#slight gore
https://archiveofourown.org/works/34504192
Fic Summary: Fugo and Bucciarati interrogate one of Diavolo’s surviving loyalists in Milan a few days after the fateful Battle for the Arrow, but the prisoner has a trick up his sleeve—and the torturer soon becomes the tortured.
I’m not sure if these are going to be the finished art pieces, but this took a while, soooo…
WARNING: A BIT OF GORE, REFERENCE TO ALCHOHOLISM
“I Should Think.(That Feeling that you wish you couldn’t describe.)”
“I Shouldn’t Think.(That feeling that you can’t describe.)”
This is test: I want to see if anyone can guess what these are symbolizing(HINT: The Symbolism for the first one isn’t included in the tw for this post bc it’s less obvious that the alcohol in the second one).
Hetaween Day 3 Sweet Poisonous Kiss/ Day 11 Kissing Death
A little late for this one still going strong!
TW Blood
@hetaween-hetaliaevent
Post link
revenge best served hot
Her husband has been missing for 24 hours when Renea can’t stand it anymore. He’s never late coming home, never without a note, and she means never. Time Agents aren’t late. That’s a fact. Like the sky being blue in their world or–or taxes.
Time Agents aren’t late.
Renea goes to her closet, the one in the spare bedroom that Chin teases her about. It holds her winter coats, a time-specific toga, a Victorian gown, and other various costumes she uses when following her husband for work. She gently moves these aside, wrinkling her nose at the gauche perfume leftover on the Victorian gown, and is faced with a small door at the back end of the closet.
If Chin knew about this, he might not have teased her quite so much about her second closet.
She unlocks it with the key from around her neck, gets onto her hands and knees and crawls inside. The closet is not bigger on the inside than the outside, thank you very much, but it is big enough to hold a chest, a mirror, and a rather charming Monet that she couldn’t bear to turn over to the Time authorities when they had abruptly ended her career.
Renea sighs. In those days, Chin had gone after her, leaping across time streams like an Olympic athlete to prevent her from meddling too much with history. Then, of course, their love story unfolded and she’d surrendered her homemade time mortal and nearly all of her antiquities in exchange for immunity.
At the wedding, Chin’s supervisor had called her an “aberration in the timeline” that he’d “really like to explore.” He’d been drunk so she hadn’t punched him.
She had stolen his Time Watch, however. And his wallet because fuck that guy.
She opens her chest to these things now, the watch lying in a plastic bag so as to prevent any stray time from escaping. Soon plastic will be in the past, however, and she’ll have to find some other non-decomposing artifact to mask the Time watch. She’s not looking forward to trying to find that.
She pulls the watch and wallet from the chest. She’ll need the boss’ key card to break into headquarters and find out just where they’d sent Chin on his last mission.
They’d never even know she was there.
—————————————————————-
They absolutely know that she’s there. Renea sighs and stares at the ceiling, hands folded over her stomach. She’s laying on top of a row of filing cabinets, deep in the recesses of headquarters, and listening to footsteps pound up and down the corridor outside the room they belong to. It’ll be hours before they give up, she knows, maybe even more. She’ll have to sneak out to get to Chin, but, for now, she’ll lay low at least until their numbers thin.
“Have you checked Communications?” a voice outside her door asked.
“‘Have you checked Communications?’” another voice mocked. “That’s what you sound like. All essential departments have been checked. She’s not there.”
“Check again.” a new voice says. Renea recognizes it as Dave, Chin’s supervisor and the worst human being in time. “We can’t have a goddamn Time thief in here running around all willy nilly even if her husband is an operative. Go.”
Renea frowns. She is not a Time thief. Those bastards erase parts of history to catch the energy it creates. She is a thief through time, totally different.
She opens the folder lying next to her. Chin’s picture smiles out at her and she presses two fingers to her lips and then to his.
“I’m coming,” she whispers to his smiling eyes. “Can’t trust anyone, can we darling?”
She raises and lowers the folder to make him nod.
————————————————————————-
It’s hours later before there are few enough people she can make her move. She carefully stretches from the top of the cabinet and drops silently onto the ground, mission folder left abandoned on top. She’s already memorized all necessary details and, besides, it didn’t tell her anything useful.
There’s no way Chin could be trapped in 18th century America. He’s too good to be trapped by freakin’ Puritans which means that something else got him. Maybe a time anomaly, maybe his Watch broke, maybe a person.
Luckily, she knows how to search time streams like no other. She’d had to to make sure Chin wasn’t getting too close in the good old days.
“I’m too old for this,” she laments to the empty room. She twists the settings on the Time watch. She’d start when Chin started and work from there.
——————————————————–
“Witch!”
“Fuck off,” she snarls at the boy collecting mushrooms in the woods. She’s furiously twisting the dials on her watch, trying to get a good read of the area. This is where Chin had been less than a day ago. There should be something.
“I-I,” the boy stutters, stumbling away from her. His eyes dip to the cut of her shirt and the way her weapons’ harness hugs her ribs and hips. “H-harlot.”
Without looking, Renea pulls one of the knives at her hips and points it at the boy. “Go.”
