and fix it onto the inverted cross resting over his chest, your fingers coming up to toy with it. A reminder of the power that this man holds. Your man.

He hums, clearly not pleased that you looked away from him, and you feel his hand cupping your cheek, covering half of your face, really.

“Your Papa still demands your attention, topina.” He pulls you up to him, guiding your face towards his so that he can kiss you, nice and slow, almost languid, the way he kisses you when his mind is still floating in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Want me to wash your back, Papa?” you whisper against his lips, and he smirks, making your stomach flutter. Maybe the night is not quite over yet.

“If you'll indulge me…”

“I always do.”

The moment after, he’s dragging you to the bathroom, his eyes sparkling with teenage-like excitement. As if you didn't just go through a whole damn sex ritual.

But you do indulge him. You always do.

You'll just have to remember to put off all the candles before collapsing back into bed, loved like only he can love you.

[burningfunobject]

Arcane characters as tma entities but with season 2 context

For jinx, I'd say the desolation, and I had thought about giving her the spiral but hear me out. Jinx lost everything she knew and loved, literally burned to ash, and that's obviously how powder becomes jinx, by losing everything. Besides I'd say that her hallucinations are more of a mark of the spiral than anything else

Vi is a lot simpler. I would say that she's definitely slaughter but more in the direction Melanie was headed rather than some of the other character I'm going to put as the slaughter. I think it also ties in quite well with her both going to stillwater and becoming an enforcer

For sevika I'd say the corruption. Now it links in with her whole thing with shimmer, but I put her as corruption because of her loyalty. I'll explain it better with silco, but for the time being it'll mostly be down to her loyalty to the cause and shimmer (think like the love bombing episode in s4)

Mel is the Web obviously. I don't feel like I really need to explain this like just watch her introductory scene

Ambessa is also the slaughter but more to do with war than Vi's more rabid violence. Now I could see an argument for her being the hunt because of her wolf motif and her tracking people down and all of that. But her actions in season 2 really scream slaughter to me

For Caitlyn I really wasn't sure what route I wanted to go down. In season 1 I had given her the eye, but it definitely doesn't fit as well. I didn't want to give her the slaughter because she's too methodical for that. She's too detached for the corruption and honestly too explicitly violent. So I finally landed on the hunt, mostly because of her single mindedness trying to capture jinx. Plus she really reminded me of Daisy in s2 act 1, her hurting a lot of people for the sake of putting away dangerous people and taking her vengeance too far

Cassandra gets the corruption becauseeese idk she's rich ig we really don't get to know her very well

Maddie is the spiral. Maddie above all else is a lie, her entire existence as Maddie is a falsehood. She says she's your friend and says she is something you can trust and then stabs you in the back. We don't even know if Maddie is her real name. I would have thought the web, but she's not the one pulling the strings

Lest is the eye bc of her whole spying thing tbh she's barely in the show

Silco is the corruption. Obviously you have that sense of loyalty and love between him and jinx so that fits. But more than that it's the way he spreads his influence, he calls to those who won't pit up a fight through shimmer and then gets everybody else to fight against those against him. Silco is dependent on other people's loyalty. More than that he is the main distributor of shimmer. Shimmer spreads through zaun like a disease and silco himself has fallen to its infection through singed. Basically shimmer is a sickness and singed gave it to silco who spread it through zaun and to his followers (including sevika)

Singed is also the corruption, as seen with silco. However, im not tied to the idea. Honestly, I could see him sort of like salesa, giving out artifacts tied to the entities but not actually tied to any of them

Jayce is the eye, like I feel like I don't even have to explain it. Like first and foremost, he wants answers. Like with hextech or even viktor's illness. However I really dont know with him. He could be the hunt but I don't really see it, more of a mark than anything else, same with the spiral

I cannot decide for viktor. In season 1 I would put him with the end with a mark of the corruption off of singed, that could turn into becoming (Mike crew-ish). But in season 2 I genuinely have no clue, he could be the corruption, the end, the extinction, the stranger, or even the flesh. Though I think I'd but him with the stranger just because I think it fits best with arcane's machine herald. Og league viktor is probably the flesh

Ekko is the vast literally just because I think it works. He's got the time travel thing and obviously that's an overwhelming concept plus yk he flys.

Heimerdinger doesn't deserve an entity. He's freaking jurgan leitner. Or a stand in fir whatever Robert Smirke had going on. Point is I hate him and his ratty little dog

[itsthesinbin]

Sins in Stardust [Chapter 3: Fresh Start] (Bill Cipher/Reader)

Gonna try smth new. I'll actually post chapters both here and to AO3. If I end up not liking it, I'll go back to just posting the AO3 link.

Genuinely this fic is all I can think about.

Read the fic on AO3 here!

If you like it, reblog it and leave a comment!

----------------------

You managed to get a disguise for Bill, using a hoodie and a face mask that you tied behind his stupid triangle head. You had him walk behind you, saying he was your shy younger brother. Thankfully, he actually kept his mouth shut until you could get into the hotel room. You guessed he had enough self preservation to follow your lead when it came to people.

You dropped your bags onto the floor of your room, and set the to-go boxes on the room’s desk. Both of you flopped onto the bed, tired. Apparently he wasn’t used to having to walk everywhere. You were exhausted from running for both of your lives and carrying your bags and walking the two hours to town. It took everything in you to roll over onto your back. Your stomachs growled in unison and Bill groaned in annoyance.

“How often do I have to eat in this vessel? This shit sucks.” Even though he was face down, you could hear his voice clearly as his body lit up with each word. Like he projected his own thoughts outward instead of actively speaking. Cool in one way, but god damn you wished he’d shut up just a little bit.

You handed him the box with his so-rare-it’s-almost-raw burger and fries, and you grabbed your fried fish. You both shoveled food into your empty stomachs. You didn’t even flinch when he threw fries into his eye-mouth this time. You were too hungry to care.

“So,” you started after you were halfway through your fish. Bill had slowed down his eating as well, burger sauce dripping down his… cheeks, you guessed. Weird. A forked tongue came out to swipe the sauce away. That time you shivered.

“What… DO you remember, Bill?” He swallowed, eye returning as he thought. He rubbed under his eyelid, squeezing the lid shut in an attempt to draw out any memories.

“Well, I remember that night your mom invited me over!” He cackled, nearly doubling over at his own joke. You closed your eyes, trying not to get pissed off all over again. You had just calmed down. He wiped a tear, still tinged with pink, from the corner of his eye.

“Really, though, it’s hazy,” he finally answered, completely snapping out of his mirth. It was unsettling how fast he changed moods. It made you feel a little sick. You picked at your fish as he continued.

“I remember me and the Henchmaniacs were dragging that one guy through the blood ocean…” He half mumbled, trying to sort through the fog of vague visions in his mind. He listed off various memories that grew worse as he went on. Feeding someone their own skin. Stapling a guy’s eyelids open and making him watch his family be murdered for a few hundred years. Making a couch out of flesh as a “pet project”. You held a hand up before he could continue.

“Enlightening, but I more meant… closer to the whole stone thing and the appearing in front of me thing.” He snapped his fingers, as if just now remembering that part of the story. You rubbed your temple as he hummed to himself. His air of confidence and humor dissipated slightly. His “brow” furrowed, hand going to the side of his head like it hurt to try and remember. It made your annoyance soften. He was irritating, sure, but the guy was suffering major amnesia. And also apparently he didn’t have any powers that he had before. You wanted to know more about that, but felt it was inappropriate to ask at the moment.

“I was… I remember being pissed off? There was… a lot of fire…” He trailed off. His expression grew unsettled as he went silent for a long moment. A hand trailed along one of the cracks lining his body. You wanted to reach out, ask if he was alright. Then it was like a flip switched.

“Oh well! If it’s important, I’m sure it’ll come back to me!” He laughed with a wave of the hand. He drowned the remainder of fries in the ketchup packet that came with his meal. You rose a brow, but didn’t argue with him.

“What about you, kid? What’re you out in the middle of nowhere for?” You honestly didn’t expect him to ask about you whatsoever, so that was a pleasant surprise. You washed the breading stuck in your throat away with a swig of pitt as you thought about what to tell him.

“... Just needed a new start, honestly. I was… stifled, back home, for a few reasons. I had to get out.” He seemingly grinned, coming over and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“I knew I liked you, Stardust! You and I are kindred spirits- meant for greater things than what our homes could give!” You gave him a look at the sudden spiel, and the nickname. He stood on your legs, so you were eye to eye, and placed his hands on your shoulders. You were not as excited as he seemed to be.

“Stardust?” “Yeah, you walking organs are made from the stuff right? And we met on that romantic starry night,” he all but purred, fluttering his lashes at you. You tensed, let out a disgruntled noise and pushed him away. He snickered as he moved back to his spot on the bed.

“Anyway, howzabout a deal? I got big plans for this dimension, and I’m not about to let a little knock to the noggin set me back! You help me bring my friends out here- get my memories and powers back- and I’ll make it so you reach your REAL potential!” The speech seemed too practiced. Too smooth. Then you remembered he had introduced himself as a “dream demon” earlier today. His practiced pitch made sense with that bit of context. You frowned. You figure a proper deal with a demon would be a bad idea. You didn’t even know if it’d be binding with his powers gone- if he was telling the truth- but you chose not to risk it at the moment. You weren’t in the mood to be tied to an egomaniac at the moment.

“Dunno about a deal. I’ll help you find the friends you got in town, but I don’t plan on sticking around too long. A week or two at most.” He blinked, clearly having expected you to be stupid enough to go for the deal right away. The hand he had stuck out to shake fell to his side again. He wagged his finger at you, amused.

“Smart cookie! Don’t trust strangers that easily, kids!” There was a bite to his tone. He was a little angry that you didn’t fall for it. Good. You weren’t gonna just be used by some asshole you were supposed to be helping. You both finished your food, satisfied and full. You broke down the styrofoam boxes before shoving the pieces into the tiny hotel trash can. Your legs protested the movement as you looked for clean clothes to change into, after your upcoming shower.

“Can you remember anything about these friends of yours? Any leads at all?” you asked as you rummaged through your meager bags. Bill hopped off the bed. He paced for a moment, seemingly in thought. The short demon climbed up onto the padded bench under the window and took a peek outside.

He watched the people walk by. You walked up behind him, leaning on the windowsill to stare out with him. It seemed like a charming little town. People waved to each other on the streets, kids ran around relatively unsupervised. You caught two cops kissing on the bench out in public, so at least you knew this place wasn’t openly homophobic. That was fun.

He sighed, annoyed, as he leaned on a hand. He continued to scan people, hoping that SOMETHING would click. You saw the top of him start to turn red in annoyance. As frustrating as the little asshole has been in the few hours you’ve known him, you felt bad for the guy. Even if he was a horrible tyrant and criminal if any of his escapades were true. He just needed some help.

“Hey,” you said carefully, placing a hand on his back to get his attention. He jerked, giving you a frustrated side eye. You flinched slightly at the sudden glare and removed your hand. Swallowing, you continued.

“Don’t try to force it. You just got… free? And we’ve both been through a lot this morning. Let’s just… take the day to rest, okay? We can work on finding your friends in the next couple days.” He huffed, hat drooping as he crossed his arms and pouted like a child. You almost patted his back, but remembered the glare he gave you. You kept your hands to yourself.

“After my shower, we’ll see what’s on tv for a bit and then I’ll get dinner later. I’ll look up takeout places nearby,” you offered. He didn’t look at you, just pouted at the window.

“I want a silly straw to drink with,” he grumbled. “And pizza. With mushrooms.”

You blinked, slightly startled by the odd request of a silly straw. Man, when was the last time you used one of those? You smiled. Maybe a little bit of whimsy was what you both needed.

“I’ll get us matching straws,” you promised. He looked over his shoulder at you like an angry kitten. His lower eyelid seemed to poke out in an actual pout. It was endearing in a kinda gross way. He let out a small grunt and turned back to the window when he saw you were serious.

You left the tv remote next to him, telling him to look for something mind numbing to watch for when you got out of the shower. You left him alone to clean up.

As soon as you were in the shower, Bill’s shoulders drooped. He dragged a hand over his eye, the lower lid pulling slightly in exasperation. He dropped his head against the window, banging it against the glass a few times for good measure. He didn’t like not being in control of the situation. Not one fucking bit. He was Bill FUCKING Cipher and he wouldn’t be reduced to… this… for long.

He just had to get you on his side, and build him his ticket out of here. Or at least build his henchmaniacs’ ticket INTO here. Even without his powers, it should be a piece of cake. Humans were stupid!

