#Nightshade Reaper

[msb-lair]

Dragon: Ferah - Imperial Skydancer XXY Female

(Skydancer scroll applied on 2024-09-01)

Purchased For: 20,000 treasure Hatched On: 2024-08-08 ID: 97005576

Parentage: Xenia/Thallane Flight: Ice

Primary: Ice Wasp Secondary: Ice Bee Tertiary: Mist Koi Eyes: Common

Comments: Purchased as a mate for Fenar.

Apparel: 

Love's Herald

Peace Dove

Blushing Pink Rose

Sakura Flowerfall

Twinkling Stardrapes

Starlit Pants

Sangria Harvest Robe

Starlight Unicorn Mane and Tail

Familiar: Nightshade Reaper

Progeny Testing: 

[Test] Fenar

Broods: 

Nested with Fenar on 2024-09-07, 3 eggs [Clutch]

[ivyloveheart]

When the Floret is Under idk

Happy Bday @neon--nightmare !!!

(Do not repost. Reblogs > Likes!!)

Support me on Ko-Fi!

Bonus w/o Chromatic Aberration under cut

[en8y]

nightshadeslimicribe + reapnightshadeslimic

[IMAGE ID: two horizontal flags with nine stripes; each flag has a nightshade tangle slime in the center. the nightshade tangle slime is a medium teal blob with a purple and blue flowering plant on its head. it has beady small eyes, and a small smile. the middle stripe is twice as large as the rest of them, which are equally sized. the first flag has these top three colors: dark muted blue, muted blue, and pale blue. the second flag has these three top colors: black-pink, dark pink, and blue-purple. each flag has these bottom six stripes: dark teal, off-white, dark teal, mint green, sky blue, and dark purple. END ID.]

nightshadeslimicribe: a gender connected to being a nightshade slime scribe; this gender is connected to nightshade slimes, nightshade slime aesthetics, writing aesthetics, and being scriptorian!

reapnightshadeslimic: a gender connected to being a nightshade slime reaper; this gender is connected to nightshade slimes, nightshade slime aesthetics, death aesthetics, grim reaper aesthetics, and DEiN genders!

[apocalypta-secundus]

A Familiar Face...

Closed Starter for: @resurrectedfiles

Mina and Nayeli were out doing their weekly chores in the village. The older woman was checking up on the citizens of the small mountain village, while the younger one was getting groceries to take home. Everything seemed like it was going at its regular daily pace of slow and not exciting.

Mina would signal to her daughter that it was time to go, everyone had been taken care of. Nayeli had bags of groceries and walked off toward her mother. Though she stopped, smelling blood, "I think someone's hurt?" She called out to her mother, who would take a look around, spying someone out there. Mina stood between her child and the newcomer, this person was familiar, and not a good familiar.

The woman was without her weapon, so it would be difficult to defend her only child without it. However, her daughter had her own tricks as well.

[maybebovinity]

Nightshade Eyes [Reaper/Soldier:76] CHAPTER 3

Read on Ao3

A lithe figure hidden by a heavy cloak and hood stalked the shadows with a heavy bag tied around their waist. The eerie night brought a sense of peace as the lack of ghouls signalled another safe night: but it hardly brough comfort when the only protector was currently bedridden and dying in the house of their new resident.

The bag bounced as the stalker tried their best to go unnoticed as some decided to enjoy the night by standing idly outside of their abodes. The delivery was nothing to be ashamed of, and barely illegal outside of the castle’s territory, alas it was something they all pretend to ignore in a facade of if the king will not save us, then our offerings shall go to the Devil herself.

The cape got stuck on a thicket and the nearest resident (a strange jittery man with burn scars and a pennant for setting ghouls alight) cackled at the failed attempt at stealth.

“Ye being inconspicuous?” He dragged out the final word in an attempt to display his newfound vocabulary, courtesy of the nomadic scholar who frequently visits them. 

The figure tried freeing their cape but failed as the thicket refused to let up. Frustrated and with little time to waste, the cape was ripped off and thrown to the floor revealing an irritated woman clad in tight impractical leather. Her fashion choice was an adaptation of exorcists’ mandatory attire, and she swore it instilled fear in those who saw her.

But she was not supposed to be seen.

“Oh look at you! Learned a new word, rat?” she sneered as he continued the cackle. The insult did little affect him and only fueled his laughter. She stepped forward to manually silence him, but the weight around her hips reminded her of her mission. He was dying. Deciding that the rat-man’s life was a lot more insignificant than his , she spat an ancient curse at him before bolting to the house on the hill.

No candlelight nor fire flickered in the windows, and she was reminded of Mei’s soft-spoken warning of the newcomer’s obstacle: he was without sight. Something easy to remedy, and yet the man who hails from the castle walls continues to live such a difficult life. If he were a smart man, he would travel to the Fae Forest and have them cure his unfortunate loss with little payment. Once, she asked the question of why the King and his men feared magic and she was promptly reminded of her orphanage which only confused her more, for her memories never went that far. 

The house was quiet and a fear washed over her as she wondered if he was already dead. She raised her hand to her temple and gently pressed against the skin beside her eyebrow; a spark of electricity emitted from her fingertips and travelled down her body, to her legs and entering the ground at her feet. She followed the trail as it entered the house and connected with a barely alive body. 

Relieved, she stalked around the house to where the pulse found him and was pleased to see that the newcomer did not vandalise the windows yet. It was a common practice to always board up your windows if you do not want visitors, the countryside etiquette took some time getting used to.

And to prove that, she carefully pried open the windowpane and effortlessly slid inside with the heavy bag carefully lifted to not accidentally puncture. If she had to go all the way back to get a new one, then she would have to count her losses and prepare the funeral for she saw no pleasure in returning to the Devil.

Inside, she spotted the forming corpse on a depressing bed and no one else in sight. Unsure if the newcomer would interrupt them, she first crept to the door and carefully locked it as she was shown to do in case of emergencies. The corpse coughed as he sensed her presence, or maybe he realised he was finally getting fed. Not wanting to waste time, she hurried over to the body on the bed and made work to detach the bag and pry it open.

Inside she carefully wrapped her hands around a wet, dying heart. Whose it was she never asked. She sent a spark through the organ and it beat once-twice to allow the remaining blood to expel from its orifices. The body groaned and leaned in towards the smell of fresh blood.

“Hurt yourself and I will be the one to explain to her why her child is dead you fool.” She spoke as she lifted the organ and held it just above his masked face. Another spark sent blood gushing out and she aimed it to slide past the well-concealed opening to his mouth. As soon as the blood made contact did his eyes shoot open and his body jerked towards her.

Throwing the heart at him she observed as he pushed aside his mask, and ignored the pain as it tugged at his flesh where it was forcibly embedded, and dug teeth and claws into the falsely pulsating organ and began devouring. He only growled and moaned as the tough flesh was ripped apart and slowly began disappearing down his throat. She wondered if they all fed the same way, but again she was reminded of his usual feeding etiquette: quiet, reserved, and ashamed. 

The heart was gone almost as soon as she gave it to him, but she knew it would not be enough to take him back home. Fed, the body lied back down and gave a final sigh. His mask was still pushed aside and was tearing his skin apart at its current angle, but he had to wait before it could be returned to its place. Creeping closer once again, she pulled out a piece of cloth and did her best to clean the mess. He hated being dirty.

“ Gratias tibi… ” he groaned out in his ancient tongue. Although well-versed, she did not particularly enjoy conversing in the tongue of days passed. Finished, she carefully pulled at his mask to cover his face and listened as the skin slithered to pull it in deeper into its proper place.

“It is a pleasure you fool.” she noticed blood-soaked bandages across his chest from when he sat up to feed. She was hardly a healer herself, but even she could see that unskilled hands tried to tend to him. She undid them by retrieving a small but deadly blade and cleanly cut through them, revealing the wound which bound him to the sorrowful bed. At first she was confused, because a wound so small would hardly weaken him, but as she scanned his body she realised his neck was the problem: a deep cut was drawn almost all the way around, and if not for the immediate intake of fresh blood she was sure he would be spending some time to mend it.

“Your neck.” she said. He reached up a weak hand to touch at the wound and grumbled, “Boy.” 

“I told you to stay away from him.”

“Attack. Me.”

“Which is why I told you to stay away. One would think a man of your age would have learned the ways of the world.”

“Young. Scared.”

She placed a hand over his mask, where his mouth should be, and only shook her head. Only he would try and chase down a rabid werebeast in an attempt to save them. Although she could barely remember when she met him, she knew he had done the same for her. He would always do that, risk his life to save others. It was a wonder the Devil was not bored with him yet.

“ Mama is scared. She thought you died. That fae was here for not long and she is clearly a healer. Did she heal you? Your wounds are worse.”

He nodded weakly and touched the wounds on his torso already beginning to heal. If she returned to the Devil tomorrow, he would be ready to come home in less than a moon-change. 

“ Spurius discere debuit. ” His words made her turn her attention to the locked door. She almost forgot about the newcomer. From what she heard he was rather… unpleasant and would often growl and glare at whoever decided to come bother him. She tried to imagine him tending to wounds with the aid of the fae, and wondered why the poor bandaging was allowed by the healer. But it hardly mattered because she would go back to the Devil and have him healed before the King could be informed about his existence. The last thing they needed was another Knight trying to rid the world of evil. If only they knew. 

She heard the distant cry of a crow and a flick of her faze confirmed that her time was running out. The night was still young, but the moonlight was making her weary since she had to forgo her cape. She made sure the blood did not stain the floor and pressed a kiss to the temple of the mask in farewell.

“Stay strong vetelus. ” the ancient word stung her tongue. She did not listen for a response and quickly jumped out of the window to return home.

… … …

The locket burned against his skin as he uselessly opened his eyes. It was sunrise. Jack could feel the warmth from the infiltrating sunrays and groggily pulled himself up from the uncomfortable cot he requested to be placed by the broken fireplace. He would rather be uncomfortable for the rest of his life than share a room with an exorcist.

He sat still and tried to listen for any evidence of the monster still being alive, but the only thing he could hear was the village waking up and an irritating cock announcing the sun’s visitation. 

