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dsknsk · 4 months

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Limbus Company and its visual portrayal of female characters, an essay

Limbus Company, and by extent, Project Moon has been a great example of how female characters are visually portrayed. In this article, I’ll try to dissect why and how, focusing on Limbus Company as it has by far the largest amount of images I can talk about. Let’s dive in.

Disclaimer: I'm by no means a professional so please, PLEASE don't clown on this i.e mention the summer controversy. I have a personal trauma on that and do not wish to revisit it. I know it's practically impossible to ask from tumblr, but still.

Visually portraying a subject

Where to start? At the very beginning, of course. Portraying a subject visually (not talking about female characters in specific yet) has a number of things attached to it. Perhaps the first question one can ask themselves is this:

Where do I want the focus to be?

Now, you can be short and say ‘the subject, of course’, but even then, that won’t often be precise enough. Let’s say you have a butterfly as your subject. Do you want the focus to be on its beautiful wings? Or its curious multi-faceted eyes, or its roll-up tongue? What do you want the viewer to notice immediately?

Arguably, even photos of landscapes have at least one point of focus. The pretty waterfall, the vast mountains, the green pastures or the starry sky. Some have the focus split up in two, where both the lake and the mountains are to be spotted immediately.

How focus can be created

There are multiple ways focus can be drawn to a specific part or to a specific subject.

One way is to simply make everything but your point of focus uninteresting. A common effect used is the Bokeh, which blurs out the background so that it will automatically appear as less interesting and more as a faded bunch of colors that contrasts with the point of focus which is sharply shot in HD. You can also make the background to be a flat color, like black or white. Some pieces of art additionally add colored shapes or lines behind the subject as to accentuate it further.

(an example of Bokeh. In addition, the direction in which another character looks shows what our main subject is, who is actually positioned off-center.)

You can also just…fill the space with the subject, as in a close-up of the thing in question. Following the previous butterfly example, it’s like only showing a small part of its wings, enlarged to comparatively huge proportions. This is also seen in portraits and to a lesser extent, similar art like waist-ups.

The eye is immediately drawn to what we should look at, which is the character who’s front and center in the image. Secondarily the blood. Her hair also uses the next point below: color.

If you’re working with color, then color is an excellent way to bring the focus to a subject. Bright colors and contrasts can be used, like what’s done here:

The bright red forms a direct contrast to the green that dominates the color pallette. It thus leads the eye to the red areas - aka the blood the character is spilling as well as her face, which is technically a tint of red. The red returning in her eyes which have a small trail, and on her bloodied face, as well as the yellow of her tie, further help to bring focus to her face and her expression. (Other than that, this image also has classic cartoon speed lines, which are minor but do help).

Light is also something I should mention. Using the image from above, the character is actually rushing towards the darker areas of the image. The light is coming from where she seemed to come from, judging by the speed lines and the trail of red we just saw in all its glory. The light forms a line around the subject which keeps said subject’s green uniform from blending into the darkness and the green of the image.

There is a specific technique called chiaroscuro (lit. ‘light-dark’) which is totally a real thing that even old masters like Rembrandt have used to bring focus. The gist of it is that the painting has very bright areas which is the subject, surrounded by dark areas, with not much in between. This technique is often used to make scenes more dramatic, and to immediately show us what the artist wants us to see, without any possible doubt. It’s like putting a spotlight on your head in a dark room. Chiaroscuro is also seen in Limbus:

You can’t actually see much of the room our subject is in. The only light is coming from the candles, illuminating the top part of our subject. The other, darker half is much harder to see the details of. This makes it so that the eye is led from either the character towards the source of the light (the candles) or in reverse, both of which are possible and valid because in both cases, we ignore the pitch black part of the artwork.

How to create focus with characters (in specific)

Now, humans and humanoids are fascinating subjects to focus on, because there are so many situations a person can be in, and so much stuff a person can be. Are they the commander of a spaceship? A medieval ruler? An overworked office clerk? There are specific things that more or less pertain to humanoid characters more. I’m going into two aspects, clothing and posing - I’m aware there’s more, but for the sake of making this not longer than it is I’m going into only those two.

1. Clothing

What someone wears makes up a considerable part of how they’re seen and what they are presumed to be. This is also a large part of stereotyping. If you're wearing a t-shirt with pants, sunglasses, and have a camera around your neck, chances are people think you’re a tourist. To them, it likely won’t matter if you are, they will perceive you as one anyway. This is also important here: you might want to pretend you don’t know anything about the portrayed character or show their image to an unknowing friend and see what they think that the character is.

And that brings me to this point that I have seen so many times with female characters: their description/role not directly matching with how they are supposed to look if that were true. I’m talking about the battle-hardened veteran without muscles or scars of both kinds (even if adequate healing/scar removal is available in the setting). I’m talking about the scientist with a leotard under their lab coat. However, I’m not saying they should look a certain way or be the same - that’d be boring - I’m saying that…hey, it might make the viewer not take the character as serious as you want them to be.

The way clothing is built up can also serve as a way to bring focus to a specific aspect. Which will most often be either the boobs or the butt (or both) in the case of female characters. Look at this (non-Project Moon) example.

The woman in the front (obviously the focus due to the place she is standing in being squarely in the middle, and her red hair standing out) is the leader of that squad…as well as the strongest in battle. Without any protection of vital organs. With a shape under her boobs that would stab her fatally in the liver if she does as little as bend over.

The way her clothing is built up also brings the focus to her boobs - not only with how they’re prominently on display, but also with the shape the top and the fabric covering her shoulders makes. In a similar vein, her ‘pants’ and the belt all lead the eye downwards to her crotch as well. Furthermore, her thigh highs look skin-tight, bringing secondary focus to her legs, of course.

And last but not least. The guys behind her are actually properly armored from the neck down, making them somewhat more of a homogenous whole… in theory. The different body types, hair, and colors of the armor of the right and left dude make them stand out slightly more, which in turn only accentuates this ridiculous difference.

I don’t really have many Project Moon-originating images on hand that are similar to this. Every time we’ve had an ID with a female character being the leader of their group (of which we’ve had surprisingly many, actually - Don has two Section Director IDs to boot) they have usually been posing alone, or well, posing…their full uptie art normally shows a moment when they’re beating their enemy into a pulp instead of posing for the camera like in the above image. This is really consistent with the other half of the playable characters, who are male.

I want to give a special mention to two characters despite that. Faust and Rodion are both known as the more well-endowed characters, but from their IDs and E.G.O it is treated as something that’s there rather than something to be exploited.

The blue glint is the highlight here, illuminating her blood-stained clothing but also finding its equal in her small, blue eyes. I have found eyes like this and expressions like this to be quite rare on female characters. Just look at her and her face. She’s completely lost it, wrapped in twisted and warped euphoria of the moment of ‘purging’ another ‘heretic’ - and from the looks of it, the last one on the scene. She’s not even trying to clean her own clothing or face, or expose her boobs. That’s not what matters to her image, showing any kind of skin doesn’t add to her character. She’s caught in this violent moment, having her victim completely in her literal grip - not even her eyes are looking at the camera. This image showcases the violent and sadistic nature of the character.

I find this art to be a curious thing. The background is actually rather bright, making the inverse true: the character is dressed in dark clothing, so that’s what the focus is on instead. Her coat flared out in such a way it can almost be mistaken for the underside of her long hair, making her seem even larger (something certain animals use when threatened to scare others into leaving). Her actual figure is thus more obscured, it only being a few tones darker. The thing that keeps her from being a dark blob in the foreground is her sword, large enough to be an odachi. Because she’s unsheathing it, the glint that comes from the blade immediately draws attention - arguably away from her partially unbuttoned top. The animation of this in the game supports this: no boob jiggle, just her standing calmly in the moment she’s just about to unsheathe her sword.

Because I’m going to use this example further in this thing, keep this one on hand.

An image that’s again in the middle of the action. Rosespanner Workshop Director Rodion is right now turning an enemy into an unrecognizable stain on the pavement with her huge weapon. The highlight is her weapon again, but this time it actually serves as a secondary source of light, illuminating her face. The yellow coloration of this secondary light source also makes the whole thing more interesting than if it just had the background light that serves a similar purpose as it did in the first image of this post. Even though the image has a heavy pinkish tint, the red that splatters all over the scene is still very much present and they draw the eye back to the yellow light. While her pose is ambiguous, it keeps things vague by not putting any sort of focus on her lower body. In any other piece of media this pose would be viewed from another angle, as to profit from as much of her body’s curves. Not here. Her killing an enemy with visible ease is important. Not her pose. This sounds logical, doesn’t it?

2. Posing

Which brings me to this. The way a character is posed also plays a part in their portrayal. It is possible to accentuate certain body parts with this - like when a character brings their hand to their chin, or the way their legs are posed. No matter the actual scene that’s meant, the way the character is posed is a factor that decides how it’s viewed and where the focus lies. Most often I’ve found this to be when a character is shown wielding a weapon, but their ‘battle pose’ being rather something that accentuates their bare skin, or their little clothing that does the same thing.

Is your character actually showing that they’re dangerous through being shown fighting…or are they just sexily posing with a weapon in their hands to add a sense of ‘danger’? Some can be highly difficult to distinguish. Some CGs can show the middle of the action yet the way the character is posed still brings the focus away from the violence or brings a secondary focus to it. Unfortunately I don’t have examples of those on hand but I know they exist.

A character just posing with a weapon isn’t wrong - I draw that all the time - but when the focus is brought to a character’s boobs and/or butt with the pose the character is in, it will be kind of obvious (even if it isn’t true) that sexualizing those features of the character what the artist is really intending to do instead of showing how dangerous she is with the weapon.

I’m going to use this image from Echocalypse as an example. I regularly take poses like this as a reference point and then attempt to make them more realistic, or, funnily, point out their weirdness by putting a male character in it. Often I do this by using them for a different, more appropriately clothed character. This goes to show that clothing can already decide a lot in posing itself.

This character is posing with a weapon, a…particularly huge odachi in this case (I thought it was a staff at first until I saw the hilt). Which is exactly the same what Rodion is doing up there in the image we already handled. Yet, there are subtle differences between that image and this one, and it’s actually more minor than you think it is (disregarding the thematics of the pieces). Both characters…

are posing with an odachi of similar size (assuming that both characters are of similar height for ease of comparison) as opposed to being locked in battle; theoretically making the focus more on how pretty they look

have long hair (that, minus the bun and the bangs, have a similar cut) that makes their silhouette appear larger than it is

do have a relatively bright and sort-of detailed background going on

have large boobs

are unsheathing their weapon just slightly

However, to get to our first difference, we need to get back to point 1: clothing. Using the same two images, the largest difference is clothing. Kurokumo Rodion is wearing all-black clothing that covers her from the head down except for the unbuttoned top. If I had to describe what the other girl is wearing, I’d say she’s wearing a piece of armor on one of her arms, a flowered collar, thigh highs but no footwear otherwise, and something…obviously lingerie/bikini derived. I’m actually not sure if that’s a tail or part of the clothing.

But to return to our point: posing. The pose of Kurokumo Rodion is actually fairly neutral. She’s just standing there, menacingly! (I should note that their normal character talksprites are also just standing there neutrally) No, literally. Anyone with working legs and arms, can reproduce that. Just give them a sword prop and you’re done. Coat cape optional. The way she is standing does convey some sort of subtle confidence, however, just like the way she is actually looking down (at the viewer). It’s likely you’ll see the sword first for the reasons I mentioned when first discussing the piece above and then look at her from top to bottom as usual.

The way our other girl is posed…is a little harder to replicate in real life to say the least. Not only is this a floating pose (i.e you’d need support), the way her body is bent sharply brings the focus upon her boobs and butt. The human body is actually rather flexible, depending on how you’re built of course, but even so I do doubt whether anyone can do this pose even if they could somehow float in mid-air. Or do this lying down. I (someone with joints that are a little too flexible for my own good) haven’t tried and highkey don’t want to. The thigh and upper leg that is prominently on display, along with the way her body curves leads the eye to her butt or downwards towards her legs and feet.

Her facial expression is neutral, but I get some sort of… ‘dreamy’ vibe from it from the traditional anime-like proportions (huge eyes, tiny nose and mouth). Almost as if she’s doing puppy-eyes to beg for candy or something. It’s, well, what most people call to be a ‘babyface’. Kurokumo Rodion is also in ‘anime-style’ and her facial proportions are still a little bit unrealistic, but I do dare to say they’re more realistic than those of the other girl.

Also, small sidepath. What do you think the second girl is based off? One would judge from her tail that it must be some sort of water creature but whether she’s a shark or any other kind of sea creature isn’t really obvious. Would it surprise you if I told you she’s based on a bake-kujira, a SKELETON-whale (which sounds cool as all hell)? Without any kind of skeleton-parts worked into her design? To be fair, I wouldn’t have guessed it either if it were not for her canonical description.

Also, one last note about that latter image. I think that an odachi of that format would be extremely tricky to unsheathe in such a pose, because of the distance between your arms. Her arm that actually unsheathes the thing is also obviously reaching out, so she’d need more strength to do that than what the look of her arms suggest.

Speaking about arms…

On paper, our Limbus girls would have all the reason to have twig arms. After all, the City allows one to get stronger without visually changing their physique much. One can carry around huge weapons like chainsaws, lances and zweihanders without visible muscles. And yet. And yet.

