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     "It is a great thing for emphasis!" Humans shouted, Coyote sliced himself up into little pieces and showered himself all over an ungrateful world. Which -- basically meant yes, he did, Coyote loved to show off and delighted in anyone being impressed with either him or his stories. Only thing he liked more was someone else telling him stories about himself.

Still, the sound of his own voice was delightful, and Coyote happily talked about the time he drew pictures in the sky unless he was banished off. Water was an unexpected and quite upsetting outcome, as Coyote did not like to swim. Or be wet. He usually passed storms by in caves and let all the weird creatures who delighted in rain mourn his presence.

The most sensible plan was to stretch himself very long to return back to John once he'd successfully swam back to shore so that he could then shake out directly next to him, getting the man splattered with water in revenge. "Now, where was I? Yes, so I drew fantastic pictures! I made one dipper, and then forgot, so I made another! Silly me, silly me." Prance along at John's side, unperturbed by any reaction. "How did you learn to do magic by yourself? I will tell you the rest of my story if you tell me yours! It is very grand."

There was a comment to be made about how much he doubted it—nope, there it was. Christ, these things were lucky that he usually forgot food... “Neat trick. Y’ do that to all the guys who’ve usually lost last night’s dinner in the alley?” 

A rhetorical question more than anything, but John had a feeling he’d be getting an answer whether he liked it or not. Right... best he finished this one before he got his ear talked off, so who owed him today? Bael? Actually, that probably wasn’t a bad call. Old kingly bastard would definitely get a kick outta this... thing. 

He flicked a little extra to make sure the payment would be processed. “Talk yer arse off t’ the fishes.” One more crackling flick, the throb of the banishment charm echoing in his eardrums... “Abi.” 

Now, hopefully was time for some peace and quiet.

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     A party pooper. Humans were frequently party poopers, which was deeply upsetting because they were also the most fun things out there when they let themselves be. "I am different from other louts!"

A little show off to confirm it, body melting and separating and growing to spread all his insides out next to his skin in a way that stretched the world around him before he snapped back to the cute and beloved coyote everyone knew and loved, dancing around on the tips of his paws excitedly at the threat to be teleported off somewhere. Without a magic stone!

Humans were so endlessly innovative. Using cigarette smoke to channel magic with drawings instead of a stone! Coyote gave an excited yip, his grin so large it curled past his cheeks. "Yes, yes, I always have more words! I am the best storyteller! You know, one time I came across the moon putting the stars in the sky all in a boring row..." So the story was started, coyote prattling on like he was not about to have magic cast on him in interruption.

The not-dog already knows his name… fucking of course it does. God, what he wouldn’t give for one day without the creepy shit actively looking for him. “Then piss right off t’ anywhere that’s not here. Fuck knows nothing good ever comes from you louts faffing about in me general existence…”

Understatement right there. Actually, John couldn’t even remember the last time it wasn’t some God sending their message or some shit because being the favorite cosmic plaything meant he had some obligation to fix their fuck up. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Y’ know why that is.” He’s already got the cigarette he had been working on in his hand, tracing a circle of smoke in the air before pulling down into a symbol. “Y’ want magic that bad? Fine. Any last words ‘fore I port your arse t’ the other end of Antarctica so I can have me well deserved day off?”

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     Well, she couldn't deny that. Even though her first lives stuck out more than the average one, they were still far back, and she couldn't remember them with real clarity. "Maybe both." Pain was a comparative thing, after all. Relative to all other pain. She hadn't experienced a new type of pain in many, many lifetimes -- maybe if she did it'd feel less passing.

Her gaze followed the fabric as it moved, and it pulled a small spark of emotion from her -- although that emotion was undoubtedly not what Magus had intended. "Gods that cling past their death deserve no reverence."

It was, after all, a god who had been killed and eaten who had chosen to deny her the Blessing of Death. Centuries past his death, he'd used what bit of him remained to curse her as the Last Inoaden.

Petty bastard.

Vines grew along Hilise's legs where she sat, reacting to her annoyance even as it already started to fade. "But then, mortals deserve to have something to revere. I cannot blame them for wanting something to worship."

A small noise of acknowledgement to this, a hum that was almost melodic. Almost, the Golden one’s perfection was allowed to leave some things to interpretation after all. “Isn’t it? Or have you perhaps been at this for so long, you’ve merely forgotten what it feels like?”  It felt like a fair observation worth picking her brain over, but not now.

