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aequinoctium

DO NOT TOUCH ME.  

Motion, instinctual yet methodical in its practice.

Taut strings of fiber.  Fingers curling and uncurling.  A clang on the floor.  Ire.

You do not have the right, the privilege —

Bounce.

A freezing gasp, colorless, whispers voided of warmth - like the warmth in his fingertips, cooling blood, dissipating.

He blinks.

“Look at what you did.”  A voice comments, his own?  Tone bland as silver, as the kneelings of Sundays.  He takes a step back, shudders wreaking havoc underneath the skin, unable to be murdered, under the bones and marrow, inaccessible.

Tense and shaking digits curl around the elbow of his defensive arm, digging into the wound while drawing a strained sigh from him. A moment is spared to lean against the nearest wall and look to the ceiling; losing what composure he had left definitely wouldn’t help when he knew so fucking well that he invited a murderer into his home. Conscious of this, his eyes now stay locked onto the man, splitting focus on not hyperventilating and trying to gather the will to go clean himself up. He could feel the blood seeping past his grip and tracing thick lines down his chest, further disgracing what remained of his white button-up shirt.

“Alexa how do you ban words from a Discord server”

“Stop trying to make eachother pee you freaks”

“Time for me to leave”

“I don’t care who wins as long as ___ doesn’t win”

“How do you ban the mod from a Discord server”

“GIVE ME BACK MY NICKNAME PRIVILEGES”

“This is cursed”

“Stop licking people’s asses”

“I’m gonna lick your ass”

“No bye blocked see ya”

“I thrive off your pain”

“Somebody ban ____”

“What is this, an Undertale au?”

“Put me back in the trash where I belong”

“Bold of you to assume we’re friends”

“Come back I fucking need you!”

“You can’t just kill a man you just met”

“It all started with a gif”

“Hey shove that carrot up my ass would ya”

“Fine I’ll be ____’s exclusive slut damn”

“I farted so loud ____ ran under the bed in terror”

“We’re bullying the cat? Okay”

“My surprise is almost done, prepare your assholes”

“Mmmmm concern”

“Welcome to the server, my icon is ____ sucking dick nice to meet you”

“I was going to say sit on me but then I thought about it and died”

“Ow!” A scowl crosses his face, upper arms soothing his head. “That ain’t cute anymore, babe!” comes out before he lurches for the cane.

Oh dear, it seemed his cane was in need of a wash.  

He allowed the pest to secure its hold on the tool, pausing in his own erratic movements to give him a false sense of security, posture loosening as if he were about to cave in.

    Taking Alastor for an honest man, the strike catches him off guard and the air leaves him in a loud rush in surprise. All of his hands grip at the cane, just enough to steady him as he lets out a sigh of relief. He huffs afterwards, regaining the last resemblance of bearing he had while also eyeing the offensive cane now secured in his boob fluff. How fuckin’ tasteless echo’s in the pot’s mind as he looks up to glare at Alastor with a pointed (and almost ridiculously exaggerated, if not for the circumstance) frown. 

Angel let out a small bout of laughter, observing how much worse the wound was directly facing it. “Well, I got eyes, babe. Got that you’re both fine and dandy, but if I ain’t mistak'n that was no small scuffle.”

『  🧪  』

             ❝  Perhaps a drive to my manor would be most appreciated .  ❞

             Charles spoke, coughing and spitting out blood. He wasn’t mortally wounded, for he has suffered far worse injuries in his history. However, the pain was still there and he could feel himself beginning to weaken as time continued to pass by. 

    He grimaces at the sight of blood, turning his head away impulsively. “Yeah, by the looks of that, sounds very impressive, doll.” Angel weighs the pros and cons of leaving the battered demon, not deeming it in his interest to help the guy out. Of course the guy would maybe be fine without help, surely at least a little okay, but something akin to “the good in him” kicks in, and he sighs dramatically.  

    His conclusion comes to be that “helping some bozo bleeding out on the street” would qualify as helping out, which probably counts in some way or form towards some redemption. It’d be something to brag about to the goth broad when she asked him for some miraculous progress,.and it was obvious no business was coming from the demon in any case. Facts lined up, he makes deliberate and obvious work of standing up and awkwardly steadying the formerly-staggering creature, waiting for him to be relatively still before sliding under an arm of his to offer some support to him. The last thing he wants is for the obviously dangerous entity to see him as a threat and pull what he did on that weird chick on him for helping. 

