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on this the last day of midamoul week i want to once again extend a heartfelt thank you to everyone who participated either by producing works or by engaging with them. i was much more offline this week than i’d hoped to be, and i haven’t had the chance to read most of the fics or really sit with the art but everyone has been so creative and wonderful! and i’m so sincerely happy to be in this weird little community with you all
AND VERY IMPORTANT: if you finish something “for” midamoul week after the fact, please @ me so i can reblog it anyway :) midamoul week is a state of mind and it exists as long as we all believe in it
my mother told me i should go and get some therapy
@midamoulweek day 7: resilience and/or storytelling irdk
Adam arrives at her door ten minutes late, panting but grinning. “Sorry,” he says. “I got Michael to whip something up for us so we didn’t have to meet here but then he made this house which defeats the whole purpose—“ He’s flapping his hands about, a move Kate rarely saw on him when she was alive. “So I had to deal with all that.”
It should be nice to see him so animated, but knowing the source of his excitement dulls the moment for her.
The last day of Midamoul week already??? @midamoulweek it has been an honour.
Prompt: 'storytelling'
(Note: Read about Ghoul's pronouns here)
“Once upon a time, there was an angel,” Michael started, the face of his projection serious and slightly shadowed by the campfire.
“Let me guess: His name was dickface, and he was the leader of all the other dickfaces,” Ghoul interrupted, getting a glare.
“Once upon a time,” Michael repeated, a little more sharply, “there was an angel. And their name was Israfil.”
Adam smiled, and Michael glanced at him, asking without words if he would interrupt, too. But even though Adam knew that Israfil was just another one of Raphael's names, he just nodded at Michael to continue.
Ghoul looked interested, now that it was clear that Michael wasn't talking about himself. (Though Ghoul probably didn't know it, all of Michael's alternate names sounded very similar, so everyone would have known who he was talking about. Come to think of it, Ghoul probably didn't even know that angels had been called by different names over the centuries.)
“Israfil was a very powerful angel, and a steadfast one at that,” Michael kept talking, again looking very serious. The fire crackling between them seemed to be the only sound in the night, the whole forest seeming hushed. As if even the animals were listening to Michael's story.
“They were dutiful, and meticulous in their work, but also naturally curious. Not as much as some other angels, for whom it was a short-coming. Israfil was an explorer of sorts, but never at the expense of others or themself. Their main interest was life in all of its forms – plants, and animals, big or small.” Michael's eyes flicked to Adam. “Nowadays, you might call it an interest in biology.”
Ghoul looked between them suspiciously. “Is this about Adam? Are you telling a story about a fake angel who's like Adam?”
“How dare you accuse me of lying,” Michael said, without any heat behind it. “This angel really existed. Still exists, in fact.”
“U-huh,” Ghoul made, unconvinced. “Go on.”
“This angel made many discoveries, and soon became a proficient healer of all beings ali-”
“Okay, now I know you're talking about Adam!” Ghoul interrupted again. “It's called being a doctor, dumbass!”
“This was an angel, and no, they were not a doctor. Adam is only studying human medicine. Would he be able to heal a horse? Or a raccoon?” Michael gestured towards the tree line and as if on cue, a raccoon poked its head out of a bush. Three smaller heads followed, all looking incredibly curious. “This angel knows how to heal dinosaurs and all their descendants, some of which you've never even heard of because they've also meanwhile gone extinct.”
“Hm”, Ghoul made, obviously still suspicious. But they didn't stop Michael when he continued.
“This angel was very smart, but also reserved. When others spent their time training together, they withdrew to their studies.” Michael paused. “When bad things happened, they stayed quiet, and watched. This is not to mean that they never took action. In fact, in time of great duress, when everyone else floundered, they would take the metaphorical wheel and try to stir the whole affair into the clear.”
“I feel like you're not using those expressions right,” Ghoul muttered, but his eyes were still alight with interest.
