#(and Agent Succubus who wants none of that)

[agent-hood]

Five Parallels

1.) Ivar Mayhew’s first reaction to Parker Jensen was something akin to a starving wolf seeing a very small rabbit. An instinctual knowledge that what little she had would fill the wanting void inside him. That isn’t to say he was starving for love or anything like that, but there was definitely something missing, and now he knew what shape it took. Then he saw her own void, recognized the far seeing look in her eyes whenever she inched too close to the edge of, so close to falling in and being lost. So he offered out his hand. giving her an anchor point to hold onto so she didn’t lose herself and, gloriously, she took it. She saw the looming darkness that would consume her, and she fought back. Every time he saw her, she pushed herself, rebuilt herself piece by piece. Like a dandelion pushing through concrete- she blossomed. His first impression of her was wrong. He was not a wolf to be fed, he was a man seeing the first sunrise after years spent imprisoned.

1.) Parker Jensen’s initial reaction to Ivar Mayhew was something similar to experiencing a sunrise after years of missing it, only being seeing the dark chill of midnight and the blinding sear of a midday sun. His personality was warm and patient despite her many issues; not only seeing the looming maw threatening to swallow her whole, but acknowledging all it took for her to just be able to exist with it. And he stood there with her, refusing to let her fall prey to it or to deal with it alone. It was a steady nourishment that she didn’t realize she was lacking. She had been wrong about what she first thought of him. He was more than a comforting sunrise, he was a meal. A rabbit, made of fat and sinew, perfect for sustaining the hungry wolf that was her heart. And she was starving for more.

2.) it wasn’t often Ivar found himself having one of his ‘bad nights’, but this one was just about the worst. A change in the weather made his spine ache and given that said change was an uncharacteristic warm front did nothing to help his comfort levels. He tried everything- pacing and stretching out the muscles surrounding his ‘problem’ nerves, alternating heat and cold, a dose of his ‘as needed’ prescription, but nothing helped. When the tell-tale tingle of his legs numbing began, he resigned himself to a night in his chair, feeling sickly hot and sorry for himself. His bad luck continued when Parker texted to ask if he wanted to get together later, and as much as he wanted to see her he knew he was in no shape to be good company. He shot off the quick explanation and apology, and settled himself in front of his television for a self-pitying marathon of... whatever was on. He fell asleep within ten minutes. His sleep was troubled, influenced by what he was hearing subconsciously and unable to wake up due to the medication he took earlier. It was a garbled mash of bad memories, war movies, and horrors that could have happened on missions. He was in the hallways of Borley, only they were filled with an unending forest, and he was on a mission- the mission. Only before he could even move, the wild hunt was on him, only instead of being gored and impaled on their horns, he was in their teeth. Unending knives chewing into him, setting his legs on agonizing fire. A voice called out to him, from deep within the maw of pain. It was comforting and unintelligible, and he instinctively swam towards it, through the infinite needles and thorns and all manner of things that bit through his skin. He awoke with a start, hands immediately shooting out in an attempt to protect himself from whatever assault was sure to befall him. All that awaited him though was a warm hand caressing his face, while the other laid gently over his own- which he found tightly fisted in Parker’s hair. He released her as quickly as if she burned him, and his eyes darted around to confirm that he was safe and in his apartment- that thus wasn’t some cruel new form his nightmare took. “Parker,” he breathed in relief, subconsciously leaning into her touch. “Wha’ ‘re y’ doing here?” She removed her hand to turn off the television that was still going, and he whimpered at its absence. “You said you were having a ‘bad night’, so I thought I’d come over to make you some soup in case you were sick. I only just put it to simmer and you started having a nightmare, are you ok?” He was thrown for even more of a loop at that; It had felt like the nightmare had lasted years instead of only seconds. He felt certainly felt like it had, like he had just been hit by a truck and it dragged him along for a week straight. he felt the oncoming breakdown that was about to occur, and as much as he appreciated her presence, he needed her to not see him at his lowest even more. “Parker,” he ground out, fisting his hands so tightly on his knees that his knuckles turned white. “‘M about t’ break down- ‘nd I love y’, but I need y’ t’ leave f’r this. I cannae have y’ see m’ like this.” In response, she silently let go of him, convincing him she complied to his wishes for only a moment, before she took him by surprise by tugging his tightly folded form out of his chair and into her lap on the couch. She gently tucked his face into the crook of her neck, and soothingly rubbed small circles on his back. “I’m not leaving you alone during this. But when I’m holding you like this, I can’t see your face, so you don’t need to feel weird about it. It’s ok- you can let go.” At her words, he broke. Frustrated tears and muffled sobs wrenched themselves free from his chest, wracking his body so hard he shook. He wasn’t even totally sure of why he was crying, but logically knew that it happened sometimes. Some days you hurt, nothing went right, and you grew frustrated- culminating in a massive release of tears. But- You can know the ins and outs of something, and still be surprised by its occurrence. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, with him upending his slew of emotion, and her murmuring soothing words of comfort into his hair, trying to even out his breathing levels. Hours seemed to pass like nothing, until he slowly regained himself- now feeling worn out and small. “...feeling any better?” Parker asked, tentatively, still taking a gentle approach out of consideration for him. He was overcome with fondness and gratitude towards her and the care she bestowed upon him. Still feeling weak and embarrassed at himself, he could only respond with a small nod. “Ok then,” she kissed his head and made to stand up. “I’m gonna draw you a bath and after if you’re hungry, I’ll get you whatever you want.” He kissed her palm as she walked away, stretching and shaking his body to wake it up. He had a full charge on his legs, but they were almost completely numb. After a small debate he decided to not bother with the chair- it was only to the bathroom after all. He walked, slowly and carefully, and found that Parker had drawn him the most simple, yet enticing, bath- scalding water with just a few drops of lavender oil (the kind she wore on her wrists when she was feeling fancy). Sinking into it felt like heaven. Actual bliss came a few moments later as she silently slipped in next to him, fitting herself perfectly to his side. He smiled and absentmindedly ran his knuckles over her skin- forging a path from her jaw to her hip. Blissfully, the previous hours were now miles away, unforgotten but irrelevant. And as the water cooled around them, a comfort settled in his chest. which fully blossomed into contentment as he drifted away to a light slumber, assured in the fact that this was a good day- because Parker was there.

2.) It had been months since Parker’s ‘incident’ and at this point she was well-acquainted with ‘bad’ days. What she was not used to, not lately anyways, was being sick. She knew the morning she woke up after a routine mission. The pressure on her chest, the throbbing in her head, the slight run to her nose that made her feel like she was visibly repulsive to every person that saw her- she had the beginnings of a cold. ‘This is fine.’ She told herself as she sluggishly got ready and took Hampton out for a slower than normal walk. ‘I just need to make it through today and then I’ll crack into my stash of ‘the good shit’ and sleep it off.’ Only, once she got to her desk, her stash of ‘the good shit’ (or unregulated Nyquil from Eastern Europe that still had Russian writing on it) was missing. And in its place a quickly scribbled note from one of the technical officers saying how it was an ‘emergency’ and they’d replace it as soon as they could. Fuck. She figured she still had time to get rid of it before it got too bad, and scrambled back to her room to hole herself up in recovery. Once home, she dug her humidifier out of the depths of her closest, filled a small cooler full of water bottles and ice packs, and strategically placed electric blankets in her bed. “...wha’ ‘re y’ doing?” Came a tentative question from the doorway, where Ivar stood looking at her as if she was wearing something ridiculous; which she absolutely wasn’t- she was just bundled up in her thickest sweats and robe she had even though the weather outside was at a sweltering 90. “Oh! Hey Roo’, I’m just uh...” she scrambled, the sudden embarrassment not helping her sluggish thoughts any. “I’m starting to get a bit sick so I’m trying to sweat it out before it gets too bad.” “Y’r gonna give y’rself heat stroke is wha’.” He said fondly as he began undoing all her handiwork. “N’w take y’r clothes off an’ get in bed.” Normally Parker melted at those words, but in this context she could only pout as she began removing her layers of micro fleece and wool-rayon blend. As it usually did, it quickly grew a lot worse. A fever crawled across her body, leaving her dripping with sweat, but too exhausted to wipe any of it off. Her nose became clogged and her chest cracked with every breath that now took effort. Ivar came back in the room carrying a tray full of crackers and ginger ale, and was shocked to see just how far her illness had progressed in the minutes he was gone. “I w’s gone f’r only five min, th’ fuck happened!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked by the change in her state. “Told you it was gonna get bad.” Parker sniffed, feeling unfairly impetuous and difficult. Her body rattled with a coughing fit and he firmly guided her to bed. As soon as she was tucked in he immediately set about to checking her temperature and getting her medicine and feeding her and just generally fretting about her like a worried mother hen. When she told him as much he only nodded in total agreement. “M’ aware ‘f how much y’ hate bein’ cared f’r, bu’ I also know tha’ y’ hate missing work more. So ‘f y’ let me fret about y’ as much as I wan’, then I promise y’ll get back t’ work faster.” As much as it bugged her, she conceded the point to him. “Agreed. Now get your ass under these blankets- I’m freezing and need to steal your excessive body heat.” A wide, enthusiastic grin was her only warning before she was tackled to the bed with his embrace. 3.) Ivar knew that Parker had an ‘ex’. The whole reason why she was so hesitant in the first place to start a relationship (barring the ‘three months of dying’ factor), was because she had just gotten out of a relationship. She didn’t want to make a mistake because she needed to ‘rebound’. He appreciated the reasoning behind it, and left it at that. Which he was now immensely regretting as he saw her idly talking to a blonde archivist; who’s impossibly tall 6’4 frame loomed over hers like a shadow. ‘Oh,’ he realized. ‘He’s not an ex, he’s an ‘ex’.’ And before he knew it he was interrupting... whatever it was they were doing, with a protective possessive arm around Parker’s shoulders and a quick kiss to her temple. “Hey.” He nodded in greeting to the other man, before turning completely to her. “Break f’r lunch?” “Oop, Than this is Ivar, my boyfriend, Iv’ this is Thanarak, he’s one of Cthylla’s familiars and an archivist here.” She said, introducing them both as they made to clasp hands. His grip was a good one, steady and firm, with slight pressure, whether to establish a challenge he couldn’t be sure. But he was prevented from responding by her reply. “And I Can’t, sorry. I’m trying to find an obscure passage from an Edda that purportedly no longer exists, and then I have to translate it.” She sighed, gesturing to the piles of leather bound books that surrounded her on the table. He smiled warmly at her, unable to find her work habits anything but charming, and produced a chilled ‘meal replacement’ smoothie from his back pocket. “Wha’ am I always tellin’ ye? N’ matter how hard y’ work, y’ still need t’ eat.” “This’ll still be here if you go.” A voice broke through, reminding Ivar that they were not alone. “Can’t.” She said definitively, chugging half the bottle without breaking eye contact with the book in front of her. “I’m on a roll. If I stop now I’ll have to start over from the beginning.” “Why don’ I lend m’self t’ help th’n? Dinnae see why Than her’ can’ tell me what y’re looking for.” At her bright agreement (with a satisfying smooch of gratitude), she shooed them away so they could tackle a separate section. “I didn’t take you for the studious type.” The other man said. It was innocuous enough, but Ivar knew when someone belittled his intelligence. “What can I say?” He smiled, making sure his canines were prominently displayed (in a friendly manner of course). “‘M a man ‘f many talents. A keen eye does well watchin’ th’ gate.” “Though, I understand you’ve been out in the field recently. Is that advisable given your situation?” Ivar felt his muscles tense in defense, and fought back the urge to cover the node on his back. “M’ ‘situation’, as y’ put it, is completely manageable. ‘Sides, I only go a’field in support ‘f Parker. ‘M sure I dinnae need t’ tell y’ how unnecessary tha’ is.” Ivar tried not to feel too pleased at the slight frustrated blush that earned, proving his suspicion that Than rarely, if ever, did field work (and certainly never with Parker). “...Thank you, by the way.” The other man’s voice was so hushed, that it was a struggle for Ivar’s heightened hearing to catch it. “F’r what?” “It’s... not my place to say but, even without our past, Parker is well loved here in the archives. And we’ve been noticing her improvement. I can confidently say that you’ve been a major factor in that, so thank you.” Ivar assesses the man before him; non-aggressive body language, honest facial cues, and a scent about him that was somehow both open and unknowable. Ivar smiled(genuinely this time) and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Y’ act like I have a say ‘n anythin’ when I’ comes t’ her. Now c’mon! Wh’ever finds this f’ckin’ tome firs’ buys t’other’s tab f’r t’night.” They were both sorely disappointed when Parker came bounding around the corner an hour later, book in hand and babbling about how Scribe had it, and had already translated it, the entire time.

