| Staff | Member | Guest
PLS NO: plots, tags or adverts in the cbox~

fugu stat
e
 
Reply
New Thread!

 Thousand Voices Howling In My Head, Paris, France, 1603 | @Justin
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 7 2017, 07:15 AM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



Yuu supposed that the dark stretch of the storm growing black over the Paris skies was charming. The thick dark it drenched the beneath city in made every street into an unlit path, and the tall buildings framing every path had grayed in the wake of the night. Yuu walked down this place without a sense of fear or misplacement. Paved, hard roads met his feet with every lain step in an inviting echo-- if there were a greater resonance to his walk, he’d feel brighter that the light which killed the moth. He walked, his steps finding a familiar, and often walked path to his brothel. It lay in wait, a softly lit place that yelled its sin into the streets of Paris while the sleeping citizens lay barred in their houses in blissful pretend. It had never mattered.

He walked, and didn’t stop when he heard the no.

When the shouting split the night into two, it continued not to be his business just like many things in the world were not. It was none of his business, even if the surge of energy that burst to his far right suggested at a heaven folk. He could always recognize the soft signature. It was a feeling he struggled putting into words, and the angels he had met had never wanted to stand still, waiting for him to bask enough to put his finger on it. It was a shame, and always had been. But now he may have had his chance, and he stopped suddenly, on a whim.

It wasn’t his business and most of things weren’t.

Yuu was dressed the part of a normal Parisian, though with some accents on his features, clothes that boasted with straight, calm shapes that defied the current fashion movement. Curls and frills and he contented himself with the peasant straights. Black clad, he spun on the spot, and looked into the direction of where he’d sense the power. He walked there, without ado.

He was old. Ageless. Eternal. It made him fearless in a manner, walking out to meet the heart of dangers, and not every, and not often, but regardless the heart of it and its warmest spots would be his for perusal. He knew it wasn’t important. Whether he ever learned how to describe the glow on an angel or not wasn’t of any actual pertinence to his future. Yuu neared the site of crime, and his steps faded into the silence of the streets, noiseless as the night itself. Only the ahead noises strengthened. They began to involve moans, and something fleshy, that offensive echo of a palm slapping into a cheek that he had heard many times.

It sounded too familiar.

Yuu stopped.

The night was dark. The November ground cold. And the storm almost ready to cry for hours. But he stood, observing the mouth of an alley between an inn and another building, and how feet above a lantern hung off the side of the inn, still in the windless night. He stood, almost like the noise could resolve itself, the message it sent dispelled. Like what was happening and the only possible way to interpret it would be gone with the next step forward he took, but Yuu was not a fool. Had never been.

But he had been a human.

He walked on forward.

Dark and shadowy and unlit, and yet the angel trap on the ground, drawn in blood chalk, gave a lovely white glow. The angel wrapped in the middle of it, though, bleeding from between his legs and splayed on his stomach, bared for the world to further take, gave off only the matted impression of death. Yuu looked him, barely, and from this angle saw only his used up behind. The men were getting up, clearing the site.

He rammed his hand through the chest of one them.

A scream penetrated the still dark night, pitched and loud, dressed in the desperation found in every animal slowly nearing its death. He felt the man go limp in his hold, and soon, the brash stink of his urine trickled down his thighs.

Yuu let him dangle from his hand only for a moment.

And then let him drop from his hold.

The other two were slammed against the wall. An invisible force splayed them out over its surface, eagle-spread Christs that would repent in just a moment.

He didn't let them wait.

Their chests burst open with a sickening crunch, gaping wide with the ribcages pried like he’d used a bar, and the delicate, still alive hearts pumping with the final fervor of a passing life.

“Look,” he spoke, addressing the angel. “Look.” And he lifted the angel up, the same, unseen force the erected the pitiful being up on his feet, standing him proud though he hardly had the strength now.

Look.

Yuu moved out his hand, and outstretched it towards the angel.

Look.

Yuu’s eyes burned red as the angel was slowly moved out from the trap. Still and innocent, it lay behind the angel, touched by blood and semen.

Look.

It cracked open. In a sudden, and startling sound, it was split down along the middle, making the ground pucker like a greedy mouth. Yuu then lowered the angel down on the ground, and looked at the culprits, struggling, eyes wide. He’d never recall if they had begged. He’d never remember their faces. He knew that at the moment of pinning them to the walls of this inn, with the lantern ever so still, their pants were down around their ankles, their regions red, and tired from their adventure. He’d know that the air had smelled so similar.

He ripped out their hearts and let them drop down.

Everything went silent.

Yuu stood on the spot. Watching the grisly, and disgusting sight of murder, he passed over the bodies =in a glance almost sweeping, and half nonchalant. His eyes cast a red glow over his features. It distorted them, making them appear more wicked than he normally looked. He waited a second, like he despaired after all their hearts, down on the ground, coming to life. Like he wished to see them revive, and run amok. They didn't.

And slowly, he smiled.

Energy rose from their bodies, visible but to him and the angel. Beautiful, it filtered into the air as a mist, and Yuu shuddered, and opened his arms and moved them inwards in a beckoning motion. The energies answered.

One after another, they slipped into his mouth, a smoke inhaled in reverse. And when they had finally disappeared, not a stink of evidence left behind them, Yuu looked at the angel and said--

“Pathetic, your heaven. Content you were saved by a demon.”

There wasn’t a dot of red on his features.

"Because your kind wouldn't have moved a finger."

His gaze gentled. And with the fade to his red gaze, almost resigned, Yuu slowly turned on the spot, and began walking away.
@Sarah

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 9 2017, 07:01 PM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



Justin felt it, acutely, like it had every intent to open its maw, sink its teeth into his calves and seep into his bones. Drag him down and become part of him. Just another cog that made him tick, pushed him forward in motion that was better meant for the betterment of people no longer his own. Except there would come no forward motion with this. Stuck to a spot on the ground, a fly beating miserable wings after it'd found itself stuck to glue paper. A cage that sung fear into his soul and narrowed his focus on the moment and this place, dim and dark as it was--

It was a cage meant for only one.

His skin crawled, long moments before the gravel strewn ground scraped rough against his skin, a caged beast pacing as the wilds stretched out in every direction. Surrounding and gorgeous green, not brick and mortar at all, not Parisian architecture or moth fluttered street lamps. Still-- he was incapable of reaching, no matter how far his arm was capable of stretching. Spreading like rot through his soul, the discontent that came with the faint glow of the angel trap was instantaneous. Attention falling to one, the one who smelled of blood, already. Dirtied the tips of his fingers along with the soft note of chalk, dust and copper filled Justin's nose. An offering to revenge that slipped his gaze slightly. The echo of own voice through his head would curse himself, after the false comfort he'd built around himself. That shielded him as a lesser entity unwanted by Him.

After all, what did the Devil care after one?

It was a motion made of his own accord and while his prowess was nothing to laugh at, Justin Warrin, a man who'd fought every day of his life, it was nothing that moved him as greater than any other. A man who'd done enough bad to bind him to Hell had his bad not been made for the good of others, had every bad not been made to save others and see the actual tide of his own people changed through the course of history. Never would they remember his name so much as the movement he was a part of; its founding father, a long forgotten dead man who yet helped from the beyond.

His enemies were plenty.

But all the same, what did Justin know of force? Of rape?

That this one was not alone, that they so often were not alone, hunting in packs like famished wolves--

Perhaps someday he'd meet the likes of a proper coward, one strong enough to hunt on its own--

Here and now his attention was wrongly focused, a dire mistake that would see him sprawled out in the filth minutes later, only to be pressed upon by the very same. The pain that laced through him then was mere precursor, was little in the grand scheme of things. A blow to the back of the head and his frame, mortal and and more fallible than any child of God wanted to admit, was felled easily enough. It would have come as no grand surprise, his station there upon the ground, such was the way of a man who'd stolen from the rich for so long. Taken their leashed things and severed the leather that saw his kind bound to wrists. It wouldn't have come as a surprise had it been a simplistic dealing, had this ordeal left him naught but beaten.

Wouldn't have been a first, or a last had it not also taken pieces of him along with it.

The minutes would stretch and with every ticking hand of that internal clock, the soft black of his vision slowly faded back in to the dimly lit alleyway between buildings, with sight came the revelation of every intent as it was meant. The rough of the ground beneath his cheek, the smell of them, heavy and laden with wine and ire. Heavier still with every connotation of lust. He'd not feel it yet, not pluck it from the air and sustain himself upon it, and yet he felt it all the same. In the scouring of eyes and the grip of fingers into flesh. In the hard press of a palm against his temple as it threatened to split him open like a melon with every agonizing thrust of hips that met a body lacking in pliancy. As flesh grated torn and raw. Justin's teeth gritted together, though their purchase couldn't hold, not for the need of every wafted breath violently punched from his lungs. The only agony he'd allow voiced, giving them no cause for satisfaction beyond their victory over the flesh of him.

The edges of his tongue chewed and bleeding, no more and no less than the rest of him and still he'd not cry out.

