#so he'd only smoke on rare occasions

[turtletaubwrites]

Poor Law. I wonder what his chemical of choice is, because he for sure needs to take a chill pill, and lay in the dark after dealing with those idiots all day 😅

[osaemu]

OSAMU DAZAI: ❛❛ MIDNIGHT RAIN ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ his melancholia is addicting. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. smut –> angst. cunniligus, implied p –> v, alcohol consumption. mentions of alcohol and smoking. established relationship.

author's note: somewhat inspired by cornelia street, easily the best song off of lover imo. fight me.

dazai's a stressed man—that's what years upon years of living in environments as active and tense as the mafia and the agency would do to anyone. so on the somewhat rare occasions that dazai softens around you, it's not a problem for you to oblige him.

ever since the two of you started dating, you haven't had a free night to yourself. nights that were once spent on the couch are now spent following dazai through the scarcely lit parts of yokohama, the only illumination of his figure being the soft rays of twilight bleeding from the sky.

on your little nights out, he never lets go of your hand. whether it's to tug you along cobblestone pathways or comfort you in the alleys you used to avoid, his fingers are always threaded through your own.

the more comfortable he gets with you, the more touchy he gets. dazai's arms seem like they were made to wrap around your waist, and you can't help but feel like a part of you's missing when his fingers aren't tangled with your own.

dazai's good with his words, and even better with his hands. only someone as adroit as dazai could make you see stars on your bedroom ceiling with just his fingers.

on nights when the agency works him like a dog, it's all you can do to keep your heart from melting when you see the way he falls asleep in your arms. for him, your touch is dangerously drug-like—something like a sedative, as he tells you the morning after.

dazai wouldn't have it any other way—he'd rather be addicted to you than to cigarettes or alcohol. and, lucky for him, he finds out after your first night in his sheets that you even taste better too.

one crisp evening after one too many glasses of whiskey, dazai's lips find their way to your collarbone, brushing across your skin in an almost ghost-like manner. the way he's holding himself back is almost painful to watch—the longing in his eyes plus the way he flexes his fingers pulls out a plea for him to just touch you from your lips.

one thing leads to another, and within a couple minutes your clothes are discarded to who-knows-where and all you can think about is how good dazai is to you.

and yet, even an hour later, he's holding himself back. despite being under the influence, dazai retains enough of his mind to resist the growing urge to fuck you to his heart's content. only after your pleas turn into full-on begging does he give in, deftly pushing your legs apart and sliding in effortlessly, mumbling praises on just how well you're taking him.

dazai eats you out like a man starved—when you convince him to fuck you with his tongue, he's ravenous. to him, you taste like heaven, and to someone who's certainly going to hell, he can't help but savor the taste of the paradise he'll never set foot in.

someone with such a tainted past like him doesn't deserve such a good girl like you. you shouldn't have to bear any part of the burden that rests on dazai's shoulders—it's not your fault he's so attracted to you.

that's a lie. the blame can only be put on you for being so accommodating, so comforting, so fucking perfect—at least, that's what dazai tells you from his spot in between your legs.

the pornographic sounds that the two of you make over the course of the night fluctuate every time one of you goes over the edge, mind swamped with nothing but thoughts of the other.

the night goes by too fast, marked by love-drunk kisses and nearly-spilt glasses of whiskey. neither of you has any idea how it started or how it'll end—the rumpled sheets tangled in between your legs is enough.

promises of i'm yours fall from both of your lips as the high starts to fade and your breaths start to slow, sleep tugging at the backs of your minds.

as the view around you fades to black, a last whisper slips through your lips. just before your eyes flutter closed, you relish the look of surprise on your boyfriend's face—it's exceedingly rare to catch dazai off guard, and for you, the person he thinks he understands the most to do so? impossible.

and yet the six words you murmur as your head hits the pillow leave dazai open-mouthed for a moment. he's speechless. the words themselves aren't much, but the meaning behind them is everything.

all good things come to an end—as a member of two of the most perilous organizations in yokohama, dazai knows this all too well. being surrounded by death and danger for half your life tends to destroy one's faith in destiny, and yet, as dazai watches you fall asleep on his chest, he dares to let himself hope against all odds.

all good things come to an end, but hopefully, this won't. he's invested far too much into this for it to crumble—if the worst happened, he'd never love again. it wouldn't be worth the risk, not if someone as perfect as you managed to slip through his fingers. he couldn't lose you, too.

so when he hears his thoughts mirrored on your lips, something in dazai's heart breaks. all his life, he'd been taught that permanence was a false promise. everything ended, good and bad, eventually. dazai had been taught to cut people off before they could hurt him, but for you?

if loving you was pain, then by all means, consider him a masochist.

"i hope i never lose you."

[nocreativityfornames]

Random Obey Me! Headcanons

Belphie doesn't know how to swim and is too lazy to learn. The brothers have tried to teach him multiple times, but he always ends up giving up before he can make any real progress. He even fell asleep in the water while Satan tried to teach him once, and after that, the brothers just collectively gave up and accepted he'd probably never learn how.

Lucifer is terrible at baking and making any kind of sweets in general. This is funny, considering he's one of the best cooks in the house when it comes to preparing literally anything else. And Satan absolutely thrives off of this, as he actually masters all areas of the kitchen and will brag about how it's one of the things he's better at than Lucifer.

Beel loves rock and metal, they're his favorite music genres to listen to and motivate him when he's doing his morning run, practicing for future games, or going through his workout routine. He actually learned how to play drums because of it, and even performed in a concert when a friend's band was doing a show, and the friend called him a few hours earlier saying he couldn't make it and needed him to take his place. That day, multiple videos of the concert were posted to DevilTube and went viral. Everywhere, people were discussing how talented Beel was, and the brothers even encouraged him to enter the music industry. He refused though, saying he wanted to focus on sports as it was his main passion.

Satan was born a baby, though he grew faster than any other demon or angel. The way I picture this is that he would stay the same age for a few months and then jump to another out of nowhere, for example: he'd be 3 years old for a few months, and then suddenly jump to 5, staying that age for another set of time till he jumped to 7 and continued the cycle. This only stopped when he reached the age he'd originally have if he had born when first formed as an emotion in Lucifer's body. And so he now ages normally, as any other demon would.

There's a magic barrier around the House of Lamentation that stops any demon that's not one of the brothers, Diavolo or Barbatos from even passing the gates. But as mentioned, it only works on demons, hence why Luke was able to sneak in without the others even noticing during season 1. And this is the same for the Demons' Lord Castle, that also has a magic barrier around it.

Mammon smokes. It's his way to relax after an especially stressful day, he'll stand on the balcony staring at the view outside, alone in his thoughts for as long as he needs to. The brothers understand, as they all have their own ways to cope with stress, and always make sure to check on him at some point while he's there or after. Sometimes though, on very rare occasions, Lucifer will actually go and join him. They'll vent to each other about work, their day in general, and whatever is on their mind while smoking together. Those times are very special for both of them, as they can just chat and relax together without worrying about anything else, knowing they'll always have each other.

The characters' speech gets jumbled when they're drunk, they just start speaking multiple languages at the same time and it only gets worse the more drunk they are. For example, Levi will start spilling Japanese words and sentences in the middle of conversations, Solomon will talk in Old English and confuse everyone, and Lucifer, as the affectionate drunk he is, will just start mumbling I love yous and a bunch of soft praises in Infenal to his brothers and MC. It's a mess.

Levi is one of the most popular streamers in the Devildom when it comes to gaming, anime reviewing, and weeb content in general. He's everyone's favorite, and the one people go to for opinions before purchasing anything. He gets sent games before the official release, merch, figurines, etc. And although most of his streams involve just him, sometimes a brother will join. Mammon and Beel for the most part, but the others have all participated at some point. ( Fun fact: Levi broke his record of views when Lucifer accepted to join him after years and years of pestering. They played Minecraft together, chatted about random stuff, and the viewers were blown away seeing a new side of the eldest, as they only viewed him to be intimidating and unapproachable. To this day fans beg for another stream between the two, but Lucifer always refuses, saying that was the first and last time. )

Lucifer taught Satan how to play piano when he was younger. The fourth born however grew to resent the instrument, lumping it together in the long list of things he'll never pursue again because of how it only makes him more similar to the eldest. He does miss it sometimes though, and very rarely, when he's alone at home, he'll play one or two songs to himself and think back to the lessons Lucifer gave him long long ago.

Beel gives the best massages ever for some reason. You'd think not because of his size and clumsiness, but he actually knows how to control his strength and be a perfect mix between gentle and rough. Oftentimes Beel uses his skill on his brothers, mostly Lucifer and Levi as they're usually the ones staying sitting for too many hours at a time and end up stiff as rocks afterward.

Asmo has an OnlyDevil account where he shares spicy pictures/videos of himself that his fans go absolutely crazy for. His account is very popular and he's actually one of the most sought creators on the platform. Needless to say, the amount of money he makes out of it is no joke.

For some time after lesson 16, Beel didn't know how to interact with Belphie or how to even feel about what had happened, making him avoid the twin completely. It got to the point where he couldn't even stand sleeping in the same room as him, seeking Mammon every night to sleep with him instead. The second born never minded, as sharing a bed with the younger one kept the nightmares of MC's death away.

Satan has always been extremely sensitive to certain sounds, textures, and tastes. For example, there's a brand of milk he absolutely despises for how weird it tastes, despite all the brothers ( including Beel ) insisting that it tastes the exact same as any other milk they've had. There's also a certain type of fabric he can't wear because of how it feels on his skin, numerous foods he can't eat as they give an unimaginable ick, and noises that make him physically cringe at how uncomfortable they sound. The brothers have been aware of these things ever since Satan was born, and although they don't completely understand it, they always have it in mind when buying something for him or finding themselves on cooking duty.

In the Devildom, birthdays are celebrated every 100 years. Diavolo however is an exception to this rule, as he is of royal blood, and his birthday is made into a huge annual event across the entire kingdom. Following this, the brothers only began celebrating their birthdays annually once MC came into the picture, as they wanted to experience as many birthdays as they could while they were still around.

