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agrumina · 5 months

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From Prince Stolas' Journal - ?? ?? 720 after Second Rebellion

[Setting context]

[A sequel to this]

[Despite the name of some of the characters, this isn't a HH's fan fiction but my OCverse. If you're looking for a fan fic of this fandom this work might not be for you]

As per previous agreements, Knight Furcas and I decided visiting the Fourth Circle together.

Even though in all the Circles there are theories and wondering about who consumed Warrior, in the Fourth Circle the “atmosphere” of curiosity and doubts is felt even more.

Who knows what faces will the people make when they find out who tried to take his place (even more so if, in an unlikely event, she comes out as the Winner)!

To every question they asked us, we gave the standard answer: “The Seven Sins prohibit us to disclose more information”.

Mother Lilith, beautiful and affable as always (it almost seemed watching over Warrior and his wife hadn’t tired her), welcomed us at the residence and offered us a quick meal. The absence of her Husbands was a surprise only to a certain extent: I would have liked to talk to them too, but I know very well that they must prepare for every eventuality, as Mother later confirmed me.

While we were eating she informed us about Mammon’s state: Warrior and his wife were still fighting and it was not yet clear if a Winner was going emerge or if they were going to become one. The fight, surprisingly, was very difficult and the sinner was giving the Warrior more trouble than expected. The situation, at the time of the writing this of entry, as far as I’m away, remains unchanged.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. If she managed to consume him (which many thought was impossible) it shouldn’t be that strange that she is managing to resist him.

After we finished our meals, she took us to Warrior’s (former?) rooms.

The screams and the sound of limbs hitting the floors and walls could already be heard from afar and the closer we got the louder they were.

How to describe Mammon? How can I describe what Knight Furcas and I saw when the servants opened the door? Warrior or whoever will succeed him will forgive me for this somewhat vulgar description, but how can one find the right words?

Like every incomplete Fusion, before our eyes we found ourselves a mass of soul and stone which stirred like the Styx, Mother instructed us to keep a certain distance to avoid being hit.

It was impossible to understand how many limbs there were and where they came from.

It was impossible to count how many eyes there were.

It was impossible to give a “defined” shape to who we had in front of us; nor humanoid, nor of an animal.

I tried to see if I could even catch a glimpse of a head, but to no avail.

Their attempts to speak, too, were incomprehensible; even in the moments when they shouted the least. There were moments I didn’t understand whether if it was Warrior or his wife trying to speak.

Knight Furcas attempted to have a conversation with them, but after a while he stopped expecting coherent answers. After a one-sided conversation he wished both Warrior and his wife good luck; promising to then meet and speak with the Winner. For a moment, I admit I was afraid he would subject Mammon to his famous “Trials” beforehand. Fortunately, it was clear he recognized it was not the right time.

I also spoke with thembut I preferred to conclude immediately with good wishes and the assurance of my presence for the Winner’s celebrations.

After being instructed on future actions to take, we were then dismissed.

Mother Lilith did not follow us, as she preferred to continue monitoring the situation.

As we headed towards the exit, I must have made a strange face without realizing it since Knight Furcas looked at me with a half-amused smile and asked me if “I wasn’t used to it by now”.

To him, I only replied that I was surprised that there hadn’t been a Winner yet (a surprise he then told me we shared).

About what I was thinking, however, I will avoid repeating here what some nobles define as “the usual comments of that pacifist”.

Of course, when we left, the people had lots of questions. As instructed, Knight Furcas and I declared that the situation “had not changed” and that “the fight was arduous on both sides”. When we were asked for clues about the identity of the possible successor, we repeated the same set phrase.

And now, we go back to waiting.

Eternal waiting.

#mammon of jewels #agrumina's mammon #original writing #implied mariticide #implied cannibalism #cw body horror #agrume writes

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crunchygranolamilk · 3 months

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Chapter 1 - Out Early

TW: Implied SA, Homicide, Gore, Kidnapping

---This is the first chapter of an angsty fic I am writing with Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Emily (Hazbin Hotel). Both characters are AU/fannon. ---

Her hips scraped against the mud soaked burweed and blunted pebbles she was heaved into the backwoods. She deserved this. Those words repeated internally, her focus only interrupted by shooting pains as her captor yanked her wrists. She didn't fight him. She didn't want to.

Glimpses of twilight speckled the twisting silhouettes of the cottonwood and oak above her. Robert and Dorothy. They would love this. She let her mind dream of teaching Dotty about the golden hour, trusting that Dotty in turn would repeat it to her baby brother. A felled branch dragged across her spine causing her to grit her teeth. It must be just after 5. They are safe with memaw. They'll be better off this way.

Her captor finally pulled her through a clearing. The ferns and saplings around her nicked her shoulders while her knees sank into shifting earth. Now she could see him, slender and tall. His sinuous hands gripped the handle of an axe. The waning moonlight hid his features.

