#“Corpse your shark is here��
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Not my ex being spitefully childish online about me having the small Blahaj while they have the big one 😭
"Oh my god yours is so small compared to mine lmao someone got scammed" he is my SON and I LOVE him even if he is short!! I'm short too, [REDACTED]!!! He is BABEY!!!!!
He is such a soft lil guy and I'm glad he's the size he is cause I can take him EVERYWHERE you southern fried FUCK--
Bonus:
#I'm extremely obsessed with my Blahaj#I waited for him for 2 months cause he got stuck in China#he's friend shaped...#I suffer really bad from insomnia and I fell asleep for like an hour at 2pm the other day after staying up all night#and my mum woke me up#and was like#“Corpse your shark is here”#and I remember unwrapping him and then just immediately passing out again with him in my arms#I woke up a few hours later after I had dreamt he'd turned up#so I was really sad like “dammit it was all a dream :( I wish he was here”#and I moved my blanket and!!#he!!#he was there!!#I was so so happy I love him so much it's unreal#I've heard Blahaj is great but this is my emotional support shark now#I've only had Blahaj for a day and a half and if anything happened to him I'd kill everyone in this room and then myself#tw swearing#blahaj#actually trans#trans#transgender#transmasc#shark#ikea blahaj#excuse my messy floor I'm really fucking depressed#... /hj#also adhd that doesn't help
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DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die
He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.
And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.
Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.
What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.
So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.
The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.
A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.
That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.
"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"
And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.
"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."
"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"
Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.
Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.
#danny phantom#dc x dp#dpxdc#batman#joker#danny refuses to die#not again#at least this time he gets to make it funny#the bats are mostly confused#is he a meta?#but what kind of meta just... cant die?#what?#cork prompts#just silly thoughts
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Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.2
[Pt.1] [Pt.3] [Pt.4] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]
Danny dragged up another plastic wrapped body from the bay.
“It’s you. What are you doing?”
“Oh, holy smokes!” Danny screeched. “What-! Oh, it’s you! The litterer!”
Batman stood in front of Danny, cape draped around his shoulders and a far better sight to see than the last time Danny had seen the guy.
“… I’m Batman.” He introduced himself to Danny awkwardly.
“Uh huh. You missed a couple of things cleaning up the beach last time.” Danny dropped the body on the pebbled shore of the bay and crossed his arms. He sent Batman an unimpressed look. “You’re just like your city. There’s trash all over the water!”
Batman glanced down.
“That is a body.”
Danny scowled.
“No, that’s plastic. Plastic does not belong in the ocean.”
Batman sighed. For some reason, Danny thought he seemed less… antagonistic. Wait, did he think Danny killed the guy?!
“That is a body wrapped in plastic.”
Fuck it.
“If it was a body, then bury it. Or decompose it before you people decide to dump it into the water. Even the sharks have the decency to decompose when they’re dead. Do you know how long plastic takes to deteriorate??”
Batman glanced to the side, where the line of plastic wrapped masses had caught his eye to begin with.
“I do. Did all of these come from the bay?”
“Quite obviously, yes. I don’t have enough time to clean the waters! Ancients, it’s like they’re multiplying!” Danny knew why they were multiplying. It’s because Gothamites were getting murdered and dumped weekly. The problem is that Danny has classes and assignments to complete and he couldn’t be out here every week.
“I’ll handle it.”
“Oh, will you? And how do you plan on doing that when you couldn’t even properly clean the beach of your plane? I even stacked it up nicely for you to pick up!”
Alright, so maybe Danny had a couple of grudges. Like… a solid one that’s based on the hours of sleep he missed cleaning up after Batman and the wreck.
“We didn’t get everything?”
“No.” Danny huffed. “Whatever. Just figure out what to do with these bodies. I was not looking forward to digging graves for all of them.”
“You were going to dig graves for them?” Batman sounded off.
Danny scowled again. “I’m dead, genius.” And now Batman looked like someone ran over his dog. “Respecting the dead is important and graves are important for the dead. How else would we know we’re remembered?”
Danny threw up his hands. “Humans,” he muttered, like he wasn’t half human himself.
“Anyways, I’m leaving. Handle this properly or else I’m haunting you.”
“Wait-!” Batman said, but Danny had already disappeared.
So, while Batman had an angst crises at two thirty in the morning and thirty new unidentified corpses to contend with, Danny Fenton flew back to his apartment and passed out on his shitty couch.
——
“You need to stop.”
“Pay me to stop, then. What are your villains going to do? Kill me? I’d like to see them try.”
Danny looked Batman right in his lenses and plopped another body down at the man’s feet.
“I can tell you who they are for a fee.” Danny offered the vigilante. “Some of these still have shades of their souls attached still.”
“What.”
Danny tilted his head, moon once more lighting a halo of flickering white flames around his head. “$100 per identity.”
Batman stared.
#sea cryptid Danny phantom#sea spirit au#dcxdp#danny phantom#bruce wayne#batman#bamf danny phantom#Danny the tired college student#Danny is broke#Batman is not#Danny: business opportunity???#sea cryptic! danny au
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Typical "reblog for larger reach" here, I guess.
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How would Xavier react to seeing you dressed as a bride? - Bonus Chapter
C.w: fluff, non-established relationship, silly, xavier x reader, sfw, corpse bride mentions, not proofread.
Stirring a purple juice that seems to be thicker than it should, Xavier is startled by his own doorbell. He’s not waiting for anyone - didn’t ask for any takeout today - so he knows it’s you. He tries not to smile to himself as he dries his own hands in a dish towel nearby, only then realizing the mess he made in the kitchen. He starts desperately trying to tidy up before you ring again - so this will have to make do. He turns off the oven and rushes to the door.
“Coming.” He says in a soft and happy voice. And as if you didn’t hear, you start repeatedly ringing it again just to annoy him.
He opens it. “What’s all this for? Is someone chewing your arm off?” He smiles, just genuinely content in seeing you smiling at him, even if there is a hint of suspiciousness in your eyes. “No, but with the time it took you to answer me, I already could have started decomposing!” You retort, making him softly roll his eyes before taking a look at you. You are so adorable. There is what seems to be a pink photo album in your hands. He furrowed his eyebrows before letting you in. “It’s from the photoshoot my friends and I did, the pictures are ready and Anne just delivered it to me!” You say, taking your shoes off. Xavier giggles to himself when he sees your shark socks, but decides to not tease you about it - for now. “Since you were very kind and brought me food, I wanted to have my first look with you!” You walk towards his sofa, and he follows soon after, gazing at the top of your head. He wishes he could kiss it. “First look, huh. Did you have fun?” He asks, taking the photo album from your hands. It’s a baby pink hard leather cover, his fingers grazing against the texture. There is embroidery in the middle of it: a heart with an arrow through it. First look… Now he could say he had this experience once. “A lot. It was very funny, none of our costumes blended with each other so we were laughing the whole time.” You scoot closer, signaling for him to open it already.
“What were you again..? Dead bride..?” He places his arm on the back of the couch behind you, giving some space for you to move freely. “Corpse Bride, Xavier! I thought you knew who she was!” You stare at him, slapping his knee playfully.
“I do!” - He doesn’t. - “I just.. don’t remember the names, that’s all.” He shakes his head, looking down. “And you didn’t look like a corpse.. You looked like a cute-” “I know I didn’t! I wasn’t ready yet. You’ll see! Open it! Hurry!” Xavier sighs softly, his heart beating out of his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed he didn’t get to compliment you. But he opens the album anyway. The first few pictures are you and your friends arriving, holding lots of bags. The photos are mostly made of ‘backstage’ moments, just as you and your friends requested. Throughout the pictures you can see the process of you guys taking out the makeup, some of you suddenly in costumes, Sam opening a package of a bald cap while Lexy laughed in disbelief. You haven't appeared in a lot of pictures yet. “Here Lexy is laughing because Sam chose to be Pitbull. It’s an old singer known as Mr. Worldwide. He’s bald, so she had to be too.” you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Pit. Bull..? Why did she choose.. a bald man? Out of so many..” He takes a look at you, meeting your ‘why-not’ gaze. “You girls...” Xavier is smiling too. He’s happy you’re happy with your weird little friends. “It’s the only time she’d have the opportunity to be photographed professionally as a bald man. That’s enough reason, I think. I get her.” You simply say, as he turns one more page. Finally, his pretty girl. You’re still in your normal clothes, painting one of your friend’s face orange. The picture is - in its own way - beautiful. It captures you both smiling to each other, even if your friend is half-orange in it. You’re not wearing that hairpin yet though. “Where did you get that hairpin..? It was pretty.” He stares at you in the photo. “Oh, Anne, the short-haired lady that photographed us gave it to me. First she just wanted to try making a hairstyle on my hair but she decided I should keep it after all.” You answer, mindlessly getting closer to him and turning another page, against his will. He wished he could look at you longer but he’s happy you’re leaning on him now.
“I understand.” Now he’s facing a picture of you, just the way you were when he saw you in-person there. In a bride dress, hairpin in place holding your bun up, with a smile so bright and beautiful it makes his heart clench. You’re leaning against the window, looking to your side and probably laughing at something one of your friends did. The natural light casts an ethereal glow around you. He can’t help but place a hand on his chest, disguising it as an itch. He quickly glances at you as you’re concentrating on the picture beside it. You are so precious to him and you have no idea. But someday he'll show you, by having you wear a white dress again, accompanied by a beautiful blue sapphire ring on your left hand. And you turn the page again. He frowns imperceptibly, letting you have your own special experience. After some chuckles and curious questions, you guys are almost at the end of the photo album, where lies a group picture. Xavier suddenly snorts at the scene. Getting startled by it, you look down to see what made him get that reaction, and your hands immediately press on your mouth, shoulders starting to shake from how much you’re holding back a loud laugh.
It’s you - Corpse Bride - along with Lord Farquaad, Morticia, Lorax, Gojo and Pitbull. There is no possible way this photoshoot made sense and you started thinking that this was the most irresponsible financial decision you have ever made - but worth the laugh. At the same time, all Xavier can see is you, almost melting on his lap over the album - laughing so hard it’s silent. It doesn’t take long before you sit up correctly again and he takes another look at the picture, now chuckling. You try to say something but there’s tears in your eyes and everytime you look at the picture you find something new to laugh at.
Finally getting to the end, he closes the album and you let out a heavy sigh, two tears streaming down your face. Xavier looks at you, and carefully dries them with his thumbs, using a light touch as to not ruin your makeup - just the way you taught him.
He himself sighs a bit too, feeling a mixture of love and pure admiration for your laugh and your own kind of weirdness. He cradles your face in his hands, the moment suddenly intimate between both of you. Calming down, you look at his eyes, searching for a feeling’s name you don’t even know.
He is not drying up your tears anymore, just.. holding you with adoring eyes. It makes you blush and panic a little, suddenly getting up. “Xavier, I-!” He looks at you with parted lips and wide eyes, before quickly going back to his smirking face. You try to not feel like there’s a lingering desire to hold each other close as you look down at him in silence for some seconds. “Uhm..Oh!” You start patting your pockets. “Anne said you paid her a sandwich before you came to the studio! She told me how she forgot her money and all, and how lucky she felt when you appeared and offered to pay for her!” You take out an envelope out of the inside pocket of your jacket, as Xavier stares at you with the most confusing expression you have ever seen etched on his face. But you keep going. “So she.. wanted to pay you back. Here it is.” You give him the envelope. Xavier takes it hesitantly, immediately noticing that the envelope feels firmer than it should. He has an idea of what it may be in mind, but he’s not so sure of it. You quickly take the photo album from his lap, breathing deeply as your heart starts calming itself down. You take a last glance at him - he’s staring at the envelope.
“Tell her I said thank you.” Xavier softly analyzes the envelope, not opening it. “I will. Then.. I should get going.” you point to his door behind you. “I left my windows open and I don't want all of my reports flying down the window.” You blurt out, making things up just to leave. Xavier can tell you’re nervous, so he doesn’t insist. He gets up and accompanies you to the door, waving bye. Slowly walking back to his living room, he opens the envelope. He knew it. It's two pictures of you, his beautiful pretend-bride. Both of them are identical - taken moments apart. You are sitting on a low stool, legs close to your body and a bottle of orange juice at your feet. In one of them you are taking a full bite of the sandwich he brought you, and in the other one your eyes are squinting in pure joy as you chew with round cheeks. There’s a soft blush on your face and he can tell how happy you were. Xavier caresses the picture as if you could feel it. As if you could feel how much he wants you by his side. He’s just waiting for the right moment. For the right moment to hold you close, to kiss your soft lips, to claim you as his. To ask you if he can be your boyfriend, just to wait some more before asking if you’d like to be his wife. But right now, something takes him out of it. He sniffs something. He startles like a cat, running to the kitchen. Shitshitshitshitshit! Instead of turning off the oven, he turned it all the way on. He sighs. “Not again…!” Turning off the oven - correctly, this time -, he takes a look at your pictures again. Turning them, he found out Anne had written “Your future bride looks cute enough to make a grown man cry, indeed.” And he blushes immediately. She still has no idea Xavier isn’t even her boyfriend yet, but it’s not like he’ll correct her anytime soon. He looks at the overheated oven, smelling like burnt iron.
First, he must learn how to cook to be a good husband, after all.
I hope you guys enjoyed this little series - and if it's of interest for anyone, Xavier kept these photos under a pile of clothes in his wardrobe - but he took some pictures of it with his cellphone so he could gaze at his bride anytime he felt like it - constantly.
#lads#love and deepspace#xavier#fanfiction#fanfic#lads xavier#xavier lads#xavier love and deepspace#fluff#xavier x mc#lnds#love and deepspace xavier#reader x xavier#xavier x reader
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In Spite Of Us.
Modern Aemond x Reader. PT2
Summary: The lines tangle tighter, pulling you and Aemond into something neither of you can fully control—something that could cost you everything. But in the end, none of it matters. Not if the pain fades into something you can stomach. Not if you can tell yourself it’s worth it. Even if he leaves you in ruins, painted in black and blue.
Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. Oral sex, violence, mention of illegal activities, incest, dub-consent, aggression, degradation, mention of blood, childhood trauma, mention of attempted suicide.
The mornings were fucking hell. Shafts of light pierced through every crack, heating up the room that was already suffocating with the windows closed tightly. You'd learned better than to leave them open, or anything else, for that matter. One slip and it was over—whether it was the cops or the worst of the fucking dragnet. Who wanted your head more at this point? Hard to say. Aemond wasn't making it any easier, carving his own path through this mess. The blood was heavy on your side, stained deep under your nails, but his? Worse. At this point, it was hard to tell. The chipped black polish on his nails was the only dead giveaway.
Aemond used to grunt in his sleep, tossing and turning, his restless movements making the bed feel like a battlefield. Meanwhile, you were as still as a statue beside him, and he couldn't help but wonder how the hell you managed it. But today? Today was different. He woke up without the usual weight of a hangover, his eyes snapping open, the light cutting through the room like a blade. His hand instinctively found his face, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to shake off the drowsiness, but it was futile. Some mornings, he just wanted a shock straight to the skull—anything to wake him up fully and get rid of that corpse-like heaviness dragging at his bones.
Rolling over, his gaze landed on you, as always. Lying on your side, eyes closed, still wrapped up in the sleep-induced haze. He knew you wouldn't wake up now, not with the crap you shoved down your throat every night just to knock yourself out. It was the usual routine. Him waking up first, having to shower alone, eating alone—shit, he didn’t even get to share the fucking morning with you. It pissed him off, made him want to pinch you from head to toe just to see if you'd stir, maybe open those damn eyes and remind him that you were still here. Still fucking human. Still present.
But he didn't move, not yet. Instead, he just watched you, lying there so still, almost serene. Usually, you were a pain in the ass—your tongue sharp, always quick with a retort, too fast for your own good. But like this? Like this, you were calm, a whole different side of you that made his gaze linger longer than it should. It was almost unsettling how peaceful you looked, and he couldn't shake the thought of how fucking strange it was to see you this way.
It was like those beaches he’d seen in pictures, the ones with the waters so blue they looked almost unreal, like a fucking dream. On a hot day, you'd dive in without thinking, wanting to swim every inch of that vast, sparkling expand until your body ached and your lungs burned. But there was always a little sign, tucked away just out of sight, warning you: beware sharks. And even if it looked inviting, even if every instinct screamed at you to dive in, you knew better. One wrong move, and those sharks would rip you to shreds before you could even get tired.
Yet, the thought of being devoured, of sinking into that cold embrace, was oddly tempting. The idea of being consumed by you, torn apart and remade—yeah, that sounded fucking good to him. Almost too good.
Aemond's breath escaped him in a heavy sigh, as if exhaling his thoughts right along with the air, the weight of them pressing on him like an invisible burden. He tore his gaze away from you, reluctantly letting the stillness of your form fade from his view. With a sluggish movement, he sat up, his body protesting the action with every subtle shift. His muscles felt like they were made of stone, every tiny movement pulling at something inside him, making him ache. He glanced around the room to make sure everything was where it should be—nothing out of place. The blue light still bathed the walls in its soft glow, although it lacked the same intensity it had at night.
He stretched, hoping to shake off the lingering heaviness of sleep, but it only worked halfway, leaving a faint ache in its place. His eyes found you again, just from the corner.
Fuck this. Fuck you, he thought.
His gaze, whether he intended it or not, traced the contours of your body. The curve of your hips barely concealed by your panties, your torso only covered by a sheer white tank top, your breasts almost visible, your nipples subtly outlined, calling to him, even if unknowingly. Your body always beckons to him, regardless of the situation, the mood, or the moment. Every woman has an itch, and he knows yours is him. There's no other explanation, and he wouldn't accept any alternative.
His body moved as if he was being called by a siren. The not-so-gentle hands turned your body so you were lying on your back and giving him a better view. You groaned softly, but didn't really wake up. Your body, swallowed by heaviness and sleep, too heavy to actually do anything. Vulnerable, open. Everything Aemond likes, everything he wants. Like a fucking leech, or maggots crawling on dead flesh feeding on what's left of a life, he feeds on these moments. Control, pure and raw. Over everything, over you.
His fingers clawed at your legs, dragging himself across the bed like a really silently predator stalking its prey until he was nestled between your spread thighs, squatting on his heels. His fingers, cold and unyielding, scraped down your thighs, seizing your ankles with a tight grip. He dragged them, forcing your feet to frame his body on the bed, keeping your legs wrenched apart, exposing you. You were so fucking malleable under his hands, like he could take you apart and put you back together however the fuck he wanted, twist your body into any perverse shape his dark mind conjured. And he loved it, loved how you were his to corrupt.
