#it works because its the first time exercising a demon

[xalygatorx]

A Case of the Slumps | Alastor x Depressed!GN!Reader

Summary: It seems you've brought your brain chemistry down to Hell with you. Figures.

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, depression and related symptoms/thoughts (obvi), cinnamon roll Charlie, Angel gives you a Xanax but you don't take it, platonic Alastor with a hint of possible unspoken romantic feelings, unexplained cause of death, present tense for some reason, reader is gender neutral

A/N: Crosspost of a recent oneshot from my AO3 because I figured if I'm in a slump, someone else probably is too. x

Sometimes it was a thought. Sometimes it was the time of year or the weather, when Hell's crimson sky was kept dark for long periods of time by an uptick of brimstone in the atmosphere or the lingering storm clouds after an acidic downpour. Sometimes it was a memory. A song. A smell.

Sometimes it was seemingly nothing at all.

Just like when you were alive, your now-dead brain hasn't lost its particular quality of liking to work against itself. It's impossible to say whether it's a continued chemical imbalance—that'd be likely right? If demons can do drugs, then clearly there's still something to brain chemistry in Hell—or if death took a snapshot of your self and your mind as they were in life.

It doesn't really matter what it is either because it still affects you just the same. And because you haven't had a depressive episode yet post-mortem, you haven't done any of the legwork you had to do in life on your own to figure out what's "wrong" with you, who might hear you and listen, and what medication(s) works.

So when it does hit, it hits like a tidal wave no one else can see. The wave itself, anyway—everyone can see you drowning.

That first slump isn't kind enough to hit in the morning when you can sleep in—or rather stare with dead eyes at the wall, bundled under your duvet and blankets as you put off the day passing by around you. No, that first slump hits in the middle of one of Charlie's exercises, one that you were enthusiastic about participating in just an hour ago. What happened?

You know. This feeling is an old friend you'd hoped to never meet again.

Charlie doesn't though, not right away. After you excuse yourself by means of referencing a stomachache you only kind of have—and only from the emptiness pooling in your gut and humming in your chest—she catches up to you in the hallway.

"Hey!" she chirps, leaning around to look at you when you stop but don't turn around. If anything, you curl further into yourself. She doesn't notice though—the only ones who would notice your change are the ones who know to look for it. Charlie, bless her heart, doesn't have that earthly world experience yet. "Do you want us to wait up for you or…?"

"Oh, uh, no," you stammer out, yearning for a big hoodie to comfortably drown in or a cup of tea, the idea of which sounds lovely but you don't even like tea. Everything that would normally feel like a treat sounds stressful or unappetizing, leaving you uncertain about what exactly you're meant to be doing. That's when the lethargy hits hardest. "I don't feel well, so I'm just gonna rest for a while."

Charlie's brow scrunches. You can tell she's about to argue that you'll never get into Heaven if you don't stick to the exercises and something akin to a sudden flash of anger roils in your chest, kicking the dead gray weight of apathy in the teeth. Because how dare she question your commitment, your hopes, your dreams, because you're walking away this one time?

But if this is like life, if this can happen again now, how many more times will it happen? Is it over for you?

Something clicks behind her eyes though as she watches your face. You don't know this, of course, but she's seen the same look on Vaggie's face before. Primarily right after they found each other—Vaggie also fell into a pit of her own pain and trauma, a victim of her new normal until the new normal became preferable.

And, on those days, Vaggie didn't always want to be with Charlie. At some point, Charlie had to learn that it often had nothing to do with her when that happened, too. It helped her understand her father better, too, in the end. She'd needed to reach out to him, but she'd had to let Vaggie come to her when she was ready. Both were valid approaches for different people.

She decides to trust that you'll make it clear to her what you need when you're ready.

"Okay," she says and her kind voice spears your anger with guilt, killing it instantly. You were always good at that, weren't you? Pushing away the people who care. "You have my number. You have everyone's number—well, everyone with a phone anyway. Just let us know if you need something. Anything. Okay?"

You clench your teeth to hold back the burn of tears working its way up your throat. "Okay. Thanks, Charlie," you say and it comes out as sincerely as you mean it, which is good. At least something's gone right today.

"Would you like a hug?" Charlie offers, starting to hold out her arms and then hesitating when she wonders if that could feel like she was pressuring you.

You think about it and decide it's worth a try. "Sure," you say and you step into her arms. She runs even hotter than the other sinners you've met, being Hellborn. It's like cozying up just a couple inches too close to a fireplace, but it doesn't burn. She just feels like the hearth in the place that's swiftly become your home.

She doesn't let go before you're ready, but the second she feels you shift to step back, she lets her arms drop. She gives you a little wave before scampering back down the hall to resume the exercise in the lobby, leaving you to resume your trek to the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator and you've tapped the button for your floor, you fall back against the wall of the lift and run your hands down your face, sighing into your palms.

What you wouldn't give for an on-paper, calculable test that you could fill out and hand to a doctor or psychologist or someone who could tell you with complete certainty what's wrong with your brain and how to fix or endure it. Not only so you could feel better, but so you wouldn't be such a burden to your new friends, your found family. What good were you like this?

(The reality is that the group downstairs is mildly concerned, but otherwise just fine. Charlie can manage the exercise through sheer optimism alone and she has enough bandwidth to do that and be available to you as your friend whenever you need something.

A couple of the others noticed your deflated exit, perhaps because they've once been through similar episodes, and are either just hoping you feel better or trying to come up with some nice gesture to make whenever they see you next. Everything you're worried about or sure you've messed up is a product of your dopamine-deficient brain.)

You pass Angel in the hall on your way to your room as he's heading out for work and he, of course, knows that look. He just hasn't seen it on you before. He offers you a many-armed hug and what he tells you is a Xanax, telling you to text him if you need anything or just want to talk and he'll check on you whenever he's freed from the studio next.

You appreciate his offers and agree to all of it, except the unwrapped, unlabeled pill, which you get rid of once you're in your room. You trust Angel, but you're too paranoid about making whatever you're feeling worse. You barely knew how to deal with it in life, what's it going to be like in Hell?

A stretched-out old hoodie is procured from your closet and you tug it on, smoothing your hair back down as you amble toward the bed. You burrow under the blankets and try to sleep, but of course it doesn't come. You're not tired, after all. You're not even sad. There's just nothing where there's meant to be something, anything in your chest.

Hours pass and, even though you're not helping yourself by lying curled on your side and staring at the wall, you're listless. You can't talk yourself into getting up or getting something to eat. It's even hard to convince yourself to look at your phone, maybe because you've heard it buzz a few times with texts likely asking how you're doing. You don't want to answer them until it's a good answer. Until you can say you're doing better. Anything else is a disappointment, surely, for all involved.

Someone's knuckles rapping against your door makes you jolt, but you sink back into that unsteady feeling of mentally treading water instead of answering. They'll go away if they think you're sleeping. It's probably Charlie anyway, maybe checking on you ahead of dinner. Was it really almost dinnertime?

That was enough to motivate you to extract one arm from beneath the duvet, extend your hand to your phone, and tap the screen to wake it up. It was after dinner. Time was a construct and someone was still at the door, knocking more sharply now.

You bundle your arm back under the bedding, keeping your back to the door. Charlie wasn't that hard of a knocker, so maybe she'd sent Vaggie up to check on you? Husk tended to pound on doors with the side of his fist (and not come near any potentially weepy situation with a ten-foot pole), so it probably wasn't him. It might be Angel, you supposed. Short studio session, if so. Perhaps Pen, but the source of the noise was too high up to be Niffty. She'd barge on in anyway…

"My dear, I can hear you moving around in there, you know," the Radio Demon's voice informs you through the door and your heart nearly stops a second time.

Not Alastor, you sigh inwardly, covering your face in your hands again and trying not to groan lest he hear that, too.

It wasn't that you disliked Alastor. In fact, that wasn't the case at all. You'd been a bit scared of him at first, sure, when you'd initially crossed the threshold of the Hazbin Hotel and who could blame you? He was an imposing figure, someone you'd heard of within days of falling into Hell despite his seven-year sabbatical from the Pentagram.

He was also a prominent public figure from his radio show. That was how you'd first tried to get to know him a little better—you'd started tuning into his broadcasts, getting better at predicting the shrill screams of the souls he tore apart just before they blared through your speakers. You still missed them on occasion and would violently jolt upward from wherever you were sitting or lying while listening, floundering for the volume dial and usually finding it well after you needed it.

Alastor had spotted you do exactly that once during a prerecorded broadcast and, after he'd run the gambit of jokes he could make at your expense, the barrier that had existed between you two since your arrival started to come down. And while the jarring screams hadn't stopped, your radio's volume would inexplicably drop on its own ahead of them from then on. You couldn't come up with any explanation for this that didn't include Alastor's influence, but what may have been a kindness on the Radio Demon's part was directly rivaled by his then-new penchant for bursting out of the speakers in a swirl of shadow to scare you, himself, and ask you for feedback on the day's stories.

Those interruptions had become short bouts of small talk in the hall, a couple of cooperative efforts to cook the crew a delicious dinner, him holding doors for you whenever you happened to be traversing the hotel in the same direction… Little things. Lots of little things that had ended up with you considering him a friend, but who knew how he felt. He probably just thought you were amusing. What made it even worse was that you were beginning to suspect the extra pitter-patter of your heart whenever he showed up was no longer adrenaline anticipating him scaring you, but butterflies.

You poor thing. You weren't sure you could've picked a more surefire way to make a fool of yourself.

"I'm not decent," you finally say in an attempt to deter him, wincing a little at the hoarse quality of your voice. You'd only cried a little during your time in your room that day, but you'd cried hard. Partially in an effort to exorcise some of the bad feelings you were harboring, but it hadn't helped much.

"Well! Under all those blankets, I wouldn't even know, now would I!"

You squeak as you startle so much from hearing his staticky voice right behind your head that you end up in a heap on the floor between the wall and your bed.

By the time you untangle yourself from the duvet and pop your head out of the heap, he's maneuvered himself to the edge of the mattress and is peering over it while lying on his barely existent stomach. A thin, but amused smile curls his lips as his legs idly kick behind him like he's a high school girl at a sleepover.

"Was that necessary?" you ask, any amount of riling up he'd done with his sudden entrance falling away from you as your slump saps it of its vigor in one go.

Alastor's brows rise into his fringe, clearly a little caught off-guard. You can understand why—you usually either laugh or, if he gets you badly enough, clutch your chest and scold him for nearly causing your second death via a heart attack.

He tilts his head at you as his eyes narrow and you can't tell if he's confused or zeroing in on his prey. Honestly, in your current condition, you can't get yourself to care. Maybe he'll put you out of your misery for your cheek.

"Mm, I deemed it so," Alastor says, his luminous red eyes blinking down at you as he leans forward ever-so slightly. He's clearly on edge and you digest this as a display of annoyance, but he's concerned (and doesn't like that he's concerned). He's never seen you like this. "Are you ill, cher? It's quite unlike you to miss dinner."

"In a matter of speaking," you allow as you stand up, brush yourself off, and gather up your duvet into a large wad in your arms. You maneuver it back onto the bed and into a sort of nest you can return to, careful not to jostle or accidentally touch Alastor as he remains partially prone across the foot of the bed and watches you work. Mindful of how little he likely knows about mental health, given his time period, you explain in a few words, "My brain is sick."

He blinks, not sure what to make of what you've said. "Your…brain?" he repeats uncertainly. "How so?" Alastor also deems himself "sick in the head," but he's fairly certain that his brand of insanity isn't what you're referring to in yourself.

You nestle into the duvet, missing how his eyes soften a touch at how small you look right now. You take a deep breath and let it huff out as you force yourself to look at him. If he just wants to torment you a bit, this will expedite him getting it out of his system so you can go back to your staring contest with the wall. If he's not just here to make fun of you…well, then that would be surprising.

"I have depression," you finally admit and you wonder when the last time was that you said those words out loud. Even in life, it was a rare moment when you'd be met with someone who was worth explaining yourself to—most people either didn't understand because they'd never been through it themselves or because they didn't want to understand. Over time, you'd just given up trying to be honest about your struggles because being demeaned or invalidated for them just made you feel worse.

"A what now?" Alastor asks, cocking one brow as he turns to lie on his side with his head propped against one hand. His fluffy ears twitch a little but stay upright, alert, and turned in your direction.

"It's a mood, uh…ailment," you explain, thinking he might not know what a "disorder" is either. You're not familiar enough with what terms people would've used to refer to mental health in his time, so you're overcareful with the words you choose. "My brain chemistry wasn't right in life—my body didn't produce enough of the chemicals that make us feel happy, so I'd get into really bad slumps. Exhausted, sad, sometimes just numb slumps. Apparently that came down here with me, too."

"So…you're in a 'slump'?" he repeats slowly, testing the word you'd used on his tongue.

In moments like this, you find him unbearably cute—from his twitchy ears made restless by the rate of his thoughts to his wide, considering eyes as he tries to absorb what you're telling him. He's a very good listener when he's not in the middle of a bit.

"Yes," you tell him and he relaxes slightly at the confirmation. "I feel dead inside, honestly. Which is funny to say now that I'm actually dead, but it's just… I just don't feel much of anything. Or I do and it just feels empty and hollow. That's kind of worse than feeling sad."

He hums and offers, "A smile is our greatest weapon, dear. We've discussed this."

"Not against this, it's not," you sigh, just waiting now for him to get frustrated or bored with you. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Al, I swear. It's just… I can't fake what I'm feeling. I've tried! I wish I could mask half as well as you can, but it's hard. It takes energy I just don't have in times like this."

Alastor evaluates you with a glance and asks, "Then what is your weapon of choice against these…slumps?"

You tug against the seam of the duvet wrapped around you, all nervous fidgeting. "I never really figured anything out," you admit and it feels like a failure. It feels like because you can't offer him a solution to your problem, your problem must not be a problem. You remember so many exasperated faces looking back at you at times you'd admit the very same. He just looks at you though, clearly thinking. "Sometimes just waiting for it to pass was the answer. I was on medication for it at one point, but it never helped very much. I know I need to eat, but I just feel a bit nauseous when I think about food."

"Then food should be on the docket, certainly, but perhaps not just yet," he muses, sitting up as he continues to regard you. "What else?"

You throw your hands up helplessly. "I'm not sure. I'm sorry," you say. "Maybe I need to go hug Charlie again or something, that didn't fix anything earlier, but it didn't hurt."

Alastor scoffs. "Is my comfort not up to your standards, dear?" he needles you, his tone confident even as his smile wavers slightly.

You blink and shake your head even as you scramble to try and understand what he's implying. "Of course not," you quickly say. "I just… You don't have to do that kind of stuff, you know? I know it's uncomfortable for you and I'd never want to make you uncomfortable."

He chuckles and a mischievous smirk overtakes his features as he leans in and pulls you toward him via the duvet, taking an indulgent look at the blush reddening your face before he tightens the blanket cocoon around you and adds his arms to the equation after. You get the hint not to take your arms out and touch him and you're not even sure you could if you wanted to. You're frozen in place, comically close to a deer in headlights, and you can feel the heat inflaming your cheeks.

It's nice to feel something for the moment.

"Um… Alastor?" you ask, stopped from looking up at him when his pointed chin settles against the crown of your head. "You… Why?"

"Why, what?" he asks, but it's just to put off answering and you have some inkling that this might be the case despite his casual tone.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask, embarrassed by how vulnerable you sound to yourself.

"I can't have you sat here in one of your 'slumps' by yourself, darling," he mused, one of his hands absently tracing over your back.

It takes a lot for you to not lean into the touch, but you're terrified of scaring him off. You're also terrified of overthinking this though, especially as he settles in around you, his larger body usually used to intimidate and tower over others making you feel oddly safe. Then again, even in his most antagonistic moments with you, have you ever felt in danger?

"Why not?" you ask softly.

"You ask a surprising number of questions over something so simple as this," Alastor notes and his words cause a puff of warm breath to stir your hair. You shiver a little and he chuckles.

"But it's not simple for you," you murmur, letting yourself relax a bit as he impatiently tugs you closer to fit you against his chest. He's certainly not as gentle as Charlie, but you imagine he's far less practiced in this sort of thing than she is. It hits you harder because you know he's trying. And perhaps because you—silly, silly you—have a tragic little crush on the Radio Demon. "And… Well, I appreciate it. That's all."

Alastor hums and admits, "It's simpler than expected. And not unwelcome." You feel his chin shift against your crown, like he might be looking down at you, as he asks, "Is it helpful? Or is dear Charlotte's attention still preferable?"

You have to bite your lips a little to keep from smirking—that sort of tone can only indicate that he's jealous. Once again, you find him unbearably cute and it'll likely one day lead to your second untimely demise once he realizes how you feel.

"Yes, it's helpful. And preferable," you confess and you can almost feel his chest puff with pride. "This is really nice. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, dear," he says, glancing down and watching you cave to fatigue and fall asleep as he feels your weight settle further into his chest.

Alastor chuckles and gives you time to fully settle into a more restful state before he shifts your body around and situates you on your bed. He'd first considered staying, but figures having something for you to eat at the ready when you wake is a better use of his time. At least that's the reason he gives himself to go.

The truth is he can't remember the last time he honest to goodness comforted someone. There's a tickle in the back of his brain, a voice asking if he's losing his edge. Asking if you'll see him now as less than he is, which (in his mind) is a sadistic, cannibalistic overlord and nothing more.

He can't deny though that he's savoring the lingering warmth from your body on his coat. And, as much as he doesn't understand these "slumps" or the depression you referenced, he didn't like seeing you look so sad.

And he supposes if he must occasionally soften his sharp edges a bit to help keep his favorite guest present and smiling, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

[mentos-or-mentoes]

Hihi Pooks, I love your writing and was wondering if you would write for a Mitsuri!reader, like a reader who looks quite weak (IS FEMALE as mitsuri is a female) but is INSANELY strong and quite flexible (which breaks the stereotype of ‘women aren’t strong’). (Helluva boss x Mitsuri!reader) reader who can eat LOADS while staying fit bc yk she’s strong and exercises regularly but could definitely rival a sin with her strength and probably could do some magic with the ‘power of love’ typa shit

yes I mean Mitsuri from demon slayer.

Sorry it took me so long to do this! I had to move, then completely forgot I had a tumblr blog. And now after somewhat of a midlife crisis I have just realized that I infact DO have a tumblr blog. So ye, I apologise for keeping you waiting for so long

I.M.P & Stolas x Mitsuri!reader

Blitzo

First of all, this dude thinks your strength is HOT (take that however you want).

He thinks you're kind, yet knows that if you really wanted to, you could probably beat Lucifer himself in a fight.

Blitzo definetly can, will and has fucked around with your whip-like nichirin sword, but will stop the second you tell him to, well if its serious, if not then he'll keep goofing around untill he manages to destroy something.

He once walked in on you eating what can only be described as a 3 course meal that would be served at a thanksgiving dinner. He is both surprised, and horrified once he finds out that it is the normal amount of food for you because of your extremem muscle density.

Once tried to challenge you to an arm wrestle match just to see how he could compare, and that day he found out that you had an absolutely insane physical strength after winning with just your pinky finger. He will do everything to hide that fact

He has definetly said some stupid threat like ''My grilfriend will beat *hiccup* your ass if I *hiccup* don't'' to someone in a bar while drunk

Moxxie

Being the most realistic out of all of the employees at I.M.P, Moxxie is outright terrified of your strength.

He can and will try to keep you happy, already wanting to hide in fear at just the thought of you having a bad day.

No matter how much you re-assure him, its gonna take a while before he actually begins to think you wont kill someone whenever you feel angry.

He thinks its both impressive and weird how that you can eat so much food without even gaining as much as a miligram. He won't comment on that tho.

He is very curious as to how your weapon works. Y'know since its metal, yet can be used as a whip.

Millie

She thinks your weapon is incredibly cool, and encourages you to use it more often.

She's asked you about how well you think you'd do with other weapons as well.

Either way will still love you, regardless of your choice of weapon <3

You two are a power couple and you can't convince me otherwise (two strong women who can and will kick the ass of anyone who disrespects them in any way, shape or form).

She loves your power of love magic, especially because part of her thinks it becomes stronger with the love you two have for eachother

Loona

This legit feels like the fandom classic of shipping the two characters who are the exact opposite.

She secretly really loves your whole power of love thing, even if she says otherwise.

Has probably jokingly asked you to punch Blitzo one time because he really annoyed her.

She will blush MADLY if you decide to pick her up and just carry her around, but if its in private, she won't complain.