Angela depended on him to ensure the exorcist was alive, and no matter how hard he tried to fight against it, even he understood what it meant to simply let the thing die. He has killed many of their kind, and yet this was the first time he heard of people being fond of their existence. And if they were fond, then the probability of it having some relations were high.

And Jack would not like to fight off an angry village with or without sight. 

He pulled himself up and out from his cot and made to check up on the corpse when a knock on his door stopped him. He has already threatened those who came to bother him, but the insistent knocking demanded attention and he was too weary to ignore it. Trying his best to navigate his unfamiliar surroundings, Jack came to the door and pulled it open to be met with a fist connecting with his collarbone. The contact sent a sharp tingle down his body and he hissed at the uncomfortable feeling. 

“You are much taller than I expected! I thought old men were supposed to be tiny!” The voice was feminine and much too cheerful. 

“What do you want?” He grunted out not wanting a visitor.

“I am here to check up on my, mmm, how can I say? Superior?” 

He was not given a chance to respond as the stranger pushed past him and entered the house. He closed the door and turned to where he thought they were, but the location was quickly revealed:

“Hey vetelus! Wake up!” the voice came from the door to where the corpse resided, and Jack asked himself how the stranger knew, and knocked again on the door. He wanted to inform the stranger that the door was open, but a jingle of the doorknob confused him: he never locked the door.

“ Faex, I really would have liked to not go back to her.”

“Who are you?” Jack has had enough with all of these people infiltrating his deathbed. The others had the decency to at least enter respectfully and be pleasant, but this one was… it reminded Jack of the snivelling brats who would awe every time he paraded down the street clad in his armour and proudly held up the head of a recently slain exorcist. 

“Hmm? How rude of me: Sombra, exorcist in training.” She took hold of his hand in an attempted greeting, but he pulled it back as the words registered. Exorcist in training. 

“There’s more of you?”

“Oh, a non-believer? Let me guess, you were very happy when the Knights came back with a head?”

He kept himself quiet lest he reveal his true past. If there were two exorcists, then it could only mean him harm if his identity were revealed. His existence proved to be boresome as the young exorcist resumed her knocking and yelling. Jack was tempted to send again for Angela, but his pride would not allow him. He was the one who wanted to die, did he not?

What better way than for two exorcists to tear him apart?

“Hey-!” the yelling was cut off as the door was torn open and slammed loudly against the wall. A brief, yet eerie, silence overcame the house. Jack does not know the full extent of an exorcists’ abilities, although they had similarities the powerful and ancient ones had unique powers only granted when the Devil favoured them too much.

And he had no idea who the exorcists in his house were. 

“At last.” the stranger, Sombra he refused to say, muttered and quick footsteps indicated that she entered the room with the monster. Curious, he followed and listened:

“Look at you, able to open doors are we?”

A grumble responded.

“Your neck looks better, but you might need more. Would you prefer a wildebeest this time?”

Your neck looks better. The words horrified Jack. The previous evening he was sure of an intruder, but he chalked it up to being paranoid at the evil in his evil. Angela once told him he was prone to hallucinations when she healed him, and he considered it to be a permanent side-effect. 

“You! You broke in last night?” He spat. 

“Me? Are old men not supposed to be deaf?”

“Sombra, shut up.” The third voice was unfamiliar but belonged to the only other presence in the room: the exorcist. Its voice was gluttral and sounded painful as it pushed out the words. The voice of a Devil’s child.

“Forgive me oh dear Re-”

“ Sombra. ” The words were harsh and Jack felt a chill run through his bones as the words echoed in his head. Whatever this exorcist was, it was powerful. Jack had heard tales of many exorcists, but the one that remained a favourite among the troops were the Devil’s First Child: a powerful ruler whose bloodlust turned them to discover the most evil power known to man. If the tales were true, then this exorcist is possibly the strongest creature alive.

“ Fine. Ungrateful bastard.” 

There was a short, yet intense, whispering session before it abruptly stopped. A deep sigh, “Then I’ll see you tonight vetelus. ” The apprentice made to leave the house and stopped by Jack, he could feel her stare at him but he could not return the favour.

“Do not attempt to care for his wounds, you are sloppy and your lack of training only makes my life difficult.”

“Gladly.” he sneered at her.

He heard her footsteps fading, the front door opened and he was once again left in the company of the primary exorcist. Only this time, it was awake.

“Thank you for healing me.” The voice said in a low growl, the chill from earlier repeated. Jack did not want to speak with the thing, so he remained silent.

“I was unaware of someone moving in.” the exorcist spoke up again. “One would think I would be allowed to have my own home, but even they cannot see me as nothing but a Devil child.”

“You live here?”

“Yes, but don’t hurt yourself by leaving. Once I am healed, I will return to my family.”

Family. Jack did not know what to do with this information, in fact he hardly knew what to do about the entire situation. His habits wanted him to find the nearest sword and end it, but knowing that someone was here and actively seeking the thing out was enough to keep Jack at bay. The apprentice sounded young, and youth often had an advantage in battle.

In unfamiliar territory, Jack found himself hesitantly torn between simply leaving the conversation or staying and ensuring the exorcist was not on the verge of dying as Angela feared. Angela. 

“I must send a message.” Jack announced as he pushed himself away from the door and slowly walked towards his cot. The door between himself and the exorcist was still open and he could hear a grunt as the bed creaked from a slight movement. The exorcist was more human than those he had encountered; usually silent and mysterious, speaking in a tongue no one remembers and releasing animalistic sounds in battle.

But this one spoke like a human and it reminded him too much of a love gone wrong. 

[thesundowncrew]

Midnight flower-picking 💐

When I saw this illustration on my feed one day, I was so moved to redraw it but with Samhain & Nightshade like a parody cover of some sort. The original is called 'In Fog the Schizo-Killer Comes' (1985) by Rudolf Sieber-Lonati, for a German horror magazine! I loved the colors in this one.

💜 Wishing everyone happy holidays! May you & all you hold dear stay safe~

[hollowlandscape]

Sooooooo... How does the name "DanganronpaVerse" sound for this Multiverse? (This isn't all of them.. I just haven't made all of them... TvT)

Starting from the top characters though, their names, birthdays and Ultimates are:

- Hibiki Sazaki (DV! Hue/Ink) Ultimate Digital Artist

Birthday: 25 October

- Genshirou Sazaki (DV! Grimm/Reaper) Ultimate Clairvoyant

Birthday: 4 August

- Dairoku Sazaki (DV! Deca/Cross) Ultimate Soldier

Birthday: 17 July

- Gouzou Kageyama (DV! Geno) Ultimate Survivor

Birthday: 9 December

- Enji Kageyama (DV! Virus/Error) Ultimate Escape Artist

Birthday: 21 September

- Daichi Fujimoto (DV! Duck/Ahiro/Dream) the so called "headmaster"

Birthday: 1 May

- Nozomu Ito (DV! Nightshade/Nightmare/Corrupted) Ultimate Desolation (he has nothing to do with the Ultimate Despair)

Birthday: 17 November

All of their ages is 19 years old, the chapters and lore aren't done yet so that'll have to wait (⁠╥⁠﹏��╥⁠)

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

Were the fraction leaders also effected like the other fractions in New York? Did Sukuna really scar many of you after his attacks?

Second, are Melinda and Vivi alright after having their souls ripped out and killed by the king? And what were those hands that tried to grab Jaron, Shdwkyz, Melinda, and Vivi?

Jinx, Rex, Ashley, Willow, and Yuuka said nothing remembering that but they look to the anon to think of the question.

"Well, of course he did. After what he did to us, the other leaders Ink, Joshua, Ethan, Guam, Matt, Kali, and Fin were also mentally scared and physically scared too. True, we were still thinking about it even from the attacks. I know me and the others have something of a scar from him...but..it's either on a different area on us." Jinx explains with the other leaders nodding.

"Honestly that was a terrible day...but we all survived even if we bear scars that might not heal with our demon blood. He was a powerful curse." Willow touches her neck remembering the chains she and the others had on them.

"So to answer you yes, we were affected by that and I know so was Ink and the others too." Rex adds in with Yuuka nodding and Ashley hugging herself shaking nervous.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Melinda and Vivi read their questions but looks to one another then at the anon.

"Yes, me and Vivi are...okay. After our souls were ripped out and being killed by the king. Honestly, it was really scary. I wasn't expecting such a cold feeling to run through me. Vivi tells me that sort of thing shouldn't have happened but he was seriously powerful....." Melinda rubs her arm but Vivi place a hand on her shoulder.

"As to the hands, they were spirit eaters. If a demon dies, their spirit is left wandering the living. However, these hands reach up to grab the soul and bring it down so they can rip it apart and eat it. Some tend to eat the soul of a demon whole..we were lucky. Me, Melinda, Jaron, and Shdwkyz were very very lucky because if our souls got eaten...we wouldn't be alive....we would be permanently dead.." Vivi looks at the anon but she only felt silent.

"Sukuna was unlike anything I've seen before but it tells many just how dangerous he is....because we all went against him..even from that moment. Remembering what he did when going after everyone to find the DBT...." she sighed.

[danika-redgrave124]

Umbra Witch Yuu

@sapphirepastries @twisted-dreamscape

I had an idea for Umbra Witch Yuu, so after each Overblot fight. I imagine they get a new weapon from the fight or they get new ones from Rodin if the world's are closely connected and Umbra Witch Yuu can travel to the Gates of Hell.

Queen of Hearts (Heartslabyul)

Royal Reckoning

This enchanted axes embodies the queen's authority and power.

The Royal Reckoning have a special ability called "Hearts' Fury, where upon striking enemies, it creates ethereal projections of playing card suits (hearts, diamonds, spades and clubs) that Swirl around Bayonetta, enhancing her attacks and providing protective barriers.

This axes possesses a vibrant color scheme, incorporating the Queen of Hearts' iconic red and black colors along with intricate details reminiscent of Wonderland's whimsical aesthetic.

Scar (Savanaclaw)

Predator's Claws

These claws would embody the lethal and stealthy qualities of a predator.

The Predator's Claws have a sleek and deadly elegance of a big cat's claws. They have a dark shadowy appearance with etchings resembling paw prints along the blades.

