HELLO!!! 😁 I wanted to make a request, I was thinking of nightmare!reader (as in sans au nightmare sans)
They were once a angel who protected the tree of positivity and negativity alongside their sibling, but after a incident in which they consumed one of the apples of the tree after years of being tormented by the humans they became corrupted and fallen and took the title of king of negativity, living as a recluse in a castle in hell with his subordinates.
Practically no one knew about him except for Charlie, who surprisingly became his friend, no one knows how but now he visits the hotel with his subordinates from time to time and chaos ensues
Raccoon's Note : You... Are you stalking me ? How did you knew I was back in my Underverse phase ?? I just change the human part for the angels because it was more easy to write.
It's a mix between fanon and canon Nightmare (because, being real here, Canon!Nightmare would not care about Charlie)
Gender : GN
Pronouns : They/Them
TW : ENGLISH IS NOT THE AUTHOR FIRST LANGUAGE; Mentioned cannibalism; the Bad Sanses Gang; murders mentioned, Beta reader who ? Re-reading who ?
A long time ago, two guardian angels were in charge of guarding the Tree of Positivity and Negativity. One was in charge of guarding the positivity and the other the negativity.
The Guardian of Positivity was loved by the other angels, praised for bringing positivity back to Heaven.
But, on the contrary, the Guardian of Negativity was bullied by the other angels, blamed for all their misfortune.
One day, tired and angry, the Guardian of Negativity got fed up and ate an apple from the Tree. It was one too many, one that contained all the negativity of the Tree, corrupting them.
There was a fight, a long and bloody fight, between the angels and the Guardian of Negativity. A fight that destroyed the Tree of Positivity and Negativity. In the end, the angels won, and the Guardian of Positivity was forced to banish their sibling to Hell.
It's a story that everybody knows.
A story changed by the angels to make themselves appear as the victims who had only been kind to the selfish and malicious Guardian of Negativity.
But you know the truth. How could you not ? You were at the center of this whole story after all, Guardian of Negativity.
Scared of all, the Guardian of Negativity is as scary as Lucifer is to demons.
You are known to be ruthless; often haunting the dreams of demons of all circles, turning them into nightmares.
As a born angel who became fallen, you have the power to go into all circles of Hell, allowing you to spread negativity throughout all circles.
The Circle of Lust hates to see you coming; you and Asmodeus have fought before but there was no winner because Lillith intervened.
You have a small group of killers tasked with spreading negativity, including: A demon haunted by the ghost of his brother he killed; a cannibal; and a demon you can control if you wish. All three have a contract with you, preventing them from escaping.
Your meeting with Charlie was… Predictable, actually.
She wanted to know more about heaven and angels, and her father kept avoiding her questions… So what better way to answer them than another fallen angel ? (She studiously ignored the words 'corrupted,' 'negativity,' and 'danger not to approach' written on the paper)
You didn't beat around the bush, you criticized heaven and angels throughout the discussion. In the end, Charlie wondered if demons were perhaps better than angels because you portrayed them in such a bad light and in a tone filled with anger against them that had been repressed over the decades.
In the end, Charlie opened her hotel anyway, and you decided to help finance it.
Why ? Because it will allow you to permanently destroy the dreams and hopes of some demons and spread more negativity for longer.
You studiously ignore the voice that tells you it's because you see your siblings in Charlie.
When you are bored you like to visit the hotel.
It's always fun to see the fear in the eyes of the hotel demons when you appear out of nowhere and when they realize who you are.
You still remember the first time you came, Angel Dust falling off the couch before hiding behind it in fear, Vaggie shaking while getting into an attack stance, Husk choking on his drink, Alastor trying to act like everything was okay but was shaking and had a defensive stance, Niffty and Sir Pentious hiding behind Alastor, and Charlie coming to hug you like you were her long-lost uncle she was finally seeing again.
You really liked the negativity you brought out of that day.
The hotel always brings you a little negativity every time you visit, they are always afraid of you and that won't change, you can assure yourself of that.
