cavernovs

[cavernovs]

frccdxm​:

cavernovs​:

Farah was taken aback by the pressure he was putting on her shoulder, thinking he must be pretty out of it to not stand upright on his own. “It’s nice to meet you, Ace,” she said with a concerned smile. She sat where he had directed her but worry began to overcome her thoughts. Her eyes widened at the sight of the powder, but that certainly made a great deal of sense now. “Are those drugs?” she wondered, although she was sure she already knew the answer. 

She tilted her head a bit as she thought of how to proceed here. “I…That’s very generous of you to share, but I don’t really do that sort of thing,” she explained, hoping not to offend him. “Maybe I just glow because I’m nephilim? I don’t think this pixie thing will quite do the same thing,” she chuckled softly. “Are you sure you’re not in any pain?”

-

Nice to meet you too yellow bird. 

Ace feigned not recognising what she’d said. Because his expression read: What? These little crystals? Never, drugs sounded like such a dirty word for the little shards of fun. The woman across from him might have enjoyed a little boost, because she’d been so nice to him. 

Shaking his head, he wiggled his finger in protest. Silly bird. He knew that she glowed because that’s what people did. They always glowed, in all the colours - of all the creatures. To him, it didn’t matter that she was nephilim. 

He barely even registered the word when she’d spoken it. 

Ace was far too caught up hushing her to be quiet like he was about to tell her the best of secrets. He got up close, grinning - he wasn’t in any pain, but he was eager to keep the jovial company of Farah. Even if he didn’t quite know he wanted that in the first place. His voice was low, and he was very careful to make sure that she was listening to his theatrics when he said his peace: “Pixie helps you flyyyy, yellow bird,” 

[cavernovs]

frccdxm:

oftragxdy:

His lips tingled from her blood. He licked them and let out a pleasurable sigh. The high was unlike he had ever experienced before. The world seemed… brighter. Not in a sense that it hurt his eyes, though. His body felt lighter. His mind fuzzier. I should have tried this a long time ago. The thought caused him to laugh. 

“Home?” His voice seemed to echo. “You’re not going home.” He explained to her. “Not ever, if I have anything to do about it.” He couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across his face. “No. You are mine.” Another laugh escaped his lips. “Mine. Which means you will stay with me until further notice.” Until I decide to end your life.

 As he waited for Jack’s text back, his ears picked up on something. He turned sharply towards the girl and used his speed to rush towards her. He grabbed the phone out of her hand and then grabbed her hair by the roots. “What about, you’re mine, do you not understand?” He hissed at her as he tightened his grip. “No contact with anyone else. Unless I say so. No phone.” He threw the phone onto the ground and stomped on it with his foot. “You do as I say. You don’t complain.” He jerked her head back until their eyes met. “And the moment you do… fuck. You will regret it. And I will enjoy every second of making sure you know not to fuck with me. Is that understood?” 

Dizzy. He was dizzy. And there was a buzzing sound across the room.

Phone. Jack. 

He let out an annoyed sigh, released the Nephilim from his grasp, and moved towards his phone. “I have a friend stopping by. Take a nap if you must, but you will be awake when he gets here.” 

Farah’s eyes were wide with fear, hearing him say she would never go home. His laugh was disturbing and she felt like she was being pulled in separate directions with his changes in fake kindness and cruelty. “I am not yours,” she insisted, but her voice was quiet and weak. She knew what he was implying, but being referred to as belonging to someone was something even she couldn’t stand. “Why would you want to keep me here when there are humans who go looking to be in this position?” she asked. She knew it was because of her blood, but she couldn’t grasp how much better it tasted than others that would make it worth this trouble. 

Any hope of getting help she had left her when he took her phone, but that was quickly replaced with the pain of him forcefully grabbing her by the hair. She yelled out in pain and instinctively a hand went to try and pry his off. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said in a hurried voice, trying to soothe his rage so he wouldn’t take it out on her. Tears fell from her eyes from the pain and the lost hope as she watched him crush her phone. Her eyes were forced to look into his, even if her vision was blurry with tears. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good,” she promised. Because when she was cooperative at least he wasn’t angry with her.

Farah fell back into the couch and let out a sob. She almost didn’t hear his words through her quiet crying, but she did, and her head jerked up to look at him, the tears on her cheeks mixing with the now dried blood he had left on her face. “A-A friend?” she stammered. “Why? I…I thought I was only here for you.” She was just starting to figure how to act around him, the thought of adding another to this nightmare was too much. She still clutched the pillow tightly to herself, she hated the thought of closing her eyes right now, but her body was just so tired. She figured she could just lay her head down…that should be fine. Soon enough she nodded off despite her best efforts to stay awake. 

@cavernovs 

-

It hadn’t been a surprise to glaze over Demitri’s texts when they echoed their usual impatience, but it had been an unusual turn of events transpiring in the content of them. Something was happening, because not only had Jack made recent acquaintances with an ironically named nephilim himself. So now had Demitri, and both creatures had their own way of asserting power. When applied to each other, it was a tug and pull that Jakoris was confident in winning. 

Whilst he wasn’t a believer in just agreeing to Dem’s whim like he imagined so many others would be, he was shy of thirty minutes or so arriving at the hotel. He had been genuine when he’d texted the other man he was busy; there was a lot on his mind given recent events. Most of which included witches, and the lack thereof. 

He wasn’t entirely sure Demitri even knew what he’d stumbled upon, because Jack had witnessed the power a neph possessed. Davenport also remembered being grateful to be out of the blinding firing line. 

Knuckles wrapped on the door. Jack’s nose twitched at the scent seeping beneath the door that was almost alluring. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d broken down a door for something, or the last, he would imagine. 

Jack could only picture what Demitri’s face would be like if he did such a thing. Instead, he whispered in a sadistic sounding tone:

“Here little piggy piggy, open up,” he nearly laughed, “I’ll huff and i’ll puff, and I’ll...” 

But he left that up to those inside to fill the blanks. 

[ @oftragxdy / @frccdxm ]

[cavernovs]

hxlfcrxzy​:

cavernovs​:

He was laughing.

Why the fuck was he laughing?

That sick little giggle that the vampire was producing made it seem like the burning sensation Lan was flaring across his stomach was nothing more than a tickle. Lan might as well be running a single feather back and forth across his skin to elicit the same reaction, and it was pissing the demon off.

Did people really see Lan as that little of a threat? Were people so unafraid of him these days that he couldn’t even physically attack someone without them laughing about it? The conflicted expression on his face would have been more than apparent, had they not been in the dark and had Jack not been facing in the opposite direction. It was just as well; he’d only laugh harder if he thought Lan’s conviction was faltering.

Then he coughed, and there was a slight gurgle and splutter that followed, and a twisted smirk stretched across the demon’s once worried face. This meant he was doing damage, and he jabbed his fingers in further, feeling the wet trickles of blood beginning their trail down until they pooled slowly in his palm. “Not a tale, but you’re telling it wrong. That I did it willingly.” People understood when it was a forfeit for a game, for a challenge, but what Jack was insinuating, always insinuated, was that Lan enjoyed it.

Backed up by the next claim.

“I don’t take it.” Jack really was crazy, delusional even, taking their shared joke of being murder husbands to the extreme, actually believing Lan to be the beta out of the pair. No. Lan was the alpha. The apex species. He would still be massacring the innocent. collecting the souls of the envious millennia after Jack had expired for good. He and Azagi, side by side, hand in hand, with not even a thought between them about the vampire they had once deemed a close part of each of their lives. 

Zagi begged for this disgusting corpse.

And just like that, the visions of Lan and Azagi switched to feature Jack, the Invidias pushed from his own visions to be nothing more than an onlooker, watching the two of them on their own killing spree, him covered in the guts of fallen foes without making a single swipe of an attack towards them. And then they were fucking, Jack and Azagi, here in Jack’s room, then it shifted into Azagi’s room, and then again into Lan’s room. And Jack had been right, she was begging. And begging and begging, until she was screaming out Jakoris as the two of them came. Only for the room to shift once more and they were cuddled together, close, kissing and intimate. No. That was Lan’s life to have with her, not Jack’s.

That made the slam on the dresser top all the harder. The pent up rage from all these vivid thoughts finally having an outlet, and fuck it felt good. The second slam, and the discarding of him across the room only fuelled the bloodlust and Lan wanted more. Jack deserved this. He knew he deserved it too. That had always been their thing right? Don’t touch each others stuff unless it’s brought up in a bargain.