Lucifer regrets not accepting Satan as his son from the get-go, cursing his past self for denying responsibility for the blond when he was first created and the poor way he treated him. But he didn't know any better, he had just fallen after facing a war against his own problematic father, and the last thing he wanted was to label himself as someone's parent. But now he really wishes things had been different, though he's already accepted that it's far too late now, as thousands of years have passed and he believes he's lost his chance to make things right an eternity ago. It still pains him to this day though, to see the change in Satan's expression whenever someone makes the even slightest suggestion to them being anything more than brothers.

I've already made a separate post about this one, but the brothers can sense their sins on other people and feed off of it. Also, demon blood is dark black, while angel blood is bright gold.

[theredharpy]

Cuts & Bruises || Ghost x Reader

What happens when Y/N overhears an argument and checks up on Ghost.

• fluff • slow burn • romance • swearing • no mention of Readers gender ( Y/N )

Second part:

-

"Fucking stupid fucking prick! What the fuck was that!." A roar echoed down the hallway, the voice was filled with emotion, rage and anger.

Y/N lifted their head up from their desk, deciding to quickly get some field notes written down for the upcoming mission, the blaring noise of their headphones still screamed out as they pulled it away from their ear, startled by the sudden wave of noise and change in atmosphere.

Y/N pulled themselves away from the desk, using their arm to push the door to their room slightly open and peering around to see what was happening.

"Simon, calm down!"

Price yelled back marching behind him, he sounded strained, out of breath.

"The hell happened.." Y/N mumbled to themselves as their brows furrowed, tension always put them on edge and high alert, especially when it came to L.T, over the past year they'd grown close.

it sometimes felt like Ghost purposely went to them to seek comfort in the moments his mind was overwhelming him, his scarred memories haunted him, they never left.

This wasn't the first argument Y/N had overheard between the Captain and Ghost.

"I need you to piss off Price, get the fuck off my back." Ghost turned around the corner and glanced over his head towards Price, his breathing was laboured, he was trembling, his mannerisms had become stiffened.

"Leave him Captain." Y/N opened the door some more with their hand as they leaned over the chair, looking cautiously between both Price and Ghost who continued to walk away from the Captian, but not before giving Y/N a quick glance over.

They didn't near to hear it, but it was Ghosts way of saying thanks, Y/N had picked up on his body language, his way of communicating, when he didn't want to talk just as much as he had picked up on theirs, probably why they worked so well together on the field.

"He's on thin fuckin Ice." Price bitterly spoke back, his eyes drilling into Y/N's "this isn't your problem to deal with."

Y/N shrugged their shoulders as they pushed themselves from the chair they'd sat on.

"I never said it's my problem Captain, but we all know that going after him like this is going to solve nothing."

Price scoffed as he slapped both his hands against his legs in defeat.

" He needs to get his head out of his arse by tomorrow and back in the game." As he looked over to Y/N, giving them an all too knowing look.

Go sort him out.

Y/N knew that they couldn't just leave Ghost to his own devices especially with the anger they saw reflected back in his eyes, Y/N knew it must've been something bad to have caused that type of emotion to overwhelm him, especially after getting to know him.

Ghost can easily come across as cold, closed off and condescending at times, he lacked patience with outsiders, he had no room for making new friendships and he purposely avoided people outside of mission briefings or training.

Sure he went to the pub with Soap on the rare occasion but other than that he mostly stuck to himself, upon the exception of Y/N joining 141, their stay was only supposed to be temporary until the mission was completed, but it was fair to say that both Y/N and the group of 141 had become close, they'd been accepted, not just by Price, or Soap, Or Gaz or anyone else for that matter, the person that stuck out the most was Ghost, to everyone's surprise he'd actually started to open up to them.

Funnily enough Y/N had come to know the Lieutenant that well, they knew exactly where he'd be.

Soap had already told them on a few occasions if Ghost vanished for a while it was usually best to just leave him be, but if it was urgent he told them where to find him.

But more than once when Y/N was feeling overwhelmed and needed air, they'd also caught Ghost sitting in the same area.

The lieutenant always managed to convince Y/N to air their problems but he never really quite did the same.

Walking through one of the exist doors leading outside, it was already evening as dusk began to settle into the sky, the stars making their presence known.

It was the orange glow of his cigarette that gave him away, sitting himself down on one of the benches that where littered around the perimeter of the base, a string of smoke trailing up into the nights sky.

Y/N paused for a second taking a deep breath before making their way over towards him, not knowing what kind of reaction to expect from him right now, but try none the less.

"Got a spare one." Asking calmly, the crunch of sand and grass ruined their attempted at a more silent approach.

Ghost shifted his attention from the dense forest that surrounded the base, looking at Y/N from the corner of his eye, he simply rolled his eyes and fumbled with one of pockets on his jeans, a crumbled up packet of cigarettes where tossed Y/N's way before resetting his gaze on the forest once again.

Y/N pulled out a cigarette and lifted it to their lips before grabbing out the lighter Ghost always stuffed into the box, shifting their weight down next to him they sat in silence for a moment, the sound of crickets filled the night air.

Y/N lit the cigarette in their mouth, inhaling the thick smoke before taking a long drawn out exhale.

"I don't need babysittin." Ghost spoke aloud, breaking the silence, his mask had been rolled up slightly above his nose.

Y/N glanced up towards him as he leaned backwards, taking another drag of his cigarette.

They looked at the features of his face, deep scar that trailed his sharp stubbled jawline, until catching his gaze.

"I'm not babysitting you.." Y/N could feel their cheeks slightly burning from his fixated gaze.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Breaking eye contact as they mumbled their last words.

"I'm fine." He sharply responded, taking the cigarette away from his mouth for a second.

"Didn't sound fine to me."

Ghost didn't respond to their comment, deciding to stay silent.

Y/N's eyes trailed towards his hands catching the fact he wasn't wearing his gloves, noticing something on the Lieutenant's knuckles they peered closer.

"What the hell did you do?" Placing their own cigarette back in their mouth, Y/N without thinking grabbed a hold of his hand and bringing it closer towards them to be able to inspect it better considering they where now sat in the dark.

Surprisingly Ghost didn't retract his hand, if anything the moment his worn hands where grasped by Y/N's he felt warmth, their touch was so gentle as they inspected the deep cuts that trailed along his knuckles.

"I just had enough bullshit for one day." Ghost turned to look at Y/N, he couldn't be angry with them, there was no need to, but at the same time he wouldn't normally let anyone be around him during this time, not even Soap, he dealt with things his own way, away from everyone. "Had enough of Price's bullshit especially.."

"I get that." Y/N said softly.

"Don't wanna know what the other guy looks like." They said jokingly as they lifted their head looking back towards the exist door and then back to Ghost a concerned look settled in their eyes.

"Has a bloody big hole through it."

Y/N and Ghost both scoffed at his words, Y/N knew what that meant, they'd caught Ghost once before punching a hole straight through one of the reck room's tables when he had a previous disagreement with Price.

Suddenly a sharp whilste coming from the base both caught their attention as they turned to look at who it was.

Soap was stood by the door, "You guys need anything out there! It's cold as a witches tit out here."

Y/N placed their cigarette to one side, clearing their throat and shouting back.

"A medical pack and some tea would be great thanks!"

Soap glanced over to Ghost who simply gave him a nod, "On it." He bellowed back before walking back inside the building.

"You patchin me up." Ghost sarcasticlly said as he finished his cigarette, throwing the butt away into the darkness beyond his vision.

"Well if I don't do it, you won't do it and if you don't do it, then it'll get all nasty and infected and you're too stubborn to admit that it'll get infected until your sodding hand falls off..." Y/N looked at him with a blank expression on their face.

"So yes I'm pAtChinG yOu uP."

Ghost couldn't help but find their words amusing, that and the attempt to copy his voice, his lips gave away a faint smile.

Soap approached the two with flasks filled with tea and a small green medical bag that he placed down besides Y/N, giving one flask to Ghost.

"So L.T, got your own nurse now I see." He cocked and eyebrow looking down at Ghosts hand and then back up at him.

"Go eat some shortbreads Soap." Y/N stuck their tongue out at the Sargent, picking up the medical bag and taking out what they needed.

"Okay I'm off then." Soap laughed taking the hint, "don't catch a cold out here guys."

"We won't." Both Y/N and Ghost replied back at the same time.

Y/N looked up at Ghost for a second.

"You gonna let me clean up your hand or are you going to be a grumpy old git about it."

Ghost simply waved his hand at them in response, once again going mute, Y/N opened up a medical wipe, gently wiping the damaged area of skin, noticing his hand was still bleeding as they placed their fingers under his palm to move his hand.

"You don't have to be so careful with me." Ghost softly spoke, catching them off guard at it words.

"I'm not going to bloody manhandle you now am I." Switching out the medical wipe for a bandage they opened it up and thought about how they where going to place it.

"You're too gentle with me." He scoffed, but his words held more meaning as he continued to watch them tend to him.

Y/N was so caught up in trying to make sure the injured area was patched up correctly they didn't even realise the words that fell from their mouth.

"You're not gentle with yourself, someone has to be."

Ghost couldn't help but feel those words cut into him, which made him realise, every time he's been at his worst, Y/N has always said the right thing to calm him down or back him up, they weren't afraid of him in any way, if anything Ghost realised in that moment that Y/N had been rescuing him in the madness and chaos of it all.

"Why would you do that."

Y/N shifted themselves on the bench, they knew that this might be the only chance to talk to him like this, to air everything out, their was a sensation of adrenaline and anxiety that now flowed through them.

"Because I actually give a shit about you, that's why." Y/N huffed, letting go of his hand that was finally clean and patched up. "I am sorry that everything falls on you, I get it, everyone looks at you to make the call, but it's you that gets the hit if it goes sideways."

Ghost couldn't speak, he couldn't find the words that he needed to but everything they said hit him hard, aside from Soap and maybe on the odd occasion Price understanding what also fell upon him, hearing it come from Y/N really hit him.

"I don't want you to ever get hurt." Ghost's hand crept back up towards their own, his fingers wrapped around theirs and held on.

"L.T I--" Y/N had to catch themselves, they could feel Ghost's hazel eyes staring down towards them. "I will never get hurt you know that."