Not when the Magus was so close to an opening…

“They are merely eaten, but they never truly die. Do you know why that is? It is belief.” The stump that remained of his right arm raised, and with his left he motioned to it for an example. “It is as simple as this: you see nothing, but if one person believes that something exists? Then it exists…” The fabric gave a faint flutter and folded, as if forming around an arm briefly before fluttering back to his side.

“The same rules apply for the deities that roam this realm as well. You may eat them, you may kill them, you may consume their very makeup… but as long as one remains who truly believes?” He shook his head. “They will never die.”

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     Hilise responded in kind, giving an exaggerated curtsy before she started walking. Heading the same direction the demons had been coming from. "No one looks like me." She glanced down to her hair -- could still see the pink, even if the red had crept up almost to her jawline at that point. "My whole bloodline had red hair; I was born with pink. When I came into my powers, the red tinged the ends of my hair. It grew as my powers did." She sent Nero a long glance, eyes trailing over his stretched arms. "I am technically not human. Hence the naturally gold eyes, as well."

She didn't usually get to talk about her inhumanity, didn't often have reason or safety to. "The world I'm originally from is beautiful and unfair and cruel. Most of the people were human; all but four families. They envied our powers. They stole a child of the four and used his blood to craft demons to kill us. It did not work." Well, it might have worked in her original life -- she hadn't been alive long enough to find out one way or another. "There was less technology. Much more nature. More buildings made from gold."

Then, feeling an uncharacteristically playful impulse, Hilise turned to face Nero and roses formed to spin with her until they covered her body and she disappeared in a sweet scented cloud of pink and red only to reappear just behind Nero with another burst of petals. "Rare breed."

He'd always been so curious, and she was pre-set to be amused by his questions and had already built up a tendency to indulge him. "There's only four families of my species, and all the families look different. And I even look different from the rest of my family." They all had pure red hair; her gradient from pink to red was originally a sign of weakness. Now she knew it just made her unique.

Well, that was a lot less hairy (and bloody) than how most of Nero's arrangements went. There were no mind games, no trying to one-up each other, no trying to figure out the other's ulterior motive. Not even any sexual tension, which he was ashamed to admit was something he picked up on whenever his uncle did business. It seemed plain and simple: They'd help each other get through whatever slice of hell decided to wreak havoc today, send 'em back where they come from, and they'd trust each other 'til the end, when they would say goodbye. No questions asked, no strings attached.

Nero might even go out of his way and say that things between him and Hilise were tender, if he was going by the way she'd squeezed his hand before pulling back. And a romantic he was not. The more he thought about it, the more it felt like she knew something he didn't. He felt the ghost of her touch on his gloves, eyes trailing down to the material before he opened his fist and closed it. A surge of electricity shot through his veins, a bright blue peeking out through the fibers like someone'd just turned on the Christmas lights.

He tried not to be suspicious. That went against what they agreed upon. But he was never good at hiding his emotions. "Yyyeaaah."

He took a deep breath then pushed himself off of the rock and onto his feet. He held an arm out, gesturing for the girl to lead the way, bowing a little like how somebody would to royalty. A snicker left him; he hoped she'd picked up on the fact he was being lighthearted about it. He followed after her, assuming she knew where she was going, maintaining a step or two behind just in case anything or anybody wanted to surprise them.

"So... where exactly are you from? What's it like there? Some big radiant citadel or a dry wasteland?" Ever since Nero found out there were more worlds than his own, he'd been curious to know exactly what was out there. He stretched his arms as they walked. "Does everybody look like you, or are you a rare breed?"

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     Great! Great fun. Threats right off the bat, Coyote enjoyed firey people. He stretched out, head twisting through the air and leaving his neck in curls, and he smiled so wide his teeth fanned out from the sides of his head. "Constantine!" Twirled all around him, laughs behind the shout of the name, and then Coyote settled to be laying down on the street just in front of him.

Politely on his back, legs folded over, ears down and eyes wide. "Don't send me back to that terrible forest! Don't, don't, I hate it there!" He'd left for a reason! What it was wasn't important, because it changed whenever he remembered it, and right now it was to come poke at the thing mucking around the cosmos.

His tail was going a mile a minute even with the puppy eyes he was pulling. "I want to see you do magic. I've never seen a human do magic without a stone."

@caught-between-narratives || for  a  threatening  starter . (something something a scouser and a not-coyote walk onto a city block)

It’s a dog.

No, scratch that. It’s not a dog.

It’s not attacking or snarling outright so John was going to go ahead and count that as a net positive in his book. But then what in the actual fuck was trying to get his attention now? And why did it have to be literally standing in his way like all the other bits that want his attention do?