Their special ability involves a Shadow Stalk, allowing Yuu to momentarily blend into the shadows, becoming nearly invisible to enemies. This enables Yuu to plan surprise attacks or evade incoming threats.

Ursula (Octavinelle)

Tidebreaker's Grasp

The Tidebreaker's Grasp is a formidable trident with the essence of the ocean depths. The design reflects the swirling, dark waters of the sea, adorned with intricate seashell motifs and a deep, oceanic color palette.

The Tidebreaker's Grasp harnesses the power of the tides, allowing Yuu to manipulate water-based attacks. It summons surges of water to knock down enemies and create a protective barriers of swirling currents that deflect incoming projectiles.

Jafar (Scarabia)

Eternal Scepter

The Eternal Scepter design features a serpent mortif, with a coiling snake winding around the staff. The staff is adorned with ornate engravings and glowing gemstones, exuding an aura of dark magic.

The Eternal Scepter grants Yuu control over arcane forces, allowing them to unleash devastating magical attacks. It conjures swirling vortexes of dark energy and cast illusions to confuse and disorient her enemies.

Evil Queen (Pomefiore)

Envious Reflection

The Envious Reflection takes the form of an ornate handheld mirror adorned with intricate filigree and gemstones. The surface gave a dark smoky appearance, hinting at the mirror's mystical and nefarious abilities.

The Envious Reflection have the power of illusion and manipulation. It creates mirage or phantasm duplicates to confuse adversaries, making them doubt reality itself. It possess the ability to felect enemy attacks back upon them, turning their own strengths against them.

Hades (Ignihyde)

Stygian Reaper

The Styigan Reaper embodies the dark and ominous essence of the underworld. It's design features a sleek obsidian blade adorned with intricate blue etchings depicting scenes from the realm of the dead. The handle is wrapped in firey blue tendrils that writhe and twist giving it an omnious and foreboding appearance.

The Stygian Reaper taps into the powers of the afterlife, allowing Yuu to summon spectral manifestation that drain the vitality of their foes.

Malefcient (Disamonia)

Nightshade Horns

The Nightshade Horns is a tall and elegant staff, adorned with twisted thorns and dark, iridescent crystals. It's design incorporate dragon motifs and exudes an eerie, greenish glow.

The Nightshade Horns harness the powers of dark sorcery, allowing Bayonetta Yuu to conjure swirling mists of dark energy and unleash bolts of arcane power that linger, causing lingering damages to the enemies.

I hope this is considered interesting for Umbra Witch Yuu. Also, there was a tag on Bayonetta Yuu on my blog. It was originally on TwistedOverbloat blog, but that has been deactivated, soooo..... yeah.

[marlynnofmany]

Indirect followup to homonculus' post. Thoughts on...lessened toxicity.

Garlic in bulb form is toxic to fantasyland creatures. Garlic in food can also be a no-go. Garlic that's processed? Not only charred but powderized?...will burn a far tongue like raw chili pepper, maybe even a Carolina Reaper, but not...be fatally toxic. Especially if used gently. (Except with vampires, or a wolf or animal that sniffs it straight.)

Cold iron, by a similar token. BAD news for fairies. Steel? Introduces carbon. Less dangerous except that it builds better weaponry. What of alloys? Less dangerous to touch? Is the element the problem? Is rust safe to the touch?

Is there a way to process out the mythic toxicity so that, quote me on this, fantasy creatures can enjoy the "good stuff?"

All of which hinges on it not being biological. In which event, we already know that you CAN boil away some toxins or work around them. Look at cashews; those motherhecklers are nasty. But not everything is still safe, look at nightshade.

Some fae pop them like tic tacs, maybe even some gnomes or whatever.

That's a fascinating idea! What can be done to make the dangerous things less dangerous? I'll bet the fae who experiments with steel and rust is seen as the most touched-in-the-head risk-taker out there.

And just imagine an elf who's built up a resistance to garlic or whatever, possibly with a homebrew mixture of other herbs to make it tolerable, who regularly terrified their friends by eating it, trying to pull that on a human.

"Oh hey, is that garlic bread? Nice, but it needs more garlic. And what else did you put on this? Bleah, it tastes like soap. Here, try some of mine instead."

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ 𝒘𝒆'𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 & 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ our selection of decadent desserts ” ꒱ 

this is the page where you will be able to access different character sheets and get to know them a little, while also learning a bit more about our book series: Asterism. it is highly adviced that you read our lorebook before you read some of these pages, you will also have access to more of this on our wiki.

. ˚◞꒰ 🍩 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 781 ꒱

♡. 𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒖 . . . . . . alessio arias

˖ ࣪ the reaper . male . the unkillable mercenary . quick to strike, with sass, humor and melee alike.

♡. 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 . . . . . . rishen herrera

˖ ࣪ the scarlet solstice. male . the spider, mantis, moth-hybrid hero . ambitious and good hearted in hopes for a better world.

♡. 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 . . . . . . rishima singhania

˖ ࣪ the genius . female . the head scientist . stoic and intelligent, with a rock surface to protect the warmth within

♡. 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 . . . . . . zhào talisen

˖ ࣪ viper . male . the poetic reaper . poetically melancholic, with such a deep passion for protecting loved ones

. ˚◞꒰ 🍪 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 164 ꒱

♡. 𝒌𝒆𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒆 . . . . . emerald mania ( alessio agresta )

˖ ࣪ emerald primordial rhytaari . male . the corrupt 'divine' .. the magic that flows throughout, all within

♡. 𝒓𝒉𝒖𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒃 & 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 . . . copper resentment ( zhào talisen )

˖ ࣪ copper primordial rhytaari . male . the corrupt 'divine'. even in the depths, melodic poetry and reminicing

. ˚◞꒰ 🍡 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 209 ꒱

♡. 𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 . . . . . . zhào haitao

˖ ࣪ the famine . male .  a vengeful ghost of the past, set out on a journey

♡. 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕 . . . . . . jìngyí herrera

˖ ࣪ dr. herrera. male . the snake-hybrid mad doctor . sinister laughs and hospital lights

♡. 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 . . . . . . rishen herrera

˖ ࣪ ceo of valence. male . the spider monster mad scientist . honeyed words and actions of manipulation and betrayal

. ˚◞꒰ 🧁 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 9948 𝒆 ꒱

♡. 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒌 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 . . . . . . alessio agresta arias

˖ ࣪ the viridian sorcerer . male . the scorner sorcerer . haunted and distorted, mind shattering dissonant whispers

♡. 𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 . . . . . . zhào jìngyí

˖ ࣪ night orchid . male . the wandering guardian reaper . joyous whimsy, with the hint of joking laughter and bubbles

♡. 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 . . . . . . rishen aryielus

˖ ࣪ ángel ligero . genderfluid . the devil in angel's robes . with pride and deep breaths, large blows of the wind with the strong flaps of wings

♡. 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 . . . . . . zhào hàoyú

˖ ࣪ looming darkness . male . the artful reaper . artistically a crash between tides and land

♡. 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒃𝒖𝒏 . . . . . . yuè mèng yáo

˖ ࣪ daughter of death . female . head held high, with careful words and movement and a fragmented peace within

♡. 𝒂𝒍𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒋𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒚 . . . . . . zhao yizé

˖ ࣪ deadly nightshade . male . the reaper mercenary . cold and workaholic, but with such sunshine in his smile to brighten the entire world

♡. 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 . . . . . . zhào haitāo

˖ ࣪the midday orchid . male . the instigator reaper . the calm of the ocean, stirring and giving you a grin before it hits. with love, or with chaos.

♡. 𝒃𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒈 . . . . . . . kyung seong-jin

˖ ࣪onyx twilight . male . the diurnal reaper detective . a man of many faces, investigating the unkown and the ancient.

♡. 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒊 . . . . . . . rasui

˖ ࣪the burning demise . male . the fire elemental mercenary leader . calm and serene, lest the chaos break out and fire wipe the building clean.

. ˚◞꒰ 🍮 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 1311 ꒱

♡. 𝒆𝒈𝒈 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔. . . . . . . jìngyí agresta

˖ ࣪ the fang . male . the snake-hybrid mechanist . slithering quietly. nonchalant and stealthy through the concrete jungle. noting every tone and move.

♡. 𝒗𝒂𝒅𝒂. . . . . . . . . . . rishen herrera

˖ ࣪scarlet cyanide . genderfluid . the femme fatale admiral . quietly observing from the windows of his office, plotting his next move in this tangled game of chess

♡. 𝒄𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒔 . . . . . . . . . alessio agresta arias

˖ ࣪abyss eyes . male . the rockstar mercenary leader . singing atop a stage, reaching his hand down to the crowd at the end of the concert.

♡. 𝒃𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒏 . . . . . . . . . zhào hàoyú

˖ ࣪the prospect . male . the casino owner reaper ; villain . chuckling and flipping coins over cards, ever so observant of the lies behind the art.