The only ones who don't fear you are the Morningstars and most of the Deadly Sins (only two of them fear you a little).
When Lucifer learn that you and Charlie knew each other and were friends, he got a heart attack.
He wanted to stay at the hotel just for being sure you weren't hurting his daughter.
It took a lot of persuasion to get him to leave you alone and not be there for every conversation you had with Charlie.
Sometimes, you come to the hotel with your subordinates... And oh dear Lucifer is that a show to watch !
Killer's favorite thing to do there is to make 'prank' to the hotel residents; the screams of terror that follow his pranks are always music to your ears.
Horror and Alastor love to cook and eat together, expected of two cannibals; although the smell that follows their cooking is not always the best. Especially if they are cooking a demon that has been dead for several days.
And Dust... He's just standing there. Talking with his brother and planning to kill the hotel residents.
"Don't worry, he won't really do it." "You're sure ? I mean, he's now planning where to hide the bodies-" "I'm sure he won't. Exept if I tell him to do it." "Please don't."
They also like to chase the hotel residents when Charlie isn't here, especially Alastor and Sir Pentious. These are the best moments.
When the battle of angels and demons of the hotels (and others) took place, Charlie asked you for help because as many people as possible were needed.
So you and your gang got into the battle.
Your gang has a lot of combat experience and so had no trouble fighting, escaping with a few minor injuries and a lot of dead angels.
You silently judged the angels for being so bad at dodging.
When you saw Adam enter the battle, you immediately attacked him.
Remember the hatred I mentioned you had against angels ? Yeah ? Well, some of it came out when you saw and fought Adam. The reason ? He was one of the leaders of the harassment you suffered as an angel.
You ripped off his wings without warning and beat him more and more violently as the 'fight' progressed, even though at this point it was just a public execution.
You ended up killing Adam, and he was completely disfigured after his death. But you also ended up with injuries, one of which was quite serious to the chest.
No angels could intervene because your gang killed them before they could. And the demons stayed away because of the fear of being next.
At the end of the battle, you returned with your gang to your castle to rest and let your injuries heal themselves (regeneration is really useful when you are injured).
The battle was televised, and since then no one has made fun of it because of the fear of having to deal with the Demon of Negativity (or Demon of the Night; the title changes depending on the circle).
Even the Vees were scared of what you would do to them if they decided to attack the hotel.
Lucifer thanked you and your gang for helping Charlie defend the hotel.
You were tempted to say that the only reason you decided to participate was because you wanted revenge and not because you cared about Charlie and/or the hotel, but you decided not to and to end the discussion as quickly as possible because you were still a little hurt at that moment (it was the day after the fight, at 5am).
BONUS : Adam as a demon
No one recognized him at first because his demon form was so disfigured.
He went straight to Lucifer, his enemy, for help against you. He was angry and traumatized, and his only option was his archenemy, Lucifer, because Charlie and the hotel were on your side.
Lucifer took pity on him and decided to make him stay while telling him that if you asked for Adam, then Lucifer would deliver him to you without hesitation.
In the end, you didn't ask Adam, preferring to torment him in his sleep and sometimes at Lucifer's castle.
It was really funny to see Adam have so many negative emotions, he who at the time radiated positive emotion although malicious.
It was a beautiful thing made by the karma it-self.
Oh, and you and Lucifer became friends.
How ? I don't know, but one day he gave you a rubber duck that looked just like you, and it was only then that you realized you had somehow become friends.
Lucifer also made rubber ducks for your gang, and the ducks were looking like them.
Raccoon's Note #2 : I tried okay, I tried- but it's been a long time since I have write + I'm sick rn so.... Yeah, not perfect- sorry.
Also, I'm thinking of maybe doing a FAQ, but I doubt anyone would want to ask me questions. Should I do it ?
Anyways, hope y'all have a great day/night !
Summary: A divergence of the quest Necessary Evil. What if Hans wasn’t a good noble and Henry’s fine with this?
