#and avarice is like what. anyways.

[thanaticas]

some lil things for all my bg3 tieflings (so far...)

[homoeroticvillain]

umm blakeworth + avarice [pretty word] for the ask game thing heheh

i'm too tired to know about what avarice is apparently but i can do blakeworth :]]]

i feel like most of my blakeworth hcs showed up in my one fic but also victor just buying vincent cat stuff at everytime he sees it is so special to me. like the most tacky ass cat mom merch he can find, and vincent loves it everytime

[nomaishuttle]

harvey just said to me "I'd like to get to know you better, Sanctity. Let's put aside our doctor-patient relationship." HIS ASS IS NOT FOLLOWING HIPAA GUIDELINES!!

[mamayan]

Yandere! Dark Fae King x Darling! Changeling (Part 2)

Part 1 (Here)

cw: NSFW • Sub! Reader • Dom! Yandere • Dark/Yandere Themes • Gore/Death • Monster Fucking • Fae • Kidnapping/Imprisonment • Dubcon • Fem! Darling • Dumbification • Praise • Overstimulation • Pheromone Drugging/Aphrodisiac • Manipulation • Breeding

A/N: Upon multiple requests and asks, I’ve decided to expand and make a part 2 for Avarice and Darling’s story. Enjoy♥️

“Freak!”

“You should be ashamed to be alive! When your own sister died, how dare you appear here!”

“Jinx.”

“I hope you die worse than she. Poor soul…”

You snapped out of it when he finally left again. The nightmares of your past seemingly haunting you as the death of so many rested on your shoulders.

Your fault. It was always your fault, wasn’t it? That’s what you were after all. A jinx.

Ava… he haunted you more than anything. His eyes so dull as of late but you couldn’t find it in yourself to assure him of forgiveness you did not want to give. You’d said horrible things to him though, when he’d confessed to killing your entire village due to your pressuring. He killed your family, or at least, the only family you knew. He killed the women and children, the old and innocent. Ava had no discretion when it came to slaughtering humans.

“Of course I love you! You’re my little sister, why are you asking me such a silly question so late?” Your human sister had looked so befuddled when you’d questioned her love for you. It must’ve been a rebellious phase, for she raised you and your younger human siblings much like a mother should’ve. The mother which birthed your siblings and the child swapped for you had lost herself to alcohol and gambling, her husband and your father too loyal to leave her despite the pit she began to dig for the entire family.

Your fault.

“Come eat. This sickness of her’s seems to be affecting us all. Father shall return with a fresh kill, I’ll make a stew. You like deer stew right?” You hated it but nodded anyway, your sister’s cooking so awful it even made your father’s eyes water but… “I do. I love it… and I love you too.” You’d replied, and it was the warmest moment you remember in that small wooden house.

You’d picked your nail beds bloody, eyes numbly staring at the broken skin and wondering why it wasn’t telling you the right answer. What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave, even if you wanted to, and that was the problem. You didn’t want to leave Ava, because aside from your deceased sister, he was the closest living creature to your heart. He owned part of your soul now too, but you could feel him in you too. It wasn’t one sided, and while Ava certainly was full of cruelty, you knew him capable of care. He cared for you, his people and subjects, and his kingdom.

So why did he do it? Harm so many? Oddest of all, why did he abhor humans to much? He wouldn’t answer anything you asked, merely stating it was a necessity, that they needed to die, or be cleansed as he’d phrased it. You had loved a human dearly though, her memory still filling you with the familiar taste of warmth and overcooked venison. She was not a sister by blood but through life and trust.

Would Ava have killed her too?

You could only wonder endless dark halls of a castle you never saw an exit to. The windows revealing what appeared to be an entire kingdom below, built into a forest much like in tales of your childhood. This was a community, one which you now shared responsibility to help grow and flourish.

You didn’t feel like you were home though.

“Look at me.”

He’s impossible to ignore.

“I will force you if I must.”

You turn, giving the barest of glances upward, head forced to tilt completely back to meet his dark golden eyes. He, in all his immortal and frightening glory, looks tired. You admit it makes something within you ache to see it, but you aren’t ignorant to the fact that you look tired as well.

“You are not sorry at all… are you?” His lips press tight, eyes narrowing a fraction as he cocks his head, a few dark curls spilling like waves to follow the movement. He stalks closer like a predator, and even now, when you know he intends no physical harm to you, it raises your instincts to run. His towering form lowers to the floor where you’ve seated yourself, endless marble surrounding you in an empty ball room, the enormous glass window you’ve opened allowing fresh air in.

“Do you wish me to apologize for eliminating those vile creatures… or for upsetting you?” He cracks a rueful smile, teeth all sharp edges and eyes hardened by your distance. “If it is the latter little flower, then I sincerely am apologetic, I never wished to upset you.” You can tell he’s sincere, see it even, but something still nagged at you that wouldn’t leave.

“Ava…” his full attention is trained on you, “Why do you hate them? What did they do to you?”

His wings shift as he settles himself fully on the ground with you. An image unbefitting of a King yet also suiting him as he leans back on his palms and directs his gaze at the tall ceiling above.

You liked the sight of moonlight bathing him more than candle.

“I thought I loved a human once.”

You flinch, despite knowing it must’ve been so long ago, it stung nevertheless. He twitches, as if to move towards you before he stops himself and settles again, talons scraping along the floor as he continues.

“That human used my youth and ignorance against me and destroyed my entire existence for a time. I lost my position as a rightful heir and prince, lost my home and family, and lost my freedom. I stayed alone a very long time little Faery,” his gaze slides to you, glowing molten gold in rage as he remembers. “All alone, because I did the one thing no Faery is allowed to do, the most forbidden art which exists amongst our kind, all for one measly deceitful human.” His lips pull back in a grimace, even as you crawl a little closer.

He likes that your gaze is upon him again, filled with that familiar compassion and empathy he adores. He just loathes it is directed at him because of his disgusting past.

He watches as your tongue dips out to lick your lips, eyes filled with curiosity as you sit beside him, close enough to nearly touch yet not quite.

“What was it?”

“I granted them access to the Tree of Life. The tree which gave birth to all Faery kind.” His expression turns mocking, jaded as he seems to recall with perfect memory. “I had been ready to pluck the stars from the sky for that filthy ungrateful thing, and they dared to use me to gain eternal life by drinking from the tree’s fountain.”

He sees the look of astonishment and horror, clearly upset as realization dawns. It was said the Tree of Life would die if touched by human hands, destroying all of Faery kind should it occur. If it was true or not was unknown.

“…they touched it…?” You broke the dense silence first, curling your limbs around yourself as you feel the itch of your wings notify you of the awkward arch you’ve made with your spine.

Ava barks a dry laugh, dark amusement sparking in his eyes despite the serious story.

“Of course not little flower. My younger sister killed them before they could dare, becoming a hero for all Faery alike for protecting the race against a treacherous prince and a foul greedy human.”

He’s amuses himself with watching you through a small handheld mirror. Decorated in gold and jewels, the delicate ornate trinket has a spell cast to view his target at will.

You were asleep, tired from the seamstresses which had fussed so long over your dresses and you, face peaceful as you rest on the large expanse of his bed.

You sleep where he awoke this morning. Curled into the spot like you’re attempting to reclaim any warmth left over from his own slumber.

“You’re making quite a disgusting face, your majesty~” his eyes narrow as his mood sours in an instant.

“Leave witch.” He hisses, undisguised displeasure painting his sharp features as they scrunch in revolution.

“Make me faery,” a lithe feminine voice hisses back, his eyes finally lifting to acknowledge the vermillion haired woman which had appeared before him. “What has you making such a warm expression? I nearly lost my breakfast seeing it.” She glides more than walks, shamelessly spreading the floor length fur coat wrapped around her open, sitting on the arm chair of his throne.

“And your presence is going to make me gouge your eyes out and feed them to my hounds,” he flashes an equally unfriendly smile, the air becoming volatile towards the witch.

“Don’t act as if I wish to be here anymore than you wish it. You were the one who requested my potion.”

“Your potion not your presence.”

Dark eyes roll with a flutter, her red painted lip curling in disdain as she snaps her fingers, a small wooden box appearing in her palm.

“It cannot be delivered frivolously faery, or so you trust your servants so deeply?” He doesn’t answer.

She laughs, handing the box over with a smile as he pulls out a silver dagger and plunges it into his forearm.

Gold leaks from the wound, the witch quickly frowning and removing an empty vial to collect the liquid.

“Don’t be wasteful now, your blood is in high demand amongst my coven. It’s an incredibly binding agent.”

“Silence or I will bind your tongue for all eternity.”

“As if you could.” She cackles, vanished and gone before his talons could sink into her throat.

The box rests in his free hand. His distaste for the witches strong, but he admits they create the most potent and stable magical concoctions. They’re good in business too. He notes she didn’t allow a single drop of blood to go to waste before his wound sealed and closed.

“Drink for me, petal.”

You look lovely. Dressed lavishly in the finest silks and slowly becoming more confident in your true appearance. You no longer sit before the mirror and grimace, instead you play absently with your wings, more accepting as time continues.

He would rather just take you by force.

This method somewhat feeling beneath him, but in the end, he was already a wicked monster. What was this compared to his true nature?

You still curl or turn away when he touches you, less trusting of him now and though you should be, he finds it irritating. He wants to feel you melt against him again, blink your pretty eyes up at him and whisper his name with your kiss bitten lips.

You eye the delicate glass cup warily.

His clawed hand holding the pretty pink clear cup was nearly comical. He could tell by the quirk of your lip which you quickly tempered to avoid his detection. He caught it all though, still hoping he’s not forced to make you drink it. Though he doesn’t mind the act, pouring the drink in his mouth and laying his lips over your own to create a seal.

You take the cup gingerly with both hands, licking your lips as you bring it close to sniff.

“What is it…?” You look confused, nose scrunching up adorably, and he finds he wishes to kiss you there.

He’s forced to stay where he is though, aware you will wiggle and run if he touches you.

“Tea, made from milk, honey, and dried fruits.”

“It smells sweet…” you still eye him with mistrust, but you take a sip anyway, eyes lighting up as you take another. “It’s very good,” you’re not immune to bribery, “Thank you.”

For just a short moment, he feels his chest warm and a genuine smile grace his lips.

“You’re welcome, little flower. Thank you as well.”

“Huh?” You’ve finished the tea. “What for…?” His smile grows as you tilt your head in confusion.

“For being so foolish.”

You’re burning from the inside out. Tears and drool soaking your face and the bed as you cry out again.

“Why?” Digging your nails into the fabric, you find the texture appalling compared to usual, too rough and cold. “Ava…” you struggle to breathe, chest heaving as perspiration clings to you like a second skin. “It hurts…” you were fading into a blur of dizziness as your lower belly cramped again, more wetness coating your inner thighs.

“Shh…” he coos, ignoring your weak flinch as he slides his long tongue from your chin to your cheek, drinking your tears as his chest rumbles like a giant cat. “Do you need something sweet girl? Use your words.” He murmurs, groaning as he sees the amount of fluid you’ve leaked, your pussy swollen and glistening as you buck your hips and whine.

“Mean—!” He chuckles at your accusation, smiling shamelessly as he continues his chaste kisses against your skin.

“To you, petal? No, mean would be if I left you like this, no release for your poor little body.” He threatens, ignoring your silent pleas and body language for him to touch you more, keeping just enough distance to have you clawing at him to come back. “I’m nice though, I’m going to kindly fill your womb and make it all better.” It’s like a demon whispering in your ear as you writhe beneath him. His large frame cages you though, presses down on you as your bare chests connect and you can feel the thundering in his rib cage through your own. “Are you going to be good and let me breed you, little feary?”

You can’t think. Not when the promise of something hot and big going inside you, stretching you out like your body is begging for now. You nod, mind already gone as your clouded eyes connect with his own. You look high, pupils blown as he brings two fingers to his lips, opening his mouth and breaking off two of his sharp claws to blunt them.

“Spread your legs.” You obey, pliant body opening at his commands as he uses his fingers to dig into your slick gooey hole. He delights in your moans and reactions, hips moving for more friction as he fucks your tight entrance loose enough to take his cock inside you. “That’s it, petal, you don’t need to think anymore. Let go for me,” he murmurs, kissing you gently, tongue melting into your mouth while he digs his fingers up and rubs until you’re coming around his digits.

He pulls them out slowly, eyes drifting down to catch the sticky wet mess you’ve made and the jump of his cock in response. He laughs, deeply to his core as he brings them to his lips and lets you watch him clean them, blissed out expression marred with tears from pleasure and pain.

“You’re mine. For eternity, you will be always be mine.” His eyes are wild, something frightening entering them as he laughs, face so pleased and enamored you feel the urgent sense to crawl away from him, to run. “There is no escaping me. No where you can go that I won’t find you.” You feel too weak and sluggish to move, to even fight back, as his dark hand wraps around your neck, magic and gold swimming beneath his flesh. He feels warm, hotter than even you and your feverish mind. “I am no longer a patient a male, no longer content to wait and watch for results. You deny me, your mate, for humans which wanted to sacrifice you to a false deity, planned to rape and defile you,” he’s squeezing tighter, not cutting off air but blood flow instead as your mind becomes fluffy and unfocused. He speaks directly into your ear, the pointed tip curling down as he settles himself between your thighs. “They wanted to burn you, did you know? They called you a jinx, hated you, only wished you harm and destruction in the most vile and painful ways… and yet you still choose them?” He looks mad, smile filled with malicious intent and eyes glittering like jewels.

You speak with what little focus you have left…

“My sister…loved me.”

His smile falls, eyes narrowing in displeasure.

“Always…she loved me.”

He shakes his head, disapproval clear. “You think she loved you. Humans aren’t capable of love, my sweet flower.”

“You’re wrong…” he halts, watching as you weakly claw at his hold on your neck. “She loved me..! I know she did! You’re wrong! Take it back!” You cough as he releases your throat completely, eyes wide as you look at him with burning resentment even so deep under the influence of an aphrodisiac.