She loves seeing you use your strength in combat.

Stolas

Like Moxxie, Stolas is scared as fuck.

He can and will do EVERYTHING to avoid you when you're angry.

You can convince him, that you're not going to hurt him. But the last thing Stolas is trying to do is becoming bbq chicken because he decided to approach you while you were angry, so no risks

He likes how strong you are, makes him feel safe. Mostly because you'll kick the ass of anyone who dares try to hurt him.

He was surprised when your power of love wasn't some sort of magic to make others fall in love, but is quite literally love turned into raw power.

This 100% isn't worth the wait, sorry it took me so long. But hope it was, somewhat decent, am willing to do a part 2 tho

[onyourowndaisymae]

when satan falls in love

content + warnings: satan x reader, satan's in his demon form and his tail is Not Cooperating, fluff // [masterlist]

word count: ~1.4k

satan's feet drag along the floor as he journeys from the front door to his safe haven. he stopped hiding his demon form the moment he trudged through the door-- now his heavy footsteps and the ominous drag of his tail against the ground are what tell people to stay away. the barbs catch a little along the wood floors. lucifer will bitch at him again when he notices, but right now satan isn't the least bit worried about his older brother's opinions.

the door to his room shuts with a loud thunk! the bookcases shudder with effort, the disorganized book stacks groaning with a quiet threat of toppling over. the noise echoes to his high ceilings, then dies amongst poetic words and fantastical novels.

he collapses on his bed and groans testily. his tail flicks about, impatient, looking for things to destroy-- he knows if he gives into his destructive urges he'll only regret it later. he's lost countless tomes to a fit of rage, spent hours cleaning up his messes only to piss himself off more.

satan rolls over and closes his eyes, practicing his breathing exercises to calm himself down. what had him worked up this much, anyways?

lots of things. his brothers had been especially rowdy today, starting his day off with an unusually irritating breakfast. then he had a surprise quiz early in the day. at lunch, you were whisked away by lord diavolo for some bullshit reason or another. he can still picture the apologetic look on your face, waving over your shoulder with a slight frown as you had to abandon him in favor of your responsibilities. pair that with a few hellish classes and another surprise student council meeting, and you'll understand why satan is particularly testy today.

damn. after all this time, he'd grown much better at making sure he could handle massive slights that pissed him off. it's the stacking of little things on top of each other that presses his buttons.

in truth, he'd probably be better if he'd seen more of you lately. lunch just seemed to be a tipping point in the drought of your love. how long has it been since he's been able curl up with you at his side? since he's gotten a moment to have a proper date with you? the tangled emotions only make his blood boil more.

his emerald eyes catch something unfamiliar at the edge of his vision. he knows the layout of his room top to bottom-- any minor changes to his disorganization are noted fairly quickly, regardless of what others might think.

there's an envelope peaking out of a nearby bookshelf. it's subtle, but noticeable enough when he believes he was intended to find it. his first instinct is to be angry. who the fuck thought they were entitled to access his room when he was gone?

satan rises from his bed and angrily snatches the envelope from its hiding spot. he's ready to rip it in half in a destructive fit of rage when he spots your handwriting on the front. the fire inside of him settles to embers as his eyes follow the curl of your letters as you wrote his name. he could spot that handwriting anywhere. the "s" in his name swoops with grandeur, like you're going out of your way to be fancy, and he can't help but smile a little. he opens the letter carefully-- there's no way he won't keep whatever this is, all because it came from you-- and begins to read your familiar scrawl across a nice piece of stationary.

my beloved satan,

i've missed you! that's odd to say considering we live together, but... life seems to find new ways every day to keep us apart. it's weird to look back on my day and realize i've barely seen you. we barely get a peaceful lunch together anymore! there's always someone joining us or pulling one of us away before we can settle... i don't mean to sound clingy, but i don't think it's bad to want to have some alone with your boyfriend!

as i'm writing this, i'm cooped up in diavolo's office during a little break in some meetings. there's some trouble with some of their human world contacts, so i've been brought in to act as a "bridge" between the two. that apparently means sitting through lots of boring, professional talks and trying to pretend like i'm not about to fall asleep. barbatos made some really nice tea, though, and that's been my saving grace so far.

i can't wait until we find some alone time again. i've never found something more peaceful than cuddling up to you while you're reading and listening to you breathe. if i rest my hand on your chest, i can hear your steady heartbeat, too. you always tease me for being so sleepy and run your hand along my back, but who wouldn't fall asleep under those conditions? i just feel so at peace when i'm with you. nobody else can make me feel so safe and cared for. even when we're not together, knowing you're there for me makes each day better.

was it weird of me to write this as a letter? i hope not. you hear about people writing their lovers romantic love letters in the movies and books. i thought i'd give it a try. it's nice to have a physical reminder of someone's feelings for you. ticket stubs and stuffed animals are nice, but i wanted to give you something that illustrates my feelings more clearly. i adore you. you mean the world to me. i feel like it's harder to say things like that when you look at me, but here in the letter i'll say it as many times as i want to. you are my best friend, satan, and i'm glad to have you as my partner.

i hope this letter makes you smile. i'm planning on hiding it in your room, so hopefully it'll take you a bit to find it.

yours always,

mc

so much for him waiting to find the letter.

in the quiet of his room, devoid of all distraction except the gentle whir of the air leaving a nearby vent, satan realizes he's in love with you.

his body freezes. for these past few weeks, he's intellectualized his feelings for you-- it's not love, but adoration. infatuation. lust, even. but no. he can feel the realization settling on his shoulders like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer.

when he was created, all satan would feel was reckless, horrifying, world-ending rage. it consumed him like a wildfire during a dry season, devouring any part of him that might be redeemable with the crackle of wild grass and the unforgiving heat. but meeting you changed him. his smiles were no longer plastic, but easy and natural. his irritation often simmered in his chest instead of exploding from his lips as harsh words, now just huffs and sharp glances.

you made him better. he knows now there's more to him than wrath. every single positive change in his life ever since you came to the devildom was driven by you.

he takes a deep breath to calm himself. instead of wrath, he's fighting the flush creeping up the back his neck. he reads the letter again, then again, each time sparking something in his stomach that he had to push down.

love. so this is what it feels like, huh?

he's read his fair share of sappy stories, but they all pale in comparison to the real thing. it's unsettling for him to be bursting with positive emotion, but here he is. flushed, stiff, listening to the silence as his heartbeat pounds in his ears. it takes him too long to realize that his tail was swishing behind him, thumping against a nearby chair enthusiastically. that only embarrasses him more-- is he really so in love with you that he's wagging his tail like a dog?

originally, he thought to corner you right now and show you just how much he appreciates the letter. but with his body acting out like this...

satan takes a seat his desk, digging around until he finds some suitable stationary, a writing feather (pretentious, he knows, but he can't ignore the urge to be so traditional), and an inkwell. if you were exchanging letters to express your feelings, now, then expect him to write you the best damn love letter you've ever seen.

taglist for this series: @deepseafragments // @darkflowerav // @annoying-and-upset // @katerinaval // @lurkingsnails // @chirikoheina // @all-mights-wife // @notareum

[jubileemon]

A Serpent Allowed Into Heaven

It was a snake that first tempted Eve. Fittingly, it's a snake that is the first sinner in hell to be redeemed. Sir Pentious was only supposed to be a one-off villain, but Vivienne Medrano brought him back as the second guest in the series. Keeping with sins being turned around into virtues, Sir Pentious converts fluently from a harmless villain who made an impact for the whole exorcism.

His freedom seems based on no Overlord considering him to be a soul worthy of collecting, and was only taken in by the Vees for a one-off job to spy on the Hotel because he’s a desperate nobody with no direct ties to them that Charlie would easily take pity on. Indeed she does, even after he’s outed as a spy for the Vees and was willing to give him a second chance for real redemption.

His chaos and paranoia around the hotel during his first week leads to Vaggie and Charlie taking action in two pivotal ways:

Firstly, Vaggie confiscated Pentious' weapons and puts Alastor in possession of his Egg Boiz. While accompanying Alastor for the day, one of his eggs Frank accidentally ends up following him into a meeting with his fellow Overlords. Frank was so unnoticeable that he’s used by Alastor to spy on Carmilla, allowing Alastor to learn that she knows how angels can be killed which is a valuable piece of information that eventually leads to the hotel fighting back against the Exorcists six months later. As another insult to Vox for sending Pentious to the hotel in the first place, because Pentious doesn't believe Frank when he blabs about it when recounting his day. According to him, “they say insane shit all the time!”

That knowledge remains hidden, until there's only a month left until the Exorcists return and Alastor uses Charlie’s desperation to strike a deal with her in exchange for the secret that was the very thing he was trying to prevent.

Secondly, Charlie decides to initiate a trust exercise in response to Pentious' behavior. This leads to a chaotic exercise where the group is forced to fight together in a turf war. Knowing Sir Pentious wouldn't stand a chance, Angel Dust chose to rescue him, marking their first act of camaraderie and the group starting to become friends.

After Mimzy caused loan sharks to attack the hotel, Sir Pentious rescued Niffty from the carnage, instantly proving Lucifer wrong about sinners. However, this goes unnoticed because Lucifer and Charlie are too busy arguing. Interestingly, the choice of character Sir Pentious protects is Niffty, Adam's future executioner.

Lastly, during the battle against the Exorcists, Sir Pentious makes a selfless charge on Adam in his death machine. Since Sir Pentious is just a nameless soldier to Adam that he has no personal vendetta with. In "Welcome To Heaven", his antics kept him out of focus the whole court assessment, but he forgoes beating him down like Alastor and Charlie and instantly vaporises him on sight. This act not only sets off Charlie's demon form and the ensuing scuffle that allows Lucifer to intervene, but leads Sir Pentious to be ascended to Heaven for his sacrifice as undisputed proof to Sera that sinners can be redeemed.

Having cleared his conscience, humbled himself, and sacrificed himself for his friends, Sir Pentious is the first sinner to be admitted into Heaven. This is not only significant because Charlie's plan actually worked, but it is also important that a serpentine being is the first to escape Hell.

According to the story of Original Sin, Eve was first tempted to eat the forbidden fruit by a serpent. After Adam and Eve's betrayal is discovered by God, the serpent is also punished for being the instigator and is forced to crawl on its belly for its whole life. Considering that the serpent initiated humanity's fall from grace, Sir Pentious's acceptance into Heaven makes an even bigger point that any sinner can be redeemed.

[simp-ly-writes]

Chapter Three: In Dreams

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.4)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: With the chance to sleep again, you find new definitions to peace that leave you picking up the pieces left from finally answered questions. But were they better left unanswered after all?

Warnings: 3123 words, mentions of violence and mental health, possible gore and death.

A/N: I have written this all so quickly, wow it has been awhile since I have felt this passionate about writing someone- thank you all seriously for the support!!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

Lucifer took a stroll around the gardens that had become overgrown. He didn’t have the heart to weed the poisonous vines that strangled the various flowers underneath, he watches as each thorne moved every so slightly to stab the stem, the petals soon fall in on themselves, the others trying to stand become covered as the same fate plays out before all those left standing. 

The King did not know how much time had passed, multiple servants had come running into the greenhouse, waiting for his attention only to be teleported out of the room a moment later with a mere twitch of his finger. It was in times like these that the royal wished he could dream- losing himself in fantasy, in hope, and in memory.

Clapping his hands together and casting them outwards, gold strings appeared like rays of sunlight through the panes as a herd of ducks wattled their way round his feet. Tilting his head to the side, you appeared materializing through the door and drifting over to him. You did not speak a word. Only standing as he sat there on the bench describing his day, the tea chosen during the afternoon and the evening decisions he made for after the upcoming extermination. 

He chuckled to himself, head shaking before falling to his chest. “You know darling, when I gave that little piece of me, I ended up giving all of me… how pathetic am I…” his laughter only grows as the staff members in wait all bow their heads, doing their best not to listen as their hearts ache. They could only pray that those sightings were real and pray to heaven and back that Lucifer would listen. 

--

“I won a sex-award for this performance, its show and tell… is this not?” Angel Dust comments towards Charlie who hides away from the moans and grunts exiting the speakers. You stand there still behind the box, pretending to trip over the extension cord while mouthing a sorry. Vaggie gives you a thumbs up in thanks before hugging the distressed Charlie in her arms. 

“That was not a good irrigation,” Husk comments, walking over to the crowd while cleaning a cup between his hands. “Well what would you know about a good performance, whiskers?” Angel Dust retorts with a huff, legs kicking over the sofas armrest. 

“Everyone bitches to the bartender, there is not a single thing that I do not know about any of you at this point. You consistently bitch and moan outside of porn as much as you do in it about your boss,” Husk replies, now pouring himself a drink in the fresh glass. 

“Well then prove it,” the Spider comments back childishly as Husk lets out a large huff of air- pointing first at Sir. Pretentious, “That one is an insecure buffoon who watches everyone sleep and the Princess has a bleeding heart of daddy issues that this one,” he waves the neck of the bottle towards you, “refuses to speak to and don’t think yourself to be out of this either Vaggie because you pretend to hate everyone when you really hate yourself. And then there is Nifty…. Nothing more to be said on that.”

Angel Dust blows up with laughter as you are still reeling in this information. You don’t notice as he leaves for work as Charlie desperately tries to pull him back in for the remainder of the exercises, taking this as your cue- you retreat back to your room.

--

You had requested for some art supplies the next time the Hotel was to receive its shipment of goods. You clapped your hands, overjoyed at the colours you had chosen, so neatly arranged in their glass bottles. Fresh Paint brushes with green wooden handles gleaned happily in your face with the wood finish. So enamoured by the supplies, you got straight to work painting the view out your window. 

Pentagram city glowed all throughout the day, its red sky almost caving in the city below with how much blood could be found on the streets. The buildings of all shapes, colours, and sizes sprouted from the earth- trying to escape the destruction but as your brush drifted to paint heaven in the sky, the light blue on your brush hovered as you second-guessed including it in your work. 

Cleaning your brush in an empty jar, you set the cityscape to dry on your balcony as your mind soon turned itself off, you were losing yourself to the art, the barriers that you had created for yourself, burying yourself in work and meetings- now all coming undone in a fiery burst of passion- your hand moving feverishly across the canvas. 

Becoming lost, paint stroke after paint stroke, a voice drifts just behind your ears, as if they were a person in passing, ““You know darling, when I gave that little piece of me, I ended up giving all of me… how pathetic am I…” Looking back at your canvas, you painted your first memory of being in the Garden, eyes blown wide as you walk around ahead of the King and Queen- excitement had taken over any formalities you had prior to entering the space. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, hiding the painting away only to hear a meow just below your feet. 

Leaning the canvas against the food of your bed, you pick up KeeKee, giving the hair between her ears a light pat before coo-ing, “Everything alright?” The cat looks up at you with big eyes, nose pointed towards your door as you follow the silent command. Just as you are about to let the creature go, her claws dig into your shoulders with a wince- making her choice clear. You were making your way downstairs together. 

--

When you descend the stars, pausing just before the last couple of steps, you observe a destroyed bar, crying Charlie and pissed Vaggie. You hold your tongue, hand drifting its way through KeeKee’s fur for reassurance. Alastor appears behind you, just a few steps above as he leans on the railing, silently observing the scene paying out before him. 

“I am not so sure Angel Dust will be okay… I-I really messed up today. He got…It was not good. I pushed too hard earlier and things only got worse. So in light of that! I am going to write tomorrow's lecture on boundaries with a side of one-hundred apology letters,” Charlie states, her tone changing from one of sadness to another of light presenting you with a form of whiplash that has your head spinning- trying to keep up. 

Husk storms out the building soon afterwards, on a personal mission to hunt down Angel Dust and bring them both back to the Hotel safely. “Never a dull day it is here,” Alastor comments, “I second that,” is all you reply with before KeeKee is jumping out of your hands and disappearing into the shadows. Vaggie turns to you both, “looks like we will be cleaning up then in the meanwhile…” and clean up you do. 

--

While taking over Husks position behind the bar, you cork open a bottle of wine, pouring out glasses for everyone that stumbles through the door. Vaggie holds her hand out, murmuring a thanks before necking the glass down while Alastor inspects his jacket, finger swirling around the rim of the glass. You point the bottle towards Charlie, silently asking if she wants a drink as she shakes her head and you pour the rest out for Angel Dust and Husk who appear in brighter spirits. 

“I AM SO, SO, SOO SORRY!” Charlie runs up, squeezing the lemons out of Angel Dust who pats the top of her head awkwardly at first before returning the hug, “It’s alright dollface, I get it. Thank you for caring about me…”

With that being said, Charlie practically chokes the Spider that has him extending his other limbs ushering her in the direction of Vaggies arms who carries her away and up to bed for the day. Husk knocks his head to the side, a silent request for your to get the fuck out from behind his bar. 

--

Sleep had finally found you that night, your eyelids rest to the blackness that surrounds your mind. You feel your covers around you, warming your body as you shift slightly throughout the night. Yet a wetness peaks at your foot, covering your blanket as rain falls once more. It shatters your blanket like pebbles thrown against glass. As you hug yourself from the attack. Your bed rocks back and forth as you look over the edge. High waves you float on, almost going overboard as you desperately grip the headboard. 

Walk… an echoing voice appears in your head, Walk… to me…. Dipping your toes in the frigid waters, you curse out before trying to take a stand. You witness the water level gradually lower with every step you take, you walk freely in the ankle deep waters as they ripple underneath. Carry Forth… The voice motivates you to carry forth as the landscape overhead shifts to a sunrise- you cannot tell where the water ends and the sky begins in this reflection- you become breathless at the sight. It was ethereal. 

A figure soon appears on the horizon and you can take no further step as a light pressure holds your body still. It is as if every inch of your skin is being casted in a hug by light itself. Your breath shutters from the sensation and before you appear a figure incomprehensible to size, they take over the sky before you, white robes drifting like clouds in the sky as a singular finger is offered to shake your hand. 

Their touch is featherlight, knowing of their power. You crane your neck upwards- trying to catch a glimpse of their face yet the light burns your irises as you cast your head down. A chuckle creates waves around you, your body moving without control, pleading for them to cease. A piece of cloth drifts its way over to you, sitting still against the rising waters as you sit on its surface cross-legged. 

You try to speak to the creature before you but you find your voice sealed away- as if it would disturb the peace created here. You watch as fish begin to spawn in the waters, they drift in packs back to the direction of your bed, a snake chases forth as is herding them away. We speak our minds in the literal, the voice softly comments in your head, I hear without the need to speak, to pray, or to sacrifice. You wish to know why you have been brought forth- yet an answer spoken now will led to an endless stream. 

You tilt your head, still casting your head downwards to watch as the creatures all play amongst one another in the ocean below. You can no longer see the bottom, your stomach clutches with unease yet that familiar pressure against you skin has you unable to think of anything else. I am creation as I am fate, your path interrupted has corrupted the ocean, the skies, and the creatures. I have presented you with breath as I do so again. You were not created for this life you live nor for my siblings who sign for your eyes. But I will not have the destruction of all that has to be broken in your absence. 

You speak in riddles, you think to the apparent deity as the waves uproar once more, their laughter blessing their ears as the sunsets and their grandeur falls till they are only just taller than yourself. They sit on the watertop, their face no longer hidden as you gasp at their appearance. They only smile in reaction before summoning a tea set for you both to indulge with. 

Blonde hair, rosy cheeks and grey skin greet your eyes, This is the King's brother... You watch as they laugh out, the wave movements now rain filling your cups as he brings them both up for a cheer. Funny to hear a brother of mine to be addressed with such frivolous titles- even more so when coming from someone dear but perhaps unknowing? 

I still question to this day the truth in it all, you admit while taking your first sip, eyes closing to the perfect temperature of the tea. An art form, questioning is- could be considered a science. It is relentless in the wrong hands and plagues the people. 

We live life in question, is that not what it means to be… human? You question out, not thinking of an answer to be possible and even if there was one, it would quite possibly be past your comprehension. The dietary hums out before you, your cup never emptying as they set their own down against the floating table. Subjective that is, truth- yes but never entirely is anything- even the definite. Alas, I am only an acquaintance to death who would define the truth to humanity. Us immortals never grasp the concept of living- no matter the effort placed. Yet it is in these thoughts that I have learned you are for. 

You rest your cup on the table as they hold out their white-gloved hand and your world swirls face falling into the waters below as you look through someone else's eyes. A guard stands silently in your… office. You gasp as does the guard you inhibit. Your eyes snap upwards to see a growling Lucifer, “I have requested for silence during my studies- need I remind you to not look into my eye?” 