His bad mood vanished quickly, and he grinned as he watched a raccoon jump out of a trash can at an unsuspecting child. He couldn’t help but laugh as it knocked the kid to the ground. Suffering was funny when it was someone else. He leaned back on the side of the bench, watching the show with his arms behind his uppermost point. Yeah, he’d be back to his old self in no time.

[shoegazingmonad]

Bunch of Mummy and Egypt HS2 talk bundled together:

Reread the Influencer's segments a few weeks ago and now that I'm aware mummy references are something worth looking for I'm noticing a ton of these damn things. The 'recently widowed heir' is the newly emptied tomb (jelly jar) that contained the mummy (company) and #unwokemoms... Hehe

Once again, houses are heads, and it seems like there's a link between wealth and the head being made here? She calls Tavvy 'the sort of fella you hang around when your mom drags you to a fundraiser', and back when Europeans were obsessed with consuming mummies sometimes graverobbers would steal freshly hung bodies, embalm them (shittily) and claim they were actual mummies. So I'm thinking if money = relating to the head then fund = the head and raiser could be act of hanging. It can also be read as lifting the lid off a tomb, which feels a liiiittle more plausible since it seems the fundraiser itself is a meeting of colonisers / graverobbers.

Though they do unlock the tower Dirk hung himself at before this, so hanging is definitely on topic. Avril says they have to get their gossip (private personal information) the old fashioned way, on line (rope) and then questions the others on why they're pretending 'that shit with the witch and the seer didnt go down' so yeah, lots of hanging talk.

Another line that sticks out to me is Silas pointing out that they're the 'only folks of the human persuasion' before telling them to hold their horses, likely referencing Dirk's 'FLORA OF THE SUCCULENT PERSUASION' (plants that hold water due to strong conviction). If Silas is calling humans succulent and therefore something that holds water, then trolls are the opposite, dehydrated and mummified. So Ruthie coming up to them and telling them they should leave if they don't want to die despite not visibly making any effort to leave herself comes across as implying she has no need to run for it because she's a troll (mummy) and therefore already dead.

Mummy stuff explains the food choices too. Avril orders a #normal burger (regular corpse), which comes alongside some fries and a slice of lime(?), which Silas takes when he isn't looking. Silas has a cup of black coffee (mummia is a black resin-like exudate) alongside some cups of creamer (canopic jars), which Imode steals and starts stacking, and Imode themselves has a stack of pancakes with butter and syrup (mummified corpse).

Food tangents aside, the Mothergrub should fit into this somehow. Mummification is thought of as ensuring the soul travels to the afterlife, and that death was a transition stage. The soul would stay alive outside of the body as long as it was kept intact. In Candy 8, during Vrissy's birth, there's a mention of 'birthing jelly' (jelly is consistently used to describe the Mothergrub's fluids in the epilogues) and that the egg's 'mottled and rough, like a rock on the outside, but has a layer beneath like mulched flesh'. Kanaya helps her exit the egg, prying open Vriska's tomb and (presumably) finding her mummified corpse, which is Vrissy.

Vrissy gets a couple of mummy references because of this. She's frustrated that Kanaya won't get off her case! Until now - which might imply that this sequence is Vrissy "leaving the case"? The prison does look a little similar to the Mothergrub. But Shit Becoming Real synonymous with leaving the case (tomb) probably ties in with Vrissy's age-related themes. The adult self is pregnant with the child self / true self, and the tomb is pregnant with the mummy?

This makes more sense when compared to another case of Mummy metaphors. In 194 Harry talking about his dad 'flipping his lid' is interspersed with Tavvy saying they're 'in a bit of a fudging pickle', and pickling is the process of proserving food by containing it within SALT water. Jars and tombs both have lids, so the jar itself the body / case and the pickle (or whatever is being held within the jar) is the child. Like how in Ult Dirk's room he has Dave's brain in a jar (which was made via a fetus in a jar) next to one of Roxy's glass-encased mutant kittens (cats are a symbol of babies).

And speaking of 194, Vrissy also says she gets this 'frustr8ed feeling in my Chest' when she sees Vriska talking to Harry. She isn't bothered by her child / true self's imprisonment in the tomb until she's met with a physical reminder of the limitations placed upon herself, and her inability to escape them leaves her frustrated. This adds to the prison segment and the follow-up. After she realises Vriska wants her to stay as a 'imitation' of her rather than something of her own, she ditches her and leaves the prison (egg / tomb). She then goes on to excitedly tell Harry she's '8roke out of Prison'. And also complains that Vriska was 'grilling' her, lol? Harry even says he hopes 'vriska didn't manage to get you smoked'. tfw when you don't get to eat the mummy...

Returning to the influencers - their quirks are also related to mummification / Egypt. Avril refers to their hashtags as 'ancient archival systems', and Imode uses 'text-based art' to communicate, like heiroglyphs! Avril's ever so helpful #hashtags make me think that #jealous (jelly) and #stuff (something stuffed inside another thing, like a mummy in a coffin) may be used for mummy puns too.

Their hobbies likely fit into this as well. Imode talks about Guys and Trolls, a pun on Guys and Dolls, whilst they're shown in a fully black outfit Harry's making them wear, suggesting they're the Doll / Troll. Avril's knack for photography functions as another form of 'preservation'. And now that I'm thinking about it the entire plot of the bonus stems from that 'preservation', and everything following that is the three trying to get the others 'out of the situation [they] have helped to put them in', which is done by unlocking Dirk's site of death. Wowzers

Besides the fact that every character is technically a mummy due to the adult self / child self comparisons they seem to have assigned roles. For now I'll assume that Ruthie is just a mummy. Avril's a bodysnatcher + "embalmer" since he's the one getting the gossip (personal information) and archiving. Imode says his use of #'s is inauthentic, he doesn't consistently use them the same way, and that he doesn't know it's history. As though he sucks at mummification, don't even know how it's actually done and just want it for the clout (money). He even gets pissed when Imode calls him a snitch (thief).

Imode's probably mummy-kin / identifies with the child self. They're the doll / troll, the only one in their group who isn't at least a little xenophobic, go to the troll diner often, and upon getting a taste of 'honesty' they leave through the window (tomb) first. Roxy talking to them about gender makes me suspect 'coming out' is also about leaving the coffin. Which, I guess is what makes them the '#wokemom' to Jane's '#unwokemom', leaving the coffin / becoming the authentic self means waking up? Cherub stuff going on here. But if they think Imode has 'gendery vibes' then she's assuming they've 'came out', adding onto the idea that they're mummy-kin.

Why the kids are even being so heavily associated with mummies in the first place is likely because they're "reincarnations" of other people. I say this mainly because of Silas' comments; when talking about Tavvy, they say 'Bless his heart', and the only organ left in a mummy's body after the process is complete is the heart, believed to contain the person's identity and character. She then gives respect to Gamzee, and says 'May he rest in the dark bosom of the mirthful messiahs'. It's as though Tavvy has Gamzee's heart / soul, and this is backed up by a few other things.

(Though there's also the funny implication that Silas is calling Tavvy one of the Mirthful Messiahs both here and right after, '[Tavvy] doesn't even GO here' is followed by her internally cursing herself for 'speaking disrespectfully of the messiah she's supposed to care about')

On page 79 Tavvy mistakes a door creaking for 'a honk, or the beating of his own heart', and back in Candy 32 when Vriska is beating up Gamzee she delivers a 'double axe handle right off the hook', causing his nose to break and blood to spill out. A hook was used to pull the brain out but in some cases the embalmer would break the nose to get at it more easily. And whilst I'm on this topic; Redemption is also mummification.

'Redemption' functions as a form of resurrection. And seeing as Gamzee already calls Tavvy his 'redemption arc', a second chance at life for him, then this can be compared to mummification as another a way for the soul to continue on after death. The fridge Gamzee is released is literally referred to as a 'would-be sarcophagus', and upon exiting he starts spouting on about his redemption arc (Tavvy). In Candy 20, when Karkat is being used as a substitute for Tavvy, Gamzee tells him that the rule of redemption means you can't get salty with your homie no more, and he provides an even more straightforward description to Vriska;

Redemption is getting your moral compromisations locked all tight in where your hearts at, inside the mummy. So I think what they're trying to get at here is that a 'redemption arc' is another body functioning as a mummy for someone else. Tavvy is Gamzee's "mummy", storing his heart so that Gamzee's soul can move on - and he's trapped in the tomb so that Gamzee can leave it. (On another small note, Gamzee's followers are called 'brainless clown worshippers', redemptionists are mummies).

That might add another layer to Gamzee's milk addiction though. Gamzee directly compares his breastmilk addiction to his 'struggles with the wicked green substances', which is sopor but as his vague wording here also suggests there's the interpretation of sopor slime as ecto slime at play. Since Tavvy is a mummy and Gamzee is constantly drinking from the bottle of milk that represents him, he's also drinking mummia (which explains Meenah calling him 'jellybulge', he keeps the milk in his codpiece). Wack. But as I said before, mummia is an exudate - and 'exudate' comes from the latin word exudare/exsudare "ooze out like sweat" and Tavvy's sweating Gamzee's blood, which now looks to be mummia / exudate. This might explain why his sweat is 'sticky', exudate also refers to sap, a colourless sugary liquid secreted when a tree is put under stress. This may open up a possibility for tree / mummy comparisons though? Even wackier, but not exactly out of the question. Osiris' coffin ends up inside a tree trunk and later made into a pillar named the Djed (a symbol of stability and his spine), and y'know now that I think about it - I'm pretty sure that's what the belltower is supposed to be?

Ult Dirk's outfit is largely based on Kamina's. But for some odd reason he has additional wrapping around his legs - which Kamina doesn't have - but Osiris does. And Candy Dirk's death involves a noose, which comes across as completely unneccessary when considering he could just cut his own head off like he usually does. However, Dirk isn't tying the loop to guarantee his death, it's to guarantee his resurrection; because what he was really tying was an Ankh - another loop symbol thought to revive souls in the afterlife. It stays attached to his head as his spine splits, and his body pools in a sea of blood, similar to how Osiris' body was tossed into the Nile and eventually ended up in the Ocean. Dirk's coffin is filled with swords (commonly found along other items within tombs thought to be necessary in the afterlife), is made out of the 'finest-quality timber on the planet', the door to the tower is made of oak and the tower itself is also amidst a bunch of trees as if it were one. Osiris' death and renewal was believed to coincide with the flooding of the Nile (and the fertilization of Egypt, the excess water representative of either Isis' tears or Osiris' bodily fluids, the latter the more likely case seeing as Dirk's body sprays blood all over the tower and the funeral's rain is 'like being sprayed with a plant mister' too.

Ankh's are also the 'key of life', and Dirk's tomb being unlocked is followed by Imode shouting '👼💩' like a baby angel has just been shit out, so this suggests some kind of resurrection. But whilst I'm still on the topic of Dirk - Harry says they hang a Dirk effigy from the belltower every year, which kind of feels like a reference to the Ritual of Overthrowing Apophis, another annual effigy destruction. Apothis was thought to contain all the darkness and disorder in Egypt, and was burnt to protect everyone from his evil, but mmm I don't know if that fits all that well.

Upon going through other Egyptian mythology I also found out that Gamzee's milk 'baptisms' might also be an egyptian healing ritual replicating Isis' healing of Horus by pouring water over a cippus (tombstone) and then drinking it. Like him pouring milk over the troll ghosts / redeemed (the dead) gives it the healing properties he claims it to have, which he uses for himself as he takes a swig of it after using it on Eridan and Feferi. Though on the topic of baptisms and mummies, there's a cup of coffee adjacent to two pieces of bread in the cafe. Mummia is the blood of christ and the mummy itself the body (bread, aka 'sacred host'). Jane directly calls the troll blood Gamzee gave her 'the holy sacrament', and that her first memory of him was of his 'robust codpiece' which is a child grafted onto the body, Tavvy, a mummy. One coffee equated to two bodies also makes some sense. The heart is being considered the organ shared amongst Gamzee and Tavvy, and it's the organ pumping the blood (mummia) around the body.

But the redemption / mummification theme applies to the other kids too. Later Silas reuses the previous blessing for Dirk, saying 'Bless his soul', but they only say 'Bless' when it comes to Harry, lacking the heart / soul of the two previous statements. Harry isn't a 'redemption arc' for anyone in the same way Vrissy, Tavvy and Yiffy are since nobody imposes that role upon him - but he seems to view himself as John's, which is affirmed by Gamzee's claims that getting him with Roxy would 'romantically redeem' his sorry ass. Harry calls his car ride with his dad a 'heart to heart', and him being absent from his own room (head) can be read as him being momentarily brainless. He later tells Vrissy he 'put [his] heart and soul' into his costumes, so he might make up for his lack of assigned role by helping people fit into theirs the best they can. Mummy stuff might be where 'Sheriff Dry Hops' gets it's name too. Hops is a fruiting plant body dried to make beer, similar to a mummy being dehydrated to make mummia. (There's also Faygo (another mummia) compared to alcohol via Terezi and Rose's addictions and Kurloz' calling Faygo 'ELIXIR FORTIES' like a 40oz pack of beer). It's let out of the closet by Vriska, who Harry complains 'has no respect for other people's belongings'. He's a mummy sheriff, encouraging and even policing other people into staying as their assigned roles. No wonder he's with Vrissy.