One of the few times bare arms are seen (most art prefers to cover them up - for Limbus standards, this would be the ultimate fanservice thing), it becomes very clear that they at least have a basic tone. Like, the basicest of basic efforts is done to make them not look malnourished. Even if this girl above is not like, the strongest of the world (for as far as we know...) the muscles she does have are very lovingly shaded and detailed.

To end this, I’ll showcase something one last time with a funny in-game example: Roseate Desire. Roseate Desire is an E.G.O which wraps the wearer in pink ribbons and is highly implied to especially speak to the sin of Lust (which is the affinity of the attack). In the game, this E.G.O is given to two characters, a girl and a guy. In any other gacha game, it would only be given to girls.

While bent over and with a happy expression, she’s still coming to get you. How can you tell? For one, the huge anchor she has with her is within her hand (i.e opposed to it being tied up next to her or something like that), and the shield that’s tied to her arm. Despite being wrapped up, she does still look as if a portion of her is still in control, and her attack suggests the same.

Hong Lu wearing it always makes me grin. He does wear clawed gloves and his fingers are arched, that’s true, but the way he’s strung up like a puppet makes it so that he can’t even get you with those. The manner in which he is posed and his head is tilted is highly reminiscent of how one would pose a marionette. And ingame properly he doesn’t even use these claws in close combat! He wraps up the enemy in the pink ribbons with doll-like movement. Even the way he’s covered evokes a sense of powerlessness, like he’s led on by the ribbons instead of controlling them.

I think this example, along with the others, is implicative of how Project Moon’s visual portrayal of female characters is done so well. They’re equally portrayed as the male characters, if not arguably more powerful, and there’s an equal roster of 6 to 6. They’re not overtly sexualized by bare skin or impossible poses while the men are covered up in a sensible pose. These are characters designed for their personality and role first, not with fanservice or money in mind first. Even the female NPCs fit within this rule, even though they have less art to go from. When you have a game which had 97% completion on the story and a mere 64% on the systems (i.e monetization) it would kind of figure that character designs fall in line with the role the character fulfills, is it not?

#limbus company #project moon

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emelinstriker · 8 months

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{Eternal Servants AU} Nezha ♡ Loyalty

Art drawn by me + the AU itself is mine.

This will just show y'all ESAU!Nezha's character as well as a bit of info on how the servants think/feel about things. The artwork isn't referencing any scene from this one-shot btw.

CW: Descriptions of death and gore

[TL;DR] Ehe, ESAU lore hints wink wink-

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

"That was all her fault for acting so disrespectful! And towards Master's name, no less!"

"I can't argue with that logic. But did you really have to punch her skull in before the torture even started?"

"Well, of course! Her presence was no longer welcomed the moment she called Master insulting names."

Macaque and Nezha were chilling in the torture chamber. The simian was sitting on a table with bloody tools while the celestial was cleaning up some of those tools with a towel. A deceased woman was strapped to the table in the middle of the room. Her skull was smashed, showing how mangled the remains of her brain looked as her head lied in a pool of her own blood.

Macaque sighed, "You can't just eliminate someone before we even tortured them, though. Even if they disrespected our Master while trapped here-" "That's just it! Our Master should always be respected and worshipped! They deserve nothing less than pure adoration!" Nezha cut him off, clearly angered. The dark-furred monkey raised an eyebrow at him, his tail flicking behind him at the surprise of Nezha talking back to him.

"Nezha, I get where you're coming from, I really do. I want our Master to always be respected and worshipped as well." Macaque started as he crossed his arms. "However, see it this way: Would you rather kill those who treated our lovely Master poorly, basically sparing them from pain, or would you rather let them serve their sentence by prolonging their suffering?"

The pink champion froze for a moment as he thought about the other champion's words... The simian was right. It would be a lot more satisfying watching the unworthy suffer by his hands than just simply killing them in one blow.

Nezha groaned as he quietly cussed to himself. Macaque had no problem catching him cussing and chuckled, his tail swaying for a moment in dark delight.

"Well, shit! Guess this is just a wasted kill after all!" The celestial exclaimed. He then heard the other servant 'tut' at him. Annoyed, Nezha turned towards the monkey, glaring.

"I wouldn't say it's fully wasted... This," the simian started as he hopped off the table and moved towards the table with the woman's corpse, gesturing towards her as he continues, "is still our dinner." If Nezha's pupils were visible, his eye roll would've been very much noticeable. He then followed the purple champion over to the table.

Macaque grabbed one of the knives on the way and chuckled darkly. He used it to smoothly cut into the woman's thigh, slicing a big chunk of flesh like a cake. More of the bit of blood she still had inside her body spilled out of the body's new wound and onto the table, the knife, and Macaque's hand. The simian then grinned and held said piece of meat out towards the pink champion. "Well? Go ahead, dig in. It's still fresh."

The pink champion, already used to it at this point, simply took the raw piece of meat and looked at it with a slight bit of disgust. He may have eaten a few remains raw before to prove his worth and loyal devotion to the other champions, but he still didn't exactly like the consistency of the meat. "Thanks... But I think I'll wait till it's cooked..."

The dark-furred monkey shrugged. "Suit yourself then," he said before he shoved the meat into his mouth, loudly chewing on his bloody meal as he already started cutting another piece of the woman's corpse. All while Nezha watched in silence. This little ritual the champions had of eating the remains of the tortured ones always reminded him of how he became his Master's servant himself.

It reminded him of that one demon village that was eradicated off the face of the earth. The huge pile of corpses Macaque made with the bodies of those villagers that disrespected and hurt their Master... And Nezha was the one tasked to set the pile ablaze. Back in that moment, he truly felt awful for taking the torch. But it didn't take long for him to actually enjoy the sight as his vision darkened. Especially once he saw his beloved Master in person again, this time becoming your pink champion. Your touch just felt so addicting to him, as if it was all he needed to forget all the bad he did. Your touch, your love and affection, was all he had ever craved...

No longer was there any guilt or regret. His Master was all that mattered to him. He felt pure happiness he had never felt in all his years of serving the Jade Emperor and the Celestial Realm...

Not that he remembered much about his so-called "past life" anyway.

Ever since he's become one of his Master's eternal servants, he practically forgot all about what his life was like before. He had very limited memories, of which only some were family-related, from when he was just born.

Suddenly, Macaque froze mid-bite. His ear twitched a little before he smiled brightly, joyfully devouring the meat and swallowing it quickly, placing the knife on the table. "Master is calling for me!"

And in a blink, the simian disappeared through a shadow portal that opened up right beneath him. Nezha sighed as he glanced at the corpse of the woman, placing the piece of meat from his hand onto her body. He probably would need to carry her remains to the fridge. After all, he didn't know when the others wanted to eat. He knew Wukong was busy with the palace's guards, Macaque was now gone to answer to their Master's call, and Nezha himself didn't know what to even do. He didn't have any tasks besides torturing that woman, and that already ended extremely prematurely due to his outburst.

"Ugh, fuck! I knew I shouldn't have killed her yet!" He grumbled angrily as he took the knife Macaque used to cut her, and proceeded to stab the corpse's neck in rage. He grumbled out more curses as he twisted the knife around the woman's neck in annoyance. A few minutes passed before he heard a shadow portal open up again. He turned towards it, out came the purple champion again. The simian was about to say something, but then paused and pursed his lips at the sight of Nezha moving the knife inside the woman's neck.

"...You're not supposed to play with your food, pinky. Didn't your friends up in the Celestial Realm ever teach you that?" Macaque teased with a smirk.

The pink champion scoffed in response, pulling out the knife from the woman's neck before slamming it back down, but this time into her eye. Due to his sheer strength, he easily smashed it through part of her skull as well, seemingly ignoring her destroyed eye on the way as her body seemed to weep more blood. "I'm aware of the saying. But what else am I supposed to do? I'm bored!"

Macaque huffed, grinning as he approached the celestial with crossed arms. His tail swayed gently behind him. "If you're bored, then you're in luck! I have a task for you. A very important one..."

Now, due to Macaque having to leave for a mission, Nezha was suddenly happy again. Not necessarily because of the simian being gone, but because of how the celestial was tasked to watch over their Master. Alone. The other champions were busy after all, so their beloved Master needed someone to fill the bodyguard slot for a while. Master's security ink wasn't enough for the monkey brothers. So, Nezha was tasked to be your bodyguard for the time being. And he was ecstatic everytime he was tasked to stay around you. Sure, being bodyguards is like the usual job the champions had signed up for, but Nezha had you for himself in his moment. No other champion could take your attention.

He was standing next to your throne as he stared at you with a soft, loving gaze. You could practically see little hearts floating around his head as his focus stayed solely on you. You looked at him as you hummed in thought. While you didn't mind staying on your throne, you also didn't expect any meeting today. Perhaps you could do something else. You haven't had any alone time with Nezha in a while anyway. And having him stare at you like that for the next few hours wasn't exactly the most entertaining thing. "Sooo... Do you wanna walk around the palace?" You suggested.

Your pink champion seemed to have been caught off guard as he sheepishly nodded. "That would be a wonderful idea, Master. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe the entire time!" He added proudly. You couldn't help but chuckle at his eagerness as you stood up and gently took his hand into yours. Your touch made him smile brightly beneath his mask as he stayed close to you, all while you lead him out of the throne room and down the hall, enjoying your conversation with him. Occasionally, there were a few servants on the way, who all bowed to greet you, but the halls were generally pretty quiet today.

However, that was only until you walked through the activity wing.

There was a sudden bang that startled you and your champion. Nezha quickly recovered from his startled confusion as he took up a more defensive and protective stance, summoning his fire-tipped spear to his side as he shielded you with his body. The loud bang came from down the hall in front of you. When the doors to the library swung open, they swung so strongly that they slammed against the wall, nearly ripping them off their hinges. And out into the hall came a furry beast with six legs. It growled as it moved menacingly out of the library. Then it turned a bit towards you and Nezha... Its four eyes seemed to focus on the celestial in front of you, sensing his energy specifically.

You knew this beast... It was the beast from a book you once read. It was known to be a form of Celestial Hunter. Not much was known about them, other than that they would lure divine entities by copying the voices or looks of someone they love and trust. They would then either bite and infect, or straight up feast on the victim. However, this beast was seen as just simple fiction... How was is real? Where did it come from?

The beast then tried to appear more friendly as it tilted its head at Nezha. Since the celestial already saw its real form, it probably would be unable to get away with a disguise. However, it seemed to have a plan B...

"Nezha? Is that you?" The beast asked in a female voice you didn't recognize. But Nezha did... It was his mother's voice. He gripped his spear tightly, his eyes widening just slightly.

"...Mother?"

The beast doesn't move as it stares at Nezha, lowering its head a bit to try lower his guard. It was trying to get him into a false sense of security.

"Yes, it's me... My son, what happened to you? You don't look so well... We have to leave and get you out of here. This place isn't safe. Come with me, Nezha... Please, come with me... There is so much darkness here... It's so dark here..." As much as it seemed tempting to follow these voice's instructions, Nezha also was fairly aware of the ominous looking creature the voice was coming from. This wasn't any simple demon. Yet, he couldn't help but shake just slightly at the voice of his mother...

That's when he felt you lightly squeeze his hand with yours, bringing him back to the current situation. He glanced behind him to look at you and saw your worried, helpless expression...

He knew he would be a fool if he ever let that... that thing lure him away from his Master...

The temptation to be lured closer to the beast was now gone as quickly as it came, simply replaced by thoughts of his beloved Master. Nezha glared daggers at the beast. He was stronger than whatever it would throw at him. He knew it. And so did you... And he refused to disappoint his beloved, his true Master.

Your pink champion refused to be manipulated so easily.

Not when he had a job to do.

Not when this job involved serving you.

He was one of your champions for a good reason, after all.

The beast seemed to notice the way the celestial seemed more in focus again, and it quickly realized that he couldn't be tricked like its previous victims. So, it dropped its friendly act and let out a loud, hungry screech before it sprinted in his direction. Nezha, with his extreme speed, let go of your hand and swiftly attacked it with his fire-tipped spear, using his now lit up wheels for an extra boost as he stabbed the beast. He grunted in rage as the beast tries to attack him now with the close range. However, he dodged most of its bites and swipes with ease, using his strength to try bend one of its legs and break it. Only to then realize that it didn't have bones...

Nezha seemingly narrowed his void black eyes at the beast as he let out a low growl behind his mask... If he couldn't make it suffer with broken bones, surely tearing it apart limb by limb would work...

Thus, he held tightly onto his spear, making its flame light up more inside the darkened beast. The fire seemed to be its weakness as it began to let out a painful, or rather, seemingly scared screech. However, it was clear to him that it would not go down without a fight as it continued to claw at him. Yet everytime it would claw at him, he held his cold, angered gaze as he started to rip out the leg that it would use to attack. Despite it having no bone structure, it did seem to at least have some form of nerves. The darkened beast seemingly screeched in agony as Nezha managed to rip off one of its limbs.

The beast attempted to get away from Nezha, but he held his tight grip on his spear, refusing to let that thing go unpunished for what it tried to do... How dare it try lure him away from you, his Master...

Upon noticing the beast's attempt to flee, Nezha let out a maddening laugh as he twisted and turned his spear. The fiery tip moved from one side to the other as he enjoyed the beast writhe in pain beneath him. The celestial then slammed his flaming wheels into the beast's chest, letting its fire damage the beast as well. As he noticed a now giant, gaping hole that went through the beast's entire body, he notice how everything inside it was nothing but mass of what its outside was made out of. But it did hold some veins that glowed a very faint red, which were as red as its blood red eyes.

