A Man of Wealth & Taste

"Hey there! Seems you found me. What is it I can do for you? Need a job; a ride? Lookin' to jam with me? Come to the newspaper or cinema. I can usually be found here or there. :) It's nice to meet you." Fernando (just Fernando, if you please) is the...

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

bad things to come {tag: Fern}

[fernando-tow]

“I don’t own you, Naoki.”

The use of his full name and the sobriety in Fernando’s suddenly-solemn words was stoic in its delivery. Fernando didn’t falter in passing the drink to Naoki, simply waiting for him to take the glass of black label and be done with it. Whether or not the taller demon obliged him was of no consequence to Mr. Cross, but rather, just another defiant gesture in a long line of defiant gestures. He waited a beat to see what other sass Naoki could produce; and felt the bitterness of Naoki’s words salt him further. Pickled; prickled, and not in the least tickled, Fernando pinned the other man with a sharper stare than before, and spoke again. “I own what you do. There’s a difference.” His jaw tightened.

“And I didn’t ask you here because I was bored. I didn’t make you a dancing monkey. What we do is business, Naoki. You lost on a wager; you failed a merger, you bottomed out on the deal of a decade.” He shrugged a shoulder, the drink sloshing softly as Muddy Waters replaced Timbre Timber, the slow drone of a song about the Delta and the dirt it washed away filling the room with a less arrogant kind of ambience. It was almost as though they’d been put, briefly, on the same level. Albeit Fernando would never measure up to Naoki in physicality.

He was a product of his time and genetics, after all.

Fernando slipped back after Naoki accepted the glass, holding onto it for a lingering moment, and used the other hand to shut the window with a soft snap. The sound of wind and rain outside became muffled, the pattering of moisture banging unseen fists against the glass reduced to mere distant white noise. The music softened a little, too, as if it was relieved to not have to fight against the sounds of nature. Crossing his arms, Fernando leaned against his desk and studied Naoki with narrowed eyes.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now that he had another demon under his belt? He had to admit; he was no archduke of hell. He wasn’t even any type of general fit to command an infernal army. He was just a music man with a briefcase full of dreams waiting to turn into nightmares at the signing of a pen and the cutting of an artery. His jaw tensed ever so marginally once again and Fernando ran a hand across it, contemplative in his eyeing of Naoki.

“If I wanted to poison you, hombre, you’d be dead already. Or this vessel of yours would be,” Fernando stated flatly at long last, ceasing to drum his fingers on his arms. Adjusting the ruby ring on his left hand, the demon sighed inwardly and and shook his head. A few steps took him back to where Naoki was, closing the distance between them with an unparalleled determination despite all. Despite Naoki, really, and despite their situation. “If this is groveling, Naoki, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it,” Fern added, picking his own glass back up to finish it off and refill it, brows raised. “But we can both agree you’ve done…moderately acceptable work thus far.” He glanced up over his glass, squinting.

“So, Kiki…” said Fernando slowly. “Where is it we go from here?”

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

Shadowed by long lashes, dark eyes met his amber and honey gaze. He failed to see the difference, but he would let that little seed germinate in Fernando’s mind. See what bloomed before he pruned away tendrils of thought he didn’t want and shaped it into self-loathing.  

The metaphor brought back memories that being in Fernando’s presence shouldn’t encourage, and it was with a slightly warmer gaze that Naoki listened to the rest. Or perhaps warmer was taking it to far. There was nothing warm to be found in that room. They were equally as cold and as hot as people believed Hell to be, and there was no warmth. Just slightly less hostility as the music altered.

Between Fernando shutting the window and the new song, the storm seemed to retreat from the little room. It was easier for Naoki to watch it beat against the windowpane than to consider the lingering moment as Fernando’s fingers stayed on the glass. With both the door and the window shut, all the air seemed to have been stolen from the room. At long last, Fernando retreated. The movement brought Naoki’s gaze back to him. Eyes narrowing, Naoki tried to figure out what was going on inside Fernando’s head. Fernando orbited him like the earth orbited the sun; closer and closer until he spun off again - but always to return to burn anew.