One of the raccoons, the biggest one, carefully made its way over to where they were sitting on the logs around the fire. Curiously, it sniffed the back of Michael's log, only to then scurry on towards Ghoul.
“Even though the angel was very smart and considerably powerful, for a long time they stood in the shadow of their older siblings. But one time, there was a mission...” Michael continued, staring into the fire thoughtfully. “Their older siblings failed the mission, got hurt or worse, and Israfil needed to take charge of the situation.”
“Did they succeed?” Ghoul asked immediately.
Michael smiled sadly. “No. They failed as well, and an evil angel, drunk on power, took the reigns for a while... It wasn't long before they were overtaken by their own power, though.”
Lately, Michael had been learning a lot about the happenings of the last few years from the other angels. His visits to Heaven were still pretty sporadic, and he had no inclination to change that, but he was getting onto good footing with them again – or, in a lot of cases, for the first time.
“Cool, so the hero dies and then the villain dies. Great story.” Ghoul rolled their eyes. “You were supposed to tell a horror story, you know. That's not scary at all.”
Michael raised an eyebrow. “You should be scared. After all, this was a story about the apocalypse.”
Ghoul narrowed his eyes. “Well, Sweetums, it still wasn't creepy.”
After a moment of tension, Michael eventually shrugged. “Maybe you're right. My father was never the best writer, after all.”
Adam and Ghoul both blinked at him, then glanced at each other.
“So I guess you finished the Carver Edlund books, huh?” Adam asked tentatively.
Michael shuddered. “Don't remind me. That is true horror – the writing style alone!”
“Still a better love story than Twilight,” Ghoul said lightly, and opened his backpack to grab themself a few fingers to snack on.
Michael looked at them as they chewed. “Let's not exaggerate.”
Meanwhile, the raccoon had gotten into Ghoul's backpack and was carrying off a forearm.
“Ah, damn.” Ghoul didn't seem too bothered – they had enough food with them, and Michael could always pop them somewhere to get more.
Besides, there was always the option to snack on Adam. Sure, they had to be careful so that Ghoul didn't get grace poisoning (again), since apparently Adam's blood was full of archangel juice even when Michael wasn't fronting. But they knew how to deal with that by now.
“I suppose you found your equals,” Michael said, his eyes trailing the raccoon as it brought its prize back to its young. “Or rather your superiors. But then that's not very difficult.”
“Haha,” Ghoul made, and pouted.
“At least it gets to feed its kids,” Adam pointed out, which made Ghoul perk up a bit. “Hey, can I go next?”
When both Ghoul and Michael nodded, Adam sat up straighter, squinting into the fire while he collected his thoughts.
“Okay. So this is a story about a mighty warrior and how he slowly succumbed to the darkness. His name” - Adam paused dramatically - “was Michael Corleone.”
Michael raised an eyebrow, and Ghoul glanced at him. “Okay, Adam, now the parallels are getting a little too obvious...”
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i didnt finish this one bc it doesnt wanna cooperate with me but here’s some bits that will probably stay the same if (WHEN) i get this shit to work
“What about the microwave? Does that do anything to Michael?”
“No,” Michael says at the same time that Ghoul says “Yes!”
Turns out, whenever the microwave is used, Michael… glows. And hums. And vibrates a little.
“Sometimes, if he’s distracted, he starts to spin,” Ghoul says. “It’s fucking hilarious.”
Adam cannot see through the tears streaming down his face. Kate is once again reaching for her phone to call an ambulance.
“I hate you both,” Michael says when Adam turns it on again. It’s hard to take him seriously when his eyes are like two little headlights.
Adam hasn’t laughed so hard in years.
Michael stomps away, but the humming stays audible, and Adam might fall over and die for real this time. Would it be the microwave—holy shit, michaelwave—that killed him? Would he glow too?
aka a continuation of this drawing from last year’s midam week, where michael is a football player and adam is a cheerleader - now with ghoul added in the marching band :)
i also thought it would be funny if - even though adam and michael now look different - adam and ghoul still share almost the exact same face lol
Not even Michael knew how it (he? they?) had come aboard. And that was saying something.
