#he was hit by struck by a smooth criminal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thequeendomhq · 3 months

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“He favours his right knee.” “He’ll favour the other one next.”

Raven hair pulled tight behind her, Astrid's fingers threaded one piece over another as the long, Iskaran braid began to take shape at the crown of Gunnhild’s head.

At sixteen she didn’t respect many. Her father never treated her like a child, he ran the cisterns, the criminal underworld of Yggdrasildal, and Gunnhild had started out as a thief. Then she was a thug.

Astrid didn’t have Gunnhild’s respect, at least not at first. Five years ago the woman had only seen twenty-three summers, a flavour of the month, but she’d been kept around where others fell away. Sharp, observant, and keen to make a name for herself, Gunnhild understood that some people had to work with what they’d been given.

“I envy you.” “You’re welcome to take my place.” “So young. So powerful. Your father raised you well.” “My father wanted a son.” Gunnhild smiled as Astrid finished and stood to run her hand against the smooth, shaved scope at the side of her head. “Your father wants a great many things.”

“And he usually gets them.” Gunnhild eyed her reflection in the polished steel plastered to the wet brick of the cistern. She saw a girl who’d broken so many bones that they had no choice but to heal twice as strong. A woman who’d been standing a foot above those her own age since she was only ten years old.

“I’ve never known you to walk away from a fight.” “Who’s walking away?” Gunnhild asked as she caught Astrid's gaze in the reflection of the makeshift mirror.

“You know what I mean.” “But you know not what you ask.” It was sharp, as was Gunnhild’s nature. A forked tongue that was too crude for flyting, one that only stilled under her father’s harsh gaze. “Winning isn’t everything.”

Astrid was silent because she did not need to speak, Gunnhild could hear her thoughts echoing within her own well enough.

“Feel your braid, Hilda.”

Thrown to the floor of the ring, Gunnhild’s body protested as she tasted iron across the tarmac of her tongue.

“Kill the bitch!” “Rip her fucking eyes out!”

Men always craved violence, but women were not so different. Gunnhild the brute had been to most of their doors at some point. Flanked by men twice her age and half her size sent by the girl’s father to collect a debt that was owed. It was a common saying that you could not get blood from a stone, but Gunnhild had a way about her. When the lives of children or spouses were threatened, it was a marvel what they could come up with.

“Get up!” “Gunnhild!” “Gunnhild get up!” “Fight!”

The crowd hated and favoured her, their wages split, but she’d spent a year earning her reputation here. Sigurd bet against her, Gunnhild the dutiful daughter, heir of rats.

When next Gunnhild looked the crack she felt along her jaw reverberated through her frame. She did not see stars, but an explosion of lights and sounds as the full weight of her body twisted upon itself before she once more hit the ground, hard.

A bleary-eyed stare lifted her gaze through the throng of grubby ankles and torn hems. Gunnhild could hear the abuse, the laughter that reverberated from the bellies of bloated, drunk men, and through the shadows she saw a pair of violet eyes watching her. A tail flicked through the shadows, back and forth.

Gunnhild stood and turned. She avoided the next strike with deft ease, instead of flesh the man that was more meat than a person brought his fist through the open air - broken only by the tail of her braid.

He was three decades her senior, harder, stronger, and carved from the same Iskaran stone as her. Gunnhild was faster, sharper, leaner, and far smarter. Before he’d recovered from the recoil of his stumble, she’d struck him four times over his rib cage, and under her knuckles came the deft feeling of cracking and popping.

The underground fighter turned to swing at her but Gunnhild was light on her feet, incensed by adrenaline and blood like a berserker driven mad, she subverted his swing, and then another before she followed up with one that sent blood spewing from his nostrils.

His nose flattened clean across his face, painting him like an overgrown elephant. Red-faced and enraged, Gunnhild heard the women within the crowd cheer her name and smirked as she moved in.

Bone cracked under the weight of her fist and the crowd roared around her.

Grown men pulled out their hair, but they didn’t earn her sympathy, those who did not cheer were the ones foolish enough to bet against her.

“Gunnhild!” “Gunnhild!” “Gunnhild!”

They thrust her fist into the air and Gunnhild’s smile was bright and broken. She took in the reverie, but it faltered when she met her father’s eyes. She’d cost him a fortune tonight.

Sigurd had been telling Gunnhild her worth for an age, but she never expected that her value would ever fall to disposable. Not when she’d worked so hard

“Victory again, Hilda.”

Her father’s man was equal part cruel and vicious, his henchmen just as merciless. They left her for dead, a notice to one of the local witchers that they’d found a witch in the cisterns.

Witcher. Kingsguard. First.

“Is this all that you can do?” Gunnhild paced in easy, intentional movements, a great axe hung carelessly at her side - its hilt held just a breath above the stone. “Is this all that you’re capable of?” For all the fear that the witchers imposed, it began with The First; she was not known for her kindness, kindness was easily misconstrued and when it was between witchers and the rest of the Iskarans there could be no room for error.

She knew better than most how precarious their position was, and how quickly the winds could change.

Gunnhild looked down at the wiry limbed child, watched as their veins pulsed and throbbed - poison protested its way toward their heart and she steeled herself once more for this moment.

“Did you really come all this way, just to die?” Her axe lifted the thin-faced progeny and studied the clarity and the vitriol behind their eyes. “You must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.”

She stood and watched as their body stilled, listened as their heart stopped, and then Gunnhild released a breath she did not know she was holding when it started again.

Forty years a witcher and Gunnhild had outlasted those of her graduating class by a decade now. She could feel the poison ebb at her veins but by now this discomfort was a familiar burn. Some said Gunnhild was too stubborn to die, that her life could not be spent until she’d twisted a cruel finger into every affair across the Kingdom. Her Mad High King had appointed her two decades ago, and for twenty years she’d curated the generations of witchers to come.

From the top of Witcher’s Watch, she saw the mountain descend from the sky, and felt the heat as it scorched the land with arcana that only the oldest of stories whispered about.

Beneath her the watch was evacuating, they’d need time to take their children and their secrets into Valkyrie’s Reat, time that Gunnhild would have to buy for them.

Her braid was woven at the top of her head like a crown, but as she sheathed herself in antimagic it fell to sweep the ground behind her. Gunnhild’s face was lined and scarred; she foresaw her Kingdoms fate, but her duty was to her people - and the Iskarans who spat at her name. Iskaldrik, this broken, beautiful, stubborn land of ego and violence would fall to something far worse. She saw its face as it scorched the earth and left nothing but waste. Ichorous shadows like ink whipped about her, the natural weaves of the world seemed to protest as the air itself bent around her.

She stepped onto these threads and took flight, sustained by means of rejection. Against the shadow, a stark line of Silverlight took shape as a mithril bow formed, arrows of shadow and mithril enveloped its shaft before they pierced the sky. Antimagic erupted against the mountain and an invisible field rippled around it - shielded, she fired again and again.

A handprint burned over her heart, though Gunnhild paid it no mind.

She envisioned a white flame and passed her fears to it as they floated through her consciousness.

She flew, and she fired.