Naoki was content to wait him out. Straightening the hem of his shirt, he considered the fabric as Fernando came back to him again. Moth to flame. “Believe it or not,” he said softly, words almost lost to the background noise of the song. “I’ve done my fair share of begging. Enough to know that it doesn’t tend to have the results I want.” Certainly true. Perhaps the single truth that Naoki knew best. Still, he raised both his gaze and his untouched drink in acceptance of the comment, and the one that followed.

Leaving his drink on the corner of the desk, Naoki settled into a chair. Leaning back with all the confidence as if this was his office, as if he still held all the contracts and all the power, he crossed his legs and steepled his fingers atop his thigh. Cocking his head, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling and let the moment stretch. “It would seem to me that choice relies entirely upon you.” Fingers unlacing, he shrugged broad shoulders and spread his hands. “If you own what I do, you might as well start puling strings.”

[fernando-tow]

To Fernando, all was black holes and dying stars, no planetary glory or celestial manifesto. It was a simple matter of ink and paper; the cosmos they gravitated toward being one of files and folders and carefully-regimented numbers. They had sales goals to meet, not stars to chase, and he had no intention of seeing this beyond what it was: another gaping drain in the galaxy, slowly and painstakingly leeching life out of the remainder of the system they both resided in. A solar system could not possess more than one sun, after all. Put the "sole" in "solar", now, didn't it?

"...We've both been there," Fernando replied. It was difficult to admit. It was harder to say aloud, to another person--let alone a demon and a rival. To allow this was to allow a weakness; because all connections were in Hell were weaknesses. They were tethers to be yanked on, they were the chains and collars keeping demons down in the pit. They were muzzles and restraints of all varieties, and Fernando's gaze turned a bit hollow at the reflection of it all. The warmth of the room, momentarily, didn't register. He simply gazed from Naoki to the rainy window and back again, trying to work up other words--working to make them as he would a fire, rubbing his lips together to spark something worthwhile without being sacrificial. The damp and his doubt made it difficult. He simply waited until he felt heat and smelled smoke.

"Which is why I don't want this to turn out the same way."

Swirling his drink, Fernando lifted it to his lips and leaned against his desk once more, eyes drifting to the scuffed and worn-out floor beneath him. "Last chance, Naoki," Fernando said flatly, still studying the ground. His fingers fidgeted with one cufflink, lips pursing. "I can make you leave, but I'd rather you take that upon yourself. Make the decision. Leave my turf of your own free will; and get the rest of your freedom with it." He ran a hand through his hair, unraveling a few slicked-back curls, and turned away to finish his glass, muttering,

"it don't feel natural, keeping a shark in a fishtank."

[fernando-tow]

hello friends I am back \o/

[fernando-tow]

gotta run for groceries, BUT I SHALL RETURN

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

bad things to come {tag: Fern}

[fernando-tow]

There was a moment of silence wherein Fernando seemed to be studying Naoki–peeling away his skin and bone to peer at what was left of a soul underneath it all. Perhaps that twisted, quivering mass still had a purpose. It gave him sense enough to fear; it gave him the ability to feel pain and loathe Hell. It was a silent question Fernando asked himself frequently: whether the souls of demons were actually souls at all; and if he was fooling himself into thinking he could ever escape what awaited him below.

The chess match between himself and Naoki had left him doubting. Doubting the idea that he was at any point or in any way better than his fellow devil. Better at the game, maybe, but he had a feeling Naoki had more than one piece to sacrifice on the board for the greater scope of the competition. Mr. Cross was suspicious of even the smallest, seemingly most calculated maneuvers from the other man; the other monster. Even the very slight movement of recoiling was more serpentine than groveling. There was a reason they called a gun’s retreat post-shooting a “recoil”, after all.

Naoki was just looking for new bullets.

Or so Fernando assessed.

Shrugging facially, Fernando settled back, the papers vanishing into his desk with a rustle of contemplation and tinkling of keys in a lock. Folding his hands on his chest, the demon accentuated his former gesture with a flick of his thumbs; a secondary shrug, more or less. “I don’t like to discredit,” he said idly. “There’s no denying you’re decent at what you do.” Perhaps it was the joy Naoki usually took in their work that truly repulsed Fernando. Or it could’ve been the way the smirk never fully left his face. Even now, when he looked so tired and wet  and–well, it all could’ve been a trick of the light, after all. Damn table lamps. Illusionary masters, those.

