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anarchyincarnate · 1 year

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Rest now, Love

C/W; Mentions of overstimulation, Bathtub sex, Virgin!Thoma, attempted murder in the beginning, slight rushed ending. (This is Anarchyincarnate's blog after all)

You watched as the decayed remains of a sinner compiled into a small mound onto the tatami floor under you. The woman was on trial for combining illegal substances into your meal of the day, though thankfully you didn't eaten the tainted concoction. Ayaka wasn't as lucky, however.

You rushed to the princesses aid after seeing the girl coughed violently post-finishing half of her plate, with Ayato looking at you in concern. The commissioner ordered all servants to gather into the main hall, while Thoma assisted the weakened Ayaka into another room, her arm slinging onto his shoulder.

Ayato was furious beyond belief and his cold glare was on full display, no longer he bare the snarky and coy facade. The scent of blood wafted through the air, as thick gold fog began to spread from your bloody palm. Having digged your pointed nails into your soft flesh, you released your power into the surrounding area, rendering everyone speechless.

"I will create a bargain for you all, confess your wrongdoing now, or forever hold your silence." You remarked, eye twitching in anger. Your power is harmful to humans in large doses, so it's clear either one confess or all of them suffer. Vision holders are surprisingly more durable than normal citizens, as such Ayato merely leaned back against a pillar.

Eventually a man caved in and bowed down, pressing his forehead onto the floor. "My highness, lady Yumeno had boasted to herself earlier that it'll be a matter of time until your reign comes to an end. This is preposterous of her so please, Punish her for her crime." He said, taking in deep breaths between each word as his lungs hurt due to the toxic air.

Yumeno who heard it was taken aback, she had made sure no one was around her when she assured herself a moment before. She stepped back, glancing towards the main door, looking for a chance to escape.

"Sieze her." Ayato's voice cut through the thick atmosphere, and with a snap of his fingers, his shuumatsuban workers held onto Yumeno's body rendering her immobile.

You took a step forward towards the girl, raising her chin with your index finger. "A pity such beauty had gone to waste." You chided, before you felt something pierce your abdomen.

Looking down, you saw a bloodstain that spread out amongst your white dress shirt. The end of a dagger was imbedded into your side, with Yumeno's purple nails letting go of it.

She smirked, and made a run for the door. Her escape hadn't gone far as a grotesque, and monstrous form with numerous mouths and eyes grew out of your right arm, it's teeth embedded into Yumeno's back and rib cage.

"What a fool." You mumbled before transfering your decaying power into said arm, effectively withering her body into dust.

Those who were present thankfully had closed their eyes under Ayato's command, saving you from further questioning. You reformed your arm to its original state, and pulled the dagger out of you as the damaged area began to heal.

Ayato walked towards you, dismissing the servants and placing your still bloodied hand into his gloved ones.

"Kamisato, let's see how your sister is faring. We shouldn't waste anymore time." You muttered, waving off his concern. The two of you walked towards the ward, where Thoma is waiting.

The blonde had finished wiping Ayaka's blood that dripped onto her chin as the latter slumbered peacefully. Thoma perked up hearing the door closed, turning around to see you and his master walk in.

"How is she?" Ayato's tone was laced with concern after seeing her in such condition. Thoma got up from his chair and allowed you to take a closer look at Ayaka's body.

"Arsenic. A common poison from Fontaine." You deduced after noticing her laboured breathing. "It's likely to be non fatal, though I recommend you give her this medication when she wakes up." You grabbed a small bottle of pills in the cupboard above you.

The commissioner nodded, and smiled, thankful for your help. Thoma glanced down and noticed the golden blood still dripping down your hand. "My lord, we must-" "Prepare a warm bath for me along with clean clothes, I'll be waiting here with Ayato." You cut him off, sitting down onto a small sofa beside the bed, while Ayato sat by his sister's side.

"U-Understood, sir." Thoma bowed and left you both to do his task. You took out a book of your choice, and began to read it's content. Ayato smiled seeing a familiar sakura bookmark dangle from the books spine.

Your ears heard the familiar slide screen door opening, and Thoma walked in. "It's ready, sir."

Bidding Ayato farewell, you closed your book and placed it on the sofa. Thoma lead you both through the mansion, and opened the bathroom door for you.

There were dendrobium petals scattered in the tub, along with your favourite toiletries. You began to undo your clothing, dropping the fabric onto the flooring below. Thoma, being the respectful man he is, turned his head away from your body, a faint redness staining his cheeks.

The sound of water splashing brought his gaze back to you as he sat on the tub's edge. He removed his gloves before placing his hands onto your head. The man poured some shampoo onto his palms before rubbing the liquid through your beautiful locks.

You sighed softly, liking the tender touch his hands brought. Closing your eyes for a brief moment, your mind wandered into the past. The laugh of your sibling as they splashes water onto you while you bathe them brought a smile to your face. Opening them back up, you noticed Thoma's fixated gaze on you.

"Is something the matter, Thoma?" You asked him, only for the blonde to shook his head with a smile. "Not at all, Your honor."

There was a comfortable silence, something you didn't have back then.

"Would you like me to join you?" He suddenly proposed. After some thought, you nodded and made room for him infront of you. Without a moment to waste, Thoma shed himself of his clothes and slowly dipped his feet into the warm water.

The water sloshed and dripped down the tub. It was a bit cramped, so Thoma managed to sit on your lap with his legs on either side of yours.

"Ah, sorry." He bashfully said, while you thought nothing of it. Thoma was tempted to pull away, but you brought him with you when you leaned back against the edge.

The blonde noticed your closed eyes as you embraced him, resting your hands onto his back. Imagery of his fantasies with you began to pop up in his mind, making the man more and more red when the fantasy turned... Lewd.

'W-What am I thinking?! This is Your honor I'm thinking about!' He thought to himself.

'But then again... They are right there, ah I can smell the mint and amakumo fruit shampoo... Has their lips always looked so...delectable?'

Without a second thought, Thoma pressed his lips against theirs, savouring the strawberry lip balm coating it. You opened your eyes halfway, and hummed at the sight. Returning the kiss wasn't what Thoma imagined, but it was welcomed nonetheless.

Parting your lips from his, the blonde quickly kissed you again, slightly moaning when you deepened it by sliding your tongue in. The water swayed as Thoma began to grind his cock onto your abdomen, liking the friction it made.

"To think my cutest little acolyte shared some rather... Scandalous imagery of his god," You teased, enjoying the sight of Thoma's red ears.

"Your honor... Forgive me of my sinful mind-" "Nonsense, I enjoyed the sight." You shared one last kiss before running your fingers down his hips and into the crevice of his ass.

Thoma felt a rush course through his veins as your finger went into him, wiggling around trying to find his sweet spot. You noticed the way his back suddenly arched when you pressed onto a spot. Found it.

"Do you like it?" You asked innocently. The man nodded, and grinded his ass back against your finger. Adding another one in, Thoma let out a moan.

"Be careful now, we wouldn't want to broadcast your sinful behaviour to the others, right?" You chuckled seeing his eyes widened at the slightly loud sound he let out.

You added a third one in, and it was enough for Thoma to spray his cum onto your abdomen. The blonde felt embarrassed seeing himself cum that quickly, which was a given since he was still technically a virgin.

He believed an old proverb that read, "Only the purest virgins are capable to enrapturing the creators heart, one must save themselves should the creator took interest in them." Making him and many others save themselves upon discovering your arrival a few months back.

You undid his tie and places it onto the floor, combing his hair with your unoccupied hand. After a bit, you slide your fingers out, and held onto the fat of his cheeks.

"This will hurt, alot. But I promise it'll be okay." You assured the nervous blonde, who took a deep breath and nodded. Slowly and carefully, you pushed Thoma's hips down and letting his hole take your cock in. Thoma's hands that were once on your shoulders tugged onto your locks of hair, sucking in a sharp breath.

Halfway down, you stopped, letting him adjust to your size. You may be aloof at times, but you've always made sure your acolytes are comfortable during these sessions.

The man calmed himself down, giving you the green light. His hips were pushed down even more until his ass met your thighs.

"Are you alright?" You worriedly asked him as he was shaking. He nodded vigorously, and got himself comfortable resting his head on your shoulder.

You began to move slowly but even then you managed to brought him into another orgasm. Despite your hesitance to continue, he wanted more.

He let go of your hair, and placed his hands onto your shoulder. Raising his hips until only your tip remained in, before slamming them down until his ass met your thighs again.

Thoma repeated these movements over and over, arching his back like a bridge and water overflowing the tub and spilled onto the floor. You didn't mind his enthusiasm and began to help him out.

Eventually after a bit, he stopped as you emptied the fourth load into him. By now, the water was a murky colour and you chuckled.

"Thank you, dear. You've truly helped me relax." You kissed him one last time before pulling out of him. Truth be told, you were under alot of stress from managing the entirety of Teyvat, so having Thoma relieve that stress of yours really made you happy.

"I-I'm glad I could be of service, my lord..." And with that, he fell asleep on your shoulder. Using your powers you lifted the boy up while you unclogged the drain of the tub. Wrapping Thoma with a clean towel while you changed into new clothes, before you made your way to his bedroom, oblivious to the jealous stares Ayato casted upon your back.

#genshin impact cult au #genshin sagau #sub genshin #sagau smut #genshin impact #sub thoma #dom!reader

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theinnerunderrain · 1 year

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The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse [1/4]

Conquest [Ranger!Childe x Princess! Reader]

Warnings: Yandere themes, depiction of violence.

One may contend that the appearance of a bloodstained man standing at the edge of the tower's balcony was the very last thought on your mind. You spent over half of your life upon that tower, daydreaming of a knight in shining armour who would save you from your captors' cruelty and your days of loneliness, aching to see the life beyond the forest and to see your family. A remarkable man with piercing blue eyes, a voice sweet enough to entice songbirds, and a smile that could instantly brighten your day, that was the image of the knight in shining armour that you had waited for.

A man you could be eternally grateful to and who you would desire to marry if he were honourable enough to ask for your hand in marriage.

Yet you weren't certain whether you would regard the man in front of you as your hero in shining armour, a man to consider for marriage. Perhaps he would just request for materials rewards?

You had hope that was the case.

He simply exudes an unsettling air, something about him just seems different from the other men you had fair shares of interacting with.

While he was brilliant to a certain extent and his voice wasn't profound and threatening, his eyes were sinister and dark. They were seemingly soulless, and somehow brought to mind the dark sorcerer's crimson eyes that you had once witnessed as a child. His smile was endearing, but something wicked was hidden behind it, and the blood that was trickling down his cheeks didn't help either. If one hadn't looked closely enough, they might have overlooked the dark stain within the fabric of his dark robes, which he was wearing, again breaking you out of your delusion of a knight in shining armour.

He bore a bow and arrows instead of a broad sword that was fastened to his belt, and they were so heavily bloodied that you started to wonder if he was the source of the screams that had previously resounded throughout the forest.

"My lady."

He spoke while crouching on one knee, his voice sounding slightly out of breath. He had one hand behind his back and the other extended towards you, encouraging you to embrace it. His fingers were encased in thick leather gloves, and you could see the tiny blotches of blood that had been splattered across them, leaving you to wonder from whom the blood had come from despite having an answer to your inquiry. Your breathing quickened as you strained to compose your thoughts and attempted to block out the nauseating smell of blood as you cautiously approached him.

As you drew nearer to him, you could make out a clump of orange hair that was smeared across his head. They had a somewhat slick texture—possibly from his excursion to the tower—but they still had a delicate feel and reminded you of the sun illustrations you would find in textbooks.

The cold sensation of the slightly wet stain stroking against your skin made you grimace a bit as you cautiously placed your fingers on his palm. He gave your hand a slight squeeze, bringing your fingers up to his lips, and then tenderly caressed your knuckles with his warm lips.

"Mon chevalier."

"Childe is just fine, My Lady."

"Childe."

You murmured his name tentatively, your voice faltering slightly as you gazed at the man kneeling beneath you. His hand is still firmly clasped around yours as he peers up at you with expectation, his eyes once again bringing this unhinged feeling of fear to raise within your throat.

"The depth of my gratitude for you is beyond words. You saved my life, and I appreciate it."

You cautiously lowered yourself until your knees were in contact with the tower's cold cement floor as his smile appeared to grow at your remarks. As you were both standing at the same height, your eyes converged.

"My family and I will make sure that we grant your one cherished request as a means of expressing my gratitude."

You prayed to God that his desire would not be for marriage. To a certain extent, he gave off the impression of being a rather sweet man, but you could tell that he was not your typical man. Not from his appearance, attitude, or seeming lack of regret for his actions toward others.

As though his sole objective was to conquer everything around him.

"Your hand in marriage is what I am longing for, My Princess."

You reached out with a trembling hand to capture the edge of his cheeks before tilting in to give him a gentle kiss on the temple and brushing his soft ginger hair away from his forehead. Childe lets go of your other hand, allowing you to place your free hand on the opposite side of his face, just about holding his head within the grasp of your hands.

As you open your mouth to speak, you make every effort to prevent any sign of weakness from coming through in your voice. Although your efforts were futile.

"Your wish is my command."

Before stooping to rest your forehead against his, you murmured while tightly closing your eyes. You can feel his gloved fingers encircling yours and his smile contorting into a grin without having to look at him. His happiness practically glows off him much like a beam of light.

Childe was a man on a conquest.

Between his conquest yesterday and the brisk warm feeling of your fingers against his face, he felt on top of the world.

You are his conquest.

He has put too much effort into winning you, and he won't let anyone sever his relationship with you.

Ever.

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mythicamagic · 1 year

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Bloodstained Roses: A Chevalier x MC two-shot. Part One.

Summary: Chevalier has been hiding a secret affliction, something he comes to learn as: Hanahaki Disease.

AN: Part two is almost finished and will feature smut. Please comment if you want to be tagged for the next part- but feel free to read it on ao3.

EDIT: Part two be here

TW: Blood

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Gloved fingers found the base of his neck, massaging his throat for the umpteenth time that day. Chevalier frowned, words shifting out of focus on the page of his recently acquired book on Arthurian Legend.

Odd. He didn't usually get sick. Logically he assumed a sore throat was the prelude to a cold, but this particular irritation had been with him for more than a week. It was beginning to affect his voice, and that was not acceptable. Perhaps he’d have to swallow his pride and seek out medicine after all.

Chevalier cleared his throat, trying to mask the wince on his face.

A faint noise caught his attention- the soft click of a door falling shut.

“Good afternoon, Prince Chevalier.”

Blond lashes swept shut briefly in a silent wince. Hello idiotic Rabbit.

He said nothing in response to her greeting, refocusing on the page and trying to ignore the way his body responded to her presence. The room seemed just a little warmer. The pain in his throat mercifully died down.

As per usual, she approached without an ounce of wariness, beginning to browse through his private collection. No one else had access to his personal library as she did. Well…no one else had mustered the courage to ask him for one of his books either.

"How are you enjoying it?" Her gentle voice caressed his hearing again.

Chevalier looked up from his position, reclined on a sofa in the library. He noticed her motioning with a smile to his book.

"It's fine. Better than the ones that focused on Lancelot and Guinevere."

Emma gave a short, soft giggle, continuing to peruse the volumes on the towering shelves. "I thought you'd say that."

Chevalier sat up, watching the arch of her back as she bent to squint at certain titles, running a finger over the spines in a way he shouldn’t have paid so much attention to.

"Although…I found the part where Arthur let Morgause into his bed incredibly foolish."

Her delicate finger paused on an old tomb. Chevalier imagined bringing it to his mouth and running teeth and tongue over her hand.

"Yes, I agree. He's so wounded by Lancelot and Guinevere's love but commits an affair himself. It's messy," she murmured, glancing at him. "I suppose a lot of love and relationships are."

He shook himself, closing his book with a firm, dismissive sound. "I've read many stories like it. If that is what love leads to, I've no need of it," he swung long legs off the sofa and stood. Somehow their discussions always devolved into this kind of idiotic talk.

"Not all love leads to hurt like that," she smiled encouragingly, ever the optimistic voice in his dull, repetitive days.

He frowned, sweeping a frosty gaze over her critically. "What would you know of it?"

Emma blushed, directing her gaze to the ground. Chevalier couldn't resist. He strode over and flicked her forehead.

"You lecture me blindly, Belle."

"I wasn't lecturing,” she cradled the offended spot, frowning in a way he’d describe as adorable. “Just defending love. Don't you want to marry for lov-"

she stopped, words dying on her tongue- as if realizing mid-sentence the naivety of her words when applied to royalty. His kind wasn't meant to marry for something as precious as personal attachment.

"I'm sorry, Prince Chevalier," she quickly bowed her head in apology. "I misspoke."

Her sudden formality and inability to meet his gaze only served to irritate him. Chevalier caught Emma's chin, guiding her head to tilt up once more. Strong brown eyes met flinty blue. His breath caught a little. She was truly the only woman who could bare to look him in the eye in such a steadfast manner.

"Of course you did, you're an imbecile, as we've previously established," he smirked. "But I did not ask for an apology, so don't give one."

Emma's face warmed into a much better expression, one more befitting her lovely features. Chevalier shook himself and turned to the shelves as he released her, pretending to browse.

"Is it alright if I…overstep my bounds again and ask you a question?"

Chevalier said nothing but she knew his habits well enough to know that was an answer in itself.

"Does the idea of entering an arranged marriage bother you?"

His gloved finger stopped on a book spine. "It is something expected of royalty. I've long prepared myself for it."

"That doesn't answer my question. Does it bother you?"

He wondered why it mattered so much to her.

Chevalier ensured his face was blank, voice measured and controlled as he slowly straightened and met her gaze.

"No."

Something dimmed in her eyes. A fire doused. The sight of it caused his throat to tighten, flaring with such immense dryness it made swallowing painful- brittle and sharp.

Chevalier's breath shook, heart squeezing so tight he felt lightheaded. He turned his back to her, blank mask splintering just for a moment.

What is this affliction?

“I see. I uh- I should probably go, I forgot but Sariel needed me for something-” Emma was muttering, quietly excusing herself. A moment later and that door was clicking shut once more, the small library plunging into silence. Chevalier finally relaxed, gripping the bookshelves to keep upright.

Air was rattling through his throat as he attempted to breathe normally, choking on a cough. The room was spinning. His heart thundered so fast it was like Obsidian were at their gates- beating their infernal war drums. He needed to calm down. Was this a panic attack? Surely not-

He was the Brutal Beast. Immovable, unemotional. And yet he’d never felt more powerless.

Trying to slow his breathing, Chevalier coughed, hard. Tears stung into his eyes, and he doubled over. His legs shook, knees trembling with the effort to keep him upright as he gagged and shook, aware of some unknown thing unfurling in his windpipe and travelling up as he dry heaved. Then, suddenly- it had travelled to his tongue. Chevalier coughed, spitting. Something burst out of his mouth, scattering to the polished hardwood floor like grim, dew-coated confetti and landing in a wet heap. It took a moment before red-rimmed eyes peeled open to look.

Red rose petals awaited him.

Chevalier stared uncomprehendingly. Shaking fingers touched his lips. When he pulled them away for inspection, his chest tightened. Flecks of blood and spittle had intermingled on his black glove, stark and clear like a fresh wolf's kill on scorched earth.

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He was a creature of habit. As such, the first place he turned to in search of answers was books. Books were reliable. He trusted them to give him what was needed, always. Since Chevalier could not recall eating an entire bouquet of roses and had never seen anything in any medical textbook pertaining to the random vomit-cough of shrubbery, he sought the most forgotten archives for an explanation.

But there was nothing.

Not even textbooks from Jade, Bentonite or the furthest, obscure reaches of Obsidian yielded results. Chevalier closed one of his oldest and most precious medical journals.

His throat had steadily been worsening over the weeks, to the point that his speech was impaired because of it. No amount of honey or herbal remedies soothed the ache. Eating food had become a struggle, and even water made him choke, fighting to keep it down. It felt as though sandpaper coated the inside of his throat, blistering with each strain of his vocal cords. He imagined that was where the blood came from. Fortunately, he wasn’t a very talkative person to begin with. Unfortunately, he had Clavis for a brother.

“You seem so tight-lipped lately!” Clavis was saying with exaggerated dismay, throwing himself down onto the sofa beside him in the library one rainy afternoon. Chevalier felt himself be jostled, but did not react. “Yves mentioned something about hearing you cough. Has the mighty Brutal Beast finally fallen prey to a mere human illness? The horror! I guess I’ll just have to take over as faction leader. Poor you~ hope it’s nothing serious enough to hinder your abilities with a blade.”