"After much ado," he mussed his wild hair, "let us begin." He tugged the bottom of his shirt before returning both hands to his axe. "Emily. You've been terribly clumsy about all this."

"How--," she froze. She could accept divine retribution at the hands of a stranger for what she had done. A deranged madman unwittingly dispensing justice. That would be the Lord's sense of humor. She was careful in her clean up. Not even the priest could be called to question. So, who the hell was this?

"Ah-ah," he cut her off as he knelt before her, leaning on the head of his axe like a cane. "This is a monologue, darling. Don't step on my line."

With him this close she could finally make out his face– teeth barred, eyes narrowed, reeking of Dapper Dan. Still, she had no recollection of her executioner.

"You never struck me as a murderess," he chuckled. "You were pure doe-eyes and all platitudes when last we met. A decade can really do a girl wonders! Unfortunately for yourself," he leaned in close enough for her to smell the rye on his breath, "your little experiment with mariticide has tangled our paths once again." Standing, he began a deliberate pace in his miniature round. This stage set to feature the rest of their lives. "Mimzy's brother was a bit of a rakehell, and was certainly a mechanic at the table. Surely that wasn't reason to cause my dear friend's heart to break."

Mimzy. Emily should have known Robert’s conniving shylock of a sister would figure it out. She knew what her brother was capable of, what kind of misery he'd put her through. Yet she still sent her button man.

"Finally catching up?" Biting his lower lip, Alastor breathed a satisfied hum. "That makes it so much better for me." Emily's eyes followed the axe blade as Alastor wound up for the swing. Her ears filled with the thrum of her still beating heart.

A rustling came from beyond the weeds causing both captor and captive to turn. Whatever was moving towards them carried itself with a deliberate gate. Alastor crouched and held a finger to his lips. With misguided faith, Emily obeyed. Then came snarling.

Two dark mongrels leapt from the surrounding thickets. One latched onto Alastor's leg, the other to his neck. Alastor swung his axe desperately, only feeling contact with one blow. He screamed and fought until the spray from a shotgun ripped into his back. A sharp whistle cut through the air and the dogs heeled reflexively. Alastor, laid out on the earth, forced his mind to spin a tale that would paint himself a hero. Surely fellow hunters would understand.

Unfortunately for himself, these were fellow monsters. The burly one entered the clearing first. Alastor watched him kneel over Emily. He ran his dirty finger down the center of her chest. Glancing between Alastor and Emily, he mused, "we find a lovers spat?" The man laughed and yelled towards Emily's face, "You there, miss?"

Alastor took a moment to criticize his handiwork. What a shame. Slanted. Jagged. He could have done so much better. He followed the wound from her hair line, through her right eye, all the way to the tip of her nose. Her left pupil was fixed and dilated. The effort he put into his craft was wasted.

She blinked.

Shit.

"Shit. She's dead as a damn doornail," a similarly built man stepped into the clearing. "This is a damn mess. What the hell we gonna do now?"

The first man's sardonic laugh repulsed Alastor. "Gee. We got ourselves a sweet thing like this fallen in our laps and you gotta ask what to do with it?" His stubby fingers moved to the hem of Emily's dress. He stroked her inner thigh.

Alastor realized the extent of his injuries when he tried to speak up. Beyond uncoordinated facial tics, he was incapacitated by the birdshot. Nothing would undo the damage. His stirring was enough to rouse a jump from the second man. "Damnit, boy! The hell you mean by not announcing yourself!"

"Aw, leave him," said the first man. Then, he looked Alastor in the eye, "here's what it is: you got yourself a pretty little girlfriend here, boy. I ain't about to let this brass ring go to waste. I'll grant you the kindness of watching a man get it done. And if you're real good and quiet, I'll think about puttin' you down instead of letting you spill out." He laughed that sickening laugh again and started unbuttoning his overalls.

Alastor stayed fixed on Emily’s eye, dreading any movement. He had only intended to settle Mimzy's score. Allowing those leches to carry on was disgraceful.

Neither Emily nor Alastor saw the sunrise.

---THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR! I'm open to suggestions, although I was super nervous to post! I have this planned out for 3 parts. Hoping to host on AO3 soon. ---

#human alastor #alastor angst #alastor radio demon #alastor smut #alastor x emily #alastor the radio demon

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immortalconclusions · 3 years

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YES, ANOTHER FIC. Some humor this time!

Summary: A Rue Royale era deleted scene. Lestat and Louis fight vis-a-vis Greek mythology and then dance it out. Shenanigans ensue.

