#⁺✧⠀⠀`⠀art⠀﹕⠀❪ ichor spilling over surfaces. ❫ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

omgkalyppso · 3 years

Note

oh request time!! I request claurenz with "sure you can use me as a pillow" :D

Although this was a softer prompt from the list, I'm in a whump mood. Possibly body horror tw? emetophobia tw? Also Fae is there and it's like Fae as a student AU because. Also I didn't proofread. Again. It's tumblr.

There was no room for mounts in the Imperial Palace. Claude was on foot with his companions, among the screaming, the clanging of metal, and explosions of magic. He'd kept himself far from his imperial allies in the chaos. It felt rude to question their allegiance, but above all, now, would be the worst time to find a dagger in his back. Hilda and Raphael held one door to the throne room, Caspar and Linhardt the other, though they cared less about their position than Petra's unconscious body in Linhardt's glowing arms. So long as they didn't Warp away, they were serving their purpose.

Ignatz was at his back, helping him weave carefully up the steps to where Edelgard and Byleth clashed together. His heart had to stay out of it, but he could see how their emotions were tangled in their duel.

The sound of grinding stone pulled his attention away from the angry bite of relic weapons cracking in agony, in heartbreak, in despair. Claude hadn't pieced together what they were yet, but he'd seen the dragon at Garreg Mach, seen the art of the Immaculate one, seen Maurice and Macuil and the bones he'd held in his hand since the death of his grandfather. Something was wrong with the relic weapons, and something was worse when they fought one another.

For a moment Claude thought he'd confused the sound for the pained wail of the demonic beast that Sylvain, Fae, Dedue and Lorenz were keeping away from the soldiers at the base of the stairs, but then Lorenz had arched backwards as a dark shadow clouded over him, and Claude caught sight of where a wall had opened, or maybe a door — there were too many people in too small a space to see it clearly, and more masked mages, of a kind they'd seen many times now, were quietly joining the fray.

He took a steadying breath, preparing to shout out a warning, but then Lysithea and Seteth were tearing into their ranks, and Dedue clearly hit something vital in the demonic beast, and he had to trust his back to more than Ignatz's ready sword as he advanced to face the Emperor.

Lorenz crashed against the tiled floor, whiplash and collision bouncing the back of his head against the unforgiving surface. He coughed and felt the burn of blood follow up into his mouth, but the situation was urgent and he was dazed, barely blinking to awareness as Sylvain spun Ruin about the arm of the Demonic Beast to keep Lorenz from being stepped on.

"Hey! Your Nobleness — get up!"

Lorenz made to roll up into a sitting position, but then more fluid pressed up from his lips and he realized that the taste wasn't blood and the viscosity was wrong and the way Sylvain's eyes widened before he went back to stab at their foe was not encouraging.

He rolled to his side instead, swiping the gruesome ichor from his mouth with one hand. It was black as tar, and Lorenz tried to comfort himself that the spell hadn't lasted long — and it had to be something foreign introduced to his body, not his own liquefied innards leaving him barren, no matter the feeling in his chest or the slither suddenly felt in his gut. He coughed again, but near soundlessly, his gullet overwhelmed by the fell bile clogging his senses, spilling from his lips. His shoulders shook as he felt himself wrenched aside, and he could only hope it was Sylvain and not an enemy.

"Lorenz."

It was Fae, and that was worse than Sylvain. He didn't want them with this memory, as he touched his neck in search of the sensation of dark magic. If he could not feel it, then why did he feel as though he were drowning?

His vision started to white out at the edges, lost in a curtain of his own hair. Black dripped from his nose and eyes, and he sputtered hopelessly.

"What is this?" Fae worried, looking around for the responsible Dark Mage for a moment before pressing a healing hand on the back of Lorenz's neck.

It was not a gentle poison.

Lorenz retched again, an undignified noise of agony and helplessness, and Fae used more healing magic to force back a fever.

It was hours before Claude knew what had happened, conviction and curiosity leading him through Edelgard's defeat and Rhea's rescue.

And even once he was informed, since Lorenz wasn't in any immediate danger, he felt obligated to address their numbers. The soldiers didn't want to stay in the Imperial Palace, but he couldn't leave his friends and generals to camp in the street — and overfilling inns and noble estates was worse — but still not so bad an idea as camping outside the walls of Enbarr. They needed to occupy the Imperial Palace. They would be remembered as conquerors regardless.

