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killerwaves) wrote2023-03-03 10:06 pm
killerwaves) wrote2023-03-03 10:06 pm
.GRAVEYARD
[๐ต]
There is a moment of silence. That is all there is, following the end one meets, but it is wrong to say that nothing else proceeds afterward. Indeed, upon the deceased opening their eyes, there's a feeling like settling into a body that has not yet crossed over, and an undeniable bright scene in front of them.
Is it heaven? Is it purgatory? These are the questions that may unfurl when faced with a bright, vibrant sky with pleasant colors, and soft clouds. Alongside this pleasing sight are picturesque rivers, running around fields of flowers mixed with lively greenery that seems to extend to distances behind one's comprehension. But, make no mistakeโthere are large trees dotted here or there, where someone might feel compelled to lie under given how welcoming they look.
Perhaps most striking, however, is the floating tower, that seems currently unreachable no matter how close anyone nears it. Does it need to be blocked off with an invisible shield? Honestly, no. But nobody knows that, and maybe no one will figure it out either, despite how many times they will ask who frequents it...who so happens to be standing outside of it, but also nearby. Huh.
Who's that? Well, that'sโ
Merlin, Mage of Flowers
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What a shock, isn't it? To see someone like Merlin so soon. Yet, he hardly seems perturbed, as he says, "Oh, so you've come! What a terrible fate you've been met with. But, don't worry, there's plenty of things to keep you occupied with.
What do I mean by that, you ask? I mean yourselves, of course! And, yes, by the way, you're still dead. So sorry about that. If you need anything, though, just call my name and I'll be there."
Beat. "Probably."
Then he disappears helpfully in a flurry of petals, not even saying where this is. Wow, helpful, isn't he? But, you have more than enough time to explore, at least. And hey, where did that random shack come from far off in the distance? If one goes in, they'll find a random bookcase inside, filled to the brim with fairytales that automatically replenishes if all books have been read with new ones. In addition, there's a random 'fan magazine' of the super popular idol MagiโMari; a beautiful white-haired young woman with purple eyes. Huh, why does she look familiar?
...Anyway, at least this will all keep one occupied.
As a side note, off to the distance are a a massive gathering of trees, but whenever one tries to approach them they can't seem to actually get close. How obnoxious! Looks like you'll have to just continue to admire your surroundings of pink flowers, one or two solitary trees, rivers, and other flora for miles on end.
As of 'Week 3', there is now an additional, cutesy shed in the Garden of Avalon that can be accessed for arts and crafts materials. Sewing kits, canvasses, painting materials, paper, you name it! There also is a shelf full of lube as well, for your needs. They will have a hint of a flower scent.
As of 'Week 4', the forest is glowing and can at some point be entered for funtimes.
By 'Final Week', there is a small little cottage of some sort that has appeared, which is ridiculously more spacious once walked into. It appears to be like a little free-for-all clothing store, except everything is free of charge. The styles range from cutesy pink, stylish, fancy, and to even towards the gothic side of things...but also there is a spot filled with make-up and the like! Do you want to look pretty in death? No worries, you too can shine here as well with beauty products found along the shelves, and of course mirrors alongside changing rooms for your convenience.
There are also knitting tools, for those wanting to really step up their skills.
Additionally, in this large 'cottage', there are private changing rooms with mirrors and a plush long seat to sit down if you want to for whatever reason. The doors lock once someone is inside and the door is closed.
Lastly, for those feeling 'adventurous', they would also happen to find costumes. Sexy ones, likes nurses, maids, and the like, but also silly 'scary' ones like a t-rex and a sheet ghost.
The forest has also stopped glowing, and upon entering it give you view to a beautiful lake surrounded by trees (sans mist.) The sky is still a fantastical color, and taking a soak at any time is possible.
However, on the other side of the forest, is a field of beautiful blue flowers, and a perpetually midnight sky.
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[His hands reach up. He clutches the other's cheeks, holding them in place, red gaze now focused like an arrow. It scours his face, piercing into those eyes as if to see the rotten soul within.]
How could I ever forget you?
[His hands detach....]
[And then rest on his shoulders. But there's a tension here that's apparent in how hard the man's expression is.]
Why are you smiling like that?
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Why else, mon amour? I've found what I've been fighting for my entire life: happiness. And had it not been for you, I never would have found it. I owe you my eternal gratitude!
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[The words fall like dead weights. What a beautiful place. What a beautiful feeling, to be alive. Or well, "alive", in a sense of the term.]
[He stares at Lobelia, happy smiling Lobelia, for a long moment. His gratitude. His warmth. Vergilius is a very good guide, after all.]
[His hands move to encircle the other's neck, and start to squeeze.]
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Ahhhhโ! You're so- obscรจneโ!
