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sneksue · 3 years

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Official Post About Lifestyle Changes

The date is January 28, 2021.

I have not had chickens for a while. It will be 2 years in August. I have been meaning to write something here about all of it, but I either have not had time, or the willpower to go through with it. I was in grieving.

In June of 2019, I took a trip from my shared homestead in Mississippi to Colorado to do some long distance hiking. I left all of my animals in the care of my ex husband’s mother and her then boyfriend.

I trusted them to at least do the bare minimum in my animal’s basic care.

That didn’t happen. They failed night after night to close and lock the coop’s door. They wouldn’t change their water during the day and they did not collect eggs.

When I had service on my phone during the hike, I checked in with them to find out that because they had not closed or locked the coop door at night, several birds were “missing”, with more missing every day.

Instead of simply closing the door and providing a safe space for my dear, darling animals to sleep at night, they decided to buy a game camera to see what was happening to them at night.

Their reasoning had absolutely zero logic, and I was pretty pissed.

They found that raccoons were simply just waltzing into the coops and grabbing birds. The raccoons would drag them away into the woods and feast.

By the time our trip was almost over, all of my ducks were gone. There were only a few chickens left, and the guinea fowl were all intact due to roosting 50ft up in oak trees. My cat was also “missing”.

I was heartbroken, devastated. I had spent so much money, time, energy, and love to build this flock. I wanted to provide my “family” and myself with sustainable, renewable food in case of a natural disaster. No one seemed to value my efforts, or even care to see what my end goal was.

On top of grieving for the loss of my feathered babies, my then husband’s younger brother decided to GO OFF on me during our drive back to Mississippi. He claimed I was selfish, psychotic, uncaring, and manipulative. He screamed at me while we were all stuck in the car. He called me a bitch, he called me a liar, he called me a leech. I was stunned in silence. I had been struggling with my mental health for years, and had contemplated suicide more times than I could count. So, it is no surprise that while we were driving 70mph on the interstate, I seriously contemplated opening the car door and leaping out into traffic.

I turned to my husband, my partner, the love of my life, my support system, to back me up. Defend me. Tell his brother that he was wrong. My husband did nothing of the sort. He remained silent as the verbal barrage from his brother continued.

Everything clicked for me then. My mother in law was a complete nutcase, she blamed me for all of my husband’s shortcomings. She viewed me as a failure for not being the perfect housewife. She only saw me as a burden on her son’s happiness. My husband maintained an emotional distance from me for several years. He refused to be intimate towards me. He never showed an interest in me, my thoughts, my feelings. He never stood up for me or was proud to show me off. He never commended my strengths and triumphs, he only pointed out what he viewed were my failures. My brother in law was more of a nutcase than his mother, physically abusing his dog and neglecting his cat, leeching off of his mother and getting handouts at every possible opportunity, spending his days smoking hundreds of dollars of marijuana, drinking booze, playing videogames.

I had no social life, I wasn’t allowed to have a social life.

I had no friends I could hang out with, all of my friends were online.

No matter how much I did for these people and how much I excelled at everything I did, nothing was ever enough. I was never enough.

No wonder I struggled with mental health, eh?

I came to this realization instantaneously, and demanded to be dropped off at my dad’s house in Westminster, CO.

I had none of my personal belongings besides my hiking and camping stuff. I didn’t care, I just had to get away from these toxic monsters.

My husband and I loosely decided that this would be a “break” for our relationship, and that he would go back to MS to work and save up to move here with me. I agreed and I began working and saving up myself.

We both knew he was never going to come here. We were never going to be together again.

We remained in close contact for a few months after the separation. But the contact and our conversations became fewer and less substantial.

One night, as I was walking home from work, I called and told him that I thought we should break up. He admitted to me that he had removed his wedding ring over three weeks prior. I was understandably hurt by that, but I did understand.

He also informed me that all of the birds were gone or dead except for a couple roosters.

I was more devastated by the loss of my birds than the loss of my marriage. If that doesn’t tell you enough, I don’t know what does!!

My cat never returned.

I asked him if we could keep in contact, and he told me he did not want to talk to me or hear from me for several years. I was once again hurt by this, but with his own mental health issues, I again, understood. He did say he can see us being friends in the future, but now that its been some time, I don’t want to be friends with him. I want the best for him, but I can’t bring myself to expose my mentality to his toxicity and negativity.

I asked again and again, over a period of months, for him to return my belongings. He kept putting it off. I told him I was going to drive down there myself and gather everything i could and dispose of the rest.

He agreed, initially, then banned me from coming only after I requested the time off from work and had friends to accompany me on the journey, He promised he’d send all my stuff in several shipments after he sold my car. I told him he could keep the profit from the sale of my car and use it to send me my stuff.

He ended up sending me ONE box of my stuff. And most of it wasn’t even mine. I was appalled and disgusted that he’d be so careless and inconsiderate.

I sent him messages and requested SPECIFIC items after I received the first box. I got no reply, and no more packages to this day have been sent.

He and his family stole my property, killed my pets, and broke my heart.

Thieves, liars, and extremists, the lot of them.

I grieve daily for the loss of my animals and the torture I was put through for nearly 6 years.

All of that out of the way, let me move on to tell you what this blog will now feature.

I have obviously had a change in lifestyle. I no longer live on homesteading land, I live in a roomy two bedroom apartment with my AMAZING fiance.

My love of chickens, I discovered, was a love for reptiles in general. Cuz birds are reptiles and all that jazz.

When I met my fiance, I was already blown away by his attitude, confidence, and view on life right off the bat! He inspired me, made me want to be better to myself.

Meeting him felt weird, at first. It felt weird because I was waiting for this amazing person to... have a catch. There’s gotta be a red flag somewhere. And if there isn’t... he is probably a psychopath who will eventually turn on me and kill me. No one is that... good.

So I thought to myself, “Welp, gotta find out. I’ll go to his house!”

He had a couple little snakes in his room which I demanded to play with. He happily got them out and I was like “THAT’S the catch? Nah, this just convinces me this guy is... my kind of guy.”

I’ve had a love of snakes since early childhood. Not an interest of passion, but I truly loved interacting with and watching them. I’ve never had an innate fear of any insect, (exclude honeybee, because I didn’t know better at 6 years old), or animal. I love them all and everything they do to contribute. All they experience.

I used to catch wild garter snakes and rat snakes in nets, pet them, show them to my mother occasionally to freak her out, and release them. Then watch them.

There were a mating pair of Oteekee Corn Snakes in my HS yard. Every summer we’d see them, out and about hunting, hiding, climbing... growing. They were bright red and jet black with specks of yellow. I could tell these guys were pretty smart and maybe there was more to snakes than I really thought about ever.

So, being sold on this amazing guy, we up and moved in together. Nice. My paycheck kept going up and up. I was saving a ton. I wanted a car and an apartment as soon as possible.

I got bonus after bonus for working hard at my job and everyone hitting labor targets.

We got a place. Nice.

Both got steady jobs. Nice.

There’s uh, a lot of room in this new place. Nice.

Hey it’s my birthday and I can get myself a snake. I have more than enough for supplies and the animal itself.

I browsed on morphmarket for what felt like ages....

I had no idea that there were.... so many complicated genetics with ball pythons. I was highly interested, because if you know me, you know I’m interested in genetics and selective breeding.

I found there were THOUSANDS of genetic combinations, each with unique names. It was like alien code. The animals were beautiful but I had no idea what I was really looking at.

One night while going to our local reptile store to get feeder rats, I was looking around at all the glass window babies, as I usually do.

I made my way around the scorpions, tarantulas, cave scorpions, frogs, lizards, the store’s companion burmese python, and my eyes landed on a little... adorable puppy-eyed baby ball python. The signage stated that it was a Puma. Seemed simple enough. Easy name to remember. I looked into the glass at the lil noodle, and talked all baby talk and shit. The sweet little thing came right up to scope at me, then yawned.

I called an employee over and said I’d like to handle this animal right here. The employee obliged and I fell in love. Sexed as male. Easy buy.

I cried on the way home, It was amazing. I have one picture on here of him a few days after I got him. His name is Mallow, and he is bigger now, but still just as sweet.

So yeah. It went from there. Now, including the boa and ball python that are my fiance’s, and Mallow, we have added 3 more to our family. We are done now, as these animals may live a loooooong time. And they require space and attention just like any other pet. They’re not expensive, and they’re low maintenance care is nearly brainless if you set it up right. They’re statistically and actually safer than dogs or cats, and are absolutely therapeutic and entertaining.

This blog will from this day forward be dedicated to snake content, reptile content, and a lot more fun, actually good pictures. I will also share genetic related stuff I find relevant.

Not having a shitty phone camera is pretty great, tbh.

TLDR: No more homestead. Ex is evil (yeah yeah), New place new animal new me. SNAKES! SNAKES!!!! SNAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKEEEEESSSSS!

I know this post is just for me but whatever, if I make myself laugh. Cool. G’night.

#blog change #lifestyle change #reptile #personal #judge #don't read me #please don't read this #like its awful #seriously #my past #my present #i am good #all is well #i'm growing #chickens to reptiles #homestead to apartment

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beyondconfessor · 4 years

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The Infernal Contracts [10/16]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: It had seemed like semantics, but what did demons argue for in their contracts, if not the finer details?

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

Zelda laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The memories of last night repeated through her mind, reminding her sharply of every mistake. Her actions had been reckless. She should never have allowed Lilith into her home in the first place, she shouldn't have sat next to her, and she should never have kissed her –– amongst other things.

She almost ruined everything, and for what? Some superfluous addition to her magic?

Not only was she hiding the Dark Lord's involvement from Sabrina (made easier by the fact that her niece was seemingly avoiding her) but she was emotionally and physically binding herself to the self-proclaimed Mother of Demons, expecting to not get bitten as a result.

How many times had she, herself, re-iterated the story of the Scorpian and the Frog to Sabrina, reminding her that hell-beings were never to be trusted.

And here she was, swimming across the river with the scorpion on her back.

No. She needed to terminate the contract before anyone found out.

Climbing out of bed, Zelda bathed and then moved to wardrobe to choose an appropriate outfit. It needed to sufficiently show that, yes she was attractive, no she wasn't attainable, not even by the Mother of Demon. Not any more.

It admittedly took longer than it should have to choose, but finally, she ended up deciding on a pair of tailored high-waisted trousers. This way, there was no skirt hiking, no slipping underneath the material. Lilith would have to get creative to seduce her.

Zelda sat at her dresser, choosing her jewellery carefully before pausing at her rings. She still wore the ring Lilith had provided her. It had felt more comfortable on her right hand than the wedding band did on her left. Fiddling with it, she considered removing it to make her decision apparent.

She turned it three times over and then decided that no. It had been a gift, and if Lilith wanted it back, she would need to ask for it.

Besides, it went with all her clothes––which was a rare find in rings these days.

Rising before the vanity mirrors, she looked herself over, ensuring that she looked desirable and unattainable before she left the room.

First thing first, she would drop in for morning tea with Hilda, having promised her the other day. It would make it easy to check on how Sabrina and Ambrose were doing, and then she would make her leave for Lilith's home afterwards, giving her plenty of time to return to the Academy before dinner.

When she arrived at the Mortuary, Sabrina took one look at her and returned upstairs to her room, under the guise of studying.

"Don't worry about her, love. She's just adjusting to change. We all are," Hilda said as she pushed a cup of tea into her hands.

"Adjusting is one way to put it. She's switched from my classes at the Academy. You'd think that I'd ruined her life rather than saving our family."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry. You know how teenagers are, melodramatic about every slight."

"Certainly true," Zelda agreed as she took a sip of the tea. However, she couldn't help but feel hurt by Sabrina's absence. She'd like nothing more than to move past this, but it seemed that was entirely up to her niece.

It made her less inclined to tell her the truth, knowing that it would be the final straw for Sabrina. However, the longer she held onto it, the worse the outcome would be.

She needed to tell her soon.

"Everything alright, Zelds?" Hilda prompted. "He hasn't…tried anything since Rome?"

Zelda looked up from her tea, shaking her head. "No, we're at a stalemate for the moment. He's liking waiting for an opportune moment to get retaliation, but as so far it seems we're held in a ceasefire." Except for how she was occasionally charming him with dreams to soothe their relationship. Eventually, he'd catch on to that too.

Zelda felt as though she was spinning a vast web, and if she weren't careful, she'd get tangled in her own lies.

"I see. And how did the dinner party go?"

Zelda drew in a breath, trying to forget the kiss she'd shared with the Mother of Demons. Or the feeling of the woman's hand, sliding up her thigh. Or how her body had–– "Quite well, I'll have the books returned to you later, during the week."

"Okay, well, not to push but you're bit with the fairies at the moment. Has something happened?"

Zelda stared at her sister, narrowing her eyes. Before she could assure her sister that she was fine and there was nothing discuss (because there wasn't), the sound of the front door opening and shutting interrupted her.

"Are you expecting someone?"

"I'll go see who that is," Hilda said before running off to the foyer.

Zelda rolled her eyes, drawing a sip of her tea. Within a few moments, Mr Scratch was entering the parlour with a book under his arm. "Lady Blackwood," he greeted politely, with a short nod of his head.

Zelda felt her chest constrict at the name. "Mr Scratch," she greeted. "I take it you're here to visit Sabrina?" she asked, hearing the sound of Hilda's footsteps climbing the many stairs towards Sabrina's bedroom.

"Yes, I…"

"With a book?" she asked, gesturing to it. She watched his hand curl tighter around it.

"Yes, uh. For us to study," Nicholas said, looking awkward as he forcibly tried to relax. Zelda rose, coming to stand before him. Nicholas had the look of a warlock trying to hide something and Zelda did not appreciate men coming into her house with the intention of hiding things from her.

She reached out and took the book, watching as the boy briefly fought her before thinking better of it.

"A book of prophecies?" she asked, turning it over. It seemed amusing at first and then realising that Sabrina was involved and Nicholas Scratch had clearly not wanted her to know his intention, her heart began to sink in her chest. "Why are you bringing a book of prophecies to Sabrina?"

"We're studying prophecies in class," he said in an abysmal attempt to lie.

Zelda narrowed her eyes, coming to stand tall before him. "Try again," she suggested.

Nick drew in a breath, looking over his shoulder as if Sabrina might appear at any moment and help, but her niece was still upstairs, likely arguing with Hilda going by the muffled sounds.

"I will not ask again, Mr Scratch, and I don't think I need to remind you as to just what I would do to ensure Sabrina's safety."

In a rush of words, Nick explained everything. Beginning with Sabrina's party, how Harvey and Theo interrupted and drew them to the mines, how there was a prophecy imprinted there depicting Sabrina of being the Herald of Hell. He went on to say how Sabrina had attempted to speak to Ms Wardwell about this (and Zelda felt herself grow cold at the mention of the teacher), but the woman had been strangely absent from her home, so Nicholas advised that he'd moved to the library for research and had found a footnote prophecy, likely discussing Sabrina.

"Which one?" she asked.

Nicholas reached for the book and turned to the page, pointing to the prophecy.

It took two reads to understands, and then Zelda could feel her growing anger and fury. Not only had Sabrina hidden this from her, but this was the goal the Dark Lord had planned.

How fucking dare he.

She snapped the book shut and looked at Nicholas. "Thank you, Mr Scratch," she said, schooling her features. "I appreciate honesty in this house." And then she reached out and placed her hand on his left shoulder, staring into his eye. "But I think you should forget this. After all, you're here to see Sabrina and help her study, are you not?"

The thrum of magic shot through her hand and Zelda watched as Nicholas' eyes became foggy, the spell eating at the memory until it turned to dust. "Sorry, could you say that again?" he asked.

Zelda smiled, drawing her hand away. "I said it's lovely that you came here to help Sabrina study. I expect she has a lot to catch up on with her new classes."

"Ah, yes," Nicholas nodded, turning to look over his shoulder at the sounds of Sabrina approaching. "She's doing well, though."

"I expect nothing less," Zelda said. "Now, if you don't mind, I have some business to attend to."

Zelda left, exiting out of the parlour to the foyer just as Sabrina was coming down the stairs. Zelda considered confronting her about the so-called Herald of Hell mosaic, but bit her tongue instead and smiled politely to her and Hilda both.

"You're leaving already?" Hilda asked. "I thought we might have a spot of lunch?"

"I'm afraid I have some business to attend to."

"Oh, is that why you're so dressed up?" Hilda asked.

"So you're off to some date with his Unholy eminence?" Sabrina snarked.

Zelda felt a sharp comment rise in her throat and then thought better of it. The last thing she needed to do was place any more kindling on that fire burning inside of Sabrina. Given everything that was revealed, no doubt her niece had an amount of pent-up rage, and instead of thoughtfully managing it like an adult, she decided that picking fights were a better use of her time.

"Goodbye. Enjoy your afternoons," Zelda said, before exiting out of the Mortuary to where her car was.

She placed the book of prophecy on the passenger seat before closing the driver's door and starting the car. Her own fury began to burn inside of her as she thought over the prophecy's words again, and what they meant.

Lilith raising her niece to be the Dark Lord's Herald was one thing, possibly something she could view as an honour if it were to happen far in the future, once Sabrina had completed her education. But the prophecy was advising that Sabrina was to sit at his side on the throne, and there was no way in Heaven she would allow her niece to become some child bride. Not to the Dark Lord, nor to anyone for that matter.

Did Lilith know? Was this her true intentions?

No, Zelda couldn't believe it. And yet, it made more sense than she wanted it to.

Arriving at the cottage on the edge of the forest, Zelda parked the car. She took two deep breaths, deciding to get answers first and then seek retribution, before exiting the vehicle.

Clutching the book of prophecy to herself, Zelda walked up to the house and rapped her knuckles onto the front door.

She heard the muffled sound of heels clicking from inside and then the lock turned, the door opening wide for Lilith to lean against the frame and run her eyes over Zelda's body. "Miss me?"

Zelda pushed past the woman into her home. She was too angry (and admittedly a fair amount of worked up) to engage in flirting. Setting the book of prophecy down on the table, she pointed to it and raised her eyebrows at the woman. "Did you know?"

"Did I know…what?" Lilith asked dryly.

"Did you know that about the prophecy?" she hissed.

Lilith's eyes narrowed, all amusement fading as she stepped closer and picked up the book, going to where the page had been bookmarked.

Zelda studied her expression, watching it harden into a neutral mask as she traced her fingers over the footnote prophecy (someone didn't want it to be noticed, but it was stated that all predictions must be written down). "I didn't know about this one," Lilith said as she looked up, snapping the book shut. All playfulness had left the woman, and for the first time since Zelda had met her, Lilith looked unsettled.

No, she couldn't believe her because a few muscles pulled in a particular expression.

"So the miracles, the exorcism, fixing the mortal friend's blindness, that wasn't at your direction?" Zelda asked. "Because I distinctly recall you sauntering into my home-"

"Obviously, that was me, but I didn't know it would––" She cut herself off, drawing in a deep breath. "I thought she was to replace my position as the right hand, which would allow me to ascend to the throne. But obviously not." Zelda watched as the woman's lips pressed tightly, a familiar rage building and then simmering inside of her. "You don't need to believe me, but it is the truth."

"You didn't know?" Zelda asked

"Why would I throw away everything I worked for to some child?" she snapped and then recoiled, looking around the woman as if aware that someone might be listening. "I didn't lie to you, Zelda."

"How am I meant to believe that?"

Lilith gave her a tired look. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

Zelda closed her eyes, feeling a pulling headache surface. She didn't want to believe Lilith, and yet the idea of her stepping aside for Sabrina willingly seemed...wrong.

"Does she know about this?"

Zelda thought better of admitting the entire truth, (there was safety in ignorance after all) and instead stated, "This prophecy was discovered by Mr Scratch who's conveniently forgotten all about it for the moment, so we have time."

"When did this occur?"

"Only moments before I left for here."

Lilith stared at Zelda before a slow smile graced her lips. "And you came rushing to me with the book?"

Zelda flushed, discomforted by the change in mood, knowing where it was likely to go. "I was already planning to visit if you recall. We have matters to discuss. And I came here to accuse you, not do whatever you're inferring."

"Is that so?" Lilith set the book on the table and stepped towards Zelda. "And what 'matters' do we have to discuss?"

Zelda resisted the urge to step back, refusing to allow herself to be corned again. "The contract for one, and that I need to reclaim Leviathan."