He scoffed as he slammed the beast onto its side, watching it lose its strength. "Ah, got it. You're one of the Oracle's friends, aren'tcha? Well, at least part of whatever the hell he is..." Nezha slammed his fire-tipped spear down into the beast's neck as he let out another painful wail in agony. The pink champion chuckled darkly as his fire spread inside the beast's body. He could practically see his flames glowing past its darkened shell of a body.

"But whether friend or foe, you just attempted a crime so outrageous, it must be punished by nothing less than death..."

Finally, he pulled his spear out of its neck and slammed it into one of the beast's eyes, stabbing it straight through its "skull" with a mocking grin underneath his mask. Just like how he stabbed that woman's corpse earlier... Soon, the beast fully collapsed and stopped moving as the fire inside its body finally seemed to spread to the outside. Nezha made sure it's dead with some extra stabs before he huffed in annoyance. "...Weak. That wasn't even half a challenge."

As he got off the beast's corpse with his spear in hand, the beast's remains suddenly turned into a black, still somewhat burning puddle on the floor. Then it hardened once more, stopping the fire, before finally turning into some form of black dust that easily spread all over the ground with minimal wind around.

Nezha scoffed at the sight before he moved back over to your somewhat shaken form. Though, you looked more intrigued by what just happened. "Master, are you alright? It didn't hurt you, did it?" He asked with sudden concern as he inspected you for any wounds, cupping your cheeks.

"I'm fine, Lotus Dork", you said a bit muffled as he had his hand on your cheeks, squishing them just slightly, looking at you. He sighed in relief as he blushed a bit at that nickname, letting go of your cheeks. But then he noticed you frown at the sight of his own wounds. There wasn't many or even deep wounds, but he did get a few puncture or claw wounds on his skin. On closer inspection, you could see some black inside his wounds. Probably tiny bits from the beast's body.

"Don't worry, Master! It'll heal itself!" He quickly said. You hummed for a moment before taking his hand and practically dragging him down in the direction you came from earlier. He blinked in surprise as he blushed in embarrassment. It probably looked funny to passing servants, just seeing how easily you dragged your pink champion around, when he could just stop moving. But you were his beloved Master, the one in charge of him and his body. Whatever you wanted to do with him was law. But he was still curious. "Master- Where are we going?"

"To the med bay, duh." You said as you pouted at him, still dragging him along like a dog on a leash going to the vet. "I want to have your wound at least disinfected before anything happens."

Nezha chuckled under his breath, which was even more muffled due to his mask. "As if that could happen twice..."

After you forced him to have his wounds cleaned and bandaged, you asked him to take off his mask for a moment. As he did what you requested, you kissed his cheek, right where his old wound was. He blushed as he felt you reward him for taking action and staying by your side.

There was nothing he wanted more than you.

[ Masterlist ]

#lmk esau #eternal servants au #esau nezha #esau macaque #esau x reader #lmk x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk au #lego monkie kid au #emelin oc #nezha x reader #cw: gore #macaque x reader #technically macaque x reader but mainly just hinted #art

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chaos0pikachu · 3 months

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so one of my favorite scenes in word of honor is after Zhou Zi Shu has bared his bosoms to the world like he spent time working at hooters revealing he's got eight nipples and a side dish of martial arts cancer leaving Wen Ke Xing to have Thee Only Gay Breakdown like it's raining (terminally ill men), the OST is going on in the background wkx is shaking and crying because his man, the love of his life, his soulmate, his moon and stars has eight nipples of cancer and eight nipples is totally something wkx could be down for he's from ghost valley he's seen weirder shit and more nips just means more to suck on and wkx loves to suck but NOOO the universe has to be against HIM SPECIFICALLY and how will he survive this pain, this torment, this agony????

meanwhile Gu Xiang shows up with an umbrella all like "master you're gonna die of martial arts pneumonia!!" and wkx is like "let me spit blood, let the streets be painted with the bloody bile of my broken soul!" and rips himself away from her b/c she wouldn't understand, no one understands!! and GX is like "is this an LGTV thing again???"

and just when GX thinks she's gotten through to her master BAM he smashes his flute against the bridge shattering it into thousands of pieces and everybody is like "not the phallic flute of metaphorical homosexuality!!!" and wkx is like "my dick is broken just like my heart!!" and GX watches him slink off like a raggedy ass wet cat in dramatic slow mo thinking "when he starts spitting up pneumonia blood I'm gonna have to clean it up fml"

#word of honor #wenzhou #chaos pikachu speaks #pikachu'a chaotic recaps #shl

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a-local-idiots-shitpost · 8 months

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Solomon stole Mc´s phone and writes to the Brothers

Lucifer:

he knew it wasn´t you and decided to play along until the moron who stole your phone messed up

after that… well he still has to think about it but he´ll know something soon enough

when he finds out it was Solomon, he shouldn´t have been but he was surprised

at least the fact he actually stole your phone was a surprise, knowing you Lucifer just thought you allowed it to fuck with him

he will definitely try to find Solomon so he can take your phone back himself

and hopes he didn´t read you chats, everybody already thinks he favors you (which he does) and he doesn´t want him to find anything in your chats

Mammon:

to Solomon´s surprise Mammon immediately knew it wasn´t Mc who he was chatting with and just as fast threatened him to tell him where Mc is and if anything happened to them whoever has their phone is dead

it was very impress for Solomon

not so impressive when Mammon tracked him down and was ready to beat him to a bloody pulp if he even harmed a hair on Mc´s head

and then he was embarrassed when he found it that it was only Solomon and Mc was in their room the entire time, safe as a Human can be in the Devildom

yeah after this one he hide in his room for a while

Leviathan:

he knew it wasn´t Mc because they already told him about their missing phone

sooo Levi decided to have some fun with it and mess with Solomon, which included making him jealous that he has a better relationship with Mc than Solomon does

and it worked so good that he got hit by lightening, it hurt but it was totally worth it

Levi would always do it again if he got the chance

the only downside is that Solomon found out that he has Mc´s phone and now they are hunting him down

he would prefer if they stayed and helped him with some of his games but at least he might get a souvenir from their endless hunt for Solomon

Satan:

Solomon might have fooled him for a little while but his writing makes to much sense for it to be Mc´s insane and delirious ramblings

he is just not the type to go crazy over even the tiniest of mistakes and randomly send him countless ramblings for a week before just stopping, that´s an art form only he and them mastered

but he also let Solomon know that as soon as he sees him he will kill him… and he´ll tell Mc what he did and as he should Solomon is a lot more terrified of what Mc could do than Satan

also both of them will hunt him at the same time and they will get Thirteen involved because she´s always up for trying to kill him

Asmodeus:

he thought it was funny that Solomon thought he could trick him, as if he doesn´t know every little detail about how everybody chats

but he decided to play along just because he wanted to know what Solomon was planning

and it was boring even his attempts at spicing up his chats with him failed

but he has the real Mc to keep him company<3 so everything even out´s in the end

and he was hoping he would get a bit jealous about it but no Solomon had to be boring and abandon everything when Asmo told him Mc was on their way

so unfair… it´s not like he could even die or that that´s the first time Mc tried to torture him

Beelzebub:

Mc was getting some light snacks, which were just mountains upon mountains of food, with him when Solomon wrote to him

but he was also really bad at impersonating Mc so even if they weren´t literally besides him he would have known it wasn´t them

only difference would have been that he would have worried that something happened to them and would get ready to find whoever has their phone and eat them

but now Mc saw it and they will do the hunting, would have been a lot easier for him to just turn himself in and a lot less painful

even worse he distracted Mc from their food and they hate when someone does that

now he feels bad for Solomon when Mc get´s their hands on him

Belphegor:

he was half heartily listening to them complain about some piece of shit stealing their phone and horrible timing on Solomon´s part that he was trying to trick him at this exact moment

yeah Mc found out and now Mc wants to hunt him for sport

he would´t even dream of stopping them not because he cares about what happens to Solomon but because he´s tired and now Mc won´t bother him

also when they have their phone back it will be a lot easier for them to stay still so he can nap on them, without it they move far to much

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #lucifer avatar of pride #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #mammon avatar of greed #obey me leviathan #leviathan avatar of envy #obey me satan #satan avatar of wrath #asmodeus avatar of lust #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub avatar of gluttony #belphegor avatar of sloth #obey me belphegor

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slowthypiglordblr · 1 year

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Toh Theory: Will the Titan aid Luz in the Final Battle, and has he been helping her?

Throughout the course of the Owl house (especially after the revelations from S2b) a question has been in the back of my mind. Has the Titan of the Boiling Isles been secretly helping Luz this whole time?

A major element of season 1 and early season 2 was Luz’s uncanny ability to discover and utilize glyphs, something witches and demons didn’t know existed until then. In a matter of weeks, Luz had mastered all four glyphs, and would eventually learn to combine them in only a few months. While this also stems from her artistic ingenuity (and reading some of Philip’s journal), it’s almost like the Titan itself had been guiding her as a sort omniscient second mentor. On the opposite, it took Belos/Philip Witterbane years to figure out the gylphs even requiring Luz to teach his past self the light spell (her first glyph). He even speculated that Titan would have such knowledge to begin with and was actively sabotaging him to prevent him from threatening the people of the isles. It’s fitting that the self-proclaiming “Humble Messenger of the Titan” was actually a false prophet despised by the being he claimed to serve where as Luz was unknowingly the Titan’s true champion.

Another interesting thing in “For The Future” of all the Hexsquad, Luz was the only one to stuck in the rift (a place she had previously visited in Yesterday’s Lie). The spiritual figure (who I presume is the titan’s soul) is desperately trying to reach, even waving at her to get her attention. Whatever the reason, the Titan clearly wishes to speak with Luz specifically as if he needs her for something important.

This is mostly just a guess on my end, but I’m starting to wonder if Dana has been hinting this connection from the beginning. During the countdown for the season 2 premiere, Luz is shown resting inside the skull of a giant beast which seems to greatly resembles a Titan’s head. Another art piece shows Luz playing with a massive paper mache King’s skull, wearing it and even sitting inside of it.

In the show proper, in the episode “Thanks to Them”, Luz and Hunter adorn themselves with a King and Owl mask respectively to face what they think is Belos returned. While this was mostly helped to give Hunter a much needed confidence boost, it might also serve as a symbolic function in the narrative. Hunter is revitalizing a part of his former identity as the Golden Guard whereas Luz wears the likeness of someone she views as a younger brother for emotional support. It also may foreshadow Luz drawing strength from the Titan itself in order to be on par with the Collector as what Lilith mentioned in “For the Future”, Titan’s magic can negate Collector magic. (Makes you wonder if instead of a CollectorLuz, we got TitanLuz, but that’s probably just me.)

.Before we get into Titan’s plans for Luz, we need to take reflect on elements on the small tidbits of information revolving around the Titans in general. As we can recall, the Titans were once the ruling species of the Demon Realm for an unspecified amount of time. One day, the Collectors arrived on their crusade of capturing and taking over other planets for their own agenda. The Titans stepped forth to oppose the Collector and drive them back, with the latter alongside the witches and demons who worshiped them and sought their extinction. This would lead to a long and bloody war which ended in both sides wiping each other out, save a youngster from each opposing species (King and our Collector).

During this period of time, it helps to shed a small light on the Boiling Isles Titan likely as a person. While we don’t know much about King’s father, it’s in the face of the war and the slaughter of his kin, a he sought to protect his son (the last Titan) at all costs. He created an island hidden away from the Collector through a protective sigil inside a massive tower which King’s egg would be nurtured. As a last line of defense against any intruder seeking to harm his son, the Titan created an army of golems made from flesh and bone to protect and care for King. This proves to us that regardless of circumstance, King’s father loved and cherished his son more than anything in the world, even before his own life.

This leads into the reason for the Titan seeking out Luz, the answer is as simple as it is profound, to be there for King. Ever since Luz arrived on the Isles, she’s had a massive positive impact on the island and it’s inhabitants (despite her believing the contrary). She helped Eda reconcile with her curse and her sister, she helped Willow, Gus, Hunter, and Amity overcome their personal struggles, reforge their friendships and come into their own, as well as play an important role in stopping the Day of Unity. But one of major accomplishments was with King, at the start of the show, he was self-centered attention seeking child lost in delusions of grandeur who often caused a lot of trouble her and others around him. But thanks in part to Luz, King not only learned that actions have consequences and to appreciate what he has, but also resolve his own identity crisis and discover his nature as a Titan. If not for Luz’s influence would’ve never become the mature, responsible, empathetic boy he is by season 3. Through that, it’s easy to see why the Titan would see Luz as the perfect person to watch over King, as well the world he created in his own death.

While the idea of prophecy and chosen ones does not fit the themes of the owl house, but take away the Titan’s preconceived divinity to the witches and demons of the BI and a new picture is formed. A father who in death left behind a world for his son to call home and a family to cherish, with Luz serving to guide him into becoming a good person in a way he could not.

#the owl house #toh theory #luz noceda #the owl house luz #lumity #the owl house king #toh season 3 #king clawthorne #the owl house eda #toh spoilers #the owl house thanks to them

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kit-williams · 5 months

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Beauty in the eye

Yandere Emperor's Children

This could be seen as an OC but I'm doing my best with this x reader (please someone tell me if it's working) ((or would it better to switch to you vs she))

tw: Yandere, nudity? body horror? dubious consent? Its slannesh time again, Emperor's children ((Also please let me know if I miss some I'm trying my best to warn ya'll ))

The moans that drifted around the room. The white marble against the gold filigree and royal purple fabrics. As men, women, and everything in between experienced the ecstasy of Slannesh. Palion Hiss ran his tongue against the exposed spine of one of his devotees. Their moans and shrieks of pain fluttered about his gallery as he was searching for a new piece.