From the mountain bastion, a ray of prismatic flames fired toward Gunnhild, engulfing her. The shadow of her ascent was blotted out as the blast struck through and erupted against the ground below, but as quickly as it had blotted out the inky shadow of her antimagic, the ray erupted from its center and split the sky apart in a blinding array of light. Her bow fell toward the ground but a great-axe had landed in her palm instead, with a two-handed swing Gunnhild roared, heaving it at the Aetherian's mountain barrier before she cracked its great mithril blade against a field of seven colours and watched as the barrier shattered.

Its defense brought to ruin, Gunnhild remained smoldering, she prepared to charge, but from thin air itself, three suddenly appeared and descended upon her: a man with hair like the sun, a woman wrapped in gilded armor, and a third with gray hair the colour of churning sea foam.

The grayed Aetherian raised a hand, smiled, and then the sky erupted once more.

I shall not fear.

THE BARRIER

A cold fog swept over the people that morning, most were awake already, charged and ready at the barrier. They knew that once the Olympians began it would only be a matter of time before the Aetherians descended to pick their bones clean.

At the Olympians’s order, elements bore down upon the barrier to strip it away layer by layer. Frost against fire, fire against frost, air against lightning. The prismatic force was a myriad of complexities, each field of the prism needed to be taken down simultaneously and yet one at a time as well. As quickly as they could tear through, it sealed itself shut again, as they were the Olympians would not manage it on their own.

The witchers of Iskaldrik stepped forward, and the words of their First echoed in their mind: fear is the mind-killer.

They sheathed themselves in antimagic, transforming as they rushed the barrier and carved into it with their mithril weapons. Cloaked in ichorous shadows, the force of the barrier closed down upon them. Flames washed over them, cold sunk into their nerves, acid ate away at their skin, and poison twisted away at their insides while lightning coursed through their bodies. Visions of horror flooded their minds in a blinding array as each of them gradually began to turn to stone.

Their King was gone, their purpose was their nation, united, and with the aid of the Olympians, they cracked open the barrier as it rippled with a flood of arcana that cascaded across the surface in an array. If the Aetherians did not know where they were previously, then they would certainly be upon them shortly. The prismatic barrier sat on the shoulders of the witchers, the force of it tearing through them little by little.

Iskarans rushed through, and the refugees passed under the mantle of the array while Aetherians poured down from the sky. A rain of prismatic flames washed across the Lostlands and one by one the witchers holding the field either collapsed or were pulled away. The barrier closed bit by bit until the last of it resealed into place and the pursuing Aetherians were trapped within, staring through the prismatic array at the Lysarans and Iskarans standing shoulder to shoulder.

Despite their condition, none of the witchers died. Their petrification eroded away from the barrier, their sight returned, and with time their wounds were healed.

For the Iskarans, what more could be said?

What could they say after two long months on the road? Sequestered with the blight, starved, and raided by darkspawn. They'd watched their children turn into ghouls and felt the bracing hands of the witchers holding them back as their fiendish offspring were cut down and buried.

They'd been marched through wretched storms and unbearable cold and barely held their grip in the jarring tundra of the Wastelands and the treacherous peaks of Ymir's most Northern Spine. They'd come face to face with Aetherians, and battle dragons, and still trudged through a swampish hell only to face what should have been an insurmountable challenge.

They had lost their homes, their families, and their livelihoods.

For a moment there was nothing but shock and uncertainty, then a choice of glee seemed to erupt. A chorus of an old song passed over stubborn Iskaran songs as the Queen of Haven swept open the doors and bid the nation welcome among her wolves.

A pack that would grow with those who wished to join her, and a border nation that suddenly doubled in size overnight.

Too many Iskarans were taken the night of the Nornwatch attack, but six returned, each carrying scars both seen and unseen. Over the hearts of five, a handprint had appeared. It didn’t take long for word to spread, among the elves one of the elvhen said it first: Hrimthur’s Heart. From there another adage began to follow: The Daughters of Manetheren and The Heroes of the Wastelands.

Their triumph over the abomination, Munin, spread like wildfire. Munin became the face of the darkspawn, a name that the Iskarans could attribute to all their woes concerning the blight. A skaldic young witch limped about Haven and spread the tale of their valor; inflating some aspects and deflating others. These brave stories spread from the Iskarans, through Haven, and across Lysara like a wildfire.

A Princess missing her eye stood now among the legionnaires, abandoning status in pursuit of a greater good. Aetherians had taken Iskaldrik, but she’d gazed upon Isengrim’s Embrace and knew that if left unchecked, the blight would see to it that there would be no Iskaldrik to return to.

A Steady blade had watched the princess cut off a dragon's head and took a knee. All her life she'd been Iskaran, she'd served a King, but she swore herself to the woman who she hoped would someday return to Iskaldrik as Queen.

A Shield for a Jarl was left touched by magic; the Iskaran woman knew nothing of witchcraft but now an unknown amount of years in wisdom sat idle across her mind. Lifetimes lived through the distorted lens of an altered fate, her task became siphoning the parts of her that were true and what was better left abandoned.

A Stationary woodcutter from the Iskaran Ironwood, signatures draped in a red riding cloak, had been kissed by the moon. An amulet of Aetherite was worth enough to purchase a fleet of ships ten times over, but what it gave her was so much more. Where it had come from and what it meant remained obscured by the fog of the blight, a fog she stepped toward. A wolf among the legionnaires draped in a cloak of red over armor of black.

A Path of shadows draped in raven feathers obscured her identity now. She drifted into the peripherals and faded into the background. Darkness had laid its hand upon her, and while she’d given little and told less, most never so much as learned her name.

A Gaze had turned toward the future and the horrors that she’d been made to endure. Orphaned urchin from the grimy streets, an Iskaran weapon meant to defend her nation. When the Legion of the Dead extended its hand, she stepped toward her Joining and set her eyes upon carving out the rot that settled around her Kingdom.

A Temperance of a sixth did not carry the mark, not a daughter of Manetheren, but a scientist. One who’d fallen through the veil but had turned away from uncovering more and chose safety instead. Wounded and battered, she would piece together the past in the hope of stitching what remained of their future. One who would fail far more than she’d succeed.

A Sword missing an arm carrying the rank of Kingsguard bore the mark of Hrimthur's Heart, engraved by the storm giant, Orum - though to what end, he could not yet say. He rallied those under his charge in the absence of The First and at the unwavering side of the Iskaran Heir; a sword to lead the witchers to their noble, Iskaran purpose - to someday hunt and kill the magi of Aetheron.

A Hero known as The Errant Knight began to spread like wildfire. From the bowels of a plagued, abandoned outpost, a slayer of blademasters and defectors from the Legion of the Dead had been cut down. He carried one of her swords, one a heron-marked blade wielded by a Crusader of the Light, his story would spread and in so would inspire others to walk the warrior’s path - not knowing the dark secret he harbored.

A Devout legionnaire wielding the weight of the bloodied arts of an Olympian or Ceres pulled countless from the brink of death. For months she’d worked to the bone, setting limbs and minds alike. Toiling day and night among Iskarans who’d have sooner spat at a witch than accepted her aid. What she knew better than most was what she’d known from her formative years: there was only one battle that mattered, the battle between good and evil. Life and death.

An Heir who now carried the ring of his father, wielding with it a power that as of yet ran unchecked. A prince who would someday be King, a man who carried a dark secret and an even darker burden - because now his people were looking toward him for hope. He was the face that they would pin their desire to return to the nation that was taken from them, and it would be his name they would remember should he fail.

