So, as you may know, it's November! The year is almost up, and last month I accomplished... absolutely nothing. Burn out, mental health, work, and real life shenanigans have completely taken away any drive to be present. I'll be here, but slowly.
I have no progress to report whatsoever on The Descent Down Below, but that it's still a WIP. I don't know if I'll do anymore edits or updates to the project after some things came up that still...make me rather angry and annoyed that happened, but oh well. It is what it is. Still probably gonna work on it, but until I'm in a better headspace, I'm taking a break away from the project.
This isn't me scrapping it completely. Just a well-needed breather because my brain has 47 tabs open, one's playing music, two are frozen, and the mouse is missing. Yaaaay ADHD. Love that for me.
In lighter news, I will be doing something for NaNoWriMo this year! I'm afraid if I say too much more I'll lose the muse, but I'm kind of excited to write it, suffice to say! Stay tuned, y'all! ✨
Note: Fair warning, this will contain graphic depictions of gore. Cybernetic gore, but gore, nonetheless.
He hadn't accounted for it in the routine. In hindsight, he should've; yet, it was slightly hard to when your partner's leg would swing at just the right angle to catch skin.
While this wasn't necessarily an issue for Harlow in the slightest, since his skin was made of a material meant to mimic human skin—that was still fallible. It still tore easily if put beneath enough stain, and with the previous scarring from a past attack (bless Lex, he didn't mean to; Furian rages were...a hell of a thing to contain in the moment), it sometimes took the right moment for it all to fall apart on him.
The flesh gave way, tearing with a disgusting RIIIIIIP before suddenly, Harlow had no feeling in his cheeks and lips. Despite that, his voice worked well enough to still get the appropriate words out.
"GODDAMN IT—!"
He almost never swore. At least, never aloud...so out where the public could hear him, especially when a Showcase Night at The Black Dragon, was a shock. Still, the impact of her high-heeled platform shoe catching the seam Lex had curated to hold the past wound together was enough to send it tearing open again.
Harlow faced away from the crowd, gloved hand covering his face from immediate view, listening to Kagami's frantic apologies and the befuddled mumbling of the crowd at the music cut mid-routine.
It wasn't until the wound oozed coolant that this...could get catastrophic rather quick. Even the slightest bit lost could easily throw his system off, making it difficult to cool himself down in an emergency situation...but now, the audience would likely see the blood-like, ice blue substance.
Especially, in the front row, where he could've swore he heard a man mention something about seeing what he could only describe as 'fluid' dripping. Though, whether it was blood, spit, or tears, he couldn't tell.
"Shit—! Harley, GO—! Get off the stage now! You're bleeding!" Kagami yelled, just at a stage whisper, even gently pushing at him to force him along—knowing full well how stubborn the AI was when it came down to a performance.
The show must go on, she knew he'd probably tell her.
Watching those bright cyan eyes darken a little at her, looking up enough to not reveal the injury, he nodded. The soft whine of the hinges followed this gesture, and he bolted.
Hopefully, fast enough that no one saw the extent of it...
Once in the VIP room, tucked away near the stage, Harlow slammed the door behind him. It echoed louder than he meant, and he staggered to the leather couch that stood in the room.
Plopping down, head in his hand, coolant steadily dripped from the gash that stretched from ear to ear like a demented smile. He refused to look up at the mirror that was in the room.
He knew what he'd see if he locked eyes with it...
Bleached blonde hair, which normally set neatly combed back with a little bit of messy fluff, fell in his eyes...which made for excellent cover when he heard the door open. He stiffened, sensors scanning for the identity of the person without looking up.
"...Harlow? Ye alright in 'ere, luv? Saw what 'appened on stage...Kagami told me she scratched up yer face. Said 'er heel caught ye on th' cheek, i think 's what she told me. Seemed panicky over it...might i see?"
Ah. Celeste.
He knew her voice well enough—a deep, sonorous, and accented alto that carried warmly like melted honey.
It was comforting, yes...but with the residual affects of the adrenaline (or whatever protocol or program was responsible for that), he was still shaking—an unpleasant trembling deep in the core and pit of his stomach.
"—How—H-H—How sure are you th—that you want to see—?"
"Can't be that bad."
He wanted to laugh. The feelings of something hysterical bubbled up and the reaction was loading from what he could feel...however, he was able to kill the program, before slowly looking up at her.
