Climbing Higher
The one benefit of the advent of Rita the Troll has been that I have had to climb higher to find the animals. As a result, my legs are getting stronger and I’m in the best physical condition that I’ve attained in years. I’m almost ready for the snowshoe season!
A Lone Buck
It was unseasonably warm this morning and I knew that my mountain would already be occupied from sunrise on, by the…
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alastor | your cracks are showing.
picture this, if you will.
you, having had enough of his antics, finally snapping, telling him you see through him. his mask, that too-wide smile, is imperfect.
"your cracks are showing, alastor."
you spit his name like a curse and he feels his gut twist with something foreign. there you are, you, defiant, arms crossed over your chest, denying him his precious persona.
who the hell do you think you are?
before you know it, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you to him, until you meet the hard planes of his chest. he's all lean muscles you find out, writhing against him, trying to break free.
he tilts your head back with one gloved hand. the leather is thin enough for you to feel the warmth of him. if you shiver, lips parting, you'll deny it.
"careful, my dear."
with that, he kisses you, sickeningly sweet. too sweet. too much. your eyes widen at the feeling of his lips against yours, of his teeth nipping against your flesh. you taste blood. fucker bit you -
he growls, the sound rich and deep, sinking into your marrow like he does in your mouth, tasting you. you find yourself clinging to him, fingers tangling in his curls, lightly tugging at his scalp.
he lets you go, tongue darting to lick the remnants of your lifeblood on his lips. he chuckles at the sight of you - kiss-swollen, panting, pupils blown wide in furious desire.
his thumb presses against your lower lip, right where he bit you. you hiss, sweet pain settling low in your gut.
"you'll cut yourself on my edges if you get too close."
somehow, you don't mind.
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One thing that's interesting about Hell in the Vivzieverse, is that there doesn't particularly seem to be much punishment or torture in the traditional sense, but it's a bunch of people from all different time periods and all different backgrounds, and the only thing they have in common is sin, and that in itself is enough to make it a shitty place to live.
However:
All the mugs have the design facing the wrong way, which must mean that in hell the mug you want always only comes in your non-dominant hand, and if that's not torture I don't know what is.
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“Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.”
- Oscar Wilde
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Lucifer is still getting used to so much socialization - and the sinners in the hotel can be a lot. He finds, likely by Charlie's suggestion, that different shapes demand less of him - so as the days go by, you may find Lucifer in many shapes and sizes around the hotel and its residents.
A cat sprawled in the bar counter as Angel Dust and Husk spend their time talking away, a snake coiled close to a warm light, or around Charlie's shoulders, a bat hiding in the chandeliers or chasing flying bugs to Niffty's delight, even a moth fluttering around Vaggie once or twice.
(He tries a dog only once - the sight of a friendly looking hound freezes Alastor for barely an instant before he flees. He doesn't return to the hotel for the remainder of the day and no one notices that this time the radio demon disappears away from the hotel, but Lucifer does.
He doesn't take that shape again.)
But when Lucifer takes the shape of a cheeky little bird, you will always find him perched on Alastor one way or another - his antlers are his favorite spot.
When Alastor holes up in the kitchen and no soul dares to intrude or interrupt, beside the clanking of pots and utensils you can hear birdsong syncing with whatever song is playing on his radio.
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