Your breath hitches, eyes going wide as you take in the King's dishevelled appearance, your desk scattered with papers, your walls covered in illustrated memories yet other than that- not a singular thing has been misplaced. You shake your head, bowing it before the royal as he walks back behind your desk without a second glance, staring at the various maps you spent decades drawing to pin-point precision. 

The coldness of the water has you gasping and flailing your own libs as you are taken back to the cloths and seas, back before the sitting the deity who hums out a soothing tone once more. I cannot have the mis-balancing of death. That is why I personally ensure your return as in return I present you with the final bow. You WILL meet my brother when he arrives in due time and I cannot speak more without the worrying of fates. 

But- you start to protest without taking another thought, your emotions in a whirlwind yet nothing disrupts the peaceful atmosphere of your dream and the deity before you. With a wave of their hand you are flown back into your bed, underneath the covers that absorb every drop of sea that has touched your skin and you wake up with a silent scream. Hells red skies before you and the relentless city bustling just underneath. 

Your earlier painting of the cityscape and the Garden were not where you left them last. They are now found hanging in front of your bed, staring into you, into your subconscious as you debate between dreams in reality as you wake your way into the elevator and down the stairs where breakfast waits freshly prepared.

--

You look around the breakfast nook in the kitchen, confused when a lack of a certain Princess and accompanying girlfriend are not present at the table. Setting your plate down beside Husks, you take your tea cup with you and into the sitting room where various red strings create a jungle of vines between colourful doodles and sleepless notes. 

A stressed Vaggie addresses a sleep-deprived Charlie who rushes around, clutching her hair in frustration, “WHY WONT THIS HOTEL JUST WORK!” you wince at the tone she yells in this early in the morning just as Vaggie had called it quits observing and picks the girl up, pulling her down onto a nearby couch, turned away from the insanity. 

But in that moment Charlie partially turns as do you, awaiting for a need to subdue the royal. Angel Dust pats you on the shoulder, easing you to come down again as Husk shoves a new mug into your hands. You did not realise you had dropped your cup earlier. 

“Maybe it's time-” Vaggie beings before being cut off by a crazed Charlie running back up to the boards and moving some strings around, “NO.” “To ask your dad. I know you don’t want to but it’s the only chance we have,” Vaggie finishes her sentence with as Charlie drops to the floor, clutching her head between her knees. 

Your hands sweat, as you look around to anywhere but Vaggie and Charlie. The dream deity had predicted your future, and you could only feel a wave of nausea wash over you as Charlie opened her phone before she quickly slammed it to the ground, “Wait just a sec! That is it! If we call my dad, he can get me a meeting in Heaven!” 

You choke, now leaning against a wall for support. Images of last night, of your office, of the King. Your head pounds as the small voices surround your head, Charlie needs to do this- even when you cannot protect her… 

Charlie picks her phone back up, scrolling through her contacts, her finger hovering over the name as Husks asks, “Daddy issues?” Charlie goes dead silent before looking over at you with apologetic eyes and speaking up, “No… we were just… never close thats all. After you and mom left, he never wanted to see me, he buried himself in work. He calls sometimes when he needs me to do something now.”

“Well I would like to meet the big dick in charge,” Angel Dust comments while looking over at you for a reaction. Your face is neutral, giving nothing away but your fidgeting tells elsewise. “The ultimate bad boy~” Nifty praises as you cringe very loudly as does Charlie. “I bet he’s scary~” Nifty continues while fluffing up her hair and stabbing a bug. You let out a whistle, “yup, scary, that's for sure.”  Charlie's head snaps over to your own, tilting sideways and eyes narrowing. You refuse to elaborate, memories of his threats to a mere guard simply making eye-contact with him. Every fiber in your body calls for escape but you pressure yourself to stay in support of Charlie who takes a seat in the chair that you stand beside. She clicks call and the phone rings thrice before a friendly tone sends your heart soaring to new heights as you pick at your jacket to better hide your reaction.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @tati-the-fangirl @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08 @amarokofficial

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 3: Spring Cleaning

wc: 518 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing and language | cw: None

Tags: Spring Cleaning, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steddie Dads, Discarded Toys, Childhood Toys

'Goodbye, Mr. Furby'

Steve opens his daughter’s double-doored closet only to be greeted by her demonic Furby. A formerly beloved and sought-after plushie that also terrorised the family with late-night chirping for far too long until he had worked out how to remove the batteries.

He shudders at the thought of the manual Eddie had managed to track down, filled with faceless Furbys being exorcised and deprogrammed. He reaches forward with giddy glee and plucks the toy from its quiet resting spot.

“We can finally get rid of this thing,” he beams, turning to Eddie who lingers at the door, “Goodbye, Mr. Furby.”

“That’s Abernathy Furby, to you,” Eddie quips, frowning.

He takes a swipe for the toy but misses when Steve swoops his arm out of reach.

Eddie stumbles back in, clutching his proverbial pearls and his eyes glisten with worry. He stands there shellshocked, utterly scandalised by the prospect of cleaning out this mess of an apartment.

Steve knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He had to gently suggest such a task throughout the winter months, exercising pain-staking patience until Eddie and Joanie would at least hear him out.

“Eddie,” Steve begins, pinching his nose with his free hand, “You promised you’d let me do some Spring Cleaning this weekend. Besides, you hate this thing as much as I do.”

He plays keep-away just to be safe, watching his partner intently as he palms around to open the designated donation box he hopes to fill today.

“Adios,” Steve grins, taking one last look into the soulless, mechanical eyes of the plush before he drops it into the dark abyss of the labelled cardboard box.

That cursed thing can be some other parent’s problem...

“What’s happening?” Joanie yells, poking her head in from the hall.

Steve freezes, his arm now midway between reaching back into her closet for another forgotten toy – this time a grey tabby cat that got chewed up by a very real cat mere moments after Nancy had gifted it back when Joanie was two.

He glances at Eddie for backup, only to be met with a raised, judgemental brow. His partner pointedly folds his arms and leans against the doorframe in defiance.

Steve can’t help but roll his eyes at himself because, yeah – of course, his family would put on a united front against him. And he was foolish to think Joanie’s homework obligations would outweigh her infinite curiosity that borders on nosiness.

“Uh…” he hums, floundering immediately as his heart races a mile a minute.

He watches as his daughter walks to the box and peers inside. She gasps and dives in head first, her haste almost tipping her into the box completely.

“Not Abernathy!” she shrieks, holding the demon spawn up as she rocks herself and the box back upright.

The toy chirps and blinks away earning a high-pitched yelp from Eddie.

“St-Steve...” he stutters, whimpering as he points a shaking hand at the sentient being.

Steve grimaces at the toy held firm in his daughter’s grasp, looking like it has risen from a cardboard grave, readying itself for the kill.

[ur-mousey]

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The Coffin of Andy And Leyley Should We Really Care About the Incest? !!!

Plot Summary: A water contamination scheme keeps the brother-sister duo, Andrew and Ashely Graves, locked in their apartment on the verge of starvation. They discover a way out through demonic shenangians. Can these two grow past their childhood identities? Or are they destined to be each other's demise?

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Overall Thoughts:

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*Warning* These are my thoughts. Do not take them seriously. You can disagree all you want in the comments below. Enjoy!

First hearing about The Coffin of Andy and Leyley left a sour taste in my mouth. And it's probably for the same reason most people refuse to engage with the story being told by creator Nemlei. The notion on Twitter (or X, ew) dubbed this media as just the 'incest' game unfairly and failed to appreciate the themes being showcased by the siblings.

I believe that The Coffin of Andy and Leyley will grow in popularity by the release of the third episode. And this game will be a cult classic in no time, setting new records for storytelling in future indie projects.

I deep-dived into Nemlei's gameography, and dare I say, those other projects walked so Andrew and Leyley could run. There's only praise that should be afforded to Nemlei based on their improvements.

Watch or play through No-Good Noelle, which had come out three months prior, and see the differences. I also recommend Divilethion for those yearning for Nemlei's storytelling/art style.

But what those two games have in common, is that there's less to do for the players. While Andy and Leyley have the mechanics within its gameplay to be 10x more interactive for audiences. No wonder it had grown in popularity.

Now, to address the incest.

You do not have to like taboo topics. You do not have to engage with media that showcase it or be a part of a hate campaign because you don't like something. And as a society, we should bring awareness to media forms that encourage/promote dangerous ideology. Which in most cases does include incest.

However, art forms can get away with handling these taboo topics because they turn them into tools for driving a theme forward. And they aren't inherently romanticizing dangerous ideals. With that said it can be tricky for creators to handle these topics with care. You can hold the opinion that The Coffin of Andy and Leyley didn't utilize the concept of incest effectively in its narrative.

But, most people who've 'criticized' the game, dog pilled it because of the incest without understanding its importance to the themes. I get it, okay. It's disgusting that these siblings are down to bone.

Yet, as a writer, Andrew and Ashely are stellar characters with unique relationship dynamics. The theme of codependency is heightened by the pair's familial ties. Here's a little exercise:

Imagine Andrew and Ashely weren't siblings... They become slightly less interesting. Mainly due to the fact, they cannot uphold their OG purpose.

Episode two has two endings, Decay and Burial. Both hinges on the siblings making a choice to either let the past go or hold onto Andy and Leyley, their childhood nickname, now a source of resentment. Ashely idolizes the past while Andrew strives towards the future. On paper, they are foils of one another. These characters can work while not being related.

They could've been childhood friends if Nemlei wanted. But, then the plot would need to change.

Episode 2 wouldn't have worked to flesh out these characters equally because it was a murder scheme against their parents. Both Andrew and Ashely's interaction with their mother and how the events of the murder played out, heightened the themes of willingness to change or the lack of. And subsequentially, the codependency of the siblings.

At the end of the day, creators should be encouraged and pushed to create narratives through uncomfortable lenses. Sometimes a story can only stand out with that unique perspective. Nemlei's rap sheet as a game developer has never been taboo-free, however, it was this game that got them hated, bullied, and doxed.

Because of implied incest -from what I'm concerned. Aside from the dream stuff.

I'm not shocked, just disappointed that people took to the internet to be hateful about a game with merit.

I hope Nemlei takes this in stride and comes back to the platform with the release of episode 3. I am in love with The Coffin of Andy and Leyley. There are many unanswered questions. And I can only see a bittersweet ending for these characters.

Join me next time, when I give my thoughts on Andrew and Ashely Graves. I will deep dive into episodes 1 and 2 as well in the future.

⚰️🔪⚰️🔪⚰️🔪 Thoughts on Ashely Graves:

LOADING.....

⚰️🔪⚰️🔪⚰️🔪 Thoughts on Andrew Graves:

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Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo! Do you agree or disagree? Comment down below! Future fanfics are in the works so follow me. 🥹

I recommend checking out my character thought pieces on Okazaki Kei and Shiraishi Kageyuki from Collar X Malice.

[quitealotofsodapop]

MK ends up supervised at all times when he's pregnant specifically after he nearly burned down Pigsy's due to pregnancy brain, usually by Red Son and/or Mei but occasionally by the others. They let his siblings babysitsupervise him one time and the older adults came back to them all asleep in a cuddle pile on the couch with MK in the center, Mei's phone still on and playing the OSP 'History Hijinks' playlist because dorky mortals do be dorky sometimes

MK also absolutely has Wukong's "Gold Vision lets me see the baby(s)" thing and would just lovingly watch his kids as they developed via Gold Vision, drawing what he sees for Red and the others (except Wukong cuz he can ofc also see the developing grandkids). Red has all of the drawings compiled into a photo album, along with ultrasounds and so many pictures of just pregnant MK. He loves his husband very very much

Awwwww!!!! I havent much to add because these are so cute!

Wukong and Macaque are protective ofc, but they've been through the pregnant monkey motions before, so they give MK almost-complete freedom whenever he's with them. DBK and PIF in contast have an army of Bull Clones at the ready to attend MK's every need and ensure the safe arrival of their future grand-heirs.

Pigsy would def be the most insistent that MK take parental leave from work - both out of concern (thats his adoptive son and grandpiglets there), and out of fear for his poor restaurant. Tang thinks he's over-reacting a bit, but carrys MK's food to him irregardless. Sandy ofc is the most trusted expert when it comes to breathing exercises, teas, and aromatherapy.

Mei is chiller about letting MK do stuff for himself around the house, but wisely doesn't let him cook something unsupervised. Nezha and Chenxiang are chill in their own ways too, but they worry when MK carries anything heavier than a book. Bai He and the Eclipse Twins are determined to make sure MK stays off his feet until the spicynoodles baby(s) arrive. They would be mega-proud and bossy about it too since; "I'm their uncle/auntie!", and MK adores his little siblings too much to argue with them. Sibling cuddle piles/nests are a common occurance.

With Red, atleast MK can convince her to let him walk to the corner store for snacks. Red does insist that MK take a Bull Clone to carry any heavy weights tho (bonus: safety precaution).

MK using his Gold Vision to "peak in" at the developing baby(s) is such an adorable idea. He probably does it first on accident and is speechless. Wukong tells him how he did the same thing when Macaque was pregnant with MK (+when Shadowpeach had Rumble & Savage), and that its super cool to watch the little guy(s) grow. MK would def sketch up what he sees in there and pins it next to the corresponding ultrasound for comparision.

I feel like thats how they found out there was twins...

Ultrasound Technician: "Ok, looks like you've got a big healthy baby demon in there!" MK, turns on Gold-Vision: "Huh, but whats this blobby bit of energy here? Normally I see only one." Ultrasound technician: *moves sensor to the spot* "Oh!! Make that two healthy babies! That one must have been hiding behind its twin." MK: :D!! Red Son: *faints with joy*

Red Son def has an endless wallet/photo album of their growing family. Their almost as bad as their dad - Mr "Canonically brags about the exact time of his kid's birth to anyone who'd listen" DBK. Red Son got the timestamps ready for their own bragging.

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 11

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

Lan Qiren had done something while he was gone, Wen Ruohan thought to himself, observing the other man as they meandered down the paths of the Nightless City. More than likely he’d gone to confront his demons in the Crescent Moon Courtyard – he’d largely hidden it by the time Wen Ruohan had found him being harassed by Lu Qipei and Shen Mingbi, but his eyes were still a little reddened in a way that suggested he had been crying earlier.

Also, his cultivation had increased. A lot.

Irritatingly, it didn’t seem that Lan Qiren had even noticed it yet. He had a remarkably solid foundation, the sort that you built up over years of effort focused on the basics, and that meant he could amass a rather large amount of spiritual energy without feeling the strain. Presumably, he’d done just that – though it was impossible to tell whether the extent of the sudden increase was from having removed the emotional entanglement that had been tripping him up, a breakthrough on account of enlightenment, or simply, denials aside, having gotten closer to a qi deviation than was strictly healthy.

(Personally, Wen Ruohan suspected that the technique of getting stronger by going a little too close to qi deviations without dying was how the Nie sect had started out, with their wild tempers and vicious sabers that were so intertwined that it was impossible to tell which one had come first. Of course, only someone who subscribed to the Nie sect’s insane belief that fighting evil was more important than living well, or who was already inclined to die of rage, would be willing to deal with the way the technique later backfired. But as a matter of pure efficiency, it was probably second only to outright demonic cultivation as a means of building power…)

The cultivation style of Gusu generally didn’t lend itself to those sorts of sudden increases. Their tradition was the orthodox of the orthodox, all hard work and good living, very focused on slow and steady accumulation, and Lan Qiren was no exception to the rule. As Wen Ruohan had personally observed, Lan Qiren really did meditate and practice his swordsmanship or music every day and, knowing his ridiculous addiction to his sect rules, probably also genuinely tried to honestly love all beings, not be unreasonable, all those sorts of things. In fact, Wen Ruohan had also noticed that his golden core had an unusual purity, shining brighter than others of the same level of power. He hadn’t yet figured out why that might be, though, or if it had any particular effects – perhaps that would be something to look into, eventually?

Wen Ruohan hadn’t bothered with anything medical in literal decades, his sect’s fame in that regard aside. He far preferred arrays, which let him play with power directly, with talismans as a second choice, and only then physical weapons, such as the sword, every cultivator’s standby, or the spear, his long-ago lost brother’s preference; in comparison, needles, medicines, and the finicky human body, at least in its healthy and intact form, were much less interesting to him. He’d only ever bothered to learn medicine in the first place because he distrusted others’ motives in tending to him and wanted to be able to verify that they were doing what they said they were doing, and these days he only exercised that part of his brain when he was keeping people alive to better torment them.

Still, he’d found to his amusement that everything about Lan Qiren interested him these days, even to the point of picking up long-unused skills. For someone like him, who had been bored by everything for so long, that glimmer of interest far outweighed the boredom of medicine…

It was a pity he couldn’t explore Lan Qiren’s fascinating core through dual cultivation instead – which wasn’t a thought Wen Ruohan had ever thought he’d have. Dual cultivation required significant vulnerability from both sides, especially for the weaker party, but unfortunately the benefits usually went to the weaker party, too. Wen Ruohan was much more powerful than his partners, and his cultivation style was too orthodox to use another person as a furnace, so it was inevitable that it would be his partner who got most of the benefits rather than him. And Wen Ruohan was not inclined towards generosity, nor to vulnerability.

With Lan Qiren, though…it could be fun.

Wen Ruohan would be willing to bet that Lan Qiren had never noticed any increase in his cultivation, much less learned to enjoy the rush of power filling your body and going to your head that came with it – it might be enjoyable to give him a bit of a shock. Or at least knock him off balance a little, as Lan Qiren’s ability to keep his composure in bed was one of his most charming and also most irritating traits…

Unfortunately, it was highly unlikely Lan Qiren would ever agree to dual cultivate with him, given how much it would leave him at Wen Ruohan’s mercy. Oh, well.

Wen Ruohan indulged himself by reaching out to put his hand on the back of Lan Qiren’s neck so that his fingertips just rested on the pulse point by his jaw. Perhaps he could satisfy the urge if he evaluated the exact extent of the increased power…

“– are you even listening to me?!”

“Not at all,” Wen Ruohan said cheerfully, not removing his hand. “Were you saying something important?”

Outraged, Lan Qiren opened his mouth.

“Important to me.”

“…well, it should be.” Lan Qiren rolled his eyes at him. “They are your wives, Sect Leader Wen.”

Wen Ruohan attempted to review the last few moments of the conversation, without success. He hadn’t bothered to pay attention to anything about his wives since Shen Mingbi had survived birthing Wen Chao, not even when they were scheming against him. They were predictable to the extreme, and exceptionally boring as a result.

For instance, Lu Qipei was, in his opinion, a vicious backstabbing harridan whose sole weakness was her fondness for being fawned over and admired. He’d married her for her family’s then-notable influence and she’d never once hesitated to lord it over everyone else, even though he’d long since swallowed that family into his own sect. She’d always treated him as if he was a fool, simultaneously scheming to try to make him fall in love with her in order to secure her status as mistress of the Nightless City and yet unable to resist sneaking some of her former admirers into his household as servants, presumably to more efficiently cuckold him after he’d given her the son he’d promised her.

She could mercilessly manipulate people better than half his spies, a trait that Wen Ruohan thoroughly approved of, but despite all her cleverness, it had seemingly never crossed her mind that the reason he didn’t continue to favor her after he’d fulfilled his obligations under their marriage was because he simply didn’t like her, just as she didn’t very much like him. He didn’t mind that she had other lovers – in truth, he’d expected as much, and was unsurprised to have his expectations fulfilled – but he was considerably annoyed by the fact that she continuously tried to hide them from him, as if she thought him stupid enough to remain ignorant despite how obvious she was. She had the position he’d promised her, yet she persisted in feeling as though she were entitled to his affection, and even that she only wanted to better control him; worst of all, she tended to blame her inability to obtain it on the scheming of others and acted accordingly.

Shen Mingbi, in contrast, was a fundamentally stupid woman who could only not be called vicious because it would imply a level of cunning she lacked. To her general misfortune, she was not an especially strong personality, so she followed Lu Qipei’s lead in most things, and never seemed to learn her lesson no matter how many times it blew up in her face. Her primary virtue was her persistence and fearlessness; she’d been the one to crawl into his bed, back when she’d been nothing but an overlooked middle daughter sent to serve as a maid in a greater sect than her own, hoping to improve her personal lot in life even if it meant the eventual downfall of her family. Wen Ruohan could appreciate that level of ruthlessness, and he had – in both of them, really.