Oh how bored he was with all the smooth shapes... the only thing that could stimulate his eyes were the way the silken fabrics would pool and wrinkle... the pulsing bloody forms of peeled flesh. The way thrown paint would chaotically splatter against the wall. It's all because he had gotten a new muse.

He tossed the devotee to the side ignoring the shriek of pain and the way they thrashed in agony. His eyes roamed over the undressed shapes before his muse walked in. Covered in a dark blue robe with a hood and wearing a white porcelain mask. He painted the red lips and applied the delicate blush.

He could see her eyes dart over the sea of bodies and shy away as one thrashing body gets too close. White gloves cover her hands... every inch of skin covered... he knew her feet were bare but the length of the robes.... hid it all from their eyes. Palion bit his bottom lip watching her eyes shy away from the more lurid acts going on in his gallery. It made his tongue tie knots on itself with how shy she would be.

She walked closer to his throne as she held a tray with food for him and drugs. Hmm he's sure he ordered that ages ago... no wonder he was bored he had been out of his muse's light for so long. How he watches, clawed fingers just idly playing with his long silver locks, her move closer and waits. He'd have to train her more... doesn't she realize that she can just walk up to him climb into his lap even he wants her to be his muse. A jerk of his chin as his eyes flick over to a cacophony of sounds for a moment as her voice is nearly drowned out by it. "Forgive my delay my lord... I was... um kept."

Palion felt his jaw tense. Did someone touch something that was his?! She was his muse, would one of his brothers dare even touch her. "Explain now." He said far too gruffly as he watched the tray start to shake.

"I had... I had to take the long way back. I don't know who they were but... they just were harassing me and trying to pull off my mask." Her meek voice sings to him of fear and shame.

"One of my brothers?" He sees her hesitate, his tongue rolls the drug laced food inside of his mouth. His muse experiences far many more luxuries than any of these drugged out devotees or playthings and one such luxury is her being allowed to hesitate, "Pretty little muse... you'll be safe with me. You just have to only move your head yes or no..." He watched her slowly nod. His hand gently grabbed her chin as he placed a chaste kiss on the porcelain forehead leaving a ghost of purple lipstick on the smooth material. "I'll take care of it... and of course you."

-----

Perfect bodies move all around you. Perfect breasts... waists that are attractive... muscles that run over the body... literally everyone in this room is a work of art. All in the throws of pleasure or pain. Perfect flesh being flayed from a body... the perfect face of pleasure as someone else is fucked dumb... even the ones you think have overdosed lay there looking perfect.

Your skin itches and buzzes as you feel so out of place... you're horribly imperfect as you stand besides Master Palion's throne as he eats and drinks with a bored look on his face. He looks so perfect... everything is perfect. You rapidly blink away the tears as you look down at the floor. You're still upset about earlier... about someone trying to touch your mask... trying to see your face. You're too ugly to be here!

"My muse?" You heard Palion's voice as your head snaps up in worry. Did you breathe too loudly? Did you let out a sad whimper? You can't stop the tremor of fear as he looks at you concerned. He has been a good master but he is in the depths of the Prince's embrace... you're use to masters like that being unpredictable... its how you had gotten disfigured.

"Master?" You whisper softly.

"EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT!" He suddenly snarls slamming his hands on the marble arms of the throne and you bow as you go to scurry off but he points at you muttering, "Stay."

It's quiet... saved for the dripping of blood and wine as you follow that perfect stride of his. The way his silver hair sways back and forth like a silken furred tail. You hate it here. You hate having Slanneshi masters... it makes you feel so hideous.

You whimper as your feet leave the bare marble floors and you find yourself sinking into a sea of plushness. Yet you know the bed is firm just you have your own little plush space on his bed. You hear the lock of the door as you roll over and hide your face into a pillow.

"My muse. Look at me." You shake your head at that request. You can picture his worried face... he's too pretty to look upset its why you can't look at him. "Why not?"

"I'm so hideous master! Why do you let me look at you!" You finally start to sob. The bed moves as you try to hide your face more but he calls you his little doll for a reason. He pulls your gloves off delicately... your flesh trembling under his touch as he rubs your left hand. You slap his perfect chest and try to get out of his grip. The blessed and damned mask on your face makes getting oxygen in for your temper tantrum hard. Your robes are the next thing to go.

His hands move over your left side no mater how hard you try to slap his hands away as you shriek at him to stop. You sob as he moans and kisses your ruined flesh. His long forked dark purple tongue works its way into the spider web patterning of your burned flesh. You can feel his hard cock against you and being the brat that you feel like right now you kick it hard.

He moans in rapturous delight as the heel of your foot dug into the sensitive flesh. "My beloved muse... let me see your face!" He moans as you just sob and cover your eyes not being able to handle the way he looks at you. You cry more as he crawls over you, rutting against you, "Mmmm feel what you do to me. Let me see your face my muse! I know you've locked away your beauty... I am but a groveling mortal unable to handle basking in your grace all the time... but please let me just gaze upon your beauty. Let my muse grace me with her smile... let her grace me with her beauty!" He sings to you as you sniffle under him.

When you gently press against his chest he moves back watching with such reverence as you sit up and just gently touch your mask. "I can't... I'm so hideous." You sob out.

"Then let me take it off of you my goddess. " He all but moans out as you sit there and nod. The manic reverent look in his eyes makes you squirm as he pulls the mask away. The entire left side of your face... acid and flames burnt your skin... most of your left arm... your left breast... lucky for you your leg was spared but you have been burnt. Your left eyelid droops slightly as you look at the perfect angel... you run a hand over the bald spots on the left half of your scalp and the sad patches of hair that try to grow through the ruined skin.

You avert your gaze feeling embarrassed at the way he goes to touch himself... lewdly moaning as he pleasures himself to you simply sitting there. It doesn't take too long before you feel warmth spray against your skin as he paints patches of your skin white. "Stop... please stop." You sob.

"Why?"

"I'm hideous."

"If you think that... " He says pushing you onto your back as he looms over you and his eyes glow a purplish-pink from this angle. "It means I haven't worshiped you enough recently. Oh my poor little muse no wonder you weren't having fun at the party or trying to distract me. I can tell you're feeling self conscious. Let me worship you. Not anyone gets my cum little muse. And I have so much to give you. So... will you let me worship you?"

You feel your breath shutter at the intensity of his gaze just like the first time you two met... you whimper softly, "Yes." You say and wrap your arms around his neck as he greedily goes for a kiss... and the hours- no days blend together as he worships you.

#tw: yandere #tw: nudity #tw: body horror #tw: body insecurity #tw: dubious consent #tw: Slannesh #emperor's children #Yandere #Yandere Space Marine #Yandere Emperor's Children #warhammer 40k

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zhongrin · 5 months

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𒆙 ღ

part 8/8 of ⎡∞ / 𝟔 𝟎 𝟎 𝟎 ⁺⎦, a zhongli 2023 birthday event

𖧷 tags ┈ selfship (zhongrin, small hint of zhongwrinth), 3rd person pov from zhongli's side, fluff, bittersweet (like almost all the other chapters are lol), slight soft yandere-ish, slight genshin's canon lore references

𖧷 a/n ┈ happy new year my dear patrons! starting off this year strong with some super indulgent selfship piece :> technically, it can be read as x fem!reader, but you'll find that it was not meant to be one. you'll find a lot of hidden selfship lores in this, and it's very very very self-indulgent and personal (which is why i don't have the usual x reader tags), so keep that in mind and be respectful, please 🙏🏻 you have been warned!

𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓊 ❬ masterlist ❭ 𐫱 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭

𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 was an intricacy he had been continuously studying over the course of more than six thousand years and counting now.

and still, with every year that passed, he realized there were many sides of love he had not discovered nor experienced himself. things like—

how the peals of someone’s laughter could be comparable to the most melodious bird’s singing, and in its contraposition, how the saddened frown from a beloved person when he forgot an important date due to the many anniversaries which had accumulated over the past few millennia, could cut deeper than the sharpest blades forged by the most proficient masters of the blacksmiths.

how, despite the many losses and reunions he had experienced, he would still have the same nightmare that had been regularly plaguing him from a few millennia back: the vision of her bloodied shell, the rage bubbling from the deepest of his heart. how the mountains tore and the seabed shifted, the anguish as cold as the lifeless body within his hold and as silent as her unmoving crimson-stained lips, the pain hundredfold as he buried her with his own hands in some desolate place ridden by war and placed a single yellow hibiscus as a meagre offering.

how the scent of the sea used to be relatively bearable despite the reflexive scrunch of his nose, and even so, he found himself increasingly becoming averse to them - especially when the scent paired with the minty frost of snezhnaya or the chalky, wintery air of dragonspine.

how, those old times ago, his closest friends had betted on the day he would use his proficiency and skills in the advanced adepti arts to do menial tasks out of love, and though at that time, morax had scoffed and laughed right in front of their face... look at him now, gladly using the ability to maintain adeptal realms to expand his beloved’s teashop or facilitate her travels between the nations of teyvat.

𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒… such an infinitely complex and neverending, yet beautiful affair.

“happy birthday, rex lapis.”

“happy birthday, morax.”

“happy birthday, zhongli.”

“happy birthday, xiànɡ ɡonɡ!”

love tasted like a sweet kiss with a touch of fragrant osmanthus and the bitterness of coffee. love took the form of a bashful and imperfect smile in full bloom against rosy cheeks. love was the way her silken hair felt against his calloused fingers as he tied his treasured golden hair clip around the midnight-colored strands, following her 'coincidental' oversight to bring her own. love was heard in fond wishes and silent gratitudes whispered into the seas of stars, amongst the soft rolls of waves caressing the shores of the harbor of their retirement home.

perhaps his darling won’t be by his side next year. perhaps she would, in a different form than what she was now. perhaps…. he would not survive this year.

but what did it matter?

for even as calamity befell aria, sonnet, and canon, the corpse of a moon still continued its sovereignty in a fixed orbit to encircle teyvat, unchanging — and so he believed the two lovers’ fates would intertwine once again; for she was destined to be his, for he oathed to be bound to her beyond a mortal expiry;

until their souls reunited in a place not even the heavenly principles could reach,

until no more engraved rings could fit in her fingers,

until teyvat's bedrock crumbled into dust.

“the day the rite of parting is recompensed, wife of mine… i promise our 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 will be sealed eternal.”

a contract sealed in souls, befitting of his goetic namesake. this might as well be the most selfish contract he has ever sealed with his blood — yet could one still call him a devil when his victim was most willing?

#genshin impact #zhongli #yandere #rin selfships #zhongrin #zhongwrinth #rin writes #∞ / 𝟔 𝟎 𝟎 𝟎 ⁺

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swifty-fox · 2 months

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yo you post your fics on AO3? if so please share your user babe

omg yes I do! you can check my swiftywrites tag but

Masters of the Air:

Kingdom for a Kiss - WIP (60k written, 48k Posted) Long-form Postwar exploration of Clegan's relationship and their trauma. Updates weeky. Explicit.

“I wasn’t the one all but begging to be shot by the guards for months on end there Bucky.” Buck shakes his head, laughing sharply. His anger was a living thing now and he aches with it “Nah, nah, not me. No, I was the one dragging your crazy ass back from the brink time and time again. Trying to convince those fucking Germans your sorry carcass was of more use alive than dead, trying to keep the men busy and motivated while you fucked about. You're welcome by the way.” He jabs a finger in John's direction, who stares at him taken aback. “So’s I don’t see much of a reason why I should let you come up into my home and cast your judgments around.”

Bucks chest heaves, great gulps of air like he’s once again racing through snow-covered German trees. He can tell he’s shocked John into silence, the other man's eyes darting back and forth. Buck averts his gaze, brushing his hair back from his face. That’s twice now he’s lost himself at the people he cares about. Twice now he’s bitten a hand reached out in kindness.

Gale takes a deep breath to compose himself, tucks the jagged angry edges of himself back to face inwards. “You said you would write.”

Little Beast: Ongoing. Porn with a bit of Plot modern au of Burnout John and Priest Gale. 9k of them fucking and arguing. p2 is in the drafts and will be part of a series of stories. NSFW to the max

“It’s such a shame you’re cooped up in here like Rapunzel there Buck.” John drawls lazily. He makes a show of looking around “Is Mother Gothel nearby?”

Buck has to fight back against another smile, wouldn't give him the satisfaction or the encouragement “Father Huglin is away at a conference today.”

“All alone without a chaperone.”

press your tired hands against my lips darling: Finished. 3K word re-write of the Bucks final conversation in the cockpit. Loose prequel to KfaK but with some minor inaccuracies Mostly SFW

Gale takes John's hand, brings the scarred knuckles to his mouth and holds it there, turns their hands over til he can place his lips to the pulse point at John’s wrist. It’s not a kiss, there’s no press or pursing of lips, but tender nevertheless, intimate in a way that makes Gale shudder. Cautious of whether John will even allow this.

“I ain’t prayed in a long time,” Gale says whisper-soft. He feels John’s pulse skip a beat, “but I prayed every day you were safe and alive and coming back to me. Every morning, and every night.” He lets himself cry again, tears hidden against the scarred skin of John's hand.