Lorenz winced when he heard the door open. He was half on his stomach, facing the wall, a pillow in his arms and a throbbing in his head. His throat was raw and he wasn't better.

That was unfair, Flayn had done much to help, but when it wasn't an instant relief of magic, and instead a warning that he would be ill for a few days longer, Lorenz had felt particularly useless.

Today the Empire had fallen, and his contribution would be remembered only as vomiting in the throne room.

He couldn't help it, he whined.

"How is he?" Claude whispered, and Lorenz started the arduous process of telling his body to roll over, his shoulders protesting and his stomach feeling bloated and heavy despite there being no physical change.

"He's sick," Fae replied, though Claude had made eye contact with Lorenz by now and Fae shared a look between them.

"Have you eaten?" they asked Claude.

"I, uh—"

"I'll get you something. Take a few minutes alone."

Claude watched them leave and then avoided looking at Lorenz, and it was a struggle for Lorenz to accept that Claude probably felt guilty for his condition, rather than simply repulsed by the state of him.

"I'm—" Lorenz said, before running his tongue along the roof of his mouth, trying again to sound less hoarse, but failing. "I'm not contagious."

Claude did his best to school his disappointed expression upon hearing Lorenz's voice. He smiled weakly as he took the seat by Lorenz's bed, and tried to tease the nobleman.

"How do you know?"

"Seteth ... said he'd seen it before." Hoarse wasn't the half of it, Lorenz's voice was faded and high pitched and barely there.

Claude sighed heavily, relieved and heartbroken.

"Can I show you?" asked Lorenz.

Lorenz's eyelids were heavy, and Claude was confident that he wasn't looking at him, which gave Claude room for his confusion, uncertain what Lorenz meant.

"Yes. Of course."

Lorenz nodded and fussed with the two buttons done on his shirt, turning on his side away from Claude as he let it drop around him.

Black tendrils painted the sides of his ribs, and all along the back of his lungs were bruises. For a moment Claude thought they might look like bite marks, and he hissed in sympathy, worrying this was the wrong reaction as Lorenz's shoulders pinched as if either embarrassed or pained. Then he realized what the bruises were.

"Your Crest?" he asked, seeing the symbol repeated as a horror on his skin.

Lorenz nodded, but the movement hurt and he focused instead on pulling his shirt back around himself as he squeaked, "Ask Fae."

"Sure," Claude agreed.

Two nights ago they'd shared first kisses, him and Lorenz, Fae and Hilda. Claude wished now he could kiss Lorenz's injuries, his wincing eyebrows, his temple as he swept back his hair.

"Lorenz, you could've ... you could've died and I—"

"And you would have," Lorenz swallowed, "still had your victory."

Claude ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck, rolling his eyes.

"I'm ... keeping you from—"

"Shh," Claude interrupted, "I just spent almost five hours confirming who was going to the Hevring estate in town, approving patrols and — and more. I left Hilda and Annette in charge for a little while."

He didn't need to tell Lorenz about the letters Hubert had left, even as they likely related to his condition. He'd deal with Lorenz's indignation later, for now it was enough that he was safe, and that there were no secret passageways in this room, only servant hallways, and that had a patrol.

Lorenz nodded, and then held his chin with one hand and pointed at some small bits of wax paper on the bedside table.

"From Annette," he said softly. Then he tapped himself before eking out, "Couldn't eat."

Lorenz willed himself to look at Claude again. The room was dark, no candles wasted when dim light made it through a large window towards the front of the room. It felt ... foreign, and unmistakably imperial design.

"I heard that some of us were leaving the palace," Lorenz said. "I don't want to be here, Claude."

"I know."

"Ionius may have died this bed, or worse. This isn't— I can't focus. There's no comfort. I can't want to find comfort here, of all places—"

Lorenz had said too much, his throat ached and he found himself in a coughing fit, which easily devolved into him dry heaving over a bucket on the floor by the head of the bed, holding himself up on the bedside table. He'd rather have thrown up again, and allowed himself one more indignant noise of anguish before throwing himself back into the bed.

Claude's expression was dark for a second, as he pulled himself from his gloves.

"Isn't it a nice, big fuck you to the Empire if you did though?" he asked, trying to sound encouraging. "We won, Lorenz; and against all odds we saved Rhea also, though she's... She might not make it back to Garreg Mach. Far worse than you, if we're going off of Seteth's impressions."

Lorenz winced, and then frowned as Claude unwound his sash.

"Let me relax a little," Claude requested, his tone soft and intimate, fingers worrying at one of the buttons on his coat.