“I love you, but you,” you look filled with hurt, “you don’t love me.”

He’s shocked into silence as you seethe beneath him, face firm and eyes resolute as you declare his feelings for you.

He snarls, snapping his teeth at you, rage filling him as his wings spread out and magic and malice fill the air.

“I am not afraid to punish you, petal. I will not tolerate disrespect—,”

“Neither will I!” Even in tears, shaking as you are, he shifts back, the overwhelming force of your emotions startling him. “You treat me as if I am not worthy of respect, as if I’m not worthy to be listened to. You aren’t—,” you heave for air, struggling to draw in enough oxygen as you whirl on him, “—asking me. For anything. You just take…”

He’s silent, body frozen and tense as he watches you.

“Was it all a lie… when you said you’d be my friend? I thought faery couldn’t lie,” you’re in tears once more, sorrow endlessly streaming down your cheeks.

“No, don’t cry like that,” he feels oddly sick seeing you so upset like this. His frame once more curling around you, but to simply wrap you in the blanket and bring you to his chest. “We are friends, mates, I do not lie.” He whispers, cradling your body to his chest, trying to urge you to look at him.

“Friends don’t sneak away and do things that they know I wouldn’t like,” you calm after a while, swollen tear streaked face turned into his chest while he pets your hair.

He knows it must be painful, still under the effects of the drug he’d given you. His touch helping ease some of the heat.

“Okay. Okay, I was wrong, I…,” his teeth bare as he forces it past his lips, “I apologize…for not respecting your wishes…,” it makes him want to tear one of his hearts out and crush it. His hatred for humans no less despite his apology.

You look hopeful though, eyes returning some of the light he adores within you.

He’ll apologize everyday if he’s allowed to see that.

“Oh gods…!”

He’s trying to kill you. He must be.

You can’t struggle away though, no escape in sight, and true to his word Ava has filled your womb over and over again. You’re delirious on the pleasure, the second his heavy cock had entered you the earlier burning pain subsided into mind numbing euphoria. Each powerful snap of his hips has your body jolting upward, one large palm wrapped around your neck keeping you anchored. You could feel every vein and inch searing into you, eyes going in and out of focus on him face as he heaves for air and fucks you into another orgasm.

“Please, more, I need more—!” You’re reduced to a tearful mess, wantonly begging for his seed as he grimaces and fills you up again, balls drawing up tight as your cunt ripples around his length.

His face is ruined, eyes more red than gold as his pupils remain blown out, thick lashes holding a small cluster of tears as he licks his lips and continues his ravenous pace inside you. His hair clings to his face and horns, black curls damp with sweat and your cum, taking on a nearly purple hue. He wears a delirious expression like you, drugged out into oblivion as you both pant and moan as the heat devours you.

He’d felt badly for drugging you, especially as you writhed and cried in pain. His solution had not been to find the witch he’d bought the elixir from though.

He’d simply drank the remaining fluid while smiling mischievously.

“Let’s just fall into complete depravity petal,” he’d said, before your world went in and out of darkness. Only the scent of sugar and spices dominated your brain, and the feeling of fullness and completion each time he spilled his load within you.

“Are you ready for another sweet faery?” He knew you couldn’t answer, knew that words were too far away for your cotton filled mind to conjure. He asks anyway, drawing your hips off the bed, leaving your upper body limp on the soaked silks while he bounces you on and off his cock. “I’ve always known it is hard for Fae to conceive.” He speaks with a slur, as if it is liquor intoxicating him and not a lustful spell. He laughs as you cum around him, moan so breathy it appears like a silent scream as your back arches higher. “I have a good feeling it will not apply to us.” He nods, slamming down to the hilt as he collapses on you while he comes too, nose buried in your collar bone as he humps out his remaining seed and presses deep to ensure it stays.

“I think your little cunt likes being bred, gripping me so tightly so I can’t leave it,” he huffs, breathing labored as he sees you’ve lost consciousness again.

“Looks who’s mean now…” he murmurs tiredly, but his smile is fresh as he licks up your sweat and tears, cock already hardening again as blood swims in his ears like a river.

“I can’t anymore—!” It’s a squeal and a whine mixed, as Ava grunts against your throat.

“Can’t what, petal?” He asks rhetorically, humming as he slowly rolls your hardened nipple between two clawed fingers. His free hand between your legs, messily rubbing your clit as he works his cock inside you. His thrusts are no longer as violent or heavy as they were two days prior when he’d taken the drug, but his body still howled to press you flat and fill you up. To mark his mate up for all to see.

You look divine to him, too weary to even bite him anymore, nails broken from scratching at his back and arms when he’d blacked out and taken you too roughly. Even still, you looked beautiful, skin less sweat soaked and more simply damp, his care to ensure you drank water paying off in between rounds of riding him.

“I think your cunt has finally relaxed,” he teases, enjoying the sloppy squelching which echoes as he drives into you, your pussy indeed finally accepting it’s fate to be subjected to his cock for eternity. “Your womb has dropped too,” his hand stops torturing your clit to press on your lower belly, purring as you weakly complain.

“Let me rest…”

“No. I took the drug later than you, so it’s still in effect for me.” He chuckles, merrily still using your exhausted body. “Just a little more sweet girl, be good for me,” he moans, head falling back as his eyes close in bliss, cock twitching once again to fill you up.

“I truly am…with child?” His eyes are as wide as your own, cradling you close away from the vermillion haired woman who sneers at Ava.

Rolling her eyes, she nods, fingers pressed to her temples as if her mind is aching.

“Yes. You are with child, as I’ve confirmed four times already. Congratulations little Queen, you managed to love the unlovable.”

“Watch your tone and words witch,”

“My race is not an insult you foul monster—!”

They halt as you giggle, features radiant as you smile and hold your hands over your belly.

“A baby!” Ava is stricken at your delight, throat closing as something sweet tickles him inside. Your floral scent warmer these days, his keen hearing picking up on the second beating of a heart quickly.

“Yes,” he nods, like a love sick dog he grins and answers each time your repeat it in amazement.

The witch truly feels revolted to her core, but wordlessly leaves a book for new faery parents. Leaving without thanks as the happy family gushes over the good news.

As if the disgusting King didn’t know how powerful an aphrodisiac and fertility drug he used on his mate was.

She shrugs, teleporting away to her coven to return to work, minutely pitying the poor faery captured by the dark Fae.

They’re the only fae that can lie after all.

Dividers/@cafekistune

[matchavellichor]

Warm Blood on Cool Marble

dark!Sebastian Sallow x f!MC - Angst - 2.2k words - ao3

A/N: I saw this lovely artwork by @tamayula-hl SO long ago and it's been living in my head rent-free ever since. Enjoy the terribly dark word vomit!!!

Summary: Casting an Unforgivable on his friend one fateful night in Slytherin's Scriptorium awakens something ravenous inside of Sebastian.

Tags: !!Violence!!, Sadism, Cruelty, Sebastian is not Nice, Dark Magic, Blood Rituals, Rough Kissing, Deliberate Use of Crucio, Minor NSFW

Pain spreads in tendrils under her skin. White-hot. Burning scorch marks into her bones, then underneath—into the very marrow, until it seems as much a part of her as the fibers of her soul. It swallows her whole with the intention to devour. 

Time easily escapes her under the influence of the curse, seemingly eternal. Only when it abruptly lets up is she distantly aware that it must have only been a few seconds. 

Despite this, her nerves ache with the memory—muscles twitching, breath coming in heavy pants against the flagstone floor she’s bracing herself against. 

Ominis has just enough time to kneel beside her before she’s retching onto the stone, agony still a broiling mess in her stomach. He holds her hair back and she can feel the anxiety in his clammy hands, in his hushed words she can barely make out over the ringing in her ears.

Sebastian is deadly silent.

She composes herself enough to blink back the stars dancing behind her vision and glances up to find he’s deadly still, as well. Frozen in place. Staring.

His wand is held loosely in his hand, his lips parted just enough to suggest surprise, as if a revelation of some sort has been made. A revelation of what she isn’t sure, as she’s certain it isn’t his first time experimenting with this specific Unforgivable.

Ominis is still fretting over her condition right beside her, his hands squeezing hers as if he can wring the trembling out of them, siphon the pain out. Her focus is drawn elsewhere. Magnetized to the expression Sebastian’s features are pulled into.

There’s a glint in his eyes, dark and pooling like warm blood on cool marble. A look that’s somehow familiar, that she tries to press down on with her thumb. Keep still long enough to decipher.

He takes a sharp breath, his irises catching the dim light of the wall torches, and it’s like they flash scarlet for a brief moment. Amber morphs into garnet right before her very eyes, gone as quick as she catches it. 

She does catch it though.

Right there, is a vicious kind of yearning. Violent, greedy desire. Something grasping, clawing, gnawing. Avarice, in all its sheer, ugly inhumanity. 

It burns bright in his eyes and knocks all of the wind out of her lungs. She staggers back and dry heaves and Ominis is on her again, blanched with worry. 

“I’m taking her back,” he says as helps her to her feet, and his tone is clipped, angry. Infuriated with Sebastian’s apparent indifference. “Explore your dearly coveted scriptorium alone. I hope it was worth it.” 

She wishes she could tell him that Sebastian is anything but indifferent at the moment, but her throat can’t get any words out. The clarification wouldn’t do him any good, anyway. She knows that apathy would be worlds more comforting than the rapacity that burns in his eyes now.  

She lets Ominis sling her arm around his neck and help her out of the chamber. When she glances over her shoulder, Sebastian has moved already, disappearing into the opened vault. He doesn’t turn to look back at her. 

//

She isn’t sure who is avoiding who. If it’s the simmering fear inside her that instinctively keeps her away from him or if it’s he who intentionally hides himself. His absence shouldn’t eat away at her as much as it does, and yet it tears her apart from the inside out, swallows her whole.

Ominis is more livid than she is, holding a bitterness that causes him to push Sebastian away just as ardently as the brunette isolates himself. It’s unhealthy, especially as she considers what he must be spending his time doing now that he’s had access to Salazar’s writings. Either Ominis lacks the foresight or simply the energy to try to dissuade him any further.

Concern wracks her nerves. Despite her efforts, she’s only afforded brief glimpses. Any time she approaches him working in the desolate corners of the library, he tucks his notes away quickly, refuses to meet her eyes. 

She wishes she could pretend his aversion to her is a product of remorse. She can’t. Rejection digs sharply in her chest, until it hurts more than the fear she still subconsciously harbors for him. 

Only then, does she follow him.

//

The Feldcroft Catacombs are dark and frigid. She stumbles through scattered bones with the faint light of her lumos, picks her way through cobwebs and corridors. Nearly impales herself with a snapped femur she falls on top of. She wipes off her scraped palms and continues on, determined. 

Eventually, pain-stakingly, she reaches the chamber he’s in. It’s barren, save for the glowing light of his wand and the stone dolmen in the center of the room. 

The stench of dark magic is so heavy she nearly gags from it. It permeates her senses and she can almost feel it sink into her very being, wear down her soul just from proximity. He stands hunched over the stone table, back turned to her, working fervently. 

Her shoes scuff against the stone floor and he turns quick as lightning, wand outstretched, a curse on the tip of his tongue.

His eyes burn when he catches sight of her. She ignores the instinctive, primal, screaming urge inside of her to run. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” There’s more desperation in his voice than she would’ve anticipated, and if she stretches it, hazes her perception, she could almost pretend he sounds remorseful.

Her eyes comb over the runes drawn in scarlet on the table, the glowing artifact in his hands. There’s blood dripping down his forearm, oozing from the cut on his palm. Blood magic, she catalogs briefly. Something obscure and archaic.

Her heart seizes violently in her chest when she lets her eyes drift up to meet his again. “What have you done?”

“What I had to,” he whispers, and his tone is resigned. “There’s no use in trying to stop me. It’s already completed.” 

She takes a step closer and he reciprocates a step back, presses himself against the stone mantle. It’s ironic, how he almost seems scared of her. Jarring. She tilts her head and studies him. 

“Leave,” he seethes, so vicious it’s startling. The words bitten out through clenched teeth. Still, she notices the lilt buried deep beneath it. The waver in his voice. The tremor in his hands. She’s never seen Sebastian so terrified.  

“You know I won’t,” she says, and takes another step closer. He tries to inch away again, but there’s nowhere for him to go so he only glares at her, tightens his grip around his wand, stiffens his position. 

She stalks towards him until his wand digs into her chest and he’s staring down at her with widened eyes. She turns her gaze to the artifact in his hands. 

“Let it go, Sebastian,” she says, gentle, like she’s cornering a scared animal. With blood dripping down his palm and his eyes round saucers, he truly looks like something savage. Unfettered. “Can’t you see what it’s doing to you? Please. We’ll destroy it together.”

He shakes his head fervently and holds it farther out of her reach. “Don’t you dare. Don’t come near it.”

There’s a moment frozen in the air between them. Caught in the live-wire tension, swirling in their shared panting breaths. She isn’t certain of anything other than the fact that she needs to put an end to this.

She lunges for the relic. 

It tumbles out of his hand with a dull clatter, and she immediately dives for it, sinking to the floor. He doesn’t follow her down. 

Her fingers are barely able to brush the jagged edge of it before debilitating pain sears up her nerves and white explodes behind her eyes. 

Immediately, she jerks back sharply, her body curling into itself as she writhes. She’s distantly aware of the fact she’s screaming herself hoarse. 

This… this is different than before. 

Infinitely more intense, more intentional. If she had ever known passion before—by any definition of the word—it pales miserably in comparison to the zealous onslaught she feels now.

She can feel the way the darkness around them feeds into it, entwines itself with his magic, stokes the flickering flames of his cruelty until it’s all-consuming. Until she’s certain she’ll be reduced to ash when he’s done with her. 

When he finally relents, he’s hovering over her. His eyes are fixed on her face, and she catches that glint there again. How voracious he is, utterly starved. She tries to move her muscles but they feel like they’ve been flayed, tendons and sinew cut away for him to prod and gawk at.