Chevalier said nothing, continuing to ignore him and read his book. If Clavis thought he could send more assassins after him because of this sickness, he was gravely mistaken.

“Really though, this is highly unusual. Have you really lost your voice?” Clavis peered at him suspiciously. “If that’s the case, the roundtable meeting coming up is sure to be a very interesting affair.”

When Chevalier still didn't answer, his brother’s golden eyes flicked over him, losing some of their mischievous sheen.

“You could write something down, you know?” he said quietly.

Chevalier finally glanced at him, noticing a rare moment of genuine advice. “...I will…solve this myself.”

"Hmph. Want to know what I think? Of course you do, I have a brilliant mind," Clavis smiled, gaze sharpening. "Books only get you so far. I'm going to call a doctor here to solve this conundrum unless you'll let me examine you myself."

Chevalier made a face, squinting. The royal doctor was a stuffy old man with cold hands. Chevalier had never particularly liked him due to the fear in his eyes. It made his work sloppy. Besides, even if they summoned Four Eyes and he arranged for a new, private doctor- Chevalier knew the experience would be the same. They always looked at him like he’d bite their hand off.

"Fine," he grunted in a clipped tone. He doubted Clavis would be of any help, but perhaps it would be amusing to see his confusion.

Clavis took to examining him with a seriousness his smile belied. He said something about Chevalier being weakened, making him more of a target for their enemies, but the elder brother was barely paying attention. He concentrated on breathing, unable to suck in air through his mouth properly and instead taking quiet, rasping inhales through his nose when possible.

Clavis put steady hands on his back and chest, listening as Chevalier struggled, finally having to put an ear to his chest and frowning. Clavis then straightened, lighting a candle. "Open your mouth," he muttered, gesturing.

Reluctantly, Chevalier obeyed, holding still as Clavis leaned in slightly with the use of light to inspect the back of his throat. He suddenly reeled backwards.

"What in the seven Hells…!?"

The upset jerked Chevalier, and he wheezed, coughing before he could safely smother it behind his glove. A burst of petals scattered out, fanning around Clavis' frozen features. The smile that never left his face wavered, just for a moment.

To his credit, Clavis didn't make a racket about it. He pulled out a handkerchief, which Chevalier mutely accepted, wiping his pale mouth with trembling fingers. His body felt feverishly warm.

"Well, you're running a temperature," Clavis said calmly. "That's a nasty cough you've got too, but no signs of a traditional cold. Most troubling of all is what looks to be thorns and budding flowers growing at the back of your throat."

Chevalier stopped, staring ahead blankly. Clavis picked up one of the dewy rose petals and inspected it with an unreadable look.

"How?" Chevalier tried, massaging the base of his throat. How was this possible?

"Don't ask me. The fact that you let me examine you tells me that no medical textbook has ever recorded something like this- since your wonderchild memory never fails,” Clavis tilted his head, considering. “This is more like something out of a fairy tale."

His words sparked something vague inside Chevalier. Fairy tales made him think of Emma.

He cast his mind back but couldn’t recall any children’s stories pertaining to coughing up roses, but his mental catalogue of such fanciful stories was limited. If anyone would know of one- she would.

-----------------

Clavis had offered to ‘extract’ the small thorns that appeared to be growing inside his throat, but Chevalier declined. Neither brother panicked at the unusual circumstances, yet even Clavis couldn't quite hide his wrinkled brow.

“If you leave it untreated- strange curse or not- you’re likely going to die, dear Brother,” Clavis had smirked, his eyes oddly mirthless. “And I can’t have that. Only I may have the pleasure of killing you after all. I’ll see if I can work on a little something in the meantime…”

Chevalier strode down the hallway, sweat beading on his brow. He doubted that even with Clavis’ pharmacology knowledge that a cure could be made so easily.

In all honesty, he felt little toward the idea of dying. A kind of cold numbness settled over his shoulders the moment it was suggested. It was irritating of course. Chevalier had no intention of succumbing to something that wasn’t a fatal wound received on the battlefield. Only that kind of death suited him.

His body would not become an empty vase for flowers. That had never been his destiny.

Firm knuckles rapped on the smooth white wood of a door. Chevalier straightened, knowing the hour was late and his visit was highly unusual.

Emma’s door cracked open before the woman herself peered out from within her room. A complicated mix of surprise and happiness lit up her features at the sight of him.

Chevalier blinked. Why did she look pleased to see him? Relived? No one ever looked at him like that.

“P-prince Chevalier,” she spoke quietly, opening her door wider. “Is everything alright?”

He slipped inside her room soundlessly, aware of his cloak brushing her side. He glanced around the gently lit space. She’d been reading by candlelight. The sight made his lips faintly curve upwards.

“Book-” he rasped, taking a slow breath. “I need a fairy tale book. About…roses.”

“Roses? The tale of Beauty and the Beast features a rose?”

He shook his head. “Do you know of one-” he panted softly, forcing his face to remain neutral, “-one that features someone coughing up roses? Perhaps they die- because the flower seems to be growing inside them.”

Brown eyes widened. Emma’s hand subconsciously drifted to her throat, and Chevalier’s eyes followed the action, wondering what it meant. Did she know?

The rabbit didn’t question him further. With a distracted look, she nodded. “I know it. It’s from a country overseas. The tale of Hanahaki Disease. I have a copy back at the bookshop.”

Chevalier waited, knowing he didn’t need to ask. She bit her lip, “did you want to read it?”

He nodded, hands curling into loose fists. He loathed feeling so powerless. “Soon.”

“I can go tomorrow if you like. I’ll be quick?”

“I’ll join you.”

“A-alright?” her brows pulled together, and Emma daringly took a step closer to him. “Prince Chevalier…I couldn’t help but notice that you look much paler lately. If you’re taking on too much work, or need anything at all, I’d be happy to assist.”

Anything?

Several ideas came to mind. All of them oddly gave him some measure of peace. Just the idea of holding her soothed his strained heartbeat. She had such a gentle scent. Like old and new books mixed with fresh sunbathed linens. Perfectly domestic and unremarkable- and yet he’d never wanted anything quite so badly.

“It’s unnecessary to ask. I’m perfectly capable of-”

A cough violently erupted from his throat, harsher and stronger than before. He barely had time to muffle it behind his hand, staggering against the wall.

“Prince Chevalier!”

He barely felt her gentle touch on his back, nor heard her exclamations of alarm. Chevalier concentrated on trying to stabilise his breathing, aware of how rasping and rattling it sounded. Like something was dying in his throat.

“S-should I get Sariel?”

“No-!” he all but snarled, gritting his teeth together. He couldn’t see her expression but he felt her keen worry all the same.

“Wait here- I’ll go fetch some water!” he thought he heard the rabbit say, before dashing off.

Don’t go.

Chevalier squeezed burning eyes shut, aggravated by that pathetic plea in his mind. While alone, he manages to grab a vase of flowers and cough up a lungful of petals he’d been holding back. What alarmed him was when he felt something else coming. Something long and thin that unfurled from the thorns at the back of his throat. Parting pale lips, Chevalier reached in and retrieved the long stem, gagging and finding it a miracle he didn't retch. Gasping harshly, he started at the freed dewy rose, a long stem covered in thorns held between shaking fingers. His laboured, rattling breaths filled the room- and to his own ears, it sounded like the gasps of a dying man.

Hearing Emma’s return, Chevalier placed the vase aside, hoping she’d overlook the newly appeared rose sitting neatly within the arrangement.

A cool glass was shoved into his hands, Emma’s warm brown eyes frozen stiff with worry. To hasten the departure of such a troubled look, Chev took careful sips, relieved when his throat seemed to soothe. He managed to swallow the taste of copper.

“Are you alright?” she murmured, leaning in close.

He swallowed once more before finding his voice- weaker than usual. “Fine.”

“There was nothing fine about that! Y-you scared me there,” Emma took out her pink, embroidered handkerchief. Chevalier stiffened, feeling her dab it lightly against his cheek. It came away damp- and it was only then he’d noticed his eyes had been leaking. They stung like a wound.

“I’ve never seen you like this before. Have you-" she wet her lips nervously, "have you seen a doctor?”

“It’s not something a… regular doctor can deal with,” he straightened, taking the handkerchief from her and wiping the remainder of his face. Sweat had broken out on his forehead.

Noticing the roaring silence, blue eyes flicked to her lovely features. Chevalier found his voice gentling. “I am seeking a cure, there’s no need for anyone else to know so tell no one. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the potential ramifications if you did,” he paused, massaging the base of his throat. “Why do you look so concerned?”

“Because I AM concerned!” she burst, stilling and coming back to herself. Sariel’s training seemed to settle over her, a countenance more befitting a Lady. She wore it like armour, and he silently approved.

Emma shook her head, rubbing her throat absentmindedly as if mirroring him. “You always handle everything alone,” she murmured sadly. “There’s something more to this, isn’t there? You can tell me, Prince Chevalier. I wouldn’t betray your trust.”

“Telling you would change nothing. I wouldn’t feel relieved by sharing it. That is a sentiment you and others share…but not me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper as he shifted to lean against her bedroom window, gazing at the dark expanse of gardens outside. The cool glass felt good against his burning skin. “I feel…more assured by handling it alone, as I always have. It is just- a-another way the Brutal Beast differs from you.”

He reached out with the intent of giving her handkerchief back, but gentle fingers pushed up against his hand.

“No, keep it.”

Chevalier blinked, studying her worried features as she looked at him with such heartfelt emotion it made his chest shudder. “I’m sorry for trying to meddle. Just- please bear what I said in mind if you ever feel like talking.”

His heart tripped within his ribcage, squeezing. His fool of a Rabbit was so painfully earnest that it hurt to look at her sometimes. Chevalier scoffed to cover it up, muttering a time for them to meet the following day before stalking out of the room with only the tatters of his dignity intact.

If he were someone else, anyone else, he’d take Emma up on her generous offer. But he was Chevalier. Brutal Beast and cold second prince of Rhodolite. Feared and isolated since childhood- which suited him just fine.

But Emma was not like him. He’d watched her a few days ago from his position by the office window, observing how she smiled and laughed with royalty such as Black, the Show-off and Bear, acting no differently with servants.

What would become of someone like that if he shut her in with him? Selfishly stole her away into the labyrinth of his personal library? People would become fearful and wary of her too if she kept company with him. She wouldn’t flourish as she did now, in the light.

He refused to bind such a rare, precious woman to his side if it meant that smile might wilt from her face. Someone equally as bright and gleaming as she should bask in her sunny warmth. He would be content with watching what became of her. Happiness would always find Emma, Chevalier was certain of it.

But it wouldn’t if she was his. They were ill suited.

Shaking fingers curled tighter around the pink handkerchief in his hand, before tucking it away in his pocket.

#Ikepri #ikemen prince #ikemen prince chevalier #ikemen prince clavis #ikemen prince emma #ikepri fanfic #ikemen series #otome games

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corroded-queen · 1 year

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You cannot tell me Ghostface!Eddie wouldn’t be absolutely blasting I Can’t Decide while toying with a bloodied, tied up Jason; his eyes nearly bugging out of his head, aching at all the slices Eddie’s already inflicted.

Eddie would be absolutely giddy, singing into the voice changer, lunging and pulling back right at the last second before the knife could plunge into Jason’s stomach. Jason struggling against the ropes, straining as much as he can while they dig into his skin. He's gagged, spit and blood mixing down his chin.

"What's the matter, Jason? Cat got your tongue?" And he'd laugh, savoring every second that asshole finally got what was coming to him. Finally got it because he was delivering it.

He'd relished killing the others, Andy and Patrick especially, but killing Jason is something different. Something better. Shit, it felt like fucking Christmas getting to watch the knife he took from Jason's own house slice through his skin. The pure hit of adrenaline he got seeing that asshole writhe when he drove it to the handle into his shoulder - just getting to taste a bit of the pain he'd put Eddie, Hellfire, shit - anyone different - through was insane. Better than anything Rick could ever give him to sell.

In the end, Eddie would make Jason think he left - disappearing into the darkness for a moment, just out of his periphery. Long enough for Jason to believe Eddie might've left - long enough to have just a sliver of hope for freedom. Jason would slide forward, just a bit, his eyes trained on the home phone dangling from its cord just inside. If he could just get close enough -

And then cracked leather gloves land heavily on his shoulders, and he feels a sob stick in his throat. His eyes crinkle shut and his body shakes gently. Everything aches, his shoulder burns, and he can feel the way his ripped clothes cling to him through the blood and sweat dripping down his chest. Eddie pats hard against the shoulder he'd just stabbed.

♩♩ ~I can't decide whether you should live or die, oh you'll probably go to heaven~ ♩♩

Jason looks up when Eddie's hands leave his shoulders, staring hard at the cheap plastic mask as the knife, blood still coating the edge, bites deep into the skin of his neck. His eyes bulge when blood splatters onto the patio door and Eddie can't wretch his gaze away, nearly slicing clean through Jason's neck.

Relief courses through him, and he's shaking with nothing but excitement, punching up in the air with the knife tight in his grasp when Jason gurgles a final breath. He wipes the blood on the costume and returns the knife to the side of his thigh. The walk back to his van would be a long one, but fuck, he could run a marathon and not break a sweat right now.

He retreats to the shadows, humming that damn song, and makes it back to you before midnight, passed out in his bed. He wanted to fuck you into oblivion, bury himself deep in your pussy to tie the night up with a bow; but watching you breathe softly, curled up in his shirt, hugging his pillow - fuck, he couldn't just wake you up when you looked so damn cute, could he?

You're only aware he's home when the washer stirs you, and you feel him slide in beside you, pressing feathery kisses up from your hip, to your arm and collarbone. He stops when you scoot closer to him, throwing the blanket over his half-naked form; he smells like shampoo and you figure he must've taken a shower, his wet hair tickling your skin.

"Deal go well?" You ask, voice soft and groggy from sleep, eyes blinking in the low-light thrown in from his window when you face him.

"Really well, sweetheart," he says, pressing a kiss to your head when you close your eyes again. "Really fuckin well."

He wraps his arms around you, and you sigh against him, breathing in his body wash, melting into his hold.

You don't tell him he forgot his lunchbox on the couch.

You don't tell him you'd found his bloodstained gloves in a drawer, days ago, when you were looking for condoms.

You squish your cheek against him and relax, because Eddie is still your Eddie - your sweet, ingenious Eddie. And now, well, now those assholes wouldn't hurt anyone ever again.

They find Jason’s body the next morning, nearly decapitated, eyes still shot open in surprise. Jason's tape player that Eddie'd set up beside the chair still singing out:

♩♩ ~I can't decide whether you should live or die~ ♩♩

#eddie munson #ghostface Eddie #ghostface!eddie #pretend the scissor sisters released the song in the 80s and that tape players can do that #eddie musnon x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson drabble #ghostface!eddie drabble #ghostface!eddie munson drabble #ghostface!eddie munson #ghostface eddie munson #my writing

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liecoris · 3 months

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»» @criticalcrux / @helluva-hazbins said:

Typically, the lives and unseemly undergoings taking place within Hell's seedy society would have very little of the King's attention but this time, something pulls at him, this is a woman he recognizes and he can't pull himself away. She'd just taken on an unfair battle having been clearly out-numbered. So he shifts his cane, tucks it under his arm, and offers his gloved hand out to help her stand. "Here, let me help. I've had my fair share of battle wounds." He's uncertain of all that he's witnessed but what he does know is that she's taken damage and shouldn't be left alone in a state of distress."You're a mess. How did you even get into this situation?"[from Lucifer Morningstar]

It was in moments like these where the difference between Mukuro's life in Hell when she was alive was almost one and the same。 Granted, that was a fact she wasn't at all surprised about but Mukuro couldn't help but at least internally comment on the comparison。

But at least here Mukuro had a little more power than she had back when she was alive。 Because even if she was outnumbered here, she was able to pose a decent enough challenge that she could survive the onslaught, it was by the skin of her teeth, but it was better than not at all。

Currently seated in a puddle of blood that was more her blood than of those she fought, Mukuro was taking a short respite to catch her breath and let her muscles relax a bit before she'd get up again。 While she was in this state, most of her hair had returned to its normal state save for the back of her head which remained in the form of multiple snakes, keeping a sort of watch while Mukuro recuperated slightly。 Which was what alerted her to Lucifer walking up before she lifted her head to watch, snakes poised to strike for a split second before recognition would set and their heads would dip respectfully before shifting back to the appearance of normal hair。

Even with a bloodstained vision, Mukuro could easily tell whose hand it was that offered her help。

「Thank you, Heika,」 Mukuro's hoarse voice rings out, her head dipping into a short bow before taking his hand and using him as a support to stand up on rather wobbly legs。 A short, dry laugh comes out of her throat when he states that she looks like a mess。 She felt like an absolute mess so she could only imagine what she looked like。

「Oh, you know, the standard group of men seeing a lone woman minding her own business and think " hey easy pickin's "。」

【 unprompted asks 】 ♡ 【 always accepting 】

#criticalcrux #helluva-hazbins #»» ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʙɪᴛᴇꜱ. || 💊 — hazbin hotel.#»» asks. || 💌 — ꜱʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴇ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛꜱ.#»» ic asks. || 🦊 — ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴇᴀɴ ɪᴛ.#\\ sorry my reply got a bit long ;w ;#\\ you don't gotta match my length if/when you respond lol

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rinwellisathing · 25 days

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It's A Thankless Job: Chapter 1

Rain beat down on the rooftop of the small chapel in the cemetery. It was just a few yards from the manor house, so the storm hadn't deterred plans for the funeral. The chapel was packed, some of the family even standing in the back, those that didn't share a blood relation to father of course. His spawn all sat near the front, feet away from the stone altar where the proud, muscular body of a handsome dragonborn was laid out in traditional red robes, which flattered the white and red patterning of his scales. A red skull was painted across his face according to tradition and black roses surrounded his body. Sentry sat there in a long black wool coat over a simple black button down and slacks, his head bowed. Orin and Tomi sat on either side of him, the former in a simple black dress that made her look like a porcelain doll, her hair braided with black pearls set in it, the latter dressed in smartly cut black suit jacket with a stormy grey blouse underneath, finished off with a black pencil skirt, sheer black stockings, and a pair of designer pumps. To the other side of Orin, Sarevok sat in his usual black suit and red button down and beside him, Jackal sat in a shabby black jacket and slacks. On Jackal's other side, Gabraela sat, a black lace veil with holes for her horns covering her head, a long old fashioned black dress covered her body and her hands were covered by matching lace gloves. Sceleritas was openly weeping beside the body as he assisted the Bhaalist priest with final preparations.

The family kept their heads bowed respectfully, even Sentry. There was no denying why Gary was Chosen, he had been the finest assassin the family had known since father himself. There was an expectation that given his tragically early passing, Sentry could come to surpass him, but it felt wrong to even consider and somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, it made Sentry angry at his own beloved big brother. 'Great, one more thing the family expects of me...' He thought bitterly to himself, one eye shifting to glare at Sarevok for the briefest moment.

When the service ended, the family lined up to pay their respects. Gabraela kissing the top of her brother's horns, Tomi kissing him gently on the forehead, Orin giving an awkward little half-hug, and both Jackal and Sarevok bowing their heads to show respect. Both turned to watch as Sentry approached. He felt his face redden, knowing they expected him to kiss his brother goodbye like the girls had. Gary wouldn't have made him do it, Gary accepted Sentry. Sentry was Gary's favorite little bro, he always said so. Instead, Sentry rested a hand atop his brother's folded claws and his tail wrapped around his stiff, cold tail, giving it one last grab and shake.