Nervously, Lorenz nodded and then held his forehead, obviously pained. Claude chuckled in sympathy.

"You know, I won't tell anyone if you have to resort to giving me a thumbs up."

Eyes closed, still rested on his pillows, Lorenz groaned, though a slight smile graced his lips. He heard far more clicking from Claude than he expected, and when he reopened his eyes it was to see that Claude was down to his underclothes: a white undershirt and white shorts that ended just above the knee.

"A little," Lorenz squeaked.

"Let me in," Claude requested next, holding onto his fragile confidence and the hope that Lorenz would see how his presence was the least imperial thing for almost a continent. Lorenz's purple eyes widened, and Claude tried to assuage some of Lorenz's propriety. "We've slept together before."

"Not like this," Lorenz croaked.

"No," Claude agreed.

"No," Lorenz confirmed.

Claude cocked his head in confusion. "No?"

Lorenz's eyes closed, pained, but Claude suspected it wasn't by their conversation.

"You can use me as a pillow?" Claude offered.

"What if anyone—" his voice died for a minute, and he opened his eyes to reach for a class of water on the bedside table, and drank, keeping Claude in suspense half naked in the Imperial Palace. "What if anyone other than Faedolyn—"

"Oh, pfft," Claude blew that off with a wave of his hand. "It won't be. And we're running out of time if you'll want me to leave once they get back."

Lorenz shifted back in the bed then, offering Claude room on one side, but when he realized how warm Claude was they shifted around in the dark, until Lorenz could take full advantage of Claude's offer, his cheek on Claude's chest and one of Claude's thick thighs between his own.

Lorenz had been sick with the idea of being able to cut himself and find that dark ichor, or of an eel with the face of his crest trying to batter it's way out of his ribs, but neither horror plagued him now, not feeling half so cold and clammy with a living hot water bottle in his arms.

Slowly, Claude moved his hands to rest on Lorenz's shoulders, uncertain if the bruises were painful, and after a moment Lorenz did whimper, but as far as Claude could tell it had only been him who had cried by the time Fae returned with food.

#faedolyn #claude. hilda. mc. lorenz #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem #look. i'm sorry if you wanted a real. true. claurenz drabble #especially since i like nearly cried when i got your prompt earlier #because i've been feeling particularly down about irl stuff lately #and it made me feel a lot of Emotions about people who read my writing and want to see more and i love you #long post #ask to tag

15 notes · View notes

indiavolowetrust · 4 years

Text

Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER THREE

I stand silently at the end of the room, my eyes flickering occasionally over the attendees of the meeting. It had only been expected for the figureheads to have some form of knowledge regarding the disastrous summit. The original representatives of the Celestial Realm, despite many attempts to contact them, are nowhere to be found. Despite the efforts to maintain peace between all three realms, a coup d’etat had been staged shortly after the summit. A partially expected consequence. With no formal peace treaty, there had been little obstruction to the desired ends of the rebellious faction -- if there had been any obstruction in the first place. And then there was the topic of Maria’s untimely expiration.

There had been little visible reaction amongst the seven figureheads in regards to the topic. Little reaction other than the stiffening of postures, mild discomfort, and in one case, buried rage. It had been obvious knowledge at that point, given the severance of the pacts between all seven brothers and the human -- but it had been difficult to mask my vexation.

Humans die all the time, I can imagine the traitorous twin remarking, his demeanor drifting dangerously close to disinterest. Lucifer and Asmodeus would speak words of assent on the matter, given the opportunity, and even Beelzebub might venture to nod. Despite the obvious impact of their sister’s death upon the seven figureheads as a whole, I still cannot bring myself to believe that they have a true grasp on the concept of death. Unforgiving, irreversible death.

Of course, I can expect no less from fallen angels.

What I had not expected, however, is the manner in which Maria has demanded the rapt attention of her audience. How she has compelled each and every demon before her to subject themselves to her mercy, her presence much greater than her physical form would suggest.

“It would be in our best interest to gather information on the faction,” Maria proposes. “Acting without knowledge of their intentions, their methods, and the nature of their structure would incur too great of a risk. We shouldn’t act blindly. We have only a handful of days before the Celestial Realm’s celebration. If it is truly an event open to all, I propose that we seize the opportunity.”

“While I agree with your reasons, I can’t imagine there are very many demons who would be willing to venture into such dangerous territory. Much less ones that would survive the trip there and back,” Lord Diavolo muses, settling back into his chair. “What you propose is something that could start a war.”