His struggle was futile though the sound of it was notable. Even then his defiance wouldn't see him bent and giving, wouldn't go without a fight that sunk his teeth through his cheek and a knife through his ribs. Too low and it'd miss everything important, wouldn't offer him the sweet serenity that sucked him back up into the clouds to see him mend of his own accord. Bit through him all the same, growled his throat and struggled him against bonds he would not yet yield to. The soft pool of him as it warmed his side to puddle beneath the press of his skin was warm and almost comforting, an anchored tethered in that moment when his mind wanted little more than a hasty retreat. There was nothing but ire that filled him then. A quaking fury as an arm was bent round and pinned against spine dislocating his shoulder in a bought of rougher treatment.

His eyes would water then--

Still he'd refuse much more than gritted and guttural noises of defiance.

A trio of them and one would filter off, leaving behind the humiliation of heat between his cheeks, burned like acid that wanted little less than to eat him form the inside out. The next filtered in and the weight bore down in thrusts, repeated and repeated again. The pressing defeat was there, weighed heavier on him than even the man at his back. Tighter a suffocation that the arm around his waist keeping him propped well after his will had seen fit to seep onto the ground in a pool of himself, ruddy and damning. The fight in him waned, left him as numb as his body was not. One man-shaped thrum of pain, a form physical and met some time later with a booted toe to ribs and a smattering of bruises he couldn't have counted even if he'd had the fingers of all three men.

Still, he'd not claim himself victim, wouldn't cry out after the injustice of it all.

The taste of his shame lay in every raw and fettered edge, coated his teeth and side of his bunched shirt, that blousy thing that was fashionable though not flashy. Coat long tattered and torn and he looked a man made for usage.

How long it lasted he couldn't have told you, just that when it was done, when his mind knew the word rape on a level intimate and broken, he was little more than egg tipped off a counter. Insides leaking across the floor, defiled as pieces of him lay scattered. Even if he'd wanted retribution then, there was little in him that could have been made whole enough to pursue, to release him from this spot against the ground where he continued on this slow and winding course for death. If only it were so easy, if only he'd not awaken to every of his agonizing crumbled ego. To his shame made visceral.

Every mention of hate poured over him like a blanket Heaven wouldn't allow him to keep.

There was a cry then, rent the sky in two and cleaved into his senses.

Numb and throbbing, cold in the wake of leaking vitae, Justin couldn't have told you when it had stopped, his mind sectioning off the moment to keep him safe. It was done, was the point and even so there was little he could muster of himself to do anything but remain as he was. Still, they'd not loom and taunt, a clean cracking of a few ribs and they'd be met with an end he could only just see. The blank of his vision washed over in leaked red, tainted his eyes as it dripped down the side of his face from a head wound no one had bothered to care over as they spilled their seed into the depths of him. Blood colored his vision foggy as he remained, some pile of broken flesh and yet he'd witness as asked, as not a choice was given, again-- as he'd have wanted to. Watched the wake of this man he could have so easily named the Devil himself as he toyed with cowardice like it tickled him better than the flames.

Chests peeled open like cans, their contents spilled and Justin could give little more than this blank and numbed stare as their lives seeped from their frames.

Slowly, a deserved note of painfully.

Too little too late
and he'd remain something bitter and cold, without energy enough to even shiver himself to keep his frame alive.

There would come irritation then as he was moved, like rag doll tucked under the crooked arm of an innocent child, dangled there without stuffing enough to keep him erect. It wasn't rough or even rude but it was a thing for his defiance to latch itself to, and so it would. The glowing trap pressed behind him and he'd watch not what was intended but rather this other, the one that brimmed with energy. Who's eyes were painted as bloody red as his own, glowed with every light of Hell. He needed no introduction.

It seemed so quiet and still as it happened. Noise long lost to the tumbling of his blood, to the labored pounding of his heart as his body attempted to heal itself without proper energy or means. Sing of destruction, mutually assured for both psyche and physical.

Set back to the ground in a heap, knees and palms dug into the hard of it as tired gaze lapsed over the blood-eyed man and his consumption of faith lost. The wispy forms of the defilers slipping between his lips like wine sipped from chalice. It wasn't a sight he'd have ever called grotesque, no matter what Heaven asked him to see in it, it was beautiful when it could be named retribution.

His voice, some soft lilted thing that should have offered a better death of the angel than his body presented, spread out across the ground in an offering obscene. All the same he'd listen and watch, gaze flickering though his face was little more than simply there, to be watched in turn and gleaned nothing of as it sat emotionless and lost; staring.

Because your kind wouldn't have moved a finger.

Some part of Justin wanted for rebellion, the part built from Heaven itself, and yet he knew better of it. Knew the truth for what it was. They sung to him even then, softly, sweetly, of forgiveness and neutrality even as the welling of fury in the pit of him expanded. Where he hadn't the energy to exist beyond a heap he would find it enough to hate. Festered better than rot spread over left behind remains. They spoke of all things soft, cheek turning, and as this other walked away, a savior in a form entirely unlikely-- as he walked away the angel would struggle against the bonds that saw him settled there upon the ground.

Come home. Forgive them. Men are fallible by design--

Promises wrought in his own blood.

A hand pressed to his side and the still trickling bits of him coated his fingers warm and sticky. Sitting there on the ground, bent and broken, fingers examined for answers they couldn't give, he'd proclaim they looked nothing like forgiveness. The heavens would soothe once more. Sang to him once more, everything golden and pure--

But how could God stand by and do nothing as his own childe was cast to the ends of the void?

What kind of father--

Shhhh, come home, childe--


They'd shush and with their golden finger against his lips and a proclamation of fathers knowing best in his ears he'd enact his final rebellion.

It washed out from him, this pulse, like homing beacon for everything shadowed and lurking.

The fall of everything innocent and awash in sunlight.

The agony of a dying sun was something of a religious experience. The white cast of eyes as they rolled back and the warm of him, golden and bright, seeped from the very pores of his flesh. Cast him alight like a man sat there on fire. And yet he'd still not cry out. It'd chase the chill away as his body slowed and slipped him back into the mortal coil. A slap upon his wrist. The low tones of his voice groaned out an escaped breath, agonized and winding as lips were forced to part in a wave of barbed pain. Grace, plucked from him like the unwinding of golden thread from his gut, pulled like smoke from his lungs as God took back what he'd given in good faith. He had but one rule and with the disbelieving air of this disobedient childe he'd see punishment enacted in the here and now.

Believe, or go.

The fall in the midst of static and it was everything gorgeous and warm.

The slipping of a life into the clouds and the leaving behind.

Shuddered him in the wake of it and pressed his palms back to the ground, hung him there something broken and lost and without care for anything beyond the balling of oneself. To fester itself there until the earth swallowed it whole and bore it into the warmth of its bowels to rebirth it as something far less poignant than a childe of any God.

A rock perhaps.

Rendered him useless and husked.

Empty and without drive he'd lay himself there, curled upon the ground in wait, in ready for an end warm and snuffing.

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 9 2017, 11:44 PM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



He fell.

The light that shot towards the sky illuminated the world. Yuu halted in his steps, and spun around to face the spectacle. He was silent. There was both nothing to say when no conversation was ongoing, and also nothing he could have said even if you armed yourself with hot pokers and demanded it. Speak. And there’d be nothing. Speak. But he wasn’t too sure how. His words were lost. Standing rooted on the spot, you could have named him humbled, this ages old Archdemon. A humbled creature from such parts of the world where humbled was just a word. Humbled. And then as it faded it, as it consumed his attention for the short minute it lasted, he looked at the man it left behind, curled up on the ground. Yuu stood on the spot, replaying the sight. He saw it time and over again in his mind usually not this quieted-- saw it, and replayed it, and stood on the same exact spot where he’d first noticed the grace tickle his back, and burn mildly just because he was a demon. He was still recovering from its slightly incandescent caress when he moved from his spot. When he swung forward, and watched this nameless and useless thing on the ground. Raped, humiliated, and now lying there to wait for his end. Of course it would come. There was nobody to save him now.

Yuu bent at his waist, and snuck his arms around the feeble and fragile thing. He picked him up, slowly. And hoisted him to his frame, the angel’s face against his chest though, as Yuu decided, it didn’t belong there. The angel and his quiet ire looked the best when controlled by no man or woman. He smiled.

“I guess you’re mine now,” he told the fallen, as their eyes locked. He didn’t shine his. He just looked into the fallen’s pale pair, and he wondered about something for a moment. They’d soon earn all the attention, and the city of Paris had come to tired life with a startle. What was that beautiful cone of light just now splitting the sky? Yuu looked up, like still they had a lot of time. All of it in the world, and he sighed softly, privately, and bettered his hold onto the angel. Held him tighter as he mused--

“I suppose you will remember this night forever… my little fallen. Gemini was bright on the sky on the night you were raped, despite the storm that approaches.”

His chuckle was almost wrong.

He looked down at him once, soft and gentle. With this smile that promised love and all things wondrous. Until he slowly shone his eyes red, and spun away. And walked them off, and watched the angel’s face as he would a lover’s, a title he’d burdened them with because whether night or day, he always thought of them. Always wished to have their ear to speak secrets into, and their hands to hold, and their back to kiss, presented to him as a most wanton proof of trust he wasn’t turning down. Yuu took them home, and when the space behind them erupted in noise, he didn’t turn back. He just, calmly and guilt-less, walked. And he got them home in a few minutes.

