Develv (сестры DevaIluvatar и Elveo)

Анон · 2015-07-03 12:51:43

А меня бесит юзер, который осел на заброшенном сообществе и стал постоянно там постить свои рисунки. Раньше было годное сообщество, где писали про актера в основном. Теперь выкладывают рисунки деффачкоф с яйками, а даже и без яек, выдавая типа за мужиков. Зацените:
http://bagoas-in-love.diary.ru/
У анона рука не поднимается отписаться, вдруг снова будут про актера постить.

*по 2103 стр.

▼ЛИЧНОЕ ДЕЛО⬍

▼ДЕВОМЕМЫ⬍

Анунахи, аннонаки. В треде прижился благодаря монструозному фиклу Бздевы "Аннунаки" и пародийным фикам анонов.

Асексаул - асексуал с девиной грамотностью.

Баклань. Эльва сама причислила себя к туркам и балканцам, анон принесший высер назвал ее туркой и бакланкой, а потом и Баклань появилось. https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 3#p2132503

Баклажан. Девобатя. Пошло от его собственной многомудрой кортинощки с цытаткой https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 1#p2603661

Белое вино/испить белого вина - сперма/сделать минет. Из фика Девы "Аннунаки", в котором Александр "пьёт белое вино" Багоаса.

Бешеный бабуин - типаж мужчины мечты Эльвы. Стереотипный, агрессивный джигит с балшим кынжал, режущий глотки всем кто не так посмотрел.
Бугогас - от "Багоас". В исполнении Девы это нелепейшее существо, которое вызывает смех. Или фейспалм.

Я не гой. Ненавижу и презираю.
Гитрер, Сталин и Полпот.
Кострация.
Мемчики авторства самой Девы, были принесены из ее днявки еще в самом начале треда, потом Дева окуклилась и только два года спустя раскуклилась и анон внес содержимое ее днявки вместе со скринами
https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 0#p3356780
https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 7#p3356797

Гомодиды, гомодидятня, гомодинастия, гомоберложка, близуны, полировать бананы, невступление в секс, перейти/не перейти ЧЕРТУ - мемы порожденные совместным фичком Девы и Криски "Тайна близнецов Декарт", который пишется уже полтора года и родился из порноролевочки Девы и ее соавторши. Волосатый член, каждый яичко и растараненная попка - из прочих фиков их соавторства.

Груди-арбузы и жопы-дирижабли (дирижопли). От самой Девы https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 5#p1134765

Гомогусары. Создано аноном, как реакция на толпу абсолютно одинаковых персонажей Эльвы типажа "усатый гусар с ирокезом трахает девочку мальчика"

Девопризма - особо целомудренный и чистый взгляд Девы, превращающий персонажей в переломанных, жопастых уродов внешне и редкостных свиноебов внутренне, и перерождающий больноублюдочные отношения в виликую любовь.

Деревня Гомосеково/Колхоз Гомосеково. Пошло от Эльвиных йумарных фанфиков про Мехмедо-Раду и Грозный-Басманов в колхозных реалиях.

Духовное стояло. Мем авторства 48-го, порожденный во время очередного выпляса в защиту Пихмедки https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 4#p2653174

Дева не барышня. Из девиного бомбалейо о том, что она не возмущается, когда ее называют барышней, так и трансы МтФ не Лорды расстраиваться, что она считает их мужчинами https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pid=766563#p766563

Ебля в фонтанах - из фанфика Девы, в котором Александр Македонский и Багоас 20 дней подряд "предавались любовь в садах и фонтанах под смущенными взглядами случайных свидетелей". Также есть арт с соответвующим содержанием.

Заебанные сердца. От Эльвиного эпопейного фикла "Завоеванные сердца", которое заебало своей тупостью всех чтецов.

Золотые трусы или написьник. Униформа Багоаса. Дева возмущалась, что Багоаса рисуют в набедренной порядке, хотя сама рисовала точно так же.

ЗОПРЕЩЕНО - из фика анона об амазонке Калено. Высмеивает манию Девы Багоаса запрещать в фичках мясо, выпивку и все, что ей ему не нравится.

Иггдрасилье. Пошло из девиного фичка "За гранью Иггдрасилья".

И они сели пить чай с конфетами. - к девиному комиксу о стродающем-ебущемся тройничке Багоас-Александр-Гефестион. Дева всегда говорит, что пишет/рисует высокую драму, но всегда скатывается в дочки-матери. https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 4#p2421104

Кросивое - у дев все кросивое, особенно ошибки, которыми их писанина кишит, как лисья шуба блохами.