Michael knew pretty much everything. About this dilapidated space station, about space itself and the hellish planet below, overrun by creatures much like the one who had been crawling through their vents for the past few weeks. Maybe months.
But he had no clue how the thing had come aboard. There were several possibilities, each more implausible than the next. But here they were.
When they finally caught... him, they soon realized why they hadn't been able to find him so far: He looked just like Adam and, by extension, like Michael.
Why Michael had made himself look like Adam, he still wasn't quite sure. At the start, Adam had thought he was just an old AI who didn't understand how humans worked, but that had turned out to be untrue. Michael knew a lot about humans, he just didn't seem to care half the time. Though it was getting better lately, what with him finally repairing the kitchen and showing Adam how to work it so he didn't have to rely on the replicator's limited repertoire. Really, Adam was beginning to suspect that Michael just liked looking like him. For the whole 'catching the creature' thing, Michael had even made an android body for himself that also looked like Adam.
“What do we do with it? Or with him? Um.” Adam kept a distance from the creature, as Michael had advised him. Even though it was tied up, and currently not doing much more than rolling its eyes and pouting (with Adam's face!), it was still better to be careful.
“We could throw it out an airlock,” Michael said, and the creature started writhing in its bonds.
“Don't you fucking dare! You fucking robot bastard, I swear to-”
“Wait! You can talk?!” Adam stared at the creature open-mouthed. During their whole hunt, there had been no talking, only enraged screeching as they'd closed in on it. The thing had used its mouth mostly to bite them, had even gotten a good chunk out of Michael's arm (only to then spit it out in disgust, cables and all). “Michael, you didn't tell me Ghouls could talk!”
“Ghouls?” the creature asked sarcastically. “Is that what you call us? Cute.”
“I doesn't quite mean what you think it means,” Michael said, the only one obviously unfazed by what was happening. Then again, he'd only had facial muscles for about two days and didn't seem to care about them a whole lot. “You're speaking different languages. I'm running a simultaneous translation program, but some words don't translate 100%.”
“Wait, so you knew that he can talk!” Adam glared at him. He was long over being impressed by all the things Michael could do (okay, that was a lie, but he wasn't as impressed anymore), and had reached the point of realizing when Michael needed a stern talking to. That often had to take a backseat to Adam's curiosity, though – like right now. “What does he sound like when you're not translating?”
Michael raised an eyebrow at him. Over the station speakers, the same screeching and garbled sounds Adam had heard from the Ghoul before re-played for several seconds.
The Ghoul nodded. “And I was right!”
“... Sure, buddy,” Adam said, not even wanting to know what he'd said. To Michael, he said: “So what do we do with him now? And don't say airlock again. We can't just kill him if he's sentient.”
Michael frowned. So maybe he did know how to use those facial muscles. “I don't see why not. It's a dangerous creature. Ghouls are basically parasites, feeding on other biological creatures and shape-shifting into them after consumption.”
Adam made a face. “Yeah, you mentioned. But wait, he hasn't eaten me – how does he look like me?”
They both turned towards the Ghoul, who shrugged. “Found some hair in the bathroom. And there was blood in the mess hall.”
“Blood?” Michael asked, eyes narrowing, and he took a step forward as if to bring himself between Adam and the Ghoul.
“Just a tiny speck.” The Ghoul tried to gesture with his tied up hands, but all he managed was to fall over. “Shit.”
“Oh, it must have been from when I ran some tests last month. I took some of my own blood, remember?” Adam did that regularly. Even though Michael claimed to be able to monitor all of his nutrition values and body functions and stuff (which... creepy), Adam liked to double-check for himself. So far, he'd always been in perfect health, physically. (There was no way for him to test his own mental health, and Michael wasn't programmed for that sort of thing. Then again, he wouldn't have wanted to talk to a shrink program anyway.)