"Of course," Lilith nodded, now standing terribly close. "And what problems with the contract do you have?"

"I want to end it."

"I told you, you can end it whenever you desire to." Lilith's hand had begun playing with the collar of Zelda's blouse, smoothing it across her chest, so it sat flush. The touch was innocent enough, but it was pulling a strange desire in Zelda's chest, a longing for the fingers to draw against her skin. "Is that why you came here, to close our contract? Or did you perhaps come here in want of fixing a little problem?"

"I want it to end," Zelda said, but the words had thickened with arousal.

Lilith's smirk widened, "Ending this has nothing to do with want."

Zelda blinked, going to argue that she had explicitly stated only moments ago that contact was about her want to exit from it––and then Zelda realised that no, she hadn't. When they initiated the contract, Lilith had stipulated it was about desiring to leave, not wanting. Panic grew inside of her. "What do you mean it's not about 'want?"

"Oh, I think you know," Lilith said as she tilted her head to look at her. Her fingers began trailing down her blouse, over Zelda's ribs, down to her waist where the trousers rested. "Tell me, Zelda, do you desire to end our contract?" Lilith was leaning forward now, one hand pressing flush against her abdomen, the other coming to curl over the waist of her pants. "Be honest."

It had seemed like semantics, but what did demons argue for in their contracts, if not the finer details?

She drew a breath, feeling the woman's fingers begin to undo the top of the slacks, flicking the button undone.

She wanted the consequence of this relationship to cease. She wanted the desperation she felt when she was near the woman to disappear. She wanted to be lying in bed at night without daydreaming of Lilith next to a man she didn't care for. She wanted to wake up and not feel the sudden longing in her chest. Satan save her, she wanted so many things.

But the ending of this infernal contract? She was at war with herself, knowing that it would likely destroy her and knowing with great certainty that she would happily allow it to if it meant Lilith would look at her like she had last night.

The woman was everywhere in her thoughts. Zelda may not want it, but she did crave the woman's presence in her life. Her touch, her perfume, her voice. May Hell forgive her, she wanted to hear Lilith moan her name again.

"Lilith," she husked. "This will not end well for us."

"Few things do for women like you and me."

The quiet sat with those words, Lilith holding her waist firmly, looking up at her with wide blue eyes, asking her to say the words and Zelda looking down at her, feeling them on her tongue.

She should tell her no, tell her that she couldn't. That she must return to Sabrina and advise her of this prophecy, she must protect the Blackwood children. But her heart was pounding, and Lilith's hands felt as if they were made to hold her.

"Come now, Zelda, say the words," Lilith purred. "You may even get a reward."

"I want you," Zelda admitted. "I yearn for you every other moment of the day and right now all I want, all I desire, is to fall at your knees and worship you."

Lilith's eyes darkened with arousal, before she slipped her heels off, kicking them away. And then she slowly knelt onto her knees before Zelda, as if she were about to pray.

Zelda had only a moment to prepare herself, before she watched the woman's mouth part, her teeth catching the tab of the zipper from her pants, pulling it down with more eroticism than any one person had a right to.

Zelda couldn't recall the last time a lover had been on their knees before her, and as Lilith pulled down her pants, Zelda was sure she'd never been more aroused in her life. She couldn't think to say anything, only stare at the woman with awe as the woman's hands drew up her bare legs, coming to rest on her thighs.

Lilith held for a moment, looking up as if waiting for Zelda to say or do something –– when no response was summoned, she leant forward and pressed her mouth to Zelda's sex, her tongue slipping between her folds and tasting the growing arousal. Zelda moaned, feeling a rush of electricity run down her spine with each slow, firm stroke.

Zelda reached out and drew her hands through the thick mane of hair, encouraging her closer, and as Lilith's pace increased, she found herself falling back against the wall of the room, one hand curling tighter in Lilith's hair, as the other pressed against the wall, trying to hold herself steady.

"Lilith," she whined, feeling the tongue curl against her. "Lilith I-" the praise cut off in a strangled gasp as she looked down to find Lilith's eyes watching her. She knew the woman was smirking between her thighs, absolutely enjoying the hedonistic indulgence she was placing on her.

Zelda stifled a moan, her hand tightening in the woman's hair, eyes squeezing shut as she felt the wave ebb closer. Her body clenched and released, an exhaled breath barely leaving her before she was inhaling again in short-sharp gasps as Lilith began sucking on her clit.

"Satan in Heaven," Zelda hissed as she felt the wave rise, the climax within reach — and then Lilith was pulling away from her, and the Zelda felt as if she was falling.

No, she was falling.

Zelda gasped, her legs tumbling out from under her as she was tugged to the ground, thrown onto her back before Lilith straddled her torso, just over her clavicle, so the weight of her made it difficult to breathe.

Lilith looked down at her, grinning as if she was so delighted that Zelda had defied her. "Here I was offering you a grand prize, and you brought Him into it," Lilith tsked. "I thought I taught you better than that."

"I…" Zelda tried to speak, but the woman's fingertips pressed to her lips, a warning look in her eyes.

"Oh no, language like that will need to be punished." And then Zelda watched as the woman slipped off her clothes, the lingerie underneath being tugged of far faster than Zelda would like. "But I don't know if you really learnt your lesson last time, so I've decided that you're going to be a good girl and use your mouth until such a time as I think of a good lesson. Understood?"

Zelda nodded.

"Now, little witch, open up."

Zelda stared up at the woman, wondering if she was serious about the theatrics, before deciding very quickly that she was.

She parted her lips, looking up at the woman with raised eyebrows. Lilith grinned from above before pushing up onto her knees. There was a moment where she adjusted herself, moving her legs on either side of Zelda's body before she curled her hand into Zelda's hair.

"Remember, no sooner," she said, her tone carrying a warning.

Zelda lifted her head between the woman's thighs and obeyed. She drew her tongue over the woman, tasting the sweet arousal.

Lilith was quiet in pleasure, restrained almost (which only annoyed Zelda as she knew the woman was deliberately holding back her contentment). When she came, it was with a deep breath she held in her lungs, as her hips rocked against Zelda's face. The hand in Zelda's hair grew tight and then loose before she let go altogether and then exhaled with a warm chuckle as she looked down at Zelda.

"You know, I don't think I've thought of anything yet," Lilith said to her. "I hope you have nowhere else to be because you're all mine until I'm done."

Zelda grinned up at her, feeling the chuckle rise. The truth was, at this moment, there was nothing in her thoughts but Lilith. Lilith's body, Lilith's voice. She wanted to worship it all.

Her hands drew up the warm legs, as the sex lowered over her mouth again. She had places to be, she couldn't stay here for all eternity, and yet she wanted to, desired to.

It was as if she was in the most divine worship, and there was nothing that could make her leave this moment.

#lilith #zelda spellman #zelith #madam spellman #caos fanfic #morgan writes #morgans fics

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

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Chapter Sixteen

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The lake being frozen saves me a lot of time. I cross it without worrying of it crumpling under my steps, putting more trust in it than anything else since the last time I’ve been here. The last time I was here… I almost died. I should’ve died. If not for the tundra-esque waters underneath me, I would’ve. In fact, I’m surprised I didn’t drown anyways. Probably would’ve saved me a lot of trouble if I had.

When I look up, I can see the mountain I jumped from. From this angle, I can’t see my old cabin, but I’m certain it’s still up there. I’m excited in my own way to see it again, even though I find it impossible not to imagine a Clone with his gun trained on me waiting. Because, despite the bad memories, I will always love this place. I will always love the system I consider my home. It offered me sanctuary when nothing and no one else would, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful, even if it did try to kill me. I suppose this is what love is- I suppose this is what devotion means. Complete loyalty, no matter the distance or the experience. So, I guess, in my own way, I do love something. I love Ilum. I missed Ilum. I want to stay with Ilum.

There! The cabin! Not twenty feet from where I stand. Just as wooden and strong as ever! And there, not ten feet from me, is the spot where the trooper with the yellow striped helmet shot at me. One of his shots grazed my arm, leaving me with a scar, but I was okay. I can almost still see him there now, just as I do in some of my nightmares, but he isn’t there. Just my cabin, and the stillness of the wind.

I push the door forward, listening to the creak I used to hear so often. I can see the dust in the air, feel the still tension, and smell the silence. It doesn’t feel as warm as it once did, but that must be because of how long it’s been. Three years. Nothing has changed.

The table is still knocked over, my fruit and cheese is just as moldy as when I left it. My bed is just as ruffled up from when I threw the covers off. My old hunting jacket is still crumpled up in the corner, spearheads surrounding it collecting dust.

It feels warmer than I remember. I’m taller now. I could probably reach up and touch the ceiling if I really wanted. Tentatively, I put my left foot forward. It scuffs against the ground, causing me to almost trip. Immediately after, I know I shouldn’t be here.

I’m not welcome anymore. I’ve outgrown the cabin somehow. It may look the same, but it doesn’t feel the same. There is nothing more I can do for it, and nothing more it can do for me. Maker, the thought alone makes me want to shrivel up into a ball and cry.

How could this have happened? How can I feel so unwelcomed in my own home? This shouldn’t be possible. I should be relaxing on the bed right now, a content smile on my face as the air takes me back into its arms. But there is nothing. The air inside shoos me away with malice, begging me to stop stretching it. This was… not what I was expecting.

I turn to the left quickly, my breath falling anxiously from my lips.

On the floor in front of me is a short, wrinkled, green… thing. A male, with long ears protruding off his head and white tufts spurting from it. He dawns cream colored robes that bring out his old, but wise, green eyes. I’ve never encountered his race before. He reminds me very much of a shriveled bean, slowly dehydrating in light of the hottest suns.

Immediately, I take a step back. My heel rolls on the floor and my ankle gives a great twist. I don’t react to it at all. Instead, my left hand dives to my hips, reaching for my lightsabers. They aren’t there.

“Missing something, are you?” the green thing smiles.

I furrow my eyebrows, taking a quick and defensive step forward.

“Make a new one, should you?” then he chuckles. I take another step forward, ready to pick the thing up and crush it against the wall and demand to know what it’s done, but he’s disappeared. Almost as if he hadn’t even been here to begin with.

Make a new one? A new lightsaber?

Yes, my cabin says. Go on. We could use this time away.

It’s not like I have anything to lose from a new lightsaber. And I did say I missed my green and red blades.

I storm out of my cabin then with a hot face. There was nothing better for me to do.

I start my climb to the temple. I already passed the main entrance, but there’s another, lesser known, side entrance that uses the path by my hut. Years ago, I recall attempting to enter the temple through that entrance, but there was a giant ice door in my way. Luckily, there was an abandoned lightsaber I could snag, but I never did find the trick with the door. I never bothered to watch any of the youngling groups for fear of discovery. Now, it seems I have to. Even if I find another abandoned lightsaber, I won’t steal it this time.

I climb the mountain for a while with ease, my body remembering all those primal, survival instincts. Then I slip into a little tunnel to my right and hike upward, eventually making my way back outside and to the side of the mountain. It’s not dark yet, meaning I’ve been making good time.

I wonder what Adamus is doing right now. Probably defending needing me to his little… sausage council. Man, those guys really did not want me with them. I don’t blame them. Lucky for them, they won’t have to worry about it anymore. I have no intention of going back. I won’t see Adamus again, nor Aheka. Admittedly, I feel a little guilty about leaving Aheka. She was trying her best to be kind, and it felt sincere.

There’s a story I heard once on Coruscant, about a bog frog and a scorpion. The scorpion asked the frog for help crossing a river, and the frog accepted. Once it was finished, the scorpion stung and ate the frog. I guess that makes me a scorpion, and Aheka the innocent frog. Unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to eat or kill her, but I can abandon her. I can abandon anyone. I don’t need them.

Then, I’m thinking about Adamus gripping my arm in the middle of his meeting and leering close enough for me to stare deep into his pale eyes, and I have deny needing them all over again.

I find the entrance in the form of a giant hole in the side of the next mountain. I can see the giant ice door I need to get to below, and the large ice crystal above. I drop down to the level below with ease, cracking the snow under my feet. I can see my breath come out in puffs and feel the iciness of my fingers. It’s much colder down here- more stale. Everything feels old and sacred and on the verge of trapping me.

The question now is: what to do? Last time I was here, I couldn’t figure out the trick with the door. I suspect I have to melt it using the crystal above somehow, but it may just be faster to break it myself with the force or lightning.

No, no. Then the crystal would break and hurt me, and I’d have no other way to get into the temple. I shouldn’t disturb the atmosphere more than I have to.

The hole I leaped through… there’s sunlight seeping through it.

Tentatively, I raise my left hand to the air and towards the crystal. The air around me becomes tighter, more connected to it. I can feel the weight of it, the sharpness of the ice. Slowly, then all of a sudden- it lurches in front of the light with a crack! and I watch beams of yellow and white race across the room and meet the ice door.

Then, the door is melting away. It turns to ice and rushes down steps, chilling my feet through my boots and soaking my ankles.

I can see the darkness waiting for me, the whispers calling me inside. I can feel my crystal begging me to step forward, to enter. It tugs me and manipulates me. It wants me. It’s just as tantalizing as the Dark Side. And so, for the first time in my life, I step forward into the Jedi temple, looking for a new lifeline.

The caves are colder than I would prefer. My breath comes out in puffs of white mist, and my reflection dances across the walls of ice. The whole inside of this temple is built like a maze or a cave, forcing me to rely on nothing but instincts. I have no light but my conscience, no sense of direction but the turning in my stomach. Beads of sweat form on my forehead, despite my arms crossing to keep myself warm. How many younglings have died in these caves, I wonder, searching for their own kyber crystal? If I find my own, is it because the force wishes me to live, even after all I have done? No, if future Sith found their crystal here and the force did not stop them, then everything about this universe is deeply flawed.

I come to a fork in front of me. The path ahead is divided into three new roads.

The one on the left is quiet, with only the faint whistling of wind escaping. It feels lonely, abandoned, desolate.

The one on the right is warm, tropical, and deceiving. It feels like a party made to cover up something sinister and overly hot.

The one in the middle is nothing. It’s boring, and gray and unable to give me anything good or bad.

I take the left path. I am left-handed, I enjoy the silence, and I often feel abandoned. It was made for me.

Every so often, I hear whispers from the past. They echo through the cave walls and into my head, bouncing around softly. They feel intense, sad, distant.

“I don’t believe in chance, Commander.”

"Feel, don’t think. Use your instincts.”

“Don’t let this be the end of the Jedi.”

The whispers become darker.

“Anakin!”

“You were my brother!”

“I know him. Your vision is flawed.”

“Anakin, please!”

“Don’t underestimate my power.”

There is silence after the last whisper. Menacing, it lingers in the air. It chills me to the bone, sending vibrations down my spine like I’ve never felt.

What… what really happened that day? I only saw Order Sixty-Six from my view, but what else was there? Why do I feel so much pain?

A pang hits me in my stomach as something glinting catches my eye. A… dead end? No… I felt my crystal here. I know I should’ve gone this way! I jog towards it, disappointment settling in as I realize that of course it’s not that easy. Sure enough, there’s a thick sheet of ice blocking me from going any further.

… I can see something shining on the other side of wall. I can hear it. I can… I can feel it. It’s my crystal.

I’m not in the cave anymore all of a sudden. I’m alone and in the dark- this time literally. The air feels humid and warm in contrast to the cool cave I was previously in. I can hear the echo of my breathing throughout the area, which appears to be unending. I feel my braid hit my back as I whirl around, searching for an exit in the abyss.

“Keres?”

I twirl around, and there she is.

“You’re really out of it today, aren’t you?” Talik coos. Her long eyelashes flutter against her cheeks as she blinks. The light hitting her face makes her full lips shine perfectly. At this, I realize I’m not in the black void anymore. I’m back on our ship, right in the leather seats by our game table.

“I’m just tired,” says a familiar voice from behind me. I turn around again, but this time I see myself. I realize I’m watching the scene play out from a distance, and I step closer with furrowed eyebrows. I know better than to question what the Force brings to me at this point.

I am younger. My shirt is loose and longed sleeved, effectively covering my skinny arms. My braid looks neater than it does now. The makeup under my eyes is cleaner, but also smudged as if I’ve been crying. I am similar, but different to as I am now.

Talik leans forward in her seat with a smirk. She puts her elbows on the table and crosses her arms. “Could’ve sworn I heard you making noises last night. You sure nothing was keeping you up?” She bites her lip and wiggles her eyebrows. I watch my own face go blank with apathy, but I can see the wheels of my mind turn as I try to understand her meaning.

“Not like that,” I finally say. “Must’ve been Kip.”

“Ew. Or Mur.”

I roll my eyes and look away casually. “Please, stop talking.”

Talik throws her head back and lets out a musical laugh. “If you insist.”

The air is quiet for a moment. Old Keres looks down to her lap and fumbles with her fingers (all ten of them), picking at her nails as she thinks. Talik watches me with scrutinizing eyes. She’s analyzing me.

And then the memory all comes back at once. I couldn’t place it at first. Now I can. And my brain feels cloudy as I try not to collapse in on myself with cringe.

“I have something for you,” Talik finally says. I pick my head up with attention, and she digs into her belt pocket and puts a small pouch on the table. “Glitteryll,” she smiles. “Two pounds of it.”

I look at the small pouch with something like lust. I can see my own pupils dilating in and out. My mouth falls open slightly, revealing my top row of teeth about to bite into my lower lip.

“Where’d you get all that, anyway?” I ask.

The Twi’Lek rolls her eyes. “You know what your problem is, Vagor? You’re paranoid. Always. All the time! It never stops!”

A snuff of air leaves my nose with a quick smile in an attempt to relax myself. “I think you’re just jealous I ask better questions than you do.”

“Ha. You wish,” she says with narrow eyes. “But for real. Look at this.”

“It’s impressive,” I shrug, eyeing the pouch with desire again. “But do you really think Mur would appreciate it?”

Talik rolls her eyes. “Paranoia. Again with the paranoia.”

My old self watches her. My eyes flicker between Talik’s. I can’t remember what I was thinking exactly, but I remember thinking very hard. I can see it in my face from the little details no one but me would notice.

“I guess,” I finally mutter. “I think I’m gonna take it easy today. I’ll be at my desk if you need anything.”

I go to exit the booth. In my real body, my hands ball into fists as I watch myself. I already know what happens next. I remember it. I didn’t like it.

Talik swipes the pouch back into her hands and under the table. “You’re always at that desk, Vagor. Will you be working?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Probably, I guess. I can get around to that holster you asked for.”

My hands tighten into smaller balls.

“Well then you’ll need your energy,” Talik smiles. “Here. Wait right here.”

She didn’t give me a chance to respond. Talik sweeps her curvy body out of the booth and into the space we use as a kitchen. My old self watches her go, easing myself back into my seat slowly. I should’ve just gotten up anyway. That’s what makes this whole future my fault.

Talik clicks a button on our caf machine. I could’ve sworn I’d told her I’m not all a fan of the stuff, but I’d just figured she’d forgotten. Instead, my present body keeps my eyes glued to her, as the old me twiddles my thumbs in waiting.

I watch the Twi’Lek remove the pouch from her hands, open it, and set it on the counter. She fills a tall cup with the caf and sits it on the counter. Her slender fingers reach into the bag and pull out a pinch of shimmering dust. She lets it fall into the cup and swirls it around. Then she takes another pinch of the stuff and repeats. Talik does it a third time for good measure. Finally she brings the cup over to the table, steaming and the color of chocolate, setting it down in front of me.

“For you,” Talik smiles sweetly.

I remember having a bad feeling. It’s my fault.

I already know what happens next. I don’t need to see it, though I do anyway. Because what I see now isn’t up to me. Because I know that I can’t be in control of everything.

Still, once it is done, I am somewhat on the verge of tears. It is enough to make me wonder if I am weak. If I deserved what had happened after I accepted the drink. But mostly I think I cry of frustration towards myself. Because even now, after I watched it all, I still make myself believe that Talik didn’t mean any of it.

“Not your fault, it was,” calls a familiar voice from behind me.

Lowering my gaze under the weight of my shame, I turn. I’m no longer looking at the ship, but instead at a large, circular room. The wall is made of windows, revealing an orange sky behind a detailed city. I can see the ship traffic outside, whizzing and whirring as if anyone had anything important to do. The room is lined with dark red chairs. Only one of them is filled.