An Oathsworn man who’d never thought to hold the mantle of leadership, but with every legionnaire above him cut down, there were few other choices. Should they make it through the barrier, then he’d stand as the Lysaran Field Officer, and march the new burgeoning Legionnaires to reclaim and rebuild Caer Glas Keep of the Silverlands.

A Runner had finally reached his destination, a woodcutter from the Iskaran South, a boy and his dog who'd lost everything along the way to find the family he'd known but never met. A home within a home, a life within a life, his purpose still yet undefined but one who'd carved out runes and seen a Storm Giant with his own eyes, living to tell the tale.

A Hand that was the voice of The High King watched as the man he’d sworn himself to, the man he’d betrayed, and the man he’d watched return from the brink of death, slip away. A maddening uncertainty addled the warrior famed as the Raven Feeder, once Orhan’s voice when he stood in the hall of Arethusa Mordecai, it was he who spoke on behalf of the Iskaran people.

One by one the people of Iskaldrik were vetted, the crimes in their nation were of no consequence to the Lysarans, and the supernaturals hidden among them were thoroughly searched for any connection to Aetheron, or the Blight. Within Haven, Queen Aurea gave the Iskarans everything they needed: food, lodging, and healing when necessary with the understanding that they remained by her good graces and they could continue to do so so long as her law was respected.

Overall, those who were not native to Lysara were sequestered within the lupine city for a month's time. One by one the Agents combed through every detail and made note of anyone of interest: changelings, vuldaks, cambions, devils, thieves, potential darkfriends and so much more. As was their nature, they revealed this only to their Sitters, and to those who were deemed necessary.

The prismatic field remained, no one could enter or exit, but it remained abundantly clear that

ooc info:

This concludes Troupe 1: Journey to our Queendom. Thank you all so much for coming along on this, it has meant the world to me.

The Iskarans are in Haven, in the game it'll be about a month, but IC you're welcome to have them interacting and playing outside of the city.

The Agents of Minerva uncovered the secrets of most of the Iskaran refugees, they know their history - bloody and all. These aren't witches you can easily hide things from.

EVERYONE receives DM Inspiration on their next quest for either surviving and thriving in all the horror I put them through, their campaign actions, or their in-character actions. Additionally, each of these characters in the troupe is awarded 2,000 gp to spend on whatever they wish ( Call it a gift from a charitable wing of the Vanguard of the Light ).

A reminder that the wrap-up posts are due next Friday!

Congratulations on completing the tutorial, The Game has officially begun :)

#tqh: plot #tqh troupe 1: welcome to our queendom #tqh: troupe 1

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invisible-storyteller · 2 years

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*Derek lying on the ground, unmoving* Isaac: Is he dead?! Peter: Wait! *crouches next to Derek* You've been hit by, you've been struck by~ Isaac:... Erica:... Boyd:... Stiles:... Derek, gurgling around blood: A smooth criminal

#teen wolf incorrect quotes #hale pack 2.0 #hale family #Derek comes from the era of iconic music

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our-arospec-experience · 6 months

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As he came into the window It was the sound of a crescendo He came into her apartment He left the bloodstains on the carpet She ran underneath the table He could see she was unable So she ran into the bedroom She was struck down It was her doom

Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie? Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie? Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie? Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?

Annie, are you okay? Will you tell us that you're okay? There's a sign in the window That he struck you - a crescendo, Annie He came into your apartment He left the bloodstains on the carpet Then you ran into the bedroom You were struck down It was your doom

Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?

You've been hit by You've been hit by a smooth criminal Ow!

Ow!

Aw! Annie, are you okay? (I don't know) Will you tell us that you're okay? (I don't know) There's a sound at the window (I don't know) Then he struck you, a crescendo Annie? (I don't know) He came into your apartment (I don't know) Left bloodstains on the carpet (I don't know why, baby) And then you ran into the bedroom (help me) You were struck down It was your doom Annie (dag gone it)

Annie, are you okay? So, Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?

You've been hit by You've been hit by a smooth criminal

…okay…

#Not an experience #???#Are you trying to rickroll me with Michael Jackson????

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sergeantsporks · 6 months

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I know it’s probably inaccurate but I’m just imaging witch switch Philip responding with memes

Coven guard: “Stop!”

Philip: “you violated the law!”

Was honestly the only one I really thought about

I mean, to be fair, a relatively common occurrence is Evelyn going "What do you have?" and him going "a KNIFE" so....

Also consider: At the point where he gets more comfortable and anti-empress' guard, he's like "You've been hit by, you've been struck by, a smooth criminal."

#asks #toh #witch switch au #phillip wittebane

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emma-frxst · 1 year

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Smooth Criminal (15)

Pairing: colossus x reader

Summary- You’ve been hit by, you’ve been struck by, a smooth criminal.

Piotr falls in love with you, an art historian. He doesn’t know that you have a secret double life as an ex-spy turned art thief selling your stolen art to Sebastian Shaw. What happens when your two worlds collide?

Warnings: Trigger warning! Violence, fighting, blood, knives, pain, near death experience, Sad piotr, sad reader, Sad everyone. Next few chapters angsty as hell.

A/N: its smooth criminal sunday!!!! I know this fic has taken a long ass time to get finished, but I appreciate you all following me along this journey. Few more chapters to go. Sorry not sorry for making this angsty as fuck

Series masterlist

Previously on Smooth Criminal:

You turned to lock the door. While doing so you heard heavy footsteps from someone walking up behind you, a cool shiver made its way down your spine.

“Did you miss me?”

You’d know that voice anywhere. That voice has been causing you months of anxiety, nightmares, and paranoia.

Sabertooth.

You turned to face him and as you did, Victor wasted no time pouncing on you. His and your weight sent the two of you crashing through the glass front door of the bookshop. He pinned you to the ground, glass from the door digging in to your back.

He wrapped his meaty hands around your neck, choking you. Enough to weaken you, but not to kill you. Asphyxiation wasn’t his style.

The dagger. You needed it, now.

It was in your bag.

Shit.

You reached out beside you, feeling around for a decently sized piece of glass. Finding one, you didn’t hesitate and stabbed him in the neck with it.

It was enough of distraction for you to push him off you.

You frantically grabbed your bag, dumping out its contents in search of the dagger.

There it was.

Victor stood facing you, pulling the glass shard out of his neck nonchalantly; like it was a mere thorn in his side.

This was it..The fight for your life

For Piotr.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you stood before Victor, dagger in hand, blood soaking the back of your shirt from the small shards of glass piercing your skin.

The wound in Victor’s neck healed right before your eyes.

He laughed as your hands trembled.

This enraged you. Now you were ready to fucking fight.

You ran at him, but he deflected you, using your momentum against you, he grabbed your dagger-clad hand and shoved you against the wall. Causing the dagger to drop the the floor.

You rebounded with a swift kick to the groin. As he was doubled over on pain, you took the opportunity to retireve your weapon, turning over a heavy bookshelf on top of Victor in the process.

You ran upstairs as fast as your legs could carry you.

Slamming the door shut behind you, you searched the room for weapons. You had gotten rid of most of them, to avoid Colossus getting suspicious.

You were cursing yourself for that now. Looked like it was just you, your wits, and one small dagger.