Suffice to say, what Celeste saw next immediately triggered a gag reflex. Her eyes widened, and a hand flew up her to her mouth, biting back the urge to say something she'd regret in the moment.
"Cazzo, che diavolo è successo alla tua faccia—?!"
Despite hiding it in her native tongue, or rather, the one she found out WAS her mother language...Harlow's translating systems picked it up.
Suffice to say, he didn't blame her for the reaction.
Most would.
When she stepped closer to him, that's when he completely stopped responding to her. Although, instead of roughness, he was met with a hand on the jaw to guide his head up to look at her so she could survey the damage.
Wet, wide eyes searching her face, the immediately horrified knitting of brows...and what was merely left of the bottom half of his face from his cheekbones down. From one side of his face to the other, it looked as if something with jagged claws or a serrated blade tore him open like a kitchen knife to an aluminum can.
All of his teeth gleamed up at her, with prominent canine teeth for top and bottom. He tried to open his mouth, as if saying anything would save the situation...but nothing came out.
"...Right. I'll...i'll get Lex on th' phone. You mentioned before 'e 'as all th' necessary bits an' bobs to patch...this up...apologies for earlier, i...wasn't expectin' a full Chelsea this evenin'..."
Writing Prompt #5 — He Wouldn’t Stop Smiling Like He’d Already Seen Her End
...Oh, I already feel like I'm going to have fun with this one. Especially knowing the former of this one-shot and what her fate is.
That single red eye scanned her over, taking in everything there was to about this young lady. Despite having only known her a moment at this infernal train station…Rasguño found himself almost laughing at the sight.
She stood, bag over her shoulder in the light of the sun with a pleasantly bored expression (or maybe tired? Not that Rasguño could relate to such trivial matters; he rarely slept), waiting for the next train home. Morbid as it was, he was already imagining her death at the hands of someone who held the same beliefs as him.
If you want it, just take it—kill those who stand in your way for love.
The girl reeked of all manners familiar.
Like an incoming funeral.
“…May i help you? You stare quite a bit for someone who’s not from here…actually, where are you from…? You’re definitely not American…unless i’m sorely mistaken, and you’re just SUPER tanned…”
How forward. No matter.
“…Well, you’re only partly correct, nena…Colombia, specifically. South, not North,” his voice was low. Raspy, but more gentle than he meant. If anything, it only got the girl’s attention more.
“Ah…interesting. What’s someone like you doing visiting Japan? Surely, not just the scenery or tourism…you don’t…look like you’re here for the leisure. Are you…?”
An unnatural smile curled at his lips, and his only usable eye glinted like dim embers. “And if i said i wasn’t…what, pray tell, would you do…?”
“…None of my business. All i’m going to say is leave my name out of the equation, if you’re gonna do anything…”
“…Hm,” the sound that came out of Rasguño’s mouth, humming past his lips, was warm. He leaned against the walking stick he was using, seeing as the vessel he was using was starting to wane. It had been within the past few years, quicker than he’d like, and the joints were always the first to go…
“…That…won’t be a problem. Although, do be warned…light tends to cling to shadow like a jealous lover.”
Before she could ask what he meant, her train pulled up into the station, and she quickly stepped on. She looked out the first window, back at him…
He was completely gone.
…What the fuck??
Had she just been imagining that conversation?
Who was that??
A tap on her arm pulled her from her thoughts, and immediately, she looked down.
Musei.
The smaller of the two girls rose her hands up, and started to sign.
-Everything ok, Noriko?? You look pale.-
“…Yeah. Yeah, Sei. Everything’s…everything’s fine. Just…weird guy at the train station…”
Musei let out a noise. A small ‘mh…’, and then begun signing again, -Some perv? Wouldn’t surprise me…-
Writing Prompt #3 — The Favorite Of A Sleeping God
Oh BOY. More characters that I haven't used yet! This oughta be interesting! :D
Lament was more of an OC I made on a whim when I was younger. Like...maybe 18 or 19? I dunno. I just vaguely remember her and what her personality was supposed to be like. There will be more on the cult and the cult leader...but for now, enjoy the sheer oddity of it all. Seriously, a lot of this I'm just rolling with based on vibes alone.
By 'vibes,' I mean the OC's personality I'm given. Basically, the plot is based on how I feel the characters would interact. So no one plot is created the same!