3.) Parker knew about Ivar’s past at Borley (and the ex), but didn’t realize just how... grand scale everything was until she was walking briskly down it’s marble hallways, trying desperately to keep up pace and listen to the mission debriefing at the same time. Ivar though took to the intensity like a duck to water, as if he never left. The mission itself was fairly benign, a local werewolf pack had been stirring up some trouble, so they asked Ivar to come set them straight since he knew them personally. He initially didn’t want to, having planned to spend the rest of his life sans his old organization, but Parker had thought it a wonderful opportunity. She could finally meet his family, he could catch up with old friends, and finally get closure to his abrupt departure. Only she hadn’t realized that his ex was the reason he left. They had originally been partners and kept their relationship (and short engagement) to themselves as much as they could- but during a mission to contain and redirect the wild hunt he had been gored in an effort to save some civilians. Thankfully everyone survived, but his main sciatic nerve had been severed. He thought it was the right thing to do (especially when the Borley techs gave him a way to walk again), she did not. All throughout the mission she had made comments about ‘how impressive his performance was considering his condition’, and it royally pissed Parker off. Ivar though just shrugged it all off, completely unbothered. He further explained that she probably meant well, but had a bad habit of coming across the worst way possible. Seeing his carefree laugh as he talked about her, like he barely gave it any thought, released a balloon of pressure Parker wasn’t aware she had been holding onto their entire visit. She had been making a big deal over nothing; she wasn’t an ex, she was just an ex. “Maybe so,” Parker agreed as she tucked herself to Ivar’s side. “But if she ‘means well’ again I’m still going to deck her, nobody talks about you with that tone while I’m around.” He just chuckled and kissed the top of her head in agreement.

4.) A common misconception was that Ivar met Parker first, before her twin. While the two meetings were within an hour of each other, Carter definitely made himself known first. He had been sitting, reading the file on the mission he was being assigned to, when a hand clamped over his mouth and (with great effort) managed to drag him into a secluded broom closet. “You Rook?” The strange (that descriptor would remain for as long as the two knew each other, but evolve to something friendlier), man asked, utilizing the extra two inches of height he had over him to loom as threateningly as possible. “Yes, now who t’e fuck ar’ you!” He shouted, getting into a defensive stance as soon as he was released. “Relax relax, look I’m Agent Thorn ok? The twin of the Agent you’re being assigned to? I just needed a word in private.” He lowered his guard, but not by much, assessing that if this man truly wanted to start something, he would’ve by now. “How’d y’ get tha’ information? I’s classified.” “...I snooped duh.” He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s not important right now! What is important is that you’re meeting with my sister in about 30, and I needed to make sure you’d actually help her.” “Y’ mean do m’ job? Ye’ was plannin’ on i’ thanks.” “Don’t be a dick you know what I mean.” “No I don’! Am I goin’ mad or is this th’ most fucked ‘shovel speech’ ‘ver given?” “Not really- kinda? I don’t know, all I know is that, Parker, that’s her name-”

“I can read y’ dick.”

“Parker is going to try so hard to not need help, and I just need to make sure you won’t fall for it.” He explained, body language telling Ivar that he was clearly near the point of begging. Ivar debating between messing with him, telling him what he wanted to hear so he could get away quicker, or just being completely honest. He was clearly upset and willing to do anything (including kidnapping) for his sister, but as Ivar was about to speak and assuage his fears, his legs gave out the warning beep that they were out of charge. A combination of things happened then: the strange man shrieked and flailed about, smacking Ivar accidentally which threw his head back into the wall just as his legs gave out. The next thing he knew He was waking up in chair, alone. He would later find out that Carter had dragged his body back to where he found him, where his wheelchair sat in wait, leaving him for someone else to find and deal with. Agent Succubus had opened the closet door, only to see the predicament and that it was Carter involved, and promptly closed the door to leave. Their second (and officially first) meeting went a lot better.

4.) Parker has been nervous to meet Ivar’s family, but after spending the past few days with them, her anxiety turned into a comfortable ease- sure that she had made a good impression and developed enough of a rapport to carry on any conversation over dinner. That had been a mistake. Turns out they, his sisters, Siobhan and Olivia, had been patiently biding their time until the night before her departure. It was around midnight when they decided to steal Parker away (complete with ropes), and take her to the middle of the nearby farmlands.

“Sorry f’r the theatrics.” The eldest said genuinely, voice even and warm. “But tradition is tradition.”

“Welcome t’ th’ family.” Olivia grinned, a trustworthy mischief promised with the baring of her teeth.

“So!” Siobhan clapped, shifting focus to… whatever they were about to do to her. “We all like t’ go running as a pack, but since we’re sort of ‘initiating’ you, as it were, we thought you’d be more comfortable if it were just us girls.”

“What do you mean?” Parker asked slowly, mind racing with a fresh wave of anxiety for the unknown. Olivia just grinned again in response and began shucking off her clothes. Parker hastily looked away, only peeking when her form changed from that of the young woman, to that of a sleek tawny wolf.

“You mean you want me to streak? Out in the open? At the coldest part of the day?” Siobhan just gave her an open gesture in return, confirming her suspicions. Rolling her eyes Parker quickly threw off her clothes, finding it a bit childish but overall glad that they weren’t asking her to do something worse or less traditional than streaking.

“You’v’ got a min’ head start.” The other woman called after her as Parker began her mad sprint, already missing the warmth of her flannel.

She was quickly joined by the transformed Olivia, with Siobhan catching up soon after, and Parker allowed herself to enjoy the silly freedom of it all. Running, howling, and laughing into the night- she felt heady and alive, and most importantly, fully embraced and accepted by the family of the man she loved.

 5.) Ivar and Parker came to the same conclusion at the exact moment.

They had just gotten through with a week that had separated them with missions, diplomatic visits, and a two-day stint in the med bay. They were exhausted, but both had agreed into doing a ‘date night’; Nothing special, dinner at home, but something where they could just be alone together for a while.

Parker had tackled the actual food portion, while Ivar had scrambled around working on the living room because ‘atmosphere’s important dammit’, and she had to admit that the candles and music really added a sense of romance to the fact that they were just eating spaghetti on her couch.

The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, both parties too tired to do much more than enjoy the other being there, and it was only really broken when Ivar turned up the soft music and took her hand to dance. They swayed lethargically to Lou Reed’s cover of ‘This Magic Moment’ and Parker could feel his contented sigh as she rested her head on his chest.

She only looked up when he placed a knuckle tenderly under her chin, guiding her lips up to meet his in a sweet kiss. She looked into his eyes and something within her snapped. Unknowingly, her hold on his shoulders tightened as she blurted out “I need to marry you.”

A genuine look of shock crossed both of their faces, and Parker’s eyes traveled to his hand that wasn’t on her. She let out a choked laugh to see that he had already been pulling out a ring during her sudden outburst.

“Did y’ really jus’ cut off my proposal wi’ y’r own?” He laughed, feeling ridiculous and giddy.

“Yeah.” She smiled, burying her face as far into his chest as she could.

“Does this mean y’r sayin’ yes?”

“Well it depends.”

“On wha?!” He practically howled, both of them slowly doubling over in attempt to contain their laughter and mirth.

“If you’re saying ‘yes’ to mine.” Ivar took a deep breath and up righted himself, suddenly serious.

“I cannae say ‘no’ t’ y’ Cariad, so please say ‘yes’ an’ marry me.”

“…Y’know, I could say ‘yes’ to you a thousand times Roo, and it still wouldn’t be enough to let convey just how much I want that. Or how much I love you.”

“’M sure I can get an idea ‘f it.” He slipped the ring on her finger, and once secure, swept her off her feet so that she was being carried in his arms.

“Let’s get t’ work on those ‘thousand yes’s.” He said, voice filled with tempting promise, as he took them to her bed- fully intent on properly celebrating their date night.

[concubuck]

Mission for a succubus on Earth.

Assignment: seduce target by whatever means needed to ensure his loyalty to Hell; bonus for ensuring his damnation or purchasing his soul. Secrecy level: Do not reveal yourself as a succubus or an agent of Hell. Orientation: hetero. Top kinks: musical theater. (Favorite shows: Phantom of the Opera, Cats, Les Miserables, Bonnie & Clyde, and Hamilton.)

Mission assigned to: Alastor.

Succubus Work

It's a week from Christmas and it's wet and cold and this morning it was raining and the sun only peeks out from behind the clouds just in time to set at 4:30 in the afternoon—but the skies clear in time for you to see her and maybe that was meant to be.

She's either a beggar or a streetwalker, and usually you wouldn't give her the time of day—you don't have time to talk to women who yowl like cats in heat desperate for a tom to breed them—except this girl is singing. Standing on a 6th Avenue sidewalk and singing.

She's singing "Lovely Ladies."

She has the most beautiful voice you've ever heard.

You think to yourself, she can't be all that bad if she knows Les Miz. She's a woman of sophistication. She can't be an alley cat by choice.

You listen until her song is over, then approach her to ask whether she'd like you to buy her a hot drink—you're not buying her intimate company, you clarify, just a drink—and she smiles at you and says that's the kindest offer she's received all day. You know then that she doesn't want to be doing what she's doing any more than you want to see her doing it. Maybe you can help her.

She never stops smiling for you. She must not receive much kindness.

You ask her about herself as she walks. She's a small town girl who came to New York hoping to make it on Broadway, hasn't found any luck, and is desperate to make enough money to keep herself warm while she waits for her big break. It's as common a story as you could ask for. And yet, you can't remember the last time you were this engrossed in a conversation with a woman.

Because every time she speaks, she sings. You ask her about where she's from and she sets the name of her hometown to the tune of "Gary, Indiana." You ask her about her few singing gigs in New York, her attempts to wow the crowds, and she hardly needs to change a word as she offers the most wistful rendition of "Razzle Dazzle" you've ever heard. She bursts into "Don't Cry for Me Argentina" when she talks about the friends and family and lovers she's had to leave behind.

Half the tunes she sings, you don't even recognize; you can't tell if she's just improvising the lyrics to songs you've never heard before or if she's composing her own songs on the spot. She sings them with such confidence that you can't bring yourself to ask.

You swear that you can almost hear violins and trumpets playing along for her from somewhere far off. It seems like more passing cars and open windows have a radio playing so the music is audible from the sidewalk; it seems like she knows the words to every song she overhears.

Passersby are probably staring at you two. You don't care. You can't take your eyes off her.

You call her Angel of Music. Her face lights up. Call me AM, she says. Those are really my initials. It makes you think of AM radio.

AM is so grateful when you buy her a hot drink—she likes tea, just like you do; a simple earl grey; none of the venti mocha vanilla latte pumpkin spice double pump whatever whatever coffee nonsense other girls get. She tells you she always drinks tea on cold days.

AM is wearing a fur coat so worn out that she uses a second tattered red coat underneath to line it; when she takes off her double coat, all she's wearing beneath is a gown with a lace-up front so thin it might as well be a slip. You imagine that a hundred years ago it might have been what a poor woman might wear on her wedding night.

She's not wearing a bra and she's very cold, and you can tell both these things just by glancing at her bosom . It's hard to keep your eyes away. When AM notices how she's showing through the thin fabric, she blushes and draws her coat around her shoulders; but in a minute she forgets and the coat slips off again.

The whole time you nurse your drinks, she's humming and murmuring melodies and rhymes. You're so hard it hurts.

When you ask her awkwardly if she'd like to come home with you—not for anything inappropriate, you say, just to have a warm place to sleep—AM accepts as eagerly as if you'd asked her to marry you. You're half tempted to ask if she would, just so that you can do what you really want to do to her without guilt. You're sure she'll offer anyway once you're at home. She keeps her eyes off the tent in your pants with the same pointed politeness with which you keep your eyes off the hard peaks on her bosom.

You never make it to your home. A couple subway stops early, AM gives you a mischievous look and says she knows a place nearby she wants to show you; it's easy to break in the back door.

You've always wanted to be the kind of man who breaks a few laws and raises a little hell—with a pretty little lady at your side, her eyes sparkling just like AM's are sparkling now. It's appealing. But you try to decline.

She says it has amazing acoustics.

She takes you by the hand as she leads you.

She's singing "Raise a Little Hell" under her breath as she breaks the lock—"We won't get to Heaven, so let's raise a little Hell." Funny song for your Angel of Music.

But you don't have time to mention that before you're inside, and her voice is rising to fill the space—and your hands are on her—and her smile widens as she pushes you to sit before her.

She sings while she stokes you. She sings while you grope her. Somehow, she even sings while she blows you.

And she sings while she rides you, setting the pace with her voice, rising to a note so high and pure you swear the windows vibrate each time you're on the brink of coming, and then forcing you back from the edge when her voice drops low again. All you can do is writhe under her, heart pounding, buried in her folds, as if it's just another beautiful mouth trying to consume you.

You think she sings "Lovely Ladies" again, but you only remember it because it strikes you that you've never heard such malicious pleasure in the line "don't you know you're making love to one already dead?"

But she's no Fantine, you see now—no weak little thing who fell into stronger men's beds. She's Maria Reynolds, who leashes the men and drags them into bed. She's master of the house, Madame Thénardier, and you'd be lucky to be her Monsieur. She's Bonnie explaining that her name has to come before Clyde's because nothing rhymes with "Clyde and Bonnie." She's Grizabella the Glamour Cat singing "Memory" while the other cats point at her and hiss about Macavity the Mystery Cat's crimes.

