#maybe ic but only if work has mercy on my soul

[roygbivvie]

-TF2 MERC KINKY HEADCANNONS-

*This is like my first time writing anything on here so have mercy on my mortal soul*

Nsfw warning obvi, so 18+..but also it gets pretty damn kinky in here so beware.

- [x] Spy

Spy in my mind is absolutely a switch. He absolutely has a daddy kink and a knife kink, but he also wants more than anything for someone (scouts mom) (or you ;0) to yank him down by his tie and force him to his knees. He likes surprises. These can be sexual in nature or not. I feel he would also like blindfolds regardless of who’s wearing it. covers your eyes and says “guess who” ass motherfucker. He’d growl too i think.

- [x] Sniper

many thoughts are to be had about this man in particular. For starters, by no means am i one to kink shame. My blog would be more of a testament to that if my likes were public. However, i simply do not think he has a piss kink. I think he puts absolutely no thought into pissing in jars besides the fact that it’s purposefully insulting to his targets in game. With that out of the way, his kinks. Do i even need to say primal kink? This fella read most dangerous game and thought: damn.. that’s kinda sexy. He wants to set you loose in the woods and track you down to fuck you. he wants it outside. he wants it dirty, sweaty, covered in blood and mud. He wants it animal style but literally. Aside from primal stuff, he loooves roadhead and hitting that thang from the back.

- [x] Scout

Now scout is a tricky one. Unlike basically all of the other mercs, i don’t think he’s super kinky. Here’s some thoughts anyways. He’d definitely start out kinda preformatively domineering, but the man has no ability to bluff. he’d ask constantly if he’s doing ok / if there’s something you want him to do. He is an absolute sucker for any praise. Compliment him on literally anything, and he’ll be a puddle in your lap.

- [x] Pyro

The mask STAYS. ON. during sex. The only way i could see them removing it is if they first blindfolded you. It’s not that they don’t trust you, they just refuse for absolutely anyone to see them. So i hope you have a mask kink, because they’ve certainly developed one. Other kinks they may have would be sensory play. I’m talkin hot wax, ice, feathers, incense, maybe even needles. basically the whole shebang. Pyro also has a love for fantasy, and i feel like Ovipositors would lend quite well to that. They probably have quite the extensive bad dragon collection.

- [x] Engineer

He absolutely makes you toys.. and them suckers are POWERFUL. He’d absolutely make a fuck machine, or several. I think he’s extra into having anything you use to get off be made by him. He’s mega into overstimulating you. He likes to watch his handiwork absolutely wreck you over and over. He may even want others to watch too. I think he’d have a size kink whether you’re bigger or smaller than him, I just think he’d like the difference.

- [x] Demo

I think he likes cuddlefucking and somnophilia. Nothin sobers him up faster than waking up to head. Now when he gets in the mood for it, it’s degradation BIG time. like so bad that he probably feels he has to apologize afterwards.

He also likes to spit on you. Also i don’t know how it would work, but there’s potential kink-ery with that ghost eye of his. I don’t know how, but the potential is there.

- [x] Medic

Oh boy this freak..

Did someone say knife kink? yea. yeaaaaah. And it’s pretty extreme. He’s not just threatening you, he’ll really do it. He likes to keep you strapped to a medical bed n shit too. I think he’d like to spoon-feed people. He gets off on giving you sugar pills to make you “feel better” wait.. were those really sugar pills? fuck. You’ll wake up sore with maybe an organ or two missing, but that’s the price to pay for those big sexy jugs he’s got. Don’t worry he’s a master at aftercare.

- [x] Heavy

Size kink outta the way, I think Heavy is into Dollification. He wants to take care of you, dress you in frilly outfits, and keep you on a shelf like a little collectible next to Sasha. He might even share you with medic.. take you in to get “fixed” if he ever brakes you..

……….. fleshlight position 0////0

- [x] Soldier

WAM!!! (wet and messy) for sure. I mean the honey in the comics certainly did something for him. wearing red, white, and blue? you won’t be wearing anything in no time. I feel like degradation is also a certain for him. Don’t tell anyone but he secretly wants you to put him in his place .. he definitely doesn’t want more than anything to follow someone’s orders..

[addicted-to-dc]

Jekyll/Hyde Part 2 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath 

Link to Part 1

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

The computer does all the work for you nowadays. Honestly, you expected this to be your time to think things over. ‘Meditate’ as Laswell calls it. Rumination sits better on your tongue. How in the world can you ruminate in conditions like these? The overhead lights are buzzing, a high-pitched constant ringing that’s giving you a migraine. It feels like an ice pick was shoved through your eye socket, the cold metal turning warm as it disturbs thousands of nerves.

The seclusion you needed has fucking left the building, leaving you alone with a team of walking dead men. Laswell didn’t tell them why you had so many deaths. One would assume that the common denominator (i.e. YOU) are the reason why families mourn their loved ones. With every step you take you can hear the jingle of all those tags, so many souls gone because you couldn’t stop digging for the truth.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to drag yourself out of your exhaustion. Your efforts only reward you with a sharp pain in your skull. Checking the time, you internally groan. Less than an hour until your dogs are here. Fuck, you miss them.

There’s a flick of a lighter, the scent of leather and wood assaulting your nose. Then tobacco invades your senses. “What’s on your mind?”

Captain Price, the man who started it all. He’s a survivor. He might stand a chance at what’s coming next. It’s been a while since you’ve interacted with a man this intense. He’s a smart one. The cigar erases the mustiness of the room. Smells like home. You can feel your body relax, albeit slightly. Maybe you just need a smoke.

“The only family I have left,” you reply, yanking out your cigarettes. Your only photo lies folded in the nearly empty pack. You flick it to Price, your aim true as it rolls to the edge of the table. “Three dogs. Sir, Bear, and Ruse.”

Ghost shifts slightly in his chair, dark eyes on the photo as soon as Price uncrumples it. “Cerberus?”

You can see recognition flash in Price’s eyes. In all of theirs. At least they don’t try to hide it. Sunshine leans forward, his eyes reevaluating you. “You’re The Huntress.”

It’s not a question. He knows. They all do. Price hands the photo to Mr. Mohawk. You shake your head, “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

“Fuckin’ unstoppable is what you should be called,” Mr. Mohawk chuckles, looking up from the photo. “I’ve seen yer work. Thorough, precise, efficient, and batshit crazy.”

“They say you’re a sniper hunter,” Ghost states, eyes blazing with intrigue. “That true?”

You nod, your index finger running over the scar on your chin. Mr. Mohawk’s bright ass blue eyes bore into your own. “Why the name change?”

Your muscles tense, feeling the weight of hundreds of hands pulling you down, down, down… Broken nails tear at your flesh, opening old wounds that never fully healed right. The screams ring in your ears, curses that taint your very soul to this day. “A story for another day.”

“Is this your original taskforce?” Price asks, pulling your attention away from his sergeant.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, lighting up your last cigarette. “Picked every single one of them myself. Two Polish battering rams, Maryna and Urszula Kowalski. They were always at each other’s throats, but they were the devil and angel on my shoulder.”

You take a long drag. They were the first ones to die.

The frequent migraines and metal plate in your skull are because of them, cracking your skull open before you could even walk off the transport. Their deaths were too quick, but watching the Semtex burst in the sisters’ faces was cathartic. Liars always fail to earn mercy from you. Traitorous ones at least. You exhale, releasing the tension. They don’t deserve to weigh down your conscience.

“August Lindemann, a German tech genius. Spoiled us with all the newest gadgets on the field.” You chuckle, dark eyes meeting Price’s. “I always said they’d make us lose our edge.”

For all the brains he had, they didn’t look so special splattered across the wall. You fought through the entire base to get to him. Cowering like the leach he was until he was the only one left. It didn’t even take cutting off his precious fingers to find out who organized all of this: General Sheperd. You know this leads deeper into the abyss, merely scratching the surface of this conspiracy.

“The last one is American; best shot I’ve ever seen and an even better medic. Dane Reid was a serious man, but he always kept everyone together.”

His ring lies against your chest, right next to yours. You scratch your right ear, digging your nails into what’s left of your upper cartilage. He was the best shot, but your dogs were loyal to no one except you. Even your husband. Using yourself as a decoy was risky, but Sir, Bear, and Ruse tearing him apart made the sacrifice worth it. And the bullet you put into his heart? Even more so.

You can’t wait to see them again.

“You and the dogs are the only ones left?” Sunshine asks, gently taking the photo from Price. “How did Laswell find you?”

“Wandering the Russian forest with stolen data,” you reply, picking at your broken nail. “She found me and the dogs months later.”

“An’ yer team?” Mr. Mohawk questions. “Wha’ about them?”

“I killed them all,” you answer, putting out the cig. You’ll save it for later, death usually ruins the taste. “They tried to sabotage the op. I only got one name when all of it was said and done, and you want to know who it was?”

You scan over every single one of them. The truth always hurts to tell, but you need them to live. You can’t lose anymore, not when Laswell holds these men to the highest regard. What did she say to them? Oh, yes, you need a team to survive with you. There’s too much death permeating the air. The smell of burnt flesh burns your nose.

“General Herschel Sheperd,” you snarl, the rage of Hyde breaking past Jekyll’s walls. “Laswell says you’re looking for him, and I want my pound of flesh.”

You’re sure they can see the insanity in your eyes, the ferality that consumed you in the forests of Russia and nestled its way into your very soul. Split into two beings, one desperate for peace and the other salivating for revenge. You’re not a Captain anymore. You’re nothing. Just a revenant walking amongst the living until your duty is fulfilled. Peace was never an option for you in life, only in death. You accepted that the day you lost your team, your only family. One gaze bears the most weight.

Your eyes catch Ghost’s. Dark eyes penetrate your soul, reading the scripture of your heart. Loyalty broken, trusted allies and friends betraying old bonds. Killing them. Broken, a living being inhabited by the scraps of its own psyche. Two peas in a fucked-up pod. Your phone vibrates on the table, one singular message popping up on your screen: They’re here.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble, pocketing your phone. “They’re here.” You’re itching to leave, to run to the last semblance of family you have.

Clearly, you’re too easy to read. Price stands, the others following suit. “Let’s go meet them then.”

Sunshine barely has the door open when you slip through, quickly maneuvering through the shitty corporate layout of the building until you reach the side lot. You can see them. Tears threaten to cloud your vision as you see Sir chase Ruse around the grass. Bear lays in the shade. Laswell notices your approach, giving you a small nod. You whistle loudly, their playtime immediately put on halt. It takes a second for the noise to bounce around their brains, immediately whining once it finally clicked. Sir, the eldest German Sheperd, is the first one to make it to you, whining and jumping in your arms. His love is always overwhelming, but it’s welcome.

Sir manages to hold onto your shoulders, forcing you to catch him to regain your balance. Only for Ruse, the younger Shepherd, to knock you to the ground. It startles a laugh out of you, a smile following soon after. God, it’s been too long since you’ve seen them. Bear in all her glory runs up and sits at your feet. Your smart girl. A Rottweiler mix, probably shepherd, but her fur pattern always draws you in. You coo, using whatever body part you can to pet all three of them. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

You sneak them treats, whispering sweet nothings to each of them as you try to make up for lost time. Six months away from them has been torture. Then again, you thought you’d never see them again. Every op feels like the last.

“Forgive them, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen each other,” you turn to the group, sputtering when Ruse licks into your mouth. “CERBERUS!”

They fall in line perfectly, ears perked and waiting for orders. A hand pops into view, and you take it. Sunshine pulls you up, chuckling at the slobber left behind. He tilts his head, eyes catching something on your chest.

Frowning, you look down. Your rings are exposed. Tearing off the necklace, you shove it into your pocket. You’re allowed to have your secrets.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

[macsimagines]

Obsessed Ex!Kazutora Headcanons

(Sorry for the delay. I really tried to make this one good. Tell me what you think! Heads up this is completely fictional, and should not be read by anyone under 18, Minors DNI! -Ms.Mac )

TW: MURDER-SUICIDE, Stalking, Obsessive behavior, Violence mentioned, Blood mentioned, Possesive behavior, SUICIDE MENTION

Kazutora loved you, he needed you, he worshipped you. He made sure you knew that two weeks after dating...

He made sure you knew that after texting you when you changed your number for the third time.

He made sure you knew that after you ghosted him, moved, and he still showed up at your new apartment. How did he know where you lived?

He made sure you really knew it when he beat up the guy you went out for coffee with.

"I know you wanted your space, but fucking CHEATING ON ME!?"

Kazutora told you, professed it, screamed it, while the cops were dragging him away and you were asking an officer about a restraining order.

You're trying to think about where you went wrong... you suppose it was after your first date. The one where you ignored the giant red flag when he told you he had "Served time" as a dumb kid for dumb mistakes.

Honestly, you just felt so lucky a beautiful man like that had even given you the time of day. So you shrugged it off. Said we all have things were not proud of.

Maybe it was the time you had sex only a week after seeing each other...

He warned he was a virgin and didn't have much experience. That was fine! You didn't have a lot of experience either. You could learn together! Is that when he got too attached...

It could've been the fact that you ignored how hooked he was on sex all of the sudden. Wanting to do it as often as possible. Everyday.

But he was so willing to do whatever you wanted... He was so eager to go down on you, lapping away at you, whimpering about how good you tasted...

How he would fuck you was just amazing as well. Every roll of his hips, the way he held onto your waist to keep you at just the right angle, the way he would whisper "Like this, sweetheart? That's how you want it right baby?"

Kazutora was a quick study because he seemed to just know what you liked.

When you finally got the goddamn picture, when you realized it was too good to be true was when you jokingly had told him, after two weeks of knowing him, that having so much sex was bad for your poor little heart. Have some mercy on my poor back Kazu!

And he laughed, laid himself right on your chest and wrapped his arms around you. "I can't help it, Y/N! I love you so much. You're the best. You don't even care that I killed a guy."

You're mouth goes dry, and your skin gets ice cold. "Wha-what?"

"Oops, I guess it's two guys. But Baji didn't count. He said it didn't count."

The next morning you're running out of his apartment. You would've left last night if he hadn't been holding onto you like a lifeline. The last thing he whispered was "Your hearts' beating like a little bird. My pretty bird."

Unfortunately, your whole life has gone to shit since then. You don't have it in you to press charges against him. A friend of his, Chifuyu, begged on his behalf. Explained what had happened to Kazutora and how its shaped him.

He promised he would talk to him. Set him straight and make him understand that what he's doing is wrong, and that he needs to let you be.

And for whatever dumb reason you trust him. Like the stupid fool you are.

For a week that seems to work. It's like the guy has finally disappeared. Oh but he didn't. He just got smarter.

Chifuyu couldn't talk him out of loving you, no one would ever understand that you two are soul mates.

He just fucked up. He wasn't as up front and honest with you, or maybe he should have never even told you... He could have waited until after you were married.

Kazutora had gotten you the ring after the first time you two had sex. You were basically married that night. Spiritually bound.

You loved him. You had to. Why else would you take his virginity? Why else would you have accepted him!?

The guy has completely lost it. He's convinced you still love him, like he can hear your voice calling out to him. "Come get me, baby, I misse you~" That must be your soul crying out to him...

He grabs you the next night, when you're coming home from work. He's waiting for you when you walk into your apartment and grabbing your mouth before you can shriek.

Had duct-tape and rope prepared. He doesn't remember why he brought the knife...

After a struggle, stop fighting me, darling, I don't want to hurt you, he's got you nice and tied up... And in a white wedding dress.

Its then that you notice he's in a suit, wrinkled and disheveled. He even pulled his own hair back to try and look nice but he just looks downright insane. Bags under his eyes and this uneasy smile. The knife. Why does he have a knife?

Holding you from behind, sitting down on the floor, with candles and rose petal covering your whole room. He whispers; "I have a ring and everything baby," kissing your cheek and licking away your tears.

The knife. Its at your throat and held in shaky a shaking hand as he slips on the ring. "Got it after we made love that first night. You remember baby? 'Course you do. Best night of our lives, right? Well almost."

His hold on you get tighter, you can barely breath, "This. This is gonna be the best night. Our wedding night." The knife. It cuts your throat slightly, just enough to sting.

"If we had kids, that might'a been the best. But its ok. We're gonna have each other, baby."