"You better not." He moved himself closer towards them, watching intensely as Y/N finally got the courage to look up at him, he could only see himself reflected back in their eyes, the white piercing dots of starlight danced around in their vision, this is what he wanted, all this time, every mission, every briefing, he wasn't looking at anyone else, he was looking for Y/N always.

He would purposely look out for them on missions, making sure he had their back, that they where safe, unharmed.

"Because I need you Y/N."

// side note: I thought of writing this last night and decided to actually go ahead with it.

Also shortbread is Scottish shortbread which is 10/10

[bookshelf-dust]

you gonna let me keep her?

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 1,713

warnings: swearing, brief smoking, billy being a flirty little shit

a/n: i can't get over the idea of billy having a cat, so here you go. i hope you like it!! <33 (would you look at that curl??!!)

————

Tugging the key free from the ignition, you moved to pull up on the door handle, pushing it open. It was chilly out, the time of year where fall has just begun and it's getting darker a bit earlier, but some days are still warmer than others.

Billy let you drive the Camaro to work today, and you should've known that meant he was up to something. It wasn't something that happened often, although you did revel in the rare occasion that it did.

Sitting on the steps to the little home you shared, Billy snubbed out his cigarette when you started in his direction. He stood, walking to meet you.

"Hi," he said, before pressing his lips to yours once, twice. One more for good measure.

He pulled away, grasping for your hand. "Come with me. Gotta show you somethin,' okay?"

Billy took his keys from you, slipping them into the front pocket of his jeans. "Okay."

You tried not to be worried about whatever he was going to do, but it didn't work. Holding your hand, callouses rubbing against your palm, he led you slowly and quietly around to the side of the house.

He'd planted rosebushes there on a whim a while back, so you wondered if maybe that was where you were heading. "You gotta be quiet, okay baby?" Nodding your head at him, you only grew more nervous.

Billy crouched toward the end of the row of rosebushes, pulling you with him. Looking at him, there was a shift in his features—he looked soft, younger maybe. He pointed at a shallow sort of opening in the stems, and you lowered your head to look.

There was a kitten nestled in between the leaves and the brick of the house. It was small, and couldn't have been more than a few weeks old. Small enough that it most definitely still needed nursing. Your heart warmed at its calico fur, having always liked those colors.

It was mostly dark brown, with patches of black and white along with this warm caramel color. It was precious.

"How long's she been down here?" You looked up at Billy, and he wrapped an arm around your waist, steadying you as you knelt, dropping your bag on the grass beside you.

"I saw her out the window the other morning, but she's been here since yesterday. I thought mama would've come back for her, and I didn't wanna bother her. But I'm starting to think maybe she won't. She hasn't moved. What do you think, sweetheart?"

You'd had cats when you were younger, multiple, and had always loved it. Billy knew this, and that's presumably why he was asking.

You get down on your elbows, leaning in to look at her. She opened her eyes, blinking up at you slowly. They were the prettiest shade of blue. Kind of like Billy's. You stuck out your index finger, moving it towards her to see if you could gauge a reaction.

"Hi, baby. You okay in there?" She sniffed the tip of your finger, little nose scrunching and head bobbing in the process. You dared to graze your finger against her head, and she took to it, purring loud enough for Billy to hear and laugh.

Billy's hand found your back, rubbing up your spine. "Where's your mama gone, huh baby?" You ask, as if waiting for a response. She squeaks at you, not even a meow. "I see."

Billy was enamored by you, and slipped his hand under your shirt, rubbing the skin of your back now. You ran your finger under chin, drawing out a deeper purr. "I think we ought to leave her tonight. Wait just a little longer to see about mama. No dice, then we take her to the vet. We can bring a towel out, though. I'm not sure she's old enough for soft food, and I don't wanna chance messing up her tummy."

"I trust you," he said.

————

True to plan, you'd tucked her in with a towel for the night, but she was still there the next day, and mama hadn't come.

You could tell that Billy was attached to her, but you weren't sure that keeping her was a good idea.

You'd called the vet that morning, and had an appointment set up to get her checked out. "How about I get her out, and you can hold her on the way? You can let me drive your car again."

Keen on sucking up in hopes you'd let him keep her, Billy agreed, and you now found yourself driving into town, Billy holding the kitten in his lap. She was sitting up, rubbing all over his hands, licking his fingers, meowing up a storm. Shit, you thought. She likes him too.

The vet took her back, and Billy took your hand, kissing over the back of it. "You gonna let me keep her, princess?"

He was giving you his very best, watery and pleading eyes.

"I don't know, Billy. I don't know if that's the right thing to do. We'd have to buy food, and the tech said she's got to be hand-fed for a while, and then a litter box, and if we ever went anywhere, someone would have to watch her."

None of this bothered Billy, but he could see it was worrying you. "Don't sweat it, baby. I'll feed her as often as I need to. And Max could watch her! She'd be a great aunt."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I'm sure she'd love that you're volunteering her for this. And please stop treating this cat like it's our child."

He laughed at you, almost maniacally.

————

You'd agreed to keep her. There was no way in hell you were going to deny Billy of this. He looked over the fucking moon when you'd given him the okay, picking you up and spinning you around.

The two of you had decided that you didn't want kids, and this was the closest you were going to get.

"C'mon, Mal. Let's go find mama." Billy lifted the kitten up from her place on the couch, setting her high up on his chest heading off in search of you. "What do you think mama's doin' Mallory? Avoiding us?" He'd spent a week trying to choose a name, but finally settled, claiming that one felt right.

Billy found you washing dishes, even though you'd said you were just going to put a sweatshirt on. "Hey, mama."

You rolled your eyes, looking down at the soapy water your hands were buried in. "You can't keep callin' me that, Hargrove." You could feel his presence behind you, and could hear the purring of the guest he'd brought along with him.

"Why's that baby? 'Cause you like it?" Your cheeks burned, and you refused to look at him.

You did like it, actually. You couldn't get over how it sounded coming from his mouth, lazy and drawn out. And you were practically beaming considering it was because you were the "mother" of a fur ball rather than an actual human.

But really, you denied him because you were jealous. Mallory was taking Billy from you, and as much as you liked her, as sweet as she was, you were kind of hurt.

He'd spent hours hand-feeding her from a little milk bottle given to you by the veterinarian, picked out a little collar with a bell so he'd know where she'd run off to, bought her a tiny bed to put in your room.

The other night he'd been sprawled out on the couch, bare-chested, and she'd taken the spot on his chest that you wanted. You felt betrayed after she'd been so nice to you at first.

She sat on the counter while he brushed his teeth, on the rug while he showered, came barreling down the hall when he got home from work.

But you were happy that he was happy, glad that he had something to occupy his time, take care of and nourish. It was just the kind of thing he needed. But you couldn't help but feel as though a cat had stolen your boyfriend.

"No. I hate it," you told him, though he didn't believe you in the slightest.

Billy set the cat down, telling her to go play, which she did, sliding across the floor and attacking a mouse full of catnip. "Stoner," he mumbled, turning back to you where you were draining the water from the sink.

His hands found your sides. "You're avoiding me."

"Am not."

"Is it the cat?"

"No, Billy." You tried to move out of the kitchen, but he caught you and pressed you up against the counter, so you wiped your cold wet hands across his face.

"You little shit." He rubbed his cheeks across your face trying to get the water off, but also trying to make you laugh.

"Tell me what it is, baby." Billy kept touching you, rubbing his hands up your arms, over your neck, your back, trying to love on you and coax out an answer.

"I'm jealous of the cat," you tell him.

"I knew it." He kisses you then, firmly. "Don't gotta be, princess. I'll always love you more. Just don't let her hear that. Is it 'cause I've been givin' her so much attention?" You nodded your head, him copying the motion. "Yeah?"

"How about I let you feed her more often? I just get excited is all. You're a real good mama. We. Will. Be. The best. Kitty parents. Ever." He punctuated each word with a kiss, making you warm all over. "Deal?"

"Deal."

"'Mama' doesn't really bother you, does it? I kinda like it. It's kinda hot." You played with a curl hanging in between his eyebrows, ran your thumb over the slit in his right one.

"No. It's just fine." You said it like a whisper, making him smirk at you, run his tongue along his teeth.

"Good. Now c'mon, mama. Wanna lay down."

————

Billy walked down the hall, and into the living room, spotting you on the couch with Mal on your chest. You caught his eye and shook your fist in victory.

He knew she'd win you over. They were very good accomplices.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[daytaker]

The Gang React to Weed

Happy 4/20, here's a thing.

(I'm imagining that demons have the same reactions to weed that humans do. I don't think they actually would have the same reactions, but theoretically...)

Oh, and to make my own bias clear: I'm not a fan, personally. I can't think about weed without thinking about the smell. The stink. So I'm not sure if the focus on the smell in these comes off as weird or not, but it's so powerful in my mind, it must be addressed.

Lucifer hates weed. Don't call that the Devil's lettuce, he wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. It smells like skunk. It's revolting. Don't use it in his house. Don't use it in his presence. Don't use it. It's antithetical to everything he believes in.

Mammon...would stone. I see him as someone who uses one of those vape pens on the DL (not nearly as smelly, so much safer to use in the House of Lamentation) but he'd also like gummies and weed brownies. Being stoned is just fun. It's pleasant. It's relaxing. Chill out, Lucifer, you're harshing the vibes, man.

Leviathan is nervous about weed. He has this idea that there's a way he's supposed to react to cannabis, and when he doesn't, he feels like there's something wrong with him. He's supposed to feel all chill and groovy, right? So why does he just feel dizzy? Why is he not relaxed? Why isn't he chill?! Why isn't he groovy?!?!?! He probably psyches himself out too much to enjoy it. He's too nervous about the social expectations.

Satan is kind of ambivalent to weed. He doesn't particularly enjoy it. I don't think he'd like feeling intoxicated in general because of the lack of control. But at the same time.... it pisses Lucifer off so much, how can he not appreciate that? He doesn't like the smell either, so if it wasn't for Lucifer, he'd be the one complaining about it, but as it stands, he's perfectly willing to enable his brothers who do like it.

Asmodeus doesn't mind it in moderation, and only in edibles. Again... the smell. He will not tolerate smelling like anything less than a bouquet of roses. He only really uses it socially.

