ᔕTᗩY ᗯITᕼ ᗰE

FROM THE PINNACLE

TO THE PIT

IT IS A LOOOOOONG WAY D O W N

independent multimuse blog written by Ben (he/they) featuring Copia/Papa Emeritus IV of the band Ghost, as well as muses from Marvel, DC, Dragon Age, Star Wars, and assorted others. Canon and OC friendly. Multiverse. Promo by @mysteriary, as always <3

FROM THE PINNACLE

TO THE PIT

IT IS A LOOOOOONG WAY D O W N

independent multimuse blog written by Ben (he/they) featuring Copia/Papa Emeritus IV of the band Ghost, as well as muses from Marvel, DC, Dragon Age, Star Wars, and assorted others. Canon and OC friendly. Multiverse. Promo by @mysteriary, as always <3

Reblog if you will pre-plot ships before interaction

He doesn’t answer. There is no time to. The reaction has already accelerated, and the intensity of the power fusion grows stronger and stronger, rapidly, like a match to a puddle of gas. The metal constructions all around them groan, a steel fossil shifting its weight on its screeching limbs. Otto’s actuator dashes to the control panel in an attempt to cut the process out.

Shit, he should’ve foreseen this. Should’ve made it safer. And though their collective time is running out, he hesitates. Breaking the power cable magistral would mean weeks upon weeks of repairment works. It would mean losing time and materials.

It is only when he hears the deafening sound of a beam snapping apart that he is torn out of his trance. A piece of curled metal flashes like a sped up magnifying video, and before he knows it, he’s grabbing the Spider’s ankle and yanking him out of the projectile’s way.

“We must break the cables!” he yells, a rasp cutting into his voice.

Saved. Before he even knows it, snarling like a wild cat in a rope trap, he's saved.

Kaine can count on one hand the times he's been saved -- literally, not, like, metaphorically or spiritually or some other vague bullshit like that. Peter, for the most part, followed by Ben and Aracely. Past that? It's been rare, if ever. The fact that it's Otto, even if it's a different Otto than the bowl-cut loser he knows, just makes it all the worse.

"Oh, 'we' gotta break the cables?"

His voice drips with venom, ferocious and fury-filled. So what if they both die? Maybe this one will die permanently.

--But these kind of assholes, it's never just him and them. There's always the danger of other people, whole cities or more. And, sure, there's a bunch of worthless people out there, but there are also kids, and parents who are good to their kids, and people just trying to live their lives in spite of all the fuckers like Ock who get so caught up on what they have to offer, they're willing to risk it all.

So Kaine flips web onto a beam that looks steady and pulls, following after the fucker to help, slicing through what he's told to with his stingers, surrendering, for now, to Otto's directions.

Is she really trying to ease the insult? Is she? He narrows his eyes at her, makes a sceptical grimace, the kind a bitchy housewife gives to a single mother newcomer to the neighbourhood that tries to justify her being alone. Well, rejection isn’t that much of a new taste to him, and he’s used to it. Clicking his tongue, he leans back and bounces up to stand at his full height.

“Girl, you have no regard for a man’s feelings.”

Spreading his palms in an I-can’t-do-much-here gesture, he says, “If you choose to be blind, that your business, I mean I’ve met all kinds of crazy chicks, and your brand isn’t even that uncommon.”

What was she saying? Another star’s name? Most are taken by his ilk already, the most famous one soon to hang over the horizon around these places. But that’s okay, he could vibe with that.

Throwing a glance around, he reaches in his breast pocket to pluck out a cigarette, conjures up a flame on its end. The smoke from it has a shockingly nasty smell, something between dumpster fire fumes and burned opossum.

“How about you show me around then, demonstrate the scale of work, so to speak?”

"Thank you." She chooses to take it as a compliment, even though few other women would. Though she's never been attracted to a woman (she has hardly even been attracted to men, for that matter), Rabbit still preferred the company of one, platonically, to that of any man.

Others might call her a girl's girl -- except that she'd never been particularly friendly to any woman, either, despite somehow still stumbling into friendships she'd never wanted nor needed. Rabbit is aware of her own abrasive, cold attitude; knows the path she intends to walk makes it necessary. Necromancy was a dark omen hanging over her head as it was, but familicide? No matter her reasoning, it tended to put an end to relationships of any kind when the truth is uncovered. Even in communities where such things were not unusual, familicide was.... frowned down upon, too much for something as simple as revenge.

There will be time for fulfilling interpersonal relationships when it is all done.

(She does not stop to consider that, perhaps, some part of her is permanently broken, has always been broken, and the death of those who wrong her will not douse the raging fire burning within her that consumes everything in it's path)

"It has nothing to do with how you look."

Fingers digging around in her bag, she retracts a hand with a thin silver chain, fiddles with it's ends to keep herself occupied as he speaks.