Or sitting, by the looks of it. Even weird not-dogs apparently exceeded only so much effort when it came to standing around.

“Oi…” There’s hardly room to hesitate, hand already in his pocket for the chalk pack. “Dunno what the fuck y’ are and don’t play the coy game with me. Givin’ you t’ three to tell me what the fuck it is you want ‘fore I send you back to where y’ came from.”

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starter for @hellfollowed

     Michiña was not doing, admittedly, the best job ever of being a conduit. At least she'd finally figured out that's what she was, but her current tactic was still mostly running away whenever anything scary approached. Ghosts apparently had a happening enough social life that word got around about where she was and now she was moving, again, barely having gotten a few months out of the last town.

She'd probably time in trains than she had in any singular place since her parents died.

So once again, it was 'something horrific' AM and Michi had her head between her knees, on a bench waiting for a late train to slide into town, tears streaming silently down her face. She startled as though a firework went off her at the sound of footsteps, leaping up like a cat and turning to look at the source only to crumple with relief when it was a person and not another spirit.

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     He really did break her stoney face, cracks of smiles breaking through far too often. More often than around anyone else. Yeah, a lot sounded about right for Nero, if she was being honest. The more things changed -- god. "Close enough." She said, voice soft even as it carried through the air easily. "A little, a lot -- life's so big." And so, so long. She often only got a few years per life, much less near the beginning and much longer when there was someone worth sticking around for, and still. So long. Nero, even not her Nero, warmed away some of the ache of her exhaustion. A hot bath after a long day. A warm hug after a long life.

"Mm." She barely even reacted to the nudge, like him touching her was the most natural thing in the world, her own knee trailing after his for just a hair when he pulled back. "That would be appreciated. I get lost easily." Even nowadays she didn't really have teleporting down that well, it was far from an exact science. Besides, she needed to know where things were before she teleported to them so she ended up doing a lot of walking anyway. Consequences of being mostly locked away in the house until her awakening each time.

And then part ways when everything's all said and done. She tilted her head, and placed her hand on top of his like he'd be asking her to dance or helping her down the stairs rather than for any type of shake, her fingers feather-light as they brushed against the texture of Nero's gloves. Her Nero's gloves had been a little different, and she'd wrapped her pinkie around his thumb every time he'd taken her hand. Sometimes he'd brought her hand up to his mouth to drop a kiss on her knuckles, sometimes she'd slip her hand out to brush a hand down his jawline.

Trusting him would be easy, unlike everyone else she met. This Nero was close enough to her one that she trusted him. But -- that would have to be enough, now. The Nero in front of her did not exist just to be compared to the one she lost, and she didn't need the pangs that came from missing him every time she looked at a familiar face. Hilise had enough grieving in her lives, there was no need to go back for more. "It's an agreement, then." And if she gave a final squeeze to his hand before she drew hers back like a goodbye to an old friend, well, she could grant herself that one last indulgence. "Until all the monsters are laid to rest."

A bit? "Try a lot," Nero pointed out as if it was a fact to be proud of. But he looked at her and listened, decided for once it was much better to be in the audience than the center of attention. Besides, she'd already shown him up with her combat skills—as impressive as all of his Devil Breaker arms were, they were nothing in comparison to her powers. And something told him she'd just shown him a fraction of what she could do. She fascinated him.

He scrunched his lips to the side, knowing all too well what Hilise meant about having a bad family. Even when the world was in danger of total corruption and destruction, you could never truly get rid of growing pains, betrayals and tensions between your very own kin. It all felt so trivial when you were fighting monsters, and yet, when the dust settled, it still fucking mattered. He nudged her knee with his own, only for a moment feeling as if it was something he shouldn't have done before he glanced over at her.

"Looks like we're on the same team," he told her. Perhaps a downfall of Nero's was that he was a bit too trusting of everyone he came across that didn't look like a devil's spawn from hell, but it was part of what made—and kept—him human. "And as long as we've got that, I don't see why I can't help you find your way. I'm somewhat of an expert of what goes on around here. Know the lay of the land and all that stuff."

He reached a gloved hand out. "What say we work together for the time being? Promise to trust each other and then part ways when everything's all said and done?"

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thanks to the world for the existence of an official eng translation of the novel

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is there not something holy about cannibalism?

what of the utter devotion to someone, allowing you to devour them?

is the eucharist not described as flesh and blood?

is it not divine?

