#i feel like there's a lot of Nihility lately...

[littlekiara96]

HMMMMM. He Could be Erudition, too...

But still Quantum. I'm very much putting my money on the Quantum part.

If there ever is a 5-star Sampo

He will be Quantum Destruction

[crguang]

wasted with longing, part 4

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

friends with benefits, f!reader, 6k words

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

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

part three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything alright?”

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

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

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

“Where are you now?”

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

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

“Is that all you have to say…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I haven’t thought about it.”

“You should block it anyway.”

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

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

“Good. What are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you… eventually work there again?”

“Ha. Not a chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

“Kafka.”

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

“Kafka sent that to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if she contacts me  again?”

“Then you tell me immediately.”

“What, you’ll come to beat her up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did you get in here?”

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

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

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

You’re going to break it over her head. 

[cityofmeliora]

"Cardi" or "Copia"?

one of my controversial hot take behaviors in this fandom is my insistence on only using the names "Cardi" or "C" to refer to Cardinal Copia / Papa Emeritus IV / Frater Imperator, while probably 99% of the fandom says "Copia" instead, but i think it's weird that i'm even in the minority on this matter since, in the entire 7+ years since this character debuted, there's been a grand total of ONE time that a piece of official Ghost media has ever called him "Copia" (and it was the narrator in Metal Myths LOL), and off the top of my head, i know of just ONE interview where TF called him "Copia".

DISCLAIMER!!!! i'm not the boss of anyone and i'm NAWTTTT saying you can't call him Copia. i just have the autism that makes me need to Follow Rules and i think it's kind of funny that this phenomenon exists.

anyway. he's called "The Cardinal" / "Cardinal" / "Cardinal Copia" / "Cardi" / "Little Cardi" / "Cardi C" / "C" in interviews and official Ghost media, but never just "Copia".

TF prefers using the name Cardi for him–

TOBIAS FORGE: Cardinal Copia, or Cardi, as I like to call him, is not an all-around cool person, but that's what makes him so much fun for me to play. Visions (July 21, 2024)

and i'm sure his preference for the name "Cardi" is apparent from the way it's the most used name for the character.

it's used for almost the entirety of the Rite Here Rite Now opening narration–

NARRATOR: [...] Papa Emeritus IV, also known as 'Cardinal Copia', simplified within the clergy as 'Cardi', has been touring with Ghost for five years– two album cycles, which is double what any of his predecessors were allowed. As his numeral name implies, he should be the fourth in a row of Emerituses, but he's technically the fifth Papa since his father, Papa Nihil –'Nihil' meaning "zero"– was the first one. To make things even cozier, the Mother Superior of the Ghost clergy, whose name is Sister Imperator, is Cardi's actual mother. However, due to undisclosed circumstances in this particular story, Little Cardi wasn't aware of their family ties until quite recently. This may sound tragic, and maybe it is, but we'll just have to tell that story at some other time. Anyway, lately, there's been a lot of talk, or let's say insinuations, about death within the clergy, and Little Cardi doesn't like that one bit. Any notion of his time ending, or someone passing away, has been a trigger for him; his mind searching for ways to circumvent an untimely ending of his time in the limelight. You see, Cardi feels that since he is not only young –well, sort of– and able enough to carry on as the focal point of Ghost for at least a few more album cycles, Cardi feels that he is a better entertainer than the previous Papas and therefore he should simply be able to remain in his position, and not have to face the same fate as all the Papas before him. Cardi has no interest in being taxidermically propped up in a plexiglass coffin, to be displayed before the Ghost fans before they get the pleasure of seeing and hearing some new Papa frolicking around on stage. Cardi doesn't want to end this tour, simply because it might end in his ultimate and premature demise– his death. However, this is not a tale about death, but one of life. And Cardi is about to learn that the hard way. RITE HERE RITE NOW (2024)

other characters do call him "The Cardinal" and address him as "Cardinal" when speaking about him / to him in a professional capacity, as shown in Chapters 1-8 (2018-2019), when Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil only acknowledged him as a coworker because their family relationship wasn't public knowledge yet. and in the 2018 Special Sermon with Papa Nihil and Sister Imperator, they actually call him "Cardi C" LOL. weirdly, though, they also never say the full name "Cardinal Copia"– they just say "The Cardinal" / "Cardinal" / "Cardi C".

but after their family relationship was revealed, and when speaking to him personally, they call him "Cardi" or "C", as shown from Chapter 9 (2021) onward.

PAPA NIHIL: Cardi, can I see you a moment? RITE HERE RITE NOW (2024)

Cardi also refers to himself as "Cardi" or "C".

SISTER IMPERATOR: I mean, you'll always be– C, you'll always be my Little Cardi. PAPA EMERITUS IV: Aww. But that's– that's fine. I mean, I– when I'm back here in our abode, y'know, I always feel like... Cardi. Chapter 10: Home Coming & Special Guests (2022)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: Hello! This is uh, C. Uh, I'm doing auditioning tape for uh, for television, displaying acting skills. Chapter 12: Ghost Goes Hollywood (2022)

most people seem to interpret "Cardinal" as just his job title and "Copia" as his name, but for a long time, i've had the headcanon that "Cardinal Copia" is literally actually his legal given first name, and i wouldn't put it past Sister to have named him that, considering the fact that it's implied she legally changed her name to "Sister Imperator" (in Sister Imperator comic #2 she says "I'm keeping this name", and it's the name she uses at the hospital in Chapter 4 and it's on her prescription medication in RHRN and in the Skeletour VIP museum). this headcanon was partly a joke since it's a pretty silly idea, but i think there is some credibility to it considering the fact that his whole family calls him "Cardi" (including himself), especially woman who raised him, his aunt Marika (Papa Nihil's sister / Sister Imperator's adoptive sister / Mr. Psaltarian's wife).

like... i don't think his aunt Marika would say she's "always called him Cardi" if it was just a job title, since like... he probably wouldn't have had that job when he was a little kid.

MARIKA PSALTARIAN: And just so you know, Frater– Cardi, I've always called him Cardi. See, I'm actually his aunt, but he grew up with my husband and I basically being his parents. He'll always be my little boy. Chapter 20: Arrival Of A Secret Agent (2025)

when he was Papa Emeritus IV, he did want to be called "Papa" because that was his title, but he decided it was fine that his family didn't call him that, and he called himself "Cardi" / "C" too.

and after he became Frater Imperator, he asked people to call him by his new name / title, "Frater". but he still has the instinct to tell people to call him "C". so i don't think it's just about the titles.

FRATER IMPERATOR: Hello. I am Frater. JUDITH: Judith. FRATER IMPERATOR: Judith! Nice to meet you, J-Judith. You can call me… F. No– C! So– P! No, uh– Frater. Frater Imperator. Chapter 20: Arrival Of A Secret Agent (2025)

soooo... yeah. despite all this, i pretty much only see people calling him "Copia", not "Cardi" or "C" lol.

anyway, all of this could change with the big lore updates that are happening in Era 6, but this is what i've observed. haha.

i also always say "V" instead of "Perpetua" for similar reasons.