The knife digs deeper. The pain isn't the worst part. Its that warm wet feeling dripping down your neck. Its the fact that the blood is choking you. That you can fucking taste it.

Your vision is getting blurry. You look at Kazutora and see that he's crying too. The knife. Its at his own throat now.

"Not even in death, will we ever part."

The world goes black.

[sugarstarlights]

Madison Altair opens his eyes after falling asleep and immediately makes several consecutive expressions of displeasure. The environment he finds himself in is a twisted form of his previous containment, his apartment without walls and minimilized , opened up to the abyss with nothing but an open door and an absolutely shredded green couch in the center of the room, destroyed by perfectly straight lines torn open to expose stuffing and structure. Splayed out on the couch is a mangled, splintered wooden puppet in his likeness, eyes colorless and a soft sobbing noise coming from its mouth. Flinching hard as he hears the sound, Mads grips the hand that manifests in his tightly the moment he can, needing his primary source of grounding faster than he thought he would. It indicates something terrifying: Sarandiel, at this moment, wants him to suffer more than anything.

Taking a deep, steady breath as he scans the room, Mads picks a point on the black and white marbled sharp-edged floor supporting the couch and focuses hard on the details of something he owns, something he wills to be here for the sake of his own fairly arbitrary desire. It's a warmup, in part, to make sure he still has the ability to manifest in this place like he could before, and it works, a tripod and relatively magical video camera arranged appearing to watch the room from the lack of wall to his left, a hopefully panoramic view for this facedown. He grins with a small reflexive fist pump as the recording starts, satisfied with his success.

---- (viewed ic) ----

The view shows Mads Altair and Cookie glaring down the room, the former bearing a blue suit, shining gold wings and even brighter golden hands. The room in question drips from dark nowhere with viscous black strings, the void beyond increasingly filled with opening, focusing green eyes, some appearing as light and others far more realistic, inconsistent in shade and occasionally shaking in rage as they centralize their awareness on this space again, and the beings who have dared to return.

The puppet on the couch rises on its green strings, hanging rather than standing in its half-connected pieces but its glowing green eyes focused on the pair of men.

”Puppet, my puppet, you return, have you come to throw yourself at my mercy?—” The droning voice echoing from the open hinged mouth cuts short, almost seeming to flinch, many of the surrounding eyes growing wider. “No…What is this divinity? What are you? An angel with a powerful soul is still only human in nature—”

“None of the above, jackass!”

This bold interruption sparks the figurative flame of how he feels about them. Deep, bitter rage rises in Madison Altair's throat as they call him that /fucking word/, his magic-supported mind pushing away the pain it triggers to give the young divinity room to gain strength to avenge its cruel intention instead. Their intentional string pulls are just another reason to get them the Hell out of here.

“I'm a god too right now, strong enough to keep your power out of my head, stronger than /you/ and your lame-ass, timeline-restrained, obsessively controlling domain, for sure!“ He wasn't sure, yesterday, but now, after lots of mantras, for the purposes of this, and maybe, if he can prove it, for the foreseeable future, Mads /knows/ he's stronger, better, and fully out of His god's reach.

They spend long enough silently uncomprehending of such a change that Mads takes the opportunity to keep taunting the puppet to its face, stepping aggressively forward and looking it in the eyes. “I had this place perfect and then you brought your shitty psychological torture chamber and gross personal problems into /my/ awesome space and fucked it all up.”

The lecture is so intense that the puppet actually flinches, though manages to insert a response before its matching soul continues. “You are no god, merely a pretender. This domain you call your '/awesome space/' is mine; theft does not alter ownership, and I have every right to reclaim it.”

“No you fucking don't. If you wanted it back you shoulda said so back when I got it, months ago, fully on accident, y'know; I didn't steal your shit on purpose, it wasn't even /hard/.” He laughs in their face and shoves the puppet bodily, taking a stomping step forward. From where his foot makes contact with the marbled floor a pulse of purple light emanates outward, making several brighter green eyes flinch shut. Spreading from under his foot, the surface starts to turn solid, vivid Mads Altair Purple, an effect that immediately draws every eye's attention. The god can feel intense divinity surging through him, connecting with the metaphysical material he's already so familiar with and with every confident word saturating it with his own soul, entirely displacing the other god's temperate, unresisting passive energy with his intense and willful power.

”It was in /my/ soul all this time, I can change it as well as you can, and now I'm going to claim it properly, my friend told me how. Because my friends are smarter than you, and gave me everything I need to evict your ass. Here's 1 of those objective facts you love: this piece of the Astral Plane belongs to me and me alone, and there's nothing you can do about it.“ Mads Altair lets go of his grounding point and steps firmly forward again, another footprint of color staking his claim, and tosses the puppet aside bodily, its strings following. Considering a moment, he turns to the couch, hands in his pockets, and kicks it over with 1 foot and a loud thud. He always hated that fucking couch, and it's not as satisfying as it should be to see it destroyed like that.

”It's /mine/. End. Of. Story.“

The couch dissolves into purple sparks when the growing patches of colored floor spread beneath it at a steady pace, and Mads looks up at the darting, panicked eyes with a dark, smug grin. ”So this is our opposing forces of will, huh? What's wrong, getting nervous? Not so sure if you're in control anymore? Good! You're not. Now get out of my fucking way.“

He doesn't need to reach down and put his hands to the surface of the plane like he did before; with this power, he doesn't even need to make further contact. All it takes is Mads Altair raising his hands and slamming them fisted downward with intent to cause another shockwave of increasingly dense sparks to radiate around him, not just coloring the floor now but spreading beyond it, expanding into the previously vast, open area Sarandiel had turned into an awful little box. It grows beyond the cramped vicinity of the eyes, all they can do is watch, and perhaps finally get a word in.

“You cannot possibly- this is not how it works, I will not permit it. I will NOT PERMIT IT--” Too shocked to actively resist, only now do they realize the firmness required to push back, but it's already too late.

Though the protesting puppet dissolves as well, the initial open door remains after everything, the green and white funnel within floating now at the far edge of the visible plane where it had been created. Reaching back to squeeze Cookie's hand again, Mads releases it and steps toward the door without hesitance or fear, under the deeply hateful gaze of dozens of eyes and with green strings of light extending towards him only to vaporize in his glowing aura.

“Alright, Sarandiel, you bastard, get the Hell out of my domain,” The god announces, eyes blazing like 2 suns in the sky, “And /don't come back/.”

The door is slammed near-violently shut without allowing Sarandiel another word, turns purple, and quickly dissolves into sparks. Every green eye floating in the void blinks out and in moments colored sparks come rushing back in from where they'd been repelled, gold, pink and purple clouds interrupting the dark. Brushing his hands together like he's cleaning them off, a massive, satisfied smirk on his face, Madison Altair turns back to the fully purple surface of the wide piece of Astral Domain that he's claimed, as well as his ecstatically proud boyfriend. Cookie waits only until Mads has thrown his arms in the air and cheered goofily at his own accomplishment to throw himself into the god's arms, pulling him into a passionate kiss that's onscreen for all of half of a second before the recording ends.

------------

Results are in! Friend-buffed Madison Altair is the cooler better stronger god! Christ I'm glad that went well or it could have really not. But it didn't! And it couldn't have. Because I did great and the place is all mine now and they're completely fucking gone. I'm gonna go have some celebratory ice cream cake. Don't worry about how I did the filming thing the camera isn't real anyways it's fine.

[sapphire-heart-tippy]

So uh 😳

This is the main thing I want to talk about:

Cream

As we all know, stands are manifestations of your soul. In my fanfic, I dive deeper into Vanilla's perspective on things. Cream is a void type stand. He swallows up everything in his path, he's empty inside, he's eternally hungry. But why is he hungry? What is he hungry for? In canon, it's not clear and never specified.

If I had to guess (and I most certainly did), Vanilla feels a deep void in his heart that he fills with Dio. He uses Dio to fill the void. In the OVA (the Japanese dub) Dio tells the Stardust Crusaders that Vanilla was an outcast in society. (My biggest guess is because he's queer and dealt with a shit ton of discrimination)

Vanilla was most likely never given a single shred of grace in his life. That's very apparent when in one particular scene, he says, "Anyone else would've instinctively saved himself over risking life and limb to come to the aid of an oblivious comrade." Which is untrue. The fact Vanilla said this means that he's never had mercy given to him until Dio. He thinks the world is filled with selfish people and he's so unbelievably lonely and empty inside. Vanilla is willing to go to great lengths just for a crumb of affection from Dio, something he'll never really get.

Vanilla is still a human being until he's turned into a vampire. He still has human thoughts and feelings. But being mistreated in society has caused him to not only feel empty and lonely, but he most likely sees himself as a monster. That's why Cream looks and acts like that. All his life he was told that he's a monster, so he became one. We all have demons... And Vanilla's demon is the very essence of his soul. Vanilla kept screaming into the void... But what he didn't count on was one day the void would scream back....

Okay anyway! ☺️ Let's talk about Vanilla's tattoo thing

So as you can see in the OVA (which is beautifully animated by the way) Vanilla, or... "Iced", has a tattoo of the shield symbol we also see on Cream's body

Hearts... Love... Something Vanilla hungers for badly.

You can see the tattoo on the anime version's shoulder too! (maybe the sleeves of his leotard are sheer or unfortunately it's just a little symbol on the fabric itself. I like to implement the tattoo on his shoulder in my art work when he's shirtless or wearing a sleeveless shirt)

However, the marking isn't present in the manga version

What does the heart symbol mean? Well, like I've mentioned before, it could be a manifestation of how badly Vanilla wants to be loved. The shield is also symbolic of how he's a protector, he's a guard, he would do anything to protect the one(s) he loves. And if that's the case, why would he make such an odd statement about people instinctively saving themselves instead of the ones they care about?

Look at this:

Vanilla is instinctively doing the protective arm thing for Dio. Look at how his menacing demeanor changes as well. Vanilla is literally doing the very thing he was insulting Avdol for doing. Risking his life and his limbs (literally) for Dio. If I had to guess (and overthink even harder than I already am), I would say Vanilla is even jealous that Avdol would do something like that for Polnareff. Vanilla was probably thinking in the back of his mind, "Why hasn't somebody ever done that for me?"

Funny enough, Vanilla blames Avdol for his injuries even though Polnareff was the one who was able to strike him. Vanilla is angry and envious of the very human relationship Avdol and Polnareff have. Vanilla is obsessed with Dio, Dio doesn't love nor care about Vanilla one bit. But in Vanilla's head, he probably thinks he can change Dio's mind by doing every little thing that's asked/commanded of him.

One more thing I almost forgot to mention. Look at Cream

Look at the top of his head. There's that shield heart symbol....

But in this and other instances (but I've reached my image limit)... His head is open?

It's a thing I didn't really notice until I watched SDC and the Vanilla Ice clips plenty of times. I'm actually not sure why, but... Watching his scenes more and more, it seems like it's a secondary "vacuuming" tool. Maybe it helps vacuum things into the void when Cream's mouth is closed. AND it's extra force when Cream's mouth is open and he's really pissed!

So that's yet another info dump and theory thingamajig about my beloved Vanilla 💜💙🫶 there will be more in the future and I'll reblog some of my other analyses every now and then too!

Hey.

You wanna hear some random facts and stuff I know about, speculate, hyperanalyze, and jump to conclusions about Vanilla Ice from the hit series JoJo's Bizarre Adventure© because I watch and rewatch scenes involving him over and over again and look at all of the concept art and revisit his wikis and know everything there is to know about that evil man except his blood type (YET)?

[icestormiisms]

Why did no one tell me it was almost midnight

[agentrouka-blog]

It is interesting that Maqoro refered the Drowned God as the demon, which begs a question what kinda Eldrich abomonation is gonna come out of the sea when Euron does his bloodsacrfice?

If he's anything like Dany, he'll have a bunch of vicious baby krakens in a bucket still waiting to grow up. "Feed us, father! The blood of innocents, please!"

But Euron isn’t sacrificing to the Drowned God. He is practicing blood magic, which is universal in its appeal. 

Watch me derail my response to a different subject: the fake duality of the gods, and of ice and fire. (Long post.)

GRRM likes to remind us occasionally that the gods aren’t solid and separate.

In the sept they sing for the Mother's mercy but on the walls it's the Warrior they pray to, and all in silence. She remembered how Septa Mordane used to tell them that the Warrior and the Mother were only two faces of the same great god. But if there is only one, whose prayers will be heard? (ACOK, Sansa V)

Catelyn calls them “the seven faces of god”. God, singular.

“One god with seven aspects” Septon Meribald calls it.

"Seven? No. He has faces beyond count, little one, as many faces as there are stars in the sky. In Braavos, men worship as they will . . . but at the end of every road stands Him of Many Faces, waiting. (AFFC, Arya I)

One god: death. 

The struggle is not between the god of death and the god of life, but how humans deal with loss and grief, or with the desire for power, in a world where the door between life and death is more permeable than it should be.

The other whores said that the Sailor's Wife visited the Isle of the Gods on the days when her flower was in bloom, and knew all the gods who lived there, even the ones that Braavos had forgotten. They said she went to pray for her first husband, her true husband, who had been lost at sea when she was a girl no older than Lanna. "She thinks that if she finds the right god, maybe he will send the winds and blow her old love back to her," said one-eyed Yna, who had known her longest, "but I pray it never happens. Her love is dead, I could taste that in her blood. If he ever should come back to her, it will be a corpse." (AFFC, Cat of the Canals) 

Shades of Dany and Drogo “When will he be as he was?” Shades of blood magic. Only death can pay for life. 

That’s a door that should never be opened. But it is. Again and again it is.

But death never buys life. It only ever buys horror. Horror and power.

I have very few concrete ideas about what exactly Euron’s kind of magic is meant to summon. But true to the above, GRRM makes sure we know that the Drowned God and R’hllor are essentially mirrors. Or, if you will, the exact same thing.

Their god was Red R’hllor, and a jealous god he was. Her own god, the Drowned God of the Iron Isles, was a demon to their eyes, and if she did not embrace this Lord of Light, she would be damned and doomed. They would as gladly burn me as those logs and broken branches. (ADWD, The King’s Prize)

v.

“Your Drowned God is a demon,” the black priest Moqorro said afterward. “He is no more than a thrall of the Other, the dark god whose name must not be spoken.”  (ADWD, Victarion I)

Demons hungry for sacrifice, both. 

The Drowned God also mirrors the special duality of R’hllor.

In their theology, the Drowned God is opposed by the Storm God, a malignant deity who dwells in the sky and hates men and all their works. He sends cruel winds, lashing rains, and the thunder and lightning that bespeak his endless wroth. (The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands)

v.

On one side is R'hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow. Against him stands the Great Other whose name may not be spoken, the Lord of Darkness, the Soul of Ice, the God of Night and Terror. Ours is not a choice between Baratheon and Lannister, between Greyjoy and Stark. It is death we choose, or life. Darkness, or light." (ASOS, Davos III)

Both work the same way. They are two faces of the same hungry abyss.

Significantly, Dany didn’t sacrifice her blood magic victims to any particular god in order to gain the dragons. She did not chant, she did not call on any deity. The presence of the eggs alone, coupled with her intentions, seems to have been enough.  

It is blood magic, not fire magic. Or water magic. Or ice magic. Blood, always blood.

In that, Dany is very similar to Euron. Neither care for the gods in particular, but they understand the mechanics of trading life for death.

“All gods are lies, but yours is laughable.” (...)

"The Crow's Eye has fed your Drowned God well, and he has grown fat with sacrifice. Words are wind, but blood is power. We have given thousands to the sea, and he has given us victories!" (TWOW, The Forsaken)

Both call themselves the storm(born) and liken themselves to gods or godliness.

And how did Dany feel when she stood, godlike, atop the pyramid? Lonely. 

Are the gods lonely, though?

He saw his brother on the Iron Throne again, but Euron was no longer human. He seemed more squid than man, a monster fathered by a kraken of the deep, his face a mass of writhing tentacles. Beside him stood a shadow in woman's form, long and tall and terrible, her hands alive with pale white fire. Dwarves capered for their amusement, male and female, naked and misshapen, locked in carnal embrace, biting and tearing at each other as Euron and his mate laughed and laughed and laughed... (TWOW The Forsaken)

What is this, but a mockery of the entire concept of duelling gods? They aren’t at war, they are reigning together, watching the carnage commited in their name with inhuman hilarity.