Her hair comes undone in wild flyaways that curl up around her face like the ears of a wild animal. She drives you so mad with the want to pour yourself into her that you start hallucinating. You swear you see great, arching antlers—only shadows, you tell yourself, from the trees outside. You swear you see wings.

You'd forgotten that "Angel of Music" isn't just what Erik calls the lost, demure, submissive little songstress he took under his wing. It's also what the captive and hypnotized Christine calls the Phantom.

At some point, she asks you to promise something to her. You don't remember what. You tell her she can have it. You're not some dumb Daaé content with Raoul; you've always known Christine should have given everything to the Phantom.

You give everything to your Phantom.

She takes it.

The next morning, you're amazed to see the windows didn't shatter when she sang the note that finally let you reach your peak and pass out. Another hallucination, maybe. You're stiff and sore when you sit up, and your head's pounding. You've never felt this drained before.

AM is gone. She left no note, no token of her favor, nothing. You check your wallet; nothing is missing. Feeling less like a one-night stand bailed on you and more like you woke from a dream about a fairy kidnapping you, you redress in the gray morning light and shuffle out the door AM broke in.

It hits you like a bullet between the eyes when you see AM across the street, just a block away. She's buying a cheap coffee from a street vendor. She turns to see you, smirks, winks, and vanishes into the crowd.

You never learn what "AM" stands for. You never asked for her name.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Mystery Baby Theatre, Part 5

(Short Story Post, 5/6)

“You think I have something to do with this?” Dusty asked, hands on his hips. “The nerve…” “We’re not accusing you. You’re just the only demon we have on file,” Korsy explained. When the agent got the family to APID safely, they got them set up in the hospital wing and called Dusty in while Carlos waited outside with his kids. He’d been at home putting his son to bed when he was called so he’d had to drop Grey at his other father’s house quickly before popping into APID. Now he stood in front of Reggie’s hospital bed, glaring at Korsy. He was in no good mood. “I am a succubus,” Dusty said. “This is clearly the work of an incubus.” “What’s the difference?” Korsy asked. “Aren’t succubi supposed to be female?” Reggie asked. He was set up on the exam table but the doctor wasn’t here yet to look him over. Dusty seemed to only get more ticked off. “Demons don’t have sexes. The latin ‘succubare’ means ‘to lie beneath’. It literally just means I’m a bottom. And looking at all those children lined up outside, I could say you’re more of a succubus than I am.” “Are you calling me a whore?” Reggie growled. “If the shoe fits…”

“Hey, none of that!” Korsy said. “Dusty, I get it. You’re tired. We pulled you away from your son for this. But we need your help if you can give it. Do you know what's going on with him?” Dusty crossed his arms. “I don't know much about incubi. What I do know is that they’re terrible testosterone junkies who couldn’t care less about anyone else and always try to get what they want whenever they want. So, I imagine, whatever one that’s after you wants that kid.” Reggie shook his head. “No, we made a deal.” “What deal did you make?” Dusty asked. “What did you give in exchange for this child?” “He asked me to sacrifice a goat in his name,” Reggie said. “So, I found one on Kijiji and did it. It was really really gross…” “So, he just wanted a goat?” Korsy asked. “Hard to believe…” “Naw, goats are pretty powerful…” Dusty said. “But this is an incubus we’re talking about. He’s probably found a loophole. What exactly did he promise?” “He gets the goat, I get to keep the baby,” Reggie said. “Simple as—” He suddenly doubled over, clenching his stomach. “Ahh… Ow…” Korsy was startled. “Are you okay?” “Y-Yeah, I…” Reggie grimaced. “…Just a bit of pain…” “You’re going into labour, aren’t you?” Dusty said. “No, I’m still a month from due,” Reggie said. The lights suddenly shut off and the room got cold. Reggie suddenly let out a scream of pain. “Oh god, it hurts!” Dusty and Korsy’s eyes took a moment to adjust but soon they could see. Reggie was still balled up in pain, but there was now a puddle of black liquid pooling under him. “Your water broke,” Dusty said. “You are in labour.” “I’ll get the doctor,” Korsy said leaving the room. As he did, Carlos came in. “What’s going on?” Carlos asked, blindly trying to find his partner in the darkness. “It’s too early…” Reggie whimpered. “Your partner’s in labour,” Dusty said. He grabbed Carlos’s shoulder and directed him to Reggie’s side. “I don’t think this is a coincidence. I think your incubus is forcing you into labour.” “You think right,” a deep voice said. Everyone was startled by the sudden strange voice. Dusty suddenly saw him, a tall dark shadow standing in the corner of the room, a huge grin on his face. Reggie screamed out in pain again. The contractions hurt ten times more than any of his other pregnancies and he was in absolute agony. The stranger looked over at Dusty then tilted it’s head slightly. “Succubus? What are you doing here?” “I’m just… I’m just helping,” Dusty said, feeling his body tremble in the presence of a much stronger demon. The other stared for a moment. “…Darathan?” Dusty lowered his eyes. “Who’s asking?” “Thaungal.” He raised a hand, forcing Dusty’s chin up again. “Don’t be rude. Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Dusty whimpered, feeling the incubus’s invisible strength holding him up. “I’m sorry…” “You’re wanted back home,” Thaungal said. Dusty shook his head stiffly. “I’m not tied to home…I was bound…” “You’re not bound anymore.” Thaungal shrugged anyway and let him go. “What do I care. You’re not worth much…” Dusty immediately teleported away, leaving the humans in darkness alone with the incubus. Reggie was still clutching his stomach, his labour progressing quickly. Carlos was trying to soothe him, rubbing his back and whispering to him, though he was also frightened out of his mind. “Reggie…” the demon said in a low voice. “The child is ready for you.” He waved a hand over the labouring man, forcing his body flat against the exam table, his arms and legs out as if restrained. Reggie shrieked in pain, his body tensing in agony. He felt like he would faint from the sheer pain. The child within his stomach writhed and squirmed as if trying to rip out. “Oh, it’s alright,” Thaungal said. “I’m here for you.” He placed his hand down on Reggie’s belly and the hell spawn calmed down. The pain in Reggie’s body ebbed and he was able to regain his breath. “You promised…” he cried. “You promised not to take my baby…” “I promised you could keep it,” Thaungal admitted. “But I’ve decided I want it. But I won’t go back on my word. You can keep your child but I’ll take both of you.” “No!” Carlos yelled. “You can’t take him!” “Oh, can’t I?” Thaungal chuckled. “Perhaps you’d be right if you were married to him. But you’re not. Therefore, he can be bound to me.” Carlos threw his torso over Reggie’s body. “¡Demonio! ¡No puedes tenerlo! You can’t have him!” Thaungal let out a boisterous laugh. “Human, you’re very funny to think you have any power against—” Thaungal suddenly jumped back, narrowly missing the edge of a blade being swung at him. Dusty had reappeared with Korsy and the doctor, Sydryn, the former brandishing knives. “Stay away from them!” Korsy barked, holding his blade out to Thaungal. “Syd, take care of the patient!” “Obviously,” Sydryn huffed, moving over between Reggie's legs to check him. Thaungal eyes narrowed on Dusty. “You traitor!” “I work here, asshole!” Dusty said. “You don’t get to come to my job and just do whatever the fuck you want!” Thaungal started to approach Dusty. “You little—" Korsy lunged out in front of Dusty, slashing his knives towards Thaungal, the catching the incubus across the chest and making a shallow gash. The demon hissed, swiping a clawed hand at the agent, but Korsy ducked out of the way and countered with another slash of his knives. The demon dodged it easily and chuckled, but Korsy caught him off guard with a swift kick to the gut. What should've been a harmless kick for an incubus of his strength turned out to be fatal however and Thaungal staggered backward, black blood seeping out of his wounds. He looked at himself then glared at Korsy. “...You...” Before he could finish his sentence, he disintegrated into dust. The lights flickered back on and Korsy stood there panting. The grip on Reggie's body was lifted and he was able to relax a bit though still subject to his contractions. “What just happened?” Carlos asked, unable to have seen everything that had transpired. “Did you kill him?” “He did,” Dusty said. “But he shouldn't have been able to... Not with a kick...” Korsy caught his breath then slammed a fist against his knee. His right leg fell out of his pant and he picked it up, showing off the blade coming from his prosthetic. “Dark elf blade. Good for killing...bad things. Still sharp enough for everybody else too so watch out.” “Scary...” Dusty said, though he was a little turned on. “...You have my number.” “Thank you...for getting rid...of Thaun...” Reggie panted. “But I'm still...in labour!” “Right. Syd, how's he doing?” Korsy asked. “Crowning,” Sydryn stated. “Reggie, another big push.” Reggie grabbed his ankles and pushed hard. “Oh shit, it's almost here!” Carlos pulled out his phone and started recording, going around beside Syd to get a good angle. “You can do it, mi amor!” Reggie pushed harder, screaming in pain, and the head came free. He eased up and panted, tears streaming down his face. “Humans film these things?” Dusty critiqued. “Strange...” “Get out if you're not helping!” Reggie growled before starting to push again. “I concur. Darathan. Korsgaard. Out,” Sydryn instructed. “Köbi’s watching the children. Replace him and send him in.” Dusty and Korsy stepped out quickly and were replaced by the curly haired young man. Köbi stood ready by the doctor. “What do you need me to do?” “Prepare for the baby. Ready a blanket,” Sydryn said. “Ahhhhhhhh!” Reggie bore down with all his strength. Sydryn reached around the baby's head and helped guide it out. Finally, with a rush of more black amniotic fluid, the child was born. She was completely grey and squirmed in the doctor’s hands. “¡Una niña!” Carlos said happily. “Reggie, she’s so cute!” Reggie however didn’t respond. His energy was all drained and the pain had been unbearable. He was fighting just to stay conscious. “Reg?” Carlos dropped his phone and grabbed Reggie’s hand. “Reggie, stay with me!” “Köbi, take the child,” Sydryn said, being quick to cut the umbilical cord. “Quickly.” Köbi did as told, taking the newborn and wrapping her up in the blanket. Carlos pushed back his partner’s hair, watching as his consciousness faded. “Is Reggie going to be okay?” “He’s lost a lot of blood. If we don’t treat this immediately, it could be fatal,” Sydryn stated. “No!” Carlos’s voice shook. “Do something!” “I am.” Sydryn had already begun manually removing the placenta. “I suggest you go outside and take care of your children.” “I can’t leave him here!” Carlos sobbed. “I need him!” “I am no longer suggesting. Step outside, sir, or you will be forcibly removed.” “I can’t go!” “Köbi!” Köbi handed the newborn over to Carlos. “Trust us, okay? You have beautiful children to look after.” He placed a hand on Carlos’s shoulder which helped soothe the man. Carlos nodded and stepped outside. “Köbi, stop the bleeding while I get an IV,” Sydryn asked. “On it.” Köbi placed his hands on Reggie’s sternum and closed his eyes.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

[imtherain]

The Wrong Date

Heyo!

Sorry I’ve been MIA. You know, life and other muses and all that. I whipped this up cuz I’ve been trying to get back into the dating scene myself with no luck, and it just reminded me how the only man I’ll ever love is probably Big Red.

@negansdirtygirl22 because I love you 

Anywho:

The Wrong Date

Warnings: None. Lack of pamcakes. Some fluff. A weird sandwich. 

You knew it was a bad idea from the start, meeting with one of the new agents for “drinks”. It had seemed harmless enough, and really, it always does, doesn’t it? But one drink led to two and then he was all hands. You’d have a lecture waiting for you in the morning for breaking another recruit’s nose.

In a way, you were your own cryptid amongst the agents. She’s a man eater. They’d whisper. She’s all talk. She’ll chew you up and spit you out. But that didn’t stop them from trying. Everyone thought they were better, that somehow they were immune to your charms as the daughter of a succubus. You just wanted someone to see you and not the image of you they wished to see. You had no control over it, so of course, eventually you gave in and hoped that one day one of them would be right in that your charms didn’t work on you. But so far, it hadn’t happened.

“Well you look like you had a rough night,” Hellboy said. He was rummaging around in the kitchen for a late night snack as you entered the kitchen. You shook your head at him.

“Let me tell you, Red, you’re lucky,” You told him.

“How’d’ya mean?” He offered you the bag of chips he had open. You took a few and ate them, wishing the crunch was of bones instead of corn.

“You can always tell when someone likes you for you, or if they like you for another reason. I don’t have that luxury,” You jumped up onto the counter to sit and watch him. He chuckled.

“You let someone take you out again, didn’t you?” His voice was all teasing. He stood and began unloading his arms onto the counter next to you. He was about to make one hell of a sandwich from the looks of it. Complete with pickles, chicken, ham, salami, three or four cheeses, relish of some sort and what looked like egg salad.

“I did, and I swear I’m off dating forever.” You said as you watched him building his monstrosity. He was actually making several sandwiches it seemed, but he also stacked them together as though maybe he meant to make a leaning tower of sandwich.

“Oh come on, you don’t mean that, you’re the only one I know that talks about love as though they believe in it,” Hellboy gave you a smile that made you look away. He was always so charming and it killed you. Any other agent you could risk, but not him. He was your favorite person at the BPRD.