. ˚◞꒰ 🍩 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 9819 ꒱

♡. 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒖𝒑𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆 . . . . . . . . denara agyros

˖ ࣪the cursed sorceress . female . the darling sorcerer heir with a cursed side . emotions dancing across fields of flowers and thorns. her happy smiles and glances spreading moonlight through the city and the torn

♡. 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔 . . . . . . . . zhào xīyáng

˖ ࣪the bloodstained frost . male . the grim reaper mercenary boss . calm and quiet, but with a twist of raging chaos. his heart beats ever fast. with passion for his work and a thrill for danger

. ˚◞꒰ 🍦 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 9948 𝒗 ꒱

♡. 𝒌𝒖𝒍𝒇𝒊 . . . . . . . . rishen herrera

˖ ࣪the scarlet sanguinist . genderfluid . the cursed cultivator bounty hunter . whispered incantations over composition sheets dropped with blood. another supernatural hunted, another ritual spouted

. ˚◞꒰ 🍰 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆-𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 ꒱

♡. 𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆 . . . . . . . . jìngyí of the abhorred

˖ ࣪the whisper . male . the abhorred demon alchemist . dancing through the night with two hands in his. observing every move and smiling bright as the moon

♡. 𝒌𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔 . . . . . . . . valerius ariti

˖ ࣪the hex . male . the hex rhytaari demon . charming smiles of an art student hide hexing hands, sadistic deals and natural apathy

♡. 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 . . . . . . . . orion

˖ ࣪the eyes of the abyss . male . the abyssal angel . ready at all time, ever watching the ancient realm of voided darkness. veiled by the quiet and the stars

[astra-ravana]

Working With Abaddon

Lord Of Destruction

Enn: "Es Na Ayer Abaddon Avage"

Rank: High King of the Abyss

Colors: Red, purple, black, metallic grey, silver

Herbs: Elder, cedar, myyrh, copal (especially black/gold), agar wood, eucalyptus, chamomile, aloe, benzoin, sandalwood, wormwood, blue lotus, nightshade

Crystals: Obsidian of any variety, shungite, tanzanite, aura quartz, danburite, covellite, dumortierite, tourmilated quartz, ruby, charoite, black tourmaline, onyx, black opal, jet

Element: Air (Void)

Planet: Saturn/Pluto

Zodiac: Capricorn (Libra)

Metal: Tungsten

Tarot: The Tower, Death

Direction: East

Day: Saturday

Animals: Snakes, worms, bats

Domains: Growth through destruction, chaos magick, road opening, shadow work, baneful magick, transformation/metamorphosis, truth, awakening, self reflection, hermits, poetry, dark knowledge

Offerings: Flames and darkness, black sand, representations of death/reapers/the dark/void, black crystal pillars, daggers/swords, crystal balls

Sigil:

[dailycharacteroption]

Planar Tour Guide: Negative Energy Plane part 3

(art by Nexumorphic on DeviantArt)

Denizens

The Void may be empty, but that doesn’t mean that it’s uninhabited, a fact that makes it all the more dangerous. Of course, most entities are not truly native there, but were created from those who visit. With that in mind, let’s take a look at what entities linger in the depths of Entropy’s Heart.

Perhaps the most common type of undead on the plane are the many different varieties of spectral dead. Wraiths, spectres, allips, shadows, and more, all formed from poor hapless fools that were obliterated by the plane’s nature. Perhaps most horrifyingly of all, while they have no statistical difference in terms of gameplay, these spectral undead are less trapped souls and more like echoes left behind from where a soul was obliterated, with truly nothing remaining that could be brought back or reasoned with.

Similarly, nightshades are also a sort of inverse shadow of something consumed by Entropy’s Heart. When especially powerful fiends, blinded by ambition, are consumed by the darkest depths of the plane, they come back just as evil, with new forms and barely if any memory of what they once were. These nightshades, or darvakka, seek nothing else but the end of all life and light in the cosmos, their old goals forgotten. And while this may make their goals the same as daemon-kind, even the Abaddon-spawn are not safe from their depredations. (Side note, all the Second Edition nightshade art is a step down from the First Edition art in my opinion. Being able to see clearly all the details of what is supposed to be a shadow monster simply does not have the same effect).

Similar to nightshades are the devourers, though they are not created by the plane nor are they natives. Instead, the soul-stealing devourers traverse the cosmos at the behest of some terrible entity that waits beyond the very edges of the Great Beyond, and many of their errands seem to focus on the Negative Energy Plane as part of their “Shepherd’s” plans.

And then there are the reapers. Be they minor reapers or true grim reapers (or perhaps THE grim reaper. Nobody is sure if there are more than one), nightmarish undead which bring death wherever they go, and so find the Negative Energy Plane soothing or useful in their plans reap the seeds of life. They supposedly originated in Abaddon, but can be found in the Void as well, to the ill fortune of all that cross them.

Of course, not all mortals or immortals end up dead on the plane. Whether it be by huddling around a failing magical effect or artifact, or by being trapped in one of the rare minorly-negative parts of the plane, some living creatures adapt to the constant blight around them, becoming the void-ravaged. Such entities tend to be hateful and solitary, but not necessarily malicious. However, they can never return to the light, for even the neutral levels of positive energy on other planes burns them, slowly destroying them.

And then there are the entities that are neither undead nor tainted, but enter the plane anyway. The most benevolent are perhaps the movanic deva angels, who watch over the plane as part of their duties to the inner planes on behalf of the celestial forces. Less benevolent are the hunduns, whose interest in the cosmic entropy of the Maelstrom overlaps with that of the Void, which they sometimes visit to contemplate Unsurprising given their role as cosmic monks of chaos. And lastly, there is at least one danava titan dwelling in the Nothing, though none can say why or what it is doing there.

And this is where we get into the true natives of the plane, the most destructive of which are the masses of destruction known as oblivions, forming and hatching from egg-like structures, eager to slip into other planes to bring ruin.

Finally, we have the sceaduinar, the true children of the void. These crystalline bat-like creatures are born from great tree-like masses of compressed, crystalline nothingness, and hate both the living and the undead in equal measure. In truth, despite being classified as outsiders, these entities, as well as their cousins the sceazir, are not alive in the conventional sense, having no souls and no inkling of positive energy in them. It is as if they came to be from a process that is simultaneously like and unlike life.

This is appropriate, considering that according to the sceaduinar, they were robbed of the ability to truly create in the earliest days of the cosmos, perhaps by the formation of the Negative and Positive planes themselves. Whatever they might have been before that, the void-bats care not for the necessity of the Void’s creation in making the cosmos as we understand it possible. They only understand the pangs of their ancient loss, and that all other entities are responsible.

As for divinities, most have little interest in such an empty places as the Negative Energy Plane, and certainly none dwell there. At most, certain deities of undeath and entropy show an interest in the plane, sending their servants there, but that’s about it.

That will do for today, but it is interesting to see what lives in a place without life, particularly the strange ecology of the sceaduinar and the mystery of what their form of “creation” might have been like. Tune in tomorrow for a little exploration of the mysteries within!

[oldxenomorph]

heavy metals

pairing: reaper!nemesis/melinoe warnings: body horror, sexual content (sex with an eldritch machine, size difference, thigh riding, overstimulation), 18+ summary: nemesis returns after a century away from the crossroads, now a machine-goddess that serves the reaper emperor. her reunion with melinoë goes a step further, to make up for one hundred years of yearning.

The image lingered in her mind, replayed itself on a continuous loop, but she instead envisioned it was Melinoë’s ghostly hand touching her chest. Nemesis imagined that sickly green glow against the black metal, the slender bones shifting within and on command. She wished it was the faint teal of Melinoë’s lipstick on her neck; she would let Melinoë kiss her wherever she wanted, leave markings on her wherever she wanted. Retribution’s metal body covered in Nightmares’s kisses, kisses, kisses.

---

2392 CE

The end of the rain in Erebus brings with it the smell of petrichor. In the great megalopolises and urban sprawls, there is still that smell after the rains, but it’s different in the Crossroads. Earthen rainwater mixing with Hecate’s cauldron and Melinoë’s crops, the smell of garlic and wheat, nightshade and cattails, their oils drawn out by the biome itself. Erebus’s rain makes Nemesis smell like ozone, heavy and metallic, the result of making contact with her black hair and her red cloak that conceals her giant form. The biome extracts the scent of the outer void that clings to the goddess, from the many times she’s walked outside a ship, the vastness of her mother’s work all around her: dark matter, dark energy, gravity, the stars themselves, the arms of the galaxy wrapping around her.

Best to stay until the rains let up, Hecate had said. Nemesis hated the way the Titaness spoke to her. A cold and forced politeness, a frigid kind of formality. It was clear that the her presence was tolerated at most. We can’t have you return to your master soaked to the bone.

Like an old habit, Retribution Incarnate stood in the spot she used to guard, underneath a canopy of fabric and overgrown flora, wrapped upon her red cloak, her arms crossed underneath. The bowls of burning liquid were still there, a perpetual silver flame and silver fluid that hissed when the remnants of the rain made contact with it. Nemesis is eager to leave this place, she only came back to deliver a request to Hecate from Nyx. Although, the more she stands there, alone in her thoughts, she begins to believe that her mother (and the Emperor) had something else in mind with her visit. Nyx could have contacted Hecate whenever she wanted, why Nemesis for something that amounts to an errand? Something ferments in the air, gone sour; old tensions, memories, especially in this area.

Eventually, Nemesis makes up her mind to finally leave, taking a step out of the neglected tile circle towards the direction of the Crossroad’s exit.

“Nemesis?”

The familiar voice stops her. Retribution Incarnate turns around and sees Melinoë. She has not changed that much in a century; still wearing that saffron dress and pieces of armor made of a silver as dark and dazzling as the moon at night, her blonde hair still straight and just above her shoulders adorned with the pale crescent and the fire-licked laurels of her house, her frame still lithe and toned from all of her training and experience. Nemesis’s expression remains impassive, but inwards, seeing Melinoë again brings the sensation of cold needles sinking into her heart. It’s unexpected. She should have prepared herself to possibly see her again. She thought she timed this visit so she could avoid this. She should have left earlier.

Nemesis only gives Melinoë an unblinking stare that then drifts downward, noticing the glass bottle in the goddess’s hand. Bath salts.

“You’re leaving already? I was wondering if you’d like to join me in the Hot Springs. It’s been a while.”

“They’re not particularly special.” Nemesis’s voice is flanged, split from her old voice, all heavy and deeply distorted, like an old and corrupted audio file. In truth, she has not thought about the amenities of the Crossroads since she left. “The Ziggurat has many baths that are twice as nice and just as hot.”

“I’m sure, but the Hot Springs are different,” Melinoë reminds Nemesis, her feet that glow that burning coals bringing her a step closer to the towering goddess.

Retribution narrows her eyes, the golden illumination made more intense by her skepticism at the offer. “Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden, Princess? The last time we left things, you were angry.”

A century of being apart hangs between them, time rotting away like a bloated dead body. The time when Nemesis came back, all new, the Wrath of the Emperor, to return things to Hecate, to wrap up things left undone before leaving to serve Extinction. She distinctly remembers the sting of the look of shock and horror on Melinoë’s face, how she moved away from her whenever she tried to get near, the tone of her voice. Anger. Confusion. Fear. (Heartbreak.)

Why give up everything that you are to become a machine? Are you Indoctrinated? Is your mind even your own? How do I know that you are still you?