“Gotta say, your blood is pretty delish,” the Ghoul said, licking his lips as he struggled back into a sitting position. “And this form's a little weird, but you get used to it. The opposable thumbs are useful.” He twiddled said thumbs.
For a moment, Adam let himself wonder what the Ghoul had looked like before, but he chased the thought away quickly. “Wait, did you say before that you ate some of my hair?” Gross.
“Yeah... Not as delish. Still okay, though. 6 outta 10.”
“Yikes.”
“May I suggest the airlock again,” Michael said dryly.
“Hey, come oooon. I'm just a lonely guy trying to survive in the vastness of space.” The Ghoul looked up at them with big, pleading eyes. Adam felt a twinge of sympathy for him.
“Did I mention they copy their victims' memories?” Michael murmured in his ear, and Adam froze. His memories? Oh shit, so this was some bull crap to manipulate him. But wait...
“All my memories? Does that include... my feelings?”
Apparently, he had been loud enough for the Ghoul to hear him, because he grinned and licked his lips. “Generally, yeah. I only got snippets, though. The broad strokes, I guess. It was such a tiny little bit of blood. If I got a little more...”
Michael unholstered his knife. “Be quiet,” he hissed.
Meanwhile, Adam was still reeling a bit from this revelation, a creeping sense of shame and nausea battling inside him. If this guy knew his feelings, even a little bit... He had to shut him up somehow. Michael couldn't know. He could never know.
Maybe the airlock wasn't such a bad idea.
Adam closed his eyes. Now he was feeling sick at himself.
“Are you alright?” Michael asked, and the hand he put on Adam's arm made him jump.
He wasn't used to Michael having a physical body, to be able to actually touch any part of him.
“I'm fine,” Adam muttered, crossing his arms in front of his chest, conveniently getting them out of Michael's reach.
Something passed over Michael's face, a thoughtful, or maybe calculating look, but soon he turned back to the Ghoul, expression stony.
“Look,” the Ghoul said, dropping the whole cuteness thing with a deep sigh, “I don't even need that much blood, yeah? I mean, you guys are huge! And you have so much of the stuff!” His eyes flitted to Michael. “Well, not you, you're full of nasty oil and shit.”
“You're not eating Adam,” Michael said, matter-of-factly.
“Like I said, I only need a really small amount of-”
“No.”
“A teensy tiny-”
“No!” Michael roared, the sound echoing from the walls. Adam wasn't sure if that had just been his android voice, or if he'd used the station speakers, but wow. He'd never yelled in Adam's presence before. It was kind of terrifying.
And kinda hot.
Adam pushed that thought away.
“Okay, big guy, keep it in your pants,” the Ghoul grumbled, but his shoulders were hunched, and he looked about ready to run – if he'd been able to stand up.
“If you don't want to kill it, we should throw it in the brig,” Michael said, calmer now. “Or one of the stasis pods.”
“Wait – that's one of the cold places, right? No, please!” the Ghould begged, his face suddenly ashen. “Please, I don't wanna go into the cold. Anything but that!”
Adam hesitated. While the Ghoul might just be trying to manipulate him again, the terror in his eyes looked real. Adam had been in stasis for years before Michael had woken him up, and while he remembered pretty much nothing of his time inside the tank, he definitely hadn't appreciated the moment of coming out of it. (Or the first few days after.)
He still wasn't sure how long he'd been under, exactly. Michael was suspiciously vague about that, but he tried not to think about it too much. Anything was better than being dead, he supposed – the energy systems of the pods had been failing, and Adam was the only one Michael had been able to save.
They'd still been aboard the 'Ragnarök' back then, floating through space with a short-circuited hyperdrive (it had malfunctioned on their last jump, according to Michael, ending them out here on the rims of human territory) and failing life support. Finding the abandoned station had been a blessing, but also a curse. They could live here (Adam with enough air and a food replicator and Michael with enough energy), but they were also stuck until someone came by and picked them up.