The boy goes.
Renea sheathes her knife and blows her long, red hair out of her face. There’s something here, something not quite the normal departure signature of a Time agent. She fiddles with the watch, eliminating known time streams one by one until she’s cleared enough away to see it.
Her brow furrows. “That’s–but that’s not possible.” Her face clouds. “Unless it’s not naturally occurring.”
Which means that her husband isn’t lost. He’s been stolen.
“Good thing I brought all these fucking Time knives,” Renea says and disappears.
—————————————————-
The pocket dimension the abnormal time stream drops her in is rather small. She’s landed in front of a warehouse, the exterior dimly lit and crumbling. She looks behind her and grimaces at the sheer drop into oblivion, peppered with other asteroids of ruins.
A Time snag, One big enough to be turned into a little hideaway by people clever enough to not be noticed by the Time Agents.
Except, of course, her darling husband.
She wishes he wasn’t quite so good at his job.
She pulls a knife, glistening blue in the time stream, and her gun. Both are made to end timelines, preventing any necromancy bullshit later down the road. She’s never actually killed anyone with one, but she’s not adverse to trying something new.
She creeps to the building and presses her ear to the door. She can hear voices inside, but not what they’re saying. She needs a better vantage point.
She puts her gun away and her knife between her teeth and begins to climb.
———————————————–
She’s sweating by the time she reaches the high windows. She slips in silently and her feet meet the metal of the catwalk running around the interior. She lays flat so anyone below will have a hard time seeing her and creeps to the edge.
In the center of the room is Chin, stripped to his underwear, bleeding, and looking furious.
“For the last time,” Chin says through gritted teeth, eyes narrow, “Time Agents do not write history.”
The woman standing in front of him tsks, smoothing out the full skirt of her blood red dress with her hands. “Now, now, Agent, we both know that’s not true. Mordred, dear?”
The man in a full suit of armor steps up, a large, old tome held in his hands. He clears his throat. “In the event of Time Agent mass extinction, history will be written by the victors.”
“Thank you,” the woman murmurs. She gestures to herself. “The victors? That’s us. We deserve to have our tales told, sir. So I’m going to ask once more: Where and when is Time Agent headquarters?”
Chin bares bloody teeth at her. “That book isn’t a manual, you idiot. It’s a conspiracy theory written by some genocidal idiot.”
The last man in the room, a man wearing a Victorian waistcoat, sighs heavily. “It seems you haven’t learned your lesson, Agent. Allow me to rectify that.”
“Rectify this!” Renea shouts from the catwalk and shoots Victorian asshole straight in the face.
She’s never really believed in warnings.
“Renea?” Chin asks, eyes wide. He looks from the downed man to her and back again. “Well, that certainly explains what happened to Jack the Ripper.”
“No shit?” Renea asks. She looks for stairs. “Hold up, I’ll be right down.”
The red woman finally regains her tongue. “Reinforcements?” she spits, glaring at Chin. “How terribly rude.” She raises her own gun, recognizable as Chin’s, and shoots at Renea.
Renea watches the purple beam swing wide, hitting a point several feet to the left of her. She squints and looks down at Chin. “Did you hit her really hard in the head?”
“Yes,” Chin says. “But that’s not why she sucks. Renea, this is Elizabeth Bathory.”
Meaning that the red lady down there is very far off from a time where guns are widely accessible. Renea raises an eyebrow at her husband. “You bashed a lady’s head in?” She grins. “So proud.”
“Thanks,” Chin says. “By the way, there’s a man with a sword behind you.”
Renea swears and rolls as Mordred –and she’s assuming the Mordred–comes swinging at her. She prepares to defend herself, aware that her knives aren’t any match for a broadsword, and turns to see–
–Mordred falling over the railing, overbalanced by his armor. He crashes to the floor with a horrendous sound of clanging metal and lies still.
The Lady Bathory takes one look at the blood seeping through the seams and, ironically, faints.
There’s a beat of silence.
“I’m pretty good at this,” Renea observes.
“Oh my god,” Chin says. “Just get down here and untie me.”
Renea leers. “Are you sure? But you’re so pretty.”
Chin looks at her flatly. “I have blood in my mouth.”
“Your blood?”
“Yes,” Chin says, mouth curling with disgust. “I don’t know what these people have, I’m not going to bite them.”
“Smart,” Renea says and goes to untie her husband. Or, rather, she would, if she could find the freakin’ stairs.
Chin sighs and waits patiently. They have Time after all.
[END]
I really need to post more art on here. But I have a whole bunch of unposted art so stay tuned.
To begin with, here are the sibling Lezzeki and Talyssandor.
L'Inferno (1911)
“L'Inferno was italy’s earliest feature-length movie. Mostly set in hell, the movie is full of shocking (for the 1910s) imagery, such as a decapitated man carrying his own head, the torture of people buried up to their necks in the ground, and demons whipping a bunch of scared naked people. all of those scenes pale in comparison to the final image of satan sitting on the horizon and munching on the bodies of Brutus and Cassius.”
blood/bruisecore edit