"I'm hungry," he murmurs, the words dripping with that familiar, chilling tone. You've heard it before, countless times, in various contexts, knowing damn well what it means when he says it like that. It's not about food.
He fucking knows you remember, too. The times when there was no food, or when dad, that piece of shit, would beat you until you were sick. The leather belt, the shine of the silver buckle in the dim light, always after a meal, when your stomachs were full. And on your knees, he’d beat you until vomit painted the floor, until there was nothing left but the acrid taste of bile. He remembers that bastard's smile, how he'd grab him by the hair, forcing his face into the mess he'd made. He remembers the shaking, the pain, the hunger that followed. He remembers you.
Like a fucking feast, like you are now.
His fingers slithered over your skin, their tips sneaking under your tank top, feeling the fabric’s edge. He watched as goosebumps erupted across your thighs, your body betraying its response to his touch. Like it always fucking does. When his hunger was palpable, it didn't matter if your eyes were wide open or shut tight, if your mind was with him or lost in some dark dreamscape behind those lids. He'd always been this way, and you? You'd always allowed it. Ever since before that son of a bitch's death, when he first felt you wrapped around him, when you heard him jerking off to thoughts of you at night, whimpering into your ear, his hips grinding against you. You'd always let him because you want him; you fucking need him.
And you'll get it. You bet your ass you will.
His fingers ascend, dragging the fabric of your shirt with them, baring your breasts to his ravenous gaze. At the mere sight of your skin, his mouth waters. Your head turns aside on the pillow, a low moan escaping you. You feel the heat spreading through your torso, warm and alive. His fingers then travel down to your panties, hooking his thumbs into the waistband and slowly dragging them down your thighs, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes lock onto your pussy, so fucking perfect for him. Always so fucking perfect, so good. How in hell could something this delectable even exist?
"I'm hungry," Aemond murmured again, his teeth grazing his lower lip as he visually consumed your intimate space, as if he hadn't already memorized every inch with his own senses.
He lowers himself, almost flattening against the bed, his long fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. He takes a moment to savor the view from this angle, your little cunt in his face, his gaze traveling up past your breasts to your face, turned away, lips parted, teeth just visible. So fucking beautiful, it makes him want to rip your face to shreds with his bare hands, to create chasms with his teeth, to chew on the pieces. He could do it, he wants to do it. But somewhere deep down, he knows that even if your flesh were torn apart, you'd still be this oppressive tightness in his chest. And he fucking hates it.
"And you're going to feed me, aren't you?" he whispers against your skin, his breath hot as it fans over your heat, noticing the slight twitch of your leg beside his head, but nothing more.
His tongue extends from your entrance to your clit, dragging up to your lower stomach, the sensation of his warm tongue unmistakable even through the haze of your disjointed thoughts, the weight of your limbs anchoring you to the bed. His lips return with increased urgency, one hand gripping your thigh, pulling it to his mouth, his teeth sinking into the skin of your inner thigh, while the other hand rises to grab one of your breasts, his fingertips pressing into the flesh. Your breath quickens, your chest rising and falling with mounting intensity.
His tongue traced a path down your inner thigh before making its way back to your core, not wasting time before delving in. It rolled between your folds, coating them with his saliva. As his tongue danced over your entrance again, the taste of your arousal hit him, eliciting a moan from deep within. Your body responded to every touch, tightening, a dim light seeping through your closed eyelids, though the two purple pills you'd ingested the night before made full consciousness elusive, your reactions slowed, your desires muted.
"You're getting all wet for me, little dove," he murmured, his voice low, muffled by your pussy, with no intention of pulling away to speak further. "Dirty girl, I should rip your throat open for this." A growl rumbled from him, his eyes closing as he sank deeper, his entire being focused on the sensations his mouth was exploring, leaving all his senses tethered to the act of licking you everywhere.
Your lips part further, a moan slipping through, your brows knitting together, etching a line of tension on your face. Your hips begin to shift weakly on the bed, up and down, your whimpers soft and muffled by fatigue. Aemond responds with his own sounds against your intimacy, taking full advantage of your semi-conscious state to vocalize his pleasure unrestrainedly. His fingers play with the nipple he's captured, giving it a sharp tug to jolt you further into awareness. Your legs, on either side of his head, fall open wider.
It's too good, too fucking good.
So good that you're unaware when your fingers find their way to the back of his neck, tangling in his black hair, pulling him closer in an instinctive, desperate plea for more.
Aemond freezes.
Your heart pounded like a drum, the shock of wakefulness like a slap across your face. Sweat beaded at your temples, and when you looked down, Aemond's eyes were already locked on you, his mouth still against you. The room seemed to stand still, time itself arrested. The chill that ran through you was like a bolt of ice, your senses suddenly sharp but tainted.
You attempted to rise, but he pounced, his hands reaching for your neck while your legs thrashed to push him off. You knew you were doomed if he pinned you down. Aemond grappled with your flailing arms, your nails raking his skin each time he tried to seize your wrists. But your resistance was faltering, and you knew this could be the end.
His fist slammed into your jaw, snapping your head to the side, blood erupting from your nose onto the pillows. His thighs clamped over yours, holding you down, but you still fought. His hands pressed your shoulders into the mattress, aiming for your neck, when you clawed at his throat, your nails digging in deep. A pained grunt escaped him as he clutched the bleeding marks you left on his neck. You seized the moment to free one leg, using your foot to shove his chest back.
"You fucking bitch!" Aemond's yell reverberated, but there was no time for discussion.
You hit the floor with a thud, a groan of pain escaping you. You saw Aemond beginning to rise from the bed, coming for you, and despite the difficulty, you managed to scramble up, staggering as you bolted. You collided with furniture, each impact a jolt of pain, while behind you, Aemond closed in with purposeful strides, his fists balled, jaw clenched tight. He was boiling over, rage spilling out like steam from an overfilled pot, threatening to scald you.
You made it to the living room, positioning yourself behind the small glass dining table. Aemond appeared in the doorway, his heartbeat almost audibly pounding, the intensity of it pressing against the air in your throat. Your naked body felt too exposed, his gaze raking over you, but not with lust. No, this was the look of someone intent on tearing you apart, letting you bleed out.
"Stay the fuck away from me!" you scream, knowing your words would fall on deaf ears. This wasn't the Aemond you knew; it couldn't be, not in this state.
He moved to the other side of the table, effectively blocking your escape route to the kitchen where you might have grabbed a knife. His eyes, wide and void, met yours, almost lifeless. Your palms were slick with sweat, your feet rooted to the spot despite your mind screaming to move. The mantra echoed in your head, 'he's coming for you.'
"Run," Aemond said, his voice laced with a sinister glee, his smile all teeth, gleaming menacingly.
And you didn't hesitate.
Your feet propelled you forward, his hot on your heels, the air barely making it into your lungs. You clutched the bathroom door frame, ready to dart inside, when his arms encircled your waist, lifting you off the floor. Your legs flailed, your hands clawing at his arms to break free, his grip squeezing your ribs like a vise. He began to retreat, pulling you with him, but you reacted swiftly. Your elbow slammed into his ribs, and when he didn't release you, your head snapped back into his, his sharp cry of pain mingling with the force that sent you sprawling to the ground.
"Fuck!" he shouted, his fingers pressing against his newly bloodied nose, courtesy of your counterattack.
You scrambled across the floor, more like a creature than a human, managing to slip through the bathroom door. You locked it with trembling hands. The door shook under the assault of Aemond's fists, each impact making you jump back, landing on your rear. The wood seemed on the verge of splintering with every hit. Your eyes darted around; there was a small window, but it was too narrow for escape. You'd tried before; it was impossible.
"Open the fucking door!" he yells, his punch so forceful it seems to bruise his knuckles, but the pain is the last thing on his mind now, only you matter. "It's going to be much worse for you, much worse!" His voice drips with venom, and with truth; it would indeed be worse.
But you don't care. Using the sink for support, you stand, and in the mirror, you see the blood trails from your nose to your lips. Your hips will soon bruise from the collisions with furniture and the floor. Desperation grips you as you pull at your own hair, each knock on the door a reminder of your vulnerability. Until his foot slams into the door, and you turn just in time to see it buckle.
You need to do something.
With no time for thought, your fist smashes into the mirror, glass exploding in all directions. The sound halts Aemond's assault briefly, as does your sharp cry of pain, your blood now dripping from your cut knuckles onto the white tiles. You frantically search for the largest, sharpest piece of glass among the debris, feeling the sting of tiny crystals under your nails.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Aemond's voice escalates with new urgency.
With another powerful kick, the door gives way, splinters mixing with your blood on the floor. Aemond's gaze locks on the bloody glass in your hand, his own rage intensifying. Eye to eye, you brace for what's to come.
He's coming for you, so you come for him too.
Aemond steps forward, and so do you; the glass slices the side of his arm, drawing blood. He staggers back, clutching the wound, and you advance, but he quickly seizes your wrist, twisting it viciously. It feels like he might break it, your fingers crushed further into the glass, embedding it into your palm. A scream tears from your lips, tears at the corners of your eyes. You're forced to release the shard, which shatters on the floor. With a knee to your stomach, Aemond sends you crashing down, all air exiting your lungs.
Slowly, he kneels beside you, watching your mouth open in a silent scream, your hand clutching your stomach as if to hold yourself together. Fucking pathetic, he thinks, the urge to spit in your face, to make you swallow every piece of broken glass on the floor overwhelming him.
"I should make you chew this whole fucking glass right off the floor." His threat is punctuated by him grabbing your hair, yanking your face closer to his.
Your pained expression feeds into him. He's aware he's using you as a punching bag, treating you like you're worthless, and he doesn't feel an ounce of remorse. Perhaps he will when the rage subsides, but when does it ever truly subside? Was it ever meant to? He doesn't know. But he's hard, painfully so under his underwear, throbbing with every tear that escapes your eyes, consumed by a frenzy that's pure and intense.
He slams your head back onto the ground with all his might. You squeeze your eyes shut, but there's no escaping the pain. Both his hands encircle your neck, and to prevent any more tricks, he kneels on your thighs, his weight crushing your flesh, drawing a scream that's stifled by the lack of air. There's a high-pitched sound in your ears, reminiscent of chairs scraping or the squeaky springs of that old swing in the dilapidated playground where you once played, where you felt like you could touch the clouds when he pushed you. You almost wish you could now.
"Die! Why wont you die?!" Aemond screams into your face, but you know he's not seeing you; he's not screaming at you.
Your hands claw at him, your nails raking down his bare chest, only adding to your torment. Aemond's eyes close, his body shaking above you. His nails dig deeper into your neck, darkness enveloping your vision. Your back arches in one last attempt to free yourself, and a loud, pained moan escapes Aemond as he climaxes in his underwear, the sensation so intense it could have shattered him instead of you. The pressure becomes unbearable, your lips parting in a futile attempt to breathe. Your eyes close, and you're thrown into a cold, black abyss. Alone.
Nights always carried a kind of mercy. The cold slipped through the cracked window, brushing against the room like a quiet apology for the chaos that had come before. The neon blue light pulsed faintly, painting the walls with something soft, almost alive. You’d always thought the blue was too sad, but Aemond liked it, so it stayed. Yet tonight, when you opened your eyes, it wasn’t blue filtering through your lids. No, it was clear light—sharp and unkind. Strange.
Then the ache hit. It was everywhere, spreading from your fingers to your chest like it had been carved into your very bones. Every muscle in your body screamed, raw and heavy, like you’d become one giant bruise. And maybe you had.
Your eyes moved across the room, desperate to find him. Your chest tightened when you didn’t see him straight away, and panic started to set in. But just as you shifted, ignoring the pain in your ribs, the bedroom door swung open, and there he was.
Aemond stepped inside, his movements deliberate, his frame cutting a sharp silhouette against the light. He was dripping wet, his hair clinging to his shoulders in dark strands, wearing nothing but jeans slung low on his hips. In his hand, he carried a white plastic bag, casual as ever.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. The sound of it cut through the stillness, grounding you in a way that nothing else could.
You glanced down at yourself, noticing the oversized shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders and a pair of sweatpants that didn’t belong to you. His, clearly. You caught sight of your wrist next, carefully wrapped in white splints. The work was precise, too meticulous to have been done by anyone but him.
“Hey,” you croaked back, your voice barely above a whisper. It felt foreign in your throat, raw and strained. The bitterness in your mouth confirmed what you already suspected—he’d forced some medicine into you while you were out. It was just like him.
He moved closer to the bed, his gaze fixed on you as he settled on the edge. The space between you was thin, almost nonexistent, but it still felt like a gulf. You studied him, and he studied you right back. The marks on his skin stood out against the pale light—your nails had left their trails, violent and deliberate, carving down his neck, chest, and arms. There was a deeper wound too, one from the glass, glinting faintly in the morning light.
And he saw it too—the purple bruises on your neck, stark against your skin. His fingerprints. They sat there like inked tattoos. He likes them a lot.
“Do you want a picture?” Your voice cut through the silence, hoarse but steady, your words laced with that sharp edge he knew so well. It didn’t hurt anymore, and that was enough.
“Yeah,” he muttered, almost laughing under his breath. His eye traced your face like he was memorising it, his thoughts catching on the idea. If he had a camera, a good one, and if things were different—better—this house would be covered in you. Your face, your body, your marks. Everywhere. You’d be the only thing worth seeing.
The silence wrapped around you both, not oppressive, but present, like a third figure in the room. His hand, trembling with hesitation, inched towards yours. You caught the flicker of doubt in his movements, and without giving him a chance to second-guess, you reached for him. Your fingers threaded through his, clasping tightly, as if sealing a quiet promise neither of you dared to speak aloud.
The thought settled again at the base of your skull: If it doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s okay. Even if every inch of you was bruised and battered, flesh stained in shades of blue and black, it didn’t matter. It was just a body, after all—just skin and bone. Nothing more, nothing less.
When his gaze finally met yours, it wasn’t with the depth you might have hoped for. His eye held a flatness, void of the kind of emotion he wished he could express—or the kind you sometimes wished you could see. But you’d long since stopped expecting it. He didn’t know how to show it, couldn’t, and that was all right. You had learned to live in the spaces between what he gave and what he withheld. In the end, you told yourself, it would be bearable. Even if the walls of this house crumbled into ash one day, you’d both still be here.
Your eyes searched his, and his mirrored the same dance. Without warning, he pulled hard on your hand, yanking you forward until your chests collided. His arms snaked around your shoulders, locking you into him, as if he were holding on for dear life. Instinctively, your hands found his waist, drawing him closer, your fingers gripping tightly as if the two of you could weld together. Your face nestled perfectly into the curve of his neck—a hollow that seemed carved for you alone. A place to rest, and perhaps even to bite when the need arose.
Holding him like this felt steady. Familiar. Safe. Just as the bruises and scratches had their place, so did the moments like this—the quiet inhalation of his scent, the way your arms clutched at him like he might disappear. It was measured, restrained, the intimacy meted out in doses small enough not to overwhelm. Anything more would be unbearable, tipping into something too raw, too unmanageable.
“I brought you something,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. Slowly, he pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze again.
You said nothing, only watched as his hands left you to reach for the white plastic bag he’d brought in earlier. His fingers dipped inside, searching like a child eager to reveal a secret treasure. When he finally pulled it free, the golden wrapper caught the light, and your eyes locked onto the familiar shape of the chocolate bar.
Of course. It was always this. Sweetness. That was what he saw in you, wasn’t it? Something indulgent. You didn’t mind, not really. Even though you knew it was fleeting—your teeth would rot eventually, fall out maybe. The ants might come, leaving trails of fire across your skin. But none of that mattered, not when the sweetness melted on your tongue. He always brought it to you. Always.
You take the bar from his hand, tearing it open with your teeth like you’ve got no time for subtlety, the wrapper crinkling loud enough to fill the silence. Chocolate smears across your fingers as you peel it back, and you pause for a second, staring him down before sinking your teeth into it. A big bite—half the damn thing gone already. Aemond watches you for a moment, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smirk, but then his gaze drops to his hands resting in his lap.
“You need a shower,” he says finally, voice low but firm, cutting through the quiet like a blade. “The Worm wants to see us at the club tonight.”
Your eyes flick up at that, unimpressed, because of course that bastard does.
“Why?” you ask, exhaling the word more than speaking it, your tone halfway between exhaustion and annoyance. You take another bite of the chocolate, letting it melt lazily on your tongue like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
“A little daddy’s boy soirée or something,” Aemond mutters with a shrug. He’s got that look again, the one he always wears when he talks about this shit—a mix of disdain and quiet rebellion. He hates this scene, the pounding music that sounds like it’s on a loop, the suffocating crowds. But then he adds, “There’ll be some good fish,” and his eye meets yours. Just a flicker of understanding passes between you.
The Worm might be a total bastard, but he had a nose for opportunities, especially when it came to sales. The nightclub was his playground, his stage, and let’s not forget his little meth empire ticking along in the background. The man handed you a lifeline—or a leash, depending on how you looked at it—but saying no to him wasn’t exactly an option. He loved to remind you of that whenever he could.
“Yeah, wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” you mutter, a dry laugh escaping as you finish off the last of the bar, the taste bitter-sweet as it disappears.
Aemond reaches over and plucks the wrapper from your hand, his touch light but deliberate, watching you as you stand. Every muscle in your body protests, stiff and aching, but you ignore it, your bare feet hitting the cold floor with a shiver that shoots straight up your spine. You don’t pause, though. You make for the wardrobe, pulling open the smallest drawer to grab a bra and panties from the mess of clothes stuffed inside. Aemond doesn’t move, doesn’t look up. His fingers stay intertwined, his expression distant, like he’s lost somewhere else.
It’s only when your hand reaches for the door that his voice cuts through again, quiet but razor-sharp.
“I’ll be watching you,” he says, his tone warning but calm, his eye finally lifting to meet your retreating form. “So don’t do anything stupid.”
You let a sly grin slip out before moving on. It's not like you meant to fuck up, not tonight. Could be exhaustion or whatever. Your mess wasn't like Aemond's, not some epic cleanup. Well, at least not usually. You know his real fear is that you'll slit your wrists open and finish what you sometimes started after...incidents. That wasn't your intention tonight.