It was a lovely brothel, for what it was worth. Stood tall and strong like time and energy had gone into building it from grounds up. It too, had lanterns. He paused before entering the place, balanced atop a short staircase would that see him swallowed by the interior of the place. Paris was quiet. The house breathed with some moan and pants. Yuu watched the motionless lanterns that often swung in hard storms, and watched, waiting as the winds picked up, at last. The air smelled thick and wet, and the storm was here, at last.

The lanterns were flicked off by an invisible force and he entered.

Home. This would be the fallen’s whenever he came to. A bed, and a room, both simple, basic, and yet clean, the sheets white like he no longer was. He’d be wrapped up. Bandaged. All his wounds dressed and sadly they’d no longer heal on their own. Without his tie to heaven, without a single tethering tie in the world he just was, a being that would soon need to decide whether he wanted back after all, or spitefully, like some pouting child, decided to be reborn. Or he went down the third route. Yuu wasn’t placing his guess. He’d wake up washed, dressed, protected. Though not safe. Yuu didn’t presume the feeling to be the boy’s for a while. He stood outside the door when his witch walked out of it, and upon seeing him, bowed. He gave her a smile. Their French was soft.

“He’s coming to.”

“Is he? Good.”

“His injuries will likely re-open.”

“And they will continue to until he has chosen. Go.”


He uncrossed his arms. Without ado but with another bow, the woman was off, scampering down the long hallway of his brothel until down on the lobby which was quiet, not even oddly, and the few patrons they had were up in the rooms, fucking, moaning, performing the very same activity his poor pet likely wouldn’t be interested in for a while.

And Yuu understood.

It made his stomach flip and chilled his blood. He didn’t mention it as he entered. The window was small, and the light not too generous. Still the room was relatively well lit for what it was, and Yuu, thus, tall and towering, visible. He didn’t really move from the door. Or rather, the distance of it remained maintained throughout even as he glanced at the fallen in a sweeping glance. He walked to the window, his clothes simple now, plain, black pants and a white shirt he’d left sort of unbuttoned, logically careless about own looks in his own home. His fae brothel lived and moaned. He stopped at the small window, and listened.

Ah, and oh. Some faked, some real. Some were just pretending to be fucking their customers, some really were. He’d given them the choice.

Spared slavery, so here they were. Willingly. Yuu almost tried to identify the fae by their sounds, and had their names pinned in a short while.

He didn’t know why he was distracting himself.

He leaned away from the window, a push of his hand that straightened his frame, and then he was facing the fallen, cold, and curious face.

“I ask the obligatory how are you,” he said, and moved towards the bed. He stood himself at the end of it, and watched the fallen’s body. Injured. No longer bleeding but he was an oxymoron. His wounds would reopen. Today, tomorrow, maybe in a couple of hours. Not all at the same but maybe all at the same. Not all at once but maybe all at once. Yuu’s gaze flickered between the fallen’s legs-- though he couldn’t see anything, he imagined it, for no reason. That ugly rivulet, the red spot. That rude, and cheeky tear, tensing his body, and the room briefly darkened. A shadow befell it, and its temperature sank.

He relaxed.

His eyes were dark and hateful, but for what it was worth, they were calm. He managed a fake but gentle smile, and it looked a bit like a smirk. It didn't reach his eyes.

His unforgiving, angered eyes.

“What is your name, fallen?”

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 11 2017, 02:59 AM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



There were a dozen things that happened in the between space of a grand death and the moving of a body. Justin would recall very few of them. His body so suddenly lacking that everything would come rushing in, every nerve ending exploding with a pain his prior grace numbed in a healing balm. Everything lit itself on fire in a single instant and with it came his defeat, came a curl of frame on a cold hard ground and the want for it all to end. A persistent and stubborn creature and his will was effectively forcefully removed from his own hands. He could hear Julia's voice in his head, that snarky whip crack that she called her default tone as she berated him a coward, a quitter. She'd have been every bit disappointed in him, he knew this as such a bold fact that it chilled the blood in his veins.

Maybe she's right.

Words fed into her mouth to regurgitate them back as facts already made in his mind.

But he wasn't destined for this end, and without ask and without ado, he was plucked from the ground as some weightless entity. Useless and without any grand design he was a thing to be discarded. Instead cradled to a chest and it was there that he'd first feel the raw of Hell, like it was sandpaper against his soul. Prickled his sense half as much as this proximity would have minutes ago, and all the same, it did tickle against him. As did that lilt of this demon, so close he could almost taste it from the other's tongue. In truth it would have tasted better than the choking copper from his cheek or the raw feel of his tongue against own teeth. There was a protest across his tongue, wanted so little more than to spit it out in a lash that would have likely seen his deposit back against the ground and left where he was.

He belonged to nothing now, most certainly not this arch of Hell.

He spoke of Gemini but it was all mostly lost to a mind too fettered and buried in pain. To a mind lost only steps into their journey. Eyes pale and bleak would see little more than the back of lids, though the dark would settle in long before that. Drowned him as he struggled not to suffocate in a sea of own red. It was in this world of vibrant hate and shocking pain that the soft words echoed, a declaration of claiming, a title placed upon this act that had befallen him, one he wanted so little to know of; rape. It bounced around cruel and taunting, as much so as did the laugh and the eyes red.

A haunting from a ghost made real and pressed against him.

On occasion he could hear the world and feel the warmth of Hell pressed against his side and in others, the vast majority of them, he saw only black and red and own anguish.

The only next he remembered was what he'd long since perceived as waking nightmares come as reality itself. A further punishment perhaps but all the same, he would see himself awake, briefly and only into the hands on a woman who seared his flesh like the only way to heal it was to burn away the issues. The damaged mind was always a mind imaginative. And so she cared after him and he saw her as naught but a monster who packed sand, not poultice, into raw edges. That knit nothing with magic but rather a needle as searing hot as it would glow its way through his flesh. He'd say nothing and emote little else, a soft teeth-gritted cry every now and then but it was always needfully tampered, stepped upon and disallowed. All the while the sounds that filtered through the walls were everything disconcerting and odd.

Justin could rightly figure what it was that surrounded him, though he wasn't a man who lived off assumptions made, and so he'd not.

His consciousness was fleeting though felt more stable in the moments the monsteress fled. He wasn't sure, in the seconds preceding if he was glad for her departure or not,as much as he'd cursed her. One beast swapped for another and this one, towering and endless in the haze of half-sleep and the lazy cant of his lids, groggy yet, beneath the sea of himself. Watched this nameless other wordlessly as he wandered, his gaze was flickering and brief before he did so, lingered nowhere and yet it made all of Justin itch anyway. Bandages scratchy and wounds disobedient to the want of his body, like God himself sat there with forceps and carefully and slowly spread each one open again, just to gather the soft automatic tears that were produced from the corner of eyes.

How else did He rain down from his heavens?

Watched this demon as he stood there, his back broad and his legs long. Simply dressed. That he was beautiful was nothing that could be contested even from the mind of a man defiled and broken. Justin would lay there staring through his haze of misery. The demon would turn and with it came his attention and it was instantly nothing Justin wanted. His skin crawled. He felt, though he wouldn't in actuality, like he shrank, something small and terribly insignificant in that moment. A roach beneath an impending shoe. He'd not answer, his brows furrowing softly after a question he'd deem as little more than stupid. How was he? He was falling apart at the actual seams, how did he look like?

That very same rag doll who'd not the stuffing to stand and now, halved again.

Little more than a casing at this point.

He'd say nothing, struck mute perhaps or simply, he was everything defiant even in his waking death.

The demon's eyes would skirt him and where they landed would force a hard swallow. Pressed his knees together and hardened his features, or Justin would wish he had, instead they stood some mask of pain. The pinching of flesh between clasped legs slipping water over his temples that he'd not impede, left them as they were before his features did finally contort into something he wanted. Hard and unforgiving. Defiant. The room flickered and he'd make no pretense after what it was at the root of it. The power palpable even to a being little more than torn flesh and broken bone.

All the while he'd continue his shrinking, hoping for little more than the bed he occupied, to swallow him whole. Perhaps its fate for him would be a better one than this.

"..."

His lips would part and the ragged breath he drew in would pin him silent. The correction on his tongue wasn't correct and died before even a hiss of its first letter could lapse from his thoughts. He was no longer seraph. It dulled his eyes as he fell backwards into his thoughts, into the dark of personal suffering. What was his name? Did it even matter? He was no longer a name that mattered at all, but neither did heaven, or the man who hounded it. A man just as cruel as his fallen favorite. That anyone equated God with anything but punishing exactness and a blind eye, was absolutely wrong.

Him and his heaven; lies.

"Justin."

No one.

He was no longer Ahriman and with that came the reclaiming of a name long lost. Croaked out like his throat hadn't spoken more than a forced cry in weeks. Already he could taste the red of his bitten cheek as it refused to remain as it was intended. As defiant as the furrow of his brows.

"Which one of them are ya?"

Which one indeed.

The banker who saw fit to damn his own and rape his way to where he was wanted, a name synonymous with all of the cloud folk. Or maybe the one who hunted the mid world for white winged doves. There were a few to choose from, he knew most of them, the quieter and lesser of them were harder to remember-- this one however, didn't look the type that boasted a meek history. This one was one he knew of, of that he was sure. Perhaps not by name and perhaps not by face, but his title was assuredly one that haunted as well we the lilt of his voice. A voice that sounded as smooth as Justin's did rasped and as dragged over the ground as his bruised cheek.

