#here’s to never demonizing this flaming rage that will always reside within me

[fieryyyqueer]

[every-dayiwakeup]

Arsonist's Lullabye

When I was a child, I heard voices

If there was a time when his parents weren't engaging in shouting matches, Billy didn't remember. A sliver of him wondered if it would lessen if one of them left. After his mom ran away, he tried not to wonder anything ever again.

Some would sing and some would scream

For every time he overheard them arguing, his mother would sing to him, her soft voice lulling him into a deep sleep. He would wake up in the closet to the sounds of his song bird screaming. He wanted to help her, he was a big boy, almost 7! But Ma made him pinky swear not to come out until it was quiet. Sometimes she had to lock the door, promising to always come back and let him out.

You soon find you have few choices

Billy didn't want to move to fucking Indiana. He didn't want to leave California. What if his mom came looking for him and he wasn't there? He didn't want a new mom, or a sister. He had a mother. He fought the move. He fought the anger running hot in his veins. As long as he kept it from burning his mother's memory like Neil had done with everything she ever owned... everything she ever touched, he was sane. Still, the cage around him shrunk in everyday, closing in on him. So he pushed back.

I learned the voices died with me

Fighting Neil was easier when someone was there to switch on a light and free him. His world grew smaller, and so did his will. The bitter pill Neil tried to force down his throat, that Ma running off was somehow his fault, that he wasn't worth fighting for, he couldn't just tuck into his cheek anymore. Sooner or later he would have to swallow it. But dying, Billy figured out, even in spirit, would kill what was left of Ma. Her memory was alive in him. The thought of something good existing within him was enough to feed his acts of defiance, however little they were.

When I was a child, I'd sit for hours. Staring into open flame.

Rage was a monster Billy learned about quite early on. According to Ma, this monster was invisible, so you couldn't ward it out from under your bed. It changed people, she told him. Billy wasn't stupid or blind; Rage had snuck into his father, and kept a permanent residence, slowly taking over him. Ma shielded him from Rage, and she wouldn't tell him how to fight such a beast. Billy picked up his own shield when he punched another kid for calling his mother a whore. He did exactly what Neil did to his mother, so why did his father send him to his room with a red cheek and no dinner?

Rage wasn't a shield, his mother had said, but a weapon. For Billy, it was both. It scared him, for he had watched his father lose to his own demons. Surrounded by people who were set on self destruction, another fear Billy shared, he couldn't help be intrigued. As he watched the flames grow, swallowing Neil up, and oh how quickly the fire spread.

By the time the monster came for him, Billy had been burned before. Pain, proof of life, drew him closer to the embers.

Something in it had a power. Could barely tear my eyes away.

Neil Hargrove was not a big man. Yet Billy had seen him dominate others, and he was understandably curious. What power did Neil hold over them? Billy would learn the hard way, and he would need to wield some of that to survive. Understanding the demons behind Neil's dilated pupils, a coal blue, was the key to survival. It was a dog eat dog world, and if you didn't go for the throat first, you would die.

Another key to surviving the cage? Plant your goddamn feet. Once you're on your back, you're instant prey.

The solution outright was simple enough; if you weren't the hunter, you were the hunted.

All you have is your fire. And the place you need to reach.

Being a Hargrove was lonely. In his haste to stay on top, never let his knees give out, Billy had chased away any potential friends. Maybe there was truth in Neil's words. Maybe he chased Ma away. Maybe if he had stayed inside the closet like a good little boy, she would still be here.

Max, someone Billy hoped he had some kinship with, turned her back on him and somehow made friends. She took the fire, made it her god. Billy became the fire; unpredictable, irritable, the epitome of the Hargrove demons. So much for a united front.

No matter what Billy did, he ended up hurting people. He wasn't sure what he did wrong, necessarily, only that others treated him that way. Surely there was nothing wrong with that, right? Maybe he did deserve it. And if he deserved it... it wasn't wrong.

There was a long climb to the top, and Billy wasn't sure he liked the idea of surviving in this world anymore. He burned anyone who got to close, because it kept him the safest he could possibly be.

He came to the conclusion on his eighteenth birthday that the top wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth fighting for. And the dreams his mind once catered to drifted further from his reach.

He was a boy who played with fire, his only friend. He was reckless with that old lighter, drawn yet again like a moth to a flame. Secretly, he craved the stars, and of course they too were eons away.

He hated being angry, really. He wasn't always like this, he wanted to tell Max. He used to be soft. He used to be safe without having to look over his shoulder. Someone had to do it.

Why did it always have to be him?

Don't you ever tame your demons. But always keep them on a leash.

Sometimes he liked being angry. He had his demons under control for the most part, otherwise his several masks would never hold. When submitting completely, there was a risk of vulnerability, and an even higher risk of being taken advantage of. Too many emotions exposed the ugly parts, and he couldn't control the stupid tears leaking from his eyes.

Just being angry was the safest option... as long as he kept a muzzle on Rage. Keep the flames going, but don't set the whole forest on fire. Better to keep the lighter close to you.

When I was 16, my senses fooled me. Thought gasoline was on my clothes.

Becoming a piss-poor mini Neil was never Billy's desired choice. He would rather not have a lock outside his bedroom door, or flinch every time someone raised their hand.

The impulses that came hand in hand with his anger branched out to wanting to not feel anything at all. Alcohol helped considerably, and it was the only time Billy could really picture his mother. Her caress of his cheek, her lullabye... but even in his hallucinations, she disappeared. Still, his mind was always going fucking haywire, worrying about what people thought of him, if people saw right through him (then Neil could, too).

Neil was the kerosene and the match, and Billy was his favorite match box, struck mercilessly until there was a spark. Nothing was truly his, not even his emotions.

Therefore, the only time he felt happy was when he was numb, usually under the influence of the cheap beer Neil had in the fridge but never touched. Billy almost wished he took a few. Blaming the drink instead of admitting his own father, his only flesh and blood relative left, hated him with no merits. He would never be the ideal son, and he knew that.

No amount of alcohol would make the hallucinations real, or fool Billy into believing his father loved him. But it did soften the harsh blows of Neil and reality, two forces that came hand in hand, and that would have to suffice.

I knew that something would always rule me. I knew the scent was mine alone.

His tongue was sulfur, his words cutthroat. He could never produce either when face to face with Neil. The bastard somehow had a way of cutting him down to size in ways Billy would perhaps have admired if he hadn't been on the receiving end of it.

What was it like to have total control over someone? What was it like to have total control over yourself?

He couldn't shake off the nasty words or the iron club he was ruled by. If someone didn't want to hurt him, they wanted to use him. At least then, he was seen. Sure, people only saw what he wanted them to see, but it was nice to be able to regain some sort of control over his life.

The shadows followed him wherever he went, reminding him that nothing good was real, and that they were trying to protect him. Billy didn't want sympathy from the darkness. He wanted love from the light. You took what you were given, though. There was no shaking of the stench of failure and disappointment. Damaged. Dangerous.

When I was a man, I thought it ended. When I knew love's perfect ache. But my peace has always depended. On all the ashes in my wake.

Eighteen was supposed to be his ticket to freedom. He subconsciously assumed freedom equaled immediate happiness. Ridding himself of Neil, Karen, Susan, even Max... that was supposed to be good for him. He leaves Hawkins in the dust, and drives to California.

But more ghosts greet him there, haunting his waking and sleeping hours. A good ghost does appear, in the form of Steve Harrington, and he smells like cinnamon and second chances.

Steve will want to escape his mood swings and nightmares, his horrible communication skills and his damned triggers. Billy knows this to be true. Why wouldn't Steve be any different? Every person passing by who bothers to stay leaves more ashes in their wake. It's only a matter of time before Steve wakes up and realizes that himself.

For the sake of his own fragile heart, Billy hopes it will be quick and painless.

*****

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[sondepoch]

Tangled, Tangled (Barbatos x Reader)

True devotion can only be bought with love. And the only person Barbatos will ever love is you. Unfortunately, the Demon King demands absolute allegiance from all his subjects, and he keeps Barbatos loyal by holding you hostage. After a century of separation, though, the butler's good behavior is rewarded.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

True devotion can only be bought with love.

Fear is the second-best contender. It is amazing, the lengths a man will go to out of fear. And hatred—hatred is nearly as compelling. And then there's rage. Rage and fury and deception. All brilliant ways to sway the weak, to earn followers, to gain rapport among those who otherwise would do differently.

But true devotion can only be bought with love.

Something the Demon King knows all too well.

"You may rise, Barbatos." The man arches a bored eyebrow at his butler, drumming his fingertips aimlessly against the throne. "Speak. Why have you requested a formal audience with me?"

"This is formal business, your grace." Barbatos holds his gaze level against the ground, not daring to look upon his master. "I did not want to waste your private time with my personal issues."

"You only wished to waste my public time, is that it?" The Demon King chuckles, the sound echoing through the throne room. "Very well. The hours I set for meetings are open to all. I suppose that includes even you, Barbatos."

"Thank you, your grace."

"What do you wish to speak with me about?"

"The date, your grace."

"The date?" An irritated confusion crosses the Demon King's face at that, and a small part of Barbatos's heart falls. He had hoped that the king would at least remember, but it seems that he will need to explicitly ask for it.

"It has been one hundred years, your grace, since the last...ahem. I was hoping that you might permit me to celebrate another century of my loyalty."

A glimmer of understanding falls into the Demon King's eyes, and Barbatos swallows nervously, praying that the man is in a good mood. It certainly would not be the first time he has been dismissed of this single pleasure because the Demon King felt like torturing him.

"To celebrate a century of your loyalty, eh?" The Demon King frowns. "You make it sound as if there might come a century where you aren't loyal to the crown."

"Of course not," Barbatos responds swiftly. "My oaths are for eternity. My loyalty to you and your cause will never fade. It's merely that…"

"Our agreement."

"Yes."

The throne room quiets, feeling unnaturally cold as if the stone walls are designed to suck away at the temperature, making all who pass within these walls as uncomfortable as possible. It takes all of Barbatos's strength not to shudder as the king studies him, his only solace being that the warmth will eventually return. That you are not out of reach. That the Demon King hasn't said no to Barbatos's request just yet, and that even if he does, he has a chance to find you after another hundred years.

"Beg."

Barbatos wastes no time in falling to his knees, his forehead touching the icy floor. He has no pride left, no dignity to be stolen. All that exists in his heart is the overwhelming desire for you, a love so strong that it is the only thing keeping his heart beating.

"Please, your grace."

True devotion can only be bought with love.

"Please let me see my lover."

And the love Barbatos harbors for you burns brighter than all the flames in hell.

"I am your servant for eternity, I assure you."

He is devoted to you, to your touch, to your smile, to your taste.

"And I will only ever request this of you once every hundred years."