Your feet drag you to the bathroom, now always wide open thanks to that morning's drama. Inside, it's all spick and span, the sharp scent of bleach hitting you hard. He'd cleaned up, but some things just don't wash away. The door with its frame fucked, the mirror with a new hole in it, and that's it. Everything else, gone, like it usually is. Sometimes you wish you two were like this floor - a little soap and water could sort it out. Fix it up.
You try not to overthink, just strip down and jump into the shower. It's like your second home, scrubbing until your skin's raw. Careful not to drench those bandages he wrapped around your wrist. Eyes shut, you let the water wash you off, even if it's just skin deep.
Drying off and slipping into your undies and bra, you pause for a sec. Just taking a breath before heading back to the bedroom. From the doorway, you spot Aemond in front of the mirror, the little pots of black and white paint open, brush at the ready. His hair's less wet, those heavy black boots already on his feet, leather jacket slung over his shoulders, no shirt beneath. He turns, eyes sweeping over you, unabashed. Head cocked to the side for a moment.
"Help me with this." It's not a request, it's a command, part of the routine.
You don't think twice before stepping up, and neither does he. Aemond slides down in the chair, legs spreading wider, an open invite. You take it, hands on his shoulders for balance, swinging a leg over to sit on him. His hands lock onto your waist, holding you steady.
"Want something special tonight?" you ask, leaning down for one of the black eyeliner pencils.
Aemond's gaze travels your body again, you sitting there like he's your personal, ragged throne. His eyes crawl back up to yours, meeting them dead on. Yeah, he wants something special, but it's not about the paint or the lines on his face.
"Just the usual," Aemond says, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours, pupils blown wide.
You nod, leaning in to start sketching the lines on his face with the precision of someone who's done this dance before. When Aemond does it himself, it's all over the place, but you manage to make it look halfway decent. Not that it's supposed to be pretty; it's more about the vibe. With the eyeliner, you draw from his eyebrows down to his nose, stopping at the tip, then circle around his eye, connecting back to the other brow. It's rough, forming something like a triangle - shapes blurred and edgy. Moving to the other side, his eyes track you, locked on as your face scrunches in focus.
"You know I wanted to kill you, don't you?" Aemond mutters, pulling your gaze to him for a split second before you both return to the task at hand.
He did want to, no question about it. There was that moment when he saw your eyes close, your body go limp on the floor, and he thought, "This is it." But then he stopped. He didn't regret it; he was fucking glad he did.
"You didn’t." That's all you manage, a whisper, the only reply you've got.
You've thought he might end you, on some other nights, on those dark moments when the beast in him roared to get out because of some shit you pulled - intentional or not. But intentions? They're meaningless here. Not yours, not his, even if his was to squeeze the life out of you.
Aemond just stared, maybe with a hint of appreciation or some twisted form of affection. He couldn't tell if he'd fucked up your head, if he'd made you blind to his true nature, the chaos he brought into your life. He saw himself as a plague, infecting everything he touched, and he reveled in it, in you.
"I should take you to the beach sometime." Aemond's voice was low, almost a whisper, and you couldn't help but smile a bit. He'd mentioned it before, but it always felt like a fantasy.
He loathes the beach, despises the sun. The sand that grinds into knees, leaving them raw. Mum and dad never took you, and before that, the orphanage was all shades of gray. There was no sun there, and his pale skin seemed to thrive in the absence of it. You didn't miss what you'd never known.
"Yeah? What do you want to do there?" You play along with the dream, knowing it's probably never going to happen.
Your fingers grab a brush, dipping it into the white paint. You start painting his face, careful not to touch the dark lines around his eyes. His breath is heavier now, chest heaving in what seems like a thoughtful sigh.
"I don't know, just watch you swim." His reply is soft, his words hitting you like a gentle wave. "Some Sunday just watch you get pounded by the waves and some purple and blue in the sky. Being the only motherfuckers filling the place with smoke.”
A low chuckle escapes you as you shake your head, your fingers continuing their task with the white paint, transforming his face into something that feels more like a phantom than the man you know. You'd like that, at some point, to see him in such a scene. Perhaps perched on that motorcycle in some secluded spot, hiding from the sun, a cold beer in hand. His blue eyes would mirror the sea, his silver hair the sky, though you know he'd never let them be seen again. It's all just a daydream.
"Would you be there?" he asks, causing your hand to pause, the brush set aside.
The question strikes you as almost absurd. There are so many answers to it. He's pulling himself into the abyss, into a personal hell with all its promised torment, and you'd follow if only to hold his hand. Your answer is always yes, never no. He knows this, and still, he asks.
"I would be wherever you were," you confess in a whisper, meeting his gaze with unfiltered honesty, more than you'd wish to reveal, more than you could ever conceal.
His eyes shift from yours to your lips, perhaps searching for the taste of those words, or seeking some unclaimed piece of your skin to press them against. He doesn't speak, but the silence says he'd be with you too. You're like a persistent bit stuck in his teeth; no amount of licking or prodding or thinking he's had enough or moved you aside would ever truly dislodge you. Ever.
You pause, focusing back on the brush, cleaning off the white paint and dipping into black. The brush follows the eyeliner's path, shaping the design more distinctly. It's not your best work, but it's far from your worst, even if it's not art gallery material. But it'll do.
"It looks good," you murmur, more to yourself than to him, knowing better than to stroke his ego too much.
Aemond's eyes are locked on your lips, reading your words off them rather than through sound. His breath is warm, careful not to move and ruin your work. He's learned from experience you wouldn't like that.
"Yeah, it does." His gaze shifts up, impatience simmering under his skin. Being still isn't his forte.
With the final stroke, you complete the look. The white paint has dried, melding into his skin like a second layer. As you move to get up, his hands reluctantly slide off your waist, resting back in his lap. You take a moment to admire him - the corpse paint fitting him like a second skin, like he was born to wear it. The desire to have him take you, right there over the paints, until your drool becomes part of the artwork, is intense.
"Take a look," you say, motioning towards the mirror, keeping your darker thoughts at bay. If you let them out, there'd be no stopping.
Aemond looks into the mirror, not seeing himself but the mask he's donned. It's good, it's something. Just paint, toxic and transformative, embodying much of him yet not all. It's good, truly good.
You head to the closet, pulling out one of the usual dresses - same color, similar cuts, limited choices. Slipping it on, the fabric clings to your body, barely covering your thighs, the straps mingling with those of your bra. As you adjust it, Aemond turns, catching the motion of you smoothing it over your hips, his teeth catching his lower lip. You're a vision of sin, a gift to behold, stoking the fire in his veins and elsewhere.
You sit at the bed's foot, tugging on your black knee-high boots, similar to his but with higher heels. Aemond approaches just as you zip up, standing close enough that you nearly collide when you rise. His silent steps are always so damn stealthy. Your eyes lock, and without a word, he kneels before you, your gaze tracking him down, lips parting slightly.
Your heart races. He lifts your dress, bunching it at your waist, revealing you in just your panties. You anticipate warmth, but what you feel is cold. Opening your eyes, you see the pocket knife he's just stuck in your panties.
"You know how to use it," he murmurs, his breath teasingly close to where you're most sensitive, a slight dampness forming. "So use it if you need to."
He stands, eyes never leaving yours, fingers sliding the dress back down, covering you once more. It's like a cold splash of reality or a sharp stab of withdrawal; he steps away, and you close your eyes, trying to steady yourself, regain some semblance of control. He moves to the table, grabs his keys, cigarettes, and lighter.
"I'm going to get the bike out of the garage. Don't delay." His tone is devoid of warmth as he heads for the door, leaving you in the center of the room.
You adjust your dress, feeling the pulse of anger and desire because that bastard always knows exactly what he's doing. The knife's tip, so provocatively close to your core, feels like a taunt. You hate him, more than when he breaks you apart. With that hatred, you move to where he was sitting and look at your reflection, noting the bruise on your jaw that you'll need to conceal with makeup. Not for the opinions of those at the club, you couldn't care less about them.
But, that's what you do. You cover his marks. And tonight, you'll do it again.
#modern aemond x reader#modern aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond#x reader#ewan mitchell#fanfic#hotd aemond#house of the dragon#martin in the modern world#dead dove fic
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What about yandere angell, obsessed with reader being her housewife?
Angell x Chief!Reader
Warnings: Blood Allusions, Obsessive Behavior, Dubiously Consensual (Slight?) Marking, Violence and Implied Murder.
A/N: of course, slight event spoilers below~
Short dark content drabble (no explicit content) under the cut~
—
After so long, so long, only barely taking care of herself enough to keep her Sinner-power fueled body going for the next job, next thing on an endless to-do list that just kept going, all to survive in a carved safety, it would be no wonder that she fell hard for your ability to make her feel at home, a semblance of calm within a sanctuary that once used to be just another place to drift into a restless sleep for her.
It is hard to let go of such a comfort, and as much as she dreaded to admit it, as much as she fancied herself a shark in the dark, untamed sea, the idea of having a safe, warm nest, along with the company of such a gentle, bright soul was nothing short of tantalizing. There was no way she did not notice that you were just biding your time for a chance to escape, but such a small detail is far too easy to be wilfully ignored, and the way you hide how you try to shy away at her touch, faintly smelling of blood, was downright adorable.
The more she thought of it, the more her heart sunk at the thought of you leaving.
An assassin was not supposed to leave tracks, or hold affection to someone that belongs in the light, yet she couldn’t help but indulge, marking you with faint red scratches as her fingernails glide on your body. You would yelp and almost jump away, and she would simply smile.
It was your last day here, was it not? She just wanted to commit you to memory, before she has to return you to the world you belong to—
That night, as you slept, her arms wrap around your waist and chest. Your calm, rhythmic breaths fill the room, all too unaware of the corpses of your rescuer, piled into the trash chute at the corner of the room.
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The Princess of Hell, everybody! Inspiration to all
But its ok, hes defending the hotel! Those loan sharks (mortal hellborns mind you) are just trying to get the 50k someone hiding out here stole and avenge someone she ran over. She was selfish, she stole, but she stuck it to the man I guess, and thats a start!
*spongebob narrator voice* A few episodes later...
Adam: Prepare to slaughter everyone in that shit hotel!
Lute: Rip Vaggies $%$% mouth out her $%$%!
Husk: Talking while fighting doesn't help...
Charlie: *yapping*
Everyone struggling for their lives:
Apologizing for deflecting them with her shield, as everyone around her litters the ground with their corpses...easily the most powerful one there-she knows it, she isn't scared...everyone else is though...as Alastors blood seeps into her roof, she shoots off some fireworks with a cute lil sowwy!
Oh, geeze what a day! Shes like that person in the grocery store who keeps apologizing for getting bumped into. Is this supposed to be cute? Guess Charlie takes shit now, in big heaping portions no less.
Then she...
oops, wrong universe, hold on...
yea thats it
AW NAW Alastor was sposed to handle him!
Pentious manages to confess his love, get in his ship, charge the death ray and get zapped into oblivion in about the time it takes Charlie to emerge from her hiding place. Ok, he works fast. Fair enough. Oh wow, shes finally getting mad! Yes the one who causes hellquakes when shes stressed, its about time to unleash some of that!
Watch out, shes got her pets and has donned her spirit halloween sexy devil costume. Your ass is toast sir.
Oh shit, Razzle went faster than Rhaegal did approaching Dragonstone. I remember Viv saying Charlie has wings. Why didn't they fly themselves up there? Did she risk her pets lives for the spectacle? "Oh, look who thinks they're badass now" Yea Adam, kind of my thoughts too
I have to say the VaggiexLute beatdown that interrupted this mess unlocked my clenched jaw somewhat so that was nice DING DING
Her pet just being murdered, Charlie turns her back on the assailant long enough for him to braid her hair while she wails in dismay
She gets plastered into the sign which might have been funny if it were set up properly, but its not so Im back to cringing. I cant help but think it would have been better if she had been gun ho to fight but just clumsy and unable to hit her target. Getting tossed into the sign really does a number on her for some reason.
She finally gets a hit in thank God
Thats PRINCESS of HELL to YOU, PIG
Yea ok simba.
Then Mufasa *ahem* Lucifer salvages her mess. Guess this one hasn't taught her how not to take shit from other demons.
Poor thing doesn't like to get her hands dirty. Not directly, anyway...
Anyway, the takeaway is
I feel ripped off where is my girl who beat Killjoys ass on live TV over a pen
#hazbin hotel charlie#hazbin hotel#vivziepop#hazbin critical#hazbin hotel thoughts#hazbin hotel criticism#vivziepop critical#hazbin hotel critical#charlie morningstar
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My Heart Is a Haunted House
𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘴𝘦𝘴, 𝘗𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥 + 𝘗𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘪, 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘛
@dbdpromptober Day 7: Blood (words: 1600)
First Previous Next
(We All End Up Remains of the Day)
“Now that’s a story,” said a disembodied, purring voice.
There was a burst of violet flames on the counter and then, there was a cat. Charles let out a startled laugh. The Cat’s yellow eyes pierced him, before it sauntered past him to Edwin.
“A story of the ages,” it said with flair and ignored Charles’ bewildered staring.
“Of love, trust and betrayal most vile.”
The way the Cat sat back on its hindlegs to emphasize with its paws made Charles suppress another laugh.
“We don’t need to do all that,” Edwin said bitterly, like this conversation had been over with many times.
“Oh, but we do,” the Cat gasped theatrically, “how else is the fiancée here supposed to know anything about you, dove?”
Edwin sulked, rolling his eyes. Charles was far too amused watching the enigmatic Talking Cat that swayed its way across the counter like it was its personal catwalk. Jenny leaned back on the shelves, completely unbothered by anything that was happening.
The Cat twisted its sleek body in a way that probably wasn’t possible, the candlelight hitting ink black fur and making it shine. Then it leapt into the air and before it hit the ground, the violet flames had swallowed it again.
The flash of fire reappeared on top of the piano. But instead of a cat, it was a man with slicked black hair in finger waves. He was wearing a luscious satin robe with a fur trim, loosely tied around his waist.
He snapped his fingers in the air.
“Hit it, boys,” he smirked, lounging on the piano, eyes fixed on Charles and Edwin.
The skeleton sitting there jerked into action, hitting a rhythmic tune on the piano.
“Please, pay him no mind,” Edwin leaned over to Charles. “He does this every time someone asks.”
“Hey!” The Cat yowled, getting everyone’s attention.
He leapt on to his feet between the band, summoning a spotlight on him with another snap of his fingers. The bass, the sax and the xylophone made out of bones came alive around him, the skeletons reanimated by their love of music.
“Give me a listen, you corpses of cheer
Least those of you who still got an ear”
There was a mischievous grin on the Cat’s lips when he sauntered over, the crowd parting before him. He approached Edwin, standing eye to eye with him when the other was sitting down. Charles saw his gaze flash yellow, with slit feline pupils.
“I’ll tell you a story, put you out of your gloom
Of our own tenaciously gentle corpse groom”
His hand brushed a caress on Edwin’s cheek, before reluctantly pulling back. Edwin’s expression was steely, without betraying any emotion.
Charles wasn’t sure what was going on but he was stoked they had a song about Edwin. The tune was plenty dramatic, like something from a soap opera, performed with the same fervor.
The Cat turned with a flash, reappearing on his spot on the raised stage. Multicolored spotlights danced around him, breaking off and stretching the shadows.
“Well
Our son is a sweetheart and a real catch, too
Dreaming of a boy he could call his boo”
Behind him on the wall, a silhouette of a young man appeared, moving like a puppet, representing Edwin.
Charles moved to take a sip of his drink while keeping his eyes on the show, when Edwin put his fingers on the rim of his glass. When he gave him a puzzled look, Edwin’s eyes were serious.
“You must know about the rule of eating or drinking anything while visiting,” he leaned in with a low murmur, close to Charles’ ear.
Charles put down the glass discreetly. He wasn’t sure what Edwin was referencing, but he had a feeling it was better to listen.
“Then here’s a new guy, an older lad
Who could've guessed his heart was bad”
The Cat summoned another shadow figure on the wall. The taller man circled Edwin’s puppet like a shark.
“He fell for a man with grace and tact!
With violence and greed, now that’s a fact
For he was a fake, his plan’s so foul
Told him to pack, now where art thou?”
The Cat’s voice roared, his tale enrapturing the audience. Everyone except Charles probably knew this already, but every soul inside the bar was holding in their shocked gasps.
“Down to the basement he took our son”
The Cat lowered his voice, the lights going down. A shiver traveled up Charles’ spine, making him shift uncomfortably.
“For he knew already that he had won”
Yellow eyes shone in the darkness. Not once had Charles been scared here, but looking at those eyes, he grasped a hint of a much scarier, much more powerful nature. He was suddenly aware that he was the only person here who was alive.
Everyone else had already met their demise. And some of those fates were unfair, violent or sudden. Anyone could die, at any time, without a warning. It only took a moment of bad luck, one misstep or an ill-advised decision. Sometimes it was as simple as trusting the wrong person.
“And then?” Came a breathy question from the dark, urging the Cat to reveal the twist.
“The shadow looms”, the Cat whispered. Edwin’s silhouette flickered on the wall, looking around, confused.
“And then?” Another one demanded.
“There’s nothing there.” The basement is empty. Behind Edwin’s back, the man’s shadow grows larger and more beast-like.
“And then?!”
The Cat’s eyes are somber. Charles wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he could swear that gaze was fixed on Edwin.
“Then, baby… it was all over.”
It was a mere husky whisper. Even though Charles had known it was coming, he could still feel his heart seizing with a cold, painful squeeze. On the wall, the large shadow jumps on Edwin, swallowing him whole. A choked sound got caught in Charles’ throat.
A life, ripped away just like that. Edwin, dead before reaching even twenty years of age, without any fault of his own.
The lights turned back on all at the same time. The Cat had ripped the satin robe off his body, revealing tight leather pants and black mesh shirt covered in glitter. He was a sparkling, glimmering sight, when he strutted on the edge of the stage.
“A strike to the head, it was quick as a flash
Now the body’s disappeared with all the cash”
He shook his head and closed his eyes in an act of pity. He had a tantalizing way of moving, light on his feet, making it impossible to look away. He sat down on the ledge, one leg up, to tell the story.
“Now our son’s gone missing in an “act of God”
A verdict so twisted that’ll make you sob”
The music swelled, reflecting the growing anger towards the injustice of Edwin’s death. The Cat’s voice was but a snarl when he hissed out the following verses.