[It pains him to do this, truly, but he has to yank Vergilius' hands off his throat so he can stand a fighting chance at not busting a nut in front of god, the flowers and everyone. It's just like his hot Italian wife to skip the foreplay altogether.]
But s'il te plaรฎt, not out here! Even I have limits!
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[This is hell. It isn't cold. It isn't the cold dark ocean he hoped for. It's a different hell entirely. Lobelia reacts like that, and his own blood runs...not cold, surprisingly, but hot, with the intensity of lava scorching through him. It's not an anger he's used to, so used to being as glacial as a mountain, and he's gritting his teeth as he's moving to shove the man back.]
GET OFF.
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[There it is! That bright, vivid anger from before...! They've been apart just long enough for Lobelia to desperately miss it (talk about clingy), but ah. Hm. Something's a bit different about Vergilius' response.
Hm.
Rather than letting him go, Lobelia reaffirms his grip on the man, squeezing him tightly.]
What's got you so wound up, hm?
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[Something's wrong. Something's wrong. Something's wrong.]
[He's pressing his hands against the other's chest to again try to push him off, red eyes blazing like they're threatening to spill forth with blood once more.]
You ripped my heart out.
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[He's very proud of his handiwork, you know. Lobelia squeezes him even tighter in defiance, resting his hand over Vergilius' heart which, in the afterlife, seems to have returned to him just fine. Feeling it beat against his palm, Lobelia sighs, head lolled onto his lover's shoulder.]
But you've been made whole in the afterlife! You should be happy, just as I am.
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[Being held by a lover, in a warm place? Am I happy?]
[He feels like he can almost feel that warm voice again, leading him by the hand like a mother would to a child to a place of selfishness, distortion.]
[Lobelia's head rests against his shoulder.]
...I shouldn't be here.
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...Where should you be, then? Someplace cold and dark? Your being here means you were meant to be hereโ aussi simple que cela.
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[He starts, stops, starts again. He doesn't cry. He didn't cry then, when the children died. He didn't cry when Garnet died. He didn't cry when his Office died. He didn't cry when Lapis came back, as not Lapis. The tears of blood were from the EGO. He doesn't cry.]
[He won't cry now, too. But something hurts and aches in his chest like nothing before, as if Lobelia had seen fit to repeat his little heart stunt right here and now.]
I'm not meant to be here.
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This is where they differ, Lobelia thinks. Vergilius was forged into a monster while Lobelia was born one. He can't empathize with his plight, but he can at least understand the whirlwind of tumult within him, a quiet hum passing through his lips.]
Who remains for you to justify yourself to? Not me, certainly. The only one who believes he is not fit to be in this place is you, Vergilius, and your being here is not in your power to control.
[In so many words, accept that you're here. Something greater than you believes you belong here, and so here you will remain.]
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[He turns his stare to Lobelia, now, his expression something unreadable, kept tight despite everything.]
...I am not to be fate's little plaything, Lobelia.
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[If Vergilius had the freedom to do as he wished with his own fate, he wouldn't be here right now, would he? He wouldn't be anywhere. It's selfish of him to keep Vergilius bound in these serpentine coils they've found themselves in, but isn't the greater evil against this man preserving his tired and sorry existence?]
Un, deux...!
[Holding onto Vergilius, Lobelia tips back, throwing them down onto the flowers. No, none of this feels right, murderers lying in paradise, but that's not where Lobelia's concerns lie. It never has been.]
We're only men, nothing divine or unholy. What control we have is limited, so why waste effort fighting against a force you can't possibly reach?
[Lobelia's question is nothing more than that: a question. Just as Vergilius hadn't allowed Lobelia to give up on happiness, something he was at one time assured would never be his, he can't imagine this man letting fate do with him as it pleases. Moreover, Lobelia would never allow it to.]
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[No.]
[He stiffens again, but this allows Lobelia to take advantage of it, tipping them both back. What a soft landing. Everything is so beautiful, so light. A mockery of heaven itself, in fact. A shade of a man like him isn't made for it, and neither is Lobelia.]
[If Lobelia is here, he knows this is wrong.]
[His hands clutch at the other's body, but its as if to find an anchor, his mind reeling. He feels sick. He always was sick to his core.]
I'll waste all the effort I can. [A murmur, hoarse.] I can't abide by this.
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This is why Vergilius is his anchor. His guiding light. His strength when he has none to spare. Thinking so highly of him, it's only natural that Lobelia would be gazing at him in sheer admiration.]
So what do you intend to do? Find some method of leaving this place? Bonne chance.
[I'd like to see you try.]
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[His hands reach out to encircle the other's shoulders, bending down - Lobelia, as persistent demon on his shoulder, asking him where to go next? He'll give him an answer.]
But of course. This old guide still has paths to go.
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And you intend to take me with you, oui?