Beelzebub can't have cannabis. And I know you know why. The cravings. You can't just take gluttony and make it hungrier. It Devours. Once, Mammon left some weed brownies unattended, and he was strung up by Lucifer for days, not because he brought pot into the house, but because Beelzebub ate them and went on a mindless rampage through the Devildom, eating his way through various businesses and even a few historic landmarks. Everything was game: stone, dirt, wood, you name it. The bottomless pit just became bottomless-er.

Belphegor likes it. Similar to Mammon, he doesn't want the hassle of Lucifer getting on his case, so he prefers the vape pen, since it's less smelly and also Beel-safe. It makes him feel cozy and relaxed, because if Belphie needs anything, it's something to help him fall asleep more easily.

Diavolo loves it! But since Lucifer hates it, he doesn't use it very often. I actually imagine he and Solomon occasionally hang out and smoke. Only very rarely, because he's much too busy to be fucking off with some tricksy wizard and getting high, but it happens from time to time.

Barbatos is indifferent to it. What's some intoxication in the face of millions of years of experiences and virtual omniscience? It won't affect him. But please, young master, if you must indulge, change your clothes after. The scent has a way of clinging to fabric...

Solomon loves weed! It's so fun. What a great way to take the edge off. Mind-altering substances are very fun for a guy who's seen it all, even if cannabis is relatively lowkey. When he senses that the moment is right, he'll whisk Diavolo away every now and then and hang out in some scenic location while smoking. He has a fantasy that one day, Diavolo will spontaneously suggest they make a pact during such an occasion. It hasn't happened yet.

Simeon isn't interested in getting high. It's not for him, or for any angels, really. I wish I had a more nuanced picture of him for this prompt, but I'm just picturing a meme with Simeon's face saying "Don't get high: get saved."

Luke is a literal child.

"What's that awful smell, Simeon?"

"Oh, that's just some Devil-grass burning. Some demons enjoy the sensations inhaling the smoke causes."

"Demons would like something like that!"

[luci-is-a-bitch-x3x]

The Devildom's "Devil's Lettuce" :

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

You know how some people refer to Cannabis as "Devil's Lettuce"? Well this is a little drabble I wrote because of that. I hope you enjoy! ‹𝟹

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Imagine if the Devildom had something that was called "Devil's Lettuce". The demons would eat it or maybe they'd even smoke it, if they did it'd be like the Devildom's version of a cigarette. If humans eat or smoke it, it would give them an effect similar to Cannabis. The demons aren't affected by it like humans so they may not even realize at first, Mc may just accidently end up tripping one day. For the demons its like nicotine or even caffeine but for Mc its like pure TCH. Even if Mc has smoked Cannabis before, they are guaranteed to trip due to the Devildom's Devil Lettuce. The brothers may worry over how strong its effect is on humans, so Mc may only wind up eating/smoking it once, the brothers may not allow it after the first time. Imagine how confused and panicked the brothers were the first time Mc had it. When Mc started feeling the effects of it, depending on what brother is with Mc they may have a full blown panic attack. Humans react to Cannabis in all types of ways, i imagine the Devil's Lettuce in the Devildom is very similar in that aspect. Mc may have the best trip of their life or it could be the most terrifying thing they ever experience, they could fall asleep soon after having it or they could be energetic and choatic. Devildom's Devil Lettuce has a longer lasting effect than Human world's Cannabis does, so Mc could be experience the effects for a couple of hours, to a couple of days, even as long as a week. For demons it does not last as long, so if Mc is somehow allowed to use it and winds up smoking/eating it with a brother, the brother will most likely be ready to have more before Mc will be. The brothers to use it most would likely be Lucifer, Mammon, Satan, and Belphie occasionally. Lucifer is a stressed man, he takes care of his brothers and Mc, so like Demonus he would use it as a stress relief. I see Lucifer being more likely to smoke it, he'd be like those old guys are with cigars how they say the experience of smoking it makes it more realxing or whatever, Luci isn't opposed to eating it but his perfered way is smoking it. Mammon is the Avatar of Greed, he naturally gets addicted to things quickly, after using Devil's Lettuce once he quickly was using it all the time. Mammon doesn't care if he smokes it or eats it, just as long as he gets to feel the effects. Mammon isn't as desprate for Devil's Lettuce as he is for Grimm, but it is an issue, the brothers and Mc may one day have to do an intervention. Satan uses it to calm his wrath down, it doesn't make all Satan's wrath go away obvi but it helps him keep it in control. Satan perfers to eat Devil's lettuce, he doesn't like the way it taste when he smokes it, and the smoke leaves a lingering smell that annoys him. Satan is usually smoking Devil's lettuce despite his preference, smoking it helps it take a faster effect, eating it takes just a little to long when he needs to calm down right then and there. (Like human world ediables eating Devil's Lettuce takes some time to come into effect, unlike human world ediables, Devil's lettuce doesn't take as long to go into effect. I headcanon eating Devil's Lettuce would take like 15-30 minutes for the effects to take place, smoking it is almost like an instant effect or it takes effect soon after smoking it.) Belphie doesn't use Devil's Lettuce often, however, if Belphie can't seem to fall asleep at all, he'll use it to calm his body down. Belphie being the Avatar of Sloth means this doesn't happen often, but on the rare occasion he'll be found smoking it, yes he could eat it, but he'll get to sleep faster if he smokes it so he takes the short cut. All of the brother's have definitely had Devil's Lettuce, some enjoy and use it more than others. I feel like due to its effect only being like nicotine for Demons, some Devildom food may even have Devil's Lettuce in it. Its probably sold all around and used as much as Demonus, its a common party starter, once everyone has had some Devil's Lettuce and has calmed down and de-stressed a little, then the Demonus can be popped out.

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

Thats all for now babes! Hope you enjoyed!! ♡ This is not proofread. Feel free to comment or reblog any thoughts or any add ons you have! Not the content I promised but content nonetheless, so I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned for more I have all kinds of stuff coming! Stay Safe! & Stay Groovy Scooby!

━☆*:･ﾟ✧✧ ♡ ❀ ♡ ✧━

⟡˙⋆Masterlist⋆˙⟡

[vilevexedvixen]

Fowler's Flower Pt. 1 - Uprooted Abijah Fowler x servant! Reader

Summary: Fueled by anger at what the English / Tudors did to him, Fowler keeps a handful of English Roses to take out sadistic tendencies on as a form of passive retribution. The reader is a commoner caught stealing during a feast and is offered an indentured servitude contract as Fowler's servant by the town Sheriff as an alternative punishment to execution (the punishment in England for theft at the time). Takes place before he stopped using the dungeon, so before 1647.

Banners and dividers by @roseschoices

It's ironic that such a man as Fowler, starved of stimulation and novelty, would become dull to both. To the point that he began to crave the mundane and familiar, a taste of home. For these rare occasions were mistresses shipped over from the English Isles along with the two beeves he brought for milking. As good as cattle, and just as hardy. For they had to last as long as he needed them, indefinitely. At least in principle. Night after night spent shackled and beaten in the dungeon, but eventually their bodies would cave even as their eyes bled with life and spoke every curse their throat could no longer even whimper. Their attire stained progressively deeper shades of red before rendered entirely black and blue by the end of it. Perhaps fortunately, then, it wasn't often that Fowler found himself craving the touch of an English maiden. He'd only need a handful, and could bare to wait a while between shipments if he exhausted them sooner than intended. Sparing however many from his ever expansive "imagination" which so often craved exoticism instead, an ever rarer commodity when grounded at one station for decades at a time. His spring pilgrimage alongside a ready supply of local flesh at his associate's behest somewhat sated his frustration and brought some respite from his cabin fever, but this supply was always quickly burnt through and the delights of the pilgrimage soon stale and forgotten. The girls brought in being too fragile and easily broken to enjoy for long. And while the heady high of seeing his dissatisfaction being met with swift replacements and adjustments instead of outward (though still very apparent) disgust and horror at what he costed the brothels in blood did amuse him, he still needed toys not trinkets. To feel the slight more effort it should take to make them break. Still like porcelain, but not as precious as bone china. And all the sweeter to hear crack at the hands of someone the English so often spat at in all his years over there. Ideally someone he could even tangentially say was directly culpable for manufacturing the suffering he endured, but good graces with people like that was what kept his pockets lined fatter than the breadth of the Atlantic... so commoners would have to do.

"You boy, bring us another round!", another sloshed patron blurted, barely holding onto his pint which dangled loose from his fingers with his arms snug around his mates' shoulders, keeping him afloat from practically drowning in ale. His clearly costly cloak now soaked damp in the stuff both by his own inebriated hand and that of his well-to-do peers. They had all gathered to generously shower their decadence like a fountain of obnoxious charity upon the Woodward Farmhouse, as the town's representatives had done every Easter since its construction. A tithing of sorts, to be sure the wood about St. Ann's well stayed pleasantly pristine for all to enjoy its miracle water.

Inside the farmhouse the air sat thick with tobacco smoke, stale breath and abuzz with disorderly glee as folks stumbled to and from the bar back to their tables. Barely holding together the clusters of steins they brought. Every round overflowing with beer. Each haphazard step tipping more of the precious brew onto the floor which lay already slick with the spillages of other patrons. Ironically making those who'd mustered the audacity to clamber onto the tables and dance of steadier stance than anyone else there. Even as the more lively maidens among them began to gladly chant,

"My granny is sick, and now is dead, And we’ll go mould some cockle bread. Up with my heels and down with my head, And this is the way to mould cockle bread!"

-before either being curtailed mid-chant by a stumble off the table's edge or being hastily ushered down by their attending kin before they could so much as bend to reach their skirt's hem, let alone perform the dance that accompanied the chant. Faces flushed red with embarrassment rather than intoxication.

As appreciative as the Woodward and nearby townsfolk were for the funding, that didn't make their rowdy display any less exhausting to accommodate. What it DID make was a perfect distraction for opportunists like _______ to swipe every loose coin and discarded luxury the nobles might lose track of amidst their merriment. Not that they'd miss any of it, mind. They came here to walk out bellies full and their purses spent, and that's exactly what they'll be by day's end.