Yiffy is likely a parallel to Ruthie - Ruthie's an authentic mummy, and Yiffy's a (symbolic) child. Silence is perfect yet infantile communication, and Yiffy says nothing. Tavvy says he's busy with an aforementioned pickle, Vrissy's Mother's and Aunt Jade, suggesting Yiffy is the 'pickle', which was established as another symbol of the child trapped in containment. And their most prominent scene as of yet starts with Jade breathing life onto Yiffy (Receive Finishing Blow), and stating that they're her future, establishing them as Jade's 'redemption arc'. Yet unlike Tavvy (child-as-adult, in the tomb) and Gamzee (adult-as-child, out the tomb), it's the opposite; Yiffy is child-as-child and Jade is adult-as-adult, with this panel of Jade within a shadowed room holding Yiffy outside a rectangular window (which I'm now realizing is a parallel to Tavvy now since this comes up after he says had his window removed), affirming her status as the one stuck inside whilst Yiffy is free from containment.

Speaking of Ruthie, her 'eee' translated to heiroglyphs is 3 feathers, which represents three souls, presumably Imode, Silas and Avril. When the deceased had completed their journey through the underworld, they arrived at Maat, which was where it would be decided whether they would move onto the Kingdom of Osiris. The first task given was to address the 42 Assessors of Maat by name (which is why Vrissy says they had to memorize the names of every player at school) and every sin they didn't commit in their lifetime. The deceased would then have their heart weighed against a feather, and would be allowed to move on if the scales balanced. And If the heart was heavier they'd be eaten, and the soul permanently destroyed.

Though the explanation for the source of Imode and Avril's 'souls' are made obvious as they're just their names, Shigetaka Kurita and Avril Lavigne, I don't really know who Silas is supposed to be, or what her role is. Silas says she hangs around Tavvy at fundraisers whilst the panel shows her pulling at the loop around her neck, which is a noose, ankh or alternatively, a tyet? Which was something mummies were buried with under the wrapping for protection. Tavvy has a blood red cup too, which is next to a fountain of chocolate, so like Silas' black coffee he's probably drinking mummia. As per usual. Anyway If I'm to compare her situation to Tavvy's, them being 'the only people our age' signifies them as mummies too. Neither of them are out the tomb though, since they don't talk about gender (no coming out), and Silas' doesn't do any 'introspecting' on the regular.

Though the introspecting she does do gets her a step she can't backtrack as she 'pushes' to 'catch up' with Avril so leaving the tomb seems to be another way of falling. Since Imode shouts 'holy shit' with a baby angel in place of the 'holy' I'm also getting the idea that leaving the tomb is being shit out as well. Both are realness leaving the body... Back to Silas though - the colour she uses is supposed to be lime, as proven by the lime on Avril's plate (which she eats), which is the same colour as her outfit. She's also wary of trolls, and has freckles in a circle on their cheeks. She insists on justice for Gamzee and says 'my stars!' when Avril shows off their skeleton key which is equivalent to 'my kids!' since Avril puts #childstar together later. With all that and the old-american thing they have going on, they kinda remind me of calamity???? I'm still not sure that's right though.

Since I'm getting nowhere with Silas it's back to the Omega kids. Avril has the lime before Silas eats it, which is the same colour as her and therefore makes the act come across as eating herself. The lime juice is left behind on Avril's plate, so she's ate the body, but not the mummia, she has the coffee for that? Tavvy leaves a bag of trail-mix and a letter which tells Harry and Vrissy to eat the raisins (dehydrated corpses, mummies) because they're healthy. Then Vrissy and Harry run out of the ship (which not only resembles the Mothergrub but in this panel looks an awful lot like a pyramid) and Harry is munching, presumably eating the mummy, though the panels shown depict him eating m&m's (or whatever that is) the same colour as him and Vrissy, so we're back to eating the (child) self. Probably worth adding Harry's zebra cakes onto this, more commonly known as icebox cakes, a cake kept in the fridge overnight, another reference to eating child eating.

Harry's reluctance to leave the Mothergrub-Pyramid ship and trying to get Vrissy to go back in with him is related to his desire to be a mummy despite the lack of expectations to be so by Vrissy saying staying back in there would make him like his 'like [his] shitty parents', which he only refutes with a 'they aren't shitty'. Though that's ironically followed up by Rose calling Vrissy 'honey', covering their eyes and keeping them in the dark (in the tomb) before her and Harry get put back in the ship and shut in. Next panel we get of her she's clinging to Kanaya, head buried in her torso like she wants to crawl back in the womb whilst Vriska runs free.

On Harry eating the mummy / child though - back on 172 Vrissy tells Harry they're in the janitor closet near what Harry calls the 'Good Water Fountain', and closets seem to be another tomb substitute. Sheriff Dry Hops is kept in a closet, Jake's sat on the 'sticky floor of a custodial closet' before the camera shifts over to Tavvy 2 pages after, and the previous school closet scene where Tavvy, Gamzee Vrissy and Vriska are stuck in one with their redemption arcs whilst Harry is outside all suggest that, even though it's not as overt as the fridge comparisons. The Good Water Fountain is the fountain of youth, and with it's proximity to the closet the water is presumably sourced from it, making it mummia. Harry eating his child self / wanting to return to his youth fits with his desire to be John's 'redemption arc' / mummy like he was as a kid and is also incredibly in line with Roxy's habit of drinking cats (mummia) that mmmmalo talked about (oh hey no wonder Roxy drinks coffee now).

Though alternatively if the m&m's viewed as Vrissy (since it is both of their colours) their already established age-play dynamic is, on Harry's part, a desire to access the child self via Vrissy? Bluh

On note of Tavvy providing the trail mix and endorsing the mummy-eating, Imode says Silas knows Tavvy, but she says "Know" is pushin' it. Understanding is the child self being birthed and the mummy leaving the tomb. Literally under-standing (falling) comes up when Harry and Vrissy try to leave the ship too. She talks about how he refuses to verbally disclose what he really means or wants (nothing being spoken, no baby being birthed, no mummy leaving the tomb, no falling yadda yadda), specifically that he 'he wouldn't ask for a thing if he wanted it', which leads into a joke about how he expects to be beaten round the head upon asking for salt, and Avril (resident embalmer) adds onto it by saying they'd be scared to ask for the salt if Jane was their #unwokemom.

Tavvy explicitly disagrees with the whole 'redemption arc' stuff Gamzee totes around, so the idea that he wants to be the embalmer (guy putting people in tombs, locking away authenticity) feels a little out of place, since it's not something he ever explicitly expresses, but pretty understandable. Though it's tripping me up a little imagining how locking away someone's 'child self' would even be done on a literal level. Getting to be the embalmer comes with the implication of not being the mummy though, so it's more like he wants a role-reversal; he wants to be the child-like oppressor rather than the adult-like oppressed. Once again expressing a desire to be Gamzee again are we now. Though I still dunno what that makes of the raisins. This coincides with him going to help Yiffy with the rebellion so it should function as another form of 'rebellion', which it kinda is as he's the one providing the mummies, momentarily aligning him with the embalmer I guuuuuuess? I feel like I need a little more to work with here

[sovengardeswag]

You Poor Unfortunate Soul

Summary:

Raphael collects the esoteric, the rare, and the lovely. He has recently come into a spell that lets him take voices. No ripping out tracheas, no bloody messes.

Astarion wants the sun. Doesn't want to get on his back for a dead rat. Wants to be free of Cazador in every way he can be.

The two strike a deal, the voice of a spawn for the sun. And a soul as well. After all, true love's kiss doesn't exist.

A little mermaid inspired fic about Astarion giving up his voice to walk in the sun (AO3 link in replies)

Chapter One: In Pain, In Need

Baldur's Gate smelled like fish guts and cat shit on a hot summer's day, making winter nights a much more pleasant time in the city. That's what Astarion told himself, at least, when he found himself missing it and cursing the cold. His padded doublet offered little protection but, even if it did, he wouldn't be warmed, undead flesh unable to hold onto heat the way the living did. Thus, there was an equal measure of relief and dread when he entered The Blushing Mermaid, the air within much warmer than the air outside.

Astarion's goal this night was to get in and get out. No long flirtations with the shy ones. No, the last thing he wanted was to drag this out. That was why he had chosen this place. Tired, lonely sailors from far away? They would follow him home with a wink and a kiss after months at sea, no one would ever miss them either. As he took a look around at his choice of prey, he sat at the bar and asked, "Have you any good wine?"

"We've got red wine and, uh, white."

"Red then," speaking of, his eyes fell on a table with a lone tiefling. A man with dark skin and one red eye, the other a false eye that was stony grey. His hair was tied in tight and neat cornrows that were framed by his elegant, curved horns. He seemed peaceful, just people-watching as he drank his ale. And there was a noble quality to him, despite the surroundings. His scars told a story of adventure, of experience in combat. And yet they did not greatly age him, he looked 25 if his reckoning of human ages was accurate. In short, he was beautiful. Cazador would be pleased indeed. This man wouldn't earn him a place in the favored spawn room, but Cazador would find no reason to put him in the kennels at the very least. Little wonder then that he strode up to the man as he sipped his disgusting glass of wine, "Well hello there. Is this seat taken?"

The man seemed mildly surprised to have been approached and told Astarion, "Not at all. Please." He gestured for Astarion to have a seat. "I'm Wyll by the way." He then gave a little knightly salute, "The Blade of Avernus at your service."

Astaron wracked his brain for some sort of recognition, some sort of knowledge about him, and came up empty. Never had he heard of this man in the taverns. "I'm sorry darling, I'm afraid I'm a bit behind on my adventuring news."

"Ah, that's alright. I used to have a different title. I earned this one when I was at Elturel. I was there when it was released from the hells and helped the people there."

"Well, aren't you quite the hero, then?" Certainly explained the name. In his experience, most decent tieflings avoided names like The Blade of Avernus. "You simply must tell me more." He leaned forward, sipping his wine once more. Maybe he could get more drinks in this man. "Were you from Elturel? Was the experience as utterly shocking as I've heard?"

"Actually, no, I wasn't even at Elturel when it fell. I was sent into Avernus afterward to hunt a devil."

"Sent in? How?" There was only one way he knew that people got sent to the hells and came back. "Are you a warlock?"

"Was. I was a warlock. I assure you, I am beholden only to the Sword Coast now."

"And you were named The Blade of Avernus after felling your quarry."

"On the contrary, when I arrived at Elturel, I found this was no devil trying to further terrorize the poor people of Elturel, but a tiefling, the same as many of them. A hostage in Zariel's court who was conscripted to fight in the blood war. When Elturel fell, she ran away and hid among them. And when I learned this, I couldn't bring myself to kill her. I had been deceived."

Astarion, feeling this was getting a bit heavy, broke the tension with a giggle, playing the part of a tipsy admirer, "You naughty thing you. All it took for you to disobey your patron was a pretty face?"

Wyll chuckled a bit, just the slightest bit of fluster to his face, "No, no, nothing like that. You see, while she was with the tieflings, she had taken to protecting them. Making sure they survived the hells. There was one child, Mol, despite being injured and small, who tried to protect Karlach. She said she would take my eye if I so much as laid a hand on Karlach. And I knew then, from the child and the look in Karlach's eyes, that I had been deceived. And I paid the price for it that very night."

"Is that how you lost your eye, darling? Tribute to your patron?" He laid a comforting hand on Wyll's, his voice full of sympathy and awe.

"Oh, no, I lost my eye long ago. But that's a story for another day, perhaps. It's a proud moment, to be sure, but not exactly one to be told to charming voiced strangers in a tavern."

Astarion took a look at Wyll's stone eye, then. It seemed to be made of bloodstone, with an adorable heart-shaped pupil carved into it but there was something else there. Something magical. It hit him, that this was a sending stone, no doubt still sending news to his former patron. Ah. well, it wouldn't be the first time he performed in front of an audience. "Well, there's no need for us to remain strangers. Perhaps, after a bit here, we can go to my home for a nightcap. I've always dreamed of being swept off my feet by a hero." Truth be told, Wyll was just his type, a sweet face, but just a bit rugged.