Victor taunted you as he made his way up the steep stairs.

He kicked the door open ready, eager even, to fight. Cocky bastard.

You punched, hit, kicked, and even bit all you could. You grew weary as you continued to defend yourself, But you were no match for a mutant with a healing factor.

There was only one way to end this. You had a plan, albeit not a very good one, but a plan nonetheless. You had to time this just right. Victor wouldn’t let you get close to him with the dagger. He’d just deflect the weapon then gut you like a fish. You had to let him get close to you, so you could use the blade.

You fought back enough to have a few seconds to make your way down the stairs. You felt like your feet weren’t moving fast enough, so you jumped over the last half of stairs, pain shooting through you upon landing.

You stood at the bottom of the stairs while Victor moseyed out from the loft to stand at the top of the staircase.

He laughed.

“You can’t beat me (y/n).”

“Try me, bitch.” You spat, hand on the dagger that hid in your waistband.

It was almost as if the next seconds happened in slow motion.

Victor launched himself from the top of the stairs, claws out and teeth bared; like a sabtertooth tiger attacking it’s prey. You were counting on that.

You didn’t move as all 275 pounds of him landed on top of you, his claws sinking into your chest. But you were sneaky, at the last second before he was on you, you pulled the dagger from your waistband. With all your strength, you drove it straight into the center of his chest as your bodies collided.

With all his weight and momentum, Victor knocked you flat on your back. The impact abruptly knocked the air out of you. The weight of his gross, sweaty, and now bloody body crushing you.

He rolled off of you, jerking the dagger out of his chest.

He panicked when his healing factor didn’t kick in.

“What did you do to me, bitch?!” He exclaimed, trying to get up off the floor but he was too weak.

“Carbonadium..Bitch.” You huffed through labored breaths, the taste of blood invading your mouth. “It s-stops your h-healing.”

Victor looked at you, eyes wide, jaw slacked. He couldn’t believe it. You had outdone him.

You watched Victor become weary as the carbonadium travelled through his bloodstream, deactivating his healing. After a minute, his breathing slowed to a stop.

It was over. Done. You had done it, the cost was hefty, but you had done it.

You laid there on the floor, searing, burning pain shooting through you every time you tired to take a ragged breath. Victors claws did a real number on your chest, you ran your hand over the puncture holes, there were 10, one for each of victor’s disgusting, dirty claws. All the blood made your skin slick, your hand was covered in blood from only a few seconds of contact.

Your limbs were tingly, like the static of an old tv.

Blood soaked your clothes and pooled all around you, still your only thought was of Piotr.

Oh god, Piotr. He would be here any minute now to pick you up for dinner.

He was going to find your body. You hated that he was going to have to see this.

But this was the only way. Like you said, your plan was a crappy plan, but it worked. Sabertooth was no longer an issue.

But selfishly, you wanted the last thing you saw to be Piotr, to see his blue eyes one more time, his smile that always gave you butterflies, you wanted to commit those to memory and hopefully that memory would follow you to the afterlife. You hoped Piotr would realize that you truly did love him, you were sad and angry that you’d never get the change to explain.

You chose to reminisce on memories as the sand in your life’s hourglass ran out.

You could feel your heart beat slowing down, God, you were so tired now. That endless sleep seemed to be calling your name.

Finally, you couldn’t stay conscious any longer, the blood loss was too much. Your vision blurred and your vision began to fade to black.

Piotr POV

Piotr was on his way to pick up (y/n) for dinner, he had been working a lot so we was excited to spend time time with her. It was a nice evening so maybe he could convince her to go for a walk in the park.

He pulled up to the bookstore and instead of (y/n) patiently waiting for him outside, the glass door was completely shattered and he couldn’t see her. Piotr’s thoughts went 0 to 100. Piotr was a worrier, yes, he’d admit that. He cared for (y/n) more than anything and didn’t want anything to happen to her.

Heart pounding in his ears, he threw the car in park and ran as fast as he could inside. He went into defense mode just incase something was wrong. Although (y/n) would fuss at him for being in metal mode and ripping his clothes.

“(Y/n)?!” He called out, his voice panicked. He was hoping some kids had just thrown rocks through the window or something. He stepped through the door, broken glass crunching under his heavy footsteps.

He flipped on the light revealing the bookstore to be a complete wreck. Broken glass and books scattered everywhere, spare papers scattered by the wind blowing through the door.

“(Y/n)!” He called. (Y/n)!? Each call of your name more desperate than the last.

He rounded the check out counter, coming upon a sight made his blood run cold and the air leave his lungs. Nothing..nothing could’ve prepared him for what he saw.

There was so much blood.

“О Боже, (Y/n)!” {oh god, y/n!}

Piotr exclaimed rushing to her side.

“о нет, нет нет нет. дерьмо. боже мой.”

{oh no, no no no. shit. oh my God.}

Piotr shed his shirt and pressed it into her chest to try and slow the bleeding, with his other hand he checked her pulse. It was there.

Barely.

He reached for his phone to call paramedics.

“Come on darling, hang in there. Please stay with me! Please. I need you.” His desperate cries rung out through out the otherwise silent night.

Piotr had to shift out of defense mode to fit in the ambulance.

He looked at his hands, the sight of (y/n’s) blood on them made him sick to his stomach. Feelings of hopelessness sunk deep into his bones, and unbeknownst to him, would make their home there for a long time to come.

Piotr watched the EMTs try their hardest to save (y/n’s) life while he sat there feeling completely useless.

Maybe if he has been just a little bit earlier picking her up, maybe if he hadn’t got stuck in traffic…maybe..just maybe he wouldn’t be sitting in the back of an ambulance watching the one he loved fight for her life.

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#colossus #piotr rasputin #colossus x you #colossus reader insert #colossus fanfiction #colossus x reader au #piotr rasputin x reader #piotr rasputin reader insert #peter rasputin x reader #x men fanfiction #colossus/ reader

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nabramcestoje · 1 year

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Inktober

Day 9: Bounce

He got hit by uh- He got struck by a smooth criminal.

#inktober #inktober2023

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beyondexpectshelluvafanart · 2 years

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The misadventures of Stephen and Paint,

here’s some hellsona and OC stuff that’d I’d been getting into with my friend @thecrazygamingzombie

thecrazygamingzombie’s Hellsona Lore(written by thecrazygamingzombie)

Stephen was born and raised on the rough side of Chicago during the 1950s all the way up until the day of his death in the 1970s. With his parents out of the picture for unknown reasons, the last time he saw them was during infancy, he was raised by his uncle; a used cars saleman that was as sleazy as they came. However, Stephen's uncle was an excellent parental figure who took care of the boy like he was his own son and taught him how to survive on the mean streets of their hometown with a sharp wit and a sliver tongue; the boxing lessons he got Stephen at the local rec center didn't hurt matters either.

Stephen took to those lessons like a duck to water and pretty soon he was running plenty of cons of his own, becoming the very definition of a smooth operator who could talk his way out of any bad situation and always stay three steps ahead of his enemies...or so he liked to think.