The rest of the day was overstuffed with business, Fel gathering the family in the dining hall to read Gary's will. The siblings and Sarevok sat around the table as the diminutive butler dried his eyes with a bloodstained handkerchief and sniffed back a sob before opening a brief case and producing some papers. “Welcome, my most fiendish family, we are gathered to read the will of my deadly departed master, Gary. To his littlest sister, Orin, he leaves one fine set of daggers in red and gold, enchanted with blessings from father himself.” He began, producing a wooden case from behind the table and passing it along to the girl, who opened it, white eyes wide in awe as she raised the knives up to look at them. “Though, I suppose what is a knife to a dragonborn would be a short sword to the rest of you...and...ah...a longsword to myself.” Fel amended before continuing. “To his eldest sister, Gabraela, he leaves his best ceremonial garb and a custom set of armor along with the funds to have it re-fitted, though as your height was closest to his, very little refitting may be necessary. The set has currently been sent out for repair and refitting, but will be delivered as soon as possible.” He nodded to the tall, plum-skinned tiefling in the lace veil. The will reading continued for what felt like far too long for someone as practical as Gary, Sentry felt himself ready to nod off, head rested on his palm, until finally he heard his name. “And to his favorite 'little bro', his only pure biological sibling, he leaves this envelope, with instructions inside to follow...I also must note that given that Sentry is the only remaining child of Bhaal made from his own flesh with no other bloodline to interfere, I myself now serve young Master Ojeda.” Fel finished, closing up the brief case and crossing the room to Sentry, handing him a simple black envelope with red sealing wax pressed with a seal in father's image. “Oh shit...this is some creepypasta nonsense...” Sentry quirked a brow as he thought back to his favorite short horror stories as he glanced over the envelope. “Ominous as fuck.” But he tucked it away in his pocket and got to his feet, stretching and starting towards the door. “Well, at any rate, it's been a day...So....I'm going to go clear my head and figure out whatever message big bro left me...Later.” “Ah...Sentry, dearest little brother, I feel like maybe we ought to be together as a family tonight. After all, we are all hurting from this tragic loss.” Tomi spoke up, also rising to her feet. “Please, I think it will look best to outsiders if none of us are seen outside of the house tonight, we ARE, after all, in mourning. Just a matter of publicity, you know.” She gently placed her hands on Sentry's shoulders. Sentry looked around the room, mind processing his options. He saw that Sarevok looked pissed at the idea he might wander off, but what else was new? Jackal really didn't seem to care, not even glancing up from his phone, Gabraela's head was turned in his direction, but he couldn't see her expression beneath the veil. Orin, though, looked a bit hurt and his expression softened. Gary was there for him when he was around her age. With a sigh, he walked back to the table. “Fine....” He murmured.

-----

Sentry spent the evening painting with Orin. His work for the family had afforded him the opportunity to collect materials from many victims over the last five years. Vials of his special paint in its varying shades of bright red to rust brown sat between the two as they lay on the floor with thick water color paper in front of them. “So, if you are Chosen now, slaughter-kin, you'll choose a successor like our older brother did, right?” Orin spoke, gazing curiously at Sentry. “I...” Sentry began, thinking a moment. He had always thought he and Gary were the only viable chosen, being made from father's own flesh. But, he hardly wanted to let his little sister down after such a trying day. “I guess?” He shrugged. “I dunno, Orin, I'm still adjusting to life without big bro...Maybe whatever he left me will give me a better idea of where I'm at and what I'm supposed to do now.” Orin nodded her head and returned to her painting, much to Sentry's relief. But now he could hardly focus on his own work. The image of his brother beginning to form on the page seemed to chide him for not yet opening the black envelope. His fingers itched to tear it open and see what was inside. ---- Once Orin had left Sentry's room to retire to bed, the young tiefling sat on the bed with the envelope in his hand, turning it over and examining it. The ordinary-ness of it was unsettling in and of itself, moreso the fact that Gary, who had died so young, had still had it ready for Sentry. He looked around the room, making sure that he was alone and then took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing...Fuck, just watch this be a prank...” He chuckled, but that wasn't like Gary. Gary didn't play pranks. Big bro took being Chosen seriously. Sentry ran a sharp nail under the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal and opening it up. He turned it over on his bed and several keys of varying shapes and sizes clattered out onto the covers followed by various scraps of paper. “Shit!” Sentry yelped, looking over the mess in confusion. He noticed several of the papers had once been post-it notes, the adhesive worn away from time spent in storage. He realized the notes, each with an address or the name of a counting house or storage facility and unit number, must have once been attached to the keys “Dammit, Gary...” One address, Sentry noticed, was not written on a post-it, but rather a scrap of notebook paper, the number of papers was more than the number of keys, so it was likely this one didn't correspond to a key. The tiefling figured this was as good a place as any to start and maybe whoever lived at the address, because he recognized it as a penthouse in the upper city, would know which key went to which paper. It was late, probably past midnight, and Tomi's little conference requesting peace and quiet for the family in mourning had only specified the day of the funeral, which was technically over. He crossed to his desk and rummaged through a small container of little fabric satchels he used to carry dice back and forth to table top nights with Rolan, Nocturne, and the rest of their group, producing a fairly sturdy black velvet one and scooping up the keys and papers, placing them inside and pulling the draw string, tying it tightly around the top and then tying the satchel to his belt.

Climbing out the window was second nature to Sentry at this point. He'd been doing it since he was a teenager. When he reached the ground, he made sure his phone was in the pocket of his jacket, the screen facing his body so the light wouldn't give him away if a message were to pop up. He wove quietly between the graves and down to the fence, near the old stone wall that had once surrounded the cemetery before that fence had been built. He climbed the crumbling stone and hopped up, pulling himself over the outer fence with the upper body strength that came from years of paladin training.

Once he was on the other side, he began his journey towards the upper city, pulling out his phone to check some messages once he was far enough away. 'Welcome back, XxPreciousLittleBhaalBabexX, you have 100 new messages' “Because of course I do.” He rolled his eyes and began to scroll. He ignored most of the messages from fans and subscribers, they should know to wait until at least tomorrow afternoon since he had made an announcement post about the passing of his older brother. With that in mind, he clicked on one message. From: MidnightDancer Hey Sentry, I'm really sorry about your big brother, I know you two were close. Let me know if this week's collab needs to be a hang out/friend night instead, the fans can wait. No matter what your weird ass family says, your feelings are important. Besides, cat cuddles make everything better and you know Malta is always up for those!

Much love, Wysp.

Sentry clicked reply and began to type a response out. 'Nah, man, work is good for me. Besides, you know how subscribers get when there's nothing to jack off to for too long. Nobody wants to deal with those messages, am I right? <3 Sentry' He tucked his phone away after sending the message, looking over at the still lit windows of Sharess' Caress, wondering if inside Wysp was already reading his response and rolling his eyes at Sentry's alleged 'refusal to process his feelings'. He had no idea how a drow was into that touchy-feely stuff, but he guessed that's why Wysp was here on the surface. For a moment he considered actually stopping in to visit with Wysp and maybe Ffion as well, to ask them what they thought of these weird keys and addresses, but he thought better of it. For all he knew, some of these could be family secrets and then the two of them would be in danger, especially Ffion with her overzealous idiot of a son. The path to the upper city brought him through the park, past a building surrounded by an impressive garden and draped in moss, which touted itself as a veterinary clinic. Sentry couldn't help but chuckle as he noticed that each wooden banister leading up to the front door had its top carved in the shape of a duck. That was actually sort of cute, he had to admit as he passed by, walking down the path that would lead him to the upper city.

The lights and opulence of this part of town wasn't new to Sentry, he had clients in this area quite frequently, especially the sort he dispatched after their session. In fact, he knew the building the penthouse address led to very well, it was one of the ones Gary usually had dropped him off at when there was a client and didn't mind waiting around for him. Sentry hadn't thought much of it at the time, maybe their lounge had really good drinks. Gary could always knock them back with the best of them, so it wasn't like it would have affected his driving. Or hells, maybe a lot of the people in this building owed protections or favors and Gary had been collecting on those while Sentry worked. All these thoughts rushed through his mind as he waited for the elevator, well aware that this was the first time he didn't look out of place in the building, his usual attire being a hoodie and tripp pants in stark contrast with the funeral attire he still hadn't bothered to change out of. As the tell tale PING! Of the elevator sounded, Sentry stepped through the doors and pressed the number for the upper most penthouse, leaning back against the mirrored wall, arms folded across his chest as he began to rise. The building had so many floors, Sentry could practically feel himself dying of bored, the urge to pace back and forth like a caged animal scratching at his brain, until finally, mercifully, the doors opened, releasing him into a small entryway carpeted in black and gold and leading to a large dark mahogany door. Sentry checked the number on the paper and this was definitely it.

He approached and grabbed the door knocker, slamming it a few times and chuckling at the idea of smacking the golden horned face with its own nose ring. If he had paid closer attention, he might have recognized the visage from his many forays into cults and world religion studies, but his mind was elsewhere as he waited for whoever lived here to show themselves. The door opened a moment later and nervous looking half-orc in a black suit stood in the doorway. “Um...Master Gortash is in mourning at the moment...you'll have to come back later.” He managed uncertainly. “Yeah, mourning my older brother. Me too. That's who sent me.” Sentry pushed past the half-orc and looked around, surprised at the lay out. Opulent, but impersonal. It was almost like a show room of what an ultra wealthy man's home was supposed to look like, everything carefully modeled after catalogs and movies. The only thing out of the ordinary were the busts and sculptures of the same horned figure as the door knocker.

The butler was still standing around awkwardly, Sentry gave him a look of annoyance. “So then you would take me to him? Or like...tell him I'm here?” The Tiefling rolled his wrist in a gesture that clearly said 'come on, let's go.' “Right..um...Yes. I....” He stumbled as he hurried off deeper into the penthouse, leaving Sentry to explore the room. “Who are you and why did my brother leave me your address?” He wondered out loud, examining a few of the statues closer. He made his way to the book shelves next. You could tell a lot about a person by what they chose to read, and here he found predominantly books on engineering, enchanting mechanical objects, and a few on politics and civics. A bit more revealing than the décor, but still all together quite impersonal. A few moments later, he could hear footsteps returning to the room and he turned, the butler hadn't come back, but a man near his height, just a bit shorter, stood at the other end of the room. His dark hair was disheveled and his handsome face held a look of exhaustion, dark circles under dark eyes. Stubble was visible against light brown skin and the man was dressed in a simple black T-Shirt and torn jeans, hardly the look of someone who lived in a place like this. “Sentry Ojeda, yes? Gary's little brother.” The man approached Sentry, looking him over intently. “Yeah, that's me alright...and you are?” Sentry quirked a brow. “I mean, you look familiar, but...it just isn't clicking...” The man smirked with a wry chuckle as he turned away towards a metal cart with a crystal decanter and some whiskey glasses set atop it, pouring himself a drink and offering one to Sentry. “Normally I'd say you can't be serious, my posters are all over town...But with the state I'm in just now, that's a fair question....” He took a long drink from his glass, nearly draining it. “Enver Gortash, CEO of Blackhand Armaments.”

“Oh shit...so Gary was stockpiling weapons....I knew this was going to be something absolutely crazy when he left me that envelope!” Sentry gasped, eyes widening. “Stockpiling...is that what he...” Gortash looked honestly hurt before letting out a hollow laugh. “Your brother was...a friend. A very close friend.” He explained. Sentry's expression became one of awareness. “Ohhhh.....So you were...” He tapped two fingers together. Enver rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Yes, we were partners...” “I see...Kinda wish Gary would have told me that, might have made this just a little less awkward.” Sentry scratched the back of his head, shifting slightly. “See, he left me your address along with a ton of keys and little tags for where they came from, which kind of fell off of them in the envelope and so I was sort of hoping you might know which one went to which...” Sentry explained.

Enver's expression softened. He did remember Gary talking quite a lot about Sentry. His favorite little brother, his successor. He nodded towards the sitting area. “Do you want to stay a while? The more I think about it, I could use the company. Gary's passing hit me pretty hard.”

Sentry nodded. “Yeah, me too honestly...He was a good brother, really more of a friend.” The tiefling added as he crossed the room, sitting on one of the black leather couches and smiling a bit as Enver joined him. “He talked about you a lot, you know. He was very proud of you, Sentry.” Enver took another sip from his glass. “I think I know why I didn't know about you, so don't take it personally, Sarevok is kind of a control freak, if he knew any one of us were dating outside the family, like REALLY dating, not 'escorting' or hooking.... He would lose his shit.” Sentry shook his head. “So, y'know, don't feel too bad that Gary didn't tell us about you.”

In his line of work, Sentry had a very good idea of when someone was looking at him with more than a passing amount of interest. He pretended he didn't notice, looking down at his hands, but part of him was intrigued, flattered. Another part of him, however, made his stomach knot and his mind reel with chastising words. This was his brother's grieving partner. The idea of acknowledging his interest and particularly acting on it, filled Sentry with guilt. Gary was always a good brother to him, he had protected him and cared for him, shielded him from Jackal, Sarevok, and all the others who would have abused him. Still, there was no denying Enver Gortash was a good looking man. Older, wealthy, probably a good lay too since Gary was always so discerning about his partners.

“He said as much...When I assumed you'd know who I was, I meant because of my campaign posters around town.” Gortash explained, standing and crossing the room to refill his glass. “Do you need a refill?” He looked to Sentry. “Oh..uh...”The tiefling looked down and noticed he'd emptied his glass without noticing as he'd been thinking about fucking his dead brother's partner. “Yeah...yeah that'd be good.” He got up and brought his glass over, daring to allow his hand to touch the other man's as he passed it to him. Enver noticed and held the glass, fingers brushing against Sentry's, a bit longer than he really had to as he passed the now full glass back to the tiefling, their eyes meeting for a moment.

Sentry felt himself blushing as he took a cautious step back. He knew if he stayed here much longer, he might do something he'd regret, but on the other hand Gary was gone. That was the reality. Gary was gone and Sentry was still here and struggling to cope with that fact...and so was Enver Gortash...He was maybe the only person in the entire city who could properly understand what Sentry was feeling in this moment, and the tiefling suspected the reverse might be true as well. All these thoughts hounded him as his heart pounded in his ears, deafening, maddening. He could hear his own blood rushing in his veins, he was dimly aware of the ambient noise of the city below. And then, in one, simple moment...everything was quiet. Lips pressed to his, he tasted the heavy flavor of whiskey and the heavy aroma of booze made him dizzy. Still, he found himself returning the kiss, desperate to quiet his racing thoughts. It didn't matter anymore that this was his dead brother's lover, it didn't matter anymore that Sentry had just met this guy. Instinct took over and his tongue slid out, running over lips and then teeth before meeting with the other man's tongue. His tail slid around Enver's waist as he felt the man's hands around his own. His arms slid over his shoulders and neither man seemed aware of the sound of their glasses clattering to the floor, forgotten.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #tiefling #oc #dark urge #durge #writing #oc: sentry ojeda #fanfic #durgetash #enver gortash #lord enver gortash #modern au

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jaws-and-canines · 1 year

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The Butcher and The Fool

A Verschlimmbessern story. Fennec falls afoul of the butcher - a Special division specialist in causing lasting pain and lasting damage. Contains depictions of torture, gore and canon-typical violence.

---

The carrion-birds are still perched atop the barbed wire. Rotting skin barely holding slick feathers in, milky-white eyes and razor-sharp beaks and claws. The scarred heads and bloodstained beaks turn to watch as the peeling-paint door opens and out comes what they have been waiting for.

A man, dressed in a dirty white coat and blue work trousers, slamming the door behind him so hard that the wall shakes. He has a full yellow bin bag over one shoulder, a plastic blue bucket under the other. Bloody saline laps at the rim of the bucket as he steps off the breeze-block lip of the door and shifts the bucket into two hands. The birds caw at him, chirping and whistling as they recognise him.

The butcher throws the dirty saline down the drain beside the door and dumps the empty bucket beside it, filling it back up from a yellow hose. The water that swills in is ice-cold, and quickly runs a browning red as the dried blood from the sides of the bucket dissolve into it like ink. He glances up at the birds, and with a chuckle, rips open the yellow bag and tosses it onto the asphalt. The birds descend in a frenzy, ripping pieces out of the dead meat in the bag and tossing it down their throats. The butcher bows his head, putting a cigarette between his lips, and lights up, watching the birds tear into their meal.

The door opens again with a squeak, and slams shut with a bang. The birds don’t scatter, fixated on their meal. The Special stands beside the butcher, grimacing at the gory scene in front of him. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says. “It’s foul.”

The butcher shrugs. “Saves a trip to the incinerator.” The Special watches the birds, disgust written across his face. The butcher ignores the Special for a few moments more, finishing the cigarette, before he drops it and grinds it out beneath a steel toe-capped boot. He just looks at the Special, and grunts for him to continue. “What do you want?”

The Special holds the peeling door open for the butcher and lets it slam behind him. Something skitters across the floor- a mouse, a rat. The Special watches it go, clearly revulsed, and then continues. “Seven-nine-three. Euro war criminal.” Flies crawl over the fluorescent lights, and over the plastic tables of filthy tools that jut out into the corridor.

The butcher leans heavily on the table and snaps on a pair of nitrile gloves. He starts by swilling a handful of them around in the plastic cup of pink antiseptic resting on the edge of the table. “What needs doing?” He takes an empty syringe from the handful in the antiseptic up to the light, and then tosses it aside onto the tray beside him.

“Needs the fear of God putting into him,” says the Special. He leans across the table to pick up a manilla folder that had been discarded across a tray of drill bits. “A taste, just a taste,” he says, holding up a hand to the butcher, indicating a tiny distance between finger and thumb.

The butcher glances at the tiny distance and starts to pile things into the tray. A handful of scalpels and dental tools go in first. “Hm. Condition?”

“I am not your doctor.” The Special tuts. He flicks open the folder and holds up an X-ray film to the light, angling it towards the butcher so he can see the bright white pins in the shadow of the bones. “GSW left knee with femur involvement. Surgical closure, internal fixators.” He pauses, turning another page. “Complains of moderate-severe pain most of the time.”

The butcher laughs. It is not a nice laugh. “No fucking shit.” He piles three large screws onto his tray- a little longer than his handspan, a plan already forming in his head.

The Special continues, putting the negative back into the folder and whetting his lips. “Two prior episodes of catatonia, psychiatrists can’t agree whether to say he has post-traumatic stress or call him manic-depressive.” He turns the last page, and pulls a face, knowing the predictable response from the butcher. “And, to be the bearer of bad news, minimal English. First-language German.”

The butcher’s face sours. “I don’t fucking speak German.” He spits onto the tiled floor and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then goes back to sorting through the tools in front of him. “Tell them to stop sending me numbers who don’t understand me.”

“Don’t you worry about understanding the numbers. What they say doesn’t matter anymore, they’re past that.” The Special sets the folder down on the table. “You aren’t here to get information out of anyone. They do that.”

The butcher slams the tray full of tools down on the table and turns to square up to the Special. “They don’t understand me,” says the butcher, poking himself in the chest. “Me. I’m the one who matters. Fuck the numbers, I don’t give a fuck about the numbers. Me. They don’t understand me.”

The Special is entirely unintimidated. He just smiles, as if he were a waiter taking someone’s order, and not arguing with a man renowned for senseless violence. “If you can’t intimidate someone without screaming and shouting then this job is not for you.”

“Oh, I’ll do it without a fucking word, just you see,” says the butcher. He looks at the tray of tools, and snatches the three screws from the top of it, leaving the rest behind.

He peers through the spy-hole of the workroom’s thick metal door- a small, tiled room with a papered-over window well out of reach and a serious case of black mould, damp drippng from the cieling. He’s expecting to have a fight on his hands, to have to call for backup to pin the number down.

But the butcher practically bursts out laughing seeing the state of the number. Cowering in the corner of the room, legs splayed out in bloodstained trousers, the man has thrown his coat over his head, as if to hide beneath it. The cracked lenses of his glasses catch the light as he shivers, peering out from underneath the greatcoat.

The butcher wasn’t sure to begin with whether three screws would be enough to even make a start with this one. War criminals tend to be of a particularly hardened breed- whether they’re Euro or the unfortunate State traitors that get sent the butcher’s way. They either have a stiff sense of duty and will die before they show they’re afraid, or they’re sadists. This one seems to be neither. Three screws is all it will take, he knows that for certain now.

The butcher opens the door with a set of keys from his belt and sets the three screws down on the floor. He leaves them there for a moment, shutting the door behind him, making sure it won’t lock them both in here- although, he supposes, the cowering little bastard won’t hurt him. He turns back around and squats down to be at the level of the number.

The number’s curiosity gets the better of him and he takes the coat off his head, stuffing it beneath his back. His white shirt is crusted with sweat and tears and smells like it too. His hair is worse, almost down to his shoulders, his beard matted and greasy. He just stares at the butcher through cracked glasses.

The butcher moves faster than the number does. Of course he’s faster. The number looks like he can barely walk, let alone scramble away faster than the butcher can move and grab him by the collar of his filthy shirt. The number cries out, terror on his face, and struggles against the grip on his shirt collar as the butcher drags him out of the corner of the room and pins him down on his side in the middle of the tiled floor.