“Known, how could you?” says the little green one. His eyes narrow and widen as he speaks, as if he were desperately trying to get his point across.

My lips quiver as I search around the room quickly. I can feel the tears welling up again, blurring my vision somewhat. It feels like there’s no more air in the world.

“I should have been smarter,” I finally break. My head falls again. I can’t stop myself from sniffling like a child, but I can obscure his vision from seeing it at least.

“No,” he responds firmly. “No, no, no! Never the fault of the victim, it is. Only that of the perpetrator.”

“So I’m a victim then,” I wipe my nose with the cuff of my sleeve. Being a victim is the very last thing I wanted to be. “Who are you?” I snap suddenly.

The little green things mouth curves into a thin line. A smile. And for some reason, the smile puts me at ease. The creature is old and wise. If he smiles at me, it’s because he is certain things will go alright. If he smiles at me, it’s because he’s certain that the Force will carry my body safely to the shore, no matter how high the waves climb. And who am I to question the thing I believe to bind everything together?

“Right,” I mutter as I roll my puffy eyes. “Jedi.”

“Something clever about you, I knew there was.”

“You don’t need to be force sensitive to see that,” I explain. I can feel my nose drain, and I want to wipe it again.

The Jedi creakily extends his hand to me. His three claws gesture out to me, then to a chair on his right. I eye them suspiciously. They are the thrones of my enemy. I wouldn’t touch them unless it was to ruin it.

Though, now that I see them, I see how plush they are. They remind me of velvet. I haven’t touched velvet many times in my life. True to my nature, the longer I see the furniture, the more curious I become. Finally, I edge myself closer to the thing before I settle into it slowly.

It’s soft. I was right about the velvet. Still, I don’t feel comfortable enough to sink into it all the way. I keep myself poised and upright, and ready to stand at a moments notice.

“Against the Jedi Order what have you?” the old thing croaks.

My index finger twitches reflexively at the question, like a spasm. I don’t think about it too much, but then I miss my ring finger. I can’t seem to forget about it.

I breathe out through my nose slowly. I haven’t told anyone about my reasoning behind my opinion on the Jedi for as long as I’ve been alive. For so long, these opinions have just been bouncing around inside my own head. Am I ready to speak them into the air?

“You’re just not as good as you say you are,” I swallow bitterly. In reality, I want to scream out ‘you left me to die!’, but that doesn’t fit my constant need to be cool as a cucumber. “This whole thing is just ridiculous you know. Why would you even wear robes for a job like this? That doesn’t make any sense. You’ll trip on your own feet. Is that what you want?”

A touch of humor to hide my emotions. A defense mechanism.

“What about your big, fancy temples, huh? Why do I have to walk up so many stairs to meditate? I can just meditate in my own house.”

“Your name, I did not catch.”

“And what’s with all your kriffing diversity? We get it! You’re tolerant. Except when someone has a different world view than you. Then they’re evil and under speculation, right?”

The green thing frowns slightly, but I keep going.

I stand, heated from my tangent. “That’s your whole point, isn’t it? To stand against evil? Have you ever considered that there wouldn’t even be evil without whatever you call good? Everything depends on perspective. Nothing fancy and made up like your moralistic code. Which, by the way, is completely backwards. You really think no one in your order would fall in love?” My hands are practically waving around in the air now as I speak to emphasize my version of enthusiasm. “Waste of time and energy.”

The green one looks at me kindly, for some reason. He doesn’t seem angry. Nor appalled. He is comfortable.

“Master Plo Koon’s chair, you sit in,” he croaks.

I raise an eyebrow at this. The fingers of my left hand run against the velvet, feeling all the pieces of fiber. “Master? As in-”

“Jedi Master,” the thing nods with a small smile. “A good master for you, Master Plo would have been.”

For a split second, I see someone like Jarvers being crushed under the weight of flames in a cockpit. Then he is gone.

But I can’t accept this. The Jedi want me now? After abandoning me? After failing to give me a proper chance? I’ve already shown I can survive on my own. I don’t have anything more to prove to this group of laser sword monks. And I won’t let them control me more than they already have. No one gets to control me but myself. Not even Talik.

My head shakes side to side slightly. I look the Jedi straight in his bright, emerald orbs, and I tell him the truth: “I’d never let anyone be my master. I…” don’t say it, Keres. Don’t say it.

“I don’t want to be good,” I admit. “But I know I’m not evil. I tell myself I am a lot, but I’m not. It’s just perception- view. The truth is I’m in the middle. Whatever you wanna call it- centrism, ambiguity, I don’t care. But if nobody else is going to do it, then I’ll be balanced. Just me. I don’t mind being alone.”

The green thing leans forward in his chair. A hand with three claws reaches out to me. I can see his nails are like thorns that are easy to scratch yourself on. “Master Yoda, I am. Your name?”

I blink once.

The Jedi is not phased by my confession of moral grayness. He is calm and collected. His wise eyes do not deceive me, and I see that he is honest.

I lean forward in the Jedi’s seat as well. My right hand extends to meet the green. “Keres,” I mutter. “Keres Vagor.”

The moment my hand touches his, he’s gone. The room is gone. The planet is gone. Everything is gone. I am standing in the void again. Just when I think I’m alone, two voices whisper nightmares from over both left and right sides of my shoulders.

“You’re a good girl, Keres.”

"Good soldiers follow orders.”

My eyes snap open immediately. There are black and yellow spots dancing across my vision, but other than that, I’m back in the ice caves. The back of my neck is flat against the snowy ground.

Slowly, reality sinks in weight in my right hand. I lift it up and peel back my four fingers. Inside, a small, sharp, faintly glowing rock reveals itself. My crystal.

I leave the temple with a limp, clutching my stomach. The hand is holding the crystal so tight it might be breaking the skin. I’m too exhausted to register it. When I come back to the circular room I initially entered in, I can see the sunlight streaming through still. It must still be the same day, meaning it didn’t take nearly as long as I thought it would.

When I reach the cabin, I feel as if I’m going to throw up. I do- twice. Luckily, there’s a bucket of cheese I was never going to eat anyways that I empty the contents of my stomach into. Then I wipe my sweaty palms and get ready to forge a saber.

The design I come up with for my lightsaber is one I like. Simple, sleek, not overly extravagant.

It is made of onyx. The body has a pattern of silver and black horizontal stripes, and the emitter is tall and slanted. The pommels, when detached from each other, has a small, silver loop for me to clip onto my belt.

With a slow exhale, I place my thumbs over one of the switches. I hold the lightsaber directly in front of me, trying to slow my heartbeat. It’s not easy, and I fail.

I’m about to find out what color my lightsaber is.

I push the switch down. The blade extends to life, tall and searing. It comes out in a shade of golden yellow, matching the one that the Clone marked his helmet with that day. It is not blue, nor red. Nor green, or purple. It is yellow. Amber.

My lightsaber, is yellow.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #star wars story #sith #jedi #gray jedi #grayjedi #star wars prequels #ILUM #the gathering #kybercrystal #lightsaber #light saber #yellow lightsaber #yellowlightsaber #story #yoda

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nanamigatari · 4 years

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Sasori

So this was what all those Ascension Candies were about.

Granted, Nanami didn’t expect to actually have it affect her so quickly. By the time she was out the door and breaking the candy’s shell with her teeth to chew, she could already sense that something was wrong. The sugary mush in her mouth hadn’t even been swallowed yet, but she could already feel what seemed like several needles prickling her tongue. Her resulting coughing it wasn’t as bad as any of her usual ones, but it surprised her enough to allow a good portion of the wretched sweet to travel down her gullet.

Granted, she should have used better judgement, considering the location she had been imprisoned in for the last several months.

Wearing a costume was said to be the main focus of Halloween, she had been told. You wore the garb of another being to hide among the demons and spirits that were said to haunt the land of the living during the apex of the fall season. Some of the city-folk were already dressed so exotically that Nanami wondered why they would even bother with a costume in the first place. Yet she understood how that felt- trying to put a meaning behind something that presented itself as meaningless.

There didn’t seem to be any difficulty or deeper obligation to putting a costume on (other than having to partake social festivities, and that was already forced upon her anyway each month), so she decided to try it. Walking outside to see all the various colors and styles that her island life had hidden from her seemed better than hiding away in her room while in the darkness. All she had to really do was to settle her sights on what sort of outfit to wear and how to make it.

After remembering the strangely garbed ninjas she had met over a year ago, she decided to settle for an animal.

A scorpion.

True, the Maniwa had dressed as pure insects and a scorpion was an arachnid, but it would have felt boring to borrow their style so closely. Scorpions preyed on insects and their own kind, a fact that didn’t escape her notice. On her way to the costume shop, her hair already styled into a heavy braid instead of a ponytail, she recalled the fable she had scanned during her occasional browsing of Spirale’s modern literature.

It had been titled “The Scorpion and the Frog.”

Nanami had read other short tales before it, though it had stuck with her. The moral was something that she felt a bit of a connection to. And the more she had thought about it, the more ‘funny’ it seemed. It formed the basis of her choice, though there was also the fact that she had already seen her fair share of ghosts, zombies, and witches. Those were too on the nose for her... and she never minded sticking out.

Besides adjusting her ponytail to better resemble the stinger of a scorpion, she had parted her bands somewhat, combing and cutting them. Nanami had never given herself a hair-cut unless it was to keep the length of her hair down, always retaining the same style since her youth. Now, however, the sides of her hairline and bangs were trimmed down to look like the jagged limbs of a scorpion, claws and all. She could easily let wash out this gel and let more of it grow out if she decided that Halloween wasn’t for her. Not finished with her costume, she left her home and made her way to the costume shop down the block, on the look-out for make-up to complete the look.

Now here she was, her legs buckling under her as she stumbled into an alley, the cries and shouts of surprise behind her as other people were consumed by their own costumes. Black spots began to fill her eyes as her legs finally crumpled beneath her weight. A series of pops from her joints and even her spine greeted her ears. The latter felt like burning oil had been poured on it. Tendons stretched, muscles swelled, and bones snapped until it felt like she would vomit. When her saliva hit the dirt below, she heard a sizzling hiss.

Hyperventilating and still conscious, Nanami looked down at her own trembling form as the truth of the situation began to dawn on her. Now she could see why she couldn’t feel her legs anymore, much less her toes.

Nanami's whole lower half was that of a massive scorpion. Her human legs had shrunken inwards into her body, replaced by an armored carapace and six sharpened legs. Those legs were connected to a new green and purple abdomen, which sat just below her rear. It was almost like she was sitting on a throne of sorts. A segmented, arching tail jutted out of the end of her abdomen, tipped out with several barbs and a stinger that looked like a golden blade.

Mercifully and strangely, she noticed that her hands hadn’t become pincers, a fact that was confirmed when she stopped touching her face and looked straight at them. They had still developed several patches of tough, scaly, green-colored patches of exoskeleton that reminded her of sores. Some even covered her face; she wasn’t sure about the rest of her body, though aside from some tears in her kimono, her torso was still modestly covered. She was somehow taller, too, much taller. That was a small comfort to her... Not that she would have been embarrassed at all, but she liked her clothes.

The more she observed the features of her new form, the less she knew what to think of it. In the end, she settled for smiling. It became a full-on grin before she struck at the wall next to her- a web of cracks soon formed along the brickwork. She was stronger, too.

Perfect.

Nanami didn’t need a puddle or a mirror to see anymore now. She shakily rose up to her full height (one that would have made her own brother short in comparison to her chagrin) and did her best to move. It started out as her dragging herself along before managing something of a crawl. Several new synapses were firing off in her brain at once, a plethora of new instincts beginning to awaken.

It was both liberating and repulsive at once.

You should be happy, she thought to herself, already noticing the other transformations around her. You don’t know how this body works at all. Maybe it will mar that technique of yours. Besides, now you finally look as warped as your mind. It’s funny, isn’t it?

Ignoring the stares and gasps around her, Nanami let a chuckle escape her. The ending of the fable repeated in her mind and she finally escalated into a giggle.

Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog's back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.

"You fool!" croaked the frog. "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?"

The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog's back.

"I could not help myself. It is my nature."

Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.

#;My Story #Title is a reference to the ninja corps in her series who all used animal themed names #If only the Insect gang could see her now #isola event #;tw body horror

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immiebee · 4 years

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“Can I have that.” Lactarius pointed towards the fishermen’s blood stained bucket currently resting beside them on the the butchering table.

Quirking an scarred eyebrow the man chewed on the end of his burning cigar. “Now why ‘ould ya need my innard bucket?”

“I’m going to fish.”

“Where’s your pole.”

“I don’t need one.”

A sharp laugh followed by a chorus of heckles and jeers from other fishermen and sailors alike rang through the docks. The witch stood firm as the men caught their breath. “You think hand fishing is going to catch you anything in these waters, girl? Go find a stream and catch frogs in like the other fools and children.”

Crossing her arms Lactarius glared daggers, “Just give me a handful of guts and I’ll teach you BOYS how to actually catch a decent meal.”

The man stabbed his long dagger into the cutting board. Standing over his large fish he spat out his cigar, blood shot eyes glaring down at the witch. Grabbing her by the collar his foul breath filled her nose, turning her head to the side as she tried not to breath in the rum and cigar he had been indulging in.

“Twelve years I’ve been fish in’ these waters. What makes YOU think you are better than me.”

“Give me a handful of guts and I’ll prove it.”

Tossing her back he reached into the bucket before tossing a handful of innards in the witch’s face and chest. Others laughing as she stood back on her feet, guts and blood dripping down her chest. The men blinking in surprise when she shifted into her manticore form before leaning down to rub the freshly spilled guts and blood along her chin and neck. Her mane dripping in the foul smelling liquid before she turned towards the old broken dock that nobody ever used anymore, not even for fishing.

The men glancing at each other soon followed behind her as they watched her carefully trot out to the end of the dock. Spreading her rear legs wide, Lactarius carefully sank her upper half into the salty water, her head barely above the water. With her nose above the water the men could hear her snorts and deep breathing as she braced herself for a long wait.

Nearly thirty minutes later the men were heckling once more. Their loud rowdy laughter drawing a crowd as they continued to watch the manticore bob up and down with the surf. Some of the shoppers getting in their own taunts or just simply laughing at the scene before them. A small growing crowd of street urchins hung off the cobblestone wall or sat on barrels watching in awe, the older ones quietly telling the younger ones what she was doing. Lactarius on the other hand was patient. She felt small fishes swimming and nibbling in her mane, soon bigger ones came, the witch flinching when one would pull on her flesh instead of the raw meat currently hiding in her mane.

Soon she felt a large fish swim through her arms. Instinctively curling her clawed fingers inwards, so not to scare it she dug her back claws into the wood. Soon she would have her fish and the sailors would get a surprise. Closing her eyes she drew in a deep breath.

...........Wait.......

The smaller fish soon swarmed into her mane. A sudden surge of bubbles filled the water around her head. Taking a deep breath Lactarius dove her head under as her clawed hand slammed like a vice around the lunging predator. Water filled her mouth as her jaws opened to clamp around the top of the fished head.

The crowd shouting in fear as the water around the manticore’s head turned red. The frantic splashing along with Lactarius shaking and pulling had some of the sailors rushing towards the dock. The manticore whipping her scorpion tail back and forth as her front legs finally dig into the wooden dock as she drug the struggling fish out of the water. The drunks gapping in awe as Lactarius pulled up the weakly struggling barracuda from the water. Shaking her head free of excess water, she soon proudly marched over to the cobblestone path as the men parted for her.

Gently dropping the nearly three foot long barracuda onto the cobblestone, Lactarius licked her jowls. ~Call me anytime you need a fishing lesson, boy.~

The drunk sputtering curses as he scratched at his head in embarrassed at being shown up. Flicking her ears forwards Lactarius gave a loud chuff when Valerius rounded the corner with a wicker basket full of an assortment of cheeses, some wrapped meats, and a large loaf of Selsai’s pumpkin bread. The man smirking at the dumbfounded look on the sailor’s faces and his feral witch currently picking up a large fish. Holding out his hand he gently plucked a few strands of seaweed from her mane. “Giving fishing lessons again, beloved.”

Prancing over with her fish in her jaws, the pair soon made their way back into the main shopping district. Valerius peering down at her as she happily purred beside him, “You shouldn’t heckle the sailors like that. They can be brutish some days, especially when they’ve been drinking.” Gently reaching down he took a small cloth doily from the basket before wiping her face dry of excess water. “Although I rather enjoyed watching those imbeciles scratch their heads at your unusual fishing technique.”

~Must be a nice vacation for their balls.....~

Valerius double over as she continued back towards their carriage, his laughter filling the street as others give the Consul a smirk of their own. Rarely he lets himself laugh and especially one that is unrestrained and brash even for him. A laugh that only Lactarius seems to bring forth from him. Quickly catching up to her, he lets his hip swing wide and bumped her in the side. Lactarius stumbles just slightly before swishing her tail wide and playfully swatting him the shoulder, her stinger tucked safely against her carapace so not to stab her lover, but more so punch him. The man clutching the wicker basket as he nearly dropped it.

“Lets head home.” Valerius giving a curt bow as he opened the door for her, “My mother and sister should be joining us this evening.” Rolling his eyes when she stumbled up the steps with her prize still in her jaws. “You’ll need a bath once we get home as well. I thought you were going to buy a fish not catch one.”

~I wasn’t about to spend fifteen gold for a scrappy looking salmon! Or buy shitty cuts off of a tuna!~ Huffing she plonked down on the floor of the carriage as Valerius clamoured around her and sat on the bench with his basket. ~Besides Gannen loves barracuda! And we will have enough for larger cuts for everyone tonight at dinner.~

Rubbing his eyes Valerius peered down at her, “You didn’t eat breakfast again did you.........”

~Nope!~

“Please don’t bite my sister tonight. You know how she likes stealing off of others plates.”

Chortling Lactarius looked up as she lapped at a small gash on her lower arm, ~Tell her she better be real fast because I’m real hungry.~

“You imp.” Valerius smiles down at her, leaning back he made a quick mental note to tell his sister to just steal off his plate tonight.

#fan apprentice #the arcana lactarius #the arcana valerius

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loopy777 · 4 years

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whats your thoughts on Venom, the green goblin and doctor octopus, the three characters who are generally held up as spidermans archenemies? which one do you think has the best potential as spidermans definite enemy if they were written perfectly, and which series do you think had the best portrayal of each of them respectively?

If I had to crown THE Spider-Man Archnemesis, I would have to give it to Green Goblin. Doc Ock is the oldest, and the first to both defeat Spider-Man and make him consider quitting, but ultimately Norman has taken more from Spidey, gotten more personal in their conflict, and created more of a legacy for the mythos. Sorry, Otto.

That said, I don’t really like designating a single archnemesis for Spidey because Norman hasn’t completely dominated the field. Ock runs the Sinister Six, Spidey’s big Villain Team and one of the best Villain Teams in all of superhero comics. (And let’s face it, the Legion of Doom is bigger only because DC characters got more media exposure for a long time and Superman’s villains are so good that Lex Luthor, Brainiac, and Bizarro lift up the likes of Solomon Grundy and Cheetah when they’re all on a team together.) Venom has the whole Evil Knockoff thing going and a unique and terrifying ‘stalker’ gimmick that puts him in a special class, not to mention how he directly overpowers or counters all Spidey’s abilities.

And, honestly, the whole ‘Goblin’ gimmick is kind of arbitrary and has nothing to do with spiders. Clowns and bats don’t have a direct relation, but at least they’re opposites in terms of color and purpose, so Batman and Joker kind of seem like twisted rivals. Goblins and spiders are only linked in that they’re both kind of Halloweeny, but Spider-Man has little to do with Halloween or spooky stuff, anyway. But I better cut this line of thought off before I start explaining how Spider-Man shouldn’t be Spider-Man at all and him being Frog-Man would make just as much sense and then we wouldn’t have to deal with pictures of icky spiders in all Spider-Man media.

But yeah, Norman Osborne is still indisputably a cut above the others.