The truth is that Stephen wasn't the mastermind he believed himself to be, in actuality he was a cocky idiot with some really weird luck. Most of the time his luck was pretty crummy, often getting him into all sorts of bad situations that put life and limb at risk, but every now and then (typically when things were at their worst) Stephen's luck would suddenly turn around and he'd become the luckiest guy on the east coast; allowing him to escape from the messes he made without so much as a scratch on him. Stephen confused his luck for legitimate skill and he started getting bolder and taking more risks as time went on.

He made a decent living as a street hustler, rising up the ranks of the criminal underworld with his various schemes (although it was more akin to falling upwards in his case) and gaining a notable reputation on the streets of Chicago. Until one night, where his luck was particularly bad, Stephen wound up in the middle of a three way firefight between two rival gangs and the local police; all of whom desperately wanted him dead. After a long and cartoonish chase all over town where Stephen had several brushes with death, one of the gang leaders cornered him in a warehouse and fired a shot straight at his head. Stephen narrowly dodged out of the way only for the bullet to hit some explosive barrels inconveniently placed behind him and set off a massive fiery explosion that killed everyone inside the building...except for him.

Miraculously, Stephen emerged from the wreckage with only a few small burns to show for it and found a briefcase containing five hundred thousand dollars amongst the bodies. Now, a smart person would have immediately fled town after all that unpleasantness but Stephen was anything but smart. He decided to celebrate his survival and newfound fortune by going to a local disco club, where he was killed by a disco ball falling straight onto his head; crushing his skull and killing him near instantaneously. The con man had pushed his luck too far that night.

But upon arriving in Hell after his death, Stephen didn't let it get him down; wouldn't do him any good to sit around feeling sorry for himself. So he adjusted to his new reptilian form and picked right back up where he left off, trying to carve out a new life for himself in his new surroundings. If this was the hand life dealt him, he might as well play it!

Stephen spent the next thirty years or so having all sorts of misadventures in Hell, finding trouble or getting found by trouble, as a lone wolf. Until he met a shy little Pangolin sinner in serious need of a friendly face and struck up a partnership with them, earning the best friend he could ever hope to have.

my Hellsona Lore(written by me and thecrazygamingzombie) Paint lived a life of utter mundane misery in the early 2000s.

Stuck in a dead end job to pay the bills, studying for a college degree he wasn't passionate about and living day to day. But Paint found pleasure in making digital art for the newest wonderful thing called the internet; there, he truly felt like himself.

Paint even had lofty hopes that after earning a degree and getting the well paying job his parents wanted for him, he could truly dedicate his time to his real passion of art. But fate had other plans.

At his mind numbing grocery story clerk job, there was a robbery with the thieves shooting several innocent bystanders in the process. Paint had the good fortune of being next to the cashier desk with the silent alarm button to call the police. Unfortunately hitting it meant he'd have to risk being seen by the shooters and potentially killed for his actions; he wanted to help, he truly did, but even with one of his coworkers being held at gunpoint and quietly asking him to do something, anything to help...he couldn't.

Paint was frozen by fear and self preservation, unable to do anything but lay amongst the corpses and wait until the robbers left with what they wanted. Then simply curled up into a ball and cried until the police and medics arrived, too late for most of the victims of the crime.

After giving his statement to the police and being sent home early, Paint was utterly beside himself. He knew he could have done something, that he should have done something but his cowardice won out in the end and cost several innocent people, many of whom were Paint's acquaintances, their lives. From Paint's perspective, their blood was on his hands.

Paint was so lost in thought, so hung up on the idea of how his lack of confidence was holding him back from living the life he wanted, that he didn't notice the 'don't walk' sign flashing on the crosswalk; nor did he notice the incoming truck barreling straight for him. It was ironic in a way, narrowly escaping death at the hands of marauders only to end up as roadkill shortly after.

Paint didn't expect to end up in Hell for his actions, but apparently heaven decided that his inaction in a time of crisis and lack of ambition when it came to his life was the very definition of the sin of sloth and thus he was condemned for all eternity. The pangolin sinner could only reside himself to his fate, assuming that he must have deserved it for being such a pathetic little coward.

But even in the afterlife there was no peace for him, Paint wound up right back at square one with the same sort of dead end job and meaningless existence he held back on earth; the only difference now was that the customers were meaner, his coworkers bullied him at every opportunity, and his cruddy pay meant he didn't even have enough money to escape into his hobby of art. It truly was Hell for him.

However, all of that changed when he met a fast talking, hard scheming, and overly optimistic gator who helped Paint pick himself back up and show him how to truly live.

The start of Stephen and Paint's friendship wasn't exactly a great day.(written by thecrazygamingzombie)

Paint's boss had recently gotten into some serious debt with a low ranking overlord and the loan sharks could smell blood in the water. Desperate to save their own skin, the scumbag sinner decided to sell Paint to the overlord as a way of paying off his debts and the overlord agreed to the deal; his men forcefully absconding with poor Paint who, having reached the very limits of his sanity, cried like a baby all the way to the overlord's main compound. The Pangolin continued to cry as he was thrown into a dirty cell, terrified of what was going to become of him now, until an alligator sinner in the cell across from him asked him a simple question:

"What do you call a T-Rex that sells handguns?"

Momentarily distracted from his anguish, Paint asked what the answer was.

"a small arm dealer! Get it?!"

It was so absurd, so utterly out of left field, that Paint couldn't help but break out into hysterical laughter. The gator took that as encouragement and unleashed several more cringeworthy jokes onto his cell neighbor until he had reached a much calmer state, Paint was still understandably nervous but at least his tears had stopped flowing.

The gator then introduced himself as Stephen and offered Paint a proposition: He had a plan to get out of the compound but needed an extra set of hands to pull it off and Paint was the perfect candidate to be those hands. (granted he was the only candidate Stephen had at the moment but that was beside the point). So if Paint helped him out, Stephen would make sure that they both got out of here with their lives intact.

Since Paint didn't have anything left to lose, he took Stephen up on his offer and the gator laid out an utterly insane and moronic plan that seemed destined to fail; Paint was certain that he was going to die in that compound with that strange alligator.

And yet, against all logic and reason, Stephen's plan worked perfectly and the two of them road out of the compound on a stolen motorcycle moments before the whole place went up in flames. Once they were both certain they had made a clean getaway, Paint attempted to head home and leave his ally to his devices; assuming that Stephen would want nothing more to do with him now that he had gotten what he wanted from him. But much to Paint's surprise, Stephen asked if he'd be willing to stick around a bit longer. The reptile wanted to pay Paint back for his help by treating him to a round of coffee and pastries at his favorite café: Micole's place.

Paint was hesitant but his empty stomach urged him to accept the invitation and he soon found himself chatting it up with Stephen in a cozy little coffee house. The gator had been impressed by Paint's moxie and wanted to form a partnership with the guy, promising an even 50/50 split between them for all future schemes, and since Paint had basically been fired after his former boss had sold him off he decided to take the risk and team up with Stephen for the time being.

From there a beautiful friendship was formed between them, Paint and Stephen becoming akin to brothers, and Paint's life became far more exciting than it had ever been before. For the first time in his miserable existence, Paint was living a life he could truly be content with and he had Stephen to thank for that.