“Yet God had no part in it nor a hand
It all comes down to the cruelty of man”
Charles felt the hair on the nape of his neck standing up. He tried to ignore the full-body chills that were way too familiar, the slight quivering of his hands when fear tightened its grip on him.
He was intimately acquainted with what that cruelty entailed. He wished Edwin would’ve been spared from that.
Charles stole a glance at Edwin, whose face stayed neutral. From the side, you couldn’t see the blood covering the other half. His skin was smooth and unblemished. So young. So soft.
Trailing his gaze on the grooves of that striking profile, Charles landed on his lips, staring at the jagged line where a piece was missing. He had an urge to reach out and touch it.
The Cat’s song turned softer, a ballad-like lament. In one swift spell he was back in front of Edwin, a smile spreading on his lips.
“Left without love, he settles in to wait”
The Cat pulled Edwin up and stole him away, one hand on his waist, the other clasped with Edwin’s.
“For the groom of his own, swagger to his gait”
The way they waltzed was so smooth and seamless, like they were gliding across the floor, weightless and graceful. Charles couldn’t stop looking, even if the other man’s possessive hold awakened something ugly inside his chest.
Edwin was mesmerizing to watch. His movement was elegant, almost alluring, the white of his suit glowing in the lights.
Charles wondered, how had an angel ended up here, amidst regular mortals?
He yelped when he was shoved from behind and stumbled forward, barely keeping his footing.
“Confesses his love, whips out a ring”
Charles was pushed by the enthusiastic crowd and suddenly he found himself chest to chest with Edwin.
“One living, one dead, now they’re a thing”
Without more than a nod, Edwin picked up Charles’ hand. He put it on his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around Charles’ waist. Their fingers intertwined naturally, slotting perfectly together.
“A match for the ages, their love in a bloom”
Edwin took Charles along, leading him with confident steps. Charles picked it up quickly and was rewarded with a satisfied smile, something so endearing it made his heart leap in his chest. He’d do anything to please Edwin, if he could just see him smile again.
The colorful lights washed over Edwin’s shoulders, reflecting from the bottomless depths of his eyes. They were looking at Charles, now, full of pure contentment and love.
“And that’s the happy end for our corpse groom!”
#dead boy detectives#corpse bride au#dbdpromptober2024#day 7: blood#payneland#charles rowland#edwin payne#the cat king#cat king#i havent written poetry in a secondary language before this was fun#particularly proud of the act of god- cruelty of man lines#remains of the day
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✨⛵️Story/WIP Tour Tag ⛵️✨
Oh, what a fun concept! Thank you for tagging me, @theink-stainedfolk !!
I’m not sure I can convince you about the lovely landmarks in Peter Hart , but— there’s a rope around me. Oh. We don’t have a choice in this adventure, do we?
Peter: Clever. You catch on quick~!
Ahoy, mates. Captain Hart at the helm now. I’ll be your tour guide for the voyage. Please keep your arms on the deck at all times. Do not lean on the railing; if you go overboard we’re not coming to fish you out….unless you’re Benjamin.
Benjamin: HEY!! 😡
Right, let’s get started:
✨🇬����Port Mayor🇬🇧✨
On your left, you will notice we are passing by Port Mayor, Great Britain. A lovely fishing port run by an absolute bastard of a person. Make sure on your stop you steal a hearty handful from the Royal’s pockets, and try their regional specialty: Port Plum Pudding. Great for the season.
🌋Isle of Talon Rock🌋
Oh, this one’s a lovely sightseeing adventure! Talon Rock is an inactive volcano in the center of thick jungle. Do watch your feet for snakes; they are quite venomous here. The igneous walls of the lava tubes are home to a variety of rich gems, but make sure you vacate before high tide if you don’t want to get your clothes wet.
✨🇬🇧Portsmouth🇬🇧✨
We arrive at another port. Excellent tailor at this location; this is where I picked out most of Benjamin’s fashion.
Benjamin: I didn’t ASK for—
—You’re welcome. If you get a chance, make sure to piss in the rose garden of the sovereign that governs this port.
✨🪨Echoing Cove🪨✨
This one looks deceptive at first glance, but a trove of valuables rests deep enough inside the many underwater cave systems. You’ll have to do a little spelunking, but if you reach deep enough the treasures are ripe for the taking~
Benjamin: Peter…why do I hear voices?
—AAAAAAAND we are getting the fuck out of here~🏴☠️✨
✨🇬🇧Port Florence🇬🇧✨
Aye, Florence. Another posh port with a castle loaded in riches. A very prosperous port town with a king that is all too eager to throw lavish parties and get drunk off of centuries aged wine.
Benjamin: You’re one to talk, captain…
They hold a Regal Ball every year, with a dance competition. The winners take home 50 grand. Ah, a great memory indeed~
Benji: (blushing furiously)
😏
☠️🩸Bloodwater Bay🩸☠️
….Oh shite. This place. Right, well…..some more dense jungle, a thin strip of beach, the waters are red, but don’t be too alarmed…Davey tells us that’s the iron deposits that give more of that rusty hue. There’s a tall waterfall in the center……
Benjamin: …..Peter? Peeeeeeeter?
O-Oh! Well, moving right along…don’t want to linger in this wretched bay….
✨🇮🇪Gregory’s Point🇮🇪✨
Another lovely island between the mainland and Ireland. This is a developed hotspot, turned into a small port town where all are welcome. Pirates, naval officers, merchants, the like. Between the two main countries, this place has its own governance. So, you better have a good reputation if you don’t want to be murdered in your sleep ✨
Benjamin: you say that so nonchalantly, Captain
Mmmmhm. Also home to one of the best doctors this side of the equator. So, if you get wounded, make sure it happens close to Gregory’s Point.
✨🐋Giverny Gulch🐋✨
Another island made of basalt, home to a naval shipwreck. Do watch your step for broken glass, sharp rocks, reanimated corpses—
Benjamin: —I beg your pardon?
—fish and shark carcasses….oh right. Lots of sharks. Be careful of those.
Benjamin: ….Do I hear a whale?
✨🇫🇷Lorraine🇫🇷✨
We’re arriving near France! Jacques: lead us in the singing of the French National Anthem
Jacques: Oui, oui, Capitaine~! ✨
✨🎵 Allons enfant de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé! 🎵✨
Benjamin: 😑
✨🎵….Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'étendard sanglant est levé
L'étendard sanglant est levé
Entendez-vous dans les campagnes
Mugir ces féroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans vos bras
Égorger vos fils et vos compagnes!
Aux armes, citoyens! (Formez)
Vos bataillons!
Marchons! Oui, marchons!
Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillons! 🎵✨
🏔️Arctic Archipelago🏔️
……
Benjamin: …..Peter?
…..Let’s be off…..I wish not to be here too long.
✨🏝️The Caribbean🏝️✨
Ah, much better~! A nice, warm climate. Benji, love, remind me to acquire a bottle of Ron de Barbados 🇧🇧✨
Benjamin: Trust me, Captain; you won’t forget.
We’ve reached our final stop, but we have a whole tied-up tour group of witnesses. Mmmm…Right, I got it! Men, start hauling them over the rail—
Benjamin: —PETER!!
I’m joooooking~. Start untying them and drop ‘em off at the next port. Thank you for….“choosing”….The Golden Phoenix as your cruise. I’ve been your captain, and have a magnificent stay in Barbados. Jones knows I will~
Benjamin: P-PETER!! 😣
Leaving this open because man I had a lot of fun here ✨
✨👇Tag list for writing snippets below DM me if you want to be added 👇✨
Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -)
@clevah-girlboss , @glasshouses-and-stones , @tragedycoded , @deanwax , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @katenewmanwrites , @fantasy-things-and-such , @billybatsonmylove , @madi-konrad , @houseplantblank , @far-cry-from-finality , @froggy-pposto , @fractured-shield , @avaseofpeonies , @topazadine , @thecoolerlucky , @willtheweaver , @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @addicted2coke-theothercoke , @ominous-feychild , @yourpenpaldee , @moltenwrites , @pixies-love-envy , @davycoquette , @writeahurricane , @nczaversnick , @greenfinchwriter , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @aintgonnatakethis , @pluppsauthor , @michellekarnold , @flurrysahin , @authorcoledipalo , @jadeglas , @spookyceph , @48lexr , @agirlandherquill , @saebasanart , @leatafandom , @pippinoftheshire , @badscientist , @dearunreliablenarrator , @worlds-tallest-fairy , @rhikasa , @swordslord
#writeblr tag games#writing tag games#tumblr tag game#tag games#creative writing#writing exercise#wip tour tag#story tour#creative writers#goldencomet💫#peter hart#fantasy pirates#pirate adventure#gay#pirates#bl romance#pirate books#gay pirates#writers on tumblr#ao3#ao3 original work#writeblr#writing community#writeblr community#writers on ao3#ao3 community#writers#writing#writers and readers
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Akatsuki Ranked: which is the worst to just have randomly show up on your doorstep
As in, you may or may not be someone they are looking for, but this is worse than running into them in public because they are at your house and paying attention to you.
Itachi: He is. Well. He claims to be a pacifist, he's just bad at it. If he's there to kill you it will be quick and painless. If he is there to kidnap you you'll just get genjutsu'd. If he's there because he like. Needs to borrow your phone, or a cup of milk or something, he will be polite-ish. You could do worse. It will probably be uncomfortable because he is a tremendously awkward individual, but not that bad. He might even make you forget he was even there. How nice and definitely not slightly horrifying.
Kisame: as a large blue shark man with a giant sword he is very upsetting to come across unexpectedly. You... really don't want him to be there for you, specifically. His gameplan for preventing naruto escaping was "what if we cut off his legs". He's probably fine if he just needs a favor and you happened to be the closest person!
Konan: if Konan has personally come to your door it is because she is here to collect you, and disagreeing is really not an option. She's too important to need a favor from a random civilian so she MUST be here for you. If she was here to kill you she wouldn't have knocked. Presumably, the fact that she came herself and didn't delegate is because she wanted you alive. Come quietly and you might not die horribly. Hopefully.
Deidara: the best version of deidara to have show up on your doorstep is one that is missing both arms and dripping blood all over the carpet. It is perhaps the one version of Deidara who won't cause you to die in an explosion, and he needs you alive to dial the phone for him. The bad news is that he might call someone ELSE to come pick him up, and then just flop down on your couch, getting blood on that, too. And then you have to deal with whoever he called.
Pein: You open the door. There is an terrifying corpse with bright purple eyes staring at you unblinkingly. You hear a sound behind you of the back door, or perhaps several windows breaking. If you could manage to turn around you would see several other very similar corpses. This is all horribly dramatic, you think. No matter what he's there for, it is not going to be good.
Sasori: Him showing up with the goal of capturing or killing you is, uh, bad. Very painful death, and you'll probably be turned into a puppet. Or spare parts. If he's just there for a favor from a random civilian, he might just hit you with a paralyzing poison and take whatever he needs without asking. You know. If he's feeling nice. There is a non zero chance he might just puppetize you anyways, if you look interesting enough. There's a small chance he might hit you with a sleeper agent seal and that is one of the better outcomes.
Obito: He's not going to kill you. But he will do his level best to make you have a mental breakdown. He will raid your fridge. He will "accidentally" break things. He might "accidentally" set himself on fire and then flail around and break more things. If he is kidnapping you he will not drop the act the entire time, and it will be awful, because despite the fact that he acts like an immature idiot child, he is terrifyingly skilled, and there is no way of escaping, even though it really seems like there should be.
Kakuzu: he's not going to knock, he is simply going to break the door. One of the most likely to show up specifically to kill you, because someone else paid him to do it. If he isn't, he will still just blatantly take things that he wants/look valuable and you will be helpless to stop him, because he is a man composed of solid muscle and slightly less solid tentacles.
Hidan: Repent, sinner, for you shall know the name of the god of suffering. (You will die. Badly.)
Zetsu: He doesn't really have any needs, and he doesn't get sent on regular missions, so if he's there... yeah, he'll just show up through the floor and eat you. Why are you like this, Zetsu.
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if this isn’t your thing i totally get it… but could you do a fic where alastor finds and adopts a stray cat? i just really want to see him interact with animals; i think he’d treat them like the egg boys lol 😂
literally took me a month I'm so sorry but HERE'S ALASTOR WITH A LITTLE GUY 💕🐈 short and sweet!
Alastor brushes his hands off on his trousers, stepping away from the remains of the demon that lay bleeding on the floor of the alley. When would the denizens learn that he was not to be trifled with on a whim? He toes the body with a distasteful glance- another of those gaudy shark demons, hardly even worth a nibble. A waste, truly, but perhaps he could take some of the flesh home, throw it into a stew with some proper venison like a ‘surf and turf’ of sorts-
A tiny pathetic noise distracts him, and he looks over to see what almost looks like a kitten emerge from behind a dumpster, brown and orange fur patchy and ruined, a clip in its ear. It mewls at him, eyes earnest, and glances over to the body of the demon like it was asking for permission.
“Oh, by all means, little one!” He gestures to the fresh corpse and the creature seems to understand, trotting across the alley and lapping at the pool of blood before digging into the arm of the demon. Alastor watches silently for a moment until the little thing seems to almost be choking itself with its fervor, and he reaches a hand out to wrap about the kitten’s middle and pull it away, to at least swallow before resuming. Honestly, it felt like he was the only person in Pentagram City with manners anymore.
It resists, sinking its teeth further into the flesh. Alastor gives a firm tug, pulls the creature away from its meal, and the blasted thing turns on him, tiny needle sharp claws digging into his wrist and teeth clamping down on his thumb.
Despite the vague anger at being bitten- he had been trying to help the little bastard, after all- he can’t help but admire the tenacity. He releases the thing, lets it drop atop the body of the shark demon, and with the shock of the fall it transforms, body shifting into a strangely colored cardboard box reminiscent of one nearby in the alley, tumbling off the body to the asphalt.
Alastor is fascinated as the creature shifts back, once more becoming cat-esque and clambering back onto the body, mouth again reattaching to the meat of it. He waits until it has eaten its fill and it approaches him, rubbing against the fabric of his trousers and vibrating with something almost like a purr- a little deeper, more of a shake than a vibration. He reaches down and grabs it, brings it up to inspect. He can see now that the features of a true feline are not correct- there are no whiskers, the mouth is a tad too wide, the ears situated a little lower than they would be on Husk, for example. Like it had tried to imitate a true cat but couldn’t quite make the cut. The thing watches him closely, seems to understand that it’s being inspected.
“What a curious creature you are!” He crouches low and sets the beast down on the asphalt. It seems to understand him so he addresses it directly. “What else can you do?” He spends a few minutes conjuring items for the animal to recreate- it’s always just a tad off from what it should be, but Alastor is delighted to see that the items still function as they should for the most part. He ends the test with a small radio, cathedral style, and the teeth of the creature reflect in the patterning on the wood, nose elongating into the display and eyes becoming the dials. It puts up a minor bit of resistance to Alastor fiddling with the latter, but when music emerges it acquiesces, the not-quite-purr adding a nice reverb to the tone of the song.
It shifts back into a cat-like being and watches him with dark eyes as he scoops it up off the ground and deposits it into his pocket.
He fades into the shadows and reemerges in the hotel, dropping the kitten thing on the bar to stare at Husk while he grabs himself a glass of whiskey.
“The fuck is this?” Husk stares aghast at the thing, which lets out a hiss like an eldritch horror and spits at the bartender, fur raising like it means to strike.
Alastor is delighted. “This is Duke,” he says, having decided on the name in the moment after one of his favorite musicians of his own time. “If Angel Dust is allowed to keep that filthy pig creature in his room I, as the Hotelier, should be permitted to keep my own little pet.”
“That mean you’ll finally leave me the fuck alone if ya got another cat?”
He reaches out to tousle Husk’s fur, the cat scowling and batting him away. “No need to be jealous, dear Husker! I’m happy to find you more tasks around the hotel if you find my attention on you to be lacking. Duke here is merely for entertainment!”
“Right. Charlie know about this thing yet?”
“They’re a new addition to my inner circle,” Alastor says. “I’m sure Charlotte will have no issues with my keeping of a companion, and they will not stray from the Hotel.”
Husk sneers at the tiny creature, which in turn hisses at him again and puffs up, headbutting a nearby glass and sending it hurtling to the floor where it shatters. “Goddamn- keep that fuckin’ thing away from the bar!” Husk shouts, and Alastor scoops Duke up with a tentacle to deposit him back into his arms, making his way to his own bedroom before setting the cat creature down on the floor.
“You’re free to use this space as your own,” he tells it, gesturing to the room at large as well as the bayou dimension. Duke hops up onto the armchair by the fire, climbing onto the back of it to stare at him. “There are creatures that can be chased in the woods, but I warn you; they don’t taste quite as soon as the real thing! Perhaps I’ll take you out hunting with me on occasion, how does that sound?”
Duke lets out the almost-purr noise again, grating and vibrational, and allows Alastor to sit in the seat below him, curling up in his lap. Unexpected, but Alastor will permit it- he will need to get used to the usual behaviors of being a ‘pet-owner’ if the Princess is to let him keep the tiny creature. He pets a hand down the feline and it stretches, rolls onto its back, and stills, the Radio Demon watching with a content smile.
#hazbin hotel#ao3 writer#ao3 fanfic#alastor#alastor the radio demon#alastor fluff#hazbin fluff#requests <3#my stuff <3#cursed cat alastor#sort of lol
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Flowers Can Grow in Concrete C17
Why? Why? Why?WHy?WHy?WHY!WHY!WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY- No, Breath, Your calm, Your stable, Your professional. Don’t pay it any mind! She is just a toy, something that will break soon! They’ll learn to not get attached!
First it was N. He is the one responsible for this. But that wasn’t unexpected! What was unexpected was V. She got weak, and caved for it. It’s her fault! Not mine!
Then N decided to fight back! To not listen to me! So I let him go, and then he thinks he can KEEP DOING IT!? THEN V!? Then N thinks he can walk away from me in thE MIDDLE OF A CONVERSATION! THEN HE THREATENED ME AND THEN TO CHOP OFF MY AR- “N! WAKE UP! LET GO!” What’s going on down there?
J peaked over her nest. Was one not enough?… Oh, no they had the pile of scrap between them, so cuddles, fun.
“N! Please!”
“Ehehehee! But you're the one who did it!”
“No! You were!”
“Well the other ni-” N teased.