Wyll flustered again, pulling his hand away, "Look, you're lovely, you truly are, but I don't do... that. I'm sorry."

Shit. Shit. He had miscalculated. Most adventurers weren't like this. They were only happy to take what they wanted from Astarion. Why, oh why, did he have to run into a virtuous hero? "Ah, there's no need to apologize, darling. I should have realized you were the chivalrous sort." This would have to be a long game and he'd have to try his luck at a different tavern.

Just as he was about to ask Wyll how long he was staying in Baldur's Gate, there was a crash from the kitchen, some swearing, and a burning smell. A grease fire, no doubt. And before Astarion knew it, he was trapped in the building, the fire burning all around him. Watching as it consumed all in its wake. He should have been outside, watching the scene with the poor sods who were mourning their favorite watering hole. Yet here he was, walking through a burning wreckage, looking for that beautiful fool who had insisted on getting people out. If Wyll perished in this blaze, Astarion wouldn't stop thinking about it. It would be just another death on his tally of sins. So even as the flames licked at him and burned him, he pushed through. His only relief was that he didn't need to breathe.

Eventually, feeling nothing but pure heat on his body and ash falling upon him, he found him. A support beam had fallen on him and the smoke inhalation knocked Wyll out. Astarion pushed on the beam with all his might, his hands catching splinters as he pushed and readjusted and pushed again. Nevertheless, he just barely managed to push it off of the man's leg. He then picked Wyll up and hauled him out of the burning tavern.

But he didn't lay Wyll down at the front for the fists to take care of. No, it wouldn't do for Astarion to be spotted. He snuck to the next alley over instead and sat Wyll down on a crate. He pat Wyll's cheek as he spoke, the hero of Elturel finally taking in some clean air. His eyes fluttered and opened and Astarion knew that the first thing the tiefling saw was him. He coughed and Astarion told him, "Shhh, it's alright, lovely. Don't stress yourself."

Wyll nodded, taking deep breaths as Astarion assured him, "Don't try to yell for the fists, you'll only hurt yourself. I'm going to make a racket and they'll heal you and you'll be good as new but I have to go. Do you understand?"

Wyll nodded, his good eye scanning over Astarion, trying to memorize his face.

"There we go. You'll be alright, darling. Now, I'm going to make that racket and leave you.” And with that, Astarion lifted a discarded milk can and slammed it as hard as he could into the ground, slinking off once it had made an ungodly noise.

Covered in soot and ash, sporting a few minor burns, and with his hands covered in splinters, Astarion was in no state to continue his little hunt. He needed to change and get these damn things out. He just hoped his master would see it as a pause and not a failure.

As he returned to Szarr Palace, he decided to go in from the tower connected to the wall. Climbing up was a bit of a pain with the splinters, but far less terrible than what was in store for him if he got caught. He walked past the half-asleep fists with no issue, the charmed guards merely said, "Welcome home, Master Astarion," as he walked past them. Jumping onto a balcony afterward was practically trivial.

He thought he was home free as he crossed the threshold, walking one, two, three meters away from the balcony doors before he felt a chill and heard Cazador's voice. "You're home early. And what a state you're in."

Astarion flinched as he turned around, "Ah, Master, I assure you this is merely a delay. I just need to clean up and be on my way to catch you a morsel tonight. I know that I shouldn't come home without one but I just wanted to make sure that today's was of good qua-"

Astartion immediately shut his mouth as Cazador grabbed his wrists, the ancient vampire having noticed that Astarion was trying to not gesticulate. He looked at his hands and asked, "What manner of nonsense did you get into, boy?"

Astarion tensed further at that. Of course, Cazador would notice his property had been damaged, however temporarily. "I-I assure you master. I just wanted to ensure that-"

"Cease your prattle!" Cazador commanded as he bent Astarion's wrists, a small whimper coming from the spawn. "Tell me why you have these splinters."

Astarion felt the pull of the command like the pull of a leash upon his brainstem. His eyes glowed in response and he spoke loud and clear. "I pushed a beam away when I was caught in a fire at the Blushing Mermaid. I was with a target there at the time."

"Were you spotted by the flaming fists? Be truthful."

Another pull, his eyes continued to glow, "No."

"And what gave you the audacity to believe you had a right to break the rules, to come back completely emptyhanded? Speak true!"

"I thought I could sneak past you and wanted to change my clothes."

Astarion felt the sharp sting of a back-handed slap then, right across his cheek. Cazador had seen disrespect in his honesty. Astarion's jaw clenched, and the command lifted.

"You little idiot. You cannot ever get anything past me in my home. Not ever. And to think, you were so close to earning the favored spawn room this month. It's as if you throw away every opportunity I give you. Every single time. I do not begrudge you for trying to survive a fire, but I will not tolerate disrespect."

"You're right master, I'm sorry. I should have checked into the flop house and found clothes, I shouldn't have done this to you. I shouldn't have gotten hurt. I promise to be good from now on. I promise." He was tempted to yank his wrist away but knew that if he did at this angle, it would likely snap. "I'll take care of my splinters before going back out. And I'll bring you back the most beautiful virgin I can find in the lower city."

"Oh Astarion, you always did beg so sweetly," Cazador stroked Astarion's cheek gently, "But you'll just have to save that for later. Your actions need to have consequences, lest you grow arrogant again."

Shit, shit. "But Master, I've already injured myself! I've learned my lesson! You don't need to waste Godey's time!"

"Oh, but Astarion, what use are consequences with no follow through, hmm? You'll start to believe every threat is a bluff." And with that, he started to drag Astarion to the kennels. The spawn trying to dig in his heels like a dog dragged on a leash.

Godey was there when they arrived. Of course, he was. Where else would he be? He stopped cleaning his scalpels and watched as Astarion was thrown on the ground like scraps to the dogs. "Here so early, child? It isn't even midnight. No matter, Old Godey is ready to play."

"Stay your hand, Godey. I have something specific in mind for him."

"Oh? Is that so, Master?"

"Indeed. Keep an eye on him as I find the implements. You are free to strike him if he tries to leave."

"Of course, Master. I won't lay a hand on him a moment before."

But that wasn't true, as soon as Cazador was gone, Godey started to run his bony fingers through Astarion's hair. He told him, "You must like playing with Godey, being such a naughty child. What did you do to anger the master this time?"

"I hurt myself in a fire. And then I tried to sneak in to get clean and healed."

"Oh, such a shame that you got in trouble for that, and such a shame you escaped those flames. You would wear scars so prettily."

Astarion instinctually covered his face at that. Oh gods, Godey was going to give Cazador ideas at this rate. The last time that happened, the skeleton ripped his fangs out of his mouth, let them grow back overnight, and yanked them out again for a straight ten-day. He couldn't even remember what he had done, only that Godey had said he should keep his fangs to himself and it had given Cazador the idea.

Speaking of, though, he returned. But he was not baring Rhapsody or some horrific tool. No, he was holding a set of tweezers. The kind a nobleborn lady would use to pluck her eyebrows. And Cazador was holding it while wearing a glove. “I want you to remove the splinters yourself. And then, when you're done, Godey will, shall we say, give you a manicure."

Astarion hardly saw the point in getting rid of the splinters if Godey was going to rip out his claws, each time Godey readjusted the grip would surely cause shooting pain with the shards of wood in his hands. But he wasn't one to make his own life worse, so he reached an open hand out to Cazador.

But as soon as the tweezers touched his hand, the spawn hissed in pain, a rash blooming on his skin. The tweezers were made of silver. Bastard.

Cazador smirked at Astarion's pain, telling him, "Do think on your actions, Astarion." He then looked to Godey, telling him, "I'll come to check on him, come dawn. Have fun, old friend."

Thus was the beginning of Astarion's newest torment. He had been forced to hurt himself before, this was nothing new, but it was no less humiliating and terrible. At first, he tried to be delicate about the process, keeping the tweezers at the very tips on the most shallow splinters, hoping to reduce the burning sensation and hives to his fingers. But Godey gripped his hair and pulled, "Trying to pull one over on Old Godey, eh? Do it properly, child, lest I do it for you."

Astarion grit his teeth and adjusted his grip on the tweezers, more hives blooming as he squeezed and gripped the splinters, perhaps with a little more force than strictly necessary. Some of them needed to be dug out, the burning smell of silver actually piercing his skin faint but present, the tiniest wisps of smoke when they came free. Pain radiated through his hand through the entire process. He wondered if his hands would scar as his back did.

The same thing happened with his other hand. With each pinch, each pull, each squeeze, he shot agony into his palms. By the end of it, his hands were an ugly red color, they felt warm for the first time in 200 years, and they were utterly covered in blisters, itchy and burning. Panting, he threw the tweezers aside, his hands shaking.

Godey kicked Astarion in the gut. "Naughty thing, don't go throwing away the master's heirlooms around like mere stones! Pick it up and put it where it belongs."

"Fuck you, Godey," Astarion managed, despite the wind being knocked out of him. Though it earned him another slap before he picked up the damn tweezers and put them on the table.

"See, was that so hard? Now, give Godey your hand. I want to hear you scream."

Astarion couldn't help but wonder if, despite the fact that he was completely bones, Godey was getting off on this. Either way, he gave Godey his hand and watched as Godey clamped the pliers over his pinky claw. He gently tugged once, twice, trying to build up the dread in Astarion before he blinked out of existence in a flash of red light. What?

He heard a smooth voice then, almost sing-songy. "There now, we wouldn't want those lovely claws of yours to be ripped out, now would we?"

Astarion scrambled to his feet and turned around, seeing a human man just standing there. Cazador wasn't with him, "What is this? Did Cazador decide to put me to work for my transgressions? Did you banish Godey for some privacy?"

The man chuckled darkly and told him, "No, little vampling, nothing so base. I'm not another guest of your master's but a savior. Now, you can come wih me or be a good boy and wait for the skeleton to come back and do your little manicure."

Astarion looked at his blistered and red hands before looking back at the stranger. If this was a setup, then it was certainly an elaborate one. "Fine."

The man snapped his fingers and they were suddenly elsewhere. A dining room laid out with food of all sorts and several goblets. The man told Astarion, "Drink your fill, vampling. I ensured that you have only the finest of blood."

Astarion picked up a goblet and sniffed it. No poison. But this place, "Where have you brought me?"

"This, Mr. Ancunin, is the House of Hope. Where the famished come to feast and the desperate come to deal. And I know you, pretty spawn, are both. Come, drink your fill."

Well, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with the blood on the second sniff, so he took a drink. "Why is this spicy?"

"Why, it's cambion blood of course. I also have incubus and hellhound, even demon. All watered down with tiefling for your palate. Though I also have more mortal fare."

Astarion gripped his goblet lest this strange man take it from him. Though this clearly wasn't a regular human man. "Who and what the hells are you?"

"What an appropriate way to phrase that question. If you'll allow me..." And then, in a spiral of flames, the man became a devil. "I am Raphael, at your service."

Oh gods, a cambion. He should have known. He vaguely wondered if the blood he drank was Raphael's. He drained the goblet and said, "Well, you've wasted your vintage then, devil. I'm not keen to trade one master for another."

"Who said anything about your soul?"

Astarion, having gone to sniff at another goblet of blood, paused and said, "Go on."

"You see, I'm a bit of a collector. I seek the rare and esoteric and I've come into possession of a rather unique spell. I won't bore you with the details, just that it's derived from hag's magic and that you are the perfect test subject for it."

"I'm not hearing an offer."

"Patience, I was just getting to that. In exchange for your cooperation with the spell, I can offer a partial cure to your vampirism."

Astarion simply drank what he determined to be tiefling's blood as he listened. And then, he spoke, "Well then, we should be going over the details of this, shouldn't we?"

Raphael smirked and gestured for Astarion to follow him, "Let's."

Instead of an office as the spawn expected, Raphael led Astarion to a richly furnished boudoir with many chaise lounges and a bathtub that smelled of lavender and mint in the middle. On the far side of the room, he spotted a bed where a skimpily dressed devil that looked remarkably like Raphael lay. "Another client?"

"No, just another part of the House of Hope. Please, sit."

Astarion sat on one of the chaise lounges as Raphael spoke, "I can give you a potion that allows you to walk in sunlight. You would still need to avoid silver lest your allergies act up, still need to slake your thirst, but never would you have to worry about anything more than a sunburn."

"What's the catch? Surely a potion like that would have every vampire lord breaking down your door."

"Nothing gets past you, does it? No, vampire lords don't seek it out. Not because they relish in scampering through the dark like rats but because the sensation of the sun is still there."

Astarion felt what little bit of hope he had crumble to pieces then and there, "So, it doesn't work."