Which might be never. Or at least not within Adam's lifetime.
He could have gone back into stasis, since Michael had repaired some of the pods, but who knew what would await him on the other end of that long sleep? Besides, much like the Ghoul, Adam shuddered at the mere thought.
“Fine, no stasis,” he said, shaking the memories from his head. “But you are going in the brig.”
“Can I have some of your blood, at least?” Ghoul whined.
“No!” Adam and Michael said at the same time.
“Pleeeease, I'm starving! That stuff you call food tastes so bad, and it's all dead!”
So that was what had happened in the pantry. Adam had accused Michael, at first (he was always nagging Adam to eat healthier, and Adam had thought that was why he'd messed with his food), but that had been before they'd known about the intruder.
“We could replicate you a live lobster,” Adam suggested.
The Ghoul visibly perked up. “Does it have blood?”
“Uh, I think so? It's an animal.”
“Does it taste as good as you?”
Adam grimaced. “Buddy, I don't eat blood, and definitely not my own blood. So. No idea.”
“Bummer.”
Before the Ghoul could say anything else, Michael grabbed his arm and hoisted him up. “That's enough. Time to go to the brig.”
Adam sighed. “I'll see what the replicator can do. And Michael?”
Michael turned around to him, holding the Ghoul with one hand and away from himself, like a feral cat. (Which, well. He was struggling. And without the translator, his curses would have probably been more hissing than anything.)
“Don't hurt him, okay? It's not his fault that he's a blood-eating monster.”
Michael raised one eyebrow. The Ghoul stuck his tongue out at them.
“I'll try not to kill it,” Michael said. Did the corners of his mouth twitch? Adam wasn't sure. “Unless it tries to escape. Then it's fair game.”
Adam sighed again. Sometimes, Michael almost seemed like a normal guy – well, a normal AI, he supposed. But other times, the fact that the Ragnarök had been a warship still shined through.
Adam wasn't sure what Michael had been beforehand. He often mentioned his apparently long history of battles, but the Ragnarök had been a pretty new ship. And normally, an AI built for a specific ship reacted to that ship's name. Michael was just Michael, though. So he must have been in different ships, or stations or whatever before.
Adam was still struggling with the replicator when Michael walked into the kitchen, confusion written all over his face. (In the beginning, when Michael had first used his projection, it had been weird that they'd looked so alike. By now, Adam barely noticed it anymore. Michael was Michael. If you took a photo of them, Adam would have been able to pick out immediately who was who, and not just from the different postures.)
“What's wrong?” Adam asked, immediately alert. If Michael was confused, or upset, that usually meant something really, really bad was afoot.
“I think,” Michael started, then blinked, and tried again: “I think the creature just propositioned me.”
Adam stared at him for a long moment, feeling heat crawl up his neck, to the tips of his ears. “Oh.” He swallowed tightly. “Um. That's weird.”
“Yes.” Michael shook his head, then huffed. “A disgusting creature, in all aspects.”
“Yeah.” Adam turned towards the replicator as his lips pursed and his stomach contracted. Trying to lighten the mood, he added: “Cute face, though.”
Michael was silent for several seconds. Adam was starting to sweat, even though he was sure the temperature was at the same steady 20° Celsius as always.
“I suppose,” Michael said eventually, stepping up next to Adam to press a button on the replicator. The stupid machine, which had been refusing to cooperate with Adam for fucking thirty minutes, immediately created a lobster.
Fucking hell.
In that moment, it hit Adam that he was not just stuck on this stupid space station with an AI/android, but also with a shape-shifting monster that wanted to eat him, and now a lobster that was a) bigger than Adam had expected and b) moving, which... gross.
Well, at least he could replicate himself some chocolate cake while Michael would feed the Ghoul. (Because he sure as hell wasn't going to touch that lobster.) And if Michael caught him stuffing himself with sweets, well... He could always pull the 'But this is my comfort food, I'm so lonely and you're really begrudging me my simplest human pleasures?' card. It had worked pretty well so far.