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 11 2017, 03:32 AM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



He shrank. The pitiful being would, and Yuu did no more hold it against him than he revived the guilty parties to deliver their death a second time. He couldn’t do the latter, you see. He didn’t want the former. And so he stood there in his silence, watching how the little one shrank down on himself like he wanted to fall through the bed and lie under. He didn’t want to sink too down below-- there was much noise, and a lot clad in unknown. But he could exist in the gap between the floor and the bed where men didn’t look between his legs, where he needn’t shuffle them close like the wound between them still throbbed, malicious. It likely did. If not literally, then in memory.

Justin.

“Unusual.”

He was not from these lands. What a name. Yuu even struggled to put it on his tongue, and was thinking it was best to give him another name while he learned to enunciate it with the proper twang. But he looked at Justin then, and his lips slowly quirked.

“Does it matter? A demon is a demon.”

He waited, and then walked to sit himself where he would have pledged not to just moments back; Justin’s bed, and it would be his bed for as long as he lay on it, undulated beneath Yuu’s weight. He looked at this fallen, at this once seraph, raped and humiliated, and looked at him with no want to assume his time or body of him. He looked at him, calm where he sat, and yet a presence not at all unassuming even if he’d have maybe attempted to don that title that for a moment. But he was not it. Couldn’t be.

Not with how hell surrounded him. How he sat in the cinch of it, how he moved his hand and it felt like he was moving the world.

He wasn’t.

But Justin’s was just him right now, an actual unknown, and so he said, “Y-U-U.

“Yuu. Call me Yuu.”


There was calm in his tone. Such a private little timbre, it might have been called lilting though he’d not spoken enough for that name-- he would, in a short second, looking Justin over and feeling that incredible desire to bring up what had happened.

You have been raped.

Like Justin didn’t know.

Something like a voice echoed in Yuu’s head--

You have been raped.

It belonged to a dead woman.

And Yuu at once exhaled, and his hand landed on bed. It remained there.

"You are in a brothel,” he informed the fallen. His calm gaze was on the boy’s-- boy’s. He’d just become one. He was one. Even it for a while. Yuu donned a faint smile. It didn't match his eyes. “And you are my captive, or my… guest. You choose what you want to be. I will house you for as long as you need before you decide where you want to walk next. Your heaven, I assume, will gladly take you back. Kneel and you’re winged again.”

He looked behind Justin then. Contemplated that empty space behind the man where the wings had once been, useless, if you asked Yuu.

He didn’t like his own.

His dark gaze flickered onto Justin’s again, marked by that damning tense calm that belied a billion hard truths just waiting to be told.

“Alternatively, you may choose to be reborn or alternatively again, you may walk with me. The road of an incubus is always available to your kind. Either or, you have time. I’m not rushing you.”

It was as soothing as it was a point. He’d have swatted off any hand wanting to pat him on the back for sounding so calm. So complacent.

So kind--

Don’t.

He was not kind. And yet he told Justin, informative, and cold, “While you are here, you will not be hurt. I am not one to kick someone on the ground, so you will not face any hurt from me, or anyone here.

“Mind you, if you decide to push me, the kick will be delivered.”


Swiftly. And eagerly. Just like that eerie, calm red in his eyes.

He stretched his lips back, and wondered--

His tone had been lilting and light all along. A perfect, transparent lie. Did Justin guess? Could he?

Which one he really was.

“I wonder which option you will go for… once you have the strength to make it.”

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 11 2017, 07:37 PM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



"Do you really believe tha'?"

Justin was entirely incapable of believing that this demon considered himself an equal to the one who had just died somewhere on Earth and been spit out in the undertow. That he thought them all as equally needful of fear and trepidation. Equally needful of him to handle with care and watch himself. To toss aside the notion of safe, because he was most certainly not that, not here and not with this tall towering form that found his name unusual, likely as much as he did the odd lapse from his tongue. Foreign and something that didn't belong here in the least.

All the same his breath would catch in his throat, a spiked thing that he couldn't swallow as this demon equal to the all the rest of them, wandered near and sat himself at the foot of the bed he himself occupied. Pained as it was, pained as he was, Justin would shift. Stubborn in his need for distance, in his need for protection, not all from the men outside but from men in the whole encompassing thought of them. Struggled and wouldn't be dissuaded from it, as he sat himself. Limbs pulled to his chest and the sheets left to pool around his waist, clung to his form and couldn't not have for all the cold sweat his body had and would continue to produce as it labored in its limbo status. Clung his half decorated arms around his knees and hugged them, like a child who had no one but them self to protect them.

Leaned lightly against the wall beside him a moment later, but retained his small and unassuming form as the demon offered him a name.

Yuu.

He stank of Hell.

Justin was nothing acutely aware, not as he would have been, but all the same he felt it clog his lungs like smoke unintended for its landing there. It was a power that rose his skin in goose flesh, a flash of it before it calmed itself. He sat himself there discomforted by the proximity of this Yuu, a name he knew, though only distantly.

Wracked his brain for the reasoning behind it instantly wishing he'd paid better attention during meetings.

A hand would land on the bed and his attention snapped to it. Stuck there a long moment before the cold of his blue eyes flickered back to the romantic notion of Yuu's own. Dark and endless. Though they weren't romantic at beyond that simple thought. Simply there, cold and searching as he spoke.

Brows furrowed as Justin listened. The brothel he could have guessed easily enough, the sounds of it as it heaved around them, some living entity of lust and gratification, was not one he didn't know well enough to simply hear and title what it was. But Yuu said more than this and Justin would listen, wandered his face and wondered after the man as he studied some space behind the fallen, wondered after his intent and what he actually meant with any of this.

Demons did not so often save a life without expectation.

He offered Justin options, the first felt completely unappealing and frowned him softly, pressed his chin against the crook between his knees as he struggled to swallow the copper in his mouth. And then came the others and with them, his features would grow even more difficult then they had been all along.

Rebirth; mortality--

Incubus.

The latter would cringe his insides, a tightening that would lapse across his features, shadowed him as he sat there quietly, listening while his insides shriveled.

There were promises of protection that came next and Justin could do little more than stare. Stared for a long while before his attention rose in a cocked brow though his thoughts were nothing that could be completed before a curious thought pulsed from Yuu's tongue. "Thought ya weren' here to rush me," accusatory. Sarcastic, though too flat-- emotionless and chilly, everything no one ever contributed to their ideal of the angelic presence. Though really, Justin stood as something very little like anything anyone would have assumed to attached to pearled gates.

"I guess I'm jus' supposed to take yer word for it," disconnected his voice was low and murmured, defeated without much effort as his undamaged cheek was pressed against a knee. What other choice did he have? Grovel to a father that had turned a blind eye?

"I know who ya are,"

Murmured once more, a soft and quiet thing that studied the features of this other, this man they called the Legionnaire.

But they hadn't always.

Justin noted he looked something much better fitted for his previous job, all the same, he said nothing of it. It would strike a delicate question though. No longer a man who was tasked with siring--

"Why?"

His brows would pool as he continued to study this demon that was sat on the end of his bed. His throat would tighten and prevent his questions from pouring like spilled milk. Why. It was ominous and covered too much. Such a broad question but really, in the context it meant little more than this room, this angel, this one defiled and broken--

Why indeed.

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 11 2017, 11:44 PM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



‘Do you really believe that?’

“No.”

Some were even worse.

But it didn’t matter.

He changed the topic. He moved on from it. He wanted to discuss how Justin sat. Knees pulled to his chest, an example of misery and trauma. Who would blame him? The world was harsh yet and many would. He’d get instructed to move on from the crime, because, as some would think, he had brought it upon himself:

He’d looked too beautiful they’d say.

Yuu’s hands balled.

His smile was cruel and cold as he quipped back. “Touche, Justin.” No rushing, indeed. It frowned him, but he did nothing. A parody of peace you could call this, a demon infamous for his whim and yet here he sat with the actual appearance of someone ready to tuck Justin into his bed and tell him goodnight. Drop a kiss on his face, Sleep, my babe.

He’d looked too beautiful, they’d say.

He didn’t argue about Justin’s doubt. It didn’t matter. He just stared at him, watched him. Saw the smallness in his appearance, saw how he sat there, so wounded and unlikely to heal for as long as he lived. It would be a while, Yuu suspected. He didn’t know why. Must have been his imagination because at that moment Justin didn’t look the part of a survivor. That he had survived, that he sat here and now belonged to Yuu like some bread or wine he’d bought at night. It was his, though what it yielded could be summarized quickly:

Nothing.

‘I know who you are.’

He laughed, at that. It was an eerie, disconcerting sound, and it bounced off the walls, and sowed crow’s feet around his eyes. He looked even crueler afterwards. With that hard, and ugly entertainment because it was nothing you shared, nothing that laughed you back and you slapped each other on the backs, such a good joke shared.

“You don’t,” he told him back, arguing on that, and cocked his head. His smile lapsed into nothing. Just like something old and something rotten through even if its outside didn’t give this appearance, it fell off, leaving his features devoid. Calm, you could argue. Yuu would not have dispelled that. He had a pretty little thing on his bed and a part of him wanted to rain more pain.