Now that was a thought.

Lan placed a palm on the now damaged dresser, taking a swig of the remaining liquid in the glass Jack left as the vampire began to speak. His words slurred at first, as if his body was working out how exactly to form words, and Lan smiled thinking on his he must have dislocated his jaw. Hopefully. Sadly not enough to stop him speaking. “And you didn’t think that fighting would lead to fucking…for a fucking Wrathbearer? A fight for her is just foreplay,” he spat, “plus that’s bullshit and you know it. You knew exactly who it was and the both of you did it to fucking spite me.” For what, disappearing every so often? That was some lame ass excuse. Over the years he’d known both of them, he surely had mentioned the demoness to the vampire, and vice-versa. The two most important people in his life.

Now he was regretting asking Jack to talk. Each syllable he uttered worse than the last, until he crossed a line Lan hadn’t even considered he would cross. He’d fucking branded her? Lan’s neck twitched, head leaning to one side as his teeth clenched tightly. His jaw flared with each pulse, shoulders rolling back as nails dug deep into the wood, scraping back as they pulled into tight fists. He turned quickly, a fast pace towards his former friend, former husband, and a heated fist collided with the vampire’s jaw sending him crashing back to the floor.

“There’s only one way to settle this,” his voice sounded distorted, deep and gruff, truly demonic as he found it harder and harder to control himself, elements of his glamour flickering away revealing snippets of his true form, “keep our traditions, sweet cheeks. A bet. A wager.” He paced a little closer, kicking scattered books out of the way. “We’re going to fight now. Unless one of us taps out, it’s to the death. If you tap out, you have to forfeit. I know you love a forfeit.” Lan lifted his leg, stamping down on Jack’s body as he continued to list the terms of his game. “You win, Azagi’s yours. Do what you want with her. Fight her. Fuck her. Hell, I’ll fucking sit and watch if you want. Every time, for the rest of time.”

A pause followed, as Lan’s grin twisted even further and the glamour twitched once more, revealing for a few seconds a set of sharp and curved teeth that only strengthened how horrific that smile could be. He crouched, closer to Jack that he should be, but the demon was confident and every action he took only exuded that confidence. The glamour returned, and the young, human face Jack was so used to stared down at him with those shark-like eyes and that sly smile.

“But if I win, you’re mine.”

-

If Jack thought the first wave of blood that spilled over his lips was the last, he was ever so wrong. Lan’s fingers drove deeper and brought forth another sickening stream of off-coloured blood to trickle down over the vampire’s chin and throat. He coughed harder then, and the groan of protest was evident in the way he flinched under every new blow Lan struck. 

In Jack’s mind, Lan had done all of the taking it willingly. He’d not forced it from the demon. But he’d provided enough motivation to get his way. The party had been just the most recent. 

What was happening here, this wasn’t his way. It wasn’t even theirs. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. And Jack would still be damned if he let it. But he wasn’t doing much from his position against the wall on the ground, covered in his own blood with Lan’s flames licking his flesh apart like it was to be devoured by the very creature he was currently envisioning murdering in a murder husband fashion. 

And Jakoris was having similarly dark plummeting thoughts as the agony of his stomach had his fingers shaking; hands struggling to form fists to get himself up from his slumped position. 

How the fuck would I know that, sugar? 

And maybe it was a poorly asked internal question, because it sounded an awful lot like Jack’s sort of foreplay. It sounded too much like he should have known. He hadn’t cared then, nor could he find it in himself to care when under Lan’s ruthless fist. He could be as envious as he bloody well liked, because the rest of the declarations were stupid and formed out of paranoia. 

“Why would I?” he growled between pained complaints. The next words that left his mouth were automated, because the vampire didn’t have any idea what Lan had spun in that jealous little head of is:  “Is that what she told you?” Because the idea that Jack had a penchant for dancing with demons just to spite another seemed farfetched. Even if the more he thought about it, the idea that it was a possibility found somewhere to slither into his brain. 

If Lan didn’t back down, Jack wasn’t sure how much he could stop himself from wanting to forget all connection he held to the demon and break the demon to tiny little pieces to hang them off the chandelier in the manor lobby. He had to get out of the bookshelf debris first, of all things. 

He was in no mood for bets. 

And he mentally chided himself when a pained hiss slipped from his lips as Lan slammed his boot down on his body whilst reciting the terms of the wager. 

“Sick of the sound of your voice, cupcake,” he bore his teeth then, as if he might be blinded by burning across his body partnered with the agitating hunger that almost had him forgetting that biting Lan would be the other’s victory, and not his. He was over all of this. “I don’t bloody care for ‘Zagi, or fucking her -” A sputter, and it was all vengefully growled. “Get fucking over yourself,” Staring into the oily eyes that Lan bore was like being sucked into an abyss, and the features of the creature distorted to mimic something darker; Jack wasn’t usually on the receiving end of that part of the demon. 

Just as Lan wasn’t usually the target of Jack’s psychotic antics until now. 

He was nobody’s. Fight to the death or not. And for a moment, Lan’s features returned to something more familiar, but the vampire was already swallowing down his annoyance to gather his strength to spit: 

“Your best isn’t even my worst, Lanny boy.” 

So do your worst. 

[cavernovs]

deathbeckons​:

cavernovs​.

jack davenport. of course it fucking was. though, he had to be honest… he couldn’t say he minded this particular vampire. they had even worked together in the past. now that had been fun; especially surprising the vampire with his light. lucky for him, he hadn’t been in the firing line, but those he was attempting to get information from were. that was entirely the others fault for using riley as bait in the first place. 

“silver iron, babe. but we both know i don’t need it.” he spoke, almost a growl as he was warning the other. suddenly riley was much more aware of the fact that he was bleeding, and the other was within biting distance, he was sure. 

“it was your age day? damn, sorry to have missed it, honey. i think i was busy that day.” the gun was useless, they both knew it, and so he put it away rather than keep it between them where it could be turned on him. “you don’t get my blood, baby. not for nothing. not even as an age day present.” he wasn’t losing his light for this fucker, no way in hell. jack knew that if it was for the greater good, he could get away with it; an alliance, or in exchange for information… that could be justified. “so, what’s a little neph blood worth to you? any useful information for me, or an alliance you could strike with me? i have been looking to get a certain feeder back.”

-

Of course the bullets weren’t bloody bullets at all. 

“Should have asked how good your aim is then, pumpkin,” He quipped, at least taking note that certain magical things were available to Jack that he should be wary of. Silveriron was a frustratingly annoying little problem. 

Jakoris’ distaste for the weapon was shown in the roll of his eyes, and the way his thumb glided along his lip with a thoughtfulness to whether he was faster than the baby neph’s lightshow. He wasn’t irked enough to find out; they’d been a dysfunctional, but workable team previously. Nothing said that history couldn’t repeat. 

Wasn’t that the phrase? 

Davenport’s eyes, no matter how much he composed his control for pride purposes, couldn’t deny to himself that his vision fell on the red smear of Riley’s wound every time they had a break in speech. He had to force himself to drag his hues upwards, to the man’s face - a tightness about his movements where he’d failed to notice how close he’d gotten in his playful teasing. 

“As I recall, you seemed to have a little teeth scare with being at my party,” It was a jest. In hindsight, with the way the night went, Jack’s presence might have stirred a pot more than it already had been. But the smile curved on his lips told of everything otherwise. A quick swallow, and his tongue wetted his lips. “Jackie,” And perhaps it was a little bit more of a warning than Jakoris intended; he couldn’t stand there all night, being teased by the halfling. 

But his interest raised. 

“You’re proposing a trade,” he laughed, not because he thought either of them were going to fight for it, but because Jakoris found himself wanting to entertain the idea. His subconsious liked the small challenge, but wasn’t stupid enough to go against the light that lives like a weapon inside the other man. So, he straightened, and levelled his gaze with a shaky sort of humour:  “I’ll bite, sweetcheeks, what information do you want?” A beat, ”Feeders are in short supply, as I’m sure you know,” 

[cavernovs]

frccdxm​:

cavernovs​:

Cecilia smirked and gave Jessie a knowing nod. “That is very true, I doubt Castillo gets many young things walking through its doors.” Although she didn’t perform for the attention, more so for something to do, Cecilia couldn’t deny it was a good feeling to have her skill appreciated. There were many things in her life that she had wished she could do but had no talent for, so she admires others who can, but singing is the one thing she felt more certain about. 