“I told you everything!” cries the number, hands up to protect his face.

The butcher says nothing, just grabs the number by the leg, just above the knee, finding where the fabric of the trousers has been torn to shreds by the bullet. The number continues to struggle against his grip, but the butcher puts an end to it- finding the barely-healed scar beneath some stained and fraying bandages, picking up a screw from the floor, and pressing the point against the skin.

The number goes limp, apologising in a language the butcher doesn’t speak. “Es tut mir leid, es tut mir sehr leid!”

The butcher swaps the hand on the man’s shoulder for a heavy boot, and uses two hands to hammer the screw in with an overhand strike.

The number practically convulses beneath him, clawing at his leg with an animal howl. Then, inexplicably, starts to laugh. “I told you everything,” he mumbles, shaking so hard the butcher can hear him trembling against the tiles. He wipes his face on his sleeve and goes back to laughing between pained gasps for breath.

The butcher picks up the second screw and holds it up to the number without a word. Still, he just laughs, tears streaming down his face. “I-I-I told you everything,” he sobs, still laughing.

The butcher wedges the second screw under the head of the first. That same full-body spasm of agony, that same reedy, pathetic scream. The number collapses into another fit of tearful laughter, a hand over his face, even as the butcher twists the screw in, drawing fresh, bubbling blood out from the wound. The blood is almost entirely liquid, dripping down onto the tiles and spreading into the grouting. Still the number laughs, cheeks damp, eyes bright.

The butcher decides to put a stop to the laughter. He readies his weight through his shoe against the number’s shirt to pin the man down. Screw three goes in at an angle, twisting against the other two, pushing them both out further, deeper, scraping into undamaged tissue. The laughter falls out of the number’s voice as the third screw gets driven in. The butcher pushes it right the way down until it stops, grating against the bone, until the laughing stops.

The butcher takes his foot off the number’s shoulder. The number just lies there on the floor, sobbing into the blood-sticky tiles.

“I told you everything,” he weeps.

#anton fennec #whump writing #whump #whumpblr #yeah idk #what came over me #but hey #its a thing i guess

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werechicken · 1 year

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I’d love to hear a little character-establishing scene with Posset! ~vamps

Here’s my practice swing!

-*****-

Beneath the club, in doorways hidden by shifting shelves, thick walls muted the sounds of heavy jazz from above. The walls were graciously thick enough to cover up the screaming the Jazz band would most certainly obliterate.

A shelf slid, a door opened, and light poured through the doorframe, blinding the silhouettes of first one entering, then the other. The door shuts, cutting out the light. The room became dark again. Then, harsh lights flicked on.

The boss moved to an ornate chair, setting a tray of drinks down, relaxing. Her associate winced at the sudden light changes. “I wish you’d warn me.” He fessed, adjusting his glasses. “Some of us don’t have eyes that can adjust to total darkness like yours.” The boss shrugged, non commitally, popping the cork to some fairly good champagne for herself to taste and for her associate to drink when he needed. “Sorry…I don’t want to get in the way of your work…” she purred around the mouthful of word the work ‘work’ brought to her lips. The Dentist tsked, already setting up a tray closer to the prisoner chained to the wall.

The prisoner was lanky, feminine, but an odd bony musculature underneath. Their brown hair long and obscured their face while they lay in the corner. The chain had been secured to a clamp around their neck, arms crossed about her breasts. “Sss. Stay. Stay away.” This ritual has been done nightly now. The pain each time was unbearable. She was bowed, but not broken. The Dentist was burly, strong. In spite of the fantastic strength of the fiend chained, he hurled the bag of bones to her feet, supporting the chain on a hook embedded in the wall. The woman’s face was masculine, lean. Thick, rubber gloves hands brought fingers to the corners of her mouth. She could offer no resistance, starved as she was. The Dentist revealed the fangs of his pet project, and pulled a pair of pliers closer. The poor thing thrashed and squirmed under his grasp, rattling the chain and swaying her body. “No! No! Not again! Not-ahhh!” The Dentist had secured her head steadily with one hand, the other viciously tore at lips with pliers that sought a fang. It took work, a good deal of fighting until their captor was too feeble to resist, but one fang then the other joined the bloodied, ivory mass in a metal pail, halfway full.

The vampire they had caught cupped their mouth, sobbing as she was let to the floor. The Boss has been watching eagerly, and with rapt attention every time. “Someday, I will become bored of this. When I do…my good friend here will continue the work until I feel you’ve worked off your penance.” A knock at the door, causing the Boss to stir, eagerly. “Here we go…supper is served, if you can keep enough of it down this time.” The Dentist removed bloodstained rubber gloves to answer the door, taking the tray from the secret gratefully and all but forcing a tip into her hand before sending her off. He set the lone drink on a tray before the Boss on the little wooden table.

The Boss has rolled up the sleeve to her outfit by this point, and with sharpened talon, opened the palm of her other hand, and squeezed enough blood to stain the Possett, the creamy drink, a brilliant pink. “I can tell enough of my potent blood gets in you to keep you alive. It amazes me how much it helps. But this is how I want you to feel, as I did when you murdered my number one.” She said, getting on her knees and clambering over, like a monster herself. The vampire chained had clambered away, sobbing, mouth a ruined mess, but was already healing. “No..no..” “I may even give you a new name when this is over….like the drink. You look like something I could drink. Soft and creamy, but with hard edges. A Possett. Now..let’s get you to drink up.” The Boss was strong, and gripped the vampire by her hair, pulling her head up just enough to sip on the blood tainted drink.

She couldn’t keep it down, and had to be rinsed off with a hose, again. Even when broken, something sparked inside of her with the words of the Boss. She was going to live through this. But not until they felt enough of this blasted torture of starvation and mutilation had run its course…or they both got bored.

This was the 48th night of this ritual, this entertainment, this torture, and the drink still was disgusting. The blood nourished, as it should. But the human food elements were indigestible.

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ahdenyadahling · 1 year

Text

Final Fantasy XV- Fate & Destiny

Chapter Three, Part One

Chapter Three: The Scroll

I awoke to murmurs, quiet yet deep tones, strange voices I hadn’t heard before. My brain said to wake up and investigate; my body said it needed a year’s worth of rest.

“Ey, she’s coming around!”

I turned my head toward this voice, and slowly my eyes focused on a young man, perhaps only a few years older than me. His shoulder-length black hair was shaved close along the sides of his head, almost like a mullet. His amber eyes were just as warm as his smile was. The scar running vertically down his forehead, over his left eye to his cheek was thin and pink, and I was a bit relieved to realize that he did not receive this injury trying to rescue me. I tried to sit up, my arms pushing me forward, and he immediately leaned over to help. He had broad shoulders and huge biceps. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing his bare chest. I had never seen one muscled in this fashion, nor one with his upper body so tattooed. It appeared to be feathers covering his shoulders and forearms, and I would assume by the design, his back as well. On the left side of his chest, it appeared to be some sort of bird’s head, like an eagle.

After propping my pillow, he backed away, allowing the others to get a look at me, and I at them. My mother rushed over, standing at the foot of the couch where I lay. A relieved smile was on her face as she clutched her hands to her chest.

“Oh, sweetheart, I was so scared I’d lost you! You’re okay now. If they hadn’t come along when they did… I don’t know how I’d...” She turned toward the group wiping at her eyes, “Thank you again, boys.”

“Our pleasure,” another said, his voice deeper than I expected from one with such a thin frame. He spoke with a strange accent, one I’d never heard in this area.

“All in a day’s work,” piped another, crossing his arms over his chest.

It was then that I remembered what had happened. I was attacked by a pack of Voretooths, my leg shredded as I dangled from a wet tree branch. Swallowing my fear, I pulled back the blanket covering my body, and found my leg to be whole. The only evidence that I had been injured was my torn pants, now cut to the knee, some bloodstains, and rows of jagged white scars racing down my left leg. My mouth dropped open in confusion and surprise, and I looked up to see if the blond boy who had caught me was still here. He peered out from behind his friend’s shoulders, and when I caught his eye, he took a step forward, scratching the back of his head, forcing a smile that crinkled his eyes.

“I didn’t think Noct would mind if we used a Hi-Potion and a poison antidote. You weren’t looking too good.”

I licked my lips, trying to think of the appropriate words to say. “I appreciate it, all of you, for helping me.” I tried to sit up further, but my head swam with dizziness.

The thin young man with the accent stepped forward, one gloved hand outstretched to halt me. He adjusted his glasses as he told me gently, “You may have healed, but your body still needs rest.”

I shook my head, slowly bringing my legs around to the floor. “There’s something I need to do.”

“Wait,” my mother interrupted, and I paused as her eyes roamed warily over this group of young men. “Did you say Noct? As in Noctis? As in Prince Noctis? The radio said you were dead!”

All eyes darted toward the young man with the slanted, cerulean eyes, his grayish-black hair spiked in all directions. He shrugged, “Yeah, don’t believe everything you hear. I’m Noct.”

“Your Highness!” My mother bowed her head, “I beg your forgiveness for—”

He raised one hand, shaking his head, “Just… I’m just me, okay? Just, don’t let it get out.”

She straightened in understanding and nodded. My guess was that he was either very down to earth or well undercover. From the way he spoke, it seemed the former. She continued, “If it’s all the same to you, let me cook dinner, in thanks for saving my daughter.”

They looked to the man with the glasses as if silently asking his opinion or permission, and he nodded. “A wonderful gesture, madam, allow me to assist.” Stepping forward, he followed my mother into the kitchen, leaving me alone with three strangers.

I glanced at each of them, not quite meeting their eyes. “I’m sorry for putting you through all this. I’ll pay for those potions somehow—”

The muscled man clamped a heavy hand onto my knee and smiled. “Forget it. I see it as a double win. We met you, and we get a free meal.”

Noct sighed and shook his head.

#final fantasy xv #crownsguard #gladio #ignis #noctis #prompto #finalfantasyxvau #ff15 #noctis lucis caelum #and so it begins

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thetrinityknight · 2 years

Text

Signed in Blood

The winds of the north howled against a traveler’s heavy cloak. Snow beat down upon him as he trudged up the cliff. Though it could not be seen through the frosty mists, he knew what awaited him at the top.

A great manor sat overlooking the edge of the world. Within resided the lady of the manor, the last of her line. The one the traveler sought.

Just a few more miles and he’d arrive at those old steps. The manor, though it loomed forebodingly in the distance, was the only shelter from the storm. It struck the cliff without warning. The strange timing of it all made the traveler suspect something was amiss.

As he drew nearer, the fog peeled back, revealing the mountainous silhouettes of the manors rooftops. Chimneys and spires arose into the sky like tombstones painted against a bleak wintery sky. The storm refused do die, growing stronger as he passed into the courtyards buried in snow. Haunting half-submerged statues of grotesque creatures glared down at him with their snarling faces. Step by step, he trudged through the heavy snow and bitter winds to reach the doors of the manor. Feeling the ice soaking through his gloves as he grasped the door handle, he felt it snap off completely. Then with all his might, he rammed into the door. It flew open with ease, and he tumbled into the manor.

The door slammed shut behind him, quieting the howls of the storm outside. There was no warmth to greet the traveler as he lay on the stone floor. He stood up slowly, took a look around.

The manor was massive, beautifully decorated, but nearly everything had been covered in frost. It was colder inside than out. Even the many layers worn over the traveler did little to hold in any warmth. He felt chilled down to his bones, shivering as he took steps further into the grand main foyer.

Past the stairs and through the doors beneath, he found himself within a great hall. Thrones were lined atop a platform at the other side of the room. The tables and chairs meant for feasts were gone. Beneath the layer of ice and frost coating the floor, he saw blood stains. Old, dried, blackened bloodstains. The whole floor had been soaked in it, and from what he could tell, that horrifying pigment was the result of innumerable slaughters over the course of centuries. He knew he was in the right place.

He smiled. “Go on. Show yourself “

There was a hiss from the shadows above him. It descended from the rafters fast. A shrieking plume of black mist, racing out of the darkness, two glowing fiery trails flowing with it.

He leapt back as the shadow struck the floor, billowing out like smoke. Drifting away, she unveiled herself in the smoke. The lady of the manor.

He smiled.

“At last,” he muttered to himself.

She stood before him, a frightening form of darkness. Her raven black hair blended in with the dark gown slipped over her slender body. She had an angular face, sharpness in her cheekbones, yet a softness alluring to the eye. Her lips were a luscious burgundy, while her eyes burned with amber. The glint of her fangs was visible between her lips. Her smile was devious as it was cruel. It would send chills down any mortal who dared look upon her. The traveler was no exception, though he thought he hid it well.

“What business does a spineless, frightened priest have in my abode?” she asked, demanding an answer.

The traveler froze. Slowly he reached for his hood and pulled it down, revealing the soft features of his fair face. Tanned skin, black hair, with a trimmed beard. But his eyes, they were silver. They were old, sly, and cunning.

“Father Nicholas,” he proclaimed with bow. “At your service, Lady Renne.”

Her smile grew, digging deviously into those knife-boned cheeks.

“You know of me?”

“Oh, but I do,” he flattered. “You are a legend known far and wide. The Mistress of the Forbidden Isles. A slaver of men, a bloodthirsty tyrant. Literally!”

Nicholas chuckled at his own theatrics. The lady feigned amusement.

“You flatter me.”

just then Nicholas felt two very sharp things pressing into his neck and back.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” she said with a scowl.

Nicholas then heard a voice in his ear. It was boyish voice.

“Don’t move.”

Nicholas smiled. “And what if I do—!”

He felt the blades dig ever so gently into his skin. The control his captor had over his blades was beyond the level of a master. Nicholas knew in that snagging instant that if he wanted to, he could have beheaded him in seconds. Nicholas wouldn’t be able to utter so much as a gasp. His life was now on the line.

“Why are you here?” asked the Lady, her act dropped entirely. “Speak.”

Nicholas, still smiling, spoke plainly. “You have something I want. I’ve come to bargain.”

“I have something the Church wants?”

“Not the Church. Me.”

Lady Renne fell silent with intrigue.

“So, the pawn has ambition.”

Nicholas chuckled, squirming a little against his captor’s knives.

“Oh, I’m no pawn, m’lady. I get around quite a bit in the higher parts of the order. How else would I have figured out how to find you myself?”

The Lady fell silent again. Her guard spoke up.

“My Lady. Can I kill him while I have the chance?”

“Not yet, pet. He’s interesting. Let him talk.”

Nicholas gave off a sigh of relief. “Mind loosening up while you’re at it?”

He felt his captor only hold him tighter in his clutch, much to his mistress’s delight.

Lady Renne walked back to the center throne and took her seat. She crossed her legs, grinning as her pet tried to look away. Then she shifted her gaze toward the priest.

“So, tell me, what could you possibly desire to drag yourself this far up north just to bargain me for?”

Nicholas grinned.

“A book.”

The Lady was unamused. “A book?”

“Yes. A very special book, one I know of only three existing copies.”

Lady Renne’s face was starting to turn. Confusion took root in her mind. What book could she have in her possession to be so rare, to be of such importance to a holy man? What power could it possess?

“The first is with us, the Holy Imperial Church, deep within the High Cathedral’s vaults,” he explained. “The second was liberated from the clutches of the World-Ender Dragon, though it appears to have gone missing. The third however…”

Lady Renne’s face showed the progress of her mind, following along the thread laid down by Nicholas. The book he sought. The Church had one, the dreaded World-Ender had the other. She possesses another. For the first time in her many, many years, as recollection pulled the object into her mind, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread.

“The grimoire.”

Nicholas grinned with a tinge of malice in his teeth. “Indeed.”

“Does the rest of your order know about this?”

“Oh. Them? They hardly know a thing about my true nature. They may never know if they’re unlucky enough.”

Lady Renne was beginning to feel something. A foreboding sense. Something was wrong. This priest was wrong. He was not to be trusted, but she had yet to hear what his offer was.

“You must have something of great value to offer me in exchange.”

The priest’s grin grew ever wider, like a triumphant gladiator in the pit, aroused by the cheering crowd.

“Your lands,” he offered. “I will ensure the return of you and your house’s lands.”

She was quiet. Her lands. The Isles. They would be returned to her. Her house has long desired their rightful rule restored. She is the last of her line. Her pet is nothing more than a pet. She had not turned him, nor knew if she desired to. For a time, she was content to simply slumber in shadow and cold as the world waned without her. The Sanguine Age had come and gone. The Age of Man had dawned. No one feared the night anymore.

But they could once again.

Never before has an opportunity presented itself so willingly. She desired this greatly, to rule as the Queen of the Isles. She longed for the power to subjugate the remaining bloodlines under her heel. Cultivate the strong and cull the weak from their ranks. Create the perfect bloodline and ensure dominance. Then, when all was said and done, she and her ilk would live in lavish peace once again. This strange holy man offered her this, and she knew not how or even why. So, she put forth the question.

“I will plant a seed,” said Father Nicholas. “A single seed that will grow and blossom, spreading untold chaos through your lands.

“Those that took the Isles from you will be in disarray, leaving their kingdoms open for attack. All you have to do is kill them all.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And how will I know when to strike.”

Nicholas chuckled. “Believe me, m’lady. You’ll know.”

Lady Renne snapped her fingers. A plume of smoke, black as the void, descended from the shadows in the rafters. As the smoke billowed out like fog, a large, old tome revealed itself. It floated to Lady Renne’s palm, perpetually rotating above it, yet moving with the motions of her hand.

“This is one of five grimoires written by a powerful wizard whose name has been lost to time. If what you say is true, I wish to know what it is you plan to do with these tomes.”

“My work is nowhere near done. There is naught for me to tell.”

Lady Renne scowled. “Oh no, little man.”

Nicholas felt the knives snagging.

“You are going to tell me everything.”

Lady Renne stood up from her seat, vanishing into a puff of black smoke. She reappeared in front of Nicholas, smoke swarming around them. Her eyes were burning. He could feel his captor itching to strike.

“As is tradition, we vampires seal all our contracts in blood. Your blood will tell me everything you’re hiding.”

Nicholas was starting to sweat. He was being grappled from behind. She was drawing near. She bore her fangs. She was going to sink her teeth into his exposed neck.

“Wait,” he begged. “Wait!”

She hesitated.

“There’s no law saying it must be my blood. Is there?”

The Priest’s face twisted into a hideous grimace of bloodlust.

Before there was a moment to respond, the one holding Nicholas felt a searing pain in his stomach. He staggered back, screaming. To the others, it looked as though he were merely panicking. To him, his body had been plunged by a tiny holy nail, one spreading unquenchable fire all across his body. Then, at the height of his suffering, Nicholas snapped his fingers.

“Begone.”

His victim burst into flames like a funeral pyre.

“Karst!” she cried out.

“That was his name, huh?”

“How dare you!”

Father Nicholas laughed. “What? You were going to do it eventually! I saved you the trouble.” He reached into his cloak and unsheathed a long bayonet.

“You loathsome whore,” he spat.

Lady Renne did not dare attack with that weapon pointed at her throat. She felt the vigorous heat emanating off its blade. Holy fire. Miracle work that would burn her asunder and scorch her from the earth. Were it potent it enough it could even rend apart her soul, memory, everything left behind. She would be utterly obliterated by a weapon so consecrated, just for her existence as a creature of the night. How cruel gods can be.

“Fine,” she relented. “Have it your way, priest. Perform your works and prove your words with deeds.” Her eyes flashed. “I’ll bide my time so that when you fail, I will be there to crack open your skull and feast on your grey matter.”

Nicholas shivered nervously. “I’ll keep that in mind, m’lady.”

“Insufferable,” she replied, gathering more smoke to her. “Away with you!”

Father Nicholas was suddenly whisked away by black smoke. Pulling a relic from his coat, he shined a light into the smoke, but only created an even more powerful darkness that encircled and consumed him.

Time fell out of meaning. The world diluted. Sound evaporated. He drowned in shadow.

Nicholas awoke in a field of grass. He was miles away from the North now. He was much further south, near Silverwood.

“Perfect.” he thought, looking out over the horizon.

The woods were near. With purpose in his heart, he set off towards them.

Lady Renne leaned over the charred body of her pet. All the blood in Karst’s body had boiled, bursting his skin like a bubble, leaving horrific wounds in some places. He had nary a drop left to consume. Lady Renne felt a pain in her heart.