[ooooo-mcyt]

I like to stretch Scott's character quite a bit to be more angsty in some ways to fit with my "Everyone in the life series is traumatized and/or inflicting trauma on others because they're being tortured by patrons of violence" narrative, which is where my interpretations of Scott's constant silver linings and positive spins as a trauma response to repression. But while I am attached to my angstified interpretation of Scott for the narrative I'm spinning of the Life Series, I'd like to take a moment to appreciate the narrative themes Scott actually tends to lean into in his storytelling.

A pretty consistent quirk of Scott's storytelling habits that I'm actually quite fond of is his aversion to bad or hopeless endings (which isn't to say they never happen, but usually scott will put a silver lining and path forward on every story)

In Witchcraft Smp Scott gets his partner back despite everything. He isn't punished for his grief, he isn't told he's unworthy of love because of the mistakes he made, and his quest didn't turn out to be pointless. Scott, despite everything, defied the laws of death with is love and desperation and grief. And when his partner looked at him again, it didn't matter how different Scott was. His partner saw how he'd changed, how he was sicker, duller, cracked and torn and generally unwell, and still thought he was every bit as beautiful as he'd ever been. They walk off together, to start their life together again.

In Empires season one there isn't a 'happy ending', obviously. There's an apocalyptic event and Scott literally dies. But Scott still infuses it with plenty of hope. First in the fact that his death was a sacrifice, one that we have reason to believe brought tangible good in protecting his friends and the world going forward, opening a pathway for the world to recover, even without him. And secondly in Scott's happy afterlife, a place that's full of color and life, where everyone he loved is safe and close to him.

It was almost the exact same for Third Life. There was a tragic ending, sure. Scott lost his husband, spiraled into grief and mental instability, and then was hunted through the woods and killed. But Third Life, just like Empires season one, grants him a happy afterlife with the one he loves. In both stories, instead of letting the narrative end with Scott's death, there is written in a path home for him, a path into a warm place full of flowers and people who love him, and an implied way forward, because not even death is an ending, because (just like in witchcraft smp too, actually) not even death can steal things forever.

And even when Scott doesn't write overt happy (or at least semi-hopeful) endings into his stories, he still ties them up with a positive bow. Almost every life series season ends with a stinger, a line where Scott makes a point of highlighting that despite not (usually) 'winning', despite dying he's happy (or at least acceptingly okay) with how things turned out.

Of course, angst has a place, and I actively like to make my Life Series Scott characterization more angsty and unwell than the narrative Scott (cc) actually wrote. But I'm also genuinely quite attached to the much more positive themes Scott consistently writes into almost every single story he has any hand in. The idea that all people are worth loving, that your actions matter and that you can make a positive impact, that nothing's ever lost forever, that it's never ever too late, that there's always a path forward. There's just so much hope imbued in every single narrative from Scott Smajor and a lot of them have been genuinely meaningfully impactful to me during some really bleak moments in my life, so I really do feel the need to lift up and highlight these themes because Scott Smajor storylines really know how to beat back the nihilism.

[max1461]

Other people want the world as a whole to "mean something" or "be about something" and I just don't. That's so terribly constricting, so suffocating. I'm much more inclined to positive nihilism.

I'm reading about LotR lore lately, and I really like LotR, but all the Christianity in it distresses me. Why must the world be governed by Eru Ilúvatar's infallible and undefeatable master plan? Doesn't that take out all the stakes? More importantly: part of what I like about LotR is its valorization of the small and the ordinary, as represented in the hobbits but also in, you know, Tolkien's proclivity to spend more time talking about potatoes than he needs to, and whatnot. There's a valorization of the small over the grandiose. It's like, finding dignity in the ordinary or something, that feels like a big part of Tolkien's project, and I'm deeply sympathetic to that. But then he has to go and add, you know, an omnipotent and omnibenevolent creator and omnimalevolent enemy (Melkor, not Sauron) and like...

First of all I hate the combination of omnipotence and omnibenevolence, it just doesn't work in any kind of narrative, it doesn't work in Christianity either, it's just *so* having your cake and eating it too. Like, Christianity itself has something of a "valorization of the small" going on but it also fails there, because (people have already said all these things) Jesus isn't actually just some guy, he's actually god the all-powerful and infallible lord of the universe! And he doesn't even really suffer or debase himself except temporarily, he ascends to heaven in the end, whereas sinners are sent to hell to suffer permanently for their imperfections. And "the meek will inherit the earth" by submitting to God and doing everything he says!

Not really valorizing the small there IMO.

Anyway Christianity doesn't succeed at this but the thing about Tolkien is he gets so close. When he says stuff (this is from one of his letters apparently, I quoted it the other day) like

It had been Sauron’s virtue (and therefore also the cause of his fall, and of his relapse) that he loved order and coordination, and disliked all confusion and wasteful friction… it was the creatures of the earth, in their minds and wills, that he desired to dominate.

I'm like, yeah! I'm with you bro! But then there's the whole thing about, well, Eru Ilúvatar's creation was perfect until Melkor's discordant singing marred it, and now it's imperfect and that's the source of all evil, but it's also fine because Eru's vision is bound to win out in the end, it's like... you're undercutting your whole thing! Eru is doing what Sauron wants to do, it's just that he's winning at it. Maybe the point is that Eru permits free will, or something, while Sauron doesn't. But this still seems weak in light of the whole "Melkor as the origin of imperfection" thing. You can't valorize the small and the ordinary without being comfortable with imperfection. You can't make a story where imperfection is Inherently Evil, as it seems to quite literally be in Tolkien's cosmology, and have it land for me as a critique of lust for power. Like. What do people even want to do with power except Eliminate All The Imperfections? Obviously some just want to enrich themselves, but I think Tolkien's opposition to power-seeking plainly runs a lot deeper than just opposition to self-interested power-seeking, which is

what I like about it, and

why this incongruity is so frustrating.

Anyway, there's that Scott Alexander post, Heuristics that Almost Always Work. I agree with the thesis of the post as such, but there's this line in it that perfectly articulates the reason rationalism tends to alienate me:

The Futurist He comments on the latest breathless press releases from tech companies. This will change everything! say the press releases. “No it won’t”, he comments. This is the greatest invention ever to exist! say the press releases. “It’s a scam,” he says. Whatever upheaval is predicted, he denies it. Soon we’ll all have flying cars! “Our cars will remain earthbound as always”. Soon we’ll all use cryptocurrency! “We’ll continue using dollars and Visa cards, just like before.” We’re collapsing into dictatorship! “No, we’ll be the same boring oligarchic pseudo-democracy we are now” A new utopian age of citizen governance will flourish. “You’re drunk, go back to bed.” When all the Brier scores are calculated and all the Bayes points added up, he is the best futurist of all. Everyone else occasionally gets bamboozled by some scam or hype train, but he never does. His heuristic is truly superb. But - say it with me - he could be profitably replaced with a rock. “NOTHING EVER CHANGES OR IS INTERESTING”, says the rock, in letters chiseled into its surface. Why hire a squishy drooling human being, when this beautiful glittering rock is right there?

Bolding in the final paragraph mine.

"Nothing ever happens or is interesting". Really? Is that what the skeptical futurist is saying? Certainly he's saying "nothing ever happens", that I'll grant. But he's not saying "nothing is ever interesting". You added that, Scott, because to be interested you need something Big to happen. You are not filled with love for the small and ordinary, it is just wasted time and wasted space to you.