"Ah, that is where you, Strahd, Cazador, and every other vampire misunderstand. The potion negates all the damage from the sun, just not the pain. But what's a little pain when you can take a stroll with a pretty thing on your arm, when you can sniff roses at noon, and when you can hide from your master in plain sight."

Astarion still didn't give an answer, but he did ask, "What does the spell do?"

"It takes voices. Don't worry, your pretty throat will be left unharmed, but the voice that had brought a thousand people to their doom? The giggle that makes virgins fall into a stranger's bed? It would be the perfect display of the spell's use and the perfect addition to my collection."

One thousand. One thousand. He knew the amount of people he had brought to Cazador had been high but never past the hundreds. He suddenly felt a little sick. A thousand pairs of hands had touched him, a thousand mouths had kissed him, and a thousand people had died after having him. But with the sensitivity to sunlight removed, he would never have to do that again. "So all I have to do to ensure my master can't touch me is lose my voice and be uncomfortable while standing outside." And yet, somehow, it sounded too good to be true. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Just two little things. The first is that you must refrain from drinking the blood of thinking creatures for three days. The other is that your voice by itself isn't all I need from you."

"Spit it out, devil."

"The young man you saved today isn't any old tiefling. He was Grand Duke Ravengard's son."

"Don't lie to me. I know that Grand Marshall Ravengard's wife was a human and the Grand Duke doesn't exactly have a pair of horns."

"There's more than one way to make a tiefling. Let's just say that Mizora gave him a bit of a makeover."

"So you're saying he's hells touched."

"Indeed I am."

"I fail to see what my flirting with a prince has to do with any of this."

"I'm saying that he's valuable. Eventually, daddy will succumb to some malady or other as all humans do and little Wyll Ravengard will become Grand Duke Wyll Ravengard."

Astarion finally caught on to what Raphael was implying, "You want me to bring him to you."

"Not physically but yes. Woo, seduce, enrapture him. Wrap him around your little finger and whisper my words into his ear, putting him around mine."

"Bit brazen to steal another devil's warlock, isn't it?"

"On the contrary! Wyll was freed from his contract when Elturel sas spat back out of Avernus. This is simply filling an open position."

"I see, so live in the lap of luxury where Cazador can't touch me at the expense of my voice and some discomfort." There was just one problem, "How do I stop Cazador from compelling me back at night?"

"That's your problem. Steal a ring of mind shielding or tie yourself to your bed. I'm sure you'll think of something, you're a resourceful spawn."

"And if I fail? What's to stop me from running to Athlacka or Kozakura after realizing he only likes the company of maidens?"

"Then the potion incurs fees and I retain ownership of your soul."

"Fair enough."

"Now, don't speak so quickly, Astarion, I have a reputation to uphold. There are certain guarantees I need to decide you've taken serious steps in this endeavor. You need to get him to kiss you in three days."

"Ha! You're joking! I'll have him eating out of my palm by then."

"Not a regular kiss. True love's kiss on his part."

"You're joking, you're joking, that doesn't even exist!"

"Oh come now, where did that bravado go? Do you truly believe that you can't make a man fall in love with you in three days?"

Astarion clenched his jaw and thought about it. Here was an opportunity to get away from Cazador. And he was going to throw it away because a devil wanted him to whisper into some prince's ear? "Where do I sign?"

With a sweep of his hand, Raphael summoned a contract and a quill. Astarion read it and found the terms were laid out as described before signing it.

When it disappeared, Raphael told Astarion, "Now then, let us get to the fun part.” He led Astarion to the bed and had him lie down. The devil who had been there moved and asked, "Shall I go, Master?"

"No, I have need of you Haarlep."

"Oh, I didn't know that spell had a naughty component."

"No, just hold his wrists."

"How sad, he looks like he would be fun to play with."

Astarion freely gave his wrists to what he now knew was an incubus. He told Raphael, "This is going to hurt, isn't it?"

"I have no idea, but we can't risk you clawing my eyes out, now can we?" He straddled Astarion's waist and opened the spawn's mouth to pierce his finger, drawing runes on Astarion's throat with blood while speaking an incantation.

Suddenly, Astarion felt a pulling sensation in his throat, painful, like a fishing hook had been lodged in his larynx and an angler was trying to yank it out. His instinct was to reach for his throat and check that he hadn't been stabbed but Haarlep held firm, eerily smiling down on him. When he looked at Raphael's hands he saw a red rope of light coming from his throat. "Now, speak, sing, do everything you can to get your voice active."

Astarion nodded, saying, "My name is Astarion Ancunin. I am two hundred and forty years old and I was born in Baldur's Gate."

He felt another tug at his throat and once again tried to pull his hands away as he screamed, Haarlep holding on tight. Raphael had pulled on that magical cord and told him, "That's it, little bat, keep going."

"I was a magistrate, once, but am now a vampire spawn, hunting pretty morsels for-"

With another tug Astarion found himself silenced. A scream from that last, savage pull, dying in his throat. Haarlep let go of his hands and Astarion sat up, seeing Raphael holding up a glowing orb like a prized fish. There weren't sounds coming from it, despite what Astarion would assume. And Raphael was looking at it as well, almost amazed that it had worked, "My, isn't that lovely?"

Astarion tried to speak but no words came out. He huffed through his nose and pointed to the voice.

Raphael caught on quickly, telling him, "Oh, it's going behind glass. Protected and safe and labeled in my archive."

Astarion nodded in understanding. Yes, that made sense. Raphael would want to show it off.

Raphael then set aside Astarion's voice in a jewelry box, the magic rope disappearing as he closed it, before pulling a potion bottle out of his nightstand and uncorking it. Going to tilt Astarion's head back, he said, "Drink."

Astarion did not hesitate as the bottle was pressed to his lips. The mixture was warm and oddly fungal tasting. He was surprised that he was able to taste it at all. But as it was downed, he felt... different. Warmer. Though not quite body warm.

"Now, we can't send you out with your hands like that. Your prince charming would think you contagious. Go clean up in my bath."

Astarion nodded once more, getting up and going to dunk his hands in the pool. He found that in an instant, he was energized. All of his aches were gone, his hands were no longer covered in bumps and hives but merely slightly red. Even his minor burns were gone. He also took the opportunity to wash what little remained of the cambion's blood from his throat.

"Your clock starts at sunrise and runs out on the sunset of the third day. Nod if you understand."

Astarion nodded once again.

"Now, I'm going to send you into his path. Just do what you do best." He gestured for Astarion to follow and the spawn obeyed.

As he followed Raphael, Astarion felt as if he had, perhaps, made a mistake. He saw all manner of debtor now that he cared to look. The tiefling woman staring into the boudoir, another woman running around like a dog, and, gods, was that a man cradling and praising a full chamber pot? What was to be his fate if he failed to make Wyll fall in love? The removal of his tongue, his past under Cazador used against him? There was hardly any time to ponder though as they came to a room full of mirrors. "Ah, here we are."

They stood before a portal to Baldur's Gate. It was time to fulfill his mission. "I'll put you in his path, don't worry, just walk in."

So, Astarion did just that. He stepped through the portal, its light not harming him as he stepped into the pre-dawn of Wyrm's Rock, the home of the Grand Duke. Astarion felt rather confident if he was honest. He had saved Wyll, after all, making him fall in love should be easy.

Then the sun began to rise.

[raevenlywrites]

Raev's Fic Masterlist

Since tumblr can be a little allergic to links, I thought I'd take a second to ramble about all the various little (and not so little) fics I have up on Ao3

Den of Shadows

Jaguar's Midnight: Currently a single chapter of me exploring ideas of a Midnight that is more blatantly BDSM and less human trafficking. Maybe more to come? Who knows

Unpublished Turquoise thing about her time with Daryl (pester me about if it you're interested)

Hawksong/Kiesha'ra

Ties that Bind (haitus, 30 chps) A queer, polyamorous, Romeo and Juliet with shapeshifters set on a backdrop of the first tentative peace in a thousand year war. Canon's hotter cousin. Not currently explicit but plans to potentially get there

Frayed Knots (ongoing, 20 chps) The place where all the scenes I thought would go in TTB but didn't wind up. Some one offs, some deleted scenes. A mixed bag of spicy adult stuff and just fun character exploration. Iirc spicy chapters are marked as such

Dasi High (abandoned, 4 chps) Highschool AU of Maeve and Kiesha and Co, if their story was on the CW

Forbidden Skies (ongoing, 4 chps) Crossover with Forbidden Game. Julian is a falcon and Jenny and co are avians and serpiente. Basically FB's chars and plot cosplaying as K'r

Forbidden Game

Forbidden Skies, see above

Holy Fire (one off) A sort of song fic where Zach thinks way too hard about Jenny and tries to become a magician

Hearts Desires (complete, 4 chps) Still playing with Zach the magician, this one is meant to be a fairly short exploration of magic/runes, Zach's obsession with Jenny, his inability to readjust after the game, and coming out to himself. And tree sex. It's a weird one.

Summer Therapy character study (one off) exploring her massively underdeveloped character a bit

Unpublished pre-canon Jenny thing where she's kind of aware of something (Julian) watching her at night (spicy, pester me about it if you're interested)

Longer descriptions under the cut

Ties that Bind: A queer, polyamorous, Romeo and Juliet with shapeshifters set on a backdrop of the first tentative peace in a thousand year war. Anticipated f/f, m/m, and many other shapes of m/f/m and/or f/m/f, potentially kinky if I ever get it there. Also potentially ace/qpr stuff if I can ever figure out my MC and what is true in this fic vs what belongs in side projects. Canon's hotter cousin with more magic, more setting development, A LOT more romance, and a distant relation to the original in the way that Vaporeon resembles Eevee. It wants to still fit in canon's clothes but really needs to admit its grown too big for that.

This is the big one. I realized revisiting my favorite childhood series that the big epic romance I always remembered was mostly in my head. So I decided to get it out of my head and onto paper. That is... not what happened XD It follows the basic Romeo/Julietness of Hawksong, but I decided to really explore the world and characters and so made a lot of executive decisions bc there actually isn't that much about the world/characters in the original. It's diverged wildly, spiraled out of control into a 30+ chapters novel (lets be honest) and isn't ending any time soon. It's the one I most want to work on so send me asks and encouragement about it so I can get working on it again :P

Basically, Zane and Danica are still deeply dedicated to peace. They think the idea of getting married to achieve it is ridiculous, but they're desperate enough to keep it on the back burner. Dani gets to know Zane (and Adelina) as friends. She explores her relationship with Rei. She struggles with bureaucracy and a well-meaning mother that doesn't always support her in the way she needs. Also there's a bit more magic, a lot more setting, and a bunch of characters I kinda made up to help flesh things out (hello Vasili's made up cousin). Current plans include finishing it with some sort of marriage, but I haven't decided if Zanica is endgame or not (the dynamic currently in the lead in my head is Dani takes Adelina as her Alistair, Zane takes Rei as his Nag, and the four of them all kinda co-rule. We'll see. Everyone is going to kiss everyone else before its done that's for sure)

Frayed Knots (ongoing, 20 chps) The place where all the scenes I thought would go in TTB but didn't wind up. Some one offs, some deleted scenes. A mixed bag of spicy adult stuff and just fun character exploration. Iirc spicy chapters are marked as such Current offerings include: abandoned TTB starts, some BDSM scenes with Z/D/R/A, Dani getting herself off and thinking too hard, an alternative Snakecharm opening from Kel's POV, some Oliza stuff, some Marus/Urban stuff, and some Dasi High stuff. Really, Frayed Knots is a great place to start if you wanna read TTB but are kind of intimidated by its scope. Most FK entries are 1-3 chapters. A sampler platter of my nonsense basically :P

Dasi High (abandoned, 4 chps) Kiesha and Co Highschool AU, basically what if the Dasi was a show on the CW. A fun idea, but not actually my cup of tea. Would probably be more fun to ramble about in discord than actually write

Forbidden Skies (ongoing, 4 chps) Crossover with Forbidden Game. Julian is a falcon and Jenny and co are avians and serpiente. Basically FB's chars and plot cosplaying as K'r. I really loved the idea, but I don't know if it grabbed me enough to make want to wrestle it into submission like I do TTB. With TTB, I don't know the story yet, so I can trick myself into working on it bc I wanna know what happens. With FS, I know what my intended plot will be, so this one would need a lot of outside hype to get me working on it again. But I think it could be really really cool if I did. If this crossover sounds like your cup of tea, pester me for more

Forbidden Game

Forbidden Skies, see above

Holy Fire (one off, post canon what if) A sort of song fic where Zach thinks way too hard about Jenny and tries to become a magician. I have these ideas about Jenny half light faerie, hence Julians obsession with her. In this fic, Zach is trying to learn magic to protect Julian so FB doesn't happen again. He winds up getting the attention of a light faerie, who tasks him with being Jenny's knight until they're ready to come bring her home. Basically, the song Holy Fire by Seeming wouldn't leave me alone one day and this fell out.