They are in on it together. They are the same. 

Given the theme of a fake duality, perhaps, on a deeper level, ice and fire are also the same. Two faces of the same coin. Two masks of the same inhumane hungry energy.

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.

Both are death. Eternal winter, eternal summer. All just means the end of the world. Different roads lead to the same castle. 

@fedonciadale gave me a bit of a brain tweak with this line in a chat:

“I just think that the Ice magic that the CotF woke enabled the Fire magic. So, first we have Ice magic that is warped Cotf magic and the scales are tipped and Fire magic is made possible.“ (...)  And I think "awakening the Fire magic" at Summerhall - which is different than just continuing to have dragons - was the action that awoke the Others

There is clearly a connection and a reciprocal relationship between the various kinds of magic in the ASOIAF world. It might just not be as fully dualistic as this, but again different faces on one coin. 

When the door is open, the door is open for all. Just in changeable forms.

The dragons don’t like the cold, the Others shatter from obsidian. But if they are both only products of blood magic, they are only tools at the disposition of those who summoned them, and their disparate interests. Like the gods, they only seem mutually opposed, while they spring from the same source. 

That might be the reason that both Others and dragons and Melisandre’s magic and glass candles and Euron can happen at the same time, all with disconnected motivations. They all amplify each other to an extent. 

It’s possible and even likely that something led to the current escalation of magical destruction, but I can’t properly guess what. 

Jaqen emphasizes a transactional aspect between life and death:

"The Red God has his due, sweet girl, and only death may pay for life. This girl took three that were his. This girl must give three in their places. Speak the names, and a man will do the rest." (ACOK, Arya VII)

He doesn’t say what will happen if that exchange is disturbed. Maybe nothing. Maybe the Curse of Garin. Maybe the Doom of Valyria. 

Whatever originally opened the doorway between life and death that enabled these exchanges of blood and life for power, is the true problem.

Whatever prompted it then and now, in the North, a full-on apocalypse is already slowly underway. The Others bring the cold, they enslave the dead, all life flees before them, or joins them in death. Clearly, something powerful went into creating them. This dark magic attracted more dark magic. Stannis and his blood sacrificing priestess cannot hope to defeat the Others, perhaps they are even helping make it worse. 

In the South, something similar may begin gather, bought with blood magic. Perhaps Euron is simply waiting for someone with powerful enough blood to come along and be of use to him. 

The different kinds of magic cannot defeat each other. 

In order to end all of it, the door needs to be closed.

[ogsherlockholmes]

19th October

In The Illustrious Client, there is no clearly defined 'crime’ technically, it’s more about Baron Gruner coercing Violet de Merville (I think she’s the fourth Violet in the canon) to marry him. This is how the client describes Gruner:

“The fellow is, as you may have heard, extraordinarily handsome, with a most fascinating manner, a gentle voice, and that air of romance and mystery which means so much to a woman. He is said to have the whole sex at his mercy and to have made ample use of the fact.” 

Don’t let this fool you, he’s not the next tumblr sexyman since he was quite literally accused of killing his old wife and managed to get away with it. 

Gruner was already on Sherlock’s radar, and he knew about his background before the client explained. The client wanted to convince Violet not to marry Gruner, so she wouldn’t be in danger, but that didn’t work and so Sherlock was called in. To get an idea of this guy, he is compared to the likes of Moriarty and Sebastian Moran.

“We are dealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom violence is familiar and who will, literally, stick at nothing. I should say that there is no more dangerous man in Europe.”  “I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term has been applied,” said Holmes with a smile... “If your man is more dangerous than the late Professor Moriarty, or than the living Colonel Sebastian Moran, then he is indeed worth meeting.”

At the same time, Gruner is also described as being a man of intellectual hobbies, so it’s difficult to understand what his character is. 

“He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier. For a short time he played polo at Hurlingham, but then this Prague affair [when he murdered his wife] got noised about and he had to leave. He collects books and pictures. He is a man with a considerable artistic side to his nature. He is, I believe, a recognized authority upon Chinese pottery and has written a book upon the subject.”

Violet refuses to listen to anyone’s advice and is practically entranced by Gruner. I don’t know what magic powers this man has, because he told her about his past and she still wanted to be with him, but Sherlock believes he’s managed to brainwash Violet. Maybe Violet has a thing for Chinese pottery.

Sherlock visits Gruner, to try to convince him to break off the engagement, but it’s almost like Sherlock fell under the spell as well. 

[Sherlock] “He is an excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing as one of your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra. He has breeding in him–a real aristocrat of crime, with a superficial suggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it. Yes, I am glad to have had my attention called to Baron Adelbert Gruner.” [Watson] “You say he was affable?” “A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective mice. Some people’s affability is more deadly than the violence of coarser souls.

Side note: Sherlock tends to talk this way about most of his opponents who, although he doesn’t like them, he still feels impressed by them. 

Unfortunately, he gets nowhere. 

‘I [Gruner] rather thought I should see you sooner or later, Mr. Holmes...My dear man,’ said he, ‘you will only ruin your own well-deserved reputation. It is not a case in which you can possibly succeed. You will have barren work, to say nothing of incurring some danger. Let me very strongly advise you to draw off at once.’ “ ‘It is curious,’ I answered, ‘but that was the very advice which I had intended to give you. I have a respect for your brains, Baron, and the little which I have seen of your personality has not lessened it. Let me put it to you as man to man... It would not be pleasant for you if these facts of your past were brought to her notice.’ “The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under his nose, like the short antennae of an insect. These quivered with amusement as he listened, and he finally broke into a gentle chuckle. “ ‘Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,’ said he, ‘but it is really funny to see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I don’t think anyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic, all the same. Not a colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallest of the small.’ “ ‘So you think.’ “ ‘So I know. Let me make the thing clear to you, for my own hand is so strong that I can afford to show it. I have been fortunate enough to win the entire affection of this lady... You have heard of post-hypnotic suggestion, Mr. Holmes? Well, you will see how it works, for a man of personality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes or tomfoolery. So she is ready for you and, I have no doubt, would give you an appointment... “ ‘By the way, Mr. Holmes,’ said he, ‘did you know Le Brun, the French agent?’ “ ‘Yes,’ said I. “ ‘Do you know what befell him?’ “ ‘I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches in the Montmartre district and crippled for life.’ “ ‘Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence he had been inquiring into my affairs only a week before. Don’t do it, Mr. Holmes; it’s not a lucky thing to do. Several have found that out. My last word to you is, go your own way and let me go mine.’ 

It was difficult to cut that down so I’m not posting massive extracts from the book, but Baron Gruner and Sherlock’s meeting was full of good dialogue that really emphasise how uncomfortable Gruner makes people. What is most scary about him is that there are real men like him who can gaslight women in to turning against their entire families and then hurting them. For a book written in the 19th century, it’s surprisingly revealing and isn’t at all like how Gruner could have been romantacised in other novels. 

Kitty Winters is another woman whom Gruner took advantage of, and she tells Sherlock about one of his books. 

“It’s a book he has–a brown leather book with a lock, and his arms in gold on the outside. I think he was a bit drunk that night, or he would not have shown it to me.” “What was it, then?” “I tell you, Mr. Holmes, this man collects women, and takes a pride in his collection, as some men collect moths or butterflies. He had it all in that book. Snapshot photographs, names, details, everything about them. It was a beastly book–a book no man, even if he had come from the gutter, could have put together. But it was Adelbert Gruner’s book all the same. ‘Souls I have ruined.’” 

Gruner literally hunted women for sport and then documented it, like their lives were just trophies. 

Watson later meets Gruner, and we get yet another lengthy description about how good-looking he is: even Watson can’t help himself. 

“He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputation for beauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middle size, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face was swarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which might easily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair and moustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefully waxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight, thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer’s mouth it was there–a cruel, hard gash in the face, compressed, inexorable, and terrible. He was ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it was Nature’s danger-signal, set as a warning to his victims. His voice was engaging and his manners perfect. In age I should have put him at little over thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he was forty-two. “

But, this is all just a facade, as the end of the description says. 

Hate Gruner yet? Lucky enough for you, Kitty Winters gets revenge and throws acid in his face! His face basically melts off, and I’m not sure if he survives, but at least it’s the end to him hunting and destroying lives. 

[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Welcome, Father...

"Tell us, demon scum." The male agent grabbed the light from the female agent, shoving it in his face, "Who do you work for? Satan?"

"How did you get to our world from the afterlife?"

"Why are youse killing humans?"

"When did you show up here?"

The damned agents finally stoped passing the lights about, giving him a moment to adjust to the situation.

"Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there, bitch." He snapped at the humans, "First of all, we just woke up from a very nasty shock and I'm still feeling fuckin' woozy, so I'm gonna request you fetch us some coffee before we get into this. I mean, everyone gets coffees in shitty movies with scenes like this, am I right? I want something iced, bitch." Looking over his shoulder, he asked his employee, "Mox?"

Raising his nose, Moxxie began, "I'll have a Neopolitan cappuccino, more cappu than cino, make sure it's got no more than four ounces of milk, the beans won't have the right texture otherwise, and make sure they spell my name correctly on the cup they always put "Foxy" or "Roxy", I hate that."

"If you can't handle that, I'll have a Venti traditional Misto. Please use soy milk with two blond shots Affogato and Ristretto. I'd also love three vanilla pumps at the very bottom. Then, add the coffee after, then-"

"Enough!" The male agent snapped, "We aren't getting youse coffee!"

"Wow, I was getting massive douche chills just there, Mox." He told him proudly, "Congrats!"

"If we have to, we are willing to resort to torture methods to get answers out of you nasty hell beasts!" The female agent failed to sound threatening.

"When you say "tortured", do you mean physical or psychological?" Moxxie asked in his typical know-it-all tone, "Physical seems counterproductive; we would likely tell you anything if it meant an end to the pain, and you have no way of knowing what was true." He spouted at the humans.

"Or we might like it too much." He but in, "And then you got a whole new thing to deal with."

The male agent leaned down, raising a bore "What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, you're stupid, huh? I can work with stupid. Daddy Likey Dummy!" Blitzø taunted the agent.

"Good one sir, Daddy likey-" Moxxie sputtered, squirming in his chair.

"You better stop laughin' at us." The female agent threatened.

"Yeah! You're the ones at our mercy!" The male agent yelled at him, grabbing his collar

"It's hard to resist, I'm really sorry. I mean, considering your approach thus far, you've had us tied up here for what, hours?" Mox cut in, "And you haven’t even had us confirm what exactly we are!" Moxxie mocked the agents like the nerd he was.

"What are you?" The female agent asked, a curious tone coming to the females voice.

"I'm a Virgo." Moxxie told her, smugness dripping from his voice.

Both Imps burst into laughter, the agents only getting more frustrated.

Just as the male agent was gonna snap at them, the door to the room suddenly swung open.

An unnatural amount 9f light poured into the room, blinding them all for a brief moment. Once there eyes adjust, they found a silhouette standing in the doorway.

They were dressed in black, looking up a distinct shine came from his eyes, the figure wearing glasses.

Walking into the room, the figure spoke, "The question isn't what they are? The question is why there here?" He spoke cryptically.

Stepping closer the male agent came to meet the stranger halfway, "Who da Hell ah' you and how'd you get in here?" The male agent demanded.

Raising his gaze the stranger wore a smile.

The agent noticeably reacted. Stumbling back "F-f-f-father Cain... W-what are you's doin here?" He sputtered.

This 'father' just smile at him, "My associates informed me you acquired two new specimens." He looked at him, "I've come to process them." He spoke menacingly.

Father cain looked over the agents shoulder, gazing at him and Moxxie. "Excellent job My child. I always knew my faith was well placed." The father told the agent, patting his shoulder.

The agent seemed taken aback, "Th-thank you Sir." He spoke, a lone tear sliding down his cheek.

"Father Cain?" The female agent asked, walking up to 'father' Cain. "Last I heard you were down at some beach on Spring break."

Smiling at the pair, father cain raised a finger, "Ive no time for such hedonistic pleasures. Not while the Lords work is to be done" He said happily.

"Now" He began cheerfully "I need a table if I am to do my work." He spoke firmly, raising a medium sized doctors bag, that seemed to appear from nowhere.

The male agent snapped to attention, quickly running about before rushing into the back room.

Walking forwards, Father Cain removed his glasses, staring down at him. "My, my, my, they certainly did a good job. Quite a pair of specimens you have here." He spoke to himself.

Raising a brow, Blitzø wore a little grin. "Oh yeah? You should see my junk, now thats a specimen." He spoke in his usual cocky tone.

'Father' Cain just smiled, slowly walking around to Moxxie inspecting him as well. "And unharmed, very impressive." The 'Father' told the female agent.

A moment later, the male agent returned, awkwardly dragging in a large wooden table. Dropping it down, he gave a few deep puffs, "There ya go 'Fatha', will this do?"

'Father' Cain smiled told him, gratefully telling him "That will do perfectly, thank you my child."

Walking over, the 'Father' placed his bag down before opening it and pulling out a myriad of odd and strange objects.

There was a series of shiny items and tools. Although a small wooden case caught his attention, the Imp couldn't help but think it didn't belong.

"Hey, uh, you guys seem pretty chummy and we'd hate to be a third wheel, so we'd be happy to leave you to it." He cut in smugly, hoping to get a rise from one of them.

And that he did, the male agent trying to snap at him, only to be tempered by this 'Father' Cain

Calming down, the male agent asked, "What did you mean, when you came in Sit. That it's not "What they are, it's why there here?'"

Smiling, Father Cain patted his shoulder, "I'm glad you caught that, I always knew you were sharp."

He smoke warmly, "I said that because, simply put. I know what they are. They are Imps." He said it simply.

That actually surprised him, even Moxxie reacted, releasing the slightest gasp.

Looking over the father just had a eerie smile, clearly happy with there reaction.

Both agents looked confused, "Imps?" They asked each other.

The father released a deep sigh, "Yes, Imps. Imps are the very lowest of the low in hell, as well as the lowest of the Hellbornes, or Hellspawn, I can never seem to remember which is the proper term."

Walking over, Father Cain placed a finger under his chin, raising his head to meet his gaze. "Your responsible for the death of a two hundred and sixty three humans." He told him coldly.

"Yeah, but I wanna know is why?" The female agent asked, "If they were just killing humans for shits and giggles, why not just kill wherever and whenever?" She asked.

Nodding his head, "Because..." Father Cain stood up, "They do serve a higher demon, but not Satan."

Standing up, the 'Father' walked to his bag, pulling a yellow folder out. "They've killed hundreds, and the only thing that connects them...? Death."

There was another pause, before he spoke again, "But not there deaths. Each person they've killed has had someone directly related to there lives die in the past decade."

Walking over to the Imps, the 'Father' showed them a series of pictures. Blitzø recognised them... they were targets they'd killed.

"There not killing them for a demon lord, there killing them for other human souls. I imagine with a the ability to travel to the human world, you've turned revenge into a buisness." He said simply, tossing the pictures to the side.

Crouching down, the 'Father' stared at him coldly before asking "Who's book did you use to get here, Demon?"

Blitzø stared back at him, the Imp doing his best to keep calm. But he could tell this human was clearly more dangerous than the other two idiot 'demon hunters'.

Standing up, 'Father' Cain told the other agents coldly, "Leave us. Remove any cameras. I dont want any sort of witness."

"What?" The female agent asked aghast, "We caught these 'Imps' there our score and we'll be interrogating them." She snapped at the 'Father', only for the the father to calmly stare at her.

Before he could speak, the male agent grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her out of the room he spoke hastily "P-please forgive her, Sir. She doesn't fully understand the importance of your work."

The female agent put a fight, but was quickly pulled out of the room, slamming it behind him.

Now with just the three of them, 'Father' Cain removed his glasses before placing them on the table.

Stretching his neck, he removed the white collar piece at the front of his shirt, placing it in his coat pocket.

"Now" he began coldly "shall we begin the fun?"

Turning around, Blitzø decided now was a good time to speak up. "Fun, aye? What kinda fun we talkin. Shots, blow, maybe a good old fashioned threesome?" He asked, hoping to get under this 'Father' Cain's skin.