“Shut it! Shut it! Shut it! Shut it!” Ugh, she sounds like a child, ironic really. N moved away from her.
“Now, let me think about what we cou-Ghak! Uzi!” The thing had jumped onto V. Heh. Deserved~! She smirked to herself.
“Hehe! I got you mom!” J’s brows furrowed. M-Mom?! Did V encourage this?! No, she didn’t, it looked like she locked up when it said that…
“Come on Z, Leave V alone.” N spoke softly.
“Awh, she never plays with us!” It was sitting on V, arms crossed and pouting.
“Get off me or I’ll leave you in N’s nest.” V said in a gruff voice.
“N will just get me!” It had a smirk on its face.
“Not if I do it when he’s gone~!” she moved her head around.
V made eye contact with J, then displayed ‘TTYL’ on her visor. What in the corporate agreement is she on about? V looked back to her makeshift family.
J frowned her brow. Tired from looking at the happy gross family she crawled back into her nest. She began to move some blankets around till she found a wooden chest made for toys. She opened it up, inside were some fabric and stuffed animals. Small and big, accurate and colorful, old and new.
The fabric that was in there was light blue plaid on a white background, soft mint green with lilac dots on it, and a light orange with a moody pink in the pattern called hound’s tooth.
She had a variety of animals: a dark blue bat that needed to be fixed, a lama with pink wool, a brown wyvern that you could shape and twist, a gray wolf with blue eyes and white patterns, a human-ish black cat sitting down with gray toe beans and green button eyes, a shark with a 6-pack, a blahaj, a penguin that had a rabbit eared hoodie, a black blob that looked like a gingerbread cookie with white circles for eyes, a normal zebra that had rainbow stars on it’s fur, and a light blue whale.
J grabbed the whale and held it tight. Tears formed as she put the chest away. She curled up with the whale and cried quietly.
They are replacing me.
They want me gone.
They think I'm useless.
They should kill me.
They have a replacement already.
They know what to do.
I was too rough.
I was too rude.
I was too heartless.
I was too careless.
I was too self centered.
I was too blind.
No one cares.
No one wants me.
No one is here.
No one is warm.
No one is looking for me.
No one wants me.
Why did I have to come back.
Why did I have to be so rude.
Why did I have to hurt them.
Why did I have to live again.
Why did I have to forget my life.
Why did I have to feel.
I should have died.
I should have stayed in the pile of corpses.
I should have had the elliots kill me.
I should have helped.
I should have been kind.
I should have fought harder.
What’s the point.
What’s the meaning.
What’s the purpose of me.
What’s the end goal.
What’s the way to stop hurting.
What’s the meaning of safety for me.
What’s the life I want.
I’m broken.
I’m unrepairable.
I’m unfixable.
I’m hurt.
I’m hollow.
I’m a shadow.
Something that should be left.
Something that should be broken.
Something that should be hurt.
Something that should be killed.
Something that should be gone.
Something that should be forgotten.
J clenched her teeth, it played like static in her mind. She felt like she was being consumed by a void. She grabbed her tail and stabbed her hand, she barely flinched from the pain. She let her hand decay. It was a weak pain, one she was used to.
It had melted so much to the point she couldn't move her fingers. It left a nice round circle before J popped it in her mouth. Her mind began to wander again.
Heart pulled from her chest slowly, feeling all the pain.
An empty shell.
Deader than the trees.
Deader than the humans.
Deader than the drones she had killed.
She was falling without her wings.
Some days the sun didn't seem half bad.
She could be free.
She could stop living in this hell.
Not forced to be a sheep to the Shepherd.
The Shepherd.
The Shepherd is to blame for this hell.
The Shepherd.
The Shepherd thinks it's a game.
The Shepherd.
The Shepherd slaughters those it dislikes.
The Shepherd.
The Shepherd uses us like toys.
The Shepherd.
The Shepherd.
J cried herself to sleep, thoughts just looping over and over.
—————
J woke up groggy. Something must have woken me… She shoved the whale under her pillows and she saw V’s claw pulling her up. Oh, right, she wanted to talk.
“What do you want?” J spat out
“Are you ok?” V looked at her with a concerned look. No, don’t break now, stay strong, stay resilient.
“I’m fine,” J said duly.
“You don’t look fine… Your hair is a mess, your clothes are wrinkled, I heard you cry early, so let me ask this again. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” J snapped back, she bared her teeth. “And I wasn’t crying!”
“We both know that I have the best hearing here, so do you want to try that again?”
“I’m Fine.” A low growl emerged from her voice box.
V looked unamused. “Follow me.”
“Why.”
“I said we would talk, now follow, I have stuff to show you.”
J just glared at her, tail flicking around.
“Do it or I’ll carry you like a kid” V firmly told J.
“... Fine…”
“Thank you, now follow.”
V glided down to the bed they had dragged in. J followed suit.
“Sit. I need to grab something.”
J sat on the bed. N was playing with the trash pile. Oh company leadership, what does she want from me.
J waited for V. Is she going to tell me that I need to leave? That I’m replaced? Of course she will, what else would she want to talk about.
When V came back, she had a box with a handle.
“What’s in there?” J watched the box as it was placed down on the bed, eyeing it as if it would move without supervision on it.
“Just some stuff.” V sat down beside J and began rummaging through the box. She pulled out a hair brush.
“While we talk I'm fixing your hair.”
“I can do that myself thank you very much.”
“No.” V reached for the bow that held her hair in place.
“No! Stop! I can do it!” J swatted her hand away.
“The only reason you haven’t is because you don’t know how to do it.” V pulled the bows out, J’s hair fell down.
“I-I can!”
“If I remember correctly, you always asked for someone else to do it.”
“I-Uh-Fine, you can.”
While V brushed J’s hair they talked.
“So what’s going on?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I know you dislike Uzi, But why?” V talked in a soft tone.
“Because we need to kill her? Why do you like her, hm?” J shot back.
“... I don’t have an answer for you, I don’t even have an answer for myself.”
“Besides, I don’t need to tell you anything.”
“I think it’d help you to talk. I know it’s not the kid, but it’s something.”
“It is the kid, It’s what she means.”
“Then what does she mean to you?”
J snarled “She’s a replacement.”
“How?”
“You guys hate me, it was just a matter of time until you replaced me.” J said coldly.
V was stunned.
“How can you be replaced?”
“She’s a better candidate in your mind, of course you’d pick her over me.”
“Why can’t we have 4 drones? Why does it need to be 3?”
“... She is a replacement. Stop it.”
“You need to stop it!”
“Would she even like me. I've attacked her 3 times, well tried to.”
“She would…” V stopped brushing J’s hair to grab something from her box. She pulled out a piece of folded up paper and handed it to J.
J took the paper and opened it up. It was a drawing with 3 tall drones and a short one. Above them read ‘My FmiLEy’ and below each drone was a name. From left to right it read ‘moM mE �� dAd ANT’.
“One of you told her to make this, or N did.”
“No… She made it herself… She considers you a part of her family.” V started to brush again.
“You told her to add me.”
“No, she chose to add you and call you her aunt.”
And that was the stick that broke the camel's back.
The tears fell slowly, but became rapid. She leaned into V, cries becoming soft but audible.
“Oh-Ah, you were holding it all back, huh?”
“Y-Yeah”
V started to pat her back “There there, you're fine, you're safe, I’m right here.”
J sobbed, hard.
“I-I just don’t want t-to be Forgotten…Replaced…Useless…Hurt…Killed. I just want to be helpful, not a disappointment, something that should be thrown away.”
“I promise you won’t” and a wave of calm washed over J. She stopped sobbing as hard. She melted into V, finding comfort in it. She felt drowsy.
“How d-do I know th-that for sure?”
“... You don’t, and there is no real way to prove it, but, you just have to trust…”
“But I don’t want to misplace my trust…” Not again…
“Sometimes, we have to take leaps of faith, if we don’t then, we’d be stuck.”
“Yea…”
“I think a way you could express your worries could be through poetry…”
“I'll consider it…”
V comforted J for sometime. J was lightly sleeping on her when she felt something grab her leg.
“Don’t kick, just look…” V whispered.
J opened her eyes, the thi-Uzi, Uzi had grabbed her leg and was smiling up at her.
“H-Hello?” Her voice was sore from crying. “W-What are you doing?” J looked at her quizzically.
“Hugging you! You looked like you needed one.” Her smile was so large and happy.
J’s expression softened. She is putting all her trust in me to not hurt her.
Did she misplace her trust?
Did she worry about being replaced?
Did she block off all connections to her family?
Did she harm herself?
Did she hurt others?
Did she do anything I did to myself?
Did she do anything that I did to them?
No.
No she didn’t.
No she won’t.
So I’ll try to learn from her.
So I’ll try to play with her.
So I’ll try to be close.
So I’ll try to forget my worries.
So I’ll try to forgive them.
So I’ll try to care for them too.
So I’ll try to be better.
Just like her.
“Y-Yea,”
“I think I do…”
#FCGIC#Flowers Can Grow in Concrete#murder drones#I be writin#murder drones au#murder drones fandom#murder drones fanfic#md#md fic#md fanfic#md au#md uzi#murder drones uzi#md n#murder drones n#md v#murder drones v#murder drones j#md j#writer is okay#More therapy soon#Self harm#SH
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Mildly emotionally devastating concept, that I haven't found anyway to put into a fic or idea yet so here goes:
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The echoing chords of 'Happy Day In Hell' are ringing across the hotel grounds. Cannibals and bettes are carefully hacking away at the different corpses; some angelic, some sinner, some cannibal.
After all, the best way to honour a fallen cannibal was to ensure they lived on inside you... funerary rights in Cannibal Town could cause some distress if you weren't aware of why the mourning would bring their own condiments along...
Several members of the hotel are pointedly Not Looking at the way the angels are being dissected and broken down into a number of tupperware containers that apparently the cannibals just happened to have on themselves. Which was... alarming, buut practical.
Susan was easily visible haranguing the best cuts of wing meat from at least a half-dozen other cannibals and bettes within a four metre radius. That walking stick was a bit charred but it still packed a wallop.
"Should I... maybe go stop her?" Charlie asks, half-joking, because even despite her great power that woman terrified her. It was the aura of disapproval and scrutiny, she thinks, it's like Susan assumed you did something wrong and she was waiting for you to confess.
"Oh I wouldn't think so, it'd be a shame to have you survive that bore of a First Man only to be ended by her wrath, Charlie dear!" Rosie interjects, looping her arm with Charlie's as they turn towards the refurbished hotel. "Why, between you and me, I think she'd even have the audacity to wallop your father over the head with that stick if he tried to get her to stop... she's quite the... I believe the term is 'Karen'?"
Angel lets out a spluttering honk. "Holy shit, she's right! Careful Short King, you get too close and she'll leave you a 1 star Velp review..."
Husk grumbles, hiding his smirk behind a hand. His eyes keep snapping over to where Niffty was running free with The Blade in her hand, yelling excitedly. These little bouts of mania never last, after all.
His ears twitch at the annoying buzz of drones above them. That fuckin' television too cowardly to come help but always interested in watching, recording, putting some twist on reality for his own gain. Hated the schmooze on the guy even back when Husk was an overlord in his own right, you knew he was hanging around and paling it up in search of something.
The cat is pretty sure that Vox is part shark, which makes the anaolgy both better and worse. Sharks like to circle their prey, by the time you've seen them the damn thing has already made up its mind if you're Dinner... and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Huh, actually they also use electromagnetic waves to sense prey, so, it kind of fits with the tv thing too...
Not for the first time, he wonders who chooses sinner forms and how that determination is made. Some of them are scary creative and yet entirely accurate... like Husk, he'd been a bit lazy and quick to lash out, always darting from place to place. Now he was a cat with fuckin' wings. Ain't fully sure about Angel's spider thing but the guy did always seem to be amidst a web of chaos, tangled in the threads.
And Al? Well, fuck, the guy was a not-deer. Sure, he looked the part of the stag, but it made more sense that he was one of those creepy cryptid Not-Deers that seemed all innocent til you got up close and bambi took a bite of you. He's also wondered if the guy was part voodoo doll, on more than one occasion... all those threads. But he's never had proof. Just some sort of cannibalistic deer.
Pretty sure it was a fucked up joke about how the Overlord died, and that he used to hunt down victims. But eh, who was he to figure it out? Maybe one day Husk'd get Lucifer drunk at his bar and ask how this whole shitshow worked.
He recalled meeting a jellyfish/cactus sinner once, and always wondered how in the 7 rings that'd come about.
"Husk? You good?" Angel elbows him, and he blinks back into the moment to see a cautious Vaggie trying to wrangle the Knife from Niffty.
"Zoned out. Wondering about why we drop down here like this... then went down a mental rabbit hole." he replied, easily. Information, but not enough to pin down his thought process. The trick with a good poker face was also a great poker mouth, but he refrained from sharing that analogy with Angel, because the demon would absolutely make a pun about poking things in mouths. And Husk had had a Loooooong Day so far.
"Char-char, why are there so many little winged camera things around?" Lucifer asks, jabbing upwards with his cane. "They've been everywhere all day, the exorcists seemed to just ignore them, but they don't seem Heaven-made. Actually, I don't think most of those stuck up fuckers would be aware of what the upper councils decided to do down here..."
"Hmmm? Oh, that's just Vox, ya majesty. He's got a little obsession with... well, someone else here. There's normally wards keeping him out but I think they fell with the old hotel... might want to get onto that unless you wanna risk your next shower being pay per view." Rosie tosses back, carelessly, stiffling a laugh. "No manners, that television... ugh, he used to be such a sweet little thing but then he met that moth..."
Her tone dripped with derision.
"Why, the other day he was waltzing into my town demanding an audience and I just about set Susan on him, because for some reason she's immune to his little eye trick, and I tell you! If I wasn't brought up to be a gracious hostess, I would've called Al over to help me figure out which bits of the smug bastard were edible, I've always assumed it's like trying to find the non-toxic bits of a blowfish when you really get in there. Flesh and circuitry for days!"
"Oh? Why would he deign to go anywhere in person, isn't that what those expendable and often delicious little interns of his are for?" Alastor asks, ears aimed right at Rosie now, a sparkle in his eyes at the schadenfreude being offered.
"Quite! The last one was some sort of octopi sinner, tasted fantastic with a fine white wine, I believe I still have some in the fridge if you have time later, deer. In any case, he'd gotten wind that Princess Charlotte had inspired my people to fight." Her expression soured momentarily. "Felt that he might be able to counter the offer with his new 'Angelic Security' devices, let us be something called a beta tester... still not sure what that means. Anyway, the poor fool was so out of sorts that he was even willing to make a rather significant deal between our two territories, wherein he would provide any employees or former employees who were... waiting to reform. All we needed to do was step back from the fight."
Lucifer felt hellfire escape his mouth with each exhalation. "Some upstart overlord thought he could try to usurp the allies from my daughter? On the eve of battle?"
"Now, now your majesty, in all fairness it was only Vox. This is what he does. I'm certain he also made an attempt at a Deal with Carmine once he saw the shipments coming in, and likely used all two braincells to work out why..." Alastor counters, grinning. He was never not grinning, of course, but this felt... genuinely delighted at the overlord's failures. "He failed, so why not simply allow it to go unpunished for now? His drones have seen us discuss this, he knows we know... let him grow paranoid and jump at shadows in that little tower of his."
Lucifer... blinked, and felt his horns fade out. "Heh, that's actually a good idea there, Bambi. Didn't think someone as outdated as you could get those anymore... not enough bandwidth. But you are, as painful as it is to say, right. Let him know the King of Hell knows his name and his sins... and he has all eternity to ensure that Vox will atone for them."
"...I do hope we all get front row seats to the performance, then. Unless you feel the need to designate on this task, in which case I would be more than happy to offer my services in this regard!"
"Awwww, Vaggie, they're getting along!" Charlie stage-whispers, looking simultaneously delighted and perturbed at the subject matter. She was angry at the idea someone had been trying to undo all their work around managing the incoming threat... but, maybe they could try verbal conflict resolution before jumping to beating them up or say, eating people?
"Well that's just fucking terrifying. We need to put a stop to that." Vaggie deadpans back, finally getting hold of the Blade. "Uh, can we put this somewhere she can't get it for now?"
"What? Oh, yeah... we can put it in a frame later on, but for now, just toss it through the portal, 'kay?" Lucifer glances over, swirling a portal open behind her revealing a dusty room filled with ducks. Vaggie dropped it through and it snapped shut before Niffty could dive after it.
"Nooooooo, that was my shiny! I got the angel!" Niffty protested.
"Come now, Niffty, that's no way for you to act now is it?" Alastor admonishes, taking the small sinner from Vagatha and letting her curl into his chest. He pets her on the back with a practiced ease that spoke of more than a few incidents of this very situation. "Do remain calm, if you can, and we shall see if perhaps an angelic needle might be procured so you can ensure those bugs never come back again, hmmm? Would you like that as a reward?"
Carmilla would likely be confused by such a request, but... for the right price, anything was available. And money meant nothing at the Sovereign rank, it just Was.
For some Sovereigns, that meant security and not having to fight every moment; that their souls were cared for and given the means to serve as healthy and well as possible. For others, who had forgotten how it was to suffer, it meant dragging every dollar earned from the filthy, desperate claws of their souls.
Husk may never admit it, but Alastor kept a standard for his souls, and ensured their needs were met. A starving, half-mad creature would be an unlikely helper; but a sinner who was fed, clothed and lived in an alright apartment where they had access to electicity and water and radios? They would be a good bet to back up the person who kept the lights on.
Husk was one of the few who didn't get an allowance... outside of certain matters. Mostly because everything was provided, and he had an unfortunate habit of gambling it away and accruing further debts. Really, Charlie needed to add in some sort of Gambling Addiction group or something... it was getting tedious eating loan sharks for Huk and Mimzy.
Ah, perhaps that was why Husk disliked her so deeply... the fact that they were, to a degree, a mirror for one another. But where Mimzy revelled in her chaos; Husk felt shame and self-loathing, both fine and entertaining qualities but ultimately unhelpful.
"Yeah, it's all good Niff. Besides, you took out the big bad guy, or the not good bad guy, not sure how ya classify it... but Adma was an ass and he had it coming. There's no more not-me angels to stab right now." Angel soothes, hovering a hand as if not quite sure if Alastor would bite him for breaching their space.