Ock is really just a typical mad scientist with a robot-arm gimmick that allows him to directly fight with Spider-man. He’s well-written and constructed, granted, and I love how his arrogance contrasts with Peter’s humility, how they’re such opposites in terms of empathy, and how different their paths become after science-based accidents that granted them unusual powers. Bendis’s “Ultimate Spider-Man” comics nicely honed in on this theme, and I also appreciate how both Stan Lee’s prose story in the unrelated “Ultimate Spider-Man” short story collection (...it’s a title Marvel loves to reuse for some reason) and John Byrne’s attempted origin revision linked the irradiated spider to the explosion that created Ock. All great villains should be dark reflections of their heroes, but while Ock has gotten some great stories that make him a top-tier villain, he still offers little storytelling potential beyond his mad scientist archetype. Now, I know what comics-readers are thinking at this point: Yes, I did read the original “Superior Spider-Man” run and I think there’s some real potential there, but honestly I feel like it was under-served by Dan Slott’s pacing and foibles. And I haven’t seen an adaptation of it yet that I think really fulfills the possibilities. But the idea is great, so maybe Otto will get his chance to level up his rivalry with Spider-Man.

Venom’s problem is that he’s a little too focused on his revenge on Spider-Man. The stories where he stalks Spidey, wandering into Peter’s life to fold laundry with Aunt May, popping up to have a surprise tussle with Spidey just to throw him off-balance, etc- Those are great and make Venom seem super-scary, especially since Spidey can’t beat Venom in a fight without some kind of edge or gimmick. But all Venom wants is revenge on Spidey, so after he’s failed a few times to get it, what do you do with the character? He’s not scary if he keeps failing. The original idea was to have the symbiote pass on from Eddie Brock and take on other hosts, and that might have opened the door for some new kinds of stories. I know this was eventually implemented 20 years later, with the original Scorpion getting to be Venom for a while, and symbiotes becoming a whole Thing with a bunch in various colors, but I didn’t read any of those stories and they don’t seem to have left much impression on the general Spider-Man fandom. Ultimately, it was chosen to ‘redeem’ Eddie Brock and make Venom into an “anti-hero” (for a definition of the term that means “protagonist who kills people but doesn’t have to worry about that whole ‘consistently laid low by their fatal flaw’ thing”) which did sell a bunch of comics in the 90′s and set up some tension-filled team-ups with Spidey. Nice idea, if implemented in a really shaggy way, but -- again -- what do you do after that? Venom/Eddie isn’t really a compelling lead who you can keep telling stories about. (Yes, I saw the Venom movie. It has like two minutes of amusing material and two hours of boring dreck, and none of it is memorable.) And making him evil again runs into the same problem as having left him evil in the first place. Venom was a good idea whose time came and went, and perhaps someone will find a way to make him fresh again. But until then, I think he gets by more on his visuals than anything.

The Green Goblin, in contrast, has a lot going for him in terms of storytelling potential. He’s a mad scientist, a wanna-be crime boss, a dark shadow of his civilian identity looking for revenge and/or illicit thrills, and personally has that ongoing personal hatred/rivalry for Spider-Man. That offers a whole bunch of storytelling paths, all of which have been taken and proven fruitful over the years. And that’s without getting into how Norman Osborne is the father of Peter’s best friend Harry, a flawed father figure to Peter in his own right, a ruthless millionaire industrialist before Lex Luthor gave it a try, and another dark reflection of the paths Peter could have taken in both aspects of his life. Even when Norman is dead, his legacy continued to be felt for 20-odd years with how Harry fell from grace. You can even link Norman to his spin-off the Hobgoblin; just Norman’s equipment getting passed on created another enduring villain. And, again, that’s without even looking at Norman’s murder of the one-time romantic lead Gwen Stacy being the event that ended the Silver Age of comics. Norman Osborne is just plain a truly great, versatile villainous character who has managed, despite being almost 60 years old, to still maintain an “Oh, no!” impact among Spidey fans when he shows up. Sure, there have been bad stories about him, and some over-exposure at times, but that hasn’t diminished his impact or ongoing potential.

As for portrayals, I’m overall a fan of the 90′s animated series and their takes. That show really petered out after a few seasons, but it introduced Ock with a bang and got a lot of mileage out of him. Venom got to do the whole scary stalker thing, and then the show put him on a shelf until his ‘redeeming’ death to avoid over-exposure, so that worked out fairly well. And while it’s odd how Kingpin and Hobgoblin took over most of the Green Goblin’s role in Spider-Man’s stories, what we did get of Norman was good, and the performance that went into the Green Goblin really sold the weird psychology of the character. Those three villains definitely got a chance to shine in this series, even if Green Goblin was under-used.

I also think the Sam Raimi movies overall did a good job. Green Goblin was perfect- aside from the costume. Willem Dafoe utterly nailed every aspect of the character, right down to the body language, and the movie did a good job condensing his rivalry with Spider-Man into a single movie. As for Doctor Octopus, I’m of two minds about how he got a sympathetic backstory and characterization. On the one hand, it made him a more compelling character and Alfred Molina danced nicely between the human side and the villainous side. On the other hand, though, Ock has classically never really been sympathetic; he’s an utter monster in behavior, and the insertions of bullying in his backstory have never changed that. Venom is the only one I think didn’t really get a chance in these movies; I like this version of Eddie Brock (really!), but he barely got an opportunity to be Venom and you can tell no aspect of the character really inspired the storytellers.

Spectacular Spider-Man, naturally, did a good job. I think this version of Green Goblin is the best of them all; I even got my DVD set signed by Steve Blum! Ock was also done well, getting to be the Master Planner as well as leader of the Sinister Six, although I don’t think I quite buy the timidity they gave the character before the accident. Similarly, I didn’t buy Eddie’s fall from grace as Peter’s best friend; one episode he’s upset because Peter’s blowing him off for hanging out, and the next episode he’s nearly killing Mary Jane just to mess with Peter. You might as well just start with Eddie being a monster, like the Raimi movie did.

I also think Bendis’s Ultimate comics did well by all three characters. I’m not really a fan of Goblin-Hulk, but Norman’s impact was fully in effect (even if we had yet another toothless homage to Gwen Stacey’s death with Mary Jane getting thrown off a bridge and surviving), and they fit him well into the Super-Soldier Arms Race aspect of the setting. Ock got some really great use, including an arc of character development and ‘redemption’ that still managed to allow him to be an arrogant monster to the end. Venom was under-used, but this might be the best ever interpretation of Eddie Brock and obviously inspired the Raimi version, and I love the origin of the symbiote here and how it tied to Peter’s father. My only complaint is that after that first great story, Bendis didn’t seem to quite know what to do with Venom; the video game and its comic adaptation seemed to be setting him up for more, but that didn’t come to anything.

So, those are my thoughts. As a Spider-Man fan, I think I’m spoiled for choice in picking an achnemesis. Despite the little flaws that keep Ock and Venom from topping the Green Goblin, they’re still heavy-hitters as comic book villains and could run the game in the rogues gallery of most other superheroes. But Spidey has one of the best sets of villains in the business, so that’s not surprising.

#thekingofwinterblog

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hiraethhh-h · 4 years

Text

Scorpion and the Frog

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (H.H. belongs to Viv, all I own are my characters!)

WARNINGS: Descriptive blood and gore, implied smut, lime (starts/ends at †~†), gore (starts/ends at ✵~✵), references to non-con, strong language.

Word count: 9.1k

Notes: Hahaha- This is one of my longer fics :’) Also, translations are at the bottom!

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Anger was all she felt as she awoke. It surged through her body as she sat up, clutching at the ground below her. The red haze of the sky didn’t help calm her, nor did the large pentagram. Blinking, Pandora slowly composed herself, looking around in a confused manner. Creatures seemed to walk around, some doing some gruesome acts on the sidewalk. Pandora frowned as she watched a fox-like creature stab another in the back, laughing crazily as it repeatedly did so. Her head snapped to the loud honking of a car as it ran over a smaller creature, Pandora grimaced at the sight of the blood splattering all over the front of the vehicle and the road. What in the Hell was this place?

Shakily standing, Pandora walked forward towards the other patrons mindlessly shuffling along the sidewalk. She trudged alongside a few tall looking monstrosities, soon stopping to peer into a shop window that had many televisions. The news seemed to play, Katie Kill-Joy, the news anchor spoke about the current happenings within Hell. Pandora processed her words, panic rising inside. Did she just say Hell? Pandora pushed her way to the front of the small crowd that gathered in front of the glass, her eyes widening as she took in her new form. Her figure was much slimmer, Pandora’s hair was longer than usual and a deep, dark, blue split into little peaks in the middle, vibrant orange and green designs littered her hair, along with the same colored eyes as the designs. She had an owlish face and a sharp beak, her eyes void of any pupils or iris, just a white sclera. It covered her body in light blue fur; she wore a dark blue dress that tapered at the ends; the top opened up a bit to reveal her bust. Soon lifting a feathered finger to her mouth, Pandora pulled up her top lip, revealing her sharp shark-like teeth. Pandora’s hand fell back to her side, shock filling her to the brim. How did she die? Why was she in Hell? Was she really a demon now? Pandora could barely remember much, but one name came into mind. Alastor.

Emotions soon swelled up inside her, love, passion, lust, sadness, happiness, anger. Anger. Her lips twisted up in a violent sneer, revealing her teeth as she lowered her head. Pandora clutched her hand so tightly, marks formed on the inside of her palms because of her claws. It was him who made her this way. Memories flashed before her eyes. Their fight, how he knocked her out, brought her to the pier in the swamp, how he drowned her and left her body for the gators.

All because she found out the truth about Alastor, who he really was and what he did for a living.

Pandora gave a soft giggle as Alastor twirled her around, their gramophone blasting ‘catchy tunes’ as Alastor liked to call it. “Al, I have to get back to making dinner!” Pandora smiled, attempting to pry herself from his grasp. “Just a moment longer, my dear, we’re nearing my favorite part!” Alastor pleaded, giving her hands a small squeeze as he pulled her close. Pandora huffed, “Okay, okay, but then it isn’t my fault if the food gets burnt.” she pouted playfully, knowing full well she could never say no to Alastor’s charming smile. “Perhaps tonight I can take care of you tonight, my dear,” Alastor spoke in an almost seductive tone now, Pandora blinked, looking up at him in confusion. “Why I know just how to treat you!” he beamed, pausing for a more dramatic flare. “A massage, because my dear, your knots look so tight, you could kill someone with them!” he laughed, Pandora huffed as her face flushed. “You, Alastor, are such a tease,” she grumbled, pouting even more now. He rose a brow, his grin widening. “Only for you, my strawberry,” Alastor cooed in a suave tone. Pandora felt her heart skip a beat. Surely if she were a teapot, steam would billow out of her ears at how flustered she was.

“And,” Alastor hummed along to the song, “Now!” he spun her around, Pandora giving a soft squeak because of being surprised. Swaying to the music, Pandora quickly caught on to Alastor’s movements. They moved in tandem as they reached the climax of the song, Alastor spinning her once more and bringing her closer to his chest. Pandora couldn’t help but sigh contently as she felt Alastor’s hands cradle her waist. She knew to enjoy this moment since Alastor was never really the touchy-feely type, and she was okay with that. Pandora knew to respect his boundaries, and he would do the same for her.

“You know Al,” Pandora began, looking up at him, “I love you, with all my heart,” she breathed. Alastor gave a deep chuckle, emotions swirling in his eyes as he looked down at his wife, “As do I, my little strawberry.” he murmured, pressing a featherlight kiss to her forehead. Pandora shut her eyes, resting her head on Alastor’s chest as they slow-danced to the music. Pandora wished things could stay like this, worry-free without a care in the world, but all good things came to an end. The air suddenly smelled of burnt food, Pandora shrieked as she quickly pulled away from Alastor, practically zooming into the kitchen. “The jambalaya!” Pandora rushed to the pot, throwing off the cover and beginning to stir feverishly. Alastor peered at the girl, an almost devilish smile on his face as he watched her silently. Things were going all accordingly.

Soon enough, morning rolled around. Pandora sighed as she shifted beneath the covers, the loud chirping of the birds outside awakening her. Groggily opening her eyes, she felt that Alastor’s side of the bed was empty. Oh, that’s right, she had almost forgotten, Alastor had a big day today since a special guest was coming in from New York to be on his show. Seeing a note on the table, Pandora couldn’t help but crack a tired smile upon recognizing the neat cursive handwriting.

‘Big day today! Wish me luck, and have a great day off my dear, can’t wait to take you out for dinner tonight! ~ Love, Alastor’.

Giving a soft chuckle, Pandora slowly stood, heading to their bathroom to freshen up for the day. She turned the radio on, tuning into Alastor’s station to listen in on him and his special guest. As she brushed out her ginger hair, her mind couldn’t help but wander off. She thought of that box the killer had given her. Pandora frowned, slowly setting down her comb and peering over to the closet door. Why did her mind have to wander there, when she was keeping it off of her mind by distracting herself? Releasing a strained sigh, Pandora’s emotions were at war. She could risk opening the box, but at the cost of her and her family being hunted and slaughtered like prey? It really wasn’t worth it, yet Pandora caved in. Padding towards her closet, she slowly opened the door. Alastor’s voice seemed like a distant haze as she used the sunlight that filtered in to rummage around for the box.

After finding it beneath a heap of clothes, she carried it into the bathroom, grunting as she placed the item on the countertop. Pandora frowned as she stared down at it, her grey eyes full of uncertainty as she soon looked around. What if the killer was watching her now, waiting for her to open it so he could close in for the kill? Her frown only deepened, her nails digging into the hem of her nightgown. No, she would see this through, because once she fell in line with something, she was determined to get it done. Inhaling deeply, she placed one hand on the latch of the dark red mahogany box, the polished wood glaring up at her as she undid the lock.

Slowly lifting the cover, she peered inside the box. Inside was a glass jar full of… Something. Grasping the glass, she lifted it out and into the light so she could see it properly. A loud cry left the girl’s lips as she dropped the jar, the glass shattering into pieces, spilling out its contents. They were teeth, for God’s sake. Some gold, some silver, some looked fresh, and some had even rotted. A piercing scream left her lips, her hands flying to cover her mouth as she stumbled away from the shards of glass and teeth. With wide eyes, Pandora whimpered as she tried to compose herself, taking slow, cautious steps towards the mess. Grabbing a towelette from beside the sink, she cleaned the teeth and glass. She hissed in pain when she accidentally pricked her finger, blood dripping onto the floor. Shaking her head, Pandora ignored the cut for now, tears in her eyes as she threw the teeth and glass into the trash can. Sniffling, Pandora soon mopped up the drops of blood, tossing the towelette into their dirty laundry basket. She rinsed and cleaned her finger, grimacing slightly as the water stung the cut. Soon, she put a bandage over the small wound, her attention going back to the box. That cursed box. Whatever else was in there couldn’t be good news. Eyeing the wood, she approached it again, God forbid what she was about to discover.

✵~✵

Pandora lifted the cover once more, deciding to take out all the items. She pulled out a paper bag, grimacing as she saw the splatters of some brown liquid on it. Next, she retrieved some hunting knife. The sheathe was a deep velvet red color, encrusted with golden designs, and it looked large too. Setting the contents on the counter, Pandora continued to trifle through the box, shutting it once she found nothing more. Pandora glanced at both of the objects, deciding to start with the hunting knife. Undoing the clasp, she removed the cover, inspecting the blade. Pandora blinked, seeing it was sharp and shiny since she could see herself perfectly. The girl frowned now. Why would the killer give her his weapon, of all people? She shook her head, placing the blade back into its sheath and putting it back on the counter. Her hand hovered over the worn, crumpled, and stained paper bag. Silently praying it wasn’t hair or any other body part, she slowly stuck her hand into the bag. Pandora grasped a clip. She pulled it out to inspect further. The girl let out a strangled cry, her hands flying to her mouth as she held back her bile. The stack of small pictures fell to the floor, Pandora rushing to the toilet to empty her stomach.

Beneath the first clip was a picture of a girl, or what was left of her, anyway. Her ginger hair was being held up by a black glove, the girl’s face mangled and her jaw missing, exposing the top part of her mouth and the back of her throat. Her tongue hangs out loosely, blood trickling down her bare chest. God, what in the fuck did she get herself into? Pandora retched up whatever remained, shakily reaching a hand up to pull the string connected to the toilet. As it flushed, she stumbled over to the sink, running cold water and cleaning her face and rinsing her mouth. With a tired sniffle, she slowly reached down to pick up the pictures, wearily staring down at the first photo before undoing the clip that held the mini-stack together. She set the first photo down, turning it over. The next one was no better than the first. A pale man’s head sat in a sink, his face frozen with fear and shock. The man’s hands were laid beside his head, his ring finger missing. Pandora gagged softly, placing a hand over her mouth to stop herself from vomiting again. A deep frown was carved onto her lips as she felt a paper at the bottom of the stack. Stashing the photos away, Pandora picked up the faded paper, the same messy handwriting scrawled on it. ‘Got you.’ A photo of her sleeping was glued to the page, Pandora shook uncontrollably as she quickly moved to clean everything up. Slamming the box shut, Pandora scooped it up into her arms and buried it under the same heap of clothing.

✵~✵

Breathing shakily, she glanced at the clock mounted on the wall, ‘1:23’ the numbers glared back at her. How long had she been fumbling through the box? Pandora rubbed her forearms as goosebumps rose on her skin. Casting a glance around, she got ready for her and Alastor’s date. She drew herself a hot shower, remembering the radio was still on, Pandora turned the volume up, finding solace in Alastor’s voice. Picking out a blood-red flapper dress, golden designs sewed into the cloth. It was Alastor’s favorite dress on her. Taking out a similar-looking fluffy coat, Pandora put her evening outfit together. Soon, Pandora stripped her clothing, stepping into the running water. Pandora stood below the water for a while. She gave a soft sniffle as she rubbed at her eyes. Images flashed before her eyes, the mangled girl, the dismembered man, their screams for help and for the killer to stop… Pandora shook her head, opening her eyes and carrying on with her shower. She scrubbed at her body furiously, trying to rid herself of the events that had previously occurred. Pandora wanted to take her mind off of everything that plagued her, and she hoped her date would take care of that. Maybe Alastor would call in a favor and take them to one of Mimzy’s shows, Pandora gave a faint smile at the thought as she turned off the water. Drawing the curtain back, she reached for her towel, drying herself thoroughly and wrapping the towel around her body. As she continued to get ready, thankfully, her mind thought of what she and Alastor could do tonight. Mimzy’s show would be spectacular, as it always was. If she was lucky enough, Pandora could catch her backstage for a quick chat.

Turning back to the radio, she turned the knob, trying to make out Alastor’s words as he gave another news report. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have more news of the Bayou Killer on the loose,” he began, Pandora immediately turned the volume up. “This morning, the authorities discovered two more bodies, one male and female, both missing organs and dismembered-” Pandora blinked as she processed his words, freezing in place as she recalled the pictures. One was male, and the other was female. They could’ve been the killer’s latest victims. Fighting the urge to vomit again, Pandora hastily dressed and did her makeup.

As time flew by, Pandora had found some sense of relief as she did a once-over of herself in the mirror. She flashed her reflection a weary smile, her eyes were still filled with worry and her skin pale. The girl gave a frustrated huff, surely Alastor would notice her odd behavior and comment on it, he was rather observant. Shaking her head, Pandora ran a hand through her hair, gently tugging at her ginger curls before glancing at the clock mounted on the wall. Alastor would arrive home anytime now. She knew he would take an early leave to make more time for her. With a shaky sigh, Pandora pinned the flapper fascinator into her hair, the feathers fading from black to a blood-red. A rose pin sat in the middle. Pandora soon put her red heels on, gently smoothing out the bottom of her dress, fixing the sleeves accordingly before going into the bedroom to retrieve her small handbag.

“Honey, I’m home!” a familiar voice called as he shut the door, Pandora gave a soft chuckle at Alastor before going into the living room to greet him. “Evening Al,” Pandora giggled as she did a small curtsy, Alastor’s grin widened. “Evening to you, my beauty,” he hummed, adjusting his suit and repositioning his bow. “I’m going to run to the loo for a bit my dear, I won’t take long,” Alastor said now, gently brushing past the girl and heading into their bathroom. Shutting the door behind him, he looked around. His grin stretched impossibly wide, Pandora had opened the box he had given her. He didn’t think she would be foolish enough to do so, but then again, the girl gave in to her nature almost too frequently, which was what allowed him to wrap her around his finger so easily. Looking around, he gave a soft hum, chuckling to himself when he spotted a tooth that rested in the crack below the small overhang of the bathroom sink. Taking the item beneath his fingers, he tossed it into the trash with a flick of his wrist. His eyes darkened slightly, his smile holding malicious intent as cogs turned in his head.