Hazbin Hotel OCs lore Say hello to the heads of the Santiago family: Nicoletta 'Nicotine' Santiago (pictured middle) and her half-brothers and second in commands Slash/Steward (Left) and Hack/Herbert (Right) (written by me and thecrazygamingzombie)

One of Stephen's oldest enemies and a reoccurring foe that constantly menaces both him and Paint for the acts he committed against them on earth. Although the gator is blissfully unaware of such unpleasantness and believes that Nicoletta is simply obsessed with him in a romantic sense...which isn't ENTIRELY inaccurate.

Nicoletta’s Lore and backstory (written by me and thecrazygamingzombie)

Nicoletta 'Nicotine' Santiago was born into mafia royalty, the youngest child of her family and the only female member alongside her nine older brothers.

Nicoletta was never really planned for or wanted by her family and was constantly reminded of that fact in the form of verbal and/or physical abuse dealt out by her father and older brothers; her mother was of no help, often standing to the side and only stepping in to patch up Nicoletta's 'good looks' afterwards which only stoked the fires of hatred within the girl.

Those fires soon grew into an absolute inferno and Nicoletta became determined to escape from the Hell her family had created for her on earth as soon as possible. But that plan was quickly derailed when two new members of the family moved in: Herbert and Steward, her four year old half brothers.

Compared to them, Nicoletta was treated like a damn princess. Not only did they have to deal with the routine beatings and psychological abuse that Nicoletta experienced at the hands of her father and brothers, which were even worse since they didn't feel the need to hold back with them like they did with her, but even her mother encouraged this abuse and intentionally neglected in a petty attempt to punish her husband's infidelity. Nicoletta could have joined in with the hazing, to stop being the victim for once in her life...but she couldn't.

Instead Nicoletta took it upon herself to care and love her younger half siblings, assuming a motherly role that had been left vacant. She wasn't perfect, what with her only being fourteen at the time, but any shortcomings were made up for with all the love in her heart and all the patience in the world for Herbert and Steward. They were her family, her real family and she wasn't going to let anything happen to them. Her former thoughts of fleeing now abandoned, Nicoletta found a new purpose in life: making their slice of Chicago a place where her boys could prosper.

The way she accomplished this? Taking over her family's empire. One by one she rubbed out her older siblings and former tormentors: one got shot in the back of the head while eating at their favorite pizza restaurant, another had their throat slit at a porn theatre ironically watching a movie titled 'deep throat', and one unlucky sibling was hung from a boardwalk Ferris wheel for all to see. Each of their deaths allowing Nicoletta to seize control of large swaths of the Santiago criminal empire. Until finally, after gunning down her mother and pushing her so called 'father' off the roof of a skyscraper, Nicoletta took control of the criminal organization at age 22 and proceeded to rule it with an iron fist for the next 13 years. Raising her boys properly with all her newfound resources and giving them a chance to walk away from the mafia game to live normal lives, but instead they chose to remain by her side out of a sense of loyalty and became her right hand men who guarded her with their very lives.

Under Nicoletta's rule, the syndicate thrived and expanded it's reach like never before. At this rate they'd be ruling the entire city within ten years time and it seemed as though nothing could stop them...save for one persistent troublemaker: Stephen Hanover.

Stephen was some low level conman making moves around Chicago's criminal network, nothing particularly special about him apart from the fact that he owed quite a lot of money to the Santiago family. So Nicoletta sent out Herbert to extract payment, assuming that some idiot in a cheap suit was nothing he couldn't handle.

Oh how wrong she was. The bloody mess that turned up in the coroner's office was hardly recognizable outside of the special pendant she had given him for his tenth birthday years ago, body twisted and mangled in all the wrong ways; it was something straight out of a horror movie. Bertie, her sweet baby boy, was dead; having been crushed by a falling wrecking ball while pursuing that snake Stephen. Nicoletta felt the old fires of her hatred, the kind that had died down with her parents' deaths, reawaken within her.

Stephen was going to pay for this, Nicoletta was personally going to see that the rest of his short life was spent in agonizing pain and so was Steward. But while Nicoletta was willing to wait, to take the time and plan her approach to ensure Stephen didn't get away, Steward was not so patient and set off on his own to avenge his brother's death. Nicoletta didn't see the big guy again until weeks later, where she got another call from the local morgue.

Herbert had gotten off easy in comparison to his twin, witness reports said that Steward's jacket had gotten snagged on a passing subway car and ended up smeared along the wall of the tunnel. His death had been far more agonizing than that of his baby brother and it tore Nicoletta up inside. In the span of two months she had lost both of her boys, her entire family, all because of...because of HIM. That bastard Stephen, he deserved to be six feet under and not her boys.

Now infuriated beyond belief, Nicoletta decided that the time for action was now and rallied her crew to hunt Stephen down at all costs. Unfortunately they ended up running smack dab into a rival gang and the local constabulary in the process, forcing them into a massive firefight that provided Stephen with the perfect cover he needed to escape. But Nicoletta wasn't about to let that happen, so she abandoned the safety of her crew and chased after the smarmy jerk on foot; eventually heading into a warehouse storing oil barrels. In a fit of desperation, Nicoletta opened fire on Stephen to try and put the guy down; but luck was not on her side that night and the bullet narrowly whizzed over his head, striking one of the barrels laying about and setting off a mass inferno that consumed the entire building.

Nicoletta's last words before the flames consumed her was to cry out the name of the man who had taken everything from her: STEPHEN!

But death was not the end for Nicoletta, it was merely a new beginning. She may have been condemned to Hell for all eternity, but at least she was reunited with her boys and wouldn't have to see Stephen for a long time...or so she thought.

One week after she arrived in Hell, whilst busy planning establishing a criminal network in the underworld, Stephen came crashing through the skylight and landed right on top of the poor woman. Thus kicking off a long rivalry between the two that would last for decades...only to shift into something more, amicable; for lack of a better word. One week after she arrived in Hell, whilst busy planning establishing a criminal network in the underworld, Stephen came crashing through the skylight and landed right on top of the poor woman. Thus kicking off a long rivalry between the two that would last for decades...only to shift into something more, amicable; for lack of a better word.

Herbert’s Lore and backstory (written by me and thecrazygamingzombie)

Herbert Santiago, the younger twin brother to Steward Santiago, younger half-brother of Nicoletta Santiago, and second in command to one of Chicago's biggest crime syndicates. His life was a tragedy in three acts.

The first of which began with the death of his mother and relocation to his father's care, although care is a strong word to use considering his new guardians would neglect him at best and abuse him at worst. Unlike his twin who would fight tooth and nail against anyone trying to give them a hard time, Herbert was much more passive and simply allowed the brutal hazing to continue with little resistance; be it simple name calling to his other brothers dangling him upside down over the edge of a bridge, threatening to drop him into the filthy water below. The boy didn't have the confidence to stand up for himself.

Herbert might not have survived his childhood at all if it wasn't for his half-sister Nicoletta. She kept them fed as much as she could, patching them up after their older brothers were done with them, and even reading them bedtime stories. Herbert especially liked that last activity, the tales of faraway kingdoms and courageous heroes struck a chord with him, and eventually he convinced Nicoletta to teach him how to read.

It ended up being the greatest gift she ever gave him; Herbert found an escape from his rough home life in the form of literature, often losing himself in the fantastical worlds put forth by the eloquent tales of a good book. But unfortunately, it didn't take long for his older brothers to discover his new bookworm tendencies and use it as another way to torment him. Not only mocking him for such a hobby but even outright destroying many of the books he picked up, leading to poor Herbert getting banned from the public library. Thankfully both Nicoletta and Steward managed to obtain more reading materials for their brother, beneath the watchful eyes of their tormentors.