I do not particularly like the Big, at least not most of the time. I like the small quite a lot. And, contrary to their names, I think most of the world is small. The world is made of lots of small things, not a couple big things. And I often feel that the small is the only thing that's actually real, the big tends to be illusory. As a small creature it is other small things that affect me most and matter most to me, it is my small dealings with other small creatures that are subjectively the biggest. And the various grand narratives of history, if they exist, only affect me in a diffuse and nonspecific way and are in all their specifics born out in small things.

I am very much a partisan of ordinary things, ordinary dealings, of our daily lives and our individual relationships and perhaps ephemeral but deeply felt emotions as the actual source of value in the world, from which Big things insofar as they matter at all derive their importance. And, aesthetically I suppose, I am also a defender of the inherent dignity of small things and cast-aside things (a different but closely related category). And there are close connections between the small and the vast (which is not the same as Big), and. Well, take my uquiz. But anyway.

[cowboyemeritus]

Hi!!! I think you’re one of the best Ghost writers on this dang app! I wanted to request something, if that’s okay?

I’d love something about being fated mates with Copia. I’ve watched Nosferatu and I’m feeling the desire of some mighty powerful predestined pairings 😈

Thank you!

Hey! Thanks a lot - you’re too sweet. ❤️

Okay, yes, anon. I also saw Nosferatu and I hear you. I see you. Let’s fucking do this.

I originally had an idea for something cute, but evil Copia is too sexy powerful. Hope you enjoy :)

“How did you find me?”

Copia’s wide, beaming smile morphs into shocked confusion. He blinks once, twice, rebooting.

“I, eh-“ He huffs out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of his head. “I thought you would be happy to see me, amore. It didn’t hurt you like it hurt me?”

Every step away from him had felt like walking on broken glass. Of course it fucking hurt. But Copia had lost his mind — his humanity — and it had been unbearable. You would have fallen into that abyss, too, if you hadn’t left.

“How did you find me?” You can’t tell if you’re shaking with rage or with fear.

Copia smiles again. The sight at once makes your heart melt and your stomach churn. He gestures to his new suit, the collar, brooches, and grucifix glittering in the afternoon light. “I’m running the show now.” He takes another step closer and you flinch, your pounding heart skipping a beat. Your reaction has him pouting like a kicked puppy, but he persists. “Nothing can keep us apart. No Nihil, no Sister.” He chuckles. “Psaltarian is still around, but he always liked you.” The knife block is off to your left. The thought that you should arm yourself crosses your mind, but you remain frozen in place. Copia sighs. “Of course I was going to find you, cuore mio. Now we can finally be together, like we were always meant to be.”

Suddenly your eyes are stinging, then welling up. You curse yourself for the display of weakness.

“You’re insane.” He appears unmoved by the insult. “If you think I’d be anywhere near you after all that… that shit, then you’re out of your fucking mind.” At this, his once kind eyes darken. Something in them glimmers, ice cold and deadly.

“I did what I had to do to-“

“They were your brothers.” His white eye twitches.

“They were in the way-“

“Your fucking brothers!” Memories of the three bombard your psyche. You think of Primo and his garden of carnivorous plants, of listening to old ABBA vinyls with Secondo, and of Terzo, and his dreams of a better future. A tear finally spills over, carving a burning path down your cheek. “Do you even hear yourself?”

Copia, fists balled at his sides, takes a deep, steadying breath. He looks you dead in the eyes and it’s like there’s bugs under your skin, creeping and crawling and eating you alive.

And yet, those eyes. His face has changed, but those beautiful, soulless eyes are almost exactly the same. It’s a welcoming sight. The revelation makes you feel a little sick, but your resolve is already slipping. If he’s oblivion, then you’d gladly fling yourself into the void.

“Everything I have done,” he says, keeping his voice low and measured, “has been for you. For us. I have struggled, I have made myself a fool, and I have killed, all so that we could be together.” You sob.

“How dare you say that to me.” Your throat feels like it’s closing up. You sniffle, shaking your head. “You’re sick.” Knees giving out, you slide down the side of the counter, sinking to the kitchen floor. Copia is on you before you can resist, wrapping his arms around your frail, weeping form.

It’s like coming home.

“If I am sick, then I am sick with love for you.” He is so dreadfully good with words when he wants to be. A gloved hand finds your chin, lifting your head to look at him. The late-afternoon light hits just right, creating a golden halo around him that is so perfectly ironic. Copia: your guardian angel, your worst nightmare. It had been golden hour when you’d first met, him a spry young bishop and you a new Initiate, hungry for life and unaware of the strings of causality puppeteering you both.

Copia pulls you into him. He buries his face in your hair and inhales, a shudder running through his body. It’s a perverse gesture, but you don’t have the energy to protest. Years of running — from him, from the Clergy, from yourself, from destiny — have taken their toll.

“Every waking minute, I have thought of you.” He sounds almost like his old self, but something about his delivery is too smooth, too sure of himself. He must have practiced. “And every night, you have haunted my dreams.” You don’t doubt that; your days and nights have been very much the same. “I am meant for you, amore. I couldn’t let you go if I tried.”

All this profession does is make you cry harder. You are so unbelievably weak for him, it’s shameful. And he’s right — no matter how fast you run, no matter how long you hide, you two are bound to one another by forces far beyond your comprehension. You’ll always be pulled back in the end.

When you first laid eyes on him all those years ago, it felt like something had clicked into place. Now you understand why. It sends you reeling through all five stages of grief at once.

“I love you,” you whimper, tears soaking into Copia’s expensive-looking jacket. “I can’t not love you.”

“And I love you,” he coos, petting your hair just like he used to. “More than anything.” The years, the agony of it all, seems to melt away as you huddle on the floor, crying until you’re too exhausted to keep going. Copia never stops holding you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear like nothing between you had ever changed.

When your outburst finally ends, you pull away a bit. To your surprise, Copia lets you, instead taking one of your hands and pressing his lips to your knuckles. Instinctively, you know the warmth in his eyes is a facade, but you can’t help the butterflies that flit around in your stomach. Maybe if you pretend really hard you’ll go back in time, to before all this madness began and you were just two stupid kids in love. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Come back with me.” You can’t tell if he’s begging or demanding it. “Come home. No more bullshit, I promise. You won’t have to worry about anything like that ever again.”

You don’t believe him.

“Okay.”

[anarchblr]

so my dad is a white anti-civ post leftist anarchist, he used to be really into primitivism but isn't anymore. He brought myself and my sister up with a lot of white anthropology and north American indigenous texts, but completely neglected the indigenous cultures of our own lands (which, incidentally, my sister and I are indigenous to). That kind of deal. Anyway I really resonate with that piece critiquing primitivism talking about people roleplaying in the woods, because that was my experience growing up lol. With all that said, this man is driving me up the fucking wall lately. He's theoretically trans positive but his cynicism about identity politics means he's gotten caught up in TERF narratives and he's critical of "trans activists" on Twitter without having actually been there, and he's now referring to "trans ideology". Needless to say im finding it exhausting and annoying (I'm trans) and he has this like "we should be able to have these conversations without people getting labelled transphobes" kind of attitude and I just feel like I'm being funneled into an intellectual playing field that I do not want to have to engage with because I'm like I too am critical of things you're talking about dad but the way you're doing it is driving me batty. Anyway I guess this is a vent but if you do have any perspective that would be cool.