He was surprised, however, when the 'Father' just laughed, glancing over his shoulder at him.

"Your tricks won't work on me demon. I'm used to your tricks by now." He spoke happily, grabbing a small gun like object. Placing that down, he inspected a series of bottles.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Blitzø spoke up. "You clearly know more us then those dumbass agent dickwads did, so... what's your game?" He asked, trying to be serious.

The human stopped for a moment, looking over his shoulder, he spoke up, "I know much about you. For instance, your the other Imps boss, hence he calls you Sir." He spoke coyly, still inspecting the myriad of items he'd brought.

"I also know you've killed people on three different continants, although I wonder how many you came up to kill specifically and how many were collateral." He spoke again.

Turning around he held a small bottle, walking forwards he leaned over Blitzø "I also know you can only get to the living world if your a succubus, a demon lord, or... you have a Grimoire."

Blitzø chuckled, "What is that some kinda fish?" He asked, trying to play dumb.

The 'Father' chuckled, shaking his head, "Besides how do you know I'm not a succubus, I can hold my own in the sack." He spoke smugly.

The 'Father' stared at him, an eerie smile crossing his lips.

"You want to know how i know what you are?" He asked coldly, cold eyes sending a shiver down his spine and not in the good way.

Before he could ask what I was, the father reach forwards, ripping a hole in his pants leg. "What the fuck?!" He yelled at him, "These are my good pants!"

Not minding him, the 'Father' removed a second bottle. "This" He showed him a small blue bottle, "Is poisen to Succubus." He said simply, opening the bottle and revealing an eye dropper, dropping two little droplets on his leg.

Nothing happened, the cool liquid sliding down and observing into his pant leg. Putting the bottle away He showed the original brown bottle, "This... is for Imps." He said simply.

Opening the bottle, it revealed another eye drop, holding it over his thigh, he dropped a single drop on his leg.

This time his whole body reacted, he pulled against his bindings as he released a blood curdling screech.

It felt like someone was jamming a molten hot poker into his thigh. It went on for minutes, the Imp whining in pain. "What the fuck do you want you sick fuck?!" Blitzø yelled at him.

A small smile crossed the 'Father's' lips before he stood up and told him "I want to show you something."

Walking over to the table, he grabbed that wooden case before bringing it over to the Imps.

Crouching down besides the both of them, he told the both of them "These are my most prized possessions." He spoke warmly, running his hand across the wooden case.

"What'cha got there? Ya dildo collection?" He tried to sound smug, though the Imp was still writhing in pain.

He heard moxxie tried to laugh, but it died in his throat, the smaller Imp still terrified by his boss's earlier reaction.

Opening the case, he revealed several colourful arrow heads, each one varying in size, shape and colour.

It took a long time, the imp looking over the arrow heads before he realised, 'Those aren't arrow heads... there demon tails.'

"Fuck..." Blitzø gasped, he heard Moxxie sputter out a similar cuss, just as scared behind him.

The 'Father' on the other hand, seemed quite proud, gently trailing his fingers across the tail heads.

"These are my life's work" He spoke calmly, "I've dedicated my life to hunting demons like you." He trailed his fingers across the tails, "Most of these are from Succubus. They can come and go from my world to yours the easiest, so most of the demons we find are Succubus."

He pointed to two crimson tail tips, "But these two... these two are special."

Leaning in, he spoke gently "These two... are from Imps." The revelation seemed to bring bile into the back of Blitzøs throat.

"Jesus..." moxxie said shakily, turning his head and throwing up.

Blitzø took a deep breath, doing his best not to throw up. Looking back at the human he found him holding up a tail head.

"This one" he told him, twirling it between his fingers, "I got at a little beach city. The city getting my attention after a giant demonic fish had popped up. Sound familiar." He asked with a smirk.

"Unfortunately most of them had used there demonic charm to escaped the police before I arrived... key word being, 'most'." He told him, turning his attention back on the tail head.

"I got this one from a succubus. She hid herself as a chubby little black woman. She played dumb, just like you, and much like you she was cocky and ignorant." Placing the tail tip into the container, he said coldly, "But now..."

He left the question open, clearly trying get in there heads. The problem being... it was working.

Standing up the human didn't speak for several long moments, before he placed the case on Blitzøs lap, gently telling him "Hold this"

Blitzø's whole body froze up, a deep sickness growing in his stomach as he felt the cool wooden case on his lap.

The human walked over to the mirror Blitzø only just noticed. The human stared at it for a long moment, the silence in the room becoming palpable.

Until the silence was dashed when the 'Father' smashed his arm through the mirror, before throwing his body back smashing the male agent through the mirror and slamming him into the wall.

Looking at his slumped form, 'Father Cain turned back to the now broken mirror, finding the terrified female agent standing there.

Releasing a deep sigh, the 'father' began climbing in through the now broken double sided mirror.

"It was your doing, wasn't it?" He asked, "I said I needed no witnesses, but you always did hold him back. What a waste of potential." The 'Father' told her, before grabbing her and dragging her through the window.

Bringing her to her knees, he grasped the sides of her head.

The woman desperately clawing at his arms. The female agent releasing a desperate cry for mercy as he began crushing her head.

Blood began trailing from her eyes and nose, crying out until her head splattered between his hands, sending a splatter of bone and brain matter across his face.

Dropping her now destroyed head, he realised it, the now sludge like head hit the ground with a wet splat.

Before the 'Father' flicked his hands, looked back at the Imps, "What the fuck are you?!" Blitzø yelled at him.

The human only smiled, walking over, he gently grabbed the wooden case before walking back over and placing it on the table.

Walking over to the now collapsed male agent, he placed his foot on the side of his head. "I... am alpha and Omega." He said coldly, staring him right in the eyes before crushing the other agents head beneath his foot.

Walking back to the table, he grabbed a red cloth, wiping his face before placing on his glasses he turned to the two Imps.

"Oh Satan... Oh, Satan please, please help me" Moxxie begged, clearly losing his shit. "Please just let me see Millie one last time, I don't want to die."

Before Blitzø could snap at his limp dick employee for showing weakness, the roof began to rumble, bit suddenly gave way, Millie falling through carrying a battle axe.

"MILLIE!!!" Moxxie practically cried, tears of joy beading in his eyes.

"MOX!" Millie cried back, rushing over and getting them out of ther bindings.

Just after that Loona broke through the door, Blitzø taking a moment to tell her how proud he was to see her in the field.

Now all free and together they turned to the 'Father', finding him still very much cool and collected, the sight sending a bone chilling shiver down his spine.

"Just in time" The human spoke, seemingly happy at the outcome "Its so good to see a family reunited."

"Now I imagine one of you have my Grimoire?" He asked inspecting his fingers. "Give it to me and I'll let you leave."

Now it was Blitzøs turn to chuckle, "Nah, I don't think so." He spoke cockily, reaching into his emergency pack for a gun.

The 'Father' just chuckled again, standing up straight he snapped his finger. And like it were choreographed, dozens of suit wearing humans burst into the room.

"Gentlemen!" He addressed them "These demonic scum have killed your commanders. And they shall do it again and again and again, until you send them back to hell." He told them, stepping into the back room.

The fight after that was one of the best Blitzø had ever had, although it would have been even better if he didn't have this injured leg.

Regardless, the whole thing was so bad ass and everyone was working together so well. He even got to see his Loony kick some ass.

Firing a missle, from his over sized launcher, he cleared what was left of the agents.

He'd though that was it, there weren't anybody left to stop them.

He was wrong.

The lights to switch to red, an alarm start blaring through the facility.

They all made for the door, only for a series of doors to slam in there face, locking them in the room.

His Loony tried desperately to read the book, but couldn't see anything in the crimson light that filled the room

It was then he heard a slow clapping, all of them turning to find the 'Father' giving them a condescending clap.

"Well done, Hellspawn, Well done. You've killed all the witnesses, depleted your ammunition and now I know you can't read the Grimoire in crimson light. Well done."

Standing before them, even outnumbered and unharmed, the 'Father' seemed to hold total control of the situation.

Before he could think of something any, all the air seemed to such out of the room, demonic whispers filling the room like shadows.

"You dare threaten my Impish little plaything~" the whispers spoke.

He knew this voice, but like his friends and family, he chose not to speak, too caught up in the moment.

Screens flew off the wall, avian footprints trailed across the floor. The bodies of the dead agents rose to there feet, eyes black as they began the intricate process of drawing some demonic symbol from there own blood.

Stepping back the 'Fther' looked about, before smiling, "Finally" He whispered, pulling out a flask and began chugging it.

Shadows seemed to slither like a million black snakes crawled across the floor, disappearing at the 'Fathers' feet.

There was a long pause before the human bent over and violently projectile vomited, throwing up what seemed like gallons of black liquid from his mouth.

The vomiting stopped, the human standing back up.

The back liquid slowly pulled itself to gathering, slowly morphing into a figure.

The black tar slowly formed into feathers, limbs and fingers, a set of crimson eyes appearing in the black goo.

The figure appeared to be Stolas. But this was not the elegant demon lord of hell.

This being was a wretched, wounded animal, covered in filth.

The 'Father' just wiped his mouth, that cold gaze returning to his eyes. Stepping forwards he grabbed Stolas by the filthy collar, staring him down.

The owl demon was a sputtering mess, coughing up black liquids as he tried to breathproperly.

The owl looked up at him.

And for the very first time in wjat was likely a millennia of existence, Stolas looked Terrified.

Not scared.

Terrified.

Grabbing at the arms of the human, the Prince of Hell sputtered out, "W-what are you?"

The human stopped, looking down at the owl, leaning down and whispered, "I am the beginning... and i am the end..."

The owl just stared up at him in horror, the humans hand coming to wrap around his throat, the demon feebly attempting to break free from his grasp.

There was a long moment where the only sound in the room was the prince's pitiful wheezing, frail little cries coming from the owl as the life was squeezed out of him.

The sounds were seemingly corked by a wet smack ringing out.

Blitzø had taken one of the agents weapons, a large knife and had impaled the 'Human' through the lower stomach.

There was a long moment of silence, before the 'human' slowly turned to look at him with that same cold gaze.

Without releasing Stolas, he pulled his arm back and smacked Blitzø, sending him sliding back to his friends.

Reaching down, he grabbed the knife, yanking it out of his back without hesitation.

Nothing came from his wound, and when pulling the knife out, no blood stained it's blade.

With knife in hand, he released the owl, letting his pathetic form hit the ground, the owl desperately gasping for breath.

Leaning down, you grasped Stolas' wrist, the owl releasing a pathetic little gasp of pain, followed by a frail little whimper as the 'Human' slid the blade across his wrist.

But what came next left them all shocked.

Bringing his wrist to his mouth, he pressed his mouth down before greedily suckling the foul blood straight from his veins.

He drank down the demons fowl blood, not making a sound cept the muscles of his throat contracting to push the fowl liquid down his throat.

The demons black blood flowed down his throat. Every demon in the room just watched, to shocked to think and to fearful to do anything as you had your way with the Prince.

After a few minutes of the 'Father' drinking the demons blood, he finally released the demons wrist. The owl quickly clutching his wrist to his chest as he desperately clawing to get away from the 'human'.

The 'Father' stood there, panting as a demons black blood stained his lips.

When he finally opened his eyes, they held a Unholy glint to them.

Wiping his lips he walked forwards, calmly packing what few items had survived the fighting into his bag before Putting on his glasses and placing the small white band into his shirt collar.

Walking past the now cowering demon Prince, he leaned over and pressed one of the buttons on the dashboard, instantly the lights returned to normal.

Stepping before the group they awaited some sort of attack, or threat, what they got instead was a single phrase "Excuse me."

He said it so simply, each hellborne took a moment to make sure they'd heard correctly.

Each of them just stared for a moment before Millie spoke up, "What?"

The human raised a brow, lowering his glasses he asked again, this time his voice cold, threateningly cold, "Excuse me."

The demons awkwardly stepped to the side, giving him a clear path to walk.

Walking past them he gave them a slight nod, "Thank you."

The demons were all in shock, silently watching the 'human' walk away from them.

"That's it?" Blitzø asked before he could stop himself, quickly slamming his hands to his mouth.

The 'Father' stopped in his tracks, looking over his shoulder, he smiled, "Kill you later." He told them playfully, lowering his glasses and giving them a wink.

He walked away, the eerie sound of his shoes on cold tile floors permanently burned into there memory.

Hey Hey, I hope you enjoyed. I really wanted to try something a bit different. I had the idea for this in my head since episode 6 came out and I just really like the idea of an unknown entity showing up with either motive or intentions clear to anyone.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, I really wanna start writing more of my own original ideas, so expect more content in the future. Bye Bye.

[abstract-crossverse]

Can we get gold watcher headcanons? Idk if you got this before but if you did my bad

Long post again so I'll put half of them under the cut!

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

Gold Watcher headcanons:

Most of them are possessed by the souls of Bierce's old errand boys, they're the ones that begged for life, mercy and loyalty to Malak

That somehow had a 'good' outcome, considering Malak could've just killed them for sure

At first before they started to possess the statue, they were just sentient statues made only for killing, nothing more

But once there were a handful of possessed statues, some of the sentient ones just, seemed to have lost connection with the ring piece??

Cuz one day they just took their place on those little pedestals around the manor's halls and just, never moved again-

Some of them were greedy bastards with an ego bigger than their Ds, stone cold soldiers that did terrible shit in name of the 'law'(maybe some regret what they did idk) or lovable parents/parental figures that did a handful of bad things in their youth and wound up there

There are 11 statues in total, ten gold ones that chase you in the maze and manor, and the stone statue at the very front of the maze(which is also possessed)

There's like, one last sentient statue that seems to be in thin ice to just go motionless as well

They've been together for so long they're emotionally attached to each other now, though the egotistic ones won't admit it

There's 6 statues that actually don't like killing, one of them being the Stone Watcher

I gave them names

There's Henry, a lovable father figure made with jade parts

William, Henry's twin brother made out of a very pale gold, tired, fatherly and a little sadistic

Marshall, the Stone Watcher at the beginning of the maze, nature lover and overall a gentle giant

Apollo, a cold but kind soldier made of white gold, has quite a few scars around his face, very gentlemanly but he's usually pretty rough on people

Ezekiel, a dramatic actor made with gold and rose gold, wears a mask that covers his right eye in a diagonal fashion, he's very dramatic and smug, occasionally flirty just to fluster the others

Marion, snarky fashionista, a bit of a Germaphobe, calls you a peasant as an insult and then make you new clothes to either yours or his liking, he'll never admit it but if your interested in something he likes he'll immediately get a soft spot for you

Mervill, thinks he's royalty and wants to be treated as such, calls you a peasant at first, but now it's just habit, thinks he's better than you

Maxwell, another one that calls you a peasant, loud and brutal, Ezekiel's younger brother, this asshole accidently sliced his jaw and cut his own hand off, so now he has a mechanical hand and is honestly the only one who can do the jaw thing they do in the game

Then there's Collin, whose cold, distant and violent, he's Ezekiel and Maxwell's older brother , he has a few soft spots but it'll take you at least a year to reach him, intimidates anyone trying to talk to him that isn't his brothers

Ira, another gentle giant that helps you escape the place, or gets attached and wants to keep you, sadly none of his tries of helping out worked

And finally, fucking Bennet, he's the last sentient statue holding on to dear existence before going full statue, he barely feels any emotion of his own but feels greatly attached to his friends, trying to understand the concept of positive emotions. He also won't stop trying to end your existence

If Ira ends up convincing Henry and William to keep you then I recommend you hang around one of the statues most of the time, cuz Bennet will try to find a pattern on times you're alone and WILL try to kill you

Despite whatever to others say, he exists to serve Malak, but he was directly instructed to obey the leaders as well so he's confused by the time he's right behind you to end you off he just hesitates enough time for another statue to come around and stop him

Most of them will ask you millions of questions about how the outside world is now, since they died from 1700-1800s

Be prepared for loads of explaining to do cuz they won't understand half of what you mention, like computers and such

The statues that don't actually like killing are Henry, William, Marshall, Ezekiel, Ira, Marion

[taechaos]

can u do more of jealous jk drabbles?👉👈

this one kinda cute but theres smut 😃

The best time of the day is when the sun is just over the horizon, taking on a blue and orange hue in the sky, not shining bright enough to blind or give a heat stroke to the crowd in the amusement park. Just enough illumination to not have to rely on the lights provided from the ferris wheel, neon titles above the rides and games you stand before.

