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Hastur, Duke of Hell

December 2023

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Dec. 13th, 2023 09:22 am

[open post - if you dare!]

thedukeofhell: (Default)
[personal profile] thedukeofhell
What looks like a speck of black dust on the floor of the mansion starts growing, widening, until there's a large pool of darkness on the ground. It bubbles and roils, as thick and glistening as oil. A low wailing that sounds like a thousand lost souls crying out comes from it -- and a figure slowly climbs its way out of the darkness. The smell of sulphur permeates its way through the room. It's all very stereotypical. A little predictable, some would say.

Hastur, a Duke of Hell, stands in the middle of the room. He is tall, dark, definitely not handsome -- and definitely not a sight for sore eyes. If one had sore eyes and looked at him, one would instead want to use one's own fingers to tear one's own eyes out of the sockets rather than continue looking at him. He's distinctly quite maggoty until he pulls his form together more, at which point he's only mildly maggoty. Mildly maggoty and pissed.

He knows he's here. He can smell him here, the unique scent of gloomy fall evenings, leather jackets, gasoline, and something very... ophidian. After that whole ordeal with the Apocalypse, the stupid demon, the upstart, the fool, the-- flash bastard1 just up and left, saddling Hastur with all of his paperwork! Car parked on the street, abandoned. That was the kicker. The real head-scratcher. Why would Crowley abandon his car? The only explanation is that he's out there getting into some sort of trouble he shouldn't be... Disobeying the Lord and Master's orders, surely.2

"CROWLEY!" He suddenly yells, turning in a small circle. There's no response.

"Crawly," he says, quieter and more sinister. He walks to the door of the room, peering down the hallway. "I know you're here. I know you've abandoned your position. We aren't happy with you. He isn't happy with you. You're in big trouble... and you know what that means. We've done this before and I'm still BLOODY PISSED from last time. I've been sent to fetch you and the sooner you see me, the sooner you come to me... the fewer repercussions you'll have to face." The unhappy smile on his face says otherwise.

Hastur, Duke of Hell, is angry and on the hunt for a particular demon. Apologies to anyone who gets in his way.

1Hastur's insults typically lack swear words, despite being a demon, because (due to being a demon) he is quite uncreative.
2 The concepts of trouble and disobedience are lauded in Hell in thought but not the practice-- and especially not against Hell.
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Date: 2023-12-16 04:43 am (UTC)

aflashbastard: (Default)
From: [personal profile] aflashbastard
Crowley knows what's coming. This time, he's glad that there's a warning -- but Hastur's grip on his arm is still viselike. He briefly summons up a spray bottle of something from the greenhouse; he can see a brief flicker in Hastur's eyes wondering if it's holy water. Of course not. That would be utterly idiotic. Crowley shoves it towards him at the same time as Hastur vanishes the bottle itself, the contents splashing over both of them. Pesticide. It burns Hastur and he lets out an aggrieved yelp, letting go of Crowley's arm.

Crowley drops to the ground and dives for the side of the room, making sure to scramble as far away as he can, all the while thinking see you never, asshole.
Date: 2023-12-16 04:55 am (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (serious business)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
With Crowley out of the way, Galahad closes the distance between himself and Hastur, and takes Hastur's face in his hands -- the burgeoning flame is cradled in his palms, and when he touches Hastur it ignites, as if the greasiness that was left on Hastur after Luo Binghe cleaved him was rendered fat.

"For a fire is kindled in mine anger, and shall burn unto the lowest hell, and shall consume the earth with her increase, and set on fire the foundations of the mountains," he says, soft, for Hastur only. Then he burns, and burns and burns.
Date: 2023-12-16 02:28 pm (UTC)

thedukeofhell: (Default)
From: [personal profile] thedukeofhell
For a second, Hastur's expression registers surprise -- then a split second of anger and resignation at feeling His influence -- and then there's no time for anything else because he is burning.
Date: 2023-12-17 12:43 am (UTC)

wickedwit: (intent)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
It's bright enough to blind but Claudius still has to stare, all the hope in his heart unfurling like a candle when it flickers to life. Casting the smallest light, next to Galahad, who blazes like a bonfire. And he knows this is what Laurel wouldn't have wanted him to see, what he feared, when he feared feeling too much and igniting. Claudius never feared it for himself, but he remembers realizing why Laurel had to keep reminding himself fire hurt. Even if Claudius never saw, he was forced to imagine it, imagine Laurel taken over by a power he didn't ask for, hurting the friend who tried to help him.