The Old Guard:

in another life maybe you and i would be walking down an aisle in white: Finished Joe/Nicky (18K) Art Professor Joe & Art Conservator Nicky reconnect after ten years. This one is uh. Sad. Mind the tags. It's an incredibly personal piece to me and probably one of my favorites .NSFW

Dear Joe, you have always been the brave one and I wished every moment for even a drop of that. Perhaps that is why I claimed you as mine, out of a desperate need to have even an ounce of what made you, you. I desired you but I would not, could not ever let you in. I loved you and kept you and hurt you, keelhauled you against the impenetrable ship that was my heart and when the ragged pieces were left behind I still asked of you your silence.

It is no wonder our love was left in bloody tatters on that lawn.

Make me a Saint: Finished (8k) Nicky and Nile mete out some justice to a corrupt priest. NSFW for violence. Mind the tags. As of right now, my most popular fic

“ I was a priest before your bible was even written old man ” Nickys voice thunders in the tiny room, crackling over the walls like fire. Even Nile flinches at the sudden volume. He takes another step forwards, bracketing Father Marcus’ arthritic twisted feet with his own.

His voice does not shake.

“I preached the word of God before your language was even invented . I have known the church for longer than you can comprehend. I have seen great men and evil men take up the word of the Lord and I have seen them all rendered dust. I have seen you and I have judged you, Father Marcus. The Church may practice restraint but I do not. The diocese may have turned a blind eye I but I do not. The courts may have found you innocent but I do not .

Calcification of a God: Finished (4K) Nicky has a lil Menty B and then Joe gives him a bath. Mostly SFW if I recall correctly

“I think,” Nicky says “If I were God, it was you I modeled humanity after. I think if I were God I would have left my throne in heaven to walk beside you and I would have been richer for it”

Yusuf chuckles “Death makes you sentimental my darling.”

Wolfstar:

Oh Captain, My Captain!: Finished, 1.6k Drabble of Wolfstar cuddling and reciting poetry. SFW

He cups the back of Remus’s head, presses him further into the safety of his body with a hand on his mismatched, misaligned rib cage and rocks them slightly. Remus grunts slightly. Sirius hides the teeth of his smile against the follow of his own neck and allows the curtain of his hair to cover them both for a moment. He listens to the two of them breath, always slightly out of sync, out of rhythm. Remus quick and labored, Sirius racing to catch up only to find himself charging ahead only to drop back behind when he tries to slow down.

“ If I vibrate with vibrations other than yours, must you conclude that my flesh is insensitive ” That doesn’t fit quite right, so he tries another, brow furrowed and fingers tracing the knobs of Remus’ spine like the knots on a tree, with reverence and a little hint of greed.

#swiftytalks #swiftywrites #my fics #wolfstar #clegan #joe x nicky #the old guard #masters of the air #just thought i would take this chance to compile all the links

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mightymizora · 8 months

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WIP: The Portrait

This is the most self indulgent thing I'm writing, but I'm putting this opener out to see if it works at all... feedback welcome.

Lord Gortash requests a portrait of his paramour. The pay is good, the contract legitimate. It seems almost too good to be true...

The request came to the guild house with gold already attached. Wanted, portrait artist. Female subject, three sittings. Half pay upfront. He did not recognise the seal, but Darcus told him it was from the newly minted Lord Gortash, also known as Enver Flymm, also known in certain parts of the back cities as Flymm the Bloody, where they still dared to say such things. The purse held more gold than Guy had ever seen, and Litton laughed at his face when he opened it.

“Oh, dear boy!” he chided, drawing the string again and placing it in the middle of the table. “You are too swayed by money. What of passion? What of love of the craft?”

It was easy, thought Guy, to care only of craft, of passion or love or whatever else you might want when you were the third son of a Patriar, and mummy dearest paid for your garret upfront for the year so you could slum it a little, just for fun. When you had a real life, a real wife, a real child, love started to mean something very different.

“Give it here,” he said. “I’ll take it. If it’s Kerrie Lovelace again, I still have the sketches from the Ravengard commission.”

Lovelace was popular with the Patriars. A half-elf with the wettest eyes he’d ever seen and a permanently quivering, full lip. She was the lover or some, and the favoured subject of far more since Litton had painted her as a beautiful mermaid to mark The Breaking a few years before. The last piece Guy had painted of her had been a garish facsimile of the original with only surface changes, but it had paid fairly. Money seemed to disappear these days. Between clothing and food for little Eva, new dresses for Sal and keeping up with all of these idiots, he was running dry again.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” said Darcus, his tankard resting against his belly. The moon was barely up and he was already deep in his cups. “These new Lords, they ain’t to be trusted. No honour between them.”

“And I’d take it,” said Litton. “Not personally, of course. But you should take it now before Fevras gets wind. At least you might make something worth hanging.”

And so he finds himself being ushered into full halls of the home of Lord Gortash, a surprisingly unassuming and tasteful villa in the new style, all white stone and iron-wrought glass, every wall crammed to the ceiling with art and curios. There are paintings here from the old masters that must have cost a fortune, plenty of Litton’s best (including The Mermaid, he notes, last in the possession of the Jannath’s), and odd pieces of fine mechanica and automata the likes of which the Halls of Wonder would envy. He almost wishes to stop, take it in, but his patron’s pace is unrelenting as he strides through to the very end of the house. It does not seem wise to keep him waiting.

“I hope it is sufficient light,” says Gortash, opening the door himself to a handsome chamber with full glass windows, a handsome solid desk and a nicely appointed parlour. “You are seeing into the most intimate parts of my estate. I will be present tending to some business while you work, if that is alright with you. I do so like to see a master at their craft.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” Guy says as he hands his cloak to a dwarf standing in the centre of the room, who does not move to bow as she takes it. The woman looks at him with some curiosity, and looks over to her Lord with a sharp smile.

“Ah,” starts Gortash, taking the cloak from her and holding it out. An elf in fine brocade sweeps in to take it, and the woman watches with still amusement as they depart. “This, Saer Ceasebourne, is your subject.”

He feels his stomach churn as he looks at her again. She cocks her head in curiosity as she stares back at him. She does not look angry, but now he looks again she does not look amused. No, the look in her eye is something else entirely, and it makes him feel rather sick.

“My apologies, my Lord, I didn’t-”

“Oh dear fellow, do not fret. Though I keep my servants in better finery than this one wears, for future reference.”

“You forget yourself, Lord Gortash.”

The woman’s voice is dark, deep as the Chionthar, and dripping in threat as her eyes flick from him to Gortash. He takes the momentary reprieve from her gaze to cast an eye over her properly. It is hard to see her body under her plain dark red robes, but he can tell from what flesh is exposed at her neck and down her forearms that she is likely to be freckled all over her pale skin. Copper hair is heaped atop her head in a neat bun, her face marked with long lines of a tattoo that traces her strong jaw and pulls into her eyes.

Her eyes. They are quite extraordinary. At a first glance brown, but as the light pulls into them they shine an almost pinkish hue. Like unblooded meat.

Gortash smiles at her, bowing his head ever so slightly. "I apologise for the perceived slight. You are my guest here today. And I hope we will both show proper decorum, for the occasion."

#wip tag #manva warhelm #enver gortash #durgetash

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verysmolnerd · 1 month

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Fuck it. Yandere Maxim

When he permanently lost Veronica to Balthazar, something inside him just snapped. A thousand years worth of magical battles and losing to the same person can make you lose it.

It’s not like Balthazar attempted to fix his broken relationship with any of the ancient apprentices. It’s almost like rubbing in a victory, expect multiply it by every single year Maxim lost. Long story short, he’s in a permanently foul mood.

He’s heavily affected by his past failures and refuses to grow from it, as mentioned before. So when someone catches his eye, they’re better off either dropping off the face of the earth or..there’s no alternative, whoever is the sudden target of his infatuation, they’re fucked.

So, if you are the target of his sudden descent into true madness, you’ll notice eyes on you. Like normal, you’ll be unable to see the source. Maybe if you’re perceptive, you can see the faintest baby blue glow from across the street. It’s always some form of jewelry, but you could never figure why it glows so much; noticeably bright for that matter.

If you work at some sort of food service job or coffee shop, you’ll notice that one of your regulars lack their personality that you’ve known for a long time. Then they leave, and re-enter with their normal personality, and different clothes for that matter.

I would say this could go on for a week at least, a month at most. Maxim’s patience has long since run very thin. He’s already played the waiting game with Veronica and lost, he’s not about to do that again.

However, he is dramatic. So, he’s going to come after you in the cliche New York evenings when you’re walking home by yourself. The only indication that he’s nearing was the strength of the wind increasing.

Then it suddenly stops, and you feel cool metal tap again the back of your head.. and then you fall forward, losing consciousness.

As for being in his captivity, scream, beg, cry; nothing works for home. He’s been in the magical side of every single war that took place within the past thousand years. Screaming bloody murder won’t do anything. It’ll just piss him off and then you find that you’re unable to open your mouth.

The location he brings you can only be accessed with magic. It’s a nice abode, but you’ll never see the light of day. That meaning, you also lose track of time very easily. Each room you enter is always lit the same, by some electric chandelier. The dim lighting starts to get to you after a while.

Behaving and playing the part that he wanted Veronica to play can surely help you out. Granted, he’ll never be as doting as he would in the past, but the shadows of his selfless kindness start to show.

If you happened to know another sorcerer, then that would really piss him off. The only sorcerers that are able to stop him are the people who beat him in the first place. So any sorcerer that isn’t them will meet a brutal fate. He’ll have some part of them on display as if it’s some sort of art piece.

If you are friends with the stronger sorcerers, then you better stay with them as long as you live (or unless his interest for you fades) because he will be biding his time to capture you.

If you yourself know magic, he’ll be some sort of strict master to you. You don’t know what his intentions are for you, but it certainly helps pass the time.

You never really deal with his mood changing that much, he’s still the closed off sorcerer who’s lost so many times that he’s bitter for eternity.

When worse comes to worse, he will use you without consent, but I think he’s too upset with his past to be sexually interested or frustrated for that matter.

If his infatuation gets the best of him, he will be affectionate. I imagine this will be a lot later down the line should you choose to submit to him. He’ll gradually become more comfortable with showing such affections. He doesn’t want another Veronica case, so for a long ass time you’re just kidnapped with an emotionally distant man who just admires you like a work of art.

If you somehow escape (his magical house doesn’t have any exists and is far bigger than a labyrinth) he’ll be at wits end to find you. No matter how many people stand in front of you, their bodies will soon lay lidless on the floor.

He does love you to some extent, it’s just scary. He’s almost like a cursed porcelain pot. Pretty and nice to look at until broken, then the shard will cut you.

First yandere headcannon, shit got wild.

#fanfiction #headcannons #fanfic #maxim horvath x reader #maxim horvath #Yandere Maxim horvath #yandere Maxim horvath x reader

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killerlittlerejects · 19 days

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“J-Jeff, sto-“

“Well, princess, I need you to do one more thing for me…”

I didn’t think I’d finished this tonight, but @nathantheauthor said he was hyped for the final product when I showed him the WIP and that encouraged me to finish the piece sooner then later. I’m super proud of how this turned out! Despite the more eerie/disturbing atmosphere of the piece.

As you know, I’m doing a Needles and Smile’s AU for Nina and several other characters. Though the AU was originally supposed to be Nina centric, so there has been more ideas in the works for our favourite scene queen then the others. And that got me thinking: what happened between Nina and Jeff that prompted her to go from serial killer to slasher hunter?

Thanks to a unique pose on Pinterest, I found my answer.

Warning: I’m going to go into some pretty graphics detail, so if you don’t think you can handle that, don’t read under the cut.

Because of her encounter with Lazari during the night of the asylum break/attack on the town, seeing how scared and helpless this little girl is makes Nina begin to have doubts about destroying the entire town. Was it all really worth it? Eventually, she catches up with Jeff and timidly expresses her concerns.

Of course, Jeff simply concludes that the solution is to get rid of Lazari, so “his love” can be brought back to her “right state of mind” again. However, for the first time ever, Nina has the courage to stop him and tell him no, she doesn’t want that. This leads to a long, tense moment of silence with the two simply staring at each other. She can see the processing in his eyes, but has no idea what he’s thinking, and that makes her nervous. Anxiously waiting…

Her answer is a harsh slap to the face. Unfortunately for Nina, Jeff concluded that he can no longer make his little puppet do his bidding. She’s useless in his eyes, no fun anymore, that’s no good. So, there’s only one thing left to do.

Weak pleas fall on deaf ears as the next thing Nina knows she’s in horrific pain as Jeff brutally stabs her repeatedly. Leaving her to bleed out on the ground so she can “think about what she’s done.”

Luckily, it seemed that the universe decided to grant some mercy upon the secondary smile killer. As the sun began to rise, a bruised up Toby and Jane come across an inconsolable barely breathing Nina and a sobbing Lazari who’s desperately trying to stop the bleeding. Despite being a big part of the incident, all they see her as now is another one of Jeff’s victims. Toby gently picks her up and carries her off as the three of them go to get her medical aid. And that was the start of a newfound family!

Nina has a lot of regrets to overcome, but this was a night she considers both the best and worst day of her life. To this day, it’s hard to talk about.

Someone please give this woman hugs, she needs them. A lot of my Nina’s do lol.

I can’t wait to work on more for this AU!

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

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You, forever (Chapter VIII: Spawn of pure malevolence)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.

Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses and deaths, implied/referenced murder, discussions of Luciferianism and religion. I'll probably edit it again another day, but if I don't post it now I'm afraid I'll never will. Around 4K words!