They were each of them in their own ways perfectly suited for their positions as his wives, the two of them together keeping a tight grip on the social scene of the Nightless City, queen bees reigning in their hive. They kept the place lively, made the Nightless City a sparkling gem that attracted talent to his side, and ensured that Wen Ruohan didn’t have to worry about being outmatched by other sects. He appreciated them for that. 

But that didn’t make them interesting.

As far as he was concerned, their behavior was as inevitable as the dawn: Lu Qipei, bitter at having been formally demoted from the position of first Madam Wen even though he’d explicitly ensured that she retain all the power of the position and personally reassured her of it to boot, would refuse to believe that Lan Qiren wasn’t out to get the rest of her power, and so first try to bully Lan Qiren; when that failed, she’d probably turn to subversion and then sabotage, neither of which would win her his favor or get Lan Qiren to go away. For her part, Shen Mingbi, who would probably have been content to remain focused on herself and her son if not incited by Lu Qipei, would mock and insult Lan Qiren simply for existing in her vicinity, throwing pointless temper tantrums when he was around as if she inexplicably hoped to be indulged in them, and later would invariably allow herself to be used in one of Lu Qipei’s schemes.

In any event, absolutely nothing of any use would be accomplished.

Wen Ruohan rarely even bothered to undermine their plots anymore. He didn’t even think Lan Qiren would notice most of them…

No, his attention had more or less shut off entirely after they’d finished with the subject of what Lan Qiren was going to call him –

(Feeling contrary, he’d refused to grant Lan Qiren permission to use his name. This had led to a long lecture about inappropriate behavior and quite a few invocations of the fact that they were married, but hilariously enough it turned out that Lan Qiren was too polite to just go ahead and call him by name when explicitly denied the privilege. So they were still at “Sect Leader Wen,” just…notably more sarcastically.)

“Intolerable,” Lan Qiren grumbled, stepping away so that Wen Ruohan’s hand fell back down to his side. “Absolutely intolerable. You were not listening at all, were you? I was saying that I should move out of your courtyard – ”

“Absolutely not.”

Lan Qiren glared. “Then how exactly do you propose to satisfy your duty to your wives? You certainly are not going to be doing it with them whilst I am in the room.”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “Well – ”

His words cut off despite himself. Lan Qiren, ears gone red again, had just used the Lan sect’s silencing spell on him, even though he knew it was the work of only a moment for Wen Ruohan to break it.

The silencing spell. On him. In his own city!

Shen Mingbi wasn’t the only one who was fearless. Only Lan Qiren had every bit of cleverness that she lacked; he knew exactly what he was risking by confronting Wen Ruohan the way he did, and yet he did it anyway, wholly naturally and without hesitation. It was as if he really, truly wasn’t afraid of him…

How novel.

“What is your alternative suggestion, then?” Lan Qiren asked. “Without the innuendo.”

Chuckling, Wen Ruohan shook his head and snapped the spell.

“As a start, if I wanted to,” he said dryly, tucking his hands behind his back as he walked, “I could always go and visit them in their courtyards before returning to you in mine – ”

“The same evening?! That would be unsanitary – ”

“– but I wouldn’t, and it’s irrelevant anyway,” Wen Ruohan continued, overriding Lan Qiren easily. “On account of the fact that I don’t sleep with them.”

Lan Qiren seemed completely taken aback by this statement.

“I agreed with each of them in advance of our marriage that I would give her the power of a position as my wife and a son of her own,” Wen Ruohan explained. “In each case, I’ve done so. The only reason I would have to sleep with them now is if I wanted to, and I don’t want to.”

Certainly any actual interest he’d had in either of his wives hadn’t survived their other lovers.

It wasn’t that he objected to them having other lovers. Wen Ruohan’s ambitions made him a busy man who didn’t have time to lavish attention on others, and that meant he was not the type of man to properly keep a wife. That had been a lesson he’d learned from his first wife, the one who’d died many years ago along with his first family and whose name he had since declared taboo even to himself; she had been the first one to explain to him that wives had high requirements for affection and indulgence and that they would invariably turn elsewhere when he grew too busy for them, no matter what he might try. When he, at the time still young and stupid, had offered to try to do better by her, to slow or divert his plans to make more time for her, she had merely laughed in his face and informed him that she’d already found others that suited her taste more than him, presenting them to him as a fait accompli. At the time, caught up in the battle for succession, he hadn’t had time or energy to fight her on it or divorce her over it – which was, he supposed, her point.

Still…at least she’d had taste. He’d encouraged all his wives to take lovers if they so wished, yes, and was unsurprised when they did, but at the same time, the sort of people his current wives allowed into their beds was simply depressing. If Wen Ruohan ever started feeling inclined towards one or another of them, usually after they’d impressed him with some profoundly wicked bit of scheming, he need only remember that they categorized him with those other idiots and his interest tended to melt away faster than morning dew in midsummer.

“But – ”

“They have other lovers,” Wen Ruohan said, mostly for the pleasure of seeing Lan Qiren shocked and appalled all over again, which he was. “Although we live separate lives, they’re both kept quite satisfied, I assure you.”

Lan Qiren scowled.

They walked together a little longer, Wen Ruohan thinking idly of what else he could say to shock Lan Qiren’s easily troubled sensibilities, and then Lan Qiren managed to shock him by grumbling, “All for the best, I suppose. Scheduling was always my least favorite part of being sect leader.”

Wen Ruohan disguised his bark of amusement as a cough. “Is that your objection? The scheduling?”

“I cannot say that I enjoy the concept of sharing,” Lan Qiren said – he just said it! flat out! and without so much as missing a beat. How utterly shameless of him. “But on the other hand, as I am married to the second most obnoxious man in the world, I assume that at some point I would be likely to enjoy a reprieve.”

What sort of Lan are you? Wen Ruohan thought, finding it harder and harder to keep from outright cackling. As ruthless with your own heart as with anything else – I like it.

“The second most obnoxious man in the world?” he asked, smirking. “I’m offended. Who’s the first?”

“Pretending to be ignorant does not suit you. Your lover, of course.”

“You?”

“Sect Leader Nie.”

And that, too, came as a surprise. Wen Ruohan twisted his head to stare at Lan Qiren: “You know about that?”

Lan Qiren scoffed. “Were you under the impression that the two of you were being subtle? You were so blatant that even I noticed, and everyone knows that understanding social situations is hardly my forte.”

That was true, everyone did know that about Lan Qiren. But what they didn’t know, though, was that Wen Ruohan had been sleeping with Lao Nie for years, almost invariably on account of the fact that anything they saw that suggested it was immediately dismissed out of hand as implausible. Two men who weren’t particularly known for cutting their sleeves, each of whom was powerful enough to find and marry a beautiful female cultivator if they wanted, coming together without any plausible political motivation…no one believed it. Why would they bother with each other when there were other options, easier options? So even when other people saw evidence of it, they assumed it was all a convenient fiction to cover up something else or, at most, a joke being played deliberately, meant to provoke.

Presumably the doubt hadn’t even crossed Lan Qiren’s mind. Of course he would be the one to notice, with his tendency to deduce social situations as if they were logic puzzles and the clear-sightedness that that approach gave him. And just as typical, even though he’d noticed, even though noticing had meant that he’d had tremendous leverage he could have employed over two other Great Sects, he hadn’t done a single thing about it in all these years.

Of course he didn’t. Lan Qiren, a blackmailer? Never!

Wen Ruohan was now grinning outright. Even his bone-deep paranoia was having trouble believing that Lan Qiren would ever genuinely try to manipulate him.

After all, that was just who Lan Qiren was, wasn’t he? It was the same thing as all the rest of him: he really believed in those stupid rules of his and tried to live up to them, no matter how ridiculous. He had morals and principles and he genuinely cared about them for their own sake, for his own sake, regardless of the outside circumstances. He wasn’t going to turn himself into an extortionist, not for anything, no matter what it might get him. The possibility had probably never crossed his mind.

Just as it probably had never occurred to him to scheme for Wen Ruohan’s favor, the way Lu Qipei and Shen Mingbi did, and then immediately turn and throw it away…

“Do you actually call Lao Nie ‘Sect Leader Nie’?” he asked, side-stepping Lan Qiren’s question. “No one does that, not even me.”

“I thought it appropriate, since apparently you are so devoted to sticking with formalities – ”

Wen Ruohan cracked, giving in and starting to laugh. “All right, all right,” he said, feeling refreshed. “Have it your way.”

“It is not a matter of my way or your way,” Lan Qiren said, sounding long-suffering. “It is not about winning. It is about establishing a relationship – ”

“You have my permission to call me by name,” Wen Ruohan interrupted. Personally, he thought it was entirely about winning, and also that Lan Qiren was very clearly signaling that he wasn’t prepared to lose.

“Thank you.”

Wen Ruohan sent a pointed look at Lan Qiren. “Thank you, what?”

Lan Qiren choked on his words again, and that made Wen Ruohan laugh once more. That was the most ridiculous part of this little argument, of course: that this was the thing Lan Qiren was choosing to put his foot down on, his hill to die on, given that it was pretty obviously something he didn’t even especially want.

Wen Ruohan decided, somewhat uncharacteristically, to have mercy. “While you can use my name if you want,” he said generously (and in as pointedly condescending a tone as he could manage), “you can also continue to address me as you always have.”

Lan Qiren looked relieved.

“I merely wished to have the option,” he said stiffly. “Your wives pointed out to me that there are certain circumstances where I might wish to exercise the use of a – ah – a greater level of intimacy – ”

“No, no, that’s not part of the agreement, you definitely have to keep calling me Sect Leader Wen in bed,” Wen Ruohan said, smirking when Lan Qiren gave him an exasperated look. He raised his eyebrows in return, making clear that he wasn’t going to bend on this one – and he really wasn’t, either. There was a certain piquancy to the way Lan Qiren used what ought to be a term of respect when they were in bed together that he was loath to give up. It wasn’t disrespectful, exactly, he’d never tolerate that, but Lan Qiren did have a tendency to invoke it when he was being especially mean. Absolutely delicious, absolutely unexpected of him, and all the more enjoyable for being unexpected.

“…at other times, then,” Lan Qiren conceded with bad grace. “As appropriate.”

“We must certainly always take care to abide by propriety,” Wen Ruohan agreed, ignoring Lan Qiren’s annoyance at his sarcasm. “Isn’t that one of your rules?”

“You are thinking of ‘propriety suggests reciprocity,’” Lan Qiren said in a way that suggested that Wen Ruohan deserved exactly none at the moment. “Although, on that note…”

Rather uncharacteristically, he trailed off.

Wen Ruohan waited for him to complete his thought. There was no point in even bothering to formulate a guess as to what it might be, he thought, quite pleased by the notion. With Lan Qiren, it might be a reversion to his usual type, with more lecturing and invocation of rules, or it could be something completely unexpectedly, completely off the wall –

“I think it would be only right to inform you that I have developed the intention to use you.”

Wen Ruohan blinked.

Somehow, even when he’d braced himself, Lan Qiren found a way to be weirder than he’d anticipated.

“Use me?” he asked, bemused. “How so?”

If it had been Lao Nie, Wen Ruohan would have assumed that he was referring to something sexual, but with Lan Qiren that was highly unlikely. Yet the only other alternative that came to mind was political, and that seemed if anything even more unlikely –

“I haven’t decided yet.” Lan Qiren was looking straight ahead, and his ears had gone red again. “However, propriety demands reciprocity. You have been upfront – well, relatively – with the fact that you intend to use me and my talents to advance your schemes for power. I am informing you that I intend the same.”

Wen Ruohan had no idea what to do with that.

“You,” he said blankly. “You want to scheme for more power?”

Lan Qiren finally turned to look at him, glaring. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “I intend to use the fact that you have power in order to find a way to help my nephews.”

That made much more sense. Wen Ruohan relaxed, the world that had threatened to teeter off its axis resuming its regular spin. Lan Qiren was still Lan Qiren.

In fact, now that Wen Ruohan was no longer distracted by shock, his primary feeling on the subject turned out to be…glee.

Incredible, overwhelming, profusive glee.

I did that, Wen Ruohan thought to himself, delighted. That was all me.

Hadn’t he just been thinking earlier that Lan Qiren would never condescend to scheme for his favor? And he wouldn’t, either, because he’d just come out and told Wen Ruohan about his intentions – just as it had never occurred to him to become a blackmailer, it had just as obviously never occurred to Lan Qiren that he could try to manipulate Wen Ruohan into doing what he wanted without telling him in advance. Based on how he’d phrased what he’d just said, he probably thought that merely intending to personally benefit from Wen Ruohan was already some sort of betrayal of the innate concept of marriage that existed only in his head, or maybe in his sect rules.

But he had.

Despite his rules, despite his ideals, I have developed the intention to use you.

That was Qishan Wen ambition, not Gusu Lan restraint.

The rigid and unimpeachable Lan Qiren, whose morals everyone trusted to remain forever pristine…it was almost like watching a fawn take its first few steps, shaky and uncertain.

Wen Ruohan was so proud.

Mostly of himself, of course. Who else could say that they had made inroads into corrupting the incorruptible? Amazing, really; at times, he impressed even himself. Now this was a power rush…

“I know that expression,” Lan Qiren sighed. “The desk again, I assume?”

Wen Ruohan wouldn’t mind getting fucked over his desk some more; it was one of his favorite places for it. But no, this was a personal triumph, not a political one. The bed would do just fine…or maybe he could finally enact that plan he’d made early on and never acted upon.

“I have other plans,” he said. Lan Qiren looked at him suspiciously. “How about a bath before dinner?”

“I mistrust the tone in which you said that, but I also cannot think of how you could pervert the purpose of a bath,” Lan Qiren said, revealing the limits of his experience and imagination. “At any rate, I have been overly active this morning, so I could use one. Very well, lead the way…and in the meantime, you should tell me what it was that you wanted from me when you called me away from your wives. I assume it was not for this.”

It had better not have been for sex, Lan Qiren’s tone suggested, or else Wen Ruohan wasn’t going to be getting any.

“I had a real purpose,” Wen Ruohan protested mildly, still too gleeful and full of himself to mind. “Upon my arrival, my head disciple reminded me that it was time to organize the trip to Yunmeng for the discussion conference. I’ve decided to put you to work.”

Lan Qiren visibly brightened.

The good mood carried him through dinner with Lu Qipei and Shen Mingbi that evening, even though his attempt to use a high collar to conceal the bite marks Wen Ruohan had purposefully littered his neck with was completely unsuccessful – in classic form, the women had conspired to deliberately not bring their sons to the table as an insult, only to be so appalled by the obvious marks of Wen Ruohan’s favor that they could barely bring themselves to speak at all, much less point out the insult to him, and so Lan Qiren blissfully floated through the dinner completely unaware of the snub. Lan Qiren even voluntarily stayed awake past his usual bedtime in order to read up on all the things he felt he needed to know before he spoke with the sect quartermaster about logistics, full of excitement and anticipation.

Really, Wen Ruohan hadn’t even noticed how listless and depressed the man had been until he suddenly wasn’t. It was almost funny – but what was really funny was how, with his improved mood and something useful to do with himself, Lan Qiren’s notoriously finicky temper finally returned in full force.

“You will have to forgive me,” he overheard Lan Qiren saying in a tone that suggested he meant it as an insult. “I have been trying to manage the transportation, feeding, and upkeep of the completely unnecessary full delegation we are apparently sending to Yunmeng at Sect Leader Wen’s insistence and which Wen sect tradition apparently mandates to be at least one and a half times larger and three times fancier than a full delegation from any other sect would be. As you can imagine, I have been quite pressed with everything I have to do. And you want to waste my time by telling me about protocol?”

Wen Ruohan choked back laughter, listening from around the corner as his poor disciple stammered and stuttered in response.

“I – that is – it’s traditional – ”

“I would be more than willing to pause the four urgent tasks I need to accomplish within the next shichen to listen to you, but only if you can explain to me exactly what new information about proper protocol you, a member of the Wen sect, quite possibly the rudest and most arrogant sect in the cultivation world, are going to impart to me, who served Gusu Lan as its sect leader for ten years.”

His disciple looked like he maybe wanted to cry, which was quite notable in a man of at least forty who’d been trained for years to deal with Wen Ruohan’s own very particular temperament.

Wen Ruohan’s ribs were starting to hurt with the effort of keeping silent.

“Is there some unique aspect to protocol in the Wen sect that I am unaware of, perhaps? I must admit I have not observed any in the last few discussion conferences that I personally attended, but if you insist...” Lan Qiren paused, then turned and scowled at where Wen Ruohan was standing. “Do you think I cannot hear you snickering over there? Stop skulking in the shadows. It’s unbecoming of a sect leader.”

“I was not skulking,” Wen Ruohan said, though he did start walking again, turning the corner. “I just happened to overhear you. Have you spoken with the armory yet about which sect flags we’re taking?”

“You have multiple – what am I saying, of course you do.” Lan Qiren huffed. “I’ll go there now.”

Wen Ruohan watched the other man storm off in amusement, then glanced at the disciple next to him. It was a kinsman of his, though he couldn’t remember his name; there were too many of them for that.

“Really,” he said, drawing out the word, and watched the man go pale gratifyingly fast. “He does have a point, you know. Instructing a son of Gusu Lan on propriety? Do you also teach fish to swim in your seemingly plentiful spare time?”

“But it’s traditional!” the man bleated, and Wen Ruohan had to at least give him credit for standing his ground. “There’s always an introduction to protocol before the first public event involving someone who’s just married into the sect, especially if they’re acting in any sort of important position.”

Wen Ruohan was just about to point out that the circumstances were surely materially different if the other person involved was formerly a sect leader of a Great Sect in his own right and therefore painfully familiar with all matters of inane discussion conference protocol when the most beautiful revelation abruptly struck him.

Lan Qiren might know all the protocol, yes, and probably ten times better than Wen Ruohan ever had –  but everything he knew was applicable to him in his role as a sect leader or, at most, sect disciple. Only…he wasn’t attending the conference as either sect leader or sect disciple.

He was attending as Wen Ruohan’s wife.

And as far as Wen Ruohan had determined, Lan Qiren had yet to realize that.

“What are we introducing him as?” he asked, thinking it through himself in sudden delight: wives often helped host discussion conferences held at their homes but rarely traveled to the ones hosted by another sect, although it wasn’t unheard of – for instance, Jiang Fengmian often brought his wife, although everyone not-so-secretly speculated that that was because Yu Ziyuan was afraid that her husband would make a stupid concession if she wasn’t there to help. But that was the exception: sect leaders’ wives would generally not attend the actual conference, politely withdrawing while the sect leaders were talking and rejoining them only later on for the banquets held each evening. “I’ve given instructions that no one leak any information about him until we’re there, of course, but – for the first banquet, they’ll have to introduce us. What will they call him?”

“I…I would imagine they would address him as Madam Wen, Sect Leader? It isn’t as though he has a personal title to use instead, the way Madam Yu – ah, that is, the way Madam Jiang might be called the Violet Spider…”

Wen Ruohan grinned.

(His smile made the other man’s soul seem to flee his body.)

“Don’t tell him,” he instructed. “I want absolutely no one to address him by his title until we’re there, all right? I want it to be a surprise.”

“A – surprise, Sect Leader?”

“I want that banquet to be the first time he’s formally addressed as Madam Wen,” Wen Ruohan clarified, still grinning and entirely unable to stop. “Until then, all the servants and disciples are to address him only as Senior Lan. Pass the word around to everyone, and make sure they know that anyone who errs will be facing my personal displeasure. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sect Leader! I’ll go at once!”

Wen Ruohan nodded his consent and then resumed his initial path. This discussion conference was going to be hilarious, he thought to himself, still gleeful. Between the other sects finding out about Lan Qiren’s new status and Lan Qiren himself finally figuring out his proper role in their relationship, it was going to be absolutely hilarious. Lao Nie was going to find it hard to stop laughing…assuming he didn’t lose his temper at Wen Ruohan first, of course.

Hmm. It belatedly occurred to Wen Ruohan that Lao Nie might not be as pleased with his brilliant plan as he was – for whatever reason, Lao Nie had always been quite fond of Lan Qiren, and even genuinely, not in the outwardly affable but inwardly scornful way he was with most of his fellow sect leaders. That was quite odd in and of itself, really, since Lao Nie tended to only like people who he thought were dangerous…which was an interesting thought. Maybe there really had always been more to Lan Qiren all along and he’d just missed it.