He couldn't imagine the beauty of Galahad aflame -- couldn't imagine Galahad taking that power and using it deliberate and gentle, using it to save that same friend. To save one demon from another. It can't be why God gave him his fire, but seeing it, Claudius understands why it's holy. Galahad's brilliant with his power now, and for the first time in the long time, Claudius feels something like faith. All the fear behind him, knowing Galahad's here with him and with Crowley, and that's why they'll be all right.
Date: 2023-12-17 12:56 am (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (serious business)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
The fire eventually dies down. It sinks back into his bones where it lives, and the light goes out from his skin, and as it did the last time it leaves him shakingly cold, emptied out. His clothes are all scorched again. Now that it's over, he's afraid to turn and look at Claudius -- he's afraid to see something he might be able to recognize as fear. He stays where he is, still, gazing at the greasy burnt stain on the carpet.
Date: 2023-12-17 03:39 am (UTC)

aflashbastard: (Default)
From: [personal profile] aflashbastard
Crowley is still sprawled on the ground, figuratively catching his breath over what just happened. It had been there. A gateway to Hell. He felt the fear of going back, of facing the consequences, of maybe never seeing — well, anyway. Still, in that last moment, he somehow didn’t think this place was going to allow him to leave.

He pushes himself into a sitting position and looks up at Galahad. “Thank you,” is all he says for now.
Date: 2023-12-17 07:33 pm (UTC)

wickedwit: (smiling villain)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
At that some moment, Claudius sweeps up behind Galahad, and holds him tight, tight, face buried in his back, breathing in the smoke-scent of his clothes, and grateful.

"That was," he says, moment passed, "devastatingly attractive. Quite literally: devastating." In agreement with Crowley, he adds, "Thank you."
Edited Date: 2023-12-17 08:07 pm (UTC)
Date: 2023-12-17 08:14 pm (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (in prayer)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
Galahad turns in his arms and clings. Last time, with the undead, he'd managed not to shatter apart afterward because it was important that he stay focused for Claudius, that he take care of Claudius. This time it's too much. He tries to concentrate on the way Claudius smells instead of the smoke, perfume and herbs, alchemy, safety, but he can't stop trembling. He feels hollow.
Date: 2023-12-18 03:35 pm (UTC)

aflashbastard: (Default)
From: [personal profile] aflashbastard
Crowley is not in Hell. Hastur's gone. Claudius and Galahad are both physically okay -- but there's still one individual left to ask after.

"Aziraphale?" He asks, pushing himself off the ground and brushing himself off. He's almost certain the angel can take care of himself, as much as he enjoys being rescued -- but with the way Hastur was speaking, there's still doubt in the back of his mind. A growing feeling of panic.
Date: 2023-12-18 08:27 pm (UTC)

wickedwit: (mm really?)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
Claudius has Galahad gathered in his arms, hand in Galahad's hair, stroking and soothing him through his trembling. "What's this about Aziraphale?" he asks. It's not the time to tease Crowley for how fast that name came to his lips, but he does note it.
Date: 2023-12-18 08:38 pm (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (look down)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
Despite the height he has on Claudius, he feels very small. He smooths the placket of Claudius' shirt, rubbing his fingers against it, and is struck by a memory of doing the same thing some time before when he was someone else. It doesn't make him feel less adrift. He doesn't have the ability to focus on Crowley or the conversation he and Claudius are having, only the small movement of his fingers on cloth.
Date: 2023-12-18 09:22 pm (UTC)

aflashbastard: (Default)
From: [personal profile] aflashbastard
"Have you seen him?" Crowley asks Claudius. "Hastur said something about taking care of the two of you. Almost certain he was lying, but..." He lets the rest of the sentence hang unspoken. There's an intensity to his demeanor that's been rare since he arrived, so while he does give Galahad a momentary worried glance, he's looking towards the door as well.
Date: 2023-12-19 01:43 am (UTC)

wickedwit: (intent)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
"And you won't be at ease until you see him again," Claudius says, and his tone isn't teasing, though it is knowing. "Go, find your angel. I'll be along to help look if it takes too long, but first," gentle, "I need to look after our hero."
Date: 2023-12-19 01:54 am (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (look down)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
He trembles -- he's meant to look after Claudius, not the other way around -- but he can't protest.
Date: 2023-12-19 02:19 am (UTC)

aflashbastard: (Default)
From: [personal profile] aflashbastard
Crowley nods. He looks at Galahad -- and he's not sure if what he's going to say will register or not. Maybe Claudius can repeat it to him later if needed. It's important.