Her eyes are sharp. “Our war has already started. What I propose is a means to end it.”

Lord Diavolo pauses for a moment, contemplating her words. Perhaps considering if he should refute them or not, given her complete refusal to bend to his will. Were he more like the dormant king, she would be eaten alive for daring to oppose him. Beheaded, if the king felt more merciful that day. Drawn and quartered. Starved. Lashed. Perhaps even some odd combination of all four, depending on his mood.

Thankfully, he is nothing like his father.

Lord Diavolo sighs, conceding. “Then again, I anticipated that you had something like this in mind. You want to carry out this task yourself as well, I take it.”

She nods.

“Don’t you think they’ll recognize you?” he inquires. “If that angel was given orders to single you out, there are probably many more who know what you look like. How are you so sure they won’t identify you on sight?”

“There’s an apple tree in your garden, isn’t there? The one that lies.”

His eyes flicker briefly to one of the massive windows of the throne room, the stained glass overlooking the labyrinthine garden. “There is.”

“I would put it to good use,” she says. “I won’t be able to travel with very many through the portal, but I think it’ll be enough. Enough for me to find what I need, anyway. If -- if you would let me, that is. I can leave as soon as possible to ensure the effects aren’t lost on me.”

Lord Diavolo’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “You do realize what you’re asking of me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

For the first time, there is the hint of apprehension in her expression. Disquiet. Lord Diavolo holds her gaze for a long moment, neither of them speaking. Neither are willing to speak. Yet despite the clear imbalance of power -- a demon prince against a mere, vulnerable soul -- Maria shows no signs of wavering. She simply stands in place, her small form dwarfed by both the ill-fitting clothes and the sheer size of the throne room. Lord Diavolo’s golden eyes look upon her from his throne.

And then his visage cracks into a smile. He laughs, the resonant sound reverberating throughout the room, and Maria visibly relaxes.

“I’ve always liked that about you!” he beams, adjusting into a more casual position. “So much willpower in you, even for a human. So much moxie!”

“Moxie?” she echoes, confused.

“Yes, moxie! What those flying drivers in movies have,” he explains, making rather vague gestures with his hands. She stares. “My only condition is that you bring one of us along with you. A partner, you could say. If you’re looking to work with a demon who won’t be ripped apart by the fabric of the Celestial Realm, you’ve got the cream of the crop right here. As the prince of the Devildom, I understand your reasons to fare such a dangerous task. But as a friend, I cannot let you go alone.”

Lord Diavolo smiles warmly down at her, and Maria returns the gesture. For once, I am glad that she had been so insistent on forming such strong relations with the prince. That there had been a reason other than bothering me at inconvenient hours.

Maria’s gaze flickers around the room, lingering on each and every one of the seated figureheads. Evaluating them. While none have dared to speak thus far -- especially considering their lack of any real power in the order -- it is easy to discern the unrest. Again she shifts uncomfortably in her garments.

I follow her gaze.

Beelzebub would reveal his identity with his unnatural hunger. Belphegor would succumb to his own hatred. Asmodeus would likely accomplish nothing, as expected of his flighty, frivolous nature. He would be nothing more than a liability. Even after a millennium, Lucifer is still too noticeable. Too identifiable. He would be eradicated on sight. And Satan -- no, that one could be viable. If that one could manage to keep his rage in check, he could very well be an option. The only option.

She bites her lip, regarding Lord Diavolo. “Anyone in this room?”

“Aside from myself, of course.”

I observe the greedy one silently as his expression hardens, his rather brazen nature taking control of his outward movements. Clenched jaw, determined gaze, the anxious tapping of his fingers against his leg. That one would ultimately be too brash. Too impatient, too loud, too garish in his actions. And yet it is in his arrogance that seems to make him believe that he would be fitting for the role. Aside from Leviathan -- who I imagine would be overtaken by his own envy in the process -- Mammon is the least viable candidate for the task.

Which leaves the wrathful one. Lord Diavolo would not likely allow --

“Barbatos.”

I blink.

Lord Diavolo arches a brow. “Barbatos?”

“If -- if you would lend me his service,” she says, glancing quickly towards me. I keep my expression impassive. “You told me I could have anyone in this room.”

Lord Diavolo pauses, registering her words. “I did, yes.”

“Barbatos can control time,” she reasons. “If anything goes wrong, we can just go back and redo everything until we get it right. At least, that’s what I think.”