Кебаб моего сердца. Попугай сердца в устах, саз лица и арфа шеи. Из дословных подстрочных "переводов" Эльвы с османского.

Молодой бог - из фика Девы "Иггдрасилье", в котором Локи всегда все делал лучше всех и как молодой бог.

Нет чистоты во взгляде, Противные бабы с дряблой кожей - Дева обсирала фотографии обычных иранских женщин. https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 2#p1972112

Не бабы, а мужчины! Приписка Девы под каждым ее артом, на котором изображена широкобедрая грудастая куколка с ололоконами и томным взглядом из-под метровых ресниц. https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 5#p2091675

Охуевнух. Очевидно, охуенный евнух, то есть такой, от которого все охуевают. В исполнении Девы - с волосами до пят, сиськами 3 размера, смоки айз, в пищевой плёнке и с двумя сундуками дорогобогатых украшений.

Пихмед, Сраду- Мехмед и Раду из эпопеи Эльвы. Родилось как реакция на маниакальное стремление эльвиного Мехмеда пихать свое духовное стояло во все, что движется и на инфантильного эгоиста Раду.

Полутюрка. От самой Эльвы https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 6#p2081336

Мемы, родившиеся вне треда, но прижившиеся:

Гей-радар. С помощью него сабжи безошибочно определяют, что всегеи. Использовано верной хомячихой Лизкой при обсуждении фильма "Коловрат" https://holywarsoo.net/viewtopic.php?pi … 5#p2871145

Гетеронормативность, гетеропропаганда, гетерасы, гетерофобия, евнухофобия. Ответ дев на любую критику.

Дгуг, какисторик, какпереводчик и производные перекочевали из треда Галуасты, когда видамчик подсасывался к девам.

Ололоконы - родилось в треде ролевиков, прижилось к девиным куколкам как родное.

Червепидор
В этом треде оно пришлось очень в тему, так как Дева любит рисовать своих пидоров в виде каких-то белесых червей, да и по характеру хуже их трудно найти. Изначально копипаста:
https://lurkmore.to/Копипаста:Червь-пидор

▼ГЛАВНЫЕ ПЛЯСКИ, СРАЧИ И ПЕРЕОПЫЛЕНИЯ⬍

▼ЗОЛОТОЙ ФОНД ЦИТАТ⬍

▼ХОЛИВАРКА ОБРАЗОВАТЕЛЬНАЯ⬍

▼АНОНСКОЕ ТВОРЧЕСТВО⬍

▼ЧИТЕНИЯ⬍

▼My Only One. Части 1-31⬍

▼Part 1⬍

▼Part 2⬍

▼Part 3⬍

▼Part 4. The last night⬍

▼Part 5. Separation⬍

▼Part 6. The struggle⬍

▼Part 7. Life goes on⬍

▼Part 8. Without you⬍

▼Part 9. Stigma⬍

▼Part 10. Battle buddies⬍

▼Part 11. To be with you⬍

▼Part 12. I've found you⬍

▼Part 13. What happened to us?⬍

▼Part 14. Discipline⬍

▼Part 15. I remember⬍

▼Part 16. Next-door neighbors⬍

▼Part 17. It's been a long time⬍

▼Part 18. It's YOU⬍

▼Part 19. Protector⬍

▼Part 20. Like a man⬍

▼Part 21. Sacrifice⬍

▼Part 22. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot⬍

▼Part 23. Flower boy⬍

▼Part 24. Love hurts⬍

▼Part 25. The kiss of life⬍

▼Part 26. In the office⬍

▼Part 27. I'm fine⬍

▼Part 28. Have mercy⬍

▼Part 29. Against the wall⬍

▼Part 30. Out of my league (flashbacks)⬍

▼Бонус порисулька⬍

▼Part 31. Kiss-me kill-me⬍

Помни сам, и расскажи другому, Анон: лучшая тактика против 48-го - игнор!
Маскот треда: https://i.imgur.com/tWFwehW.png

Анон · 2025-07-16 13:03:18

Небось просто кинки такие.

Анон · 2025-07-16 17:17:52

Анон пишет:

Анон пишет:
Кришнаитолубковые евнухи
Интересно, если они нибабы, зачем она их в лифчики одевает?