Oh, handling Pandora would be entertaining.

A loud bang outside snapped Pandora out of the memory. She ran a hand through her hair frustratedly, glancing off to the side as Vox and Valentino discussed things about their turf and such. Vox cackled softly as Valentino made a face due to what he said. The tv-headed man gave a toothy grin as his shoulders shook from laughter. Valentino rolled his eyes, giving a soft huff as he shifted in his seat. Vox’s attention soon turned to Pandora, who was awfully quiet for once. “Looks like Dickwad is on her mind again.” Vox gave a gruff chuckle, knowing that bitter and sour look plastered on her face. Pandora huffed, “Don’t test me bitch.” she shot back, sending him a small glare. Valentino gave an amused chuckle, leaning back in his seat as he peered down at the shorter female demon. “Looks like someone needs to be taught a lesson,” he gave a soft laugh at his own words. A grin spread across Vox’s face, “You know, he ain’t wrong.” he hummed, Pandora gave a soft snort, rolling her eyes at their antics. “If either of you lay a claw on me, I will fucking feed your hands to my snares.” Pandora snarled, the mass of green-orange vines resting by her feet gave threatening growls at the larger demons.

“Mmm… So he’s got your panties in a twist,” Valentino leaned towards the girl, “Tell me, was he good at sex?” In a flash, Pandora gripped Valentino’s coat fluff in her feathered hands, a deep scowl on her face. Pandora’s dark hair flared up as the designs glowed more vibrantly, the eyes in her hair sharpening as they glared down at the demon. Her bones cracked as she grew slightly. The ground shook, splitting open and releasing a thick fog, along with green and orange snared vines that had a bud that opened revealing rows of sharp teeth inside. “Shut the fuck up Valentino.” Pandora snarled, Valentino scoffing as he pulled away from the girl. “Learn to take a joke, toots. And keep your grubby feathers off, I just got this dry-cleaned today,” Valentino huffed, smoothing his coat down and doing a once-over of himself.

†~†

Vox leaned closer to the girl, “You need to relax, dollface,” he murmured, his claw trailing up her arm, tugging at the strap of her dress. Pandora grumbled, saying nothing in protest as she leaned into his touch, the ground resealing and the vines soon retreating to their original spots. Vox tugged her dress down, the straps catching themselves near the top of her shoulders. Valentino smirked as Pandora glanced over at him, “Please,” he cooed, “Don’t stop on my account.” he chuckled, watching the pair with half-lidded eyes. Vox grabbed Pandora’s shoulders, pushing her down onto the couch and blocking her from Valentino’s view. Valentino pursed his lips, almost as if pouting. “You’re no fun, Vox.” he rolled his eyes. Vox gave a low chuckle as he dug his claws into her side, his other hand reaching for her throat.

†~†

“Stop.” Pandora grabbed his wrist, Vox’s grin immediately flickered into a frown. “The fuck toots? You got me all worked up for nothin’.” Vox scoffed, grunting as Pandora pushed him off. Pandora rolled her eyes, “Whatever, I’ll treat you later, I’m heading out.” she said, pushing her dress back up and fixing her hair as she stood. “Oh, so there’s a later now, huh?” Vox called after her as she exited the VIP Room. Ignoring Vox’s comment, she walked down the hall, paying no attention to the workers and obvious loud noises from some rooms. Pandora shook her head as she exhaled shakily. She hated days like these. Pandora felt vulnerable, weak, naked even, on days when she couldn’t keep her emotions in check.

Exiting the building, Pandora was greeted with the barren streets of Hell. Since the extermination had only ended a few minutes ago, the carnage was still freshly strewn about on the streets, denizens of Hell beginning to crawl out of their hiding spots to pick at the fresh corpses and return to their daily hellish lives. Pandora rolled her eyes as she saw a multi-eyed lizard creature pluck a head from the street, placing it into his cart of demon limbs and wheeling it away. Pursing her lips, Pandora paid her father’s venue visit. He and she ran much of the drug and mafia industry in Hell, making her one of the higher ranking demons because of her father’s status. Grabbing her phone from the pocket in her dress, she dialed up her chauffeur, waiting for the sleek blue limo to arrive. Within a few minutes, a dark blue vehicle pulled onto the streets, running over a small carcass before coming to a stop beside Pandora. A three-headed dog demon exited the limo. Each had dark brown fur lining their faces, the middle a more tan-brown color. The dark-brown tux-wearing dog demon approached Pandora, stepping to the side to open the door for her. “Hal.” His ears twitched at the sound of her voice, a crooked grin spreading across the three heads as Pandora ducked down to step inside the vehicle. Hal shut the door, striding back to the driver’s seat. He closed his door, his six red eyes looking at Pandora through the rear-view mirror. “Your dad’s been expectin’ you,” Hal told her, soon looking back to the road as he took off abruptly.

Pandora gave a bored hum, taking a cigar from the side compartment and grabbing a lighter to ignite the blunt end. Tossing the lighter into an unknown spot, Pandora leaned back into the cushioned seats, taking a long drag from the cigar. “What does he want?” Pandora breathed out, smoke billowing out of her mouth. The smoke caressed her face, the wispy creature purring before disappearing. “Dunno, you know he don’t let me tell you the details unless he gives the word.” Hal shrugged, the limo jerking violently as he hit a deep pothole. Pandora grunted, shaking her head as she tapped the cigar over an ashtray, slinging her arm around the seat as she threw her head back. She inhaled as she took another whiff of smoke, exhaling with a hum. The same wispy figure appeared above Pandora, peering down at her happily as it gave a small dance. Pandora chuckled softly, “I wouldn’t expect any less from Papa. He loves to kill with suspense.” she hummed, shifting in her seat as she shut her eyes.

Soon glancing out of the window, the red sky peered down at her, countless buildings passing by. The denizens of Hell roamed the streets, going about their daily, sad, boring lives. The surroundings got more familiar and familiar as they drove into her father’s territory. Pandora saw a few of Valentino’s workers, seeing as he and her father were close, she wouldn’t be surprised if she saw Valentino himself hanging out at the speakeasy. Hal pulled into a garage, the large door shutting behind them as he parked. Pandora huffed, putting out her cigar with a grumble as she ran a hand through her hair, fixing her appearance accordingly so her mother didn’t complain. Hal opened her door, Pandora silently exiting. Some demons examined her father’s collection of cars. A taller, skinnier demon watched the others carefully, his dark slender figure looming over the small crowd. It wore an entirely black suit with a white undershirt and black tie to top it off, standing nearly 9 feet tall as it turned to look at the newcomers. Their skin was translucent, almost smoke-like, save for singular red dots that represented its eyes.

“Reid,” Pandora called, the man craning his neck to look at the girl. “Pandora, dear, it's good to see you,” the shadow cooed, bending down slightly to reach the girl’s height. “Yeah, likewise,” Pandora hummed, flashing him a brief smile. “Hal, take over for me, please.” Reid called to the demon as he lit a cigar, “Mmm.” Hal replied. The towering demon wrapped an arm around Pandora, leading her through a doorway and up some stairs where a few other patrons lingered. The walk was mostly silent, though Pandora couldn’t help but feel at home when they stepped through a velvet curtain, the speakeasy bustling before them as a familiar face sang on the stage. Looking around, Pandora saw nothing out of the ordinary. The drug addicts were on one side, testing out the latest batch before it was sold, the gambling addicts playing an intense game with high steaks, the harlots walking around and doing their best to find a demon to hustle. Pandora felt more at ease, even letting her hips sway to the music ever so slightly.

The shadow by her side glanced down at the girl, “Glad to see you’re loosening up,” Reid commented, leading her over to a large doorway, one that stood out from the rest. Pandora hummed, “Long day.” she sighed as they walked down the hallway. Here, it was dimly lit, save for the ultraviolet lights. This area had private rooms, many of which their best clients had rented out. Vibrant colors stood out against the walls, the patrons within the rooms laughing and chatting amongst themselves. Workers dodged Reid and Pandora as they neared the end, boisterous laughter heard behind the velvet curtain. “Pandora,” Reid said now, stopping in front of the red silk and turning to look at the girl. Pandora rose a brow. But deep down, she knew one of his talks would come up. “You’ve been hanging around Valentino and Vox, haven’t you?” Reid began, Pandora rolled her eyes with a soft snort. “Yeah, so what-” “It isn’t ‘so what’, Pandora, you know what your father says about them.” Reid voiced his concerns, which was rare for him, since he mostly kept to himself until something bothered him or if he was told to spill by her father.

Pandora let out a long sigh, running a hand over her face. “I know, I know, I’ve heard the talk a million times over... Vox and Valentino are dangerous overlords, and they could manipulate me into making a deal that sucks my father into an in-escapable pitch and eventually brings down the business and his territory altogether.” she recited in a monotone voice, her lips pursed together as she looked up at Reid in a bored manner. The shadow gave a small nod, shifting to say something more, but deciding against it. Turning around, he opened the curtain for Pandora, gesturing for her to enter. She was greeted with the sight of four demons seated at a round table filled with various drinks. Her father, Owen, was a tall and slim man. His features similar to Pandora’s, dark blue hair, light blue fur, vibrant green and orange designs, but on his face were six green-orange eyes. He brushed a hand over his pristine dark blue suit, a deep chuckle slipping from his lips as he reached up to shift the cigar in his mouth. Her mother, Opal, was seated beside him. She was rather short and skinny much like Pandora, her fur was almost a silver-like color, her hair was a light grey color, filled with pastel pink and blue designs. She too had six eyes that matched the designs in her hair. Opal wore a black dress that highlighted her figure, a large grin on her face as she joined in on the conversation.

Pandora blinked when she saw an all too familiar face seated across from her parents, the demon who would be, and literally was, the end of her yet again.

Alastor the fucking Radio Demon.

The girl grit her teeth together, seething as Alastor let out another loud laugh as her father said something, Alastor replying with a smug look on his face. Her father would never let him step foot into his speakeasy, let alone the private back room after what he did to her. Not unless it was for business reasons. Pandora didn’t like the looks of this, and from what she saw, her father seemed to be okay with whatever Alastor had in store for her. Reid led her over to the group, “Boss,” he called, all pairs of eyes snapping up to look at the newcomers. “Pandie, sweetie, how good to see you,” her mother stood from her seat, striding over to embrace the girl. “Thank you Reid,” Opal dismissed him, Reid gave a small nod, silently exiting the room. Draping an arm around Pandora’s shoulder, Opal brought her over to the table. Owen gave Pandora a nod of acknowledgement, exhaling out a large cloud of smoke as he shifted the cigar in his mouth.

“Ah, Pandora, how good to see you!” Oh, how she despised that voice. Pandora’s gaze hardened as she locked eyes with the infamous Radio Demon, baring her teeth at the taller male as his grin widened at her reaction. He was treating their little reunion as though they were close friends and hadn’t seen each other in ages. She hated every moment under his gaze. Opal chuckled as she sat the girl down, Owen clearing his throat to catch everyone’s attention. With a wave of a hand, Alastor cleared the table, save for a few glasses full of fine brandy. Pandora let out a soft sigh, knowing that whatever they would discuss would be important. Especially if Alastor was this quiet. “Now, the reason why I summoned you here, Pandora,” her father began, his six eyes locking onto Pandora as Opal shifted, letting go of her and reaching for the glass in front of her. Pandora pursed her lips, gazing at her father silently, Owen scanned her face, seemingly choosing his next words carefully as to not set her off.

“Alastor requires your… Services.”

Pandora blinked in confusion, even the eyes in her hair mimicked the same action. After a moment of silence she eventually spoke in an eerily calm voice, “Excuse me?” Pandora looked at her father, a fire burning in her eyes as anger began to flare up inside her. “You expect me to work with him?” Pandora gave a strained laugh as she gestured to the red demon, Alastor simply watching with a smug look on his face. “Basta, Pandora.” her father said in a stern tone, plucking the cigarette from his mouth. He twirled it between his index finger and thumb, “I will explain myself,” he huffed, shaking his head as he murmured something to himself. “One of my close colleagues instructed a raid on part of Alastor’s territory,” Owen informed her, “I’m sure you could take a wild guess as to who it is.” he grunted, shaking his head at the thought of the male. Pandora sighed, “Lix?” she said, knowing the fox-demon had his own ways into gaining the upper-hand. Owen nodded, soon looking to Alastor. Alastor chuckled, the radio static in his voice shifting slightly as he began to speak, “Oh, yes, indeedy!” he began, looking at Pandora. “His presence on my territory has been quite an annoyance, and your father suggested that we work together to rid both our land of a parasite!” Alastor gave a hearty laugh at the end of his sentence, an audience laughing along with him for a moment.

Pandora let out a long sigh, “Pandora,” her mother spoke now, causing the girl to look over to Opal. “Your father is doing this to assert our authority within Hell, not to do you any harm,” Opal told her with a kind smile, which soon turned wicked, her eyes hardening as she glared at Alastor. “We both are fully aware of what he did to our bellissima bambina,” Opal spoke, her tone becoming colder and colder with each word as the temperature dropped within the room. “Your father and Alastor have negotiated certain terms, one of which being Alastor is to do you no harm under any circumstance.” Pandora glanced at Alastor, his eyes shining with an unknown emotion as he locked eyes with her. Looking away, Pandora gave a silent nod. “When does this job start?” she asked now, her eyes shifting to look at her father. With a sigh, Owen motioned for the two demons at the door to leave, it was silent for a while before the two guards returned with a female feline demon.

She had dark purple fur which lightened around her torso and underside of her arms. Her dark violet hair was pulled into a ponytail, framing her fluffy ears and highlighting the light purple designs that framed her face, bringing out her vibrant pink eyes that had yellow slits in the middle. The feline demon wore a bright pink off-shoulder crop top with a heart shape around the top of her bust, a pink collar around her neck. She wore a pink mini-skirt that came up to around half of her thighs and matched the designs of her top. A dark purple tail that faded to a lighter shade swished behind her as she walked in, the girl’s pink heels clicking on the floor as she scanned the faces within the room. Giving a dramatic gasp, the taller demon rushed towards Pandora, throwing her arms around the girl in a bone-crushing hug.

“Pandie! It’s been ages since we’ve talked!” the feline cried, Pandora grunted upon being met with a faceful of soft, dark purple, fur. Pandora awkwardly patted her back, “Do you mind, Fizzie..?” she murmured, Fizzie giving a loud giggle as she pulled away, taking Pandora by the shoulders. “But seriously,” she said now, “What the hell happened to you after our last job together?!” Fizzie whined, shaking the girl violently. “You went completely dark after- Mmph!” Pandora’s hand shot out to cover her mouth, “No more talking!” Pandora said with an awkward laugh, Owen rose a brow at this but said nothing. “Pandora,” Owen soon called to the girl, “Inizia ora, è la tua principale fonte di informazioni. Non mancare di me, Pandora.” he told her, sending her a stern look. Fizzie let go of Pandora, the girl fixing her dress and brushing off her shoulders. “Yes Papa.” Pandora said, pursing her lips as Alastor came up behind her. “Perhaps we should get going, we have lots to do after all!” he beamed, tapping Pandora’s leg with the end of his microphone cane.

Pandora’s brow twitched in irritation as she glared at Alastor, Fizzie giggled as she watched the two. “We’ll be back,” Pandora soon told her parents, opening her mouth to say something more until Alastor spoke. “Pleasure doing business with the both of you, I look forward to working with your daughter.” he grinned, “Thank you, Alastor, and I hope Pandora feels the same way.” Opal looked at her daughter for a moment, before giving Alastor a small nod. Fizzie interlocked her arm with Pandora’s as the trio exited the room, Alastor humming a small tune as they walked down the hallway. “So, Pandora my dear, how are things down here?” Alastor turned to her with a shit-eating grin, Pandora gave a soft growl, a sickly sweet smile slowly creeping onto her face as she played along with his antics. “Oh, everything was doing just swell,” she said in a fake happy tone, “Before you showed up.” Pandora scoffed, Alastor laughed at her words, the same audience laughing alongside him. Static shifted in his voice as his laughter died down, “You never fail to keep me entertained.” he told her, adjusting his monocle with a hum.

“Oh, you two are like an old married couple,” Fizzie giggled, Pandora’s eye twitched, “Fiz.” she said through clenched teeth. Alastor chuckled, wrapping an arm around Pandora and leading her along, Fizzie keeping up with their long strides. “Do any of you happen to get nauseous easily?” Alastor piped up now, watching the two females as they came to a stop outside of the VIP hall.

“Um… Well, I typically have-” Alastor cut Fizzie off by opening a portal, several patrons of the bar looking at the trio. A violent gust of wind swept over them, Pandora blinking as she looked into the black abyss. “After you ladies,” Alastor cooed, outstretching his arm to the portal. Fizzie looked at Pandora unsurely, “I’m not so sure…” she murmured softly. Pandora gave a soft sigh, she shut her eyes for a moment as she ran a hand over her face. “I swear to God… If this is some fucking trap, I will end you,” Pandora snarled, pointing a finger at Alastor. He simply tilted his head, his grin widening as he gave a low chuckle. “Why, whatever do you mean darling?” his eyes flickered with that same emotion she saw that night he ended her life. “I would never lay a finger on you.”

Pandora rolled her eyes, turning to step through the portal. The darkness engulfed her, she felt things clawing at her feet, but she simply walked on, loud whispers calling for her help or saying incoherent things. Pandora jumped when something grabbed her arm, until she felt the same fur texture Fizzie had. The feline held onto Pandora’s arm tightly, burying her face in her light blue fur as they continued to walk through the darkness. The familiar sound of tapping shoes was heard behind them, Pandora gave a tired sigh at the noise as she continued to walk towards the red light that grew bigger and bigger.

Pandora blinked as a bright red flashed across her vision, her eyes adjusting to their surroundings. Fizzie groaned as she stumbled slightly, grumbling as she stabilized herself with Pandora’s arm. Alastor snapped his fingers as he walked through, the portal shutting behind him. Pandora pursed her lips, shaking her head as they saw they were in Alastor’s territory. It looked awfully similar to their old hometown in Louisiana, Pandora would be lying if she said a bit of didn’t nostalgia wash over her. Hell, even a few of the shops looked similar, save for the few apartment buildings. She saw swamps lining the outskirts of the territory, he had really gone all out, even going as far as to add alligators, more so hellish renditions of them.

Pandora saw one beast resting on the bank, it looked as three times as big as it did on the surface, it’s yellow glowing eyes boring into Pandora’s with… Curiosity? Pandora gave a soft snort, shaking her head as she turned away, awaiting Alastor’s next commands. The male demon simply hummed as he strode forward, casting a proud look around his territory as he softly sang a familiar tune. Pandora and Fizzie trailed behind him, it was mostly silent, until Fizzie soon spoke. “Sooooo…. What now?” she asked, toying with her sharp claws in a bored manner. Alastor grinned, “Glad you could ask!” he beamed, stopping his walking and turning to look at the females. Oh no, Pandora recognized that ‘I’m planning something that’ll probably get you hurt, but it won’t be my fault’ look, one she knew all too well.

“Why, we need a distraction! And I hear there’s no better actress than you!” Alastor looked at Fizzie eagerly, the feline gave a soft giggle, waving her hand dismissively. “Oh Al,” she smiled, “Flattery will get you everywhere.” she hummed, beginning to adjust her clothing, particularly trying to make her bust pop out more. Pandora could’ve sworn she saw Alastor’s face contort at the sight for a brief second. Fizzie hummed, “Where’s Lix at anyway?” she looked at the radio demon, Pandora doing the same as she rose a brow in a silent question. “He’s just around this block, in one of my newer buildings.” Alastor told them, twirling his microphone cane in his hand. “I would rid him myself, but I do not wish to get my hands dirty,” Alastor said darkly, his features contorting slightly as the static in his voice became louder and his face sharpened. Just as quick as his mood changed, he went back to his usual cheery self. “Now, why don’t we begin our extraordinary plan!” Alastor straightened himself up, his voice becoming more clear. Fizzie sent Pandora a concerned glance before looking at the building before them.