“…Excuse me? What brings you here this evening…? Surely, you’re not here to see him, are you—?”
Before Lament could finish, she gasped, being so carelessly pushed aside by him.
Inazuma, in his defense, had a bad habit of becoming quite…tunnel visioned when he was fixated upon something. Sadly, this temple became one of them, and the cultist he’d shoved aside like she was nothing more than trash in the path of his foot was one of many.
What he didn’t expect was for her to continue running her mouth.
“Wh—?! How—?! Absolutely not! You think you can walk into The Disciple’s sanctum without explaining why you’re here, or as if you belong here?! Have you possibly lost your mind?! Especially laying your hands on His Most Cherished.”
He didn’t respond, looking about the inner atrium of the temple. All this did was further serve to irritate her. “Excuse me—?! Hello?! Why are you ignoring me? Answer me, what business do you have here—?”
“Shelter. If this disciple is anything merciful or gracious enough, he’ll allow it—especially with the coming storm. Now would you please lower your voice? You hit pitches high enough to make dogs whine…”
Looking over his shoulder at her, Lament had a clear view of his face.
A tall man of Japanese descent, in a dark stormy blue and black yukata, hair tied up…and the eyes like that of a predatory animal. All around him, the sensation of static crackled all around her, forcing her to smooth her hair down so it wouldn’t stand on end. For as much as she wished to continue the verbal onslaught against this…interloper, he made a fair point.
If the Grand Disciple was as merciful a man as he claimed, he’d allow it.
“…Fine. But keep in mind who you speak to, dog…i’ll find him for you, and…let him know of you being here. You should be thankful i even do that—”
“Onna…less prattle, more finding the one who owns this temple, yes? And if you insist on putting that mouth of yours to use, ask of him if he carries sake or even a spring nearby these grounds, won’t you…? I’ve been wandering for some time, and both sound lovely right now.”
The way her face flushed told him everything he needed…and he wasn’t sure if he found it funny how angry she was getting or confusing as to why she was getting so mad. “…I am his most treasured acolyte…and you see me as nothing more—”
“Than a high-pitched, annoying mosquito? Then we both agree. Now…you were finding him, yes?”
Writing Prompt #2 — Of Rotting Poppies and Brimstone (Hikari/Mercedes)
And here, ladies and gentlemen, y'all gon learn why fucking with a high-rank demon's spouse isn't the best course of action.
This has been sitting in my drafts for WEEKS. Gahdamn...i really need to get back on these. Sheesh...
Mercedes was, by no means, a jealous woman.
What she was, however, was protective of what was hers. The moment that she stopped in front of her husband's office, a wave of malaise raked up her spine. Both at the aura beyond that door—and the smell.
God, the smell.
It smelled of a dead carcass and something flowery. Something pretending to be sweet and innocent, when it was literally anything but. A growl rumbled up from her throat, and before she could consider what she was about to do or say—out, it came.
"Luciano? Is everything alright in there? Mi amor??", Mercedes asked, voice even.
No anger, no worry, just calm warning.
But, he never once responded.
She knocked on the doors leading to the main office where Luciano spent most of his hours working: with paperwork, phone calls, interviews, and the like.
At the third knock, a sound greeted her...
Immediately, she bristled up, a low noise following like an irritated cat.
A giggle.
Something cute, and sweet, and...not like what she was smelling.
It felt like a mockery of innocence.
"We'll be done in a moment! We're just wrapping things up!" a tiny, female voice chimed back from behind the wooden door.
“…Open this door. Now. I will not say it again—if you’ve done something to my Santos, by Lucifer and the very army he commanded, it will serve you well to open this door…”
For one who felt like she could rip the bitch to ribbons, Mercedes kept immaculate calm. Showing the demon behind the door that this was pissing her off and terrifying to her would have only been granting her satisfaction—something The Black Queen would rather be cast to The Abyss than do.
Mercedes gave it a moment. Maybe a minute too long before suddenly—
CRACK!
The office door splintered, flying open as she stepped into the room. At the desk, stood the complete juxtaposition to everything that she was smelling outside the door. She was leaned over it, Luciano’s tie in hand as she pulled him closer to her face, inches away from kissing him if she so desired.
Despite the expression on his face—unseeing and transfixed on her—Mercedes knew what was at play.