#fanfic #iwtv #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #humor #fluff #crack and angst #murder husbands #They Are Married Your Honor #light mariticide implied

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c-secs · 5 years

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–devil’s backbone. [mariticide] 1/ ?

pairing: arthur morgan x f!oc

chapter: 1/? summary: a collection of arthur’s journal entries from his pov about the woman he falls in love with

chapter summary: arthur rescues a young woman accused of murdering her husband.

word count: 2k

warnings: strong violence, blood, language, implied domestic abuse

...

At first, I was set to ride right on by.

Hosea was talking my ear off, saying something about the weather, or maybe it was the flies. I had to swat one off the neck of the horse before it could bite it.

Sweat made a puddle down the front and back of my shirt — I’d ditched the coat hours earlier and still got no relief. The sun beating down on my already blistering, red neck was enough to make me almost miss the mountains.

“Hey, Arthur. Look at that, there…”

Hosea slowed his horse and I did the same, curious what had caught his eye. He usually isn’t one to point out something that has no business being pointed out, after all.

We came to a stop on the crest of a hill that overlooks the road below. And right beneath us sat a barred carriage, pulled by two horses that looked like they didn’t give a shit if those people got to where they were going or not. The driver was a lawman from the look of it, and bent over the back wheel, swearing up a goddamn storm.

I still didn’t quite get the whole picture.

“What about it?” I asked, spitting once to the side.

“Who do you reckon he has back there?” Hosea asked. He craned his neck to try and see past the shadow of the hill and into the carriage.

“An O’Driscoll, if we’re lucky,” I muttered humorlessly.

“Well, whoever he is, he’s only got one man lookin’ after him.”

“You sayin’ we spring him loose?”

“Or take him for ourselves. Depends how much the bounty is, and how generous we’re feelin’.” Hosea grinned at me out the side of his mouth.

I shrugged my shoulders. The cloth stuck to the skin with my sweat. I wanted a cold bath and a beer more than I wanted to deal with whoever this lawman and his quarry was. But Hosea usually had a nose for that kind of stuff. So long as it wasn’t a hotel of a bear, it likely wouldn’t hurt to humor him. Might even help.

“Al’righ’,” I said, swinging my horse around the edge of the cliff and heading back around, “Let’s go make us a new friend.”

The lawman saw us approaching. He drew his gun quicker than Hosea could even say ‘hello’ and backed up against the carriage.

“Stay out of this, fellas,” he said in a shrill voice, cracked with heat, “I’m headed to Strawberry for a bounty. I got a prisoner here.”

“Not a very tough one, by the looks of it,” Hosea reasoned, “They send you to take him in by your lonesome?”

“Her,” the man corrected, “And she’s tough enough. This gal here killed her husband.”

Hosea gave a low whistle. The two of us exchanged a glance before Hosea gave me a little nod, signaling me to check. I tugged the reigns on the horse and lead it around back, real slow like.

Hosea continued to chat up the lawman, “How much is the bounty for mariticide runnin’ these days anyway?”

I peered between the bars.

Inside, was a girl.

A waif of a thing, shivering in a white wedding dress with the sleeves and front stained dark red. Her hair was long and brown and her face was thin. I expected a lady murderer to look a bit more fearsome. This one was trembling like a leaf and blinking big, doe eyes at me from the shadows.

“She don’t look like much,” I called back to the lawman.

He came around the side, looking flustered, and huffed at me. “W-well, don’t let her good looks fool you! She shot her man on their weddin’ night, in cold blood.”

The girl moved like a ghost to the side of the wagon. With the light on her, her features became more apparent. It was a good face. A sweet face. One that got me itching for my pencil and paper.

It was like each of her features was trying to outdo each other. Her eyes were as big and round as dinner plates. And her mouth, it was a little too wide on her long face, and her ears stuck out from between her long waves of hair. But each piece just made her all the nicer to look at.

Though, from up close I could see the bruises on her face and her neck. There was blood crusted under her nose. When she grabbed the bars of the wagon, I noted there was a good deal under her nails, too.

She gave me those big, doe eyes of hers and her bottom lip trembled, but she didn’t say anything. I stared for a little longer, trying to figure out what I was looking at. She didn’t look like no killer, but I had to remember there were all kinds. Especially these days. But something wasn’t sitting right with me. From the look of her, all bruised up and bloodied, I thought maybe that meant she had a damn good reason to kill her man, wedding night or not.

“I’m going to have to ask you two to step back from the wagon, now,” the lawman said and finally got courage enough to draw his gun.

Hosea smiled calmly and then tilted his head at me, “How about it Arthur?”

Now, normally, I wouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Ain’t my business who gets locked away and who doesn’t, unless I’m getting paid for it somehow. I didn’t see any real benefit to saving this girl while we were trying to lay low, but at the same time, I couldn’t walk away.

Maybe she killed her husband, maybe she didn’t. Maybe the bastard deserved it, and maybe he didn’t. For whatever reason, I was unable to make myself move on.