"This isn't my old barn, and it isn't my family's. I am not stupid enough to do my work in my own home, bring nasty little things into the place where I sleep. I cannot let you out of this ring until you agree to the deal. Otherwise..." She shrugs.

The Ritual

Prints: Redbubble | Society6

São Paulo

"'Xactly, can' be havin' no 'mergency room visits when you gettin' freaky. Def ruin de mood." The missed loops are not mocked but he is internally preening over having flustered her so much. Okay, so he was outwardly preening as well, just not in a mean way.

"Sha, de whole point of practice is ya doin' it t'get better at it. Ain' nobody said you had t'be no shibari master dat know every tie under de sun by heart or some shit."

He blinked lazily at her question, the gesture so very catlike.

"'N thank you afterwards. Cross m'heart."

Catlike. Yes, he is so very catlike. Not like the ones Darcy had grown up with, or even Schnicklefritz who -- known famously for hating men -- is even now lurking his way slowly towards Remy, face low to the ground, ass high in the air (as high as the poor bastard can get, unethical munchkin breed nonwithstanding), tail flicking. Tuna, the golden retriever Darcy had inherited (all of her animals are a ragtag collection of adoption, minus the hedgehog who snuffles sleepily in the other room), whines at the obvious signs of an oncoming cat-attack, but has long learned his lesson when it comes to interfering.

But, still, there are moments when he displays the kind of characteristics a particularly friendly housecat might; the slow, confident walk, the careful consideration of affection even though he might display it as freely given.

Darcy realizes she's been gawking, and finishes her rope wrapping with one last circle of her hand and a loose knot meant to prevent the synthetic fibers from crimping.

"Okay, then. Don't need to twist my arm behind my back; next time I need practice, you'll be the first person I call."

No matter what anyone said. Imperator, Nihil or the next Papa in charge, nobody would be able to keep Omega here if Terzo decided to leave. For one, the bond would not agree with it, and neither would Omega himself. Where Terzo went so did Omega and it had been like that for what felt like a long time now. It wouldn’t be that easy to leave the ghoul because the only one who would be able to separate them was Terzo himself when the time came, and then Omega would be gone from this plane of existence too. The only reason he was here, was because of the man on his lap.

He had come as a summon of Primo, he had been passed down through the line along with Alpha and had ended up with Terzo. Enough was enough, he’d decided. When this was over, it was absolutely over for him but he would enjoy his life on stage with the others until it was no longer his time to stand in the spotlight.

He loved watching Terzo on stage, how he captivated and orchestrated the crowd, so easily made them do and react exactly how he wanted them to and it was an honour to be allowed to share it with him for a few brief moments every now and then, when he allowed the attention to be shifted to the ghouls. Some loved it more than others, of course, and just like Alpha, Omega enjoyed the moment from afar, though he was a lot more comfortable around the people than Alpha was. However, he had a hard time speaking with them, unlike the other. It was a weird dynamic.

“Somehow I don’t believe we will go on unnoticed by her,” he hummed. No matter where they went, Imperator would know, she would see. “You perform, I’ll stay home with a good book and get absolutely nothing done,” a crooked smile spread over his lips. Of course, he would be there if he chose to, but it would take a lot of convincing if Terzo wanted him to play with him. Maybe he could, once or twice, but he would stand firm by his decision.

Terzo had watched the ghoul for some time, long before his own ascension to Papa; since he had been a young bishop, traipsing through the Ministry with the kind of confidence that could only be gained knowing his future trajectory. He had been certain since he'd first seen Omega with Primo that the ghoul would, eventually, be his.

It hadn't hurt that he'd wanted him, yearned for him in a way Terzo hadn't ever desired anyone before. The inclinations for others aside, anyways; the antipope did not care for others less because of Omega, but neither could it be said any of them mattered more than the Quintessence ghoul. One does not need to worship g-d to believe in inevitabilities, or fate; Satan doled them out all the same... perhaps even moreso. The rumors do not escape his unholy ears; he is more focused on himself and his success than that of The Word of the Ministry, but he does not take these whispers to heart. Was not self-indulgence itself a worship of The Deceiver they idolatrize?

Satan delivered Terzo unto the Ministry, and so he delivered himself unto the flock. Unholy and chosen; that Omega was his was no surprise, as ordained by ung-dly faith as he had been.

It is a comfort.

So what if she would not turn a blind eye towards them, the hag? What was she to do when it came to Terzo? What power did she really have?

"You are thinking of being my house wife? Having dinner ready by the time I get home, little, ah, apron on?"

Omega's hand were strong, practiced fingers that could play Terzo just as well as any guitar, and the weight of those hands on his hips brought a satisfactory sound from his lips, mismatched eyes closing in contentment.