“Thank you, that is much appreciated,” she smiled at the other, taking another sip of her martini as she waited for Jessie to get her own. Things had been quiet for Cecilia as of late, something she was sure her position demanded her remedying, but the strategos was so fond of a leisurely lifestyle. “If only I could hypnotize humans into gathering with my music, wouldn’t that be a sight?” she joked. “Like lambs to the slaughter.”

-

A gentle ‘hmph’ slipped from the Diplomat’s lips. It was an amusing statement. Castillo shifting to entertain young things had Jessie’s lip perking up on one side an extra notch. Though, she also very much hated how easily just thinking about him brought reactions from the woman. 

And that smile melted away. 

Davenport was careful to hide the shift in expression behind the rim of the martini when it arrived. Well made. Castillo approved. As was everything in the walls, she bitterly thought.

She wasn’t there for any of that. Cecilia was a welcome accident, because it meant she could focus a little on addressing the business reasons of her appearance. “To become the pied piper, dear, I think you’d have a lot of work doing a number on the humans one by one,” She threw back, wondered how long winded such a task would be - with so few at their disposal as it was. But she knew what Cecilia had meant, and how beneficial such an ability would be.

“I can only assume since you’re here, all well, you’ve seen no impulsive creatures of ours sharpening their teeth,” She sipped her drink, and whilst she spoke low - it was casual, because Cecilia was smart, and she had hoped that because of it, she was also aware of unsolicited behaviour that could endanger their territory. “I’ve got a meeting with an advisor,” she admitted, and whilst it was obvious why she said it, she withheld the detail of: And I don’t want to hear about any surprises from us that weren’t asked for. 

One problem at a time, and she finished her martini - moved to stand up to add with a small laugh:  “If you do figure out a way to lure the mortals with song, I’ll be wondering if you’ve acquired gills, darling,” 

[cavernovs]

hxlfcrxzy​:

Raoul Darcy x Atemu Elmasry - Northside - closed @cavernovs​​

It had been two days with no contact and the part of Raoul’s mind that had attempted to block out the horrors his mother had inflicted upon him began to creep to the forefront.

He didn’t like being by himself. Not anymore.

Solitude was something he had been working on for years, switching out the fear of people encroaching on his space to punish him, with a feeling of calmness that he had wanted to be surrounded in. A chosen solitude. Raoul had years to perfect it, find his inner peace as it was, as he worked on his magic and subsequently the hunt for his sister and a new place to call home.

Perhaps that was why he was so on edge these days. A home had been found, family reunited with, Esme, acquaintances made and friendships formed, Celeste, Youra, Hollis, but silence he had no control over. What if something had gone wrong and he would be left alone in the dark again? What if they left willingly?

It made sense that he had little control over his own thoughts when his magic stemmed from the same place. Two parts of his life he yearned to have the reigns held tightly for, and yet they eluded him.

He needed out of the house. That much was certain.

Already, Raoul could feel his magic fluctuating, pulsating through his veins as he dressed, and he wrapped new ribbons tightly around his hands: blood red silk, a contrast to the rest of his all black attire, soft to the touch, easy to wrap and the ends pinned on both sides neatly together just above his wrist. They rarely did the trick of containing his magic, but he liked the idea that there was at least some form of physical barrier in case he lost complete control.

His mothers curse.

The reason he was a Bloodwraith.

He swore under his breath and pushed the thought out of his mind as he made sure to lock Esme’s place up securely before heading out into the cooling evening air. He refused to believe he had always been one, been unworthy, tainted from birth. He was meant for greatness, as his sister had been, and his mother, after his defiance, had stripped him completely of that.

Family issues and mental turmoil manifesting as scarlet red electricity that at times practically leaked from his body.

Raoul could feel it, even now, crackling at the edge of his finger tips, glowing underneath his skin making the silk itself seem to radiate light, burning behind his eyes waiting for him to slip up and explode outward. HIs breathing deepened, quickened, as did his pace. The sorcerer didn’t know where he was walking, barely following the road, just a constant pace forwards.

Beserkers was the obvious choice, his usual haunt, a place where he could fight and let out as much of this untapped magical energy as possible, maybe an area of the forests unclaimed by any wolf faction. Maybe Dead Man’s Point, and let the ghosts tell him the shit he already knew.

Ahead, a man was also walking, and Raoul had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t realised his body was following the stranger, drawn to him like some kind of human magnet, his own steps seeming to mirror that of the stranger. It was only the soft humming of electricity at Ra’s finger tips that drew him from his thoughts, and he quickly shoved his hands deep into his pockets, now looking up to observe the stranger.

There was something about the man, familiar, even though he was certain he’d never seen him before, yet there was that tug towards him that his whole body was feeling. If they didn’t know each other, what was it? This tingling in the air around him. A similar vibration…in fact, it was almost identical. Something magical. Something electrical.

And then it clicked.

He’s like me.

-

Being stalked on a good day, didn’t end well for the brave, idiotic soul who wanted to try. 

Today wasn’t even a good day. 

And Atemu wasn’t even sure how long he’d been feeling the staticy presence behind him that made the hairs on his arms stand on edge. It prickled at his skin like a fly that wouldn’t simply stop buzzing around him. It could have been anything; an ally of a mark, on the path of vengeance. Impressive was the idea that anyone managed to hunt him down when little trace of his shadowy role was ever left behind. 

He didn’t stop walking, however. 

There was calculation in the way Atemu’s jaw ticked, his eyes shifted to the side to assess his surroundings. To listen for any spark that might suddenly come his way. Sorcerers ( like him, he might quickly chide ) weren’t often in the business of good welcomes. 

This felt like something personal, and Elmasry wasn’t able to see who the person was without turning around to look. That would give away that he knew he was being tailed. But, he was sure it had to be some spited individual coming to finish the bitter sorcerer for some old scorning. 

He probably wouldn’t even put a face to any name the other might claim he killed. 

Atemu turned a corner between two dilapidated buildings, the sides of the old structures had caved in; old ruins that once had been homes; apartments, he’d assume. A rickety metal stairwell hung off the side of one, detached mostly from the bricks. It screamed unsafe for stepping on, but Atemu only intended to use the metal as an amplifier; as a conductor if so needed. 

He kept moving, through the narrowing lane at the same pace he’d kept up the whole time, until he ducked the next corner, tucked himself neatly between the thinning gaps of the other side of the ruined building, obscured by broken cement, but evidently, still visible enough to move; to cast if that’s what it became. 

And he waited. 

[cavernovs]

oftragxdy​:

cavernovs​:

The moment she realized who it was that had sat next to her, her stomach dropped and her heart seized. The buzzing beneath her skin, which was previously a dull vibration, was now sending waves throughout her body, causing her to shake. It traveled from her head, all the way down to her toes. But it didn’t stop there. It spread through her limbs and down to the floor. 

No, no, no, no. She bit down on her bottom lip and stumbled off of the chair, trying to reign in the power that she suddenly possessed. The power that most of the Demons knew nothing about. The power she didn’t want Azarius to witness. 

But it was too late.

The paper had vanished due to his hellfire, and he was now staring right at her. Fear struck her to her very core. She had stood up to the Demon several times, but she had felt like she was in control of herself then. She knew the potential consequences of spouting out threats. 

Freyja didn’t know the consequences of using her new power against him.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise? Maybe it would cause fear to ripple through his own body for a change? But the young witch didn’t know how to control it. 

His words caused not only anger to shoot through her body, but her power as well. The ground shook violently as she grabbed the thick glass on the counter – her drink – and threw it at the Demon’s head. 

-

Something was off. Not the sudden appearance of a lone loyalist freely roaming the bar like she had no care in the world. Nor, that it was Freyja of all people. Azar would have been content with seeing them all caged below the earth, let them grow sickly without sunlight until they begged for reprieve; til they offered everything to him. 

He’d already taken most of that from Freyja. 

But there was something else in the air that had the stool a little less still under him, the barside a little more alive with a creature worming its way through the woodwork. 

The way the woman next to him reacted, was like she knew something he didn’t. 

“How hard you must have worked to hide this small revelation from me,” It was nearly considered teasing. Because how could he have missed the power flooding from her person like a waterfall when she’d have many opportunities to try and take advantage. 