Annoying, to find an oversight like that. Still, Wen Ruohan had repaired it now, hadn’t he? Lan Qiren was his, and he wasn’t giving him back.

Not even if Lao Nie wanted him to.

Come to think of it, Lao Nie had mentioned Lan Qiren a few times in the rare letter or two he sent to the Nightless City. Complaints that Lan Qiren hadn’t responded to his letters, at first, and later expressing some concern about the notion of Lan Qiren going into seclusion, as if he couldn’t figure out or possibly admit to himself that it had obviously been involuntary. Wen Ruohan hadn’t written back, which wasn’t uncommon, but now that he thought about it, there was in fact a chance that Lao Nie might object, and strenuously, to what he might perceive (not incorrectly) as something being forced onto Lan Qiren against his will…

Anyway, it didn’t matter. Even if Wen Ruohan were inclined to give something up for Lao Nie’s sake, which he didn’t, he couldn’t. A marriage was a marriage. Wen Ruohan wasn’t going to just up and divorce Lan Qiren, giving up all his plans and embarrassing Lan Qiren in the process. Anyway, if he did, that awful brother of his would almost certainly find a far worse fate for him once Lan Qiren was back in his clutches, and Wen Ruohan very much did not appreciate being considered the lesser evil.

Actually, come to think of it, that was another pleasure to be found in the upcoming discussion conference: Qingheng-jun was undoubtedly going to be hideously disappointed to find Lan Qiren whole and intact and even thriving. Maybe Wen Ruohan could find a way to arrange a way for them to meet right after they’d fucked – Lan Qiren didn’t ever really look properly fucked out, or at least Wen Ruohan hadn’t gotten him there yet despite a few half-hearted attempts, but after a particularly enthusiastic session he did have a sort of relaxed glow to him that was rather distinctive. If Qingheng-jun saw it…

Hah!

Wen Ruohan felt, for the first time in a very long while, the distinct urge to hum as he walked. Maybe even whistle, though of course you couldn’t whistle around a Lan, they got jittery with that.

He didn’t give into the unexpectedly childish urge – but he wanted to.

And then, soon enough, the time to set out for the discussion conference was upon them.

Wen Ruohan spent about half the time involved in getting out the door being pleasantly surprised at how smoothly and efficiently everything was working, finding that Lan Qiren was every bit as good at organizing things as Wen Ruohan had expected him to be. Unfortunately, he spent the other half of the time thoroughly appalled that the morning’s work was such an improvement from his sect’s usual efforts, which he’d already considered to be quite efficient. They made it out of the gate of the Nightless City before noon on the first day, which had never happened before even once.

“I can’t believe it took us until midmorning to set out,” Lan Qiren complained when Wen Ruohan finally managed to pull him away from scolding people and back into the carriage they would be sharing for the duration of the trip. “The exit time was set for dawn, yet no one seemed prepared. Some of the disciples weren’t even awake!”

“The exit time is set for dawn because my ancestor said that all important delegations leave at dawn, and we obey it about the same as we do all of his other teachings – which is to say not at all,” Wen Ruohan informed him. Sadly, Lan Qiren did not seem to appreciate that wisdom. When he instead looked inclined to continue to complain, Wen Ruohan opted to distract him by offering him his choice of a blowjob or paperwork on next year’s tax collection.

(Predictably, Lan Qiren picked the paperwork. Wen Ruohan wasn’t even offended by it. He knew Lan Qiren would make it up to him later, and he also had the sneaking suspicion that when Lan Qiren had finished going over their taxes, he’d find that his sect’s income for this year was going to be a significant improvement over the last without anyone being able to pinpoint exactly how.)

“Oh, lest I forget, I overturned one of your decisions yesterday,” Lan Qiren said at one point, finally rousing himself out of his number-induced daze long enough to eat something and interact with another living being. “You are not permitted to torture the seamstresses. They got the robes done in time.”

“In time for our trip, not in time for me to see you in them in advance,” Wen Ruohan groused. “You should be dressed in my colors.”

“White is one of the Wen sect’s colors. I am wearing white.”

“You look like you’re in mourning.”

“No one mourns in this much embroidery,” Lan Qiren said, voice dry as dust. “I shall change when we get there and no sooner.”

Wen Ruohan supposed he’d have to be content with that. But he wasn’t happy about it.

“Are you bored? Is that the problem?” Lan Qiren inquired, then put aside the paperwork with only a mild grumble. “I can return the offer you gave me, if you like.”

“I most certainly would,” Wen Ruohan said, because he wasn’t an idiot. And then, because he was sometimes maybe a bit of an idiot, he added snidely, “Though I thought you intended to finish reviewing the tax collection regulations before evening.”

Lan Qiren looked strangely thoughtful at that.

“…what?”

“It occurs to me,” Lan Qiren said, “that if you can stay still, I can likely multitask.”

And then he did.

Wen Ruohan had a new appreciation for the intricacy of the tax code his ancestors had implemented.

Less so for Lan Qiren’s fastidiousness – change clothing after bathing was a rule, apparently, and bathing after sex was less a rule than an obvious practice – but either way it did pass the time extraordinarily well, and soon enough they were arriving in Yunmeng.

Running late, of course, but that was always Wen Ruohan’s preference. He rarely had any patience for the social mingling that typically preceded the first day’s official meeting. The regular crowd would be gathering and showing off to each other, while the sect leaders would gather for a late morning meeting in order to reach a formal agreement on rules for the conference – the usual sort of reassurances that violence would not be tolerated, no acts of retribution, that sort of thing, always the same every year. It wasn’t until the second day that the discussion conference would be formally opened, with events for the disciples to compete in and time reserved for the important political negotiations.

Arriving late would give Wen Ruohan the perfect opportunity for an impressive entrance, which he always made – and this time, he had something special to show off.

As expected, Lan Qiren looked absolutely splendid in his new robes.

Wen Ruohan had ordered him several new sets, but had agreed, mostly for his own amusement, that the one he would wear for the first day would be the most conservative one, something not entirely dissimilar to Lan Qiren’s old robes, mostly white with a touch of color at the hems and on the inside layer. Except, of course, that the color was red, not blue, and the white was subtly embroidered with suns rather than clouds. Wen Ruohan was sure it would take a little while for people to notice, as most of them didn’t bother to look more closely once they saw the telltale forehead ribbon that denoted a Lan.

Sure enough, when they first walked into the already crowded pavilion at the Lotus Pier, the Jiang sect disciple at the door greeted them with a proper welcome to Wen Ruohan and a somewhat more sincere but significantly more confused “Welcome, Sect Leader Lan! The rest of the Gusu Lan delegation arrived a little earlier – ”

“I am no longer acting as sect leader,” Lan Qiren gently corrected him. “That term of address is no longer appropriate.”

“Oh, right.” The Jiang sect disciple looked embarrassed. “Sorry about that, Teacher Lan. Please come in.”

“One of your former students?” Wen Ruohan asked in a low voice as they went in, and was pleased to see Lan Qiren suppress a sigh and nod. “I see.”

“You act as though you are successfully making some sort of point. I regret to inform you that you are most assuredly not.”

They’d see about that.

Just as they’d see how long it took for anyone to notice that –

“Qiren! There you are!”

It was said that the shout of one of the Qinghe Nie could be heard halfway across the country. Whoever had come up with the saying had known what they were talking about, Wen Ruohan thought as he resisted the urge to rub his ears. That had been deafening.

Lao Nie cheerfully shouldered his way through the stunned and pained-looking crowd, many of whom were now staring at them – specifically at Lan Qiren, standing at Wen Ruohan’s side.

“There you are,” Lao Nie said again, stopping in front of them. “What kept you? I was starting to get worried, I didn’t know what to think when I didn’t see you with the Cloud Recesses delegation earlier. And now you’re coming in with Hanhan – nice to see you too, Hanhan – ”

Wen Ruohan was going to kill Lao Nie if he didn’t stop using that dreadful nickname.

“ – but Qiren, you’re never late. Did something happen? Were you delayed on the road?”

“It is good to see you as well,” Lan Qiren said, greeting the other man with a nod. “And no, I was not delayed. I am not part of the Cloud Recesses’ delegation this time, I am here with the Nightless City.”

The room, already mostly quiet as people blatantly eavesdropped, abruptly went completely silent.

“With…Qishan Wen?” Lao Nie echoed, then stared at him as if actually looking at him for the first time. Taking in the new robes, no doubt, and all the small details that had taken the seamstresses the better part of two months to finalize. Not the sort of thing that could be done overnight. “You’re with Qishan Wen this time? Is that what you said?”

“That’s right,” Wen Ruohan interjected. This was going to be so good. “I married him.”

Silence. Lao Nie looked at Lan Qiren, who nodded in confirmation –

And then the room exploded.

Everyone was talking at once, at exceptionally loud volumes. Shouts, yells, cries, and Wen Ruohan’s name were in everyone’s mouths, including the normally reserved delegation of Gusu Lan, which abandoned their usual grim-faced rectitude to huddle up and hiss at each other like a flock of angry geese. It seemed like Qingheng-jun had successfully hidden Lan Qiren’s marriage even from them.

Wen Ruohan was having such a good time right now.

For his part, Lao Nie just kept staring at the two of them, head revolving back and forth between them. But there was a storm brewing between his brows, that famous Nie temper clearly starting to rear its head, and he was just opening his mouth to say something when a very loud crack silenced the entire hall.

“Honorable guests,” Madam Yu said calmly, as if she hadn’t just cast out that lightning whip of hers in a sizzling arc right over everyone’s heads. “The time for the morning meeting has begun. For those of you who will be attending, please find your seats. The rest of you: kindly leave.”

“We will talk about this later,” Lao Nie said to them in a low voice, then stalked back towards his own sect.

Lan Qiren looked after him with a frown, clearly not sure what the problem was, and glanced back at Wen Ruohan, who responded with a very faint shrug. He knew what Lao Nie’s problem was, of course, even if he didn’t know exactly how the other man would end up expressing it, but at any event now wasn’t the time to talk about it.

Somehow Lan Qiren seemed to understand all of that from the shrug, and he nodded in acknowledgment, the frown disappearing in favor of the more studied neutral expression he usually had at sect conferences. He stepped back and let Wen Ruohan lead the way, settling down in the seat Wen Ruohan indicated for him, immediately to Wen Ruohan’s right. Normally that would be the place for whoever Wen Ruohan had picked to play the role of his head disciple, but there was still space for Wen Yingjiu to sit to his left, and that was sufficient for his purposes. Unlike some other sect leaders, Wen Ruohan rarely resorted to his nominal head disciple for anything other than taking notes, and putting Lan Qiren to his right meant that he could more efficiently look at the rest of the room and Lan Qiren at the same time, which best maximized his view of both everyone’s horrified glances at Lan Qiren and Lan Qiren’s completely unperturbed expression of calm.

Fantastic.

Wen Ruohan was just settling himself in for a gloriously entertaining meeting when someone suddenly said, very loudly, “Senior Lan, is this entirely appropriate?”

The room abruptly went silent.

The speaker was the sect leader of Wangdu Pei – not quite an official subsidiary sect of Lanling Jin, but not far from it. One of Jin Guangshan’s useful idiots, someone he could use to feel out a situation without risking a sect as valuable to him as the likes of Laoling Qin.

If this was going where he thought it was, Wen Ruohan was going to kill Jin Guangshan for daring to question his arrangements in public. Unfortunately, the query had been directed at Lan Qiren, not him, and that meant Lan Qiren had to be the one to respond to it.

Lan Qiren turned his head slowly and met Sect Leader Pei’s gaze.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice stiff and extremely even, dull as dishwater. Really, it was no wonder that Wen Ruohan had overlooked him for so long, if this was the persona he adopted in public.

Sect Leader Pei looked a little uncomfortable, having presumably assumed that Lan Qiren would understand his implication without him having to make it explicit – more fool he, given that Lan Qiren had never taken a hint once in ten years – but then forged on. “I mean…where you’re sitting.”

“What is wrong with where I am sitting?” Lan Qiren asked. His hands were folded in his lap and his posture was picture-perfect. He couldn’t have looked more like a good proper Lan if he’d tried. “I am here on behalf of Qishan Wen. Naturally I should sit with them. It is not inappropriate.”

“Perhaps it wouldn’t be inappropriate later at the banquet, but now?” Sect Leader Pei said, a sneer twisting his lips. “I’m not sure you’ve noticed, Senior Lan, but this meeting is reserved for sect leaders and their chief advisors only. Wives are not invited.”

Wen Ruohan’s fists clenched on his knees, his nails digging into flesh. How dare this man? He would slaughter this man the first moment he had the chance – he’d slaughter the man’s whole sect, he would eradicate it from the world for daring to insult him like this. For daring to mess with his plans like this! He’d wanted to embarrass Lan Qiren by calling him Madam Wen later, to be sure, but that would be when it would be purely funny and not lose anyone any face. But just as importantly, this discussion conference wouldn’t be any fun without Lan Qiren at his side. He hadn’t expected this to happen – he hadn’t thought anyone would dare to challenge him. Not directly, not like this…

Unexpectedly, Lan Qiren didn’t react to the taunt.

Instead, he just frowned.

“I am not sure what you mean,” he said, seeming genuinely confused, his voice still mild as before. “Wen Ruohan is the sect leader. Surely it would be by far more inappropriate for me to dismiss him from this gathering just for being my wife.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then the room erupted into utter pandemonium.

As for Wen Ruohan…

Wen Ruohan had to bite his lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing.

Before had been good, but this?

This was perfect.

[mydahliarose]

Happy birthday my angel ✨

First fic i ever write for them enjoy!

Pairing: Niiri x Michael 🎪✨

Trope: forbidden lovers angel x demon. 🩷

Fandom: what in hell is bad

Tag: fluff, comfort, tenderness, very slight nsfw 🤍

Synopsis: Niiri learned of Michael's birthday so she decided to show her his appreciation that involves some emotional intimacy as his gift. 💒

Information of Niiri here 🌁

It was recently that Michael would move to earth in order to be close with his assigned exorcists colleagues Merewyn and Thiago. However what he did not sign up for was that a demon would be a part of there group suddenly. He would have ended her right then and there during the circus operation if it wasn't for what she said.

" i wish to be an angel more than anything! Please i beg of you! Take me with you i hate it down there! My master is to corrupted by his majesty leviathans charm to give a damn for me! I feel lonely and scared down there! My path is with you Michael! Let me proove myself to you and your exorcists that im on your side! Please let me join you!"

Michael could still hear her crys even to this day. Thiago was the first to emphasize with her. actually really thanks to the maestro himself, he talked him to letting her join. Michael really should have popped his head right then and there, then call it a day with a new team but...

When he looked at niiri once more. It was like he couldn't take his eyes off her.

Was it because of her speech? Is it that he could not believe that a demon would actually want to change to his side? He pondered....

" Tck! Shes a sin!. She goes everything againts god and his beliefs!. I shall take matters into my own hands, once that Brianless macho man is knowhere near her!" *CRACK!* his mirror now in imperfection just as his inner self.

That's what he thought and that was it just a thought. because he would never act anything, infact his feelings for the entertainment demon only grew more as time went by that he grew more agitated at himself, and the fear this truly was if the angels knew of this.

So what will he do?. Bottle it up as much as he can until those filthy feelings went away and feel a sense of relief again.

But sadly for the seraphim himself this wouldn't happen.

August

It was his birthday. now Michael dosent usually celebrate it, infact hed just go to work with the other seraphim's to exterminate demons as he orgasms in the thought of smashing them againts a wall or decapitate them a perfect birthday celebration for him.

Niiri was with the exorcists. as usual exercising demons to purify of this earth. However, on this day they where all done for today, until merewyn mentioned of Michaels lack of celebration. once thiago mentioned his birth. Niiri tilted her head in Curiosity.

"its the beautiful bastards birthday?"

Of course thiago nodded in correct of her statement. and so niiri with no hesitation went straight home to make a cake made with the finest buttercream frosting and french vanilla mix, since hes so boujee it had to be perfect no mistakes can be made!.

Of course she wasnt used to baking at all, thankfully thiago helped before she became messy.

Michaels penthouse

Michael had returned from his successful mission. he was putting on his robe, after a long warm bath of washing away blood and emotional anguish. The room was overtaken by the sound of a blow-dryer swaying his hair around to get every strand dried.

That all stops, when a nock on his door ceases all what hes doing and cocks an eyebrow. Who on earth dares to interrupt his beauty routine?!, Wether its the exorcists, or Gabriel they where about to feel the wrath of his all mighty hands!

But when he aggressively opend the door, the sudden familiar waves of infatuation hit him like a boulder. It was Niiri, carrying a beautiful white cake with gold accents. she was awfully messy to, she was covered in frosting and flour, that every time she coughed the product transferred onto michaels face, and he to was met with a non stop wheeze.

" are you out of your mind?!. I spend hour's upon hours washing my face to perfection and you ruin it!. I outta-, his eyes then trialed down to see an unexpected surprise something that hed never recieve from a demon ever.

"niiri?.... what's this?"

She looked down shyly, as he takes notice of the gesture.

"i-i wanted to come and tell you happy birthday!. I heard from thiago and merewyn it was today, plus now that im on your team i wanted to gift you something meaningful because....well..."

"your an amazing angel, and your authority is something to admire!"

Niiri hands him the cake In his hands, holding them in the process.

"i mean it....i look up to you ever since you gave me a chance to see how much im dedicated to this..."

Michael only stared for a bit until niiri brought her hand up to his face.

"are you feeling ok?"

He snapped out of it.

"hm? O-oh no im fine, its just i wasnt expecting such thoughtfulness coming from you...."

Niiri understands his wordings carefully. "because no demon would do this,...if another had nocked theyd attempt to kill you instead. Oh Michael..."

She looked at him with softness.

"niiri?-" her face had no malicious intention at all. this was something Michael wasnt very much used to, hes admired sure but with humans who pray to him and the church along with the angels. but a demon is Surreal, it almost felt wrong yet it felt good...

His chest grew louder. and as it did paranoia rised that he looked to his left and right, making sure no angel or demon where around the perimeter. there wasnt but the immediate sound of footsteps coming made him react quickly into dragging her inside his penthouse.

"woah! Careful there casanova. i nearly tripped! I could have fallen in your arms~"

She teased as Michael nearly blushed infront of her, fighting his sin felt like a war zone. Instead he scoffed as he flipped his hair like a model turning away to place his birthday cake by the kitchen counter.

Niiri had always found him beautiful. Infact out of all the angels shes met Michael stood out.

Everytime she was infront of him, an ethereal of ambience suddenly commences in his presence. When this happens niiri almost forgets to blink, almost like if she where in a trance not bieng able to look away from him....

"your gorgeous..." She whispers.

"hm?" You say something?" He turns to her.

Niiri returns to her senses and immediately shakes her head.

"no no all is fine!." Michaels gaze focused upon her seemingly dozed off demeanor. the more he examined the more he realized slowly could she to have feelings for him?. His heart ached more, while his eye twitches in annoyance that Niiri was making him loose control of himself emotionally almost.

" well dont just stand there like the literal porcelain doll that you are come." He grabbed his cake, and sat near his couch tapping to his side signiling her to sit with him. "Sit here"

Wow he really began to trust her?,To think a couple months ago he would try to be around her less. but now it seemed that was all beginning to change. "Aww such a gentleman~." He rolled his eyes. " Please don't make me change my mind and have you walk out the door.."

She plopped on the couch before Patting him on his head. " So moody today, what's bothering ya? You've been annoyed since the moment you let me in." When she said this Michael grew a bit tense. Should he tell her? No what is he thinking?! For all he knew she could accidently slip up and have him ripped of his wings, sending him straight to hell for betraying god and his army. The thought of feeling his bones of his feathers be torn in torture nauseated him. Dont tell her Michael! Keep it to yourself it's form the better!.

" umm...its just that angel dutys can be exhausting is all." He places his finger onto his temple rubbing it as he speaks his distraction away from his true feelings.

" seriously niiri, you have no idea what its like to be a part of gods seraphims. Its paradise sure but it is far more strict and prestige, no mistakes cant be made especially if you commit a sin..." He looks at her seriously.

"if you do become an angel..."

"would you be able to handle such trials?"

Niiri pondered upon this question. Its true angels are ruthless, but so are demons but bieng down there's for most of her time shes realized one crucial difference. There was freedom in hell compared, to heaven and yet despite this truth, Niiri was still positive that up into the sky was surley her destiny.

