#He loves the look of fury and betrayal on Connor's face

[bugwolfsstuff]

I love how the entire Malconnor dynamic i've built up in my head is litterally:

Connor loves Hamilton

Malcolm hates Hamilton with a burning passion

Connor starts quoting and referencing Hamilton in every day life solely to piss off Malcolm

Malcolm stops whatever he's doing to glare only at Connor in pure barely contained rage

No one asks Malcolm how he knows the thing that he hates but Connor loves dearly enough to know exactly when he's making even the nichest of references

[jotunkhiicha]

This is a continuation of “Fran, Why Are You So Afraid of Love,” and an exploration into the anger of losing someone you love (as well as my inability to write something happy).

And, Thus, Willow Succumbs to Cytospora.

Just as easily as summer comes, winter takes the warmth of the season away. Where memories are born, these feelings go to die in December, and the only proof they ever existed is in the tear tracks that fall like meteors in the night sky down her face.

They are the only proof that she feels anything at all.

Bullets ricochet, dreams crumble and the world falls into a rhythm where one life falls and another lines up to join the revelry. It twists and turns as misery joins, adding true despair to the reverie and drowning out the din of the world. It becomes a nihilistic daydream as the colour fades from flesh, draining the vibrancy of mortal ambition as the cold, callous characterisation of progress spreads its webbing across the future with a thick, encompassing finality.

She is the mother of a chick whose babe has been consumed by the snake; showing off its mandibular dislocation as its fangs dig into the protective shell she’d enveloped around her sister, sinking its teeth into her promise of tomorrow and sucking out the marrow of her love. It was torture without the physical pain as her love is crushed under teeth and false flesh.

It is a death without stillness.

And, just as any vengeful being would, Willow comes back to kill the snake.

Stalking the RK800 through CyberLife tower, she has her gun trained on his form as she hurriedly follows him beneath the glass floor he walks across. Every single fibre in her being burns with the flame of fury; it has ignited her world in an all-encompassing flame that has eaten away at her faculties and conscience, uncaring of the damage along the way to her goal. It becomes her only reason to breathe, to function—to think.

She only lives for one singular purpose—killing it.

She dehumanised him to make it feel more joyful, like a hunt, but there is no masking the betrayal that she feels as it carves its name upon her heart. It seals itself in one of the four chambers in that cage, finding a home where it can cause the most damage and bring forth the person she had tried to bury beneath the rubble of the past.

The girl who killed her father.

The little girl who died and Willow was born from her ashes.

She wasn’t as calculating as a machine. She could not predict the future, but she could rely on her rage to be unpredictable.

That is what Connor lacked. He was so rigid in his confidence over them—over Fran—that it made him almost predictable. He was so entrenched in his mission, that he often forgot the little stray hairs on the edge of his vision and let the thoughts, these strange wisps, swirl into a hurricane that will, eventually, sweep across his sensors.

Willow finds comfort in the knowledge that, when one apple tree falls to the storm, the whole orchard is soon to follow and she is the bristling storm come to rend the hearth from home.

Willow shoots up at the floor, upon which Connor stands, and unloads the magazine into it. The bullets thud against the glass, made to withstand the pressure of hundreds of tonnes, until one singular bullet comes and renders the platform inert and he falls through it.

Glass shards fall down upon her like rain in her storm, cascading debris everywhere as she shirks back to watch him tumble into a heap before her. It tickles her, the thudding of his chassis on the ground, smacking against the sleek black tiles.

“Whoops.” She flatly muses as she steps forwards with her gun poised on his form as he turns to face her, a scowl on his countenance, “My finger slipped. How clumsy of me.”

A multitude of fantasies that she’s had about killing him burst before her eyes, popping like bubbles filled with smoke while she looks at him and sees how human he looks—how real he could’ve become. He becomes a person, not a machine or a small animal to hunt, he becomes real. He fills the gaps in the memories where Fran told her about him and his impish obliviousness. The reality of it hits her and she hesitates.

It’s the same hesitation that spells her demise.

Connor springs up and snatches the gun from her grip, catching her wrist and twisting it. Her bones crunches and her flesh scrunches beneath his unyielding flesh. She screams out in pain and it derails into a shuddering gasp as she widens her eyes to the realisation that she is completely at his mercy—his unfaltering mercy.

Fear swells within at a thunderous rate, a bristling crackle that gives birth to flashes of anger and she latches onto that.