"See? Nothing is as bad as it seems, dear. Remember, you're never fully dressed without a smile... and you are a beacon of hellfire when you do, so why not buck up and tell Angel about how much fun you had with the winged pests today?" Alastor coaxes, handing the maid over to a slightly stunned Angel.
"Er, yeah... tell me about how ya got all the not-me angels, Niff."
"Oooh, well, there were so many of them and then you were shooting them and Husk was throwing booming things at them, and your yelling friend threw bombs at them and I liked how they made crackle boom noises, and then the angels fell on the-..."
"Don't panic, she has quite the lung capacity for someone her size. She'll breathe when she needs to." Alastor laughs, assuaging the dawning expression of horror on Angel's face as Niffty just kept talking in a massive run on sentence. He seemed to be waiting for her lips to go blue or the little thing to pass out or something.
"Terrifying to know. Thanks."
"Right, so... pancakes?" Lucifer hedges, turning to the gathered sinners at large and mainly aiming the question at Charlie. "I think everyone worked hard and could use something to eat, then maybe a nap. Or three. Anyone who doesn't want to participate in group naptime can always... shut up and lay down anyway because otherwise I will knock you out. Got it? Excellent. Now who wants chocolate chip? I can also do strawberry, chocolate, banana, pineapple, maple syrup, and ugh... even blood flavoured if anyone here is into that. Whipped cream straight from Gluttony ring, you'll kill for more!"
There was a pause.
"No one is allowed to kill for more. I've decided."
Charlie can't block the little snort that erupts at how ridiculous her Dad was. She wipes at her eyes, heart feeling full and tender at the strangeness of her old and new family coming together under the new hotel roof to celebrate their victory.
Her eyes do rest on the portrait of Pentious, and her throat constricts momentarily... but there's no time for that! Vaggie squeezes her shoulder, somehow knowing as she always does, when Charlie's thoughts have grown heavy. No, Pentious would want them to celebrate victory... not mourn. Not tonight.
That's what tomorrow was for. She could clear the schedule and having morning calisthenics and cathartic sobbing from 10am - 11am, then maybe some art therapy and scrapbooking or drafting letters to Pentious until lunch. Maybe an art class for free expression afterwards? No, too similar. Oooh, what about some primal screaming? That might be good!
"Whatever the Princess is thinking, I want to volunteer to not be part of it." Husk says, concerned about the face journey they were witnessing. It felt very... therapeutic. Which was alarming, in its own way.
"Aw c'mon kitty, I'm sure it'll be fun..." Angel coaxes, shifting Niffty to his left arms, waving at the approaching Cherri through the open front doors. He points up at the drones, and she frowns as she follows the movement.
A few little bombs take care of the technoflock.
Angel can't help but relax knowing the boss of his boss wasn't keeping tabs anymore.
"Pancakes sound good right about now, so let's get t'cooking. Then I'm taking you up on that nap business, for as long as Val will hold off on callin' me inta work."
"Why, my dear fellow, if he calls you into that Studio then perhaps it would be best for the hotel if you were escorted. Someone could... renegotiate your terms, by tearing the moth's head off, for example..."
Angel's breath caught in his throat. "Ya'd do that? Why, whatta ya want in return? Cause I already offered ta suck ya-..."
Rosie burst into laughter at the mildly offended expression on Alastor's face. "Oh, you are a delight Mr Angel Dust! Make no mistake!"
"...I have been meaning to remove the moth for a while, it was merely a matter of identifying a convenient time. All this extermination nonsense and all..." Alastor waved off the inquiry.
Angel felt a flare of resentment, because that waiting had cost him a lot... but he could see what was being offered, what was not being said directly. If it wasn't a service specifically for Angel, there was no debt accrued. Heck the wording sounded like Angel might get a favour out of it for getting him into the Studio.
Well, fuck, the Radio Demon was trying to make friends without actually saying it. Angel could work with that.
"Well, if you want to see where the magic happens... sure, I have the right to do Studio Tours." he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. The whole exchange has gone under the Royals notice. They might've tried to... help. And that hadn't gone over so well last time.
"Yeah, yeah, come on, let's get something to eat so I can sleep for a week..." interjects Husk, rolling his eyes at all these ridiculous theatrics. Ugh, theatre kids. You put em in the same room and it becomes unbearable being in the midst of their cryptic charades and subterfuge bullshit.
He might have a soft spot for Angel, and a weird bruised place for Al, but these two needed to knock it off. "How about we deal with all of Hell tomorrow and just have a day we put our feet up, huh? Won't even get wasted... might teach Legs here how to play poker properly. Which means the pants stay on, I'm warning you in advance, before you get any ideas."
"Awww, kitty scared to see what I got ta offer?"
There's a record scratch noise. "My good man, most of Hell is fully aware of what you have to offer, and so is everyone at this establishment after your very... creative... decisions around show and tell night presentations."
Rosie has tears beading at the corners of her dark eyes, she's laughing so hard behind her hand. "I'm sorry, Al, but the mental imagery that evokes is truly something... was that a... hah... was that a group therapeutic activity?"
"Well, it coulda been a group something, but no one was interested... shame, really. I rarely do things for free, it's a professional standards thing. But, I'm always down to give out a coupon if that'll help..." Angel waggles his eyebrows.
There's a rather pointed 'whump-whomp' sound effect as Alastor levels a truly unimpressed gaze at him. "Do not take it personally if I decline, dear chap, but that sounds like a lot of unnecessary workplace fraternisation... we'd have to run it by the Manager, unless you envision Charlotte also being involved? In which case, I expect his shortness would immolate us on sight."
Angel cracks up. Something about the idea of a wild bangsesh with the hotel staff being tidied up under the title of 'workplace fraternisation' absolutely sent the spider.
Husk, on the other hand, shuddered. "No thanks. Not even for you, Legs. You ain't seen some of the stuff in Niffty's notebooks... you let that side of her loose and none of us'll ever walk again."
"Ah, she is a darling girl with quite the imagination... I noted that her more recent drawings are getting quite good." Rosie agrees, studiously ignoring the wide eyed glare she got from Alastor, whose neck did a full 180 to stare her way. "Oh hush now, you... you know she loves to show me her achievements as much as she does to you. Why, she's our delightful murderous not-child after all..."
Angel pauses on the cusp of the kitchen, from which a number of concerning bangs and crashes were echoing, to stare between the overlords. "Wait, are you two a thing? I got a discount for couples and-..."
His next words are cut off by a dark tendril covering his mouth as Alastor reached his breaking point. The eyebrow waggle suggested that if the Overlord released the man's mouth, something truly and devastatingly lewd might slip out.
Rosie was no help, laughing uproariously to the point Lucifer peeked his head out of the kitchen to check all was well. He seemed to be wearing several egg yolks and flour... and his apron was singed. What on earth were they doing in there?
"You guys uh, good out here?"
"Of course, Sire, of course! Just fixing a little misconception, that's all... and then this charming starlet here made Quite the Suggestion! Oh dear, I haven't laughed this hard since I saw that upstart Velvette walk into a pole, too enamoured in her phone to notice, hah!"
"Why that sounds like a blessed event." Alastor agreed.
"What? You know what, you're all alive and I'm going to check on Char-Char... Vaggie's running out of extinguishers." Lucifer says, and disappears.
"Hmmm, she doesn't seem to have gotten your talent for cooking, my dear. You should rectify that soon, before this lovely establishment burns to ashes after all the effort put into gussying it up again."
"Believe me, I have tried, Rosie... our Princess can't seem to crack the fundamentals of even the most basic dishes. Even Angel tried, and between us we have managed to teach her to boil water without melting the pot. Truly an enigma."
Angel taps the tendril, and he is allowed free. "Whew, okay, yeah that was something and I will make a statement about tentacles later on. BUT, Smiles is right... dunno what it is about our all-powerful ball f optimism... but she can't cook to save herself. We're lucky it was a battle and not a bake-off or we'd be screwed."
Alastor can't help but laugh at that, Rosie's own curling around his tone. "Oh, now that would have been a delightful disaster to spectate..."
Rosie whaps him lightly on the arm. "Come off it now, deer, you know you would have found a way to help her or at least give her the answers... a poppet under the table, perhaps. I know you quite like the little powderpuff, don't go denying it!"
He flicks his ears at her, in a fit of pique, and she laughs harder.
"Yeah, I think she likes ya too, Smiles... and Charlie don't seem like the type to just let go of an attachment. So we're all stuck with her, in the best way possible. Good luck with that. I'm enjoying watching you get dragged, kickin' and screamin' into this weird family at the hotel." Angel grins, all teeth, the smug bastard.
"Husker, do remind me why I have refrained from eating your paramour so far?" Alastor asks, jovially, as a shrill scream echoes from the kitchen and the too familiar blast of an extinguisher in use.
"Cause he's a good source of entertainment, and gossip about the Vees..." Husk answers automatically. He's got a few answers on the backburner, just in case Al ever asked or needed to be talked down after another... Sinsmas lapdance incident. It'd been as funny as it was terrifying.
"Hmm, I suppose..."
The kitchen doors swung open and a rather dishevelled trio stumbled out with smoke trailing behind. Lucifer's magic was combating whatevver was happening in there, and the King's eyes were wide with disbelief as he stared at his daughter.
"Okay then, I'll just conjure up some pancakes then... while that fixes itself up. And then we ban my darling duckling from ever stepping foot in there again." Lucifer says, shooing everyone towards the dining area. "Well that was... informative."
"Mmm, that's why Angel or myself tends to run the cooking classes, whenever Charlotte here schedules them." Alastor adds, unhelpfully. "Rather safer that way..."
"Hey asshole, she's trying!" Vaggie snaps.
"And it's appreciated, but wouldn't you agree that if all members of staff work to their strengths it is... safer and more equitable overall, dear Vagatha?"
"I-... okay, that's a fair point, but back off Charlie. You know she really wants to get better at cooking..."
"And she will, in time, I assure you. But for now... I undderstand there may be pancakes on offer that would suit even Rosie's refined tastes, so if his Majesty could get to conjuring...?"
Lucifer whacks Alastor with one of his wings, shoving him out of the way with a sharp blow to the chest. Not anticipating wings appearing from nowhere, only Rosie's sure footing keeps him upright as she grabs him.
With a laugh, she twirls and dips him, leaving the pair chortling at the whole situation and utterly ticking off Lucifer, whose malicious grin dropped to something rather frustrated.
Alastor rights himself easily. "Why Rosie, old gal, I just realised we haven't danced in a while. Would you have any of the charming little Balls or Soirees coming up?"
"Not officially no, but I was thinking of putting some of the angelic meat on ice and setting up a festival in the next few weeks to celebrate our victory today." She replies, clapping her hands and crinkling the corners of her not-eyes. It would be a grand affair, as every event Cannibal Town hosted was purported to be.
"Well, the hotel staff and guests will naturally attend, though I do believe we may need some substitutions to be made... apparently even dear Angel Dust, who is no stranger to Sinner meat, isn't a fan of digesting it for some reason." Alastor responds, expression nonchalant as if he didn't just make a joke so blatant Angel nearly inhales a whole pancake in shock.
Cherri saves the day as she triumphantly bursts in to whack him on the back hard enough to dislodge the offending food. It hurtles across the room and is caught in Niffty's dustpan tray.
Angel wheezes, "Did I go insane or did Smiles just make the joke I think I heard?"
Rosie looks scandalised. "Why Alastor, are you not using your impeccably worded ill humour here? For shame, young man! For shame! Why, I still remember the time you made that statement about electical ports that made Vox short-circuit and explode a jukebox... oh, his smoking screen was delightful!"
"I have no idea what you refer to, madam."
"You stop that rot or I'll pull your tail in front of everyone, Al... just like you're pulling my leg with this faux innocence nonsense." Rosie chuckles. "Oh deer, you're lucky I'm Fawn'd of you... the things I Doe for you. I really should stag for it."
"That last one was a reach and you know it, Rosie." Alastor shot back and side-stepped her playful attempt at mauling.
"There's some kinda chemistry here, but I'm getting the feeling its less romantic and more like... whatcha gotta do to make a bomb." Angel says, narrowing his eyes at the pair. Starling a laugh out of both overlords.
"Oh, speaking of bombs, there's a few out amongst the wreckage I can't seem to find. They're gonna go off in a bit, timed the little buggers cause I wasn't sure if we'd need to put a little surprise on our corpses and all. So, don't go digging through the rubble for a bit, alright?" Cherri says, hoiking a thumb over her shoulder.
"Er, maybe we go see if Dad can find them before an ally gets blasted into chunks, huh?" Charlie says, nervously.
"Probs for the best, princess. Vox still has his little spy eyes floatin' about outside... might not be good to let the idiot box get a pic of you blowin someone sky high after the battle." She shrugs. "No skin off my nose either way a'course."
"Persistent today, isn't he deer?" Rosie says, rolling her dark voids and bumping their shoulders together as the late breakfast of a thousand pancakes is abandoned in favour of finding explosives to prevent future disasters. Or watch them first hand. Given the audience.
Lucifer was practically dragged by the wrist towards the front doors by his frantic daughter; Vaggie trapped by the other hand. Angel had his phone out, curious to see where this went as Cherri came along for shits'n'giggles.
"Come along, Husker..." Alastor said, pointing out the door and putting a too-companionable arm about the cat's shoulder as he dragged him out. "Well, my good fellow, let us see what chaos the rest of the day brings..."
There was some deep mumbling of almost insults, but the cat capitulated easily enough. His ears flicked in interest as someone outside shrieked and something let out a deep muted boom.
"Oho, the fun is just beginning!" Alastor grinned, and released an array of poppets from his shadows to help scour the field. Rosie also grinned, noting how much her foolish friend clearly cared, and how devastated he was going to be when he actually realised it. Why, that was going to be hilarious to weather!
"...-veryone could just stop digging for a minute while we, AHH! Oh, they're just helping look... could use more warning next time, Al!" Charlie called as they broached the front doors behind her. "As I was saying, anyone digging, step back we're looking for explosives!"
Vaggie added to the command with a more authoratative tone.
Lucifer was above them all, hovering with eyes a blood red scanning the area about them. He pointed to different devices and tossed them into the sky to detonate. A few of the poppets found devices and piled on them until they triggered.
Those damnable drones watched them the whole time. No matter how many were blasted by accident, ahem, during detonations... another two would turn up. The proverbial hydra indeed.
There was an interminable beeping coming through the airwaves aw well, rather pissing off the Radio Demon, because it seemed only he and possibly the King and Princess were aware of it. Although Vagatha was rubbing at her temple and glancing about.
"If anyone is interested in the source of that noise, I suspect the drones are emitting it. Not certain why, though. Possibly just to annoy." He informs, glaring at the cameras and feeling his distortion field flare persistently.
"Oh is that what that is? Going to have a word to Socks about his meddling, it's annoying." Lucifer mumbles, batting a few drones to pieces with a flex of his wings.
Vox, in retaliation, ramped up the sound. Everyone was now able to hear this incessant beeping rhythm; and of course, the blasted thing was just out of synch enough that one couldn't possibly try to ignore it. It was like someone had forced morse code, a dying furby and an old dial up modem to procreate and then they fed the child through a blender.
It took up residence in your brain and shook the foundations.
"This fucker is going the right way for a Royal Fucking!" Lucifer growled, and then paused. "Of the ass-kicking kind. Just to clarify!"
Vaggie was covering her ears, "Ugh, can we make him stop?!"
Alastor was directing his shadows and tendrils to start destroying anything hovering above them, and definitely being sure to only land glancing blows on the king...
"What a sloppy little tantrum this is, I can't fathom what he thinks he'll gain by ticking off the royal family and most of cannibal town. You may get your wish to try butchering his vile corpse, my de-..." the jovial tone cut off with a choked exhalation of surprise. Followed by a rather confused, "...Rosie?"
Alastor collapsed as her bloody hand pulled free of his back, clutching the struggling heart in one fist, expression devastated as she bit her lip to shreds.
Charlie whirled around and screamed.
"S-sorry deer, Vox... came to visit..." Rosie mumbled, disgusted at how she couldn't make her own body stop, how she couldn't drop the heart. How his eyes locked onto hers, hazy with pain and betrayal before they fell blank.
Husk snarled as the chain and collar appeared, her dusky pink subsuming the mystic green all the way to his throat. Niffty's agonised cry came from inside the hotel and she burst outside in a panic.
Rosie couldn't stop it. She couldn't...
And Niffty's expression was as devastatingly accusatory as Husk's was infuriated. Charlie was shaking the deceased overlord at her feet, begging him to get up, for her father to help them.
And those damnable drones watching, recording, likely streaming to millions of souls the sudden betrayal of Sovereign Overlord Rosie to Sovereign Overlord Alastor. She would be reviled, if allowed to live. Vox had broken both of them.
"Please, Dad... can you... can you fix this?" Charlie sobbed. Not another one, not today, they couldn't even bury Pentious... and now this?
"I... he's a sinner, ducky, he'll reform once he grows his heart back." Lucifer assures, and snaps up an obscuring barrier when he feels too many eyes intruding upon the moment.
Vaggie has her spear pointed at Rosie. "Give. us. his. heart. back. BITCH."
"I don't... think I can..." she manages, through clenched teeth. "Said... to eat... it..."
"Who?"
Husk's eyes went wide. "Vox. That motherfucker came to visit you and put a little trigger in your head so you'd betray Al... cause you two together are a threat to his little Vees." There's a pause. "And he always thought Al liked you... that way, but didn't like him. Jealous fucking prick. Shit... never thought I'd hate the day he didn't own my chain anymore but... this ain't right."
"H-he'll be fine, he'll reform soon enough." Angel asserted. "I've seen some fucked up shit in Hell, but in one of the Studios there's a whole gore and vore section, they... they pull out stuff and eat it and it just takes a bit of time and a boost down the chain to get 'em back up and running. Not sure about time frames, though."
Niffty is biting Rosie's arm and it hurts, but even now she can't drop the heart. He'll regen faster with it, but her brain wants her to eat it, like she was ordered to.
With a wet thunk, her hand drops to the ground and finally the fingers release the organ. Niffty scoops it up and hands it to a horrified Charlie... which is intercepted by the more practical Vaggie, and she searches the wound for the best way to get it back in in position.
"Sir, can you... do anything? About this? I'd hate to drop it in upside down and-... are you okay? Your wing... there's blood on it."