" oh michael, You forget I'm a bit ditzy in the head!, Even though its tough up there, ive delt with bullshit all my life in hell i can handle it. And besides..." Niiri scoots closer to him. placing her hand over his fingers that where applying preassure to his stress." With you helping me around the ropes i think i can manage when the time comes to earn my halo." She winks, and immediately Michaels chest skips a beat,only this time she noticed. especially how much his eyes widen with a tiny flustered face on his cheeks.

" lay down Michael. Its your birthday after all lets not think of this, for now instead lets focus on you...." Pats her lap for him to lay upon.

He was hesitant. This did not feel right for a demon such as herself, to help comfort an angel in his most vulnerable moment, but alas. broken ego succumbed him and gave into her charm. He crawled then, very gently placed his head upon her lap. Niiri caressed his soft delicate features with the tip of her fingers that michael nearly sighed of relief, his tension slowly untying as her trails mark around every throbbing veins around his forehead.

As Niiri begins to massage him carefully, Michael released a very small gasp. eyes where closed, thou his face spoke as if he was beginning to feel a sort of sexual gratification from it. There was no lust, however more so it just felt so good the way Niiri kept rubbing his temples, that he couldnt help himself, especially when she combed through his scalp with her long sharp nails that send shivers down his spine.

"n-niiri~..." Michael said in a drowsy like state of bliss, you could even hear a slight pur coming from his sentence. Poor guy never catches a break, it was almost eandering to see him like this. His cheeks warmed up even redder, having no control of his feelings now. Poor Michael never catching a break, he carries the title of dust decapitation while holding an image he cannot break. He must be so exhausted from it all.

At times Niiri felt bad for him, despite his overdramatic tantics. She knew he felt something for her since this past week, but what Michael didnt know, was that past her flirtatious demeanor his intuition was correct. Niiri had indeed been harboring a secret infatuation for Michael himself.

Oh how tragic...

A demon and an angel, having to keep there feelings a secret from one another is truly a tragedy yet a beautiful love story. For Michael it is shame, but for Niiri? Fear for Michael rather than herself. The mortifying thought of Michael suffering the consequences because of his love for her makes her feel nothing more than guilt.

She shrugged those thoughts off, continuing to therapeuticly de stress Michael with her bisque like porcelain hands, traveling all through his tension brushing of strands of his hair aside as to not disrupt his dull eyelids awake. Soon enough, she makes way to his side of his ear where his wing was. Niiri stopped to think is he sensitive from there?. From the state he was in, she dared not make him move a flinch but it was best to ask before proceeding.

"Michael?"

"....mm?"

"is it alright if i-"

Michael stops her from finishing her sentence. " Go ahead...." A high ranking seraphim letting a demon touch his wing? This had to be a dream!.

"alright..." Her heart races. This piece of his body was what she admired of him, and now she has the privilege to show some affection towards it. Niiri slowly returned her hand to touch his side, tracing her way behind his ear,to his feathery extension. One touch was all it took to send Michael in a shiver. She continued her adventure by expanding her hands to stroke them, side way to side way fingers like a pendalum.

Michael squirmed a little, while letting out moan so comforting that it was music to niiri's ears. She felt pride in herself that she did the impossible, she made Michael feel safe and welcomed around her.

With one finger, she circled around where his soft spot was. Michael made a lustrous noise like the last except this time, his expression returned to that loosend up lewdness bieng relieved from a thousand year of bottled up anger.

"t-this feels good...~" he whispered shakingly, bieng on edge thanks to Niiri's affection.

"only for you dear...." Niiri in the heat of the moment kneeled down to leave a kiss onto his temple. Michael was left breathless from this, but he dared not shove her away.

"n-niiri..., your lucky its just us." He was totally slipping away to dream land now.

"shhh, now let me spoil you before you leave me alone while you wonder of to dream land and make me cry because your gone~" she fake sniffles,bieng dramatic like a showbiz.

Michael chuckles " who said anything about you bieng alone?, Why not rest with me once ive drifted away~" he yawns.

Niiri then smears a finger on the cake frosting, putting it onto Michaels lips.

"i said shhh! Dont speak, i want you to relax in silence it's what you deserve. Consider it your birthday gift~."

Michael was left drowsingly speechless of her sudden action. He obeyed and did not say a word, except for his tongue that licked every single frosting from top to bottom, blushing at his own needy action all while echo moans overtake him.

Even niiri became so red that once Michael let go off her seductively she had no words left to say, instead contenued to give touches to his wings.

"that's what you get for silencing me goodnight~" he smirked to himself.

" i guess that wasnt so bad~" niiri teased.

With her other hand, she covered his eyes althou closed since forever ago it was so his eyes wouldn't strain from the lights.

" your right,....it wasnt...." And then silence.

Michael would mumble a few times then whimper from his sensitive wings, until Niiri stopped once for sure he was a goner.

" happy birthday my angel..."

"know that your "sin" is nothing to be ashamed of..."

" once you realize that you will feel so relieved..."

End

Angel dividers by @/chocoperrito

Star dividers @/ Anitalenia

Bottom star dividers @/dwaintydoll

[idontunderstandchemistry]

Uncomfortable - Tim Drake (1/3)

Summary: [...] "Are you saying you are afraid of me?" "I wouldn't say afraid" Dick said, trying to sound casual "It's just the way you've been talking about everything these days. It makes everyone feel..." "Uncomfortable?" Tim asked, with a bitter grin, finally turning towards Dick "The probable consequences of what you all say and do to me make you uncomfortable, Dick?" [...] Extremely hurt Tim Drake living out of coffee and spite.

Wordcount: 1.5K

Content Warnings: Angst; suicide idealization, mentions of self harm, etc.

Notes: Finally dropping this here, posted the first chapter on Ao3 a couple days ago. Hope you guys enjoy it! Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated ❣️

Part 2 - Part 3

CHAPTER 1 - COFFEE.

Red Robin stared at the screen with sleepy eyes. He'd already found the solution to this case half an hour ago, but pretending he didn't was the only way to avoid being requested at the post patrol circus going on upstairs.

It was always like this, at least it has been since he came back to live in the mansion. There was the patrol, and after, Alfred would prepare a table with many treats for the family to eat while he patched them up. 

What a perfect, happy family, bonding after some quality time kicking criminal ass.

A herd of hypocrites.

Two of them tried to kill him and most of them didn't seem to give a single fuck about the matter.

But what was he expecting, anyway? He was the unwanted child. He crawled his way into this family when Bruce was too vulnerable to deny it, grieving, he was Jason's replacement, after all. The only reason why he was still allowed among the bats of Gotham was his hypercompetence. Or perhaps it was because of how dangerous it would be for them all if he decided to play for the  other team.

If you didn't fear the man who at the age of nine deduced the identity of the world's best detective, you were a fool. Yeah Bruce was a bad, emotionally distant parental figure, but he was no fool, and Tim had to give him the credit for that.

— Drake — Robin said.

Tim felt the ferrous taste of blood filling his mouth. The demon. He pretended not to hear. He wanted nothing with this damn child. This Demoniac being that had tried to kill him multiple times in the last few years. The kid who had never done anything to deserve being Robin, the title for whom Tim has worked so hard for years.

— Alfred asked if you plan on joining the rest of the family anytime soon — The little boy said with his entitled filled tone. Fucking psychopath.

— I am working — Red Robin simply said.

— You're not fooling anyone, Drake — He said, stepping closer to his brother — Staring at a screen isn't working.

— You say like you know anything about working — Tim answered, after a deep sigh — Please, leave me alone. Tell them whatever you want, say that I threatened you with a knife, that I pushed you towards a wall, whatever you want. Just leave me alone.

— You say like they would believe it.

Damian said nothing else, simply left without any other response from Tim, that sighed deeply and continued staring at the screen.

His eyes felt heavier.

“Funny” thing about feeling down: usually, the brain cannot understand the emotional distress and the body intentionally does things to justificate that distress to its brain. 

Some people cut themselves – Tim couldn't do that, Alfred would ask too many questions –; others refused to eat – Tim tried it, but it didn't really fit his lifestyle –; some people drank 'til they tripped and fall — He could do this, but the posterior headaches weren't worth it, even though this is Gotham City and he could easily find a place that sells alcohol to minors – ; some people over exercised until they couldn't stand anymore, hoping the soreness of their muscles would be enough to feel like their pain is valid; some people took dangerous car drives or tried to equilibrate themselves on the edges of rooftops – These were Dick's things –; some people numb themselves with smoke on his lungs – Tim could do this, but refused. This was Jason's thing, and he didn't want to have anything in common with Jason.

So, to try to justify his pain to himself, Tim never slept. Well, of course he slept, he had to, but he always avoided it. This was his way of self punishment. He could almost hear his brain.

“What do you mean your emotions are shit? No, this is not a good reason for all this distress. Here, have a unusual way of self harm and then I'll consider if it is enough or not”

Tim hasn't really slept in the last four days, not more than an hour or two. There were occasional long blinks, but whenever Alfred decided to try to drug his coffee – His best ally in his attempts of making the pain make sense – and sent him to his bedroom, he would only stare at the ceiling. Tim already had it memorised. Then he would close his eyes when he could hear footsteps approaching his door and pretend to be asleep until whoever Alfred sent to spy on him finally left.

A solitary life, it was, but he didn't mind. Since his childhood, loneliness was mostly everything Timothy Jackson Drake knew. His most loyal companion.

— Hey, buddy — Nightwing's voice echoed in Tim's ears.

Fucking traitor. 

The man with the kind smile that was responsible for half of the mud in which Tim found himself stuck. The man who took away from Tim the only thing that kept him standing, the only thing that mattered for him in a long time. This was the Dick Grayson, the “good fella”, Bruce's golden child, “The clearer version of what Batman was meant to be”. Dick Fucking Grayson.

Again, Tim pretended not to hear.

— Dames said you were still working. Don't you think it is time for a break?

— I'm not tired — Tim said, though Dick wasn't dumb enough to believe it. Anyone that looked into Tim's face would see how fucking tired he was. Deep and dark eyebags, hollowed expressions in his eyes, cheeks slightly inwards like the corpse of a very thin woman. Dick sighed.

— I know, but B misses you. We all miss you. And we are worried.

— There's nothing to worry about — Tim said, simply.

Dick sighed again and pulled his chair closer to Tim.

Fuck . He had to lecture Tim right now, of course. He simply couldn't deny the urge of being the reasonable older brother, the inspirational hero, the right one, the mediator of the family.

— Let's be honest, Little Wing...

— Don't call me little wing.

— Tim, we are worried about you — Dick said, Tim never looked at his face, he knew he wouldn't be able to stop himself from rolling his eyes if he did. He couldn't stand Dick Grayson's hypocrite smile and kind eyes anymore. He could barely stand his voice — What you said today during patrol... That joke....

— Joke? — Tim asked, furrowing his brows. He didn't remember telling a joke.

— You know, buddy. That one about the metro-narrows bridge.

Oh . That.

It wasn't a joke. More likely a loud thought.

Tim remembered that. He said that if Damian called him “unworthy” again, he would simply throw himself from the top of metro-narrows bridge, towards the cars. 

Tim has been "telling these jokes" for weeks now.

— Even Dames stepped back. Everyone did, actually. The family...

— Are you saying you are afraid of me?

— I wouldn't say afraid — Dick said, trying to sound casual — It's just the way you've been talking about everything these days. It makes everyone feel...

— Uncomfortable? — Tim asked, with a bitter grin, finally turning towards Dick. He could see the surprise in his brother's eyes. Or was it something else? Tim's guts were absolutely soaked in rage now — The probable consequences of what you all say and do to me make you uncomfortable, Dick? You can't bear the guilt? Or you're just worried your Robin will have to deal with the responsibility of the death of his predecessor?

Dick said nothing. Just sighed. Dick Grayson knew the battles he couldn't win. Dick put a mug in front of Tim. His favourite mug, filled with the dark liquid in which Tim loved to drown himself.

— We can talk later — The elder said — Jason made you coffee. He said you wouldn't want to have a break. Guess he knows you better than the rest of us.

— The perks of trying to slit someone's throat — Tim said completely out of spite, just to see Dick flinch in discomfort.

— Just drink before it gets cold, okay?

Dick left and Tim decided to not make another comment.

Red Robin stared at the mug in front of him, wondering if Jason poured poison into the liquid or Alfred poured the sleep drugs. Either way, there was no chance Tim would let it get into his system. He turned off the screen and grabbed the mug, walking towards his bedroom. In his room already, Tim locked the door and poured the coffee into his bathroom sink.

After taking a shower – He wasn't that bad that he would deny himself a simple shower, although he doubted it would take long to reach this point – He verified all the hidden spots in his room. Behind the curtains, his closet, under his bed. After making sure Jason wasn't there hidden with a knife, he slid between his sheets, soft and smooth.

Red Robin stared at the ceiling of the room where some years ago, lived Timothy Jackson Drake.

[randomfoggytiger]

"Sooner or Later a Man's Gotta Face His Demons"

(Fictober, Day 31)

An end to my first Fictober-- what a fun time it's been~.

*****

They were on a stakeout, an aspect of the in-betweens, of the wait-and-chase, hunt-and-catch, nine-to-five that came with the job. More mainstream work-- the everyday kind excluding conspiracies and monster men, generally-- that required hiding in plain sight. It was an opposite set of skills to their usual modus operandi, a good exercise to knock the rust from their joints and reacquaint themselves with procedure. Less satisfying, but no less rewarding. 

The idling car was wrapped in fog, the yellow glare of the headlights splicing through the breathy autumn air. Warmth languidly settled on its passengers, coating them in a bone-deep relaxation that was battled every hour or two by fiddling with the temperature. No place to go but here, no other person in the world except the one on either side of the seat. 

Scully half-expected her breath to mark the air when she broke the silence. “Mulder, how come we’ve never investigated a case on Samhain?” 

“What do you mean?” The unspoken commandment now broken, he greedily cracked open a sunflower seed. The sacred dark was next to be disturbed: the driver side door popped open unceremoniously-- the window still fixedly stuck-- and a shell was spit across the frosty road. Maybe, hopefully, it would snow soon.  

“Samhain? Gaelic pagan tradition? Predecessor to All Saints Day which precedes All Souls Day? Men and women and children parading in masks, going door to door to ward off demons? The door to the spirit realm being opened once a year? Any of this--” she paused, accepted the shelled compact of salt Mulder handed her, “--ringing a bell?” 

“You got any fairies you want to catch up with, Scully?”

“Samhain, Mulder.”

He shrugged. “We just… never got around to it.” 

“...'We’.” 

“There is a partnership here, Scully-- yin and yang, push and pull, give and take.”

She weighed his words, rolling the seed around in her palm. “So, we never investigated Samhain because I never brought it up.”

“And because you, the resident Irish Catholic,” Mulder reminded, pointing a finger in her direction, “never brought it up, I thought it was unimportant. Therefore, no Samhain.”

“I think you’re afraid.” Scully was surprised-- and pleased-- that she had so swiftly and so thoroughly appalled her partner.

“Afraid? We’ve already seen ghosts, Scully-- a few more spooks or spirits isn’t going to bother me. Besides, you seem to attract them in abundance, little Gaelic woman.” 

“And the ritualistic, celebratory bonfires have… no sway in your decision?”

The silence was back for a temporary pit stop, crackling with suppressed sheepishness and bubbling mirth as Mulder smirked, caught, and Scully grinned, amused. He reached forward to fiddle with the heater, and she sat back to avoid the expected colder blast of air. 

“Scully, did I ever tell you about the time we almost investigated a fire-breathing goblin in Minnesota?” 

“No kidding.” 

She shifted closer, letting her eyes drift to his recently razed hair. Remembered the patches over his surgical scars, remembered his determined eyes when he asked her to cut it shorter. Reclamation, they’d both thought; vanity they’d both bantered. Mulder the phoenix, brain on fire and rising from the ashes. Waited for him to dole out another of the hoarded secrets he’d been sharing since his recovery.  

“The locals called it 'the cinder leprechaun’ until an Irishman got into a public brawl over the finer points of Irish mythology. He was running for mayoral election; and you can guess how popular he was at the polls that year.”

“I see. And was he the first to witness this fire-breathing goblin?” 

“Almost; but not quite.” 

Mulder shifted closer as well, placing the sunflower bag in a coaster and scooping up his discarded coat from the back. Scully let him settle it around her, even let him tuck her in before nudging her partner back on track. 

“Mulder, who did see it first?”

“Two witnesses-- same time, different stories. Both sober or thereabouts.” 

She burrowed deeper into her new blanket. “Then what really happened?”

“Well, without being there to know for certain, I'd say it's the same as always, Scully.” Mulder left her in suspense-- not purposefully-- as he mulled over life, Samhain, and the pursuit of leprechauns. “The truth happened somewhere in-between.” 

Scully nodded, playfully tilting her head in his direction. "Where does my Samhain bonfire come into this, Mulder?"

As one unit they chuckled, grabbed another snack, and communed in the language of their own traditions.

Neither were disappointed.

*****

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic and @xffictober2023 and @fictober-event

[rimeiii]

When an Arknights Doctor meets the WHB MC...

Summary: With tensions in Hell growing ever higher and the demons fighting from a disadvantage, even the descendant of Solomon Ryeomae finds herself desperate for a way to help. Her first aid lessons with Marbas have been going well and has proved to be valuable in a pinch, yet she feels it still isn't enough.

So when Leviathan somehow managed to pull three odd people from his coffin, one of them being a tactical commander, Ryeomae decides to take the opportunity to learn from them.

A question, though: How come Leviathan summoned an angel, a demon, and a little boy from what are usually worlds with Eldritch-like beings?

CW: Crossover with Arknights, purely self-indulgent. Potentially OOC. A product of malding over 12-20 Adverse as well as IS3 Ending 4, and a way to unwind before malding over Hortus de Escapismo's EX stages and the main story's H stages (need to clear those from Episode 8 onwards, end me now), because what do you mean the Damazti Cluster is in 3/4 of Episode 12's H stages.

For context, the enemy description:

As Uncle Kukki put it best: "Bro! Year 4 Arknights is fucked! What is this?!"

Back to the topic!

Using my own AK docsona (Dr. Requiescat) and WHB MC (Ryeomae). Suggestive themes up ahead considering WHB is an 18+ game, though nothing explicit is described. Regardless, please exercise caution.

Also, spoiler warnings for:

Arknights: Main story (up until chapter 12), revelations about the true nature of the Sankta, brief hints for Ending 4 of IS3 (Mizuki and Caerula Arbor)

WHB: Main story (up until chapter 4)

Waking up to yelling in Hades of all places was not something Ryeomae expected.

Leviathan's land has always struck the human as a refined one, after all. Never really outwardly violent and boisterous like other regions such as Gehenna, she always pegged Hades as the land of devotion towards its ruler, always maintaining the veneer of politeness that he always seems to exhibit. Restrained politeness it may be, as they are driven by envy, but politeness all the same.

Besides, the last time she heard panicked screaming was during their first aid operation when Leviathan was drenched by angel blood...

Oh, shit.

Bolting upwards from her bed (and ignoring the ache in her thighs), she immediately gets dressed before making her way towards the throne room, where she is certain Leviathan would be. She had half a mind to immediately go to the source of all that screaming, but she quickly reminded herself that she still doesn't know the castle's layout well enough to do so without getting hopelessly lost. Reporting to Leviathan would be the sanest course of action.

Walking briskly towards the demon king's throne room and giving customary polite smiles towards all the other demons passing by, Ryeomae wonders just how much work Leviathan is handling on his own. While it is true that demons in general have much more stamina compared to humans (how else would Leviathan still be awake while tending to her after multiple rounds with her), she still wonders how he still has the mental energy to complete paperwork - especially with the war against Heaven still going on.

It's probably just a demon king thing. Specifically Leviathan. Ryeomae concludes with a shrug. Best not to question it...hm?

Lost in her thoughts, Ryeomae now finds herself in front of Leviathan's throne room, her hands subconsciously already holding the doorknob. The imposing double doors, deep obsidian in color, never fails to send shivers down her spine - yet her trepidation immediately dissipates into thin air the moment she heard commotion beyond the door.

"Tell me. What other dimensions have you conquered, angel?"

"Oh for crying out loud-"

"At ease, Doctor. And technically speaking, she is not an angel, sir."

"And you're the one who summoned us, right?"

Ah. A summoning session gone wrong.

Yet something about all this seems off. Ryeomae can sense the aggression in Leviathan's voice, what with the low growl embedded in his normally silky smooth voice and the curt tone embedded in his speech. Which is weird - normally he is amiable with the Eldritch beings he summons into battle. What's making him be at odds with this group in particular?