Потому что у нибаб - идеал бабьей кросоты, а раз баппы носят лифаки, то и небабы должны ведь нибабы во всём лучшее бапп. Ну или какая-то такая шиза. Как и всё прочее у данного поциента

Анон · Вчера 01:24:09

Анон пишет:

Кришнаитолубковые евнухи

Вот это марианские впадины от пупка до силикона О.о Это от какой операции такой рубец?

Анон · Вчера 01:58:48

Вот это ренессанс бугагасов :lol:

Анон · Вчера 09:50:19

Сиськоделы, где вы, когда вы так нужны? :sadcat:

Анон · Сегодня 00:56:06

Корейцы

▼Скрытый текст⬍

Стродательное девописево

▼Глава 9⬍

Chapter 9
Summary:

The memory of the past haunted him like a shadow. Nero’s nightmares and confessions of vengeance reveal the scars of his past. Wounds too deep for words, memories too dark to bear — and yet, through it all, Weiss never let go. His love was the only truth Nero could believe in. His unwavering love becomes the light that guides him toward healing.

Notes:

Illustration for the chapter:
https://x.com/DevelvDeva/status/1945933322632478927

Chapter Text

In the depths of the night, Weiss woke to a faint rustle. His eyes fluttered open, and instinctively, his hand reached for the space beside him on the bed—empty. A pang of unease gripped him, and he sat up, scanning the room for Nero. In the dim shadows, he spotted him in the corner, curled up on the edge of the bed, knees drawn tightly to his chest. Nero’s body rocked slightly, and a faint, almost incoherent whisper slipped from his lips. In the pale moonlight filtering through the window, his face was ghostly white, his eyes glistening with unshed tears he fought to hold back.

Weiss understood immediately. He moved closer, his touch gentle as he placed a hand on Nero’s shoulder, feeling him flinch at the contact.

“Shh, love, I’m here,” Weiss whispered with warm and soothing voice, a steady anchor in the dark. It had been a while since Nero’s nightmares had resurfaced, but here they were again. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It was just a dream. It’s not real. You’re here, with me, in our home.”

Nero lifted his gaze, his eyes shimmering with moisture, a mix of terror and shame swirling within them. His grip on his knees tightened, his breathing uneven and ragged.

“What if… it wasn’t just a dream?” he whispered, his voice trembling as if the words themselves were dangerous, as if speaking them aloud might give them power to become real.

Weiss slid closer, wrapping his arms around Nero with careful tenderness, his touch warm and protective. He could feel Nero trembling, his body taut, still trapped in the grip of the nightmare’s lingering fear.

“What did you see?” Weiss asked softly, his voice a quiet invitation.

Nero shrank into himself, his fingers digging into Weiss’s arm. He was silent for a long moment, his breathing growing more erratic until he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper, choking on the words.

“I’m so ashamed… it’s disgusting,” he murmured, his voice faltering. “I was back in that clinic—dark, grim, freezing. It was so lonely, so terrifying, like an eternal darkness had swallowed the world, like the sun would never rise again, and all joy had vanished. Then I felt… rough hands. That orderly, Gabri… he… his hands…” Nero’s voice broke, his eyes wide with horror. “They were crawling over me. I was strapped to the bed, those restraints binding me, helpless. A mask covered my face, and I couldn’t scream—my voice was gone. And he…” Nero gasped, his words dissolving into a sob. “I don’t know if it was real. A dream… or a memory? It felt so real, Weiss. I want to wash it away. I can’t bear it…”

His voice broke off, and he pressed his hands to his face, as if trying to hide from himself. Weiss felt the full weight of Nero’s pain, a deep ache that pierced his own heart. He pulled Nero closer, enveloping him in a firm embrace, his hands stroking Nero’s back with deliberate care, avoiding any hint of the physical scars of his past, focusing only on offering warmth and safety.

“It was a dream, love,” Weiss whispered, his voice steady and certain, yet soft with compassion. “You’re here, with me. No one will touch you. I’m right here, and I won’t let that happen.”

Nero let out a quiet sob, his eyes closing as his breathing gradually steadied. He pressed himself closer, burying his face in Weiss’s shoulder, seeking solace in his warmth.

“What if it’s true?” he whispered, barely audible. “What if… it happened, back in the clinic? I can’t tell…”

Weiss’s hands stilled, his heart pounding with a surge of worry and anguish for Nero. A shadow of doubt gnawed at his mind, sharp and unsettling. He pulled back just enough to meet Nero’s gaze, his eyes searching and resolute.