She brings her left arm back and punts her elbow into where she knows his thirium pump regulator is, causing him to hunch over for a moment. The opening lets her wrench her hand free and she, in the illusion born from her adrenaline, goes to grab him by his blazer and she only meekly yanks him towards her. Her wrist seizes and she grits her teeth to the numbness that webs across her palm, unable to hide her discomfort from her injury.

Connor retracts from her weak hold and goes to punch her but she deftly ducks and she grabs his arm with her left hand, pulling it down and kneeing him in the stomach, again, to hit his regulator. With great ease, however, he returns the gesture in kind, kneeing her in the stomach and pushing her off of him.

Willow stumbles backwards on the glass and holds her stomach as he doesn’t stop, stalking towards her just as she had traced his every move.

It is futile, she knows it is, but she can’t help but run at him, over and over again until her lips are bloody, her teeth are coated in her crimson lies and her limbs scream at her to stop.

Only when she slumps onto her knees does he show some semblance of mercy, halting his attacks to grab her by her neck and hauling her up onto her feet and, deep in the recesses of her mind, knowing he could have shot her, but actively has chosen not to, makes her furious—it was pity.

He looks upon her with utter repugnance and she wants to rip his false flesh off at that look. “What are you, one desperate person, going to possibly do to change the world?” He dully remarks with a tilt of his head and she sobs.

A thick, ugly, emotion emerges and she hates it.

“I don’t care about the world anymore, Connor. I just want you to die.”

“I can’t die. You can’t kill me.”

Grief, a delusional drug that has her rapt in its embrace, powers her next movement as she grins and laughs, a haughty—demented—laugh. “You’re right,” the corners of her eyes crease into crescents and she seems almost beautiful like this, her strawberry blonde hair dipped red with her blood, her face stained with tears and her eyes mad with glee, “But you can still suffer.”

He tilts his head at her machinations, confused at her expressions. “Suffer—?” He parrots back to her, but it seems so fruitless to question her.

While she is no android, the concept of sharing data has been a mute subject for scientists for decades; people could do it with just a little help.

She had given it a lot of thought before tracking him; the worst thing she could do to Connor, after all he had done, would be to force him to feel something. She wanted to be the reason he died, the reason he would kill himself and the reason his thirium would splatter over the walls in striating patterns. The idea of having to suffer long enough for him to come to terms with what he had done, the idea he will face the consequences of his actions with a bristling guilt, it excited her.

“I have thought about this for a while,” She hums as she clutches onto his arm with her gloved hand, mimicking interfacing, “The greatest form of revenge wouldn’t be killing you. That’s no fun.” She tightens her grip as he squirms, his LED violently flickering between red and yellow as the torrent of data spills in through the grout of his rigidity.

“So, I thought I’d turn you into the very thing you swore to destroy.” She smiles clumsily as he lets go of her, and she falls into a heap on the floor, unable to sustain her own weight, “How does it feel, Connor? To lose your identity—your only reason for living? Does it hurt?” She laughs at him, a hearty laughter that only fuels a gut-wrenching pain in his chest.

His eyes widen and he steps away from her, a familiar look on his face; a look as if he’d finally seen the world as it was in all its disgusting glory, splattered red with the blood of his victims; red and blue combine to create purple, a ghastly colour of despair that seeps into the gaps in his chassis. It blinds him as it pours into his optic circuits. It terrifies him as it spills into his heart and it is all because of Willow, who laughs at him—howls at his grief.

She roars with laughter as his eyes swell with tears, delighting in his misery. “How does it feel?! Isn’t it awful?” She hoarsely asks as she crawls closer to him, her hands scraping against broken glass, “How does it feel knowing you killed Fran and she died in your arms? Tell me, Connor! Tell me!” She screams and her face is red with tears and fury.

Perhaps she didn’t ask to know what Connor felt, she wanted to know what it is she feels.

She feels everything and nothing all at once. She wants answers to the reason why the world took Fran from her. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Tell me why everything you touch dies. What did Fran have to do with any of this? She was happy.” She whimpers as she glances at his right hand, wielding her gun, “She could’ve had a life but you took that from her! You took everything away from her! How can you even begin to live with yourself?”

Words spill from her lips in incoherent tones and they reverberate against his sensors like the bell of finality. It chimes and sings in his mind, serenading him with a lullaby to pull the trigger—shoot her—to free himself from her melodious cries.

He could do it.

He could kill Willow.