You can't contain your squeal and shake your interlocked hands with Jungkook while bouncing on your feet, the three companies you came with much more casual about the occasion. "Where should we go first?!"

Your boyfriend shrugs, Soyeon glances at Taehyung who makes the decision: "Rollercoaster." He has a crazed grin on his face, the sparkle and mischief in his eyes matching yours. Both of you are extremely fond of these thrillers.

"A rollercoaster...? I'll wait for you guys," Soyeon sheepishly holds her nape with a smile. You coo at her.

Jungkook scoffs arrogantly, "Are you afraid too, baby? You can hold onto my arm."

You blow raspberries and clutch onto your friend's arm, "I love rollercoasters." You and Soyeon gaze into each other's eyes as you say, "Don't worry. It'll be fun if you come with me."

She blushes, Taehyung and Jungkook watching the interaction with quirked brows. How boy-friendly of you.

The seats were decided. You all bought the tickets, and it's your turn to hop on the carts. Girls sit in front of the boys, and Soyeon hesitantly places her hand on top of yours on the railing. Taehyung wraps his hands around Jungkook's arm, who is slouching in his seat with a frown.

"I'm so scared, Jungkookie," Taehyung's teeth chatter, "w-will you protect me?"

All the carts are secured as the ride slowly moves forward, slightly creaking as Jungkook groans, "Let go of my fucking arm!" Despite his relentless shaking, his best friend only holds on tighter.

"Why? Your girlfriend is having a sexual awakening with her buddy girl, why can't we?!"

Jungkook gapes at him, brows meeting in perplexity before he looks at the row across. The two of you have your heads leaning on each other, and no, that was the romantic scene he was supposed to have with you, not Taehyung who snuggles into him in whimsical fear.

"She's straight," he counters weakly, not even caring about his numbing arm from the sight before him.

The carts reach the peak of the tracks, a sense of adrenaline stirring in everyone's stomach and you squeeze Soyeon's hand comfortingly seconds before Taehyung's scream torments the whole population's ears. Needless to say, Jungkook had it the worst.

—————

Your boyfriend winces with a finger in his left ear as he follows the group with Taehyung next to him, behind you and Soyeon.

"Remind me to never go on a rollercoaster with you," he seethes intimidatingly, emitting a snort from the guilty.

"Ooh, bumper cars!" Taehyung childishly points at the competitive game. Jungkook smiles wickedly, "I'm going to give you a fucking concussi–"

"Boys against girls!" Soyeon chirps, and you gasp at the amazing idea.

"Yes! That'd be so fun!"

Upon seeing Jungkook's incredulous face, Taehyung bursts out in laugher and clutches his stomach, tearing up when he instantly goes in denial mode.

Which didn't help, because Soyeon stole you for herself once more and he is stuck with the dumbest person he's ever met once more.

"Let's beat those bitches."

"That's my girlfriend, Tae."

Those words were thrown out the window the moment the game began, because he became ruthless. Even Taehyung was getting nauseous from how violently the car was bumping against yours, the one Soyeon claimed shotgun in, rocking your bodies back and forth. It's revenge for not giving him the attention he rightfully deserves, and leaving him with who was supposed to be a fourth wheel.

No mercy, you must suffer.

When you all got off the ride, Taehyung couldn't stop stumbling all over the place.

"I'm going to throw up," he groans and pinches Jungkook's shirt.

"That settles it: I won," he shrugs triumphantly. Soyeon is quick to bite back, "You almost killed us."

"Oh no," you jump to his defence with a giggle, "he's just very competitive."

Your boyfriend smiles at your first acknowledgement of his existence, relieved as he throws an arm around you. "I'm not about to lose to a bunch of–"

"Please don't finish that sentence," you smile at him; sickly sweet with your warning.

He forces a chuckle, "–a bunch of strong, independent women."

—————

"You ever seen lesbian porn, Jungkook?" Taehyung asks as he licks up a fat stripe on his ice cream. Jungkook doesn't bother responding. "It usually begins with one girl being all shy and reluctant until the sexual tension becomes too much. Say they're studying, gossipping, whatever, the normal stuff. Then... one of them makes the first move, and the other eventually gets into it." He glances at his friend to measure his reaction; nonchalant and barely listening. "Oh, but I have a boyfriend, oh this is wrong, oh friends don't do this," he imitates in a higher pitch. "Then they fuck."

"Do you ever stop talking?" he asks, flabbergasted and annoyed. He's holding onto your ice cream after you left to the bathroom with your friend, Taehyung protecting hers and licking the melted drops to keep the cone clean. What Soyeon doesn't know won't hurt her; the flavor is too good for him to waste.

"I'm just saying man, you never know with these girls," his cheeks puff out as he suppresses a laugh. Jungkook's paranoia is easy to mess with, and he knows he shouldn't do it so often, but it's just so fun. A snort slips.

"They've been roommates for two years, I'm sure if she was bisexual, she'd know by now," he spits defensively.

"Oh my God, do you think they got drunk and kiss–"

"We're back!" you announce and take your cone from Jungkook's hand, your friend doing the same.

"Welcome back, baby," he stands up to hug you, effectively pulling you a few steps away from Soyeon with a glare. You relish in it with joy, mushing your face against his chest.

"What should we go on next?" Taehyung casually cuts into your display of affection.

"The ferris wheel, maybe? Oh, Soyeon, you have–" you point at the corner of your lip, and she mirrors the opposite side, prompting you to reach out a hand and wipe off the stain with your thumb. Jungkook blinks in astonishment. Taehyung's eyes widen to saucers as he watches his soul leave his body. His words are getting to him.

Your hand is snatched away in a flash, and you're dragged away back to the stalls where he corners you, answering your unspoken question: "Hey, just wanted to privately ask you how your date is going with Soy milk." His voice drips with sarcasm, the attitude catching you off guard.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is, I feel like I'm third wheeling in front of my own girlfriend," he scowls, and your heart drops. "You haven't done a single thing with me today. I thought we came here to spend time with each other, yet we've done anything but. Be honest, are you..." he gulps and averts his gaze, "is there something going on...?"

"Jungkook," you startle and place a hand on his chest, "it's nothing like that. Of course I wanted to spend time with you, but Soyeon's been trying really hard to mend our friendship so I thought I would reciprocate. I didn't want things to be awkward between us, but I didn't realize I was neglecting you. I'm really sorry, love."

Your explanation endears him, shoulders slouching in relief just before he murmurs, "But in lesbian porn..."

"Oh my God," you exclaim in disbelief with a laugh, "I just hung out with her."

"You know I get needy!" he frowns with flushed cheeks. "That bitch wouldn't let go of you for one goddamned second, if I didn't know better I would've dragged you away a lot sooner."

You coo at him and squeeze his cheeks before he shakes you off grumpily. "I was going to go on the ferris wheel to make it up to you."

"Oh wow," he rolls his eyes, "can't believe you found the time to think about me."

"So jealous," you tease.

"Shut up," he pushes your forehead with his finger, "before I try to mend my friendship with Soy milk as well."

"She is not your friend," you glare at him with hooded eyes.

"So jealous."

—————

"The ride is five minutes long," Jungkook blurts out of thin air the moment you step into the moving cabin. "And we're going to stop at the top." At your gasp, he continues as he takes a seat, "Yeah, I did that movie cliché and paid extra."

"Jungkook," you coo with doe eyes and lay your head on his shoulder, "that's so romantic."

"Hey, don't get all cute. You said you were going to make it up to me." He tilts your chin, "How far are you willing to go?"

His question doesn't throw you off, and you chuckle, "Whatever you want."

"Yeah? Your time is running out," he looks past the window to see how high up you are. Four meters off the ground, give or take. "You think you can make me cum before we get off?"

Oh. "Better choose fast–"

You fondle with the buckle of his belt and make quick work of your hands to pull down his black jeans that hug his thighs. You lick your lips for moisture, and after what some experiences have thought you, you know to spit in your hand before wrapping your fingers around him.

"Damn, you didn't come here to play," he releases a humored breath as he watches you get him off. As if the limited time isn't bad enough, you have to get him erect in remarkable speed as well. He shifts slightly with a deep sigh, and when his cock starts to grow, you get on your knees before him and take the head of his length in your mouth. He sucks his teeth and weaves his fingers through your hair as he closes his eyes. Thirteen meters off the ground.

Mindful of your pace, you ease his length inside by taking him inch by inch, swirling your tongue the way he likes it and bobbing your head. His grip on your hair tightens as a low grunt resounds in the cabin. "You're doing so well," he looks down at you with half hooded eyes, lustful in their gaze, "you want to make it up to me that bad? Want to please me? Gosh," he sighs.

You deepthroat him with your hand covering what you can't reach until he thrusts into your mouth. You gag in reflex, and he uses your hair as leverage to do the rest for you. It's sloppy now, and saliva drools from the corner of your mouth with welling tears. You can only hope he reaches climax in time. Twenty two feet off the ground.

When his thrusts begin to slow down, you take it as your cue to pull away and jerk him off, your tongue taking care of the tip as his breaths grow more and more shallow. You assume he's holding back moans as to not attract any attention to your cabin. Thirty one meters. You make it a challenge for yourself to make him cum by the timr you reach the peak.

"Ah, go faster," he furrows his brows, face twisting in pleasure as he leans back on his seat. Your scalp starts to sting from his strong grasp.

Your hand listens, and you suck harder on the head while teasing the slit, and he gasps louder each passing second. He's panting while forty three feet off the ground, and a few moments later, his hips lift off the seat as he groans, his release on your tongue that you swallow. It comes in stutters, so you keep your mouth on him until you've swallowed every drop to avoid getting banned from the amusement park. Calling it simply taboo is an underestimatement.

"Shit, shit," he breathlessly says and thrusts into your mouth two last times before pulling out, a string of saliva still attached to your mouth. The ferris wheel stops. "You were fucking perfect, baby," he murmurs and his head goes limp, eyes dazed from the climax. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and smile despite the ache in your jaw.

"Thank you," you squeak and sit next to him. His head rolls to you. "Is my face okay?"

"Oh, you wore lipstick," he laughs quietly and uses the hem of his matching black shirt to clean up the smudge, his stomach on display from the action. You sit still as he fixes up your appearance, brushing your disheveled hair with his fingers, and just to be extra, he adjusts your collar, making you giggle and roll your eyes. "Like nothing happened. I'll eat you out at my dorm to return the favor."

You blush in surprise at his words, but he dismisses it by looking at the view. The sun has set, and all the lights sparkle from under you and the midnight black sky. It's beautiful. You admire it with him.

"I can't believe I paid extra for this. There's not even fireworks."

BONUS:

Soyeon and Taehyung sit across from each other without averting their gaze from the sky, effectively ignoring the presence of one another until he breaks the silence. "This is so romantic."

"Yeah."

"If we were a couple, this would be the perfect moment to kiss."

"Um... I guess," she shrugs off his unusual flirting.

"You want to be a couple for this ride?" he suggests and looks at her with wiggling brows.

She doesn't return the stare, softly speaking, "No, I think I'd rather jump off."

He chuckles under his breath, "Jungkook is going to have a field day when he finds out you're lesbian."

"Huh?"

"I said why don't you jump on this dick."

[meliorist-midoriya]

to you, to the world, to my love (you’re all three)

synopsis: midoriya has always had too much love to give in a world that loved to take. you’re just hoping that he has enough left for you in the end.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

genre: fluff with a touch of angst

warnings: some insecurity

word count: 2.5k

notes: happy valentine’s day, everyone! this is my contribution for the pocuties server collab, based off the greek types of love, of which i had the honor of receiving izuku and decided upon agape  please help yourself to the box of chocolates they’re offering for valentine’s, there’s a wide selection of chocolates handmade by talented creators, so i’m sure you’ll find something to your taste! tbh i only managed to finish this fic because i was watching chan’s valentine’s vlive and i was in a super soft mood ;3;

extra: agápe - the ancient greek concept of selfless, universal love.

“Making his debut in the pro hero scene, Pro Hero Deku is blazing a trail straight out of UA—”

“—Pro Hero Deku solved an astounding 30 cases in the past month—”

“Deku’s popularity is skyrocketing, rivaling that of—”

“Hero Deku—”

“Deku—”

“Pro Hero Deku has swept the hero rankings to come out on top as Number 1!”

With a resolute ‘click’ of the remote, the reporters’ overlapping voices cut off as the TV screen faded away, your lonely reflection staring back at you from the blank screen. You, curled up on your empty couch, in your empty apartment with the clock striking what should have been dinner. The TV was only there in an attempt to drown out the crushing silence, the white noise—hellbent on filling the space his presence had left—was deafening.

That attempt failed.

Horribly.

If anything, it just made the sense of wrongness permeating the air even worse. 

(That TV recap of his best moments didn’t help as much as you hoped it would.)

Being alone in this apartment felt… off. As if someone had gouged out what should’ve been there, the ghost of a presence settling a chill into your bones that ran far deeper than just plain loneliness. The foreboding grief of what could be, the fear that you’d resigned yourself to the moment you agreed to follow him on this path, the selfishness gnawing at your conscience every time you saw him run out the door to save the next person, to solve the next case. 

Things like an All Might coffee mug sitting primly next to yours on the drying rack, garishly yellow “tufts” staring back at you with a cracked vengeance. (You’d apologized profusely to him that day, promising to buy him another one. He’d just smiled over his cracked cup of coffee, telling you not to worry about it for the hundredth time.)

Things like his haphazard mess of notes and scrawl spread out on the kitchen counter, the pen sitting next to the half finished page. (You’ve long since learned to leave his notes be, they’ll be tidied up once he’s done… if he’s ever truly done.)

The filled queue of movies and pile of DVDs you’d picked out together, giddy over plans to watch the next time he had a free night. (You remember pretending not to notice him trying to slip another hero documentary near the bottom of the pile, distracting you with talks of popcorn and the night that was supposed to be tonight.)

Deku. The man the world adored, clinging to his promise like a lifeline in times of need. 

Midoriya Izuku. The man you loved, who promised you the world.

“It’ll be okay, I’m here.”

His soft promise echoed both in the battlefield and in your darkest hours, a close mirror to a hero of a generation past, yet it was different. It was his own. Comforting, personal, and wholly him. The public, weak and grasping for new support, latched on to the small sliver of hope his hand offered and he just kept giving, giving, giving. It never seemed to stop, and you were scared. 

He was a man with a bleeding heart with all the love to give and more. To the civilians, to the villains, to anyone in need.

Now, you needed his promise more than ever. A reassurance whispered into reunions and the thousandth hospital visit, over fresh scars and searing kisses. A promise that he would come home. You didn’t want to think of all the times he came so, so close to breaking that promise, even before you two had made it, before you two had even promised yourselves to each other in your UA days.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around you, staring down at your phone with no real intent in mind as you scrolled. The video playing one of his interview clips (bashfully reciting his “catchphrase,” how cute) cut his voice short as you scrolled past to move on to the next, wincing at the next tweet on your timeline. Him, battered and bloody, as he pulled a child from the aftermath of the battle he’d just won. 

You still need to wrap that new mug you got him as a gift. You still had to listen to him bounce his ideas off of you. You still had to move that hero documentary to the top of the pile. You still—

“Hero Deku saves 30 people, no casualties,” A soft murmuring of the headline shattered the silence, and you smiled to yourself, giggling at all the replies joking of how he threw himself into the fray a little more responsibly and singing their praises.

It’ll be okay.

“Ugh, those reporters are at it again.” 

At your best friend’s exasperated groan, you followed their gaze over to see— ah. 

A small swarm of reporters had worked their way into the fans crowding your boyfriend, their press badges reading every tabloid magazine on this side of the city and prying questions falling off their tongue like poison. From what you could hear over their overlapping clamoring, they were trying to dig into his private life.

Again. 

Deku, the darling of the masses, all sweet smiles and sincere words amidst his strength. Deku, the number one hero with the tightest lock on his private life, which came as a surprise to both everyone and no one.