“If it’s true, I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice edged with steel. “I’ll talk to Eric, pull the security footage, check every record. If anyone—Gabri or otherwise—dared to touch you, I’ll make them answer for it. I swear, Nero, I’ll destroy them. They’ll wish they’d never been born.”

Nero stared at him through his tears, a faint spark of hope flickering in his eyes. He nodded, his arms tightening around Weiss as if clinging to a lifeline.

“Thank you, Weiss,” he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. “With you… I’m not as afraid. It’s not as terrifying.”

Weiss pressed a gentle kiss to Nero’s forehead, then his temple, his lips warm and comforting. He guided Nero back down to the bed, lying beside him and pulling him close, ensuring he felt safe and protected. Nero nestled against him, his head resting on Weiss’s chest, the steady rhythm of Weiss’s heartbeat drowning out the echoes of the nightmare.

“I’ll protect you, don’t be afraid,” Weiss murmured, his hand gently stroking Nero’s hair. “We’re together, and I’ll always be here.”

***

Weiss had long noticed that Nero’s stories, however strange they sounded, had a peculiar quality: they gripped the soul and left a lingering shadow that couldn’t be ignored. One evening, sitting on the cozy couch under a soft blanket, with cups of hot tea steaming on the table, Weiss gently started a conversation:
“Nero, tell me more about your visions and other dreams. About what you feel.”

Nero looked at him, his eyes reflecting a mix of doubt and tenderness. He took a deep breath.
“It’s hard to explain,” he began quietly. “Sometimes I don’t know where memories end and dreams begin. Visions and reality blur together.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, as if searching for answers in the faint scars that marked them.
“Since childhood… I’ve felt something dark inside me. A force. It was like it was watching me, part of me. And in my worst moments, it whispered that it could save me. But I never let it.”

Weiss asked cautiously, “Why?”

Nero paused, his face calm but his voice trembling slightly when he answered: “If I had used it… it would have broken the trials. We all go through trials to become who we’re meant to be. Choosing a path means walking it to the end. If we stray, we risk ending up somewhere worse… somewhere darker.”

Those words unsettled Weiss, but he didn’t argue. Nero looked as if he were answering a question for himself.

“Nero,” Weiss said softly, sitting closer, “have you ever thought your visions might be more than just dreams?”

Nero stared at his teacup, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if trying to recall something. “I’ve thought about it. But you told me they were just dreams, so I brushed them off.”

“Yes, but now I’m not so sure,” Weiss replied.

“Sometimes it feels like they’re not my dreams. Like they’re a reality that was or will be. As if I step into a corridor of time and see the past, present, and future.”

Those words troubled Weiss, but he knew there was more to them than he was ready to understand. He didn’t know if they were fantasies born of trauma or something else he couldn’t yet name. But the coincidences were eerie. Once, Nero described a dream where Heinrich held a key to a “secret room” in the mansion. Weiss, half-disbelieving, checked during a visit to the old house to retrieve belongings and books. In Heinrich’s study, under a pile of papers, he found a rusty key he’d never seen before. Behind a bookshelf was a narrow, dusty door, untouched for years. Weiss shone a flashlight inside: the room was nearly empty, just a few boxes of junk that seemed to belong to previous owners. He didn’t tell Nero, but the shadow of doubt grew—not in Nero, but in the reality of his abilities. Could the unseen, the mystical, truly exist?

Weiss dug through family archives—in the library, his father’s study, sifting through letters, photos, yellowed papers. In one box, he found an old contract with the logo of a scientific organization where Heinrich worked in his youth. It mentioned “genetic research” and “behavioral correction.” The words burned with painful resonance. Were they connected to Nero? To his “powers”? Or were they just echoes of a past Weiss was trying to make sense of? Perhaps it was coincidence. Perhaps Nero glimpsed those papers as a child, and trauma twisted them into strange forms in his memory. He found no answers, but each document, each line, deepened the feeling that the family hid more than he’d thought.

Weiss exchanged brief formalities with his mother. To his surprise, just as he was about to leave, Eliza spoke up:

“How’s Nero doing?”

“He’s…” Weiss paused, choosing his words carefully. “He’s doing alright.”

“Good,” Eliza replied, her tone hesitant, as if she wanted to say more but held back. Weiss noticed the flicker of unease in her expression, and for some reason, it stirred a pang of pity in him.

“Was there something else you wanted to ask?” he said, pausing by his car after loading the last of his things into the trunk.

Eliza’s gaze dropped to the ground, her fingers nervously twisting her wedding ring. “I feel awkward asking this, but… would you consider visiting your father? The doctors say he’s improving. He misses you terribly and… he regrets how he acted.”