"I owe you one," he says, gently. You've more than evened the score, is what he means. And then he's gone.
Date: 2023-12-19 02:53 am (UTC)

wickedwit: (intent)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
"Here, beloved," Claudius murmurs, and shifts to take Galahad's hand and lead him away. "I have thee. Thou wert a wonder -- thou wert more than a miracle. All on thine own, thou wert the answer to a prayer spoken nowhere but my soul ... and thou wert beautiful, beloved. Thou canst rest now, and come with me."
Date: 2023-12-19 03:01 am (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (look down)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
He lets Claudius take his hand, saying nothing: his fingers are icy in Claudius' grip. He wants to ask about Gertrude, and what's changed now, but even more than usual words are impossible. The act of opening his mouth feels like trying to lift the weight of the cross; if Christ couldn't help but stumble under it, how can he hope to speak, even with Simon of Cyrene at his side?
Date: 2023-12-19 04:40 am (UTC)

wickedwit: (intent)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
Claudius keeps Galahad's hand in his and lends his shoulder, as if to bear the cross of him. He asks nothing, not even with his hands -- he'd have to let go of Galahad to sign the questions, and his grip is still tight and grateful. Knowing himself, his fingers would flicker too fast, cycling possibilities, the way they do when one idea tumbles after another. They'd all be things Galahad might need: a bath with warm water to bring the heat back into his body, a change of clothes to replace his scorched ones, something soft to touch and ground himself. It's better to give Galahad those things, one by one. For now, he'll lead Galahad back to their room, all the while speaking soft praises.

Date: 2023-12-19 05:08 am (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (in prayer)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
Once they're inside -- once they're safe, because it feels as if nothing can hurt either one of them here -- he allows himself to relax fractionally. Their room is the same. The world hasn't shifted monumentally under his feet and left everything askew.

He makes himself look at Claudius' face at last, which takes an effort, even with all the soft things Claudius has said to him on the way here -- he's still afraid to find out things have changed.
Date: 2023-12-20 04:19 pm (UTC)

wickedwit: (thoughtful)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
His face bears all the same softness, eyes tender, expression open in a way he seldom shows outside this room -- the way he looks when Galahad sketches him when he's seated at his desk, or lying in bed and thumbing through a mystery novel. Even when Claudius is sincere, he still schools his expressions, studied smiles and exaggerated eyerolls. Now, with Galahad's eyes on him, he summons up a flickering smile meant to reassure, gentle in a way Galahad should know well. He draws their hands apart, with fingers still laced, so Galahad can touch his palm if he chooses. He leans in for a kiss.
Date: 2023-12-20 05:15 pm (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (look down)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
Galahad kisses him, pressing his thumb against Claudius' palm, though he's still trembling and the kiss is less ardent than it is seeking comfort. He's empty and cold, and the smoke is lingering on his clothed and in his hair.

"Please--" quietly.
Date: 2023-12-20 05:20 pm (UTC)

wickedwit: (intent)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
It's a precious thing, a please from Galahad, and Claudius wants to know what finishes it. "Ay?"
Date: 2023-12-20 05:39 pm (UTC)

wickedwit: (smiling villain)
From: [personal profile] wickedwit
Claudius smiles slow and glad -- it's an easy thing, and a pleasant thing, to touch and tend to Galahad's hair. "Ay. Let me wash it for thee first, and warm thee an I can." He turns his hand in Galahad's to be a guiding hand.
Date: 2023-12-20 06:21 pm (UTC)

onthewillowsthere: (look down)
From: [personal profile] onthewillowsthere
He nods. He would have asked for those things too, if asking all of them weren't too much right now. He wants to be cared for; he wants the tenderness of being washed, and reassured that he's still beloved.
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