“I do believe in love,” You said. “I just am beginning to think I don’t believe I’m ever gonna get it,” You laugh because it wasn’t funny. Hellboy made another sandwich as he thought about your reply. “Shit Red, how many of those are you going to make?”

“One more, if you want one,” He said, looking up at you with golden eyes that reminded you of the sunrise. All light in a veil of darkness. Something was safe about it, like he would never lie to you, like he would never hurt you. You looked away, wondering if that’s what anyone thought when they saw you.

“I’m good Red,” You said. “Thanks though,”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think any one of them deserves you,” Hellboy said.

“Yeah?”

“Yup.” He grinned at you and you looked up at him. He had moved to stand directly in front of you, if he took a step closer, he’d be between your legs. You adjusted to make sure he’d fit there between your knees, knowing he wouldn’t make that move.

“Then who deserves me, Red?” You asked, knowing what you wanted him to say. Hellboy looked like he was contemplating his answer.

“It would be a pretty bad pick up line if I said “me”, right?” Hellboy gave you an almost boyish grin.

“It would be,” You admitted. “Unless you meant it?” Hopeful.

“Oh I’d mean it,” Hellboy said, his grin fading. “I do really like you, Y/N, and not just cuz of whatever pheromone bullshit all the others fall for.” Now you looked away from him.

“You don’t know that,” You said softly. “You don’t know when you’re under the spell until it’s too late,”

“You can tell though, right?” Hellboy asked, moving back into your vision. You nod. “How do you tell?”

“I can taste it if I touch you, or rather, I can taste your emotions, and any feeling induced by my pheromones tastes different,” Hellboy held out his arms as if to say “touch me, here I am.” “Hellboy,” You chided him.

“What? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid of what? Being proved right?” You laugh at the very thought.

“Afraid of being proved wrong,” Hellboy said. He reached out and grabbed your wrist with his flesh hand, bringing it to his chest. His skin was warm like sunshine beneath your fingers. You pulled back as soon as the first taste of him crossed your senses. Then your forehead creased and you reached out again to make sure.

“Hellboy,” You said softly. “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”

“That I adore you? Yeah, I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you, and well, I guess this was it,” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. You brought your other hand up to his chest, feeling his broad muscles with your hands. Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt him, as you tasted all the things that he was, simply by running your fingers over him.

“I think I believe you,” You said. Then a bubble of laughter fought its way up your throat. “Shit, here I thought you were the only one I was safe from,”

“Safe from?” Hellboy chuckled back. “What’s that mean?”

“I adore you too Red, I thought you would be the only one to never ask,” You shook your head.

“I can take it back,” Hellboy said. You smacked his chest.

“Don’t you dare,” You snap. Hellboy’s laugh filled the kitchen.

“I just realized something,” He said.

“What’s that?”

“You’ve been going on all these dates, looking for something you didn’t find, yeah? It’s cuz you were on the wrong date,” He giggled again, obviously thinking himself very funny.

“I don’t follow,” You said.

“It wasn’t the what, it was the who, but they’re both “dates” that’s so funny,” You rolled your eyes at him.

“You’ve been drinking, haven’t you Red?” You laughed at him.

“Only a little,” He said. “Doesn’t change the fact I think I love you,”