I'm really sorry you're going through that, I recommend a couple readings:

The Child and Its Enemies

Not Your Mom's Trans 101

Queering Anarchism

Philosophical Anti-Essentialism

Gender Nihilism

What is Gender Nihilism

This should hold you over, godspeed comrade

[10yraventurinelover]

Aventurine Sleep HCs

I feel like Aventurine definitely tosses and turns in his sleep a lot. He moves and cannot sit still, waking up in very different positions from the ones he fell asleep in.

Aventurine does snore, but only when he's really exhausted or he's been drinking (or both) and even then it's still quiet.

Aventurine has a lot of unnecessary blankets and pillows on his bed but he'd rather die than take them off so he just puts the pillows aside and if he gets hot he just sticks his feet out from the blankets.

He's a night owl but even then doesn't stay up too late. it's very hard to get him out of bed in the morning like he is a HEAVYYYY sleeper.

He does occasionally have nightmares though, more often after the nihility.

Sometimes the cat cakes will fight when he's sleeping and he has to shut them out of his room but they meow and he feels bad so he lets them back in.

[shallowseeker]

It took a lot for Dean to want revenge. Time and time again he turns away from revenge. Even in his reversal power/demon Dean arc, he does not reach for revenge per se.

At worst, he became a short-lived Rowena-esque figure, willing to kill Sam to have freedom. He rebels against all friends and family, almost like a test. Crowley verbally abuses him and betrays him, Sam hypocritically does terrible things but in the end loves him and lowers his blade to be willingly killed by him, and Cas too won’t raise a hand to him, only asking him to stop and not to murder the world.

In the end, it is Dean’s “human/angel” family that lower their blades to his rebellion, gently submitting as family must lovingly submit to each other. (This sense of family is why Dean entrusts the first blade to Cas, and it’s also how Dean tries to explain family ties re: Rowena to Crowley.)

///

But it was Chuck killing Jack that seemed to “break” Dean—kinda wild when you think about it. Jack also “broke” the best of Cas, twisting his “where you’ve been isn’t as important as where you’re going” into flirting with predestination.

Dean’s crisis/nervous breakdown was about Dean’s nihilism and the existential crisis, too, but it was also a lot about Jack. Jack’s death was so painful that Dean couldn’t even say his name; used “Bel” as code for having the conversation.

And when they got Jack back, they were so relieved, they just… went along with Billie’s plan. They wanted to “trust” Jack, so they trusted Billie.

It was odd behavior for both of them. They didn’t wanna rock the boat with each other or Jack, and they didn’t question. I still maintain I’d rather have seen them drop-drag fighting in the library rather than toasting each other.

////

But anyway, point being… I think, fandom tends to minimize how much Jack means to everyone, hyperfocusing on the “Jack is not family” of it all.

Dean was hurt. He wanted payback, he wanted poetic justice, for Chuck to be killed by his own grandson. Dean gave up the gun after Mary’s death, but the death of Jack was so painful, it had him buying into revenge. Dean has never wanted revenge.

Jack was family, and Dean saying that Jack wasn’t was a way to steel himself and deaden tremendously painful emotions. Rowena and Sam trade more in this kind of dissociation in order to carry out heinous missions, and I think it just feels odd for people to see it coming from Dean. Sundering Jack from family was a coping mechanism.

But truthfully, Jack’s death was the ultimate thing that “broke” Dean. And Cas.

Cas was raised that to care about something, it had to be cosmic mission—to be important. So he is constantly putting his loved ones on pedestals to justify his own caring/emotions. He’s “allowed” to care if it’s a mission.

Cas partially recovers in 15x18: “We don’t care about you because you’re part of some grand design.” But it’s too late; Jacks bomb was lit and detonated. So, Cas fights death on his behalf.

Dean was raised that to care about something, you lay down your life for it; it’s your mission to protect them. Jack is stronger than Dean, always has been, he defeated Michael when Dean was too weak to do it. This time, Dean told Sam they were going to, “get out of the way.” If family must be protected, then Jack “is not family.”

Dean too comes to his sense in 15x18: “Hey, hey, hey, we're not giving up on you, okay? (to Sam) Uh... magic. Magic. One of Rowena's spells. Come on, we've got to do something!” But it’s too late; Jacks bomb was lit and detonated. So, Dean fights death on his behalf.

[circle--of--confusion]

Through the Spillways

Summary: Your sweet, albeit awkward Copia, constantly walks around with his head weighed down by the crown of a destiny he never saw coming, a role he never had time to prepare for. He hides behind flashy clothes and snark to make it seem as if he has it all put together, but it’s nights like this you know he’s reached another low point where he can’t even sleep to find peace for a few hours.

Author's note: *Shows up 5 months late* Here's some Frater Copia angst! I tried my hand at a reader insert this time.

Paring: Frater Imperator Copia X GN!Reader

Words: 1.8k

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, post Rite Here Rite Now, spoilers for Rite Here Rite Now, hopeful ending

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Your eyelids flutter before slowly opening. There are faint chirps of Copia’s video game and 8-bit music floating into the bedroom. Flashes of light from the TV reach the walls of your room and you check the clock on the nightstand.

2:37 AM

A heavy sigh is exhaled through your nose as you twist and turn in bed before throwing back the covers to stand up. When he can’t sleep, Copia trudges out to the living room for a distraction to lull his eyes back into slumber. Every couple weeks he is discovered curled up on the couch with a video game controller dangling in his hand as his arm stretches out while he rests. He’ll snore softly and his face will finally look calm, peaceful. The moment Copia wakes up, you’ll see the muscles in his face contort into a pained façade. He puts on a brave face for you, for everyone in the ministry as the now Frater Imperator. The unexpected promotion he received after his Los Angeles ritual last year. The ritual his mother died at. Sister Imperator.

He was kept in the dark about a lot of things throughout his life. As an orphan, he was left in the dark about who his parents were. And then once he found out about Sister and Papa Nihil, he was left in the dark about the true extent of his mother’s health towards the end. Copia tried to rationalize things, tell himself he wasn’t seeing a wheelchair on her bad days; that her less-than-active role around the ministry was a self-imposed break. Not to mention, he had been kept naïve in the beginning as to how the previous Papas were killed just so Sister Imperator could allow his rise into the Papacy. Your sweet, albeit awkward Copia, constantly walks around with his head weighed down by the crown of a destiny he never saw coming, a role he never had time to prepare for. He hides behind flashy clothes and snark to make it seem as if he has it all put together, but it’s nights like this you know he’s reached another low point where he can’t even sleep to find peace for a few hours.

He looks, well exhausted doesn’t even feel like it covers the entire scope of his body language. You find him hunched on the couch, video game controller in hand as the only light in the room comes from his old boxy TV. Copia sits as still as a statue while his hands mindlessly manipulate the controller, locked in to the movements on the screen. The dark circles under his eyes make you wonder if he’s wearing the face paint that’s all-too familiar but no, his face is bare. You call over to him softly, barely a whisper, and he flinches as if it was yelled, pulled out of his trance.