“Just not as good as some,” Fernando finished softly, lifting a brow as Naoki shook out his coat and hung it on the chair. Cigarette smoking to death in the ash tray on his desk, the smaller demon watched his fellow seemingly pace like a caged animal; a tiger or a lion. Predatory indeed. And, more like a housecat, he apparently hated getting wet. Fernando hid a smile under a sip of brandy from a glass that may or may not have always been by his side on the desk.

“Come now, Kiki,” Fernando drawled, getting to his feet to fetch a second glass from the mini-bar by the window. He dared to put his back to Naoki, knowing full well the demon might’ve taken great pleasure in shoving him out the window and into the alleyway five stories below. “I’ve never seen you this defeated. It’s taking the fun out of everything, hermano.” He turned, second glass in hand, to offer Naoki something to warm him. “Top shelf reprieve?”

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

Possession bit with venomous teeth as his contracts – his – disappeared into the desk drawer. It had been one thing to drop the sheets rife with the promise of damnation on the desk. He and Fernando had played their games of show-me-yours-I’ll-show-you-mine long enough that it was natural. To watch them disappear into Fernando’s control was different. Wrong.

Decent at what he did. That had Naoki rolling his eyes even as he tried to rub some warmth back into his arms. For the pretence of a compliment, it certainly held the ring of an insult. And, there it was. The real insult. For a demon, at least. Even Naoki knew most people wouldn’t be pleased to discover they were a success at being a soul stealing monster. 

It was more the echo of a thought that sparked in the hollow spaces of his mind than a real one. An impression of faded colours and blurred lines. Would he have been pleased with that when he was human?

As Fernando rose, Naoki stilled, tension drawing the line of his shoulders taunt. He was pretty sure the contract that bore his name (and the fact that his pseudonym changing nearly every decade had never seemed to matter to Hell, else he would have been a John in a heartbeat) frowned on giving Fernando abrupt flying lessons. Not that it wasn’t tempting to see just how determined his soul was to cling to this mortal frame. 

“And here I was thinking you were the kind of man to at least have some qualms about owning someone. Better man than I and all that.” He spread his hands out before him, a dry mockery suddenly replacing the gentility his words had carried. “However should I entertain you?”

For a moment, Naoki considered refusing. Turning on his heel and leaving Fernando and his contracts behind. The curtains billowed, but they did nothing to contain the gust of pure ice that poured in. That decided him. He was in chains no matter what he did now. Leave. Stay. Neither would cleanse his soul of Fernando’s grubby fingerprints.

He crossed the room with slow steps. The warmth of the office might have won out over the cold of the outside world, but that didn’t mean he had any trust in Fern. Fernando. No longer Fern. Not that Naoki could remember when Fernando had become Fern, had become babe. Had become – what Fernando had been didn’t matter. He was no longer an amusement, an oddity, a pain in his ass. A reflection. His humanity’s could have been.

“Trying to poison me already?” Naoki asked without a hint of teasing, though he took the glass and tried to ignore the heat of Fernando’s skin.

Fernando was the enemy now.

Cold as he was, Naoki would find a way to make him burn.

[fernando-tow]

"I don't own you, Naoki."

The use of his full name and the sobriety in Fernando's suddenly-solemn words was stoic in its delivery. Fernando didn't falter in passing the drink to Naoki, simply waiting for him to take the glass of black label and be done with it. Whether or not the taller demon obliged him was of no consequence to Mr. Cross, but rather, just another defiant gesture in a long line of defiant gestures. He waited a beat to see what other sass Naoki could produce; and felt the bitterness of Naoki's words salt him further. Pickled; prickled, and not in the least tickled, Fernando pinned the other man with a sharper stare than before, and spoke again. “I own what you do. There’s a difference.” His jaw tightened.

"And I didn't ask you here because I was bored. I didn't make you a dancing monkey. What we do is business, Naoki. You lost on a wager; you failed a merger, you bottomed out on the deal of a decade." He shrugged a shoulder, the drink sloshing softly as Muddy Waters replaced Timbre Timber, the slow drone of a song about the Delta and the dirt it washed away filling the room with a less arrogant kind of ambience. It was almost as though they'd been put, briefly, on the same level. Albeit Fernando would never measure up to Naoki in physicality.