And so he is devoted to anyone who may permit him to see you.

"But I beg you to allow me this mercy."

Even if it is the man who stole you away in the first place.

Barbatos retains his posture, head practically glued to the floor as he waits. The desperation in his voice does not go unheard, and there's the sound of laughter from the throne, arrogant and cruel.

A sharp metal bounces off of Barbatos's head.

The demon's eyes widen. Not from the pain of the action, not because his head is now throbbing. But because that is the key to your room.

Because the king has said yes.

"Rise, Barbatos. Take the key. I expect you to return it to me by noon tomorrow, and you cannot take your little friend out of their cage, but…"

Barbatos struggles to maintain his composure, no longer listening to the Demon King as he speaks. The butler is now wholly preoccupied with the key in his hand, with the fact that his master is dismissing him, with the knowledge that you are merely minutes away, and all Barbatos needs to do is turn a key in a lock to be by your side.

The rush of adrenaline which travels through his body is exhilarating. The demon's strides are controlled as he exits the throne room, but the moment Barbatos steps into the halls that will take him to your room, he's sprinting, all thoughts of propriety thrown out the window.

It's the moment he's been waiting for ever since he left your room one hundred years ago—the moment he is always waiting for whenever he has to leave you at the Demon King's orders, sworn to never return until he has sufficiently proved his loyalty, something the king has decreed to be one hundred years of faithful service.

Open, dammit.

Barbatos's actions are uncharacteristically sloppy as he shoves the key into the lock that bars your room, hating how stiff it is from lack of use.

"Open," Barbatos hisses under his breath, trying to use more force. "Just open!"

The demon slams his hand against the door, and suddenly, he doesn't know how he waited one hundred years for this. If the door doesn't stop blocking him from seeing you this instant, he's going to tear it to shreds, consequences be damned.

"Barbatos?" Your voice calls from the other end, slightly frantic. "Barbatos, is that you?!"

"The door!" He croaks desperately, trying to shove it open. "It won't—it won't—"

A sinking feeling takes root in Barbatos's stomach. What if this is a joke from the Demon King? What if he wasn't satisfied with Barbatos's service this century, and wants to torture him like this, so close from the one person he cares for but still so far?

"I barred it!" He hears you shout from inside. The sound of moving furniture fills his ears, and then you're calling his name again. "Now, Barbatos! Try to open it now!"

The demon pushes. He pushes with all his strength. He pushes and he pushes and he pushes until tears of frustration are beginning to prick at his eyes, and then he loses all sense of control and he shifts into his demon form, horns manifesting.

He sinks his claws into the door, talons tearing at the steel, and in the face of his inhuman strength, nothing can stand in his way. The metal screams as it grinds against the floor but Barbatos forces it open all the same, the promise of you on the other end only spurring his strength on.

It takes Barbatos all of two seconds to dart inside when the door is sufficiently open; two seconds before the metal screeches and the door is closed behind him.

But in those two seconds, his entire world has changed.

"My love," Barbatos breathes into your ear, holding you close against the ground. He does not know when he hugged you, or when he barreled into you with enough force to knock you both to the floor, or when you wrapped your arms around him in response. All he knows is that you're here, and no one is taking you away from him just yet.

"Barbatos," You whisper, clinging to him. Your figure trembles and the demon feels a wetness in his shoulder. "Barbatos, I missed you so much—I don't—you don't know how much I missed you—"

"I missed you too, my love." Barbatos pulls your head from your shoulder, his thumbs brushing the tears away from your cheeks. "More than I can ever say."

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that conveys his every emotion.

The two of you stay like that for a long time, completely unmoving. As if standing still will hold time back with you, giving you both longer to savor the moment. Giving you longer to savor this night. But however much you need each other's love, the need for air becomes overwhelming and Barbatos pulls his lips away from yours only to kiss you seconds later, refusing to lose a moment longer than he has to.

He wraps his arms around your waist slowly, stroking the skin there and savoring its softness. Its warmth. "Legs around me," He mumbles against your lips, and you comply instantly, wrapping your limbs around his figure as he lifts you and carries you to your bedroom.

It's hardly difficult for Barbatos to find the way there.

It takes him all of three minutes, an impressive feat given that the abode you reside within is practically a castle—but the Demon King's words were true. This is nothing but an extravagant cage, your presence in it a mere tool to keep the king's dog under control.

"Stay with me," You mumble into Barbatos's skin when he presses himself onto your bed. You layer open-mouthed kisses against his neck, slowly removing his clothing as he removes yours. "Stay with me tonight. And tomorrow. And the day after. The Demon King can't do anything if you refuse to leave."

"My love," Barbatos warns gently, squeezing your hand. "The Demon King can do everything."

"No, he can't," You argue. "You're a strong demon, Barbatos. He won't be able to hurt you, and—"

"He won't hurt me," Barbatos mumbles, frowning. He hates that he always has to go through this with you, that he always has to say it. Then again, he can hardly blame you. A century of separation would delude him into thinking that rebelling against the crown was smart, if only he weren't reminded of its power every day. "He'll hurt you."

"No, he won't," You mumble, cupping Barbatos's cheeks. You force him to look at you, and his heart breaks a little when he does. Even as you're with him, you're far away. Already thinking of how he'll have to leave you tomorrow. How you'll have to wait another century, only for it to repeat. "He won't hurt me. If I get hurt—if I die, he has nothing to hold you loyal to him."

"My love," Barbatos whispers. "He will kill you and he will make me watch. Because he knows I will turn back time such that it never happens again, so he can eternally keep me at his side."

"But how…" There is an unspoken question in your eyes, a soft curiosity as to how Barbatos can possibly know anything about a man who holds nothing but secrets.

And then there is Barbatos's unspoken answer, the flash of a memory flickering in his eyes before he is kissing you once more, trying to forget the sight of your once-empty eyes and the foolery which ever made him think he stood a chance against his master.

"There has to be something," You whisper, clutching Barbatos's shoulders as his fingers continue to work against your clothes. "Love always finds a way. That's what all the books say. We have to be able to do something to—"

"Shh," Barbatos hushes you, pressing his lips against yours. "Please, my love. I can make you no promises but for the present." Barbatos slides your underwear off. "So please do not think of the future."

"But Barbatos," You mumble desperately as he peppers kisses down your body. "I can't live through another century without...I just miss you so, so...please don't leave me...ah…"

The demon closes his eyes as he grips your hips, using his mouth the way you like best as he works your tongue along your nether regions. The sound of your moans does nothing but urge him onward, your fingers gripping his hair the way he's imagined on all those nights without you.

The demon takes his time with you. Ravishing your body as if he is a man starved. Latching his lips onto your skin at every instance, even as he sheathes himself inside and is at last one with you.

"I love you," He whispers into your ear hours later, when your bodies are finally tired and the night has grown older. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Barbatos." You hold him close, hugging him even as the two of you struggle to find your breathing, hearts returning to their normal pace together.

"Diavolo…" Barbatos clears his throat, taking a shaky breath and speaking only once he's positive his voice won't wobble.

"Are you calling another man's name while I'm in bed with you?" You flash a coy grin at Barbatos, and the demon doesn't bother suppressing the instinctive flush that crosses his cheek at your words. Your eyes are no longer clouded by desire as they were earlier, your voice having exchanged its desperate tone for one of adoration in the haze of such strenuous activities. But the demon can still see the undertones of longing behind your gaze, and even if you're no longer begging for him to stay behind with you, there's an unmistakable sadness in your eye.

"Diavolo will rise to the throne soon." Barbatos strokes your cheek with his thumb. "He suspects his father will take the Long Sleep by the end of the millennium."

"And?" You whisper, eyes wide. Eyes hopeful. Eyes desperate, because you don't know Diavolo the way Barbatos does, and you don't know if Diavolo will permit the two of you to be together.

"And Diavolo has promised to set you free when he rises to the throne."

The sob of relief that leaves your mouth at that tugs at Barbatos's heart. Your arms were already around him before, but now you're clinging to him, and you're desperately hugging and laughing and crying and trying to share your joy.

"Oh, that's wonderful, Barbatos!" Tears well in your eyes. "I can—I can eat real food—something you've prepared and not that insufferable trash the Demon King sends me—and we can go out in public together—out—outside this cage of mine and into the real Devildom—and we can—and we can see each other every night and—and—"

The happiness in your eyes falters.

"And there's a catch, isn't there?"

Barbatos nods gently. "Not a bad one. Diavolo is a just man. His only terms are that I pledge loyalty to him. The conditions of our bond will similar to what I share with his father...but he will only take you away from me if I do him wrong."

You sigh, seeing both the good and the bad of this situation.

"You will still be a collared dog."

"Perhaps," Barbatos muses. "But with you by my side, I will be happy. We will be happy. And Diavolo is a man who listens to reason. He will be a good ruler. I will not need to go against him."

But you're still hesitant.

"Can't you convince him otherwise? He shouldn't need a hostage to keep you in line. And—and you've done nothing wrong! Why can't he just accept your loyalty to be genuine?"

"Because," Barbatos brings your hand to his lips, kissing your fingertips. "They are jealous of you, my love."

"Oh?"

"True devotion can only be bought with love. And I will forever be more devoted to you than I ever shall be to them."

Your lips quirk upward at that, a flash of amusement traveling through your eyes. You don't believe him for a minute; the sheer notion of royalty being jealous of Barbatos's love for you is ridiculous.

"That sounds like a fancy way to tell me that things are complicated, Barbatos."

"What can I say? The ties that bind us are tangled, my love."

The demon sighs as you lay your head across his chest, your hands tracing abstract patterns onto his abdomen.

"I don't want to wait anymore," You whisper, pulling the demon closer. Barbatos can sense how you're already preparing to cling to the lingering warmth of the mattress when he'll have to leave, when you'll be left with the vague scent of your lover on your sheets and nothing more. "But I'll try."

And that is all I can ever ask of you, my love.

Barbatos doesn't thank you aloud. He isn't thankful. This very situation is something he will never be thankful for, and there's nothing the demon can do but press a kiss to your forehead as the two of you wait in silence for the moment where he will have to leave. There is no solace, no comfort in the fact that you will soon be separated. Even the promise of Diavolo's ascension to the throne is faraway, and Barbatos cannot expect you to be hopeful for a day that will come after so many centuries of waiting.

"Close your eyes, darling."

The demon blinks, but your arm reaches up to caress his face, his eyelashes flutter closed.

"See, if we lay like this, we can almost pretend that the Demon King doesn't exist." A short laugh spills from your lips, a sound so beautiful that Barbatos wants to bottle it in a jar and listen to it for hours. "Almost...so stop frowning."

Your fingertips ghost over his lips, and the demon smiles on instinct.