“Copia? Caro mio. It’s late. You need sleep.”

Copia sighs heavily, the controller drooping down in his hand as he mentally scolds himself for waking you. He turns towards you with tired, pleading eyes. “I’m sorry, tesoro mio. I was hoping the volume was low enough so you wouldn’t wake up.”

You sit down beside him and his body immediately gravitates towards you, his head moving to rest on your shoulder. Your arm goes around his waist and Copia sinks into you immediately. “What’s going on in your brain, caro?” you leave his side and you swear he whimpers at the loss of your body. He wraps a hand around your thigh as you move to face at him, bringing his head up to look into his eyes. Your thumb softly strokes over his cheek and he closes his eyes for a moment to breathe before opening them again. “You were doing so well.”

“I was trying to beat my record of three straight nights of sleep, too.” Copia softly laughs to himself as he shakes his head. “It’s just the usual stuff. Please, go to bed. You don’t need to give up your own rest for me.” He waves you off.

You look into him with furrowed brows. “What if I want to? How long have we known each other, Copia? You know I’ll always have time for you.”

It makes him feel worse, somehow, that you care so much. “I found a letter in her? or now my? desk.” His voice hitches on ‘letter’. “From her addressed to me. I think it might’ve been the first draft because there were notes and scratched out bits in the margins.”

You hug him to you and he wraps his arm around your body, melting into your embrace. His head rests on your chest and you lean back, taking him with you as your body reclines into the couch; he lays on top of you in-between your legs while you wrap yourself around him as best you can. Copia sighs when he feels the soft carding of your fingers through his hair as you sit there in silence for a few minutes. “Do you want to tell me about it?” Another heavy sigh leaves him as he nods. The TV light shines off the small pool of tears threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Sister - my mother – wrote it all out. Everything. Her grief over giving me up. How she sought to make up for it by working to give me the Papacy.” he sniffles. Copia squeezes his arms around you before continuing. “She put plans in place for me after going to the doctor one day last year. Her blood work and scans came back with a flag and after that,” a small sob leaves him. “,things got worse. She knew her time would come soon and her last wish was for me to carry on in her place.”

“That is… a lot to read.” A heavy tear falls from his eye and you feel a damp spot on your shirt where it lands.

He laughs lowly. “Yes. And then I had to see the new guy 20 minutes later. It’s not exactly professional to show up to a meeting with tear streaks down your face.” Copia shakes his head. “I thought I was going to die that night, back in LA. I was somehow convinced that my own mother would kill me.”

You shush him softly, still running your fingers through his hair. “She loved you, even from a distance, Copia. I don’t think that thought would ever cross her mind.”

Copia looks up at you, wet eyes staring into yours, searching. “But what if I wasn’t successful as Papa, though? What if I flopped?”

You look back at him and press a soft kiss to his hairline. “You had more time with the band compared to the rest. I’d say that’s a sign of success.”

“Yes, but-“

“But nothing, caro mio.” you silence him by softly putting a finger up to his lips. “She was a very complicated woman but she never would’ve let anything or anyone hurt you.”

Copia folds and resumes laying back on your chest. “I just feel like I have their blood on my hands. If I had known, if I knew that she was my mother, I never would’ve asked for anyone to die. They had retired. And the Papa before me was pulled off of the stage so I could ascend!”

You clutch him tighter, one hand rubbing his back and the other rests on his head. “It’s… definitely not an easy thing to have on your mind, I will agree with that.” you shake your head. “But you can’t change anything about the past. All you can do is honor their legacy and yours by helping everyone here and now.” you lean down, mumbling another kiss to his head. “Isn’t that what you tell the audience?”

“I can’t even take my own advice. I’m a phony.” Copia scoffs and shakes his head.

“No, you’re not.” you emphasize, a little too loud. A sigh leaves you as you look down at him, continuing to brush your fingers softly through his hair. “Healing from grief is not always easy. It’s not linear. You will have bad days and good days throughout.” Your shirt feels wetter as more tears fall from Copia’s eyes and you allow him just feel all of the emotions that have been brewing since he found the note. He sniffles, apologizing for messing up your shirt but you wave it off. Snot and tears are nothing to you compared to the inner turmoil that plagues his mind in these recent months. Since her passing, these particular nights have not been rare; as he cleans Sister Imperator’s office to make room for his things, buried memories and emotions resurface.

“I’m just so tired.” he cries into you. Copia hugs further into you and he lets out a big exhale when he feels like he can talk again. “The weird thing in all of this, is I don’t feel like I can do this without her. Sister Imperator was an integral member of this clergy for decades. I’m just her son.”

“Are you saying you think you’re a nepotism hire?” You smile when he groans at your attempt to lighten the mood.

“Please don’t make me laugh, tesoro mio. I’m not sure I have it in me.” Copia pleads, a weak chuckle coming out.

“Apologies, my love.” You press your lips to his hair with a kiss. “You are capable of this job, Copia. You just might have to spend less time playing games and spending more time actually doing your receipts.” he grumbles into you. “She wouldn’t have given the job to you if she didn’t think you could do it.” He mumbles into your chest and you can’t make out what it was he’s said.

Copia seems to have listened to that last bit, relaxing slightly on top of you. Either that or he’s finally exhausted his body for the night and can’t bring himself to care. While you both cuddle each other on the couch, his breathing over time begins to settle and the taught muscles of his shoulders and back slowly relax. You don’t want to move Copia when the soft, reliable snores from him fill the room.

“I believe in you, Copia.” You gently run a finger through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.” You whisper into his hair before leaning your head back to settle into the couch to sleep. The next morning, Copia wakes up with an extra bit of energy. When you kiss him goodbye, his eyes aren’t looking so tired. You don’t expect he’s suddenly moved on but you get the feeling that last night helped him process something. He looks back at you, sheepish but hopeful; his smile doesn’t feel so forced today.

It feels weird to say I hope you enjoyed it but I hope it was... entertaining? Thank you for reading!

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Backstage Story Translation - Tsumugi Tsukioka SSR - Treasure Hunt: TSUMUGI - Part 1

tysm to fuyugumiyuri on twitter for providing a video of the story!

also proofread by myuntachis!

Tsumugi: This tea smells really nice.

Homare: Does it not? I have been quite fond of it as of late.

Tsumugi: It’s been quite cold today, so this tea you brewed warms me right up.

[Door opening]

Kumon: We’re baaack~!

Kazunari: Brrr~ Talk about cold~!

Misumi: Let’s take a bath and warm uuup.

Tsumugi: Oh, is the Summer Troupe back?

[Door opening]

Izumi: I’m home~ Oh, are you having a tea party?

Homare: Hello, a welcome back to you as well, Director-kun.

Tsumugi: Welcome back. It must’ve been cold outside. Fufu, the tip of your nose is a little red.

Homare: Wait right there, Director-kun. I shall brew some tea for you posthaste.

Director: Thank you! It really was bone-chillingly cold outside, so I appreciate it.

Tsumugi: The Summer Troupe just came back as well. Were you with them, Director?

Izumi: Yes. They wanted to go to the beach to play while we were out, actually.

Izumi: As we kept talking, we decided to go to the beach in the middle of winter… It was a spur of the moment decision, basically.