Suffice to say, all it served in doing was angering the demoness in human skin further.
“¡Pequeña mocosa!”
Her voice cut through the air like a Luciferian blade, and the girl bent over the counter snapped her head upward in Mercedes’s direction. Brunette hair, doll-like blue eyes, and an appearance that implied Southeast Asian descent…dressed in white blouse and a plaid, pleated skirt that covered the knees.
She looked completely ordinary for a common schoolgirl in a Japanese academy, and it would’ve been fine…if this wasn’t a coastal town in the Southeast U.S. A flash of warm pink pulsed at the pupils, and a grin curled at her lips at the sight of the demonic woman seething at the door.
“…Oh. How…unfortunate. And here, i thought i might have some…fun with you, Luci…oh well. I’ll take my leave…but i’ll be back in the night for you, my love.”
The tone and voice that came out of the girl in question did NOT sound like a young lady her age. Mercedes recognized that sort of talk from demonic noblewomen, and whatever…she was, she knew Mercedes was like her. Before the smaller of the two women could leave the room, Mercedes’s hand found the throat of the girl and threw her against the adjacent wall.
The girl gasped, then coughed violently at the sudden crushing pressure of someone else’s hand on top of her trachea.
“Hhhk—! Haaaa—”
A loud, strangled gasp left her. Then…a grin. Amused a little, maybe even sharper than normal…but it flashed all of her teeth up at Mercedes. “You DARE to lay hands on a Goddess…?! I will grind your bones to dust, and—”
“You will do NONE of that, puta—what is a Goddess to the Morningstar’s most cherished? All i see is the Goddess of Whores…now, if i drop you here where you stand…you will leave my building and never return. You will not be back a second time…am i clear, wretch…?”
For a moment, the demonic Goddess stared at Mercedes.
Before she could even get the words out, Mercedes dropped her to the floor like a sack of stones…before meeting the toe-end of Mercedes’s heel. Likely as further emphasis as to what she wanted.
Get out.
Get out NOW.
With a yelp, she was pushed across the floor, toward the door before staggering up to her feet and running. A restless chittering like bone beads filled the air, something small…but unmistakeably annoyed.
However, this all melted away into concern the moment Luciano groaned quietly.
“Mercedes—? Dios mio, my head—what happened?”
She looked over to him, and in the time it took her to throw the offending demon out of his office, tears were starting to bead at her lashes. Her expression pinched. Santos looked disheveled and utterly confused as to what happened, as if he didn't remember the moment that the girl walked into his workplace to now.
But, the moment he saw Mercedes like she was—as if on the brink of sobbing, his heart clenched hard in his chest like he'd been stabbed. Luciano rushed over to her, and she fell into his embrace, fingers curled deep into the sleeves of his suit-coat.
"I—Luciano—you—she—!" she sputtered out, but she couldn't find the right words. All it did was make herself angrier...but before The Black Queen could throw a tantrum at herself, he spoke again. Quietly. Soothingly, trying to calm her down all the while...
"...It's okay, mi vida...you're not hurt, are you? Who was she...? Another demon?" he inquired.
For a moment, she was quiet...because how in the seven rings was she going to explain the threat the other female made towards him?
That the loathsome, ill-craven bitch was a demoness who claimed herself to be a Goddess of some kind, and that she wanted specifically wanted Luciano. It all felt like something out of a bad supernatural romance novel (and that was saying a lot because she had a fondness for those type of books)...but she wasn't about to let it happen under her watch.
"...Si," Mercedes huffed, "Another demon nobility with a larger ego than Lucifer himself. I don't think she was too pleased about being cast to the streets like a mangy stray...a shame, too; she belongs there with the rest of the beasts in heat..."
"...Comprendo. So she was merely nothing...did she...say anything?"
"Merely that she'd be back...if she does attempt it, well...Gallus won't be nearly as kind about it. Especially on this night...correct me if i'm wrong...but it's the night of the full moon, is it not? He is on watchdog shift, si?"
"He is, he is...i'll let him know to keep a vigilant eye for her specifically tonight. Here," with that, he removed his tie—which still held the floral stink of rotting meat left in the sun and sulfur—passing it to Mercedes. "The scent will stain for hours, I'm sure...give it to Gallus. Afterwards? Burn it."