Having waited until the festivities were well underway, the greatest challenge (besides remaining unseen, a fairly easy feat given how blind drunk all but the staff seemed to be) became dodging wayward hands flying or being crushed if any brawls broke out or someone proved too unsteady even when idle. As the thought passed _______'s mind, some poor sod began to tip backwards from his chair and nearly onto her had she not skirted so quickly past them. An amused cheer resounded across his table at the sound of him crashing onto the stone floor, much like was customary to do when any crockery shattered in a tavern such as this. "Lightweights...", she muttered so herself, smug with the fat payout the day's already granted her. Enough that there was barely any space left to covertly tuck anything away. Might be worth heading home and stowing away what she had to free up space again. Maybe just another handful...

Taking a moment to pause and see who had anything by their side or on the floor that she could swipe on her way out, she started thinking of all the food she could afford and store for winter with what she's already accumulated. Even if prices inevitably rose again because of yet another crop failure. Or because of more people flooding the town and driving up demand after being enclosed on by the damned Willoughbies like hers had been in Sutton Passeys. Or whatever war the powers that be demand the food should be diverted to instead. She won't go hungry, not this time!

Just as she felt drool begin to well up in her mouth, she spotted a particularly well dressed gentleman just past the open door laying down a round for his table. The two men sat beside him were oddly dressed, in much plainer clothes than the puffy, blouses and jackets expected by the feast's usual attendees. Come to think of it, she didn't recognise any of them from previous years. The man who brought the drinks didn't look rich per-say, but was certainly smartly dressed. Hair dark brown cut to shoulder-length and a feathered cap atop his head. Perhaps a merchant? The other two had a strangely cool tinge to their skin and such dark eyes it was as if their pupils were as wide as a rabbit's and hair dark to match, styled much higher and tighter than their fellow's loose tie-back. Their robes more like a shawl with sleeves and less gathered. Unrecognisable patterns resembling a grid of angular flowers dotted the fabric, but beyond that little decoration darned their outfits. Remarkably modest given their company and the occasion.

As she sauntered closer, she attempts to fain disinterest by periodically gazing about the place and hums along with the raucous singing blasting from within the farmhouse. Every so often darting a glance at the table both to scan for goods and to take in more and more odd details they noticed about the people sat there. In spite of how shoddy her attempt at "acting natural" was, it shouldn't matter as they surely should be too drunk to notice her pinch his coin pu- "There it is!", a hand had grabbed her wrist before she could register what happened. She froze as the Englishman tightened his grip on her wrist before plucking his coin purse back from her aching hand, "Thought someone might have nabbed it there for a second, thank you kindly for returning it to me..." No manner of tugging freed her from his grip, which kept her uncomfortably close, her frantic squirming further broadcasting her guilt as the thief in front of his associates, who simply stared unbothered. As the man turned in his seat to face her, she could see the ornate badge pinned to his breast pocket and his less ornate but still remarkably well-kept attire... a uniform?

"This isn't the usual way I'd spend Easter, but word is this feast has been swarmed with thieves these past few years," he snaked a hand under her chin and held it there, forcing her to keep eye contact, "I'd be careful if I were you. You wouldn't want to lose something valuable tonight... would you?"

With that he let go, and her wrist practically flew free of his grasp. Rubbing it gently to sooth the sore mark he'd left, she hastily scampered off to hide her stash somewhere safe. Who was that? Who were they? Those people? Was that their first round? Of all the tables she picked a sober one last, fantastic!

In the mad dash back home, she hadn't noticed the trail of coins she was leaving behind like breadcrumbs leading back to Lenton village. Some coins dropped on the heads of sleeping vagrants and children playing nearby snatched up what they could once they realise what had littered the ground, scrubbing off the mud that now caked each coin. Unknowingly covering _______'s tracks, at least through the main street, but still too preoccupied in their frantic gathering to notice which alley she'd darted through next. Pushing through her backdoor and clambering for somewhere to hide the goods (or herself) her hands spread wide, feeling the floor for any loose boards. In her panic the floorboard she lifted to stuff the goods under got jammed slightly out of place, and no manner of prying could correct it while in such a state. She'd force it back into place once she'd calmed down. Before she could, though, a daunting knock at the door could be heard. Timidly she peered through through the window. The unnerving man from earlier. How did he know where she went? Doesn't matter. Just keep quiet and unseen and he will leave. Hopefully. The man knocked more forcefully after a minute or two of silence. Then again... and again, before finally sighing and demanding, "If you don't open the door you WILL be arrested. You know the charge for theft. Open. The. Door." Keep quiet.

Luckily the feast had most people out and about for the day, but a worrying patter of footsteps upstairs tore _______ between trying to sway the man to let her go, hand herself in, or let him loudly break down the door and potentially rope in her kin with her punishment since the stash she added to could be implicated as everyone's under the roof. She'd weaseled herself out of tighter situations before, but that was when she was alone. It's all different now! What- Her indecision was cut short by the abrupt kicking open of the door which slammed hard onto the cold stone floor, small fragments of wood breaking off at point of impact with the hinge swinging loose like a doomed man's head. Her decision was already made. She held in her yelp, mustering a whimper, but the sound of the break in already alerted her kin upstairs who clattered downstairs, only to stop at the top step, the eldest of them immediately recognising who was at the door.

"Sheriff! What a lovely surprise, what brings you to our humble abode?" Playing dumb was never her grandma's strong suit, as senile as she was she wasn't ignorant by any means, the darting of her eyes hinting as much. The awkward silence lay like an unmoving layer of fat over water, hardening as the room grew cool with the Sheriff's imposing demeanor freezing everyone in place. His eyes scanned the room, flitting between faces before landing at the jammed floorboards by the stairwell. His attention drawn by the faint glint of sparkling gold. Raising a finger to the gap, he asked, seemingly to no one but clearly directed at _______, "Is this yours?" Shifting in place, _______ was about to say "N-" but her aunt interjected, "It's mine. My dowry. My husband, his family wouldn't let him marry a vagrant but he brought what he could and married me despite their wishes." Her stunned confusion blatantly on display, _______ caught herself and nodded along with the best slack they had. God bless you Auntie, I owe you one. "That looks like far more than eleven pence right there. Rather risky to keep such a valuable asset on display right by the back door, don't you think?" Saving face her aunt doubled down, "Well... that's why it's exactly where a thief wouldn't think to look! You see?" attempting to look chuffed with herself, forcing a confident grin as best she could.

"I DO see, so you're saying you can think like a thief, eh?", a smirk crept up on the Sheriff's face, something he'd clearly been holding back the whole time he'd been standing in the doorway, blocking our nearest exist. "And uh, Ma'am you do realise vagrancy isn't exactly... appreciated, well, anywhere in God's land? You look able-bodied, I assume you've made yourself useful since your marriage?" The questions stewed in their minds, bringing their patience to a boil. Days spent toiling at the spinning wheel, knitting until the skin on their fingers thickened into boot leather. 'Made yourself useful?' as if the Sheriff himself wasn't a bloated mouthpiece for the inept aristocracy that didn't so much as blink before they shoved people like them off of land they'd subsisted on for centuries, for what... aesthetics? So they didn't pollute their lovely view? _______'s fists clenched, tighter and tighter with her family glancing over and back like if they looked away too long she'd set ablaze. "YES. They have..." _______ said firmly through gritted teeth. Closer and closer, the Sheriff stepped, circling _______ as her kin hugged the banister like a lifeline. Wanting to hide back upstairs, but not wanting to abandon their child to the whims of the law. After tracing her curves with his gaze up and down, he crouched to pry open the "dowry". As he did the metal caught the light, brilliantly gleaming in the spring daylight. Certainly not rusted. Not in the slightest. The kind of money no one has touched in years. Could be a dowry, then. Could be new, counterfeit (more likely, he thought). Could be the pretty pennies of the drunken nobles who needn't worry about directly paying with money but once in a blue moon.

"I'll ask again... is this yours?" A trap. She wasn't sure how, but the way he phrased it made it seem like answer answer she'd think to give would lead to a trap. Yes, and that could be an admission that she'd stolen it. No, and that could be admitting it's not hers and she stole it. Please Auntie, please, you or grandma. She wished they'd speak for her, like they always did, now was the time but they stayed quiet. This time it was her gaze flitting to them, back and forth as they evaded hers. The Sheriff reach down and pinched a coin from under the floorboards, rotating it to catch the like, eyeing it closely. Not counterfeit. The real deal... He chuckled, bemused by their awful attempt at saving face. "I know it's not yours. I just needed to see if it was all of you who needed executing, and not just this skank here I caught in the act." he grabbed her by the forearm, raising it like an unwilling volunteer. Despite being but one man, running from the house didn't seem wise, where would they go? Hide? He could just nail the door shut and burn it down with everyone still inside. He didn't need to shackle anyone to keep them right where he needed them.

"Please, I asked her to do it - we needed the money!", Grandma blurted, hoping to help. Honest to a fault. Auntie shot a death-glare at her, not in anger but fear. Now they absolutely would be implicated in the theft, not just _______! Desperate, she kept going, "She was only doing what she was told. If you should prosecute anyone, it should be me, I'm culpable." Her frail, old form gently slinked down the stairs, leaning on the banister for balance. Before she even reached the last step, the Sheriff refused. "How noble, but you're already on death's door you old Crone. It wouldn't be much of a punishment at this point." Offended wasn't quite the word. Disheartened? Shocked? It didn't really matter. An embarrassing withdrawal, she held herself by the bottom of the stairs not sure what to do with herself anymore. His smugness grew, seeing them all so flustered and disheartened. While he couldn't change the law (legally speaking, they deserved death), anything he offered would seem better at this point, and that's exactly what he needed. Unfortunately, only one here would be suitable for his associate's tastes. The other two were clearly too worn and delicate to withstand a long-term tenure with his associate. No, only the skank will do.