“Ah, old-fashioned guy. He’ll swoon if I give ‘em a bit of class, some really suave shit.” Angeldust says, quietly enough for it to seem like some secret between him and the irritated demon seated next to him. “Look, watch.” He instructs the woman toning him out, and suddenly she’s gone, pulling Charlie away to intervene. The smallest pout crosses his face at her disinterest, and he walks over to Alastor, dressed to impress with a smile and narrowed eyes. “Hey, babe.” He addresses the demon, making entirely too big of a deal out of brushing his hair back while he extends a hand to shake to the stranger. “That’s a nice-”

He never finishes the line before a glob of something awful drops from his palm onto the very center of the Radio Demon’s very shoe, drawing all eyes to the freshly-offended fashion piece. The room is silent as the white blob settles over his shoe.

An inconvenient symptom of being a spider-demon is the awful variation of web abilities that they are endowed, and as unused as Angel’s were, they tended to release themselves in typically cursed ways. With a bit of bizzare maneuvers they look great on camera, but not at all on the shoes of the dude known as the most accomplished demon in all of the damned circles.

An attempt at a closer-to-normal meeting has turned quite sour, and really? The only thing he has to say about it would be that he should have just been himself.

“… Ooh boy. Betcha you’re glad that isn’t your coat, huh? You’ve gotta sexy coat.”

@razegut

Alastor, by all accounts, considered himself to be a demon of high standing - unflappable by the complications that muddled the common masses, a possessor of boundless capacity, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  But, by Lucifer and all below, if that shrill and debatably sultry voice did not instill a deep sense of wrongness in him, then he didn’t know what did.

Yet, he still twirled to face him, the corners of his mouth pulling back into a neutral crescent, and while he donned the look of amiable hospitality, he felt anything but.  But, alas, manners were manners!  –  And he was duly comforted by the thought that one day, he would be able to savor tearing the mongrel apart.

His lips part to respond in kind, perhaps to petition he back off or else, but the words never manage to come to fruition when a ball of slop connected with his shoes.

Ah.  Yes, he would savor the day.

A mouth closed with a snap, smile still etched on his features, albeit a smidgen more tense that he would have preferred.  Oh dear, he could already taste the mild flavor of copper gracing his taste buds at having closed his maw so forcefully.

Oh well.

“Angel,” he commences, his inflection lowered in pitch as gloved fingers came to curl around the Arachnid’s wrists, jagged claws still managing to dent the skin despite its coverings, “Angel, Angel, Angel.”

What was left of his dulled survival instincts had him much more worried than he usually would be at Alastor’s original action, the only telling sign the most concerned pout he’s given in years. The familiar sensation of a firm grip on his wrists gives him the complete opposite intended impression, and he lets out a quiet and clearly interest oooh, smile widening to a lecherous grin. Of course that had worked on him, Angel was a master at reading demons through his years of being an other worldly banging associate (of sorts).

@alastorology @archnephilia @angel-dust-rp @justanotherangel1 @letsstaytuned @the-radio-princess @pxppinmolly @lovetheradiodaddy @xkuraixkokorox @staytunedfclks @razegut @razeboot @mymusemindscape @forwearemany @huskybarkeep @heartofthedrinks @huskofachance

After a few weeks of planning everything out Ace had finally come to the hotel and opened the front door. a slight yawn coming from him as he had been up all night with the bar and no had decided to close up for a while in order to visit family. 

As the deer boy walked into the door he was greeted with well.. nothing, surprisingly as he thought this place over the years had become more popular with the creatures, it was for sure a lot more calm than it used to be back when he was a kid.. this brought a little bit of disappointment to him as he looked around. the place not having changed in ages. 

“Heeeellooo!? anyone hoomme?” he called out as the place seemed dead.. where the fuck was everyone??

On his way out to recover from his regular nightly atrocities, Angel Dust had managed to appear the least disheveled possible while keeping it ridiculously obvious he had spent the night prior conducting business. He brushes his less-kept tuft of hair back on the way out, hearing the familiar voice and drawing around the corner with a smile. “Aw, heyaaaa... Ace?” 

‘ angel! you’ve been fussing for over 20 minutes, i’m coming in there in five, either hurry your dolled ass up so we can go clubbing, or i’ll make sure you look like a skank before we do! ’

“Never asked Al, consent is sexy! I never asked for any sorta forced intervention, my spiral’s only begun!” using his head, his hands start crawling up the coat.

WHAM!  He retracts his cane from the spider’s head, taking a moment to shake it as if it were contaminated.  “I have no qualms about recreating the Anglo-Zanzibar war, my dear.  Now, what would be attractive would be you releasing me.  Even thinking about it gives me the shudders!”