"What? Oh, not mine... that's Sinner blood, still got the golden ichor thing going on. Wonder where it-... oh." Lucifer's expression tightens as he turns the deceased sinner gently onto his back, mindful not to let the wound touch the cement. Because it would stain. Not because little bits of debris in the wound would be irritating as hell to the healing process. Definitely the first reason.
Okay, this is fine. It's not Terrible. But... oh, Char-Char is not gonna like this. Lucifer makes sure the barrier is transparent before he snaps open the overlord's ridiculous amount of shirts to reveal a rather messy line of stitches on a wound that sang with angelic grace.
"Well, okay, that could be a problem... Char, do we know how he got hit with an angelic weapon?" Lucifer asked, trying to ascertain if this would count as something fixable, or if he'd have to have the same talk with Char he had when her last pony had 'gone back to the earth'.
"He faced Adam on the roof, and then disappeared." Vaggie adds in, helpfully, and it makes the king cringe. "I didn't think it would be this bad. I felt some residual but... they'd been snacking on angel bits after the battle, so..."
"Yeah, okay. Char, I know you liked the annoying deer, but I need you to understand that the fact he was already severely injured by fucking Adam..."
There was a pause. "Okay no, I heard it that time. I meant that he was hurt, while fighting adam, who is a motherfucker. Slightly more literal in the case of you, Charlie, but to be fair, I also-... not the time! Got it! Okay, let's fix your overlord... if I can. Because what I was trying to say is that there's a chance that... it might be permanent."
"Did Vox know, when he set this all up? He's been obsessed with Al for decades... no way he'd risk killing him for good, right?" Husk says, ears flat.
Angel and Cherri are flipping through their phones, expressions darkening with each post.
"He knew. There's a video taken of Al's fight with Adam, he's kicking the guy's ass up until his staff gets snapped in half by that axe thing... looks like the light from it blinded him for a sec, and then Adam did that. Vox's got it on every news channel, right beside a video of Niffty stabbing the guy and his majesty over here letting Adam go. Got his own spin on it already..." Angel grounds out.
"The fucker's also already got the video of the creepy hottie over there killing the hot psycho up on Vitter and Sinstagram." Cherri reports. Velvette was a fucking nightmare when it came to spreading information online. No one in hell would be ignorant by this time tonight.
"And even if he does live, Rosie gets his soul or she frees him and his souls are forfeit. The fact she killed him without a challenge is going to be more against him than her." husk explained. "You can take a soul in a challenge, like Al did to me, or a battle... but this? This is gonna tank her reputation as well."
"Would a statement from the Royal family, who witnessed it, help?" Angel asked, jerking his head at the pair. His Majesty was doing something with oddly burnt-looking golden light, hauling it hand over hand into a ball that Vaggie was holding with the enthusiasm of someone handed a well-used nappy.
"Maybe... but he was associated with the hotel, the princess's hotel... they could see it as saving face." Husk mused, trying not to think about the fact that the body beside him was getting cold. "On the other hand, if Vox is forced to admit the truth... that might save it. But that depends on if what the King is doing is gonna work."
"Not. Helping." Lucifer snarls. The gold light is finally coming to an end, and he's hoping that the lack of it might get the body to recognise it wasn't, in fact, double-dead from an angelic wound but instead a regular sinner death. So it might trigger the reanimation magicks saturating the Ring.
He prodded the Overlord's chest, realigning the heart to the correct position with a gentle nudge. Vaggie had been pretty spot on, actually. Good head in a crisis, gorgeous, first aid skills and a warriror to boot... he can't wait to welcome her into the family!
Wait, focus on the now.
"Okay, come on you smug fucker, I need to win one of these weird dad-offs against you, I can't have the score be 1-0 due to a death-based technicality. Oooh, I';'m gonna make you eat so many sugary snacks after this, little mister i-don't-do-sweets, until you puke..."
Charlie is distraught, but also verging on worried. She's hoping that's just the sound of her dad letting his mouth move to keep it busy so his brain could think, because otherwise she might need to do an emotional check in around the hostility between Al and her Dad.
Rosie just stares, her blood is plip-plip-plopping on the ground in a growing puddle that Niffty is ignoring in her worry. Her Overlord powers are boosted from the influx of new souls, so the wound is scabbing over. Why, by tonight she'll have a new hand... but at what cost?
Even if he lives, will he ever trust her fully enough to turn his back to her, as he had done today? How many decades of trust had that taken?
He used to turn his back on Vox, too... before the fallout. And now Vox, in his pique, had seen fit to remove Rosie from the very brief list of people Al trusted absolutely.
Would he allow Husk to dip him like she had? Possibly, in certain circumstances.
He would let Niffty climb him, and dance with him. She was even sighted curled against him when she'd had a nightmare, and he held her back without his skin crawling.
The little Princess, perhaps he would let her close enough... but something else held them apart. She hadn't yet guessed at it.
Angel Dust, surprisingly she could picture Alastor allowing the other within 5 feet. As long as the spider kept his hands and mouth appropriate... there was a lot she sensed from that sinner, he didn't seem a terrible sort. But... he was also a toy for a Vee.
And that would put him high on the list of suspicion.
All these thoughts hinged on if Alastor lived.
And right now... he seemed unresponsive to the best of the King's efforts, to the growing awareness of those around them.
She reached for his chain, perhaps a boost would help? That always gave her cannibals and bettes a better chance of avoiding certain demise.
...and she gasped.
That drew attention to her again.
"What?" snaps Husk, his tail lashes. He wants to be angry at her, but he's restraining it, given he knows this wasn't her choice. "I mean... look, I didn't mean to be short with you, it's just-... ya covered in his blood and Vox is too far away to turn into a scratching post."
"I can't find his chain to give him a boost. Even if he was... there'd be a broken chain there, whipping in the ethereal wind." she says, voce quieter than she's used to.
Husk's pupils turn to slits. He knows something.
"Husk...?" she hedges.
"If he lives, he's gonna kill me for this, powers or no powers... you know he was a fucking nightmare from the minute he landed, and the Overlord status, the souls, they only boosted it to the next level."
"He won't, if it's important enough, he'll understand after a bit of a rampage. Now spill it, mister!"
"Look, I dunno who it is... but he has a deal. Reckon it's why he went missing for 7 years or so without warning. His soul doesn't belong to him, anymore... but all his souls do. I don't understand how that works, so don't ask. But it would've had to be someone extremely powerful or the most fucked up situation to force him into a Soul Deal."
Lucifer spared a hand to resonate with whatever was sitting about the Sinner's throat, and made a rather disgusted sound at the ludicrously tight manacle that started to manifest now he was paying attention.
"Yeah, Hunk's right... someone very powerful put their mark on this. Obscured it a bit, but I'm the fucking king of hell, so... one sec." Lucifer concentrates, and then jerks back with a hiss like a scalded cat. "I must have read that wrong because... that felt like Lillith's magic all over, and she's been gone for-... oh."
"He knows where mum is?" Charlie's eyes are wide with longing and betrayal. "Why didn't he-... do you think she told him not to say anything?"
"Oooooh yeaaaaaah, there's a lot of clauses on that bad boy he's locked in. A gag order wasn't even close to the most fucked on the list... but there is something we can use. Two of the clauses I can make out deal with only dying in defence of the hotel, and not dying until his task is complete or otherwise negotiated."
"Well he did. Die I mean. And sort of for the hotel." Vaggie adds, haltingly.
"But, the chain isn't gone." Lucifer counters. "Meaning the deal considers him alive and able to regenerate because he didn't meet the criteria!"
"Sir is going to be okay?" Niffty near shrieks in his ear. And wow, when did she get there?
"Er, seems like it..." Lucifer said, applying another little pulse of his own magic to the body, sealing up the torn arteries and ventricles to give it a headstart on the healing. "I-...oop, there we go, I felt a heartbeat. And there's another... and another. Excellent. Your pet is going to be okay!"
She throws him A LookTM that is all Lillith.
"Daaaaaaaaad..."
He laughs, the sound cathartic. "Okay, okay I'm KIDDING char-char. He's an asshole that I'd love to pound... er, like as in fighting... but he still fought for you and so far none of his weird shennanigans have actually hurt you. And if he's here on behalf of your mother then I want the chance to ask about it."
"Should we move him?" Vaggie asks.
"Can't stay here forever, unless you think he might like to regenerate with a tan?" Lucifer jests. "Alright, rock paper scissoring for who wants to carry the fucker inside?"
Angel and Cherri look interested in that version of the game, but husk steps in. "I got it... wouldn't be the first time. Not as heavy as you think, but also not as light as someone that thin suggests. C'mon you antagonistic deer, let's get out of lens range. Pretty sure you'll rip it off when you wake up, but we don't need to make Vox's cock any harder than it is..."
"What the FUCK could you possibly mean by that?" Vaggie looks like she might throw up. That could also be the adrenaline crash coming on.
"Er, well even I know that Vox has a... thing, a kink or a fetish or something like that, for hurting the strawberry pimp here. Seein' him hurt and brought low. Got something to do with their breakup or whatever, sometimes Val bitches about it but never gives clear answers on that." shrugs Angel, looking uncomfortable. "I've seen some specific shit in my time, but the guy... he's obsessed. There were a few times Val had me play with him and Vox, and there were... there's a whole closet of body pillows with Smiles on em. He usually tears them to shreds... but it was the wig and the cosplay that really made my skin crawl."
There's a pause.
"He ain't the only infamous person here who Val has outfits for, for the studio... but if the King of Hell wants to deal with the fact there's a film coming out called Prince-yes of Anal: The Cummination, with a weirdly accurate casting for the main characters... you didn't hear it from me." Angel adds, making pointed eye contact.
Lucifer has already passed all five stages of grief the humans know of, experienced the other seven, and has passed into a sea of pure calm fury. "I'll take that under advisement... I'll be tearing your boss limb from limb in the next 3 to 5 business days!" He says too cheerfully.
"For that, I'll let ya have the Deluxe Package for ya own pac-..."
"Please stop. Today's been a lot so far... and we still have to undo whatever this mess is." Lucifer silences the porn star. "I mean, thanks for the consideration, but boy howdy do I want to kill your boss and setting you free is a bonus. No price necessary."
"What do we do about Rosie?" Vaggie asks, eyeing the Overlord.
"Well, first we go inside then I'll see if I can pick out the exact magical frequency Vox uses and erase it from her completely. Then, we''ll see about that hand... and then... I have no idea how we fix the optics or whatever its called. The fallout?"
"The moment he's awake and well enough, I will return Alastor's souls and contracts to him. That's what we're going to do, my good man!" Rosie interjects, allowing the King to lead her inside with a frm grasp on her upper arm.
Husk has laid Alastor down on a couch, and Charlie was sitting as close as she could in an armchair, staring intently at every faint inhalation. Angel was carefully trying to alternate between wiping off the excess blood from teh healing wound with a wet cloth, and keep Niffty from 'helping' with her cleaning rags.
Didn't need an infection on top of unanticipated heart amputation, now did we?
"Say Niff, can you help Al by going and getting him some new clothes? These'll need washing and repairing."
"Yes! YES I CAN!" She's gone in a blink and back almost as fast with abundle of everything that is placed reverently by the couch.
Rosie is led to a chair further away from the group, and the King stares right into her eyes the second she's seated. It's like having your brain x-rayed, its the only way to describe it.
His eyes are red, and things shift around in her mind before something is tugged, dragged and snuffed out. He blinks. "Alright, that should do it. Any compulsions to murder the deer again?"
"Not at all."
"Great. Don't do it again. Charlie was very upset."
"I promise."
"Cool, excellent, let me fix your hand." He waggles fingers and the appendage starts to regrow in a golden light. "This might feel odd... I've been told it's like when you sleep on your hand and it goes tingly for a bit but then it's fine."
Angel's wrangled some of the shirt off and Charlie is valiantly not looking to allow Alastor maximum privacy. Cherri, on the other hand, is clearly getting a sticky beak in and committing it too memory as one of the few people alive to see the great Radio Demon half starkers.
"Fluffier than I thought..." she tosses out, testing Charlie's resolve, and the Princess peers through her fingers. "Hah, caught you snooping, just look... can't be too picky when you're half torn apart. Looks like it's pulling together though, s'all good."
"Oh, it does seem to be healing pretty fast. That's good right? Wait... doesn't reforming need a lot of energy - should we get him something to eat for when he wakes?"
"Oh I think you can scrounge somene up from outside. See if they haven't wrapped up all of Ignatious and Berthilda, those two were kind souls who wouldn't mind if we used their remains to help a friend heal properly." Rosie pauses to think. "Unless of course you find Susan deceased out there, in which case she would be the ideal candidate for us both to share."
She laughs.
Charlie give a nervous, uncomfortable laugh and Niffty lets out an unhinged gale. She doesn't know why they're laughing but likes being part of things.
In a move that gave at least three occupants of a room a rather ironic heart attack, Alastor sits upright, startling everyone in four feet.
"...she would be far too tough to bite through, have you gone mad, old girl?" echoes from somewhere around Alastor's head, but distinctly not from his mouth. He tenses, hand going up to his half-dressed front, and snarls. "What...?"
"What do you remember?" Charlie hedges.
"Dealing with explosives, and then seeing Rosie's hand erupt from my chest like the creature from Alien..." Alastor realises, too late, that perhaps he shouldn't have shared that he knew that particular cultural phenomenon. "I mean, to say, that I have read a book about the-..."
"You've seen a movie? I thought you'd rather die than-..." Angel cuts himself off.
Alastor lets out a strained laugh that does emanate from his mouth this time. "Quite. The picture box was insistent I see things he deemed cult classics... some were more fun than others. That is neither here nor there."
Rosie stepped towards Alastor and noted, crestfallen, the small flinch he can't suppress in time. Several bodies move between her and the overlord she'd been practically family to for nigh on a century.
"Deer, I am so sorry for this... Vox, he seems to have left a nasty little surprise when he visited Cannibal Town the other day. I didn't realise or I would never have been so close to you... I promise." She says, sincere as possible as the words dodged between a number of bodies to reach her fawndest friend. "Do lay back down, you'll only tear things further, I'm afraid that was not my best kill... you know I value precision, normally but this was haphazard."
A sigh. "I suppose that this has spiralled out of control and he's already gloating about it on his little machines?"
"Afraid so. Everyone is painting this is an opportunistic ambush... we shall need to work hard to correct it. But between your network and mine, I think we can turn the tide back." She pauses. "Speaking of back... I'm afraid I need to return some things to you that I accidentally acquired. Would you let me close enough for that?"
"It's not me keeping you away." The radio voice said over the airwaves. Several people shifted, letting her closer, but staying pointedly nearby just in case.
Rosie knelt beside her best friend, and put out her hand. The one barely regrown, of all things, the skin not quite the right shade but it would fade as the magic settled.
"I, Sovereign Overlord Rosetta of Cannibal Town return to you, Radio Demon Alastor, the souls which belong to you through contract, combat or otherwise made deals as they were unfairly obtained. This will return your status as Sovereign Overlord, and I will speak up to advise the truth of the matter to the public to thwart the current rumours of your demise."
Without hesitation, he took her hand. The magical backlash took several of the assembled off their feet as ducky pink and blinding green writhed through the air. Faint screams echoed and chains clanked.
Niffty and Husk felt their collars activate, the chaisn changing colour once more. It was a relief as much as it wasn't.
The rush of power seems to have gone straight to work aiming for the injuries, just as she'd hoped.
"Bit soon, wasn't it? The guy was dead a minute ago." Angel questions, still holding a spare shirt for Alastor.
"Well, yes... but holding onto souls you didn't earn is like... ah, like food poisoning. It's fighting you back the whole time. And to the Overlord they belong to, soul bonds and the power they bring can be enough to seal even normally fatal wounds with the right application."
"It's fine Angel, though I do understand your apprehension, I did somewhat promise to deal with your pest problem and then had the audacity to go and dide on you. The height of rudeness!" Alastor laughs. "Never you worry though, I will deal with him shortly when I no longer have a window through my torso."
"Okay for one, I was genuinely worried ya died it wasn't about the promise or nothin, cause you're a spooky fucker but the minute I can get a clear photo of ya, guess who's going on the wall with my other friend pics? That's right, and you can't stop me!" Angel says, glaring down, hands moving a mile a miinute. "And two, don't you go worrying about Val... Short King is gonna kill him first for the porn parody of Charlie he's got in the works."
"A picture can be... negotiated. If that is what you wish for, though the sentiment is hardly necessary." Alastor says, and Rosie fight the snort at his nonsense. "And secondly, no I don't think so. How can you trust in a man who can't recall the day of the week to carefully deconstruct your owner until he is a bundle of sobbing nerves? No, no, I shall go and do it this instant! Can't leave it to chance... and the Vees need to Pay For This Insult..."
Shadows rise up from the couch amidst much horrified yelling... and then Lucifer snaps his fingers, vanishing them in the same instant golden tethers appear around Alastor's wrists.
"Oh no you don't, bellhop. I spent way too much time putting you back together like the proverbial kings horses did to humpty dumpty, so we're NOT going to fuck that up again by dying on me again. Got it?"
"It seems I have little choice but to obey... a rather common trait amongst the royal family." Alastor snarls.
"Oho wow, okay. Also, how the FUCK do you know my wife? We;ve got time now, while you sit there and let healing happen, so come on and spill it."
He appeared alarmed, then covered it.
"If you know of it, then you know I cannot possibly share than information. And I do believe that I would much prefer to be in my room-..." the stubborn man tried to dissolve into shadows again, and when that failed, he started to get up despite some very vocal protests. The hands reaching for him paused and jerked back when they noted how stiff he'd gone at their approach.
Angel remained still as stone, knowing he was standing behind a man who had just had a Bad Day involving a literal backstabbing.
Lucifer, annoyed and perhaps slightly a small amount a little not at all if you checked on a cosmic scale concerned... was having none of it. He didn't relish the way the other twitched back as he flew over, getting in the Overlord's face, not like he would have under other circumstances, but he needed to get the point across.
"No, we're not doing this. You straight up died today, and it was pretty fucking awful for us too, the others moreso because I was already working out what kind of pet memorial I'd need to rig up in the palace garden for you. Like all of Char's other pets..."
The indignity was radiating off Alastor now.
"But this whole blustering thing has to stop. I know you're prbably hurting and don't feel able to trust anyone, heck that was my first three thousand years in hell after we fell because boy does it take a while to reform after burning to ash after your family betrays you. But anyway, what I'm trying to say is that everyone here helped bring you back and keep you safe. No one's gonna waste that effort just to off you while you take a nap to finish sealing up those jagged nightmares in your torso."