"Tell you what! Unless you'd rather let the gentlemen back at the farmhouse sober up, realise they've been robbed blind and let them hunt you down... I have the means to make it look like you're as good as dead and they'll be none the wiser.", he paused, as if waiting for someone to question his proposal, but all that rose was curious silence amidst a flurry of glances between the three women as if performing furious wordless debate amongst themselves. He continued, "I can redistribute the evidence accordingly, and you'll be long gone from the reach of any gallows rope." "Banishment, then? To where?", _______ demanded, exhausted with his drawn out charade. "Oh, nowhere you'd know. A land in the far East, but don't worry! If anything where you'll be is far grander than this... dusty hovel.", he said, gesturing about the place. _______ could feel their brow twitch, if he was so disgusted by their humble lodgings he shouldn't care what they stole, they clearly need it and couldn't afford anywhere "better". "Since you stole a hefty sum, you can pay it back by working under contract as my associate's indentured servant. With how much is here I'd say it should last roughly,", squinting, he sucked in a breath for dramatic effect, "fifteen years".

"WHAT?" _______ yelped, "You've got that wrong, surely?" "It's adorable how you think you grasp the severity of your situation, when you clearly don't.", he scoffed before letting out a small chuckle. Reaching in a hand under his cloak, he pulled out what was presumably the contract and unfolded it to show only _______. "Do you intend to only spare her?", tentatively asked her Auntie, voice hushed like her words might kill her if she spoke them any louder. Again, he scoffed, "The old Crone there isn't worth the trouble of an execution, and she", he pointed right at _______'s face, barely a centimeter from slapping her as he did so, "Is young and clearly fit enough to work this contract as written. YOU are neither. I'll give you a chance to live by still confiscating the evidence but any suspicions that lead back to you leave your fate thrown to the wolves. Tag along if you wish but I don't you'll be much use to my associate." A chance to stay and live, especially while Grandma (sturdy as she was) would still be here, even if it was but a chance and not a certainty seemed too vital to cast aside. No, better she be here for Grandma rather than risk both herself and _______ dying and leaving her to fend for herself. "I'll... stay, thank you." _______ shot her a desperate glare, pained and conflicted. She can't really be serious? The contract was still held there, the Sheriff growing impatient, so she took it from him to glance it over. "...", she looked back up, "You do realise I can't read this?" Snatching it back briskly, he began to read the contract in full, she assumed. The terms seemed fair. Room, board, food, pay contributing back to her debt she owed the nobles, doing general duties expected of a servant / maid, even tending a garden of sorts? It seemed strangely described and involved caring for some animals? Her family did pasture sheep they made the wool yarn from for a while so, that shouldn't be too hard. "Now, normally you'd sign your name, but since you're illiterate I'll just sign your name on your behalf. What was it again?" "_______" "No, your full, legal name." Confused, she repeated, "_______" "Right..."

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Of Starlight And Cigarettes

The potions master finds you indulging in a nasty habit after a fight.

I have four WIPs of both father Paul and Sharp, but I wrote this ficlet in a single sitting yesterday, so here it is. Gif was amateurly made by yours truly.

tw: tobacco usage

Aesop Sharp was no longer surprised to find you lurking about on school grounds after curfew. He wasn't pleased, far from it, actually, but he wasn't surprised. And his displeasure was greatly outweighed by relief that you were alive. He almost wouldn't notice you were it not for the smoke coming from your vicinity, nearly sparkling in the moonlight. He traced it to its origin and found a little orange dot there. The professor neared closer.

You were standing with your back leaned against one of the castle walls, dressed in one of your Highlands ensembles of trousers, blouse and a leather coat. Once he came even closer, he noticed the clothes bore signs of damage. Your right sleeve was terribly charred and the coat and blouse were cut just above your left hip. Dried blood lingered on them. He saw your face now, also finding some dried blood here and there, mixed with dirt and grime, but no actual damage to your person. Must've gulped down some Wiggenwelds before.

In your hand was a lit cigarette. Aesop saw them a few times in London, thin sticks of paper with tobacco within, the ones who wielded them filling the surrounding air with smoke. Smoking was rather popular within the wizarding community as well, but he really only ever saw wizards and witches use pipes. Used one on a few occasions himself, too.

"Isn't this more of a Muggle thing?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. While he disagreed with many things you were doing - mainly putting yourself in danger, your slight savior complex and currently, smoking on school grounds - he still was inexplicably fond of you. He was especially fond of how you seemed to come to a deeper understanding. You probably knew he was there long before he noticed you, yet you stayed. You waited for him. You were very aware he could bring all of his concerns to the Headmaster, most likely resulting in your expulsion, yet you always let him see you. He appreciated that more than he'd ever suspect he would.

It felt very deep and very complex, and Aesop was glad for it, though he didn't really understand why.

"Yes, I suppose. Wouldn't have enough patience for a pipe," you replied, your voice as neutral as if you were talking about the weather, "it doesn't matter that much anyway, I rarely smoke as it is." He leaned against the same wall while you were talking, grateful to be able to take some weight off his bad leg. "I got these from some Frenchman as a gift almost a year ago, the summer between my fifth and sixth year," you continued, "this is my fifth one since. It's quite disgusting really… However, well, there are times when one seems to be exactly what I need at the moment. If you understand."

The potions master didn't say anything for a while. Then, however, his hand moved towards your own, and two long digits took the cigarette out of your hand. Aesop lifted it to his face, closed his lips around it and inhaled. He felt his throat burn, but didn't stop pulling at the smoke. Once his lips parted, he breathed the rest of the way in, before releasing the smoke again in one fluent exhale. He felt the nicotine entering his nervous system and immediately setting off chemical reactions there.

He could feel you staring the entire time, at his hands and fingers first, then moving to his lips.

Wordlessly, he offered the cigarette back to you. You took it, connecting your hands as you too closed your index and middle fingers around it. You then took a drag, closing your eyes as the little orange dot got closer to your fingers.

After that, you wandlessly cast levioso on the remains, before making them burn into ashes with a small incendio. The small amount of dust that remained scattered below into the grass beneath your feet.

"I certainly hope this will not become a habit, Miss (L/N)," Aesop spoke at last. You gave him a lopsided grin, your eyes sparkling at him. "The smoking? I don't think it will, professor. As I said, it really is quite ghastly. As for standing under the stars with my dear potions master, well, that is quite pleasant."

Sharp snorted. "Get yourself cleaned up and go to your dorm, before you spend a month with 'your dear' potions master in his classroom, counting the ingredients stock in Latin, as detention."

It was your turn to let out an amused sound. Yours was a deep chuckle: "Now, that'd be a new one. I better hurry before that potions master actually drags me to my dorm by his teeth."

To both his satisfaction and horror, you actually kissed him on the cheek before swiftly scrambling away.

"Don't kiss me when you smell like tobacco," he mutters just loud enough for you to hear. One more chuckle is his only answer, before he stands on the school grounds alone, the sky above him for once clear of any clouds. Aesop studies the stars above - he was never any good in Astronomy, but still found the stars rather beautiful to look at.

You really were going to be the death of him someday.

What a nice way to go, though.

I hope you enjoyed reading. You can find this work and everything else I've written on AO3. I'm always grateful for feedback &lt;3

[writtenjewels]

Biker part 5

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Salim spent a few minutes walking around Jason's apartment until he found a window to open. He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He needed the nicotine after last night. Salim watched the sunlight spread as he smoked, thoughts playing back the past few hours.

It wasn't the sex that shook him. That part was great, and Jason was an enthusiastic lover. No, it was the calm after. The way they held hands as Jason rested on Salim's shoulder felt so... comfortable. Salim couldn't recall ever just sitting with Maysa on the rare occasions they slept together. By the end of the night, he and Jason were cuddled against each other.

Noises from the bedroom warned Salim that Jason was awake. He flicked his cigarette outside and closed the window. A moment later Jason emerged wearing only boxers. Salim indulged in admiring the other man's figure. Jason was toned and lean, a few scars on his skin. He turned, eyes widening when he noticed Salim.

"Thought you left," Jason grunted. He ran fingers through his hair. "So, uh, you wanna shower first?"

"If that's all right." Their closeness from last night was replaces with awkwardness. Jason glanced at him briefly then shrugged. Salim sighed, heading into the bathroom.

He had no idea how to navigate these small moments. He hadn't even dated Maysa; he had been single longer than they were married. Salim exited the shower feeling no more sure of himself.

He found Jason in the kitchen drinking coffee. The younger man's gaze locked on Salim, following silently as Salim poured his own cup. Salim met his gaze.

"Good morning," he greeted. Jason let out a snorted.

"Mornin'." Silence fell again. "I see what you meant about this. It'd be easier if you just bent me over and fucked me."

"Condoms and lube first, habibi." Though he couldn't help the thrill at Jason's blunt words. "I also need to check in with the gang." He almost mentioned Zain, but hesitated. Admitting he was a single father felt like too much.

"Okay," Jason nodded. He took a sip of coffee. After another moment of silence, he added, "You got my number."

Getting dressed was an awkward affair. Salim almost went out the door before Jason called him back. The younger man tugged the chains on Salim's belt, bringing him in for a kiss.

"You still taste like an ashtray," Jason scolded.

"I'll work on it," Salim promised. He returned the kiss, pecking Jason's cheek instead. He felt Jason's sigh and the brush of the man's nose as he kissed Salim's cheek in return. "Tonight?" Salim asked hopefully.

"Lube and condoms," Jason instructed. "Don't forget." Salim gave him one more cheek kiss before pulling back.

He would not be telling any of the gang where he'd been last night. This thing with Jason was new and fragile, and Salim wanted to keep it to himself.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Personal Gambit Headcanons

Due to his powers, Gambit finds it very hard to sit still for long periods of time - thankfully small movements can calm this need, like finger-tapping. It's another reason why he practises his card-tricks in his downtime

It makes him an active sleeper, often rolling over and shifting about the bed when asleep, alternately curling against and moving away from any people he is sharing the bed with.

On the rare occasions when Gambit is caught napping, his body twitches rapidly during REM sleep, much like an animal.

Gambit will always pet stray cats, and they tend to be fairly amenable to his presence, either unbothered or rubbing around his legs. Despite his best efforts, he's not managed to convince the others to adopt one

He doesn't mind dogs, but some unpleasant run-ins with some when he was younger has made him wary of them, especially guard dog breeds.

He won't go out of his way to read himself, but it's not unusual for Gambit to read books from over peoples' shoulders out of curiosity. He'll get stand-offish if caught or teased about it

In a similar vein, Gambit is a very good listener and is content to listen to someone rattle off about something they're passionate about, or just in general. He'll sometimes bring things he's learnt this way up in conversation

He's absolutely an eavesdropper because of this, yet Gambit tends to keep what he learns to himself.