[His nails seize into Vergilius' hips. It's so nice to feel him again, hurt him again... but he's getting ahead of himself, isn't he? Lobelia draws in a deep breathโ patience.]
Through heaven and hell, through this life and the next. Une promesse est une promesse.
1/2
[Of course, he doesn't need to think on that for long at all. He knows what the man is referring to. He feels he can't exactly retract it, in his own way - why would he, in the sincerity of it?]
[Nestled in the horrible nest of loathing is a golden bough of possibility. One of his hands strokes over that soft jawline, down to his neck, resting gently over that warm, beating heart.]
Une promesse. But I need to do something before going down such a road. I have to clean my messes.
2/2 cw: gore, violence
[There is no preceding betrayal in his expression when he suddenly raises his hand and strikes down with such an intensity it literally punches through Lobelia's ribcape like it's paper mache. Blood splatters both of them. He ignores it easily, grasping the treasure he finds underneath to pull it out with a renewed red-eyed ferocity.]
[Lobelia's heart is so nice and warm. Was his heart the same? He ponders it as he smashes it into bleeding smithereens between his fingers.]
cw gore, death
Love is something Lobelia didn't understand until he felt it beating in his palm, and when it swiftly went cold, he worried he might forget what that love felt like. He's more aware of his own heartbeat now than he ever has been, Vergilius' palm settling over him before plunging into his chest, assuring his death. No, no, no. Before that, he has toโ]
Je t'aimeโ Aghโ!
[The pain is searing, blinding, muscles seizing up and blood issuing from his lips. His final breath spills into the open air, relief intermingled with happiness, genuine happiness. La petit mort, truly.
Lobelia's body disappears from beneath Vergilius' body, but this peace isn't meant to last. He reappears again before him, sputtering and coughing, suddenly alive again. Do you feel whole now, Vergie?]
cw: gore, violence
[Everything feels as real as it should. The give of the muscle, the way the warm blood coats his hand. Weapons like him did the job almost mindlessly, with no enjoyment involved. But here, there's something so tangible in the way it feels that he almost catches his own sigh of satisfaction bubbling up in his throat.]
[But then he hears it.]
[Je t'aime..]
[And just like that, as the words ring through his head like Lobelia was up to another one of his audiomancy tricks, the man reappears. A wonderful magic trick.]
[Vergilius finds a horrid hatred for wizards he never knew he could feel before. He moves up to his feet, staggering over almost like a zombie.]
[Je t'aime. Je t'aime. Je t'aime.]
[Lobelia doesn't even really get a chance to breathe before he slams a fist to knock him to the ground again, cracking ribs from the blow. And almost instantly, that new anger floods his system, hot and burning and threatening to eat him up from the inside.]
cw violence, nsfwish................... it's all crystal's fault
What's more, the familiar feeling of having his ribs pulverized and crushed calls him back to that moment of intimacy they indulged in together, how special it was to writhe in agony while being held by his special person.
This time, the agony burns all the hotter, all the air forced from his lungs as he's knocked to his knees. He doesn't rasp for air so much as he moans, looking up at Vergilius with that damp-eyed, loving gaze of his, sputtering out blood as vivid and red as those burning eyes.]
H-ehโ ehehโ! Know some restraint... Mon amour.
[Mon amour. Je t'aime. Do you hate it, Vergilius? He'll say it over and over again until you can't stand the sound of it.]
you're playing lobelia i am playing an innocent old man
[He stares down at this lovesick man, mind driven to insanity from lust and violence and obsessesion. How easy to pin it all on Lobelia, though-! As if he had no role to play in this! Man is the maker of his own sins, after all. Lobelia is a living breathing incarnation of that, like a boa constrictor more than happy to bind him and crush him slowly under the weight of his coils.]
[His chest heaving, he slides his unbloodied hand through his own hair, an agitated expression.]
...If you really love me, leave me alone.
[Restraint. Pull the reins back. Fire to ice. His eyes prick with a sort of dull pain as he turns, heart racing, to walk away from this. He knows its futile.]
[But the more he stays in the other's presence, the more it feels like a magnet threatening to pull them together until oblivion.]
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Now, it's far too late to swivel on his heel and walk away like escape is a reasonable expectation. It isn't, and Lobelia's hand snaps around his heel to remind him of that fact, those relentless vibrations humming under the man's skin until he can be felled, pulled beneath Lobelia's frame.
It's always Vergilius who finds himself locked in this cage of limbs, isn't it? It's always Vergilius who walks right into prisons of his own design, blood left to cool and dry on his lips when Lobelia bends to kiss him.]
Je ne pense pas. That's not how love works, Vergilius! You would know that better than I, non?
[No, love does not leave you alone. Love follows after you until that love dies for good.]
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cw: death
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