Hearts Desires (complete, 4 chps, post canon what if) Still playing with Zach the magician, this one is meant to be a fairly short exploration of magic/runes, Zach's obsession with Jenny, his inability to readjust after the game, and coming out to himself. And tree sex. It's a weird one. Basically, I woke up one morning with the ending of it circling around in my head, wrote that, and am now trying to build up the beginning so the ending has anything to jump off of for impact.

Summer Therapy Char Exploration (one off) Listen. I want summer to be a character. I want anything for her. I want her to have gone through some shit (she fucking died!!!! it doesn't matter if the plot undid it, SHE DIED. That should matter!!!!). Kind of a run up to the idea that she might ever be the one in LJ's abandoned sequel Rematch! to carve Julian's name back on the stave of life.

Unpublished pre-canon Jenny thing where she's kind of aware of something (Julian) watching her at night (spicy, pester me about it if you're interested) This one I do have plans to publish, I just need to get it (and myself) ready to show to the world. It asks the question "What if Jenny kinda like the idea of feeling watched all the time and deliberately got off for her imagined (or so she thinks) Shadowman?"

[tmos-time]

hi, I've always loved your erisol work!!! You have such a lovely way of drawing a softer Eridan, and I love how you draw Sollux's flicked out hair!

I saw a post where you mentioned voidrot, could you please explain it, or possibly link to the information?

I imagine it was explained in the games, but whooo boy (please imagine me leaning against a wooden saloon bar) that is igniting some motivation for writing some erisol that I haven't had in a long time, if it is what I can only assume from your beautiful artwork it might be 8D

AWWW this is so sweet of you to say anon <33 or should i say (and please imagine me cleaning out a saloon glass with a rag) a mighty fine thing for you to say anon LOL

you are right that its in the games; it's mentioned in (kuprum and) folykl's friendsim route!

--Now that you’re closer, you notice that Folykl doesn’t actually have eyes. It looks both creepy and painful. [...] KUPRUM: >LOL KUPRUM: >goddamn idiot doesnt know a case of voidrot when they see it KUPRUM: >have you never met a goldblood before FOLYKL: voidrot means     my body doesn’t    retain energy like it’s    supposed to  FOLYKL: just look it up    on goregle FOLYKL: it means     i’m dying    constantly          all the time

and to be honest, besides the added bit that folykl saps psionic energy, i don't believe anything else has been said on this! for me, this was mainly a confirmation that blind sollux is supposed to have physically lost his eyes after the infamous murderstuck duel; it could turn out that voidrot occurs any time a psionics eyes go out, or it could be a different situation entirely in sollux's case, but its clear that folykl is tied very close to sollux in how she's been made to flesh out the gold caste worldbuilding. i mean, fuck, look at her concept art, that is the most "this is just sollux again" troll i have ever seen LOL. if she physically has no eyes, its a pretty solid case that sollux is intended to physically not have eyes while blind too

regardless; i like sticking to my guns and like to headcanon that a blinded sollux is not necessarily a sollux with voidrot; i think he has to keep a balance on regulating his power usage to not get psionic build up or psionic burn out, and if he burns out he can't see until his body naturally builds up his energy stock again. i think it just fits nicer! makes him going half blind feel a lot more easy to wrap around for my head at least; for ME, i'd think you'd expect sollux's dead eye to be a lot brighter if its just ghost eye light letting him sort of see again not being held in a physical eyeball, instead of his eyeball just suddenly coming back lol

either way; its fun worldbuilding to play with! it gives sollux a bit of a natural re-balancing to how damn powerful he is as a psionic if he really has to watch to not injure himself as much as any physical weight lifter

[revivisection]

cosmas abortion in this post i talk about cosmas' abortion. and stuff about transition and surgery.

cosmas is very attached to his body parts, obviously he does some body modding with the tattoos (and he had pierced ears once) but he doesn't do anything to remove or replace them if it's not absolutely necessary (and that's why he still has his shitty lungs when the game starts). he is very far from the tech priest "flesh is weak" ideology lol, but that attachment carries over to his prosthetics too once he gets used to them.

he's also done a lot of hands on experimenting before figuring out his preferences, so things like piv and intimacy with women are things he's tried before finding that he's not into them. so it's not so out there to think that cosmas could have had unsafe sex and gotten pregnant at some point when he was still young (timeline wise i don't think he would've figured out the gender thing yet at that point). well i don't think it went quite as simply or nicely as "had unsafe sex" but yknow

of course. he is aborting that thang. it's both an abortion and a hysterectomy he got that 2 for 1 deal. even if he was in a position to carry a baby to term at that time without worrying about safety or resources he just wouldn't want to. can't attest to the safety of any surgical procedure done in an underhive but i'm sure he could find someone to do it. and he doesn’t die from any sort of complications because he’s the main character 👍

character wise, i think it makes sense, sort of ties together the vision i had for him. i've always conceptualized him as having had a hysterectomy, like pretty much as soon as i decided he was trans i also decided he did NOT have a uterus anymore. but the "attached to his body parts" thing was a newer realization, and when i was pondering whether cosmas abortion was going to be real or not i realized that it was more in line with his character if he got an organ removed due to some sort of pressing issue rather than just deciding he wanted to. because maybe if he never got pregnant he never would've had enough reason/motivation to get that hysto.

anyways this is probably also part of why he's non-op for his top. he's not had reason enough for a mastectomy, he likes them fine enough, and he's already tattooed them anyway. the only operation that he's done just because he wanted it was the phalloplasty (+ vaginectomy), so, he felt really strongly about having a dick. tits? fine, can be hidden pretty easily, don't get that in the way. pussy? gets VERY in the way of how he wants to have sex, gets very in the way of how he conceptualizes himself as a man.

thematically, ideologically, cosmas is very much a sort of free will choice guy (funny considering his control issues). obviously you can see how that can be connected to abortion. there's also stuff there about rejecting conventions and being a bad imperial citizen, one of those things you're expected to do is to have children to keep the imperium going, so not only not doing that but removing your ability to ever do that just feels like it all ties together yknow. like it only strengthens those ideas present within his character.

while we're on the topic, he does still have his ovaries, but like, nothing's ever going to be done with them. he hasn't had a period since he was in his 20s. hypothetically he could make a biological test tube heir but like he doesn't have reason to, it's not necessary, and he wouldn't want to. they're just there to make sure his body is not without any kind of sex hormones if for any reason he's not getting any t. considering the link between osteoporosis and menopause and the thing about being a voidborn on planet gravity i hope he's taking care of his bone health.

[deadrlngers]

pspspspspps may we hear more about fenix's phantom limb syndrome and also the other things you listed in that post i am Intrigued and Looking Directly At You and Making Grabby Hands

HI HELLO. sorry it took a bit to answer my brain refused to connect akdjsksj i tried to not make this too long!!

let's start with a quick lore point reminder: fenix is missing two of his fingers (ring and little finger) and a good chunk of his right hand. it wasn't at all a clean cut, tancred basically blowed it up and then left him nearly dying of blood loss

he couldn't exactly afford a good cyberhand to take the place of what he lost and in the chaos of the moment he didn't really care, nor he was completely conscious, so he let the ripperdoc do whatever they could manage for the cheapest price (which made fenix end up in debt with the guy and is also the reason why he began the bounty hunter career and other shady jobs).

his body rejected almost instantly the cyberware, scar tissue kept growing which lead to pain and inflammation which also lead to the inability to move the cyberfingers at all. the implant was basically all loss and zero gain since he couldn't really use it. the same ripperdoc (i really need to name them tbh) offered help tho, not out of the kindness of their heart but out of greed, a way to keep fenix tied to him. it was never 'enough help', just what he needed to claim he was helping fenix but never enough to actually solve the problem, and in the process making fenix's debt grow and grow indefinitely. fenix knew it, the ripperdoc knew it, it was all a big never ending cycle that fenix broke only by killing this guy. you can keep a dog on a leash like that only for so long before it bites back

so basically fenix could barely use his right hand (he's ambidextrous out of necessity, he learned how to use his left hand like it was his right), the pain was insistent and it led him to overuse medication at times. at first, since the pain was almost constant, he didn't register part of that pain was given by the phantom limb syndrome, it was just pain to him. when he sorts out his problem with the implant, and finally sees a good ripperdoc and gets some good cyberware, he realises that the pain didn't exactly stop.

he'd describe his pain as throbbing, on good days, sometimes it feels like a twisting sensation, he can almost ignore it if he keeps himself busy enough. on bad days it's like a stabbing pain, an ache that stills his whole hand, if it gets bad enough he can barely close his fingers, even the ones that are still made of flesh. his hand shakes, like he has tremors, and the fact he has barely any power to stop it makes him more frustrated, more angry, which also makes the symptoms more severe.

this leads me to my next point which is his mental state. when all of this happens, at the highest point of the problem, fenix's life is basically a mess. emotional pain or stress, everything he keeps inside, it all reflects on his hand. as mentioned up here, it's all linked. emotional stress leads to pain which leads to fenix losing his temper which leads to more stress and to more pain which leads to the use of medication to lessen the pain. in a way he used it to 'keep quiet' other things. his emotional pain, his mind and so on, he was convinced it helped, it numbed everything. that's what he convinced himself of

things get a lil better with time and all, i guess i could take in consideration the fact it's the Future lmao so i guess maybe there's smth like a surgery you can do on nerves to help or maybe stop altogether the symptoms that is 100% effective (or like 80% idk)

fenix has a few lasting tics tho, out of habit i guess as well. he tends to flex his fingers a lot, mostly the cyber ones, while he tends to click..? what's the word when the bones of your fingers do a lil pop u know? he tends to do that when he thinks or when his brain is just, lost asjfhskf empty, staring at the wall type of thing. smth else he does a lot is rubbing his thumb on the palm of his cyberhand, around the fingers or rub his knuckles. you know when you press on a sore spot to lessen a bit the discomfort? that's it basically, but in fenix's case it's not really helpful since it's all cold metal so it's not having any actual effect. he does it as if he still had flesh there, it clears his mind

since i also mentioned vesper on that post, i'll give her a lil point as well

on vesper's side we have problems with her sight. she's a boxer, ex boxer by 2077, and that comes with a price usually. basically what she goes through is retinal detachment, the damage was progressive, she should've acted the second she knew smth was wrong but..well she was a poor nobody trying to make a living by beating the shit out of ppl. she couldn't exactly afford it. ofc things worsen with time, blurred vision, BAD vision, and so on so forth. at the worst point, she could barely see with her left eye during the morning and saw nothing at all at night. things weren't starting to go well for her right one as well. the clear choice here was getting some optics or smth but the thing was pricey and her income came from the cause of the problem. she should've stopped boxing, and she will, but at that time the only way was keep going. this is basically why vesper ends up doing merc jobs as well, fenix convinced her as he took her along on his own jobs. kind of a subtle way to say hey..you could do this instead of that (plus she was useful akfjsk). not that merc life is any easier, but it was better than what she had at the moment. things end up well in the end since vesper gets her super cool kiroshis but yea, it was a difficult moment to navigate

[osovereign]

❝ ☆ — KNIGHT OF RATATOSK.

my blog takes place over six thousand years after the events of tales of symphonia / knight of ratatosk and two thousand years post-tales of phantasia ( which is four thousand years post-tales of symphonia itself ): i am someone who did not like knight of ratatosk or what it did towards the main cast of tales of symphonia, but as far as lore / world building this is what my blog considers truth in relation to kratos' canon.

to begin ratatosk is a being as old, if not older than life on aselia itself ( still younger than noishe ): the next centurion spirits are ( in the order of creation by ratatosk ): tenebrae ( darkness ), lumen ( light ) solum ( earth ), aqua ( water ), ventus ( wind ), ignis ( fire ), glacies ( ice ), and, tonitus ( lighting ): ratatosk himself was a being created by the summon spirits, specifically origin. while, they do not control mana for the world they do serve the purpose of controlling the monsters that embody their chosen element. unlike summon spirits, centurion exist in another realm, that is outside the reach of regular aselians and their original purpose was to be used as messengers on behalf of the respective summon spirit they serve under, to humanity.

in terms of the power level of the centurion, they are far weaker than kratos in his current highly evolved state ( as each of the summon spirits, including origin and maxwell bestowed upon them 25% of their power each, but that was a rough estimate as summon spirits are mana itself and their powess cannot be tied to the human scale of understanding ): yet, it can be stated that kratos is stronger than any other being on aselia. his only rival being noishe ( once he fully finishes his evolution ): and very much on par with maxwell, specifically as his incarnation, milla maxwell.

the ginnungagap, is sealed off. maxwell and the other summon spirits placed a concealment spell upon it and its guardians upholding that spell the centurion spirits--they do not and have no control over regulating mana--that is solely the job of the summon spirits, each serving as a personal assistant to their respective summon element. the only other way into the ginnungagap is through the usage of, niflheim, the only other link into the world of demons. however, the book is in kratos' possession. before his return to aselia many years ago it had been entrusted in the care and protection of the sage siblings and then later, their chosen descendants.

emil has never really existed. the person known as emil was simply a cover and/or spilt personality for aster ( who's soul still managed to survive the possession and lay dormant inside of ratatosk while he used aster's original body as a host of sorts ): however, ratatosk is fully suppressing it. thus, making the weakling known as emil and from this 'emil's eyes are always red': for either 'personality' cover is still ratatosk. think of it as using any means to gain the upper hand in any situation.

in regards to the game's end and the choices given: 'emil' slays himself. serving as both a way to cut all ties and contact with marta and allowing him to just exist as ratatosk once more ( in doing so, it manages to spilt aster’s soul from himself and allows himself to be sealed along with ritcher ): the two of them directly act as spiritual medium between the centurion spirits, the summon spirits, and kratos. aster and ritcher live within the ginnungagap’s one-off pocket dimension crafted by origin. a special shoutout to @/asterites who let me info dump and traded ideas about this while on discord lol so i could finally flesh out some more world building ♡

[flightlessribbons]

Wanted to write this earlier, but here's some thought process stuff for this post! Under the cut 👍

- also for initial research, I referenced @queenofgravyfries YouTube video on this here, as well as this online japanese mythos compendium here-very grateful for them both!