Kill him. But do it slowly. In his current state, Justin was primed for the end of a martyr with a silly name.

And all behold The Saint Justin who’d died on the night of his rape, mutilated, cut open and his sweet, bleeding heart released from his ribcage. Just like the men who had raped him, he, too, would reveal himself so intimately by the doing of another man’s prying hold.

“You know what they told you,” he told him, in a cold, but even bored tone and narrowed his eyes, and ignored the question. The why.

The who and what and when until he said--

“It doesn’t matter. My reasons are my own.”

He’d looked too beautiful, they’d say.

He angled his chin up, and added, “Attribute it to whim. If you ever listened to how your kind described me, then whim is the only option.”

He leaned back somewhat, putting some weight on his hand and sitting, propped on it flat over the bed. He was watching Justin. With his, indeed, pretty face, a face even gorgeous, and his pale skin that under some light looked like shining porcelain. Yuu knew why they’d raped him, even if he didn’t actually have the mindset of a rapist. With his full, pouty lips, and that delectable defiance in his stare, Justin was an example of ‘he asked for it’.

He didn’t have the mind of a rapist. Yuu didn’t. His stomach was tight, his mind dark. Busy with stuff. He looked over Justin--

“It would have been a shame of those if you had died.”

He shouldn’t have touched Justin. He knew it. Justin knew it. Everyone with a mind knew it and he still did, curling his hand around Justi’s arms where the tattoos sat. Yuu’s eyes hooded.

His hand would feel too hot against the cooled, brittle temperature of this fallen.

That, too, Yuu would know.

“I can easily see these on the rest of your body,” he mused, in a lilt so graceful. With the tilt in his head, and the look in his gaze, he may have been begging for an artist to materialize out of nowhere, and paint him how he sat there, with the elegance of someone who didn’t know hurried movements. Yuu mustered a faint, fake smile, and mused some more.

“Where did you get them, little angel? Heaven doesn’t tolerate defiance.” He lifted his gaze--

Met Justin’s and smirked.

“Not even in the form body markings that mark you any level of different.”

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 13 2017, 01:15 AM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



"Fair enough." It sounded so much like ceding, his tone, so quiet and small as he sat there studying this demon. It was a bold flicker of his eyes that washed them over the man, like he wasn't currently a thing shattered and held together by a thin layer of glue. The thinnest layer that once dry would crack too easily, just as it already had, trickling the softest taste of copper across his tongue. Justin didn't know this man, he knew what Heaven had told him, a truth. As too were the things he knew of founded upon. Perhaps twisted to benefit the greater void of the clouds, to pump the blood of their legions and infuriate the righteous, but they couldn't have been all lies.

Heaven might have been a liar but it wasn't one artistic.

It sounded very much like the angel had bent himself then, that he had perhaps found his place bettered upon the dirt with his ass up and his face hidden behind too-long bangs. It sounded it but his eyes already defied his mouth, a common occurrence that would usually see his mouth to quickly follow, that would see him clapped in irons. Wrists slapped and his soul punished for the cheek of him. Justin would have blamed it on the fragility of his ego in that moment, that he held his tongue well enough and said nothing more. This of course didn't bar him from thinking it. Considering and poking holes into the fabric stretched thin over the mouth of a jar where he was kept. Some quaint little bug who's moment in the sun had rendered him a few legs less. Stumbled his movement and made him too easy to catch.

Eyes narrowed slightly and chin dipped a bit as Justin's gaze lapsed around the room, a quick once over though his need to scout for safety and exits and entrances was nothing he could preform when his mind wouldn't splinter itself from the danger. Whether he sat there calmly or not, Justin was no idiot to think his pretty face was anything but the grandest lure Hell had been granted.

He was dangerous.

"Fine,"

Spat out like it tasted the blood of his cheek. He could keep his reasons for the moment. Not likely long, but for a moment anyway.

"Ya can' massacre on a whim and then tell me Heaven describes ya wrong," his eyes were clear as they swiveled back seconds later. "Maybe they didn' get everythin' right, bu' they didn' get it all wrong, either. The bes' lies are always founded on a truth," harder to pick apart, harder to find folly in a concoction that was half truth. Where did one end and the other begin? Either way its ending would twist round to stab you in the back at some later date and when you were least expecting it.

His everything would sour then, as his death and the failed shame of it licked from a tongue only to be followed by movement. It clenched everything, the muscles in his frame all suddenly taunt like rubber bands pulled until you couldn't any longer. The touch felt like sin, like there was intent in Yuu to see his fingers burned into Justin's flesh. A reminder maybe that he'd saved. Perhaps when he bent him, a reminder etched there among his murals-- shh, little angel, but I saved you first. It drove disgust across his face and shifted his spine straight. There was no immediate attempt to pull away, he knew better. Knew well enough the strength behind the man who touched. It might as well have flayed the skin from his arms for all Justin was aware of him.

His fingers curled around Justin's ink, like fire pressed against his skin, irritating but perhaps not searing, not yet. And he found terror and poison in his soft thoughts. Comments made innocently and they sounded too much like the wants of men to see him undressed so they could chart each and every figure remembered in his tapestry. And maybe he'd be flattened to the ground in a better need to see them.

And maybe they'd shove themselves in to see what they looked like beneath forced movement. Played him like a fiddle and danced him like a puppet.

Innocent perhaps Yuu's tongue was, but Justin saw only a bushel of grapes missing their G's.

"Jus' like you, I had a life before death,"

Bitter and soft, disregarding of the lilt and the good nature shown thus far-- he'd shift then, the muscles already tight. Pulled his arms back. Too fearful to touch the other and pry his fingers away but determined to extricate himself from the clutch of Yuu.

There was every urge to rub his arms then, rub the warmth away, rub the remembered feel of Yuu away. It felt dirty, no lesser than he was sure he'd have felt before he'd woke, had he been conscious.

"Wha' do ya wan' from me?"

Accusatory, gaze hard and pinned there upon Yuu's face.

"You lot don' ever do anythin' for free, so wha' does Hell's Legionnaire wan' from no one?

"...or are ya here as yer old title?"


Curious and seemingly fearless, he'd stare at the arch sitting too close.

"Yer face fits it better, The Faithless."

He'd muse aloud in a murmur as arms banded around his knees once more, the soft sneer of irritation would flash his teeth, red.

"Yer too late if it's the breakin' ya wan'... unless we're here to finish it."

A brow would rise, his sneer still there and soft. He didn't know Yuu, as Yuu had already stated, but he knew demons. What care did one once set to drag people under and give them eternity, have over rape? A job left sadly unfinished in his every heartbeat and the trickling inside his cheek.

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 13 2017, 02:07 AM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



He smiled, at that. And shone his eyes dangerous and cold. Searched his mind with defense-- with words and arguments and felt, oddly, like he was having an argument. Like Justin had stood him in front of a life audience, and these people, these strangers he didn’t know from Adam and never would, sat there, actually judgmental. They waited to see the veracity of his performance. And so he said, finally--

“If you want to believe, believe. If you want to ask, deserve the answers. Luck and truth don’t just happen to find you. It’s only misery that’s always waiting around the corner.”

But that hardened his expression.

Justin moved his arm back.

Yuu didn’t fight it. His fingers came loose, his hand hitting the sheets in some considerate position right next to the fallen, but not on him, never on him, not when he was like this. And Yuu was watching him. Why having a conversation this petty with the man like this mattered he didn’t know. Simply, it couldn’t have. I had a life before death, Justin then said, and Yuu felt every nerve in him stand, prickled and buzzing. He became aware, at that moment, of his own body. Of the length of his limbs and that gentle bend in his spine. He sat there, partially hunched, and Justin was looking at him in a way he didn’t mind. And yet he had this notion that before landing on his face, Justin had noted everything else. That he was aware, as intimately as he was of himself and that daunting pain between his legs, of the long-legged nature of the Archdemon who’d killed in his name, of the wispy, shorter hair that he kept just that perfect length to grab during sex. So Yuu had been told.

What did he want from him?

He wanted--

‘Are ya here as yer old title?’

Yuu’s eyes narrowed. Murder and cold may have wanted their turn on his expression, but instead there were anger and caution. Don’t, his eyes said, fucking don’t, an actual curse spelled into the dark of his eyes described as black not even once. Not even twice. Hundreds of people who’d looked into his eyes and told him he was beautiful and dark-eyed.

‘Yer face fits it better, The Faithless.’

Yuu’s eyes shone red.

You are too beautiful for this world.

His features shifted. In a twist of muscle and color, they turned black and demonic, as well as the rest of his body, suddenly filling the room. It went dark, in under a moment. An actual, seeping black that made you feel you had gone blind. His weight had shifted. He bowled Justin back, a hand to his neck.

His wings spread out-- and hit the walls in a thud. Feather and leather. He looked like a creation ditched towards its completion, a perfect, darkened being someone above had intended to rain death but it would be a face of elegance he wore, as a message that death shouldn’t be feared no more than your attractive neighbor.

His skin was leather. Blackened, slippery, while the stench of sulfur filled the room.

And--

“Am I beautiful, mongrel?”

He asked then, in a booming, raspy tone, an instrument he’d borrowed from a deep part in hell.

He pinned Justin down on the bed.

