@royalreef replied: "This is why we must destroy them, Sawyer! It is the air itself! Airports are mere temples to its agony! This is why total obliteration of all airports is the only option!"
"I mean I'm down for destroying airports." Or destroying anything demons created really or also doing anything Miranda suggests really. "They fucking suck. But we're not gonna like destroy the air itself, right? I'm kinda fond of it." Not that they need it to breath. Nice thing about not having actual lungs. But flying through it sure is nice.
Bro, my unyielding loyalty towards you is totally normal and healthy, I swear. It's just that it's definitely my duty to rip out your enemies throats with my bare teeth. You are the love of my life and I am your most valuable tool. Each night, I fantasize about dying in your arms, covered in blood, and then I close my eyes one final time, satisfied because I can feel your fingers on my face as I take my last breath. Haha anyways
"Fun fact air ports were invented by demons. Made to torment other monsters, mortals and to block the flight paths of the holy. Or at least the holy that still fly."
((Turns out I lied and did have some writing in me. Here's a drabble about how Sawyer got their Ukulele and a look into their time in the 2nd Layer of Hell.))
It was meant to be an ambush at one of the many gates to the second level of hell. Led by a newly appointed general of Heaven's army. One far too confident in his abilities and far too zealous in his beliefs. It led with the idea that by taking a gate they could set up a foot hold into entering one of the layers of hell thus turning the tide of the war. What it turned into was a massacre. Despite all their preparations, their planning and plotting they weren't ready for a war fought on enemy soil.
Holy blood bubbles on the floor, rings of flame singe the ground fighting for their last breaths of life before turning to nothing more then smoke and feathers melt to gold seeping into the ground ready for their rebirth. All that remains are the dying the angels too weak to fight but too strong to fall. The ones still grasping onto their holiness hoping for a moment of glory. Yet above them stand the demons who brought their defeat lacking the mercy to end their suffering. Enjoying the show of the angels writhing on the ground desperately clinging to their lives.
They tell you to enjoy this moment that this is a part of the victory. Yet as you wade through the corpses of the dying, slicing wings and halos off one by one, you can't help to think this does not feel like a victory. It feels like a slaughter a day at the butchers preparing meat to be sold in the market. The others do not have the same forethought that you do, they leave the angels to simply die to their unholy injuries. But you know angels and you know they will get back up if you do not deal with them. So you do what you must detaching wings where you can or cracking halos when you must.
As you step past another dying angel a hand grasps onto your ankle tickling the edge of your calcar. Iridescent blood leaks from the hand onto your foot covering it in a translucent wetness. You don't flinch or startle in surprise or even react, all you do is follow the hand to the owner of the body. An angel covered in bloodied and blackened eyes grips your leg desperately their halo cracked but not yet broken. You raise your sword ready to slaughter another creature for market. Yet before you can bring your sword down the thing speaks in it's many echoing voices.
“Wait. Please wait.” There is urgency in it's voice and you expect it to beg for its life. It is rare for an angel to beg for their life but not entirely unheard of. Many a good demon have come from such deals. Traps are laid in the same way however. So you do not lower your sword however you don't attack either. Instead you wait allowing it to make the first move.
“My satchel... I need my satchel.” It points a melting finger towards a pure white bag that lays amongst the burnt remains of former angels. Though it lets go of your leg you do not move knowing full well the trap that this could be. Angels are not as true as god would have their followers believe them to be. “Please. Hurry.”
This time you take a chance trusting that the angel wouldn't waste it's final few moments in existence begging a demon to fall for its trap. Cautiously you approach the bag poking then prodding it with your sword. It doesn't react to the movements no signs of tampering or magic attributions to the exterior of the bag. You lift the bag with the point of your sword careful not to cut it open as you bring it to the angel. You can hear something inside it breathing. The angel takes the bag reaching inside to pull out a Ukulele with an eye where the sound hole ought to be and a mouth where the saddle would be. The angel holds the instrument out to you, the instrument breaths and stares at you mouth formed down into a frown.
“Take it. Please. Take it. I can't... I won't be able... If I don't...” The angel shutters and wheezes by now almost all of it has melted to a black ichor substance. One that even the ground refuses to swallow. You don't know for sure but you suspect the ukulele is a death curse. One that disallows the chance to be born again should the owner die with it still in their possession. You've heard of curses like this before. If you were to deny the angel's request, to simply cut the angels halo in two and move on the curse would have nowhere to go until someone else happened upon the ukulele.
There is no reason for you to take a curse for the sake of an enemy. They have done nothing for you nor your kin. You should feel no compassion for them, no sentiments. Despite this you feel love all the same and still take the damned object. The curse means nothing to you. You get no chances to live again after this. For an angel though a curse like this means everything.
"Thank you..." It has no mouth but in it's many eyes you can see the angel smile. What little remains of the angel turns to gold seeping into the ground. Leaving you stranded alone on the singed battlefield with the cursed instrument smiling up at you.
There go their knees turning to jelly with but a flutter of Miri's eyes and a flight of their own heart. "Howdy beautiful. Come round these parts often?"
@atropaanimus is getting it: If only their datemate was death incarnate. Oh wait they are. Ghost horse ranch now.
This is the sweetest, most romantic, hottest thing anyone has ever done for Sawyer.
“Babe, darling, love of all my lives. This is the most arousing thing anyone has ever done for me.” They wrap their tail around Milo’s leg and drab their arms on their lover’s shoulders. “If I weren’t covered in horse manure right now I’d literally fuck you.”
snowghoul
kianamaiart
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
gracieabrams