It meant, it was new. 

And that, partnered with the way her body crumbled under the weight of his gaze told him that she had no idea what to do with power granted. Azarius would have a greedy list of things he could have done with such. But the loyalist? Why would she? 

And to think, he could add this to the list of ways to break the mortal. 

There was a sudden influx that jostled the chair under the demon, and he stood - by instinct, at the same moment Freyja launched a glass towards him. 

It landed square on. It shattered. And it cracked shards across the demons face in a flurry of irritating flakes of glass. His head had turned, and slowly, with a tight jaw, he swivelled it back to look at her with an edge of a smile. Smoke swept up the side of his features, obscured any superficial grazes in a wisp. 

His turn. 

Azarius’ hand was partly open when he violently backhanded her. He wanted to remind her that no matter what she did, or what power she acquired. It was worthless against him, that whatever she had now running in her veins, it could just as easily be bled out of her. 

He didn’t need magic to ruin her. 

[cavernovs]

oftragxdy​:

cavernovs​:

The buzzing beneath her skin wouldn’t cease, no matter how hard she tried to focus on it and tell it to go away. It was uncomfortable for her and she knew it was in control of her and not the other way around. But there was nothing she could do about it. Not really. Not unless Dracias consistently wrapped his lust around her. 

But how long could he keep that up? 

Her whole body jolted at the threat, causing her power to spike. A low tremor radiated beneath the floor boards of the bar. And then she felt a shock. She couldn’t help but yelp. If she could say anything, she’d ask him to stop. She’d ask him how to control her own powers. She’d also ask him to stop scaring her.

But she didn’t have a tongue to form words, thanks to a certain Demon.

No. She thought to herself as the paper practically disintegrated. She didn’t bring any more with her. Frantically, she looked around the bar to try to find something to write on. Eventually, she found a napkin. Although, her hands were shaking, which was caused her trouble as she tried to write: I can’t control it. The lines weren’t straight and the words were spelled wrong. 

She shoved the napkin in the other’s direction anyway, hoping he’d be able to decipher what she had written. 

-

Her power slammed against his own like a half-cocked battering ram. It had power, he could feel it, but there was no control; no oomph behind the offensive. 

If she was trying to warn him off to the other end of the bar. She was doing it poorly. Because Atemu didn’t take kindly to threats in any capacity. Killing anyone without it being worthwhile was also a shame above all. He wasn’t on the clock; he wasn’t being paid to eradicate this woman’s name from a list. This would be a slaughter. 

And his mind flew back to the images of the RE’s massacre. The one that threw him out of the favour of his people and back to what he does best. 

Elmasry’s fingers flicked sideways, barricading the new wave of magic from shoving him off his barstool. He was giving her too much credit. The way her magic rumbled, it wasn’t in any sort of manner of direction. It lacked control; an intention. 

She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. 

Even before she didn’t know who the fuck she was pissing off. 

The paper was gone, and the woman was panicking like Atemu had taken a limb from her. Eyes rolled, teeth gritted and the sorcerer’s fingers held back from throwing her across the bar so he didn’t have to put up a magical guard because some poorly trained witch was having an off day. 

“If I wanted to see illegible scrawlings, I would have kept your fucking paper in one piece,” He bit out, despite dragging the napkin towards himself to glower down at what mess she’d written. His brows furrowed then, and he looked between the inky mess on the thin material, to the witch with disdain. 

Why do I get stuck with the rabid little neophytes. 

He wasn’t even of their fucking magic. And he was still internally battling with his moral standing. What would Val say - or Ev. Reina would be cursing his ear off just the same. 

Atemu glanced around the bar, like he might find someone else to dump the woman on. 

“I cannot help you,” he muttered under his breath, leaning toward her to make sure she understood him, word for word. “We are not the same.” Even if he could have directed her, he didn’t particularly want to. And he hesitated on what he was about to say next. “I know people who can, but you have to calm the hell down. I can feel you ripping the ground beneath us apart.” And that wasn’t his magic to stop. 

[cavernovs]

hxlfcrxzy​:

cavernovs​:

Today was supposed to be the first normal day in a long time, the first day Lan set eyes on and foot into his home. No longer did he need to be confined to one solitary room in an abandoned complex on the outskirts of whatever territory he’d been in. He still wasn’t sure. Yet here he was, lingering at the entrance to the Dominion, knowing full well that he couldn’t enter. His home taken unjustly from him.

And everything his owned with it.

Two loyalists, one who’d been in the apartment, as far as he was aware, the entirety of Lan’s latest disappearance, likely keeping up appearances of a happy relationship. And then there was the other, under the care of Najelon, an elaborate prank to teach the human a lesson but keep that envy spiralling inside of him with the thoughts that, potentially, Lan was with someone else.

That was always the game. Make people think that he was somewhere better.

Yet here, with the stench of salt water singeing his nostrils and dancing on the tip of his tongue every time he opened his mouth, dragged down to the level of everyone else. Homeless. Loyalist-less. Nothing more than a demon with a single sin, like all the others.

He didn’t like being like the others.

He could be better.

Like some form of lanky, demonic cat, Lan’s shoulders seemed to raise defensively at the appearance of Azarius, and he slunk quickly into the shadows, watching with new eyes as the Soulbarterer inspected the entrance to the Dominion, the same way that Lan had. His back was to the Invidias, and Lan couldn’t deny the urge to dissipate on top of him, stab him through the back and throw him down into the salt-ridden caverns. A quick and undramatic death for Azarius, a creature that no doubt expected to go out in a blaze of glory.

If he anticipated dying at all.

“Well well, if it isn’t my third favourite asshole. Long time no see,” Lan could quip back, stepping forth from the shadows, not approaching him completely, knowing the damage the others hands were capable of inflicting. Which lead him to wonder how much damage Azarius had taken himself during their fight at Jack’s party. To look at, there were no marks, no scratches, no signs that Lan had done anything more than tickle him and he swallowed hard. Could someone really be that powerful?

He couldn’t deny he was rattled, but in typical Lan fashion, he let his demeanour remain cool, face expressing nothing but a childlike innocence despite the large glassy black orbs that were in place of his old eyes. “All I want is you to take a break. I’m not here for you, sadly. I just came hoping the Letharger has been found drowned in his bed. Please tell me it’s my lucky day.”

-

If Azarius didn’t already loathe all parts of Lan’s existence, the frequent reminder that the other demon sold dramatics like they were endearing buried the nail in the coffin tenfold. 

He would enjoy tearing out the demons spleen and making him choke it down. 

How many times will Lilith tolerate your incompetence then? 

Perhaps Azar might test it. See how in favour Lan was with his creator, or if he were the fool to ever think he was in their favour at all. Nothing less, nothing more. He had the perfect wasteland at his feet to toss the demon’s body into; watch the skinshell dissolve as Lan screamed and desperately tried to claw his way out the manhole in burnt, sizzling shreds of flesh. 

“They’re laughing at you,” I’m laughing at you. He almost added, but the implication was clear; Lan might wear new eyes, but they couldn’t be cost free. They couldn’t be. It wasn’t a kindness, because Azarius couldn’t fathom that Lan had anything Lilith wanted in exchange. “Lilith is laughing at you.” And maybe it was a poor show to put words in mouths of creatures who could wipe them from existence the same way they created them. 

But it didn’t feel like anything but a truth. 

And Lan was ever a moron to think he was gifted with newfound sight. Azarius could take those new eyes again, and again... and again.

The demon kept his gaze hovering on the other. In case he’d traded more than just sight for whatever the First Fallen would have cared for. There was a distance between them, and at its prominence, Azar lifted his head and smiled; a small smirk of satisfaction. 

I’m not here for you. 

Wasn’t that cute.

Azarius took a single step forward, away from the entrance and towards Lan. He didn’t care for any Letharger, or to take casualty counts for the rest of his kind. If Azar could pick it, he’d have let them all rot in a pit of the Mer’s magic. 

Azarius wouldn’t forget he might have played a part in the wrath of the underwater monarchy in the first place, nor would he fail to recall a wrathbearer following his lead. War sounded so petty when uttered to the air, there was always a war somewhere. The only ones Azar fought, were the ones that benefitted him. 

“You can go down and look yourself,” Azar taunted, taking another step, like he was more than willing to give the Invidias a helping hand this once by launching him into the watery grave. 