"That's better," You drawl sleepily, wrapping your arm around his neck. "Someday, we really will be able to stay like this forever."

That day cannot come soon enough.

Barbatos swallows thickly, knowing that he mustn't cry. That he cannot break in front of you. That while he is with you, he must be strong so that you have someone to lean on in your anguish.

But the more he thinks about how far away the future he desires is, the worse the pressure in his throat becomes. And the need to remain composed in your presence outweighs his desire to hold himself captive to the truth that binds him.

And so, for a few short hours, he allows himself this luxury.

And he forgets.

Forgets the king which is holding you here, forgets the prince who might set you free. Forgets the moonlight that illuminates you, forgets the bed that holds you. Forgets everything except the feel of your body next to his, your warmth spreading into his, your skin on his as he memorizes your figure to keep him company for all nights to come until he may see you again.

And when Barbatos closes his eyes like this, he can almost pretend that this night will last forever.

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.1k

Notes: As I was writing this, there was an overwhelming urge to turn this into pure angst and have Barbatos open the door, only to see MC and Diavolo kissing or smth

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[salt-warrior]

RISE FROM THE ASHES

A When Earth Turns to Ashes sequel

Masterlist

Chapter Fifteen: The Strength to Stay Away

Cinder ran, legs pumping, hands grasping the walls when she stumbled. She raced down the stairs of her apartment building and out into the frozen air. Her feet carried her all the way to her car before she collapsed, tears streaming down her face, ice filling her lungs as she gasped.

She sat upon the icy ground, unable to feel the moisture seeping into her skin or the cold numbing her body. The sky had faded to a bleak purple, with a burning horizon of orange and red and gold. It was night, and it was cold. But the cold came not from the atmosphere nor the sky— no, it was the soul-crushing feeling that resided within her. The ache that spoke words she didn’t want to hear. The knowledge that her brief happiness had come to an end. From this point on, she would be on her own. She couldn’t allow herself to find new friends, a new love, if that were possible. And she sure as hell wouldn’t seek out Cress or Iko or even Thorne.

And Kai— she would try to bury him in the depths of her mind. He wouldn’t be the first to enter her mental graveyard, tucked away forever. But hopefully he would be the last. Perhaps she could live out the rest of her days thinking of no one, living as if she were the only soul upon the planet. It would be lonely, but it would hurt less than the agony of losing another loved one.

With shaking fingers, Cinder slid her car key into the lock, twisting until she heard a faint click. On hands and knees, she climbed into the car, ignoring the ache in her bones and the tears upon her face. She started the engine and, without another thought, drove away.

Her headlights were the only light in the dark, like a distant star, wandering in search of companionship, but finding none. She didn’t know where she was going, only that it had to be away from Kai— as far as she could possibly go. Her gut twisted.

Cinder started to cry— to really cry. Not just the tears that had already been tracing down her cheeks, but full-on sobs. She wailed into the night to release all the sorrow of her soul. But her despair was a hydra; the more she fought it, the harder she tried to kill it, the more powerful it grew.

She pulled the car over to the shoulder of the road and turned off the car. She could no longer see the dark and the blackening sunset. The road was a concept her brain could not manage to grasp as her mind replayed the horror she’d undergone but minutes ago.

There was fire, and there was Kai. She could see it— and it was that she could see. The flames as they cascaded down, as if from heaven itself. The way they backlit Kai, turning his hair to amber and eyes to gold. And then there were his screams.

She couldn’t stop hearing them. They echoed in her head, trapped there forever. His screams, though not prolonged, would be her eternity. If there was a Hell or an Underworld or some eternal damnation after this life, his screams would be her punishment. They would destroy her.

His words to her after the fire had been put out were mere whispers of the wind by comparison to the roaring river of his screams. His pleas for her to stay had hardly registered in her brain above the horror in her heart. His hands reaching out, trying to touch her, to comfort her, were mere wisps of smoke to the fire raging within her mind.

She had pleaded with him. She’d begged him to let her go, just as he had begged her to stay. And behind the smoke and swirling flames, she could see his face when she’d put in her final request— her final words to him.

��You have to let me go.”

“I can’t.”

She knew he meant it, but it didn’t stop her from hoping. Because he had to let her go— he just had to.

“Kai,” Cinder cried, his name her only comfort now that he was gone from her. She swiped at the tears on her face and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Kai’s sweatshirt. The gray one that he loved so much. For a moment, she felt sad that she had taken it from him, and then the slightest bit comforted that she had something of his. Almost as if he were hugging her.

She pulled the collar of the hoodie up to her nose and tried to breathe in his scent. It was hard to latch onto, but there all the same. Soft and sweet and familiar.

Cinder thought back to just weeks before when she had feared that she was losing Kai. Back when his days of melancholy and grief had been the most terrifying thing in her life. When the idea of leaving him had cut her to her core. She had feared him leaving more than anything else, and now here she was, abandoning him.

“Is that why you leave everyone? Because that’s the only way you know how to love?”

His words should have hurt more than they did. He’d meant them to. He’d tried to get a rise out of her— attempted to get her to stay. He’d given it his all, but she’d known it would come down to this. She only regretted not leaving sooner. If she’d run away at the library, Kai wouldn’t have gotten hurt.

No, if she’d left then, she would have come back. Kai’s screams would haunt her forever, but at least they would give her the strength to stay away.

A calm came over her then, causing her tears to cease and the turmoil within her to quiet. It was a calm born not out of peace, but of reflection. Throughout the entirety of her life, her mother had protected her. In a way that caused more harm than good, yes. But she’d protected her in her own sick way. She’d taken love from Cinder’s life. But perhaps it had been for a reason.

Maybe Cinder’s mother hadn’t been the problem after all. Maybe it was Cinder. Her mother had killed the people she loved before Cinder could grow properly attached. It had hurt, but it had not ached as it did now. It had torn at Cinder’s heart to know that her mother had killed Ran and Peony, but the idea of her own flames killing Kai— that was worse.

Her mother had sworn to protect her; but was she protecting Cinder from others, or herself? Was it possible that Cinder was the demon?

Cinder stared down at her hands, one marred by burn scars, both tinted blue with cold. She remembered the way in which the flames had come as she left Kai— almost as if by command. She’d wanted to be left alone; she’d wanted for him to let her go. And then there was that flash of light.

“No,” Cinder whispered, rubbing her hands into her eyes. It wasn’t possible. This wasn’t a world in which people had powers of fire. Her world may have been encapsulated with ghosts, but supernatural abilities of the living was not an element of that world. She was just an ordinary girl.

Well, not ordinary, but she wasn’t the supernatural being here. It had to be her mother. Her mother, the ghost, who was tied to Cinder’s own life.

But then why hadn’t she come in the last year? When Cinder had loved more than ever before and been loved in return? At least three people should have been dead if Cinder’s mother were still around.

And Cinder’s mother had always been a distinct being. She had a form, a face. She was almost a living thing. But this thing— this ball of fire— it wasn’t her mother.

It was like her mother.

Cinder let out a gasp as everything fell into place. The fear. The fire. The stories. Kai. It all made sense. They’d been wrong all along. They’d been wrong about everything.

A ball of fire wisped to life next to the driver’s side window, and Cinder jumped into the passenger’s seat, fear coursing through her veins. A string of expletives escaped her mouth in the most horrendous way she could muster.

She watched as the ball of conflagration drifted past her, as if it had somewhere to be. Someone to meet. It moved with ease, even as snow began to tumble from the darkened sky. She didn't know where it was going, but she knew what it was trying to tell her.

So with shaking hands and a trembling heart, Cinder slid back into the driver's seat, turned on her car, and followed the flames that led her toward certain doom.

***

Kai stared at the closed door, the fear coursing through his veins more powerful than the logic trying to leak through his brain. He knew he should have been doing something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. All he could see were the flames cascading before his eyes. Even in their absence, he could still feel their flickering breath, almost as if they were laughing at him.

The door stood before him as it always had. The wood was dark, showing beneath a chipping layer of evergreen paint. He’d been planning on repainting it a bright red— his favorite color— as soon as he found the time. Now he wondered where all the time had gone.

His life had always been a broken clock, one that was too fast, leaving him always scrambling behind. He hadn’t had enough time with his mother. No, she had left him while he was still a child. And his father, well, he had abandoned Kai with a suddenness that to this day still caused his chest to ache. Time had never been in Kai’s favor, at least not where love was concerned.

As he sat on the floor, time ticked on, counting off the seconds from which Kai had watched his love disappear. The love of his life, his Angel of Hell, the girl who had been so much more than a girl. She was gone.

And Kai couldn’t bring her back.

He got to his feet and opened the door with the wrong-colored paint. He glanced behind the door, as if his lover would be there, waiting for him. As if she hadn’t actually forsaken him, but was rather beckoning for him to follow.

She wasn’t there.

And when Kai walked down the stairs and into the parking lot, she wasn’t there either. She was gone. A girl never to be seen again.

It was then that Kai began to panic. He felt it first in his chest, that tightening that restricted the beating of his heart and the breaths allowed to escape his being. It felt like the world was caving in. He sunk down on the steps, head in his hands as tears began to stream down his face. The sun was just going down, lighting the purple sky with streaks of orange and gold, as if it too were crying.

Cars passed on the road, all going somewhere. Perhaps home to people who loved them, and would wrap their arms around them when they walked through the door. The thought made Kai’s melancholy heart droop with a wave of agony.

He pulled out his phone to call the only person who he knew could help him— the only one who would always be there.

Tags: @shellyseashell @cinderswrench @healing-winston-pratt @just2bubbly @silverstars21 @gingerale2017 @greasicookies  @the-wee-woo-rita @zephyr-thedragon @bookpapaya @cindersassasin @the-jewel-of-ketterdam

[myhero-myfanfic]

Royalty AU - Disgraced Prince Dabi x Reader (2/2)

Part one is HERE!

This is smut and deliciousness, with a heaping cup of yandere. Hope you like! Once again tagging everybody who asked for Dabi!

@mymymy-secret-secret

@sazanka13

@the-resident-demon

@witchymermaid12

@supercalafagadocious116

@babzeey

@firebonbon

@winkkkky

Just like he told you to, you've left the window to your balcony ajar. You can't help but pace, nervously picking random items up just to set them down again without doing anything. You feel elated. You feel terrified. Thinking of the way he stills calls you beloved, but in a voice that is not what you know to be Touya's...

With a light knock on the door frame, he steps into your room. You can smell smoke and if you look closely his eyes almost dance like blue fire.

The first thing he does is remove his mask and you drop into the nearest chair out of shock. There are burns marring his once beautiful skin- great, wrinkly, purple burns that glitter with the occasional piece of metal. It's as if he's a patchwork doll sewn together by a child. Tou- Dabi offers you what should be a smile, but your blood runs cold at the sight of it.