- I know the original show seemed to have a few different influences outside of japanese mythology stuff, like with the land of the shadows, and some Chinese creatures shown, but I wanted to condense it moreso to mainly japanese mythology.

- The Mesoamerican influences in the land of shadows and quezecoatl are still kept in this AU, but it's difference in aesthetic and culture are pointed out and hold purpose in the narrative. Though the influences here are moreso tied to the past instead of something going on in the present.

- The yokai guardians of the gate are based off the creatures in Evil Spirit Week's storyboard as opposed to the actual episode. I did replace the taotie with the japanese yokai namazu, as I needed to assign yokai with the elements the ninja uses, and there wasn't one that could be associated with earth. I planned to tie it with a swamp area due to the swamp's prevalence in the show- and Booray along with it. Fun fact: I completely forgot Booray's first name was Catfish, and only remembered it AFTER I put him in Namazu's realm, so I made it a fun little joke!

- Also, I know my way of characterizing Randy might not be very in character when compared to his show version, but my AU's Randy has been raised around ninja stuff his whole life, as well as being the ninja himself for nearly a decade! (Started when he was 14, is 23 in the present) so he's not really learning on the job like canon Randy. As well as spending a significant time of his life in the temple or Nomicon, he's used to the vague ninja wisdom, and has a steady support group in the ninja business. Though his canon nativité isn't as present, I try my best to make an older version, but still chaotic, version of our boy!

- I do have a lot of lore stuff planned, though the way I'll present a lot of this AU just like all my other fandom AU'S is by making little snippets of scenes and lore. I don't think I'll be writing snippets compared to like my POKEVERSE, so my guess is mostly content via some sort of comic or notes, like this post.

- The yokai were some of my favorite parts of this! I spent a long time combing through the online japanese mythology site I linked above, and I was able to flesh out more of the realism because of it! It was important to me to have a few yokai that were unique to each realm, and more who traverse through all the different realms. The ones drawn on this post aren't the only ones I have written down as realm locals.

- All the guardians have at least two different forms, like a more humanoid form to a more draconic form etc.

- The ocean realm does have islands, and was inspired by the detention island. The mcfreaks do exist in this universe! The realms were inspired largely by their guardians too.

- Theresa's become a really important character in the lore! Ended up giving her a lot of family drama I didn't plan when I first made her, but I like how it's coming along so far! Crumbs of foreshadowing if you squint, but happy hunting!

Anyways, that's all I have for this post, and thank you for any interest and kind words for this AU! Much love! ❤️

Randy's journal notes about the realms! Just wanted to finish this before I slept, so I'll reblog it tomorrow again to add some behind the scenes thoughts and reasonings under a cut! ❤️

[ariiluvsyou]

|♡| Mood |♡|

Amajiki Tamaki x F!Reader [ALTHOUGH MADE WITH A FEMALE READER IN MIND, THIS POST DOES NOT CONTAIN ANY GENDER SPECIFIC QUALITIES REGUARDING READER]

Description: Every once in a while Tamaki got into these sort of...moods. He’d wake up slightly agitated, hungry, needy, and worst of all incredibly horny. However, as his girlfriend your always ready and willing to tend to his needs. 

Rating: Smut

Disclaimer: Edging, Begging, Teasing, Handjob, (slight) Oral (m. receiving), Established Realationship

Word Count: 838 Links: Masterlist,  Ask Me Anything,  Tag List

“Y-Y/N! Y/N please, please!”

 You could only laugh at the sight before you, your boyfriend's hands tied up to the headboard, tears welling in the corner of his eyes, hips squirming as he tried to chase the pleasure your hand gave him, it was all too much. 

"What is it Tama? 'M just helping you out," you teased, giving the head of his achy cock a squeeze which had his hips stuttering. You had been edging Tamaki for close to an hour now turning him into a mess before your eyes, when he called you practically begging for you to come to help him cum you just couldn't resist. After all, a desperate Tamaki meant it was your chance to cease control.

 You would stroke his poor leaking dick until his muscles started spasming and his words became incomprehensible through his moans, key signs to look for when it came to know if your boyfriend was going to finish. "Please let me cum, please, I can't take it," Tamaki whined as you pulled your hand away from him once more as he came close to sweet release causing his hips to jerk in the air in an attempt to push him over the edge to no avail. He had fisted himself to the thought of you almost all day without having a satisfying release, what made him think he could cum without you now? 

"I dunno, you've been real snappy today, what's wrong huh? I think work stress is catching up on you, poor baby, all pent up." You lean down to be eye-level with his pink tip, blowing cool air on the scalding flesh that had his dick twitching.

 "Oh god, I need you to touch me, it hurts so much, 'm so hard" Tamaki attempted to raise his hips again to encourage you to take him in your mouth but you were quick to push his hips down onto the mattress.

 "No Tama, you gotta wait." Your maneuvers were still teasing, providing small shocks of pleasure to the man below you who was whining. He was so sensitive that even the gentle trail of your hand at his thigh sent shivers down his spine. 

"But I've been waiting! I'm sorry I was rude, I'll be good just, please! Fuck my— ah!" His head fell back when he felt your small tongue lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, making sure to place a soft kiss on the sensitive head. It in no way satisfied his craving but compared to your past frugal touches the change had him desperate for more. 

You weren't truly mad at Tamaki, your boyfriend was not great at dealing with his emotions, his anxiety and triggers often played a significant role in his actions, so he tended to have mood swings here and there whenever life outside the home became too hectic. Just some dry responses and harsh slams of the door mixed in with his usual well-mannered attitude, nothing you were truly offended by, but you couldn't help but tease him.

"Really? You'll go back to being my good boy?" Your words leave his face a shade of red, clumsily attempting to hide his expression although his arms did nothing to obscure his face since they were restricted. Tamaki loved when you called him that, when your voice became gentle and full of praise, it was his favorite feeling.

"Yes, I promise!" He said enthusiastically, slowly turning to get a peak at your face plastered with a smile, cheek leaning on the flesh of his heavy cock. Tamaki swore at that moment the sight alone was enough for him to cum. 

Your soft lips wrapped gently around the pulsing red head, your tonguing softly dragging around the sensitive slit getting a taste of the pre that was drooling out. Tamaki cried out, clawing at the sheets below him as tears spilled out of his eyes. He'd been craving this for so long.

His orgasm built quickly, hot flashes of pleasure hitting him hard as for the nth time today he was on edge, but this time he was hopeful he would finally get to experience the bliss, to see his cum drip down your face and watch you lick it off your palms, to see you kiss his dick as it softened, to feel himself twitch and curse from the pleasure that would have his eyes rolling back, the feeling that only you could cause. Every action was lined up perfectly, your hot wet mouth gently suckling his sensitive skin, your hand gently stroking him at the base, the other being used to caress his balls.

Yes, this was the moment he was waiting for. Until you snatched it away slapping his thigh so it left a pretty mark in the shape of your hand and using your body weight to hold him down as he shook from the sudden loss of pleasure. 

"I don't believe you, Tamaki. Prove to me you'll be good for me." 

Authors Note: (*_ _)人 I BEG FOR YOUR FORGIVNESS!! Sorry for beeing gone so long, but I CAM BACK TO ALMOST 500 FOLLOWERS?!11!? THANK YOU SO MUCH!! I cannot express how happy I am! And thanks for all the love on Muscles!! ITS GOTTEN SO MUCH LOVE <333 Does this mean you guys would be interested in more SFW options? Please let me know!!  CYA SOON (❤ω❤) Links: Masterlist,  Ask Me Anything, Tag List

Tag List: @katscki, @libidinous-weeb, @1-800-mocha, @krmtwnw, @loving-katsuki

[ganymedesclock]

also i was curious, after browsing your meta MANY times (because i love your zelda meta so much!), what's your thought about Calamity Ganon? the game as a whole heavily encourages the idea that the man we knew as ganondorf is GONE and there's a tragic loss of the man he used to be, just a corrupted victim of demise's spite, but there's just as much to indicate that ganondorf is deliberately obfuscating his nature, and he simply sees no reason to be a schemer at the moment?

See my hot take on Calamity Ganon (before I get back to meme replies) is that it's an external manifestation; Calamity Ganon and the Blights are sort of puppet avatars that Ganondorf, the person, is speaking through. They always made me think of ghosts- something distorted but unmistakably recreating a form, an identity- and something is watching you through all of them.

The four blights are tailored assassins. They have prescience and calculation to them, and they use this prescience to attack you. This gets even more so when the big man Clamgan is revealed properly- there's just something about the way he swings his head around to stare at Link the first time that feels injected with almost as much personality as "Oh, it's you," from GLaDOS in Portal 2.

So if their intention was to write a Ganondorf who's completely gone and lost, barely the shambles of a person, I feel like, uh, they failed. Instead, they're giving the sense of a ghost dragging itself out from under the floorboards, especially since if you look at Rhoam's story, at the same time he starts talking about the calamity as a mindless monster, he states without pointing it out that Clamgan specifically outsmarted and manipulated all of the factors that were used to hunt him before.

The Guardians? Turned to his favor.

The Divine Beasts? Again, tailored assassins to isolate the champions.

Advancing from without met an army? He crawls out from underneath Hyrule Castle (which. okay. BotW2's trailer suggests this maybe wasn't his goal, but a coincidence of the location of his prison- but he turned it into a hell of a sneak attack)

Like... he is scheming. Both in a practical sense and in a sense that's distressingly emotionally personal. His various manifestations all have red hair- they're all these attempts at pulling himself back together. It's depersonalized, but in the way that a horror ghost is depersonalized- the self is abstracted, rotted, and yet, enduring. The creepy thing about the Malice to me isn't that it's just hunks of autonomous flesh growing all over- it's that they used eyes- one of the most ubiquitous marks in legend of zelda- and made it that for reasons that are only ever implied to you, the entire setting is watching your progress.

A friend of mine even had a disturbing take that it's possible the Guardians are running default patrol routes only because Zelda is partly sabotaging Ganondorf's control over them- because we see evidence in the past that before Zelda's seal went down, they converged on specific targets. Which, again- BotW is a game where Link literally died, and Zelda almost died- in the Age of Calamity side game they emphasize this further.

The allegedly mindless Calamity recognizes specific people and is trying to get rid of them as quickly as possible. I don't think it's obfuscation- I think it's propaganda and denial- possibly even denial of something Rhoam knows about the situation that he won't tell us- that frames Calamity Ganon as a force of nature, rather than anything that has a reason to be tied to the royal family- or any echo of a person the royal family wronged and buried.

So I'd argue he's totally scheming, he's just scheming with- implicitly- limited resources stuck in a box acting through whatever puppets he can steal and placing horrible flesh homunculi in key places.

[thorn-amidst-roses]

Sooooooooooo Tenya finding a way to revive the Lesser Elemental Dragon that inadvertently saved his life actually shook a lot of things loose...

Long post.