Homare: Dear me, a day like today is no time to go to the beach…

Tsumugi: …  I don’t think we’re ones to talk.

Homare: … Quite true.

Homare: Come now, Director-kun. Drink this and let it warm your body.

Izumi: Thank you. … It’s delicious. I feel warmer already.

Tsumugi: Winter is approaching, so we have to start getting ready for it.

Izumi: … Oh.

Homare: Hm? Whatever is the matter?

Izumi: No…. I don’t think now is the time for this.

Izumi: I was just thinking that Tsumugi-san should be starting his treasure hunt project soon.

Tsumugi: Ah, yes. It is a birthday project, after all.

Homare: This project is inspired by the fact that the outfits for the birthday bromides have a beautiful sparkle, reminiscent of treasures, yes?

Izumi: Exactly. Each person uses the hint they’re given to find their gift and the gifter.

Tsumugi: And we’re supposed to record ourselves during our search, right?

Izumi: Yes. But those are commemorative videos for your families, so they’re more like home videos.

Tsumugi: I see. Fufu, it seems like lots of fun. I’m getting kind of excited.

-

Izumi: So, Tsumugi-san. Here’s the camera and your hint.

Tsumugi: Thank you very much. I’m a little worried about handling the camera but… I’ll do my best!

Tsumugi: What’s written in this hint is… “Cross my heart, hope to die, if I break my promise, I’ll…?”

Tsumugi: Oh, I see. Fufu, this hint means… he’s waiting at that place.

Izumi: Looks like you’ve thought of something. Off you go then, be careful!

Tsumugi: I will, see you.

-

[Door opening]

Staff: Welcome.

Chikage: … Good work.

Tsumugi: It was you after all, Chikage-san.

Chikage: Yeah. I recently found out they also serve lunch here. … Here’s the menu. 

Tsumugi: Wow, the lunch menu looks delicious too. I don’t know what to get.

Chikage: I wasn’t so sure you’d remember that hint.

Tsumugi: Ahaha… I was pretty drunk back then.

Tsumugi: But I wasn’t drunk to the point where I wouldn’t remember what happened.

Chikage: If memory serves, it was just after the Nihil performance had ended.

Tsumugi: Yes. It didn’t happen that long ago, but it feels sort of nostalgic.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

[the-pigeon-queen]

Collection of things from my Antichrist Copia AU

Hey, so I've never posted anything like this before, but here we go! I'm actually currently typing a proper fanfic for this AU , so if spoilers for an eventual fic don’t bother you, feel free to keep reading!

Under the read more since this'll probably be long:

Copia is still Sister Imperator’s and Nihil’s biological son – but she conceived him under some fun satanic circumstances (I imagine a scenario like the one in the Dance Macabre music video lol human sacrifice, but throw in some music and an orgy for fun).

So, while Copia isn’t the biological son of the Devil From the Bible, he was still involved in the conception, maybe through Nihil.

Copia grew up in the Clergy – it’s all he’s known, but honestly, he can’t complain! Though he was raised, technically as an orphan, he still got everything he wanted!

Except friends, because those were sort of hard to make…

But still! He’s risen through the ranks with minimal difficulty, and has never really struggled! He genuinely works hard – and he’s proud of himself for it. He’s just unaware of how fixed his path actually is. Since he’s only known success, he does have a bit of an ego.

He’s a nepobaby but he does have genuine talent, and he does work for it.

Ghost is still a band, owned and operated by the Clergy, for the purpose of spreading it’s influence and finances.

Copia, as Cardinal, still takes over as frontman, and becomes Papa when Nihil passes

And he finds out that Sister Imperator is his mom! She’s always been a good boss, how neat is it that she’s his mother, too? It makes all those times he’s accidentally called her mom funny, now, instead of embarrassing.

She had to give him up, you see – but she never let him out of her sight. Even if she never changed any diapers, she was always right there! Always proud of him! That makes it alright, right?

Life goes on at the Ministry after that tour, he grows closer to his Ghouls, he enjoys his success –

But what’s that? There’s one more special ritual that he has to complete in order to officially become Papa? Of course he’ll do it, Sister! Anything you say!

After all, the Clergy gave him a home, and a job, and a life – what’s one more little ritual?

That one little ritual turned out to be rather unpleasant

We’re talking blood sacrifices, immense pain, a forced transformation that wreaks havoc on the body, and the awakening of something, from somewhere deep within him.

He doesn’t adapt well.

As the antichrist/devil warped thing he is, now, he’s a lot more… testy. He’s quicker to anger. He’s moody. He’s horny. All the time. It’s like a second puberty – except he’s in his forties and becoming a demon.

The mental aspect, dealing with new, strong temptations and urges, is hard enough, but there’s also an emotional struggle, too.

The Clergy that raised him did this to him. His mother lied to him. And why? No one will give him straight answers.

There’s the physical side, too – he feels like a freak. He feels wrong in his own skin. His wings hurt his back, he can’t hide his horns, he keeps stepping on his own tail.

He was supposed to have been born with all his demonic features, and grow into them, but he was apparently a late bloomer. And it took a blood sacrifice to crack him open and let out his infernal side.

His Ghouls comfort him and he finds comfort with them.

Eventually he cheers up. He starts making demands of the Clergy, demanding more, demanding better – he’s the antichrist, after all. The Clergy made him, and now it should serve him!

He tries flying! He breaks his legs, but he heals super fast now. So he tries flying again! And this time the only thing he breaks is a window!

He’s starting to feel more comfortable. More right. His urges are easier to handle. He’s singing again. He starts to feel happy again.

:)

The Clergy doesn't like that he's gaining a backbone, so they attempt a binding ritual to force him further under their control.

Said ritual involves crucifying his three brothers.

The Clergy is thwarted, and Copia takes off with his Ghouls and brothers to go do their own thing

And that's the outline I have so far :'] if you have any questions feel free to ask! I'd love to talk about it more lol

Right now the fic is Copia x poly ghouls just cause

[cityofmeliora]

Cardi wishes he could've had a real father-son relationship with Nihil 😢

despite the obvious bullying / disrespect / hostility between them, Cardi accepts Nihil as his father much more easily than he accepts Sister Imperator as his mother.

after Cardi found out they're related, he actually started to acknowledge Nihil as his father. at concerts, he's referred to Nihil as "my dad", "my daddy", "my daddy-o", "my papa", "pops", "my old man", "my father", and "my old pop" dozens of times. but he's never once referred to Sister Imperator as his mother in any way. did you notice that? because i think about this a lot.

Cardi is bitter about Nihil having been an absent father.

PAPA EMERITUS IV: You know… my dad… not much of a dad. Bristow, Virginia, USA (August 24, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: That’s my old man. Or was. Pretty sucky father, but he still can blow. Syracuse, New York, USA (August 18, 2023)

but i don't think Cardi's bitterness about Nihil being an absent father is anger or hatred towards Nihil for failing to be a parent... i think it's a lamentation of the fact that they never even got a chance because they didn't find out they were father and son until Cardi was 51 years old and Nihil was already dead.

every time Cardi said Nihil was a bad father / an absent father, he always ended up saying "it's okay." or "he's okay." Cardi wants things to be okay. at the show in Sydney, in particular, Cardi genuinely sounds so sad and disappointed about their situation.