No matter. Three sharp knocks on the door, and an announcement of her presence. "Leviathan, love, is everything alright in there?"

A beat of silence, before Leviathan's voice emerged once more. "Ryeo, go back to our room. I'll tend to you personally after I deal with them."

Wait, deal with them?!

"Leviathan, what's going on?!" Gone was the pretense of relative calm, with Ryeomae now desperately pushing against the double doors of the throne room. It inches forward bit by bit, which is the tiniest relief in what amounts to an emergency situation for her. "I'm coming in!"

"Ryeo, no! There's an angel-"

"What angel?! I'm a Sankta, Mr. Sarkaz sir!"

A lull, as everyone fully takes in the female's voice. An angel- no, Sankta, apparently. A term that even Ryeomae is unfamiliar with, coming from Earth, and a term she never heard any demon mention during her stay in Hell.

Ignoring Leviathan's bewildered response of "Sarkaz? What is that? I'm a demon king, miss," Ryeomae takes the opportunity to open the door fully, and freezes.

She comes face-to-face with the so-called Sankta - a young woman with a dark halo and similarly dark shards of light resembling wings extending from her back. Her hair, tied into a neat braid, is chestnut brown save for a stray tuft of black hair along her bangs - with a black cap covering the top of her head. Her eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses, are blood red, resembling Satan's eyes without the inverted crosses as well as the constant anger and lust burning in his eyes. The sight of angels in Hell has conditioned Ryeomae to recoil somewhat at the mere sighting of a halo, but that wasn't even the scariest part about the Sankta.

What's perhaps most terrifying about her, in fact, are the shards of black crystals emerging from her skin. They extend from her collarbone, dark lesions peeking from beneath her shirt, extending upwards up her neck before dispersing into tiny crystals on her left cheek.

All of a sudden, Ryeomae is reminded of the screams and wails spilling from Ppung's mouth. The angelification process, while still being much more horrific than these crystals, still proves to her that having unnatural objects burst from beneath your skin is a terrifyingly painful experience. And this Sankta lady must have been living with it...

Ryeomae's healer instincts kick in, and she immediately starts barking out orders.

"Miss! Stay still, I'll get medical aid your way! Your Majesty Leviathan, the first aid kit, ASAP! Contact someone to help us take her to Paradise Lost as well!"

"Eh- huh?!"

"Ryeo-"

"Shush, Leviathan! Something's wrong with her-"

"Calm down, miss-"

"What do you mean, kid-"

"Deep breaths, miss. I am Logos, and as the Doctor's closest confidant, I shall explain everything."

~

Doctor. A title that holds so much meaning in Rhodes Island (and not the place on Earth, but a pharmaceutical company in another world called Terra), but one that only retains its dictionary meaning elsewhere. A concept that Logos, a Sarkaz of the Banshee bloodline, feels the need to explain to the demons and human before him.

Dr. Requiescat is not only a neuroscientist affiliated with Rhodes Island working to find the cure for Oripathy, a fatal illness originating from the world they came from that even she contracted herself, she is also the tactical commander for all of Rhodes Island's on-field operative work. The dark ores Ryeomae sees on the Doctor are physical signs of Oripathy, and she's on medication to curb the disease's development. A medication that Mizuki, the young boy that arrived with them, gently reminded the Doctor to take, the Sankta asking for a glass of water to down the few tablets of medication.

The Doctor is a Sankta, not an angel. Sarkaz who were chosen by the Law to live according to it, and thusly viewed as a traitor to their own bloodline by many a Sarkaz. A legacy long forgotten by the Sanktas themselves, and one that the Doctor had to relearn through Logos as well.

"And you, Logos? You're a Sarkaz, right? You're not bothered by it?" Barbatos asks, eyes widening in awe. At some point, Leviathan's nobles have showed up in the throne room at their king's behest, and as a result there are now an additional four demons getting to know the three newcomers.

Logos shakes his head, his gaze softening as a faint smile paints his lips. "The Doctor has always been someone I can talk to easily, even before the Chernobog incident. Harsh in the battlefield she may be, moreso before the Chernobog incident, but she is still merciful and kind outside of battle."

Leviathan's pale eyes narrow, still not willing to completely believe the Banshee King's words. But the Doctor, already sensing the demon king's doubts, heaves a heavy sigh.

"I know I can't prove anything to you, sir. You just give off that...vibe, I suppose, is the word." Dr. Requiescat murmurs eventually. "But give us a reason why you can't fully trust us, if not just me, at the very least."

Barbatos, once again, is the one who answers them, an apologetic smile adorning his bright features. "We're in the middle of a war against the angels, miss. And our angels are very cruel, needlessly cruel even. You'll have to forgive us for not being able to trust you easily, miss."

The Doctor shrugs, taking Barbatos's words in stride. "Fair. Not all Sanktas are good either way - I think Federico mentioned something about going after someone, most likely Lateranian."

Logos nods in affirmation. "To my knowledge, he did. And on the other hand, the situation with the Sarkaz is quite complicated. It would take a long discussion of Terran politics and history to explain to people unfamiliar with it, but all you need to know is that we have had...conflicts regarding our ideals-"

"Your Majesty Leviathan! Angels have launched an attack on the city square!" A lesser demon barges into the throne room, panting and out of breath. He pauses to collect himself, before noticing the three newcomers in the room. "Your Majesty, who-"

"People you do not need to worry about." Leviathan replies curtly, motioning for everyone within the room to follow him. "Now come, all of you - get ready to fight."

He then turns to face the Sankta properly, his eyes narrowed menacingly.

"And you. This is your only chance to earn my trust, miss battlefield commander."

Yet the Sankta remains unfazed, her gaze hardening at the mention of a battlefield. "Copy that, demon king."

~

Having a seasoned battlefield commander helping to organize the demons' forces worked wonders in keeping everyone as safe as possible while ensuring their angelic enemies were all eliminated. And Ryeomae had to admit, she may have started to have a little crush on the Sankta for the near effortless way she directs Hades's forces. Easily directing them towards the main enemy forces, executing flawless pincer attacks against the angels, utilizing enemy blind spots and the terrain for sneak attacks...it was enough for her to earn the trust of the human, Leviathan, and his demons alike.

"The key to issuing effective battlefield commands is information control." Dr. Requiescat explains when Ryeomae asked the Doctor for any battlefield command tips. The pair, perched inside the top floor of an abandoned building, enjoyed a relatively expansive view of the battlefield - much wider than her usual position behind the brunt of the fighting. Logos and Mizuki were loitering around the area, the duo being tasked to protect Ryeomae and the Doctor from any sudden attacks, especially after the human mentioned how she was marked by Gabriel, making her a prime target for the angels. "How do you scout for information about the enemy while keeping your own forces in hiding until absolutely necessary? Such a skill is necessary while fighting off large hordes of enemies with a limited fighting force of your own."

In the Doctor's hands is her tablet, transmitting footage from the surveillance drones she had launched during the start of the operation. She points out one particular screen, where Ryeomae could see Heaven's forces getting ready to attack the area where Glasyalabolas was stationed in. "Look here. They may be getting ready to attack that small shop, but their formation is messy. Take out the leader and their entire group falls - Glasyalabolas, enemies inbound at 10 o'clock! Leader at the front!"

"I see them. Engaging the enemies." Glasyalabolas's deep voice reverbs from Ryeomae's earpiece, and soon after, his large and imposing frame already has his coffin out, now engaging with the enemy leader. His own forces focus on picking off any other angels trying to get him off the enemy leader.

Ryeomae watches in awe as the angels' formation crumbles upon the enemy leader's defeat. This was far from the first time she saw the Doctor effortlessly dismantle a group of enemies, yet it never fails to impress her. Taking notes of the Doctor's tactics, Ryeomae figures she'd be able to apply them later on, in case she is needed to help command the demons.

"It helps that these angels are...sloppy." The Doctor snorts, a tiny smirk on her features. "Even Reunion's forces are much more organized than them - no offense to Patriot and FrostNova whatsoever, since their forces are actually pretty organized. And here I thought angels were supposed to be the organized forces..."

Ryeomae scoffs. "You'd be surprised, Doctor. But that means you're used to fighting in disadvantageous situations like this?"

Surprisingly, the Doctor's expression softens considerably, gaining an almost melancholic tone to it. "Yeah. In Chernobog, Lungmen, and now Victoria, we were always on the back foot. And down in the future, should the Seaborn invasion happen, we will always remain on the back foot. You...get used to it, eventually."

Seaborn...?

"Something that you shouldn't worry about, Ms. Ryeomae." Mizuki chimes in, a bright smile on his youthful features as he no doubt notices the confusion etched onto Ryeomae's expression. He then approaches the Doctor and pats her shoulder comfortingly. "And something that you also shouldn't worry about, Doctor. I have faith we won't stumble upon that terrifying future!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mizuki." Dr. Requiescat smiles faintly, before diverting her attention to Ryeomae once more. "Anyways, it does help that most of these angels don't use a lot of different modes of attack. Most of our forces have long-ranged modes of attack to snipe their forces down as well, so..."

Ryeomae smirks, reminded of a certain fluffy-haired demon king of wrath. "If you thought this was long-ranged, you'd love seeing what the demons of Gehenna are capable of."

The Doctor shrugs, completely unperturbed, and Ryeomae finds it in herself to be offended in Gehenna's behalf. "We have people able to command drones that can attack at any point in the battlefield. And apart from that, we have snipers like Ambriel and Fartooth, able to hit the most unexpected of places. Fun fact: one of our drone users, Goldenglow, is a hairdresser."

Now it's Ryeomae's turn to fall completely silent, before erupting into confused yelling. "What do you mean, hairdresser?! I-"

"Get down, Doctor, miss!" Mizuki yells, summoning his tentacles to strike at something attempting to crash into the window in front of them. The Doctor curses under her breath, pushing Ryeomae behind her as she shields the human with her body. Logos is immediately beside her, his incantation Arts causing trails of light to flutter around them both.

But this 'something' manages to evade Mizuki's tentacles, deftly maneuvering around the neurotoxin-laden appendages. It forces its way into the building, coming face-to-face with Logos. Thankfully, the Banshee has already finished charging up his attack, launching it towards the infiltrator and sending him careening into the wall opposite them.

When the dust settles, Ryeomae could see that the crumpled-up angel had short white hair, bangs covering the right side of his face, his one visible eye sending her a murderous glare.

Ryeomae feels a chill run down her spine. Gabriel.

Her grip on the Doctor's shoulders unconsciously tightens, and she shrinks into herself, attempting to make herself as scarce as possible. Were it be any of the other demon kings who's with her right now, Gabriel likely wouldn't be targeting her, purely because of the sheer strength the demon kings have. Mizuki and Logos are strong, yes, but she's not sure if they're as strong as any of the demon kings.

And yet, the three newcomers to Hell are as unperturbed as ever.

"Huh. I can see why you hate the angels now. Reckless and violent little shits, aren't they?" The Doctor comments, frowning as she stares at the recovering Gabriel. "Still, though. Neither tact nor strategy. None whatsoever. Divebombing without a care, really? Who is he, Kevin?"

"Doctor..." Logos sighs, tapping the Sankta's shoulder blade insistently. "Focus. Please."

The Doctor had the decency to look the slightest bit abashed, at the very least. "Sorry, Logos. Force of habit."

Logos nods once in acknowledgement as he diverts his attention back towards Gabriel. Without missing a beat, he charges up another spell, allowing his Arts to form streams of light encircling them all. A shield of sorts, if you will.

And perfect timing, too, as Gabriel whips out his scythe and slashes forwards, the blade clashing with Logos's shield.

Gabriel's eyes are murderous as he holds the Doctor's gaze, boring holes into the Sankta's head. She keeps her cool and stares back at the furious angel, however. The lack of fear in the Doctor's eyes must have set Gabriel off even more as he growls menacingly, his arms applying even more pressure on the barrier Logos erected between them, muscles straining beneath his pristine shirt. Logos's Arts shield starts to emit sparks, causing anxiety to shoot up Ryeomae's spine - what if it breaks?

Yet the Doctor remains calm, stoic - unimpressed, almost.

And loathe as Ryeomae is to admit it, that scares the living shit out of her - even more than the potential of the Arts shield breaking, even more than Gabriel's presence in front of her.

"You are an angel, no?" Gabriel growls out, the darkness and malice in his voice unlike any Sankta the Doctor must've been familiar with, considering how one of her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Yet he doesn't seem to notice her reaction, continuing on what he believes must be a righteous tirade. "Why, then, are you siding with these demons?"

Dr. Requiescat heaves a heavy sigh as her fingers twitch, desperately fighting off the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration - a bad habit she had described to Ryeomae during their downtime between angel attacks. "How many times do I have to explain to you all?! I'm a Sankta, not an angel!"

Gabriel doesn't seem to be too keen to inquire upon the unfamiliar term that confused the residents of Hades only a few hours ago. Instead, his growl grows even more murderous, pressing his scythe downwards even more. Logos narrows his eyes, his Arts struggling against the force Gabriel is applying onto the barrier.

And yet, as sudden as Gabriel's attack was, so was his sudden collapse at the hands of Mizuki's neurotoxin-laden tentacles.

The angel's mouth hangs open, a scream of pain lodged in his throat as he feels his body seize up involuntarily, muscles contracting so painfully it practically paralyzed him completely and inadvertently causing him to drop his scythe with a dull clatter. Amid the angel's fixation on the Sankta and Sarkaz duo, the young boy had managed to slip away unnoticed, stabbing Gabriel's body with his tentacles and injecting a paralyzing neurotoxin into the angel's flesh. He retreated his tentacles the moment he saw Gabriel go down, a smile on his boyish features as he looks down on his downed adversary.

"Get away from them, please."

Ryeomae can feel the shiver that ran through Gabriel's back at the threat, and even she feels terrified of the boy right in front of her.

Not just that. The calm yet eerie smile on Mizuki's features, the way the light seems to cast his face in an unsettling shadow, the gentle and borderline pacifying tone of his voice despite the damage he has done all on his own - all a sharp contrast to the seemingly bright and innocent boy he seemed to be mere moments earlier. She could've sworn she saw the silhouette of what seemed to be a large, jellyfish-like abomination eclipsing Mizuki for a brief second, but maybe that's just her fear talking.

"I would suggest listening to Mizuki." The Doctor replied, maintaining her cool facade. But Ryeomae could hear the slight change in the inflections of her voice, the slightest tremors creeping its way into her words - a sort of threatening contralto. "Wouldn't want him to completely destroy you now, do we?"

And it was at this moment that Ryeomae realized:

Perhaps these people's struggles were infinitely harsher than her own.

~

Not long after the skirmish, Leviathan found a way to transport the Terrans back to their home world - a revelation that brought much relief to the Terran trio. As far as the demons and the human were concerned, the three Rhodes Island personnel had their own wars to fight, most if not all requiring the assistance of the Doctor. With many unfamiliar terms such as "Seaborn threat", "Londinium Crisis", "the Damazti Cluster's spies", and more, Ryeomae can't help but wonder just how the Doctor was able to handle everything without breaking down.

It made her feel insignificant, in a way. Here she was, a defenseless human, whose only value she actively provides for the demons is the ability to break the pacts her late ancestor had formed with them. Sure, sometimes the demon kings defer to her to organize attacks, but even then she tended to lose sight of most sneak attacks. Dr. Requiescat's tips were necessary for her to be able to control the battlefield, she believes, but the fact that she even needed those tips in the first place...

It didn't help that the trio revealed several more bombshells about Dr. Requiescat after their skirmish with Gabriel, quickly leaving the area while the angel was still immobilized. She's an amnesiac, for one, and she was immediately forced into a commander role the moment she awakened from a coma. When the Doctor was out of earshot, Logos revealed, rather regretfully, that he never wanted to see the Doctor enter the battlefield, didn't want her to walk the bloody path of war ever again. But the reality still stands that she never had a choice to begin with, and he's infinitely grateful that her memories were locked behind the amnesia.

"I do not think she would be able to forgive herself if she were to remember the atrocities she had to commit prior to her amnesia." Logos smiled wryly, sadly gazing at the Doctor as she inspected the portal that would take the three Rhodes Island personnel back to Terra.

Ryeomae counts herself lucky that her life hadn't been filled with such cruelty and bloodshed. And ironically, unbeknownst to Logos, the statement eased the feeling of insignificance in her heart - her life was relatively more peaceful prior to everything, so it's perfectly fine to not be as prolific as the Doctor. Because the Doctor, despite her medical background, had her hand forced to become what seemed to be a truly despicable figure, all in order to achieve the things she and her faction sought to achieve.

Ryeomae should have been disgusted, yet she feels nothing but sympathy for Logos and the Doctor.

Not long after the two were reacquainted, Logos gave the Doctor a bottle of his own hand-crafted aromatics, made for her and only her. She uses it sparingly, keeping the bottle close to her at all times. He had already given several bottles to her prior to her amnesia, he revealed with a tiny, yet melancholic smile on his lips.

Ryeomae couldn't help the feeling that the Doctor meant so much more to the Banshee than she initially believed, with the reverse holding true if the Doctor's tiny gestures of affection were to be believed. A gentle hand on his shoulders, the subtlest hints of fondness as she gazes at him. Even in her amnesiac state, she still remembers the emotions, the affections she held for Logos.

It's as beautiful as it is tragic.

So, Logos's parting words for Ryeomae are this: for her to cherish the people she loves and the time as well as memories she has with them, as you do not know if they'll be ripped away from you without any prior notice. Ryeomae's eyes linger at Leviathan at his reminder, recalling the twisted yet somehow endearing methods he employed to get her to stay by his side - the initial threats and kidnapping, turning into her gradual acclimation towards Hades and the demon king of envy.

But deep inside, her heart lies with the man who became her lifeline after her parents' untimely deaths - Kim Minhyeok, who was surely waiting for her back on Earth, who was still worrying his ass off over her despite being worlds away from her.

With Minhyeok in mind, she decides to take Logos's parting words to heart.

Mizuki remains a mystery to Ryeomae, but one thing remains certain - the kid must've been some sort of Eldritch being from the deep sea, which would explain how Leviathan was able to access his world in the process. Yet nothing about how Mizuki normally carries himself reminds her of a monster, what with his bright smiles and genuine care for the Doctor. His constant reminders for the Doctor to take her medicine, making sure the Doctor is away from most harm, fighting beside Logos to keep her safe...perhaps he has seen the Doctor as an elder sister figure, someone who he wants to keep safe and well. Again, something that Ryeomae wouldn't even dare to expect from an Eldritch being, seeing as most of her experiences with Eldritch beings come from the monsters Leviathan summons from his coffins - terrifying, savage beasts capable of ripping through enemies with impunity. His parting words were a bright and energetic reminder to keep fighting for what is right, yet another confusing part about the boy. Of course, she would take his words to heart, but how can an Eldritch being be such a paragon of justice?

She doesn't feel like it's necessary to question it, however.

And finally, the Doctor, who already feels like an elder sister to her. All gentle smiles and knowing looks, she ruffles Ryeomae's hair affectionately and tells her to keep her advice close to her. That Ryeomae will succeed, and she will return to Earth all safe and sound, because she has good and strong allies that are willing to fight for what they believe is right. All they need is a gentle push from her, and they can achieve what they set out to achieve in the first place, whatever it may be.

"You have influence here. Use it well." The Doctor nods in the demons' direction. Barbatos catches her gaze, and he grins brightly in her direction. Seems like he enjoys the Doctor's more laidback personality, and Ryeomae had the same sentiments as him. "You told me you have someone to return to, and that the demons all genuinely do care for you. So fight for them, to complete your deal and repay their care for you. Fight, and return to the one you want to return to. Your home."

Ryeomae has to wonder if, truly, the Doctor really was an amnesiac. The way she talked had weight, a flicker of seniority despite her seemingly youthful features. Yet she was easygoing - certainly not to the point of abandoning her post like Beelzebub, but easygoing nonetheless. She seemed a lot like Satan, in a sense, yet she was always in full control of her emotions, masterfully wielding them to her own gain. There is simply no way someone who had so few memories of their life could speak in such a way, behave in such a manner.

Oh well. No time to ponder, as Leviathan announces that the portal is ready. Mizuki beams as he rushes over towards the portal, while both Logos and Dr. Requiescat trail behind him, all quiet murmurs and gentle smiles. The young boy turns around and waves goodbye enthusiastically, while Logos and Ryeomae say their farewells in a much more reserved manner.

"Bye, everyone!"

"Thank you for your hospitality."