“Everything comes with a price, beloved.” He finally breaks the silence, eyeing your shaking form. “I paid mine. You'll get used to it after a while.”

You opened your mouth to respond but nothing comes out after a few tries. He quirks an eyebrow before pulling the other armchair over to you so he can sit with you before the smoldering fire.

He casts the dim light a withering look before casually flicking his fingers and, to your terror, throwing blue flames out of his palm and onto the logs. You shoot up, nearly screaming but he's quick to cover your mouth with his hand that still feels searingly hot. He pushes you back down into the chair, hushing you and petting your hair back. Dabi had brought his knee up to pin you to the seat and only after your eyes have stopped darting to the fire and are focused on him does he release you. You take in a big breath. You almost regret it when you choke on the sharp and suffocating tang of sulfur.

He stays there on his knees before you, hands now firmly at your waist to keep you in place. With his height, he barely has to look up to meet your eyes.

“I had to do it,” Whispering now, he begs you to understand. “You know how my father is, you've seen the way he treats the queen, all of his children... I had to end it.”

“Touya...” His grip tightens and you can't suppress a shiver. “You've killed people, do you understand? You can't... There's no coming back from this, they'll have you executed.”

Eyes widening, he gapes at you. It's his turn to be shocked.

“You think I've come back to return to the kingdom? Beloved, no, I'm here for you. You're coming with me.”

“What?!” Alarmed, you begin to squirm in his grasp. You freeze when his lip curls up in irritation.

“I've come to take you with me.” He says it slowly this time, like you've hit your head. “There's other people like me. Like us, beloved. They want a better world, one that isn't ruled by people who feed on pain and misery.”

You almost laugh in his face.

“And you're not the cause of any pain? You've destroyed so many lives already, there's so much blood on your hands Touya-”

“Don't call me that.” Quicker than you can comprehend he stood up, a hand now curled tightly around your jaw to force you to look up at him.

“Touya is dead. Like I said, I'm Dabi.” This is said flatly, no emotion and certainly no room for argument. Not that you wanted to- his fingers felt like they were getting dangerously hot, leaving you tearing up and sniffling at the pain.

“I'm sorry Dabi.” You're ashamed but you apologize anyways. The way he's looking at you is full of rage and hostility, and you're incredibly aware of how fragile you are.

His eyes soften and he immediately dips low to press a kiss against your brow. His grip loosens and now he cups your jaw with a familiar intimacy.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get so angry.” He hums against your cheek, rubbing his nose affectionately across your skin. “I just... That's not who I am anymore. But I know you'll love me now as much as you did then.”

A squeak escapes you when out of nowhere, he rolls his tongue across your jaw and up to your earlobe.

“You say my hands are dirty?” His voice rasps into your ear and you tremble. “Maybe I should show you just what these hands are capable of...”

Your gasp is swallowed up in his mouth as he dives in to taste you, clacking his teeth against yours in his haste. He reaches down and with a surprising amount of strength picks your body up in his arms to toss you onto your bed.

It knocks the breath out of you when you bounce on the mattress, but you have no time to catch it before he climbs on top of you. His mouth finds yours quickly as he knocks your knees apart to settle his thin hips between your legs. Dressed only in your thin nightgown you can feel every inch of him and you're moaning with him at the very sensation. You know you shouldn't but it's so easy to think of your Touya and fall into his amorous touches.

He's more calculating with this kiss, taking the time to rub his tongue along yours and pulling on your bottom lip to entice you. When you arch yourself into him after a particularly hard suck, he takes the opportunity to snake his hands up your dress. Dabi pulls away just to yank the fabric off of you, and you can't help but cover yourself in shame.

“I can't, it's indecent...”

“Don't hide pretty girl...” He coos at you, gently pulling your hands away- however he doesn't let go, but instead moves to take both wrists in one hand so he can pin you to the bed. Ignoring your weak protests, he leans down and gives one long flat lick on each of your nipples before blowing on them. You whimper at his hot breath, writhing against him. Dabi can't help but grind his hard cock against you, loving each little mewl that leaves your throat.

Giving you a look that's entirely too feral, he lets go our hands and begins to knead and squeeze and pinch your breasts, sucking hard on each nipple until they're puffy and over sensitive. He bites down on your left breast so hard that he breaks the skin and you nearly buck him off, the low husky groan that escapes you surprising you both.

“My dirty little princess seems to like it...” Immediately he goes back to it, biting and nipping at you until you have to muffle your cries with your hands.

Without warning, Dabi smoothly slides his fingers against your underwear and rubs against the wetness. Instinctively you try to move away, but he uses the hand on your chest to hold you down. He moves the thin fabric to the side, dipping the tip of a finger into you to feel how wet you are.

You choke out a gasp, still squirming, “No no, please stop Dabi, I don't- oh!”

With a wide, manic smile, he slides one long finger into you. You throw your head back, gasping at this new sensation. He swears under his breath at the feeling of your tight virgin walls fluttering around his finger. If this is how tight you are just around his finger-

“I'm going to fucking ruin you.” The words are practically a snarl, and he adds another finger to watch it disappear into your wet softness. You grimace and whine at him, the stretch painful.

“Please, I'm not ready...”

To your embarrassment, he pulls his fingers out just to lick up your sticky essence.

“You taste ready to me... Don't you think?” It doesn't even register what he's doing until he shoves both fingers down your throat. You can't help but gag on them and he groans into your neck, rutting into you.

Just like that his fingers are back inside of you and this time they're moving, going back and forth into you slowly at first while he builds up speed. Your tiny whimpers and yelps slowly turn into long sighs and moans, the heat in your lower half getting hotter and stronger with each stroke. Dabi leans forward to kiss you again, changing his position and hitting a spot deep inside you that has you calling out for more.

“Say my name princess... Say my real name.”

“D-Dabi...” You gasp out, rolling your hips as you chase the high your body is building to. “Please don't- oh god, Dabi, please...”

“Cum for me pretty girl, cum for me and I'll never let you go. You've always been mine.” With that he finds your pulse point and bites down hard, marking you for anyone to see.

The coil within you finally snaps and you're thrown into pure pleasure, tightening around his fingers with a loud call of his new name. He can't help but marvel at the way you shake when you orgasm for him, and he wants to make you do it again and again until all you need is his touch to live.

“All yours, all yours, oh my god...”

He smiles widely, your blood staining his teeth.

When the servants come to wake you up in the morning, all they find is an empty chamber and sheets that reek of sulfur.

[toloveawarlord]

Pt. 1

Meet my first baby for Ikevamp! This is a short story of how the Ikevamp boys met a little girl who was destined to be in their little family.

Tagging @plumpblueberry for always supporting my ocs and tagging @xathia-89 for stealing my ocs away to use them for her amazing fics! I love you both so much!

Intermittent flashes of lightening lit the muddy path that the child struggled to follow. Bare feet slick with mud squished down into the soft earth with each rushed step. Her entire body drenched in the chilled rain that pelted against her skin. The dense forest’s terrain rough for the six-year-old to navigate. Her fear of the dark and unknown completely swallowed up by the fear of her pursuer.

The storm above threatening to the drown out the sin to be committed should she be caught.

Alara ran as fast as her little body would carry her, breaths growing heavier as the distance between her home and the safe haven that surely laid in this direction. Their house out in the countryside, far enough away from town that she could never hope to have made it there.

A light danced in the distance, drawing the child towards it. She searched for someone to help her, to take away the demon nipping at her heels. Brighter and brighter it grew drawing the little moth to its flame. The trees stood behind her, a mansion much larger than she had ever laid eyes on towered before her.

Her name echoing through the forest shattered the mesmerized state that she had begun to fall into. It came rumbling through her like the thunder booming across the darkened sky.

She trembled with how close that had sounded, slipping through the bushes neatly placed around the property like a barrier. The large back door had a handle far out of reach for her short stature. Options for escaping the raging entity dwindling down.

Should she keep going?

Light spilled out onto the neatly cut grass, unimpeded by a glass barrier. An opened window forgotten by the residents. A trellis filled with ivy gave her a makeshift ladder to access the house. She couldn’t keep her balance, slick hands unable to grip the ledge properly, sending the girl tumbling inside with a loud clatter.

Preparations for dinner spilling onto the floor around her, a metal bowl rolling across the once sparkling clean floor. A cloud of flour hung in the air.

“A child?”

The voice drew her attention up. Not alone in the kitchen, two men were equally shocked at her sudden entrance, and through the window no less. Her green eyes drifted over them, falling upon the sword attached to one’s hip. Danger flashed through her mind.

“Wait, come back here-”

Alara ignored the calls, bolting for the door to go further into the estate. The large dining hall in the process of being set for dinner gave little places for her to hide, but she settled beneath a side table with a red cloth draped over it, shielding her from immediate view. She drew her knees up to her chest smearing mud from her small legs onto her arms. The warmth from being out of the rain only sent chills down her.

The two from the kitchen had followed her, debating how to handle the situation. “Monsieur Napoleon, keep an eye on her while I inform le Comte of this development.” The one she assumed to be the butler exited the room swiftly.

Napoleon approached the table, dropping to one knee and gently swiping the cloth aside to get a better look at her. Drowned by the rain and speckled with mud all over, the girl looked absolutely pitiful. She was peeking up at him, wet strands of hair like a wrinkled curtain to block her face. “There’s no need to be afraid.” On a closer examination, her crème nightgown had been stained in crimson red.  “How did you find your way to this estate? You must have come a very long way.”

At his words, her head dropped, the girl retreating from the conversation. It was only a matter of time before the demon stumbled upon this place and would take her back to a living hell. The very thought of it creeping across her skin.

The door creaked open, two pairs of footsteps approached where Napoleon still observed her with concerned eyes. “She hadn’t spoken a word,” Napoleon said, allowing Le Comte to take his place.

“Bonsoir, little one,” Comte greeted her softly, coming to the same conclusion that the soldier had. Something terrible had happened to the child. None her age would have come so far in the deafening storm so late at night.

Trembling green eyes rose just enough to get a glimpse of the new man smiling softly at her. He must be the owner of the house, clothes made from the finest cloth, like hers had been. She could find no malice in him, nothing dangerous.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She opened her mouth to speak, sorely dry. “Alara.” Her voice barely a whisper, as timid as a cornered mouse.

Comte hummed, finding the name as cute as the girl before him. “A beautiful name. Will you tell me how you came to be at my estate?” From Sebastian’s explanation, she’d climbed in the kitchen window. It seemed her reason for being here was urgent. The girl wasn’t hiding from them, but from whatever had brought her this far away from town.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, his question forcing her to relive what had happened to her. Her arms covered her head, as if keeping her head safe from a blow about to strike her. “She wouldn’t wake up.”