“They’re going to disassemble you, you know. Rip you apart, piece by piece by piece…” The temptation burns in his mind like whispers that swell into a roar, deafening all other options, “And, even if you go, I’ll be forever watching you, telling them where to find you. You’ll never have peace. You’ll never get to explore the world I’ve given you. You’ll suffer as your insides are ripped from you. You will die and I will celebrate—”

Bang!

Willow’s body slumps against the floor with a wild look upon her face and blood trailing from between her hazel eyes. All that she was, all that she could ever be, every aspect of her life has been reduced to a corpse with glass around her as if they were her wings.

It was quick. It was seamless, unlike Fran.

She died in his arms and Willow simply died at arms length from the world, precisely where she had always remained.

[whimsicallyreading]

It’s Time

Masterlist

Bryce could only prolong this talk for so long.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Ithan. They’ve both been dying to speak to each other since she closed the gates.

Bryce wanted hug him. To thank Cthona that he’d made it into the cellar, and get to know him as the person he’s become. Conner’s little brother who is all grown up now.

Before they could do that, they had to clear the air between them. It would require picking at old wounds so they could heal properly. The death of the back was a rugged, festering scar on both of them. Solving Danika’s murder started the long journey towards healing and it couldn’t be stopped now.

Ithan was a big part of this.

“Would you like me to stay with you, Sweetheart?” Hunt mumbles into her hair.

Bryce knew he would stay if she asked. Bear the awkwardness of this conversation silently, acting as a welcomed voyeur to this mending of a relationship. Her and Ithan needed the safety of privacy to work this our, though.

She leans up and presses a kiss to the high arch of his cheek. “You don’t need to hand around. It’s just a talk.”

Hunt looks decidedly concerned, but doesn’t contradict her choice. “Let me know when you are through. We can go out for dinner tonight.”

Bryce wrinkles her nose, “Where we can get harassed by paparazzi and journalists? I don’t like having my picture taken when I’m trying to shove noodles into my mouth.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” he brushes a piece of hair back from her face, “they won’t be bothering us tonight. I’ll make sure of it.” There’s a lightness to Hunt’s posture and a wicked gleam in his eyes now. Freedom looked good on him, and he was thriving.

Bryce felt the strange new magic inside of her twist. It was almost as attracted to Hunt as she was, and it always answered his call to playfulness and mischief. The kind of trouble Bryce herself was always drawn to.

Kindred souls, mirrors, whatever you wanted to call them, there was an unmistakable bond between them. One, that when Ember finally comes to visit with assuage her worries about her only daughter being with a Vanir male.

That was saying something.

Bryce looks through the glass windows of the bar where Ithan sits. He hasn’t seemed to notice her presence yet, the weight of what they were about to do was probably distracting him as well.

“Call me when you finish,” are Hunt’s final words before he takes off above the city streets.

Bryce looks at Ithan for a moment longer, and counts to three before walking inside.

As was typical these days, the minute she steps through the doors, heads turn. A couple of men even pull out their phone to snap picture, but Bryce flips them off and ruins their shots.

Or maybe they will sell it to CC Weekly and title it Princess Unhinged Again.

Ithan turns and glares at some of the offenders, and a few even have the common sense to turn away. Pissing off the new lead of the Aux packs wasn’t high on anyone’s to do lists.

Bryce was glad for Amelie’s decision to step down. She took it upon herself to decide that someone who didn’t have the dominance to oppose Sabine in her rash decisions should be her second. It was also becoming more apparent to the other packs that Ithan was built to be an alpha male, and Amelie was doing a piss poor job of maintaining control.

Ithan’s eyes catch Bryce’s, and instead of angry, he seems almost sorrowful. She pulls out the barstool next to his and orders a beer, looks at Ithan, then orders another for him as well.

Step one, they both would need alcohol for this.

“I’m not going to lie, Bryce.” He says looking up at the TV playing Sunball reruns on the screen and keeps his gaze fully locked there. “I’m really freaking uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it is.” She agrees, “but it shouldn’t be, and that’s why we are doing this.”

“He was my brother.” Ithan chokes out and Bryce feels a tear in her heart. “You hurt him really bad and then he died.”

“I know,” Bryce swallows.

“He loved you.” There are tears dripping down Ithan’s cheeks and makes no move to wipe them. “You didn’t love him, but you lead him on and made him think he had a chance.”

Bryce wanted to retort, but she knew Ithan needed to express these feelings. He’d harbored them for so long they needed to be said aloud before they could be dealt with.

“He died and you wouldn’t even talk to me,” Ithan looks at her in betrayal.