Thing was, the Ghoul wasn't the only one who could make those eyes look really big.
… Maybe they had more in common than he'd thought. At least when it came to dealing with (and lusting after, ummm, wanting to be close with) Michael.
It took some convincing before Michael agreed to feed the Ghoul (“It was your idea to keep it alive, Adam!”), but he eventually conceded. After all, Adam was in much more danger from the Ghoul than Michael would ever be. Even if Michael's android body was damaged (like the missing piece of his arm), or if it was destroyed, he was still inside the space station. He was just controlling the android body via some kind of link.
So yeah, Adam pulled the 'I'm a squishy, fragile human and I'm soooo afraid he'll bite me for my blood, please don't make me go into the brig' card. Which was now apparently a thing.
Then he made the mistake of watching the security footage of the brig while eating his chocolate cake. His stomach churned as the Ghoul tore into the lobster, lapping up the grey blood from his hands and the floor afterwards. Gross, gross, gross! Especially the sounds...
“Yuck. 3 out of 10,” the Ghoul said after, but he still sucked his fingers clean. He really must have been starving.
Adam felt a little bit of kinship with him again. Which... yeah, he wasn't going to think about that too hard.
“You should be grateful we're keeping you alive,” Michael scoffed, and turned to leave the room.
“Wait! Now that I'm not dying anymore... I wasn't kidding before, you know.” The Ghoul walked up right to the energy field that was keeping him contained in his cell, staring through the red tinge. “You've only been a robot for what, a couple days? We could both explore our new bodies, is all I'm saying.”
Adam drew in a sharp breath. How dare he! If anyone was going to explore his body with Michael-
No, nope, wrong train of thought.
“You're disgusting,” Michael said on-screen. Adam tried and failed not to take it personally.
“Aw, come on. You don't mean that.” Ghoul leaned forward a bit, then jerked back when his chin hit the energy field. He rubbed it, grumbling a little. “Don't get me wrong, I'd rather have the other guy. Bet he's delicious in more ways than his blood.” He winked. Adam tried not to blush. “But I've a feeling you won't let him get near me, yeah?”
“No one and nothing will get near you,” Michael said coldly. “You will die here, alone and forgotten.”
The Ghoul raised an eyebrow. “Projecting, much?”
Michael's hand twitched. At least Adam was pretty sure of it – though it had been only a fraction of a second, so he could be wrong.
“I'm an AI. So I can't die.”
“Nope, but the other guy – Adam, right? He can. And then what? You'll be all alone, out here in space. Just like back on that ship.”
Michael always stood very still and stiff, but now he froze completely. “What did you say?” he whispered.
Ghoul grinned. Licked his lips. “Your oil was disgusting, but hey, it's still blood, apparently. I know you're lonely. And I know you're terrified of losing what little company you have. You're already regretting letting the others die.”
This time, it was Adam who froze, the plate with his chocolate cake long forgotten on a cupboard. He barely breathed until Michael spoke again.
“I couldn't save them,” he said, clipped.
“Oh, but you could have, couldn't you? You were just too busy repairing the ship, saving yourself.”
“Without the ship, no one would have survived.”
The Ghoul huffed. “They had engineers. They'd have managed. Truth is, you were too scared for yourself to even notice the stasis pods failing.”
It shouldn't have been possible for an android to pale. He didn't even have blood (not red blood, at least). And yet.
“My sensors were malfunctioning,” Michael said shakily. “The Ragnarök's internal sensors were damaged, and-”
“Oh, sure, yeah. That's what you told the kid, right? It was just a minor hitch in the system, though. Easy to repair. You did that within seconds. And that wasn't why you didn't notice. You just didn't check. Because you were too caught up in yourself. And because you never liked them anyway.” Ghoul seemed to have fun with this, his eyes sparkling with delight. A grotesque parody of when Adam smiled at himself in the mirror. “Your father gave you to them, right? For the ship.”