“Who?”

“Mama! I just wanted her to wake up. She was bleeding and she needed a doctor. But she wouldn’t wake up.” Her entire frame quivering with fear, breaths choppy as the girl began to cry, repeating the same words over and over. She didn’t understand what had happened.

But, the three men knew.

Comte reached out to her, placing his hand atop her head. “It’s alright, little one. You’re safe here.” He did not ask who had committed the crime. She’d run away, and the culprit would surely be here soon enough. There was no need to add more fear for her. “Won’t you come out?”

The girl shrank back at those words, pressing her back against the wall, but there was no where for her to go.

“Sebastian, draw up a bath and see if we can get any clean clothes for her,” Comte called over his shoulder, still very much observing the girl that began to relax at his words. The idea of being warmed up and out of her wet clothes sounded good, and at its core, it sounded safe. “Napoleon, if you have the time, maybe Alara has a favorite food you could make her.”

Her mouth was watering at the sound of that. Dining habits at her house were not good, and never did she get the food that she wanted. The timid girl began to crumble into the innocent soul he knew she was. “Pancakes.” Green eyes alight with a spark of hope that had been buried beneath a blank stare. She’d only tasted them twice in her life, asked each morning for her mother to make them, but they were never made.

“Theo’s going to like her,” Napoleon commented, giving one last charming smile to the one slowly braving her way out back out into the open. He too, exited the room to return to the kitchen and clean the mess that had been made.

Alara cautiously placed her small hand within Comte’s, silently placing her heart as well. Trust reflecting in her pale green irises, showing desperate desire for safety, something that she had been deprived of in her own home.

“Tres Bein, mon petit cheri,” Comte praised, swiftly picking the child up into his arms, cradling her close. Sebastian wouldn’t outright complain but the trail of mud leading to where Alara had been hiding need not continue further into the mansion.

As requested, a bath had been prepared in a large basin, large enough to accommodate her small body. Stripped of her bloody clothes and comfortably sitting in the warm water that chased the chill from her body, Comte stepped away to drape his overcoat and suit jacket over a chair. “Is the temperature alright? Not too hot?”

“I’ve never been in a bath this warm before. Mama always bathed with beau-pere and mama would let me go after. It was always short because she couldn’t leave me alone since I can’t swim.” Alara cupped the steamy water, eyes staring into it as if seeing a precious memory within the ripples.

Comte rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows as he bent to one knee by the basin. Her wording suggested that the man she lived with was not her father, but a step parent. “Well, take as long as you wish, but first allow me to get this mud out of your hair.

Her easy, idle chatter about the mansion, how big and marvelous it was, continue on until the water had begun to turn tepid. In the end, Comte had to persuade her to leave the bath or they may have remained there until dawn. After drying her hair, he tied it back with a silk ribbon. The only clothes available was an old button-down shirt that Sebastian had procured from another resident and tailored it to the best of his ability.

“Sir Isaac graciously surrendered the top,” Sebastian has said. With all his work, the shirt fell to her knees and the sleeves had been cut nearly completely off.

Alara sat in front of the fire, golden skin illuminated in the glow of the flames. Under all that dirt and grime, she was a breathtakingly beautiful child, and surely not of French descent. The mystery surrounding her only seemed to thicken.

“I believe your meal has been prepared. Are you ready to return to the dining hall?” Comte chuckled under his breath at her excitement. She hardly resembled the child that had hid under that table. A brilliantly innocent light radiated from her.

Not a speck of dirt could be found in the large hall, Sebastian meticulously cleaning it spotless. Alara hardly noticed, bounding across the plush carpet with silent bare feet. Sitting atop the table were three large pancakes dripping with syrup and butter. She scampered up to the emperor and a warm smile grew on face. “They look so yummy! Merci--” An abrupt stop brought about a despondent expression. She couldn’t remember his name.

Napoleon ruffled her damp hair, not bothered by the slip. “My name is Napoleon.”

“Merci, Napoleon!” Her cheerful demeanor returned. Alara only hesitated for a moment before hugging his leg. Doing that at her own home would have gotten her severely reprimanded. She climbed up into the large chair, sitting up on her knees to properly reach the table. The scent of sweet maple wafting up to her made her mouth water.

One bite in, the main door to the hall creaked open, bringing in another resident of the estate “Well, this is quite the unusual scene? What a brilliant little guest.” The mystery writer thoroughly intrigued by the human child. A playful grin spread across his lips as he claimed the vacant chair next to her. “And who might you be, little miss?”

“Alara.” Her voice nearly a whisper. The fork clattered against the plate of barely touched pancakes. Alara fully focused on the man beside her. With both hands on the arm of the chair, she rose up further on her knees, purely mesmerized and curious. “Why do you sound like that? Did you come to France from a faraway place too? What’s your name?”

Arthur chuckled, tapping a gloved finger against her nose to silence her. “That’s a lot of questions, princess. You can call me Arthur. I come from a place called England, which is why my accent isn’t French.”

A soft “oh” fell from her mouth and she brightened up with delight. “Well, I like it. You should talk more.” Alara could hardly get enough of hearing the way he spoke. It was nothing like she had heard before, being cooped up in her home all day long.

“Don’t worry, we can never get him to shut up,” Another voice interrupted, gruff and sounding slightly irritated. Two more residents had come in, having heard the gossip of her arrival.

“Theo, don’t scare her.” The other came up to the table, sitting across from her. They, too, didn’t sound quite like the French but it was close. An angelic smile soothed any fears that might have arose. “Hello there, kleine bloem. I’m Vincent and this is my little brother Theodorus, but we all call him Theo. You’re a beautiful little girl.”

The girl beamed at him, already finding their company to be enjoyable. All of those living here were being so kind to her. The staff at her house avoided her unless told to give her instructions or to scold her for breaking the rules. “What does that mean?”

Theo plopped down next to his brother, eyeing her pancakes with narrowed eyes. “He called you little flower. You’re having pancakes for dinner?” He wasn’t disgusted by the idea, no, more a look of jealousy that she had his favorite food.

“Mmhmm. They’re really yummy!” Her head bobbed with her words.

Vincent rested his chin on his palm, elbow leaned against the table, observing her closely. “Theo loves pancakes too. He eats them nearly every morning.” He received an empty glare filled with shock from the one next to him.

“Mama used to make them for me before we moved to France but now, she doesn’t make them. I wish--” Her happy expression melted into sorrow. The events of her evening flooding back to her mind. Alara dropped her gaze down to the table.

The sight of her mother’s body, drenched in blood, took away her breath. Her empty eyes had gazed right through her, like she wasn’t even there. That had been when her stepfather had found her, a crazed glint in his eyes. And he had smiled.

He never smiled at her, rarely even acknowledged her existence.

But tonight, he had grinned at her like a predator finding the perfect prey.

This only intended to be a one shot to introduce her to all the boys but it turned out much longer so I had to split it up between 3 ish parts. I wanted to get up a tiny tidbit of this munchkin before Xathia unleashes her AMAZING fic with her lovely oc Evelyn that also features my little Alara in it!

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Fallon you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Thorfinn Rowle!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Death Eaters are always chilling to me, especially when written well, and Thorfinn was no exception. I loved how you balanced the subtle edge between charming and vengeful and constructed a character who uses everything he can to his advantage and spares no mercy. Your interpretation for him was everything that I didn’t realize he was lacking in skeleton form alone, and it was beautiful (and terrifying) seeing him come to life in your writing! We’re so excited to see what you do to build him further and what kind of impact he’ll have in the rp! *your request to age Thorfinn up has been accepted

application beneath the cut; tw: death, violence, murder, torture, abuse

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello! I’m Fallon, twenty-one, reside in the CST, and go by She/Her pronouns. And for that optional fact: I am originally from Germany.

ACTIVITY

Between a 1-10 I would currently set myself at a 6 or 7. I do run two roleplays of my own, and university is back in session as well as me having work.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

Your confessions blog showed up on my recommended blogs, and clicking it out of curiosity, I found myself very much appreciative of all the kind words your members left there. Hoping the roleplay was still active I clicked onward to the main, thus discovering your exquisite roleplay! Also sidenote hi Jen Boo Bear.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Hang on to your wands, kids, because this is about to get deep (sorta). I identify most with Sirius Black (alright, so maybe I haven’t been to Azkaban, but we’re disregarding that bit). Being considered as an initial outcast, especially amongst his family, is something I can greatly relate to. With a family that has always ventured on a certain path, holds strict values, and expects their descendants not to differ, both my brother and I haven’t always been received in the best of light. But in the end this unfortunate upbringing didn’t discourage him, but shaped him, and I like to believe that like Sirius, in the end, will be sure of my chosen path.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Just to age up Thorfinn to twenty as earlier discussed, and thank you for considering my application!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Thorfinn Aesir Rowle

Thorfinn: ‘thunder’

Aesir: ‘of the gods’

Rowle: ‘renown, wulf, wolf’

FACE CLAIM

Dominic Sherwood

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I’m a sucker for the dark, battle-worn antagonist, and most likely lack the ability to play anything but. I often play Antonin Dolohov or Amycus Carrow, but one of the things that drew me to Thorfinn Rowle was the simple fact that I’ve never seen him as a character in an HP roleplay before, and that I was instantly drawn to give his character a voice that I have yet to see. I immensely enjoyed all the carefully chosen aesthetics for your characters, but the dark princeling aura I was struck with by Thorfinn’s stuck with me.

I see him with wicked grins and darkly promising smirks; donning a crimson, cracked crown. He is not the calm before the storm, or the storm itself. He is the devastating aftermath; what the world left for others to see. A loose cannon, an army’s artillery, the Coliseum walls, and possibly the tragedy of Pompeii. Rage is his conquerer. I see him a strong-willed and brutally honest; with a sharp dose of unforgiving. He is prepared to move hell and earth to obtain what he wants, obliterate anything in his path no matter the consequence. Socially, he prefers isolation; volatile actions being the loudest thing about him. He’s apathetic, and considers emotions a distraction, a waste of ability. People tend to avoid him due to his cynic and unpredictable nature. However, if he likes you— though you would never find him admitting it— then he’s more inclined to make an effort not to piss you off. He wears vengeance without a cloak, and has swept over lives with its very existence. His charming persona is often a ruse, a swift way to invite you in before the killing blow.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Thorfinn identifies as a male with the use of He/Him pronouns. Though he is demisexual, he has found that he holds a preference for men. Romance is a falsity, and sex is as simple as intoxicated convenience. With parents that married due to bloodline, had a child for the sole purpose of an heir and lineage, he does not hold the best views on relationships. He considers them a ruse, and strongly believes he lacks the emotions to pursue them (or hold the patience to achieve them).