“Bastard!”

She turned her attentions back to her pet. “No,” she said softly. “You’re not dead. Not yet, my pet.”

She scooped him off the ground and stared into his hollow eyes.

“There’s still so much work to be done.”

#short story #fiction #fantasy #vampire #priest #magic #gothic aesthetic #winter #ice #snow #Lady Renne #Karst #Father Nicholas #Trinity Knight

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xhisokas-harleyx · 3 years

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Helloo! I don't know if i can just request something, if requests are close or something please just ignore it sorry qwq

What do you think Hisoka's reaction would be if he saw Reader in yk,,,, maid outfit or "cat" outfit idk what they called. Like ears+tails. Who knows why, maybe they just wanted have fun and dear someone never knocks 🙄 ilovethismfsomuchistg- Anyways, wishing you a good day or night! 💛

Thanks so much for your request, sorry it took so long. I hope you still find this!

(hope you don’t mind that I sort of ran with this one!)

Warnings: sensuality themes, absolute PAMPERING of your man Hisoka. I mean, serious spoiling kink. Body worship

Enjoy 😊

Hisoka x Reader: Kitten

word count: 2700

Well… you were a sight, that much was certain.

Your eyes danced over your form as you twirled in the bathroom mirror, appreciating your bare thighs in the short kitty dress you were wearing. Your black tail swayed along with your hips, your lace gloved hands placing the kitty-eared headband atop your crown. Your bust was showing through the skimpy black material, and the size of it barely allowed your rump to be covered with a thin ruffly layer of fabric. It was promiscuous and you weren’t sure it was your style… but if Hisoka picked it out for you, you were open to the idea.

Well, technically you’d stolen this item from him, but something told you he wasn’t going to mind.

As you’d been cleaning your and Hisoka’s shared apartment earlier that day, you had unassumingly stumbled upon one of Hisoka’s hidden treasures when you were dusting under the bed. There, beneath the box-spring, you’d discovered a white container which looked as if it hadn’t been touched. Normally you’d never go snooping around in Hisoka’s stuff (not that he had a lot of stuff to snoop in anyway), but because you hadn’t seen it before, curiosity had gotten the better of you.

When you opened the box to reveal the cat maid outfit, your jaw dropped, your mind baffled and scrambling for an explanation. However, it was obvious, right? It was for you, who else would it be for? It made sense- one of his favorite things to call you was kitten… you could hear his lusty voice coo it in your mind even now. But you had no idea he could take things so literally!

You’d been wanting to spoil Hisoka for a while now. He’d been coming back hurt and exhausted from his strenuous missions with Illumi, and although you could tell he wanted to spend time with you, he was always being whisked away to fight his next foe. Many times, he didn’t even get to sleep before the next mission called him. Your little discovery had given you an idea, and currently you were planning it carefully in your head. You figured you had at least a few hours before he-

“So, you found your birthday present.” Hisoka’s voice startled you, and you wheeled around, amazed at how silent he could be stalking up behind you like that. Your face turned bright red- whatever chance you had to back out before was gone now. You took in the tattered appearance of your boyfriend, complete with blood on his face.

“MY birthday present?” You asked, placing a hand on your hip sassily, and cocking your body to the side. Hisoka loved your normal fiery attitude, which could go toe to toe with his own sarcastic and sharp tongue. He knew you still had a soft side, that desire to be sweet to him, but with how far apart you’d been recently, he hadn’t seen it in a long time.

Hisoka chuckled as he captured you in the cage of his arms, his nose burying in the crook of your neck and breathing in your intoxicating scent.

“Fine, you got me… it’s really MY present.” Hisoka smirked against your neck, already parting his lips to nibble leisurely on your exposed skin. Even in his words and his voice, though they were passionate and fervent, you could sense his exhaustion. The cuts that littered his exposed arms worried you, and in a moment, you drew back, looking up into his golden gaze. Bags were beginning to form under his eyes, and although they held a hungry gleam, you could tell he was close to collapsing.

The sight of you in this outfit, however, had him teeming with excitement despite his need for rejuvenation.

“How many times have I told you not to rummage through my things, y/n? Tsk, Tsk.” Hisoka grinned widely, his own catty eyes monitoring your body hungrily. He dearly appreciated your bust peeking through the fabric, your perfectly shaped thighs accentuated by the half white laced stockings, and the collar around your neck with a small bell that showed how possessive he was of you. If you’d paid even the slightest bit of attention when putting it on, you’d have noticed your name engraved on the metal tag. Of course, it was his plan all along for you to find this little secret, and you could sense that he was trying to be his normal difficult self in denying that fact.

“How many times have a told you not to hide things from me?” You fired back, causing him to withdraw and place a spread hand over his chest.

“Ouch. It seems you’re really in character tonight, kitten.”

His use of the nickname made your blood boil, and your aura pique a little at his purposeful insult of your methods. You wondered what his undercut insult truly meant to call you, but you allowed it to slide. For as much as he could be insufferable, you still had a deep desire to please your lover.

“And…” He just had to continue, his words grating on your nerves just as he wanted. “…since you’re already dressed the part, why don’t you get to cleaning?”

You felt enraged at his comment, for a moment letting your anger get the better of you and distract you from your goal. “I-I’ve been slaving over this house all day, what is there left to clean?!” As soon as the words left your lips, however, you realized you ‘d played right into his trap.

Hisoka’s thin eyebrow kicked as if he was surprised that you don’t know... but as soon as you saw his expression, you got the idea.

“Me, of course,” He reiterated anyway, a sly grin painting his features.