Lord Diavolo nods, conceding with her agreement. “Well, I can’t say I don’t agree with your reasons,” he says after a moment. He makes a point to regard me over the others, and I return his gaze. “Barbatos?”

* * *

The light of the false moon filters well over the furnishings of the lord’s office, the surface of the desk seeming to nearly emanate a luminosity of its own. Despite this, Lord Diavolo always insists on some form of interior lighting -- and so I have made the effort to ignite the few candles scattered around the room. Each flame flickers within its glass confines, ribbons of animal fat dripping down the alabaster forms. The fireplace roars with a blue and white blaze, devouring the kindling. I pass by the grate with long, easy strides, balancing both the teapot and teacup on a tray, and place the items some distance away from Lord Diavolo’s paperwork.

Our paperwork, as it would occur. I can only hope that Lord Diavolo can manage to make them convincing enough, given that he had insisted on doing forging them himself.

The lord regards me the moment I set down the tray, as if he had just noticed my presence. “Barbatos!” he addresses me, smiling. “What a lovely surprise! Thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me every time, my Lord,” I respond, taking the steaming teapot into my hands. The fragrant tea pours delicately into the teacup. “It is only my duty.”

“A duty that I still appreciate. I believe your interests suit the art of baking pastries and brewing tea a little more,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You seem happier. Happier than the first time I met you, I would think.”

Memories of screaming demons, wretched cries of pain and desperation, and the cold blood pooling at my feet flash through my thoughts. I had not worked efficiently enough that day, the words of the traitorous demon drawn out with each snap of his extremities -- and so I had lent myself to the disgusting sensation of being submerged in his ichor. The demon king had opened the door then, the light of the torch spilling into the room. Perched at the threshold of his legacy. And behind him stood the young prince, the mop of fiery hair in contrast with the viscera-painted walls of the chamber. He had scrutinized me with curious, golden eyes, unaffected by the gore that lined the room.

The same pair of eyes that look upon me now.

“Indeed.”

Lord Diavolo takes a sip of the tea, humming in appreciation. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time,” he remarks. “This is chamomile, isn’t it? I can’t believe it took two thousand years for us to finally catch onto this. Who would have thought a human would have such good taste?”

“The human world has multitudinous biomes for growing such flora. It is only natural that they would be the ones to discover its uses.” I place the teapot gingerly back into its proper place, the bottom of the ceramic dish clinking against the metal tray. “But I will admit that her affinity for the taste led to an increase in imports.”

“She’s brash, isn’t she?” he says, returning his attention to the papers strewn before him. I move the teacup some distance away before he can forget. “But I suppose that’s how she survived here in the first place. All that fire and foxy.”

“I believe the word is moxie, my Lord.”

“Ah, yes, moxie! I have been falling behind on my studies of human culture, haven’t I?” He laughs in good humor at his own blunder. “It’s a shame they’ve been too preoccupied for consultation. Just think of how many things we could have learned about the human world by now! I believe we last left on the topic of seams. Something to do about a viney plant.”

He is deliberately avoiding the subject, I observe silently. nodding in agreement. The papers beneath his hands remain unmarked, his pen set aside. The smile on his face, while largely genuine, belies a sympathetic concern. A feat his father would have never achieved. The lord had chosen only the finest, most discreet doctors to treat his old friend over the past month, allowing her refuge within his own castle, and still her soul is weak. Still she has shown no signs of recovery from her time in limbo, the structure of her metaphysical body crumbling by the day.

It is only her willpower, it seems, that ties her to this time and place.

“Are you prepared?” he asks, placing the teacup back onto the desk. I had not realized that he had reached for it. “I went to the trouble of gathering all of them, but I believe she made a good choice. Maybe even the right one.”

I refill the teacup. “I will do as you wish.”

He lets out a sigh. “I can’t even begin to count the centuries that have passed since I took his place.” There is a note of exasperation in his tone -- much as there had been for the past two thousand years. “I will always give you a choice, Barbatos. When will you learn that?”

I remember standing over the demon king’s body. Golden, inquisitive eyes had pierced through me. An echo of his countenance in the torture chambers. He had held a hand out to me, the image stained with the black blood of his kin, and I had taken it in mine.

“Quite possibly never, my Lord.”

#obey me shall we date #obey me!#obey me #obey me oc x barbatos #obey me mc x barbatos #obey me oc #obey me mc #obey me writing #obey me fanfic #writing #fanfic #carajillo ii

0 notes