She has to dab at her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt. Ithan looked so lost. So different from the vibrant puppy who played college sports and squished next to her on the couch. Bryce felt responsible for that loss of innocence even if she hadn’t been the one to kill Conner.

“I’m sorry,” she says, through the lump in her throat. “I know that doesn’t mean much but I am. You should know that I did love him.”

Ithan scoffs, and shakes his head at those words. “Sure you did.”

“I did.” Bryce hisses leaning forward, but catches herself and sits back in her chair. “You don’t get to tell me what I felt. I was young, stupid, and scared about what a relationship would mean.”

A sigh escapes her and she leans her face into her hands. “You know my baggage with Vanir males. I won’t go into that again. Conner was an intense person. I know how he felt about me but I wasn’t ready, yet.”

She looks Ithan in the eye, pleading for him to understand. “I wasn’t ready then.”

Her and Conner had just taken the first baby step in a relationship that night. They hadn’t made any commitments to each other, and while the wolves may see things differently Conner wasn’t expecting her to dive head first.

If they’d had more time, there would have been more baby steps. More progress. Bryce would have had time to mature and for Conner to be sure he was making the right choice not searching for a mate. They might have become something.

But they never got the chance.

“I couldn’t even look at myself in a mirror, there was no way I could have faced you.” Bryce confesses weakly. “If I could change the choices I made that night, I would. Without hesitation, but that’s a useless thought to entertain.”

All she could do was live with the choices she made. The past couldn’t be erased, and with Hunt, she was finally learning to embrace the future.

Connor sniffles and takes a long drink of the beer in front of him. “It wasn’t your fault, Bryce.”

Shock ran its cold fingers up her spine, and Bryce couldn’t keep the surprise from her face.

“You messed up. Don’t get me wrong, it was hard to forgive you for that,” Ithan says and Bryce cringes a little. “But I should never have let you go in believing you were to blame for them dying.”

“Ithan-“ the tremble in Bryce’s voice sends more tears to her eyes and she dabs them with a bar napkin. “Ithan I-“

“No,” he stops her short. “They were family too. You were in the right place at the right time and it spared your life. There was nothing you could have done, and I’m glad you aren’t dead. I would miss you.”

Ithan shudders and takes a gasping breath, and it breaks Bryce as well. She reaches over and wraps her arms around him, while Ithan squeezes her waisted as if he were afraid she’d disappear.

Several moments pass with them like this. Bryce knows a few people have snapped photos, but there isn’t any more room for anger. Not with the relief flooding through her veins, chilling that hot white pain she’d carried for so long.

“I forgive you Bryce,” Ithan whispers in her ear.

Bryce sobs, “I missed you too Ithan.”

They both pull away, wiping their faces and taking drinks of their beers to calm down. A cheer comes from the TV screen as a goal is scored, and a bowl of peanuts had been set in front of them at some point.

“Can we start over? Bryce asks hesitantly. “Is there a chance we could be friends again?”

Juniper was busy and Fury was gone on another mission. With Hunt and Ruhn active in her life again she was a lot less lonely, but there was still a gap where the pack had been. Where Ithan used to be.

Ithan takes a moment to think. “No,” he says, breathing out and taking a drink of beer. He rolls a peanut shell between his meat-stick finger. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” Bryce said. That didn’t feel like a knife in her gut at all.

“No,” Ithan continues. “Because we are family. We’ve always been family.”

Bryce beams from ear to ear, she honestly may even be glowing a bit. “I like the sounds of that.”

They drink beer, and soon talk becomes easier. Ithan fills her in on the years she missed, Bryce talks about the dance classes she’s taking again. They even talk about the night the she shut the gates, and the backlash that’s followed.

Time passes, and before she realizes it, Bryce is late to meet with Hunt.

“Shit,” Bryce starts gathering her things and lays a few bronze marks on the table. “I’ve got to go.”

“Hot date with your Angel?” Ithan asks and Bryce blushes and turns away, feeling slightly ashamed to acknowledge her new boyfriend in front of Conner’s brother.

Ithan touches her shoulder, “Conner would have liked Hunt for you.”

Bryce had texted Hunt, and she can see him land on the sidewalk outside of the bar, but her attention is still focused on Ithan.

“They didn’t know each other very well when he was alive,” Ithan acknowledges, “but if my brother saw how happy Hunt makes you, it wouldn’t have mattered. At the end of the day, he would just want you to be happy.”

Bryce grabs his hand and squeezes it. “He would be proud of you Ithan.”