As for ships, Thorfinn, I believe, would do well with someone of similar mind and position. A death eater, as merciless as himself, would cause an initial, gravitational pull. Someone that has known their share of tragedy, and that holds a pension for volatile behavior. Someone he can kill with, but also, in the end, perhaps trust and self-teach a fondness for.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

You can find headcanons, aesthetics, a playlist, and more on a mock blog right HERE!

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

His mouth twisted with vile intent. There were plenty of spells for inducing silence; to singe the worthless tongues emitting mindless, dimwitted banter. “Perhaps a spell that removes your tongue,” he proposed, mismatched eyes flickering toward his inquirer, “so that when the silence is lifted, you will be forced to remain mute.” He sunk into the leather sofa — his seat a throne wherever he sat— and hoisted legs crossed at the ankle atop a crystalline table. Someone’s priceless heirloom, no doubt. Thorfinn pictured his knuckles testing the strength of the glass, and the force needed to fracture its history. How little he cared, and how much he urged to set ablaze someone’s foundation of precious memory. “Or,” he continued, a dark chuckle bubbling within the cauldron of his hollow throat, “I could simply cut out your tongue.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

His grin was a trap; a feigned charming persona a fallacy. It was an invitation to lean toward the wolf’s bloodied maw and bare their jugular to ivory fangs; their life forfeit to his usurping snarl. Camaraderie was a long lost, archaic concept to the bloodied prince. Who would he have beside him in war, if not but himself, the only being he knew to depend on upon a genocidal battleground? “Freyja.” At least she was loyal. “Scarier than any bloody werewolf, and knives have never done me wrong.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

His brows furrowed, and a dramatic, over-exasperated sigh was its accompaniment. “The decision to answer this question.” He could feel his hands become coated in oil-slick scarlet, sticking his palms together with familial blood. Then his fingers, curling around the dagger’s hilt, and its silvery blade embedding its sharp structure into an unmarred canvas. Again. And again. And again. The parental slaughter had been the most effortless decision of his life. What could be difficult, when your actions were comprised of reactive ideas? Decisions for my wellbeing, he thought, the realization tasting acidic.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

Flames licked behind mismatched irises. That was rather personal. Through his stoic demeanor came a feign of allowance where discord stood vigil. The query posed could never truly hold a valid response. To allow a crack disrupt his fortress? The idea was built on an inferior man’s principles. His voice captured a death eater’s generic principle: “That I was merciful.” What priest in their dutiful confessional could possess his true answer? Oh, how Thorfinn’s words could set its frame ablaze. The presence of his sins could ignite it, perishing the priest to embers, leaving the scene to ash.

WRITING SAMPLE

(Flashback, Age seventeen, Christmas Eve)

Outside, the Rowle mansion was an exquisite portrait; its estate’s entirety blanketed by a delicate layer of frigid snow. Dusk had sunk the brightest globe, and engulfed the elegant architecture in a fine veil of twilight. Inside, the shadowed hallways were ablaze with screeching, humanoid howls. Inside, a chamber’s immoral walls were drenched by a garnet-tinted paint.

It had begun with his vision of a mother— an empress in her evening silk. A son had ascended stairs which rose toward heaven, yet truly descended into hell. She was seated upon her deep-violet, ornately carved throne, the tip of a feathered quill peeking through a curtain of ashen hair as her cranium dipped to write upon parchment. “I am busy, Asger.” The son had taken another, sinisterly determined step. His mother’s head lifted, and he was met with her porcelain features through a mirror’s reflection. She swiveled around to face him. “Thorfinn.” Her tone was riddled with surprise; had he ever intruded her chambers before? Or, perhaps, the shock withdrawn from her siren-song voice was the result of his wand, steadily directed toward her. She rose with  years of practiced grace, and he, the birthed puppeteer whom cut her fraying chords by a whispered, fatal curse. And then, she cascaded, her elegance smite. She looked like the angel she never was. And him? Only demons soaked themselves in blood.

The man convulsed beneath the wand’s volatile scrutiny. Its possessor stalked felled prey, predatory gate circling the pursuit of an oncoming kill. The last of his lineage, brought low.  “How does it feel?” he queried, tone level, voice failing to rise above his father’s ceaseless war-cries. “Does your blood feel frozen? Do your bones feel shattered? Does your body feel ripped apart?” He wished to pluck his tendons, incinerate his veins. How does it feel? he thought, to be the receiver of such senseless, merciless brutality. He’d known its pained definition for seventeen years— a length that which confessed itself a millennia of accursed onslaught. His father had swallowed lucifer’s luck; he’d only tasted its iron for mere hours.

And then he unsheathed a bladed heirloom; meant for crystalline encasement, yet selected for insidious motive. Thorfinn knelt beside his father’s mangled figure, the torturous curse subsiding, paying tribute to its subterfuge. “How does it feel?” he repeated, the inquiry infested with sadistic promise. “I’ll teach you.”  Like you taught me. There was a spray of pink mist as he drove the dagger home, discoloring his ivory flesh. Turbulent wrath. Barbaric savagery. Ferocious fury. Colossal sin. The blade rescinded to his potent rage with a sickening shing and squelch. The knife committed its massacre; a rerun of sharp steel embedding itself into a shallow-breathing frame.

The host’s mouth parted to expel a current of blood; staining loathing lips with death’s lipstick. Again, a caged voice whispered, rattling his vandalized skull. Again. Again. Again. The battlecries no longer echoed from his father’s frozen throat. They were his elicitations, tearing through his system with each thrust of the weapon.

Exhaustion finalized the deed. At its release, the knife struck the earth with clattering force. The victor rose, armored in liquified rubies. His victim lay in grotesque mutilation, a corpse devoid of its proper casket. The wraith vanished from its demolishing destination, and sought an eloquent alternative.

Deft digits slipped upon the keys, revealing red smears upon their stark notes. The kneazle’s lioness paws left perfect, scarlet-printed shapes atop the piano’s glossy roof. She sat poised on charcoal-colored haunches, sharing a piercing gaze with her murderous owner. “Happy Christmas, Freyja.”

[phynxrizng]

7 BAD - ASS CHICKS OF MYTHOLOGY

LIFESTYLE 7 BAD-ASS CHICKS OF MYTHOLOGY.

FIGHTING A BATTLE? HOOK UP WITH A WARRIOR GODDESS LIFESTYLE

WITCH APRIL 20, 2016

   by Renée Damoiselle

Sometimes in life it feels like we can use a little support!  We fight battles every day, don’t we?

Some of them are quite literal battles and some are more metaphorical.  Whatever you’re struggling with, working on, fearing or reaching for, there is a Goddess who can help.

Set forth below are brief descriptions of 7 Warrior Goddesses and the reasons you might want to work with them.   If you can’t seem to find your own power in any given situation, borrow a bit from one of these amazing Ladies.  I’ll give you some tips on how to do that.

But first, let’s get down a few basics.

When I say “working with a goddess” (or working with any deity for that matter), what I’m talking about is building a relationship with that entity.

Whether you believe the gods and goddesses to be actual autonomous supernatural entities or simply believe these mythologies represent psychological archetypes, they can be extremely useful to you in your endeavors.

Alright.  If you’re going to do battle, you need a few rules of engagement.

The first thing I’m going to lay on you, my witchy friends, is some really powerful shit.  Magic Words.  Yup,  You need some specific Magic Words to deal with deity.

When I teach this subject in person, I usually put the question out to the crowd.  “What are the Magic Words?”  … Usually the response is … crickets.

If there is an audience member under the age of 10 and if I prod enough, generally that child will eventually raise her hand and say… “um… Please and Thank You?”     YES Little magical child!  Yes!  Please and Thank You!

The point is, we approach deity with respect and gratitude.  We are building relationships here, asking favors.  It’s a little different from what most Americans normally think of as prayer.  It’s not one-sided.  Remember that and you’ll be alright.

Also, the Goddesses set forth below all have very rich mythologies and there are differing opinions on what mythologies apply to them and what may have been more recently made up or blended with other deities.  PLEASE, do some research!

This quick overview is intended to give you some idea of which goddesses you may want to work with.

It is not intended as the final word.  If you find yourself attracted to a particular warrior based on these descriptions, then get more information on her. Do your research with a sincere desire to get to know her in your heart.  This will move you forward in your relationship.

I’m going to give you some basic ideas about offerings, altar spaces and ritual practice.  Experiment with these things.  There is no hard and fast right or wrong in these practices.  You will slowly get to know these entities and how they communicate with you!  If you approach with respect and sincerity you will be well received.

And before we get into the goddess stories, I want to offer you one more word about requesting the presence of the goddess for your ritual, prayer, meditation or offering.

You can invoke a deity by requesting its presence and lighting a candle and paying attention to the energies around you.  This implies inviting the goddess IN from somewhere else (her own realm, I guess).  And this is fine.

But you’d do well – and, I believe, find yourself much more empowered in the long run, to EVOKE the goddess.  This is the practice of bringing her into your presence from where she truly resides…. Inside of you!

“If that which thou seekest, thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.”  ~ Doreen Valiente.

If you’re not familiar with that quote… please – do yourself a huge favor and Google it.  You will not be disappointed.

And now… on to our Goddesses!

1. Athena

Do you need a great strategy for your battle?  An intellectual approach?  Do you need to curb those emotions?  Athena might be the Lady for you. I think she’s perfect for someone going through a divorce or other court battle.

The Greek goddess, Athena, is usually portrayed as one of the most benevolent goddesses.  “Athena – Goddess of Wisdom” is known for her superb logic and intellect.

A supreme strategist, She helped Perseus defeat the Gorgon.  She is always on the side of the Hero trying to accomplish the impossible.

If Athena were to wear a button on her …. well, her breast-plate, it would read “Keep Calm and Reason On!”

If you are on a hero’s quest or in need of cool-headed assessment of a battle …. Athena is the lady to call upon.  Honor her with images of owls, shields and spears, also with artisanal creations including writing, weaving and metal-craft.  Her candle should be royal blue or gold.

2. The Morrigan

While Athena keeps us detached and calculating, there is no doubt that sometimes a bit of a fierce, powerful, passionate rage is what is called for.

Are you a bit “Goth”?  Do images of ravens appeal to you.  Do you LOOOOVE to wear all black?   This Celtic goddess might be for you.  The Morrigan is definitely a witch’s goddess.  She’s all about magic and spell-craft and getting what you want.

She’s been known by many names including (but not limited to)  Morrigu, Morgain, Morgan,  Lady of the Lake.

Our dear Morrigan embodies the phrase, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” She is known for endurance and fierceness in battle.  Among her magical talents are shape-shifting and prophecy.

If the Morrigan were to wear a button on her breastplate it would read, “Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.”

If you are drawn to the Morrigan’s power, honor her with images of crows, ravens, bones and blood.   Her candle should be black or red.