“Don’t disappoint now, Fizzie!” Alastor chided, gently nudging her forward with his microphone. Fizzie grunted, huffing as she brushed the spot off where the cane touched her. She took steps towards the entrance of the building. On the outside, it looked like a normal storage building, but Alastor knew the lay of the land like the back of his hand, and he knew of the activity going on below the building. Narrowing his eyes slightly, Alastor watched as Fizzie headed to the open garage of the warehouse. Two demons unloading boxes quickly stopped their actions to peek at the new intruder. Pandora grabbed Alastor’s arm, his head snapping to face the girl as she dragged him away to a more secluded spot so they were out of sight.

Taking his arm out of her grip, he hummed as he dusted the spot off with his hand. Pandora shook her head, peering around the corner with a grumble. She watched as Fizzie flirted with the two guards, a sly look on her face as she gently brushed up against the bear-looking demon. Pandora looked away in disgust. She looked at Alastor, taking this moment to size him up. “Alright Al, what the hell are you planning?” Pandora said, narrowing her eyes. Alastor chuckled, placing both hands behind his back with a large grin, “Why, whatever do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence as he batted his eyelashes at her. Pandora gave a low growl, practically glaring daggers up at him. One day, she would wipe that stupid smile off of his face. “You know perfectly what I fucking mean,” she hissed lowly, gesturing to the scene before them. Fizzie walked off with the two demons. One had an arm around her waist as they led her away. Fizzie glanced over her shoulder, her ear twitching as she sent Pandora a wink, signaling for them to follow.

Alastor stood properly now, looking over to Fizzie with a hum. “We can finish this discussion later dear, I’m afraid we have business to attend to.” he said, holding his hand out to her. “Your hand if you will,” he chirped, Pandora eyed him closely, huffing in frustration as she placed her hand in his. The shadows consumed them, their surroundings warping into faint outlines of structures as they moved forward. Looking to her side, she saw Alastor’s shadow. It was taller, the antlers longer and sharper, his limbs long and thin, his hand had wicked claws, his teeth sharp and his eyes a bright and somber red. Her attention soon turned to their new surroundings. They seemed to stand in an office of sorts, the surrounding voices distorted, but Alastor seemed to understand every word. Pandora squinted as she saw a familiar figure, besides Fizzie’s, one that didn’t seem to be good news. Her eyes soon landed on the outline of Lix, a small scowl on her face. He was a rather short demon, though, he had sharp teeth and claws, his matted fur a white that faded into black, along with piercing red eyes. Fizzie seemed panicked then, their voices becoming louder. Pandora jumped when she heard a voice coo in her ear, “That’s our cue.”

The office lights blinded Pandora as they came out of the shadows, the temperature in the room dropping as the sound of loud radio static filled her ears. Snapping out of her daze, Pandora’s head turned to the muffled shouts of Lix as he called for backup. Fizzie gave crazed laughter as she tackled the fox, her form much larger as they fell to the ground. Pandora heard the door burst open, a familiar face coming through. The female was almost as tall as Alastor; she had deep blue skin and black hair that fell loosely around her waist. A necklace of skulls hung around her neck, her four arms outstretched that revealed beady white eyes staring at those in the room. She wore a grey crop-top, followed by a grey cloth wrapped around her waist that tore at the ends. A grey shawl, a golden headband sitting on top of her head obscured her face, along with some white-black three-eyed creature wrapped around her shoulders. The creature gave a loud cry as its owner made a weapon appear in her hands, a long, curved machete in one and a whip in the other.

“Kali…” Pandora hissed lowly, the same vibrant plant-like creatures rising beside her, fog pooling at her feet as her form changed. Black tendrils dove for Lix and Fizzie, prying the two apart and grasping Lix tightly. Kali seemed to assess the situation, Lix continuing to shout in protest as he eyed Alastor in fear. The grinning Radio Demon snapped his fingers, the tendrils hurling themselves at Kali. The demon rose her head, watching the black masses silently. As they closed in on her, she took a defensive stance, Pandora’s vines snaking behind the girl. The creature around Kali’s neck suddenly launched itself at the tendrils, its bones cracking as it grew into a beast with a flow-y dark mane, glowing yellow eyes, striped blue fur, with sharp teeth and claws. It cut through the shadows as if they were nothing, a soft glow emitting from the beast as it snarled loudly. Kali twisted around, spinning gracefully as she cut the snares off of their bodies, the headless vines wriggling around violently before dropping to the ground and giving loud screeches as they died. Kali’s attention snapped to Lix. She dodged the incoming tendril and sliced at the thick limb encasing the fox. Taking him into one of her arms, she held Lix close as she prepared to escape. Alastor tilted his head, his pupils turning into radio dials as the static continued to become louder.

Pandora summoned two more snares, the two beasts snarling at the blue creature who snapped at the black masses. “Polim, keep them busy,” Kali told her pet, Polim’s eyes gleamed as he continued to stand his ground. Kali turned on her heel, the building beginning to shake, papers and other trinkets falling around the room, furniture rattling as glass shattered. Alastor surrounded the area with his defenses, wayward shadows drifting through the holes the tendrils made in the building. Giving a soft growl, Kali held Lix closer, swiping at the few shadows that tried to pry Lix from her grasp. Fizzie crept up behind them, pouncing at the duo in her larger form. At this, Polim stood on his haunches, launching himself at the feline with a roar, Fizzie crying out in pain as his claws sank into her stomach. Pandora watched with wide eyes, snapping out of her daze. “Fiz!” she cried, Polim and Fizzie crashing through the wall. Pandora’s arm shot forward, the two thorny vines shooting after Polim and Fizzie, the fog beginning to seep throughout the floor of the decimated room. “Looks like it's your curtain call, Kali!” Alastor beamed, his voice having a demonic tint to it as a laughing soundtrack played. Kali gave a soft snort, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Think again, Alastor,” she sneered, tightening her grip around the whip’s handle, the spiked leather wrapped around Pandora’s ankle.

“Alastor-!” Pandora called, giving a loud yelp as the whip yanked her forward, the demon slipping and violently banging her head on the floor, a searing pain shooting up her leg as the spikes from the whip tore at her flesh. Alastor narrowed his eyes slightly, banging his cane on the ground twice. Shadows formed around him, taking on their most wicked forms as he commanded them to focus on the other three. Pandora groaned from her disoriented state, a hand flying to her head as she tried to form words. “Al, nu-uh!” she called, “She’ll-!” Too late.

With a grin, Kali’s weapons disappeared from her hands, Lix cried out as she dropped him onto the ground. Quickly, he scampered behind Kali’s legs, cowering in fear. She outstretched her arms, the eyes in her hands glowing brightly, Polim looked up at his owner as he snapped off the vine’s head, the other writhing around beneath his large paw. A soft glow emitted from Kali, Alastor preparing for whatever counterattack she would try to use. The shadows clawed at her, and Lix, leaving marks on them. Lix gave cries of pain, the shadows inflicting deep cuts on him and grabbing at his limbs. “Shield yourself!” Pandora called, Alastor’s head snapping to the girl, then to Kali as she reared her arms back, preparing to clap. The shadows gathered in front of Kali, attempting to make a wall that blocked her oncoming attack. With a grin, Kali clapped all four of her hands together.

“No!” Pandora yelled, using her arms to shield her head as she ducked to the floor. A loud boom resounded through the room, decimating the remaining foundations of the building and the shadows in front of her. A wave of harsh air hit the demons, even leaving them with some cuts. Pandora found herself scrambling for something to anchor her down, the building began to shake violently as crumbs of ceiling and wall fell. Kali gave a crazed laugh, one that sounded like a mix of voices. She muttered something to Lix, throwing him to her feet and disappearing in a surge of air. Lix gave cries of protest as he was left to their mercy, Polim following his master. The building began to fall apart, many chunks falling around the remaining demons. “Alastor, now would be the time to get us the hell out of dodge!” Fizzie called as she jumped away from a piece of the ceiling that landed near her, she stepped on Lix’s back to keep him immobile, reaching down to twist his arms behind his back. Alastor gave a soft huff, “Trust me, we will escape!” he said. Pandora yelped as a wall collapsed beside her, a large chunk hitting her head.

Pandora’s ears rang loudly, her vision blurring as she gave a sluggish groan. Everything sounded jumbled, her eyes fluttering closed as her body shut down. The last thing she felt were arms lifting her up and holding her securely.

“-amn, she’s been out foreva…” a voice said, “She’ll come around…” another muttered. Pandora gave a soft huff, slowing opening her eyes, she drank in her surroundings. A pink and white mass leaned on the wall, crossing its arms as it glared at her. A white and red girl stood next to her bed, a grey female moth-looking one beside her. Once her vision focused, Pandora locked eyes with the two girls standing beside her. One wore a red pristine suit with black pants, the cuffs red at the end. She had pale skin, wavy blonde hair and blotches of pepperoni on her cheeks. She regarded Pandora with a kind gaze and smile, the other girl, however, looked the opposite of kind. She had long white hair with bangs covering her other eye slightly, an ‘x’ beneath her bangs. Her outfit was interesting. It was an off-shoulder cropped dress that ended at her hips, grey ‘x’es over her covered breasts, she had grey arm sleeves going down both her arms, as well as a grey stocking, the other a striped pink-grey.

“Oh, oh, she’s awake!” the red-suited demon grinned, “Can you get Alastor, Angel?” she looked at the pink and white demon. “Yeah, yeah…” it waved one of its hands in dismissal before leaving the room. “How are you feeling?” she asked Pandora now, gazing down at the girl with a slight look of worry in her eyes. “Like shit.” Pandora rasped, her throat feeling a bit scratchy. “Well… I’m Charlie, this is Vaggie,” Vaggie gave a small nod in greeting, eyeing Pandora silently. Pandora took a moment to take in her words, she furrowed her brows. “Charlie… Charlie Magne..?” she murmured, Charlie’s smile widened slightly. “Yep! In the flesh.” she nodded, Vaggie turning around as the familiar sound of tapping shoes entered the room. “Hey Alastor,” Charlie greeted, stepping back as he approached. Vaggie scowled slightly at the sight of the man, Pandora silently glanced between them, soon looking at Alastor. “Glad to see you’re up and at ‘em darling!” he grinned at her, adjusting his monocle with a chuckle. Pandora grit her teeth, “Don’t act like you care, you pompous bastard.” she snarled, Charlie blinking in shock as Vaggie’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, you wound me,” Alastor pouted playfully, placing a hand on his forehead as he reared back dramatically, an audience’s laughter playing. “I’m merely checking in on my wife,” he smirked. From the other side of the room, Angel spit out his drink, “Tha fuck?!” he said with wide eyes. “What-” Charlie looked at Pandora, Vaggie’s mouth dropped slightly.

“First off, I stopped being your wife, and second off, you. Don’t. Own. Me.” Pandora seethed at the man, her hair flaring up in defense. Alastor straightened his posture, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at Pandora. “Oh darling,” he began, a dark chuckle leaving him as his voice lowered, the static clearing as he spoke almost clearly.

“I owned you the day I first laid eyes on you in that restaurant of yours.”

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

TRANSLATIONS:

Basta - Enough

Bellissima bambina - Beautiful little girl

Inizia ora, è la tua principale fonte di informazioni. Non mi deludere, Pandora. - Get started now, she is your main source of information. Don't disappoint me, Pandora.

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #hazbin characters #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel oc #angst

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waltrp · 4 years

Photo

I WISH MY COHORTS WEREN’T SO DUMB

BIDDI BOPPI BOOP A SPECIAL MESSAGE ADMIN ZULEMA: welcome to walt Ash ! The Teague siblings are characters that I hold near and dear to my heart. They’ve always been my favorites of the nightmare gang since we opened. You captured Sadie beautifully in your app. You understand her well and I have complete faith that you’ll transform her into something magical. I’m ready for PAIN. Also, I love your passion for the nightmare before christmas. It’s one of my favorite movies as well so I know you’re going to kickass as Sadie Teague. You have 24 hours to send in your account. Please refer to THIS PAGE for your next tasks. We can’t wait to roleplay with you. Welcome to our Ohana xx.

It’s a pleasure to meet you…

Hi darlings, I am Ash, 22, GMT \ She/Her.

Not entirely random but.. I have a TNBC tattoo on my arm, I have seen TNBC live in concert with Danny Elfman, Catherine O’Hara and Ken Page and I think I love my cats more than most humans.

Triggers; Not really triggered by per say but not comfortable writing sexual assault.

Are you positive you can be active?

I can be very active in my evening time on weekdays and all day on my days off, weekends not so much as its the only time I see my partner and friends. On a scale i’m about a 7/10 but at the moment im on covid-19 lockdown so I am very much available to write for the next two weeks at least.

How did you stumble upon Walt?

Through the Zane Holtz tumblr tag!

Did you read the rules?

Yes indeedy!

Are you sure?

Character you want?

Sadie Teage

Please describe the character for us

I would describe Sadie as the Star tarot card flipped upside down. A girl with so much potential and love and trust in her heart that was cruelly ripped from her by the real world leaving her distrustful, angry and prone to self sabotaging for her own protection . A girl who could have been a kind reflection of her mother or as brilliant as her brother Logan but who had her self confidence poisoned by her malicious father and his evil ways. A girl with a guarded heart and no faith in humanity, a scorpion in a world of frogs. A girl who deep down is still suffering silently, wanting for a better life but never being able to see past the next rent due day. A girl who constantly counts her pennies to keep food on the table for Beckham, who never once lets herself live because she is too afraid of what would happen if she did

Second character choice

No secondary character interest at this time.

It’s time to see that sample para.

Sadie’s dry and cracked lips rested against the battered, old chipped mug that held a substantial amount of bitter black coffee, the heat from the liquid rose up danced against her sharp chin as she shivered all over. The apartment felt as cold as Dante’s Inferno and as her bony fingers decorated with thick rings clutched onto the mug for dear life her gaze drifted towards the open door of Beckham’s room. Sadie exhaled shakily, allowing herself the time to collect her thoughts before her younger brother returned home. Against the plug on the kitchen wall and attached to a charger falling to pieces her phone began to vibrate itself to the edge of the counter. Sadie caught it with one hand just as it began to dangle and frowned at her landlords name across the screen. Locking her phone she placed it back down on the cool counter and rolled her eyes at the charger that had given up. “Piece of crap.” she muttered walking away to the kitchen table where a small notebook containing numbers rested. Setting down her steaming mug of will to live, Sadie propped her hair out of her face and took a seat alone at the table.

Budgeting; something Sadie was not the best it but something that was a necessity to how she survived from week to week. Her income stretched as thinly as she could possibly make it to have her ends met, the empty cupboards mocked her as she scribbled down a grocery list of baked beans, rice, coffee, bread, eggs, milk and porridge. Her gaze once again shifted to Beckham’s room as the temptation to borrow a few dollars built up inside her but almost as quick as it appeared Sadie ushered it out of her brain feeling sick. “New low point Sadie.. new low point” she sighed. Sadie was all too used to ‘borrowing’ from people, a five finger discount at stores, a free sample enthusiast but taking something from her family was a level she couldn’t bare to bring herself down to. Drumming her fingers against the table Sadie pondered on whether or not to contact Logan about her financial situation, ask Beckham contribute more and buy his own damn sugar if he wanted it that badly but she sadly shut down the thoughts feeling guilty. Even know she still wanted to protect them in her own way, not letting them know how bad things were getting would save them in the long run or at least that what she told herself.

Sitting back against the old wooden chair with a wobbly leg Sadie reached for her mug and swallowed a hot gulp of coffee, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste, maybe Beckham was onto something about his sugar. “Fuck– what am I supposed to do..” she whispered to the empty kitchen. Rent was due, the heating was broken, the cupboards were empty and her phone was about to call it a day. Everything was crumbling down around her, the fresh start she swore to herself would be different was now looking more like a hopeful dream she used to have a child. Sadie felt foolish, how did she let herself think she could be anything other than a pitiful, useless child. Tears stung in the back of her eyes as she tried to push back the overwhelming memories of her Father’s violence and heartbreaking words. Sadie knew from a young age she wouldn’t amount to much, that was Logan, she would always just be trailing behind on his coat tails keeping the electricity running. Hot tears ran down her face as Sadie began to imagine her life turning out like her mother’s, no escape from poverty, no happiness, just three rotten children and a house falling down around her.

Quickly Sadie rose to her feet pushing back the chair, she wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her shirt and wiped her nose after. She began to make her way across the kitchen breathing deeply to contain the emotions. Crying wouldn’t solve anything, but getting shit done would. Sadie unplugged her dead and gone charger from the wall and picked up her phone before walking back to the table. She grabbed her jacket off the chair back and her note pad from the table, stuffing it into her pockets. Walking towards the apartment door she fumbled for her key and began to type up a message.

[MSG; ORION]:: hey. you around? feel like causing some chaos.

Anything else, love?

I haven’t rp’d in like two years so this is me kind of coming back to the scene. Very rusty but if I am successful in joining your lovely group I hope to get back to speed and relearn everything all over again.

Also i am kind of obsessed with TNBC so I apologize in advance!

#accepted #waaccept #disney rp #bio rp #rp #rpg #roleplay

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cykelops · 5 years

Text

i ran out of steam so here's all i have for my Sub-Zero/Scorpion fanfic for a game I've never played with lore i do not understand.,

There is a well-believed misconception that fire is destructive, all-consuming-- wrathful.

Fire can be all those things, but it can also guard a fortress, signal for an ally, warm a friend. It's about control. It's about necessity. Hasashi does not need to be angry, so he simply isn't. He's the flame inside the paper lantern, trusted within reach of the delicate parchment because there is no questioning his purpose. Light the way.

Hasashi breathes in. The wind, heavy with the scent of spring and distant rains, feeds the fire in his chest. It is a quiet day. He rarely has a moment to spare for introspection as of late. He wants to believe the Shirai Ryu stand strong and stable, but a part of him will never feel secure in their strength again. Not when they managed to lose so much once. Confidence is a matter of never-ending cultivation.

But it's a quiet day, and that feels good.

Hasashi breathes out. He drops from his peculiar one-armed stance before the blood can finish moving to his head. It's borderline vanity to favor the exercise, but he likes to know he can do it-- if he can hold his body's weight on one palm without trembling then surely he can carry the world on his shoulders. If his novices voiced such a childish sentiment in his presence Hasashi would take their ankles with a staff. His little contradictions thrive in the privacy of his thoughts.

Unsurprisingly, Hasashi runs hot. Through strenuous exercise he's nearly ruined the bindings around his hands. A trail of sweat chases after another, racing towards at the waistband of his gi, crossing every carefully defined rise and fall of his muscles and the coarse hair beneath his navel. Hasashi spreads his arms and faces the window for some relief from the wind running through his bedroom. It's strangely cool for late spring. Refreshingly so.

He cocks his head to the side, towards the door. His muscles flex and tighten. One foot in front, one behind, one arm reaching for the weapons rack at his right, and the other ready to block and parry an attack from the front. Footsteps approach down the hall and as a warrior he is ready for them, but as a Master he knows it's merely one of his men come to seek him out. He knew it was one of his Shirai Ryu before they rounded the corner, but Hasashi has honed his instincts too long to make exceptions.

He can see only the messenger's shadow as he goes down in one knee.

"Grandmaster Hasashi," He says. "The Master of the Lin Kuei is in the garden."

Hasashi perks up. Rather than the door, he moves to the window where he can see the canopies like a green dome around Shirai Ryu Garden. Sub-Zero? Here? How strange. The Lin Kuei are traditional to a fault. In the past, Sub-Zero has sent men days in advance of his own arrival so they may be appropriately prepared for it. Hasashi had returned the courtesy infrequently. It was only nine months ago that they saw each other last, and Hasashi skipped the formality and shot a flare in the direction of Lin Kuei Palace. Efficient. Sub-Zero complimented him on it. He must have missed a far less noticeable icicle shot into the sky.

"There must be some emergency." Hasashi says resolutely.

"I don't think--" The young messenger does not finish, tongue having slipped without permission. Hasashi covers the distance in quick striders and opens the door a sliver. His visitor is dark-haired and about as young as he pictured him. A single gold band adorns his forehead.

"Speak, man. Let enough words die in your throat and they will suffocate you."

The young man shifts his weight from one hand to the other. Fear isn't in him when he looks up at Hasashi, but it's clear that he did not expect to exchange more than his first few words with the Grandmaster. He's got a spine in him. Good. Hasashi worries about a few of their recruits from time to time.

"He came through the front gate, Grandmaster. He spoke with some of the older members and they told me to call for you--But there weren't any Lin Kuei with him, as usual. And his dress…" Once more, the young man paused.