"Who knows - there's a chance we might meet again in the future!"

Leviathan, at the very least, doesn't seem too opposed to the idea - a rare sight, considering how he's usually so prone to jealousy. Though perhaps, seeing just how much of an asset the Terrans were to Hades convinced him far more than words could ever serve to do. "So long as you come in support of Hades, we will welcome you with open arms."

The Doctor grins widely before turning towards Logos and Mizuki. "Ready, you two?"

"Ready!"

"Lead the way, Doctor."

Ah, they're really going now- huh?!

For the briefest of moments, while the Terrans hop into the portal, the Doctor's cap lifted from the top of her head, exposing a tiny pair of demon horns. And at the exact same time, a similarly dark, slim demon tail slipped out from beneath her shirt - so well-hidden after all this time.

But before she could call the Doctor back, the portal closed off completely, leaving Ryeomae, Leviathan, Foras, Barbatos, and Glasyalabolas in a shocked stupor.

Barbatos is the first one to recover. "Well...that might explain why she was so willing to help us."

Leviathan collects himself next, frowning contemplatively. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"I agree with His Majesty Leviathan." Foras speaks up next. "The Doctor was a mysterious person, and while she did help us, we never really knew of her true intentions. Was it out of duty? Kindness? Or perhaps, the threat from His Majesty?"

"And don't forget, their land doesn't recognize 'angels' and 'demons' like we do. She's a Sankta, and that Logos person was a Sarkaz." Glasyalabolas added, earning affirmative responses from everyone in the room.

All the while, Ryeomae is silent.

She does feel the kindness emanating from the Doctor throughout the skirmish against Gabriel and his forces, that much is true. It was easy to latch on to the Doctor as a figure worthy to look up to, as the mature yet laid-back Sankta she was. Easily commanding the battlefield, like a chessmaster thinking many steps ahead - yet laid-back when necessary, joking around with everyone around her. Shielding Ryeomae behind her despite not looking like she wields any sort of weapon for self defense.

But the demons have a point, and the Doctor herself is still shrouded in mystery. Sure, she may have acted off the goodness of her own heart, but doesn't that come into odds with how Logos described her, prior to her amnesia? Yet Logos still believes that the Doctor is kind at heart - was he blinded by his emotions, or was he truly being objective? And sure, she may have said she was a Sankta, but weren't demon horns and demon tails the signature features of Sarkaz? Shards of light for wings and a halo, with demon horns and a demon tail...both sets of features on the same person?

Just...who are you, really, Dr. Requiescat?

~

BONUS: a visual representation and brief description of the Doctor and Ryeomae! (neka link here)

1. Dr. Requiescat (Arknights Docsona, real name Luciel. Halo, wings, tail, and Originium crystals not pictured)

Doctor of Rhodes Island, presents herself as a Fallen Sankta due to a lingering sense of guilt, of having wronged someone she cared about back before the sarcophagus. Despite the sarcophagus seemingly resetting her body, in turn clearing her memories and healing her wounds, her Oripathy still remains - nobody knows why. She acts kind and upbeat, but she still questions if that's really her, especially as more and more revelations of her past comes into light. But, after the revelations about her identity (as revealed in Lone Trail), she holds a phrase close to her heart: I am me, just as I always have been.

2. Ryeomae

Solomon's descendant, a 24-year-old young woman who has a degree in literature and is currently working part-time as a barista while looking for a more permanent employment. She lives with Minhyeok, her childhood friend. They both secretly harbor feelings for each other - something her bandmate, friend, and ex Hana-chan easily takes notice of, considering he always sets them up. Both craves and is uncomfortable with the demons' overwhelming care and attention towards her.

(honestly they could really pass off as twins if not for the fallen sankta features the doctor has and their different colored eyes)

[shaymcsudonim]

Fuck it

Rambling Essay on Sir Pentious and Alastor as Narrative Foils 

Okay so, as a Christian myself, I like to apply the Jack Saint Test when analyzing stories about heaven, hell, and the afterlife. 

The original version of Mr. Saint’s test goes thus: whenever a story involves talking animals, it is either a story about animals, a thinly veiled story about humans, or a work that sends mixed messages and muddies its metaphors.  

For example, Shark Tale is a story about people. If all the characters were replaced with humans, the story would still make sense, as an odd couple buddy film about lying to the mafia (possibly a cannibal mafia, but I’ve seen weirder).  

Whereas something like Bambi would be difficult to transpose onto humans without a number of questions being raised. Such as why a hunter is killing a human mother, why the kid matures to an adult over the course of a single year, etc.  

And I’d say that the Land Before Time movies sent mixed messages and confused the hell out of me as a child. Anything where both the predators and prey were sapient and morally neutral freaked me out, tbh. 

Anyway, the religious version of the Jack Saint Test would be phrased thus: stories which involve heaven, hell, and the afterlife are either stories about Religion, stories about Morality, or stories using a particular Aesthetic. 

The Chronicles of Narnia are stories about Religion, specifically Christianity, complete with Lion Jesus and Bird Satan. Even if C.S. Lewis was using allegory, he was trying to convey information that was true in his worldview. 

The Good Place is a story about Morality. It doesn’t care in the slightest about what the afterlife might actually look like, or even if one exists. It merely uses the framework as a method for taking the audience along for a philosophic ride about the true nature of good and evil. 

Mairimashita! Iruma Kun is a story which uses religion as an aesthetic. It uses hell as a backdrop for an isekai story about making a found family out of demons. Superb, 10/10 would cry again. Not much to do with real-world religion, but it has some interesting notes on xeno-psychology, specifically on how morality might develop in sapient extremophiles.  

Hazbin Hotel straddles the line between Aesthetics and Morality. Specifically about judgment, punishment, and redemption, taking place in heaven and hell as conceived by pop culture. 

So yeah, St Peter as a blond white guy, demons being able to buy and sell souls like in Faust, or redemption being something possible to earn—none of those bother me, because this is clearly a story about the way that humans judge other humans in our mortal lives. It’s a modern myth, and a character-driven one at that. 

That being said, I am certainly grateful that they seem to be taking the veggietales route, and are trying to avoid depicting Furry Jesus, or God the Furry. It is an interesting detail that though ‘God’ and ‘Jesus Christ’ are used as expletives in-universe, Charlie mentions neither in her opening monologue in episode 1, she even avoids mentioning God by saying that the angels worship ‘good.’ 

Honestly, there might not be a God in this universe, and that would be a fascinating choice from a worldbuilding perspective. Although they might simply be going with the ‘clockwork creator’ route, since the angels were the ones who created Adam, Eve, and Lillith. 

Jesus not being mentioned in a story about redemption is kind of weird. Obviously, Charlie is the Christ-figure of the story. Or Anti-Christ figure as the case may be. But if the crucifixion happened, why is forgiveness a foreign concept to the angels? If it didn’t, why is ‘Jesus Christ’ a swear in universe? Is it a myth? A plot hole? 

As I said, the Doylist explanation is very obviously that they’re trying to avoid stirring up too much controversy (in the first season, at least). But considering the Watsonian one is a fascinating thought exercise. (“In 10,000 years you’re the first to change this town”? If there was a resurrection, it did nothing to change hell? I will just throw that thought into the corner and ignore it). 

Anyway, moving on from what the story didn’t say, what it did have to say is fascinating. 

Other people have already pointed out that comparing Hazbin Hotel to Helluva Boss, the Sinners seem to sink deeper into evil than the Hellborn, comparing Rosie to Beelzebub, Valentino to Asmodeus, and Alastor to Lucifer. 

And yeah, that’s a fair point. The angels and demons mostly just seem to be Normal Guys, doing their best. They have the expectation of living possibly forever unless killed, so they seem to place a greater value on stability of personality (most of them, at least). Whereas many of the humans died at the rock bottom of a self-destructive spiral and then continued to dig themselves deeper as demons. 

But the two characters I find most fascinating to compare are Alastor and Sir Pentious. I was not expecting those two to be foils, and was delighted at the contrast. 

I’m Ace myself, and I’m very used to the less ‘fuckable’ characters getting shoved into ‘redemption equals death,’ so I was feeling pretty cynical when Pentious’ ship got vaporized. Especially when Alastor had already survived.  

And then I thought, ‘wait, there was no narrative need for both of them to face death going up against Adam, not unless the story was making a point about it.’  

And then I started noticing more similarities. 

Even in the pilot, the two of them clashed, with Alastor considering Sir Pentious to be beneath his notice until the other demon ripped his coat. 

In terms of similarities, both are ambitious, with Alastor desiring power and freedom, and Pentious longing for recognition and accomplishment.  

Both make deals in pursuit of power. Alastor gathering the souls of those with less power than he has, and Pentious spying for Vox and building war machines for conquest. 

Their strengths and weaknesses, however, are different. Alastor is cold and competent, but allergic to trust and sincerity. Pentious is creative and sincere, though hot-blooded and pompous. 

Now, the series is far from over, but in the first season at least, it was humility that saved Pentious and pride that damned Alastor. 

Pentious is a buffoon. He’s not charismatic, at least not at first, but he’s not afraid to put his whole heart into anything he’s doing. He fails as a spy, fails as a paramour, fails as a hero. But he didn’t fail as a friend. 

 Alastor succeeds at infiltrating the Hotel and gaining Charlie’s regard, as well as a very literal favor from Hell’s Princess. He succeeds as an overlord. He succeeds in surviving his fight with Adam. 

But he failed to redeem himself. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, “I acknowledge that you are my friends, but I won’t die for you,” is huge progress. If Alastor didn’t want to be redeemed, he should have killed Charlie before she adopted him. She will never give up on him now, and Alastor is already as good as doomed.  

...saved, I meant saved.  

Ahem. 

But—see, here’s the thing. 

Alastor was so CLOSE. 

Alastor the manipulator, the dealmaker, hedged his bets and took steps towards obtaining what he wants more than anything else right now: freedom and power. That’s what all his scheming and plotting is aiming for.  

But he’s only working towards it. He doesn’t have anything to show for it yet. 

Sir Pentious, pure of heart, dumb of ass, gave his life for his friends, the ultimate act of love. (“Greater love hath no man than this: that he give up his life for his friends.”) 

And do you know what Sir Pentious has now? 

Power and Freedom.  

He’s quite possibly a Seraph, so he might even be third in heaven’s hierarchy? Certainly, Emily was thrilled to meet him, and the more sincere heaven-born and the heaven-bound humans will no doubt flock to support him in any efforts he makes to save his friends. 

(I wouldn’t be shocked if the egg boys have been spawning as stupid but well-intentioned cherubs for years now, so he might very well have friends already. If nothing else, I’m hoping that Dazzle makes it to heaven.) 

It’s just, after I had already separated this story from Christianity in my head, it hits me with a quite literal version of, “He who seeks to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it.” (Not that Pentious literally died for Jesus, but “whatever you have done for the least of these, you have done for me.” Emotionally, it resonates the same.) 

So yeah, Hazbin Hotel sometimes blends Aesthetic, Morality, and Religion, somewhat muddying the metaphorical water in the process. 

But mostly, it’s still a character-driven myth. 

And I’m looking forward to season 2. 

[ammstify]

Welcome to part 2 of my completely self indulgent Persona AU I made for my friend and I’s silly, gay, adult men ocs because I’m obsessed with this franchise!

Why don't we begin, shall we?

(**NOTE: This is part 2 of my Persona OC AU long post! You can find part 1 on my profile, or in the links down below! Also, I will be referring to my best friend and I's characters by their first name initials, sorry!)

Also obligatory tag for my awesome mutual, @greetings-inferiors! (Btw, love what you've written so far for Persona Green, keep it up!!)

When we last left off, I discussed in full about my best friends special boy and oc, F, and his own Persona Achilles!

Today, we'll be discussing my character this time; My handsome man N! (Completely unrelated to N from Pokemon Black and White, love that depressed prince though <3)

N is a 25 (if 2002) year old, or 30-31 during Persona 3's time (2009-2010), or 39 during Persona 5's time (2016). Regardless of age though, he's a handsome Mexican lad, who despite being just a smidge shorter than his lover F, is a pretty tough and strong dude! He's a masc brunet with a love for Greaser and biker fashion, who loves reading cheap romance novels, working on cars and motorcycles, exercising in the morning, and listening to 80's rock. He is very calm, cool, suave, and a really chill guy despite his sometimes pessimistic attitude!

Though like F, he too struggles with his own trauma and demons. But, through F's love and support, as well as his high-on-life attitude, N overcomes it one day at a time, healing their scars together while living with their heads held high.

N's chosen Persona of course is the other Mythological hero of the Trojan war, and the major supporting character of Homer's Iliad, Patroclus! Or Pátroklos, depending on the version/language used!

Unlike Achilles, who takes a human-like form, Patroclus takes a more robotic shape, resembling that of a transformer of sorts. Its big yet sleek, with parts of it reminiscent of both a badass old style sports car, like a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans-am, and some of the sickly designed cars from Mad Max!

The torso is big and bulky, with a leather jacket-like shape forged from the black steel cover the silver-blue metal skin below, with thick spikes similar to the ones on Achilles armor. Only instead of silver, they're a gold-ish tinted bronze. Its arms are thick and bulky too, with transformed metallic parts lining it all the way down to the hands.

Within its forearms, a pair long of bronze spear-like blades lie within, which can be ejected out similar to stiletto blades, or the Mantis blades in Cyberpunk 2077! This represents the two spears Patroclus had taken while acting as Achilles, in order to fight off the oncoming Trojan's! From its stomach, up, and hanging over its shoulders lie thick pairs of silver pipes, two on each side, resembling exhausts that pump out thin wafts of silver smoke. When the Persona is engaged though, it puffs out big plumes of black exhaust, revving up as it prepares to attack!

Connecting down from these pipes, to the topmost area of its stomach, also known as the Sarpedeon's midriff, a large furnace like hatch lies there, with a large visible hole piercing through the grating, lined with that same bronze-gold. This represents the fatal wound Patroclus had received from the Hector, the Trojan prince, while disguising as Achilles!

And not only that, but the blue flame that floats within the furnace-like engine that fills the torso. Despite its appearance, the area around the flame is cold to the touch, and will instantly freeze you if touched. This represents not only Patroclus' life force, but also his still existing soul even after death, and being set free by his boy being burned upon a pyre! Not only that, but it represents the damage N has faced in his own life, with the metaphorical cover over his heart/soul damaged and scarred.

For Patroclus' legs, much like its arms, they are made up of transformed metal parts laid over bronze wire-like thigh muscles, and hefty metallic calves with two deep azure blue motors. The right motor has the name "BALIUS" printed in bold black, while the left has the name "XANTHUS" printed in bold white.

The names and motors themselves reference quite a few things actually! Firstly, the names reference the two immortal horses Balius and Xanthus, who, while not chosen to pull Patroclus' chariot, were very close to him and only allowed him to touch and care for them. During his death, it was even said in the Iliad that the two horses wept for him!

Alongside that, it also references Patroclus' own love for horses, and a slight connection to the symbolism of dice that is often associated with him. Whereas the motors themselves on the other hand connect to N's love for engineering and his connection to being a car mechanic, which happens to be a big part of his life!

Anyway, the two motors connect down to a large pair of wheels for the feet, which allow Patroclus to zip around fast! Upon its back, it probably has a place for N to grab onto and catch a ride on the Persona if needed. Lastly, for its head, it has a metal drill-like Greek olive wreath headpiece, its mask-like silver head similarly shaped to N's while partly protected by the exhaust pipes. Its eyes glow a deep blue, and its hair is shaped similar to N's, resembling a layered slickback undercut, with a pair of thin metal strips resembling twisted overhanging strands!

Similar to Achilles and F, I'm not entirely sure was Patroclus and N's Arcana would be persay? Maybe the Moon, or the Emperor? Heck, maybe even Death or the Hierophant! But I do know that much of Patroclus' skills would focus on Bufu/Ice magic, a few healing spells, and a signature physical move! Think kinda like Morgana, Yosuke, or Makoto's Persona kits!

Also, can you tell I've thought about this one a LOT in-depth?

Anyway, now we can FINALLY GET TO THE CHARACTER DETAILS FOR N!

For his SEES gear, it would be a bulky black leather jacket with a blue or white tanktop underneath, zipped up partway for protection, but also comfort! He likes to have his chest show a little :3c Ofc, he'd have the signature SEES special armband on his shoulder. N would also have a pair of off-black pants, with pair of solid leather gloves, his white Evoker holster wrapped around his right thigh, aviator goggles, and a pair of big bulky combat boots equipped with steel tips!

That's right, his weapon are boots! Unlike Chie though, whose style of fighting mimics the kung-fu and karate films she loves, N's is a combination of Kickboxing, Muay Tai, and Jeet kune do! He strikes with his fists before delivering a combination of 1-3 big, badass kicks to knock out his opponents! Think kinda like how Spike Spiegel fights in Cowboy Bebop!

Anyway, for his Phantom Thieves costume, its a lot similar to his SEES outfit and normal war, but with a twist. The main inspiration for it is none other than the outfit of the protagonist of th Mad Max film series, Max Rockatansky! More specifically, the outfit he wears within the 2015 video game. N dons a wholly leather outfit like Max, and surprisingly, Makoto! (btw can you tell she was an inspiration for this? Like a LOT?!)

Between a leather jacket, with a single leather pauldron, leather belts, leather harnesses, leather jeans, leather boots, leather gloves, how many times can I say leather? And of course his mask, which unlike F's, is an ornate metal mask like this one, but yknow with the bottom half cut for his face, giving a strangely elegant appearance to this overall tough and rough outfit!

And last but not least, N's codename.... Fury, named after the "Furies", also known as the Erinyes or Eumenides, the Greek goddesses of death and vengeance who punish the wicked and sinners!

Yes, I know N is a cisgender man, but I thought it'd be a really cool name and tie-in, given that Patroclus' death is avenged by Achilles!

"But, Ammy, wait-" I hear you say as you look down, "Why is there another part???"

Well my dear friends and readers, due to the big size of this one too (and because I'm a sneak), I'm doing a part 3 where I'm going to discuss the 2nd Evolution/Ultimate Personas of F and N, as well as some fun miscellaneous stuff! Maybe even answer some questions, so I hope you look out for it after enjoying this one!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

[noxx-33i]

Meet the Phighters!

This ref is a few weeks old and i revised some of their designs!! Just have a bit more of info dump of these 3!

As of this time.

Quiver

19yo/5'11

He/Him

An orphaned phighter that was found and taken under the wing of Chord and Punch

Although he "dislikes" Chord. This is just because he finds it frustrating that Chord is somewhat overprotective of him and doesnt allow a lot of opportunities (he has reasons)

He adapts very quickly to his environment thanks to his quick thinking and fast decision making

Quiver seemingly finds it easier to talk to/with Punch, often opening up and sharing a bit of his moments

Hes from Playground, an outer town that is.

Chord

The smarts of the team, as well as the more "adult" like demon

He mostly takes care of paperwork and tech stuff for the group

Mostly goes on solo infiltration missions and this causes both Quiver and Punch to worry a lot (They just care very much)

24yo/6'2

He/Him

Blackrock, but he easily gets cold even at 23c which is why he wears a lot of thick and layered clothes

Terrible sleep schedule due to a lot of projects and work he has to focus on 24/7

He kills his enemies so quickly no one is able to predict his next moves :3 (he actually plans everything from the start)

Punch

26yo/6'0

He/they

The most laid back of the group

Also the most dangerous for some reason. Hes a well known demon in the mercenary industry.

His past is pretty unclear to both Chord and Quiver, all that they know is that they ran away from Thieves Den and somehow ended up in this line of business to survive

He might seem intimidating at first, but hes got a soft heart inside.

He was the one to suggest taking in Quiver, and Chord only agreed due to begging from them.

He misses home

Their eyes are a special case, even he doesnt know how to use his powers properly. Its also the reason why they have a secret bounty on his head.

Phun Phact!

They live together!

Quiver really likes to eat

Punch remembers Chord's schedule to the core

[They] met each other when they were both 19 and 21 respectively

Quiver met them 3 years ago

Someone is after Punch

I draw Punch/Chord as a joke please dont take it seriously (unless you wanna :3)

Punch is very flexible thanks to an exercise schedule he was taught at a young age.

Punch has biological parents

Quiver had biological parents

Chord has a non-biological sister

If given a dynamic i would choose found family for Punch and Quiver

If given a dynamic i would choose Stays/Leaves for Chord and Punch (teehee)

Punch likes noodles, Chord likes pastries, Quiver likes potatoes