A machine-goddess. Reaper technology. The Emperor’s black ichor pumping through her system. Nemesis’s eyes were the only gold left within her, the gold of her mother’s eyes.

The relationship with her siblings was made even more distant, but she could deal with that. None of Nyx’s children were close to begin with, and her transformation did not change that. Eris took it the worst. Strife Incarnate was always afraid of Extinction and the Reapers, her existential dread masked by her attitude. (Always knew you would go work for Her Imperial Reaper-ness and Nyx, Nemmie. What? Didn’t want to take orders from old Hecate anymore? Didn’t want to be my sister anymore? Were you ever my sister in the first place? Do you make that ‘dial-up noise’ whenever you wake up?) But Melinoë’s reaction stunned Nemesis, she didn’t expect it. And yet, it just confirmed the Crossroads was no longer a place for her. Nemesis had long outgrown it and everyone that called it home. It was not her home.

Melinoë looks down at the bottle of salts in her hands, her slender fingers settling on the edges, her thumbs running around the lip of the cork. She averts her gaze, as though still unable to truly look at Nemesis, as though to protect her own memory. Nemesis’s hard gaze is unrelenting, waiting for her to speak.

“I was angry, Nem. But…. I had some time to think about it.” The chthonic goddess holds out the bottle as a kind of olive branch. “Join me? For old time’s sake at least.”

Nemesis doesn’t respond for a few seconds, the silence peppered with the sounds of the Crossroads: the bubbling of the cauldron, the rustling of reeds and cattails, the hissing of brazers burning. Then, a single word.

“Fine.”

---

2295 CE

The other Revenants helped Nemesis into the bath, their many sets of metal hands guiding her as she walked. Nemesis towered over them with her new height. Getting used to her new equilibrium, her new height, her new weight was proving to be the more difficult than the waiting. It felt like she was not entirely in control of her body, even though it moved as she commanded, synthetic tendons and cords obeying every signal from her brain. How was she supposed to protect her mother, if she could not walk?

Nemesis’s strange, yellow optics looked down at the pool, the water lit from within, steam rising against the blue light. Like all places within the Ziggurat, the room was dark, except for the pool and the technology in the machine-women that held her up. The darkness Nemesis was used to was sometimes cold and wet, sometimes it smelled of ash and incense and whatever bubbled in Hecate’s cauldron. She remembered Melinoë’s garden, lit by sickly green and silver braziers, her crops soaking up the rain in Erebus.

Hot, blue water. Not unlike the hot springs in the Crossroads. The pain made Nemesis see Melinoë in the steam, mismatched eyes and wet ashen blonde hair, the moisture revealing her hair’s true texture, the soft ringlets that framed her face.

When she took the next step, Nemesis landed on her foot in an awkward way and it sent pain shooting through her synthetic nerves. Revenants helped her adjust, their flanged and distorted voices reminded her to put her weight on them, let them do the heavy lifting, she must concentrate on recovery. A few more months, a few more surgeries, and then the conditioning, retraining her body, reshaping her mind; everything made in the image of the Emperor, her vision for Retribution Incarnate.

Her body felt so heavy.

Nemesis heard Melinoë’s voice as her cybernetic eyes flickered, glassy from the pain.

How long has it been since you last took off the armor?

Revenants helped her to the bath’s threshold, until Nemesis insisted that she could walk by herself. She left the arms of the machine-women, her body lumbering forwards. At one point it felt like she was going to tip over, but she regained her balance, even if it sent another wave of agony through her system. Slowly, Nemesis sank into the scalding hot water, the salts sizzling upon contact with the metal of her frame. The same salts Lilith used to help heal the Emperor-as-Shepard’s body after the Skyllian Blitz, or so it was said to her. They felt good, even better with the heat sinking into every small space between synthetic parts. The pain subsided, lowering itself to something dull and manageable for the time being.

When the pain went away, so did the vision of Melinoë.

Something within Retribution ached, made her heart thump against the metal cage of her chest. Nemesis was alone in the heat and the darkness, the Revenants that helped her having taken their leave, to give her privacy. Metal fingers gently touch the place where her heart was, the new biomechanical organ beating steadily; it was the thump of her own pulse, the yearning making it loud, making it hurt.

Nemesis’s eyes drifted downwards at her own reflection in the water, the ripples distorting her face. The changes to her face took also took some getting used to: the exposed metal jaw, her eyes that glowed with the same color of cybernetics as her mother’s primordial starlight eyes, the faint black veins underneath what remained of her skin.

Every time Nemesis looked at herself, she saw her mother. Nyx’s hair, Nyx’s eyes, Nyx’s lips. And every time Nemesis looked at herself, she saw the Emperor. In the structure of her face, the architecture of her body, in the hardness of her eyes, in the way she sets her mouth, in her lines and angles.

It is undeniable that Nyx shaped her in the Emperor’s image. When she first learned this, Nemesis believed she carried eight million years of her mother’s loneliness. But during this process, she learned, slowly, that it was not loneliness that prompted Nyx to shape her this way, but love. A daughter, beloved and brutal as the Emperor.

When she looked up from her reflection, Nemesis stared ahead into the darkness of the room and saw many sharp, wet, metallic smiles. The darkness swarmed just beyond the threshold of the pool, beyond the blue light.

---

The stone pathway to the hot springs remains the same since Nemesis left.

In the darkness just beyond where the light of the hot springs touches, Nemesis watches Melinoë get into the hot, glowing water. Her strange eyes study how the goddess’s bones move under her flesh, how they move in her ghostly arm. Her blonde hair was already beginning to dampen from the steam even before she dipped her head into the water, ringlets forming, strands sticking to her neck. Nemesis’s eyes follow the line of Melinoë’s shoulders, down her arms and the curves of her waist and hips.

The sound of water moving interrupts her trance-like stare, her cybernetic eyes flickering as she blinked. “The water’s fine, Nem.” Melinoë calls out. “You can come in.”

Underneath the red of the cloak, Nemesis’s chest rises with a slow inhale. The water did look enticing, the heat pulling at her, wanting to sink into her frame. She could always leave whenever she felt like it, nothing was keeping her here as no longer part of the Unseen. But she might as well join Melinoë. She did not come all this way for nothing.

Emerging from the shadows and into the the green-yellow light, Retribution’s hands part the redness to undo the pin that held the special crimson garment together. Melinoë turns around just as the last bit of the fabric slips away.

Nemesis’s body is all metal, pitch black, aside from the red lights of the Emperor’s technology, Reaper technology, and the upper half of her face. No other flesh remains, even internally where her vital organs had become replaced with biomechanical ones, specially made just for her. Thick synthetic sinew moves when she does, in addition to the various interlocking cybernetic parts, mechanisms, servos, and pistons inside and outside her frame. Hardly any part of her has the curves of organic life, she is angular and devastating. Woven throughout her shape are wires and cables made of the same black metal and inorganic material, slipped between her synthetic muscles, between the planes of metal on the broadest parts of her body; visible in her neck, her chest, her arms, her legs, nestled safely within her giant frame, like a network of heavy, solid arteries and veins. Down the middle of her broad back is a thick metal spine.

There is an elegance to Nemesis’s new, horrific body. Everything works together, in tandem, efficiently utilizing the Reaper technology, the new black material within her, and her own divine power. She removes the armor attachments that bulked up her already impressively large frame, setting them next to the red cloak and Stygius. Nemesis is an engine, a core, a fortress, a warhead.

She still has her long hair, beautiful, the color of Nyx’s. A midnight black, a night sky without stars. When Nemesis removes her headband, emblazoned with the Sign of Extinction, and pulls apart the ring holding the bun atop her head, her hair tumbles down, cascading down her shoulders and back, a curtain of blackness that matches her body. She sets her earrings next to her headband atop the folded up cloak.

Melinoë’s mismatched eyes look at Nemesis with awe. Retribution’s heavier and much taller body means she moves differently, her equilibrium has changed. It took her over a year to get used to it. Salts in the water react upon contact with Nemesis’s body as she lowers herself into the pool, activating, hissing and sizzling. The water is as she remembered, not to hot or too cold. Just right.

The two goddesses sit across from one another, the length of green pool separating them. Like being an ocean apart, but something in Nemesis didn’t mind it. She closes her eyes, feeling the warmth sink into her. Despite her body being made of metal, the hot springs made her keenly aware of the areas with the most strain. It had been a while since she indulged in such relaxation.

“I meant it when I said I had a lot of time to think, Nem.”

Nemesis opens her eyes and raises her head to look at Melinoë. For a while, she does’t respond, just stares at the the goddess across from her as she thinks. Her body radiates a thrum, a sound akin to that of a Reaper capital ship, low and deep, the immensity of Extinction compressed into her shape.

“Is this your way of apologizing to me?”

Melinoë furrows her brows at Nemesis’s reply.

“We’re not rivals anymore, Princess. And we’re not the same as we once were thousands of years ago.” The voice of Retribution Incarnate pronounces every word with intention, every syllable deliberate, spoken with a weight. “I thought you of all people would have understood, especially after Makaria was born. Not wanting history to repeat itself. Finding your true purpose. You would do anything to protect your family. This is how I protect mine.”

I am keeping my vow to Mother Nyx.

“I get that now, but at the time, it felt like you were abandoning us. One day you were gone and when I saw you again, I hardly recognized you. I saw that symbol on your headband and…. I don’t know, it scared me.” Now it is Melinoë’s turn to initiate the silence, the pause between responses. Her face changes, softens, looks regretful, vulnerable. “Funny. I was the first of the Unseen to make contact with her and I’m still scared of her. Even though she and her family have been nothing but kind to me.”

The flesh half of Nemesis’s lips forms a slight slant. In the past, she would have harped on Melinoë, she would said what she believed was the true root of goddess’s feelings out loud and bluntly, perhaps even bitterly. They would have argued again and things would remain as they were when Nemesis left. Part of her wants to push back, instead all she does is look at Melinoë with an irritated expression.