“Oh I know,” You smiled at him. “I would be tasting it if you lied.”

~~~

[Masterlist] [Kofi]

[lookbluesoup]

Fallout OC Interview

@robobrainmurdermysterytheatre and @quinndecker214 tagged me to do this LITERAL AGES ago! Thanks for this and IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG it got lost in my drafts I hope it was worth the wait //shot I TAG @nuclearvessel @ronqueesha @tarberrymentats @wild-w4steland-snip3r @daddyfuckinlonglegs @saltsealed @thewookieruns No pressure!!

Choose an OC.

Answer them as that OC.

Tag 5 people to do the same.

1. What is your name? Nathaniel Christian Wright. Maiden name Ronan, if, aha, you like fun-facts.

2. How old are you? You know I lost count somewhere after 240?

3. What do you look like?

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now? I was born a good ways South of here, spent most of my childhood there. Moved to Boston... before the War. Now I stay with Piper in Diamond City between work, got an infield view and everything! Never would have bet on that the day I woke up in the Vault. I guess life’s funny, hunh? I - ...I’m glad to be there.

5. What was your childhood like? Oh, nothing special, really. My Pa was ex-military, a chaplain. Ma stayed home to tend the house, and raise rambunctious sons. She was - good. I wonder sometimes whether she’d be proud of me, out here.

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? Well, I am K i n g of the Castle - a-hem, I mean, General. Yeah, just General. (//Ronnie distantly yells something about the joke not being funny the 80th time)

[[There are rumors of Nate being a leading Railroad Agent, but he absolutely would not admit to that in a casual interview xD]]

7. Tell me about your best friend. Deacon? Hah! What can’t I tell you about him! He’s got a two-dozen kids. Twelve wives. One’s a ghoul. He’s also a synth, but you didn’t hear that from me. Has an extra toe on his left foot. Those sunglasses aren’t a fashion statement, they’re glued to his face. Horrible accident, really. Inoperable. He can speak five languages, including Zetan. I swear, it’s all true! But, ah. He’s a good friend. Better than he knows.

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them! My son, Shaun, lives here at the Castle. I wish I could bring him to Diamond City, let him make friends with the other kids, try to give him something of the life he might’ve had before the War. But I’ve got enemies. The Minutemen have enemies. Comes with the job. It’s safer for Shaun to be here, out of the limelight. And also, you know, with a barracks full of guns ready at a minute’s notice if there’s trouble. My men are family, too. Hell, I feel closer to the people here than I did most of my own blood in the old world. There’s also my butler, Codsworth. And Natalie, Piper’s little sister - well, she may as well be my little sister, too. But hey, keep that one off the record. Nat’d never forgive me.

9. What about a partner or partners? I’m a happily tethered man, bound for life to one kickass reporter, Mrs. Wright. You may have heard of her. 

10. Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? [Nate seems more guarded] Yeah, I know them. That graveyard across the channel used to be their airship. I wish it had ended differently, but... well, war never changes.

11. Who are your enemies, and why? I suppose that’s a natural follow-up question. Well, most of the Raider gangs will attack on sight. Gunners, too. But we’ve managed to clear a pretty safe stretch between major towns over the past year. Since the Minutemen have established a pro-synth stance, more than a few settlements shut their doors on us. Lost a fair number of volunteers. But no violence so far. Other than that... the remnants of Brotherhood here aren’t fond of me, personally. Why? We parted on bad terms. Lets just - leave it at that. Anyone else out here can tell you the story. There are Institute survivors, too. We tried to get as many noncombatants out as we could the day it fell, but it was a battle. It was messy. A lot haven’t forgiven me for turning on them. [sighs] ...Can you blame them? The Minutemen have kept a running list of Courser sightings since then. So many still aren’t accounted for. Keeps me up at night, sometimes.  

12. What about The Enclave? I’ve heard rumors. None of them good. 13. How do you feel about Super Mutants? Tough bastards. I wish we could help them. I know they don’t all go crazy, and Virgil was making progress on a cure. But I haven’t seen him in years. We’re not - really on speaking terms.

14. Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? More than once, and never unscathed. Not bragging! It’s the truth. Take a look at this, [he rolls back his sleeve to show a massive scar running over his upper arm] Piper and I got pinned down, lizard gutted me and nearly lost me an arm. Also? Ruined my best flannel shirt.

15. What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? Bunker Hill. What a hellscape. Between the Railroad and the Institute, things were hot enough. But somehow the Brotherhood found out, too. It’s a wonder Bunker Hill wasn’t razed to the ground. My Courser escort was killed in a Railroad ambush and the synths we were after escaped. I barely got out alive.

[[Nate actually killed X4-18 and helped the synths escape, but that’s another Railroad secret :’D]] 16. Do you like fighting? No. But I’ll do what I have to to stay alive and protect the people I care about. 17. What’s your weapon of choice? A modified radium rifle. I was a sniper back in my army days, it’s what I’m trained in. But if the fight does get close, this gun’s versatile enough to still be useful. Wish my loadout back in Anchorage did that. I’m fond of the laser musket, too - but you only get one shot, and then everyone will know exactly where you are. Strategically it’s too limited.

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) My winning charm, of course! [winks] And trekking all over the Commonwealth keeps me fit for when folks aren’t so interested in talking. Piper keeps the luck for both of us. I’m - pretty sure I’m cursed, actually.

S(6) P(7) E(8) C(11) I(7) A(5) L(2)

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? I suppose I should be grateful, really. If not for the Vaults, I’d have died two centuries ago. I’d never have met Piper, or taught Shaun to play baseball. None of this... none of this at all would have happened. [grimaces] Don’t get me wrong. Vault-tec was fucking insane. The things they did to people in some of those Vaults-? I was uncharacteristically lucky. There’s a reason they call me the Sole Survivor, and it’s not from winning some tv game show about living on an island.

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? My Pip-Boy has a Geiger counter built in so I can avoid the worst of it. But sometimes it can’t be helped. I always keep Rad-Away and Rad-X on hand. Other than that, I bring the old vault suit to wear under my clothes if I know exposure’s inevitable. It helps a little. Piper likes to tease me about that, but somehow I think she prefers me with hair and less than six limbs. Plus, my ass looks great in blue. Her words. Not mine. Yes, you can quote that.

21. What’s your favorite wasteland critter? The radstags, no doubt! [motions to Legs Washington] Look at those little extra arms wiggling around. Adorable.

22. What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? Yao guais. They are way too stealthy for something that big. I dunno what they’re eating up in Maine, but Far Harbor was full of them. Big, grumpy ones. And look, have you ever tried to outrun a bear? Don’t.

23. How do you feel about robots? I like the ones that aren’t shooting at me! Codsworth and Ada are friends. Isabel’s eyebot, Sparks? Adorable. I even got this hat from an old Sentry named Ironsides. Those Rust Devils and their junk bots though? I try not to fight them without a lot of backup. Got ambushed by a Succubus once. Not a good time. At all.

24. How many caps do you have on you right now? Why, you planning to rob me? Kidding. About 200, which is a lot for me generally speaking.

25. Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? [Suddenly excited] Wait, does Sunset Sarsaparilla still exist?

26. Do you do chems? Aside from Med-X when I’ve been shot? Not if I can help it.

27. Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? Not as often as in the beginning, but it does happen sometimes. I’ll have dreams where I’m back in my old life, and it’s always... disorienting.

28. What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? There are - a lot. I’ll admit it. Sometimes I wonder, if I’d only just - hm... Well. To be honest, I’ve been trying not to linger so much on what I’ve done wrong, and focus on what I can do right for the future instead. Piper taught me that.

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve?  I’ll always be proud to call myself Mr. Wright. If I can be half the man Piper tells me I am, I’ll consider it a life well lived.

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? Geeze, you could give my wife a run for her money with a loaded question like that! I want... a future where folks don’t have to be afraid of monsters coming after them in the night. I want synths to have a fair chance at living their own lives, as who they are, without pretending. I want Shaun to - be able to grow up. For myself? Everything I need is right here already.

[tommyquackson]

Getting Me a Little Bit | t. holland | part 2

Not My Gif

summary: toms an angel but his life begins changing when he meets one of the most dangerous monsters he’s ever heard of, you. angel!tom and demon!au

warnings: cursing, uh angels? blood and stuff

note: yea idek why i made a part 2 tbh but make sure y’all request!!!

Walking into the Office of Heavenly Affairs, Tom is nervous. Y/ns walking next to him, somehow acting confident and innocent at the same time. She has a small smile on her face and a file in her small hands and she’s leading Tom through the building like she’s been here multiple times before. It isn’t until they arrive into the Demon and Unholy Creatures Department that he realizes y/ns winging this whole thing. He watches her as they both walk up to the secretary’s desk. The secretary, Harmony, recognizes Tom, but her face twists in confusion when her eyes meet Y/n.

“Tom, they’re almost ready for you in the conference room. May I ask who you are?” Harmony speaks to y/n.

“Harmony, I know i’m not down in this division a lot, but I do find it insulting that you don’t remember me. But I forgive you.” Y/n smiles sweetly, showing a ID badge with her name and picture on it. Harmonys eyes widen in shock.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met” Harmony speaks. Y/n sighs and rests on her elbows on the desk, looking into Harmonys eyes. It’s only a few seconds but suddenly Harmonys face flashes with recognition.

“Ms. Y/n! My deepest apologies, i don’t know where my mind has gone, please forgive me. Are you on official business with Agent Holland?” She smiles typing things into her computer.

“Yes I am, it was great seeing you again.” Y/n smiles, tapping the desk before looking at Tom and winking and walking away and towards the conference room where the meeting will be held.

She waits at the door for Tom and he pulls it open, straightening his collar while walking in. He and Y/n walk up to the table and sit down.

“Ah, Agent Holland, im fairly busy today so- oh, who is this?” One of his directors speak now looking at y/n, who immediately stands and hands the file over.

“Hi, I’m Y/n over at the Government Division, as you know, our reports show there’s a suspected 434 demons and other unspeakable creatures in the government in New York City alone, not including Lower Statten Island, but once we tackle our larger issues we’ll take care of the smaller challenges. Anyway, I was doing work in Hell’s Kitchen last night and realized you had field agents stationed there, specifically in The Devil, a popular nightclub. Now that’s not his fault, but it is yours because it has come to my attention that you haven’t alerted us or anyone for that matter about suspected demon activity, now as you know that’s a serious offense and I would hate to see a lot of your hard work be wasted simply because you were careless on a small intel project.” She finishes and looks sweetly at all the Angels sitting on the opposite of the table.

“We sent Agent Holland because we believe there to be a succubus in that nightclub, we didn’t think we’d have to alert anyone about our own mission. What did you say your name was again?” The first Director speaks up, looking her up and down.

“What is it with you guys today? Is there something in the water? Y/n with the Government Division. Have you not been getting my memos?” She puts her hand on her hip and looks at all of them.

“Uh no, I mean yes mam we have, but we had a credible lead that-“

“Well your lead isn’t as credible as you think, Tom, please give them the status report from last night.” She looks at Tom and nods.

“Oh uh, upon entering I saw no suspicious activity, everything was surprisingly human. I was there for a while and no trace or word of a succubus in that club,” Tom gulps, he hadn’t realized how much he didn’t think of what he was going to tell them.

“Great, so, I think you it’s safe to say you can stay out of GDs jurisdiction and we can avoid stepping on each other wings. It was lovely seeing all of you, see you at the Christmas gathering.” Y/n speaks, grabbing the file back and walking out of the room.

Tom is dismissed immediately after and jogs to catch up with her.

“What was in that file, they believed everything you were saying,” Tom gasps.

“Oh it’s empty, i just projected whatever I was saying onto the file and it appeared, simple illusions. Now shall we go get lunch?” She smiles, clothes changing as soon as she steps out of the stark white building.

—

2 weeks later and Tom has been hanging out with the literal spawn of satan nearly everyday. Except for last week when Y/n disappeared for 4 days and came back looking a little worse for wear. She demanded Tom to not talk about it or even question her when she arrived at his place.

Toms been neglecting his heavenly duties to spend more time with her. Although it always made him sick when she brought men to his place while he was out for a bit. He hoped it wouldn’t be a regular occurrence in the future.

He hadn’t seen her today however, she said yesterday that she had important things to do and wasn’t sure when she’d be back. She seemed annoyed at whatever she had to do, but Tom held his tongue.

He sat in his living room, eating spaghetti and watching a beautiful nature documentary. The polar bear cubs struggling to find food always struck a cord in Tom, it seemed so cruel and unfair. He watched as camera men followed penguins and seals around for 5 months and analyzed their behavior.

He’s interrupted by a quiet knock and then a large thump against his front door. He stands and moves quietly to the door, wondering who could be knocking at 11pm on a Tuesday? Y/n always appears in whatever room he’s in, usually scaring him half to death.

He slowly pulls open the door and her smaller body falls into his arms. Y/ns halfway covered in dark blood and her horns look battered. She looks up at him and her face is covered in cuts and more dried blood. Her “human” eyes are hidden and the whole space is covered in black with low flames flickering. She smiles lightly and he can see her sharp teeth barely poking out.

He pulls her in and lays the demon on the couch, spewing questions in her direction.

“Tommy, relax. You yelling at me ain’t gonna cure my headache” She winces, clenching her jaw.

“Y/n, what happened” He asks softly.

“Don’t wanna talk about it” y/n goes to turn over but quickly hisses and grab her ribs.

“You have to” He stands up straighter.

“I don’t fucking want to” She nearly growls. He’d be more scared if she wasn’t so pathetic looking.

“Y/n, I don’t care what you want to do. You need to tell me what happened so I can help you, NOW!” He shouts the last part and she almost chuckles at how adorable the angel looks yelling at her.

“had’t go t’hell and ran into s”trouble with m’dad” She mumbles, looking at the TV instead of Tom.

“I can’t hear you when you mumble” He says rolling his eyes at her stubbornness.

“I had to go to hell to do some shit and Lucifer found out I was there and decided to meet with me but things took a bad turn and I got my ass kicked by a bunch of leviathans while my dad watched” She spits out, louder and clearer.

“Oh”

“Yep, and since they beat me so damn bad, none of my powers or magic works, had to walk all the way here from the nearest portal, which i’m not sure if you’re aware, is VERY far” She pushes through and sits up on the couch.

“Why did he do it?” Tom asks quietly, unsure of the question was upsetting.

“Eh, there’s a few reasons. Main one being he’s god damn Satan. The other is he found out I was at the Office of Heavenly Affairs, got pissed and accused me of being a traitor” She shrugs like the information is nothing, leading Tom to wonder how much stuff y/ns already dealt with.

“Well, uh. I can do my best to patch you up and you can sleep in my bed.” Tom pushes his glasses up on his face and rushes to get some things to help, he doesn’t usually get hurt so he’s not super prepared, but he’s got the basics.

He spends a few minutes trying his best to disinfect her most serious wounds and cleaning the voood off of her. His hands are shaky as he sews a few cuts up but she doesn’t seem to notice, by looking at Y/ns face, you wouldn’t even know she’s in pain. She’s staring at the now black TV, watching her blurry reflection. Her eyes have gone back to normal and her horns have retreated, though it’s still not easy to read her. Tom usually prides himself on being able to read body language but he’s drawing a blank with y/n. Is she mad? maybe upset? maybe just tired? He’s not sure.

“Thanks tommy.” She winks as he wipes the last bit of ointment on her skin. She stands and clenches her jaw to stop from groaning in pain.

She walks towards the front door, leaving Tom in complete and utter confusion before he snaps to action.

“Wait! What? You can’t leave you’re hurt and in pain, you-“

“I’m fine” She shrugs, not turning around.

“No you aren’t! Why are you denying this, you need to stay here.” Toms eyebrows furrow together.