He was a product of his time and genetics, after all.

Fernando slipped back after Naoki accepted the glass, holding onto it for a lingering moment, and used the other hand to shut the window with a soft snap. The sound of wind and rain outside became muffled, the pattering of moisture banging unseen fists against the glass reduced to mere distant white noise. The music softened a little, too, as if it was relieved to not have to fight against the sounds of nature. Crossing his arms, Fernando leaned against his desk and studied Naoki with narrowed eyes.

What the fuck was he supposed to do now that he had another demon under his belt? He had to admit; he was no archduke of hell. He wasn't even any type of general fit to command an infernal army. He was just a music man with a briefcase full of dreams waiting to turn into nightmares at the signing of a pen and the cutting of an artery. His jaw tensed ever so marginally once again and Fernando ran a hand across it, contemplative in his eyeing of Naoki.

"If I wanted to poison you, hombre, you'd be dead already. Or this vessel of yours would be," Fernando stated flatly at long last, ceasing to drum his fingers on his arms. Adjusting the ruby ring on his left hand, the demon sighed inwardly and and shook his head. A few steps took him back to where Naoki was, closing the distance between them with an unparalleled determination despite all. Despite Naoki, really, and despite their situation. "If this is groveling, Naoki, you're doing a piss-poor job of it," Fern added, picking his own glass back up to finish it off and refill it, brows raised. "But we can both agree you've done...moderately acceptable work thus far." He glanced up over his glass, squinting.

"So, Kiki..." said Fernando slowly. "Where is it we go from here?"

[ivyrper-tow]

wait is everything Ivy and I do cute. No. We have Elinan and Sonia. We’re good. De-cuted

(via

lambdadelta-tow

)

[fernando-tow]

lambdadelta-tow answered your question:

comin atcha bruh fight me in da pit

[ivyrper-tow]

two can play at this game

[fernando-tow]

[fernando-tow]

What’s a ship (not inherently sexual or romantic) dynamic you really like rping? -What’s the cutest thing you remember writing right off the top of your head? -What fictional character has really inspired you (in childhood, and now)?

ooooh well. I like Naoki & Fernando’s dynamic, as you might’ve guessed. I also super enjoy Schmen and Francis; Schmen and Bernard, or Berncis and Schmen; SCHMEN AND HIS DAUGHTERS, Rae and anyone of mine…Dennis and Murray. Stu and Su or Stu and Taniel. Dusek and Morty. Lucas and Reilly but l o l. /lays on face. ODETTE AND FLYNN. Suvi and Talia, Korra and Talia. I really love Lani and Louis or Lani and Gregor. Sean and Gregor for sure. Frankie and Ramone. Tristan and George! George and Brooke; Brooke and Moineau…Moineau and Laurette, Reilly and Gunther. Wow this is getting loNG UM. Molly and Phoebe, Molly and Damon, Chiara and Stasia, Ceana and Cian, Bree and Pips, Pips and Jackie, Mossy and anyone of mine tbh I HAVE A LOT OF FAVES, and feelings and this doesn’t even name all the potentially non-romantic/sexual ones tbh I just. You’re all such talented, tremendous people and I am unworthy. 8′| I will probably add to and/or edit this later.

I can’t even what is the cutest. Everything is angst 24/7 what are you talking about. Later is always my go-to when it comes to cute tbh? That and anything from the musical day(s). Molly giving Phoebe a kitt–wait is everything Ivy and I do cute. No. We have Elinan and Sonia. We’re good. De-cuted. I WOULD HAVE TO REALLY THINK ON THIS THERE ARE A LOT OF OPTIONS FOR CUTE.

Oh gosh what fictional character really inspired me…Vlad Taltos, for sure. In my adolescence. Childhood character faves include Robin Hood; Merlin, a lot of Arthurians tbh and Greco-Romans…characters from musicals a lot of the time. Book-fiction-wise, it was probably Dimitri. 

[fernando-tow]

Introduce me to one of your characters as if reading their warning label? - Out of all of your characters: who has the best pickup lines? -Out of all of your characters: who refuses to admit obvious uncomfortable truths?