Fear of the Emperor is a convenient excuse, Nemesis thinks to herself. Yet, there is a truth to what she says. Melinoë has always been afraid of the Emperor and the Great Family, ever since she first made contact with them. Yet, Retribution wonders if she more afraid of the Reapers, the Emperor’s soul, the actual instruments of the cycle of extinction. She distinctly remembers the emphasis Melinoë put on the word ‘Indoctrination’ that day a century ago. It wasn’t just the fear of the Emperor or the Reapers that scared Melinoë. Something else haunted her.

Golden cybernetics notice the way the goddess’s green and red eyes look down at the hot water, how the heat makes her pale skin warmer with color, how her shoulders seem to be tight with tension. Nemesis’s gaze eases slightly when she sees how Melinoë has her hands clasped together. Flesh and magic intertwined, her fingers tangled together tightly. The younger goddess’s body language spoke the truth for her, it told Nemesis everything, even if her mouth could not form the words right now.

Retribution Incarnate glances at her own reflection in the water and sees her own truth, the reason why she made this decision. And it was her choice, made of her own free will, although her sisters would say this outcome was fated the moment Nyx gave birth to her.

A deep breath leaves Nemesis, biomechanical lungs expanding and contracting within her chest, pressing against her aching heart. She doesn’t know if she can endure another century like this, letting her yearning eat away at her, letting her memories of Melinoë consume her thoughts at all hours. They both have went through enough, made their own choices, learned to live with them and move on.

“I believe you,” she says, looking up just in time to catch Melinoë’s reaction of her eyes widening slightly in relief. “Next time, don’t take a century to tell me the truth. It’ll be better for the both of us.”

You deserve better.

For a while, Nemesis is silent as she looks into the water, eyes following the ripples that radiate from their bodies. Yearning pulls at her vocal chords, yearning compels her to finally speak. “When I was in recovery, I thought a lot about you. I thought a lot about moments like this. I missed the nectar you would bring me. I missed these invitations to the hot springs. Even missed our sparring, the things we used to do when I would sneak out of the Crossroads.” The heat of the springs brings her back to all the times her mind conjured up Melinoë’s appearance, all the memories that the Ziggurat and the Reaper technology pulled to the forefront of her brain during those years when she was drowning in agony, every time she went under for surgery, every time she stared into the dark of outer space. “I found my true purpose, but it still felt like something was missing.”

The playback in her head is interrupted when Nemesis felt the chthonic goddess link her arms around her neck, her face pressing against the column of metal and thick chords that holds up her head. Nemesis feels her pulse pounding her chest, in her cabled throat, it rings in her ears.

“I missed you too, Nemesis,” Melinoë says, her voice heavy with longing, “I don’t want another century to go by without you.”

This is the second time Nemesis is rendered speechless, stunned. A thousand things flood her brain. The feeling of Melinoë’s body pressing against hers, her voice, her face finding comfort in the crook of her neck, I missed you; she wants to wrap her arms around the goddess, she wants to press her lips against her cheek, she wants to squeeze her so tightly, she wants and wants and wants. Instead, Retribution carefully takes Melinoë’s ghostly hand, holding it in her own larger one of black metal. For a moment, Nemesis marvels at how well it fits into her own, how her fingers came together to rest in her palm. When that moment passes, she places the goddess’s hand over where her biomechanical heart, letting her feel its rhythmic beating against her ghostly fingertips.

“I've waited a long time for this, Melinoë.”

---

ABOUT A MONTH AGO.

Nemesis had not meant to turn the corner just as the Nyx left the Emperor’s office, but she quickly walked back, concealing her form behind the wall of black rock and resin. Certain spaces in the Ziggurat were tighter than others, not as vast or open as other levels. A century later, she was still getting used to navigating the building, understanding how it shifts; she followed the loudness of the thrum, sometimes the sounds the Emperor’s daughters made in the vents. The First Prince knew how to traverse the building’s entirely in a single day, but that was expected of him as its caretaker.

A tightening in her chest, pulled at the machine-goddess as she listened to the voices of her mother and the Emperor. She glanced around the corner and watched them. Cybernetic eyes immediately landed on the way Nyx’s hand rested on the Emperor’s chest, how her slender fingers moved over its black biomechanical structure, just barely slipping underneath that imperial black robe. Fingers that knew every texture and pattern, every ridge and groove. Her hand rested on the space over the great entity’s heart.

“I have a few more things to do,” the Emperor said, the coldness of her deep, machine voice possessing a warmth only for Nyx. In her red and black eyes, there was only love and adoration for the goddess; long, spidery fingers gently traced the line of Nyx’s jaw, before caressing her pale cheek. “Then I will join you.”

“Good. I will waiting.” Nyx’s ethereal, ancient voice is tinged with a playfulness that Nemesis has rarely heard, a tone that was clearly only for the Emperor. In her voice was a great love for the entity. Though Nemesis could not see her eyes, she imagined they had a look of affection, incandescent with devotion.

The Emperor leaned down to eagerly kiss the Night, her scarred lips claiming the goddess’s with a passion, a hunger. Nyx’s hand moved upwards, following the architecture of the Emperor’s chest and neck until she was cradling her face. Large black tentacles began to wrap around the goddess’s waist.

It felt wrong watch her mother and the Emperor being intimate. Nemesis quickly looked away just as they kissed, moving back behind the corner. Her metal hand gently touched where her own biomechanical heart was and felt her own pounding heartbeat underneath her fingertips. The image lingered in her mind, replayed itself on a continuous loop, but she instead envisioned it was Melinoë’s ghostly hand touching her chest. Nemesis imagined that sickly green glow against the black metal, the slender bones shifting within and on command. She wished it was the faint teal of Melinoë’s lipstick on her neck; she would let Melinoë kiss her wherever she wanted, leave markings on her wherever she wanted. Retribution’s metal body covered in Nightmares’s kisses, kisses, kisses.

Nemesis set her jaw as the longing pulled at her.

It was a while before she emerged from around the corner and crossed the threshold, entering the Emperor’s office. When she entered, the entity was standing before a large projection of the Milky Way, her shape eclipsing the light of the galaxy. Nemesis lowered her head slightly in respect.

She watched the way the way the Emperor’s great tentacles moved in tandem to her walking, keeping the equilibrium of her greta height and size. Nemesis’s mind wandered, even as the entity got closer, thinking about what she saw, what she was looking at. Maybe she could enhance her body to have tentacles like the Emperor. Somewhere deep in her mind and behind her cybernetic eyes, she envisioned herself with such enhancements with Melinoë in her lap, the goddess’s back arching, her name on those teal-smeared lips.

A sound akin to a laugh came from the Emperor, a deep and unsettling sound. It broke Retribution’s train of thought, derailed it into oblivion. Nemesis forgot that she was connected to the entity now, her thoughts must have been so loud. It was mildly embarrassing. A dark blush, the color of a deep bruise, formed underneath what remained of Nemesis’s skin, spreading and darkening the black veins.

“You truly are my daughter.”

The Emperor’s voice was the sound of annihilation, a teeth-rattling baritone, cold, unfeeling, immense. But Nemesis could hear something that was uncharacteristic of how it was normally presented. Maternal. The kind of voice she used for her daughters. Nemesis heard it whenever the Emperor had her arms full of new and young daughters or whenever the drones and queens curled around her.

A cold, pale hand reached forward to gently touch Retribution’s face. Nemesis looked up at the Emperor, taking in her presence at this closeness. Golden cybernetics gazed into those strange red and black eyes, the death cycles of stars, celestial bodies eaten in real time. Nyx made every splendid stellar formation just for her to devour. In the Emperor’s eyes, Nemesis saw the end of Earth, the death of Sol, the collision of the Milky Way and Andromeda, the darkness when every star is consumed, the end of the universe.

Extinction.

“The yearning you feel cannot last, Nemesis. It will eat you if nothing is done,” the Emperor said. She knew about her aching heart, how it never stopped hurting even long after her transformation. Retribution Incarnate looked up at the End of Everything with wide eyes, golden cybernetics vibrating with awe. “Your mother would not want you to wait, she did not make you to be a vessel of longing. I do not want you to wait.”

---

Nemesis presses deep, bruising kisses all along Melinoë’s neck, her chest, her stomach. If she could not mark her with lipstick, then she would mark her in other ways that would last much longer. She’s thought about what her kisses would look like underneath that saffron dress, barely concealed by its length. She’s thought about the way Melinoë’s gorget would conceal all the markings she’d leave behind, secrets only she would know about. Melinoë sank a hand into the machine-goddess’s damp hair as she arched her back slightly off the heated stone floor of the hot springs, pressing her body into those hard kisses.

It has been a while since Retribution Incarnate has touched flesh. She has forgotten how soft it is compared to metal. Melinoë’s body is supple and pliant in her hands. The sounds she makes when Nemesis’s kneads the softness of her breasts and her thighs will be played back in her head later. Her sighs of pleasure, her warmed flesh, the sensations that drive her to whisper the machine-goddess’s name, the gasps and whimpers when she is kissed or touched in a certain way, stimulations more potent than nectar, more intoxicating than ambrosia. Nemesis claims the inside of the goddess’s thighs, marking them with her hard kisses.

Melinoë sharply arches her back and a drawn out moan escapes her as the machine-goddess presses her heated tongue against her warmth. Black metal fingers squeeze the flesh of the chthonic goddess’s thighs again as Retribution begins to devour her, slowly, savoring flesh that’s meant be worshiped, adoration in the act of consumption, to taste her lover in full. Metal sinks deeper into the goddess, deeper into her desire, pulling out all semblance of speech and thought. Melinoë’s reactions fuel Nemesis: the moans that slip out of her lungs and leave her lips, the hand that tightens in her black hair, the way she presses herself against her mouth, needing more and more and more. But it was her name in Melinoë’s voice that made desire coil tightly in her insides.

Her name in difference cadences, whispered and moaned, staggered upon whimpers whenever she touches and kisses bundles of sensitive nerves, punctuated by gasps and sighs. Melinoë’s voice sounds like a song, one only for Nemesis. Especially when she climaxes the first time, repeating the name of Retribution over and over again, holding her head in place as her body contorted and writhed in pure pleasure.

Nemesis takes it all in, hums against where she’s most sensitive, the vibrations of her flanged voice causing Melinoë to whine.