PREV CHAPTER HERE

“I heard the wind has changed in Har Megiddo.”

Below the surface, the Necromancer’s boots emit a thunderous sound against the ground. The echo travels through the chamber, vibrating in the walls before getting lost in the distance.

In slow motion, they stride around the room. Those dim eyes examine the surfaces, rapidly bypassing the decorations and statues that clutter the corners before centering on the glass coffin in the middle of the place.

Oh.

Huge pupils expand even more inside the light irises when the Necromancer takes a step forward. Then, another. Gaze locked, they move cautiously towards the casket. It's not an ordinary occurrence to find a corpse so carefully curated, so beautifully cared for. There are flowers and gold jewelry surrounding the body, delicate silk and velvet enveloping it like a fine cerecloth.

Those are not merely bloody, mangled human remains.

No. That is a piece of art and there’s nothing the Necromancer wants more than to lay their hands on it, to make it twirl under the midnight sun. All it would take it'd be a twitch of their fingers...

Of course, they can’t do anything for as long as Papa Emeritus stands in the way.

Such a shame.

Such a pity.

“I love what you have done with the place.” The words are devoid of emotion, completely empty. Indifference coats each syllable, extending the spaces with air. “I can’t believe this has been down here all this time.”

Papa Emeritus IV continues to be silent. Guarding him, stand two ghouls. They all stare in the Necromancer's direction, following every slight movement.

The leather of Papa’s glove creaks when he tightens his fist, muscles tensing upon the gesture. His clothes are spotless, carefully tailored to drape around his body in a way that it wouldn’t fit anyone else. The Necromancer has a good eye for details and they must admit that Papa radiates a strong aura of power and royalty, to the point it’s almost intimidating.

Fortunately, the Necromancer laughs in the face of authority. The glass is cold when their hand falls flat on the surface, nails grazing over the smooth material.

Tap.

“This is nice.”

Tap.

Papa doesn’t reply. The black polish on the Necromancer’s nails is chipped and messy, a somber color on the extremely pale skin. It requires a considerable effort not to react when they move closer, face almost pressing on the coffin and head leaning to one side. The warm breath fogs up the glass, coats the surface that shields your body from the dust and humidity of the underground tunnels.

“The mortician did a good job with this one.” Dark hair falls flat on the Necromancer’s forehead, casting shadows over their eyes. Yet, it does nothing to hide the undeniable glint in them. “Looks like they sleep peacefully.”

Too peacefully. The Necromancer practically feels as if they could rouse you up with a few snaps of their fingers. Over your nose, the black nails tap once and then twice, waiting for a reaction.

Nothing happens, there is no fluttering of eyelashes or twitch of your brows.

You’re dead.

That’s good.

It’s better when they are dead. The deceased can’t judge, complain or do anything but follow orders and dance round and round. To be the puppet master, the one who controls and possesses, that’s a distinctive type of privilege very few have.

It’s a gift, something that must be appreciated and exploited to the full potential.

Not everybody agrees. Looking back, the Necromancer finds Papa Emeritus IV standing a few meters away, jaw tense and burning gaze. Another short sound emerges from the glass when their nails tap again, never averting their eyes.

“Stop it,” Papa barks, and the ghouls bare their teeth at the command. The infernal creatures are practically as tense as he is, ready to jump and attack at any threat. The Necromancer fears no ghoul or Papa, but they have to admit this one is different from the rest. Historically, Papas have inevitably been nothing but a figurehead, a puppet in the hands of the Clergy.

Not this one.

Papa Emeritus IV possesses a certain air of danger surrounding his body and the unmistakable scent of Death holds close to his robes and skin. When he moves, the screams coming from beyond the grave sound louder, rising in a never-ending chorus of misery.

The voices inside the Necromancer’s head never shut up. It’s annoying, terribly so. The damned crave violence, blood, yearn for more destruction. Everywhere Papa goes, the shrieks follow him, for he has sent so many souls underground, condemned many to burn and decay until the end of times.

A hollow laugh escapes their lungs. The Necromancer remains still, back straight as they take half a step to the side. “I don’t think your lover minds it,” they affirm. “But I have to admit I’m a bit saddened at the fact that the body is unburied. Digging them up is the best part."

“I’ll give you everything you need to work with.” Copia assures hastily, moving a hand to motion at the other. “But don’t test my patience.”

The Necromancer’s teeth shine under the pale glow radiating from the old lamps. Oblivious to the threat, their lips stretch in a grin before they let out a few bitter chuckles. Even if their shoulders shrug, the hand never leaves the glass. Their palm lays flat on the surface, as a blatant provocation. “If you don’t like me, you can always get yourself another necromancer. I know the Clergy occupied some. They used to bring Nihil back all the time.”

Papa’s reply comes rapidly, brimming with poison. “I have already asked them.”

“Is that so?" They mock, elongating the words. "What did they say?”

“Bringing my love back is not the same as the old man.”

Naturally. Reanimating a corpse to perform an action for a few minutes at most it’s not a complex task. It’s children’s play. Now, to bring back someone for an extended period, both in body and soul…

That’s a whole different story.

That’s insanity.

Fortunately, the Necromancer rejoices in it. “The underworld is very possessive of the souls that fall into it.” They explain, circling around the box. “If you don’t know where to search, you might end up roaming in the dark forever.”

Papa Emeritus is unimpressed. He merely huffs, a hardened expression plastered on his face. “You will find the way," he states, nonchalantly, but it still sounds like a command.

No. It sounds like a threat.

The Necromancer’s hair moves to follow the soft nodding of their head, as they muse over the situation. “This one has been gone for a while,” they say, examining the body. “An ordinary human with no spiritual influence or important connections to the occult. Their soul could be anywhere. We’ll have to search for weeks, months even, and if we find them we’ll have to gamble with Death,” a pause. “Shit. It’s going to be a mess. Are you sure you want both body and soul? Can’t it be only the body? It’ll feel just the same.”

“I demand for all of them. Don’t play games.”

It’s not easy. Necromancers prefer to summon the recent departed, since they still retain some lucidity. Usually, that timeframe is limited to twelve months following the death of the physical body. Even so, a big part of the success will depend on the circumstances around the demise.

The circumstances, as far as they heard, are messy. “Like I said. If you don’t appreciate how I work, find another person.”

Papa’s touch burns like hellfire. His leather glove is harsh over the Necromancer's skin, fingers curled tight on their forearm. They try shaking him away to no avail. Under the hazy lights, his white eye casts a strong, almost blinding glow. Waves of energy emanate from his body, shaking the Necromancer to the core.

That’s the power of an Emeritus.

It’s terrifying, intoxicating.

“I searched everywhere! Nobody wants to do this,” Papa yells, pulling them closer. The following words are muttered through his teeth, barely discernible. “You are the only one crazy enough to accept, Goore.”

“That I am.”

Mary Goore. Expert necromancer, a brilliant person with a prosperous future, cradled by fortune and the promise of wealth and honor since birth. Goore, the first born of an influential family within The Clergy.

Also, Goore, the teen who was expelled from the Academy of the Occult for questionable necromancy practices and devoted the rest of their days performing in rundown bars, doing everything in their power to spit in the faces of the higher-ups.

Mary Goore, who died more than a decade ago and then without any forewarning came back to life. The story says a corpse covered in cemetery dirt and hair full of maggots rose from an unmarked grave during the snow moon.

How could that happen, nobody knows. “Not even Death wanted them,” Mary said with pride upon questioning. Not even the cold, unforgiving grip of the Undertaker could halt them.

Hell spat them up.

Now, Mary is in front of him; an unhinged smile tattooed on their lips. The gesture does not match the desolation inside their deep pupils and the mix of those two things does nothing to bring peace to Copia. Yet, he doesn’t have any other choice.

Copia is desperate, restless. It’s either Goore, or letting his lover go.

He can’t do that.

You belong with him.

You belong to him, not Death, not Satan.

You belong to him only.

“Is it true?” Papa asks, this time in a more subdued tone. He allows them to go, and Mary clutches their forearm with their left hand. “Can you bring anybody back?”

Mary’s chest expands with pride. There’s arrogance in their body language, oozing from each pore. Goore can detect the smell of his despair, his need. They know they have him right in their palms. “I can. I was the only necromancer talented enough to bring myself back, after all.”

“So it wasn’t a lie, then.” There are many versions of the story. Copia has got wind of most of them. “You fell ill and died, but managed to perform a ritual before exhaling your last breath. How?”

It’s an unfortunate thing. Goore was young. At the time of their death, they were only in their twenties. A fresh corpse was buried on unmarked ground, without a gravestone or a funeral. No one wept for them, not even their parents. The Clergy didn't want to be related to Mary Goore anymore.

The day they died, it was just another Wednesday.

A slow, hollow sound emerges from their throat when they laugh. Underground, the echo is louder, more distinct. Copia feels shivers down his spine, and the ghouls must sense some change in his demeanor, because their muscles immediately stiffen. A slight gesture from his fingers informs them to remain in place, not to attack.

“Is that what they say?” Mary questions, brows furrowed and head tilted. “I fell ill?”

No emotion can be found in that laugh. How such an empty sound can harbor so much bitterness and anger, Copia can’t thoroughly comprehend. He stands still, fingers curling and uncurling. The ghoul on his right growls, letting the deep rumble carry an explicit warning.

Below the surface, the earth screams for blood.

Goore’s energy is overwhelmingly negative, intense. Stinging like ice, but with a burning tinge in it. When their mouth shuts, those black pupils return to Copia’s face. “The stories about my demise are too lame, man. Do you want the truth?”

There’s no reason to say yes. Still…

Copia wants to know. Knowledge is power. He nods.

“Good boy,” Goore says, mockingly. Papa Emeritus bites his tongue not to react. “After those old men got rid of me, I did a bunch of things to piss them off.”

Stealing corpses from the Ministry’s cemetery and forcing them to play songs for their band, for a start. Goore didn’t recall their names. They merely knew those cadavers were important to someone, because they had the best tombs full of lovely flowers and glistening gravestones.

Then, the papal paint. Messy and greasy, tainted with blood and dirt. That was blasphemous, a spit on all their faces. Mimicking and tarnishing something so holy arose a wave of outrage and shock, making a few old men and women clutch their crucifixes in dismay.

Naturally, the open mockery played a good part. Repugnant was on its way to become an established band and they were about to make it big. Someone had to stop them.

“I was doing just fine playing my shit. One day I drank something weird and blacked out. Then, I woke up inside a coffin, mouth sewn and so cold.”

Being buried alive is a dreadful way to die. At the beginning, the desperation clings to your body and heart. The blood flows rapidly, so hot it makes you believe you are capable of opening a way through the wood and dirt.

You can’t.

When the lack of oxygen hits, there’s only despair. It becomes so bleak inside the coffin, frigid to the point you feel your joints slowly freeze. However, Death doesn’t come until your body starts decomposing, while your heart is still fighting.

Lost in the darkness, drowning in your own voiceless screams, you wish you could die faster. It’s torture, a terrible punishment. Goore seized all the dread, clutched it between their palms and reversed it into a spell.

They transformed their death into a rebirth.

Goore finds it funny but also sad. The process of decomposition is fascinating, they investigated and memorized it when they were merely a child.

An old poem in a foreign language, nine beautiful pictures burning in their memory.

After the heart stops, the body temperature drops but it will require hours until it becomes completely cold. Initially, the hands and feet get cold, then the lack of blood circulation causes the skin to look pale. Purple spots commence to appear, born from accumulated stale blood. The dehydration and acidification of muscles make the whole corpse stiff.

What once was a lovely face fades quickly like flowers after the summer. As the autumn leaves, life falls to the ground and evanesces into nothingness. There is no difference between the old and the young, no escape. Sooner or later, faster or slower, everyone dies.

The first step is recent death, then distension. Faces turn dark and lose their characteristic rosy color and the hair withers before tanging with roots and wood. As the organs rot away, the gasses push beyond the grave.

In a deserted tomb, the spirit goes to the other world in solitude.

When exudation comes, the melted fat, blood and fluids emanate from the corpse, coating the surface with disease. At this point, the corpse is beyond recognition. The rotten skin begins to fall, mixing with the body’s impurity.

The wind, sad and cold, is the only one who continues to mourn the dead.

Remaining skin and flesh will soon be gone as well, turning purple and blue before vacating space for the bones to appear. The necrophages will feast and devour for long days and nights, white maggots and green flies covering the dirty remains.

It arrives the time when there is no more flesh, blood or fat. There are only bones, lonely, empty. No one recognizes the name of the person they belonged to or the story behind them. The plagues disappear, wilt and die.

Everything becomes dust and only the trapped spirits cry at night by the grave, waiting to see if the ashes bring new blossoms or more decay.

That didn’t happen to Mary Goore. They ruled over putrefaction and decomposition, remaining petrified in time.

They conquered Death and came back.

“Was it the Clergy?”

Copia is the first one to shatter the silence. His eyes are lost in the distance, staring at ghosts no one but he can see. They dance like shadows, round and round, hitting the walls and falling on the floor, crawling around the dirt and dust, damned.

“Who else?”

A cold grave and sudden death. That’s the sole thing The Clergy can offer to their detractors. Goore knows it well. To become a threat and a distraction, someone who goes against those old men wishes… That’s something no one desires.

A cruel fate. One that both you and them shared.

“I don’t care anymore. I knew who I was provoking, but did they? Were they willing to sacrifice their life for sticking with you?”

The saliva is thick when Copia swallows, but his throat remains dry. The weight in his chest becomes more intolerable than before, burdened with the pressure of Goore’s accusation. Copia’s poor heart beats once, then twice before ceasing.