“How did it feel?” he whispers, voice feverish with fascination. There’s an unrestrained quality to it, something deranged seeping through the cracks. 

He moves over her when she tries to squirm away, straddles her hips. His eyes are still drinking in every drop of her, trained on her face, on the faint twitching in her arms. She takes too long to blink back to full lucidity and he squeezes her cheeks in his hand, gives her a shake. Blood streaks her chin and she nearly becomes sick from it.

“Get yourself together,” he grits, tone dripping with appetent impatience. “Tell me. Tell me how it felt. Or has it already escaped you? Do you need a reminder?”

“No, no, please—”

He grins then, teeth bone-white and all knives.

“You don’t have a clue, do you?” he murmurs. “How beautiful you sounded screaming for me. Writhing under my wand. My magic.”

He’s close. She feels his breath on her lips and it smells like copper, makes her gut twist violently.

“It was even better than in the scriptorium. God, how I despised myself for enjoying it so much then,” he leans in until his lips ghost the shell of her ear, voice lowered to a whisper. “For touching myself to the thought afterward.”

He shifts his hips against hers and she feels it— the stiffness pressed to her stomach, equal parts dizzying as it is nauseating. His hunger for her is in every possible meaning of the word, wolfish, insatiable. 

His breath is hot at her temples, words scorching. “Tell me, did you feel me then? Feel me inside of you, as strongly as you did just now?” The fervor in his voice is thick, palpable, so much so it’s a miracle she doesn’t choke on all the vigor of it. “Through the searing pain, did you feel nothing but me?”

Tears burn a path down her cheeks before she can stop herself, but she’s too sore to feel properly mortified by them. Just as quickly as they marr her skin, they’re swiped away. 

Replaced with the wet drag of a tongue. 

She whimpers, squirms away, but he holds her steadfast. Rambles more insanities, voice scathing against heat-flushed, saliva-slick skin.

“You know, I thought that once I saved Anne, I would be done. I would leave this all behind. But now,” he chuckles, rasping deep in his chest, something maniacal. “There’s so much overwhelming beauty in it all. So much rapture. How could I ever give it up? How could I ever let this go?”

She forces herself to blink away the stickiness in her lashes, to meet his eyes, see him for what he really is. The glowing relic fallen just out of reach casts his face in an incandescent indigo, portent and foreboding. 

Through the deep blue, his eyes glint blood-red. 

Not a flicker, but something permanently changed, something intrinsic to him now. The sight nerves her to her core, sends a shudder up her spine. 

He surges forward and swallows whatever gasp she intended to let out.

His lips on hers are vicious, punishing—and she wonders if he’ll ever be able to be anything but. He licks into her mouth with long, hungry strokes, runs his tongue along her teeth, bites mercilessly until he tastes metal. Her mouth pools with scarlet and he doesn’t bother soothing it, instead groaning deeply in triumph. 

The shock of it all dislocates something in her, makes it so easy for her to offer up whimpers against his mouth, for her to let him brutalize her so wholly. He takes it as permission to tear her open, grope bruises into her skin with his wandering hands.

He squeezes her chest so roughly she chokes on a sob, rakes her nails down his forearms. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as if the sound makes something heavy inside of him twist. Ache. 

When he finally breaks away from her he’s grinning. Lips kiss-bruised and swollen, pink-tinged saliva on his chin. He stares for a drawn out moment, as if committing the way she looks to memory. 

As he unmolds his body from hers, she struggles desperately to catch her breath. She’s still dizzy, even after he’s collected himself, even after he’s on his feet tucking his notes back into his satchel and the relic’s safely back in his hands. 

He watches her for another long moment and she’d almost mistake the look in his eyes for fondness. She catches herself. There’s too much voracity behind his gaze for it to be anything remotely tender. 

His breaths are just as ragged as hers as he leaves her there, on the floor, tremors still wracking her body. Before he slips out of the chamber, he stills. Turns to look back at her one last time. 

Strangely enough, it doesn’t feel like a goodbye. 

[merakiui]

this is my first time doing this so i hoping im doing this right but i was in my english class the other day and the poem we were reading reminded so much of monops!jade. The poem is about a Duke talking to a servant about his late wife and at first youre like “aww he seems to miss his wife” until you read further and youre like “huh this sounds kinda suspicious”. The duke says that his wife was too easily impressed by the sunset and cherries a “officious fool” gave her. His jealousy continued to show through when he says that his gift of his last name was treated like any other gift and it got to point that he got so jealous that his late wife smiled at everyone that it he sent out a command that made “all smiles stopped together”

Like the jealousy and the possessiveness that the duke had towards everyone and his wife reminds me of how monops!jade was like! Anyways i just wanted to get this off my chest because my head couldn’t stop thinking about jade in this poem :D

:O !!!!! Would that happen to be "My Last Duchess" by Robert Browning? I've read and studied it before! It really is such a fascinating poem. Even as a portrait, the Duchess is forever his, as he is given the control to show her off as he pleases (which is what he does in his monologue). Even the title has ownership: My Last Duchess. The pleasure in having absolute control is derived from the fact that, whether alive or dead, the Duchess will never have agency for herself and thus the Duke is free to keep and control her forever. Even the way she was painted and portrayed was to suit the Duke's tastes! Her entire being is more so a possession for the Duke, which makes the frame that contains her all the more tragic. >_<

I can definitely see Monops!Jade in this poem! He's so possessive, much like the Duke, and hates the fact that you show him the same smile you show to everyone else (especially Floyd). Jade's obsession in that story is especially gross. T^T most of the story is about how determined Jade is to wipe that smile off your face and make you show him an expression he's never seen before (tears). He's greedy and heartless and led by obsessive hedonism. It's all about control and destructive avarice. Even at the end, when Jade has you for himself, he doesn't feel satisfied. He's spent the entire plot aiming to have you and now that he does he doesn't feel fulfilled. Perhaps it's something in which he'll never truly feel whole no matter what he does...

I like Jade's character because he can appear so normal and composed at first, which makes Floyd seem worse by default. But then you'll see Jade at his worst and realize he is far more terrifying than Floyd could ever be. Floyd is like an execution: swift and brutal, but over before you know it (and you also know it's coming). Jade is an invasive species or a sickness that creeps up on you and, by the time you finally notice it, it's already too late. I think an unhinged Jade is so creepy!!!!! Jade as the Duke in the poem is such a good thought and comparison... he really would have a monologue that starts off innocent and grows more suspicious and unsettling as he continues!

[cherryslyce]

The Avarice Files (III) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

— Chapter Synopsis: A confrontation ensues and Regulus provides enlightening truths.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Exactly 5.2k words. Apologies for the wait!

Every fiber of muscle in your body draws taut with primal fear, adrenaline bleeding into your senses as you stare at the wand pointed at you. Despite the physiological distress surging through your being, your face slackens into an unimpressed scowl. The mystery man sneers at you and emphatically jabs his wand toward you, eyes narrowing further. “I said, who the hell are you?”

“And what the hell are you saying?” You cross your arms, eyebrows drawing together as you steadily hold his gaze. 

The man faintly lowers his wand, beginning to circle around you with an intrigued gaze. “Fascinating. You really have not done your research.” A derisive chuckle crackles into the stiff air as your eyes find him again. 

Even if you could, there was no use trying to convince the man, you couldn’t leave any witnesses anyway. Spinning on your heel, you frown and move across the room toward the bar, snatching a decanter containing amber liquid and a whiskey glass from the shelves. “How insulting.” 

Your musing has the man raising his eyebrow, wand dropping to his side as he cautiously watches you. “Insulting?” He echoes, voice tinted with unadulterated curiosity. The change in his demeanor has you sniffing into the air as you pour yourself a glass. 

“Yes. To be confronted by someone like you of all people.” You hum, taking a sip of the alcohol. Scotch. 

Tipping back the rest of the drink into your mouth, you slam the glass onto the polished bar and smile caustically at the man. Slipping your wand into your hand, and concealing your movements behind the wide bar, you tilt your head and hum out to him in your normal voice, “Who are you anyway?” 

“Henry Mulciber.” The man’s knuckles whiten as a triumphant grin mars his face, “Decent accent, by the way. Pity that you couldn’t fool me, hm?” 

“I’ll give credit where it’s due. How’d you know?” You ask with light curiosity, running your thumb along the handle of your wand. 

A chuckle slips past his lip, “Asking to move to private quarters? My dove could have cared less about being found out.” He twirls his wand and gives you a look of deep consideration. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad. I’ll let Clyde decide what to do with you, you did break into his home after all.” 

“Charming,” you snark back, licking your lips as you discreetly cast a silencio over the room. “But apologies, you know how business can be.” You smile cryptically at him, momentarily relishing in the confused look that flashes across his gaze. Before he can retort, your hand flies over the counter and the words are streaming from your mouth in a flat mutter, “Petrificus Totalus.” 

To your dismay, Mulciber manages to duck quick enough to avoid your jinx, the spell missing him by a hair’s length. The man flies up from his crouch not a second later and has you taking cover as his arm snaps towards you, a reverberating Crucio spewing from his mouth cruelly. 

The red bolt crashes into the shelf behind you, splintering the mahogany wood and sprinkling the floor around you with pins of polished red. You grit your teeth and swiftly shuffle to the end of the bar, leaping up from your new spot as you throw a potent reducto at the glass coffee table beside him. The thick panes burst into the air in shimmering fragments before evanescing as they flee the light of the chandelier. Mulciber instinctively raises his arm to guard his face as his body tilts away from the destruction. 

“Incarcerous!” You grit out, rounding out of the bar as the spell knocks the man off his feet, his body crashing into the glass-strewn floor with a resounding thud. The binds around him tighten as he begins to wiggle and grunt, but just as you point your wand at him again, the door bursts open. 

Your head snaps up in shock as you peer at the intruder, breathing out a sigh of relief when you see Regulus with a deep purple tome tucked by his side. “Dear merlin. You’re finally here. I may have made an error in judgment.” 

Regulus goes to say something, eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the scene, but he is interrupted by a strangled yell from Mulciber. “Diffindo!” 

The orange beam shoots toward your neck and you feel your entire soul evaporate away before a thundering stench of impending death wraps itself around your body. Throwing yourself away from the approaching cutting spell, you grunt out as it slices through the muscles of your shoulder. 

Molten pain erupts from the flowing laceration, warm blood pouring down your attire as you feel a biting chill drip down your spine and to your toes. Regulus flies from the doorway and toward Mulciber’s body just as a million tingling needles settle down your arm. Assessing your injury, you nearly reel back in shock as you see red everywhere. The spell probably severed a few ligaments—and Merlin, is that your bloody bone? 

You pay no mind as you hear a loud grunt from in front of you. Regulus could be kicking in the man’s face for all you know, but you are too enraptured by the sight of whatever was left of your shoulder. 

Another day at work, another injury. 

Huffing, you raise your eyes just in time to see Regulus releasing the binds from an unconscious Mulciber. “Thanks.” You mutter, moving your gaze to fixate on the artifact that was now lying on one of the lounge chairs. It was emitting a faint pulse of magic that whispered indecipherable promises through your head, causing you to step back in wonderment. 

Definitely not an ordinary artifact.

Regulus maneuvers Mulciber from the floor, propping him up on the opposite chair before turning to face you. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Astute observation.” You huff out, grunting when Regulus gently pushes you to sit down by the tome with your good shoulder. 

He lifts his wand up to the wound, muttering a quiet Vulnera Sanentur under his breath and only releasing a pleased hum when your wound begins to heal under the coat of your blood. “You handled it well.” He swiftly follows up his words by repairing the tear through your sleeve.

You smile wobbly at the man and sink into the cushions behind you. “I’m surprised as well. You’re good with healing spells, do you get hurt a lot?” Your curious eyes flicker from the tome beside you to Regulus as he holsters his wand. 

“Not too badly anymore.” He grunts, turning to face the unconscious man across from you. You both grimace as a trail of drool slides down his chin, hair now resembling disheveled foliage as his head tips awkwardly onto his shoulder. 

Gently rolling your newly healed shoulder, you get up and prop a hand on your hip, shaking your head in amusement at the sight. “Oh how the mighty have fallen so.” 

Regulus shakes his head, but you can see the inkling of a self-satisfied smirk on his face. You walk over to the obliterated shelves and search for any surviving bottles of alcohol, bringing your wand up to repair the mess. “Reg, can you undo his collar a bit?” 

You huff as you clear the mess of glass fragments and spilt alcohol, eyes frantically scouring over the never ending mess. 

“Aha.” You mutter to yourself, wrangling a hefty wine bottle from a lower cabinet. Regulus complies with your previous request wordlessly, only offering a look of bemusement when you wander back over with the bottle and a glass.  

“Oh. You fixed it.” You falter in your steps as you see the glass table sitting spotless in its original spot. 

“Are we toasting?” He quietly hums, standing back as you crack open the bottle. 

“Not quite, maybe later.” You reply, pouring the wine into the cup. Pushing the glass in front of Mulciber’s unconscious body, you pull your wand out and dispel the rest of the wine from the bottle. 

Putting the empty bottle in Mulciber’s slack hand, you turn to look at Regulus with a proud grin. “Do you want to do the honors of waking him up?” 

“Sure.” Regulus says, raising his eyebrows at your elaborate set up. The man shuffles by you before raising his wand up and casting a swift Rennervate. You ready your wand as Mulciber’s eyes fly open in panic, pupils darting from side-to-side before they settle on you both. 

You were sure that if he had the energy, he’d be frothing at the mouth. “You!—” 

Before he can continue, you point your wand at his sluggish figure, “Obliviate.” You channel all your magical energy into ensuring that any suspicion of your infiltration and duel is wiped clean from his memory. The man slumps back down in a daze and Regulus gives a low huff as Mulciber’s expression droops with a glassy-eyed look.

“Best we get going then.” You mumble, beginning to retreat from the room as Regulus strides after you with the file. “Does this place have a back door or something?” 