Flynn: Warning: Side effects include a malaise or disillusionment with life, anxiety, and/or negative outlook. Do not take FLYNN if allergic to apples or apple byproducts. Please use Flynn sparingly as overuse of Flynn can lead to fatality. Flynn should not be combined with alcohol or explosives. Fire is more than likely when coming in contact with Flynn.

It’s so difficult to say because I think Louis has the most practice with pickup lines, but Kolzak is surprisingly good at it--yet it’s Malcolm who is the “package deal” as it were of charm, innuendo, and class that seems to flirt the best. I’m going to have to ruminate on this one but my tentative retaliation is Malcolm [or black horse Charlie, of all people, whose New Orleans drawl can trawl in a lot of traction]. 

LOL DO ANY OF MINE EVEN ADMIT UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTHS, let’s be honest with ourselves. Gosh. I think out of all of them, Flynn remains the most in denial and in need of some counseling but. There’s also Nicholas, surprisingly. Byron, more likely than not, Hyori, and a ton of mine...it’s just. It’d be easier to name those who do admit uncomfortable truths ffs.

[fernando-tow]

lambdadelta-tow answered your question:hello I’m here and queer and ready 2 fight \o/...

fight me

comin atcha bruh fight me in da pit

[fernando-tow]

hello I’m here and queer and ready 2 fight \o/

what’s good?

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

bad things to come {tag: Fern}

Hate was a dark twisted sickness in the demon – or it was the demon, and it had devoured whatever else had once been there. Either way, there was no cure and nothing to save. Salvation was just a lingering taste on his lips and to him it only tasted of blood and snow.

He just wasn’t sure when he had last had such a direct target of his hate. It wasn’t as if he hated those who signed his contracts; they weren’t worth the consideration to hate. Certain creatures he had under his thumb, perhaps, but even those were small and insignificant. But Fernando. Small and insignificant yes, but Naoki had still somehow found himself in chains. Cold, wet, miserable (which to him had nearly the same significance) and in chains.

Naoki lounged against Fernando’s desk with all the ease of a predator about to lunge and the distinct feeling he had been backed into a corner. Using one hand, Naoki spread the papers he had dropped onto Fernando’s desk. Simple black and white things, all just needing a smear of blood to close the deal. Splattered now with raindrops from his hand, but it wasn’t like they were his to need perfect. Fixing Fernando with a glare, Naoki shrugged a shoulder. “Contracts. Just like you asked.”

[fernando-tow]

The soft sounds of Timbre Timber on vinyl pervaded the air of Fernando’s office. The demon, rather on the short side already, was further dwarfed [re: framed] by his enormous winged-back chair, behind which the window was cracked enough to a. flutter the dark red curtains, and b. provide just enough room for the smoke of his cigarette to escape into the night. The only thing allowed to escape into the night where he was concerned, for that matter. Mr. Cross or his smoke would be leaving the room victorious, and anyone or anything else was secondary. 

Adjusting the silver cufflink on his wrist, the demon in dark blue didn’t so much as glance up at his fellow as he entered. To merit Naoki with any type of greeting might send the wrong impression entirely. Awarding himself points for melodrama, Fernando simply continued to fix himself up and smoke. The crossbones cufflinks caught the dull light of the table lamp and winked Naoki’s way; skeletally humoring him. The desk pendulum clicked and clacked, swinging to and fro with no apparent purpose. There was a good chance Fernando had bought it strictly for the metaphor.

One brow lifted as Naoki finally spoke, Fernando granting the moment a slight pursing of the lips and a disapproving tilt of the head. His fingers smoothed over the end of his sleeve, pushed it back ever so slightly, and fixed his watch in place with ease. Only once he was sure he had dragged the charade on long enough to get under Kiki’s skin did Fernando shift in place to glance over the contracts, picking one up with the tips of his fingers only to inspect it, expression purposefully bored. The velveteen grind of dark folk music continued to ebb and flow beyond them, the room filling up with bluesy violin that slid up and down a scale of notes with lazy skill.