His wings stretched, further. Flapped uselessly against the walls, their pointed tips clawing over daub and furniture. It clattered down onto the floor, in a clangorous noise. Yuu’s hand tightened around Justin’s throat--

Their faces were so, so close. His demonic, only distantly humanoid. Slanted, all black eyes with just a shining red dot in the middle. His teeth were like those of a predator, pointed down so thin it must have hurt him to talk. It would have been right to assume that with every word he spoke he chewed into his gums. His mouth filled down with acrid, black blood, and it dripped down.

“Am I beautiful, fallen?” he asked, in an echo. His face shifted back. There was another flap of his wing--

The light in the room, shouldered by candles magicked to burn throughout the nights, flickered back just when the claw at the end of his wing bore through his cheek.

He cut himself, until he exposed the side of his teeth. Cut himself, raking the claw over the side of his face time and ever again. He caught his eye, and burst it in his socket, like it were a soap bubble. He grazed the bone on his temple, and cleaved through own flesh, and spilled own blood.

It dripped down on the fallen.

“AM I BEAUTIFUL?” he boomed-- his hand around Justin’s throat had loosened.

He tightened it. He squeezed so tight he’d turn his face blue. He relaxed it right after.

And stared down at the fallen, half of his face mutilated and the claw dragged over the structure of his skull in caresses. Up and down, like a loving hand.

“Congratulations,” he hissed, “you are no better than the men who’d stripped you and bared you. Who’d have stripped me and bared me for the same reason as they had you--

“Because I am beautiful.”


His wounds were already healing. They reknitted, sealing as Justin watched if he had such a desire, and Yuu barked out a hollow, long chuckle. Like some sepulchral music playing for the right occasion. And then he growled at the fallen--

“This was the last time you suggested that, fallen. What I want from you now is simple:

"Heal, or fuck off. The choice is yours."

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 13 2017, 04:14 AM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



Justin would strike a chord, he knew it the moment those dark eyes shifted to hone in. Cold and dissociated form the reality they sat in as they narrowed down upon him like the tip of a dozen arrows all loosed towards a single target. Yuu's aim was perfect in that moment and it frowned Justin-- that warning that he'd not heed, that he never heeded, never before and likely not in the future either. A maverick, Justin would do as he pleased, said what he wanted and fuck God or this archdemon for attempted to curb his tongue. He wasn't a man to be caged, or tamed as proven time and again by a terrible lack of will to do his job with anything like efficiency. In a history that dictated him a problem from the moment his feet hit the ground.

Eyes red and he'd continue and he'd not be told what he should and shouldn't say. What he should and shouldn't adorn his own flesh with. How he should or shouldn't conduct himself.

Even as Yuu shifted, Justin's stance was that of blind defiance. The bully had shown up to take his lunch money but he'd not be having it today, today was the day he picked on the wrong boy. Today was the day he met his stubborn match in a man who held all the power of a wet noodle at current. What he lacked in actuality, he did not in the hard and cold stare that he affixed to Yuu as he grew himself to suffocate this space with shadow. Most would have been terrified, Justin should have been when wings hit walls and that towering form wrapped a clawed hand around his neck in a motion that was too indicative of a repeat performance.

All they needed was an alley and two more men.

The look on Justin's face boldly stated as much, even as he gasped and was laid out across the flat surface.

He should have feared.

But what man who held nothing, ever rightly feared anything?

The tone of his voice shook the marrow in Justin's bones and he'd do little more than sneer, his teeth as red as the dots in Yuu's eyes. He looked every prepared and well pitted warrior against his foe, right before he turned the tables. There would be no turning. He was nothing that could have. Instead his hands would wrap around the leathery forearm of the beast that hovered over him. There was a moment where Justin looked as if he might be considering this query, though it'd not last long, drowned out by a repeat chorus of this question he couldn't have found the voice to answer anyway. Crushed from his throat and all he could manage was gasps. Some part of him pushed to move his tongue in an asking to simply finish it. Be done with all of this. These stupid questions Yuu wanted no answer to anyway. To a life that wasn't worth living in the options he had.

Am I beautiful?

Justin didn't know why it even mattered but he'd remain, watching as this man defiled himself for the sake of proving some point to no one. A mysterious point that made no more sense than if Justin shoved him off and battled him back with an argument over the sky being purple.

His life would flash before his eyes as fingers tightened around his throat , the air cut off for what felt like good.

It'd not last.

Rushed back in a gasp that pummeled his heart against ribs, a furious fist that sharpened his eyes as Yuu spat words down at him once more.

They stung better than the end of a whip.

"Fuck you."

Hoarse and raspy and his hands would find shoulders and shove.

Like acid from his tongue his words were half strangled as he forced them out. "You've no idea why they did-- wha' they did. No idea," the surge of blood through his veins, better intoned as adrenaline, pushed him up and shoved his way to his feet, obstinate and disobedient of a woman who'd worked tirelessly-- cared so very little about what he wore, or rather what he did not. Dripped over in blood not his own and bandaged like a man who'd never been meant to walk again he stood and sneered. Pain forgotten, dulled beneath the hammering of his heart and the wrath that beat his lungs. "And you've no righ' to judge anyone bu' yerself, so rightly, get fucked," soured it was a wonder he ever kissed God with that same mouth.

His pace was as feeble as his determination was not, some wounded animal that would destine himself to dying alone over dying in company. Justin's words were low and hissed as he moved.

"A face hardly makes a man, you should well know tha', and the res' of ya is a pile of horse shit,"

The red of his gritted teeth was faint as he leaned against the door, the whole of him already exhausted, everything mended already unraveling in the jostling. Every dotted about picture pressed beneath his skin worried over in freshly re-cropped bruises or scrapes and still he'd fight for his lonely death.

"No, Legionnaire. Yer hardly anythin' even close to beautiful. No more than I,"

Spat out in a murmur before he swung the door wide and his feet stuttered him into the hallway. His decision made, the tenacity of his defiance would rock him to lean heavily against the wall, shoulder all but dragged along as he wandered. Careless over eyes and their views of the man destined for six feet of earth by the looks of him. He'd not make it far, three doors down and the whole of him would meet the brick wall that was black and numb. That slid him to the ground in a heap and labored his heart something weeping and despondent.

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 13 2017, 04:36 AM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



Fuck you. Whispered even as Yuu’s form shrank to that of a man. And he had no idea what had been done (wrong) and thus no means of putting himself in Justin’s shoes.

Wrong again.

But he didn’t say that. Would have and wanted to deny an accusation that he didn’t hear. And get fucked, flowed out of Justin's mouth further, that little maybe incubus who didn’t know that the person he played with was not to succumb to his anger. Yuu’s eyes narrowed-- his lips thinned in a strange manner. His wounds healed. It burned his skin. It made it tingle, flesh sizzling, blood roiling like the boiling water on a stove top. And all he could hear, all he could see was the bitter repeat of Justin’s cursing.

Fuck you. Get fucked. And Justin was getting out of his hold which he did permit, finding no problem in the escape that wasn’t one at all. But on his feet, back against the door, Justin uttered you’re not beautiful, and then was throwing the door open, rushing out.

“Tut. Tut. Tut.”

With his powers, Yuu yanked him back. He slammed the door shut behind Justin.

On the very bed from which he had just run Justin found himself again. He was there, forced into a sprawl like he’d get taken again, this gorgeous sprawl of his only rewarded with rape. Of course Yuu wouldn’t, but he sat on the edge of the bed with some patience of a man waiting his turn, and he knew how it looked. Like he’d enjoy a bite of that delicious apple, too.

And once on the back, Yuu fit Justin’s neck in his hand once again. He pinned him on the bed, with his shoulder bunched. Sat a bit slanted but staring down at the boy with his just one healthy eye.

“Atta boy,” he cooed, but it might have been a growl. His hard, cold gaze was on the filth.

“I can hear your heart. You’re alive despite being dead inside. Well, I can help that.”

He strengthened his hold on the man’s throat-- and then released him. Justin would still remain pinned. Flattened out on the bed in some display of power that wasn’t his but--

“Do you want this?”

Yuu brushed the heel of his palm over own cheek. It was still healing. It was like meat, a rough slab of it that must have been handled by a butcher fresh from his apprenticeship. The unclean, clumsy chops proved he was most unskilled in his craft. And yet Yuu didn’t seem bothered, staring at Justin with deadly, and ugly calm.

“The power to really do what you want.”

He tilted his chin-- and he stood up from the bed. He lifted his power then, which would permit the victim to curl back up if that was what he wanted. Maybe, he could pull his knees to his chest again and look as small as he definitely didn’t act. And now, almost, Yuu could tell what had been found so attractive about this boy. It wasn’t his beauty. Not really. Neither was it that sweet pout of his mouth, something that mortal man might have fantasized about. Yuu might have looked at him and felt no inclination to touch him, but he knew there would be men, and women, and there were plenty in numbers, who saw Justin the man and wanted to make him belong.

They wanted their names in his throat.

It turned Yuu’s lips into an upside down smile of disgust.

It was his cheek.

“How about I make you an incubus?” he suggested then, in a tone still thickly angered-- but it lilted all the time, with that delicate breath of elegance given a face and frame.

Indeed, the best fit for Faithless.

Yuu made a sound-- it might have been of discomfort. Mild. He let one wing unfurl. It wrapped around to his face, and hid the mutilated half of it, his hand over it as well.