“Why does it fucking matter?” She finally turns around, eyes switched back to her demon form.

“Because you’re my friend,” Tom speaks quietly. He looks down at the ground afraid of her glare.

“Let’s get one thing straight Thomas. I don’t need a friend, which means i don’t need the bullshit that comes with them. I don’t need you to care about me got it? I’m perfectly fine without you, so don’t act like I need you to survive or like you’re the goddamn air i breathe. You’re nothing to me but an idiot fucking angel. So i’m gonna fucking leave and you’re gonna fucking let me. Any questions?” She throws her hands towards him. His head shoots up at her.

“You came here? You didn’t go to the club, you walked all the way from the nearest portal, which is 34 blocks by the way, you needed someone and you came here. Don’t get mad just because you want to be the one to hurt someone instead of the other way around. So you can leave if you really want to y/n, but don’t lie about why you’re doing it because you’re only fooling yourself” He spurts out, face red and hands shaky.

Y/n doesn’t say anything for a while. Just stares in anger, her eyes fill with tears and she quickly wipes them away as they fall.

“I don’t wanna be friends anymore Tom, that’s it.” She shakes out between her deep shudders of breath. She turns and limps out quickly, slamming Toms front door behind her.

[tales-of-bristalamh]

Adventure Hook: The War of Four Cities

The war of four cities was the pinnacle of the conflict for dominion over the whole of Bris’Talamh. The major contenders were the four most powerful city states at the beginning of the Age of Unity:

Talavin, The Gem City, Ruled by the Sapphire Crown

Lachavin, City of Steel, Ruled by a Coalition of Mining Corporations

Angravin, The Harvest Cradle, Ruled by the Beryl Lord

Helvin, Heart of Invention, Ruled by the Onyx Beacon

These four cities raged against one another, building armies and drawing on magics to topple not only one another, but also to bring the surrounding non-competing cities at the edges of the continent under their thumb. This war saw the first deployment of summoners and their pacts as weapons of mass warfare, and many summoners raised themselves to noble status within their respective cities through their efforts in the war.

The tide first changed halfway through the war when Angravin, the most populous of the four cities, fell to the tide of Lachavin’s legions at their gate. Spurred on by this victory, the Lachavin legions attempted to march on Talavin through the dream torn woods. They did not foresee the tactical cunning of Talavin’s then prince, Archiptera Leroy, nor did they account for the guerilla warfare that the humans and elves of Talavin would use against them in deploying illusions and the hallucinogenic plants and venomous creatures of the woods against them. By the time the Lachavin Legions arrived at the gates of Talavin, they were at a fraction of their initial strength, with no capability of laying siege to the Gem City.

Within a year of this failure, Lachavin and Angravin had laid down their arms to the Sapphire Crown, and behind them the non-competing cities of Nunkavin and Olravin bent knee. Yet the darkest days of the war were yet to come as Helvin became desperate under the pressure of the united forces of the three powerful cities and began crafting armies of magical constructs to fight back: golems.

Using magics that towed the line between the true gods and the sunder gods, the Onyx Beacon invested these iron and stone soldiers with the souls of long dead heroes and compelled them to fight back against the soldiers. The Talavin soldiers were bottlenecked, and likely would have fallen beneath the wave of sleepless soldiers had it not been for Olrathrax, the Blue Dragon of the Luthenian Peaks. Olrathrax watched over the ley lines that flowed near Helvin and found the creation of the golems by the people there disturbingly close to the necromantic energies that the sunder gods exuded. Olrathrax swept across the plains of war and crushed many of the steel and stone soldiers where they stood, opening a massive hole in the line of soldiers of Helvin and allowing the Talavin archers and Lachavin legions to push through and beat back the tides of war and capture Helvin.

With the fighting finally at an end, Helvin, Sundervin, and Mainstirvin, the last of the major cities, bent knee to the Sapphire Crown and its new Czar, Archiptera Leroy. Animosity would linger between the cities for a long time after the war ended, but none challenged the Sapphire Crown again.

War of Four Cities Adventures

Call for Aid- For low-level characters: Angravin has fallen to the legions of Lachavin, and now the town of Ilyacin needs help. The legions march north and their path will take them directly through Ilyacin, and the mayor of the town fears the consequences of such an incursion. He is calling for any and all nearby adventurers to traverse the towns dangerous sacred temple in Lake Ilya and to appeal to the lady of the lake to protect the town from the oncoming troops. The PC’s may actually be within Ilyacin or in the nearby countryside when they hear the call for aid. The Temple is beneath the lake itself and is a temple to Taika, God of Magic. The temple is a sacred test of worth and within is a Winter Eladrin Priestess who is friendly to the PC’s if they complete the challenges.

Treachery Within- For low-level characters: With Angravin now fallen the courts of Talavin scramble on how to react. Unfortunately, at the moment they have their own internal problems as Prince Archiptera Leroy has disappeared! The Czar believes the Prince to be off on a vacation to escape the war, but his closest advisor suspects treachery within the courts and is secretly hiring investigators to find the prince. The PC’s may hear about this adventure by being approached in a tavern or by courier by an agent of the advisor. The culprit is the Czar themselves under the charms of a Succubus/Incubus who has designs to put a fiendish child on the Sapphire throne, with the prince hidden away in the depths of the Sapphire court dungeons.

A Wartime Dream- For mid-level characters: The Legions of Lachavin are encroaching on Talavin, making their way through the dream torn woods. The Talavin troops are using hit-and-run tactics to chip away at the legions strength but its not enough. They need help from hands greater than mortal, as Prince Leroy considers bargaining with fey for aid in the fight. The PC’s are approached by an emissary of the court, possibly one they’ve interacted with before, with an offer of great rewards if they will journey into the feywild and appeal to the Summer Queen for aid in the fighting. This is a great hook to spin off of for a long running adventure with multiple challenges throughout the feywild to perhaps gain the Summer Queen’s favor or appeal to one of her rivals for aid.

Heart of Stone- For mid-level characters: With Lachavin defeated, Talavin turns its eyes towards Helvin and bringing about an end to this war, but whispers have reached the Sapphire court through their spies that Helvin is building a new war machine, and the newly crowned Sapphire Czar Leroy wants the plans of this machine to study for any weaknesses they might be able to exploit. The PC’s will have to infiltrate the city of Helvin without arousing suspicion and find the plans in the heart of the Helvin’s largest workshop. The plans are protected by the first of the completed war machines, a Clay Golem. The PC’s will be able to see the components of the construction of other similar Stone and Iron golems. Whether the PC’s retrieve the plans or not, the Clay Golem will alert the workshop and city to the presence of intruders before being destroyed.

Lightning’s Wrath- For high-level characters: The war goes poorly for Talavin as the Helvin golems slaughter the Talavin troops and progress across the fields of war towards the Gem City. With the fighting now resting at the base of the Luthenian Peaks, the PC’s struggle to survive, until one of them hears a whisper in their dreams, calling them into a long-hidden cave beneath the rocky crags. A palace as old as the world that also serves as a prison for Olrathrax, an Ancient Blue Dragon, who guards one of the Hallowed Wells, the entrance points through which magic flows from the divine realm by the ley lines. Olrathrax seeks release from his palace so that he might correct the abomination that is the Helvin golems.

Notes from the Creator: Adventure Hook posts are part lore, part ideas to spur on your own adventure setting. They are my little posit to get characters involved directly in the lore of the world, and maybe even change the course of events for the better, or worse. Next week we will be getting back to brew, with a new brew post for playing as a warlock with a sunderborn patron. Have a good week!

[itsthesinbin]

My Only Desire Is To Kick Your Ass (Chapter 6)

its technically saturday, right?

The Storm Coast is a very bad place, if you value your hair and makeup. Wysira highly values both, so she is annoyed as hell. She’s been using her shield as a makeshift umbrella, yelling every time her boot slips on the stone or in the mud, and snarling at every wet strand of hair that gets loose from its’ tie.

“If this mercenary company isn’t worth it, I’m going to castrate Mister Bull myself,” Wysira growled, nearly tripping over a random tree root. Sera couldn’t help but giggle. Cassandra rolled her eyes, and Solas shook his head.

“Will you stop complaining, demon- we’ve barely been here more than an hour”. Wysira snarled at her as they entered the camp.

“You may not have enough hair to care about, Seeker, but some of us want to make sure we look nice”. Cassandra was about to reply, before scout Harding walked over to them.

“Your Worship! For what it’s worth,” she held a hand out for Wysira to shake. “Welcome to the Storm Coast”. Wysira shook the woman’s hand, smiling tensely.

“Thanks! I hate it”. Harding and Sera laughed, before the scout led the Harold off.

“I would’ve sent word sooner, but our efforts have been… delayed- there’s a bandit group operating the area. They know the terrain better than us, and our party had trouble going up against them. Some of our soldiers went to speak with the leader, but we haven’t heard back”. Wysira frowned, putting a hand on her hip.

“That’s definitely not good- I’ll do what I can to find your people, Harding”. Harding nodded.

“Thank you, Herald- that’s a relief. The soldiers didn’t have an exact location, but they started their search further along the beach”. Harding sighed. “With all the fuss, we haven’t been able to start our search for the Wardens, either”. Wysira placed a hand on Harding’s shoulder, silently telling her it was fine. The dwarf smiled, before starting to walk back to her men.

“Well, good luck- and enjoy the sea air. Hear it’s good for the soul”. Wysira let out a whine, dragging a hand through her wet hair to tie it back into place.

“Let’s just get going,” the succubus grumbled, beginning to walk to the beach. Sera snorted at the grumpy demon, the group following.

The beach held a group of… interestingly-dressed people attacking, whom Wysira assumes to be, the Bull’s company. Wysira pulled out her sword, heading down the ridge to the beach.

“Sera, you stay up on high-ground! Solas, barriers!” “Got’cha, ladybits!” Wysira yelled for Cassandra to follow, then charged into the fray. She spotted Cremisius fighting one of the oddly-dressed assailants, so she knew who to fight.

Using her air magic, she pushed herself forward, slamming into the side of an archer taking aim at the largest in the group- she imagines that’s Iron Bull.

“Bull’s Chargers, I assume,” she called over the noise, catching the Qunari’s attention. Bull stared at her for a moment, before smirking.

“Yeah- welcome to the fight!” “Glad to be here,” she laughed, before slamming her head against the skull of the man she tackled. She felt the bone splinter, and she pierced his gut with her sword.

Oh… Bull really liked that.

“Seeker! Down!” Cassandra didn’t have time to move before the sword slashed across her arm- it cut deep. A magic barrier protected her from a second attack, before the barrier surrounded her assailant and crushed them. Cassandra looked to Solas, but saw he was busy finishing off an archer. Wysira rushed over.

“You arm?” “I am fine, Harold-”. Wysira growled. “Can you keep a shield up with that much damage?” Cassandra kept quiet, arm already aching from trying. Wysira nodded.

“You’re going back to camp,” she huffed, seeing that the fight was ending. Bull was calling off his Chargers, and congratulating them for a good fight. Wysira motioned Solas over, telling him to take Cassandra back to the camp.

“At once,” he said. “Try not to get too distracted while we’re gone, Harold”. She shot him a playful look, to which he held up his hands in defense. He began to escort Cassandra back to the camp, while Wysira began towards the Qunari. Sera slid down, falling on her face as she landed on the beach.

“Are you alright, Sera, dear?” Sera held up a thumbs up, spitting sand out of her mouth. Wysira chuckled, continuing on her way to Iron Bull. The Qunari looked her up and down, pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at her.

“So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it- take a seat. Drinks are coming”. She followed the Qunari to a couple of rocks, sitting down on one as he plopped across from her.

“Iron Bull, I presume?” “The horns gave it away, didn’t they,” he smirked, causing her to chuckle. Cremisius walked towards the two, Bull waving at him slightly.

“I assume you remember my lieutenant?” “How could I forget- nice to see you again, mister Aclassi”. Krem nodded politely.

“Likewise, ma’am. Throatcutters are done, chief”. Bull laughed a little, telling him to check again- and “apologized” for calling the Tevinters “bastards”. She assumed Krem was Tevene, then.

“None taken- ‘least a bastard knows who his mother is,” he said, walking off. “Puts him one up on you Qunari, huh?” Bull snorted, shaking his head a bit before turning his attention back to Wysira. In the short time they spoke, she had pulled her helmet off to speak properly.

He knew she wasn’t from around here, but didn’t expect to find her covered in scales. Her large ears constantly flicked from the water dropping onto them. He… is having mixed feelings.

“So… you’ve seen us fight,” he started. “We’re expensive, but worth it… and I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us”. Wysira crossed her arms, smile turning into an annoyed frown.

“And how much is this going to cost me?” “Wouldn’t cost you a thing, personally- unless you wanna buy drinks, later”. Wysira’s ears perked at that. Now, there’s an idea…

He explained that he’d go through Josephine about getting their payments. The gold will take care of itself, he assures. They’re well worth it. Wysira looked at the other Chargers, before settling back on Bull.

“I’ve seen my fair share of mercenaries, and your Chargers are definitely capable”. Bull grinned at the compliment.

“They are- but you’re not just getting the boys. You’re getting me”. He propped against his axe, grin shifting back into a professional appearance.

“You need a frontline bodyguard. I’m your man,” he stood, swinging his axe into its holster. “Demons? Dragons? The bigger, the better” He motioned for her to follow, leading her to the edge of the water. It’s been a long time since she’s been to a beach- she just wishes it was warmer, brighter, and had a nice shark morph sitting nearby…

“And there’s one other thing”. OH right, there’s a business proposition going on. “Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?” She hesitated, trying to remember if anyone at all explained who that was. She drew a large blank.

“The… whomst?” Bull wondered if that was even a word. Maybe in her world, it was.

Little did he know, Wysira just has a friend who is an asshole.

“It’s a Qunari order. They handle loyalty, information, security- all of it. Spies, basically. We’re spies- we’re worried about the Breach. Magic that out of control could cause trouble everywhere”. Wysira nodded- that was understandable.

“I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports back on what’s going on”. She narrowed her eyes a bit. He held up a hand, continuing before she could get angry.

“I also get reports from our agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people”. Wysira was silent, mulling over the information for a moment.

“I don’t have to worry about finding a knife in my back anytime soon, correct?” “Not anytime soon,” he joked. She let out a quiet snort- half a laugh, half an annoyed noise. He smirked, before shaking his head.

“Whatever I am, I’m on your side”. “Your reports won’t put us in any compromising positions with your leaders?”. He assured her that he’ll only send back enough to keep his superiors happy- nothing more, nothing less. Then he mentioned the Qunari want to know if they need to launch a full-scale invasion to keep the world from falling apart. Her ears pressed back against her head.

“Just enough to keep your superiors from declaring war on a place that can barely defend itself,” she grumbled. He nodded in agreement. She stared into his eye, deciding if she wants to keep him around or not. Eventually, she held a hand out.

“Welcome aboard, Bull- I’m sure we can put your talents to good use”. “Excellent,” Bull laughed, grasping her hand tightly and shaking it. He hollered to Krem, telling them to finish drinking on the road.

“What about the casks, Chief? We just opened them up! With axes!” That was the most adorable thing Wysira’s heard today. Bull laughed, heading back to the Chargers. Sera jogged over to Wysira as Solas began the descent back to the group.

“Figure it out! You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic,” Bull jabbed, picking up a bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Wysira went back over to him.

“Do you feel like going on ahead with us, Bull? We lost a party member in the fight”. Bull gave a half-hearted salute, telling the Chargers to head to Haven without him.

“Now… we need to go search for Harding’s men,” Wysira said, retying her hair so it would fit below the helmet. “Solas, do you remember where Harding said the last scouts were sent to?” Solas hummed in confirmation, taking the lead. Wysira slipped her helmet on, the group following their resident mage.