I drew my pistol fast as lightning and shot the lawman between the eyes before he could thinking about aiming at me. Out of the corner of my eye, the girl in the wagon flinched. The lawman slumped to the ground. Hosea got of his horse and stepped lightly around the body. He joined me at the back of the wagon as I swung down from my own horse.

“Lock should be easy enough to shoot off,” Hosea said.

I grunted my agreement and took a few steps back, aiming at the deadbolt. “Back up, miss.”

She did as I said, and once I was sure she was clear, I shot the bolt open. Hosea moved first and swung open the doors.

“Let me help you,” he said and offered her his arm. Her own, ghost-like in white lace, reached from out of the wagon and took it. Even from a distance, I could tell she was still trembling. She moved like a wounded animal that hadn’t fed in a while.

I put away my gun and approached the two of them. Hosea let go of her and she wavered on her feet for a second before she got the good sense to lean back against the wagon. The whole front of her was red with blood, like she’d gutted a pig in that gown of hers.

“What’s your name, miss?” Hosea asked.

She stared at the ground, “Margaret...Margaret Sutton.”

I was gearing up to get ready to go. I felt that I’d done what I’d set out to do, and now my debt was paid up. Whatever had possessed me to intervene didn’t seem to care if I stuck around or not after. There was a fresh kill on the back of my horse, and I knew Dutch would be expecting us, so I waved for Hosea.

“C’mon. We should be headin’ back,” I said.

The woman lurched from the wagon and dug her bony fingers into my arm. She scared the hell out of me, she was so quick, and I jerked away instinctively. She held fast. Strong, little thing, she was.

“Take me with you,” she said. Her eyes were wide and wild. Red from crying, most like.

I forced myself to relax and then gently eased my arm out of her grip.

“Not uh,” I said, heading back for my horse, “Sorry, miss. Trust me, you don’t wanna go where we’re goin’.”

“Now hold on a minute, Arthur.”

Hosea’s voice. It had that syrupy, wet kind of edge to it that it always got when Hosea started to feel sentimental about something. I turned back and saw that he’d crossed the distance to stand beside Margaret Sutton and was letting her lean on him.

“Come on, Hosea, you know we can’t afford another mouth to feed,” I tried to reason with him, “We’re barely back on our feet as it is.”

“I can work,” Margaret insisted, sucking at her thin cheeks, “I can cook, I can clean, I know my way around a…gun.”

Her face drained of whatever color it had left as she said the word. I watched her long fingers clench and unclench, spattered with blood as they were.

“Sure, sure,” Hosea said agreeably, “And Arthur, just look at her. No one would ever suspect a face like that of anythin’ unsavory. Say the girls teach her a few things, she could probably swindle even the most cold-hearted bastards.”

I don’t know if Hosea really thought all that, or if he was just pulled to the girl the same way I was. Something raw and instinctual about it, a need to protect that welled up in both of us even though we knew damn well that we were barely taking care of ourselves. But I had to be the voice of reason. We had this same kind of feeling with Jenny. And look where that got her.

“It ain’t safe with us right now,” I said in a steady voice.

“Where do you expect her to go?”

“Valentine. Plenty of work in that town to be had.”

Not nice work, but it would be a hell of a lot better than what she’d be doing if she was with us.

Hosea considered me for a long moment. Then he sighed, and decided I was right.

“Fine, fine. Let’s at least give her something for the road.”

If Margaret was disappointed with the outcome, she didn’t say so. In fact, she didn’t make a peep as Hosea and I gave her a few provisions and water from our skins. I expected her to plead, or argue on her own behalf, but she just nodded quietly as Hosea gave her the directions and stared past him.

“You should probably come up with a story,” I said eventually, swinging back up onto my horse, “For the dress, an’ all.”

She looked down at herself, as if this was the first time she’d noticed she was drenched in blood. A gust of hot air blew and her hair picked up all around her and the blood-stiffened folds of her dress rustled.

“And get going quick. Don’t wait until nightfall,” Hosea suggested as he mounted his own horse.

As I tugged the reigns to turn around, I caught her giving me the most pitiful look. It was so pitiful, in fact, that I had to say something before Hosea and I rode off.

“Sorry, miss. We’re just…bad men. It’s for your own good.”

Not much of an explanation, but I felt I owed it to her just the same. She watched me with those big eyes as I pressed my heels into the horse and it began to pick up speed. Once Hosea and I were back on the trail, he matched my pace and called over.

“You think she’ll be alright?”

I looked ahead and tried to push it out of my head, “She’ll be fine.”

Later that night, I drew her for the first time.

I couldn’t stop drawing her eyes. I guess I thought if I drew them enough, I’d be able to figure out how they got a hold of me.

#arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fic #red dead redemption 2 fic #rdr 2 #arthur x oc #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #hi i hate myself

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