It was a given, considering his position at the peak of hero society.

It was also a complete shock, considering his tendency to ramble into tangents that had his PR team withering.

Which seemed to help in times like these, now that you thought about it, laughing to yourself as you watched the reporters’ expressions darken in defeat the longer he continued to talk around their questions. Quite a long stretch from stiffly standing on the practice stage at UA all those years ago, frozen from nerves. You idly mused to this to yourself, taking a sip of your drink as you dragged your gaze back over to your best friend.

“Did you choose this cafe because it’s right along Izuku’s patrol route?” They stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh at their obvious intentions.

“Maybe, or it could’ve been just a coincidence.” The next teasing jab was halfway off your tongue when they cut you off before you could give into the urge, the words dying in your throat. “When was the last time you saw him anyway? I know you two live together but Todoroki told me he practically lives at the agency with how swamped they are. Are you okay?”

You purse your lips, staring down at the ice swirling around in your cup as you idly stirred it round. As if the sloshing liquid could whisper the answer you wish you knew.

“...Yeah.” They cocked a brow, and you took another sip to try and delay your time. “It’s not like either of us can help it. Izuku’s number one, so this was bound to happen.”

(The clamoring from the reporters grew ever louder. Persistent, that bunch.)

Their expectant (doubting) gaze was met with your own steady one, and you smiled. Whether it was out of consolation or resignation was anyone’s guess.

“We’re okay, I promise.”

You should really be getting to sleep. 

Really, you should.

At least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past several hours, tossing and turning in your bed with nothing but winter-cold sheets and a gnawing loneliness to keep you company. You know you should be sleeping when the clock on the bedside table reads an ungodly hour and there was work to be done in the morning. You know you should be sleeping when the moon disappears from the night sky and leaves you with nothing but the city lights to dimly illuminate the dark room.

You really know you should be sleeping when you hear the front door click open, Izuku shuffling around the apartment to get ready for whatever minimal amount of sleep he’d get before he had to be up and running soon after.

Despite this, sleep still refuses to come, and you don’t bother pretending to be asleep when he slides into bed next to you. Instead, you turn over and curl into his chest, stifling the guilt that bubbles up when he jumps in surprise.

“Something keeping you up?” Oh, he sounds so tired, and part of you wishes you could just make it all go away. The weight of the world rests heavy on his shoulders, and deep down, you wonder if you’re part of that burden. You curl a little closer, as if trying to smother the thoughts that crashed upon you, spilling over the crack in the dam that only widened the more you spoke.

“Jus’ a little lonely, is all.” Your voice is too quiet, brittle, and you pray to every deity that would listen that he would drop it. That he wouldn’t take on yet another burden when he was already carrying Altas’s share of the world.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Of course, the gods are hardly ever so merciful—to them you are just another wishful mortal in the realm of the holy and damned—and Izuku’s hand rests on your cheek with a tenderness that makes you want to cry.

“...Why?” 

The confusion that falls over his expression (gaunt, tired, and God, should you even be doing this right now?) is immediate, and he tilts your face up to meet his gaze with yours, like he could find the answer in city lights dancing over your face. His thumb strokes soft patterns over your cheek—as if brushing off the layers you’d built to protect your soul—and you lean into his soft touch with a sigh.

“Why what?”

The words spill from your lips unbidden, your hesitations softened by the comfort of his touch, the sudden drowsiness, and the emotion that near overwhelms you.

“Why do you still try to do everything yourself? When there’s so many people out there, ready to support you?” His breath hitches in shock, but it’s too late to go back now. You reach up to hold the hand cradling your cheek, distantly remembering a time when he was too insecure of his scarred and crooked hands to even hold your hand.

He’s come a long way, indeed.

“I love you, Izuku. I just don’t know if that can hold up against your love for the world.” 

Something in his gaze softens, to your surprise. His smile is even softer.

“What would you do if you’re both?”

“Wh— Izuku—”

He continues, and you listen, raptured by his words spoken into the glow of the blue hour.

“Yes, I know that at the end of the day, peace and safety has to come first, but—” His smile widens into something bashful, a smile that never failed to send butterflies scattering through your heart. “—who says you can’t be right along with them?” 

He bumped his forehead with yours, smiling emerald eyes gazing into your own with such love—dizzying and overpowering and so, so warm. With the steady thrum of your heartbeat matching his, you found yourself falling even deeper once again.

“You know me, I can never compromise when it comes to what’s important to me.”

You laugh, something watery, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, temple, cheek, with a last, smiling kiss on your lips.

“How greedy.” He laughs into your lips, pulling away to hold you closer.

“Just for you.”

There’s so many things you could’ve said, as you watched the rest of the night sky fade into the deep blues of dawn. But, you decide, the comforting silence was best left as is, only broken by one resounding comfort.

It’ll be okay.

“You know, it would’ve been nice to know that you had taken the day off before I had that whole guilt spiral last night.”

“It turned out okay though, didn’t it?” He turned back to flash you that cheeky grin of his, half-hidden by his winter coat and backed by the glow of the setting sun. You just rolled your eyes with a laugh before jogging to catch up to him, slipping you hand out of your pocket to interlace your fingers with his.

“Yeah, it did.” 

The walk was silent as you two strolled down the familiar path, winding down after a whole day spent with each other. It was romantic of him, now that you thought about it, to take the whole Valentine’s Day off just for you. You hummed as you leaned onto him, giddy and content at the thought. 

In love, if you were to be so bold.

(Granted, he had to wear a mask and a cap the entire time to hide from the prying eyes of the public, but you made do.)

The sight of aged, familiar scenery pulled you from your musings, and you tugged at his hand to grab his attention, pointing at the quaint bench surrounded by bare gingko trees.

“Hey, wasn’t this the park where you confessed?” At your words, he froze and glanced over at the familiar scenery, eventually burying his face into his free hand with a groan once the old memories clicked in his head.

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s still embarrassing to look back on.”

“What? I thought you were cute!” You laughed, nudging him to follow as you led him over to the small park, brushing off the dust to sit on the bench before patting the space next to you. Izuku obliged, and you almost automatically curled into his side, as if by habit.

“Did we really walk all the way here from the station?” His disbelieving tone made you look up at him, his expression one of nostalgic awe, before casting your attention back to the aged scenery, humming in agreement as you idly picked out what’s changed and what’s stayed in the years that have passed.

“I guess we never really forget, huh?”

“I forgot the sunset looked the best from here.”

“I hope you didn’t forget all the memories we made here.” He tore his attention from the sunset to gape down at you, scandalized.

“Of course not!” 

“Really?” He arched a brow at the teasing lilt to your voice and the mischievous grin playing at your lips, “So you didn’t forget accidentally firing an Air Force shot at me when we first met because you were training?”

He buried his face in his hands again with another embarrassed groan.

“I hoped you would forget that, at least!” You just laughed, hugging him closer as if to console him from your teasing. Before long, the atmosphere settled back into a quiet reminiscence, indulging in the nostalgia of memories past in this little park. The silence that was once deafening alone, now softened by the comfort of his presence at your side.

“We’ve made so many memories in this park, huh?” At your soft hum of agreement, he continued. Was his voice shaking? “It wouldn’t hurt to make more, would it?”

“What do you me—”

Your question cut itself short as you saw what he held out to you. 

A little velvet box, sitting open in his hand. You dragged your suddenly watery gaze back up to Izuku, his once bashful smile now wobbly with nerves. 

So familiar in this little park, yet so new.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It was just a small walk down memory lane, the street lights blinking on one by one in the wake of the fiery sunset as you two walked the familiar path together. Yet there was something buzzing anew in the air, humming through your soul as you held out your hand to the sun, admiring the way the gem on your ring finger sparkled in the fading sunset. In the other, you interlaced your fingers with his.

Yeah… 

You caught Izuku’s soft gaze, smiling and in love.

We’ll be okay.

[mayasaura]

Alecto, The River, and Colum Asht

I’ve been working on a few different Harrow the Ninth meta theories, and I noticed some threads that seemed to pull them together. Maybe you could call this another megatheorum, but I’m not sure it’s comprehensive enough for that.

I think whatever kind of monster Alecto is, the clues we need to guess are in salt water and the death of Colum Asht.

Salt water leads us to the River. @ovrgrwn @sauntering-vaguely-downwards ​ and I were talking about the symbolism of salt water in the series, and Ovrgrwn mentioned both that Alecto is a “saltwater creature” and that the River isn’t salt water. The thing is, I realised later that the River is salt water.

One of the biggest puzzles we were left with pieces of in Harrow the Ninth was "What is Alecto?". She's been called a lot of things, but we know very little abit definitively. There’s a theory that I was discussing with @thunderon and @asimovsideburns that Alecto is something like a Resurrection Beast, in that she and Harrow are both communal souls forged through human sacrifice. There’s a theory that maybe she was someone else before the Resurrection and in trying to pull her soul back John accidentally got a whole bunch of souls instead. Or she could literally be Alecto the First the way Harrow is an entire generation of the Ninth, with every soul that used to inhabit the world of the First packed into her body. I like all these theories—it feels like we’re on the right track, but also like we’re missing something. This by itself doesn’t seem like it would be so viscerally terrifying to Augustine and Mercy, who were present for the creation of Teacher and the revenant constructs in Caanan House. If she’s an overstuffed suitcase of ten billion souls, why is she a saltwater creature? Why does Teacher call her tomb a zoo, and why are her eyes Like That?

[Image: It came down around her in shreds, as light and insubstantial as drifts of spiderweb. The water sprayed through white holes, rushing in with a pounding roar: that brackish, bloodied water that only existed within the River. She was bouyed up by a spray of ice water and filth - but she wasn’t; she seemed to be walking down her long black corridor again-]

In chapter 53 when Harrow tears her way out of the bubble of the false Canaan House, the River is described as “brackish, bloodied water”. Brackish water is the water that’s found at the place where a river meets a sea; too salty to drink, but not as salty as sea water. The River is brackish salt water, and Alecto is a saltwater creature.

Brackish water is mentioned only one other time in either book.

[Image: She appeared behind the grey-thing-that-had-been-Colum. She took its twisted neck in her hands as calmly and easily as though it were an animal, and she tilted it. The neck snapped. Her fingertips dipped inside the skin; the eye-mouths shrilled, and the tongue around Gideon’s neck flopped away, and both those mouths dissolved into brackish fluid. The body dropped to the floor—]

When Colum Asht dies in chapter 34 of Gideon the Ninth, a brackish fluid runs out of his eye sockets. Whatever creature was inside Colum, it came from the River. And then there’s the description - it’s too long and spread out to quote in full here, but the details are that his eyes went liquid black, and he moved “like there were six people inside him, and none of those six people had ever been inside a human being before”. There are lights under Colum’s skin and things pushing and slithering along his muscles as he walks. When he opens his eyes again, they’re toothed mouths with tongues, and Colum’s tongue has become long and prehensile and it wraps around Gideon’s neck like a tentacle.

The stoma at the bottom of the the River, the mouths to Hell that only open for Resurrection Beasts and the Emperor, are described like this:

[Image: It was a huge, hideous, dark expanse, and it had seething, weird edges; it took the lights pattering over them for me to see that the edges of the hole were enormous human teeth. Each one must’ve been six bodies high and two bodies wide, with the dainty scalloped edges of incisors. The teeth shivered and trembled, like the hole was slavering. And that hole had nothing in it; that hole was blacker than space, that hole was an eaten-away tunnel of reality.]

[Image: Streamerlike lingual tentacles emerged—the unassuming pink you got on normal, non-Hell-bound tongues—easily a thousand of them, jostling, questing, blindly thrusting up out of that mouth. Pyrrha flinched.]

Colum’s eyes have become miniature stoma. It’s interesting that while the thing possessing Colum advances on and kills Silas first, the stoma don’t open until Gideon attacks it. It uses Colum’s sword to kill Silas, but draws Gideon in with its tongue, like the tongues from the stoma at the bottom of the River draw her father the Emperor and Augustine in. But that’s another meta post.

Perhaps the stoma are creatures, sentient hellmouths lurking at the bottom of the River, and it’s stoma that are possessing Colum the Eighth. Maybe it’s the river itself possessing Colum, and the lights under his skin are souls. Maybe it’s something from beyond the stoma, something that came out of Hell. It’s an important question, but not one I have an answer to right now. I am confident in the connection between the stoma and the Eighth House. In chapter 36 of HtN Augustine accuses Mercy of not taking the stoma seriously “which is why your whole damned House sucks at it like a grotesque teat-”. Mercy’s House is the Eighth House, so whatever the metaphysical effect of siphoning is, it presumably involves the stoma. What interests me most about Colum’s transformation for now is that his eyes went full liquid black, and that he was possessed by a creature that left salt water behind it.

Still with me? Now we tie it all together with Alecto’s eyes, the eyes currently in the face of God, the Emperor of the Nine Houses. Like the possessed Colum, their sclera are black. Unlike Colum, their eyes have irises and pupils. The irises are “dark and leadenly iridescent - a deep rainbow oil slick, ringed with white.” Even before I had any idea about Alecto, I wondered what sort of soul the God who was once a man had consumed to have eyes like that. The way Ianthe’s eye colors swirled and merged when Naberius was fighting her, I wondered if his dark iridescent irises were the colors of ten billion souls swirling together, but that wouldn’t explain the black sclera. Now I think the Resurrection Beasts, the stoma, and these theories about Alecto are offering an explanation.

Perhaps Alecto is an enormous collection of human souls, like in our theories, but she is not only human souls. Whatever was possessing Colum Asht is also a part of Alecto. The black sclera she gets from the River, and the iridescent irises she gets from thousands or millions or billions of human souls. Depending on how you interpret what possessed Colum, that could mean a few different things. Maybe she's a human stoma, a human soul merged with the mouth of hell. Maybe she's a tributary or avatar of the River, and the power of all of history's death runs through her. Maybe she's partially comprised of a creature from the incomprehensible chaos of Hell.

The stoma option seems like the most likely to me, to explain the fear and disgust that Mercy and Augustine feel toward Alecto. An avatar of the River is terrifying, but also awesome. That's not the right vibe for 'put that thing down before it hurts one of us'. It was implied in the conversation about Hell and the stoma at the end of chapter 36 that nothing had ever been observed coming through the other way, and it's plainly stated by the Emperor that nothing which goes in has ever come back. If Mercy and Augustine were aware that part of Alecto was from Hell, I would expect it to be hinted at in that scene, and it wasn't really. I did notice that Augustine is more scared of Alecto than Mercy. When Mercy thought Alecto had come to kill her, she spoke to her. When Augustine thought he had seen Alecto, he turned and ran. Maybe Mercy is just braver in general, but Mercy is also less afraid of the stoma than Augustine.

As a closing note, evoking the stoma or what might lie beyond it would explain the only line in Annabel Lee as a metaphor for Alecto that puzzles me.

And neither the angels in heaven above,

  Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee

[babybatscreationsv2]

if you’re taking prompts;

so; tony is the devil. Or hades? Although hades isn’t technically “evil” so idk. And peter’s very literally made a deal with the devil. Only he couldn’t keep up with his end of the deal and now his soul he belongs to tony. aND THEN, tony kinda likes pities him and it turns into a beauty and the beast sorta thing where tony has his undead servants make feasts n all that sorta stuff so peter feels comfortable. And then they fall in love. And then they screw 😌

Thank you for this because I've been looking for an excuse to write a Hades and Persephone story. This ended up so tender and romantic that you can't call it smut. These beeches be making love. Also this ended up full fic sized so here's the details.

Eat the Fruit

Summary: When Peter's lover dies in an accident, he offers his soul to the God of the Underworld to save him, but when he is unable to fulfill his end of the deal he finds himself in the Underworld. Now Peter is left tending to the pomegranate grove where the only balm for his loneliness is Hades (aka Tony), a god with a prickly edge.

Rating: Explicit

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed with gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

You must love him to offer your soul to me this way.

Please, you are lord of the dead. If anyone has this power, it's you.

I am not cruel, Peter. I will restore your lover's soul. In return, you must stay with him in life until he dies a natural death.

I promise.

So be it.