3. Brigid

There are so many issues that this goddess can help with, it’s difficult to boil them down.  Are you an activist?  A medical professional? A poet? A blacksmith? A mother who has suffered the loss of a child?

See what I mean?  Brigid’s mythology covers such a broad spectrum of life experiences that she can almost suit anyone at any time in their lives.

Brigid, sometimes called Brighd, Bride, Brid, is the Celtic Lady of the Flames: As the warrior she embodies the concept of Fire in so many ways encompassing the other elements as well.

She is often associated with the Forge and metal-craft (Fire meets earth).  In this aspect, she can help with the process of the “Self-forge”.  This concept compares the trials and difficulties of life with the smithing of weaponry.

The blade of a sword is repeatedly plunged into the fire and heated almost to the point of destruction and then plunged into water to cool.  This process is called tempering and it strengthens the blade.  Call upon Brigid if you’re going through the fire.

Brigid is also seen as a compassionate healer (Fire meets water). She was said to have talent with herbal healing.

In her aspect as inspiration for poets and writers (Fire meets air) she can help you finish a book or give you inspiration for the lyrics for your next hit song.

In any endeavor Brigid can provide the passion to remain steadfast and perseverant in your quest.

If Brigid were to wear a button on her breastplate it would read, “All Fired Up!”

To honor her, use poetry or anything hand crafted. Images of serpents, calves and ewes are also appropriate.  Her candle should be purple.

To help with your research, I highly recommend this wonderful, in-depth book about Brigid, if you are interested in working with her:   Brigid: History, Mystery and Magick of the Celtic Goddess by Courtney Weber

4. Sekhmet

Do you fear the label, “bitch”, so often applied to feminists and strong women?  Do you need to be more assertive?  Or, alternatively, do you claim that persona and wear it proudly? Are you on the battlefield of today’s feminist movement?

Sekhmet, the Egyptian lioness goddess might just be for you.  Her name means “Powerful”.  Fierce and gracious, regal and deadly, She embodies the traits of instinct, temper, death & destruction.  Sekhmet’s breath represented a hot desert wind, and her body was the glare of the midday sun.

She was called “The Great Harlot” in the Book Of Revelations because she represents that aspect of the limitless power in women that terrifies patriarchy!  She is the bitch to embrace!  Don’t deny her or her aspect of yourself.

If Sekhmet were to wear a button on her breastplate, it would read, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of my desert!”

If you recognize something of yourself in this goddess, honor her with images of Lions, the sun,  blood and pomegranate flavored beer.  Her candle should be golden/tan (like the color of a lion or the golden desert) or blood red.

5. Durga

Are you battling something that appears to be insurmountable?  Have you already approached the enemy from a variety of angles to no avail?  You may want to call on Durga.

One of my students recently pointed out that Durga is the goddess of the right tool for the job.  And she is!  With a thousand arms and a different weapon in each, Durga can vanquish any demon, even a shape-shifting one!

Her mythology puts her at the very height of the Hindu pantheon.

Durga was formed by the concentrated will of all the existing gods.  They created her in response to a demon they could not destroy, which threatened their utter destruction… so naturally, they created a GoddESS to take care of it! She cannot be defeated.

If Durga were to wear a button on her breastplate, it would read, “Whatever Doesn’t Kill Me Better Run!”

Honor her with images of lotus flowers, lions or tigers, anything golden, bright and reflective.  Her candle should be white and multiple wicked!

6. Freya

Teachers, witches learning spell-craft, would be seductresses, you may hear the call of the lovely Freya.

Freya, sometimes Freyja, is the Norse Queen of The Valkyries – entitled to half of the fallen heroes on the battlefield.

She taught the spell-craft of the Runes to the Gods, including Odin.  Freya’s mythology includes tales of her irresistible beauty.  Her mythology includes tales of unbridled sexuality and even stories which depict her trading sexual favors for a particularly powerful talisman.

The goddess Freya reminds us to explore and acknowledge all of our emotions, longings, and traits, even those we wish we didn’t possess.  If you love Aphrodite and/or Venus – but want a strong warrior essence along with the love aspect…Freya is a great choice.

If Freya wore a button on her breastplate, it would read, “No Regrets!”

She follows heart… who cares what others think? Do you need this? Honor her with Flowers and Music (as she SO values beauty!) Amber and Gold, images of falcons or cats … (a pair of blue lynx drew her chariot!)  Her candle should be the color of passion!  Red!

7. Kali

Are you ready to get real with yourself?  Doing some Shadow work, or simply trying to uncover some deep truth in your own nature?  If you are NOT into coddling, Kali may be your lady.

Kali is equated with the eternal night, as the transcendent power of time, so named because she devours kala (time) and then resumes her own dark formlessness. Kali represents the “enfolded order” in modern physics.  She is the formless void, yet full of potential.

Her frightening depictions are misleading, because she brings liberation from shadow, which is the highest form of compassion. The goddess of tough love, Kali is in your face, but on your side. She can provide you with courage to face the truth and also to release yourself from the false self  – the ego.

If Kali wore a button on her breastplate (well.. actually, on her necklace of skulls) – it would read, “The truth shall set you free; but first, it will piss you off!”

Honor her with images of skulls, swords or dance in her honor (a frenzied, ecstatic type of dance). Her candle and altar should be black.

There you have it, warriors of the world!  Now go forth and be Bad-Ass, with a little help from the Ladies here!

Source About the Author:

Renée Damoiselle is a Worldly Wise Crone Witch with personal ties to warrior deities. Her “raised eyebrow” style of Truth-Telling enables her clients to face the realities of their challenges and triumphs with confidence and humor (each when necessary). Renée offers divination and coaching combining Cartomancy, Reiki, Skrying, Mediumship and a healthy dose of good old common sense. She also offers many workshops and talks and facilitates women’s spiritual retreats. Friend her on Facebook.

The next Goddess Retreat will take place in Sedona, AZ in May 2016! It’s going to be awesome! E-mail AffordableSedonaRetreat@gmail.com for more information and a FREE GIFT! For more about Renée, read her blog.

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WITCH exists to nourish magic in the world through shadow integration and shamelessness done with an awareness of “as within, so without - as above, so below."rnrnTo write for us and reach an audience of thousands, please send submissions to assistant editor Karolina Boldt at badwitcheseditor@gmail.com. rnrn

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Reposted by, PHYNXRIZNG

[yurutono]

Seven Devils Chap. 3

((FF.net))          ((AO3))

Word Count: 

Rating: T

Nozomi had always felt strange supernatural things that others around her didn't notice. When she was younger, she felt the presence of her mother and father there for her, despite the fact they disappeared years ago and once, when walking through a graveyard on a simple walk, she saw a widowed woman being comforted by the spirit of her late husband, although she was oblivious.

But the constant malice surrounding Eli was outright scary. She daren't say a word though, as she knew this wasn't the simple matter of an angry poltergeist, restless ghost or misguided spirit. She had never felt something like this ever before and Eli seemed to be getting worse, or in the very least, that she was hiding something.

She sighed as she entered the dungeons, slipping past the cells towards the end.

Inside, a figure was pacing, hands forcibly chained up and with heavy looking sealing gloves locked in place by the shackles on her wrists.

Nozomi leant on the bars, not at all scared, “Ah, Yoshiko-chan. Or is it Yohane right now?”

“Ah-!” The girl startled, but calmed down when her eyes fell upon Nozomi, “Can't you tell the guards I'm not going to do anything?!”

“I can't do that, I'm sorry. I know you won't, but the problem lies with Yohane, does it not?”

She groaned and slumped on the wall, sliding down on it until she was sat on the floor.

“I know this is a difficult request, but… I need to talk to Yohane.”

“Are you crazy?! I'm not going to call her out on purpose!”

Nozomi sighed and waved a guard over, “I'm sorry, but this is very important.”

“Forget it!”

She went with the guard to Yoshiko’s things, finding her possessions, rifling through until she found a black feather. Even the aura that the feather gave off was threatening.

Nozomi had met Yoshiko before. An enthusiastic young teenager, who had made the mistake of getting far too into the supernatural things of this world and becoming possessed by a fallen angel.

They had met in the city cemetery near the outskirts, and Nozomi had become curious as to what she was doing there. She even sensed something within her that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She was even the one who had first noticed her possession.

It was with a heavy heart that Nozomi saw her imprisoned. A girl, soon to be a young woman, would be spending that transitioning time behind bars and in shackles.

She ran her fingers along the feather as she was allowed inside, but Yoshiko pressed herself up against the wall, “Wh-what?! I thought I threw that feather away!”

“Listen, Yoshiko-chan, I will make sure nothing bad happens to you, I promise. Yohane won't be able to do anything,” She reassured as the girl began to tremble, “I have to know something and I'm afraid only Yohane can help. Nothing bad will happen to you.”

Yoshiko glanced away and shook her head, “Fine… If… If it's what you need…”

Nozomi's expression softened, “I'm sorry…”

Yoshiko didn't say anything more as Nozomi put the black feather in her bun. This was something Nozomi had observed that triggered the manual possession, even though the fallen angel could jump in at mostly any time. Unfortunately, the prison had no time nor any money to spare regarding finding an exorcist skilled enough to get rid of the powerful influence.

Yoshiko’s body shuddered and she clearly winced as a pair of pitch black wings burst out of her back and the sclera of her eyes mirrored the colour of her wings, then jumping up on her feet.

“Who calls upon the fallen angel Yohane?”

The cell door behind her clanked shut and Nozomi sucked in a long breath, “I want to know something.”

“Oh? And what does a mere mortal want with Yohane?”

“Do you sense something in this world? In the castle above maybe? You're in the dungeons after all.”

“Hmm… And what if I do?” Yohane crossed her arms despite the shackles.

“Then I'd like you to tell me.”

“I suppose I have no reason to withhold anything…” The fallen angel hummed, “Alright! Listen, for Yohane will only tell you once!”

“I feel the presence of the Seven Devils!”

“Seven Devils?” Nozomi tilted her head and her brow knitted in worry.

“Correct! Of course, you're wondering who they are. Well, well… The Devils are dedicated, ruthless and cunning! And if they are, as I suspect, targeting your queen, then I am afraid she stands little chance of getting through this. I have never met even one of them, but I have heard of them many a time…”

Nozomi retained her frown, shaking her head, “Is there anything I can do…?”

“Well, they have all the typical weaknesses of demons and fiends, but I suspect they are not in this realm so those can be exploited… All you can do is pray. I unfortunately cannot tell you of their goals, but if they are to achieve them then they are likely to come to this realm at some point.”

“Ah…” Nozomi looked to the ground, “Thank you for your help…”

“Of course,” Yohane bowed, arms outstretched before her hand went to her feather, “If you'll excuse me, this cell is quite depressing so I would rather not stay longer than I am required.”