PAPA EMERITUS IV: My old dad. He wasn’t much of a father –he kind of sucked at that– but he sure as shit blows really good. Yeah, no, he– he’s fine, he’s fine, except for being dead. Auburn, Washington, USA (August 4, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: My old man… First, he was just a fart that I met. And then I got to know that he was my dad. Yeah. He's– he was okay. Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA (August 12, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: You see– I’m your Papa, but that’s my papa. He’s an okay papa. Or he was. He’s dead now, but we sort of drag him out for the good shows. Buenos Aires, Argentina (September 24, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: That’s my old man. Well… He never was much of a papa to me, but… it’s okay. Sydney, Australia (October 3, 2023)

i think Cardi, deep down, wants to forgive Nihil. he wishes they could've had a real father-son relationship. Cardi still longs for the parent he always wanted and needed but never had.

Cardi frequently talked about how Nihil used to be a singer / entertainer like Cardi is now, and Cardi said he thinks he must have gotten his talent from Nihil. as someone so proud of his own accomplishments, someone who's been shown multiple times to believe he's better than all the other Papas before him, it's strange for Cardi to say he got his talent from someone else. Cardi never said these kinds of things before he found out Nihil was his father, never even acknowledging the fact that he was allowed to become the frontman of Ghost because of Nihil's blessing. but he's saying these things now because he clearly wants to feel a connection to Nihil– to his father, even though he doesn't like to admit it.

PAPA EMERITUS IV: He was, once upon a time, a singer like I am. And he did a few tunes. I don’t know if you’ve heard them. They’re okay– they’re okay. Bristow, Virginia, USA (August 24, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: But you know, he used to sing, like I do! And he was an okay singer, actually. I must have got it from somewhere, I guess. Athens, Greece (June 25, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: You know, back in the day, he used to be a singer. I hate to say it, but I think I got it from him. Yeah. He was an okay singer. Auburn, Washington, USA (August 4, 2023)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: That was my– my old papa. He’s okay. He’s not that good. And I guess the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree… So he’s okay. Mexico City, Mexico (September 18, 2023)

Nihil and Cardi never got along, but there was still hope that it wasn't too late for their relationship to develop. in RITE HERE RITE NOW, as Cardi struggled with confusion about his life and feelings of anxiety over his time as Papa ending, Nihil offered Cardi some "entertainer advice".

PAPA NIHIL: Son– You seem to think of your life as a zero-sum game. As if you living in a house means that nobody has ever lived in the same house before you. That nobody will ever live there after you. That even before there was a house there, nobody walked that ground it now stands upon. It's not pleasant to think about that, I know. You have to be more here. Right here. Right now. I have also lived a long life that I was precious about. Life is not always how you scripted it. I am almost 80 years old, and I'm dead. But I still am part of it. Making the people rock. Look, I always wanted to entertain people… and be a part of the night, be a part of the world of magic and wonder– showbiz. And I am. Even now that I am dead, I can still entertain those people for a brief moment every night. And that is meaningful. Do you think that is how I wanted it to pan out? PAPA EMERITUS IV: Thank you, dad. RITE HERE RITE NOW

while i think Nihil's advice is kinda terrible considering the context that Cardi was legitimately afraid his parents were going to murder him and put his body on display for his successor's fans (which was not an irrational fear, because they literally actually did do that to his older brothers), i do think Nihil was genuinely speaking from his heart, and it got through to Cardi. that was the first time they had ever addressed each other directly as "dad" / "son".

so it seemed like they were starting to make real progress in their relationship. unfortunately, they're right back to bullying / disrespecting / being hostile to each other in the post-credits scene, so who knows how much that moments of sincerity and vulnerability actually affected them. 🙄

but yeah. ugh. it fucking kills me the way Cardi so clearly wants to forgive Nihil and wishes he could've had a real father-son relationship with him. they cannot fucking stand each other. but i think they could have loved each other. in a better life.

[hath-e]

A very late post about Banagher Links

There's a reason why I'm talking about this precious boy specifically today, and that is I want to talk about Gundam Narrative but I feel to skip over him and Full Frontal will make people miss a lot of the point.

So Banagher the main character of Gundam Unicorn, a show all about not giving up on people and giving second chances, he leads an ordinary life that seems dull for him and leaves him disconnected until he runs into another Newtype Audrey Burne or Princess Mineva Lao Zabi and it's as though his life gained a new purpose to with her.

And with that he falls to fate when he runs into his dying dad who entrusts the Unicorn to him, a machine with the ability greater than any to connect people together and yet it's still a machine of war.

I'm not going to do a full recap of the show but i am going to point out some important bits of it.

Banagher isn't without blood on his hands, he directly kills 3 people and is responsible for Full Frontals death even if that one could be counted as a suicide, and yet only one of those are with hatred in his heart and even then it isn't at Gilboa it's at Frontal and after it Banagher goes out of his way to not kill again, he intends on giving everyone a second chance even when faced with impossible odds and the show shows that he's correct for trying.

He's one of the strongest Newtypes in the UC ever to the point where by the end of the show the Unicorn becomes a like an extension of his body, it's like his consciousness came into the Unicorn, Banagher is the only one other than Rita to override the NT-D system on his own, turning it from a weapon that destroys Newtypes into a tool of connection between people and unlike Rita he came out of it with his body intact.

Banagher is a force of positivity and hope when faced against the nihilism of Frontal, when faced with the actuality of the end of time Banagher smiles in the face of nothingness and says "even so... ", Banagher is the personification of hope and believing in humanity no matter what (a complete opposite to Hathaway).

He's the perfect person to be the "next" Amuro Ray, just like how Full Frontal was the perfect clone of Char

"Humanity alone possesses a God. The power to transcend the now... the inner God called 'Possibility'" -Banagher Links

Tomorrow Xi Gundam mechanical design p1 and after Amuro Ray and how he affected Hathaway

(Img source is Gundam:Beyond)

[writrevampire]

Papa HC's! Part 2

(18+ themes below; nothing explicit; Thank you for the love on the last one! Including Papa Nihil)

Papa Nihil

• Enjoyer of trinkets (room is maximalist. Trinkets EVERYWHERE)

• Has candles lit everywhere in his room all the time (fire hazard)

• Needs glasses but refuses to wear them

• His room is constantly 75°F (it must be warm as fuck)

• Tons of merchandise from his younger music days; is eager to give it out if you ask very nicely (and listen to his long winded stories about those times. "The best," he says)

Papa I

• Has long and beautiful, fine hair. It was naturally blonde, but has faded to platinum to silver to white over his years

• Spends a lot of time alone. Prefers to be alone (unless he is with loved ones, but he has a social meter)

• Doesn't trim his nails, like, ever? They're long, sharp, and menacing

• Has a garden and is usually tending to it in his alone time. He likes growing veggies and herbs most (Papa II helps sometimes, though)

• Aromantic spectrum. Not completely repulsed by romance but he has a hard time expressing it or even feeling it in the first place

Papa II

• Cigar smoker. Constantly smoking in the house, castle, wherever. Does not care about modern indoor smoking laws

• Suit wearer. Usually wearing a suit or his Papa Regalia. Doesn't enjoy being seen in "lazy" or "boring" attire. Enjoys peacocking with fashion

• Many boyfriends. Many girlfriends. Many children. Messy? But loveable.