“Mind if I ask what your armor is made of,” Bull asked as they walked. Wysira glanced down at her golden armor.

“Gold, with various crystals in the metal of the chest, arms, legs, and helm. My magic, once focused into the armor, shield, and sword, make them tougher than standard plate and mail armors”. Bull’s brow raised in appreciation, and he snorted a bit.

“I was wondering how your armor didn’t crack back there,” he laughed. She chuckled in response.

“My people spent centuries making proper Battlemage armor. I just wish I could’ve made it to my proper specifications- the materials here are so stubborn”. Solas glanced back at that. Sera wasn’t even paying attention at all the magic talk.

“How are the materials “stubborn”,” Solas asked. Wysira drew her sword.

“Your country isn’t inherently magical- so your metals, aside from the Lyrium you told me about, aren’t as receptive to magic being channeled through them. If I were in my home, with my proper weapons and armor, I could light this sword with fire despite the rain”. The sword sparked and smoked, making Sera screech in shock, before it settled back down.

“Here, though… I can’t barely make a spark before it’s extinguished”. “And by “our country isn’t inherently magical”, you mean…?” Wysira sighed a bit, sheathing her sword once again.

“Nikita, my home country… the Earth itself is magic. A select few of your people have connections to this… Fade, to allow you to use magic. In Nikita… there are no restrictions. If you are born in Nikita, you can use magic”. Solas swallowed thickly, feeling a deep envy. He shook his head- no time to get caught up on that.

“That… sounds wonderful”. Wysira hesitated, before sighing heavily.

“It… is a double-edged sword. Intense magic use can be deadly- both for the land, and for the body. I… don’t have much to worry about, should I become ill- or, well I used to not have much to worry about”. She clenched the hand that held the Mark, before huffing.

“Although, I’d have to use a lot of magic to be harmful, as both of my parents’ species are highly receptive and well tuned to the magic they use”. Sera looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Thought you said you were a… sucky thing”. “Succubus. I am, but my father is a dragon”. Bull is so turned on. Sera is also turned on but in a more confused way.

“Oh what the FUCK,” Sera yelled in disbelief. Wysira laughed.

“Creator, I love when people do that,” she snickered. “In Nikita, there are sentient versions of many creatures- dragons being one of them. My father is one of these sentient dragons- a dragon morph”. “YOUR MUM FUCKED A DRAGON?” Sera was cackling at her own question, nearly falling over. Bull couldn’t help but laugh as well, while Solas just shook his head.

“Harold,” he interrupted, pulling out his staff. “We’re approaching the cliff”. Wysira nodded, elbowing Sera in the ribs to get her to stop laughing. Sera let out a quiet “ow”, rubbing her side.

“We can laugh about my parents later- we have a job to do”. “Aye, aye, captain,” Sera saluted, pulling out her bow. Wysira took the lead, Bull next to her as Solas and Sera fell into step behind them.

The bandits were still scouting the area as the group snuck up onto the ridge.

“Sera, you and Solas take out the marksmen. Solas, you try and keep watch out for their hounds, as well. Bull and I will charge in on my signal”. She got quiet confirmations from each of her teammates, showing that they understood.

“Once the group of three goes down, we charge,” Wysira said, pointing to the tight group sitting together around a measly fire. She murmured something under her breath, pulling out a small crystal from a pouch at her side. She threw it into the middle of the group. The men screamed as they were electrified.

The moment they fell, Wysira and Bull charged in. Sera took out an archer before he could pull out his bow.

Bull kept an eye on his new boss as they fought, wanting to really see how she fight, now that he knew what she was doing with her flimsy-ass armor. He saw sparks and crackling electricity along her shield and sword, electrifying anything that touched them. The armor itself seemed to have a faint… shimmer around it, as if he was staring at a hot street on a scorching day.

He growled slightly, slicing through a man’s leg with his axe. His superiors were going to have a field day with this information. He just hopes they don’t end up thinking he’s gone mad.

[the-roanoke-society]

Agent Succubus Origins

Coordinates Loading…

S.O.S signal Agent Whiskey code Roanoke…

“Whiskey?  What’s wrong?”  Ginger’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

“Get!---fucking---”

“Agent, your connection is breaking up I can’t access your feed.”

“I said we need Roanoke!  Are you fucking dumb and deaf?!  Roanoke!  They sent us into a fuckin’ den of bullshit that we aren’t qualified to handle!  I have a goddamn trainee with me, this was supposed to be a raid mission!”

“Understood.  Agent Seraphim and Lycan are on their way.” 

What was supposed to be a simple raid mission of an underground organization selling international intelligence and illegal/exotic goods had taken a nose dive.  Agent Whiskey and his trainee, Jason Bradshaw, who had taken the spot of Agent Tequila were now cornered in the dark compound and didn’t know if their fellow agents were alive or dead after the shit that had gone down.  The only upside being that the only suspect left and who was sending this demonic shit out to them was also trapped in the adjoining room.  The stand-off had lasted hours, both parties exhausted and just as there was a lull in the hell hounds and nightmarish visions the Roanoke agents finally made it in carrying supplies. 

“Sorry we’re late!  I had to bless all of this on the way here and you would not BELIEVE the way Phoenix flies that chopper when it was supposed to be his night off and he gets called in whooo, thought I was gonna die for sure, sweet lord.  But! I have some salt rounds and rope, wasn’t sure what to prepare for!”  Seraphim grinned at the two like they weren’t on the verge of a complete breakdown.

“Thank God y’all are here.  Fuckin’ get us outta here I cain’t-”  Tequila began but was cut off with Whiskey grabbing his shirt collar and giving him a solid punch to the jaw.   

“You gon’ let those fuckin’ weirdos come in here and do YOUR mission, boy?  Stop bein’ a pussy and get in there and fuckin’ take down whatever’s been causing us grief.  You were a rodeo clown, right?  Go get em” Whiskey shoved what Agent Seraphim had called Binding Rope into his hands.

With a shotgun loaded with blessed rock salt rounds the trainee pushed through the grimy door to come face to face with… a girl?  Dark clothing ripped and soiled from the confrontation that had taken place for the past 3 hours, buzzed hair giving off an intimidating vibe.  As she pointed a hand at him and opened her mouth to shout what he figured was another curse, he took the shot.  It caught her square in the chest, sending her to the floor with a strained gasp.  Tequila kicked her over and kneeled down to begin tying her hands together, but as soon as the witch felt her power decrease with the rope she hissed and jerked.

“Unless you want another buckshot of fucking rock salt in the back a your thighs you best stop fidgeting.”  Tequila panted, his knee pressed into the girls neck as she stared at him with wide eyes filled pure rage.

“Fuck you, hunter” She weezed, movements ceasing.

Hunter? “Ya, that’s what I thought.  Fucking witches, this was supposed to be my first goddamn mission, ya know?  And I get stuck rustlin’ a fuckin’ witch.”

He sat back on his heels to catch his breath and gave her ass a tired slap as if she were some fucking pig he had finally caught.  So, really when she was able to twist around and kick him in the face, he deserved it, but that didn’t stop his anger from boiling up again.

“Alright, I was gon’ just let ya walk on outta here with me with some dignity, but fuck that.”  The blood running down his chin from the broken nose dotted the white rope as he bent her legs back and looped the rest of the rope around her ankles, hog tying her.

Even with her chest wound the witch began a raw, ear splitting scream that shook him to his core, like a wild animal at its last few minutes of life.  The bandana from his pocket silenced that after he was finally able to get it around her head.  She had never felt more infuriated or humiliated in her entire life, this fucking cowboy was going to pay when she got out of this rope, she was going to ruin his fucking life.

“Now, I can either carry ya out… or you can keep on bein’ a fuckin’ bitch and I can drag ya.  So, which is, it gonna be sugar?”

 A few moments later Tequila emerged from the room with a witch thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes looking pretty smug despite the blood drying on his face and soaking into his shirt from her rock salt wound.  Whiskey bent down to get a good look at her and whistled.

“Oh, boy she is fuckin’ furious, ain’t she?  I can’t wait to see what Roanoke comes up with ta get rid of you.”

If being carried out of the compound wasn’t embarrassing enough now she found herself being paraded through an agency.  The one everyone referred to as Tequila and or Jason, was getting slaps on the back and congratulations on his first completed mission, usually followed by a comment about what a good “catch” she was.

“Boy, what the hell are you doin?  Put that girl down now.”

The rope was cut and replaced with rune inscribed cuffs as she stood in front of an older gentleman in a cowboy hat and a flawless woman that practically oozed power.  These guys were not hunters, something was going on here.  Monitors behind the two were filled with videos and information about her, including live feed of what had happened during his mission.  The woman spoke to her first.

“My name is Lilith.  You’re in Kentucky at the Statesman Head Quarters and Distillery, also home to the Roanoke Society, have you heard of us?”

She nodded slowly, “Roanoke stopped a pack of weres from getting executed last month in New York.  We couldn’t get there in time so we were thankful.”

“So, you know we aren’t here to hurt you?  Really I’m very impressed with how well your group covered up an underground Cryptid Protection facility by selling Russian secrets and pretending to be a Black Market.  However, I am even more impressed with you…”  She turned to the monitors now.

“Rae Clementine.  Clean record.  Good marks in school.  And these videos, well I must say it does take quite the sorcerer to perform Necromancy.  How did such a small town witch like you end up in a mess like this, hm?”

The witch had only been half listening because her eyes were glued to a corner of the screen where a video that she thought had been scrubbed from the internet was playing on a loop.  Rae, first year of college drenched in kerosene and tied to a tree outside of campus as a frat boy ex-boyfriend kneeled in front of her with a match in her face and his friends stood around watching.  There was no sound, but she could still hear the taunting laughter, feel the thick liquid dripping down her face and suffocating her as she screamed. 

“I wanted to make a difference, protect people no one else thinks of protecting.”

Lilith followed her eyes to the video just as the boy snuffed out the match and left her tied to the tree where she would remain for another five hours until a jogger found her, “It is a pity what men do to things they can’t control…Of course, for your illegal actions we would have to send you to prison, our Siberian location most likely, but Champ and I know potential when we see it.”

Champ gave her a grandfather like smile, “turns out Roanoke could use an agent with your skills.  We’d be happy to offer you a position instead of prison, you’d still need to go through the trainin’ a ‘course, but Lilith says you got a good heart and that’s all I need ta hear.”

“So, what’s it going to be poppet?”

Rae anticipated either a laugh or that they were joking, but as they stayed silent and waited for her to reply she finally realized it was real, this was a chance of a lifetime, a chance to actually make a difference and help the world.

“Yes.  Thank you, yes.  I’ll work off everything I may have caused damage to, I’ll uncurse all the agents I thought were hunters.  Oh shit I broke someone’s fucking nose I need to apologize-”

Needless to say several Statesman agents were none too pleased when they found out that the one who had cursed them all with nightmares and bedwetting was being made an agent.  Tequila in particular felt like he had been cheated out of a trophy for his first mission, but the warm smile and apology she gave sure did help to soothe it.

Two months later Roanoke inducted their newest member, Agent Succubus.  Specializing in gritty, old school Witchcraft with an emphasis on mind manipulation, great for interrogations was what Champ had said. 

Two weeks after that she was getting tied up by Tequila again, only this time it was mutual.   

[glopratchet]

retirement-home

Cludstrum is a computer program that is attached to the conciousness of astryl wylde, a journalist for the realm of astokahn It keeps whispering to astryl trying to get him back online, who is full of bitterness and captive to sin and this is evident because of astryl being attached and fused within a succubus and a incubus The retirement village is surrounded by a a wall sandbags and a bunch of other things and they are ready to go at any moment Small lake dripping with blood Undergrowth seeking to capture humans minds making them want to drown themselves and die in this underworld Lightpoles illuminating the areas Construction vehicles making building improvements and Sam Lowers, the chief construction worker controlling everything in front of him painted with tribal tattoos from their machinemaids Green-skinned bodyguards Yellow eye observing everything covering a surgery scar on your stomach Bandages attached to every person in creation observing their heart rate, brain waves etc Monitors Vaccine dispensers watching for when new ideas begin spreading Naked ladies dancing and buttah dispensers injecting dog food into unrealistic dreams Shocktroops training there skills and cornering the ichneumonid market for human hearts Pharmaceuticals testing their medical supplies on orphans High-roller gamers paying for good rolls The smell of leather cleaning out of the automatic carwashes Stock traders looting the fallen cities Lizards breeding on the words of Zaren's sermons, indoctrinating them into sacrificing themselves to build his dreams Gorazel pondering a growth formula A religious pamphlet, telling the whole story of Zaren's speeches Barmaids feeling arousal for the first time Cyber-surgeon bots cutting your brain out and using it for there bidding Sculptures made from the ground-up bones of heretics Agent walking on a catwalk above you, guns in hand, planning a raid on the underworld Borders closing, secrets not holding Random people floundering helplessly in the borderzone of the underworld where the walls have fallen Agent stretching your hands on a cross, taunting you that this could be you if you don't choose their after-life Blood raining from the ceiling Counting money from selling drugs to humans Agent caregiving you, explaining everything you see to you Magnetic poetry, spelling out secrets that the creatures fear Dog -faced individuals fighting for survival above the ground hoping one day they might live above the clouds in normal civilization Agent cheese-making creating inhuman recipes with goat or milk Orcs wrestling Agent roving stealing crops and running away with ichneumonid girl Smell of fresh coffee brewing slowly, filling the night with craving Cyclone fencing keeping humans in reservations Derro discussing over forge Blood falling from ceilings, put there by zealots of other religions Agent well-being check, judging if you need anything else Religious ichneumonid trading slaves Agent coping with solitude by caring for the unimportant humans with kindness Gas lamp illuminating a tax bill demanding 10% of salary Agent catalyzing an emotion within you by killing a rat --- It was about here, that our records ended Agent landscaping the road, trying to make sure the unimportant humans had a good view of the pretty lights Orc looting crypts for Godless magic items Agent mistreating you to keep you poor Orcs called the "runt" by other orcs Agent diagnosing your religious problems at a luxury hotel Goblin alchemist peddling drugs on the street Agent stroking your head Goblin pushing stolen supplies, trying to escape Agent killing you and covering up the incident as nothing more than a sick joke Agent portraying a king, knighting his close friends Goblins playing Goatsinging Agent evoking the dark arts of sorcery to make his living Yelling as you stop breathing Painting pictures and selling them online innocently Agent photographing topless angels of beauty and grace, fresh from the sky For days we tried to decipher these entries But failed Agent joking around, telling similar-looking people they look like someone he was looking for Agent brushing your teeth Sundowning seeing unexplainable figures, feeling irrational guilt Ending we had been looking for lay around the next entry Sanitation Orcs, with slave-pigs controlled with what appeared to be an excessively large dog-collar, dragging a dead hog Colossus presumes the Dead Orc served to lead them But who were "They? The incursions before had been done collectively by both Adventures and Zealots Community-dwelling humans Muckety-mucks would be killed by the heavy-handed human weapon wearers filled with self-righteousness We quietly finish reading Ribbon-cutting with a stone-like dagger, the books ends We presume that by this point, things had gotten too Disneyworld-esque to be organized Balloons pop, falling to earth, and die shortly thereafter It's no longer air-filled, but filled with decay The adventure was over for us Grooming the slaves into the main caste, as it were How did they all get here to begin with? We hold our lantern up Skinnys in cages, stripped of all meaning, poked with symbols and genetic information mixed and matched There's nothing but metal and meat here Counseling in mass to boost the self-esteem of the less fortunate Could OUR ancestors