----------

The agony of heartbreak still echoed in his mind. His mind replayed the moment as Harry told him goodbye and turned away, closing the door as he went. He wished he could try again. Despite how he had pleaded with Harry not to leave, had promised him whatever he wished, he felt that maybe there was something he could have done. Harry did not love him anymore. He left him.

And so Peter fainted... and he awoke in a vast orchard.

He sat up in the grass and looked around at the low trees each baring heavy red fruit. Pomegranates. They looked beautiful, delicious. Peter stood and brushed himself off. He looked around feeling unsure how he had gotten here. Then he remembered and a sob escaped him. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he had broken his deal with Hades. This beautiful grove must have been a part of the Underworld.

"So soon," said a voice. Peter turned to catch sight of a man. He was handsome, a bit older than Peter, with wrinkles around his eyes, yet those eyes shined with livelihood. When he last saw Hades it had been a shadow of his true form, something massive and hulking and terrible. He seemed almost kind now. He had been kind enough to him then.

"Please, Lord Hades, send me back. Let me try again."

The god plucked a fruit from a tree and examined it. "Sorry, kid. That was a one time offer. No take backs." He looked Peter over, then he placed the pomegranate in his hands. He walked past him and Peter followed along, afraid to be left alone in such a place.

"Please. I'll give you anything. Lord Hades-"

The god huffed and turned on the spot. He held up a finger. "First of all, there's no need to call me that. Hades is more of a title and I'm over it. Call me Tony."

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Tony. Now, listen up because I've got a short temper." Tony looked him in the eye. His hand held Peter's chin. "You will never leave the Underworld. Do you understand? Your soul belongs to me. You belong to me. This is where you will stay. Forever."

"Forever," Peter repeated. Not a question, but a realization. He had given everything for Harry. Everything.

The god took hold of his arm and turned him to look across the orchard. "Do you see the river there? You are never to attempt to cross it. If you try, its current will drag you under and you will drown in its waters until I see fit to retrieve you. The river Styx will not allow a soul to leave so easily."

Tony patted his shoulder. "Got it?"

Peter nodded. "I get it. Don't cross the river." It sure didn't sound fun to drown in a river until this oddly blase god decided to have mercy on him. "What happens now?"

Tony shrugged. "Tend the orchard or something. What do I care?"

Peter looked at him like he had grown a second head, which maybe he did have two heads, this probably wasn't his true form. "You let me sell my soul to you so I could just hang out?"

Tony's face shifted and Peter shrank back. His sudden anger was sharp and cold like a dagger made of ice. He encroached on Peter's space and with a clenched jaw he tried not to back away further. "Listen up, kid. You made the deal you wanted to make. You wanted to sacrifice yourself for what your heart desired and I gave you the opportunity. Life isn't the fairy tale you thought it was. Now, tend the trees and keep out of my hair."

Peter watched him go. He stared off in the direction that he went a while longer. Then cold began to seep into his bones. He sat down under a pomegranate tree. He wrapped his arms around his legs. Then he cried, wet tears staining the clothes he had died in. It could have been a lifetime that he cried, but when he finally got up he was numb.

Harry was gone and his life was over, but there was no going back. Peter turned in a circle, looking at the orchard. It was beautiful. If he had to spend the rest of eternity here it certainly wasn't the worst place to be. Sometimes when a breeze kicked up, he thought he heard screaming off in the direction he had decided to call south. There were certainly worse places to be even in the Underworld.

Peter walked to the edge of the pomegranate grove. Several feet from the edge, the ground began to slope down until it reached the edge of the Styx. A boat floated along the water. A man with a scraggly goatee and messy, curly, hair rowed along while a woman with red rimmed eyes sat in the seat. When she looked up, she looked right through him as if he were glass. A chill went through him. Once the feeling passed, he tried to wave at her, but she didn't respond. Was she in shock? Did she know yet that she was dead? Where was she being taken, he wondered. He hoped it was somewhere nice like his pomegranate grove and not the place where the screaming came from.

He kept walking, following the tree line, never passing the trees on the very edge. The orchard was vast, but not endless. On one side was the river Styx. On the next, the river Lethe. Or he assumed it was as the mist that came off of it made his head feel hazy. When he reached the third side is when the screaming grew louder. He walked faster until it grew distant again.

The fourth edge of the orchard stretched on into a garden. Peter stopped himself at the edge of the trees. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to leave the orchard or not. He hadn't been explicitly told not to. So he did.

He followed along low hedges and passed through clusters of hydrangea. Then the ground began to change from grass and plant life to cold gray stone. Peter looked back at the garden and the orchard beyond it. Was this allowed? He couldn't tend the trees without any tools. He'd need baskets if he were to collect the fruit and if they got sick he'd need medicines. He wasn't sure what else one could possibly do for trees. Perhaps Tony could tell him.

He found the god in question sitting a top a throne of slate. He looked far larger than he had before, but he still took the same form. He seemed bored, or perhaps indifferent was the word, as souls lined up at his feet. One soul grovelled on his knees.

"Please, my lord. I am meant for Elysium. I was a good man in life. An excellent one. I always gave to charity, I swear!"

Hades, for that's what he was a top this throne, waved his hand. "That does not make you special nor important by any means. You are not exceptional by any measure. To the fields with you." He snapped his fingers and two souls, each with hollow, black eyes and wrists wrapped in cuffs of slate, came forward and dragged the pleading soul away.

Another stepped forward and their plea was the same. They wished for Elysium and Hades waved them off.

"Won't you even listen to their stories?" Peter asked.

The god looked down at him. "Shouldn't you be working?"

"I wasn't sure exactly what I was meant to do."

"The trees will tell you when they need," he said, but Peter noticed that he did not wave him away as he did the pleading soul so he assumed he was allowed to stay.

The next soul pleaded not for Elysium, but for their lover. They begged to be reunited with them in Asphodel.

"It is not my job to see that lovers unite. If you are soul mates you will find one another," Tony said with a terribly bored voice.

"Please, my lord. I has been a hundred years-"

"Be grateful I do not drop you in the River Lethe before you are returned!" he snapped. "Be gone with you."

"You are too harsh," Peter said as the soul was dragged away

Tony glared down at him. "You don't have to listen to the same nonsense for eternity."

"You are a god. You should be grateful for that."

"You should be grateful I don't sick my hound on you," Tony growled. "Now go."

Peter hesitated, not wishing to be alone again, but the look on Tony's face was far from kind. With a deep frown, Peter turned and walked back to the orchard.

The trees weren't much for company. Peter walked through the boughs, lonely and with too much time to reflect. He thought about the life he had lost and all of the things he had given up. He thought about Harry. Did he regret leaving him now that he was dead? Did he miss him? He wondered if Harry would go to his funeral and if he would ever bring flowers. After a long while of wandering, he couldn't take it any longer. He made his way back to the place where the grass died and became stone.

There were no souls there now, only a massive dog which sat at the foot of the throne. It opened one big eye as Peter came near. When he didn't stop it raised its head only for Peter to realize that it had not one, but three. A growl rumbled in its throat.

"Sorry to bother you, big guy. I was just looking for the other big guy." Peter reached out a hand inviting the dog to smell it. It lowered its heads suspiciously. Then it sniffed.

"It's okay. I'm not up to any mischief, I promise. I was just lonely. You look like you might be lonely, too."

Peter smiled as the dog allowed him to pet his hairy nose. It watched him curiously as he came closer so he could scratch behind his ears.

"You're sweet aren't you?" Peter cooed. "Sweet boy."

"Peter?" Tony's voice called. He turned his head to see him coming up the path. "I wouldn't bother him if I were you."

"He seems to like me," Peter shrugged. "I was just looking for some company."

Tony stopped and looked at them both. He tucked his hands behind his back, watching silently while Peter pet the happy dog. His giant tail wagged into the gray dirt.

"You were lonely?" Tony finally asked.

"Trees aren't the best company as it turns out. I'm not used to be alone. Harry and I..." Peter took a breath. Just mentioning his name made his chest burn. "Well, we were always together."

"I see..." Tony stared off toward the orchard. "Come and see me tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. It doesn't always get dark here, but night will fall in a few hours. Come back here then, but not before."

Peter looked at the man, but he didn't seem likely to divulge what he was up to. "Alright... I will see you then."

He gave the dog, Cerberus, one last pet. Then he turned away and walked back to the orchard.

As promised the sky above began to darken. Peter watched it with fascination for a moment. There were no stars in the Underworld. The sky was a deep navy, almost black. Yet, Peter could see perfectly fine. He walked back through the trees to where the ground became stone and there he found a grand table set with candles and silver platters.

"Peter, glad you could join me," Tony greeted. The look on his face was almost a smile.

"What is all this?"

"You said you were lonely so I thought we could share a meal together. If you'd like."

Peter smiled. "Of course! That sounds great."

Tony looked relived. He pulled out a chair for him. "I don't know what you like, but I had nearly everything I could think of prepared."

Peter sat down, offering his thanks as Tony pushed his seat up. He sat down on Peter's right. He flinched as Tony's dead soldiers melted from the shadows and began to serve him from the many plates and platters. When his plate and cup were full, they took a step back waiting to serve him again.

"This all looks amazing. I thought you couldn't eat the food in the Underworld."

Tony picked up his glass, the only thing in front of him. "If it is grown here, then it is true. Eating food grown in the Underworld can have undesired effects." He stared into his wine. Then he looked up and gave Peter a smile. "Eat," he said.

Every bite was divine. Sitting together with Tony helped chase the loneliness away. They talked about Peter's happy memories in life, his time in college, holidays with his Aunt May, being Uncle Peter to Gwen's twins. Harry wasn't there for most of the good parts. Peter couldn't help but find that strange. Harry had felt like such a big part of his life, but had he? Maybe the Underworld was making him forgetful.

After dinner, they stood together and watched the light return. Tony's odd little soldiers cleared everything away.

"Thank you, Peter," Tony said. He gave him a smile. Peter admired the way it made his eyes shine.

"No, thank you. That was a lovely dinner. I'm feeling a lot better, too."

"I'm glad." He paused for a moment and they stood simply looking at each other as the sky changed above them. "You're welcome to return here whenever you please."

Peter's smile widened. "Are you saying you enjoyed my company as well?"

Tony shrugged. "It's wasn't the worst dinner I've been to."

Peter rolled his eyes as he walked away. He returned to the orchard where the boughs were heavy with fruit. He spent hours, maybe days, picking the fruit and collecting it into baskets that he couldn't recalling seeing before. There was a pail and some tools as well.

He stuck to picking fruit for now. That is until his arms grew tired from reaching and legs grew tried from carrying him. He left the orchard to return to the throne. There was Hades, sat atop, looking terribly bored as he dealt with the unending line of souls.

"Please, Lord Hades-"

"Shoo," the god wave the soul away and they were dragged off. Peter went and took a seat, cross legged on the ground beside him. Tony spared him a glance.

"Come to watch the show?"

"I like being with you."

Tony stiffened, but said nothing in answer. Another soul stepped forward. A sort of gray tone clouded not only their skin, but their clothes as well. Peter wondered why he wasn't the same way. Was it because he Tony's soul, belonging to the orchard, while this soul belonged somewhere else? The souls from the Fields were all a bit gray.

"Please, Lord Hades, it has been one hundred and fifty years since my death. I wish to be united with my daughter. I walk the Fields endlessly and never find her," the soul pleaded.

Tony sighed. "Fine," he said. Peter blinked, sitting more upright. "When you return to the Fields, your daughter will await you at the gate."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" The soul sobbed wjth gratitude. They bowed low again and again. One of Tony's soldiers came to lead her away so the line could continue.

"That was kind of you," Peter said.

Tony huffed in response, but he continued this way. Whenever a soul made, what seemed to Peter, a reasonable request Tony honored it. Souls were united with family, friends, and lovers so long as they walked the fields together. And when it was done, Tony walked with Peter back to the orchard.

They walked beneath the trees, the smell of pomegranate in the air.

"What changed your mind about the souls?"

Tony stood and examined one of the trees. He ignored Peter's question. "They seem happy with you here," he said.

"You were right. They do tell me what they need."

Tony smiled. "Of course I was." He turned and took Peter's hand. His heart fluttered. They kept walking until the Styx came into view. They watched the river pass by in silence. Then after a long while Tony said, "I have to go." Then he disappeared.

Peter turned in a circle, but the god was truly gone. He smiled to himself and turned back to watch the river pass. Tony left him feeling warm. He missed his company already, but he was glad to have had it in the first place.

He went back to his trees, tending them with a smile. Time as usual, without measure other than a weariness in his legs from standing. Then the trees began to ask for water.

It made sense. It never seemed to rain in the Underworld. Certainly trees would need water. He had a pail he could collect it in, but where would he get it from? The only water source nearby was the Styx. He looked around for Tony, but the god was not nearby. So he took it upon himself to get the water.

Peter carried his pail down to the riverside. He placed his feet carefully to keep from slipping into the water. Then he leaned out and scooped some water up with the pail. He set the full pail up on the bank, but its weight unbalanced him. His feet slid in the rocks and he was pulled under the water's surface.

While the Styx looked steady and calm, there was a current beneath its surface. It claimed him easy, dragging him under and pulling him far far away from the orchard. Peter tried to swim up, sometimes his hands breached the surface, but never his head. His lungs burned with lack of air, then with water. Then he was drowning. Drowning without dying.

There was never any telling how much time passed in the Underworld. But finally, finally... he was pulled from the river.

He vomited what felt like gallons of water, coughing the rest from his lungs. The pain faded quickly. Peter laid on his back and blinked wet eyes at the man standing over him. He was a shadow, blocking out the light above.

"Tony?" he rasped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall in. The trees needed water and I slipped."

Tony knelt beside him. "I know. I saw the water pail by the river." He scooped Peter up and pulled him to his chest. Instantly, he was dry. "You're safe now."

"Thank you." Peter's body shook in fear and relief. "That was horrible."

Tony pet his hair and held him close. "Come and get me next time the trees need water. I will call the rain to water them."

Tony helped him stand. With slow steps they walked back together to the orchard. Tony seemed far more quiet than usual. Peter couldn't place just what was wrong. He'd been warned not to try to cross the river. Was he not allowed to go near it at all? Or did Tony think he had tried to leave. Why would it bother him so much if he did?

They passed under the first branches of the orchard. Without thinking, Peter plucked the first pomegranate he saw. He stopped and admired the round, red, fruit in his hands. Tony stopped and turned, looking back at him.

"I've never tasted one of these." Peter laughed softly. "All this time picking them and caring for them, but I never eat them."

"If you eat the fruit in the Underworld, you can never leave," Tony reminded him.

"You wouldn't let me leave anyway."

"Maybe I would." There was a vulnerable honesty there in his eyes. He was right, wasn't he? This time he was right. Harry had never loved him. He had been young and foolish and naive. Tony didn't just show him desire and adoration in the way that Harry had, no. From Tony he received respect, admiration, trust. Because Tony loved him, truly.

"You thought, even if it was only for a moment, that I had tried to cross the river. Were you relieved when you realized it was an accident?" Peter looked at his face. He said nothing, gave nothing away with his expression.

Peter looked at the fruit in his hand. He dug his thumbs into the skin and pulled it apart. It bled pink onto his skin. Tony watched him in silence, seeming to hold his breath. Peter examined his face searching for one last reassure that he was truly wanted. Then he brought the fruit to his lips and bit into its seeds.

It was perfectly sweet. The taste of it coated his tongue. Juice dripped down his chin. When he swallowed, it was heavy in his stomach. He dropped the fruit and looked at the god.

His gaze was adoring, worshipful.

"Allow me a taste," Tony said. He reached for him, pulling him in. Their lips met and Peter moaned at a taste that was far sweeter than the fruit.

His hands held Tony's face, staining his cheeks pink. Strong hands held his back, guiding him to press in closer until they were flush. Peter moaned as a tongue slipped over his own, exploring and claiming his mouth. He felt high on him, willing and receptive to any of Tony's desires.

They stopped, only for a moment, and gazed at each other's faces. Then Tony took him and laid him back in the soft grass beneath the trees.

Tony stripped away his clothes. Each article was removed with gentle care and hot kisses pressed to his newly exposed skin. Every inch of him felt sensitive to the softness of his lips and the scratch of his beard. When he was naked, Tony returned above him to kiss his lips again. Peter let his hands roam over his chest and found that his clothes were gone, revealing a muscular and scarred chest. Tony caught his hand, holding it above his heart.