Alastor's ears are pinned flat in some kind of negative response but honestly lucifer is beyond caring. The guy has to hear it.
"For some reason, they like you, and I know it's hard to trust because your weird psycho-ex stalker got your bestie to kill you publically or whatever... but these guys won't do anything right now. They might beat the shit out of the picture box if he comes within four feet of here, though."
"No, it's about optics, Rosie and I need to be seen together acting as if it was merely an elaborate prank... we can't let Vox win."
"Why not? He's gonna be dead in 48hours, let him enjoy his hate boner for a bit." Lucifer shrugged.
"His wha-... ? I don't want to know. Rosie, you understand what I'm saying, surely?"
"Well, yes, but we can allow it time to fester. How deeply disgraced would he be if you appear fine and hale in a few hours time and throw his information under suspicion. So many assume the news is doctored as is."
"Rosie... you have betrayed me a second time in one day..."
"Ouch, that wasnt really called for, was it Bambi?" Lucifer winced. "Sounds like you could use a timeout... goodnight."
He taps the sinner dead centre of his chest, and a golden burst of power drains the consciousness from the Overlord. Several hands manage to catch the lanky form before it crumples, and he's laid back on the couch with care.
"Well, now that's sorted, who wants me to reheat the pancakes while we plot how best to destroy these Pees I've heard so much about today?" Lucifer grins, clapping his hands.
"Oooh, me me memememememememeeeeeee!" Niffty yells, and then stills. Eye going horrifyingly wide. "I want to pour Vox's blue blood on my choc chip pancakes until they go soggy..."
"Love the enthusiasm, but I can only offer whipped cream or maple syrup today. Maybe blood if there's some uncoagulated around here." Lucifer replies.
"Oh, okay... I'll have whipped cream and sprinkles please!"
"Coming right up, little lady! Now, Charlie I-... oh, I see you've brought in a whiteboard for this. Excellent. Who has an idea how we can ruin the Gees? No idea is too silly... let's get creative. I have an excellent idea involving a giant wooden duck..."
Husk tucks the blanket back around Alastor, holding a disgruntled expression taut on his face as best he could. But secretly relieved things had at least gone back to the status quo.
He watched idly as Angel added an idea involving something that couldn't possibly fit in any orifice in Hell, and explained why he was justified in requiring three large shark sinners wiedling chainsaws. That was noted down as Plan K by a mildly bemused, mostly horrified Charlie.
He nudges the sleeping Overlord. "Hey fucker, turns out more people care than I think you'd even imagine... so it's gonna be amusing to watch you fumble through that incoming affection. Might be worth keeping my chain. But you know what the best bit is?"
He craned in right next to that fluffy ear. "See, I think you also like 'em back a bit and that scares the hell out of you... so I'll be sticking around to keep your ass alive long enough to see you have a meltdown over this unconditional affection. So you rest up now, Al... we've got all eternity ahead of us."
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No real end, its 2am fml ive written what was meant to be a brief concept for several hours and it has no conclusive end
mostly it was meant to be 'how fucked would it be if Vox got to Rosie and she, the only one alastor trusts, was the instrument of his death in a betrayal so strong he'd never trust again?'
My thinking is either Al dies, or he's so shaken that Vox thinks he could step back in with open arms and get what he wants.
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Yeah… we’re not doing that.
We haven’t even TESTED Sigurd’s plan yet, and we can’t until Carolus is dealt with. We don’t know if our option will work.
Killing you right now just isn’t in the cards cause we are the back up option. We’re the failsafe someone in R&D dreamt up.
And we don’t want to kill you.
She sighed.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "Lots of words for a denial. Trust me, I understand the circumstances fully. I also understand that, despite your words, it is either your path or mine. I'm unfortunately a very greedy fox, you see, and we do so poorly with sharing. Besides, you so brazenly challenge the laws of the Heavenly Divinity, therefore you must believe that your own strength prevails over mine. Therefore, your Lordships, this Alter-Ego… this Tamamo greatly insists that you take her head here- for if you don't, you will come to regret it. The weak is baring her flesh to you, and as the strong- as the future… well, you are bound to take it. There are no deceptions, no illusions, no obfuscations. Simply this moment."
There was a look in her eyes. Not madness, no wariness, but an intense, unrelenting calm. Like a faint breeze, your words rushed past her, her expression unbroken. No mana swirled around her, the elements didn't bend to her will, nor did the trees rustle with the sway of her tails.
With the utmost sincerity, the Alter-Ego had presented the thesis of her zealous ideals:
You've chosen to act against her and her goddess, and the winds of change are beginning to flow behind you… therefore you must be strong. The winds of fortune and faith are beginning to leave her side, and her laws are being broken and challenged, and therefore she must be weak.
With that understood, then she, as the weaker, must be killed.
The weak die.
The strong live.
And the strong are the ones who determine the world's fate.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "But perhaps proof is needed. Perhaps a push is needed."
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "Do not say that I am an unmerciful goddess, giving you an easy way out. I presented my body in weakness, and you did not take it. Perhaps my heart was not enticing enough? Maybe you desired my entire body to rend asunder? This body, this ideal form, that has led to collapse many times over? However… Now that you've revealed your weakness to me, I must strike. That is simply how things are."
She stepped back, and began walking. Her strides were long and elegant, her kimono trailing across the ground as she circled you like a shark that smelled blood in the water. No, like a beast circling its prey.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "Listen well, and understand this. I cannot exist alongside you. My source has a poor personality, you see, and it's passed on to me, given me divine revelations that I would admittedly be happier without. Our paths cannot co-exist. If you exist, then that means that our purpose is diminished. That there are 'other paths' that do not require our apotheosis. That is not something I can allow."
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "You see, the one who summoned our Original was a kind man... a great man... but one plagued by knowledge of humanity's conflict. Again and again, humans would kill each other, fight each other, and for what purpose? That question lingers even now. The planet has stagnated, the future has rotted, and now a great evil has come to dine on overripe fruit."
As she walked, you saw the scenery change. Slowly, subtly... More and more, each lap.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "And that man had reached an answer. Conflict is progress. Destruction is advancement. Death is motivation. The arrival of the Beast is extreme, but it will be the only way to jump-start humanity's development again. Only the strong shall live, and the weak will use their corpses to push the strong towards a better future."
Before you realized it, the scenery had changed. You stood inside a palace, old and worn, the air oppressive and stifling.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "…That is what I believe, at the very least, but I am one facet of the Golden White-Faced Fox. An Alter-Ego of a Divided Spirit. The ideal princess, who sits upon the throne of the heavens and watches the people. And while our minds as Alter-Egos are similar, they are not identical."
She bowed her head, lowering her body, the hem of her kimono kissing the flow beneath her as you saw flecks of cursed mana drift upwards from her feet.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "And so, I do not desire your pity, your sympathy, your affection, or your loathing. Do not pity a failure of a goddess, do not sympathize with a flawed priestess, do not love a wounded animal, and do not loathe a wild beast. Some of you call this suicide? No, this is far from it. These are my ideals, made manifest. Welcome, your Lordships. This is the Crumbling Palace of Zealotry, my Noble Phantasm."
You saw a shadow slowly manifest behind her as she stopped circling.
A beast.
Hulking and massive- claws and teeth sharp as steel, and eyes that shone in the darkness. A creature, drenched in Mystery, from a bygone era.
TAMAMO-NO-HIME: "My name is Tamamo-no-Hime, Alter-Ego of the Divine Spirit Tamamo, and Priestess of the Wild Sun Spirit. She of one tail who was given three in order to watch over a stagnating humanity. I'll give you a moment to prepare. And then, we will attempt to take each other's heads."
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Madness
a/n: I saw a dialogue prompt somewhere and this idea came to mind. Please head the warnings.
Characters: Yandere!Dottore x GN!Reader Fandom: Genshin Impact Warnings: Yandere, Extreme Violence (Reader violently killing someone, Reader cutting open someone’s stomach, Majorly implied amputation of reader’s limbs), Desperation, Mentally broken reader, Mention of drugs/medication/syringes/scalpels/blood/vomit(ting)/disfiguration/experimentation, Reader is a human guinea pig
"Ha... haha..."
Finally, you thought. It's quiet. So fucking quiet.
Nothing, not even your laugh or the clattering of the scalpel as it slipped from your hand, falling on the floor, could break the silence around you. It was over. You had no sense of time, no calendar to keep track of the days, weeks, months you must have been locked up for. But it was finally over, the blood on your hand a small price for ending all this madness.
You should have never trusted the Fatui. Their compassionate speeches and warm invitations. They swore to help you out of the poverty you lived in. They promised they'd give you a roof over your head and a warm meal a day if you joined them, but it never turned out like the glorious future they described to your vulnerable self. It had been too damn long, but you'd never forget your first meeting with The Doctor. You'd never forget that shark-toothed smile as he introduced himself with a handshake. Never forget the first time he tied you to a chair and told you it would 'only be a small sting'.
Days after days, he tortured you. One incision cutting out some of your skin here, a syringe with weird substances injected there. Him telling you to toughen up, and subtle threats made behind medical jargon. "You could lose your eye if you moved," and, "Be careful, or I might accidentally cut into the vein. You don't want to bleed out here, right?"
But what felt almost worse were his hands on your body. Gloved, not gloved, always searching and never resting. He treated you like a sculpture he was forming, placing you into positions he liked. Below him. At his feet. Forcing you to look up at him through dazes and nausea. Only then would he be careful with you, brushing sweaty hair from your face, offering to take you to a bath if you behaved in the next experiment. Telling you he never saw something as lovely as your cut-up and delirious self. That you were the best he ever had under his scalpel.
The sentences haunted you even in your dreams. If you could sleep, that is. Most nights, you laid awake, trembling from the drugs, throwing up from your memories, or tearing your hair out in agony after getting your medicine. You never signed up to be a guinea pig for this madman, but you were told someone had to do it. At first, you relented, seeing the much younger candidates they brought into the room instead of you, but eventually, you didn't care anymore. And Dottore ceased asking. He broke you; every day a little more. Never caring for your feelings, no matter how pitifully you begged and pleaded with him to let you go.
But now it was all over.
It took you long enough. Too long. You barely remained human at this point. Perhaps this outburst and attack on the person that did this to you was the most human about you now. The constant, nagging voice in your head was gone. It no longer blamed you for your naivety. Didn't scold you for crying or hurting yourself. Everything was quiet. Peaceful.
Ironic, you thought, looking down at the corpse at your feet. You stabbed him so many times, if not for the clothes—now died red—no one would have recognized him anymore. It only took one death for everything to be set on the right path again. You thought that killing would be harder than it ended up being, feeling like you now understood why it was so easy for Dottore to experiment on you. It got easier after the first time, the first stab. Then, only rage guided what followed, and soon, it was almost second nature.
Stepping back, you avoided glancing at the reflective surfaces. Not wanting to see the kind of monster you had become after all that happened. You'd never be welcome in your community again, though, if you were honest, you hadn't been before, either. Still, with looks this frightful, you'd have to hide somewhere far away for the rest of your life.
If you made it that far.
Surely the Fatui would not be pleased after what you did to their Harbinger. Life on the run wouldn't be very rewarding, but it would be better than what you went through here. Anything would be better—even death.
You didn't bother cleaning up the blood from your hands, clothes, or face. What good would it do? All you wanted was to leave. Leave this place and memories behind, and disappear forever from anyone's sight. You'd figure things out once you were outside. Once you were finally safe again. It couldn't get worse than what happened behind closed doors in this room. It just couldn't.
Except... it could.
Twisting the doorknob, you pulled. Again and again, you twisted, pulled, then tried to push, then banged against it. Even with all your weight thrown into it and used to remove the door from its frame, you made no progress. There were no windows. You only had this door from which the doctor used to enter and exit. In the beginning, you had been somewhere else, and then, someday, you woke up in this room, not remembering how you got here. You knew this must be your way out, so why wasn't it budging?
Staggering back, you looked at the corpse on the ground. The man you murdered. The very same man you hated with every fiber of your being. Turning over the corpse wasn't as hard as one might assume. Sticking your hands into places you never wanted to feel made you shake with disgust, but you pushed through it, goal in mind. There must have been something. A key, a code, anything. He must have locked the door somehow, and you needed it open before you began to choke on the dread of being locked in.
Nothing.
You turned every pocket inside out, ripped the clothes from his body, and put your hands where they didn't belong. Nothing. With your breathing heavy, you looked at the scalpel on the floor, a last, desperate thought crossing your mind. The idea that popped into your head seemed crazy. Why would he swallow a key he needed to get out? Who'd do something mad like this?
A mad doctor would. Dottore would.
It cost you less effort than you thought to cut open his stomach, find the organ you were looking for, and cut that open as well. Tears and blood went everywhere around you, with no way to discern the fluids leaking everywhere, but no metal dropped out of the mess you made. Frustrated, you threw the scalpel away. This time you couldn't help but wash, letting the icy-cold water run over your skin as you scrubbed off the remains of him until you barely felt your hands anymore.
When you were done with that, you moved on to your face.
It was hard to keep a clear head in situations like this, but as anyone would do, you tried to open the door again. Tears dropped from your eyes incessantly, and you pleaded with the exit to open, begging unknown powers behind its lock to let you out. Euphoria made way for cold, hard reality. You must have cried for hours, wailed, and screamed and shouted until no sound came out. Fear turned to anger, the height of hope into bottomless desperation. Realizing that you were locked in with the corpse of the seemingly only person who knew how to get out was terrifying. No amount of hugging or trying to soothe yourself with positive thoughts could banish the fear.
The loneliness.
You fell asleep a couple of times, only waking up to hunger pangs and thirst, but all you did was cry yourself back to sleep, knowing it was hopeless. After waking up for the third time, you forced yourself to the sink, drinking some water before throwing it up again, unable to keep the sickening cold down. It was cold on the floor, so you moved to the small bed you had been provided with, wrapping yourself in blankets. It was warm, but it did nothing to comfort you. The sleep cycle continued.
Without anyone there to tell you a new day had begun and it was time for a new experiment, you lost your sense of time completely. It could have been days. Or hours. All of this could have happened in the mere timespan of half a day. Who knew? Not you. The only things you knew now for sure were: the Fatui were bad people, you survived far longer than you probably should have, and you'd ultimately die here. Locked away and alone with the corpse of your abuser, having brought on your own demise.
Knowing that, you closed your eyes, hoping it would be over soon.
Only to awake to the soft humming of a person next to you, your body wrapped in tender warmth and feeling less sick and weak than you ever had before. You lived in the harsh coldness of Snezhnaya for years, and you never experienced such ease and peace on your worn-down body and mind. This must have been the afterlife. It was finally over.
"Hm? Look who decided to grace us with their presence again," a familiar voice teased. Someone picked up your hand, squeezing it between two warm palms, and you turned your head to the side to see who had woken you. Maybe it were the Archons. Perhaps you were in a better place now. A happier one.
But at the sight of the blueish strands of hair falling into a familiar face, red eyes drilling into you while a shark-toothed grin completed the look of your greatest nightmare, all you could do was roll over on your side, bile rising into your mouth before you toppled over, throwing up onto the bed and floor.
What a cruel fate, uniting you with your worst enemy, even in death. Dead he was. You made sure of it. There was no way that corpse with the cut-open stomach could come back to life. Absolutely no way. And yet, there he was, standing up and tsking at you before supporting your back as you kept throwing up the remnants of your own stomach.
"How silly you are. I'm hardly that ugly," Dottore sighed, a bitter jest in his voice.
"How...?" you gurgled, feeling like there was nothing left to throw up despite your body trying to desperately.
"Don't think I have forgotten what you did," he replied, rubbing your back attentively. "That wasn't very nice, you know?"
Still holding your hand with one of his, Dottore slowly helped you sink back on top of the pillow, your bed ruined with spew but seemingly not a concern for the doctor. He reached over to the nightstand to lift a cup of water to your lips, wetting them before pressing the container harder against them so you'd open up. It wasn't cold water, and it tasted bittersweet in your mouth, but you had no choice but to gulp it down, as the doctor insisted.
"However, for now, you should rest. I was so relieved I managed to get to you in time. I don't even want to imagine the trouble we would have to go through had I been too late."
"I wish you wouldn't have," you mumbled weakly. Slowly tears crept into your eyes as you stared defiantly at Dottore. His gaze was intense, but now that clarity forced its way back into your mind, all the hate and frustration you felt before stabbing him returned as well. It was almost as if nothing had changed. Almost as if you only fantasized about killing him and trying to escape. "I can imagine what it would be like losing you."
For a moment, Dottore was quiet. Then, a laugh broke from his lips. Hearty, amused, appalling. Reaching out, he touched your cheeks, wiping the tears from your eyes. No gloves separated you, the touch as intimate as it disgusted you. He never was like this. He never cared about your tears before. Dottore only ever focused on his selfish wants and not on yours. You must have shocked him real good for him to act so kindly. The thought crossed your mind.
"I'm glad neither of us needs to have these terrible thoughts then," he chuckled, turning around briefly. You heard the sound of metal as he arranged something on a table behind him, the sight covered by his body from your eyes. However, when he turned around, you caught a glimpse of the tools there, scalpels and saws.
"But I promise you," he spoke solemnly. "I won't let the same mistake happen again."
Gripping your arm, he pinned it down, your body not strong enough to move quickly as he pulled a firm leather strap across your body. When he tried to do the same with your legs, you tried kicking him to no avail, Dottore simply forcing your leg down after you missed.
"I underestimated your affinity for using your hands and legs, but they aren't necessary for what I have planned for you. And I don't make the same mistake twice."
Dottore turned around to the table, and you began to wiggle and squirm, trying to free yourself from the restraints before he came back. He knew what he was doing. One glance at the saw in his hand, and you wanted to throw up again, your mouth filling with bile.
"Feel free to scream. I will have no problem explaining the sounds to whoever can hear you. No one is going to come to rescue you. I won't let them. This is all for your sake. I don't even care you killed one of my clones. "
A mad grin played on his lips. Your eyes met, and you knew you'd never escape this. Never escape his madness. Not even when it ruined you entirely too.
It wouldn't need much to reach that point.
"You are my favorite little experiment, after all," he confessed, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly, almost reassuringly. The pressure rose as he pressed your hand to the bed, adjusting the saw just below your thumb, dangerously close to his own fingers.
And all you could do was scream as the pain united you.
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