And like that he stood, until his arms were both by his side, one-winged angel though the wing was all leather in places, gleaming and spiked at all the oddest ends like knives had been attached to it sporadically. It looked uncomfortable for flight.

And it was.

But Yuu’s tone was tremulous and cold as he said--

“Do you want the power so it would never happen again? I can offer it to you. And if it is disgust you feel when you look at me, I can get you any demon you find more to your liking. A demon, a greater demon, any being from hell you will let fuck you into another species. And then you can roam this ugly world, detached from your heaven. Strong and capable…

“I do give you the choice. If you have the ability to stomach it at all.”


--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 14 2017, 09:08 PM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



He'd not last long on his feet, not before that odd weightless yank shifted him from the floor. It was likely to be that or gravity, the sensation of void reaching up from behind his eyes to coat his vision in nothingness was one he couldn't help but softly choke on as it rose bile in his throat. That want to lose himself to the great beyond. The slipping of vitae across his skin was warm and almost comforting, a reminder he was yet alive and kicking. Even if the world spun and even if his eyes blurred, lost focus and struggled to stay open, lost the action of the door though heard it as it slammed behind him. Shut itself with such a harsh noise he was sure the wall rattled in its wake.

When he gained the ability to throw them open like curtains, his lids, he was where he'd come from just a moment before. His eyes, glacial and blue, swung open with a fear he couldn't have stopped even if he'd wanted to. He did. He wanted nothing of his terror to show in this moment, wanted nothing of it to color him as anything but petulant and stubborn after his own cause. Stronger and more capable than he was. An impossibility for the mind of a victim only just raped, pinned to a bed and watched by a man who seemed to hunger for everything already bruised and sullied. His swallow was hard as lids adjusted to peer at the other perched at the end of his bed like a statue in wait. Something carved there to forever watch the maidens slip from their dresses and into the waters at his feet. The difference was, this statue could move. This one could bury his fingers into your throat until you saw the God who cared nothing for you beyond the number emblazoned on your shirt.

Poured around him again and now and it moved to hood his eyes slightly.

Not in anything pleasured but rather the ceding of a thing that knew better, suddenly perhaps, that he stood no chance in escape.

Not like this.

Justin stared at his face, still healing and red, hideous but then so too was he the moment before he'd changed at all. A monster just as blackened on the inside as his eyes saw this world jaded. Just as much so as Justin himself. More so, whispered the fallen to his inner thoughts.

The fingers would leave him then but he'd remain and not of his own make or want. Cold blue eyes narrowed as the arch spoke, touched the raw edges of his face like it was this that Justin was after. That Justin was after anything at all so precise as a singular notion he could put into words was a laughable assumption of him.

Power though.

It sharpened his appetite like a knife across a whetstone. Curled his lip in a soft sneer as the weight was lifted from his chest. His frame would shuffle then, legs instantaneous in their closure, in the soft rubbing together before he settled himself there, propped against a headboard and staring. Uncurled and yet all the same, entirely discomforted by this moment or the sheer and vast expanse of himself laid bare. Refused all the same to blanket himself in some need to hide away his shame and armor himself in thin layers. Eyes followed Yuu as he wandered a bit.

A brow would rise and it was in the mention of this other species that Justin's legs would curl and tent to his chest. Defensive, as if this better hid him from the world. Not him, mind you, but the soft bits of him. Every exploitative part of him that could be pinned down and fucked into without consent. And for what?

Another notch in a bedpost?

A cute little display of revenge over a lost slave or five.

Watched Yuu as he too hid himself, the mangled and bloodied bits of himself in the curl of a wing as ugly and blackened as Justin would perceive his soul was likely to be. A matched set perhaps. His face still wore irritation and the hard of a scowl.

"Is it a choice this time," defied with a frown as he set an elbow upon a knee, its bend slackening until he could stretch the length of his neck to prop his chin upon a fist. Vulnerable and gorgeous in its splay. "Or do you intend to take this one away from me as well?" his nature too strong to deny itself this soft quip. Compared to those who'd wronged him and by a man who'd make himself a hypocrite in the very next moment. He'd not wait for an answer, his sigh soft as his gaze slid down the half covered demon, it wasn't a gaze that penetrated or even took note, not of anything but the general shape of him. Assessing perhaps whether he found him disgusting or not.

"Wha' kinda fuckin' choice is tha'?"

Stared at the other a long moment, his frown pouting his lips all the further.

"To ask the angel-- raped, to choose a demon to fuck 'em into somethin' else entirely, jus' so rape won' ever happen again."

Breathing felt labored and heavy in that moment as his gaze shifted to a wall, cast down his nose slightly to lid his eyes low. "It's hardly you-- don't think yourself so special," The last spat out softly, whispered maybe, he couldn't have told you, so lost in his testing. Thoughts lapsing over everything sensual. Pictures of lovers, winged and not. Of a woman he'd appeared to once like he were her savior,the one she'd prayed for, for decades. Every mention of her soft breast cupped to his hand, of every hard dick or wrapped legs, might a well have brandished knives of their own with which to shove up into the center of him. Gut him something worthless in every regard he'd once considered himself with prowess.

They'd taken what he'd been and in the end his gaze would lapse back and without an answer he'd ask once more--

"Why?

"Yer reasons can' be jus' yer own, not if ya think I'd ever consider this with any honest inten' to agree..."


His head would tilt slightly.

"Wha' do ya get out of it, tha'd ya care so much over a mongrel?"

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 15 2017, 12:25 AM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



His eyes would narrow, his lips parting in a seeming sneer. Touche, he’d have said, but that almost admitted guilt he’d moved Justin at all. He would once Justin shared his portion. And they didn’t. What fucking choice is that and Yuu furled his wing back somewhat, just so the ugly red of his healing eye could glow bright.

His pupil was already back in order. Where the rest of his eye still wasn’t and wouldn’t be for another four hours, the pupil existed, downturned and thus making note of the inside of his own eye socket. He’d have rather clawed it out if he’d known. Justin challenged him again-- and silent, Yuu remained again. He frowned and let his wing shrink back to nothingness.

What kind of a choice was it?

Yuu reached out for his healing eye like he would for a drink on a table. His fingers were eased into the hole, gathering the eye healing in a wrong order because of how it’d been broken down in the first place. When he burst it, the stab of pain was nothing. He wiped his bloodied (trembling) fingers down shirt, and looked at Justin, only one eye healthy and the other a gaping hole. When he turned his head, focusing just the healthy eye on Justin, it was almost like an admission of shame; he shamed how ugly he looked, with such an exposed wound. He shamed that he stood there at all; elegant and hideous. A figure centric to this fallen’s recovery and said fallen would have watched him take a breath and question him over it. It pulled Yuu’s lips into a sardonic, bitter smile.

“Get fucked, I think, is what you told me not a while ago.”

For reasons plausible one might mention even when the swell of Yuu’s tone felt akin to a song just passing through. A sweet, and cherished tone that battled the sizzling tension between the fallen and his savior. He smiled, with open bitterness. And with nigh amusement, and it sat so fine on his face that nothing he did to it could have made it hideous.

“My reasons are my own,” he explained, mock patient in the face of a disbeliever who wanted to question him surely at his point over standing there at all, and how was it possible on legs so long. Perhaps it wasn’t. Yuu had the sudden capacity to deny the grass was green and the sun hot. Narrowing his eyes at Justin, though it throbbed the healing one even harder, he talked--

“I won’t tell you. If you want so strongly to believe I have my own reasons that aren’t whim, then understand you aren’t privy to them regardless of your state. Is it fucking you over?

“No. That’s all you need to know.

“As for as the means to that end go--”


He paused for a moment, chin angled up in seeming defiance, in that same exact jab of it into the air that wasn’t Justin’s specialty, and wouldn’t a distinguishable feature of him even if he fought for it. Not if there were two men here who had mastered it; that subtle, challenging fuck you in the peer downwards, and it didn’t matter how they arranged their head and body to speak it-- fuck you read on Yuu’s body language just like Justin’s had.

As far as the means went--

“... It is what it is,” he said, his smile falling back. Yuu’s eyes were narrowed, staring at this struggling babe with evident and tired condescension.

“If I keep you healed whenever your wounds reopen, you will have months. You have the time to decide. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, and it doesn’t have to be in a week. You will be given a job if you’re interested in considering it at all. And if not---

“You can find the door out easily, I am sure. It will not be locked. Don't think you are my prisoner.”


That hardened his tone.

"You can leave any time you desire. We're done here."

He spun on the spot and went for the door.

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^
Justin Warrin
 Posted: Sep 16 2017, 05:40 PM
221 posts
puppeted by Sarah
Warrin/JD
PST he/him/his
job
Black Market Boss
species
Demon
group
Hell
sexuality
Pansexual
status
Ain't got time for that
age
876
mature
Ye'h bitch
Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.
hedonistic hellion



Justin's attention was irritated, and though he watched Yuu and his need to fix his healing eye, he'd not bother with disgust over it. It simply was, though the mention of his own reasons to a second why would roll his eyes in an actuality that shifted his gaze to the wall that stretched out beside him, charted it like he might have a lover, looking over the surface of it to find its every curve and sensible point of stability. His reasons were his own. He could go jump off a bridge for all Justin cared over that answer, such a stubborn need to keep himself to himself while asking for trust and offering choices that weren't at all. And yet, it was met with the same sort of virulent tenacity that frowned the fallen and cast his gaze away. Even as Yuu spoke his attention would remain elsewhere. The tone he was offered was difficult, not to understand but simply just, difficult.