Notes: I thought there should be more evil Hansry in the fandom so here’s my contribution.
Chapter One
Hans follows Henry into the torture chamber, closing the door behind him. The room is poorly lit, the flickering flames casting moving shadows across the walls. Hans glances at the captive, shackled to a hanging bar, before shifting his gaze to his page. Henry seems more at ease than Hans feels—his calm presence a quiet anchor for Hans’ nerves. He doesn’t speak, but something in his stillness calms Hans. Steady. Solid. Like he’s done this before.
The captive lifts his head, eyeing the new arrivals.
“New blood? Did the last two get tired?” he mocks. “I don’t give a fuck who you are. I still won’t tell you anything.”
“Lord von Bergow thinks otherwise,” Hans replies disdainfully. The captive shakes his head, unimpressed. “Aye? Then all three of you can go and hold hands on your way to hell.”
Hans frowns at the almost cheerful venom of the response and forces out an equally false laugh.
“We’ve got a joker here. Who are you?” He senses, more than sees, Henry shifting beside him.
The captive sounds almost bored. “Nobody important.”
Hans steps forward, moving into the captive’s space. “That’s for us to judge, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“And who are you? If you’re not guards.”
“We asked first. So answer nicely, or…” Henry lets the threat linger.
Hans exhales in relief as Henry finally speaks—this is better as a joint effort. He can’t help finishing the threat.
“Or we’ll use force.”
“Do as you like, yellow-bellies! You’ll end up just like von Bergow—on the gallows! Like all traitors!”
Hans watches Henry stiffen at the reminder of what he nearly lost. For a moment, he thinks Henry might walk away.
He doesn’t.
He hits.
The sound of the backhand cracks through the chamber. The captive jerks sideways, blood hitting the floor with a wet slap.
Henry’s hand doesn’t drop right away. His fingers curl slowly, like he’s still holding the shape of the strike. His chest rises with a slow, deliberate breath.
Hans draws a sharp breath. It’s not shock. Not horror. It’s something darker—colder—and it coils down his spine like pleasure.
The captive spits and curses, but Hans barely hears it. His eyes stay on Henry. He forces himself to focus. “This is going nowhere,” he says, hoping his voice sounds steadier than he feels. But part of him hopes the captive keeps provoking Henry.
Henry grabs the captive’s jaw, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
“We’re not fucking traitors. You murdered our men—cut them down while we were on a mission of peace.”
For the first time, the captive blinks uneasily. It fades quickly, his smugness returning, but Hans notices. He looks around the room, eyes catching on the barrel of tools. He glances back at Henry, speculative, then smiles grimly at the captive.
“You know, my friend here is a blacksmith’s son. And he knows exactly what to do with something like… these tongs.”
Henry picks up the tongs. His grip is firm. A muscle ticks in his jaw. He swallows—slow and deliberate.
Hans doesn’t have to look to know Henry’s moving. He can feel it—the air shifting, the moment stretching. Henry plays his part without needing instruction. That might be the best part.
The captive flinches and swings slightly in his chains, snarling in defiance.
“Like you yellow-bellied whoresons would do it. Run back to your lord and tell him you failed.”
Henry chuckles.
“Von Bergow isn’t my lord. He is.” He jerks his head toward Hans. “I’m doing this for him.”
Henry smiles—obedient, assured. No hesitation. Hans feels it settle in his chest like a weight.
“I don’t think he believes you’ll do it,” Hans says lightly.
Henry maneuvers the tongs around one of the captive’s fingers.
“Tell me who your leader is, and I won’t break the joint.”
Hans leans in slightly, pleased when the captive scoffs. Henry begins to squeeze, slowly. The captive screams. A sickening crack follows. Henry’s breath catches at the sound—sharp and sudden. His fingers shift on the tongs, adjusting as if savoring the resistance.
Hans bites his lip.
The captive pants heavily, trying to suppress his whimpers, and glares at Hans.
“Fuck you bastards. I’m glad your men died.”
“Try the next finger,” Hans suggests.