Little did he know, you already had quite the plan in mind for him- and it was something not even he had anticipated.

~~~~~~~~~

After promptly shoving him from the bathroom, you began to set up. You’d requested that he give you ten minutes to set up for him, but knowing how impatient the bastard could be, you swiftly tried to get it done in five. Lit candles were scattered throughout the bathroom, the tub in the center of the room being filled with hot water, almost scalding, just how you knew he liked it. Evening light filtered through the sole window in the room, painting the water and floor tiles with an orange cast. You scattered some bath salts into the water, as well as some cotton candy scented bubble solution, which you knew he loved.

That’s when he came barging through the door, smirk on his face, without so much as asking for your permission. You half expected him to be naked, but he still wore his tattered clothes, and you figured he was just that tired. But as he took in the surroundings before him, his eyes widened, and he seemed surprised that you’d been able to do so much in such a small amount of time.

“…” He didn’t say anything, and you quickly assumed your role in his relaxation before he got the chance to question your motives.

“All for you, Hisoka, my darling.” You threw in a small bow, playing the part of a maid just as you’d practiced in your mind. “I hope that everything is to your liking, my king.”

That nickname made him realize how touch-starved he felt in that moment, but he swallowed the urge to foil your little game so quickly.

Seeming to realize he was visibly gawking, Hisoka closed his mouth and smirked, sauntering forward and reaching for the hem of his shirt to peel it off. Though he couldn’t bring himself to say so outwardly, he was very taken aback that, contrasting with your earlier fire, you’d gone to this much trouble on his behalf. Part of him wanted to patronize you and make you angry, but the other wanted to see when this attitude was taking him.

“Let me help you with that.” You floated forward, dropping your voice an octave to reflect the sensual atmosphere you were painting with your environment. Your hands moved expertly to the bottom of his skintight purple undershirt, where your nimble fingers ghosted just under the fabric, grazing the V-line of his pelvis as you began to slowly remove his shirt.

Hisoka allowed you to do so, but he seemed dazed by how angelic and feathery your touch could be. The skin of his chest burned with passion as you pulled his shirt above his head for him, fingertips grazing tepidly over each muscle as you discarded it to the side. The care you touched him with was something he was unaccustomed to- typically when you touched him, you made it clear exactly what you wanted from him. His gaze was intent on your face, and while you could feel him staring, you paid no mind to it and moved onto his pants.

You coyly shimmied the elastic waistband carefully over his hips, ensuring that the magician would be mesmerized by your slight of hand illusions and the ability to make his worries disappear. It was as if you were the only thing grounding him at this moment, as his breathing picked up.

"There...” You dropped to the ground submissively as you beckoned him to step out of his bloodstained trousers, and along with them you trashed his underwear to the side. You ignored his obvious excitement as you reached up again to touch his thighs.

Hisoka’s breath hitched in his throat as your gloved hands traced the detailed lines of his muscular legs, praising and appreciating every mark and every muscle, your eyes remaining in sharp contact with his all the while. You were numb with appreciation at this point, and you let it show in your every motion.

“Look at you… you are so perfect.” You purred up at him, pushing past the moan he accidentally let slip. “Your body is so gorgeous. Every muscle, every mark, every feature is something that should be admired.”

His mind was a wasteland, driven by his willingness to let you talk him up, edge him closer to snapping just with your words. He had a shameless kink to withhold his own pleasure until his very breaking point, and you were unknowingly expertly fulfilling that desire.

~Oh, don’t look at me like that, y/n… you know I just can’t contain it…~

Hisoka’s body truly was like a finely chiseled sculpture, and it made you so pleased to worship him as you felt he deserved. Even if he felt like he needed to cover his imperfections with Texture Surprise, you always had a way of letting him know you appreciated his scars and flaws. Positive affirmations hadn’t been a part of the magician’s life before you came along, but this was on an entirely new level, it was delicacy, fragility, like he couldn’t comprehend.

“Now, if you’ll just step to the tub.” Hisoka did as you asked, his hand moving into yours, and you helped your man step into the scalding water, watching as he sank down into the tub, coloring the water pink with residual blood.

“Well, Well.” Hisoka snickered as he fully relaxed in the tub, and it seemed he’d gotten his spunk back. “What’s gotten into you, y/n? What game are you playing with me, hmm, kitten? You’re not usually this... eager to please me.” His voice was like honey, his eyes closing as he began to soak. You kneeled, and took your position just behind him, sitting on the floor where you could easily access his body from outside the tub.

Your small, heated laugh sent chills up his spine, because you sent it right into his ear, as your now bare hands began to trace his chest. “And why shouldn’t I be? You are THE Hisoka Morrow. You are the most powerful man around… you deserve this.” You got some soap in your hands, beginning to wash the dirt and dried blood away from his body in circular motions. You did mean your words- while you two loved to play fight, you did have a deep, almost obsessive adoration for Hisoka, and knowing that you could serve him like this was a major turn on.

Hisoka shuddered when your compliments continued into his ear, your teeth grazing up his neck, and to his earlobe, where you nibbled lightly. His body was submitting to your touch, his tense nature flowing out of him as you placed him under your spell.

“You’re so good to me… I’m so lucky to have a guy like you.”

You were being so submissive and serving that Hisoka thought you might have been under some mind control or something. This was like a fantasy come true for the magician- of course he feels like he deserves this kind of treatment from you. He ate up your compliments, they made his ego (and something below the water) grow to painful size. What you were saying was all true, of course. He is the great Hisoka Morrow, and you belong to him. Why shouldn’t you worship him like a God?

But as it played out before him, your reverse psychology got the better of him- and Hisoka ended up being the one questioning his worthiness. He expected you to get mad and retort at him, but you were dedicated to showing him how you truly felt.

He had the tendency to be so brash- sometimes he came home and ravaged your body before even saying hello- that was how strong his hunger was for you. But tonight, you had the ability to read the situation, and knew this care, this pampering, was exactly what he needed to recover.

“Let’s get that face, hm?” You nearly moaned, scooping some makeup remover into your palm and beginning to massage the faded paint from his soft, pale cheeks. Your hands moved back toward his hair, fingertips spreading over his scalp as you massaged. But this seemed to be the final straw for Hisoka, because he startled you by grabbing your wrist with such force that you thought he might snap it. You yelped helplessly as his golden eyes flew open and looked into yours directly, as if he were feasting on your soul. You could feel the weight of his aura rising, your sensual touch becoming too much for him to handle.

You knew that look; you’d seen it countless times before. His honeyed irises reflected a deep lust, accentuated by the offset of his tongue on his bottom lip. Your normal reaction would have been to struggle against him- but you submitted to his will, letting Hisoka’s hand pull yours back to his chest… and then lower.

All was silent as you allowed him to force your wrist below the waterline- and you tried to hide your panic when you realized where the magician was leading your hand. His traced his own V-line with your splayed fingertips, as if teasing himself just along the edges of the pleasure he so desired.

“Hisoka- you’re not being any fun.” You stopped him finally, your orbs reflecting a sense of disappointment, when he let go of your hand reluctantly, but not your gaze. He knew you’d truthfully be more than happy to oblige him- he made sure to guide you toward his end goal.

“You’ve had your fun… and now, I want to have you. This was always the outcome, y/n.” He droned dangerously, relaxing into the tub for a moment longer before he sat up, bringing himself to a standing position once again.

His words broke your resolve into shards, and a small moan escaped your plump lips as your tongue grazed across them. He stood up, confidently putting his manhood at your eye level, droplets of water cascading down his glowing body that was bathed liberally in the setting sunlight.

“I believe it’s your turn to get cleaned, kitten… But let’s get dirty, first.” With that, he snickered evilly, and pulled you into the tub, eager to put your newfound submissiveness to the test.

~FIN~

I likeddd this one :3

Hope you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a comment!

#y/n x hisoka #hisoka x reader #hisoka #hisoka hxh #hisoka morow #hunter x hunter #hxh 2011 #hxh #reader insert

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akindofmagictoo · 2 years

Text

manuscript search tag game

I was tagged by the lovely @zmlorenz! thank you :D

my words are check, sweater, light, night

check (Dragonsong)

Additionally, getting tavern rooms was a little more difficult without a knight’s uniform. Costs made little difference, since Isi wouldn’t have paid on a tab anyway, but they were much less prioritised. Knights would typically get the finest rooms; she’d heard tales of other customers being cleared out to make way for Crown personnel.

Today they’d managed to get a room without too much trouble, a fact of which they were both very glad. Isi sat down on the furthest bed from the door and started to unlace her boots. Robin double-checked the door was closed, then stripped off the gloves he’d taken to wearing. In the heart of the citadel, they would have raised too much suspicion, but now they were less of a problem. Then, with a heartfelt curse, he collapsed onto the other bed.

sweater i already know i don’t have, so have coat instead (Hurricane)

Theo sat in the bow, wrapped in his coat. And no shirt. She looked more closely; he was holding a needle and thread. Of course, because his shirt had been ripped yesterday. His tongue poked out as he concentrated, which was oddly endearing, but his movements were awkward. As she watched, the blunt end of the needle jabbed into his bandaged palm and he nearly dropped it.

light (Dragonsong) (SB no)

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and made an upwards gesture. Even from a distance, the purple markings on his hands glowed from within.

A second later, the fire roared to life.

“That’s illegal, you know,” remarked SB, emptying water out of his boot. “You trying to get us caught?”

“I’d like to see you try and light this,” Robin snapped.

SB shrugged and gestured with his left hand, a similar gesture to the one Robin had used. Isi frowned. Was he mocking Robin?

Nothing happened.

SB gestured again, and a small tongue of flame flickered to life on his fingertip. In its light his face looked ghostly. A cool gust of wind swept through the clearing. Isi shivered and SB’s flame went out, but the tendrils of light on his hand—green, unlike Robin’s—took a few more seconds to fade.

“As you can see, I wouldn’t get very far. But I see why she keeps you around.”

night (Hurricane) (comfort time here we come)

For several minutes he thought he wasn’t going to find her. The night yielded no sign of her, and the light in his hand showed only grass. Then he saw her, shoulders hunched, sitting at the edge of the cliff. She tensed as the lantern light fell on her. He stopped, unsure how to proceed.

Without turning, she said, “I’m fine. Leave me alone.” The hitch in her voice belied her words.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t just leave her alone like this.

“You can’t fix everything,” she snapped, still facing away. “Just stop trying and go.”

He knew that all too well. If he could have fixed everything, he would have. None of this would have happened. But even in the limited light, he could see the dark bloodstains on her shirt. “You’re injured.” That, he could help with.

@diphthongsfordays @ashen-crest @teriwrites and @writingbyjillian you’re up! if you want :) your words are wonder, wander, bow, burn

#tag game #manuscript search tag #wip dragonsong #dragonsong excerpt #wip hurricane #hurricane excerpt

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teyvattherapist · 3 years

Note

Another one, set directly after the one where Sandrone finds Childe~ :)

Sandrone-- by a feat of miracle-- snuck Ajax into his Academy room and squirreled the boy away into the cramped bathroom while he snuck into the infirmary again to retrieve a first aid kit. When he returned, Ajax had stripped off his coat and scarf, leaving him in a shirt that was more holes than fabric and his bloodstained shorts. Wordlessly, Sandrone handed him an energy bar he'd swiped from the cafeteria and wetted a towel, rubbing away the dirt and grime that layered Ajax like a second skin. As the dirt washed away, the wounds were brought into stark relief. Hundreds of them, layered over each other and crisscrossing Ajax's skin like gaping mouths. Some were fully healed, nothing but thin, silvery lines. Others were an angry red and purple, bruised and swollen around the edges. All had clean cuts, suggesting an expert hand behind the blade. "Who did this?" Sandrone asked. He wasn't really expecting an honest answer, anyway. But Ajax was always one to surprise him. "The Abyss. I fell into a hole in the ground, and I was taken away to somewhere." "Was it scary?" Sandrone didn't look up from his ministrations, choosing to focus on the mangled mess that was Ajax's knees (how hard did he fall?) "It was," Ajax sighed dreamily. "But the things I saw down there... it spoke to me. The Abyss spoke to me, Sulien. It told me things that scared the everloving hell out of me, but I'm grateful to them." "Why?" Sandrone finally looked up. There were a hundred questions packed into that one word. Why are you still alright? Why are you thanking the Abyss? Why do you sound so different?

And from the bloodied fragments of Ajax's face, the eye of the Abyss stared back at him, milky and purple. Ajax smiled, a pristine tear in the mangled visage of a beast rebuilt from the ground up. "So I can protect you."

IM SCREAMING, ALMOND, THIS IS

KJFDSKJDFS??

SULIEN BEING A SNEAKY LIL SHIT IS SO TRUE, THAT'S JUST HOW HE WAS-

BUT THE SO I CAN PROTECT YOU?? SO I CAN PROTECT YOU!! OH MY GOSDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD. THE ?? JFDDF YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW!! I KNOW YOU DON'T KNOW THE LOFE, BUT THAT FITS SO WELL IM SCREAMING

as promised. Part two of Desiderium under the cut.

Another nightmare, another sleepless night. This nightmare was real though, it wasn’t like his usual ones, the ones where he was bound by chains and forced to- No, he didn’t want to think about those. His mind wandered to the latest one. He had given thought to Zhongli’s words, he was longing for somebody. But who? The God had never brought it up again, so he didn’t know. It had to be Lumine right? She was pretty, sure. Strong, good with a sword, her eyes were a nice shade of gold. But something still felt off.

He needed to take a walk.. He stopped when he reached the living room, blinking at.. Lumine? Asleep on his couch? The blonde stirred and pushed herself up some, blanket falling around her shoulders. “Sandrone? Ah- your mask- I- Sorry.” She averted her eyes and Sulien realised he wasn’t wearing his mask. This was his house! Of course he wasn’t wearing his mask. He cleared his throat.

“I thought I heard voices.” Ajax commented from the hallway, hair messier than ever from sleep. “I hope it's alright I invited Lumine to stay with us while she’s in Liyue Harbour. It's closer than the inn.” Ajax explained, seeing the panicked body language only he could understand on his fellow harbinger made him feel bad that he forgot to bring it up. Paimon snored away on the armchair, clearly unbothered by it all.

Without his mask, without his gloves, his scars and face on display. He felt uncomfortable. Incredibly uncomfortable. “I’m going for a walk.” Sulien pivoted and made a beeline for the entrance. Lumine rubbed her sleep riddled eyes, a small yawn escaping her as she looked up at Ajax who was busy staring at the archway into the entrance.

The door slammed shut.

“I’ve only known him for a month or so but,” she yawned, “I take it this is abnormal?” She sat up properly, tightening the blanket around her though. Liyue evenings could get quite cold. Ajax nodded his head in response to her question. Abnormal indeed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen such an influx of emotion. Perhaps when they were kids? That was probably it.

Sulien breathed in the fresh air, late at night, he didn’t need his mask, he didn’t need to be his rank. He could just be another nameless person in the streets, he preferred it this way. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants as he walked down the streets. Very few people were out and about so late at night, but he enjoyed watching them. A ghost of a smile on his lips as he watched lovers enjoying a late night getaway or a tired sailor returning home late.

But despite his usual late night activity that often cleared his mind, his mind began to fog once more. Trailing back to his dream, it wasn’t even that bad, especially compared to the usual ones. But being abandoned in a dream, he supposed, tied into the feelings he had been having recently. The stabbing pain in his poor heart, the squeezing of his lungs, stripping his body of blood and air.

There was no way it was about Lumine though. He didn’t feel anything when he looked at her except the pain, there was nothing underneath. He sighed, finding himself at the docks. He looked out on the dark water, lilac eyes searching the depths for answers. He furrowed his brows, all he could think of when he looked at the water, all he was reminded of.. Just one thing.

Ajax.

Sulien shook his head, no, he shouldn’t think of Ajax of all people. He couldn’t, that wasn’t allowed as far as he was aware. Well no relationship was allowed in general, he was their puppet after all, he couldn’t have any strings except to Her. But still.. This seemed somehow worse. His heart lurched at the thought and he hissed in pain, bringing his hand up to his chest, scarred fingers digging into the black fabric of his shirt.

All the books he had read, all the research he did. None of it had any answers for this. And he wondered why he felt wrong. Sulien sighed, sitting on the edge of the docks, legs dangling above the water. Ajax seemed happy with Lumine either way, right? They were much cuter together. Sulien never really belonged anyways, an outsider looking in on everybody else. He sighed, leaning back on his arms.

There were footsteps on the dock behind him and he tensed his body, ice already forming in his fingers. Then the familiar scent of cologne hit him and he watched as Ajax sat down on the docks beside him, wrapped up in Sulien’s coat of all things. Sulien’s heart hurt and he looked out at the water, it was becoming so frequent that it was more of a dull ache. Ajax deserved better than him, better than some man who couldn’t give him what he wanted.

“Talk to me.” Ajax whispered, dull eyes trained on the ocean. “You’re hurting and I want to be there this time.. I wasn’t.. I wasn’t last time.” The man hesitated, pulling one knee up and rested his arm against it. Sulien wished nothing more than for the waves to take him away, drown him until there was nothing left. He could not tell the man beside him how he felt, it was wrong. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m just sick, I’ll be fine.” Sulien manipulated his voice so he sounded more hoarse, as if to hammer in the point that it was nothing more than some freak illness. “We have field work tomorrow, you should go back home and sleep. I’ll walk you back.” Sulien stood and Ajax slowly followed him. But before Sulien could head off the docks, Ajax grabbed his elbow, stopping him.

“Please talk to me when you feel ready.” Sulien merely smiled, one of the ones that Ajax knew was fake and full of lies. But the ginger accepted it in the moment.

Sulien sighed as he summoned his claymore, flipping the massive weapon in one hand. The conversation from the day before played in his head, over and over. But he had work to do now. Why did Ajax care? What did he mean when he said he wasn’t there last time? Sulien swung his weapon, the frostbitten blade slicing clean through the arm of the Ruin Guard. He didn’t expect to be smacked by the automaton’s other arm, he barely protected himself with a wall of ice.

“Sandrone, pay attention!” Ajax called, utterly confused on why his colleague was so lost in thought. Ajax ripped apart his bow, the hydro blades forming as he slashed at the ruin guard. It was a simple side mission, really. Destroy the ruin guard near the skirmisher camp. Easy peasy between the two of them. Hell even alone, just one of them probably could have done it. But it was rare they both were allowed into the field together.

Sulien froze the ruin guard and Ajax’s daggers turned back into his bow, he nocked an arrow and drew his string back. Right through the core, bullseye. “Alright that’s that!” Ajax’s bow dematerialised as the automaton fell. There was a whirring nearby and Sulien narrowed his eyes, Ajax didn’t seem to hear it. But he did.

A wall of ice protected Ajax from the incoming missiles of another automaton. Sulien barely dodged the drill of a ruin hunter. Why were there so many all of a sudden? Ajax easily flipped out of the way of the hit of the ruin guard that had attacked him, sliding back to where he had been when fighting the first one. His bow appeared in his hand and he got into position again. “Tartaglia! How many did the Skirmishers report?” Sulien questioned as blocked an attack with his claymore.

His arms shook as the hunter tried to keep cutting downwards with its long sword-like attachment. He had to yield, ducking underneath it. Ajax bent down on his perch, pointing his bow upwards he released multiple hydro arrows into the air. “They only reported one ruin guard! There was no mention of multiples, let alone a hunter.” Ajax called back as another hydro arrow appeared between his fingers.

Now underneath it the ruin hunter decided this was the time to use lasers. Sulien barely constructed the dome around himself in time, manipulating the frost in the air and creating a solid ice dome. A fourth automaton had Ajax seething, how in the hell did their subordinates miss this? When the one he had been fighting slammed its hand onto Ajax’s perch he used its arm as a bridge, bow turning into a polearm.

The ice around Sulien melted but before he could react a second ruin hunter was slamming into him, sending him flying backwards. “Sulien! Careful!” Ajax called, stabbing his polearm into the core of the ruin guard. Sulien got back up, dodging out of the way of one of the hunters. He ran for his claymore, weaving between various attacks as quickly as he could while Ajax struggled with the ruin guard.

Sulien picked his claymore back up and adjusted his grip on the weapon, he slashed at the legs of the ruin guard Ajax was battling, sending the automaton to the ground, the whirring of its body stopping. Two ruin hunters left- Sulien turned around and was faced with three. What in the world- “Something is summoning them here, Tartaglia. This is abnormal.” Sulien adjusted his grip on his blade, peering through the new crack in his mask. He’d have to fix it again.

A bright light beside him blinded him and Sulien hissed as he turned away from Ajax. He didn’t really have time to focus on the transformation as he shielded the both of them from the incoming missiles. A wall of ice reinforced with vines splintered and exploded, the shards turning into snowflakes as they fell from it. At least the wall had lasted against the missiles.

While Sulien thoroughly distracted one of the ruin hunters, Ajax focused on the other two, he brought his hand down, summoning multiple thunderbolts onto one of the ruin hunters, causing it to collapse to the ground, stunned from the electricity. His bow turned into a water spear as he dashed forward, the water from his weapon spraying the automaton, thoroughly frying it. Sulien’s claymore became encased in ice once more, and the ruin hunter he had to deal with was down for the count.

Ajax turned his attention to the last ruin hunter, turning in time to watch the missiles coming at him. He used his ability to blink, reappearing closer toSulien who was looking worse for wear quite frankly. Ajax lunged forward once more, a wheel of electrified water surrounding the ruin hunter, tightening on it. Sulien stepped forward, releasing a blast of ice that froze the machine, causing it to fall from its awkward frozen position, shattering upon contact on the ground. Ajax was beaming, still in his Abyss form but he let himself actually touch the ground rather than float and he turned towards Sulien.

Sulien's claymore dug into the stone and he used it to keep himself up. Ajax closed the distance between them, his weapon floating beside him. Sulien collapsed onto his knees, the large weapon giving out underneath his weight and clattering to the stone floor of the ruin. Funny.. This didn't hurt as much as the heart problems had been hurting.. Life was funny that way. "Hey, hey what happened?" Ajax shifted back, he was exhausted from the fight and using foul legacy. His eyes trailed down to where Sulien's hand was pressed against his side. Ajax gripped the man's hand, pulling it back. The dark green of his palm stained even darker.

"The ruin hunter hit me." Sulien's head hung low, the mask he wore finally giving out, falling to the stone floor, the crack that had started to form fully breaking through the fragile mask. Ajax wished that Sulien didn't look so void, maybe it could help him assess the extent of the wound. Ajax helped Sulien out of the coat he wore, discarding the heavy material onto the ground. The touch was electrifying to Sulien, whose heart only clenched more. So many things unsaid.. But even now, he figured, he didn't deserve the right to say them.

Ajax pulled the man's shirt up, inspecting the wound. It was bad. Really bad. Sulien didn't even flinch when the man used his hydro vision to try and get rid of some of the blood to see better. "I never wanted this." Sulien mumbled as he stared up at the sky. Yes that much was true, Sulien never wanted to be on the battlefield. He was not a warrior. At one time he wanted to be a scholar, he wanted to teach. All of that ripped away with his memories. This was the end Ajax wanted, surrounded by bodies on the battlefield. Ajax ripped the banner he wore, pressing the fabric against the wound.

"Sulien, keep your eyes open, okay? I'll get you help." Would he be strong enough to carry Sulien and his weapon all the way back to Liyue Harbour? Sulien laughed, it was bitter though and it made Ajax's heart hurt. They both had so many things left unsaid. Ajax grunted as he lifted Sulien, the man hadn't listened. Though, when did he ever listen, Ajax mused. The harbinger had to use foul legacy again, there was no way he'd be able to get from the ruins all the way back to the harbour. The warm blood on his hands made the decision for him.

The stares he got as he moved through Liyue Harbour meant nothing to him, he kept Sulien's coat over the man in question, shielding his face and wound from the general public. The claymore in his free hand as he quickly moved through the streets. There were so many things Ajax hadn't said, so many things he felt, so many things he wanted to do. He gripped the man in his arm tighter.

Ajax kicked the door open, much to the surprise of Zhongli and his guests who watched as the large abyssal creature ducked to get through the doorway. Ajax dropped the claymore in the entrance way, letting the weapon clatter to the ground. He then shifted back, all but falling to his knees, Sulien’s still body rolling from his arms. Ajax slammed his hand into the ground as he tried to push himself back up.

“Help, help him please.” But he found himself unable to get up, breathing too unsteady, his own wounds catching up with him as the adrenalin was all but gone. Zhongli dropped his teacup, moving quickly he picked up Sulien, bringing him further into the house. At least Ajax could rest now, leaning his head against the hallway wall.