“I’ll think about it,” Weiss replied, his tone sharper than he intended.

“I’m not pushing you,” Eliza began, her voice soft, “but if you decide—”

“I’ll let you know when I do,” Weiss cut in, his words clipped but not unkind.

Eliza nodded, then added, “Alright. And please, give Nero my best wishes.”

Weiss gave a curt nod and slid into the driver’s seat. As he started the car, he found himself surprised by the shift in her demeanor—there was a warmth, a vulnerability, he hadn’t expected.

***

Meanwhile, Nero grew stronger, healthier, more active. Despite Weiss’s protests that he could handle the chores, Nero insisted on helping: washing dishes, sweeping floors, brewing herbal teas and berry drinks, watering flowers, knitting new sweaters, rugs, and socks, humming softly. He took up a new hobby: bringing recipes to life—cheesecakes, berry jams, creamy cookies. Weiss joined eagerly, adding his own touches, not limiting himself to savory dishes like porridges, nettle, quinoa, or burdock soups, fried mushrooms with potatoes, or cheesy vegetable casseroles. Nero’s smile, still rare, shone like a ray on a winter day, warming Weiss’s heart. But his “abilities” sometimes unnerved. At times, he’d freeze, his gaze trembling, and whisper: “Something bad’s going to happen, Weiss.”

And a day later, news would come—a crash in the next village, a fire in town. Nero knew things he shouldn’t: names, details not mentioned in reports. His visions were chaotic, spontaneous, sometimes surfacing, sometimes not. Weiss wondered: was this trauma-born intuition or something more?

One cool autumn evening, they sat by the fireplace in their cozy home on the couch. The flames danced, casting warm light on the walls and soft rug. Nero, wrapped in a blanket, stared into the fire, as if it revealed something others couldn’t see. “I’ve always had a power,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but certain. “A deadly power. But I held it back with my will.” His eyes gleamed in the firelight.

Weiss frowned, his voice soft but insistent. “Why didn’t you use it? Against Heinrich, Kurt… the clinic?”

Nero answered, leaning closer, his voice almost a whisper: “You know why, Weiss. I told you—it would’ve broken the trial we all must face. But there’s more…” He looked into Weiss’s eyes. “Because then I’d have lost you. The power… it doesn’t save. It destroys.”

Weiss felt a chill down his spine. He didn’t know whether to believe the words, but they rang with a truth Nero had lived, not invented. He saw Nero wrestling with inner pain, his mind blending reality with fantasies. But those fantasies held truth—an intuition startlingly accurate. When Weiss took Nero for a checkup at the clinic where Eric worked, Eric confirmed with a smile: “Nero’s healthy. His body’s recovered, his psyche’s stabilizing. But he needs to complete the treatment. Everything will be fine.”

Weiss felt immense relief. He looked at Nero, who sat across, assembling intricate puzzles Eric had given him, his large eyes radiating curiosity.

Eric continued, reviewing the results: “Tests show exceptional cognitive abilities. He’s… special. His intuition is rare.”

Weiss asked cautiously, “Is it from trauma or a gift?”

Eric closed the test folder and looked at Weiss with a faint smile. “Nero’s always been special, Weiss. His abilities could’ve surfaced earlier if his life hadn’t been filled with so much fear, pain, and oppression. He intuitively senses things beyond normal perception. It’s a gift, but a big responsibility.”

Weiss frowned, running a hand over the folder on the table. “You’re saying he’s always been like this?”

Eric nodded. “Yes. But it was suppressed before. Constant stress, illness, isolation… it held him back. Now, with your care, his true self is emerging. His dormant abilities are awakening.”

“But what if…” Weiss began but paused, choosing his words.

Eric asked, “Has Nero ever been wrong? Done something that led to harm?”

Weiss thought back to their childhood, youth, recent months. Finally, he shook his head. “No. Every time he predicted or sensed something… he was right.”

Eric looked at him intently. “Then trust him, Weiss. The trauma and darkness he endured didn’t destroy him—they forged him. His intuition, his power, is part of his path. One day, he’ll find himself. Be there, but don’t try to make him someone he’s not. Don’t rush time.”

Weiss sighed, his gaze softening. “I don’t know if I’m always doing the right thing. But I’ll try.”

Eric nodded. “That’s all that’s needed.”

Weiss looked at Nero, who sat calmly observing their talk. For the first time in ages, he saw not fear but confidence in his gaze. “Nero,” he said softly, extending his hand. “We’ll make it. Together.”