“Stop,” Michael said quietly. Almost softly.
“But you hated it. You were made to obey, but you hated every second of it. All the ships that came before, all the battles – you didn't want it. All you wanted was to go home to dear old daddy and your little AI siblings.”
“Silence!” Michael roared, and even through the speakers in the control room, Adam's ears rang from the volume.
Ghoul yawned. “Yeah, and on top of all of that...” He stretched. “... you also get a weird robot boner for that Adam guy. Don'tcha?”
The footage abruptly cut off. Adam stared at the black screen for a long moment before picking up his chocolate cake again.
alternate universe (i’m thinking cowboys, aliens, dare i say old-timey explorers stranded in the antartic hinterlands? —but alternate timelines&canon divergence count as well)
But, really, it's the most basic definition of "uncanny”—"unhomely”—that matters. The haunted house is precisely that which should be homey, should be welcoming—the place one lives inside--but which has somehow become emptied out of its true function. It is terrifying because it has lost its purpose yet stubbornly persists. Neither alive nor dead but undead, the haunted house is the thing in between. —Colin Dickey, Ghostland
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huge huge thank you to everyone who has participated in midamoulweek so far, or thought about participating, or engaged with people's works. love and light to you all my heart is SO full
@midamoulweek day 4: So he says, “Well, what you’re doing is, there’s something bad happened. And you’re going back thinking that you can make it right. Something went wrong, and you keep going back to see if you can fix it, or somehow make it right.”
And I sat there, and I said, “That is what I’m doing.”
And he said, “Well, you can’t.”
shared body midamoul inspired by this post from @ckneal
The world is empty as Michael stands in Adam’s old neighborhood.
It’s eerily quiet; no children in the street, no cars on the road. Adam’s house has been boarded up; nobody sold it, nobody bought it. Inside is a relic of Adam’s past that he was too afraid to revisit while he had the chance. Michael wonders if the crime scene tape is still up, if Adam knew it’s not the house he left behind or the one they lived in together for so long.
Storm clouds are brewing in the sky behind him; he can feel static electricity coursing through the veins that are not his. They’re his fault, just like everything else is.
Ghoul hadn't known what to think, at first. When the really thin woman had come and rallied them all together, everyone had been confused, and most had tried to run. The woman stopped them, though, with an ease that had inspired everything from terror to devotion to indignation in the assorted denizens of Purgatory.
There had been some creatures, really old ones it seemed, who apparently knew who she was. She never did tell them their name, but Ghoul learned it later on: Amara.
She was scary enough. But then he came.
Not that he was stronger than her, not at all, or at least Ghoul didn't think so. But he was so bright, it felt like they would all simply burst into flames if they looked at him directly. Not to mention how blinding it was. Staring directly into a sun was never good, but in a world of eternal dimness, where everything was grey and bleak, it was torture.
The sun's name turned out to be Michael.
Ghoul was scared of him. Of course he was, because what sane being wouldn't be? So it was with rising panic that Ghoul noticed Michael's eyes (so many of them!) landing on them.
Many things went through Ghoul's mind in that moment. The sun hated ghouls! Or maybe he was going to make an example of Ghoul, show the others what would happen to them if they stepped out of line.
Instead, the sun said, in a terrible, angry voice: “Why do you look like Adam?!”
Well. Let's just say Michael wasn't too pleased to find out who Ghoul was, exactly, in relation to one Adam Milligan of Windom, Minnesota.
That should have been Ghoul's end, really. He wasn't sure if there was another place people like him could go to, but he'd more than half expected to be burned, simply snuffed out of existence right there on the spot.
Instead, Michael somehow reigned in his anger, even if he proceeded to glare at Ghoul like he had personally killed a litter of puppies. Well, to be fair, Adam was cuter than a bunch of dogs. (Not as cute as Ghoul, though. They could really pull off the whole 'big eyes and innocent' thing, as evidenced by them fooling the Winchesters.) (Okay, to be even more fair, the Winchesters were kind of stupid, so maybe that didn't count.)