And, speaking of…

“This is it?” Fernando asked finally, voice dry. The contract he held was released, relinquished to the others before him. “A demon of your caliber–I expected better.” His hazel eyes caught the light like the links on his wrist before; though something in the lamp (or otherwise) dyed them amber and red for a brief instant. It faded like an ember; but still burned. Fernando cast a look over Naoki thoroughly for the first time, taking in his drenched appearance. His lips curled–amusement or disdain, it was difficult to discern.

“Looks like you’re all washed up.” Literally and figuratively.

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

At any other time, Fernando’s little display would have been cute. All these little touches, all these little details so lovingly arranged to cow him. If anything, Naoki would have been flattered that Fernando thought him worth the effort of caring. Now, it just made him hungry. This little world of luxury and warmth and power was supposed to be his. He was the one who had bled and suffered and clawed his way out of Hell and left his bloodied fingerprints up and down its hierarchy. 

He wasn’t about to be brought low by a little demon the universe seemed to love.

Rubbing at the freezing fingers on one hand, he watched Fernando and ignored the trappings of the room. Except of course for that damned window, shooting a sour glare in its (cold) direction. 

Fernando’s reaching hand had Naoki stepping away, an instinctual, light, little step. More a shift of his weight, but enough to take him out of the grasp of fingers. Still, not the response he should be having when they weren’t reaching for him. Shifting farther, he shrugged out of coat, holding the wool garment away from him with a grimace as if that had been his intention all along. Water dripped to floor, the sound soft and only existing in the momentary silence of the pendulum. “Maybe, you have greater expectations of me than really exist.” He paused for a moment, as if considering, then glanced at Fernando with a raised brow. “Funny, I always believed you thought less of me.”

Naoki watched that burning amber gaze, amusement still tingeing his features, and held it a moment too long for it to be friendly. Turning away, he draped his coat over one arm in the hopes that it would at least attempt to dry. The sudden downpour had caught him unaware and had seeped inside his coat with ease. Where the water had touched the white fabric had taken on a slight translucency and was clinging.

Tugging it away from his damp, chilled skin, he shrugged again. “I’ve had a long run. And, well, if that’s the case…” His gaze didn’t go directly to Fern. Instead, as he shook his head ruefully, it landed on Fernando’s hand. On the cufflink, winking like a promise. Lips thinning, he lifted his gaze. “I can’t see what use you would have for me.”

[fernando-tow]

There was a moment of silence wherein Fernando seemed to be studying Naoki--peeling away his skin and bone to peer at what was left of a soul underneath it all. Perhaps that twisted, quivering mass still had a purpose. It gave him sense enough to fear; it gave him the ability to feel pain and loathe Hell. It was a silent question Fernando asked himself frequently: whether the souls of demons were actually souls at all; and if he was fooling himself into thinking he could ever escape what awaited him below.

The chess match between himself and Naoki had left him doubting. Doubting the idea that he was at any point or in any way better than his fellow devil. Better at the game, maybe, but he had a feeling Naoki had more than one piece to sacrifice on the board for the greater scope of the competition. Mr. Cross was suspicious of even the smallest, seemingly most calculated maneuvers from the other man; the other monster. Even the very slight movement of recoiling was more serpentine than groveling. There was a reason they called a gun's retreat post-shooting a "recoil", after all.

Naoki was just looking for new bullets.

Or so Fernando assessed.

Shrugging facially, Fernando settled back, the papers vanishing into his desk with a rustle of contemplation and tinkling of keys in a lock. Folding his hands on his chest, the demon accentuated his former gesture with a flick of his thumbs; a secondary shrug, more or less. "I don't like to discredit," he said idly. "There's no denying you're decent at what you do." Perhaps it was the joy Naoki usually took in their work that truly repulsed Fernando. Or it could've been the way the smirk never fully left his face. Even now, when he looked so tired and wet  and--well, it all could've been a trick of the light, after all. Damn table lamps. Illusionary masters, those.

"Just not as good as some," Fernando finished softly, lifting a brow as Naoki shook out his coat and hung it on the chair. Cigarette smoking to death in the ash tray on his desk, the smaller demon watched his fellow seemingly pace like a caged animal; a tiger or a lion. Predatory indeed. And, more like a housecat, he apparently hated getting wet. Fernando hid a smile under a sip of brandy from a glass that may or may not have always been by his side on the desk.