Henry moves without being told twice. Hans watches the ease of it, how natural it’s becoming. The captive hesitates.
“His name is Jan, alright? You bastards,” he gasps.
Henry steps back, swinging the tongs idly as he waits for Hans’ next question.
“And where is he? Where’s the rest of your pack of scum? You’d best tell the truth, or you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life begging on the streets to stay alive.”
The captive watches the tongs, no longer smug.
“You can put them down. He’s in Nebakov with the rest.”
Hans steps forward and claps the captive on the shoulder. “There’s a good boy. See how much easier it is when you tell the truth? You can put the tongs down, Henry.”
Henry places the tongs aside and moves to stand beside Hans.
“I want to know how you managed to take Nebakov.”
“Old Nebak’s a gullible fool. Didn’t have many men. We took it with one finger up our noses.”
“No need to be rude, my friend,” Hans replies cheerfully. “We’ve still got questions. Who are you lot, really—and what do you want?”
The captive glares at Hans in silence. Hans sighs and shakes his head in disappointment. Henry looks to him, questioning.
“Which tool this time, my lord?”
Hans closes his eyes briefly, biting his lip.
“The dagger. Let’s see if our friend here is more cooperative without his sight.”
Henry picks up the dagger, flipping it casually in his hand as he moves behind the captive. The man tries to keep him in view, straining in his chains. His nerve breaks when Henry grabs his hair and jerks his head back.
“We’re patriots. We give a shit about this land. We don’t want you whoresons fucking it up.”
“That why you ambushed us?” Hans snaps. “That your excuse for killing my men?”
Henry responds to Hans’ anger without a word. He draws the point just above the captive’s eye, trailing it lightly.
“Fuck you, fuck your men, and—”
The captive doesn’t finish. Henry slices the blade across his forehead in one clean motion. Blood spills immediately, a thick sheet blinding him. He thrashes in the chains, spitting curses as he tries to shake it from his eyes.
Hans doesn’t move. He watches the blood trail down the captive’s face, drip onto Henry’s hand. Watches Henry’s breathing change. His stance. His calm.
He’s never felt less like a noble. Not even with the noose tight around his neck. That day had been fear—this is something else.
He raises a hand to his throat, thumb brushing the skin where the rope had burned. It tingles. Henry sees him touch the spot and flinches like he’s been struck. His eyes flick to Hans’ throat—just for a second—then away. His fingers tighten around the dagger hilt. Then he drops it.
The motion is sharp. Almost reckless.
He grabs the hammer instead.
The clang echoes through the chamber as Henry slams it into the bar above the captive’s head. Both the captive and Hans jump. Henry rests the hammer on the captive’s shoulder, chest heaving.
Hans doesn’t breathe.
Henry stands with the hammer resting against the captive’s broken body, his chest rising with each panting breath. His face is streaked with blood, his hands painted with it. The torchlight dances across his armor, gilding the filth in gold.
He looks dangerous. Alive. More beautiful than Hans wants to admit.
Hans clears his throat, rough and low, as if that might steady him. It doesn’t.
“You’re the reason he was nearly hanged. If you and your pack hadn’t ambushed us, we’d have finished our mission. They wouldn’t have strung him up like a fucking peasant if you hadn’t stolen that letter and killed our men. You put the noose around his neck.”
Hans’ eyes widen. He hadn’t realized—not fully—how deeply it hurt Henry. He clenches his fists, aching to reach for him but resisting. He needs to see what Henry will do next.
The captive stammers, blood still obscuring his eyes. Henry’s patience snaps. He slams the hammer into the man’s left knee. The crack is sickening. The captive howls.
Henry leans into the captive’s space, his face close, voice ragged. He doesn’t seem to notice how near he is, how hard he’s breathing, or the flush creeping up his neck.
“It was Olda—Olda Semine! He did it! He helped us—”
He breaks down sobbing. The fight is gone.
Hans can’t look away from Henry: the fierce light in his eyes, the blood smeared across his face, his hands, his armor. In the flickering torchlight, Henry is devastating.