Hasashi crouched down to his level and pushed the door open the rest of the way. "What of his dress?"

He struggled to find the words, tricky things as they were. He shrugged helplessly. "He was dressed for the garden, Grandmaster."

Now what--in the name of all of Earthrealm--did that mean?

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

Hasashi takes the time to dismiss the young messenger and retreat back into his room. He pulls his uniform off the rack he displays it on and slips into it piece by piece without foregoing his mask. It's a methodical ceremony. Time-consuming. The situation in the garden concerns him, but his Shirai Ryu cannot know that. They must not see their Grandmaster rushing in his training clothes to meet a lone clan leader that was once their sworn enemy after he arrives unannounced and in strange clothes.

He doesn't keep a mirror in the room, but his reflection bounces off the edge of a blade and catches his eye. Beneath midday light, he shines like spun gold.

The garden is a short walk from the temple. He passes the main hall and the training courtyard before he comes upon the garden path. His men pretend to be preoccupied with their daily tasks, but Hasashi knows what the weight of their eyes feels like. Oddities are a common occurrence at the Shirai Ryu Temple, but rarely one as unique as the barrage of questions Sub-Zero has laid out for them. Why is he here? What does he want? Why not meet the Grandmaster in the temple among his people? That last one has them all on edge. Some still have doubts about the peace with the Lin Kuei. They've been at war for so long it feels unnatural to be on the same side, to be friends.

Hasashi wouldn't admit it, but sometimes he doubts too. Hatred like his is not so easily dispelled, even by truth or retribution.

At the edge of the garden Hasashi stops to listen. Sub-Zero's footsteps are distinct, but he can't make them out. Wind flows unencumbered through the trees, so he is not lying in wait hoping to land a pounce on his unsuspecting rival. Testing their skills is a game without consequences after their alliance formed. Keeps them young and thankful that they are comrades and not enemies, or they might have both died at each other's hands by now.

Instead of footsteps, there's a sound like a sharp knife cutting through paper. As Hasashi advances through the garden path it becomes more distinct. The sound moves in circles, closer now, then farther away, until finally Hasashi rounds the right corner and comes to a wide but shallow pond, usually only full of frogs and lily pads but now containing one Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei-- skating.

His long blue robes leave his arms and a stripe of skin on his chest bare. He wears a belt typical of the Lin Kuei over dark blue bottoms, adorned with symbols of his rank and small favors from his friends. He wears a tassel from Jade when he's out of uniform. There's a yellow knot in its place.

"Sub-Zero, what brings you here? You have managed to spook half the temple with your cryptic visit."

Sub-Zero stops, smiles as white as winter. The ice thins and cracks but for a disc below his feet. His man wasn't wrong to find the outfit strange. He would expect to find Sub-Zero wearing it while lounging in the privacy of his palace, not to visit what was once the den of his enemies.

"I seek a warmer climate, Hanzo, but my Lin Kuei prefer the cold, so I've left them to guard it."

He raises one hand to catch a petal falling from the tree above his head. He rolls it once over his knuckles before lowering his arm to finish its journey to the water. This cryomancer traveling away from the cold for a purpose other than a mission? Unheard of. It's rare enough that he didn't come into Shirai Ryu Temple to pay his respects to the old masters.

"So I see. What are you doing now?"

"Why, playing, of course."

"Playing?" Hasashi asks incredulously.

Sub-Zero nods. He holds his hand out flatly towards Hasashi as if to catch another petal. "Yes. Won't you join me?"

Hasashi shakes his head, to refute and to laugh. He worried for naught. Sub-Zero may be holding back something, but if he were here for business they would already be speaking of it. Emergencies are aplenty in Earthrealm, but this is not one. He feels an inkling of shame for the poor reception his friend received, undercut because Shirai Ryu cannot be blamed for not trusting a man they were ordered to hate for years. Sub-Zero isn't without fault for behaving so out of character.

He can feel that this is his Sub-Zero. He's encountered enough impostors and clones that he should be worried the man has seemingly lost his mind, but he isn't bothered. He's just a little off at the moment, and he never judges Hasashi when he's in a similar position.

"Ridiculous." Hanzo chuckles.

Sub-Zero's fingers touch his chin. He sizes Hasashi from crown to sole, moving his hand from one side of his face to the next, deep in thought. He raises his fists above his head. Sub-Zero commands his element, freezing his fists and the air around them, blowing white smoke low against the water and slowly rising. Hanzo can feel his power building even at a distance. Sub-Zero isn't like other cryomancers. His bloodright calls to Hasashi's. He can feel it in the marrow in his bones, vibrating along the same frequency as the fire that sustains Hanzo in an equal but opposite current.

"Ah, Hanzo!" Sub-Zero exclaims. "I knew you would join me eventually."

Hasashi sees himself out on the water, standing beside the master of the Lin Kuei with his arms crossed and absent his mask. There's a hard line diving his brow, but his lips are unrealistically and comically upturned. Sub-Zero claps a hand on his--its-- shoulder and faces the real Scorpion still at pond's edge.

An ice statue. Of him. Perfect but for the detail of his mouth. He's wearing the same uniform as Hanzo, a new uniform Sub-Zero had never seen until this day, but that he has succeeded in replicating in a manner or seconds. Hanzo does not share in this skill of creation, though he's burnt portraits on rock for the amusement of children before, but they cannot compare to the presence the ice commands.

Hanzo takes his first step on the pond and is not disappointed. His friend never allows his feet to dip into the shallow water, the way is laid out for him in ice. He never takes an uncertain step. He expects Sub-Zero to catch him every time.

"This icicle looks nothing like me, Sub-Zero." Hanzo tells him. He runs his finger over the bridge of the copy's nose. It's frighteningly accurate.

"Perhaps you're right. The resemblance might be lost here, given the fact I have not seen your face in nearly a year."

"Nine months." Hasashi corrects him. It fails to impress Sub-Zero beyond an unamused lift of his brow.

Hanzo sighs. He needs both hands to remove this new mask. It stops his enemies from ripping it off his face so easily, but it might be a problem if he's ever missing an arm after battle. He hangs the mask from the hook at his belt and pulls back his cowl. He shakes his hair out of the collar of his uniform. Sub-Zero watches him too closely. He's too quiet upon seeing Hanzo's face. He expected further teasing. It's disconcerting.

Late on his cue, Sub-Zero picks up where he left off. He makes gestures around Hanzo's face like a tailor taking measurements.

"Ah, I see what I've missed. That wrinkle there." He touches Hanzo's temple. That same hand travels upwards and brushes flatly over his hair. "Yes-- and your height. I see now, it's all wrong."

Too late does Hasashi feel the ice melting beneath his feet. It's enough to make him lose his balance and stumble in the water, wetting his ankles. Suddenly, he stands much shorter than his double and its sculptor.

"Kuai Liang!" Hanzo scolds. He kicks with the intent to soak the man, but he doesn't reel back in time as expected. The dodge never comes, and they stand equally wet.

"There it is." He says abruptly. "Not Sub-Zero. Not Master. Just Kuai Liang."

His voice is softer. The crow's feet around his eyes have smoothed from laughter to frightening fondness. Hanzo thinks he sees his friend at last. The real him, not the amusing creature full of mischief he found in his garden, but Kuai Liang.

"What's wrong?" Hanzo asks warily.

"Nothing." Kuai Liang says unconvincingly. The daze lasts for a moment longer before Kuai Liang comes to his senses. His lips flatten and purse. He appears frustrated by his own inability to adeptly communicate. "I dishonor myself."

The only man to meet his eyes unflinching turns as though he cannot bear to hold his gaze. Hanzo startles as his reflection begins to melt, but is far more concerned by Kuai Liang walking away. He grabs his arm and yanks him rougher than he intended, pulling him off the ice path so they stand on equal ground.

"Stop this. Where has your clarity gone?"

"Nine months." Kuai Liang snaps. He bends his arms and wrestles off Hanzo's grip. "Nine months I haven't seen you and it took me six to think it was better when you hated me because at least--At least I saw you more."

Giving breath to the words takes all the wind out of Kuai Liang. He's a ship at sea lost in a back pond, mourning a past where they were enemies to each other. If Hanzo didn't understand him so well, he might have taken offense. Kuai Liang doesn't fight Hanzo when he next places his hands upon him, but he doesn't face him readily, turning his body just so.

Dishonor. This man dares speak to him of dishonor?

For the past two-hundred eighty-four days, Hanzo Hasashi has craved company he cannot have. He's fantasized, in selfish detail, of spiriting the master of the Lin Kuei away from his ice palace. He's conjured a world where he can bear to leave his Shirai Ryu to their own devices and spend the rest of his life chasing Kuai Liang through Earthrealm and any other world the man might take him to.

Worst of all are the nights where Hanzo tells himself Kana would have wanted him to have someone. Someone who could cool his anger. That she would have held Hanzo's health and wellbeing above his duty to the clan and the people it protects. But he cannot excuse his desires by attributing them to Harumi's wishes. What he wants is his alone-- or perhaps, it's a madness shared by two.

"Kuai Liang… We are as one in this." Hanzo admits. "But I could not leave any more than I could ask you to stay."

Kuai Liang's hands are cold on his jaw. He cups Hanzo's face with impossible tenderness, gentle unlike a warrior and precisely like a lover. His cool, controlled Kuai Liang-- always the first to touch, to hold, impulsive when his heart calls for it. Impulsive as running halfway across the world because he missed him.

"I know, Hanzo. So why do I want you to ask?"

Hanzo takes the string of firsts from Kuai Liang by holding the back of his neck and bringing their lips to a crash. He cuts himself so sweetly on his lover’s teeth with bruising force. It's repayment, an apology, because Kuai Liang came to Japan before Hanzo had the initiative to visit Arctika. Because it's always Kuai Liang extending the olive branch. But most of all because he hungers and nothing else will do.

#writings

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deathbyvalentine · 5 years

Text

Frankly Too Many Prompt Fills

Lucy - Wedding Ring

She twisted it around her finger, a habit she had never truly grown out of when she was anxious. The bar was busy for a Wednesday night, full of business types either networking or celebrating. Suits were finely pressed and watches and phones glinted from every angle. It was a far cry from what the Aquinas Nether would call a social space.

But then, she was a far cry from what they would call a lady. Ridiculous dresses discarded, she was back to her soft jeans and smart jackets that had characterised much of her teenage years. There was still traditional touches - her jewels and the cut of her neckline, but she looked merely vintage rather than archaic.

She was never fully at ease in the Mundane world, though she was a damn sight better than most. She took a breath and settled her hands in her lap, forcing calm. The meeting would be quick and painless. Joshua was a friend of Edwin’s, so could be counted on to be a good sort. He had a business venture he was seeking advice on - mostly how it would be viewed across the water in England. Predictably, she was now considered the family expert on all things English.

He arrived, a little out of breath, hair fluffy from the wind outside. “Lucy?” He queried, a bright smile appearing on his face when she stood and greeted him, barely reaching up to his shoulder. They shook hands and took their places at the table, him graciously buying her drink.

Joshua wasted no time in talking business. He was a passionate young man, his eyes glimmering with excitement and plans. She realised, with a jolt, she could not actually be very much older than him, and yet she felt as though she had lived a hundred lives more. She gave him the advice she could, advising him on how the English Nether lot handled their properties and what business moves they would see as unspeakably rude.

When they had exhausted that topic, she found she was rather engaged with him. He seemed want to know everything about her, asking questions after her tastes in music and art. She was ashamed to admit she found herself quite pleased, responding demurely and with that high fluttering laugh she reserved solely for those she liked.

He at one point put his hand on her arm, and she looked down, cheeks heating up. If there was any doubt before, there was none now. The electric young man was flirting with her. This was no great revelation. She saw no point in false modesty. She was pretty and funny and men liked her. She was more surprised at how she appeared to be flirting back.

Until his eyes flickered down to her hand and saw the unobtrusive little ring sitting there, on her ring finger. Automatically she turned her hand over, taking a sip of wine with her other. “Oh, you’re married?”

She hesitated. Yes. She was married. She hadn’t signed any paperwork, hadn’t sent any letters to Tom, hadn’t done much else but packed her belongings and went home, scarcely a word passing between them. When she thought of him, a hundred emotions flitted through her head and so few of them were good.

And yet.

The thought of separating from him, of cutting his life from hers quite so decisively was as frightening to her as standing on the precipice of a cliff. He was hers, her husband and she did not want to admit that perhaps it wasn’t true. He was flawed and repressed and sometimes unkind, but he had glimmers in him. Memories of their teamwork, of his gentleness, of his arms around her could not be dislodged or forgotten. She would not take off the ring, because to do so would be admitting that he would never be in her life again, would never hold her, would never be that reassuring presence to her flighty one. Her throat tightened - she could hardly bear it.

“Yes. I am.”

Adorable

It wasn’t that the term was inaccurate. It was that it wasn’t all she was. It tended to be all men saw. Their mistake. Humans had spent millennia learning that bright colours on snakes and toads and frogs did not mean they were safe. They should have learnt the same of little girls.

Her hair was blonde and pin straight. Her eyes were wide and bright blue. She was unusually short for her fourteen years and had delicate wrists. She wore bows in her hair, adored the colour pink and spoke in a high soft voice. Adults liked her nice manners and how clean she looked.

Vanessa was not nice. Vanessa was not delicate. She was not innocent or soft or gentle, or anything people assumed from her appearance. The last of Vanessa’s soft edges had been filed off the moment she had realised something fatal - she was pretty. She had been looking at herself in the mirror, trying to connect herself with her body, that she existed, that this was all she was. The realisation hit her suddenly and with violence. It took her a few more years to realise that pretty could not only be an advantage. It could be a weapon.

She leaned over countertops on tip toes, whispering orders into floundering waiters ears. She crossed her legs in short skirts and bobbed her ankle in school, chewing on the end of her pencil and pretending not to feel her classmates eyes on her skin. Everything was engineered - every bubble popped, every thumb sucked, every heavy blink.

Look all you like. But don’t touch. People learnt that lesson the same way they would a rattlesnake.

The first instance was at a 7-11, when she was standing in a queue, phone clutched in one hand and a slushie in the other. A college boy who should have known better dared to brush his finger tips under the edge of her skirt. She turned as though burnt, slushie already lashing out to land fully in his face. It didn’t end there.

It ended with a car in a ditch, blood splattered against the steering wheel, window bent and cracked. It ended with him wheezing for air, no help immediately forthcoming. It ended with snapped breaks, with no clues.

Vanessa would not apologise for her nature.

‘Let’s Play At Being Slaves.’ I Whispered.

The room was dim and dark, lit only by the streetlights outside. The furniture in the room was painted in silhouette, shadows framed against the orange glow. I was crouched in front of the sofa, looking up at Sofia up on the cushions. Her eyes were wide, her black hair streaked with amber light. Her hands were tight on the edge, white knuckled. Upstairs, the adults were asleep. This was now our own private world.

They didn’t know about the games girls played. The rituals we performed, the secrets we whispered. We were not sugar and spice. We were witches. We were scorpions. We were murderesses and orphans and ghosts. We scrabbled at each other with stubby nails, pretending to be lions ripping apart David. We poured every berry and leaf we found into water, mixed it with mud and sticks, called it a potion and dared each other to drink it.

My favourite place in the whole world was the graveyard, with it’s stone and moss and solemnity not find it melancholy. I found it wild. I loved the birds singing with fierce joy, refusing to feel the shadow of death across their feathers. The insects didn’t care that they were meant to be respectful.

Our dolls were our totems, our poppets, our souls. We cut their hair and painted their skin and made them both in our image and out of them. They died with frequency, drowned or hurled from kitchen countertop cliffs. And they were always, always reborn at the first break of day.

The Doctor's Day Off

Tommy had only intended to pop home for two minutes to change before a date with Paris. He’d be back in Greece before nightfall. Jones was at the medical centre, unsurprisingly. If the sun was in the sky, that’s where she’d be. His chest was half covered by a clean shirt when the doorbell rang. He paused. Couldn’t be any of the bullshit club. None of them knocked, they just let themselves in. For similar reasons, it was unlikely to be anyone who wanted to kill him.

He padded down the stairs in his bare feet, yawning blearily. He had barely unlocked the door when a high shrieking assaulted his ears, quickly followed by a babble of a language he didn’t speak. He blinked, processing the scene in front of him.

The fae with blue skin was pouring with purple blood and making a high pitched keening sound, held by the one with green skin who was also the one with an angry expression and an angrier voice, throwing words around in their native language. Tommy stepped aside to let them in, pointing them to the dining room where the table had never seen use as a food holder but had seen too much as an operating table.

Of course they happened to arrive when Jones was at her normal job. Of course. He snapped on some plastic gloves, trying to get some sense out of the both of them. Soon they realised he only spoke english and switched to it, albeit begrudgingly. From what he could gather, there was something of a seelie/unseelie gang war occurring in the woods and it was no longer being contained to dawn or dusk. Tommy felt he deserved a medal for the amount of patience he showed through this interaction, managing to resist calling either of them idiots.

First job was the grossest. Rearranging the insides that had half slipped out of place when the gash in the abdomen had opened. Harder than it sounds, considering he had no real idea about fae anatomy. He figured the second heart would go behind the liver shaped thing, and the intestines would probably make something like a spiral pattern. He managed to avoid pulling faces when his hands were literally inside of their flesh. Just.

Sewing them up was easy in comparison, even if he did end up needing to use a much thicker needle and a thread that didn’t blend so easily into purple blood. It wasn’t the most perfect stitching in the world, but it was better than bleeding out in a ditch. He gave them some dressings and sent them on their way.

He was five minutes into scrubbing his hands clean when the doorbell rang again. Distantly, he heard a shrieking coming from outside. He groaned and let his head his the bathroom mirror. Maybe he should just invite Paris here.

Harlequin

The easy thing to do would have been to blame it on him. To sign off her madness like she had signed off her last name, pushed it over to his camp, wash her hands of all responsibility. She might not even have been wrong to do so. His pushing and prodding and poking had definitely sped her way towards going off the deep end.

But she liked her madness being hers. She was proud of it. She had taken the seed and cultivated it until it bloomed into a nasty flower. She had tossed away the meekness and polite manners that had never fitted quite right. Shredded her beige pantyhose and grey dresses. Cut her hair unevenly and wore bright eyeshadow and lipstick at the same time. She talked to herself, saw insults and adoration where there was none and didn’t stop herself from biting when it was deserved.

Madness wasn’t all pretty, but it was freeing. She didn’t care about being pretty. Not anymore. She would no longer deny her worst impulses for fear of how it would make her look. She liked bared teeth more than her smile, her nails like talons instead of manicured. Watch out world. She was a madwoman now. Attics and asylums and hospitals would be her home and she would release any woman she came across trapped inside them.

UTS - Popular

He couldn’t actually picture himself popular. So much would have to change. He would have to be rich, he would have to live on the right side of the tracks. His clothes would have to go - out the faded flannel and torn jeans, the home-done hair cut and repaired glasses.

He could see glimpses of it sometimes, when he wore the clothes Wendy well meaningly shoved towards him, or Freddy’s jacket sat around his shoulders. He imagined waking up and going to school, surrounded by friends, not glancing over his shoulder. Getting invited to parties in houses with pools, drinking booze that cost more than a few quid, teachers smiling at him in corridors.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted it. You couldn’t miss what you had never had. He wasn’t sure he could cope with the pressures of social perfection, if he could stand being quite that vapid, if maintenance of his personality was something he wanted to focus on. And the group that milled around in the halls, perfume and glitter pouring off them, he didn’t like a single one of them. Even the one he was fucking.

What was it about popularity that made you into a grade A dick? Did you get a brain transplant as well as a stupid nickname? He hoped never to find out.

T67 - Scams

She applied the glittering lipstick, admiring herself in the mirror. She looked like an utter daydream, baby pink hair curling down to her bare shoulders in fluffy clouds, big blue eyes framed with gold stars. Astrid was often unaware of her looks, but right now it was impossible to think she was anything but beautiful. She slipped the lipstick down her cleavage, and admired herself one last time. Then it was back into the rave.

The lights were flashing and blue, and occasionally ultraviolet, making Astrid’s nails and some flecks of her glitter light up. Heads turned. A small smile flickered on her face. She liked the attention. She drew it towards her as she made her way to the centre of the dancefloor. She loved dancing, and it showed, body moving to the thumping beat, feeling it through her feet. Her eyes drifted across the bar and she found her mark. He was wearing a suit, the tie looking like it was made of some tightly woven mesh, his cufflinks flickering through advertisements. His eyes dragged up her body and when they reached her eyes, she did not shy away.