[cavernovs]

hokuspocus​:

cavernovs​:

there were so many versions of the two of them; they’ve been through every possible situation, no matter how deadly, or infuriating. but this was different. this was a version of them that felt so unreal haylee thought she’d created it in her head. it felt like they’ve lost track when they started leaning on each other and when exacly did it start to feel so difficult to let go. his kiss has never been a certainty, or a promise, it was a threat to her safety, and she knew that the moment she kissed him. it’s been eating her up for months, there’s no denying it now, no hiding from the truth. she laid out the cards on the table, face up for him to read. and she did it for both their sake; admitted words that had caught on both their throats; she knows. she knows he must have felt it too; the pull - a phantom thread that has been pulling them to each other for months.

yet he read it all wrong 

“sometimes - yes.” a small, huff of a chuckle fled her lips.  “but that doesn’t mean that i want you any less.” her hands remained within his; stiff, unable to relax, even if her voice came out soft and velvety; her entire frame had tensed. she had never said such silly thing outloud before. especially not to a man who could fly away first chance he gets; man made out of air; that she hoped wouldn’t disappear if she held too hard; man that she tried to hate once upon a time, but instead….

it was a dangerous game to play, when such wantings were laid on the table - when she wanted more of that, more of him, more of his touch  on her body that still had places unmapped to him, for her to bury her face in the crook of his neck to avoid early morning, to feel him between her thighs…

her eyes were still on his; even when he was still focused on her wounds; honest, and pure. the moment he pulled away, she felt as if breathing became more difficult; his words were like knives - we were drunk, haylee - it was a stab, the sensation of which brought her back to reality. 

he was right. they were drunk. a poor execuse to act on her desires; a disguise. thats what it was. a drunken night with sober wantings.  

she leaned in an inch closer; delicate fingers brushing against his cheekbone.

“tell me you don’t want me and you won’t have to see me again.” 

she whispered closely; and her entire frame instantly froze in fear - she feared rjection, she feared abandonment, she feared he would choose hating her instead  -  but this was it. there was no coming back now. blue hues searching for his; desperately, she felt like she’s never been as brave, as she was right now; with her very being in his hands. he could crush her in a second; and haylee, being who she was, would feel the pain with each fiber of her being; it would absolutely shatter her to watch him walk away, but deep down behind the hurt, she’d understand why he did it.

“be honest with me.” another whisper; gentle, pleading. 

-

Sometimes, yes. 

And then, she said it again, like it was just as easy as breathing to admit. An honesty. A truth that Atemu desperately tried to find another reason for. What if she wasn’t herself’ hallucinating; drunk’ spelled; poisoned - a hundred things that justified it’s falseness? Everything inside his head felt like it was being poked with needles, taunted into something terrible but so quickly eased with just accepting the sensation. 

He couldn’t do that. 

Because he couldn’t address what was happening, no matter how old, or mature he was supposed to be; he’d deny everything. 

He couldn’t do this. 

“I don’t want you, Haylee.” And even as he said the words, it was so quick, that it was like his mind had prepared the response; that if he said it with a faux ease, he might believe it. She might believe it. Because at the back of his mind ( which, he might mentally chide, should never have been at the back of his mind ) was Valdana. She was where his head was supposed to be; his partner, in all. Haylee was - what the fuck was she? 

A witch.

Fane’s kid witch, of all things. 

But even with all that, Atemu didn’t move. He was still. A statue in amongst a soon-to-be wreckage of once was; of hands; tangled limbs; lust.; Elmasry would have liked to have believed he was better than trivial pursuits of passion; of want an desire. But who was? This was more than that, it wasn’t some after job indulgence, it had been an apex of experience after countless of earlier passing experiences. The crux of a building want. 

Fuck Atemu, what have you done? 

“I’m being as honest as I can be, Dubois.” He bit out through gritted teeth, like it was an agony to choke out word after word to her like it was an inconvenience to even be there at all. He might have argued that it was, in some ways. But, he didn’t know what else to say. 

He stood up then, tossed the cloth to the table beside her like it was dirty and stepped back; to leave. And even the words fell short of leaving him when the idea of never seeing Haylee again struck him like a dagger to the gut. Why would I want to? 

Why wouldn’t you? 

Fuck. 

So he continued to disregard everything, despite his internal warfare:

“Ice your fucking hand, if you won’t treat it yourself. It’ll help.” 

[cavernovs]

oceanboundx​:

location - the forgotten; (could be the shore too)

status - open @calamitousstarters​

time - night​

it was the calm before the storm; the actual stom had passed, of course, but what was coming was way worse. he could feel it in his goddamn bones. what saylor had done, what they had done would have severe consequences, that josiah knew they were prepared for. they could handle it - whatever was coming their way; he had alliences ready at the door; one phone call away. they had an army, they had a strategy. they had a solid plan, and a few more if the first one fails. he was his father’s son after all. 

they will come for her. - thats the message he recieved from one of his trusted people. if there was anyone who could recieve this kind of inside information and believe it to be true - it woul be josiah. there wasn’t a thing that could go past him in this kingdom. he was the shield before saylor; even before the king when needed. he was a metal fucking door and before they got to her, they would have to go through him. 

the messages kept on coming; one after the other, all saying the same thing; the plan, their plan, the one that is pobably aleady set in motion; he couldn’t know this much, but he was now rushing to gather their army and check on every person who could be of use to him. everyone on guard. 

“if i see anyone fucking blink for a split second, i will personally decapitate them.’”

his voice surely echoed around the place. few have seen him this furious. 

-

She hadn’t quite made it to where a thin gathering of shoreline bodies had lined themselves in the shallow waters of the edge of the coast, but she was close; a blip on the beach. Her vision allowed her to see the figures; their lower halves obscured by the calm waters, but a militarian stance pinned them upright like sticks in the sands underneath. It was a shame, because Jessie couldn’t deny she was a little curious to know what half was below the waves of blue that Josiah was barking things at. 

He did, however, have two working legs pacing the sands like he was about to march to war in the next few seconds. Davenport’s lip was an easy kind of smile; confident walking into foreign land like she owned every grain she was trudging barefoot through. Her heels were clasped in one hand at her side. Maybe it was civility, a level of trust to be seen casually approaching a warfront. 

Or maybe it was so she could better run in the covers of early darkness when heels would only get jammed in the soft of the dirt under her. 

“How swift of you, Josiah.” She mused when she was finally in fair distance that he might be able to hear. Their senses weren’t entirely on par with one another, but she was convinced he knew she’d heard his previous threat to his unit. How structured of them to organise their army as such. In fact, there was a glimmer of both amusement and surprise that Josiah, the advisor, was the one heading as such. How brave it was to be seen out in the open so soon after what they’d done on a successful but rather short-lived offensive move against the demons that shared their East.

But even above all of the quick and discreet observations Jessie had made upon approach, she was genuinely concerned in a way that struck her as bizarre. Josiah appeared - always - to convey a rationale that perceived himself as composed, and logical. 

This man was something else; another part of him that Jessie had yet to meet. 

And that required a new air of caution, without seeming too reserved. It required a Diplomat to balance the business, with the pleasantries of what they’d previously been. “What method do you favour, darling?” for decapitation, that is. But, an edge of a smirk remained, even if her eyes were a little stonier in their held gaze to be ready for the man to push his outcry onto her. A few beats passed, before she added: “Tell it to me - and then, your plans,” 

[cavernovs]

oftragxdy​:

@calamitousstarters​

where: solace

who: open to all​

Freyja stared at the glass in front of her. A faint, red, liquid swirled in it, practically begging her to place the glass to her lips and take a sip. It was odd, having freedom. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had left the Dominion without having a Demon at her side. 

I still do. She reminded herself. Dracias, however, wasn’t just any Demon. He allowed her to think freely; to do what she wanted. Though, she wasn’t quite used to it yet. She still glanced over her shoulder every now and then, to determine if anyone was watching her. 

Which only caused the buzz beneath her skin to intensify. Her emotions were tied to it and, unfortunately, she still didn’t have control of her new found power. It was another reason why she had been avoiding being out in public. 

The witch wrapped her fingers around her glass and lifted it to her lips, taking a sip, only to cough loudly as she felt a presence near her. She set it down on the counter and shrunk back from the figure next to her. She got out a piece of paper and wrote: There’s plenty of chars down at the other end of the bar for u to sit at. Grammar errors and all. She motioned towards the other empty spaces that were further away from her. 