Pulling herself up, golden cybernetics hungrily look over the the goddess underneath her. Desire grows within her, it feels like electricity and dark energy building up, coiling, writhing, tightening within her center, like a mass effect drive core just before it makes contact with a mass relay. Melinoë lays there, damp blonde hair sticking to the skin on her neck, barely covering the markings, the deep imprints of Nemesis’s kisses, her chest rising and falling with every deep breath, the flushed color that spread throughout her body, her mortal ancestry making her even warmer, hotter.

Retribution Incarnate holds her great body over Melinoë’s. The black metal of her shape blocks out the light of the springs, engulfing her in darkness, black hair spilling over her shoulders, further concealing the goddess underneath her. In the darkness of the space between their bodies, Nemesis’s cybernetic eyes, Reaper technology, and Melinoë’s ghostly arm provide the only illumination, gold and red like a twin-star system in a red nebula, and the sickly green light capturing the textures and intricacies of her body. An audible exhale leaves the machine-goddess as Melinoë touches her body, slender fingers made from flesh and magic moving over the sections of her chest, her shoulders, down her great arms.

Fingers that grip Retribution’s metal forearms, following their architecture, moving up to spread wide as they fill themselves with metal biceps and triceps, anatomy constructed by Reaper technology and cybernetic augmentation. “More, please. Nemesis.”

In a single motion, Nemesis pushes her thigh between Melinoë’s legs. The younger goddess’s lips immediately fall agape as the angles of the metal limb press against nerves still raw and sensitive, eliciting another whine. Half-flesh, half-metal lips immediately claim Melinoë’s bare ones; Nemesis kisses her hard, devours her again, and again, and again. An unrelenting kiss, one that Melinoë moans into as she begins to rock her hips, slowly, finding the place that brings her the most pleasure. The chthonic goddess uses Nemesis’s arms as support, holding onto her, even when she squeezes her thighs around the other’s, riding the waves of pleasure surging through her.

Nemesis finds herself moving her own hips, chasing that sensation within her. As much as she enjoys this, she’d rather have Melinoë on top of her, riding her. Through the haze of lust that swarms inside her skull, she makes a note to ask the Revenants how they engage in such acts, how they compensate, how they handle desire and sex. A deep hunger begins to grow inside the machine-goddess, something insatiable. If she could, she would have Melinoë every night, to satisfy the one hundred years of longing, every night of holding her soft body in her hands. Nemesis presses her thigh harder against the goddess as she leans down to kiss her neck, wanting such tenderness in her mouth, feeling the vibrations of Melinoë’s voice against her strange lips.

A groan leaves her. Heavily distorted, her voices splitting and reforming and splitting, pleasure lining her insides. The heat and electricity slid down her spine and into her shoulder blades, slipped into her hips, it makes her groan again. Melinoë grips Nemesis’s forearms tighter, her hips moving faster, her breath quickening, her sounds becoming more desperate as she reaches her peak.

It has been a while since Nemesis felt Melinoë’s strength. The chthonic goddess’s grip tightens around her metal arms as she comes again, her body squirming and arching, the back of her head pressing against the stones. Nemesis lowers her body slightly, her thighs pressing into Melinoë at a new angle, prolonging her orgasm as she holds onto the machine-goddess with all her might, as her legs clamp down around the limb that she was riding. She sounded so beautiful at the zenith of her pleasure, moaning, whimpering, gasping, clinging to Nemesis for stability. It makes that desire that’s been tightening in her core amplify the way raw pleasure takes the form of pressure that makes her entire system ache, makes it feel like her heart is going to explode in her chest. Nemesis feels herself climbing, all by watching Melinoë, all my being the source of her climax.

Nemesis doesn’t experience an orgasm the same way, but something akin to it happens within her body. That pressure, that tightness within her that made everything warm, that feeling of a mass of dark energy and electricity growing, spreading through her synthetic nerves, finally releases. Nemesis moans, her distorted voice rising in pitch as she feels her pleasure fire inside her like a railgun; she moans Melinoë’s name over and over again as she rides her climax, as she curls her metal fingers inwards into fists. She feels her orgasm between her legs, in her gut, in her chest, in her throat; it consumes her, it devours her, it swarms around her heart. Her zenith feels like a hole opening up in her head, a hole waiting to be filled with more Reaper technology and Melinoë’s love. Nemesis groans through the sensation, finding it to be both pleasurable and painful, all at once.

When Nemesis collapses, she makes sure she does so next to Melinoë. If she could, she would have fallen asleep right then and there. Her eyes flicker, heavily lidded, adjusting to the new sensation of both clarity and the absence of any meaningful thought.

The smaller, chthonic goddess sits up, placing her hand on Retribution’s metal frame that rises and falls with every deep breath, her face wearing a slightly worried expression. “Nemesis?” She pushes black strands of hair away from the machine-goddess’s face. “Are you alright?"

“I’m fine.” Nemesis exhales. “This was…. My first time doing this in this body.” Melinoë offers her a small smile, relieved.

Retribution lifts herself up slightly so she can turn onto her side. The stone floor felt nice against her body, especially against her synthetic muscles. It feels good enough to fall asleep. The skin around Nemesis’s eyes begins to strain, the heat beckons her to close her eyes. At this point, she has neither the strength nor the willpower to keep her eyes open. Melinoë lifts up the machine-goddess’s arm, crawling underneath it and positioning herself against her chest, fitting perfectly in her embrace. Part of Nemesis would like to stay this for a long time, perhaps even forever. Instinctively, she drapes her arm over the younger goddess’s frame, but not before pulling her closer.

“Eventually I’ll have to go back,” Nemesis says, her flanged voice producing only tired syllables.

“I know….” Melinoë touches the machine-goddess’s face with her ghostly hand. “Please stay, Nemesis. Just for a little while.”

Nemesis says nothing for a little while, succumbing to a micro-nap, only cracking open her eyes just long enough to formulate a reply. Golden light pours through the slits, their illumination directed only at the goddess that was also falling asleep. “Anything for you, Melinoë.”

[maybebovinity]

Nightshade Eyes [Reaper/Soldier:76] CHAPTER 2

Read on Ao3

1 / 2

Angela was like most fae: beautiful, kind, nurturing and highly protective of those she considered family. She was renowned throughout the castle and kingdom for her abilities to not only nurse but elevate the souls of the suffering. Often she would visit the lower districts to secretly tend to the sick children and weak adults who had no choice but to work until their bones snapped.

Once, she lived in an orphanage to care for every child who lost their family in the war. She had children cry on her, snot wiped on her, and too many times did she have to thoroughly clean herself after spending time with orphaned newborns. However, she never once lost her grace because she could feel the small flames inside of their bodies yearning for comfort.

Meeting Knight Commander Jack Morrison changed her: she met him when he was weak and delirious from the events of the battle. Like a child, he would bawl and babble, and she felt deeply for him as the small flame inside of him grew smaller with the passing days. She knew what his flame was like before the incident, and she swore she would never see it again.

Then his mind cleared and she discovered who he really was: a mean-spirited old man. Although he was merely forty-two winters to her centuries of seasons, he was intent on acting like the old sages she often had to visit for her training. He would complain and huff and yell whenever the slightest thing inconvenienced him. Deep down she understood that he suffered greatly, but the more he resisted her care and comfort, the less she began to care.

Yet she found herself back in the decrypt little village the following morning after waking up to a black moth on her nose. Blind, Jack is unable to send messages so she teaches him how to summon the fluttering creatures to signal her if he ever needs it. Perhaps it was  because  it was the first time he used it since she taught him how (so many years ago) that she found herself outside of his doorstep.

The door was open when she gently pressed against it. She did not know what to expect, except that a black moth meant an emergency. What Jack considered an emergency was all too unfamiliar to her. The door creaked open and she let herself in. Inside she scanned the area before spotting Jack sitting in the kitchen with a pinched expression and his hand desperately clutching to his locket.

“You summoned me?” She asked cautiously as the man had yet to acknowledge her presence. He finally released a sigh and let go of his locket.

“The fireplace.” He croaked out tiredly. Upon closer inspection, she realised he must have stayed awake for a few hours, if not the entire night. Being a spring fae she was practically useless as soon as the sun dipped, which meant that she had no idea for how long the moth waited for her to wake up. Guilt clenched at her heart, but she waved it away as she comforted herself with the notion that Jack was the one to reject her idea of living with her fellow fae. He was the one who wanted to live here, alone.

Still worried, she made her way to the fireplace where nothing was out of order. She was pleased to see that the smithy’s wife did in fact come over to help clean up, but she missed a spot. A big spot. On the floor, almost blending into the shadows, was a body. A prominent figure covered a long leather coat lying on their stomach. Their head was turned to the side but it was too dark for her to see their face clearly: another disadvantage of her birth season. 

She slowly leaned down and hovered her hand over the still body to feel for a flame. At first, she was certain it was a corpse when a sudden spark struck at her fingertips. She hissed and jerked her hand away.

“Angela?” Jack called worried.

“Why do you have an exorcist on your floor, Jack?” She called back. Exorcists did not have flames; souls. How they managed to live like human beings was a magic even beyond her or at least one she refused to dwell on. It would be the end of her kind if humans realised fae were the only ones who could contact the Devil. Angela has only ever met a devil fae once and the experience still unsettled her to think about.

Angela reached for the body again, this time expecting the zap, and gently touched it. The body did not breathe, but she could feel the slow drum of a heartbeat. She lifted her hand and took hold of the figure’s coat to gently roll them over. Just as she slightly shifted them, the body groaned and a wet sound came from the floor. Exorcists bled?

She released the body and turned to the solemn former soldier: “Your sight might be gone, but if you fail to carry this body then I will officially lose all hope in your recovery.”

… … …

Jack despised the company of others since he was dismissed from his post: all it took was one day for him to discover that the only benefit of friends was the possibility of a fuck and a drinking partner. Companionship was a novelty reserved for those who had the time for such trivial matters. 

So to have Angela order him to place the perhaps-dead exorcist in  his  bed was the last crack in the ice of what he considered acceptable. It was bad enough he had to depend on others for survival, and now his only island of isolation was occupied by a Devil’s child. And from the brief walk to his bedroom, he could not only tell that the exorcist was  heavy , but also well-built. 