Nicoletta really was the best, she was more of a mother to him and Steward than Mrs.Santiago ever was; not that Herbert would ever say that to Nic, she may have been kind but...sometimes she scared him.

On the one hand, Nicoletta had unwavering faith in the twins. When Herbert floated the idea of going to college, Nicoletta wholeheartedly supported him; and when Steward swore that he didn't knock up his prom date, Nicoletta believed him right away. But on the other hand, Nicoletta could be a little too protective of them; school bullies who weren't part of the Santiago family had a nasty habit of disappearing whenever one of them harmed Herbert or Steward, the former couldn't prove it but he had a feeling Nicoletta was responsible. However, her overprotective tendencies weren't what scared Herbert the most, but what she would think of certain...feelings he had toward boys.

The second act of Herbert's tragedy was one that had always been with him but didn't show it's face until his teenage years, when he truly started to bloom into a man. Herbert always felt a little different from those around him and he wasn't talking about his quite temperament or obsession with literature. Whenever he read tales of passion and romance, he often liked to imagine himself being part of those stories...where he was swept of his feet by the male leads. He knew that having such thoughts were wrong, men weren't supposed to date other men...right? Even if it wasn't, Herbert had read far too many news headlines about guys who liked guys and ended up getting beaten...or worse.

Herbert wanted to believe that Nicolette would accept him, that she'd love him no matter who his heart yearned for. But the possibility, however slight, that she'd end up casting him out terrified Herbert to no end; even more so than the thought of his older brothers ripping him limb from limb if they found out he was a f- *ahem*, perhaps it's best not to go there?

Anyhow, to preserve what little he had in the world, Herbert put on a mask and played the role of the bumbling socially awkward nerd who was either too busy to date or too much of a wimp to get a girlfriend and that he had absolutely no interest in men whatsoever.

It utterly tore him up inside, Herbert could feel his mask slipping whenever he saw Steward and his far more successful romantic escapades. Steward got to have his first kiss and brag about it, Steward could go to prom and dance the night away with his girl of the week, Steward could string a trail of broken hearts behind him, STEWARD got to have all the romance Herbert so desperately wanted but could never have. Herbert had to be the wallflower, the lonely heart, the one who had to pine for guys who would never return his feelings from a distance. Herbert grew to envy his twin and the life he got to live, the life Herbert should have had; but what could he do? He hated keeping secrets from Nicoletta and Steward but he couldn't give them a reason to hate him like their brothers did. So he kept his hopes of true love and romance with another man under lock and key.

Then came the third and final act of Herbert's story, the one that brought his life to an abrupt end. Herbert never felt like he belonged in the family business either; he was a lover, not a fighter and the one thing his horrible siblings had gotten right about him was that he was too soft for his own good. Herbert was always more comfortable in a classroom or a library than he did in a back alley or a field on the outskirts of town, burying a suspicious looking bag. It was enough to make him reconsider if the gangster life was truly one for him and before long he was forced to make that decision when a college scholarship letter arrived for him in the mail.

Herbert would have gotten a full ride, all expenses paid for in pursuit of whatever degree he wanted. It was a ticket straight out of the slums and into a normal, peaceful life free from murder and theft....and yet he couldn't take it. For if he did, it would mean abandoning his family and being left all alone with no one to turn to; Herbert didn't want that. So despite the temptation of salvation, Herbert chose to trade in books and thesis for brass knuckles and obituaries; trying to numb the guilt that came from inflicting the various brutalities Nicoletta ordered him too while the heart of a poet cried out from within him.

At least being her second in command afforded him a level of respect he had never enjoyed before, being the more approachable and understanding member of the syndicate's high command. Herbert garnered a reputation of a bit of a goofball who could easily snap someone in half if his sister asked him to and was deeply respected by his family and subordinates, although Nicoletta tended to pawn off less serious work to him where he'd only handle guys that proved too much for lackies and henchmen to handle. One such individual happened to be a con man named Stephen who had defaulted on loans to the family, loans that Nicoletta ordered Herbert to collect by any means necessary.

Herbert felt a little bad going after the guy, they had interacted beforehand and Stephen was a pleasant individual if a bit unintelligent but he had his orders. After putting up a good fight for the first ten minutes, even forcing Herbert onto the defensive, Stephen cut his losses and tried to flee only for Herbert to give chase. He pursued the con man straight into a construction site, following him all the way up to the top floors of the structure where Herbert cornered him. But before Stephen could meet his end at Herbert's hands, the second in command of the Santiago family heard the sound of a metal cord breaking and looked up just in time to see a massive metal ball plummeting towards him and then...nothing.

When Herbert awoke, he had gotten a complete makeover and found himself in some unusual surroundings. It didn't take long for someone of his intellect to figure out what happened and he despaired at his fate, Herbert knew in his heart that he deserved eternal damnation for the blood on his hands but being separated from his family was too much to bear. Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, Herbert would see Steward and Nicoletta sooner rather than later.

Steward’s Lore and backstory (written by me and thecrazygamingzombie)

(disclaimer: Much of this character bio is told from Steward's perspective, which includes a lot of sexist and misogynistic tendencies that are part of the character. The views expressed in the following piece are in no way reflective of the artist or the writer's own beliefs. Thank you and have a nice day)

Steward Slash Santiago was the 'information specialist' of the Santiago crime family (I.E. great with torture and interrogations) who helped run their part of Chicago with an iron fist.

Ever since he was a kid, Steward knew that fighting was the only thing he was good at and that talent came in handy when he was shipped off to the hellhole ran by their father Mr.Santiago, his monster of a wife, and their sadistic sons. They all quickly made their hatred for the twins well known and Steward knew he had to assert himself against them, not only to protect himself but his younger brother Herbert too.

No matter what torture they put Steward through, from the brusies and broken bones his brothers inflicted to Mrs. Santiago starving him and forcing him to sleep on the floor, the kid refused to break...Until one night he was pushed to his absolute limits.

Mrs.Santiago had gotten fed up with Steward constantly whining about being hungry and decided to lock him in the pantry to teach him a lesson of sorts. Steward remained in the darkness for hours, fighting back the urge to cry out for help knowing that the only person who'd be willing to was too short to reach the lock and he'd only gain the attention of his older brothers who wouldn't hesitate to make things worse for him, and silently sobbed as he felt the walls closing in. But suddenly, the doors to the pantry flew open and Steward readied himself for the fury of his half brothers or Mrs.Santiago that was undoubtedly waiting for him on the other side...only to be wrapped in a soft blanket and have a comforting hand placed on his head, just like Mama used to.

When Steward was able to get a better look at his mysterious savior, he realized it was the girl he had seen around the house; Natalie or Nina or something like that. She motioned for him to follow but Steward was hesitant to obey, this could be a cruel trick for all he knew and yet he couldn't fend off his own curiosity about the whole matter. Steward was led into a bed room where Herbert was already resting peacefully in bed, not on the floor but an honest to god bed that the strange girl gently nudged him into. Once Steward was comfortable next to his twin, the girl soon joined them and wrapped the twins in a comforting embrace before drifting off to sleep.