Well, Gambit might tell you. If you can give him some gossip in return (or beat him in a card game).

Gambit's occasional tendency to announce himself is mainly because he's suffered far too many startled reactions for turning up without people noticing he's there.

He also causes consternation for just disappearing from groups without warning (Scott's chewed him out for this several times, which only seems to make him do it all the more)

Has absolutely spooked people deliberately by standing in the dark so only his red eyes can be seen.

He tries not to cheat at card games, but he knows all the tricks and can switch very quickly if he doesn't want to lose.

Used to smoke, quit when he became an X-Man. Although it's been quite a while now, he'll still chew something to prevent the craving when he's anxious or stressed.

Gambit keeps a lot of things in his trenchcoat, and tends to have any odd end that you need like a pencil tucked away, as well as lockpicks and other sundries.

Can pole-dance, and as a result tends to hang from things at extremely weird angles. Proud of his prowess and doesn't take much convincing to get him to show off. Has absolutely jumpscared someone by saying hi whilst hanging upside down from the ceiling by his legs.

This man cannot sit normally on a chair even if he tries.

He'll deny it, but it tends to be Gambit who'll initially take extra care of newer members of the mansion/school, keeping an eye out for them. He steps back once they find their feet, with exceptions (like Jubilee).

Decided to annoy Cyclops one time by switching into Cajun French and talking shit. Learnt extremely quickly that the local telepaths will still know the jist of what you're saying, though.

Don't try to annoy him by speaking deliberately bad French at him; he will just respond in kind and won't switch back to English until you yield.

Once was thrown like a javelin by Rogue. Whilst effective, he'd would prefer not to repeat the experience - "Gambit gonna leave dat sorta thing to Wolverine."

Gambit's bisexual and Marvel will have to tear that fact from my cold, dead hands

[nightmarefuele]

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?  Ren smells of bleak, ancient, betimes aphotic things; he smells of dense, static charges before a storm, the ozone and atmosphere; when near, he occasionally carries copper, and iodine, or musk, and upturned soil under midnight rain; there is always something vaguely soporfic to his scent, vital and throbbing. Kylo carries the copper and the ozone, but they're sharper, untempered, untamed. He provokes the senses more than the later Ren might prefer to artfully subdue them. Ben smells more of the vanillic pages in leather books, and candle smoke; the apricot-and-pine duotones of osmanthus, of open, brisk air.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?  Leather. (If you get Ben/Kylo variant (by the time he's the fully-realized 'Ren', he doesn't take off his gloves) hands, the palms and fingers are callused; sometimes scarred.)

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?  What is food? (Ben was brought up on Chandrila, and therefore would've been accustomed to Chandrilan cuisine—particularly the kind reserved for wealthy politicians and/or royalty. I suppose he would be a meat eater, and he probably likes seafood. I don't know why. Maybe he's partial to cheese boards. Kylo eats whatever's around, if/when he thinks of it. Ren doesn't eat.)

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?  Sure. Ben has a lovely singing voice. (Kylo is out of practice; Ren is way out of practice. His vocoder whirs nicely, though.)

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS? Ren is better at maintaining composure than his priors. If he begins to pace, physically oscillate/posture, deepen his steps, you've probably made a mistake. It's okay, though. He won't leave you guessing. If he's angry, Kylo will roll his shoulders, posture, his fingers will spasm; his & Ren's emotions primarily show through physicality, as he's, naturally, a very physical entity. But if he's nervous, upset, or afraid, he's more likely to go physically blank. If the mask is off, you'll see that reflected in his face — meaning, you'll see nothing. (His eyes are his biggest tell, but only if one knows how to read them.) If he's seated, the tendons in his arms may flex more prominently to account for the lack of motion. He rarely bounces his legs. (Yes, he does, on occasion, run his fingers through his hair. You're welcome.) ((It's more a 'raking' motion. He doesn't care about his hair as much as you think he does. He's just naturally blessed like that.)) Ben has more ticks, each of which are (usually) less angry, and his face is slightly more readable; the tells come through in his jaw and his lips, the tip of his nose/his nostrils. Fingers-through-hair thing again, just less frantically. (Although, he's the most likely to get 'frantic'/outwardly overwhelmed out of the bunch. In which case he'd cup/rub his face, lock his jaw, et al.)

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR? ...Black. (Ben opts for minimal, rich garments, but they're usually dark. Of the blue, purple, or otherwise muted variety.)

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW SO? Yes. If violence counts. (Where Ren is concerned, that is very much not a joke. @kylo-wrecked and I are both in agreement that he likes bumping heads/helmets, too.) ((He's more inclined to watch objects of his 'desire' from afar, rather than engage.)) Kylo may appreciate the occasional, ambiguous finger touch. Or he'll just stare. Watch people sleep. Pick them up and cradle carry them. Totally average, everyday, normal things. He goes to therapy. Promise. (A serious answer: If he's inclined to initiate/engage in touch, he's more likely to find inconspicuous reasons to do so. He's (generally, but certainly not always) less likely to initiate anything unless provoked into doing. Remember, kids: He responds well to anger.) Ben is still repressed, stressed, in the middle of being traumatized, etc; he's more likely to be affectionate but, once again, it takes a little doing. Especially when he means it. With feeling.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?  Ren doesn't. Or does unwillingly. Kylo is a less severe version of this; he sleeps when excessively tired, and for whatever reason, I imagine him assuming somewhat of a fetal position; he twitches, shivers. He doesn't favor dreams. (He learns to, as time wears on — in some iterations, he stops dreaming altogether. He sinks.) Ben is probably the most 'normal' sleeper of the three, but exact position can range anywhere from limbs askew to coffin-straight. As he finds himself dissociating from his environment/its people, he'll start moving toward fetal. 

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM? Yes. (Unless he doesn't want you to.) ((Kylo is the version most prone to losing sight(?) of the sound(??) he makes.)) (((Anyway. The full-bodied clip of rich soles is a beautiful thing.)))

tagged by: @petitsdieu, the one and only.

tagging (under no obligation): @brooklynislandgirl, @valkxrie, @etoilebleu, @kylo-wrecked, @swede, @renkniighted, @mayxthexforce, @walkeddeath, @pohlepen, @acharnemcnt, @grace-of-gotham, @cxcasiris, @haiiling, @popularmxnster, @chromium-siren, @iniqutous

[marsdenlee]

Location: Back Alley Behind The Den With: @mayarparker

It felt weird going back to work like nothing had happened. He'd gone through the entire shift in a haze, was exceptionally more snappy at people and had ignored quite a few others. His tips had been sparse but care for that had gone out the window. Mars didn't smoke. He'd quit during his daughter's pregnancy and after she was born he only partook on the rare occasion whenever Ryden was having a smoke and the baby was no where nearby and only then he'd allow himself just one or two puffs of smoke before stopping so that he didn't once again fall victim to the addiction the nicotine offered. Mars had bought a packet of cigarettes after his shift and was sat on the concrete behind The Den holding it in his hands, fingers flicking the edge of the plastic wrapping. If it accidentally opened with his fiddling then he couldn't be blamed for having one cigarette, could he?

He let his head fall back, black hair against the brick wall behind him, looked up to the light overhead that collected moths then shut his eyes and tried to ignore the whispering voices in his head that were now mimicking a voice he had taken years to get out of his head. You're so beautiful, the voice complimented, so pristine, so perfect. It made him sick or maybe it was his belly half full of vodka, the bottle resting on the ground beside his knee.

[emberswrites]

I misread!!! Ignore my last ask.

Arranged Marriage + Uchiha (whichever you want)

Prompt Game - Ok the 3rd character is Madara bc I say he's alive here but he's not the only one.

Kakashi sits at the table in seiza, hands folded neatly as he is presented to the Uchiha clan head to finalize the engagement. Madara is over 70 years old by now, but he looks no more than 50. Good genes, of course, and not a small dose of spite he's sure. His brother Izuna sits to Madara's right and to his left Fugaku, his soon-to-be betrothed's father, next in line to lead the clan.

Lesser men would have pissed themselves by now.

Kakashi isn't nervous. He looks to his left, where Sasuke is seated diagonally from him and the rest. He's never seen Sasuke quite so formally done up, and the kimono he wears is not the usual Uchiha blue he favours, but a rich burgundy reminiscent of the grape wine the Uchiha sell by the barrel during festival season. From here, he can see how his intended fidgets, glance flickering between them all, his legs folded neatly under him but feet crossed cutely under his bottom, toes curling nervously. Kakashi tries and fails not to let his mind wander at the sight.

"Beautiful, is he not?" Madara says then, knowingly, and Kakashi slowly draws his gaze back to the three in front of him. He doesn't bother looking ashamed at being caught taking his fill, they are all men here and Sasuke's striking looks are no secret. "Just like Izuna was, a spitting image."

"Was?!"

Madara ignores his brother's exclamation, hand settling on a thigh soothingly as he continues talking.

"You know in the old days, you would have been expected to put up a respectable challenge against me to win the hand of a member of my clan."

"Indeed, I shall count myself fortunate, Madara-sama."

"Hm," Madara grunts, blowing smoke out of his pipe, "You might have done well, Hatake. No one is expected to win against me, of course."

"Of course."

"I have great respect for your father, you kin in general. I admire your loyalty and discretion in political matters. I will say, you may find us rather more...rambunctious."

"Passionate, Madara-sama. Lively. My father says I could use some of that in my life."

Kakashi is a shinobi through and through, but the Hatake hadn't sent him just because he is their strongest. There were others, Sasuke's age, but none so deft as to maneuver the halls of the Uchiha compound with the surprising ease he'd found himself to. This was after all a union beyond two people, fraught with all the diplomacy that would come with any member of the Uchiha becoming wed to an outsider, a rare enough occasion as it was.

Madara inclines his head at Kakashi, then turning to Sasuke who'd been looking at the interaction with barely concealed amusement.

"You find him acceptable then, Sasuke? There are plenty of others, of course. Our Sasuke has his pick of the village, and a few others."