“I know,” he smiles. “Now get going, I have to report for my Aux shift soon anyways. We should meet up again sometimes.”

They bid their goodbyes and Bryce feels a million times lighter as she walks out of the bar. Hunt sweeps her into his arms and they take off over the streets of Lunathion.

“How did it go?” He asks.

“Really well,” Bryce tells him l about their conversation and the bridges they mended. Hunt listens without judgement or interruption.

He lands in vacant side street close to the Old Square. A food cart serving spicy wraps, pita bread and hummus is just down the block. “I figured we could get some food and have a picnic?”

“A picnic?” Bryce smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

They’d made a bucket list of things ordinary people did in the city that Hunt has yet to try, and they attempt to knock a few off each week. Bryce took photos, and Hunt would get them developed after work. Soon a whole wall of their apartment was now decorated with photos of the two of them having fun.

A picnic was on their list, but near the bottom. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing Hunt would be super interested in.

Yet here they were.

It turns out, he’d even packed an old blanket in his backpack. When they finished eating Hunt and Bryce laid out under the stars, not speaking but just content in each other’s presence.

Her phone dings.

A text bubble from Ithan appears, quickly followed by another.

I hope you and Hunt are having fun. Conner isn’t the only one happy for you. I’m glad you’ve found someone.

It’s time

Bryce’s heart is warned further, and she sets her phone back down on the blanket beside her. She would call Ithan in the morning. Right now, Hunt’s wing was draping over her and the softness of it could put her to sleep.

Everyone was moving on, but instead of bitter and sad, there was hope. Their loved ones may be gone, but they weren’t forgotten. The pack would always be in her and Ithan’s heart, and where love endured so would their memories.

“You didn’t tell me your mother is coming next week,” Hunt whispers as Bryce’s eyes droop.

“I wasn’t about to give you time to prepare yourself,” Bryce smiles into his neck. “It’s better if you just jump in feet first with her.”

“Menace,” he hisses. “A pretty menace, but a pain in my ass at the same time.”

“We can face her together,” Bryce yawns.

“Go to sleep,” Hunt encourages. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. Like I said earlier, no one is going to bug you when I’m around.”

So, under the night sky, wrapped in a velvet wind, her and Hunt fall asleep, looking forward to tomorrow at last.

The conversion at the end of HoEaB I feel we desperately needed 😂

Taglist- (let me know if you would like to be added or removed :D)

@cursebreaker29

@firestarsandseneschals

@royalsqueeze

@julemmaes

@tillyrubes10

@live-the-fangirl-life

@ghostlyrose2

[ruthlessnessisyourdesire-archive]

This Ain’t No Hym | Demon AU Drabble

I am sin but oh so holy. I am sin but oh so lonely. 

Take this lust and cast it on. Take this heart and lust be gone.

Selfishness is his creed. Lust is his only deed. Yet once upon a twilight’s evening he was called towards a golden stream. The rapid flow of a fiery heart laid claim in sweet arms. How can one who acts on sin become one and whole again? It is clear as midnight’s clearing, sailing on the night’s song. Beautiful bird, a warrior’s swan comes down to greet the mortal ones and Lust who seeks his daily bread, souls to suck and be done in death, spies with a personal lust on this one. He is a cross to bear. Lust knows it when he first eyes on this angel of war. 

Angels and demons are meant to be at war. They are to slay one another in their gods and kings unholy dance of creation’s battle cry. Oh yes it is a cry. 

A thunderous roar eclipses him as he makes his dues to suck on the life of mortals offering their souls. Making deals with the demon as measly peasants are to do but he is bored of them. His eyes retain their luster for the handsome winged bird. 

Even demons can sin beyond their boundaries. Even demons can betray their chosen kings. There are no Three Kings to bear gifts in his realm. There is only one, a sole ruler upon an marble throne black as soot and glittering bloody in gems of hellfire’s adorning! He is Lust’s king but Lust turns to light. 

The angel he had come to know. Aiden. Aiden on his slithering tongue. AIDEN in the days. AIDEN in the nights. 

“You seem to be fond of me for one you cast down with your lavish feathers and strong arms of golden reckoning,” Lust once teased, genuine and full of yearning. A private yearning he held for this handsome, beautiful angel. It took a time to gain trust. It took no time for him to bid his natural lust. There was more burning beneath the cinders. He felt a new being grow inside fluttering in his chest. Where a dead heart doth rest; he told Aiden a name he once flourished with in human disguise. A long time ago he was christened Caleb for earthen eyes. 