-

It actually took a moment or two to notice that there was a shredded piece of paper entering his small window of space at the bar. Even longer to decipher the scrawlings on it like some child had a seizure with a pencil in hand. 

He never claimed to be polite, nor was he in the business of talking in fucking general. Not with oddballs that emanated an even odder power that brushed up against his skin in ways he was gradually determining as threatening. That didn’t sit well either. 

“There’s shittier service down that end too, but be my fucking guest,” And he gestured with irritation in the direction she’d goaded him to go towards. But Atemu’s head turned towards her for the first time, to eyeball the shrewd little creature beside him like he’d only seen her for the first time.

Elmasry wasn’t in the mood for pleasntries ( though really, when was he ever? ) and certainly not for witches with a little too much power worn on their sleeves for anyone with half a magical sense to tell that there was something unnatural about the woman. 

“Draw your power back before you start a fight you can’t win,” Atemu warned with a severity in his tone, throwing a wave of his own electricity to surface to ripple a gentle shock from his person. The paper on the barside split in two, a jagged scorch through the middle, the embers of electrical fire took the remaining edges in a flurry. 

She’d only have one chance to take the warning on board. He only wanted a drink, not to start annihilating his own - or used to be own, kind in a civil war again. 

Not again. Never again. A promise he wasn’t sure he’d keep. 

[cavernovs]

hxlfcrxzy​:

cavernovs​.

“I am not envious of you!” If skin could sizzle, Jack’s definitely should be steaming with the amount of heat Lan’s fingertips were producing, the skin on them charring as if they were on fire themselves. Of course he was envious, not that he’d say. The thought of his best friend and his girlfriend engaging with each other behind Lan’s back, while he was occupied with business, building a farm of endless envious souls for himself, and Azagi if she ever came to find out, which of course she had. The two of them hiding things from him. Secret affairs. Lan’s property tainted by greedy fingers and cold lips/ “Blood sucking thief.” 

Everyone had been right all along.

Vampires were parasites.

Laughing. Still laughing. Of course he was. When wasn’t Jakoris Davenport fucking laughing. Everything always so amusing. Lan’s already paranoid mind began reeling, listing off new scenarios previously unmentioned by anyone; ways in which Jack continued to humiliate him, treat him like absolute garbage, and the way Azagi was lapping it all up, enjoying the ride. The on looker. No, the mastermind. Jack wouldn’t do this, it had to be Azagi. It was all her idea, but Jack had gone along with it, even though he knew. Did he know? Of course he knew.

That was why he was still laughing.

Now, it seemed like ripping his tongue out wouldn’t be enough.

“It’s all tales and you fucking know it. We never fucked and she’s convinced we did. Thinks I’m crawling around after the corpse like some lovesick puppy dog, when you’re fucking disgusting.” 

Disgusting. Disgusting. He had to keep telling himself that. Disgusting. He knew Jack wasn’t, the vampire had to have something about him that Azagi wanted. Fingers still burned into his flesh but the other had remained holding his waist, fingers trailing up to feel at hard abs. Is that what it was? His body was better? Was it the smile? Jack’s smile was always charming. Endearing. Hypnotising. No, that was his eyes. Eyes. Had she been compulsed? Or had Lan’s eyes always been second best even before they’d been ripped out. The silence from the demon prolonged, only Jack’s harsher grunts of pain sounding throughout the bedroom, but Lan’s thoughts persisted louder than even that, spiralling further and further out of his control.

What if she loves him?

Jack’s question elicited a growl from Lan, and with his grip still firm, slammed Jack’s head two, three times into the wood of the dresser, the sounds of it creaking and splintering under the weight and pressure of it all. “Because I just need to hear it from you, why you did it,” the growl and the anger seemed to falter as he spoke, the first cracks in his aggressive onslaught, “you were my best friend…more than my best friend.” Don’t be weak Azarius’ voice echoed for a second. Lan’s teeth gritted shut and his grip tightened as he slammed Jack’s head one more time, arm snapping backwards with his enhanced strength to throw the vampire back. He didn’t look to see where the vampire had landed, or what item of furniture he may have broken, instead he reached up, stretched, let his bones and joints click as he did. 

“You’re right. Maybe there isn’t anything left to say. So, as cliché as it sounds, I’m going to have to teach you a lesson, about what happens when people think they can play with my things.”

-

He was desperately trying to make the sounds that Lan elicited from his mouth to sound like anything but agonised. That the demon had his claws in deep enough that Jack was silently reminded he should never have let his guard down, even if he’d never had reason to have it there with him before. If he went for the offensive; if he attacked, Lan had every position to tear Jack’s stomach in two, even if he might have left a nice deep wound in his last breath. 

Was it worth it? To be torn apart by Lan of all bloody people? Because Jack hadn’t imagined he’d be ambushed in his own damn bedroom of all places. 

The ripper ripped a-fucking-part. 

But the burn was excruciating, as was the harsh reminder of the power of demon fire against flesh, living or dead. If Lan stopped spouting profanities at him, maybe Jack might have be able to stop choking his pain behind strained laughter. His pride wouldn’t allow him to be seen as anything else; not afraid; not with a care for wellbeing. Not for anything besides the amusement of every circumstance he was thrown into. 

Even this one. 

“I don’t remember you being - “ cough, an unpleasant mouthful of the vampire’s own blood erupted from where Lan had ripped deep into the side of him; burned him where healing was slower than the usual. There goes his breakfast. Not that he cared to be visibly deterred. “ - it wasn’t a tale when you got down on your knees,” The smirk couldn’t be seen, because Lan’s grip prevented it, but Jack hoped that even through reddening eyes, the jeering was still readable. 

“You don’t want her knowing you like to take it, sugar?” 

He should have saved his breath. Fuelling the demon with taunts seemed every bit as easy, as it was dangerous. And perhaps, anger might have rooted itself in the base of a stomach that was starving for something. If it couldn’t be Lan’s blood that filled that void, he’d still mentally promise to spill it. 

After he’d got the last word in. 

“‘Zagi begged for this disgusting corpse,” An exaggeration; a white lie, a falsely put together half-truth that had been goaded out of Davenport because Lan had spun a thousand tales in his mind already. Why not add another? The fire that heated at the ends of Lan’s fingers seared at Jack’s skin, a gripping smile around his face. Of all places, Lan. And a harsher more volatile grip that threatened the flesh of his wrist. Pinned it from striking a violent blow to Lan just to get him to back the hell off from his little meltdown.

The next thing he knew was that his head cracked where he’d previously imagined it being Lan’s. The dresser split in the middle, and a painfully loud ringing vibrated in Jakoris’ ears like a frequency wave had tuned into the worst decibel of his senses. Whatever freedom he had with his other hand flew up to his head when he stumbled. His jaw was slack, broken as he lazily shunted his shoulder against it to get it back out of its displacement. 

He barely heard Lan’s harrowing sort of whine about needing to hear a reason for it all. 

Everything sounded like nails in that moment. The words blurred as his body fought to heal what it could before Lan burned his abilities to shit. “Shut up, Lan,” For a fucking second, I swear - Jack made a struggled sound in his throat, an internal battle of whether he too was about to lose his composure ( whatever was left of it ) or whether he was going to remain controlled. He really didn’t want to be. Before he might even try to answer the other man, Jack felt another smack against his head, and then, his body crumpled across the food in a flurry of movement. 

The bookshelves collapsed atop of him. 

I’m going to kill him. 

“We were fucking fighting, you shit.” But it was a lot hotter, and a heck of a lot better than this battle was. He shoved the literature away, and the wood that threatened to impale him. Maybe he did owe Lan some sort of answer when the break in his anger was so pitifully quick: “I didn’t know who the fuck she was.” The first time. But even when Jack rocked his head back against whatever wall of his room he’d been thrown against with a thunk, he scoffed, then coughed, and tried to roll out the locked joints of his body that flames hadn’t licked. 

“Oh you’re going to teach me a lesson?” Mockery, that time. In that childish, kiddish sort of tone that was beyond the both of them. Clearly. Disgusted in his own way that the demon thought he was any sort of anything to be barking his own vengeances at Jack. “I didn’t see your name on her,” he continued to jibe from the floor, a slow ascent back to his feet as he pressed on the wounds of his hip with annoyance. Maybe his grin, as much as it hid the real emotions, looked more sickening in the way a curved red mark of fresh injuries marred either side of his cheeks:  “- but have you seen the one of mine on her yet?”