Nozomi nodded and took the feather after Yohane pulled it out. She caught Yoshiko as she fell and eased her down, her wings retracting and her eyes going back to normal.

“Ah… Yoshiko-chan, are you okay?”

It took a moment for her to respond, “Yeah I… I suppose I am. Did she tell you what you wanted…?”

“She did. Thank you. I know I can't really thank you properly, but…”

“It's fine… It's nothing anyway,” Yoshiko waved her hand and sat back, “I guess you have to be getting back then.”

“I'm afraid so.”

Without another word, Nozomi was let out of her cell, but she felt a deep regret for the fact that she couldn’t help the girl at all. She didn’t have the knowledge, nor the power for it. Maybe in the future, she would be able to find someone to exorcise the fallen angel’s possession out of her, but right now, Yoshiko would have to stay behind bars. She only hoped that she would be allowed to walk free one day.

~

Eli had been stood on the tallest spire of her castle to try and get away from, well… Everything. The fresh air and the overlooking of the peaceful kingdom did something to put herself at ease. But she should have known better; far better.

Seemingly, after one small blink, chaos had fallen. Fires raged, smoke rose and the castle below was crumbling and dilapidated.

“I think it looks better like this, don’t you?”

She turned her head to see Maki beside her, gazing over alongside with a smirk on her face. Eli shook her head, “You have a twisted perception of the world.”

Maki growled, almost as if she was expecting Eli to agree with her, but Eli knew that was ridiculous.

“It doesn't matter what you think anyway,” She said with a shrug, Eli noting the calm glow of her chest, “All of this,” She swept her arm over, “Is coming closer and closer to becoming a vision of the future. It may already be.”

“You're trying to delude me.”

The deadpan in her voice caused the furnace to glow hotter, but the anger Eli expected was replaced with a smirk, “If that's what you want to think, that's the only delusion you're suffering from.”

 “Tell me something,” Maki scoffed at that, but otherwise listened, “One of you is coming to my realm, aren't you?”

“Hmm? I don't know about that,” She lied smoothly, “Are you sure you're not paranoid?”

Eli grunted and rubbed her temple, “I think I have a good reason to be paranoid.”

“That is true, isn’t it?” Maki sighed and a stream of smoke left her mouth, but her mood appeared to take a turn from this surprisingly positive one for Maki, when a puff of yellow smoke revealed Rin, sat on the edge of the stone overlooking the city, swinging her legs like a child.

“Rin.” Maki acknowledged her with a dull tone, her chest flaring up alarmingly.

“Ah? Don’t be like that Maki-chan, nya!”

“Did I say I wanted you here?”

“Mm… No,” Rin said casually as she hopped up, whilst Maki looked tempted to push her off the edge, “C'mon Maki-chan, I wanna enjoy this too!”

Maki growled and folded her arms, “No. Go.”

Rin only shook her head, seemingly attempting to push Maki further.

“You two…” Eli finally interrupted, “Can I ask something?”

“Depends, nya.”

Maki only grunted in begrudging agreement with Rin.

“Is one of you coming to the mortal realm?”

“Who did you hear that from?” Maki asked, not seeming very fazed at all.

“Kotori.”

“You think Kotori tells the honest purest truths the entire time, if at all? Her entire character is based on lies.”

Eli opened her mouth to retort, but closed it when she realised she had nothing to say. Maki did seem to be the voice of reason right now, ironically.

“She was probably doing it to get under your skin. You know how she is, nya.”

Eli was surprised to see the two agreeing with each other, only able to feel an immense sense of suspicion. But she didn't push it any further, deciding to doubt, but not voice anything. Maybe she was being paranoid?

Maki snapped her out of her daze, making her move to push Rin off the spire, but of course, Rin appeared back up there in another puff of smoke, as though she was expecting it to happen. Flames burned out of the corners of Maki’s lips, but she didn't do anything more.

“Well. We'll leave you to your fresh air.” Maki shrugged and in the next instant, the devils were gone and her kingdom the same. But she could only wonder how long it would stay that way.

~

Maki growled, bursting into Rin’s room, which was rather garish for her tastes and nearly tearing the hinges off the door. Thankfully, this entire place of residence was fire proof, otherwise God knows what would have happened.

“Rin?! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Nya?!” Rin jumped up and dodged away from the swipe that came her way, “I don't see why you're so mad!”

“Because,” Maki grabbed a chair, hurling it towards her, “You know I like to do things alone!”

“But we have to work together, nya!”

“Then work with Hanayo, or Kotori, or Umi!” She threw whatever random items she could at her with each name, but Rin dodged them all, only making her more and more angry. Her chest glowed red hot.

“You need to break out of your shell!” Rin protested.

“I don't need to break out of anything!” The furnace in her chest dimmed only slightly, “You interrupt me one more time,” Her chest flared, “And you will not come out the other side. Understand?!”

Rin nodded, not really feeling the threat behind it, but figuring it would cause her less trouble to just agree. And it seemed to work, as Maki turned and slammed the door without another word.

Rin sat back, jumping down from the shelf she had perched herself on, wondering why she even bothered.

~

How does one defeat a devil? A being known little about, a being that lived in another realm and a being with an unknown amount of power.

Nozomi found herself pondering that, as she looked towards her wife who was worsening by the day. She looked sunken and pale and ill.

And she was sure that the advisors and servants were noticing as well. It was becoming increasingly obvious that something was wrong with their fair ruler. They probably assumed that it was an illness and she wasn't surprised to find that Eli’s personal physician, Riko, had been called into the room.

Riko politely requested that Nozomi left the room, but Eli said she didn't mind. If anything, she probably deserved to know about her personal health.

“Alright… Well, I've been called in because people around the castle have been worried about your health. If you don't mind, I’d just like to run a quick examination.”

Eli glanced to Nozomi briefly, but nodded.

Riko specialised in healing magic, a former priestess by trade prior to coming to work under the crown. Nozomi wondered if she would be able to detect what Yohane had told her was the presence of the Devils, but she doubted it. Being out of touch with the church for a while and only being specialised in healing, meant that she probably wouldn't notice a thing, other than the fact her magic made no progress.

“I'll leave for a moment,” Nozomi stood, “Please excuse me.”

She smiled to Riko before leaving with a sigh.

In the room, Eli crossed her legs, “So, what do you think it is?”

“Hmm, just from looking at you, I'd say something like a cold, but you aren't really coughing and sneezing, are you? Unbalanced humours perhaps? A lack of sleep? You really must make sure to keep healthy, my lady.” Riko frowned as she made her way forward, but there was a knock on the door Nozomi had left from.

“Please excuse me, Sakurauchi-san,” Eli stood and Riko bowed aside.

A messenger stood by the door, let in by Nozomi, who bowed to Eli, “My lady,” He stood back upright, “A case is awaiting your presence. Nobleman Takahashi has been murdered.”

Eli bit back her surprise, instead frowning, “Who are the suspects?”

“We only have one suspect. His wife.”

“His wife? You're sure?” Eli asked incredulously. She had met his wife on a few occasions and she seemed just as lovely a woman as Takahashi himself did.

“The details on the case await when you take your seat.”

She glanced to Riko, “I'm afraid I must attend to this. The examination can wait.”

Riko looked like she was about to protest, but she acquiesced, “As you wish.”

Eli followed the messenger towards the throne room, greeted by a crowd, of mainly rich parties, whilst Takahashi’s wife stood in the midst of it all in shackles.

Upon entering and taking her seat, Eli was handed a scroll detailing the murder. Takahashi had been poisoned, although by what was unclear and there was a witness, a simple servant who had recently been hired. She wasn't suspected, because apparently evidence proved she hadn't been present during the time of death. If she had to admit it, the evidence looked quite damning.

“So, Takahashi-san, you have been accused of the murder of your spouse,” Eli said, leaning back with a sigh, “What do you say in your defense?”

“Please, y-you have to believe me, I did no such thing!” She exclaimed, “My husband was a good man! Why would I kill him?”

The tone of voice she used truly made Eli want to believe her. She thought back to the rather cryptic message Kotori had said though. Maybe she was hinting upon the fact that she had caught him cheating. Then again, how would she know?

“Bring the witness forward.” Eli instructed, but she froze when she saw her.

The servant girl had ashen hair and amber eyes, but lacked the horns and the tail Kotori usually had on display, but the smirk she gave Eli was tell-tale.

She had to stop herself from freezing up, but she did visibly tense up as she watched Kotori put on a panicked and shaken expression which was likely to fool anyone in the room.

“What’s your name?” Eli asked cautiously, masking it as skepticism over the case at hand.

“Yamashita Umeko,” She said with practiced ease, bowing to Eli with what she thought had very little sincerity behind it.

“What is your testimony to this unpleasant event?”

“Well, I… I had been hired as I was just passing through and looking for temporary work, s-so Takahashi-san agreed to hire me for a brief period of time…” Kotori said, “About a week into my working there I…” She swallowed, wiping away some crocodile tears, “I found Takahashi-san dead in his workroom with a teacup beside him, spilled on his desk…”

Eli knew this was a barefaced lie, perhaps not how he had died, but rather her involvement. Maybe she had been the servant girl for the week, but she knew that there was no doubt in her mind Kotori had been the one to poison Takahashi.

It was a horrific feeling to be powerless in her own kingdom, something she supposedly had entire dominion over. She couldn't just accuse Kotori either, knowing the outcry it would gain her.

“And Takahashi-san acknowledges that Yamashita-san was not on duty and in the home in the time of death?”

She sighed, “Yes, of course… I wouldn't want to throw her to the wolves simply because things aren't looking good in my favour.”

Eli couldn't help but admire that. A woman of her class could easily frame a lowly servant girl if she wanted to, but her morality must have gotten the better of her.

“Then you must know you are the only candidate for murdering your husband that we have any idea of?” As much as Eli wanted to believe her, she knew that there was nothing else she could do. In fact, she did believe her, but she couldn't let her go. Sorrowfully, she watched the woman nod.

“I'm afraid with all the evidence, my hands are bound. I sentence you to life in the dungeons.”

The woman bowed her head and began to sob as she was taken off to the dungeons, whilst Eli turned back to Kotori.

“Yamashita-san… I apologise for your experience in my kingdom.” Her voice was guarded as she stood from her throne, “Please, accept my gratitude for your bravery in coming forward today.” She bowed her head and Kotori did the same.

“Thank you, my lady,” She raised her head, sending a smirk her way, “I understand this is no reflection on the rest of your kingdom.”

With that, the crowd began to disperse and Kotori had seemingly disappeared among it. Eli knew she didn't mean a word of her well-meaning and this was a way to twist her morality.

And it was working. She had just put an innocent woman in jail for the rest of her life.