“Lumine, go get Baizhu please. Paimon, could you bring me the medical kit from the kitchen?” Zhongli lowered Sulien down onto the couch, pulling the fabric away from the wound the God grimaced. Lumine nodded, stepping over Ajax to get out the door as fast as she could. Paimon also listened, despite her small frame she managed to drag the medical kit into the living room. Zhongli peeled his gloves off and rolled up his sleeves as he tried to stop the flow of blood now staining his furniture.

“He should recover if he doesn’t get an infection. But do you think it is wise to treat Fatui? One less Harbinger may be-”

“I appreciate your concern, but Sandrone is a good friend no matter his occupation. He can’t help his work. Thank you for coming. Have a good night Baizhu.” Zhongli shut the door soon after and then returned to the living room. Sulien was asleep on the couch, a thin blanket covering his lower half while his torso was wrapped in multiple bandages. Ajax, meanwhile, was sitting on the ground, holding Sulien’s hand, head resting against the couch.

“They look kinda cute.” Paimon’s whisper was absolutely not a whisper, but at least she tried as she floated between Zhongli and Lumine, a smile on her face despite the fact it was two harbingers in front of her. She couldn’t know, there was no way for her to know what the two men in front of her have been through. Both alone and together. The scars could give her a hint. But that was it, and she was too naive to get it. And so to her, they were just bloodsoaked warriors who fought in the name of something she did not understand.

To Zhongli though, he’d seen this story play out thousands of times throughout history, and all he could muster was a frown, especially as his eyes traced the scars on Sulien's bare chest. As he retraced their previous conversations, he had first thought maybe it was Lumine. But as he watched the way Ajax nearly killed himself for the man. Zhongli sighed softly. What a tragic position to be in indeed.

“I’ll bring him home. Thank you for helping.” Ajax stood slowly, wincing at the pain he felt. He was in a bad state himself. Lumine held out the tattered coat, the black and navy fabric stained in hidden crimson. Ajax took it, wrapping it around Sulien before hoisting him up with a grunt. Sulien stirred in his arms but remained asleep. “I’ll pick up his claymore tomorrow.” Ajax couldn’t carry the weapon right now.

“Be safe.”

Sulien blinked at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was light outside, but the room was dark, the curtains drawn shut. His side hurt like hell, the events of what happened melding into his fragmented memory though, and he couldn’t quite recall at the moment. He felt weight shift in the bed beside him and he tensed immediately. There were very few he’d ever let close enough to him who-

“I know you’re sleeping but..” Ajax started with a soft sigh and Sulien promptly squeezed his eyes shut and evened out his breathing as if he were sleeping. “I think I know why you’ve been sick lately.. It’s the same reason why I’m sick.” Sulien wanted to furrow his brow as he quickly grew confused but opted to continue pretending he was asleep.

“I thought spending time with Lumine would take my mind off of you but it didn’t.” So he had been doing it on purpose. “Lumine is nice and all. But she’s not you.” Sulien could feel Ajax’s warm hand against his cold one, his long slender fingers playing with the scarred skin of Sulien’s hand. “I just don’t want to ruin the friendship we have if you don’t feel the same. So I tell you when you’re asleep like a coward.” Ajax sighed to himself. “This is so pathetic of me.” He mumbled.

“And then it’s my fault you’re hurt, they were my subordinates and my mission.” Ajax’s voice cracked and he didn’t even try to hide it. Though, Sulien supposed when you’re talking to somebody who is asleep, there’s nothing to hide. “All I do is fail you, what kind of friend am I? If I can’t even be a good friend, how am I supposed to be a good enough lover to tell you how I feel?” Ajax intertwined their fingers, but his touch was so hesitant. His hand was so warm, too.

“You say it all the time.. We’re just pawns in all of this.. This is one choice I have control over in this mess and yet I can’t even make it. You deserve so much more.” Ajax pulled his hand away and Sulien missed the comforting warmth. “You deserve somebody who can help heal those wounds, not.. A bloodthirsty monster like me. Whew, okay.. That helped. Good job Ajax.” Ajax mumbled to himself, a soft sigh of relief now that the weight was off of his chest.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Ajax sat up, dull eyes wide as he looked down at Sulien whose eyes were still closed. “I don’t really know how love is supposed to feel. But I think I feel it.” The man sighed, he didn’t know very much it would seem. “Could I have your hand back? I like how warm you are.” Sulien finally opened his eyes to Ajax staring at him, a range of emotions on the ginger’s face. Huh.. Had he always had that many freckles on his face? Cute.

“How much did you hear?!”

“All of it.” Ajax inhaled sharply, panic setting in. Sulien reached out, grabbing Ajax’s hand, warm. “You deserve somebody who understands the things they are feeling. And I’m not that. But I can try to learn..” Sulien cleared his throat, it hurt to speak but he couldn’t really remember the last time he had. He must have been hit pretty hard. “Te-” he hesitated, looking away from Ajax’s shocked expression and out the window. “Teach me.”

Ajax settled back down on the bed, intertwining their fingers once more. “Okay.. I’ll teach you.”

#moots #asks #Almond<3 #Tandrone #Lane's ocs #Sulien Ambros #Sandrone #p1 of Desiderium is on my main btw #this is p2

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carelessgraces · 3 years

Text

@clpdwings said: “ i’m not in a very rational mood. ” for nikolai!

There’s no hero’s welcome when she returns to Os Alta, though that’s by design; Astoria returns in the early morning, sky streaked with brilliant reds like little rivulets of blood. Her kefta is a mess, filthy and stained with gore and grime, and so she’s traded it for a long wool coat that, at the very least, can keep her warm. She thinks being in Ravka so long has made her soft; she’d been miserable in the Fjerdan cold, though she suspects that much of that misery was due to the company, or lack thereof.

She’s allowed into the Grand Palace without fuss and she makes her way through the halls as easily as if she’d been born here; Nikolai will be in his war room now, not his chambers, not his study. One of the guards standing at the door starts nervously at the sight of her, moves to open the door, and she waves a hand dismissively. She knows what she looks like today, what she’s looked like since reaching Fjerda. ( The first time she’d caught sight of her reflection on the way home, distorted though it was in the warped glass of the windows of Ulensk, she’d stopped and stared — she looked healthy, cheeks flush from the winter air, hair shining, the amber of her eyes seeming a shade closer to gold than brown now that she had some color to her, some life. She hadn’t looked so much like herself since she was on the Volkvolny. )

“No need to announce me,” she says, and the guard clears his throat.

“The King — ”

“ — will be glad to see me.” The guard is still protesting when she opens the door, and she ignores him in favor of pushing it closed behind her. The scene is exactly as she’d imagined it: Zoya’s long fingers tapping in agitation against the table,;Genya with her head propped up in her hand, slumping tiredly due to the hour and, likely, her boredom; David’s eyes a little glazed as he doodles something in the corner of what looks like a terribly important missive. And Nikolai, head bowed, voice a low and hoarse rumble as he speaks, gloved hands shuffling through the papers in front of him. Her chest aches at the sight of him; he hasn’t been sleeping much, if the tired set of his shoulders and the rasp of his voice are any indications. Quietly, Astoria shucks off her coat and drapes it across the back of a chair before standing at attention and clearing her throat. Genya sees her first, eye brightening and a wide smile fast overtaking her exhaustion, and even David looks pleased to see her. Zoya’s expression almost suggests satisfaction as she takes her in, and Astoria wonders, for a heart-stopping second, if she’s made her proud.

But her eyes are trained on Nikolai, who looks up at her slowly, eyes widening as he takes her in, and she can see his muscles tense as he stops himself from moving around the table to her at once — to throttle her, to kiss her, she couldn’t begin to guess. Zoya looks between them, Nikolai’s inscrutable silence and Astoria’s small, rueful smile, and she clears her throat. “Lieutenant Grim, report.”

It takes her a moment to realize that this is her; she’d forgotten that she’d been, officially, promoted. “General Nazyalensky. A formal report’s been delivered to your office in the Little Palace, but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like a moment with the King?”

Genya’s already standing, gathering David to usher him out of the room, but Zoya still hesitates. “Were we — ”

“Unfortunately, yes. We were correct. We were successful, however. There’s a gift for you along with the report, General.” The long cloak, bloodstained and hard-won, once belonging to Jarl Brum’s second in command. Astoria had taken it herself, had very nearly worn it into the Palace herself. She hesitates, then — “Please, Zoya.”

Zoya glances at Nikolai before she relents, moved more by his near-imperceptible nod than by Genya’s loud huff of breath. She casts Astoria a look, then, and it becomes clear — they still haven’t told Nikolai the whole story. She nearly flinches at that; she’d hoped she could avoid having this conversation with him, but it’s necessary. She waits until she hears the door slam closed behind them, and Genya’s loud command that the King and his companion are not to be disturbed for anything short of an invasion, a fire in the palace, or a Volcra in a hat claiming to be the last of the Lantsovs. Nikolai still hasn’t moved, and there’s a heartbreaking marriage of fury and almost desperate relief on his face, and Astoria clears her throat.

“I owe you an explanation. And an apology. And you’ll get both, I promise — I’m just begging you, my love, please, listen before you get any angrier, and try to be rational about this, like I was anyone else and not — ” Not what? His lover, his partner, his future wife, his?

Nikolai’s jaw is set and when he speaks, it’s through gritted teeth. “I’m not in a very rational mood,” he warns, and she can hardly blame him. Tentatively, Astoria moves around the table, the low heel of her boots clicking across the floor, the drab olive trousers and white shirt a stark contrast to the grandeur of the room. When she’s close enough to touch him she stops, unwilling to push beyond whatever boundaries he wants to, rightfully, set.

“You have every reason to be angry,” she says, voice soft. “Let me explain myself?” And then, a corner of her mouth quirking upward in a small, crooked smile — “Saints, it’s good to see you. I missed you. Can you suspend your anger just long enough for me to give you a proper greeting?”

#clpdwings #clpdwings ( nikolai lantsov )#i. here's the truth from my red lips. ( answers )#v. but if you must be clever‚ then be clever. be brave. sleep with fists closed and shoot straight. ( grishaverse | volkvolny )

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kathyprior4200 · 3 years

Text

Haven Hotel: That’s Disengagement!

A princess with long black wavy hair walked out onto a high balcony. She wore a black undershirt with a white bow tie on top. A dark teal shirt, long white pants and white high heel shoes completed the look. Her face was pale white and teal blushes were present on her cheeks. Her eyes consisted of white pupils and dark blue sclera. Perched on her head was a black spiked crown. She was the inverted, antithesis of Charlie, the princess of Hell in a parallel world.

“For all my life, I’ve been taught that all angels have good inside them. But I know that to be a lie. Ever since Lucifer and Lilith, God’s closest angels betrayed Him… I don’t think I can believe in these flawed teachings anymore…”

The princess was Coerciona Egnam, Coercia for short. She was born and raised in Heaven…though she was not at all one would expect her to be in such a place. Self-entitled and pessimistic, nothing much could cheer her up except heavy metal music, rebelling against the rules and the occasional brawl.

“It makes sense that only a worthy few are able to be here in Heaven. Choosing them out of the sea of sinner scum. Yet ironically, even the saints and Heaven-born aren’t flawless all the time. It’s inevitable that all those imperfect beings will go to Hell. They deserve to deal with suffering and challenges. Best of all, they wouldn’t be bound by social expectations. Heck, I wouldn’t be too surprised if it were me. I do enjoy my comfortable life here, just not these restrictions.”

Her servants Pub and Chub were fat white naked cherubs with horns on their heads, small white feathery wings, and black eyes. One tested the strings on an electric guitar while the other shot out torpedoes from a small cannon.

Outside was a white clock tower standing tall against the blue sky. The numbers read 0 then changed to 365 days. Writing above the numbers read “Days until the next cleanse in Hell.”

The black Exorcists did their job in eliminating part of the demon population in 2P Hell like they did every year in the canon Hell. But at the same time each year, the Anti-Exorcists, risen white demons with white bat wings and horns, invaded 2P Heaven. They carried glowing black pitchforks and turned innocent denizens into demons. The Anti-Exorcists would carry books and tempt angels with their innermost desires. Sex, sin, self-expression, sorcery, whatever that need was. Then, once they were hooked, they were stabbed with the pitchforks, causing their wings to burn off and sending them plummeting down to Hell. Nearby families would grieve at their loss.

It was quite the entertaining show for Princess Coercia!

Coercia leaned against the marble balcony and began to sing in a low growl.

(“I’m Always Evading Shadows”)

“At the end of the journey, there’s suffering

Denying it, how often I’ve tried

But my life’s a disgrace

Just a slap in the face

And the harsh truths have all been denied”

“A sliver of despair in this world of light

I know this world’s not free of sin

I search for the good

But get misunderstood

And reality will always win”

“Why have I always been imperfect?

Lost in this brainwashed sea

I wonder if the world’s to blame

I wonder if it could be me”

“I’m always evading shadows

Trapped, drowning in the social flow

Free-will forbidden, my answers are hidden

Lying down below”

“Some people sugarcoat their speeches

I always blab out what I mean

I may be cruel but I am no fool

Things are never what they seem

Believe me”

“I’m always evading shadows

Waiting for people to awaken

In vain”

A nearby portal opened and out came the Exterminators, bloodstains over their wings and bodies and harpoons. They took off their creepy LED masks, their white angelic faces revealed. One by one, the citizens clapped and cheered. One of the Archangels with four black wings flew up to the front, his spiked halo glowing. He took off his mask, revealing a white stern face with yellow eyes and short black hair. In his utility belt were a few daggers, whips, chains and a bottle of emergency holy water.

“Another successful purge,” their leader Samael (Venom of God) praised. “You cleansed more sinners while still keeping the population in a good balance. Well done, all of you.” He cleared his throat and made a cross symbol over his heart. “For the greater good in the name of our Lord.”

The angels repeated the phrase.

“Until next year. Dismissed.” The Archangel soldiers saluted and then flew off separately to see their families. Several of the angels, having been brainwashed in their Exterminator states, shook their heads sadly at what they had done.

All around Coercia, Holy City was basked in a heavenly glow. The city was located up in the sky among the clouds, but no one had to worry about falling, even the ones without their wings out. A large church with the appearance of the Notre Dame Cathedral stood proudly in the city square, made of polished marble. Choirs and songs floated through the stained glass windows as the regular angels went in and out to pray and visit with their neighbors. A large fountain sprouted non-alcoholic wine of a golden color. It had a white statue of Mary and Jesus as a young boy at the top, both with welcoming faces.

The streets were spotless and clean. Roofs and roads were powered by the sun’s rays. The Cloud 9 supermarket had endless amounts of food for sale…no one ever had to worry about going hungry. Charity workers and volunteers worked by the dozens, passing out food and bestowing miracles for those who needed them in the lower levels of Heaven. Metatron, the highest ranking angel, was busy keeping records of human lives, deaths and the messages of God.

This version of Heaven was very similar to the Heaven in the realm next door, the one above the familiar Hell with the Hazbin Hotel. The architecture was almost the same. But unlike those angels with their blonde hair and red blushes, these angels most often had black hair and teal blushes on their pale cheeks. Like in the other Heaven, some of the bipedal angels displayed animal-like characteristics: some had heads of doves, others had swan wings and mannerisms. Many of them had fur, ears, and fluffy tails of dogs and wolves. It was the only place where dogs and cats could dance and prance together without conflict. Still a few others had faces of flowers or even objects like harps and musical instruments.

God’s Palace was the grandest place of all: it was settled at the highest point of Heaven like Mount Olympus. Only a few angels were allowed to visit there. God’s abode, the Empyrean, had an elite group of angels guarding it. Seraph angels with six fiery rainbow wings guarded the throne of God, chanting “Holy, holy, holy!” much to the annoyance to those nearby. There were rumors that in the palace gardens, the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge were grown there, heavily protected.

Lucius and Lilian were Coercia’s parents, those who took the place of Lucifer and Lilith after they were banished. They were named the new king and queen of heaven (Under God and a few Archangels), thus Coercia became the princess.

Lucius had a white face, teal blushes on his cheeks and short dark hair. Lucius wore a gray suit with a dark blue bow tie and a black top hat with two white feathers attacked to the brim. Lilian’s hair was long and black, and she too had the teal blushes and typical angel features. She wore a golden halo crown and an elegant white sequined dress. Both had white wings which could turn black when they were angry or defensive.

In a nearby movie studio, Valentine the butterfly producer, Nil the TV angel and Ashen, the doll angel sat together playing a board game. Despite liking old fashioned shows and the like, they still controlled much of Heaven’s technology and media. Iris, owner of an emporium, cried as she crossed out the name of her former female colleague, Francesca.

Along the street, a red car stopped beside the sidewalk. A tall creature opened the car door and stepped out. The spider angel had a furry dark gray face and body, plus multiple slender arms: six in total. He wore tall boots, green gloves and a shirt with a teal bow-tie near the top. His shirt and sleeves had black and dark green stripes. Green dots resembling eyes were located under his eyes.

“Thank you for the ride,” said the spider angel.

“No problem, Devil Grit,” said the driver Sivart, a white furry owl guy wearing a top hat. He tipped his hat to him and drove away.

Devil Grit walked over to a vending machine and bought himself a granola bar. He then gave it to a homeless guy leaning against the wall.

He walked inside a building and onto a stage in an auditorium. His opponent was already standing nervously at his spot, a microphone rising from the ground and stopping in front of him.

Sir Anguis was the nervous white snake. He had a white face with large slightly teal eyes with white pupils. He wore a white bow tie with a blue circle in the center below his thin neck. Surrounding his face on a flap of skin were bright teal eyes against dark purple. His suit was light gray with dark purple vertical stripes. Finally, he wore a large light gray top hat with a large green moving eye in the center.

The crowd settled into their seats and the debate began.

“Those other brave do gooders will do great with helping me with my presentation. Anyone want to try?”

A couple of hands shot up. Mechanical eggs on robotic legs moved around to help out the white snake lord.

“Oh thank you, my Nestlings,” he said.

Air Anguis pushed a button and a presentation showed up on a screen titled “Heaven Economics and Invention Ideas.”

“I don’t like to fight,” Sir Anguis said, clearing his throat, “and I’m super nervous up here…”

The Nestlings rolled their eyes.

Devil Grit glared at his cowardly opponent who then yelped, “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Heaven doesn’t need any future technology,” Devil Grit argued as he stepped to his podium, “because we already have better things: friendships, food, and fun.”

Sir Anguis glanced down nervously at his note cards and read from them. “At this rate I will persuade the entire East end of Holy City by night’s beginning. Or was it day’s end? And nothing, not a single beauty in this paradise of bliss, will be able to change my mind or escape the constrictive grasp of persuasive argumentation.”

“Heaven will be ours, though it’s mine in my mind. And everybody will know the name of…”

“Scared Snake,” said a female voice.

“W-who said that?” Sir Anguis asked.

“You ready for a debate, old man?”

The voice belonged to Berri Blossom, the opposite of Cherri Bomb in Hell. She was a tall cyclops with black skin, with a single green eye with a black cross in the center. She wore a long dark green dress and white high heeled shoes. Her black skin was decorated in some areas near her shoulders with tiny teal specks. Her long hair was curly, blue at the top and black near the bottom. She pushed her thin dark rimmed glasses up to her face, looking at her organized set of notes in front of her.

She walked over beside her academic partner Devil Grit. “Why don’t you play with your tinker toys somewhere else while I go over the logistics of divine law school?” She looked professional and poised. “Seven Reasons Why Heavenly Traditions Never Fail.”

“You want to go, madam?” Sir Anguis asked, a spark of rebellion in him. He fiddled with a few gadgets before the well-dressed Nestling eggs…egged him on to continue. He flicked his hood back. “Well, let the battle for tenure and status begin!”

A neon logo appeared on the screen, saying “777 News” surrounded by a halo. The names of the news cast appeared on the bottom of the screen.

“Good afternoon, Holy City!” smiled a pale woman with short black hair, wearing a light blue dress. “I’m Catie Carejoy!”

“And I’m Ron Wrench!” said the man next to her, wearing a business suit and who had a wrench for a head.

After discussing the weather, various humane societies, and legends on Earth, Catie continued, “The debate battle is underway between inventor and coward Sir Anguis and professional economics expert Berri Blossom. Coming up next, we have an exclusive interview with the daughter of His Majesty Lucius, who’s here to discuss her brand new passion-project! All that and more after the break!”

Inside the break room, Phalla the romantic butterfly angel adjusted Coercia’s white bow tie. Nearby, a blue tinted sign read “No smoking.” Another sign read “In The Air” in large letters.

“Okay, you remember what to say?” Phalla asked Coercia.

“Yes, I’m ready,” Coercia stated.

Phalla brushed her long black hair from her face, the ends of her black hair teal. Like Vaggie in Hell, Phalla’s thick hair extended down to her legs, giving her hair the appearance of moth wings. She had a glowing green cross over her right eye and her left eye was purple with a white pupil. A teal bow was perched on top of her head. Her skin was light gray and she wore a dark gray crop top with white Xs over her breasts. She also wore leggings, her right legging striped dark green and light gray, her left legging light gray.

“Oh this is gonna be great!” Phalla squealed happily. “How about you make your speech sound more exciting?”

“Come on, Phalla, I know what I’m going to say,” Coercia answered, crossing her arms.

Phalla walked over to the pitcher of ambrosia punch on the table. Pub and Chub ate bagels from the table. Phalla got an idea. “Oh! What if you…”

“Sing a song about it?” Coercia asked, with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not going to. This is serious!” She curled her hand into a fist and brought it down on the palm of her other hand. “They won’t take me serious if I start belting out some random song. Life isn’t a musical.”

“But neither is it an emo tragedy,” Phalla pointed out. “Life is great, especially with all the cute guys around.” Her single purple eye shinned.

“Romance, bleh,” Coercia made a face and Phalla giggled.

“Hey,” Phalla brightened, pulling out a piece of paper. “I have some ideas about what you could say.” She bounced up and down. “The highlighted bits are the best parts!”

“They’re all highlighted,” Coercia replied, scanning the paper. “You call your childish drawing your ideas for me?”

“Sure!” Phalla said. “Look here.” It showed a list of different terms “sinners = winners” “Misunderstood are still good” and “demons and angels party between worlds!” Skulls were lined up at the bottom of the page: “we’re all connected by death.”

“Say, that’s actually pretty good!” Coercia said with a smile of sharp teeth.

“Thanks!” Phalla beamed.

Coercia snatched the piece of paper from her friend and tore it in half, much to her shock. “But you should know my ideas are always better.” She tossed the pieces of paper aside, gave a salute and walked out the door.

Catie waved with a smile. “Hi. I’m Catie Carejoy.” She held out her hand but Coercia didn’t take it, instead remarking, “You can put that away. I don’t touch commoners, I have standards.” Catie, looked stunned, pulling her hand back. “So this project of yours, when did you come up with this idea of creating a hotel in order to…break the law as the rumors say?”

The angel crew murmured nervously.

“I’m gonna keep this short,” Coercia said as she walked over to the desk. “You might think my idea doesn’t hold water, but that doesn’t matter to me. I’m too influential to give a flying feather about what some stuffy old news lady thinks of my proposal.”

The crowd gasped. Ron shook his head.

“Well, if you can’t take constructive criticism and be polite…”

“…and we’re live!” called a voice as a buzzer sounded.

“And we’re back!” Catie said, rushing over into her seat. “So, Carrie…”

“It’s Princess Coerciona Egnam,” said Coercia, sitting in a chair beside her and Ron Wrench.

“Sorry. So tell us about your project.”

Coercia took a deep breath. “As most of you know, I was born here in Heaven, and growing up, I’ve always tried to see the good in everything around me. But recently, I don’t believe that’s always the case. We just completed another Extermination. So many sinful souls lost but for what reason? God said in the Commandments “thou shall not kill,” yet killing random people is okay? If we can’t even trust ourselves with our actions and thoughts, is Heaven truly paradise? Not to mention that ever since Lucifer and Lilith betrayed Him, we don’t know who to really trust. Some people are given too many chances!” She pounded her fist on the desk, startling Catie.

Coercia stood up and made her way forward. “No one is truly flawless. Mistakes are made, but we get blamed for doing things we sometimes enjoy. Sex, drugs, partying, swearing, even violence. All because we don’t live up to impossible standards imposed upon us, both here and on Earth! I can’t stand idly by while the place I live is subjected to such lies and propaganda! So, I’ve been thinking…isn’t there a more liberating way to hinder forced compliance here in Heaven? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to express change through…recreation?”

The angels talked quietly amongst themselves. Phalla nodded in appreciation.

“Well I think yes,” Coercia continued. “So that’s what this project aims to achieve.” She walked back to the desk and sat down. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m opening the first of its kind, a hotel that encourages moderate amounts of so-called sin!” She spread out her arms.

The audience stared in stunned silence. Many of the adults were shaking their heads.

“Who is that girl?” asked a dragon watching from inside a soup kitchen. “What’s her deal with trying to cause more trouble for this world?”

“She’s nuts!” added another angel with an eagle’s head and wings, wearing a suit.