Perhaps Lan hadn’t realised that lies were sometimes one of the most powerful weapons. He’d wounded via the physical, but Jack, even if he wasn’t at full strength to match it, would happily prod the internal wounds of jealousy that Lan had lost his cap on.

[cavernovs]

hxlfcrxzy​:

cavernovs​:

Surely Jakoris wasn’t dumb enough to think this was all just a game, another of their moments where they pushed each others buttons and crossed each others lines just for a small rise, and a brief prideful moment that they had gotten under the others skin. There was no rictus grin stretched across Lan’s face. No spring in his step. No tenderness as his fingers continued to trace over Jack’s cold body. Because the vampire was already under his skin, and had been since the party; the only two faces Lan had been able to see crystal clearly without eyes were the two men who on that night had wronged him the most.

Azarius. Jakoris.

“Ever the ripper aren’t you, Jack,” he pressed emphasis on the others name, indicating the time for cutesy nicknames was over, despite how often they had been used in the past, “never the one to get ripped.” Lan wondered, in all his years of life, and in all the years following his dead, had Jack ever faced conseuqences? Ever felt the repercussions of his actions, or was it just expected that he would get away with it? Lan’s fingertips began to sizzle against Jakoris’ skin, as hellfire slowly emanated from them.

“I bet you two had a right laugh at my expense didn’t you? Really got you off trying to humiliate me didn’t it? Not only do you get to trick me into getting onto my fucking knees for you in front of everyone at your birthday, but you gonna spin some tale to her that I’m some…bottom bitch for you? I bet she loved that. Bet that was just the fucking thing you needed to tell her to coax her in. What was it: Let me show you what a real man fucks like?”

His fingers unfurled, and his arm pulled back, twisting the vampire on the spot so that the two were facing each other, and that same hand grabbed at Jack’s face, those demonic claws clasped around his jaw, digging into his cheeks, holding his head in place so he had no choice but to look deep into the abyss that was Lan’s new eyes.

“But I see everything clearly now. Finally. And the only thing you fucked is yourself. So you got one minute twenty left before I pull your damn tongue out. Talk.”

-

There was very little Jack cared for when it came to appearances, but his blessed pride was one of the few. His sin if he would ever bear one in the same way Lan did. He was beginning to see the return of the murderous bastard friend of his, but instead of being the partner of such. He was reserved to be on the receiving end of it. Clearly. Muscles strained under the strength of the demon’s grip, Jack’s hands tightly wound into the edge of the mahogany that he was sure the groaning of the wood would eventually see it crack. 

Jakoris’ eyes darkened at the idea that he might see Lan’s head crushed atop it in retaliation for whatever stupid joke he was playing. 

And then came the names. One after the other. 

Something was different about this. 

“What the bloody fuck are you going on about?” He growled, tried to turn around enough to face Lan’s furious one. But with each movement, Lan’s fingers seemed only to drive deeper into him, and the hissing of pain between his teeth was evidence that there was very little masochism found in this particular war of beasts. Jack’s hand slammed against the dresser when his entire body jolted at the sudden flare of fire on his hip; a familiar burn that had his face twisting in agonising protest. But Jack always found humour to fall back on: “You’re envious of the ripper?” 

Or perhaps that choked laughter was him playing the fool to see how far Lan might go. Undeniably, in the back of his mind, Jakoris still had this outlandish idea that Lan might just be throwing his weight around at the revelation of his gal in Jack’s bed once - or twice. That they’d get over it, as with everything else. 

Jack’s chest puffed, a strained laughter that Azagi and he had laughed about it. Not in the way that the demon of envy probably had pictured. 

But Lan did just detail all the ways Jack had one over on him in a string of three sentences. How could he not find that hilarious? 

“I’m still fucking laughing, Lanny boy,” And maybe, Jack didn’t need to spin any more white lies to him given he was baring teeth at the demon between growls of pain. He didn’t want to look down at where fingers buried deep into his flesh, he could feel enough of the damage; the scars of fire that might leave gnarly stripes of pink across his hip at the end of it all. 

He’d be damned if he didn’t give Lan the same courtesy of leaving a bloodied mark across his face for the little power trip he was having. 

“Where’s the tale in all that?” Jack shoved his shoulder backwards in some act to try make some space between himself and the damn dresser Lan had shoved him into. All the vampire had heard was truth from the bottom bitch spieling it all. But during his laughter, he hadn’t really caught the weight of what Lan had said by the end of it all.

Because if he had, he might have lost all amusement and returned the statement with his own vicious promise of: you’d be a dead cunt before you even get to try. 

Whilst his shoulder didn’t meet much resistance, Lan’s hand being torn from Jack’s skin was enough of a shock to the man’s system that when he was spun, his lower back slammed hard into the furniture instead. Davenport couldn’t have bitten back the groan even if he tried. He was forced to meet the demon’s gaze, sucked into an oily gaze of pits for eyes; black holes that had no end. Jack’s features contorted, his own monstrous glare offered back in a way that reality started to sink in. Is this fuck seriously pissed about this? Like they hadn’t shared in everything else over the years. One fucking demon, Lan. And it struck Jack then, maybe Azagi was what Evanora was to Jack. 

Everything seemed to make sense then. And the gravity of the circumstance had Jakoris instead with his guard slamming back up. They weren’t partners here. They were two pissed creatures with a bone to suddenly pick. Jack winced under the bloodied claws that dug in and smeared his own blood either side of his face, but it didn’t stop him leaning an inch in to spit the words:

“If you see it all so clearly now, buttercup, what is there left to fucking say?”

[cavernovs]

oftragxdy​:

cavernovs​:

Her skin against his was something he had missed – something he ached for for years. But he had banished her. Kicked her out of her own home – their home – without a second thought. Without a second glance.  And part of him had regretted it for all of those years. The other part knew it was his duty to protect those in the Hideout that couldn’t protect themselves. Protect them from supernatural creatures that could harm them. Protect them from someone like Izara. 

Real. Not real. Real. Not real. Real? 

A dull ache radiated through his skull from the impact of the wall. He blinked several times, trying to rid himself of the tears that he couldn’t seem to control. So weak. He thought to himself as he held his legs tightly against his chest.

Run. You need to run. She’s going to kill you. She’ll rip you to shreds.

“She’s not real, remember? Oh… just run your hands through her hair, hm? Kiss her. Take her clothes off and enjoy her one last time…”

Between the auditory hallucinations, and his own thoughts, he could no longer think straight. He didn’t know what was real. But she feels real. A lump formed in his throat as he felt her arms around him. His whole body tensed, waiting for her to do some sort of harm to him. I deserve it. But she didn’t do anything that hurt. Instead, she gathered his body and pulled him into her own. As if they were back to the way they had been all those years ago. 

“She’s not real. It’s probably just a Fae playing tricks on you.” 

He swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut as he asked in a hoarse voice: “What did I get you for your tenth birthday?” He stayed still in her arms as he waited. A fae wouldn’t know, right? He thought to himself. Unless they tortured information out of her… He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “How many siblings do I have?” It was a trick question. He didn’t have any living siblings. But only a select few knew about the miscarriage his parents had when he was seven years old. One of them being Izara. “And what was the name we were going to give our child if we had one?” 

The last question caused his stomach to churn with nausea. He had shoved so many memories of her – with her – out of his mind’s grasp, that he grew sick every time he pulled one of them out. He had wanted so much with her. Especially a family.

If she knows all of this, she’s real. 

-

She knew there was only so much she could say, no matter how many assurances she offered him. How softly spoken, or how honest every word that fell from trembling lips was. Axel was, and had always been, a firm man in everything he did. Confident in a way that even when Izara felt like she was falling apart, he would be a rock that kept her upright. 

And look at them now. 

Broken pieces in a rusted machine. 

All Kit could do was hold him, and pray that he wouldn’t drive something sharp into her backside in revulsion to her being anywhere near him. This didn’t feel like an act. But he spoke, with such certainty that Kit slowed her strokes on his back, shaky breaths that he thought to ask her questions. Every answer fell from her mouth in easy succession. They were aged dreams. Iz had held onto those year after year, even if she was torn apart by the dismissal; by the exile from all she’d ever known back then. 