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     Hilise didn't really know why she'd need to go around stealing, though. She just glanced down to the body of her father, crouching to sort through his pockets to get his wallet. In a time period with credit cards, then. She grabbed his as well as his ID before standing up and turning back to John as the man turned away. "Alright."

Right, always got heavily judged for going around in her nightie. Hilise disappeared into her half-sister's room, since they were around the same size, and start shifting through all the clothes covered with lace and ribbon in gaudy colors before finding something at least semi-tolerable after she'd turned all the twee decorations into petals to be left behind on the floor.

Then a plain pair of her shoes and she was outside, useful items in her pocket and her hands pulling her hair into a long braid. Sorted through some memories. "Magic is unusual in this world, hm?" Shouldn't go around using it as casually as she did in others, probably. It was hard to tell given this life, much like all the others, had been spent isolate from the outside world before the true Hilise was awoken.

“I’ll go with Hilise then. Less of a headache t’ remember.” It was tempting to go for a smoke in his pack—but probably best he kept his hands where they were. Even if she was Green or some kind of Green adjacent, it probably wasn’t going to be smart to find out the hard way if she also shared the very colorful opinions about open fire.

Could be helpful though, thinking for a moment about the assistance. “Nah, but plenty o’ thrift places on the way t’ steal from. Just try not t’ kill everyone inside if y’ do, yeah?” Probably a bit bleak to point out, but she didn’t need too many eyes on her and John didn’t need the city getting suspicious. London was (sometimes) nice, but this was just… a very bad week to try and fix it all again.

“Do what y’ need to make yourself decent, yeah?” He half waved before finally turning around, thumbing idly for his flask to drink from. “I’ll wait outside. And get comfy shoes, streets are a bleedin’ mess this time of th’ day…”

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Big fan of characters realizing they don't get to die. They have to live. And grow. And be a person. And deal with shit they thought they'd never have to. And be fucked up about it. I would like more of this. Enough dying for honor or as redemption. It ain't. You're just a corpse. There is no moral value in dirt time.

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butterflies

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     She supposed it was rather similar to a time loop. Just one that came with new surprises each iteration, outside of just her own choices effecting the outcomes. Different people, levels of advancement; she'd existed in universes far advanced technology-wise past her original one and been rocketed back into ages past.

Hilise had gotten rather good at adapting, at least.

"Pain is never a constant. Life always resets in the next dimension." People sometimes found it unnerving, her blank eyes in more recent iterations unreacting to the tortures of mind and flesh. Pain and death were such scary things when she was younger, even after experiencing them a few times -- at one point she had felt anger at her brother for suggesting she simply die because she must be used to it by now. But nowadays, she agreed; sometimes death and a reset were the easiest solution.

A hand resting over her presently-invisible laurels, Hilise gave a soft nod of acknowledgement. "So many religions are based off a desire for eternity. I want I've never shared. Even before discovering my ancestral curse, in my first life, I never had the desire to live forever." She felt the divinity squirm in her, when she focused on it, unhappy and challenging. She was not made to hold it. "Even gods die and are eaten. And people keep worshipping them anyway."

“With the way the threads of fate wind around you, I can guess it’s been a very long time-loop. Perhaps painful as well.” Out of anyone else, it might’ve sounded like a rather sadistic observation. For the Magus, it was more a morbid curiosity. Danger of death was largely forgone, but even he couldn’t push the wheel of time back. Some things were just better left out of his hands…

He didn’t like it when there were things in his perfect kingdom that were out of his hands. Oh well, an opportunity to learn, an even greater opportunity to fix the disgusting growth he could feel gnawing from that fractured dimension.

“While I can’t say for sure that I have seen or felt such things, there are others around who might.” He waved a hand, just to clean up the mess and the flora. “While I control much of this world, I do allow freedom of the mind here. I allow them to choose whom they worship, and while I have many of my own there are still plenty who follow the forgotten religions.”

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ROXANA, OUR QUEEN, IS FINALLY BACK 😭😭

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Test muse -- Slade Wilson -- Headcanons

Due to his slow aging, he appears to be around 35; he actually finds this rather aggravating as a man who's almost 60. He wishes he at least looked like he was in his 40s. But at least mid thirties is when his hair started greying, so now he has perpetual salt and pepper hair.

Slade is a master manipulator, and his voice is a perfect fit for it. While Deathstroke's voice is modulated and pitched to be intimidating, Slade's natural voice is a low, honeyed rumble. He has an accent that's impossible to pin down; world traveled, and always sounding a bit like he's spent a fair amount of time wherever he currently is among his travels as the brain seeks out the familiar. It's a little bit put-on; when he gets tired or stressed his voice is more gruff and his accent gets a little stronger on the southern American zone specifically.