Justin's laugh was bitter and soft when it came.

"Tha' so?"

Finally his gaze would slant sideways. There was nothing like belief in his voice as he stared at the demon. No was apparently all he needed to know. Every part of Justin wanted to rile against this, stand him, curl his hands around a throat and squeeze. He found it a hard moment to trust that anything sent by Hell wasn't there to fuck him over, not even in the least. Perhaps Hell wanted more of its own but even its own had been tossed through every ringer it could set in front of them. He'd certainly no means to trust the word of this man stood before him, simply because he killed a few men. Even after he'd brought Justin here, healed him out of some reason that was his own, there was nothing to harbor trust over.

He was born of Hell.

The fallen's face would sour, nothing he moved to hide as the arch looked down his proverbial and literal nose and spoke such a bullshit explanation into the mind of a man only just fucked over in the literal. It is what it is. Rape? A fucking he'd heard horror stories over, needfully perhaps but all the same, lies were still based in truth-- defiled and spat out and yet, he needn't know beyond it is what it is..

There was a fury in Justin that would not abate as his gaze was finally pulled away, a languid and disgusted shift back to the wall, a surface far easier to stomach looking at. One which didn't roil the pit of him with hatred and the need to up-heave everything he'd ever eaten in his life. One good soul purging wretch over the disgust for a man who stood in the face of another, broken and fighting a losing battle over a sexual encounter forced upon, to describe another he'd have to choose to take, as something that simply was.

Nothing more would slip from his lips as he sat there. Neither would he glance at the demon as he moved to leave, offering choices Justin had no intent on taking.

The weight of his physical exhaustion would fall over him like a weighted blanket upon the man's leave. Lids too heavy and mind still reeling, it'd take him a bit of tossing and turning, delicate and pained, to settle and fall back into the black void of unconsciousness.



The days were long and largely fitful, still, Justin wouldn't produce much more noise than he ever had when it came to his healing. Simply, he was healed and his teeth would grit and his mind would suffer as it attuned itself to the burning sensation, until it could accept such a thing like it were simply his new way of life. The young witch was nice enough, though she needn't be for all the attention Justin paid her, his own personal torturer and he'd never look upon her fondly. As long and arduous as the days were, longer still were the nights where he retained his relative silence-- skirted the demon, not out of skittish behavior so much as simply ignoring unless directly addressed and even then, his demeanor was frosty at best.

They were good for something, these days he was stuck in limbo while his mind tirelessly went over choices until his body gave up and he was tossed violently back into the void of black. They awarded them a general time frame for which his body would defiantly refuse its healing.

Eight hours, give or take depending on his physical exertion--

It's a sanctuary.

Wha'?

It'd come two days before and he'd not been able to process it then anymore than he could now. Had avoided the subject with Yuu, though watched the man behind it all with an added need to pin him to a board and pick through him like a bug on display. He offered them freedom and called them simple whores, all to keep them safe. It frowned him even as he stared at her dumbfounded. She'd explain further, this selkie who'd caught his attention for simply what she was, nothing as damned as his half-blooded brethren but all the same, not out of danger either. He must have looked an idiot, staring in disbelief as she pat him and sent him on his way.

He spoke not of it for two days. Inquired further of the selkie and got more answers but didn't understand them any better as they were repeated time and over again.

It was day five when the sharp and shrill voice of someone familiar sliced through his attention. Yuu was meant to show any moment, or perhaps he had already, Justin couldn't have told anyone for all he cared over the man's presence. It mattered absolutely none where the arch was as his feet slid down the corridors. The door was locked and someone fretted nearby, he'd not pay them any mind as every low-toned sound from beyond slid hazy and repressed memories across his mind.

His body wept pain as his shoulder shoved him through the door.

It slammed rudely against the wall.

His eyes struggled to bleed their heavenly glowing blue as they shifted quickly over the weeping selkie and her stripped and horrified frame, bent and pinned against a bed with no means to save herself. The world could have only pained him harder had it been himself in her stead.

The world bled away, memories a flood that swept him well and away from here and in a rush, every of her soft cries and his obstinate grunts.

Face gaunt and focused, eyes like razors and his feet moving of their own accord towards a man who'd seemingly forgotten his pants on the floor.

He was nothing.

This didn't stop Justin, his lack of power. What he did lack he had in surprise, not over his presence but surely for the cheek of a mortal that coiled fingers into a shirt and saved a woman in a jerking back to violent it upended feet in a drunken stumble. He couldn't have cared less over the selkie in that moment, his attention spent and locked onto the man who stumbled a bit.

The selkie fled.

She was gone and in her absence came every fight of a man who was nothing against a man who was something. What, he couldn't tell, but all the same his died-into power hadn't ever been all he'd had. His right hook was something honed over years, devastating, though not nearly as much as his left uppercut. His body something automatically tossed into fight and he'd lose himself, actions paid little attention to before his focus returned, the sneer on his face everything painful to the tight pull of his muscles as he bent himself there, not under this go around but over. Fingers clasped around a windpipe he didn't have the strength to crush, nor did he the strength which would see him walk away either.

--------------------
user posted image
PMEmailAIM
^
Minami Yuu
 Posted: Sep 17 2017, 12:39 AM
73 posts
puppeted by Eien
Yuu
GMT +1 he/him
job
model
species
demon
group
hell
sexuality
fucking everyone
status
single tho in love
age
1819
mature
sure but he's a PoS
If I could paint the sky, would all the stars be shining blood red?
The Legionnaire



“Yuu, he tried to rape me--”

“What?”


With her body pressed against him, it was like the world wanted him to forget about duties; the selkie was bright-eyed, soft, and beautiful, and if he dared to wrap such a phrase in his tone, he’d say-- she was a beacon of light in this world.

She stood pressed against him, wearing her shock and anguish, and he was still dressed in the chill of the dawning evening when he noticed her torn clothing. Her blanched, sunken features were a clear reveal of the punchline before it was even spoken. His eyes widened.

“Who?”

“The Smith’s son, he comes here often. Your fallen, that boy--”

“Justin?”


He’d never recall how he’d spoken this word. But her face turned sympathetic, and mellow.

“He’s in there with him, fighting him. Yuu--”

He remembered breezing past her. That he’d remember. He remembering rushing out on the second floor of the brothel, up the flight of stairs that had never felt this long, and down the narrow, straight hallways that only led to more rooms, a walk of sin if you could ask him. There was a mood to here, something quiet and private, like despite their given consent the parties present to indulge themselves knew well their endeavors took them to hell. It didn’t matter how many times Yuu told them it wouldn’t; those of them he could speak to about hell had lived it in a way, enslaved for decades-- and those of them he couldn’t speak to about hell were rather talkative about their quiet homes, and how the singing greeting of a ‘Hello, sir’ he’d trained his whores to say was the only hope of the day they had.

Yuu barged into the bedroom, and plucked abuser from fallen.

He peeled one from the other and stopped the choking going on. The man, the almost rapist, his pants still down, slid along his paltry pale thighs and showing his firearm, lay panting on his back, wheezing to reclaim his breath. And shoved far back, not against the wall and still stood on his two legs and yet prevented from a forward movement by an invisible power, there was Justin, his face and body littered in little bruises. They were but forming. But the body of a fallen was eager to bloom anything, wanting to force every hesitant fallen into the ultimate decision: hell, or heaven. Or another go at afterlife after all. Yuu looked at Justin, and it was right to question what he was feeling. His chest, normally so light, had tensed, his stomach flipping-- he looked at the almost culprit, who’d begun protesting now, wanting to clamber into a sitting position and show he was the innocent. He looked at him, a gnarly, bearded man with a crooked yellow tooth and ale on his breath, and he made an ugly face.

“I hate rapists.”

He shoved him forward.

Justin, he yanked Justin, slamming their bodies together and banding his arm around his torso, hissing so spitefully and coldly, “You want power, little fallen? You want nothing? You’re getting it.”

He kissed him.

Mouth on mouth, there was little opportunity to perceive it as some lovely act of intimacy-- no time at all as the energy surged passed from mouth to mouth would have felt like fire. Burning, and powerful. And then Yuu was pulling away, and letting Justin drop off from his hold, stepping away himself and wiping his mouth like he was the more disgusted of the two.

The initiator but he’d wipe his lips and mouth ew.

“Go get him then,” he told Justin, “you have the power now. The strength, the speed, and the ability to move your mind as that of a greater demon. It’s yours. Not for long, but it is.”

--------------------
user posted image
PM
^

Topic Options
Reply
Fast Reply
New Thread!



 


 

affs & tags
Affiliates [ View All | Link-us | Apply ]
Maelstrom All of Me Fractured The Four Dimensions OCULI VIDENTIUM 
 


Black Prism ACTA ruinandrise UNTIL DAYLIGHT: POST-APOC, TLOU BASED MEFA; a pre-Shepard Mass Effect RP Ataraxy Frisson RPG
Shadowplay RPG-D
Tagbox requires separate login. Sign up using the gear below.

Skinned by SARAH exclusively for Fugue State.