Coercia added nervously while still trying to keep a glare, “I figure it would serve a purpose…a place to work toward self-expression. Yay.”

Among the crowd of angels watching the news outside, a tall man with a thin pale face stood toward the back. He wore a light blue dress suit, had blue and white hair, fluffy deer-like ears, and large blue eyes. His white wings were folded behind him. He watched the program with a look of worry. A deer creature made of light appeared beside him. A sign posted on the wall showing the same man as a DJ read: “Counseling and good times with the Techno Angel!”

A camera man shook his head at Coercia. Phalla walked up to him and pleaded, “Please give her a chance.”

Coercia sighed. “Look, I know every single one of you has insecurities and issues that need not be bottled up. If you could just embrace those sides of yourselves…”

Coercia then smirked. “Maybe I’m not getting through to you.”

Phalla clapped her hands and “ooohed” in excitement as Rub and Chub got the electric guitar ready.

Coercia showed a pair of sharp white teeth and black curved horns emerged from her head. Black feathery wings sprouted from her back and an X appeared over her right eye. A harpoon appeared in her right hand and a spiked halo appeared over her head. She was in her dark angelic Exorcist form. She posed over the desk and began.

(“Inside of Every Angel is a Sinner”)

“I have a dream

I’m here to tell

About a fantastic mind-blowing hotel

One of a kind, go and yell

A great place to dwell

Catering to specific clientele”

*Guitar starts and scream vocals*

“Inside of every angel is a sinner

Inside of every do-gooder is a beast

Inside of every jolly go-lucky mentality

Is a subconscious portion we know the least”

“Resist all the rules

You’re not passive fools!

With just a little time

Down at the Hazbin Hotel!”

“So all you rescuers, priests, and heroes

Gifted athletes, jocks, and cheerios

And the sheep citizens, relief is here!

All of you angels, leaders, and stars

Traditionalists with fancy cars

And the activists on Mars

Show no fear

No taboos, no laws

Embrace your flaws

You’ll be truly free

Check in with me

It’s the right path, you’ll see”

“There’ll be no more pressure

And no more status quo

Just friendship, fun, and endless bags of dough

Establishment put to rest

You’ll be like, “Yes!”

In the tunnel of darkness you’ll go!”

“So all your hierarchies, GMOs, politics, and isms

Lectures, labor standards, and diamond studded prisms

Ancient Indian elitisms

All must die”

“All you fantasizers, artists, servers, and lords

Spoiled children, winners of awards

Imposers of chores

Face your fear!”

“Be who you are

And you’ll go so far

Our service will raise the bar

You’ll be the star

Come from near or afar at the Hazbin Hotel!

Yeah!”

“Wow,” said an angel in a top hat. “That was…alright.”

The crowd clapped half-heartedly.

Catie shook her head. “What in the Nine Levels makes you think a single denizen of Heaven would give two feathers about becoming a sinful person? You have no proof that your little experiment even works! You want people to disobey God and the rules just…because?!”

Coercia lifted up her head. “Well, we have a patron already who believes in our cause.”

“And who might that be?” Catie asked.

“Oh just someone named…Devil Grit.”

“The grumpy old spider?” asked Ron Wrench.

“He’s not old,” argued Catie. “He just acts older than he is.”

“Anyway,” said Catie to Coercia. “You couldn’t even get that guy to do something bad, even if a gun was pointed at his head.”

“Oh I beg to differ,” Coercia argued. “He’s been troubled, dirty, and having conflicted thoughts for two weeks now.”

“Breaking news!” called a voice as the screen changed to a recent debate shown in a building.

The news came on, detailing Devil Grit and his recent TED talk about the 7 Heavenly Virtues.

“Well, it looks like the one discussing the Heavenly Virtues is none other than…conservative Devil Grit! What a coincidence!”

She and Ron did a “ratings!” and jazz hands.

Corceria rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry to say, but it looks like your plan’s departed on arrival,” said Catie. “I hope you learned a good lesson here.”

Coercia’s eyes twitched, her teeth barred. “Lesson?! I’ll teach you a lesson, bitch!” The princess and Catie fought fist and claw on the desk. Ron called for security.

After Coercia was kicked out, Phalla followed her wordlessly to the white limo. Devil Grit, Phalla, and Coercia rode back to the hotel.

Devil Grit lounged in the far seat, wearing an outfit of black with green stripes and green gloves on his four hands.

“Devil,” said Phalla with concern. “I know you were trying to do good by doing your professional speech. But could you please try not to help society in public? Now people won’t believe us when Coercia says that people are free to express their earthly desires.”

“I’m sorry Phalla,” said Devil from the other seat, “But I have a reputation to keep up. Helping the greater good is His plan for all of us. Besides, a good professional debate is a reasonable form of self-expression right?”

“Not to everyone,” said Phalla. “What about the hotel? People are thinking that you don’t care about Coercia’s project at all.”

“I do care, senorita,” said Devil. “I just don’t think it’s going to be easy to accomplish in such a short time. So many angels are fixated on tradition, myself included.”

“I do appreciate all of your help,” said Coercia, still fuming after the interview, arms crossed. “But I will make this project work, even if I have to do it myself.”

The white limo pulled up in front of the hotel, a pristine building made of glass and marble. The group got out of the car and stepped inside.

White wings made of rainbow scales posed as part of the structure on the roof. The stained glass windows by the door were decorated with apples, a tree of life, and many shades of blue and green. The sign above read “Hazbin Hotel” in big letters on the roof. Inside the lobby, a painting of Adam reaching toward God was displayed on the high ceiling. The hotel had seven floors with seven rooms on each floor. There was even a lab down in the basement which belonged to a man named Baker, the opposite of the demon fish scientist Baxter from Hell. A bowl of blue berries and blue raspberries sat on a table below a welcome banner. Phalla rested on a couch while Devil Grit munched on a granola bar.

“It’s probably a good idea to stock up some more food in this place,” said Devil Grit. “Good or bad, people always seem to be greedy when they’re hungry.”

Devil Grit pulled out a chart and went over probabilities and graphs regarding the hotel and the potential number of visitors. Coercia just sighed and walked away toward the door. She went outside and took out her cell phone, calling her mom.

“Carol cakes!” called her mother through the phone. Coercia cringed.

“Mom, I told you not to call me that! I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it,” said Lilian with a giggle. “How was the interview?”

“Meh. It was alright. I proposed my idea, but nobody seemed to buy it.”

Lilian’s tone turned more serious. “Coercia, why do you insist that everyone must go down to that horrible place? Why can’t you just see the good in people?”

“Because,” Coercia said, “Everyone has flaws and they don’t realize it.”

“Yes, but that also applies to you, too. Before you get involved with the lives of others, you need to look inside and critique yourself.”

“I’m a princess. Everyone else has more flaws than I do.”

Lilian let out a long sigh. “Young lady, we’ve been through this I don’t know how many times. You have to push your selfish thoughts aside and just accept the way things are. It’s part of a higher purpose.”

“And what is this “higher purpose” anyway? To be His flock of dazed sheep, dancing around without any care in the world? To not experience ecstasy and adventure, even for just a moment?”

“That stuff is dangerous and forbidden. Thousands of souls would do anything to get up to this level of Heaven. And you just want to throw your life away?”

Coercia paused in thought. “If it means proving myself and serving Him in a way I see fit, then so be it.”

“You have delusions of what entertainment and happiness is, Carol. Sometimes, you need to take the time and appreciate the beauty that’s in front of you.”

“Other than my own refection, I don’t really see beauty in many other things. Well, heavy metal and watching battles…oh and watching sinners beg for their last breaths…”

“You have a lot to learn, dear daughter,” Lilian replied. “I’ll leave you alone to think about it.”

“Whatever.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Coercia hung up and went back inside, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the door frame, closing her eyes in frustration…trying to hold back a stream of tears from the stress.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Two knocks, four ones, then a last one. Coercia turned around with a sigh to answer it. She swung the stained glass door open. From outside stood a tall slender man with a pale light gray face, wearing a light blue pinstriped dress coat. A white upward cross was part of the design on his light blue undershirt. He was carrying a modern microphone atop a staff in his left hand. His small antlers were white and his hair and deer ears were blue with white tips. A monocle rested under his left eye. Coercia narrowed her eyes.

“Hi, excuse me…” he spoke quietly. “Is this…”

Coercia angrily slammed the door in his face.

She opened it again.

“…the right address?” finished the man.

“No!” she shouted, slamming it again.

“Hey Phalla!” called Coercia.

“What?” her friend asked.

“The crybaby Deer Man is at the door!”

“What?!” she asked, blushes appearing on her cheeks.

“Who?” asked Devil Grit.

“What should I do?”

“Well…let him in!” Phalla cried, eye shining.

Coercia rolled her eyes and scoffed. She sighed and opened the door again.

“May I talk now?” the man asked in a radio voice.

“Sure, whatever,” Coercia said.

The man held out a white gloved four-fingered hand. “Rotsala, it’s a pleasure to meet you, miss.” He walked in. Worry was etched on his face. “I saw your interview on the picture show and I was worried sick! I was afraid you were never coming back after your argument. Why I haven’t been that upset since the 1929 Stock Market Crash!” He sniffed, “So many poor orphans…”

“Hello there!” Phalla called with a smile, staring up and walking in front of him. She greeted in Spanish. “I’m so glad you’re here to help out my friend with this new hotel! I’m a big fan of yours and just being in your presence is just…” She swooned. “Oh just take me already you cute, pompous, talk show, blueberry pimp lord!”

She embraced him and he stood stunned, his face blushing. “I do love hugs,” he whispered as she stepped back. “I bet all of you would be so nice and soft after we get to know each other for a while…”

Phalla blushed while Devil Grit and Coercia made disgusted faces. “Not gonna happen, creep,” Devil Grit said.

Rotsala gave a nervous laugh, and popped a strawberry and blueberry into his mouth.

“You’re not gonna cling to us are you?” Phallas asked. “Or, you know…”

“Dear, if I wanted to screw anyone here…I would’ve done so already.”

Rotsala tilted his head. His blue eyes briefly glowed with blue upside down radio dials in them. Electricity sparked around cyan colored voodoo symbols in the air. His eyes filled with tears, tears spilling down his pale gray cheeks.

Phalla watched in bliss, while Devil and Coercia rolled their eyes at the show-off.

Rotsala shook his head and his eyes returned to normal blue.

“No, I’m here because I want to relax and help out.”

“Say what?” Coercia asked, eyebrow raised.

Rotsala held up his staff which glowed blue. He said with a sad crack in his voice, “Goodbye, is this thing off?”

He tapped it. A blue sad looking eye appeared in the center of the microphone. It spoke in a mechanical voice. “You’re silent, quiet and unclear!”

“That’s your motivation motto every day?” Devil Grit asked, crossing his four arms. “Pathetic!”

“Tragic and mysterious, I love it!” Phalla squealed. “It’s like the opposite of announcing. It’s…denouncing.”

Devil Grit elbowed her. “Hun, could you not get attracted to every other man you see? I’m your boyfriend.”

“I can’t help it, love!” she cried. “I just get so distracted easily.”

“Um…you want to help?” Coercia asked.

Rotsala appeared behind them after morphing into light.

“With…” he spoke in her growl then his normal shy sounding voice, “…this random thing you’re trying to do. This hotel. I want to help you run it, if that’s okay.”

“Uh…why?”

Rotsala choked a bit on his words. “Why doesn’t anyone do anything? Sheer absolute lethargy! I’ve been partying around and keeping busy for decades. I would like to do something more relaxing and easier.”

“My work became overwhelming, lacking focus. I’ve come to crave a new form of disengagement!”

Coercia rolled her eyes. “Does getting into a fist fight with a reporter count as disengagement?”

“No,” Rotsala said. “It’s violent and messy, not really my thing. Life is truly strange…reality, fantasy, true tragedy. After all the world is a grave, and the grave is a world of disengagement!”

Coercia brightened a bit. “So, does this mean you think it’s possible to taint an angel? That life is meaningless without your own self to temporarily control it.”

Rotsala sniffed and held up a hand. “Who knows? Anything’s possible. Sinning, oh the vice of humanity! I think there’s plenty left that can change such marvelous saints. But then again, the chance that was given to them was the life they lived before. The reward is this!” He spread out his arms. “According to God, there’s no undoing what is done…or at least that’s the way it should be.”

“So then, why do you want to help me if you don’t fully believe in my cause?” Coercia asked.

Rotsala turned around to look at her. “Consider it an investment in ongoing knowledge for myself and others.” He let out a small smile. “I want to watch the blessed of this world struggle to give into temptation, only to repeatedly realize and raise themselves up the golden ladder of success!” His eyes glowed blue.

“Right…” Coercia began.

“Yes indeed,” Rotsala said, both of them walking off to the side. “I see you taking risks and who better to keep you grounded than I.”

“Ah, so what’s the deal with Mr. Frown over there?” Devil Grit asked.

“Wait, you’ve never heard of him before?” Phalla asked. “You’ve been here longer than me!”

Devil shrugged his shoulders.

“The Techno Angel, one of the most complex beings Heaven as ever seen?”

“Eh, I’m not too big on people.”

Phalla sighed and leaned in close to explain.

“Decades ago, Rotsala manifested in Heaven, seemingly in one day. He began to catch the attention of overlords and archangels who had kept to themselves for centuries. That kind of attraction and magic power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he broadcast his adventures all throughout Heaven just so everyone could experience some joy, tragedy and emotions. Saints starting calling him the Techno Angel, (as unoriginal as that is). Many have speculated what unimaginable force enabled him to rival our world’s most ancient and constructive heroes. But one thing’s for sure: he’s an unpredictable source of silliness, a depressed spirit of mystery and a loving being of order…or disorder, the likes of which we can get involved in, especially if we want to end up aroused!”

“You done?” Devil asked. “He looks like a blueberry businessman. Or a shady con-man. Either way, you’re delusional.”

“Well, I trust him completely!”

“Do you blindly trust any man? All men?”

Phalla skipped over to Coercia. Rotsala examined a family portrait of Lucius, Lilian and a young Coercia in the center. Young Coercia wore a white dress with a turquoise top to it. Her hair was jet black, braided in black barbed wire, her cheeks had teal blushes. Her mother had long black hair and wore a fancy white dress and a round gold crown. Her father was dressed in a dress suit of white and blue, with blue and black stripes in the center below a white bow tie. He wore a large light gray top hat with a dove and a green apple on it. His cane also had a green apple on the top. Both of them were smiling, showing rows of sharp teeth, white wings folded behind them.

“Coercia, listen to me, you can believe this dreamer. He isn’t just a sad face. He’s a miracle maker, pure good! But… don’t count on him to believe in your cause. He could be tainted and rebel, but we don’t know that. He could very well side with God and your parents. And he’s most likely looking for a way to hinder everything we’re trying to do if it means following God’s rules. But still, give him a chance. He’s really sweet.”

“I…” Coercia began. “…we don’t know that. Look, he’s a crying bitch, and he probably doesn’t want to change.”

Phalla put her hands on her friend’s shoulders.

“The whole point of your hotel is to give people a chance! To have faith things will be better and people can embrace their flaws, their true selves! How can you turn someone away? You can’t. It goes against everything you’re trying to do. Everything you believe in.”

Coercia looked downcast. Her friend had a good point. She hated when people made good arguments against her. But it also gave her a chance to consider her thoughts. Phalla kept her grounded and added some cheer to her overall fake afterlife. Coercia smiled at her.

“You take care of yourself,” she said to Phalla.

“Coercia,” warned Phalla, “Unless you are serious about responsibility, do not make a promise with him!”

Demons often made deals with each other that often resulted in gaining power at the cost of one’s soul or freedom. Usually the one who initiated the deal would gain advantage. A demonic deal was bad in and of itself. Breaking an angelic promise could result in rejection, eternal torture and damnation.

“Don’t worry,” said Coercia. “I learned one thing from my dad.” She mimicked his low voice, “Ya don’t break trust with other angels!”

Coercia marched over to the Techno Angel.

“Ok Mr. Rot... You’re prissy as fuck, and you clearly see what I’m trying to do here is a too-dangerous risk. But I don’t.”

Glowing blue symbols briefly appeared around a concerned Rotsala, then vanished.

Coercia continued. “I think everyone deserves a chance to prove they can be themselves. After all, it’s in their nature and the sooner they realize it, the better. So, I’m taking your offer to help. On the condition there be no lessons or lovey-dovey speeches made.”

Rotsala twirled his cane and held out his smallest finger from his right hand.

“So, it’s a promise, then?”

The room was surrounded by a pink aura as light spirits roamed around the walls. The wind blew against Phalla’s and Devil’s faces.

“Nope!” Coercia yelled, holding out her hands. The energy stopped. “No shaking, no promises! I…hmmm…”

She paused in thought.

“As Princess of Heaven and heir to the throne, I hereby order that you help out with this hotel for as long as you desire.”

A moment of pause…

“Sound fair?”

“Fair enough,” Rotsala said with a slump of his shoulders and walked on. His cane vanished.

Rotsala stopped and spotted Phalla to the side.

Phalla went up and tickled him under the chin, much to his shock.

“Smile, deer man!” she said.

Rotsala walked on, speechless.

“So…where is your hotel staff?” Rotsala asked Coercia.

“Uh well,” Coercia began. Rotsala peered at Phalla through his monocle below his left eye.

He stuttered. “You’re going to n-need more than that.”

Rotsala walked over to Devil Grit, who was sitting on a stool.

“And what can I do, my business fellow?” asked Rotsala walking over to the dark furred spider, blushing.

“You can suck a dick,” Devil retorted in a grumpy tone.

“AH! Ok,” said Rotsala, blushing and stepping back. “Can it be yours?”

“Fuck off,” Devil added, pulling out a long knife from his belt.

Rotsala summoned his cane. “Well this just won’t do. You want others to cause trouble, yes? I suppose I can cash in a few favors to deaden things up!”

He snapped his fingers and the wall beside the fireplace cracked. The circle went dark, the fire going out. Ice cold water appeared to fill in the circle and a shadowy figure solely formed inside. Rotsala walked over and removed the dripping figure from the water. A large single purple eye was revealed.

Devil Grit, Phalla and Coercia peered at the creature. With a balloon deflating sound and a puff of white smoke, the figure was revealed.

“This little rascal is Klutzy!” Rotsala announced with a worried smile, dropping the figure.

A black-skinned short cyclops female landed on her face on the floor. She stood up with a grumpy look on her face. She wore a dark green skirt with a white stray cat off to the left side. Her arms and legs were white and stick-shaped. Several blue dots stood out from the lighter green color of her skirt. Her shirt was black with cyan paint spots off to the right. Her large eye took up much of her pale white face; it was dark blue with a white pupil. Her short hair was teal with a dark blue spot off to the left.

“I’m Klutzy,” she grumbled, clenching her fists. “It’s a waste of time to meet you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen strangers.”

Her pupil narrowed from side to side.

“Why are you all men?” she asked. “Have any women here? Or video games? Screw this place.”

She briefly picked up Coercia, then let go.

“Oh man, this place is boring!” she exclaimed. She ran over to a vase and proceeded to knock it over with her elbow. It shattered to pieces on the floor. She tossed couch cushions aside.

“It really needs a more manly touch, disorganized clutter’s more fun.” She grinned as she poured dirt from a flower pot onto the rug.

“Yes, yes, yep, yeah!” she yelled as she proceeded to break windows and knock down more stuff. Then she plopped down on a couch once the room was messy. “I’m bored. Make me some food or something.”

Phalla, Devil, and Coercia looked on in worry, Rotsala just stared off into space. “She has quite the temper sometimes.”

A cat angel was working on a Rubik’s cube with colleagues. His furry face was black, framed by white fur. His little top hat was white with a blue band across it. A big teal bow tie was under his neck, over his black furry chest framed by white fur. His wings were a brilliant blue, with black and red mathematical symbols on either side: the pi symbol, E = mc squared, signs for addition, subtraction, multiplication and division, among others. More symbols were visible within his two pointed ears. His teeth were sharp and purple and his long eyebrows were teal. His eyes were purple and sclera white. The angel placed a Rubik’s cube in front of him. “Ha!” he declared in triumph. Read ‘em and weep, boys! Full…whoa…”

He felt himself being transported in a flash of light to the hotel. Part of the science room that the cat had been in was merged with the hotel lobby…posters of the elements, the solar system and Biblical works of art.

“What in Heaven’s name is going on?

Then he brightened when he saw Rotsala. “You!”

“Ah, Core, my old friend,” Stalaro sniffed, his head briefly looking like it was in between antlers from a stuffed deer head on the wall. “You made it.”

“Glad to see you, you son of the sun!” Core said. “I just completed my Rubik’s cube after just an hour.”

The cube vanished as Rotsala looked on.

Core raced over to Rotsala and embraced him in a side hug. The deer-like man blushed. “So, what can I help you with this time?”

Rotsala blinked nervously. “C-Can we snuggle?”

Core laughed. “I mean, seriously, why’d you bring me here?”

“My friend, I’m doing some dirty work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services. If that’s okay?”

“You must be joking,” Core said, laughing nervously.

“I don’t think so,” he replied.

“You thought it’d be a great idea just to pull me out of nowhere? You think I’m some kind of tragic boy?”

“Maybe,” Rotsala sighed, as crying sounds came from his microphone.

“I ain’t doing no dirty work.”

Rotsala appeared behind him. “Well I figured you would be the perfect face to greet and critique the guests at this fine establishment.”

He pointed his staff off toward a stand with vegetable drinks as claps and boos sounded from his staff.

“With your grumpy cat face and love of solitude…”

Core lifted up the corners of Rotsala mouth with his paws. “Aw come on, Al, Don’t forget to smile once in a while!”

His mouth frowned once he let go.

Rotsala walked over to the stand. “Don’t worry, my friend. I can make this more interesting…if you wish.”

He conjured up a bottle of catnip with his finger.

Core stared with wide happy eyes. “What, you think you can buy me with sad eyes and some cheap catnip? Well, you can!” He purred and took the bottle with him.

Coercia, Devil, and Phalla arrived.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Phalla squealed. “Brilliant idea to have healthy drinks!”

“No!” Coercia protested. “This is supposed to be a place that encourages sin! Not some kind of, frilly, Zen, child’s play…”

Core noticed Devil Grit and slid up to him. “Hey cutie,” he flirted.

“Go screw yourself,” muttered Devil Grit.

“Only if you watch me,” Core joked. “Or more likely, Rotsala will watch you.”

Coercia leaned in close to Core. “Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! You are going to go insane here!” She grinned, her teeth sharp.

“We’re all mad here,” Core replied, sniffing the catnip.

Rotsala walked in, an ever-present frown on his face. “S-so, what do you think?”

Rotsala ran over to him. “This is horrible!” she spat.

“It’s amazing!” Phalla beamed.

Phalla leaned in close between Coercia and Rotsala, embracing them in a hug.

“This is going to be very disengaging,” Rotsala exclaimed. Dubstep sounds emitted from his mouth as he stared around with worry. He stepped away from Phalla. “Coercia, I can’t lose you. We can’t lose you.”

Rotsala changed his light blue suit into a dark blue funeral outfit with a matching top hat. He did the same with Coercia, Devil Grit, Core, Klutzy, and Phalla, who were all wearing black clothing from the early 1900s. Coercia wore a short tan flapper dress and a round matching ladies’ hat. She and Klutzy stared at their outfits in disgust, while Devil Grit, Core and Phalla smiled as they stared at theirs. The room changed, the walls now covered with Voodoo symbols, Christian crosses and deer antlers.

“Take it boys,” Rotsala said. Light spirits appeared and played violins, a piano, and a flute in a sad symphony.

Rotsala sang his reprise to Coercia as they did a slow dance. Coercia looked annoyed but Rotsala smiled.

(“Stalaro’s lament Reprise”)

“You’re on a mission

Your innocence fell

And it’s so dangerous but hey, I wish you well

Yes your blunt protests

Will send you straight to Hell

And I can’t bear to see you banished, or your soul up to sell”

“Don’t bring your life to an end

No matter what you say, I’m still your friend

We all have our wounds to mend

And you’re vulnerable feelings are real, don’t pretend”

“Inside of every angel is love and emotion

They have values and lasting devotion (devotion to God)

While you recruit those around

Don’t be swallowed by the ground

The authorities can retrieve you tight and bound (no turning around)”

“Here above the sky

Spread your wings and fly

They’ll spend a little time

Down at this Haven Ho…”

An explosion rattled the windows. Klutzy saw a door flying toward her face and she broke it in half with a karate chop.

The room and everyone’s clothing returned to normal.

Everyone looked outside and saw a podium in the air, held up by flying metallic eggs. A familiar snake debater appeared.

“Look who it is harboring the striped annoying opponent! We meet again, Rotsala!”

“Do I know you?” Rotsala asked.

Tears came to Anguis’ eyes. “Oh yes, you do! Watch this presentation!”

The eggs danced in the air, singing a song about Sir Anguis trying his best to rule Heaven. He read from notecards. “You all can’t compete with me. Your hotel sucks. I…shall…destroy it…with… my…”

Rotsala giggled and blushed. “Your baby weiner havor?”

Anguis looked up from his cards in anger. “Not like that, pervert!”

Rotsala snapped his fingers. A portal appeared and white tentacles shot out, knocking the podium off balance. The metal eggs knocked into Sir Anguis and he yelled, “Ow that hurt! Show mercy!”

Rotsala used a drop of his blood and the podium exploded in green smoke.

Sir Anguis emerged from the crater, arm shaking, fangs shattered. Rotsala waved a hand and the snake was healed.

“Shoot me with your ray gun,” said a metal egg beside him. Sir Anguis face-planted on the ground.

Rotsala looked on, sadly while everyone else stared, stunned.

“Anyone hungry?” Rotsala asked turning around. “Please don’t make me cook jambalaya. It’s way too spicy and it nearly killed me! I much prefer tea and sugared strawberries, oh the way they melt in my mouth… but anyway, you could say the kick brought me straight into Heaven.”

Rotsala lead the way back to the hotel, the group following him.

“Yes sir, new changes are about to take place. Now…”

Rotsala waved his finger at the lit up sign above the glass, gem-encrusted building on the roof.

The sign changed from “Hazbin Hotel” to “Haven Hotel.”

“Stay tuned.” He finished with low whimpers.

#2PHazbinHotel #heavenhotel #havenhotel #2p

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