He doesn’t look at the captive. He couldn’t if he tried. There’s only Henry—bloodstained, panting, blazing in the torchlight. Beautiful in a way Hans can’t put words to.
“We can’t let von Bergow know about Olda. He’ll slaughter Semine.”
“Aye. But if he told us, he’ll tell von Bergow’s men too.”
Hans licks his lips.
“We have to do this… We need to make sure he won’t tell them anything more.”
The words sound right. Measured. Necessary.
He doesn’t think too hard about why it came out so easily.
Henry speaks quietly. “Is that my lord’s command? To kill him?”
They breathe out together, like something unspoken just settled between them.
Hi guys I just wanted to say I’m really sorry for the lack of posting.
I had a lot of uni work and then when holidays started I just had to go and get sick, so I’ve been having a great time (not). It’s flu season here rn so I guess it makes sense. Today I coughed so hard I threw up. It was ✨lovely✨.
Anyways when I am more alive I promise more fics are coming your way. I have also been working on some with the marvel actors and cast.
Tiny little snippet, internet darlings, I owe you that happy ending…I will get you there, I promise.
🕷️💙✨
But the reprieve of returning to the quiet world she knew so well was not enough to ease the anxiety, fear, and anger towards those who were and were not around her. Rey’ka had to get Spider back. She had to get him out of that evil place and its even more evil inhabitants. Toruk jerked his head forward, rumbling against her as he craned his neck protectively around as the olo’eyktan dared to step even closer when Rey’ka did not respond to a verbal greeting.
written for the febuwhump day 23 prompt and the @killacharacterbingo prompt: presumed dead.
warnings: major character death!! descriptions of serious injury and paralytics, unhappy ending.
word count: 1365
read it on ao3 here.
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Over the years as marshal commander of the guard, Fox had been forced to occupy more job roles than Kamino had ever prepared him for. He had never managed to settle on a least favourite, but as he leads a mixed group of guard troopers and natborn CSF forces through Coruscant’s underbelly, he imagines that this is one of the worst of them.
Ahead of him one of his men comes to a halt. The group follows suit and Fox takes point once more, checking the scanning equipment.
They’re playing clean up operatives this time, making sure that an illegally imported something doesn’t make it any further towards the surface (towards the people who really mattered on Coruscant, the request for assistance implied but didn't explicitly state). Between the lack of intel and treacherous conditions of this particularly unstable part of the undercity, however, Fox doesn’t like their chances of actually catching the thing before it escapes once more.
He doesn’t voice this to his squad – not only for the sake of their morale, but for the sake of the listening ears of the natborns that could report back any perceived inadequacy to people who might want to do something about it.
Fox distracts himself from that thought with his work. The scan comes back… inconclusive. They’re in the right area, Fox relays back to both teams, but the trail has been interrupted.
They split off into groups to cover more ground. Fox ends up alongside more natborns than brothers, but that’s both okay and intentional. If they have any issues with their conduct, then it’ll only be himself in the line of fire. Naturally, he ends up going in first, the others trailing behind at a safer distance.
The building that their target has potentially holed up in is beyond unstable. Large sections of it have crumbled completely, and they all have to stop intermittently to check for structural integrity as well as any signs of a creature that doesn’t belong there. It’s slow going, and nerve-wracking even by Fox’s standards, and he’d been involved in some pretty sketchy missions in these parts before this one.
“This is going to be a shitshow,” one of the CSF officers grumbled, loudly enough to carry across the space despite the potential presence of a hostile creature with unknown capabilities.
Fox bit back the urge to shush them like he might do a brother, instead holding up a hand in a gesture that he hoped got the point across.
“What?” the natborn spoke up again instead, frowning in Fox’s direction. “Are you– oh, shit!”
Fox is turning before they’ve even finished talking, the expression of horror on their face at whatever is behind him enough of a cue to get moving. It gives him a half-second to brace himself before chaos descends on the group in the form of a very large and angry something with too many pincers and legs.