He’s speechless, silent. Something dark moves behind his back, a shadow with sharp nails and putrid breath. The claws scratch at his nape, grazing the arteries in his neck. A sonorous, guttural screech escapes its throat.

“You promised,” it whispers. “You promised we’d be okay.”

“Murderer.”

Guilt is a faceless monster, a spirit that perches on your shoulders and squeezes tightly until there’s no oxygen in your body and your lungs burn and cry for relief.

For a brief moment, Copia wonders if Mary Goore can perceive it too.

They do. “I bet you also knew it. You look dumb, but you are not that dumb.”

Anger is a good motivator. Copia’s jaw is clamp shut, tense. His teeth press on each other as a low growl erupts from his throat. To his right and left, the ghouls imitate the gesture, celebrating the promise of fresh blood, tender flesh and violence.

The energy permeates the room with an oxidized crimson color, almost like rust.

“Of course I didn’t,” Papa spits through his clenched jaw.“I thought they were safe. Everything was going great. Ghost was becoming more and more popular, the tour was a success, we had so many projects and…”

“And? Where’s all that, now?”

Gone.

It’s long dead and gone.

“I’ll kill you,” Copia whispers softly, after a bit. If the statement is intended to threaten Goore or to bring a resemblance of comfort to himself, he doesn’t know it. There’s no power in his words, no strength in his voice. There’s only coldness, a biting lot of it. The raw indescribable emotion should be capable of paralyzing anyone, but Goore stands their ground.

“You could try, right. Hell will spit me back out, just like it did once.”

One step, then another. The heavy combat boots sound like ground mines in Copia’s ears, exploding louder and louder as they get closer.

“I can hear what they say,” Mary confesses, hushed like it’s a secret no one else should know.“I hear the voices.”

“Hear them?”

Copia must have said it out loud, in a tone full of confusion, because Goore replies. “Of the dead, inside my head. Are you curious? Do you want to know what your lover says?”

No, his soul screams. No, Copia doesn’t want to know it. He doesn’t trust Mary Goore, doesn’t even trust himself. Knowledge is a gift from the Dark Lord, but also an onerous burden not meant to be carried on weak, weary shoulders.

Copia’s head barely shakes, breeze caressing his hair. Goore disregards it, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. The warm, wet breath hits his skin like needles. “They want to return to tear the flesh from the living.They are so fucking pissed.”

For the first time in weeks, months even, Copia is scared. No, not scared. Terrified. Your anger and hate are something he never had to confront. He rejoiced in your love, your tenderness and mercy. He embraced all the sacred and divine you gave him.

The dark, the bad, the ugly… He’s not prepared to witness it, to experience it. You must love him, forever.

You must adore him as much as he does.

When Mary’s laugh dies, the gleam remains in their eyes. “That’s a spawn of pure malevolence, the one you got there.”

A rabid fury, a corpse corrupted with malicious energy that fills the veins and permeates the tissues like embalming fluid. Anger consumes this cadaver, tormenting the spirit even far beyond the grave.

According to ancient scrolls, it is believed that in the event of a premature or violent death, the corpse retains part of that unused vitality. Stored deeply inside your guts, Goore can feel the complex whirlwind of emotions. It’s exhilarating, intoxicating.

“That’s enough.”

Papa Emeritus never pleads. Not anymore, but his voice sounds a lot like a plea, a prayer. His gaze is lost again, somewhere far. Still, when his pupils focus on the present, they feel a shiver run down their spine. Mary Goore doesn’t know when to shut up, but the threatening aura of Papa forces their mouth shut.

“I’ll do it,” they start, taking a few steps back.“Give me a few months, and you’ll have them again.”

“Weeks,” Copia spits out, through clenched teeth.“You have three weeks. No more. Don’t fail, or I’ll have you on your knees begging for death.”

An audible sigh. Goore leans forwards, tilting their head down in a short reverence, a mocking gesture. “As you wish, Eminence. You’ll get exactly what you are asking for.”

Before Goore leaves the underground room, an entourage of ghouls behind his back, Papa raises his voice one last time.

“Do you think they regret it?”

“Who?”

“Do you think the infernal divine regrets granting you this power?”

Goore’s laugh is boisterous, but again there’s no cheer in his eyes. “Infernal divine, you say?” They growl, biting down each word. “No, you got it all wrong. It’s the necromancer the one who demands the obedience of demons and other spirits, thanks to the power that was conferred upon them by a god.”

“God?”

They are ridiculous. Copia feels the air freeze in his throat as he struggles to understand the delirious rambles of a crazy person. When Goore continues, their pupils are completely black, an empty vortex.

“Yes,” a long pause follows. “I am my own God.”

Essence of the Sun, brighter than any other before him. A dual star, an Angel of Immortal light so beautiful and free. Hidden within old scrolls and ancient rites, He is the one who can awaken those who call, who reject the emptiness of a fake god and yearn for a liberal spirit.

He, who loves those who love Him, who comes for those in need. Through air and aether, from fire and earth, coating the water that makes us humans, He exists and can be sought within. Clothed in the sun and yet awakened in utter darkness, He rose as a beautiful man who will break the enemy’s will and uplift the strong who embrace Him.

Then, why?

Why is he alone?

Why is he lost?

Why is he the one to suffer, when he did everything right, followed every rite and prayer to perfection?

Why?

“Lucifer,” Copia mutters, lungs devoid of oxygen.“Lucifer, offer me guidance.”

Please.

What would become of life without a lighthouse on the horizon? Nothing but darkness. Lost as his soul is, Copia clings to safety. These old transcripts in his hands are safe, just like the sacred books that weigh on his lap.

“Hail Lucifer, rise Lucifer, come Lucifer, descend upon me, Lucifer manifest.”

Recite from the text.

Renich

Pray for guidance.

Tasa

For strength.

Uberaca

For mercy.

Biasa

For fortune

Icar

For glory

Lucifer

For absolution.

A man like him, bathed in blood and destroyer of empires, should seek no absolution. He has tarnished everything sacred and unsacred, both holy and unholy. He has tested and bypassed the limits of generations, delivered nothing but death and decay to his Church of Satan.

If the Old One is pleased or displeased, Copia doesn’t recognize it. He’s not like Primo, who used to hear His voice, or Secondo, who saw through His eyes. No, Copia has always been alone in this world, consumed in the dark, crawling blindly like a parasite.

Not even Lucifer is willing to walk by his side. Not even Satan or King Belial. There's no King Asmodeus, no Beelzebub, no Astaroth or Stolas.

No one is here to save him or laugh at his demise.

Copia is completely alone. Yet, he recites.

“Lucifer, Lord, King and emperor come and rise”

Among the rubbish from the ruins.

“Lucifer, The Fire of the south, The Air of the east”

Rise from putrefaction and waste.

“Lucifer he who is eternal, Lucifer come unto me".

Unto a servant, a believer.

Unto a fool.

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

Ps: the art Mary remembers is called Kusözu or "Painting of the nine stages of a decaying corpse". The poem (Kusôkanshi) is based on those paintings and was written by a Buddhist monk named Kukai.

The prayers at the end are based on "The Bible of the Adversary" and invocations from the Temple of the Ascending Flame. Will they work? Who knows.

I worked hard on this chapter and I'm still not sure if I like it. It was a big challenge, something different than the past chapters, but I hope you enjoy it. Mary is here.

#ghost band #ghost band fanfic #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #mary goore #ghost band x reader #cardinal copia #ghost bc #my writing #my fics

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kavtari · 5 months

Text

Inner Peace

(( What I was listening to while writing this: Eternal Blossom by karasu. ))

"AGAIN!"

The harsh voice rang out across the gardens, bouncing off the near low walls and rippling the lilies upon the brook. It belonged to a war-aged Pandaren man whom stood upon a short stage. He performed the sweeping kick again, nearly identical to the last one, and landed perfectly to watch his students do the same.

Among them, Kav wasn't the worst. Sweat gently beaded on her forehead and collected in her headband. Her shoulders, arms, and legs showed the signs of hours of training in the sunlight. The muscles cried out, begging to stop, but Kav wasn't ready to give up yet.

Since the slow rebuild of Pandaria during the peace, more peoples from all over had taken up residence upon the lands. Kav didn't live there, continuing to roam as she pleased to avoid being tied down to any one place, but at some point she found herself among the students multiple times a week to practice self defense and the many forms of martial arts.

"PUNCH!"

"KICK!"

It became a sort of rhythm. The master barked and order and the students had to follow through at the right time or get called out. Kav's mistakes did not go unnoticed and more than once she felt the thwap of reed on thigh or back or shoulder or arm. It didn't matter anymore. At first she feared it - the sudden sting of punishment for repeat failure - but it was all a part of the experience now.

A year ago she would have abandoned it at the first sign of pain, at the first bloody nose, or at the first sparring session. As she stuck with these stances and practiced balance, however, the memories slowly revealed themselves and her skills began to return. The bard had been decent acrobatics and blades before, but those skills had been repressed. As they surfaced in pieces over the months of classes, Kav found herself spending sleepless nights wrecked by the thoughts of what she had been through and what she had done to survive.

"TURN!"

The students, exhausted from the steady constant of movement, turned in unison to see the distant rain clouds closing in. With an honorable bow they finished their session with slow breathing and a reminder to find peace even through the mental and physical pain.

Kav didn't hurry to gather her things as the others did. Rain could calm down her swelling muscles, her puffy eyes, and hide the tears. Instead she settled upon the creek bridge with her little voice box and sent out a message.

"Today was better than yesterday. I think I am getting better at the technique. It ... it still hurts though. Surfing really never prepared me for this. Not that I've surfed much as of late." She scoffed at herself, rolling her eyes. "I hope you and yours are doing well. I will visit again soon, or you can always visit me. I know you love this place...."

She let that drift off before before she disconnected and shook her head. It was so stupid, her thoughts. Nothing had changed, yet she was still doubting. The elf slid her communicator back into her pack, keeping the channel open just in case, as the first raindrops hit the waters below her.

"Doubt, little one, must be balanced," the master's voice sounded in Kav's mind clearly. She slowed her breathing, closed her eyes, and allowed the rain to cool her warm skin and heated mind. The tears that gently flowed down her cheeks mixed with the waters, then dropped away. The elf calmed herself as she slowly moved her body into one of the many balancing poses. She wasn't a monk and definitely didn't plan on being one, but she could at least understand this teaching. Inner turmoil did her no good, but neither did running away from it.

After a time, balanced in the rain, Kav finally straightened and made her way to the inn she was to stay at that night. The next day she went to Stormwind with a purpose and enjoyed her night drinking and laughing, held steady right where she wanted to be, before she went on yet another long adventure away from her heart's home. Valdrakken sounded good.

(message to @elovir )

#weeks ago #my writing #creative writing #building towards current story #recent RP

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crookedkingdomruinedme · 1 year

Text

Talking about Porchay because nobody else is

Look, I love Kinnporsche with all my heart but.

I absolutely will not believe the fact that Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, the younger brother of Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, who was almost made the national Martial Arts champion, both of who had to suffer through god knows how many loan sharks due to their piece of shit uncle, does not know how to defend himself in a fight.

I will never believe that Porsche would let his precious brother walk around in broad daylight when he doesn’t even know basic self defence. It just does not make sense. Sure, he does not need to be a master in it or anything, but he at least should know how to get away when cornered or in trouble.

And honestly I was so disappointed that we never saw him getting the full spotlight he deserved. We saw Kim in action, but how could Porchay not realise anything that was going on behind him? when he had to live cautiously his whole life?

Maybe I’m just being a bit delusional, but I refuse to let anyone walk over Porchay like that. He’s a smart kid. Trusting, maybe but definitely not naive or innocent, not when he has seen his brother come home at odd hours with bruises and bloodied knuckles.

So yeah, I’m a bit frustrated with the series and a part of the fandom for treating Porchay like some fragile piece of glass that might break any minute. For fuck’s sake, he already had his teenage rebellion phase as well. And I’m pretty sure he also saw all those dead bodies in Yok’s bar.

That’s the one thing I both love and hate Kim for. Porsche seems hellbent on not letting Porchay get the full picture of the mafia, shielding him from almost anything and keeping him in the dark, which, to be frank, will only get him killed. He needs to see the full extent of what his brother is in and how he will now also be a part of it. And how if he joins, there is no going back.

What Porchay needs now is not coddling not half-assed truths but the entire picture. And some self defence training and also how to use a gun. Otherwise, he won’t survive long, even Kim can only do so much. Porchay would never break apart his Hia from Kinn, no matter how much he may wish to. But being kept in the mansion like a statue will drive him towards resentment at both Porsche, for keeping him here and at Kinn, for keeping Porsche here.

Also a therapist, if possible.

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ashtronomyys · 10 months

Text

Ghost of Galatea

PT. 1 | Pt. 2 John "Soap" MacTavish x Simon "Ghost" Riley RenaissanceSculptor!Soap, RomanStatue!Ghost Price suspects a trip to the art gallery could be just the thing his savants need to help them grow and hone their craft. Little does he know just how honed in one of his artists is about to become, as Johnny finds his muse in the huge, domineering statue that seems to take a hold of his every thought. Basically, the Greek tale of Pygmalion but make it SoapGhost

*Thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk*

/CRACK/

*thump*

The stone chunk that was meticulously being carved into dropped to the ground. Blue eyes watched as the chunk rolled along the tile and disappeared somewhere along the floor. The sculptor turned back to their work with wide eyes, fearing the worst. Sure enough, where the final bend of the pointer finger he had been etching into should have been, the severed raw edge of stone stared back at him.