"Do you mind?" he said. His eyes shined.

Peter shook his head. "You're beautiful, Tony," he said. Tony caught his mouth in a kiss that was ripe with need.

Peter spread his legs apart and Tony settled between them. His kiss were soft and tender as he pushed slowly inside him. His mouth captured the high pitch whined that escaped Peter's lips. Slowly he was filled until Tony was fully inside him. His hands clung to Tony's shoulders and he stared up into gleaming brown eyes.

He dragged his fingers over his skin to cup his face in both hands. "I love you," Peter whispered.

Tony's smile was joyous. "I love you, Peter."

Peter gasped, head falling back into the grass as Tony moved inside him. The friction felt so intense that he could form words but that didn't stop him from whining and babbling. Tony kissed his lips, his bared neck, his chest. His lips sucked his nipples, tongue flicking and teasing over them. Peter's nails dug into Tony's shoulders. All he could do was hold on as his cock dragged over his prostate and Tony fucked him fast and deep. Frantic, like he was starving. When his mouth returned to Peter's, he held him tight, kissing his lips as if they dripped ambrosia. He refused to let, kissing him deeply and desperately until he could hold on no longer. His nails cut scratches into Tony's back as his body ached and shivered beneath him. His cum splattered, sticky and warm on his skin.

He panted hard, looking up at Tony again with nothing but adoration and love. He held Tony's beautiful face.

"Cum in me, please," Peter begged.

"Anything you want is yours," Tony pledged.

He moved him again, cock deep inside, body screaming with sensitivity. A tear rolled down Peter's cheek and he whimpered painfully, but he was euphoric. Tony kissed away his tears. Peter tasted the salt on his lips. Then Tony moaned, holding him tight. Peter covered his face in kisses. He felt him cum, making him sticky and wet inside.

Tony's cheeks were red and his smile was bright. Peter couldn't help but smile, too, and pulled him down into a deep unending kiss.

[arcadejohn127-9]

You get the demon brother's their Starbucks

[imagine: you go out to get their drinks and purposefully use a dumb nickname for them]

Lucifer:

Pure Black coffee with three shots of espresso

You were on pick up duty, whilst Lucifer was busy with work

He gave you his order and you were on your way

As soon as you got to the Starbucks or known as Impbucks

You weren't in the mood for dealing with anyone asking about the popular demon's life

As soon as the cashier asked for a name

You went for the first thing that came to mind

"A kidney crusher for Lucy, is there a Lucy?!"

As soon as you got back home you went to Lucifer

"I got it! Enjoy~"

"Lucy...? Must you always haunt me with that nickname."

"it's cute, try to take a break with work, okay Luci?"

Before he can say anything you distract him with a kiss on the cheek

Mammon:

Ginger with coconut milk with pineapple and starfruit

Mammon needed you to go on a coffee run for him

Witches held another debt over his head

Whilst he was running around trying to call up all demons that owed him

You were at the local Impbucks

Waiting in line with his order written down on your D.D.D

Once you got to your order you couldn't help but hope of cheering him up

You decided on a silly nickname

"Golden shake for Mammy!"

Luckily, when you got to the demon again he had a moment to himself

"hey handsome, got your drink."

He snatched it off you, trying to hide his blush

"what took you so long?! I've been waiting for CENTURIES."

"silence, I got you your drink,now you owe me money."

You walked off before he could fully process your claim

"HUH??!!!!!"

Levithan:

Ice Blue lemonade with lemon slices and monster

Levi rarely goes out especially if it's only for one thing

He's been craving some energy and asked you to go get him a drink from Impbucks

You, as the wonderful human you are, agreed

You had to wait in the rowdy line as people grew impatient

Almost breaking your nose when you bumped into the demon Infront of you

Levi owed you at this point

One part of your heart wanted to do something funny and another wanted to convey your annoyance

And so the name was chosen

You almost had to fight the cashier on it

"special gamer-ade for a Levo-zero!"

As soon as you got to his room you placed the drink down

He was cheering, thanking you for doing him this favour

"HUH?! Levo-zero?! I ranked level 999 today in my game! Do you know how special that kind of achievement is?!"

"right now you're a level zero best friend."

"what did those normie's do?! I'll summon loton-"

You decided to silence his rage

"maybe you could be a level 100 boyfriend instead."

RUN!

Don't worry, he'll seek you out as soon as he calms down

Satan:

Iced Green tea with honey drizzle with mint dressing

Satan had an outburst due to the house becoming too loud outside the library

He locked himself in his room out of guilt and hopes for peace

You decided to get him some tea to cheer him up

He's been suggesting to go in a Impbucks date for the past few days so you thought you'd go there

Luckily, the local Impbucks wasn't too crowded

You weren't in the mood to deal with a crowd

But as much as you were doing this out of the kindness of your heart

You were sadly the victim of his outburst

He made you feel very shitty about yourself

So nothing is better than passive aggression!

"green paradise for a shat-tan- is that correct? Shat-tan?!"

You had to force yourself not to laugh when you picked it up

You soon arrived back home, knocking on Satan's door

"who is it? If it's Mammon I will shove my book down your-"

"it's Me, I brought tea."

You were immediately allowed in

"Shat-tan....? I have been shitty to you today, haven't I? I'm so sorry, I never meant to snap like that - thank you for getting me tea."

He wasn't off the hook but you accepted his apology

You two spent the day reading together

Satan showering you in kisses and compliments

Asmodeus:

Strawberry and raspberry frap with strawberry Syrup with frozen berries ontop of whipped cream

"sweetie! Lucifer is forcing me to do my homework, can you get me some coffee? I can feel my skin breaking out from the stress."

Having mercy on his soul you agreed but could feel the cold grip of death creep upon you

You were behind on homework and you weren't sure if Lucifer has noticed or not

You knew today would be the day of reckoning

You were directed to the local Impbucks and had to wait in line

You spotted a table taking pictures of their orders

You were immediately reminded of the lustful demon

This place was perfect for him

You got a notification from his social media

A compliment about the stress and how long you were taking

You felt yourself frown, deciding to not go for a cute nickname for him

"frozen berry frap for assmo! Please pick up your order!"

You charged out when you heard murmurs about asmodeus being there

Once you got home you rushed to get him his drink

"you're an angel! Can you help me with this- WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

He finally noticed the name when he went to take a picture of it

"I don't know it just seems to come out that way, ASSmo."

"I'm sorry for complain but you were taking so long and I couldn't stand-"

You gave him a quick kiss on his cheek

"stop whining, it's bad for your skin."

You gave him a few more kisses, taking your leave but only met your demise outside his door

Beezlebub:

Vanilla bean with sweet cream latte with cinnamon powder ontop

You were out helping him record his workout

He needed energy and you needed a place to sit down after following him around for hours

You rushed to the nearest coffee shop

You scanned the food section, deciding what you should get

Once your turn was here you gave your drink order, asking for almost the entire food options

"energy booster and extra for Beely-bug."

You quickly jogged back to the gym after picking up more food

He was waiting for you, growing anxious

"did anyone bother you? You wouldn't let me go with you but I wanted to-"

You shoved the food Infront of his face, distracting him

"nothing happened, just got stares from all the food I got."

Whilst he digged in you stole a swig from his water bottle

"thank you- Beely-bug? I like it."

He couldn't stop smiling as he drank, happy you picked something cute

Belphegor:

Chamomile tea with milk, honey syrup and lavender

"hey, I ordered a drink from that Impbucks down the street, can you get it for me?"

After forcing him to say 'please' you agreed to get his order

But as revenge for getting in his face whilst he tried to go back to sleep, he shoved his foot in your face

He was struggling with sleeping as often as he normally could

A concern in itself

You had to deal with waiting for a long while, texting the sleepy demon to see how he was doing

Remembering how rude he was earlier you decided to choose something dumb for his order name

"sleepy time for Belfeet, pick it up on the counter on the right!"

You tried to get home as fast as you could

You found him hiding in the attic, grumbling as he forced his eyes shut

"your saviour is here!"

He popped his head out from the blankets and did the grabby hands for the drink

He let out a tired thank you, yawning between each word

You sat with him whilst he drank, watching him grow more tired and calm

"Belfeet...? Haha you never cease to be petty."

"just for that I'm leaving, no cuddles for you!"

He watched you leave the attic, too tired to be quick to react

"ah- WAIT-!"

[pretty-face-breaker]

Emir Says Nothing

c.w. brutal whipping, punishment, abuse of power, forced to watch, implied past torture, public humiliation, military whump

—

“Gentlemen.”

Levkin’s eyes are hard as he stares down the healed-over back of the man leaning against the wall, his fingers splayed across it. The welts on his skin are faintly red, ghosts of the not-so-distant past. They had been a gift for speaking up and out of turn, for disrespect and what a relief it had been to think the little soldier had learned his lesson.

He hadn’t. 

“I would like to demonstrate, today, for all of you,” he starts in thick consonants, “my feelings towards disrespecting those who are in charge of training you, leading you.” 

Emir keeps his face perfectly still against the awe of the men gathered around him that stare on and on. In his stillness, he finds the most security. There are few ways to look into a man’s soul when he refuses to let one look at all, and this he does. Now, with Levkin’s monologue, all he can do is fix his eyes and fingertips to the cold wall and breathe evenly.

To breathe and await the demonstration. 

Levkin paces with the coil of leather in his hand. He can feel the steely, anticipating looks on his wrist. “Suleiman, when I asked you how well you had been getting along with your fellow soldiers, what was it that you responded with?” 

The garden of eyes washes over his skin with every word. Emir says nothing. His lips are pressed, not uncommonly, in a resilient line and he leans against the wall with focus on a little, dark groove. If he had turned around, he could have sworn that the ice in his stare would have made the General think twice about whipping him again and chosen instead to beat him senseless.   

“I s-said,” he mutters.

“Louder, Suleiman. Do not mumble under your breath.” 

His inhale stutters audibly. “I said that we were getting along as well as one could with his captors.” Laughter rolls through the onlookers. They had heard him say it and when he had, they had listened with annoyance first and then went still as he fixed his back spat at the General.   

It had landed on his cheek. Clinically, if Emir remembered well through the memory of the absolute dread he had felt at that moment, Levkin had moved his palm and wiped it away. During the motion, his eyes had become overcast. He swears that the General had fought down a little smile that had begun to bloom at the corners of his mouth. 

Now, he rolls his wrist in absentminded preparation. “I cannot blame you for that comment. What I can blame you for is what you did after.” 

Emir’s pulse can be felt through his throat and the pressure of his heart slamming against his ribs disorients and thrills him all at once. A giggle escapes. “I spat at you—.” 

He hears the whip sooner than it crashes down onto him. His fingers curl into the wall as he only grunts, breathing quickening just slightly. Murmurs can be heard among the men that Levkin won’t bother hushing, evaluating the force, whether it was his first time or not. Buzzing lightly, he can feel the welt light up his back and notices just how perfectly it fits over the memory of the previous one. 

Levkin winds his arm back again, eyes blazing. “Repeat yourself without laughing.” 

“I spa—agh.”

His repetition is cut off with another deafening crack that has one of the soldiers flinching. Even tighter now, Emir squeezes his eyes with his mouth agape. It feels like another body has barrelled full force into him where his only support is the wall, forced to endure in front of a crowd of two dozen. That was the worst part, knowing that when he hobbled back to his dorm, hardly able to stand, that they would all know. 

The marks on his back from the first week here had been speculated upon by a few—maybe it’s from prison, or maybe the General got time alone with him. I wouldn’t be surprised. He likes breaking the new ones in with the leather. 

Now, there would be no speculation. As if looking them in the eyes had ever been easy, it was only going to serve as further torture. Christ, the idea of what Pavel would say after he saw him, what he would do. 

“Spat at you,” he finishes tightly, just in time for the next. This one makes his arms quake and he locks his elbows on instinct to stop himself from hitting the wall. Once, a memory lit up. Three times now, he was starting to feel the aftershocks, the throbbing. He wonders through his focus whether other people screamed or if they opted for silence like him. 

“I should have you gagged as you train, for that.” Levkin hits him again, grunting on the impact. “It’s about time you learn that this is conditional. Learn that you will not live if you keep this up.”  

The whip hits him a few more times in rapid succession, crossing over itself until a faint quiver can be seen in Emir’s wrists, starting to protest. Nearby watchers can see the resolve in his jaw start to give and his eyes, almost undetectably, start to cloud. 

“Now, count. Maybe if you had counted the first time…” The General trails off, smiling as the man breathes slowly in preparation. A moment’s wait, and then the tail lunges again, slamming into him and leaving behind a precise, beautifully livid welt. Then, it happens. Emir whimpers.

“Odin,” he says, clearing his throat. Crack. “Dva.” 

Crack. Hiss. 

“Tri.” 

A chuckle and a quick murmur to the crowd. Crack.

From the front of the crowd, Pavel watches his stoicalness fade in little movements and how they wane like a shore’s wave. Admittedly, he admires the force that the General puts into each hit, how the resounding crack from each flick of his wrist spells obey, and how the shallow defiance of the little foreigner fades and fades. 

He admires how the General runs things, deals with issues in a way he aspires to. It’s efficient and, when done enough times, orderly. 

Watching the boy’s body glisten and struggle silently under the command of the leather is a sight for sore eyes and he can feel his chest swell with content when his voice breaks a little on the half-contained whimpers, the shaking of his fingers he’s trying so desperately to stifle. It’s something he wishes he could inflict with matching intensity. 

Emir Suleiman. The name of his tongue sounds divine to break. A broken cry of pain snaps him out of his thoughts. 

“Agh—” His shoulders are shaking like his hands once were by themselves. “Tridsat pyat!” 

Pavel’s eyebrows prick up in surprise that he has taken that many already, having seen others collapse screaming and wailing for mercy before thirty with the brutality of the General’s demonstrations. Their backs would look just like his does now, lacerated with stray drops of blood, perfect for a brine solution to be poured onto later in the dorms.

He smiles to himself.  

Emir’s cheeks are tear-stained. As low as he hangs his head or tries to shield it with his quivering arms, the sight is unavoidable. Shuffling forward slightly, Pavel stares on, intrigued with his agony. It’s something close to foreign. 

He snakes his way through the crowd amidst the snaps of the whip, as if generously moving to allow someone to take his front-row seat, and moves to the side of the half-circle where the boy can properly be seen. 

Pausing for a breath, Levkin pipes up again. Pavel could shiver at the fire in the man’s typically cold eyes. “When a soldier snaps his tongue at me, I do not deny him this very same treatment. Foreign or homeland, it means nothing. Do you understand me?” 

The crowd answers in near perfect unison, Pavel making sure his voice is neither too quiet nor trampling the rest. Seeming satisfied with the answer, the General turns and resumes the beating. 

Incredibly, even through his tears, the boy manages to count out each one, only stumbling for a moment. Probably learned to keep count from me, Pavel’s mind supplies and he can feel the onset of a smirk as that lovely voice, rough with a sob, sounds again. 

The crowd departs some time after the General has left after the final controlled show of slowly cleaning his whip and tucking it back into his waistband that leaves some awestruck. Emir has crumbled to the ground and only a single, shivering hand remains slack on the wall as the eyes roam him. His mind is too bogged with pain and the instinct to scream another number to recognize that the punishment is over, so he stays. 

“Disperse immediately!” 

All obey but Pavel, remaining enamoured with the remnants of the scene. The soldier stays far longer after the command is brayed, watching the collapsed man whose short breaths can just be heard. When he feels it’s been enough time spectating, he approaches slowly and self-consciously crouches to his level. 

A quick look around. I’m out of sight anyway. 

“Nice job there, Suleiman,” Pavel mimics the voice. 

Emir says nothing.His eyes roam the wounds which would be perfect to abuse further now but doesn’t follow through. 

He clears his throat. “I’ll, uh, help you to your room. Come on.” Again, he says nothing, likely afraid his voice wouldn’t work anyway. Annoyed with the continued silence, he tsks quietly and hooks two arms under him, heaving him up and catches him before he can hit the wall. 

There’s a distant, pained look in Emir’s eyes that Pavel could look at all day.

—

Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville @quirkykayleetam @yet-another-heathen  @undertheburrow 

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