• Loves giving little tokens of affection. Mention a particular perfume (you) like? It will appear. Saw a rock that reminds him of (you)? Probably gonna pick it up and give it to (you).

• Very openly queer. Not afraid to hide that. Flirts with whoever

Papa III

• Bug enjoyer. Really likes beetles in particular

• Loves leather and lace

• Punk music enjoyer. Sometimes you can hear him blasting Sex Pistols in his room

• Slight clean freak. Doesn't really know how to "let things slide" in his environment. Cleaning is also a love language

• Prefers chocolate over vanilla, but prefers bubblegum over chocolate

Papa IV

• Clumsy. Falls over a lot and tripping over things. He should really get that checked out

• Gives gifts all year round. Gift giving is definitely a love language

• Constantly arguing with other Papa's ("you aren't one of us, really, you know that, right?)

• Flamboyant, personality wise. Outgoing but also somehow horribly socially anxious

• Sleeps with the fan on

(That's it, meine lieblings! Thank you for the love lately!)

[solarsong-writes]

Extended Author’s Notes for Lives Etched on Our Palms (Part 2)

Let’s talk about the worldbuilding/planning! This will be a long one, considering there was a lot that went into this. I’ll do my best to organize it in a semi-coherent way. 

Contains major spoilers for the fic! 

To begin, how in the world do I incorporate all the Kanamafu prompts into one fic???

For reference, the prompts were the following:

Day 1: 25:00/Knight

Day 2: Flowers/Karaoke

Day 3: Domestic/Passion

Day 4: Parent/Hand-holding

Day 5: Summer/AU

Day 6: Soft/Sekai

Day 7: Light

Credit goes to @cocogatling for even putting the idea in my head to combine all of the prompts into one fic, and I just genuinely thought it would be funny if I could. Looking at the prompts, Knight, Karaoke, and Sekai put the setting in very specific time points, meaning that they were the least flexible. Days 2-7 could be set in modern day/canon, but Knight couldn’t be unless I wanted to have them do a play or something along those lines. I could also set the fic in just a Knight AU and stretch the definition of “karaoke” and show a more primitive version of the “sekai”. None of them felt particularly compelling to me since I wasn’t sure what kind of story I would want to tell with a modern day setting or a medieval knight setting. I could write Kanade and Mafuyu being cute together, but I didn’t want to just do that.

Enter Reincarnation AU. 

Reincarnation AU was very appealing to me. What would it mean to reincarnate? What is the meaning of past lives? If we’re stuck in a cycle of living and dying and living and dying – does that reduce the meaning of each life? Using this, I had a lot more flexibility on what type of story I could tell. I also had something concrete to build my story around (will go more in-depth on themes in another author’s note. I could ramble about the meaning of life and nihilism). 

Reincarnation AU problems:

How do you get people invested in a story that changes every chapter? How do I make it so that the chapters feel like they’re part of one big story and not just completely disparate one-shots? This means I need recurring elements, something that connects each life together. Miku is now a goddess that presides over the entire universe and is present in every life, and Kanade and Mafuyu have a little of their memories transferred over between lives. The former provides a hook, that Kanade and Mafuyu will always find each other after Chapter 1. The latter adds tension, as Kanade and Mafuyu will be increasingly burdened by the sheer amount of memories. Neat. I can now begin some planning!

I like to have a very good idea of where I’m starting and where I’m ending with my fics, so I know what to work towards. The middle can be pretty adjustable as long as I stick to my overall themes and messages. I have general ideas for what I want each chapter (except Summer/AU but that is a very very flexible prompt). 

But where and when is each life taking place?

Because I knew that my end point was in canon, that meant all of my settings had to be grounded in history with very minimal magical or mystical elements outside of the reincarnation aspect. Day 1 had to be medieval because of the knight prompt, and the rest had to be chronological from that. Day 2 is during the renaissance period in Italy (the flower fields mentioned in this chapter are based around real flower fields in Italy). Day 3 is lovingly called “France after war, before another war” (around the 1800s). Day 4 is set in America, around the late 1800s, early 1900s. Day 5 was still unknown– 

“I START OVER WITH A DEAD VARIABLE, COUNTING THEM MADE MY TEMPERATURE RISE” 

The N25 cover of Heat Abnormal came out and gave me one of the most intense bouts of brainrot I’ve had over a song (shoutout to the full version of Kimi no Yoru Wo Kure, one of the most underrated N25 commissions imo). I pictured a ruined world of wastelands and dilapidated buildings, of sand and blowing dust, of people struggling every day to even see the next dawn. And of course, 

“A HOWLING RAY OF LIGHT PIERCES MY EYES. THE BELLS OF PARTING TOLL.” 

Well, I had my climax now. My original plan was for Day 6 to be pre-2000s and we just see an earlier version of the Sekai before Vocaloid even existed. But, now Day 5 was going to be set in the very, very far future with the heat death of the universe (or the sun exploding, pick your poison). But how do I get back to canon time if Day 5 was set in the future? 

I have a goddess, and I’m not afraid to use her.

Miku is already the goddess of the universe, and if people do reincarnate, there already needs to be a place for souls to go to after death. And what is the SEKAI if not another dimension…? Day 6 is now limbo time and I also get to talk about all the fun existential stuff (more on this in another post). If people are stuck in a loop of reincarnation, it’s not much of a stretch to consider that the universe is also stuck in a loop, meaning that we can still have Day 7 be canon time. It’s very important that Day 7 stay canon time because it solves another problem of reincarnation AUs, being:

What is a satisfying ending for a reincarnation AU? 

There would be happy lives, sad lives, bittersweet lives, and everything else in between. It didn’t feel enough to just end on a happy note. I could hypothetically have the two of them remember everything in Day 7, but that didn’t feel right either – especially since they would already have this revelation in Day 6. Even if I did, given the worldbuilding, it would be “meaningless” for them to remember considering they would forget again. So instead, I aimed for this fic to recontextualize canon. The ending would (hopefully) be satisfying because you see the accumulation of all their experiences influence how they act in canon. Why does Kanade push herself so hard to save Mafuyu and Mafuyu specifically (iirc, Ena and Mizuki already expressed to Kanade that they felt saved by her)? Why is Mafuyu very talented at everything? Why can Kanade compose a song at 4 years old (I’m sorry, I’m still not over this)? Ending it in canon also means that even though the fic ends, the canon story will still carry it through. 

What about the other changes you made from your initial planning?

As you may have noticed, Day 3 just says “kids” and originally I was planning on writing Kanade and Mafuyu parenting their children but. I don’t really like small children and I don’t think babies are cute (sorry, I have -2 maternal instincts), so I decided to spare myself. Day 4 changed in what parents were dead as I decided in the end I wanted to explore a role reversal in that chapter (more on this in a characterization post). I also removed the marriage part from Day 2 because I knew Day 3 was already going to explore their “married life”. 

As usual, if there are any other questions about my thoughts on planning, feel free to ask and I’ll get around to answering them! Post(s) about characterization decisions and overall themes will still be coming up! 

Part 1: Headcanons that are actually just canon