Nero took his hand, his face lit by a gentle smile. “I know.”

When Nero stepped out of the office, Weiss lingered and turned to Eric. “There’s something else important I need to ask.”

“I’m listening,” Eric replied.

“Could you help me access the surveillance footage from Nero’s ward in that clinic?”

Eric’s face grew thoughtful. “I’ll try to help, but it won’t be easy. If I ask the administration, they’ll likely say recordings are deleted every 60 days—that’s standard. But our clinic keeps archives longer, so I’m hopeful Nero’s footage hasn’t been erased. I’ll talk to the administrator in charge of the cameras, but I’ll need a reason to request access. They don’t just hand out recordings, even to staff.”

“It’s crucial,” Weiss said, his voice low but firm. “Nero’s been having nightmares—vivid ones—about a staff member, Gabriel, touching him inappropriately in the clinic. He’s not sure if they’re memories or dreams, and it’s tearing him apart. I need to know if it happened, to prove to him he’s safe now—or to hold someone accountable if it’s true.”

Eric’s expression softened with empathy. “I’m so sorry he’s going through that. I’ll do everything I can to get those records. Give me a few days, and I’ll see what I can find.”

They shook hands, and Weiss left, his heart heavy but resolute. A few days later, Eric called. “I got access to the footage,” he said. “I tried to copy it onto a drive, but the files are too large. You’ll need to come to the clinic and view them in the archive room.”

Weiss drove to the clinic, a place that sent shivers down his spine with its sterile, oppressive air. But this time, he felt a surge of strength and determination, fueled by his need to protect Nero. Eric led him to a large, dimly lit room filled with monitors and servers, the archive of the clinic’s surveillance footage. They sat together, fast-forwarding through hours of recordings, focusing on moments when someone entered Nero’s ward. Watching was agonizing for Weiss. The footage showed Nero strapped to a bed, his frail body trembling as orderlies handled him roughly; shouting, restraining him, ignoring his cries. His screams, his tears, his descent into despair pierced Weiss like a knife, reopening old wounds. Tears welled in his eyes, and at times he had to look away, his chest tight with grief and rage.

Eric, sensitive to Weiss’s pain, skipped past the worst moments that weren’t relevant to their goal. There were troubling scenes with Gabriel—his lingering presence, his cold demeanor—but, to Weiss’s relief, he never crossed the line Nero feared. Gabriel didn’t visit at night or touch Nero inappropriately. After hours of review, Weiss, emotionally drained and shattered, thanked Eric with a trembling voice. Eric, his face etched with compassion, pulled Weiss into a brief, supportive embrace. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” he said softly. “But I’m glad we found no evidence of what Nero feared.”

As Weiss left the archive room, he crossed paths with Gabriel in the hallway. The orderly’s eyes widened at the sight of Weiss’s muscular frame and the cold fury in his gaze. Weiss’s fists clenched, itching to lash out, but he restrained himself. Gabriel, sensing the threat, quickened his pace, slipping past and disappearing down the corridor. Coward, Weiss thought bitterly. Only brave enough to hurt the weak and helpless.

Returning home, Weiss found Nero in the kitchen, stirring a pot of berry tea, the sweet aroma filling the air. He took a deep breath and sat beside him, recounting everything: the footage, the painful scenes of Nero’s suffering, and the crucial truth that Gabriel hadn’t violated him as he’d feared. “Nothing like that happened,” Weiss said gently. “You’re safe, Nero. It was a nightmare, not a memory.”

Nero’s eyes filled with tears, but this time they were of relief. He wrapped his arms around Weiss, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry you had to watch that… that horror.”

Weiss held him tightly, his own voice thick with emotion. “I just watched it, and it broke me. But you—you lived through it. I can’t imagine how you survived.”

Nero pulled back slightly, his smile soft but radiant. “Because of you, I’m okay now.”

Weiss felt Nero’s love wash away the heavy residue of the day, like sunlight breaking through a storm. He leaned in, kissing Nero deeply, feeling joy flood back into his heart. The warmth of their embrace, the quiet clink of the teapot, and the soft glow of the evening light wove a cocoon of peace around them, a sign that their love could heal even the deepest wounds.

▼Порисулька⬍

Анон · Сегодня 11:49:54

Мне внезапно понравились ноги Неро на последнем арте. Интересно, откуда Дева срисовывала, обычно у неё ниоч со светотенью.

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#1 2015-07-03 12:51:43

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