It was a slow game. One made of many dances, many glances and finally, a slight touch on her wrist. He had finally joined her, his chest against hers, his hands finding her waist. He leaned down towards her lips and she tilted her head so his lips made contact with her neck. She tangled her fingers with his, kissed his knuckles and after three songs, lead him from the dancefloor, catching the eye of Syn as she left.

The cloakroom was warm but blessedly quiet, and Astrid had to stand on tiptoes to finally kiss him. Her lips grazed his, his tongue flicking out to taste her. It took a few seconds for the effect to take place. His pupils widened, his breathing hitching a little. Another minute and he was asleep. Astrid loved her lipstick. Carefully she turned the gentleman over, hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his credits and wallet, the watch around his wrists, his IDs. She left the cloak room, shutting it behind her and going to find Syn.

Imaginary Friends Tea Party

I don’t know why people think little girls’ imaginary friends are sweet. Mine never were. And now, with them all sitting around the table, I realised they still weren’t. Except now I was clever enough to be afraid of them.

I raised the tea cup to my lips, ignoring the slight clatter when I placed it back down onto the plate. I hid my hands in my lap, not wishing for them to see my trembling. They looked like they smelt fear as clearly as blood.

The First sat at the other end of the table and I wasn’t versed in etiquette enough to know if he was the head of the table or I was. I avoided his eyes every time I glanced up, pretending to be fascinated by the silverware, the napkins.

He was a brute, unreasonably huge. He was what I thought wolves looked like, informed only by picture books and my father’s imitation howling. There was a shock of grey fur, shot through with black, a muzzle that was disproportionately large. His teeth were sharp and his mouth was red red red. He was not delicate, shoving his nose into tea cups, slobbering all over the delicate saucers. He did not have a name. There was a noise I used to make to summon him, beyond words.

Beside him, there was the one from when I was old enough to realise that I was a girl. She was doll like, tiny and short, golden curls hitting her tiny waist. Her eyes were a little too big for her face, her movements slow and measured. Her name was Grace and I loved her once. She was an idol, a mentor and a crush all at the same time. I wanted to be her and when I was a teenager I wanted to destroy her. The cracks showed now, up along her forearms, at her temples. Her mouth was red too, but gave the impression that the wrong touch would smear them.

There were more animal-like creatures dotted here and there, looking like nothing that actually existed but like an amalgamation of many. It wasn’t actually the mammal constructions that frightened me the most. It was the bird-like creatures, with sharp movements, beaks and talons. None of them were plain - all of the colours were eyewateringly bright. These tended to be from when I was younger, fascinated with the world around me. As I got older, they took on different shapes.

They were human shaped, all of them. Their eyes flickered to look at me constantly, adjusting their movements whenever I moved, like I was the sun around which they all orbited. In a way, I was. Lonely, frustrated, surrounded by depictions of love that seemed out of reach. So all of my imaginary friends built when I was a teenager had one thing in common - they adored me.

Ailliana wanted to be my best friend. She thought I had the best advice and the best hair and the best sleepovers. Tate thought I was the most gorgeous thing to ever walk the earth, always wanted to hold my hand and stroke my hair when I slept. Ethan (as I got older, they nearly all became boys) featured mainly in the soft time before sleep, where I would dare to imagine his lips on mine, his body pressing me into the mattress.

This meal had the feeling of an intervention to it, I realised. They wanted to know where I had been, what I had been doing. The reason given was curiosity but I saw the sidelong looks, the clenched fingers around cutlery. The accusation thar sat as heavy in the air as Grace’s perfume.

Why had I left them? Well, I had replaced them with flesh and blood. I had found that I rather enjoyed it when I didn’t know what someone was about to do. I loved looking over at my friend and trying to guess what they were thinking. People were entire worlds contained. My imagination was only a reflection of myself. And I didn’t always like my reflection.

But I wanted them to go even less.

The Fae Prince of Thorns

The stone walls had been carved to look as though they were not stone at all, but wood, growing naturally and strong. Unmoving marble leaves and ivy decorated each column, promising a breath of wind would shift them. False promises were woven into the fabric of this place.

The throne looked rather plain in comparison to the surrounding hall. Flint, it looked like, pieced together to make the seat. A single beam of light from a hole in the far-away ceiling fell on it, letting in rain and sun alike. The reason became clear once you’d looked at the throne for a few moments. Inbetween the gaps of the flint, something grew. It curved around pieces of rock possessively, rooting it to the ground. The throne would be immovable. This place is where it lived and this place is where it would perish. It would outlast the monarchs that sat on its uncomfortable mantel.

The Prince’s clothing (and to a lesser extent, skin) was covered in the small cuts and tears that told any passerby exactly where he had been sitting. It was an unofficial sign of office, less obvious than the crown of thorns that graced his head or the red rose that bloomed in his lapel, the only splash of colour in his otherwise monochrome outfit.

When he sat on the throne, he did not flinch. He tossed his leg over the arm of the object as though he was lounging on a couch, his obsidian eyes trained intently on whoever had presented themselves to him that moment. Sometimes he would lean forward, placing an elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm, not concious at all of the small ripping sounds that would follow the forward motion.

His title, it was rumoured, did not just come from the seat of the kingdom on which he sat. He looked soft at first glance - skin the dark blue of the royals, lips plush, hair pin straight, motions full of grace. It would be easy not to pay much heed to the fact he rarely smiles. But it is not his physical form that was thorny. His tongue and wit was known to destroy emissaries, reduce diplomatic relationships to tatters, break hearts. His appearance was the rose - it lured you in, so you didn’t notice the thorns.

The Heart of the Kraken

The deck was slick with blood, seawater and slime. Even the most seasoned sailors wrinkled their noses in disgust, stepping over the still twitching tentacles and broken planks alike to fetch more water to try and shift the viscera. It was half practical, half a method of avoiding looking at the scrum huddling over the body of the beast.

It was Good Thomas who knelt closest, feeling for the dagger on his hip. The eye of the creature watched him with wary hatred. While it had dealt a fairly sizable blow to the ship, it had ultimately lost. Now it would pay for the loss with it’s life. Such was the way of things here.

Good Thomas took the knife and as though gutting a pig, plunged it into the kraken and dragged it down, steadily. A cry of disgust went up as its insides spilled onto the deck, a stench following it shortly after. Thomas seemed oblivious to the reactions of his cohorts, rolling up a sleeve and plunging his arm inside the cavern he had created. Eyes closed, he felt around until he withdrew his hand.

His fist was closed around something. He gestured for a bucket, putting his fist inside it. Slowly, he washed whatever he was holding, until it was revealed. The green gem was sharp enough to cut his palm, scarlet mixing with the saltwater. There was a mass in the centre of it, darker than dark, looking like ink. Good Thomas held it up to the sunlight, watching it glitter.

“Here it is lads.” He whispered, feeling his comrades lean in around him, no longer fascinated by the body of the monster and instead drawn in by the promise of treasure. “This is the start of it. We’re gonna be kings amongst men.”

The Desert in His Heart & The Storm Rider

Once upon a time there was a beautiful king. His skin was as dark as the nights sky and his eyes sparkled like stars. He was just and noble and loyal, however, he was not perfect. He did not love easily or indeed at all. He was not unkind, but nor was he accustomed to softness. And because of this, he was accused of not truly understanding many of the struggles his people went through. He could trace back his troubles. As a child, he had been cursed by an old warlock to love like the desert until he found an oasis. Now, it was well known that the desert in which his kingdom resided, once you left the capital city by the river, the desert had no such oasis. And thus he was doomed to be lonely forever.

There were rumours however, that you could summon an oasis. But you had to call out to the son of the storm god, who would decide if you were worthy of rain or not. Not a single person had ever been judged worthy of his blessings so far. Entire caravans had perished for want of a single drop.

The kings parents had been trying unsuccessfully for many years to find their son a marriage. He had refused all hands offered to him, stating that he would only marry for water or for love, and he had neither. However, it was becoming harder and harder to deny his parents. They argued that if he was never going to love anybody, what was the harm in marrying someone he simply liked?

They gave him a date - two weeks to find the oasis he sought, or he married the Princess of the Masonry Guild. She had been his best friend since birth, and though neither loved the other passionately, they enjoyed each other’s company. This seemed fair, if less than ideal, and he set out into the desert for one last attempt to find the oasis, and so his heart.

On the first day, a mighty sandstorm blew across the rolling dunes. He continued walking, covering his eyes and mouth with a fine scarf that cost hundreds of pieces of gold to make. He walked for many miles before coming across an old man with eyes like emeralds coughing and spluttering. The king took off his scarf and gave it to the elder, and walked on without asking for compensation.

On the first night, when the sun sunk below the horizon, chill descended across the land. He set up a fire, and as he was getting ready to sleep, he saw a dog with eyes like green grass shivering not so far away. He brought him close to the fire, wrapped him in his cloak, and slept. When he awoke, the dog was gone along with his cloak.

On the second day, he saw a green rattlesnake trapped beneath a rock that would surely crush it. Despite the risk of poison, the king used his walking stick to free the creature, and when it curled around the staff, he decided to leave it rather than wrestle it from the tired animal.

On the second night, he was cooking some of the supplies he had brought with him. A child with eyes like seaglass watched hungrily from a nearby settlement. He gave the child half and when he was still hungry, gave him the rest too.

On the third day, he found himself further than he had ever walked before. He did not recognise the curve of the land or the whispers of the wind. He knew that before long, he would have to turn back or be lost to the sands forever.

Between two dunes stood a young man who seemed as much a part of the desert as the grains beneath his sandaled feet. His eyes were like fresh mint and his sun-kissed skin shone with sweat. He was beautiful in a way that made the king suspect that he was seeing things, that nobody could be as perfect as this. But he approached nonetheless.

“Youth! Could you tell me where I could find an oasis?” “I could.” The young man looked him up and down, clearly deciding something. “But it would cost you all the jewels in your crown.” “Then the deal is done -” The king began to take the crown from his head when the youth caught his wrist, eyes wide in surprise. “But sir, you are the king. You could order me to tell you, or have me executed, or a million other punishments.” “I could.” The king reasoned. “But these jewels are not more valuable than the oasis I seek. And I seek the oasis to help my subjects. And you are one of my subjects, so I am bound to help you.”

As he spoke, clouds gathered above, darkening the sky that was a moment ago utterly clear. The green of the man’s eyes darkened until they resembled the depths of the ocean. The sky crackled and broke, and suddenly, between the dunes, rain began to fall, slowly, then faster and faster so water flowed down the dunes and began to form a pool.

The king watched, open mouthed and humbled, turning to the youth.

“It is you.” “It is me. I am the son of storms and I have been watching you, my liege. I was the old man, and the dog, and the snake, and the child. I wanted to be sure you were worthy of my blessings. I know you seek the oasis to seek your heart. But I see no lack of love in you. You are not lacking. Go with my blessing to your kingdom and rule it with the love you have shown here.”

The king fell to his knees and kissed the youths feet, thanking him both for the rain he had brought here and for the rain he felt filling his heart. He walked back to the palace, shoulders back, head held high.

He found his fiance, the daughter of stone, and told her what he had discovered. He told her off the journey, of the cold nights, of the beautiful youth. He also told her how he could think of nobody fairer to rule by his side and nobody cleverer to keep him in line. She could take any lovers she desired, if she desired any, love whoever she wished to love, but he still wished for her to be his partner, his friend and his queen. He would not love her as a poet, but he would love her like the sun.

Joyously, she agreed. She did not mourn the lack of carnal activities or romance (truth be told, she had always preferred women to men besides) and she celebrated the idea of being bound to her best friend. Silently, she said a prayer thanking the son of storms for making her friend see how little he was missing.

They were married and the kingdom had never seen better days. They lived to be old and of course, to be happy forever after.

1970s Ghost Ship

There were no billowing sails here. No swinging ropes or creaking planks. The shape the mist was formed of metal and paint. And it was huge. It brought to mind the whales that moved beneath the waves, enormous silent shadows. The ship left no wake, made no sound.

Inside, the corridors were lit by an eerie red light, occasionally flashing. An alarm had been set off and never put to rest, though the sound had long since burnt out. Every cabin is empty but the beds are in various states of disarray. Clothes linger on floors, ash remains in ash trays and in one case, a bottle of nail polish sits waiting to be used.

The bridge is the interesting bit. Only the light of the stars and moon filtered through the windows, but the control panel was still lit up in shades of green. The radar blinked, the small beeping sounding like cymbals in the silence of the ship. Inspect the display and it showed multiple foreign objects in the water around them. If you squinted, made sense out of the mist, there was nothing there. But still the radar beeped its warning to anybody that would listen.

Salmon Earrings

She hated them of course. They weren’t her at all. But what did he know of that? They were pink and pretty and therefore perfectly suited for his wife. They had been married for ten years. She crossed her ankles, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the small velvet box in her hands. She supposed she should still be grateful. That she had a husband that bought her presents for no reason at all. That kissed her cheek when he came home from work. That gave her money to hire nannies and cleaners and gardeners and anything else she liked. That loved her, for all intents and purposes.

Why did she loathe him so very much?

Was it his niceness? His utter lack of edges? His bland smile, his blue eyes? He was like the platonic ideal of a husband. But that was all he was. As a teenager she had dreamed of torrid affairs, of sex after tempestuous arguments, of love against all odds. What she had gotten wasn’t passion, wasn’t even love. It was tolerance.

She snapped the box shut with a sharp snap that echoed around the perfectly tidied bedroom.

Fundamentally, she was lazy. Of course she could pack her bags and leave. She could have an affair with a wild girl. She could scream and shout and smash every mirror in the place. But all of that was a lot of effort. And for all she despised him, she did enjoy the comfort of her life here. Her background was not moneyed - she had grown up in a house with cracked windows and no carpets. She did not want to go back to that life. She didn’t care if that wasn’t how this story was meant to go.

She prayed for an accident. For him to be hit by a car, a heart attack, lightning. To give her a reason to mourn publicly and loudly then move on. Then invite the wild girl into her house to be her mistress. To live her life free of strings and obligations. To be her own person, to be in control. She wondered what god she could pray to for that because the christian one didn’t seem to be particularly forthcoming.

Maybe she could be her own god. Make her own fate. She could lose her benevolence. Enact judgement.

The Boy with the Pearl Earring

He lounged on the couch, shirt falling open. His eyes were half closed, hair tousled, cheeks flushed with either heat or wine. For some reason the artist’s eyes kept flickering to the pearl earring peeking through his ebony locks. Eroticism, the painter reasoned, was all in the details. The slight hint of blue at his wrist, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the ring on his finger.

He had known the boy for a little while, though he had known him by sight for longer. He was in the same bar every evening, in the same seat, dark eyes watching the door for any likely clients. He was beautiful, and he was aware of it, and his business was swift and steady.

Gio wasn’t quite sure where he had managed to find the courage to ask him to model. Not that he had ever had any trouble before. Sex workers were used to such requests, no respectable noble willing to take their clothes off even in the name of art. He was however, the first man he had asked, and therefore the first there had been a spark of attraction with. The girls, he was friends with. They laughed and joked the entire time, stayed for dinner afterwards, teased him with promises of finding him a friend to settle down with.

This was different. The air was charged. They hadn’t spoken much, the man just counting the coins and positioning himself on the couch, though he had been amiable to being told to make adjustments so the light from the wax candles fell on him perfectly. He was hyper aware of his own breath, every small movement he made, how he himself looked. It felt odd to feel he was the scrutinised one. He was usually safe behind the canvas.

The boy opened his eyes and looked at him directly. He felt afire. His eyes were dark, impossible to discern pupil from iris. Gio swallowed, let his own eyes drop. For the first time, he was in the presence of the sublime.

It's a Sin to Tell a Lie

They arranged themselves in a tableau, the blonde twins curled at the feet of Miss Anguila, Hermione and Elsie in the straight backed chairs they all loathed so much. Hermione’s hands were occupied with some embroidery, though if you inspected it closely you could see she was making rather a mess of it. Elsie had opted instead for paging through a book on the native birds of the land, seemingly utterly absorbed in it. Every white dress was spotless. Every cup of tea was steaming merrily. Even Arthur, the dog was well turned out and calm, snoozing by the empty fireplace.

They were thus arranged when the policemen knocked at the door.

Miss Anguila gave each of the girls a warning look as she stood, smoothing her skirts. The twins sat up, looking less like smug cats and more like innocent children. Miss Anguila paused by the door, took a breath, arranged a smile then answered the door.

She let a surprised laugh escape, raising her hand to her chest. “Oh, gentlemen! To what do we owe the honour? Do come in, we’ve just brewed a fresh pot of tea -”

The two men stepped inside, removing their helmets as they did so. They stood out, like foreigners fresh off the boat. They were men in a land designed for women. Every trinket was made for delicate fingers, everything decorated with fresh roses or frills or cherubs. They glanced at each other, biting their lips, trying not to touch anything they shouldn’t. The elder began to make demurring noises, but the younger nudged him and sat in the offered chair, on the very edge of the seat. After a moment, the elder followed.

As the mistress poured the steaming tea into cups and saucers, Elliot (the younger) finally answered her question, turning his hat with anxious fingers. “Strictly procedural only miss. We shan’t take up much of your time.” “Oh, don’t be silly. It’s a pleasure, isn’t it girls?” A chorus of affirmative twitters and eager agreements came from behind her, colouring Elliot’s cheeks a alluring shade of pink. Edgar, the elder, frowned at his colleague and leaned forward, taking over the steer of the conversation. “You see miss, a man has gone missing. A Mr Samuel Thomas.” Miss Anguila arranged her skirts and took up her seat, one of the girls passing her cup to her. “Oh, I do recall him. He’s the horse merchant, is he not?” “That’s him miss. His wife hasn’t seen him since Friday night, and he isn’t in any of his usual spots, so we thought we’d do the rounds.” “At a girl’s finishing college?” She raised an arch eyebrow but Edgar didn’t quail as Elliot did.

“Well, his wife said he sometimes had business here.” “He shoes the horses we own I suppose. But the groundskeeper would really know more about that. I try to keep my own contact with such masculine business minimal. It isn’t becoming for a lady to deal with money.” She cast an iron eye over her pupils who demurred softly.

“Of course not. We never meant to imply - “ Elliot began. “Water under the bridge. Now, my groundskeeper has Sundays off, but by all means return tomorrow, or I can pass along his home address. He doesn’t live too far away at all.” Edgar nodded. “That would be helpful.” He drained the last of his tea and stood, replacing the hat back on his head. Elliot followed, albeit reluctantly and with much less vigor, trying very hard to stop looking at Elsie.

Anguila showed them to the door graciously, opening the door for them to take their leave. She gave a courtsey to each of the men, who each fumbled something resembling a bow. As he took a step out Elliot remarked on the freshness of the flower beds and the corresponding smell of spring. “Nothing like a bit of fresh turned earth.” Miss Anguila smiled. “I quite agree.”

Albatross - HDM

The sky promised rain. The sea promised storms. Harry leaned on the rail, breathing in the salt air. His skin stung a little with the spray and the cold, but the tingling actually made him feel more alive, not less. He was made for this, the feeling of a heaving ship beneath his feet, his palms warm with rope burn, hair thick with salt. He knew this to be true.

The confirmation had came when Kess had settled. He watched her now, her wing tips brushing the waves before she soared back up, as far as the bond would allow her to go. She was beautiful to watch, her huge wings responding to every updraft, every breeze. He could feel her joy, her freedom, and regretted only that his human half did not have wings to join her. Occasionally she fluttered back to affectionately nuzzle at his neck or gently peck at his fingers before once again throwing herself to the sea.

He wanted it to be like this, always. When he got too old to sail, he would find a house by the sea, as close as he could manage. He would leave the windows open wide to let her out and the sea in. He would live somewhere where rain and mist were common. Where the wildness of the the waves was so close he could hear it.

When they dropped anchor, he had a ritual. He would strip his clothes off inch by inch, discarding them to the side. He would dive from the side of the boat, the water would drag every worry he did have from his skin. Kess would dive beside him, and it was the closest they would experience to being one body. It was the closest thing they had to heaven.

#prose #short stories #larp #writers on tumblr #prompts

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