So, quick recap on the Dragon thing, when Tenya got “killed” and his husband stashed his body in the Pile Of Kind Of Dead Beings That I Have Loved, the almost-but-not-quite-dead-yet Lesser Elemental Dragon kind of...leaked Essence onto his not-fully-corpse, which over time revitalized Tenya who pulled a Came Back Different.

His Essence network was permanently changed to favor Wood, which gave him a built-in, insurmountable weakness to Fire...which had previously been the element he most aligned with. After 150 years, he finally came home changed - softer, less fighty, and while he was grateful to be alive (and of course, his husband was very pleasantly surprised as well), it sparked a whole crisis of identity.

Nonetheless he kept on keeping on as best as he could and tried to just sort of...bury his internal issues because there was work to be done. Additionally, the Wood Essence was kind of piling up internally because he wasn’t naturally the kind of creature that could process it as natively as a freaking Elemental Dragon can, so as a side project he started regularly going back to his husband’s pile of Kind of Dead Beings That I Have Loved and giving the excess back to the Dragon that had inadvertently revived him.

...well, eventually (and very recently), the Dragon woke up.

Since the two of them have been basically swapping life force for a century and a half, there’s now a link there. All the weird biological and emotional shit tied to that sort of exploded, Tenya’s years of bottled-up stress resurfaced, and basically he ran off to Chiaroscuro to go find Tamuz (Ma-Ha is great, but sometimes you need a more Eldery-Elder, and for that...Tamuz lol).

Tamuz did a “okay normally I wouldn’t have time for your shit but damn bitch you’re looking rough and we kind of owe you and Ma-Ha for turning the internet back on” and agreed to take him in for awhile to help sort things out.

Courtesy of Tamuz picking apart all of the stress from the Came Back Different, the link to the Dragon, and a whole general “but who is Tenya, really?”, Tenya returned home with a few significant changes:

1. He is no longer rapidly changing between a Full Moon and a No Moon, and has settled (presumably permanently) as a Half Moon. The working theory was that this was his intended Aspect all along, but being one of the ‘lost’ Aspects, he wouldn’t have been able to get to it without Tamuz guiding him.

2. The Wood Essence has regulated. He still favors it heavily, but its effects on his emotions have been brought to heel, and he’s finally feeling like himself again. He now sees himself as a complete and separate person rather than a  weird attache to his husband.

3. Uh incidentally he can turn into a Battle Tree. We have the Dragon to thank for this, most likely.

4. His spirit shape has been identified to not quite be just “a goat”. We use a homebrew system where all Lunars start out with a basic shape, but as they discover themselves and their Essence, it can be further identified as a specific, semi-divine entity. In his case:

Aranyakumara, The Forest’s Heart

“A beauteous beast of fang and horn, at once an arsenal of woe but at the same time the peace of the dark jungle.  Birds gather in the branches of its great crown even as sapblood gathers and pools to stream down the trunks of horn, nourishing the earth as new growth breaks bare soil.  Deep amber eyes show kindness and a noble consideration, but the bloodied muzzle promises an awful end for any who would force the baring of fangs.

Blood and sap pulse within the beast like thundering falls, felt in the spirit.  There is a finality in it, otherworldly like the dark unspoiled heart of the jungle, the spirit of the forest father given flesh.  Those I shelter shall grow strong of my sap, those who challenge me will become blood under my horns.  A truth not spoken from the lips of man or beast, but echoed out as a very law of the world and Creation on wind and rumbling earth.”

...aesthetically, it’s a kirin. Goat-wolf-dragon.

Sometimes, chimaerism...pays? 😂

[arya-skywalker]

Monsters and Men (Sanders Sides Fanfic)

A Dukexiety Oneshot with powers

Summary: Virgil gets kidnapped by a gang, but finds an unlikely ally. Together they uncover secrets and try to escape before it’s too late.

Notes: Thanks to the TSS Fanworks Collective for brainstorming, especially fangirl, Losty, and Helena.

TWs: torture, threats, violence, kidnapping, people treated as weapons, brief innuendos, swearing

AO3 Link

(Fic under read more)

Virgil stirred, then froze when he realized he couldn’t fucking move. He felt ropes around his wrists and legs. His eyes flew open. He was in a cell, a block of concrete, tied to a metal chair.

“My, my, look who’s finally awake,” the man in front of him drawled. “You’ve been poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“I didn’t see anything. I didn’t know it was your territory, or whatever,” Virgil said, his throat dry and heart beating way too fast. “Just let me go, and we can forget this ever happened.”

The man clicked his tongue. “No, no. You need to learn your lesson,” he said. “Then we’ll see.”

“I’ll teach him,” another man said, taking a step closer. He had a ridiculous mustache— which didn’t take away from the fact that he looked like he could easily snap a man in two. “If you want me to.”

The first man smirked. “Look at you, Remus. Good boy.” He gestured to Virgil. “Go on. Have fun with him.”

Mustache-man— Remus— scurried over to the chair. “Cute little emo. Let’s hear you scream....” He trailed a finger along Virgil’s hand— which felt like a knife digging into his flesh.

Virgil gasped and looked down, but there was no blood, no mark. “What the hell?” he snarled.

Remus grinned. “You like that, little emo?” He shoved the hoodie sleeve up and gripped Virgil’s arm tightly.

Pain. Pulsing pain wherever the man’s hand touched. Virgil clenched his jaw. “Actually not into it, thanks,” he spat.

Remus giggled. “Oooh spicy!”

“I’ll leave you to it,” the first man said. “Best get some results soon.” The door slammed behind him once he left.

Remus waited until the man was clearly gone, then cocked his head to the side, expression suddenly more serious. “You know you really should do what he says. Grovel at his feet, even. It’ll save you a lot of pain.”

“Fuck that,” Virgil retorted.

“Nah, you don’t wanna fuck him. It’s not as fun as it looks. His cock is—“

“Gross, dude. Not what I meant!”

Remus cackled. “You’re fun! I like you already. You got a name?”

“Not one I’m telling you.”

Remus shrugged. “Well, I’m Remus! If you didn’t catch that.” He scratched his chin, then moved behind Virgil.

“Don’t care.” Virgil stayed utterly still, feeling the man’s breath at his neck. “What are you doing back th—“ Sharp pain in the middle of his back cut him off with a strangled cry.

“Aww that’s not very nice of you...”

The pain moved slowly upwards to his neck. “S-sorry that I don’t wanna be nice... to my fucking torturer,” Virgil ground out.

Remus stopped whatever he was doing. “You think this is torture?” He snickered. “We’re just getting warmed up!”

More pain along his back like some sort of twisted massage. Virgil grimaced. “Really? Is that so?”

“Mmhmm! I can do way worse things to you!” Remus giggled again. “Like plucking out all your pretty eyelashes and making a paintbrush out of them to paint abstract interpretations of your screams!”

“Awww you think I’m pretty, thanks,” Virgil replied with a smirk, shoving down his revulsion. “But I doubt eyelashes would make great brushes.”

“Or I’ll g-note you so hard you’ll never be able to listen to your favorite emo music without thinking of this,” Remus said, sending a other burst of pain.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Virgil snarled.

Remus hummed. “You don’t really need this hoodie, do you?”

Virgil’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Please don’t.”

Remus moved in front of him again and tilted his head to the side. “Huh. I guess you do! Why? It’s just a piece of fabric!”

Virgil swallowed, but said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. Trying to explain would only make the hoodie sound more valuable, which would make it more likely to be used against him.

Remus stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okie we’ll leave it one piece. I just gotta get to your skin, so I can reach under, no biggie.” He moved behind Virgil again.

The pain started once more, but this time it lingered in one spot, growing stronger and more intense by the second until it was too much to possibly ignore.

Virgil screamed as he felt something exploding from inside himself what the fuck. Darkness filling the room. A thud and a grunt as Remus hit the wall.

“What the fuck?!” Both of them exclaimed at once.

Virgil shuddered and tried to even his breathing. “You still alive back there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve had worse,” Remus retorted, moving to be in Virgil’s line of sight. “Has that happened to you before?”

Virgil shook his head quickly. “No, never. What the hell was that?”

Remus was silent for a long moment, staring at him. “If I had to guess, I’d say the pain and stress triggered your powers. Lucky you.”

“P-Powers?”

“Mmhmm!”

“I don’t have powers.”

Remus laughed. “You got a better explanation for your shadow throwing me at the wall?”

Virgil bit his lip. “… No?”

“Then congrats! You got powers!” Remus clapped his hands.

Virgil shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Remus shrugged. “I’m no scientist, dunno how it works, but it’s the truth.”

“Whatever.”

A few minutes later, the door opened with a loud clang and the man from before strode inside. “How’s our new friend doing, hm?” he asked with a smirk.

Virgil glared at him. “Fuck off.”

“Still wearing down on him, boss,” Remus said, head down. “It’ll take time—“

The boss slapped him across the face. “You useless piece of shit!”

Remus flinched and stumbled back, but made no attempt to fight back.

The boss shoved him to the floor and kicked him. “If someone with the smallest degree of competency were working on him, he’d be long broken. What is taking you so long?”

Remus grunted, but made no attempt to stand. “S-sorry, sir. I... I’ll pick up the pace.”

The boss kicked him some more, then tugged him up by his hair. “If you don’t break him by dawn tomorrow, I will make you both scream so hard you won’t be able to speak for days. Is that clear?”

Remus winced. “Crystal clear, sir,” he said quietly.

The boss punched him. “Speak up, rat.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus said, louder.

“Good.” The boss dropped him.

Remus fell into a heap on the floor and didn’t move until after the door slammed shut once more. He coughed a few times and sat up.

Virgil stared at him. “What the hell was that?”

“That was me covering your ass, you’re welcome.” Remus flashed a crooked grin.

“But... why? You volunteered to do this shit. If you told him what happened, you wouldn’t have gotten your ass handed to you.”

“It’s kinda expected of me. To do the hurting and shit. Powers aren’t useful for much else.” Remus shrugged, looking away and rubbing his face. “If boss-man found out about you having powers, he’d run you ragged. Turn you into a weapon. A monster.” He added in a barely-audible voice, “A monster like me.”

The silence stretched between them.

“What did they do to you?” Virgil asked hesitantly.

Remus laughed, a shrill mirthless sound. “What didn’t they do is the question,” he retorted. “With my powers, I give pain, but leave no scars— as soon as I lift my hand, the pain goes away. The others… They make sure the pain stays. They let the wounds fester. They decorate you with scars and brands. They break your bones, let ‘em heal crooked, and break ‘em again. Believe it or not, me ‘torturing’ you was a mercy.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably in his seat— limited due to the bonds. His mouth was dry, too dry to form words.

Remus looked back at him. “Which is why we’re breaking you out. Tonight.”

Virgil blinked. “We’re what?”

“First you gotta learn how to control whatever power you have. It’ll be more useful for long range attacks, probably. I know most lock codes, but there’ll be guards everywhere. You ever pulled an all-nighter before?” Remus jumped to his feet.

“Uhhh yeah, lots of all-nighters. Sleep is for the weak. What the hell is happening?”

Remus grinned. “Great! Let’s get started. This might hurt a bit, but not as much as what’ll happen if we fail,” he said. “We’re gonna figure out how your powers work.”

~*~

Hours later, Virgil had somewhat of a handle on things. He could summon the darkness at will and aim it to some degree. Which would need to be good enough, as they were running out of time.

“You ready?” Remus asked, cracking his knuckles.

Virgil took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered, then shot a bolt of darkness at the door.

Nothing happened.

“Harder,” Remus said, then giggled.

Virgil flexed his hands and shot another bolt of darkness, and another, and a third for good measure.

The door was blown off its hinges.

Followed quickly by alarms blaring through the building.

“Shit! You didn’t tell me you had alarms on the fucking doors!”

“Oops! Run!”

Remus darted out the door and Virgil scrambled to follow. The alarms didn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before the guards came at them, swarming through the halls. Virgil threw darkness from a distance, while Remus fought hand-to-hand with any guards that got within range.

“You go, I’ll keep them off your tail,” Remus said, stopping within view of the exit.

Virgil skidded to a stop. “Wait, what? You’re not coming?”

Remus smiled sideways. “You’ll get farther without me.”

“I’m not leaving you with them! You said they’d torture you or worse!”

“Eh, I’m used to it by now. Besides, if they kill me, at least it’ll be a cool way to die.”

“You’re not dying! Get your ass over here! Or I’ll drag you with the shadows!”

“Kinky!”

“Shut up and run! If we get out of this alive, then I’ll show you kinky!”

Remus’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“You’ll never find out if you die here alone! C’mon!” Virgil shot darkness at the approaching thugs, careful not to hit Remus. Luckily that was enough to get him to follow. They’d figure out the rest later.

Together, they ran towards freedom.