Jack had never touched an exorcist before, opting to simply behead them from a distance, however, he had to wonder what the exorcist even needed a healthy body for: they returned ghouls with unholy weapons and drank their misty blood for life essence. They never sleep, never eat human food, and Jack has yet to hear of one who dared visit a whorehouse. 

Which brought him back to the body in his bed: was it a real exorcist?

“He is wounded.”

“  He?  ”

“As far as exorcists go, yes, it is a man. Before you lose yourself, he is nothing worth fawning over.”

Jack ignored the remark about his bed partner preferences, instead, he reached out a cautious hand and came into contact with  skin.  He prodded at the strange warmth which elicited a painful groan from the body. It was still alive. “You removed its mask?” He asked.

“No,” Angela suddenly said beside him. She gently pushed him to the side to further her examination. “Only he can remove it. But I had to dispose of his attire.”

“  He is naked?  ” Jack stumbled backwards as he tried to remember what he touched. The impish fae laughed at his misery and a hand reached for his shirt. She pulled him closer again and guided him to a chair the soft-spoken woman from yesterday brought for him. 

“His chest is bare. I would rather join the Devil herself before having to view an exorcist's treasury.” Another groan came from the man as Angela continued. A few minutes later, filled with groans and wet sounds, the fae finally sighed in defeat.

“His chest is torn. It is not a ghoul and it is rather too small to be a werebeast. I cannot mend him; he does not have a flame.” 

Jack wondered if that meant he did not have to worry about any exorcists being in his life in the near future, but of course, Angela (being the nurturing fae that she is) could not even watch a Devil’s child die. “I will inform the village. I believe this is their exorcist, he has a crest branded into his chest.” Before Jack could protest, Angela took hold of his hand and forced him to feel the ugly scar on its strange warm skin. He did not marvel at the scar, instead, he jerked away harshly and cursed cruelly at the fae: she knew better than to force his touch onto others. It was the one rule they had: do not touch him, and he will obey.

“Do you think this place is its house?” He asked with uncertainty. He arrived at the village without notice and no one was genuinely pleased when he demanded an abode. Angela had to barter harshly with a stern woman until it was agreed that he could rent the house. Of course on one condition: do not destroy it.

Jack didn’t know if exorcists had houses. He thought they were nomadic people who slaughtered as they travelled, but it was also not uncommon for a village to hire their services. They were the only exorcists the knights were not allowed to hunt, for they were doing a  good deed.  If Jack has to share his new house with a Devil child, he would instead return to the castle and live in the slums until someone finally beats him to death. 

“No,” Angela said. “I was informed that the exorcist resides with one of the villagers. They all respect him and speak fondly of his presence, do not make enemies with the people because of your inability to sense goodness.”

“No wonder I got stuck with you.” he spat bitterly. Who was she, a mere fae, to reprimand him about who he considered good? Who was she, who tended to damned souls and tainted her hands with sinner’s blood, to tell him that he cannot sense the evil within people? It was not his lack of sense that caused his undoing. Or so she would convince him.

“If we tell the villagers now then they can remove it from my life. I would rather we have them take it away before the sun sets.”

“I cannot promise you freedom.” The fae said as she quickly left the house to who knows where.

Alone, Jack found his way back to the chair and heavily sat down. He held his breath to listen for any presence of life: however, since last night, the Devil child did not breathe. Did exorcists have  any  humanity left inside of them? 

He thought back to the brand and warm skin, the pained sounds and the heavy body. Sometimes it was difficult to believe such evil creatures were once human, that they once had lives and possibly families and loved ones. Why humans decide to become these creatures was unknown to Jack: even when loving hands spread hot poison across his eyes, he never prayed to the Devil to save him.

… … …

The unsettling silence was enough to force the sleep away as he sat stiffly and waited for Angela’s return. The locket against his chest burned comfortably when the front door creaked open: it was midday. Soft footsteps moved his way until Angela formally announced her presence: “Have you ever considered becoming… tolerant towards a companion?” she asked. 

The words did not ease Jack’s already irritated mood. He did not want the Devil child to be in his house any longer. Angela’s words only meant one thing. 

“It is staying?”

“I did not tell the whole truth. His injuries are… critical. If you care, he only lives because whatever attacked him failed to completely sever his head. I suppose during the night it began mending itself, however, I’m sure a not-too-gentle push would just have it topple off again.”

A silence brewed among them. He suspected she had ulterior motives for not mentioning it sooner, however, he could hardly fight against her. He learned long ago that she always won. 

“You mean to say because we cannot move it again, it is staying.”

“It is a man not a  thing.  ”

“Exorcists do not deserve human titles.” 

The fae sighed impatiently and moved over to the unbreathing body. He heard the soft jingle of her magic as she worked in silence: he knew she was easing his pain as best as she could. He remembers the feeling well, and the soft cooing voices that would whisper comforting lies as he refused to wake from his slumber.

“I calmed his mind for now. There is not a doctor in this village, nor a shaman, but I was told that he will heal himself over time.”

“A week?” 

“Perhaps longer. With no nearby ghouls, he cannot feast and heal faster. In the meantime, you must make sure he does not leave the bed and allow the villagers to come in and ensure he is safe.”

Jack did not enjoy this idea. He had hoped that the prior day’s interaction would be the last time he would have to speak with the villagers, but now he had to willingly allow them inside? He did not retreat to the decrypt village only to be bombarded by unwanted visitors.

“Where must I sleep?” 

“Are you so old that you cannot sleep on the floor anymore?”

“Angela…”

“Alright. I will arrange with the carpenter to supply you with an additional bed.”

The body groaned, reminding Jack that his room was still being invaded.

“I want the bed away from it. I refuse to share a room with this thing.”

“I forgot how demanding you can be, Sir Morrison.”

He glared in her general direction. “And do not refer to my name. I am Jack.”

“Of course, Sir Jack.”

“Leave me be imp.”

“As always.”

[the-babygirl-polls]

Babygirl Polls Lineup: Week Two

Hello everyone! Here is the lineup for the second week of the Babygirl Polls! Thanks to everyone for their submissions!

Grim Reaper (A Date with Death)

Dazai Osamu (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Lucius the Eternal (Warhammer 40k)

jerma985 (Twitch)

Knock (Nosferatu (1922))

Buggy (One Piece)

Eustass Kid (One Piece)

Amos (Rewritten)

Dr. Boris Habit (Smile For Me)

Uchiha Madara (Naruto)

Klaus (Rewritten)

Morgan "Mac" Macallister (Rewritten)

Dr. Nightshade (Rewritten)

Rosamel (Rewritten)

Hunch Curio (Mentopolis)

Augustus Sinclair (Bioshock 2)

Daniel Fucks (Mentopolis)

The Fix (Mentopolis)

Laurance Zvhal (Minecraft Diaries)

Alex Cabot (Law and Order: SVU)

Doppo Orochi (Baki the Grappler)

Dr. Josef Heiter (The Human Centipede)

Seam (Deltarune)

Norman Osborn (Spiderman (2002))

Ruby Knowby (Ash Vs. Evil Dead)

Vincent Valentine (Final Fantasy VII)

Kaoru Hakaze (Ensemble Stars)

Idia Shroud (Twisted Wonderland)

Lucifer (Obey Me)

Aziraphale (Good Omens)

Aang (Avatar: The Last Airbender)

Ghirahim (Legend of Zelda)

Flora (Winx Club)

Hayato Inui (Etsusa Bridge)

Darcy (Winx Club)

Ahzek Ahriman (Warhammer 40k)

Tsukasa Tenma (Project Sekai)

Angron (Warhammer 40k)

Chrom (Fire Emblem Awakening)

Jurgen (Warhammer 40k)

Damian Tenma (Ace Attorney)

Steve Harrington (Stranger Things)

Wei Wuxian (The Untamed)

Bucky Barnes (Marvel)

Alec Lightwood (Shadowhunters)

Ianto Jones (Torchwood)

Obi-wan Kenobi (Star Wars)

Simon Blackquill (Ace Attorney)

Louie (Pikmin)

Phoenix Wright (Ace Attorney)

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

Peter Stamatin (Pathologic)

Copycat (Venture Bros)

Macaque (Lego Monkie Kid)

Solid Snake (Metal Gear Solid)

Xigbar (Kingdom Hearts)

Chuuya Nakahara (Bungo Stray Dogs)

Jean Pierre Polnareff (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Subspace (PHIGHTING)

Karl Weissman/Charles Whiteman (Bodies)

Edward Teach (Our Flag Means Death)

Tianlang Jun (Scum Villain's Self Saving System)

Bolearis (Xenoblade Chronicles 3)

Arthur Lester (Malevolent)

Ashley Joanna Williams (Evil Dead)

Mason (Roblox)

Firebug (Town of Salem)

Willow Rosenberg (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Loki Laufeyson (Marvel)

Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Jennifer Check (Jennifer's Body)

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb)

Dennis Reynolds (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia)

Zim (Invader Zim)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield)

Hikaru Gero (MarriageToxin)

Eichi Tenshouin (Ensemble Stars)

Tiw (My School President)

Richard Karinsky (Caroline in the City)

Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier (The Terror)

Daan (Fear and Hunger: Termina)

Joe Hills (Hermitcraft)

Feng Xin (Tian Guan Ci Fu)

Professor Hershel Layton (Professor Layton)

Seon Ahyeon (Debut or Die)

Tena Sorimura/Phantom Solitaire (Deadmount Deathplay)

Yotasuka Takahashi (Blue Period)

Nicholas D. Wolfwood (Trigun)

Park Moondae (Debut or Die)

Ulysses S. Grant (American History)

Cardinal Copia (The Band Ghost)

Raphael (Baldur's Gate 3)

Captain John Hart (Torchwood)

Narciso Anasui (JoJo's Bizarre Adventure)

Seteth (Fire Emblem)

Link (The Legend of Zelda)

Soren (Fire Emblem)

Roland (Library of Ruina)

Tohru Adachi (Persona 4)

Ryotaro Dojima (Persona 4)