The creature bowls Fox over immediately but he turns the momentum into a roll and springs back to his feet. He’s met with the sight of an armoured insectoid-like creature, all stingers and skittering claws, bigger than three massiffs combined.
One of the officers is already retreating, shouting something about backup, but the others are distracting it well enough (intentionally or not, this is unclear) for Fox to shoot from behind with one of the tranqs that they’d been provided with.
The creature stops, shudders, and… bristles, turning very slowly to face Fox. It chitters, a high and sinister sound, and Fox finds himself backing away on instinct.
It’s a useless instinct to follow, he knows. By taking the hit for the officers initially, he has pinned himself in – and sure enough, the creature takes advantage of this immediately. Fox grapples with the thing as it lurches towards him, keeping it at arm’s length for as long as he can before it finally manages to sneak a hit in, swiping at Fox with its tail. It catches him between two plates of armour, leaving a trail of burning pain in its wake.
In the background Fox can hear the officers panicking, but whatever they’re doing isn’t enough to distract the thing away from him. He’s going to have to rescue himself.
Summoning the last of his strength Fox pushes the creature away, inevitably forcing the both of them out into the unstable centre of the room. For a moment he thinks he might get away with it, but then the wooden floor crumbles beneath them– and Fox is falling, falling, until his descent is halted by rafters and other protruding bits of rubble, which he ricochets off of before rolling to a stop.
Consciousness remains with him, even as the wind is knocked out of him and pain spikes through his body. The creature hadn’t fallen with him, he realises, just in time to see it skitter back through a gap in the walls above the basement area that he’d landed in.
The situation is still recoverable, Fox tells himself. He just needs to get up, ignore any broken bones, and put this thing down with something stronger than a tranquilliser.
It’s only when he tries to move and his limbs refuse to respond that he realises that the heaviness that now weighs upon him isn’t just a result of a potential concussion from the fall. No, whatever the creature had struck him with when it had caught him with its tail must have contained a paralytic. It has him trapped, and now it can take its time in either reaching him or picking the rest of the officers off.
Fox can hear voices above him, but by the time he gets his breath back enough to reply, he can’t move his mouth to shout for help. Even his chest is beginning to struggle to take in air, strength ebbing. He’s in more trouble than any of them could have anticipated.
“Sithspit, where did that thing drag him?” He can hear one natborn calling out to the other above.
“Who knows, I can’t see a damn thing through all the dust.”
“Nothing on the comms? No heat signatures?”
“Nothing, the interference is too strong. He could have fallen levels– if that thing didn’t get him first. He’s gone.”
“Karking hells. What a way to go.”
There’s a moment of silence. It stretches on for long enough that Fox can start to hear the clatter of claws across stone, getting closer and closer as the creature catches up to where it had tossed him.
The officers above must hear it too, because he can see their silhouettes flinch back away from the opening above. The torchlights that had been directed down into the dark towards where he’d fallen go with them, pointing out into the corridors as the two of them try to get a glimpse of the enemy. Fox can only watch and wish that he could tell them that they’re looking in the wrong place – the noises were getting closer to him, not them.
“I think there are more of those things on the way.” One of them says, voice getting fainter as the sound of the creature gets louder. “Come on, we’re no use dead. Someone has to live to report this.”
Fox’s heart sinks as they turn and leave. It isn’t long before the sound of their footsteps fades completely, drowned out by the creature’s arrival.
Its silhouette obscures his view completely. It takes its time to secure him in its clawed grip before dragging him backwards into the dark, chittering all the while.
Fox cannot do anything to stop it. He can only barely convince his eyelids to remain open to track its movement around him as it sizes him up, tapping at his armour and figuring out the weak points where it could get to the flesh beneath. The dust and debris start to settle around them once more as Fox struggles for breath – and to accept the fact that nobody was going to come after him in time to rescue him from this grisly fate.
As far as anyone knew (or cared, in the officers' case), he was already dead.