"Come now, Kiki," Fernando drawled, getting to his feet to fetch a second glass from the mini-bar by the window. He dared to put his back to Naoki, knowing full well the demon might've taken great pleasure in shoving him out the window and into the alleyway five stories below. "I've never seen you this defeated. It's taking the fun out of everything, hermano." He turned, second glass in hand, to offer Naoki something to warm him. “Top shelf reprieve?”

[annarper-tow]

Do I want them to reconcile into a healthy relationship and finally bang, or do I want them to kill each other?  The Fern and Naoki Show continues….

[fernando-tow]

me every problematic day of my problematic life

[naoki-tow-deactivated20220122]

bad things to come {tag: Fern}

Hate was a dark twisted sickness in the demon – or it was the demon, and it had devoured whatever else had once been there. Either way, there was no cure and nothing to save. Salvation was just a lingering taste on his lips and to him it only tasted of blood and snow.

He just wasn’t sure when he had last had such a direct target of his hate. It wasn’t as if he hated those who signed his contracts; they weren’t worth the consideration to hate. Certain creatures he had under his thumb, perhaps, but even those were small and insignificant. But Fernando. Small and insignificant yes, but Naoki had still somehow found himself in chains. Cold, wet, miserable (which to him had nearly the same significance) and in chains.

Naoki lounged against Fernando’s desk with all the ease of a predator about to lunge and the distinct feeling he had been backed into a corner. Using one hand, Naoki spread the papers he had dropped onto Fernando’s desk. Simple black and white things, all just needing a smear of blood to close the deal. Splattered now with raindrops from his hand, but it wasn’t like they were his to need perfect. Fixing Fernando with a glare, Naoki shrugged a shoulder. “Contracts. Just like you asked.”

[fernando-tow]

The soft sounds of Timbre Timber on vinyl pervaded the air of Fernando’s office. The demon, rather on the short side already, was further dwarfed [re: framed] by his enormous winged-back chair, behind which the window was cracked enough to a. flutter the dark red curtains, and b. provide just enough room for the smoke of his cigarette to escape into the night. The only thing allowed to escape into the night where he was concerned, for that matter. Mr. Cross or his smoke would be leaving the room victorious, and anyone or anything else was secondary. 

Adjusting the silver cufflink on his wrist, the demon in dark blue didn’t so much as glance up at his fellow as he entered. To merit Naoki with any type of greeting might send the wrong impression entirely. Awarding himself points for melodrama, Fernando simply continued to fix himself up and smoke. The crossbones cufflinks caught the dull light of the table lamp and winked Naoki’s way; skeletally humoring him. The desk pendulum clicked and clacked, swinging to and fro with no apparent purpose. There was a good chance Fernando had bought it strictly for the metaphor.

One brow lifted as Naoki finally spoke, Fernando granting the moment a slight pursing of the lips and a disapproving tilt of the head. His fingers smoothed over the end of his sleeve, pushed it back ever so slightly, and fixed his watch in place with ease. Only once he was sure he had dragged the charade on long enough to get under Kiki’s skin did Fernando shift in place to glance over the contracts, picking one up with the tips of his fingers only to inspect it, expression purposefully bored. The velveteen grind of dark folk music continued to ebb and flow beyond them, the room filling up with bluesy violin that slid up and down a scale of notes with lazy skill.

And, speaking of...

“This is it?” Fernando asked finally, voice dry. The contract he held was released, relinquished to the others before him. “A demon of your caliber--I expected better.” His hazel eyes caught the light like the links on his wrist before; though something in the lamp (or otherwise) dyed them amber and red for a brief instant. It faded like an ember; but still burned. Fernando cast a look over Naoki thoroughly for the first time, taking in his drenched appearance. His lips curled--amusement or disdain, it was difficult to discern.

“Looks like you’re all washed up.” Literally and figuratively.

[barricadeur]

down with soulmate aus. it’s time for a new fic trend: soulhate aus, aka two characters who are destined to beat the shit out of each other.

[brunosfirstgorilla]

[fernando-tow]

I am up a little earlier than initially intended and heard accounts inactive for 2+ years might be deleted so you know what I must do

[fernando-tow]

angel-tow replied to your post:ok so the cat just likes to be tol we think

what does tol mean

it’s tall in the way small is smol .v.