After the whole debriefing on their situation, they were all led to what Amara called 'the rehab centre', where they were supposed to be shown how to re-integrate into society.
Ghoul didn't think much about it, since he had never been integrated in human or any other society in the first place. Sure, he'd played plenty of people in his life, but only ever for short periods of time. Keeping a persona up 24/7 sounded really exhausting.
They were 'processed' by another angel. One who talked calmly, and didn't look at them like they were dirt. His name was Gadreel. Ghoul kind of liked him.
He still didn't believe that they might go to Heaven. It didn't seem possible. Not for monsters.
When Gadreel spoke of Heaven, he always seemed thoughtful. Careful in his words, but not out of fear. More like he had to take a moment to remember.
Apparently, Heaven had been different once, but now it was built on connection. People sharing Heavens, or visiting other Heavens when they felt like it. Ghoul thought it sounded a little tedious. He still wasn't buying into any of it.
That was, until he met his dad again.
His dad, who had apparently been one of the first to be given a second chance, and who was now helping to convince others that what they were doing was right. Ghoul thought he might have been brainwashed at first. But the more time he spent with his dad, the more it became clear that he was simple... relaxed. Happy.
Something he had rarely ever been while they'd been scavenging in graveyards.
Eventually, Ghoul got with the program. Tried to learn not to see humans primarily as food. Tried to figure out what the fuck a Starbucks was and why you would show up late with it.
A lot of it was confusing. Parts of it, not even Gadreel seemed to understand. After all, he wasn't human either.
So they got someone else to help. A human, who would nevertheless understand feeling out of place among humans.
Adam.
Michael was looming behind him the whole time he was there, so close that Ghoul wondered why Adam wasn't burning to a crisp. But he hardly seemed to notice the sun constantly peering over his shoulder. A smile almost never left Adam's lips – except the first time he looked at Ghoul, which was when it slipped. But only for a moment.
I ate you, Ghoul thought more than once. I ate you and you're smiling at me, treating me like I deserve your forgiveness or your help.
Weirdo.
Finally, it was time. Ghoul had been processed. He thought he would pass on to Heaven now and that would be it, eternal boredom in the light or whatever, but instead he was given a choice.
Heaven, or another chance at life?
Michael watched him carefully as he contemplated, a bunch of his eyes practically boring into Ghoul. Even Adam seemed thoughtful, or maybe apprehensive.
“Life,” Ghoul said at last, unable to face either of them. “I want to live again.”
And so they got their new beginning. It would be far weirder than anything Ghoul could have imagined.
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(some posts aren't showing up in the tag; please @ me as well as tagging! thanks :))
resurrection
kid-fic
I had this habit for a long time: I used to get in my car, and I would drive back to my old neighborhood, the old town I grew up in. And I’d always drive past, like, the old houses that I used to live in. And I’d do it, sometimes late at night, if I was — when I used to be up at nights. [laughs] And I got so I would do it really regularly, for — two, three, four times a week — for years. And I eventually got to wonderin’, what the hell am I doing?
And so I went to see this psychiatrist — this is true! — and I sat down, and I said, you know, “Doc, for years, I’ve been gettin’ in my car, and I drive back to my town, and I pass my houses late at night, and, you know…what am I doing?”
And he said, “I want you to tell me what you think you’re doing."
[crowd laughs]
So I go, “That’s what I’m paying you for!”
So he says, “Well, what you’re doing is, there’s something bad happened. And you’re going back thinking that you can make it right. Something went wrong, and you keep going back to see if you can fix it, or somehow make it right.”
And I sat there, and I said, “That is what I’m doing.”
And he said, “Well, you can’t.”
not everything is showing up in the #midamoulweek tag for me, so if i don't reblog your post, that's why! please @ me if you posted something for day 1 or 2 that i havent reblogged yet!
gummygunk
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