Johnny just barely managed not to throw his chisel and hammer across the room. The straining in muscles from laboring over the piece that was now /useless/ and the growing disappointment in himself had him seething. It had taken DAYS for him to get the piece to that point! Price had tasked them with trying to carve a tensed hand position, instructing his savants to study the folds and muscles of the hand in more advanced positions. Johnny had been as ambitious as he always was, choosing to position his hand tilted backwards at the wrist, each digit spread outward at cascading angles that allowed the webs of the fingers to shine.

He was so close to finishing, right in the middle of etching in the last few details before he sanded down and smoothed over the work. It was on that last, final finger when he must have pressed too hard on the material while trying to carve in the nail. Johnny slammed his head down onto the workbench, not wanting to spend another minute looking at his failure.

It's ruined. He's ruined. His third work in a row that he's butchered right at the last moment. How the hell can he be expected to have any patrons at the rate that he's going?! This was what he wanted. He dreamed of following in the footsteps of the master artists before him, becoming a renowned renaissance artist himself.

How the hell would he achieve that when he can't even create something of value as of late? Why did it feel like all the skills he learned over the years were leaving him? Johnny slammed his head against the table again, arms bracketing around him as he stayed slumped over. Maybe he should've just taken up carpentry like his father suggested…

Gaz ended up finding him sometime later, still stewing in his frustration.

"Soap? You alright mate?" He didn't bother lifting his head, only turning the chisel to the side to tap at the stone hand. Johnny heard him set some materials to the side and step up next to the work. His eyes spotted the dilemma a few moments later, and Johnny heard him wince. "Ooh Soap… How'd you manage that one?"

"Ah' don't /knoow/," it came out muffled as Johnny stretched the last syllable. He felt the other man slap his back a few times. "Well, for what it's worth, the rest of it sure is a beaut'. Hopefully Price will take it easy on y-" Gaz's voice dropped off. There was a beat of silence before Johnny felt Gaz's hand grab his wrist.

"Soap….. this is not the chisel you were using, is it?"

Johnny finally picked his head up, his eyes following to where Gaz held onto his wrist, shaking the instrument in the air. "What's wrong with this one?"

There's another beat of silence before Gaz smacked the back of his head. "AGH-Hey!"

"'s no wonder you broke the bloody thing! Why on /Earth/ didn't you just use one of the files? Or even one of the thinner chisels…" He's looking at him with an incredulous look, probably wondering if he's gone dumb. At this point, Johnny isn't too sure on the answer for that.

"I wanted to speed up the process," is said sheepishly.

"Well, you surely sped it up. Now you have no finger to worry about shaping." Johnny moves to jab with the blunt handle of the hammer, but he leaps around the craft table before he can connect, laughing at him. "Hey, I warned you not to do something outside your limits. You should've simply stuck to what you know, Soap." As if to rub it in his face, Gaz started to work on his sculpture, pulling out the graceful hand that leapt forth from its stone base.

Johnny sighed. "Do ya always have to one up me every time?"

"Only every time, mate."

He stuck his tongue out at Gaz before finally turning back to his piece. He spent the latter half of the day salvaging what he could of the work. Rasps, files, and abrasive material were used to sand down and refine dense rock into the smooth valleys and folds of skin. The sun was on its last leg across the skyline when he resolutely put his tools down and considered the piece…..as good as it was going to be.

The usual feeling of pride Johnny takes in his work was replaced with the hollow sense of failure. It wouldn't be hitting him so hard if he hadn't grown attached to the image of how the hand was supposed to turn out. The sketch of his idea sits off to the side, taunting him every time he looks back at the amputated end of the finger. Johnny begins the process of sweeping and cleaning his tools right as Price walks into the studio, shucking a satchel full of the week's supplies onto a counter. Johnny discreetly turns the hand to the side and nods his head at the master artist.

"Good day Cap'n," Gaz's cheery voice echoes from a side room.

"Good morrow boys! I see you have been both hard at work as always." Price gets to work pulling out containers of gesso and oil as he speaks. "How is the work coming along?"

Gaz is the first to speak, coming out with a set of cloth to wipe down his work. "Almost finished, I have to refine the surface and then I shall be done. It's going good…for me at least." He mutters the last part under his breath and spares Johnny a look of pity.

"That's good to hear!" Price's commanding voice seems to boom in the small studio. "Hey listen, do me a grace and start cleansing your workstations for the day. I've something planned for us."

Johnny's shoulders perked up slightly. "Oh? 'S that mean we aren't to do critiques today then?"

"Afraid not. We'll likely be out the rest of the day, I couldn't wait!" Price walked past him carrying supplies into the side room and nudged him as he passed. "Do not worry though, we will save it for another day. Don't think you have escaped it yet, Soap. We will talk about that little mishap another time."

"Wha'?" Price smirks and raises his eyebrow at him before he nods towards the ground….right where the other quarter of stone he chipped off lies.

That damned stone.

Johnny pouts for the rest of the time while he finishes packing up for the day.

....................

"I thought ye said this was to be something exciting Price? We've already seen all a'these before."

"Patience Soap," Price gives him a warning glance over his shoulder. "We haven't even gotten to the surprise yet and /already/ you doubt your old master?"

"C-course not sir! Ah' just wonder what else we can learn from these old paintings..."

The trio strides through the chambers of the art gallery, passing by a number of local and outsourced artworks. Various portraits of townsfolk, laborers, the upper class, and prominent historical figures stare back at them as they walk past. Among them also sits landscapes and compositions of ancient myths playing out. Stories of Venus and Aphrodite, stories of Christ and the Apostles, and depictions of the everyday life of the public hang on the walls.

Impressive works, but all of which they've seen already. Johnny's body remembers the burn in his neck from craning to look up at the displays for hours. Can remember the cramp in his hand from spending hours sketching the forms and colors out onto paper.

As if sensing his trepidation, Price stops to look at them both, turning with his hands on his hips.

"Now listen, I know you boys may /think/ there's nothing more to learn from these works, but we've merely scratched the /surface/ on the depth of knowledge, genius, and understanding that can be learned with from works!"

Gaz hums off to Johnny's right. "That's beautiful Captain. But I won't lie, if I have to spend another day drawing that same old hag in the window, I think I'll go mad!" Gaz points his thumb towards a portrait in the corner. Johnny doesn't even have to look to know what piece he's talking about. The oil painting of the elderly woman staring daggers at the viewer is firmly seared into his mind. It's lifelike eyes and haunting stare being the cause of many a nightmares for the town. Johnny shudders just thinking about it.

Price smugly smiles at them, mutton chops rising on either side. "Well, lucky for you boys, I have something different planned for us today…"

He continues to lead them into the main conference hall of the building. The two younger savants are silent as they digest the change in scenery. The space is usually sparse and minimally furnished, the large space with its tall, vaulted ceiling typically reserved for hosting events and galas.

Today though, the room is filled with dozens of forms blanketed by white linen scattered throughout the place. The waning sun casts light onto their cloths, illuminating the silhouettes of the models and framework of limbs that lie underneath. The trio is frozen in awe as their eyes wander over the statues. A few larger forms sit in the center, one in particular towers over everything else in the room, and Johnny's body is itching with the need to see what's being concealed by the cloth.

"I take it I did alright?"

The group turns toward the source of the voice. An older woman steps out from the shadows of the room and is promptly pulled into a hug by Price.

"You did more than alright, Laswell! Where on bloody Earth did you manage to find all this?!"

Laswell shrugs, trying not to sound arrogant but a bit of pride can still be heard in her voice. "I have my ways. You tend to learn a thing or two after so many years of curating."

Johnny whistles at the display as he stares back, unable to take his eyes away. "So /this/ is what ye were talkin' about."

"Beats the stuffy old portraits then, does it?" Laswell elbows Price for the 'stuffy portraits' jab.

"It's phenomenal. How long have you been working on this collection?" Gaz asks.

"Quite some time. These here I've had stashed for the past few years…" Laswell points at the different sculptures as she guides them through a tour. She recounts the stories of old contacts who needing to make a quick trade for funds, and galleries whose clientele grew tired of seeing the same work over and over. She explains how patrons who long since passed had families who resented the subject matter of the work and were practically giving away their collection. All while ushering them through stacks of carvings, ranging from Ancient Roman busts, to Greek figures, to even a couple of Mycenaean figurines.

Johnny's nearly bouncing from elation as they near the end of the tour. He's seen plenty of sculpture work before, sure. He'd spent plenty of savings for the chance to see works by Michaelango, Bernini, and Donatello, but it was always from afar. Never did he get the chance to be so up close and personal with the sculpture work to /THIS/ scale. And never so many with such a rich history. How the /Hell/ did she manage to acquire so many works, dating so far back too! Getting the chance to study something like this had always been a dream of his, ever since he was first scouted and hired into the profession at a young age. Johnny is sure he's failing to contain his excitement at the prospect of finally getting to be up close.

"/Well/, when do we get to see them?! How's about we do a full reveal, rip off the covers, huh?" He smiles back and forth between the older two, looking not unlike a child about to receive a present from their parents.

The pair share a look between them before Price speaks, not exactly looking at either of the apprentices. "Well, that /is/ the plan. However-" Johnny's heart drops. "-the gallery still has to finish setting up the displays. That means the lengthy, tedious process of moving them still isn't over. And until then, not a soul is allowed to remove the cloth."

Johnny falls to his knees. Then what was the point of even coming out here? Being so close and yet so far from actually getting to view the hidden figures was torturous. Gaz comes up and places a hand on his shoulder. "Aw, you can't just tease us like that! I don't think that poor Soap over here will be able to take it."

He's right. He won't be able to take it. He feels about as similar to a mother who's firstborn son was ripped away from her by the unwavering wrath of war at the moment.

"Oh, I swear you boys grovel more than a couple of field animals half the time," Laswell says, laughing at their faces. "It's the truth, I can't give you both the full tour today. /But/…if you both wipe that frown off your faces…there is one piece that isn't moving that I can show you."

She leads the way to the center of the room. The statues grow taller and taller until they come up to the form that had caught Johnny's attention. Even with the sheet covering it, he's still awestruck by the sheer /mass/ of the thing. Its height looms over everything else in the room, and it casts a large shadow that stretches across the floor. Whatever lay underneath the fabric had to be a /beast/ of a work.

"Now this one, I consider to be my proudest find yet," Laswell begins her tale. "One of the oldest of the haul, and certainly the largest, he's suffered quite a bit of damage. But there's no denying artistry and expertise that can still be seen even centuries later."

"How old is he?" Price asks.

"Dates back to Ancient Rome. It's hard to say exactly when with so much of the form deteriorated. It's a shame so much of the face is missing. I can only imagine how much detail went into creating the expression of the face. Even of what's left, you can see the determination and fire in the eyes that the artist tried to convey."

"Do you know who he was? Or the artist?" Gaz interjects.

Laswell shakes her head. "There were no records from where I brought him. He's a complete mystery. From his helmet, one could assume he was a general or closely related to one. With the sort of powerful stance that the artist chose to pose him in, I would assume that he was a powerful official. The musculature of the body certainly presents the hidden power and strength behind the individual."

"I wouldn't know! Ye still have to show us the damned thing," Johnny interrupted.

"Hey, patience Soap. You're lucky that I'm even able to invite you to its unveiling," she chides.

"Sorry ma'am. Ah'm just excited."

"I can tell," she laughs as she moves to the side, grabbing a corner of the fabric cover. "Well, I suppose you've waited long enough. Price, Gaz, and Soap, artists of the 141 house, it is my humble pleasure to introduce you to the best of our latest exhibit. I present to you all, The Ghost of Carthage."

She yanks on the cover. The fabric slowly glides off of the body before falling to the ground, revealing section by section of the figure laying underneath. As each meter of smooth ivory stone is uncovered, Johnny feels his eyes grow wider by the second. A gasp leaves him as he's met with the magnificent display of the human body in all of its glory.

The general stands with his weight shifted onto one leg, his long muscled torso tilted at the shoulders creates an elegant S shape throughout the body. His right hand rests delicately against his leg and draws the eye across the long bulk of limbs. His left arm is mostly missing, the remnants of his shoulder and a hand that holds a sheathed sword sitting on his upper hip are all that remains. The worst of the damage is on the head. Chunks of the helmet he wears are broken off and missing all around the stone. And his face, nearly completely carved out save for a pair of stern eyes that trap Johnny in its fierce, piercing gaze.

Johnny feels the remainder of his breath leave his lungs the longer he stares. He's overcome with so much veneration, so much wonder for the statue. All the other works he has seen, Michelangelo, Donatello, Ghiberti, Verrocchio, all of them pale in comparison to the feeling that The Ghost evokes in him. It's like a spark ignites within him, the dying flame he held within him for his love of art being set ablaze once again. It's swirling flames burning him from the inside out. Johnny let the flames lick at his sides, envelop him until there was nobody left in the room. Nobody but him and The Ghost of Carthage watching him melt under his gaze.

And Johnny's vision starts to grow fainter, until his legs give out and he collapses to the ground.

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Probably historically inaccurate but oh well. I'm semi trying to research but also not trying to kill myself by doing too much. It's just a lil story for fun afterall hehe

#soapghost #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish x simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #cod mwii #ash writings #teehee #I tried to do more historically accurate dialog but it made me want to gouge my eyes out #ghoap #ghost of galatea

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