For the first time since he had arrived in this house, Steward felt...safe, loved, like he had someone to look after him when he wasn't strong enough to do so.

The next morning the girl introduced herself as Steward's older half-sister, Nicoletta, and she ended up being the greatest thing to happen to him.

Nicoletta was the only person Steward could count upon outside of Herbert and she was just as willing to put up a fight to protect the boys if not more so than Steward himself, earning her fair share of bloody noses and black eyes after having a few talks with their older brothers about how the two had been treated. Seeing her so determined to keep them safe, despite having no good reason to do so, caused Steward to look up to Nicoletta as a hero and with that admiration came a fierce determination to become strong enough to protect both her and Herbert from their parents, their older brothers, and everything else the world could throw at them.

Unfortunately Nicoletta couldn't always be there for him and Steward struggled with life outside of the house. In school he was the troublemaker, the problem child, the idiot kid who'd never amount to anything and the detention room saw him as a regular attendee. But it wasn't his fault that their classmates kept calling Herbert names or that the words on his school assignments would change places whenever he looked at it. The only place he excelled in was organized sports, becoming a star athlete in everything from football to baseball but even then his violent temper got him booted from the team more often than not. If that wasn't enough, his teachers decided to rub more salt in the wound by constantly comparing him to Herbert; Herbert who always behaved in class, Herbert who got straight As and won the essay contest, Herbert who was destined for greatness, HERBERT who would always be smarter and more well mannered than Steward would ever be. Steward loved his brother more than anything but sometimes it was hard not to feel jealous of his brother's smarts.

At least Steward had more skill with the ladies than Herbert. His bad rep may have made him a bane to his teachers, but it became a magnet for the lovely ladies at school who saw him as the bad boy rebel type and were chomping at the bit to hang on his arm. Some wanted to get back at their parents while others were genuinely interested in him but it didn't matter to Steward, as long as he got some tail he was happy. Sure he broke plenty of hearts along the way but it wasn't his fault they went and got their feelings involved right? The only time he came close to being on the other end of such heartbreak was when his disloyal prom date decided to bang some scrawny little pointdexter under the bleachers, during prom night; granted she had been sleeping around with half the school and Steward had a few side pieces of his own but he was a guy and she was a girl, it was different for him, ya know? At least he won prom king that night, so he couldn't be too upset. Overall, Steward was very much a 'catch-and-release' type when it came to his romantic partners; women would come and go but family was here to stay.

Another area that Steward surpassed his brother in was managing the family business. Being handed a job by his sister Nicoletta right out of high school, Steward started small from shaking down guys running late on payments before moving up to bashing in the brains of those who tried to skip out on them. He loved every second of it, the power and thrill of being a gangster made him feel alive; it didn't hurt that he got to come back to HQ after a successful mission and be greeted by Nicoletta who looked at him with pride in her eyes, it was the first time Steward felt like he was useful, that he wasn't a good-for-nothing waste. Everyone told Steward he'd never amount to anything but look at him now! He had helped Nicoletta take the family business from their bastard half brothers and their prick of a father, all of whom never deserved any of it, and brought fear and respect to the family name; now he was the second in command of the biggest crime syndicate in Chicago and nobody could push him around...well except for Nicoletta but she had earned the right to push Steward after all she had done for the twins. Sure Herbert didn't take to the job as easily as his brother but that was okay, he'd figure it out eventually and they'd stick together until the end.

Or at least that's what Steward thought until he found that damn college acceptance letter.

It was from one of those prissy little ivy-league schools across the country, promising to give Herbert a full ride through higher education and a ticket out of the criminal life. Steward didn't take the good news well and immediately confronted Herbert about it, giving that traitor a piece of his mind. How could Herbert even consider abandoning his family? After everything they've been through? It made Steward sick to his stomach. Herbert put up a weak little defense about how Nicoletta wanted them to have a choice between the family business and a normal life but that only angered Steward further. Herbert was supposed to be the smart one, how could he not see what was right in front of his face? This was a test of loyalty to his family, one that he would have failed if Steward didn't step in and talk some sense into his brother; reminding him of his rightful place in the family. Steward was beaming with pride when he watched Herbert tear up that letter and throw it away, it almost made up for this odd feeling in his gut that felt suspiciously like guilt but he ignored it. They were gonna rule the city like kings, brothers for life!

Steward, or Slash as he was known by his gang, was a sadistic monster who's mere name was able to strike fear in the thugs of Chicago. His violence tendencies were only kept in check by his even more sadistic and cunning older sister, who Steward worshiped like a damn princess. After spending so long at the bottom of the heap they had finally reached the life they deserved, becoming the tormentors instead of the tormented and nothing and nobody could ever take that from them.

Then Herbert got sent after a nobody who had gotten in debt with the family. Just some no name hustler who thought he was hot stuff, they had met before but Steward hadn't bothered learning his name and felt that going after such a small rat was beneath them. But Nicoletta wanted the guy to settle up on his debts and who were they to refuse orders? Herbert would probably be back with a wad of cash or a few severed fingers before the night was over depending on how things played out.

But Steward would never have expected that the next time he'd see his baby brother, it'd be in the city morgue. Nicoletta was the first to see what was left of Herbert and she tried to stop Steward from going in but the big guy wouldn't listen...although he wished he did when he saw Herbert's body.

He was hardly recognizable, carcass flattened like a damn pancake with his limbs cracked and broken, twisted in all directions and his skull mangled beyond belief; Steward was stronger than anybody in the city but he wasn't strong enough to see his brother like this. The only reason that he didn't break down then and there was because Nicoletta did so first, Steward instinctively holding onto her as she sobbed into his chest for their fallen sibling while Steward bit back his own tears. When Nicoletta regained her composure, she told him the name of the bastard who did Herbert in: Stephen Hanover.

Steward didn't remember his name before but he sure as hell wasn't gonna forget it now, that snake was gonna pay for what he did and Nicoletta couldn't agree more. But unfortunately they butted heads over how they'd deal with him, Nicoletta said they needed to take a careful approach and play their vengeance smart but Steward wouldn't hear of it; every second that murderer was still breathing was one too many and Steward went against Nicoletta's wishes for the first time in his life, choosing to hunt down Stephen all by himself. He spent weeks tracking him down through the city, roughing up every last scumbag and lowlife who might know where he is, until finally he managed to catch the sniveling coward hiding in a subway station.

Stephen put up a good fight and if the circumstances were different, Steward might have given the guy a smidge of respect. But as it stood? The only thing Steward was going to give him was the justice Herbert deserved. He took it slow of course, dragging out Stephen's beating as much as he could and making sure he suffered for every last moment of it. However, just as Steward was about to land the finishing blow and avenge his brother's death; a random subway car came out of nowhere and snagged the back of Steward's jacket, carrying him away from Stephen. The last thing he ever saw was the hustler's dumbfounded expression before he was slammed into the tunnel wall and everything went black.

Steward wasn't surprised that he wound up in Hell afterwards, there's no way they'd let someone like him past the pearly gates, but he was surprised to run into Herbert who was incredibly happy to see his twin brother again and the feeling was mutual. They could only hope that Nicoletta would be okay without her boys to watch over her...

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hellsona #original character #mafia oc #helluva boss oc

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