It was all things from before he left her all alone in the darkness of the world. 

“You spent weeks hand carving a statue from one of the offcuts in the woodshed, you knew I liked crafts.” She sniffled, “You said that someone should make me something one time. It was a small, little bird thing, with one wonky wing.” It had been my favourite gift. It had meant something, and a quiet kind of laugh that was as tragic as it all was slipped past her lips. “None with us, Ax.” She murmured bluntly, softly without meaning to sound insensitive, because one didn’t take have a chance to take their first breath into the world. 

Will he believe you even if you answer it all? 

She wanted to trust that the man was still someone she once knew. “Your mother’s name if it was a girl,” a smile peeked onto her lips then, and she leaned into him, “and your father’s for a boy.” Kit had swallowed down the idea of a family not long after she’d changed, because she’d built her whole beliefs around her circumstances as a curse. And why would she be selfish enough to give that over to a child? To go through what she did. 

And nobody had been Axel since, not even to convince her that it was a possibility. 

“I always joked that we’d not stop at two,” because that part maybe she’d been selfish with, a small little army of Reyes children roaming the corridors of the Hideout. The pitter patter of tiny feet being chased through the walls, laughter echoing off heavy armoured walls as if the outside world would never touch them. 

Kit had been wrong to ever think that. But she’d never thought it was wrong to want it. 

[cavernovs]

WESTSIDE. 

LOCATION: Davenport Manor, Darklands. TIME: Early Evening.  CLOSED FOR: @deathbeckons​ 

It had taken time. But not nearly as much time as the world had stolen from her making her believe for years that her best friend had been lost to them. 

But she remembered the way her heart once hammered against her ribcage in a flurry of adrenaline when the explosion had left haphazard debris in its wake. And she vividly recalled the way her heart stopped dead when the sight of Mal standing atop of it, coated in a thin layer of dirt.

It was him. 

Because he hadn’t aged a day. 

A ghost of her past that had stolen the life from her in less than a second. She’d frozen, every instinct in her body howled in protest among the wreckage to be doing nothing when there were outcries in the distance, the rumble of still collapsing rubble. Kit just stared, terrified if she moved, or blinked, he’d vanish again - she couldn’t do years of grief again. 

Mal was as real as the bomb had been. And running to him, wrapping desperate arms around him had been almost primal response. Mine. In a way that was more protective, than it was possessive. Though, her wolf might have argued that. They had so much to say, or at least she did, if she could ever dare to let go of him. He was so cold. Ignoring the lingering of death had been secondary, because they were in the midst of a horrible tragedy. 

Eventually, it clicked with her. Mal was there, but it wasn’t because he lived. 

Turned out, they’d both lost wars to creatures they’d been taught to go to battle with. It had been too short, the reunion. Everything spoken in expressions, in trembling lips, in watery eyes. 

That time after, was spent tracking what had happened. All that time, she mourned. And Mal had never looked. Would you have let him find you, even if he had? She knew the answer to that too. After the exile, everything had changed. But she would be damned if she couldn’t try fight for something she thought she once lost. That was easier than admitting the resurfacing complexities of forgiving what had happened after that, of what Axel coming back meant.

It was stupid to be on the Westside, alone. In the collapsing Darklands, but she’d handled herself thus far. Even if every sense itched that she was in danger, and likely, those prowling in the shadows shared that sensation. She didn’t stop for anything, not until she ascended the manor’s steps. This was it. Answers. It wasn’t even that she much cared for them, but it was a well executed excuse if it turned out her desire to have her best friend back wasn’t met with equal want. 

Confident knuckles rapped on the front door. Izara straightened where she should, keenly alert for anyone who might try to take a bite of her when her guard might drop. She wasn’t welcome in the faction, and she could understand the hostility in the air. 

But she wasn’t there for them. 

When the door creaked open, her head lifted with intention: “Mal?”

[cavernovs]

hxlfcrxzy​:

cavernovs​:

Laying in wait like some form of twisted trapdoor spider, the only difference being that he was cloaked only by the shadows instead of being buried deep within the earth, Lan waited, still, completely unmoving until the ripples and reverberations of closening footsteps could be felt. Then his posture changed, seeming to stretch upwards, the shadows shifting and warping around him. Jack was now in his trap, perfectly laid out.

Sugar cake.

What once was endearing now made the demon want to wretch and gauge out his ears instead of his eyes this time, but that was not on the cards for tonight. Oh no. Lan needed his ears, and his eyes, and everything else he could muster, a quiet rage brewing ready to burst forth and scorch the vampire from the face of the planet, but he needed answers first.

“Oh I need a reason to come and visit my best friend now?” His eyes watched as Jakoris himself moved through the dark, cracks in the curtain illuminating areas of pale skin and allowing Lan something to focus on. So casual was the vampire, happy to begin stripping off in Lan’s presence, taking off layers, stripping back his defences unknowingly. Poor swine. So unaware of the predicament he found himself in.

Lan stood, but did nothing more, a towering figure even when obscured, not even the smallest shine coming from his black eyes. To many, they probably wouldn’t even know he was there, but not Jack. Jack had senses. Some physical awareness if nothing else. “Definitely salty,” Lan admitted, voice still flat as he began his slow approach towards the vampire, “maybe, surprisingly, not about the Eastside.” The invidias circles Jack once before standing behind him, letting his head rest on Jack’s shoulder, lips teasing at the others cheek while his hands wrapped around his chest. Playful, and not an unusual motion for the two to engage in, always teetering on the edge of flirtation to an outside eye, even more so as one of Lan’s hands trailed itself down Jack’s toned front before it rested just shy of his hip. “What I am salty about-” fingers trailed over roughened skin, he could feel the damage even after enough time for healing, ugly burn marks in the recognisable shape of an A.

A for Azagi.

“-Is how the fuck you got this.” His next action was a quick one, claws extending swiftly and sharply, piercing into the vampire’s skin, and his fingers curled. If Jack wanted him off and moved, Lan would happily pull out a chunk of Jack to take with him. “You got two minutes. Talk.”

-

Jack’s eyebrow arched, and a half-interested turn of his head toward the direction Lan approached from so he could catch the moving shadow. He noticed the tone then, before he rolled his shoulders back and lifted the drink to his lips. Glass echoed off the mahogany dresser when he lowered it. 

“Did I say that?” He mused back with a smile. Lan’s entire MO was vanishing and appearing when he wanted to; always had been. Disappearing for months, or years at a time without little farewell was innately built into Lan, as Jack’s acquired taste was. But he had to admit, the timing was unusual. How long have you been sat in my room, sugar? He wondered after he’d broached the subject of salt in potential wounds. It wasn’t Davenport’s business to know the details of the other side of the State’s diplomacies. He barely knows his own. 

But he’d heard about the potential for war. It would be a miracle if anyone hadn’t. 

“Want me to kiss that better, sugar?” Whilst he kept it light and taunting, Jack was too aware that Lan was coming up on his backside after running circles around his room - and in turn, him. But, Jack swivelled his head at the revelation that it was not about the East. He caught a flash of something inky and dark in the sockets of the demons eyes; a solid sort of liquid that had the vampire momentarily confused even as he nudged the man’s face off to take another sip of his drink. 

“Don’t tell me it’s these new - “ but Jack cut himself off before he could finish the jest about the eyes Lan was wearing like he was about to go to war in another way. Because a hand fell against the rough, scarred tissue of Azagi’s bloody mark on his hip. 

He laughed, and went to shove the man off, but instead, he bucked forwards when Lan’s fingers dug deeply into his flesh and a vicious hiss ripped from Davenport’s throat instead. The glass in his hand clattered back down to the dresser, a hand slamming on the chest of drawers to steady himself upright under the weight of Lan’s painfully slow curling of fingers into his skin. 

“Lan,” Jack growled in sudden anguish - teeth gritted with a sort of wonderment that Lan had it the fuck in him to challenge him. Well shit, pumpkin. You son of a fucking bitch. It was obvious; Lan knew about Azagi; and Jack had hidden it, or failed to detail it to his murder husband. 

I fucked a demon, she left a mark. So what? 

The hell was he making anything easy for the other though. 

Didn’t know you knew her at the time you shit. 

“No, sugar,” Jakoris hissed through the pain, “You’ve got two seconds to get your hand off before I rip it from you,”