Regulus takes another once over of the room to check for missed damage before shutting the door behind him with a small exhale. “Yeah, we should hurry before the potion wears off.” 

“My joints are tingling a bit.” You quietly confirm, falling back to let Regulus lead you through the maze of hallways. 

The winding corridors eventually come to an end once Regulus locates a narrow entryway seemingly at the end of the west wing. The walls are noticeably less vibrant, with a haze of dust dimming the atmosphere around you. Regulus continues forward through the slim doorway, turning to peer at you once he steps through. “Watch your step, these stairs are a bit worn.” 

Mutely nodding, you both swiftly descend down the stairwell until you step onto a small landing between two sturdy green doors. Regulus deftly twists the right door open, cautiously peering through the crack before swinging it open for you. 

You have to squint as you make your way through, the bright light of the daytime sky stinging at your eyes as your shoes crunch against the verdant grass. “Where did the other door lead to?” You ask smally once Regulus falls into step beside you. 

“The kitchen.” Regulus mutters, sighing once you both near the wards, likely tired of the repetitive process. 

You pull out your wand and perform the interception charm again, feeling a shiver vibrate across your body as the Polyjuice Potion in your system nears the end of its life. Regulus waits for you to step through and into the edge of the forest before he continues behind you, “I’ll go fetch those two.” 

He hands you the file before disappearing into the dense forestry with one last glance toward you, beginning to undo his overcoat as his body starts to morph back. You clear your throat and make your way over to the tree hollow, relieved to see that your bag is still tucked away inside the inky pocket. 

As you haul the woven bag out, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes toward you, indicating that Regulus had arrived with the two stunned Italians. Turning around, you smile faintly as Regulus hurries over, the two bodies resting along his shoulders swaying as he carefully lowers them to the ground. 

You begin to pull out all of your clothes, remembering to be careful with Regulus’ mask as your fingers graze against its hard surface. The next few minutes are painted with a busy silence as you both work to tear off your outfits before you both completely transform back, a mutual understanding blossoming as you both turn away from each other to get situated. 

“Are you decent?” You ask awkwardly, relief sinking into your muscles as you adjust to your familiar robes. 

“Yeah.” Regulus replies back, his cadence indicating that he had already put his mask back into place. 

You turn around and step toward the two limp bodies between you both, placing the formal wear down beside their feet just as Regulus slowly spins on his heel. “I can do it.” His soft mutter has you agreeing easily, opting to instead move away to place the retrieved file into your bag. Just as you close the opening of the bag, Regulus’ wordless Rennervate has the body beside your feet twitching before you see his eyes slowly peel open, eyebrows furrowing from the light. Before he has the opportunity to regain awareness, you watch as Regulus raises his wand again. 

“Imperio,” He firmly commands, one hand tucked away inside his robe pocket, as if his actions were the most casual thing in the world. The man’s eyes glaze over immediately before a milky fog stirs across his iris and pupils as he awaits Regulus’ commands. “Get dressed, head back inside using the back door, and grab yourself a couple of drinks.” 

Like a doll being maneuvered by strings, the man silently complies with stiff movements and unwavering precision in his task. Regulus barely bats an eye before repeating the same process with the second victim, watching as they both slowly rise up and walk out of the small clearing and toward the door you both exited from. 

“One file down, two more to go.” You huff out with a tired smile, fiddling with the chain of the time turner. 

Regulus nods quietly and strides toward you, throwing the chain around him before releasing a patient hum as you continue to turn the handle of the device. Lifting your fingers away, the rings of the artifact begin to spin sporadically and you feel the ground beneath your feet rumble faintly. 

Your eyes squeeze shut as the spinning of time rapidly picks up speed, melding together days and nights and weeks to years. After a flurry of arbitrary thoughts to busy yourself, you feel Regulus’ gloved hand fall against your shoulder, “We’re here.” 

Nodding, you slowly open your eyes and roll your shoulders back. “Thank you.” 

The forest remained as lively as ever, the only decipherable change to your environment being the position of the sun in the sky. Tucking away the time turner, you turn your gaze to Regulus’ masked one as he offers up his arm again. 

“Do you think Gawdry will tell us why the files are so valuable?” You ask, looping your arm with his. 

“Not a chance.” Regulus muses, his words followed by the swift pull of apparition. 

Wind bats against your ears for a few moments before you feel smooth tile press against your feet, spurring you to fall back into reality. Blinking, you step back and survey the area Regulus brought you both to: a dim alcove in the Ministry atrium. The walk to the Department of Mysteries was a far one, but you both would be able to hug against the shadows nearby to avoid wandering eyes until you reach the elevator. 

“How do you navigate around the Ministry without being seen?” You hum out curiously, treading by the tall brick pillars. 

Regulus seems to slow his steps to match yours as he tugs his hood down further once your passage conjoins into the main chamber of the Ministry. “I don’t. Not usually, anyway. My assignments are delivered to my place of residence.” 

“Aside from work, you don’t get out much, do you?” You huff out in both consolation and worry. “We’ll have to change that.” You mutter under your breath, feeling Regulus’ eyes dart to your face. 

The buzzing of chatter and clicking of shoes against the polished floor grows in tandem with the illumination of your surroundings, thrusting you and Regulus into the milling clusters of Ministry workers. 

“Might want to keep your head down.” You sigh out, holding your elbow out once you are both near the elevators. 

Regulus wordlessly grabs onto your sleeve and drops his head, allowing his hood to fall over and veil the glow of his mask. You lead him to stand in line, keeping an eye out for any suspicious looks or double takes. 

By the time you both manage to clamber inside one of the lifts, you can feel the remnants of adrenaline in your body dissipate, leaving you feeling boneless in the cramped box. Regulus shuffles behind you, slotting himself into one of the back corners as an older man turns to you. 

“What floor?” He asks pleasantly, eyes never straying to look at your cloaked companion. 

“Ninth, please.” You nod at him, shooting a small smile in thanks. 

He simply nods back before punching the milky button just as the golden grille door slides across the aperture. A peaceful lull ensues as the lift jostles slowly from floor to floor, the faint creaking of the grille and the melodic announcement of each floor number occasionally flowing into the air. 

When the lift begins to ascend past the eighth floor, only you, Regulus, and the man at the button panel remain inside. You shift your weight from foot-to-foot as you can sense the man’s growing anticipation. The jangling of chains shoves itself into the peripheral of your mind as he finally turns to face you, a cryptic gleam casting over his eyes. 

You’re able to get a good look at him now that he’s fully facing you, eyes running across his worn expression and grey-streaked combover that evidently used to be tinted a deep tawny.

“Apologies for my frankness, but do you happen to be Auror L/N?” He asks, head tilting imperceptibly as your eyes widen at the unexpected question. 

Nodding slowly, you plaster on an uncertain smile. “Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met before though?” 

“Ah, how rude of me, I am Lord Grey.” He clears his throat, just as the lift halts in its movements. “I just wanted to introduce myself to such an esteemed Auror. I’ve heard such high praises about your ability to find things.” 

You incline your head toward him and release a sheepish chortle, “That’s me. Just a little penchant for tracking is all… Well it’s nice to meet you, Lord Grey.” 

The grille doors are wrought aside not a moment later, and you turn to gesture for Regulus to exit first, much to his confusion. Just as Regulus steps out of the elevator, Lord Grey leans towards you and shoots you an indecipherable grin, “You are also renowned for your…  impartiality, Auror L/N, no?” 

“Yes?” You confirm lightly, masking your disconcertion with the sudden eerie atmosphere. Lord Grey simply nods before he slides something toward you, and one glance downward has you realizing it is a business card. 

“I hope you give it some thought.” He mutters equivocally. 

Raising an eyebrow, you take the card and slide it into your pocket before shuffling away. “Good day, Lord Grey.”

“Yes, good day.” 

The odd exchange imprints itself into your mind as Regulus shoots you a questioning look once you reach him. His eyes slowly move from you and over your shoulder, gaze narrowing and causing you to peek back around. You aren’t able to catch another glimpse of the man, but the lift continues to descend until the echo of chains fades away. 

“Are you okay?” Regulus asks once you trudge over to his side. 

You nod and fiddle with the card in your pocket before making up your mind. “Yeah, he just handed me this all ominously.” Regulus eyes you as you slip the card out of your pocket, remaining soundless as you bring the thick rectangle between you both. 

Your eyebrows slant further down as you realize that the card is blank save for a black emblem at the center. The symbol sends a shiver down your spine as you continue to stare at it; a thick black line curves uniformly into a soft, open triangle, the proud snake head at its end seeming to jitter against the ivory paper. 

“Bloody hell.” You murmur dryly, “Not creepy at all.”

Regulus looks just as confused as you feel, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide the mounting tension in your posture. 

“Let’s keep this between us for now.” Regulus mutters, straightening up to turn away, but even as he moves forward, you can still identify the calculative glint in his eyes. 

Tucking the card away again, you readjust your hold on the woven bag on your shoulder as you both pace through the looping corridors. You aren’t even aware of your proximity to your destination until you’re nearly pedaling into Regulus’ back as he waits for the imposing doors to flutter open. 

Gawdry’s office is a welcomed sight, the nebulous glow from the light beams enveloping your fatigued figure. The dour expression across his face lifts slightly once he takes in your approaching figures, eyes immediately connecting with yours as he gazes at you with heavy expectation.  

“Agents, what a surprise.” He grumbles out, leaning back against his chair as you both stop a few feet short of his desk. 

“Save the confetti and cake for later,” you hum out, beginning to dig in your bag. 

Gawdry remains unfazed as his attentive eyes lock on your movements. “If you wish,” his drawl is accompanied by a wry smile as you wrestle the thick purple tome out of your bag. Handing the sturdy object to the man, you suppress the chill that storms through your body as you feel the densely packed magic ingrained in the file.

“By the way, a warning would have been nice. A patrimony ball of that degree was hardly an ideal event to blindly jump into.” Your tone is light despite the visceral feeling of doom that still crawled around the cavity of your chest. 

“You’re both here in one piece, aren’t you?” Gawdry raises an eyebrow, bringing a hand up to wave you both off, “Nicely done, though. It seems that I chose wisely.” 

You hum out in agreement before you glance at Regulus’ indifferent gaze and nod your head toward the doors. “Right. Well we’ll be back tomorrow, boss.” 

Without waiting for a response from the preoccupied man, you and Regulus spin on your heels and retrace your steps toward the exit. As your badge’s magic tediously weaves through the locks of the doors, you bring your palm up to rest on your chest, feeling the imprint of the time turner jump against your skin. 

“Ten hours to cool down, I think.” 

Regulus glances at you and shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “Sounds good.” 

“Yeah.” You nod in agreement before releasing a small breath of exhaustion, “Right, well, see you later.” Your shoes beat against the tiles as you begin to make your way down the hallway. 

“What?” You slowly turn around at Regulus’ voice, watching as he blinks at you through his mask, eyes blank with blatant confusion. 

“Oh, well ten hours of downtime…” You trail off, hands awkwardly gesturing to your right.  

Regulus blinks at you before humming, “Yeah.” 

You clear your throat as you feel a flush of heat bloom across the blades of your shoulders. “Uh, but… Actually, I’ll go with you. It’ll be quicker that way, anyway. Y’know to get moving onto the next assignment.” 

“Yeah.” Regulus agrees plainly, eyes darting away as you shuffle back over to him. 

Somehow in the whirlwind of your lethargy and incessant thoughts, you and Regulus manage to make it back to the elevator and down toward the floo networks in record breaking speed. You tilt your head as Regulus juts out his elbow for you to take, and you wordlessly comply as he leads you to the farthest network all whilst keeping his head down. Once you both step into the wide space of the network, Regulus grabs a handful of floo powder before throwing it onto the ashy ground. “Abscondita terra.” His voice rumbles out lowly and the clear words spur green flames across your vision. 

When the lurid fire flees into nothingness, you’re left standing in front of a dim living room. Regulus shifts out of the network first and offers you an assessing look before gesturing for you to sit on the grey couch. You barely contain the gape threatening to materialize on your face as you swallow harshly, “Is this place yours?” 

The man merely nods and watches as you teeter toward the plush cushions, dropping down stiffly onto the firm seat. You clear your throat and look to Regulus as he moves to lean on the doorway to your left. “Thank you for bringing me here.” 

He bats his hand in a show of casualness before cracking his neck. “You can only come here if I allow it, so.” 

“Right, witness protection and whatnot.” You say quietly, clasping your hands in your lap. 

Regulus nods jerkily and gazes at you for a moment before speaking up again, “You could have died earlier. With Mulciber’s attack.” He mutters, eyes sliding to look at your shoulder. 

You hum and hug one of his throw pillows to your chest, “I dodged in time. Luckily, he didn’t hurl the killing curse at me.” 

“Because he wanted you to die a slow, agonizing death in front of me.” He quickly retorts, clearing his throat as he kicks off from the doorway. “That spell would have severed through half of your neck.” 

A shiver blooms from the base of your spine as you envision the gory picture. “Ah… Well, that’s the risk of the job.” 

Regulus keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds before he sighs and disappears somewhere off into the kitchen, momentarily leaving you to your devices. You hear distant clanking and the sound of cabinet doors being shut, lulling you to reminisce on the day’s events. 

He soon reemerges into the room with a glass of water, blinking sluggishly as he approaches you. Somehow, seeing him in his tired state eases the awkwardness in the air and you slouch back to get comfortable. 

“But are you okay?” You couldn’t help but prod, still remembering his tense demeanor during Clyde’s toast. 

“Yeah,” Regulus hums, gently placing the cup of water in front of you. He sits down on the opposite side of the couch as you quietly thank him, and you nearly break your neck when you see him slowly push his cloak off. 

Turning away with wide eyes, you swallow harshly before trying to distract yourself by breaking the silence. “So, Clyde’s toast was a bit…”

“Creepy?” Regulus supplies, tone lilted with amusement.

You shake your head and lean over to grab the cup, “Yeah, I thought I’d accidentally joined a cult.” Bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, you chance a side glance to your companion and see the glow of flesh in the dimming room, a stark contrast to the perpetual veil of black that always covered his skin. 

Sipping your water, you relax against the cushions behind you as Regulus clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “You remember my father, right?” His voice is level, growing serious as he departs from his previous amusement. 

You nod, it was unlikely you’d ever forget the stern man—and then realization dawns on you. “The man who stepped out during the toast… that was Orion?” 

“In the flesh.” Regulus says, cracking his knuckles as he leans his elbows on his knees. 

Frowning, you place your half-empty glass down on the table as you debate over what approach to take in the conversation. “I’m glad you got out.” You admit honestly, unable to suppress the images of twelve-year-old Regulus’ mischievous smiles and twinkling eyes from your mind. 

“Me too.” Regulus breathes out, “Only killed him in the process.” 

Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you lean back, turning to him and gesticulating slowly  with your hands, “Like, run out the door and throw an expulso behind you—kill, or…” 

Regulus’ shoulders shake as he muffles a laugh, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the toned muscles of his arms, webby veins trailing down from his forearm to his hands. Your mouth parts slightly at the sight, but you quickly dart your gaze back up, grateful that Regulus was still looking straight ahead and not toward your gawking face. 

However, it seemed that you couldn’t catch a break. 

As your eyes stray from his arms, they catch themselves on the raven tresses which were slightly disheveled from his hood. The flowing waves fall a bit past his ears, not unlike how he maintained it when you were both younger. 

Before you can fall into a mental tangent about the sight in front of you, Regulus’ head turns to you, eyes practically glowing behind his mask. “Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid. When he got the news that I helped Dumbledore take down the Dark Lord, his heart stopped on the spot.” Regulus breathes out harshly and pushes a hand through his hair, “At least that’s what I was told.” 

“Merlin.” You mutter, fully turning to Regulus now. Bringing one leg up onto the couch, you tilt your head as you and Regulus maintain eye contact, “Are you alright, though?” 

Regulus nods slowly and mirrors you by sitting up and tilting his body toward you. “I made peace with it. Seems he couldn’t handle two rebellious heirs.” 

“Inbreeding tends to promise a life with faulty organs.” You say offhandedly, only freezing when Regulus’ eyes light up in humor. Backtracking, you let out a small laugh, “Uh, no offense.” 

“You’re not wrong.” Regulus admits, throwing an arm across the back cushions. 

You flash a small smile as you lay your head against the pillowy surface, eyes falling to the single cushion of distance between you both. “Do you ever miss Hogwarts?” 

Regulus’ eyes close for a few moments before he opens them again and you’re greeted with a faraway look. “Sometimes. You?” He hums out, fingers aimlessly drawing patterns against the cushion. 

“Sometimes,” you intone quietly. “I miss all the Quidditch games and even the late hours in the library. Helga, studying for our N.E.W.T’s was so taxing.”

Regulus nods and blinks slowly, his silence prompting you to continue. “Anyway, I’m glad our paths crossed again.” Your words are firm with genuinity, but you can’t ignore the flutter of bashfulness that pulses through your veins at the admission. 

“I always thought you were going to be a Curse Breaker.” Regulus whispers, dropping his head back onto the couch cushion to rest. 

You muffle a yawn as you peer at the man in inquiry. “Maybe at first. How’d you know that?” 

Regulus fixes you with a light look, and you feel your breath leave your lungs as he pins you down with a warm gaze—one you haven’t seen in years. “It was hard not to be intrigued by someone who watched me from a distance so diligently.”

Your words get caught in your throat as you blink owlishly in surprise. “And now? Are you still intrigued by me?” You breathe out with searching eyes. 

Regulus holds your gaze before quietly replying, voice barely a whisper: “Even more so now.”

TAGLIST: @tomo-tofu @night-fall-moon @darkenwolfie @eliz-eia @justkiyomi @idkwimdahyd @googie-jeon @littleshadow17 @doux-ange @moni-cah @valsarchives @that-bitch-bri @tiana76 @jsjcue @younmey @novella12nite @littlefrogiefairy @rainfell-m @user2772636 @mischiefmanaged71 @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @vauxxy @xpink-teax @cherryflavoredcoke

[gooseagain8]

Can you provide silly fun facts about ur fangan for me to chew on and overanalyze/nf

IVE BEEN WAITING FOR A CHANCE LIKE THIS

OKAY SO OF COURSE NOT ALL CHARACTERS ARE FULLY DEVELOPED BUT ILL TALK ABOUT THEIR CONCEPTS (And go more into detail if I can )

Here's the main cast! Keep in mind that these designs are also very old and not how they currently how I want them to look, I have even more old concept art so let's go through those first!

Character Concepts -

Originally I only had 7 characters for the fangan, based on the 7 deadly sins.

Left to right is, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Lust, Greed, Pride, Sloth

But of course I needed more characters because this would be like the shortest fangan known to man. Luckily my friend knows ALOT about the deadly sins and even told me about old additional sins so I can add more characters and learn more in depth about each sin.

I CANT POST ANY MORE PHOTOS SO UM PLEASE ASK AGAIN CAUSE IM NOT EVEN CLOSE TO FINISHED

Anyway,

You can see the additional sins in the first pic. I have notes for the hero just like the avarice girl but i dont have space and it probably needs to be updated

All three you see there have their designs DRASTICALLY changed

So um please ask again if u wanna see their designs :')

Fangan Concept -

I started out the with the idea of making the fangan be more on the... fantasy side?

Lemme explain the whole idea,

All 11 Ultimate Talents are on the verge of death, by some miracle, Angels from above have given them chance to live.

Well the thing is that this is a fanganronpa AHAHHAHAHAH so yknow

All 11 would have to kill, try to get away with it (they won't) , get executed , repeat process until only one is left alive.

I named this fangan, DR: Miracle Event

Right now I'm unsure if I should keep that as the main theme for the fangan because, can you even call it that at this point?

Is it a good idea and should I stick with it? What the hell do I name my fangan??

[talesfromtheenchantedforest]

The Rules of Courtly Love

as relayed by the King of Love, in a long allegory within a dialogue between a nobleman and a noblewoman where he is mansplaining why she should sleep with him, thank you Andreas Capellanus:

Rule I: "Thou shalt avoid avarice like the deadly pestilence and shalt embrace it's opposite": A strong start. No objections here.

Rule II: "Thou shalt keep thyself chaste for the sake of her whom thou lovest". Look if it weren't self-denying and a little perhaps contradictory it wouldn't be courtly love

Rule III: "Thou shalt not knowingly strive to break up a correct love affair that someone else is engaged in." My affair with your wife is none of your damn business

Rule IV: "Thou shalt not choose for thy love anyone whom a natural sense of shame forbids thee to marry." A real can of worms wrigging around in this one, we'll just fly on by to:

Rule V: "Be mindful completely to avoid falsehood." Good fucking luck with that

Rule VI: "Thou shalt not have many who know of thy love affair." BE COOL

Rule VII: "Being obedient in all things to the commands of ladies, thou shalt ever strive to ally thyself to the service of Love." Do what she tells you, man

Rule VIII: "In giving and receiving love's solaces let modesty ever be present." Lights off, I guess?? Hands behind your back and eyes closed?? Good luck and godspeed

Rule IX: "Thou shalt speak no evil." Snitches get stitches

Rule X: "Thou shalt not be a revealer of love affairs." I SAID, SNITCHES get STITCHES

Rule XI: "Thou shalt be in all things polite and courteous." Sure. Fine. Good advice for us all, I suppose

Rule XII: "In practicing the solaces of love thou shalt not exceed the desires of thy lover." No, I meant it up there, seriously, do what she tells you, man

Anyway what more romantic advice could anyone possibly need? I think this covers all the bases, good luck following your heart and other associated organs in Troyes c. 1170

[aruku-gram]

Voice Drama - Avarice of Ambivalence

Transcript:

Kitsune: [places paws on Elliot’s face] Hey, wake up, sleepyhead!

Elliot: [groggy mumbling]

Kitsune: [sighs] This always happens… Come on, get up!

Elliot: …Do I have to…?

Kitsune: Yes, you do! 

Elliot: [sits up, headache spiking] Ouch… Getting up is painful…

Kitsune: [snorts] This is what happens when you overeat and oversleep. Anyways, come on, up! I have a lot to tell you!

Elliot: …Overeating? Did I… eat too much for dinner yesterday?

Elliot: …I can’t remember. Actually, a lot of things are a blur…

Kitsune: That’s normal! It’s why I have to talk to you, actually. 

Elliot: …Really? In that case, thank you.

Kitsune: [scoffs affectionately] No need to thank me! Here, follow me, I’ll bring you somewhere that might bring back some of your memories. To the Panopticon we go! [footsteps]

Elliot: Panopticon?

Kitsune: Put simply, it’s a place where you can observe all the prisoners as you wish.

Elliot: …Prisoners?

Kitsune: [pauses footsteps] …You forgot even that?

Elliot: …Ngh… I think… No, I remember. This is… Aruku-gram, right?

Kitsune: [resumes footsteps] Mhmm! Anything else you remember? I’ll help you fill in any gaps.

Elliot: There’s… 10 prisoners. We observe their behaviour - past and present. And… we judge their wrongdoings, based on that.

Kitsune: You’re so indirect when describing what this place is for! You can just say that you’re judging their sins, you know.

Kitsune: And there is no ‘we’. You’re the one handing out judgements.

Elliot: …Then, what are you here for?

Kitsune: [offended cry] Are you implying I’m useless?! I’m a great cook, you know! And my fur is soft. If you’re nice to me, I’ll even let you touch my ears.

Elliot: …No thanks.

Kitsune: [shrugs] Suit yourself. I’ll be here whether you like it or not anyways, Elliot.

Elliot: Elliot… That’s my name?

Kitsune: If it’s not your name, then whose would it be?

Elliot: [momentary silence]

Elliot: And… Your name is…

Kitsune: Just call me Kitsune!

Elliot: …But that’s not a name.

Kitsune: I never said it was. I just told you to call me that.

Elliot: …You don’t want to tell me your name?

Kitsune: Nope!

Elliot: May I ask why?

Kitsune: You may! The answer’s simple, really. I just don’t want to.

Elliot: Oh. That’s fair, I suppose.

Kitsune: [pauses a little and looks up] And you haven’t earned it yet.

Elliot: …

Kitsune: Well, you don’t need to concern yourself with matters like that! Just focus on the tour.

Kitsune: Here we have the facilities, like the prisoners’ communal bathrooms. Opposite that is the storage room. Then we have the hall and a smaller room… It was originally meant to be an entertainment room, but it can be anything you want it to be. Order in a bunch of stuffed animals or use it as extra storage, I don’t care. 

Elliot: Order… in?

Kitsune: Yep! As Administrators, one privilege we have and can use with our discretion is the acquisition of outside goods into the prison - so long as it’s nothing that doesn’t exist yet, I suppose. 

Elliot: …What about the prisoners?

Kitsune: They can request things, but it goes through us first. Well, you, mostly. I’m too fabulous to be dealing with boring stuff like that. 

Kitsune: You also get to decide other things like curfew and general prison rules, such as any punishments. Isn’t it cool?

Elliot: …Or, you can’t be bothered to be dealing with those things, so you shove them into my lap instead…

Kitsune: [gasps dramatically] True, but you didn’t have to call me out like that! 

Elliot: I’m… I don’t think I’m a person who can make decisions like that, though.

Kitsune: [shrugs] Well, it’s your responsibility now. You can get used to it now, or scramble to keep things in order a few months in. 

Elliot: …

Kitsune: And at the end of this hallway is your room! Opposite that is my room. You’re not allowed to enter unless I say so, by the way!

Elliot: I have no desire to enter your room. [mumbles]…This is a long hallway.

Kitsune: [sigh] Kids these days, no curiosity whatsoever…

Elliot: I’m 18. 

Kitsune: A kid!

Elliot: …

Kitsune: And this would be a long hallway for someone like you, I guess. 

Elliot: … [awkward silence]

Kitsune: Swing that door open, aaaand… we’re here! The Panopticon! Behold the ingenious architecture and- wait, where are you going? Wait up, don’t just storm ahead!

Elliot: …

Kitsune: Are you really that angry over me calling you a kid?

Elliot: …

Elliot: …No.

Kitsune: [sighs] Humans, I swear. 

Kitsune: But the tour continues! We’re standing at the north of the dome right now. If you think of the Panopticon as a clock, then we’re standing at the 12 o’clock position! And along the sides of the ‘clock’ are the prisoners’ cells. 

Elliot: And… each prisoner’s inmate number corresponds with their metaphorical clock position. Am I right in assuming that?

Kitsune: You’d be correct. Should I start introducing the prisoners to you? Well?

Elliot: …I haven’t met them before?

Kitsune: Would you have remembered if you met them? With what memory?

Elliot: …No, I guess not.

Kitsune: Don’t worry, you have me - your trusty vulpine companion - here to help!

Kitsune: Starting at the 1 o’clock position, we have prisoner number one - Kobayashi Rokurou! You’ll have your hands full with him, I’m pretty sure. He’s almost succeeded in assaulting other prisoners multiple times at this point, if I remember correctly.

Elliot: You don’t remember something as noteworthy as that?

Kitsune: Hey, it’s my first time meeting him as well! Or any of these prisoners, really. 

Elliot: …

Kitsune: How many times are you going to judge me over the course of one conversation? 

Elliot: How did you learn of his actions if you yourself haven’t even met the prisoners yet?

Kitsune: A girl has her secrets~~

Elliot: You’re a girl?

Kitsune: Sometimes. But that’s not important right now! And don’t worry if he threatens to punch you too. As Administrators, we cannot be hurt by the Prisoners.

Elliot: …How?

Kitsune: [sighs heavily] You’re really ruining the mystery vibe… Well, it’s not important to your role as the Warden so I won’t waste my breath explaining, but I can give you a hint: It’s Kitsune Magic ~✩

Elliot: That’s not much of a hint at all.

Kitsune: And you’re not much of a Warden, but here we are.

Kitsune: Onto prisoner number two! At the 2 o’clock position, we have - drumroll please - Arai Hisayo!

Elliot: I don’t get the reference.

Kitsune: Of course you don’t, you won’t remember.

Kitsune: Anyways, Hisayo-chan! She’s rather timid and doesn’t like interacting with other people. Apparently she always looks like she’s 5 seconds from crying, or so I’ve heard. 

Elliot: ‘Heard’... Not magical at all.

Kitsune: Magic is subjective! Moving on, prisoner number three! Hashimoto Nao, a nice and friendly middle-aged lady. Personally, I like her the best!

Elliot: Why?

Kitsune: She’s just cool like that. Oh, but she’s also the one I hate the most.

Elliot: That makes no sense…

Kitsune: Don’t judge me with your human sensibilities. The only ones you can fairly judge are other humans - which is why you’re here! And why I'm not the one handing out judgements.

Elliot: I see…

Kitsune: Prisoner number four! Hasegawa Mihane, a serious-looking prisoner. Look, even her uniform looks professional! 

Elliot: I do have one question… The prisoners are wearing ‘uniforms’, are they not?

Kitsune: Yep!

Elliot: But they do not look ‘uniform’ at all. All of their garbs are… so different.

Kitsune: Aruku-gram doesn’t do things for no reason. In fact, everything it does is for the same exact reason. So, in that sense, why do you think it allows for individuality rather than conformity?

Elliot: …Ah. I see. 

Kitsune: See, I knew you’d get there eventually!

Kitsune: And now, we have prisoner number five - Miyara Shion! He may be taller than prisoner number one, but don’t let that fool you: he’s the youngest of all Aruku-gram prisoners!

Elliot: So, a child… Why is he here?

Kitsune: For the same reason as everyone else! He’s committed an unspeakable crime - murder! Or something. I’m not clear on the specifics. And he's  not the only child here, anyhow.

Elliot: Clearly not an unspeakable crime if you can speak about it.

Kitsune: Um, fuck you?! 

Elliot: Hehe.

Kitsune: Moving on to prisoner number six! Murakami Choka, a middle school student. I think. She’s very jumpy all the time, but she’s well liked by the others.

Elliot: …

Kitsune: What? Nothing else to say?

Elliot: …Not really. I just don’t like the fact that there are young children in this prison. I… don’t know why I feel this way, so strongly.

Kitsune: Hm. It’s probably some human thing. Sorry, I can’t help you with that!

Kitsune: Personally, I believe all children deserve the guilty verdict.

Elliot: …Why?

Kitsune: They’re annoying.

Elliot: For such a frivolous reason, you’d give them a guilty verdict…?

Kitsune: Why not? Judge them based on whatever standards you wish. How much you like them, hate them, or how attractive they are. Or on whether or not they like pineapples on pizza. I heard that is a point of contention in human society? 

Kitsune: It doesn’t really matter. The verdicts won’t affect us.

Elliot: …I see.

Kitsune: Oh, but they do affect the prisoners. Quite a lot, actually.

Elliot: !!

Kitsune: But that’s not our problem. Onto the next prisoner!

Kitsune: Prisoner number 7 - Ikeshiro Kei! He’s… boring. That’s all I know of him.

Elliot: ?

Kitsune: Oh, come on. He’s unremarkable, what else do you want me to say? He’s like… every human you can find. Quiet, minds his own business, never gets in any trouble - except whatever got him in Aruku-gram in the first place, probably.

Elliot: …I’m not sure why I expected more from you. Is there anything else you can tell me?

Kitsune: Hm… He’ll turn 18 in a few months?

Elliot: …Interesting. I guess. 

Kitsune: Don’t you be boring too… anyways. In the 8 o’clock position, there’s prisoner number eight, Kikuchi Tomoaki! They’re a bit annoying, but I’ve figured out a way to shut them up for a while. Just put a book in their face and they’ll be too distracted reading to bother you.

Elliot: …Thanks for the information? I’m not sure I’ll use it at all.

Kitsune: It’s my job to assist in yours! But I think I get your point. In fact, I think you guys would get along quite well…

Elliot: I don’t plan on getting close to any of the prisoners.

Kitsune: No? It’s not prohibited to do so, you know?

Elliot: I still have no plans to do so. 

Kitsune: Woah, such an unromantic warden… 

Kitsune: Well, you’re also free to not engage in amorous affairs with prisoners. Not my business. We now have prisoner number nine, Narukawa Chisachi! She’s actually quite a successful singer and dancer!

Elliot: She’s both?

Kitsune: She is! To be honest, I’ve watched a few of her performances online, and I gotta say… I don’t get the hype.

Elliot: …

Kitsune: I mean, she’s cool and all, but she’s not super remarkable or anything.

Elliot: …Okay? I haven’t watched them, so I wouldn’t know. 

Kitsune: Oh come on, you’re allowed to have an opinion, you know? Even based on superficial factors like how you think she looks right now. Sleeping…

Elliot: I’d prefer to see it for myself first before making my judgement.

Kitsune: You’re such a blank slate of a Warden…

Elliot: You said I could do as I wish. 

Kitsune: I did, but-

Elliot: I would like to see everything for myself, before making any judgements. I don’t want to decide anything without looking at the full picture.

Kitsune: And what if the full picture is not available?

Elliot: …

Kitsune: Face it, Elliot. An objective truth is unattainable, especially for someone like you - so why bother trying to strive for it?

Kitsune: You’re free to fail as you wish. I’ll be here to support you either way. Anyways, here we have the last prisoner: number 10, Hirano Mio! He’s a really social guy and is actually the person that frequents the ‘entertainment room’ the most. 

Elliot: …Oh. He sounds… exhausting to deal with.

Kitsune: For you, maybe! But as for me, I think he’s the second best prisoner. I would give him the innocent verdict, to be honest.

Elliot: I thought it didn’t matter to us which verdict a prisoner is given? I’m surprised a self-serving kitsune like you would care like that.

Kitsune: Well, I don’t want him to lose his outgoing personality. That’s all.

Kitsune: Aaaand we’ve gone through all of the prisoners! Remember to talk to them yourself as well to understand them some more.

Elliot: You just told me to not strive for a full picture.

Kitsune: No, I just told you that it’s unattainable. Striving for it or not while knowing that is your decision.

Kitsune: Anyways, now-

Elliot: What about the eleven o’clock room?

Kitsune: Oh, that one? There’s nothing in it.

Elliot: That’s not a cell door. It looks… heavy. Like it’s made to keep something in. 

Kitsune: It’s not a cell anymore. Just ignore it. 

Elliot: But- [bell rings] What’s that?

Kitsune: It’s wake-up time! You get to meet the prisoners while they’re conscious now! Oh yeah, just remember: no doubts, no hesitation, and no regrets! Go with what you think is best. 

Elliot: …I don’t think I can get rid of all those things from my mind… But I can try.

Kitsune: Oh, I don’t really expect that, but humans like to think in extremes, no?

Elliot: …You’re right.

Kitsune: Go on, Eli! Go announce yourself. Solidify yourself as the authority inside this prison.

Elliot: Eli…?

Kitsune: A nickname!

Elliot: …[chuckles slightly]

Elliot: [deep breath, then exhale] Good morning, prisoners. My name is Elliot. This place is Aruku-gram prison, and I am the prison guard. This prison serves to judge all of your crimes. I do not know much about you, other than that each and every one of you, in some manner, has caused the death of another. I hope to get to know all of you, in order to gain a better understanding of you and your crime. 

Elliot: Welcome to Aruku-gram. Have a nice life in prison.

[sorrelchestnut]

working title: jailbird cont'd

Previously on: “Hello, old friend,” said Enver Gortash hoarsely, after a moment. “Come to gloat?”

Flynn took a long time to answer him - long enough that Astarion, lurking some feet away in an awkward dance between his desire to give them privacy and his own bright-burning curiosity, went from awkwardness, to intense discomfort, and looped back around to amusement.  He certainly wouldn't want to be on the other end of that eerie white-flame gaze, but if the former archduke found the experience discomfiting, he was hiding it well.  He only studied Flynn in return with surprising equanimity, as if he were still standing triumphant in his coronation hall instead of chained to a rock in a pestilent prison cell.

"I'm not much of one for gloating, actually," Flynn said eventually, as if nearly three full minutes hadn't passed between question and answer.  "Was I before?"

"Not particularly," Gortash assured him, with no trace of smugness for his victorious staring contest.  "But you are, after all, a changed man.  I'd hate to make assumptions."

Flynn's lips drew back slightly, baring the tips of his fangs.  To an unobservant eye, it might have passed for a smile.  "Quick enough to make assumptions the first time."

"And look how well that turned out for me."  The twist of Gortash's manacled hand indicating his surroundings was lightly sardonic; his voice, even more so.  "I do try not to make the same mistake twice."

"It could have been worse," Flynn offered, leaning against the wall.  Astarion despaired of the streaks of filth that immediately transferred themselves to once-shining plate.  "You could be dead."

"Near enough, my friend," Gortash said, and his gaze didn't stray beyond Flynn to where Astarion was doing his best to pretend he wasn't listening, but Astarion could feel the brief shift of his attention, anyway.  "So what does bring you to my humble abode, if I might venture to ask?  I am, as you can see, quite at your leisure."

It would be a bad idea to laugh at that, not least because he was so clearly angling for one.  Astarion almost did it anyway.

Flynn didn't seem likewise inclined; his momentary good humor had fled at Gortash's question, leaving only the edging tension that had been riding him all day.  "The Lost City of Or'dol," he said flatly.  "You know it?"

"Ye-es?"  Clearly this particular conversational feint came as a surprise: Gortash drew the syllable out expectantly, brow creased in puzzlement.  "I've had that dubious pleasure.  Or more accurately I should say we, as we went there together."

"I don't remember."

"Believe me, I am exquisitely aware."  Gortash frowned up at him; for a moment it was as if he forgot his chains, his bars, his situation entirely, so lost was he in whatever curious clockwork workings passed for his mind.  "What interest could you possibly have in that moldering ruin?  We already retrieved the only treasure of note, I can assure you.  And if you fancy a stroll down memory lane, I have much more stimulating ventures to recount."

"Do you know how to get there or not."

"I do, though I confess you were ever the more skilled navigator between us.  But no, this isn't your interest, is it?  My poor human eyes aren't so frail as to miss your new decoration."

Flynn's gauntleted hand came up to cover the sigil emblazoned on his chest, reflexively protective. "That's none of your business."

"Of course not, dear boy, but that's never stopped me before," Gortash said, almost absently.  His dark eyes seemed nearly alight with something like avarice.  "How does your lord father feel about your new allegiance, I wonder?  Thrown over for the god he deposed, now that's got to sting."

"No less than a tyrant's fall."  Flynn's hoarse voice, never particularly mellifluous, went flat as a still lake.  "Perhaps if either of our former masters ever reckoned with the fact that their apotheosis was nothing more than an accident of a god's boredom, they might stop making quite so many arrogant mistakes."

"An interesting heresy," Gortash said lightly, but Astarion could hear a hint of strain in his beautiful voice.  "I shall have to ponder it further, as with all your trenchant wisdom.  But we were speaking of a favor, were we not?  Information you no longer have, in exchange for…"

A muscle flexed in Flynn's jaw, a brief ripple of spines.  "I didn't come here to negotiate."

"No?  Then more fool you, because I don't make a habit of giving anything for free."

"You seemed eager enough to share in your power before."

"I spoke of an alliance, dear fellow, which is another matter entirely.  And one you somewhat unambiguously rejected, I feel obliged to note, so we are left with lesser bargains.  In which vein I must therefore ask: what, precisely, are you prepared to offer?"

And Flynn… hesitated, for the first time since he'd walked into this building, and in his hesitation he looked to Astarion.  For what, Astarion wasn't entirely sure: he'd thought he'd gotten so good at reading the thoughts that crossed that scaled and sinuous face, until they'd lost their tadpoles and he'd had to start all over again.  But there was something he needed now, Astarion could tell that much.  Support, maybe.  Validation.

Permission.

"Well don't look at me, darling," Astarion said, in the most limpid, nasally drawl he could muster.  "My function here is purely decorative.  But please do try and wrap this up before I get bored."

Dragonborn didn't smile as most mammalian sentients did; some crucial facial muscle lacking in the reptilian array, perhaps.  Flynn's quiet joy showed itself instead at the flex of his jaw, the angle of his head, the crinkle of scales at the corners of his eyes.  He nodded, and turned back to the chained tyrant, and said, "What do you want?"

[transmutationisms]

hey caden im Obsessed with your idea about rome using logan's pills like religious relics. this might just be word salad so forgive me but that transmission of holiness is SO interesting to me like. touching something which touched something which touched something holy includes so many steps of circulation and transmission that it begins to imitate the kinds of disease they're supposed to cure. like sanctity is something you catch. and with romans body being such a fraught site of decay/with his need for physical things to be Wrong, it's like consuming the relic of dad is the holy disease fucked up enough to heal him. alternatively, consuming the pills as a weird transubstantiation is sooooo medieval mystic of him. a total agnes blannbekin refusing to eat anything but jesus' foreskin type deal. anyway

p.s. more on relics. often thought tom has a streak of chaucer's pardoner about him in the billion layers of performance, admitting to selling counterfeit relics yet still asking people to kiss them for a fake salvation...idk. what im saying is all roads lead to romtom

HI TED! ok first of all, all roads lead to romtom. like so true of you to say that.

but yeah i love the religious relic angle because i definitely see it as that type of transubstantiation mysticism thing. and it's such a good catholic phenomenon because it's like, the body is corrupt and filthy, and the soul is freed from it in death, yet there's still this fixation on bodily relics. which goes back to roman's whole Deal being that his body has always been this site of violence from logan (who in turn spent his life denying his own body) and so now, in logan's death, roman can only fixate on his body (sweater, advil, going onto the plane). also with the pills there's also this obvious echo of taking communion, where roman treats the pills as being this part of logan that he can consume.

i do also think the pills could be read as playing into this idea of disease transmission that you're talking about. like, the advil in some sense can stand as this representation of all of logan's health problems and his more general tendency to view his body as a threat and a potential site of weakness. so again, roman fixating on them in particular is like, he's grasping for these elements of logan that logan never allowed himself to think about. and of course, if logan were alive he would be horrified and disgusted at roman, like, thinking about his body and his sickness, which adds a layer here. like in general i don't think roman is particularly emotionally repressed, but in this fixation with the body and the pills there's like, a general reaction to the repression that logan always enforced in his lifetime. like, you know, the monsters are out of the closet now and they're doubly fascinating for having been forbidden before.

re: tom... yes i love this comparison actually, the way that the pardoner opens his tale by saying that greed is the root of all sin, and not denying his own avarice, but then still presents his moral tale. like i've always thought that tom has a certain level of clarity about waystar, insofar as he's pretty much always known he got in for the sake of money and power, yet he also has all these layers of moral justification for himself lol. and i think the offering of false relics that he claims could offer real salvation could be tied to the phone call in episode 3, where the siblings all pretty much know he's just trying to offer them comfort, yet in some way all of them do also kind of believe in the metaphorical relics he's offering. anyway. thinking thoughts.

[kilfeur]

Pourquoi on a pas eu cette histoire pour l'épilogue ? Elle est bien plus intéressant que celle qu'on a eu. Enfin bref, tout ce que souhaitait Pêchaminus c'est d'être aimé par le vieux couple et pour ça, il leur donnait ses mochis de servitude les gardant sous un contrôle mental. S'assurant qu'ainsi il soit toujours aimé par le vieux couple, en revanche ils commencèrent à lui demander des choses. Et Pêchaminus se disait que si il répondait à leurs requêtes, ils l'aimeront davantage. Et on sait enfin pourquoi le trio Adoramis a volé les masques c'est parce que le vieux couple voulait les avoir. Par la suite on apprend que le trio Adoramis est sous le contrôle de Pêchaminus vu qu'il leur a fait mangé ses mochis.

Lorsqu'il récupéra enfin les masques, Pêchaminus se disait que le couple allait l'aimer davantage sauf qu'Ogerpon arrive pour les récupérer et ainsi le trio Adoramis. Pêchaminus savait très bien qu'il ne ferait pas le poids face à elle. Alors il puisa dans ses dernières forces pour retourner dans sa coquille.

Je trouve l'histoire intéressante mais aussi tragique car en voulant se faire aimer par le vieux couple. Il a exacerbé leur avarice en demandant davantage de choses de la part de Pêchaminus. Et en soit c'est triste de voir qu'il s'est résolu à les contrôler plutôt qu'essayer de gagner petit à petit leur affection naturellement. Je trouve qu'il y a justement un parallèle intéressant avec Ogerpon et son ami ainsi que Pêchaminus. Les habitants de Septentria craignait leurs présence jusqu'à ce qu'ils utilisent les masques et qu'ils soient aimés en retour. Alors que Pêchaminus essayait de gagner l'amour du vieux couple grâce au contrôle mental de ses mochis. Surtout que je pense qu'il s'est pas rendu compte de ses actes, à cause de lui, Ogerpon a perdu son ami à cause du vol des masques. Et au final, tout deux ont été privé de leurs amours car ils ont perdu les personnes qu'ils chérissaient.

Why didn't we get this story for the epilogue? It's much more interesting than the one we got. Anyway, all Pecharunt wanted was to be loved by the old couple and to do that, he gave them his servitude mochis, keeping them under his control. Ensuring that he would always be loved by the old couple, on the other hand, they began to ask him for things. And Pecharunt told himself that if he fulfilled their requests, they'd love him more. And we finally learn why the Adoramis trio stole the masks - it was because the old couple wanted them. We then learn that the loyal three are under Pecharunt's control, since he made them eat his mochi.

When he finally retrieved the masks, Pecharunt thought the couple would like him even more, except that Ogerpon arrived to retrieve them and defeat the Adoramis trio. Pecharunt knew he'd be no match for her. So he drew on the last of his strength to return to his shell.

I find the story interesting, but also tragic, because in wanting to be loved by the old couple. He exacerbated their greed by demanding more from Pecharunt. And it's sad to see that he's chosen to control them rather than try to earn their affection naturally. I think there's an interesting parallel with Ogerpon and his friend and Pecharunt. The people of Septentria feared their presence until they used the masks and were loved in return. While Pecharunt tried to win the old couple's love by mind-controlling his mochis. But I think he didn't realize what he was doing, because of him, Ogerpon lost his friend through the theft of the masks. And in the end, both were deprived of their loves because they lost the people they cherished.

[blackjackkent]

So. Very large building with statues that look like THIS outside of it:

My initial guess was that this was Cazador's mansion, but it turns out it is the antiques shop that hides the portal to the hells!

So I guess we're taking a break from sidequesting and going to get the Hammer! ^_^

Super cute banter between Karlach and Jaheira as we wander up towards the door:

"So, erm, Jaheira. Do you like to... that is, what do you like to do?" "As in... hobbies? Oh. [pause] Well... I like to play music? I suppose?" "I'm just picturing you strumming on a harp so hard the strings snap and trying not to shriek. What do you play?" "Eh. Mostly the same children's rhyme, on a battered whistle of tin. I do not get a lot of time to practice. Oh, spare me the sad eyes, girl. Not every daily deed is worthy of song! Certainly none I can play."

I love them. XD

I'm very torn here, because realistically, Hector does not want to force Karlach into the Hells, even for this temporary raid on the House of Hope, but I as the player want her along at all times for any potential Romance Content.

So we're going to start out by bringing her but if she makes sad puppy eyes too aggressively we will switch her out for Shadowheart.

It's a rather elaborate but nice looking shop.

The lady at the front gives Hector a bright smile as he approaches.

"I welcome thee to the Devil's Fee, where every hellish curio's a rarity! So merry be and shop with glee!

"Oh, no," Karlach mumbles under her breath with a groan. "Definitely something up with this one. Trust me."

Hector always trusts her, so he is giving the shopkeep a very careful lookover as he inquires, "Did you help Lord Gortash retrieve some hellish curios by any chance?"

The shopkeep's expression remains admirably still, but Hector can see her eyes narrow sharply.

"You must be awfully familiar with our esteemed Archduke to know about a thing like that," she says smoothly.

"We were lovers," Hector says, in his driest deadpan. "It was all very steamy."

Behind him he hears Karlach choke on a sudden fit of laughter (which was, of course, his intention).

"My," the shopkeeper says, raising an eyebrow. "What a juicy morsel. I didn't think he liked your type. Anyway..." She shrugs one shoulder carelessly. "You seek answers, Lord Mammon seeks coin. I will happily mediate - make me an offer."

The laughter dies from Karlach's eyes at once. "Mammon," she snaps. "I knew it. I did!"

Hector considers. Any devil Karlach makes that face about (which is all of them, presumably) isn't one that he's entirely interested in making deals with. He's not short on gold if it comes to that, but it couldn't hurt to try a different approach first. [MONK] "Material wealth is a vain illusion," he says gravely. "If you seek meaning and purpose, try compassion - give us a hint."

This time it's Jaheira who snickers softly at his elbow.

The shopkeeper rolls her eyes. "You're telling me wealth is an illusion? What part of 'Mammon worshipper' do you not understand? You want answers, you pay. Just like everyone else. Mammon is nothing if not egalitarian."

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Here's 100 gold," Hector says wearily, slapping ten platinum coins on the countertop.

The woman smiles slyly. "Hmm. The King of Avarice accepts your humble offering," she says, sliding the coins off the counter and into her pocket in a single smooth motion. "You stand before Mammon's Picklock. Latchkeeper of the Nine Hells. My business is not information, nor hellish curious, not really. I break people into the Hells. That's my thing." She shrugs. "I can reveal to you that I opened a portal for Lord Gortash."

Now they're getting somewhere. "Where in the hells did the portal go?" Hector asks.

The shopkeep smiles broadly. "My word, this is embarrassing; perhaps I should have explained our terms better. You asked what I did for Lord Gortash, you paid the fee, and I answered you. Our pact is complete. Would you like to make another transaction?"

Hector feels a muscle in his temple start to twitch. Clenching his jaw, he pulls out another hundred gold and sets them on the counter.

"Oh, yes, I should think that'll do deliciously," she says brightly. "Lord Gortash wanted to steal something from Mephistopheles, so I punched a portal into the Archdevil's dusty vaults. And then I... Gosh, my fickle memory fails. If only something would jog it."

She holds out a hand to him expectantly.

Hector sighs, reaches into his pocket, puts down another hundred gold. Infuriating, this - he's out three hundred gold and hasn't even gotten to the main question they came to ask. Not that the gold matters much to him per se, except insofar as if he runs out, he won't be able to ask more questions.

She snorts. "I mean... I suppose that'll do. Stingy bastard." She pockets the latest round of coin and lounges back on her heels. "Gortash stole the Crown of Karsus. Pissed off Mephistopheles, but rather intrigued another devil by the name Raphael. His house of Hope is furnished with a great deal of treasures, many related to Karsus. But, alas, he lacks the crown itself."

She raises her eyebrows pointedly. "He's rather ambitious. One can only wonder what he has planned for the Crown. The answers to that can probably be found within his house..."

Karlach grins savagely. "Let's poke around the rat's nest. Maybe set it on fire on the way out."

Hector relaxes a little. Finally they're talking to the point - and Karlach is on board with coming along, which is a relief.

"Can you help me break into the House of Hope?" he asks. In spite of his irritation with the woman, his voice is still perfectly steady.

The shopkeep's eyebrows lift. "What a fascinating proposition!" she says brightly. "Ludicrous, of course, but fascinating nevertheless. Very well, if you wish to die in Avernus, that's your business. Mine is charging you for it." She sticks out a hand and gives him a significant glance. "Of course, such a task will require quite the substantial donation to Lord Mammon's coffers."

"Such a task would be tantamount to suicide," the Emperor whispers in Hector's mind. "Do not even entertain it."

The Emperor, of course, doesn't know the reasoning behind Hector's plans here. It doesn't know this is the first step in Hector's betrayal. Better, then, that it think for now that Hector is simply being foolish, reckless, entirely unlike any way the Emperor has seen him act before. Perhaps it thinks Hector has finally snapped, or is desperate to find something to save Karlach, or simply wishes to spite it. Anything, so long as it doesn't realize the truth.

(A/N: This requires TWENTY THOUSAND GOLD? TWENTY THOUSAND? Sheesh. We currently are sitting at around 6k, so this is going to take some doing if Hector can't talk her down. We have two options here, a [ROGUE][PERSUASION] and an [INTIMIDATION]; neither of them are particularly characteristic for Hector but the former works because he has definitely had some practice breaking into things at this point and the latter works because he is Incredibly Irritated with this woman by now. We'll start with the persuasion, though, because it asks for free passage rather than just half price.

...And Hector critted it on the first try. XD)

"I'm a skilled thief," he says, as casually as he can manage. "Give me free passage; I'll bring you back a 'souvenir.'"

She tilts her head thoughtfully. "You put me in a difficult position, mortal. You are almost certain to fail. Almost. And so there is a chance you might succeed." She purses her lips. "Fine. I'd like to be able to carry all of my precious stock without the need of a team of oxen. There are Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength within the House of Hope. Free passage, and you fetch them for me. Deal?"

(A/N: Well, shit. This would be a good deal except HECTOR WANTS THOSE GAUNTLETS HIMSELF - my guess is that would relieve of us of our dependence on popping hill giant strength potions once a day. So this won't work. I'm going to have him turn down the deal and take a look around and see if we can maybe figure out how to do this without this lady's help.)

[vacantgodling]

I can't think of a specific question, but I'd love to hear anything about Godeater ! That wip scratches a very specific itch in my head it's very satisfying <3

hi after 80 years i’m finally answering this teehee 💀

something i haven’t fully talked about is how The Under mirrors The Upper.

like The Sun, The Waning Moon is “guarded” from those who would sneak to snuff out its power. however, the waning moon doesn’t have as much power as the sun, so not many go after it; leaving the “guardians” of the moon more freedom to do as they please.

the guardians of the waning moon are the 6 SINS; some of the first demons to defect from the upper after lucifer. the most powerful of the sins is avarice or “ava” (greed) and i’ve talked about him a bit before (and i love him) but i don’t give the other sins as much attention so let’s talk about them!!

also as a side note the sin gluttony doesn’t exist. why? cuz ava killed him :))))))

anyway tho:

(1) IRE (the SIN of wrath) -> she/her

ire is the resident hot head of the sins and the second shortest, taller than ava by a mere inch. she wears her hair in spiky ponytails, half red, half purple, and while she has a bad attitude she actually avoids cursing and tends to insert nonsense words into her speech when she gets really upset. she loves sweets and cute things but hates when people call her cute. very much a “that’s cute i want to break it” energy. she’s the third strongest of the sins but the most likely to whoop some ass bc of aforementioned anger issues LMAO.

(2) HUBRIS (the SIN of pride) -> he/him

literally the most flamboyant fag on planet earth i’m not even joking. he’s a diva and a model; tall and pretty with long hair and thick lashes. he’s overconfident but also loves to hype other people up, and can be extremely dramatic, his emotions a constant whirlwind. he cares about people very very deeply and always wants to lend a helping hand or ear to those in need. he’s actually the second strongest of the sins but is perhaps the least likely to use his powers. he hates blood and gore but if you really manage to push his buttons (he keeps them secret so it’s less likely) then he’ll tear you (the bitch) apart :3c

(3) PASSION “SION” (the SIN of lust) -> they/them

sion is team parent, the second eldest of the sins (younger than ava by a tad) and always looking after the rest of them as though they were their children. they’re very patient and mature and seem almost conservative in their appearance… though what they get up to in their own time is between themself and their partners lmao. despite being lust, like ava is greed, lust extends to a variety of different things and their thirst for companionship, care or affection runs deeper than only surface level sex. if they want something they want it in every way they can attain it. ava considers the two of them the most alike; very unassuming but carnal in every sense of the word :)

(4) APATHY (the SIN of sloth) -> he/they

the most similar to his calling card of the entire bunch, apa tends to be the most lowkey of the sins. he’s the most likely to stay behind and watch over the waning moon, and while he isn’t always a napper he does prefer a sedentary life. he does hibernate tho i need to figure out when and how, and to compensate stays awake 24/7 without needing sleep when he’s not in hibernation mode. low fi beats, music, and pillows are his jam.

(5): COVET “COVE” (the SIN of envy) -> they/them

cove is the youngest of the sins and has a big inferiority complex in being so young. they don’t have as much power as the other sins, and their childish ways do get the others to look after them quite often and they just want to be wise and powerful already. secretly they do enjoy the attention and enjoy being babied which is something ava and hubris tease them about a lot much to their chagrin, and they usually have a monopoly on sion’s time; the two of them go everywhere together. as they continue to gain exposure to the waning moon’s light hopefully they too will become just as powerful a sin as the rest of them :3

[excessive-vampires]

Dealing With Demons Chapter 2: Sure as Hell Ain't Simple Part 1: Riley

Masterlist with CW

Taglist: @demyxdancer

"And then what did the demon do, Agent Silverman?" Coleman asked. As soon as Sil had reported Avi's appearance in the warehouse, the director's shoulders had tensed, and her hands had gripped the edge of her desk tightly. Riley rarely saw Coleman this tense.

"They... Well, they introduced themself."

"What?"

"Their name is Avi," Riley added. "In case that's relevant."

Coleman motioned for the team to move in closer and they huddled around her desk. "Did they threaten you?" she said in a serious tone.

"No, but they seemed... interested in us. And in the Bureau." Sil kept clenching and unclenching her fists, and seeing her so on edge made Riley feel sick to their stomach.

"That's... almost certainly not good." Coleman put her head in her hands.

Mike spoke for the first time since the team entered the office. "So what do we do?"

She looked up at him. "For now? Stay vigilant. Be on the lookout for this demon or any signs of demonic activity. And if you see anything, tell me immediately."

"Sir? There's, um, one more thing."

"Yes, Agent Bishop?"

"They looked human. But they weren't trying to be seen as human. They made what they were abundantly clear. I've seen drawings of the basic form of demons of avarice, they're draconic. They have horns and claws and scales and they look like they're made of gold and pearls. Avi had none of that. If it weren't for the glowing eyes and talking about deals I would have thought they were human at first."

Coleman leaned forward. Her straight, chin length hair almost fell from its place tucked behind her ears to cover her face. "And what does that mean?"

RIley's mouth was dry as a desert, but they managed to get the words out anyway. "That they have a tremendous amount of power to expend."

"Okay... Okay." Coleman looked down and rubbed her temples. "I reiterate my previous point. With any luck they'll leave us alone, and if not we can put the power of the entire base behind dealing with them. Do not engage on your own. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," the trio replied together, and then left the office.

"Damn, I wish there was something we could do other than wait." Mike crossed his arms over his chest.

"We need to trust the director. She knows what's safest." Sil put a hand on his shoulder.

It was weird seeing her try to comfort him when just this morning they were spending all of their time antagonising each other. They must be more shaken up than Riley realized. Probably just as much as Riley still was.

"I'm going to do some research on demons so we know what to be on the lookout for," Riley said.

"Good idea, Agent Bishop."

"Yeah, you do that."

As Sil and Mike went back to their desks, Riley rode the elevator down to the library. Once there, they started gathering books from shelves, pulling up articles on demons from the Bureau's database, and settling in for an afternoon of research.

The library didn't have much left on demons after the break in. But still, even just finding and searching through what little was left and making a digital folder of relevant information took hours. By the time they'd done what felt like enough it was late. Riley was the last one in the library, maybe the last one in the building.

Well, that nixed the plan to get a ride from Mike or Sil. Not that that plan had been more than a passing thought anyway.

Riley emailed the folder to their teammates, packed their bag, and headed to the exit. Rain was pounding down on the roof loud enough to be heard from the inside of the ground floor. Great. Riley's raincoat sat light and pitiful on their shoulders. They walked outside but stayed where the building's overhang provided shelter. Riley really couldn't afford to get an Uber unless they absolutely had to. They made up their mind, they'd just tough it out and order a new umbrella when they got home. It'd probably rain again in between now and when the umbrella arrived, but a little water wouldn't kill them. Nor would a lot of water.

Just as they were building up the courage to step out into the downpour, a sleek gold car pulled up in front of the building. The window rolled down to reveal a newly familiar face with glowing gold eyes.

"Need a ride?"

It would be monumentally stupid to get into a car with a demon. It would also be monumentally stupid to refuse a demon's offer and risk angering them. There was no smart option here. The thought to call Sil for help crossed Riley's mind, but she was most likely too far away by now. And even if she wasn't, did Riley really want to put her in danger by involving her in this? So that narrowed their options to saying "No" or "Yes," and either one could lead to ending up dead. After a moment of deliberation, they decided it was probably safest to do as the demon asked, plus, Riley really wasn't looking forward to getting soaked.

"Fuck it," they muttered, and got in the car.

"What's your address?"

"Huh?"

"Where am I taking you?" Avi smiled, showing off gleaming teeth.

Riley really hadn't thought this through. "Oh, um, you can just drop me off at the subway station."

"Nonsense, then you'd have to walk part of the way home and still get soaked."

Riley considered their options for a minute as Avi looked at them patiently. Then they sighed and told Avi their address. After another smile from the demon, Riley wondered if they were going to die tonight. Avi typed the address into their phone and set it in a cup holder. Then they drove away from the building. Well, no backing out now.

Avi looked different. Which wasn't too surprising, demons were fluid creatures after all, there wasn't much they couldn't change about how they looked if they had the mana to spare. But it wasn't their face or their build that had changed but the way they presented themself. They were wearing less formal clothes, and their hair was a bit messy. It looked better like that. Their posture was also more relaxed, and overall they seemed very dissimilar to the business-like front they had put forward at the warehouse.

"Do you like your job?"

Riley was startled out of their train of thought by the question. "Um, yeah. Yeah I do."

"It must be interesting researching the paranormal for a living."

As far as Riley could tell the demon was being sincere.

"Yes. I can't imagine anything I'd want to do more," Riley said as they stared out the windshield and tried to pretend they were talking to human instead of a monster they'd just seen commit murder.

Yet another smile. "So tell me, Riley, what do you know about demons?"

They said it casually, but this conversation was now recognizable as an interrogation. Oddly, that made Riley feel better, knowing that Avi had a reason to be doing this other than just to terrify them. They would have to be careful about their answers though, they didn't want to give Avi any reason to consider them a threat.

"They're manifestations of desire. I know that they make deals for human souls, and I know that they... consume the souls they buy when the human dies or sometimes when the deal is complete."

"Or when the deal is broken, like today," Avi offered helpfully.

"R-Right." Riley felt sweat start to collect at the back of their neck at the memory.

"Anything else?"

"... I can tell from your eye color that you're a demon of avarice, and I know you get power from the souls you consume. And that you, you specifically, are very powerful."

"Interesting. How?"

"Because you look human. And you could feel it when the bullets hit you."

The demon's eyes widened, they opened their mouth and then closed it, but Avi kept their eyes on the road and did not turn to look at Riley.

"Do you know the ritual used to summon demons?" Their tone was still casual, but was undercut with a note of seriousness.

It was probably best not to lie, not to risk getting caught in a lie when that could make the demon angry.

"Yes."

"So you must also know the ritual used to banish us."

Shit. It was a safe assumption, the two rituals were practically the same, but the banishing ritual was done in reverse. Well, there was no use in lying now if the demon already believed it. "Yes."

Riley waited for something to happen, for Avi to do something. They had a terrible fear that Avi would just reach over, rip out their soul, and eat it like they had done to the warlock earlier today. But no, demons couldn't eat your soul unless you willingly sold it to them. Avi could kill Riley, but that was it. Riley held onto that knowledge and their, woefully under-equipped, protection amulet like they were a lifeboat and this conversation was the Titanic.

"Hmm. Guess I don't want to get on your bad side then." Avi's tone was serious, but they didn't say anything else, just kept driving.

There was a small silence during which Riley's mind raced. Was... was that it? Was that all the demon was going to do or say? No attack? Not even a threat?

"So that's all you know?"

"Um, yes."

"That's really not a lot," Avi said playfully.

It really wasn't. Riley had a tendency to ramble on when nervous but this time there simply hadn't been enough to say.

"Potential sources for information on demons are rare, people who deal with demons don't usually like to share what they have with us, and demons themselves are... considered too dangerous to approach. Plus a lot of the information we did have was stolen a while back."

"Well, it's lucky you have me then."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

"Y-Yeah." Riley couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Seriously, ask away."

It was apparently now Riley's turn to interrogate. What was a question that wouldn't make this demon want to kill them? "Can you only feel avarice?" There, that seemed safe enough.

"Well, I'd hardly be truly sapient if that were the case." Avi sounded slightly annoyed. Riley gulped. "No," they explained. "I can feel the full spectrum of human emotion, but avarice is always the driving force behind my actions, be they good or evil."

"How can avarice drive you to do good?"

"Well, it depends on how you define avarice."

"How do you define avarice?"

They were back to getting smiles from Avi, but the expression seemed more sincere this time.

"You'll get a slightly different answer from every greed demon you ask, but for me it's wanting more of things and wanting to keep what I have."

"Huh. So..." This was risky, but Riley needed to know. They took a deep breath. "What do you want from me?"

"Riley, I want to be friends."

"What."

"I want you and I to be friends. Or at least friendly acquaintances. I only really have one friend at the moment, and I'm feeling just a bit lonely."

Suddenly Riley understood. Avi wanted to get on the Bureau's good side. Maybe they considered it a threat too big to take down, or maybe they just wanted to avoid conflict. Either way, Riley could be reasonably sure Avi wouldn't kill them for no reason. Their grip on their amulet loosened.

"So, no one on your team could give you a ride home?"

"Huh?"

"Your team, from the warehouse." The demon turned onto a street that Riley recognized from their daily commute, they were headed towards Riley's apartment. That was a further relief, at least the demon was actually taking them home and not who knows where.

"Oh, yeah, it's Sil's team really. I'm only part of it sometimes. Two-person teams aren't the standard, but Mike and Sil are the best agents we have. And I worked late, they had already left by the time I was done." Rain beat down outside the window, hitting the glass and creating patterns of droplets for Riley to trace with their fingers. It put them in a contemplative mood. "But, honestly, I probably wouldn't have asked them anyway. I live pretty far away from the Bureau and I wouldn't want to bother them with this." Riley was admitting this to themself as much as they were to Avi.

"Well, it's no inconvenience for me, I live pretty close to your place."

"You have a house?"

"A roomy one-bedroom apartment, but yes I have a place on this plane of existence that I call home."

That was a surprise. Riley had never considered demons doing anything in this world other than carrying out deals and collecting souls.

"Do other demons have homes here?"

"Usually just the few with the luxury of being able to look human, but there are some of us who build up cults or gangs around ourselves and interact with the mortal plane indirectly. The rest just have to wait in the psychic plane until they're summoned, which can get really boring."

"Huh."

"But enough about me. Tell me about you. How long have you worked for the Bureau?"

So the interrogation resumed. That seemed like a safe enough question to answer though. "Six years."

"And before that?"

"The training academy, and before that college."

"What'd you study?"

"Library science."

"That fits with your career choice. So, time for the big question, how did you find out about magic and monsters?"

"I always knew. My grandmother is a mage and while my parents didn't involve themselves in the paranormal they didn't make her keep it a secret."

"Fascinating."

That was weird. As far as entrances into the paranormal world were, Riley's was pretty boring. No big encounter that changed their entire worldview like Mike, but they hadn't been raised in a household where magic was normal like Sil either. "Yeah. For a while I wanted to be a mage too, but I was always better at learning about magic than actually doing it. I've, uh, never actually managed to successfully cast a spell before."

"Hence the researcher job."

"Exactly."

"Fascinating," Avi repeated. They sounded genuinely intrigued.

There was a silence, not exactly awkward but not quite comfortable. Then Avi reached over to turn on the radio.

"Do you mind?"

"Oh, no, go ahead."

They put on an alternative rock station. Riley was tempted to make a joke about rock and roll being the devil's music, but worried that if it went over badly Avi might decide to kill them despite their desire to remain in the Bureau's good graces.

The demon sang along to the radio without shame, even though their voice wasn't exactly pretty. Riley was almost in awe at how human a picture this demon painted. They had a car, a phone, and an apartment. They liked a certain type of music. Riley wondered how much of it was genuine and how much was a show put on for their benefit.

Eventually the car stopped outside of Riley's apartment building.

"Here." Avi presented them with a small scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. "In case you want to get in touch."

"Thanks." Riley accepted it and started to get out their own phone. Politeness required reciprocation, and it was best not to be rude to something so dangerous. "My number is—"

"Oh, don't worry about that. If I need to get in touch with you, well, I know where you work and where you live." The flash of Avi's white teeth in their smile suddenly seemed a lot more sinister. Riley's mouth went dry and they had to clear their throat before responding.

"Oh. Yes. I guess you do."

"Goodbye, Riley!" One last smile.

Riley opened the car door and got out. The rain had softened to a drizzle. "Bye, Avi."

Riley sprinted to get out of the rain and into their apartment. After they locked the door behind them they sank down to the floor in relief.

"I'm alive, I'm okay."

Common sense begged that the piece of paper in their hand be thrown away, but... this was a unique opportunity. As they had said before, the Bureau didn't know a lot about demons, and Avi was open to answering questions. Plus, if the demon somehow found out Riley hadn't saved their number they might get angry in a way that ended very badly for Riley. That settled it, they put the number in their phone.