Sasuke looks to Kakashi then, dark eyes alight. Kakashi admits when he'd first been asked to present as the Hatake's candidate for the youngest eligible Uchiha's hand, he hadn't been particularly invested. Then he'd sat for tea with him, then dinner, and then several long walks and festivals in a courtship that had easily knocked away all competitors. Not that he'd played fair, when he decided he rather liked Sasuke, didn't wish to see him end up with any of the others. They'd ended many a date sneaking kisses and much more than that on a few occasions, if they happened to be in the secluded Uchiha gardens or deep enough into the forest. He's rather sure Sasuke's mother could spot the hints of unkemptness he would come back with as Kakashi delivered him home, but she hadn't said a word about it.

"I do."

This meeting is a mere formality after all, the Uchiha had sanctioned his courting and their clans had just finished reviewing their soon-to-be shared assets and living arrangements. Sasuke's parents had given their blessings, too, and there was really only one thing left...

"Well then," Madara says, "We have quite the wedding to plan."

[difeisheng]

i.

It's only on the third day of passing neverending yellow-green fields wavering in summer heat, windows down in this pickup truck that must be decades old with its glossy paint and chrome and proud growl of an engine, that Wu Xie finally asks Hei Xiazi where they're going.

"There's a map in the glove compartment," Hei Xiazi says, tapping cigarette ash out into the wind, other hand on the steering wheel. "You said your English is good, right? Read it and find the towns we've been through."

Wu Xie fishes out the map, tattered and deeply creased, apparently kept without use. A pen is always with him; he circles each town or city whose name he recognizes, memorized from the flickering signs of motels or general stores they've stopped at, or welcoming boards along the highways that are probably intended to be cheerful but only bear worn-down facades of optimism in their neglect. Analysis kicks in next, attempting to piece together the logic from the locations he's marked. The pattern he finds is��

"There is no pattern." Wu Xie looks up. "We drove east after going south, but you're just stopping in random places."

"Congratulations, you get a prize," Hei Xiazi says, semi-deadpan, hair flown loose from its knot whipping into his face. "Can't have your future actions be predicted if you don't know what they are, either."

"But that means you don't know when we're going to stop," Wu Xie says. The wind bites at him all of a sudden, despite the temperature outside. He pulls his flannel more closely around himself.

Hei Xiazi, still wearing only a tank top, tan lines at his wrists fading out of contrast, shakes his head. "Keep moving and we'll figure out the rest later. We don't know how far behind they are."

"Do we really have to be this paranoid?"

"You haven't even been able to see your enemy, or what it is. Do you want the monsters to catch up to you, or would you rather be safe than sorry?" Hei Xiazi flicks his cigarette butt out the window.

Wu Xie thinks of the shadows, the closest way he can describe them, that he'd seen on the last night in his own home, and shuts his mouth. He settles instead for noisily stuffing the map back into the glove compartment.

"So if there's no end to this, why would you help me?" Hei Xiazi, as far as Wu Xie has gathered, is a man who's lived from job to job, whatever's in between not enough to keep him still. "I don't even know when I'll be able to pay you, if that's what you want." The money on his cards has been going toward gasoline, food, the motels they can find that are cheap but clean and won't care about faces or what's left of Wu Xie's accent before the fact that he can pay.

Hei Xiazi snorts. "You didn't think about this earlier?"

"I wasn't in the mood to be asking questions." And Hei Xiazi had told him not to, anyway, those few nights ago when Wu Xie woke up to half of his house in flames and something at his door, swallowing the light, and in the smoke had appeared Hei Xiazi, duffle bag in one hand and the other grabbing at Wu Xie's wrist, ordering him to run.

He'd bit his tongue, one of the rare occasions where fear had well and truly drowned his curiosity, and followed. From foot, to car, to across a border, and now to this truck.

Hei Xiazi reaches for the box of cigarettes in the cupholder. "Light me another one, will you?"

Wu Xie grabs the lighter from the inner pocket of Hei Xiazi's leather jacket, fallen to the floor, and touches it to a fresh cigarette. "You didn't answer my question."

Hei Xiazi just sighs, blowing thin smoke out and away, so Wu Xie continues: "You're just a work friend of my uncle's and you barely know me. Why would you care this much about saving me?"

"Know you?" Hei Xiazi leans back and laughs, softly, dog tags clinking against his chest. "Maybe I don't really know you, but I know about you. I know you're naive, and you've never had to pay the price for learning too much. I know you looked into secrets about your uncle's work that you shouldn't have. I know you still don't understand what you saw and you're desperate to find out, but you dread looking back. And most of all, I know you don't want to die. Is that enough?"

He glances at Wu Xie. "You don't want to die, do you, Xiao-sanye? Tell me now, because it'll save me a lot of trouble if this isn't something you want to fight for."

"I-" Wu Xie stares at him. "No, I don't want to die," he says, quietly.

"Good." Hei Xiazi jabs at the volume dial on the dash. Rock music blares out from the speakers, from whichever cassette was left in there from the box of tapes in the backseat. "Glad we're clear on that. Communication is key."

"For the third fucking time, why are you helping me?" Wu Xie reaches for the dial, turns the music off again, glares. This time Hei Xiazi doesn't react, staring ahead at the road, lined pavement flying past in the lenses of his sunglasses.

"If I said it was boredom, would you believe me?" he says, after a minute.

In this moment maybe Wu Xie almost could, listening to the level current of Hei Xiazi's voice. How old is he? If he were a stranger Wu Xie would place him in his mid-thirties, perhaps, but the impression of a man in black and sunglasses smeared across the borders of his memory reaches too far back for Hei Xiazi to be exactly as old as he looks.

At what age can you possibly begin to treat running for your life like this with indifference? With amusement? Wu Xie is twenty-six, and the world is huge. The world is mysterious. The world is fracturing and he's trying not to cut himself on the shards.

"No," he tells Hei Xiazi. "it can't just be boredom. But it's not money, either."

The corner of Hei Xiazi's mouth tilts upwards.

"You're smart." He pauses to take a drag from the cigarette. "Believe what I said anyway. You're better off like that."

"What's that supposed to me—" Wu Xie starts, before Hei Xiazi cuts him off, waving a hand dismissively.

"Believe that, or make up your own reasoning because I know you'll die without it. Either one will do." He adjusts his sunglasses in the rearview mirror. "But what matters, for you, is that you trust me to keep you alive regardless. Trust me completely, or else I won't be able to. Can you do that, Xiao-sanye?"

The evening Hei Xiazi tossed their bags into this truck, retrieved from a seemingly innocuous lot in an industrial suburb, Wu Xie caught a glimpse of the box concealed beneath the panels of the bed. If Hei Xiazi wanted him dead, he'd have had the tools and chances to do it at least several times over already.

Wu Xie nods.

Hei Xiazi smiles, wide enough to catch a glimpse of a crooked tooth, and turns the music on once more.

The road rambles on.

[titleknown]

HELLOWEEN #14: XMECHANE

-MANGINIX is a Lesser Carnifex of hell, with 14 sites of operation and 28 varieities of sausage to his name. He may teach the art of the finding and preparation of meats rare and unnatural, and may provide spices that alter the body and mind or to transform enemies into discrete forms of sustenance. He appears as a great carrion heap in the shape of a man with a handsome human face, holding a great butcher's cleaver-

...And here we reach a point where the Last Testament is far out of date, which is a feeling I am more than depressingly familiar with in my own recordings. For, Hell too changes as our own societies do; though perhaps more slowly due to the semi-immortality of its inhabitants, and the former Manginix is no exception.

Manginix is at this current moment one of the most terrifying things in Hell: A true believer. He speaks of his old life with a bitter contempt, even as both records and Giobella's testament show that he enjoyed his work and was quite good at it, and was even one of those rare showers of true compassion on occasion.

But compassion is not a world I would describe with his current state, not after walking through his factory, a place of war machines and cybernetic limbs birthed from twitching steel wombs, of pipes like sclerotic veins and furnaces like bleeding lungs, a place of where demon and soul and machine blur into a form of life hostile to all but itself.

He speaks of his old life as a former, dull dream, that he was one of the few demons who saw the speed and efficiency of the machines which now have taken up half his body, evangelizing the powers of speed and and creation. He was very proud, almost like a disciple of The Anti-Sun describing being "born again," as he delved into his discovery of the strange enigmatic machines manifesting in the higher circles, and how only he was the only one able to hear what they told him, what he'd known all along about his body. 

He was suspiciously cagey about what happened to his crew however, and he also says that he views Hell as undermechanized due to their lack of understanding of the glory of mechanization, which having walked through the dark satanic mills that reach even to the Giants' Well and beneath the waters of Bloody Mary, horrors untold yet still less hideous than his own, I find that difficult to take as true.

More likely, I suspect and Giobella does as well, that the machines from which his design draws are not from Hell. For, there are powers in the multiverse far more terrible than hell. 

There is a Machine at the corners of the cosmos, a Machine ever-churning that heaven fears. The oil of worlds devoured runs through its veins, the thoughts of trillions stolen run through its mindless mind. It exists to consume and grow and consume and grow again. And in the heartbeat of that factory I heard the sound of it's soul.

When I obliquely mentioned this, offhand from carelessness, he... froze for a second. Then he emitted a high-pitched screeching sound and attempted to turn my pages into cinders with the cannon upon his arm for several seconds. Then he resumed speaking as if there were no conflict at all, ignoring the smoking holes in his grand edifice.

I've seen that behavior before. I know who he really believes in.

-Xavier X. Xolomon , Monsterologist and Understudy to The Librarian Of Babel

So, when starting this project I knew I wanted to do a demon that was half-and-half flesh-and-technology, evoking Doom. The inspiration there's probably more obvious in the head, which I made because I wanted to blend both halves, and that was an obvious way to do it. And yes, I was thinking of that one Doom 3 demon in the back of my mind, that too.

The idea for them being secretly an agent of The Machine, a nasty faction from my work y'all might be familiar with, followed logically from trying to think about this guy's hook. Because like, there's a reason Heaven considers The Machine far more of a threat than Hell, and it does speak to Hell's poorly organized state that it was able to slip in so easily.

Also, I am still proud (perhaps more than I should be) of making the Goetia-type entry out-of-date in universe, I came up with that on the spot.

As per usual the whole descriptions, designs, ectcetera from this project are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY 4.0 license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator!