“Come on! Mom said we can go outside! As long as we stick together!”
“I don’t want to.”
“...please? I-I don’t wanna play with the others.”
A small hand reaches out to another. The tension suggests Harodo would slap it away, but he holds it. His icy stare is fixed on his friend and he has a deep frown on his soft face, alarmingly intimidating for a child.
“Okay. But not for long. I’m not in the mood.”
The other child’s face lights up. He doesn’t yet know what he wants to do with his friend, but he hurriedly tugs him towards the grand wooden doors gating them from the outside world. There, their mother stands, her hands clasped by her stomach.
“Harodo, dear, please play nicely today. You know he’s been feeling a little ill lately. I’ll let you out for an hour, tonight.”
Gripping his friend’s hand tight, they start to walk. The trees on either side of them showed no life for sweeps, yet there were leaves everywhere. He looks at his friend and tugs his arm gently.
Harodo nods.
“Yes, mom.”
“Do you want to make a leaf pile? We can jump in it, they’re all extra crunchy today.”
He’s met with an enthusiastic nod and a bright, bright smile. That grin… so innocent. Haro never saw anyone smile like that here. It was real and untouched. This is how every child should smile. Harodo envied him deeply, and even though they were the same age, he felt the deep, paternal desire to keep him safe.
“Go on then. You go that way. I’ll go this way. Be careful, okay? Mom hasn’t cleaned outside in a while.” Harodo directs him, watching his friend scramble away to gather crunchy, always-autumn leaves. He doesn’t rush. The tyrian only walks at a relaxed pace. He was far mature for a 4 sweep old, rather preferring the sights around Mount Fiora than playing with the others.
“...Norman?”
He stands in place for a while, inhaling the crisp air, fins jittering in the cold. Eyes closed, the only thing he can hear is the faint wailing inside, distant crunching and the soulless wind.
This was home. This air was home. These bricks were home. This ground, this soil, these leaves… home. He almost cried at the thought, an unspecified emotion beginning to crawl it’s way up his throat.
Before he can choke it out, his home is interrupted with a piercing scream. Slitted pupils dart towards the source and down a hill, he sees a slump. Distant. Familiar.
words; 524
time; 15m
rating; PG, implied drug use, blood, disassociation/unreality
Google Docs Version
Your identity is no longer ingrained within the folds of your mind. You could dig for hours, days, weeks. When you’re under, sometimes you search for months. Helpless, clawing at mere morsels of clues, calling out to ears that do not listen.
“Where have I been?!” You cry out.
Heads turn. You fail to differentiate what direction; eyes and mouths blur to hair. Tears begin to fall up your face, caught in your eyebrows. Your face feels dry and cold and when you open your mouth again to howl, your lips crack and your tongue is caught.
“What are you making me?!” Your voice quietens and you swear you hear laughter.
You would wonder why, but you are a smart man. Your stature, whatever it may be, is pathetic. Demeaning. Miniscule, much like prey.
You have a sunspot in your brain. It starts to throb, the lights above you shattering but you feel no glass on your skin. Only blood and sweat. It’s excessive and it isn’t yours. Who is this? Who are these people?
As you start to breathe faster, your nose starts to bleed. If your hands weren’t submerged within your kitchen tiles, you could push the indigo back into your body where it belongs. Instead, your gaze meets the contact point to the floor and in an instant, the tile beneath you shatters and you fall.
You fall and you keep falling. The laughter grows distant but it echoes, taunting you, circling your head. It penetrates your ears and begins to rip apart the tubular structure of your brain.
“You want ANSWERS?” They cackle.
“Yes! I need answers! Who am I?!” Your voice quivers with desperation.
Your sweat sears your skin and you notice you’re not falling but you never hit the ground. You let out a single choke, the nest of twigs in your throat dislodging with ease.
The taunting stopped but your brain is still being pulled apart. The hands are ruthless, dismissive, tossing aside your mind like scraps of fabric that no longer bear the integrity to create new form.
“You’re RIGHT HERE!”
“Right where?!”
But you are met with silence.
Silence for as long as you fell. You can’t tell when it stopped. The reverb of the space around you starts to deafen you and you hear;
Your skin is cold again. Your blood has clotted. Your hands are flat on the tile. Your gaze is fixed on the flickering kitchen light, swaying gently on the cord. You’ve no idea how it was disturbed.
Your heartbeat refuses to decrease with deep breaths and steadily, you lift yourself up, unafraid. The pit you had ascended from doesn’t concern you. The fear that crept up your throat had dispersed. You felt only tired.
“Utazai..? I… no… Idolia.”
Swallowing shards, you heave your frail body to the bathroom and run the bath. You can’t quite pinpoint what temperature is best suited for this situation. Fumbling for your phone, you dial your last contact.
“H-hello? Hello? Wh- Oswald? Hi… I need you to… help me run this bath.”
Part i. | Part ii.
Words: 1,276
Time: 45m
Rating: PG, probably some swearing, probably not. It’s sfw.
google docs version
Part trois mmm mostly just peeking into how the rejects interact w each other now that Satana has... ‘joined’...
---
It was going to be to nobody’s surprise that the new guy was asleep under Asmodeus’ arm that day. Beelze hardly slept, as usual. Belial and Behemoth were even cuddling beneath that giant, fluffy blanket of theirs. Bel’s tiny frame disappeared beneath it. Had it not been for her brightly coloured hair splayed out all over the place, Beelze might have actually had to look for her.
Prior to falling asleep, Beh, Bel and Bub had spent the evening cleaning up, drinking, messing around and generally winding down. Of course, they all knew Asmodeus too well. They know what they were doing with that albino. Hospitable gestures aside, that man almost always wanted one thing.
It’s not like any of them were disappointed, surprised or even mad. They were more upset that none of them had time to make any bets or wagers on how long it would take.
That pinkblood seemed so reserved. They didn’t even speak more than a few words at a time. They didn’t thank anyone for the food, Deus for the clothes, Behemoth for the shelter… they mostly just stared at Belial or looked dotingly up at Asmodeus when he spoke.
Belial could tell, all evening, that look was as fake as a Barbie doll. Maybe that’s why they kept looking at her. Because they knew she could tell. They had this look in their eyes. Knowing. Complacent. Belial could sense no danger… but she felt unease in her gut.
Being exhausted after the night’s events, she asked Beelze to keep an eye on them. So he did.
As far as Beelze was concerned, the albino was no danger. Whether or not this judgement meant anything to anybody was pretty irrelevant, considering his questionable mental state. No one was quite sure if he was all there. Behemoth always joked about Beelze being part chihuahua, but sometimes… the crew didn’t doubt it.
Still, he stayed up, obedient to Belial’s request. He didn’t like to disrespect her, though he was conscious of the actual importance of the task. Somewhere, somehow, Beelze understood. There was no arguing, no silly jokes, no pranks… he sat up, and he watched.
So the suns set and Belial was first to rise. Her damaged hair, frizzing out in all sorts of directions, lazily pulled back into a semi-organised ponytail while she scanned the tent for her clothing.
“Ugh, Jesus Pissing Christ… where the hell are my clothes, Bee? Oi, Bub, c’mon…” Her raspy voice even more so upon waking up was enough to stir Behemoth.
“Hey, shut up, a man is trying to sleep.” He grunted, rolling over and shoving her out of that warm, warm blanket.
Beelze tossed her a hoodie, holding up a finger to his lips. Bel tilted her head in response, looking at who he was trying to shield from noise.
Deus and the albino. Disgustingly snuggled together. Love? No way. But that was some real affection Bel had never seen from him before. Did the albino tell him something? The possibilities of conversation nagged at her brain, eyes widening as this sight shook her awake faster than her morning coffee.
“All night?” She whispered, crawling to sit next to her favourite little maggot.
Beelze nodded, hugging his knees to his chest. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Deus. This tent was suddenly an alternate universe, Bel decided. Bel and Beelze being quiet? Asmodeus showing affection, not waking up first, and Behemoth shoving Bel off his mattress?
“Do you think he has psionics, babe?” Keeping her voice hushed, she leaned against Bub tentatively. Despite this weird behaviour… Bel felt so content.
“Yeah… he didn’t take off the cuff thingies… looks kinda uncomfy.” Beelze leaned back against Bel, snaking an arm around her waist for a little cuddle. Together, they sat and watched for a little bit. Mostly wordlessly; Beelze asking her how she slept and Bel responding shortly. She was almost afraid to wake up the two newfound lovebirds.
“Hey, Bub, let’s go make breakfast for the boys, ok?” Bel whispered, giving the lime a small, friendly kiss on the cheek. He flushed lightly, nodding in compliance and getting up after her. They both knew the smell of eggs and fresh steaks from the evening before would lure the boys out of the tent.
---
“So, what name were you moanin’ last night, Deus?” Beh nodded his chin towards the other indigoblood, mouth full of food that had been graciously prepared for them. Bel always knew how to make breakfast an enjoyable time of night, especially considering how none of them were morning people.
Asmodeus chuckled once, his whole body flinching slightly as he did so. “Not my job to introduce him.” He retorted, looking down at the albino who was only poking at his food.
“It’s not poison. Just eat it.”
Rather than responding, the albino looked up at everybody else. This was the first time he had visually acknowledged Beelze and the lime looked away, flustered. Perhaps he just wasn’t ready for that sudden attention from someone so elusive.
‘For someone so abrasive, it wasn’t hard to make him blush…’ He thought.
“You can call me Satana. No I’m not a girl.” His voice was as soft as gold. Easy to listen to and turned heads on the first syllable. Even Beelze looked back at him.
“I’ll say it before Asmodeus does. My head is worth a lot of money to the empire. If you turn me in, I will make sure you never feel at ease again. No, we are not dating.”
Deus flinched at the last statement, blinking, his head shaking irritably as he turned to look at Satana.
“Excuse me, I don’t think you need to disclose tha-”
“And what, inevitably answer them anyway? Keep them guessing? What’s the point?”
Deus shut his mouth, tightening his lips for a moment before returning to his food. “Alright, fair point. Go on.”
With a gentle sigh, Satana rolled his eyes and pointed his gaze at Behemoth, who seemed taken aback at this.
“And you. Don’t hit on me. I know who you are. I’ve seen your interviews and magazines.”
With that, Behemoth erupted with great laughter and tears started to form in his eyes, looking at Belial with the most ecstatic face anyone had ever seen from him.
“Y’hear?! He’s seen my mags!” As if Satana didn’t actually give him a rule to follow, he decided to leech on to the part he could brag about. Typical. Bel laughed, pointing her finger at his nose.
“Okay, but you hear also? No hitting on the twink!”
They clowned around, bantering as they faded from conversation. Bel and Beh. If anyone didn’t know them, they’d think they were moirails or even matesprits. But such was the life of a Devil’s Reject. They were just close to each other. Even Asmodeus was poking in on the fun, as was Beelze, even if neither of them were particularly involved in how this banter began.
For the first time in over a hundred sweeps, Satana was amongst people. He could reach out, he could touch, he could interact, he could run… he had company.
Not unlike prison, he still felt so, so alone.
How was someone like him going to stand this behaviour? This was almost juvenile to him.
He frowned, exhaling from his nose and standing. No one noticed.
“Going for a swim.” He murmured, which only caught the attention of Deus.
“Stay safe!” He laughed, Behemoth’s head under his arm in a headlock.
“I’m not your fucking friend.” He whispered, disappearing back in the direction he and Asmodeus had returned from only hours earlier.
Best read when having listened to Baseball by Major Parkinson. Not only is the song itself really wonderful, but the first verse of the drabble are lyrics.
---
Words: 1,042
Time: <30m
Rating: PG, swearing
Just a fun project I may or may not actually delve deep into. Mostly just doing these while I can't sleep, do they're pretty rough around the edges. I did little to no editing sorry lol.
---
"And then… and then I really hit him over the head! It flew right off! Like-- haha! Like a BASEBALL!"
Laughter akin to a pack of hyenas echoed through the shallow forest here. Four trolls around a fire, having just settled down for dinner with the open air filling their lungs. How could any of them be in a bad mood?
With Asmodeus retelling their nights events giddily, the three of his closest and only friends were hanging on the edge of their seats.
"Like BASEBALL?!" A wretched, grating voice piped up, though none of them seemed to flinch. Beelze. Little Bub. Oh, their dearest little man, just like a son. The grimeblood – affectionately dubbed – was leaning forward the closest. The baseball was his favourite part!
Asmodeus really knew how to rope them in. He had learned some grand storytelling tricks from spending sweeps in the circus. He never really shook off that energy. It clung to him, exuding from his sweat… light in the scent of the air.
Belial, especially, having such an acute sense of smell. She inhaled this electrifying energy with every motion of Asmodeus' hands and body. Her grin was plastered to her face, pink teeth emitting the softest glow against her sharp cheeks.
"Like baseball!" Asmodeus exclaimed, slapping his knee, the perfect sound ringing in their ears.
"And you came back from the DEAD?" Beelze leaned forward, both his eyes wide now. Only Asmodeus had that effect… he almost looked like a normal guy.
"You were waiting in anticipation, right?!" Asmodeus responded, though his gaze swept over all of them, settling on Behemoth.
The other man, sitting back with his arms crossed over his chest, a warm, wide grin on his face. Not unlike the others, he was in a wonderful mood.
"Yeah. Circus, bread and Buckie Harris on the television…" He continued… was this rehearsed?
"Oh! I love this one!" Belial exclaimed, the first to jump to her feet with a loud clap of her hands before her chest. She spun on her toes, mimicking an umbrella over her shoulder.
"Ducks on the pond, Mrs. Truman with a black umbrella!"
"And a crack of the bat… comes the main attraction…" Asmodeus grins, leaning forward closer to Beelze with eyes widened in anticipation.
"Ayn Rand, Peter Pan and the GHOST OF TULLY SPARKS!" The lime almost screams in response, trembling like a small feral dog out of pure excitement.
Behemoth continued, sitting forward now with his hands on his knees. "Deadpan, hidden hand… the pose of Karl Marx!"
Belial laughs at his sudden enthusiasm with his participation, quickly pointing at Asmodeus as she took the next line.
"Brass band plays a Star spangled banner in REVERSE!"
Asmodeus stood almost on cue, towering over the crew and winding up a shot with his invisible baseball bat. He draws up, hands close to his shoulders as he sings; "Batter up!"
Their favourite part. Asmodeus struck that ball.
"IT'S BASEBALL!" Unified in lyricism and laughter. In joy, in delinquency, in family… their voices were so genuine. Their cackles and snorts. Even Beelze's screeching when scooped up by Asmodeus came from a place of enthusiasm. Any of them would dare you to show them a purer form of love and familiarity.
Their babbling and antics wouldn't cease for a while. It's not like they had to worry about predators. Asmodeus was bigger than most bears in this shallow forest. The flames licked the air and affectionately kept them warm, though their roughhousing eventually brought on an undesirable feeling of sweat and fatigue.
This, of course, didn’t stop them. Especially Beelze, who saw no issue in trying to wrestle and writhe his way free from Asmodeus’ strong arms. Their laughter, laced with yelling and whining, was not unseen.
Amidst their noise, even Belial failed to notice a new presence. Perhaps the stench of Beelze and the cooked food surrounded by two ancestors was keeping her too occupied. Had she not been trying to wrestle Beelze from Asmodeus, she might have seen him. Behemoth was too busy watching in amusement, arms crossed again as he let fatigue start to creep up behind his eyes.
As silently as the Grand Asmodeus Darkfoot, the man famous for travelling in shadows without so much as a huff, a smaller troll sat on the log. Right beside Deus' spot. It even took the crew a moment before they noticed, even if this troll was so blaringly obvious against the dark backdrop of the forest.
They sat there, their eyes fixed on the fire, hands planted firmly on their knees. They were cold, but weren't shivering in the slightest.
None of the crew flinched. None of them said anything. They just returned to their spots, closest to their weapons, and stared. No one would dare act first if they weren't Darkfoot.
Asmodeus sat down again, his leg almost touching this stranger. He had no weapon to reach for. He had his fists. But this troll was only around 6 foot. He was, at first glance, hardly a threat. While this silence lasted, Deus surveyed this new company wordlessly.
Silence was absent. The crackling of the fire reminded them all that this was reality. It took a moment. But Belial was first.
"I smell jade, purple, teal and violet." Her voice was not as loud as it usually was. Perhaps she was concentrating… because there was a colour she had never identified before. A colour… or mutancy.
Asmodeus raised his hand cautiously though with little hesitation, moving some of the troll's hair to get a better look. Just as those pale eyes shifted to meet Belial's.
White hair. White eyebrows. Pale skin… had Asmodeus not moved that, none of them would have guessed.
This troll was more than drenched in blood. It looked like he had just emerged from a vat of it.
Those doe like lips… Asmodeus saw them once. An Albino arrested. Plead guilty to nineteen counts of treason, amongst other details he couldn't care to remember.
"Prison?"
Those eyes. Ringed, like the rim of a moonlit pool. Encapsulating. Gripping. They shifted again, along with his head, though only because they would have strained too much otherwise.
Time: 40m
Rating: PG, swearing, mild suggestive shit at the end. Nothing much.
Part two UHHHHHHHH idk not much to say lol... have fun... questions are....welcome.
---
They made eye contact. They maintained that for what felt like a sweep. There was noise, but Asmodeus be damned if he reserved even a crumb of attention to it. It sounded drowned out. It almost felt like he was in another realm. The only way Asmodeus knew it wasn't was Beelze's impatience interrupting their silence, the noise becoming clear as the Indigoblood managed to tear his gaze from them with an almost panicked breath.
"HELLO?! ALTERNIA TO ASMODEUS? I SAID, what the HELL is going ON?!" Beelze whinged, standing up now with his arms arched comically by his sides. Attempting to make himself appear bigger around the crew was futile, but Beelze had the confidence to attempt anyway. It was… adorable.
Looking back at this albino, Asmodeus exhaled shortly from his nose.
"One moment." Standing, he brushed his pants from clinging splinters of wood and made his way to their tent. For such a massive troll, he disappeared with ease inside, the crew's eyes watching like they were waiting for their lusus to disappear before misbehaving.
Only when they lost sight did they turn back to the stranger.
Behemoth was first to pipe up.
"So. What's the deal here? You clearly killed… a few trolls, give or take. You could try here, but we promise your attempts will be futile. For your own sake, I hope it was in self defence." He was pointing at the albino, but they weren't looking at him. Everyone was unsure if they were even listening. Their eyes were fixed on Belial.
"Hey! Are you listening?" Behemoth stood, occupying Asmodeus' spot and grabbing their face to turn it towards him.
"I'm talkin' to you."
"...I have no intentions." They responded, a cool and calm tone in their voice. They hardly seemed worried, pulling their face from Beh's grip and looking back at Belial. Was something so interesting about her?
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her hands free of the weapon she had previously been holding. She didn't speak. They just stared. Both Beelze and Behemoth had never seen Belial keep her mouth shut for so long. Did this guy have psionics?
Beh was about to speak up again when Asmodeus returned, as silently as ever, something under his arm. In the dark, no one could really tell, but Bel assumed clothing. Everybody's eyes were fixed on the hand Deus was holding out to the albino, though they didn't take it. They only stood, fixing that not-quite-uncomfortable eye contact with him again.
"The bank isn't far. You can clean up there."
Asmodeus led the way and the remaining three were left to their own devices.
Beelze groaned.
"Deus wants it."
---
"So. Nameless, huh? With how young and… short you are. I wouldn't have guessed you with an ancestor title already." Asmodeus teased, guiding this troll to a nearby bank. He didn't mind the smell of blood, but he knew Belial couldn't stand it for too long. Being alone with them was just a bonus.
"You watched my trial."
"I did."
Then, silence. The pinkblood didn't speak. Asmodeus knew the type… he would be asking all the questions. He knew this troll didn't give two fucks about getting to know anybody here. He knew they just wanted shelter, food… and probably protection.
"We're the Devil's Rejects. I know what you want. Otherwise you would have walked past us." Asmodeus' voice dropped a little, almost like he was trying to keep their conversation secret, never mind that they were already alone.
"You had a life sentence for each count of treason alone." He was jogging his memory as they walked, the sound of running water gradually growing closer. Asmodeus was in no hurry. He couldn't assume with the other trolls demeanour that they were, either.
"The empirical court was kind enough to spare your life. If you'd call it that. And here you are… roaming free. What's the reward?" He stopped, the albino doing the same. The bank was probably deep enough to cover them up to their chest, but Asmodeus was, to put it lightly, a giant. He was at least eight and a half foot tall…
'His height is irrelevant. You're cleaning up. Not him.' The albino mentally scolded themselves and looked up at him, unsurprised as he was taking off his shirt.
"A waive of all need for currency."
"Lifetime of riches?"
"Tactically avoided giving anyone money. My head is just worth enough for one troll to never have to spend again."
"You're pretty confident we won't turn you in."
They stared. That was what it was. It was boredom. Asmodeus felt a tug in his chest. They were bored.
"You're a wanted man too, Darkfoot. Consider this a symbiotic relationship."
"It's only symbiotic if you bring something to the table."
"...you watched my trial. You know what I can bring to the table."
Asmodeus laughed, stepping closer and allowing his hands to start pulling at the hem of their shirt. Worn down… ragged, torn… this blood. He realised. It was both.
Self defence and desire to kill.
The Indigoblood couldn't blame them. Escaping from Kayuga Prison must have been a bloodbath. Being locked up for hundreds of sweeps must have also harboured a desire to shed more.
They lifted their arms without protest and beneath was pale skin, gently stained with all colours of the hemospectrum. They didn't break eye contact. Asmodeus knew it would be an insult.
"I don't have a name, Asmodeus." They murmured, gently placing their hand upon his stomach.
That touch was agonisingly intimate. Darkfoot was not a man of love. Not… usually.
The albino begun to trace lower, lower… lower. Until their fingers met the stitching of pants. Asmodeus watched. He listened. The atmosphere was open. Anything goes.
The smell of fresh water was not enough to bring Deus back to reality. This touch was everything to him. Enthralling was merely an understatement. He was obsessed. And he knew they knew it.
"Satana…" He whispered, moving his hand from the blood crusted hair to cradle their cheek.
"...yes?" Half lidded eyes brimming with intent. Lips parted so slightly as if to silence their breathing. Asmodeus could hear his heartbeat roar in his ears.
It was deafening when he pushed a digit between those lips.
Were he a weaker man, he'd have passed out when they moved to gently suck his finger.