Got favorite torture techniques. He likes to switch someone between sensory deprivation and sensory overload, as well as the classics of starvation and sleep deprivation. He honestly leans more towards brainwashing than regular torture, and in another life probably would have become a cult leader.

While Slade can achieve high levels of super-speed, he doesn't really like to except in brief spurts. His durability and strength are 'always on' in the sense that he doesn't consciously try to do something that's super strong or take hard hits, he just acts normally and they exist. However moving super fast he does have to make the conscious choice to do, and finds it to be slightly unpleasant to experience.

Given he has no interest in unnecessary death or unnecessarily angering hero types, Slade holds back his strength in most of his fights with non-targets. He also denies contracts that are taken out on the Bats specifically since having the whole group of them gunning for him sounds like a headache and a half. However, he has a lot of fun in fights where he can go all out.

He gets soft spots for certain heroes and will go out of his way to avoid injuring them even more during fights.

Keeps his hair long and pulled back into a ponytail. He has hair that's on the thinner side, so it's a pretty sleek ponytail

The thing with Tara: Yes, Slade manipulated her using the possibility of a relationship after realizing she had gained romantic feelings for him. He never had any interest in her but he also had no issues pretending he could develop them if she succeeded in the task set for her. He groomed her, albeit not necessarily in the most common usage of the term.

And some NSFW ones under the cut.

Slade is down for practically anything. Someone could drop pretty much any kink on him part of the way through sex and he'd just take it in stride and probably run with it. He dislikes open and clear communication about kinks outside of sex though. He actively prefers to just have stuff dropped on him or to work things out during the act itself.

He's not exactly a nice partner, but he is very attentive. He also won't really just dip immediately afterwards unless he figures the other person wants him to; he tends to stick around a little to clean the other person up and wait for them to come down (because of the regenerative healing his refractory period is like, a minute so he tends to overstim partners).

While Slade is basically a kink mirror, enjoying fulfilling his partner's fantasies and wants greatly, he does have a few active ones of his own; primarily, overstimulating his partners and also sensory deprivations on them like blindfolds and noise cancelling headphones. You may notice hey, that sort of lines up with the way he tortures/brainwashes people. You are correct! It's a problem! Fucked up man is fucked up. He's basically always on that fucking with people's head grind. He tends towards being dominant and enjoys sadomasochism, more on the masochism side if his partner can actually get through the enhanced endurance. He does usually hurt partners, mostly through roughness and biting, but it's not really due to sadism more so just due to pain being a side effect of things he likes doing.

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     Hilise just glanced away, not really disagreeing that just making some flowers appear was little more than a trick, but she was always a bit too selective in what things she bothered replying to. "I will." New universe, get the divinity and move on to the next. Try to not get tortured along the way, if at all possible.

"Hilise Inoaden." Out of habit, she did a slight curtsy when saying her full name, although she was still just looking around instead of at John. Sorting through her newly gained memories properly, figuring out the world she was in from it, comparing it to previous lives. One of the more advanced ones. "Most just call me Chosen of the Bloom or Inoaden Head. Hilise is faster."

She smoothed down her dress, frowning at the quality of the fabric. She could pilfer the house for clothes, but nothing decent would be her size. Her now-dead-again sister was much smaller than her. "Do they sell clothes there?" She could just suffer through cheap garments during her search for divinity but -- she'd prefer not to. "Would you be willing to be take me there, also?" Didn't know where it was to teleport to.

He whistled in appreciation, trying to ignore the painful urge to sneeze from the sudden thickness of florals in the air. “Neat trick. Y’know, things of the Green would love t’ meet you. Probably even give a wood nymph some shrub envy.” A snort at his own joke—but probably best he circled back to her inquiry.

“And no—‘least not that I know of anyways. But like I said, y’ look in a few corners, you’re bound t’ find someone practicing some really obscure shite.” Shame most of the scene these days was either so deep underground they could easily be mistaken for dead or… just plain dead. The girl seemed nice enough that it tugged at the tiny shreds that remained of his consciousness to help.

Or maybe that was the roses. Honestly, John couldn’t tell.

“Y’ got a name? ‘cause going around callin’ yourself The Cursed Child of the Traitor’s not exactly gonna get y’ a lot of hits ‘round here.” A pause, John frowning a bit as he thought. “If it’s that important though, think th’ new soul farm in town might give you a lead. Lovley place for tea, just… don’t take anything from anyone offering business cards for rental units.”