Climb a mountain, run a thousand miles

That day was like no other. Oh it was sinful. It was sex on sex, furious in desire and voices echoing loud in the meadow he invaded with his poison. He ensnared the purest of ones. Ravenous he was to lay claim, digging fingers in bountiful layers of feathers, twisting his tail in a possessive hold of Aiden as they became one. 

“Lust is my name but love I find in you angelic warrior,” he whispered kindly. How odd for him to sing praise for a bearer of God’s light. Perhaps it had  not been Lust who ensnared. Perhaps it been the warrior, Aiden his lover of goodness who pushed that light inside of him if only for a moment in time. “Cast me down my lover. I-I feel things.” Does he feel? He might have lied. He doesn’t remember any longer. All he knew was that he wanted what he should not. 

His king would smell the godliness on his skin. Even then Lust took his angel. Lust claimed, marked and fucked to a purer song than ever before in his damning existence. He made love and never wanted for anything. In this meadow where they are always together it was only a matter of time. Time is the chaos driving everything to destruction and decay. 

All things come to an end. A priceless gift in turn was at hand to be given. Beautiful blue gem of his heart. Lovely match to the midnight blue tips of his horns his angel lover had seen once Lust deemed him trustworthy for his true form. They both had seen each other at their rawest beings. Now it is a goodbye as horns call from the heavens. 

“Keep it I shall,” promising him, reaching for him, Caleb as his known in those days of the meadow hungrily presses lips to Aiden’s. An oath sealed by a demon seems like such a fool’s errand. 

It's a snake in the grass, it's a stop sign to pass

“It is not yours to take!” 

Speaking against his King only does him a tragic thing. Lust is blinded with pain. Beyond all pain even demons may know a they are immortal carrion sent to feast on souls for Lucifer’s reign. The pain is torturous. It is hellfire itself. The greatest pits burn inside him and his King douses him in fury. 

Still he grabs for the gem. Attempting to keep it away, house his lover’s last request, Lust is met with crushing precision. Around his throat the fingers of the devil curl in a powerful choke. Slamming him against the craggy stone, Corvus brands him with scars that will heal in time. The shatter of rock against the demon’s back deems it obvious. The entire stone wall nearly collapses from impact. 

Grabbing and clawing at Lucifer almighty is a maddening betrayal. He manages to claw Corvus’ cheek in the fight for the holy gem. It is enough for Lust to be thrown down, knees cracking upon the throne room’s floor. Bowing his head with palms plastered down to brace this fall, his eyes roam over the onlookers. Lower demons snickering. Vile scum parading and catcalling his traitorous ways, reminding of what he endured already before. Pain emblazoned on him for his brother. His brother who he sees as a pet in a cage. Just a glimpse he had of him before guards tore him away. Corvus’ commands were just in keeping him clear. It is good they did! He wanted to tear Connor apart! Leaving him here in this fucking pyre to rot, trapped and no longer to do his acts of soul stealing! All because his brother did not come home! 

Now it does not matter. It hardly matters with the gem in his hands. 

“Give it back to me....”

“Who do you speak to?” Corvus asks in eerie calm. Stepping forward and pushing a hand down atop Lust’s head forces his gaze upon his shoes. “Grovel Lust. It is the last thing you will do. Kiss the feet of your king. DO IT!” 

Shoved down in the dirt, the demon grips onto Corvus’ leg. Digging claws into the black of his trouser leg, it appears he was already on Earth before confronting him. Lust presses lips atop the shined tip of his black shoe. Kissing it as he commands doesn’t prevent his anger boiling hotter than the seventh circles. 

“Your brother was the first reason for my anger. Now this. A holy relic you hid from me. One given to you by an angel. Tell me who.” 

Aiden. Aiden is- “No,” he refuses. “I don’t remember their name.” 

“Why do you lie to me? Why do you follow Greed so in your denials? You belong to me Lust. Just as he does. I am your king. I am your master. I will bestow you with the greatest of jewels. Priceless diamonds and gems. What do you care for this?” 

Lust lifts his head. Looking up at his ‘king’ gives him no good conscience. They do not possess any. Demons do not possess heart. Demons do not love. 

He spits in the devil’s face. A projectile of saliva lands in the perfect goatee marring flesh of cheek where the raven hair first connects. Rage consumes him as he stares his king in the eye knowing his fate. “FUCK YOU CORVUS!” 

@soulxism @creation-is-chaos @rk800isalive