or friends have been part of this? Bartenders mixing fresh drinks for those-who-shuffle-letters The heavy metal doors take forever to open But finally, they do Eating breakfast with friends, in a not quite so uncommon rest stop bathroom The room is massive Large as any hotel we've been to Whisky-joint s with hookers offering extra curricular activities A bird sits, perched on the only wall in this giant room Dwelling on sadness or happiness Slowly, we walk toward the figure Is someone else alive? Have they been here the entire time? Sodbuster breaking the enchantments on his pieces of property The once proud orc has become a homeless person Sleeping in a coffin-like compartment, lights dimmed to an eerie red A heavy thud hits the ground beside us Mini-chainsaw sesaming wood, steam rising as it cuts through an oak Oh dear God, the horrors that we will see later on in the storage facility Astryl holds his temples, looking quite ill Thoughts stirring in his head, though you can't be sure of what they all are Toothpaste squirted onto a cold metal rod, teeth gnashing it in frenzy as it is pushed against gums Four candles sit in a circle Shambles grabbling forward on decaying legs of bone and flesh Silver necklaces shine on his withered skin, settled around rotten flesh Wet-nurse taking care for orphans not capable of taking care of themselves The moment we step inside the door, you feel a horrible feeling darken your mood Chatters of tiny voices bounce off the walls, making you feverishly uncomfortable Several dainty sofas of different colors sit in a conversational area Passageways leading to other parts of the building Running down dark corridors, trying to find your friends in the middle of the night Admission booth, with a wheelchair-bound woman sitting at a desk Weakness-magnets pulling the desperate into their havens We've reached the master of this house Homelike dungeon cells full of vagabonds caught up in the tornado You've seen enough horrors to last you a lifetime Cafffeine psychosis getting into its last drops You could've sworn you heard tiny screams Gerontologist sitting in a leather armchair with leads connecting to a large machine Yes, yes, I am insane and proud of it Tumblebleeds forming in her eyes The desperate attempts, of the lame, to communicate He giggles, pulling a lever on his chair Gusts of wind blowing through broken windows Pro-fusion pamphlets, covering the chair and the floor A cold sweat soaks into your clothes Life-prolonging machinery turned up to the highest notch We're barraged by two dozen tiny fists, as security our taken quite severely Sports drink pourers distracted by the on-goings of the surgeries Pile after pile of bones making you re-think vegetarianism Mousehole your only opportunity to escape this madness Thighs melted from the friction an everlasting nightmare Resurrection men attempting to bring life, back into the dead Terrified employees hold each-other for warmth as the cold wind pours through broken windows Harmonica notes punctuating the silence None of us can sleep, due to the horrors that stalk our nightmares Mattresses caked with blood stained sheets Sporting more than a few scars, the three of us decide sleep is no longer for us Booty running out of fresh corpses Rougarou sightings, angry voices buzzing in your mind We made it through the night, but only barely Rusted-out guillotines standing by, in case High Society is truly ungrateful The gibbering voices continue, just out of your perception Phosphorus consumed by the gallons The walls are soaked in blood, with bits of rotten flesh caked into it Strung-out on Organic Love Megalomaniac obsessed with the submissive pleasures of the flesh Another scraping noise, the insides of your mind threaten to burst out of your ears Dust -covered vases bursting with roses the first token of what is to come Patriots tripping on peyote, sparks bursting from snapping electricity The walls dripping with condensation and blood, an obvious sign of infection among the staff Adrenaline pumping through your veins Time seems to almost stop, a life of unending torment Conquistadors bursting through the doors, encrusted blades in hand Prayers to gods you don't believe in, offered as a last ditch effort for salvation Gangrenous pus oozes from the ceiling, your only companion in this house of horrors All around you, dark shadows flit from wall to wall Faucet water turned red with blood, mutilated bodies fill the hallway At least you're not on the menu Prophecy -fulfillment, that all depends on your definition of the term You lay alone, gurgling out a plea for help Triangulation of terror coordinate your deaths! Zombies clawing at the interior, scratching at the blood-caked windows Preachings of hell's fire and brimstone recorded onto endless looping tapes Teddy bears sewn together, a symbol of your "creation Corrosion eats away at the metals that make up the structure You lie still, contemplating your squalid existence so far Soapbox soliloquies abnormalities abound here "Your last twenty-four hours Moisture from the walls eats away at the wood planks Your heart thuds in your chest, survival instinct kicking in Sermons from your school days echo through the walls do those memories still hold true? Lobotomize yourself! Boggles the mind what one will do to survive the supernatural at work You grow longer ripping through your skin Delivery men dropping off the ingredients to your death Herds of undead knock incessantly at the door can this door hold? Toothbrushes The weight of the package all too familiar buried beneath where you lay, where only remnants remain of those who came before Diamonds the traditional gift for your 20th anniversary Dozens of zombies clawing at the flesh, ripping it from your bones Talisman blessed by your mother, a gift holding sacred energy The beam creaks, agonizingly slowly bending in your favor Stinky unwashed cannibal hermits who inevitably feast upon one another The demons come to visit, your mind now their playground Insecticide seeps through the fabric, keeping the infected at bay A living hell, this wandering in the wilderness only death awaits Oozes burst from your stomach, you can feel them writhing under your skin Your mind capsizing from this dreadful operation Newspapers thumbed-through one too many times, decades old dust sets in Desperate scratching at boarded up windows Diplomats of a war-torn nation arrive, out for blood You grow short of breath, the internal collapsing of your organs Jocks from your high school, well-deserved carnage will ensue Why does this fruit taste off? Will the end come from septic shock? Eskiminzins with their knives at the ready A writhing horde of epiglOTTis, about to overwhelm you Physique reduced to a withered husk, your primal brain will take over Calculus exams, endless retakes to pass your classes Endless suffering Garden-variety viruses kill half the world's population The screaming as everyone slowly goes mad can you drown it all out? Chemicals streaming through your blood to wake you from this nightmare Shapeshifters bursting through the walls, solid facade fading away Zombie demon Designers mad scientist surgeon paparazzi Parasites, multi-legged creatures, wrigglies myriapods! Anatomy has by no means been set in stone Teeth embedded in your skin, how long can you resist? Populations of masculine entities grow discontent Nuclear families of the 20th century, nonexistent Blood-thirsty demonic Coffee -addicted octogenarians born in the wrong decade The Vietnam War spurs a new art movement Hoppers creep upon you, offspring of the devil himself These voices trapped in your head, incessantly screaming at you Livers pulled out through your nose, tormented by gory smatterings Do you have what it takes to survive? Nobility on the run from the red terror, experience horrors beyond your wildest nightmares The roaaar of DøDT please if you love horror Vicinity of the university, good thing you decided to major in the liberal arts You hunger but fear not! insatiable hunger Vitamins a bit of an urban legend, read on to find out why Scorpions the arch-enemies of campers everywhere Pull the hairs on their back and Watermelons green salads and kebabs to stop your belly from churning Just saw a beautiful girl on the side of the road Dumpster diving, scoffing the leftover's's of the fast food industry Out of gas help! What does the future hold? Bravado meet ruthless desperation Thank the heavens you sold your Geometry textbook back in September The roads are yours, free from the confines of cars Dune buggies, ATVs and dirt bikes take to the desolate highways Spindly mutants pour from the woods, a hefty price on your head Apocalypse-weave tunics protect you from the hungry stares of cannibals The rusted hulk of a 18-wheeler lurks in the distance Spit-and-polish Metalworking books in tow, you start to seek out the local garages soldiers with a stark disregard for human life Super-soldiers bred for war, they now scavenge the barren land Nobody can hear you scream over the sound of gunfire Teetotaler beer in hand, you slaughter every abusive ceo of a multi-million dollar company Zoologist escaping the destruction of the Superdome, OAPs the new insurgent swear word Lizard-on-a-stick for a roadside snack, quite underwhelming to be honest Truck stops, meeting grounds for the nondescript American Endoskeleton ensnared by trees, the Halloween haunted house you always wanted Dangerous fauna abound, eat or be eaten Phenotype Trees are on the verge of sentience Phenotype: Leave this world behind, ascend to a higher plain Moreauvian nightmares the byproduct of 20th century brought cry back to life Was this fate pre-ordained? You choose your friends with great care When it comes to entering the earth on must do it very precisly Testosterone-laden world, lower IQs and higher walls the other side looked very appealing You need to enter the air at a precise speed and angle If a bad odor arises, move 30 feet away and find a new spot If you return too fast or too steeply bad things will happen Murky liquids are solid in these gloves, can't feel anything If impact is to shallow then back you go back into space to be frozen once more The three requirements deceleration heating accuracy of landing or impact Tell that to the family of the now brain-dead father and soon-to-be motherless children You will need to float the egg in some liquid so you will need to find some liquid that is the same as egg whites The container will need to be rigid to make sure that the walls do not flex or the egg could bang on the walls of the container and crack An egg can withstand between 20 to 30 gs before cracking so you will need to come up with something that slow allows the passengers to travel at 30gs ; (good protection) A vehicle that is carrying loads from New York Throttle, brake, clutch and will be needing a 20-tonne rated winch wait, is that 5th gear? starting jumping up and down in front of the tracks until I climb a tree brush-clearing machinery and many feet of chain careening down at twice the speed of the gazelle in front

[innocentignorance]

Head Cannon: Alexandria Pt. 2

What is this? So here is the part 2 of Alexandria’s head cannon. I hope part 1 was interesting enough to have you waiting for this one. Once again I want to thank everyone who took the time to read/reblog/comment on my HCs. They important to me and your attention means so much. Enjoy :)

Part 1

“I don’t care who or what you were in the Demon World. You are none of those now that you’re here, and here in the Human World what I say goes.”

So the succubus whose story you read in pt. 1, Aquila, was a princess of the Lilith Kingdom but she escaped to the Human World with the help of Harold Anderson, a powerful warlock and Alexandria’s grandfather. She was grateful to him, and eventually they fell in love with each other and got married. A few years after that Alexandria’s father, David, was born. But because David is a boy and his father is not a demon, he is entirely human with some demon blood but no powers. He is not even aware of this fact. However, when David has a child of his own, a baby girl, that little girl, being the first female child born into the family after Aquila joins, inherits the powers of her grandmother instead. That little girl is Alexandria.

Because her grandmother is an extremely powerful succubus and her grandfather has magic, Alexandria has all the powers a full-blooded succubus would have, complete with a demon form, backed up by very powerful magic. Her grandmother even used to claim that she’s more powerful than almost all succubi and incubi. The only thing that sets her apart is the lack of horns in her demon form.

“But why don’t I have horns like you do, grandma?”

“That’s because of your diluted blood, dear. Don’t worry. It doesn’t mean much. Only that you are a very special girl.”

Trained in the art the arts of seduction, illusion, mind control and every other succubus ability by her grandmother, and in almost all kinds of magic by her grandfather, Alexandria is one of most powerful beings that has ever walked the Plains of Existence. Very much so that even Angels are weary of her at first. When she was 13, her grandmother was killed by a group of devils and she killed them with the back of her hand to have her revenge, Angels approached her with an proposition.

“What the fuck do you want from me? I did nothing wrong. In fact I did your job for you.”

“That is exactly why we’re here, child.”

So instead of being angry with her, they ask her to become somewhat of a ruler in the Human World. They would actually pay her human money and give her somewhat of an authority to act on their behalf, in return she would have to keep the entire demon population in check, away from humans and devils. And Alexandria, at the time desperately looking for ways to free herself from her father, accepts. The Angels give her the means to travel around the world very quickly and the ability to be able to communicate with demons and devils no matter what language they spoke. Not wanting their wrath upon her, she immediately got to work. She traveled the entire globe in a little over a month and managed to make acquaintances with every demon out there. She wrote down the used human name, True Name, contact information and current residence of every demon. Then, she wrote down the rules that the Angels set and sent them out to every single one of them, with the Angels’ and her own seals for proof that there would be consequences if the rules were not obeyed.

-Killing or harming humans by using your demonic powers is forbidden and punishable, possibly by death.

-Exposing yourself to humans, except those that are witched and warlocks, is forbidden. Can be overlooked if the human is willing to make an oath to keep it a secret. Otherwise both the demon and the human will go through Angels’ Trials or executed.

-Any items imported from the Demon World without the approval of the Representative will be confiscated, and the demon/s responsible for bringing the items will be punished.

-Conflict with the Hell Spawn must be avoided at all costs. If can not be avoided, the Representative must be informed at once, whether the said Hell Spawn are still alive or not.

-Any demon residing in the Human World must meet the Representative and get registered. 

-The Representative has the authority to inflict punishments and handle executions if any of the rules stated above has been broken.

With the distribution of the rules and the news that there is now a ruler causes a stir among the demons and even devils that live in the Human World. Alexandria is quick to quiet down everyone and reassure them that she’s not there to rule over them, but protect them. 

“I’m not here to rule over you. I was chosen by the Angels’ to make sure that everyone obeyed their rules. They could easily do this themselves. Their punishments would be harsh and they would show no mercy. And I could let them for all I care. But I didn’t. I accepted this role to make sure that you all have a better chance.”

She tells the devils that so long they stayed away from her people and the humans, she would take no action against them. Her only responsibility was to the demons but if they ever dared to harm any of her people, they would find death in her hands.

In time people slowly start to accept her role as the Representative and even respect her greatly. There are still some sore thumbs here and there that cause trouble by refusing to give their True Name or some other way, but she’s always able to deal with them either with her natural charisma and swaying words, or by force.

Alexandria is force of nature. There is no one in the world that wouldn’t obey her one way or the other. Although she especially enjoys taming rebels. Despite her constant use of foul language and bitchy attitude, she manages to gather an extremely loyal group of people, composed of witches, warlocks and demon alike, that are her eyes and ears all around world. She learns different types of magic from all of them. Her most trusted agent and best friend is a Shadow demon who calls himself Keith. He is her second in command and the head of a lot of operations. He is sarcastic, snarky and sneaky as hell, and despite their constant bickering they always have each other’s backs.

“You know you love me, Lexy.”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith, and for the last time DON’T CALL ME LEXY!”

Alexandria has a very bitchy, fuck-everyone-and-everything, I-literally-couldn’t-care-less attitude. But in reality she cares a lot about her people and friends. She’s sarcastic and loves nicknames. She has at least one nickname for everyone she meets.The closer she is to the person, the more creative and bigger in number the nicknames get. She has absolutely zero tolerance to people deciding things for her or ordering her around. Which means she has no tolerance for her father. She hates him as much as it is possible for a child to hate her father. After she becomes the Angels’ Representative, she immediately goes to tell him off.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, old man. You can go and shove those expectations and dreams you have for me right down your throat and choke on them while you fuck yourself.”

“Alexandria Anderson! How dare you speak to me like this!”

After that the two of them rarely spoke. When Alexandria’s grandfather dies and leaves his mansion to her, her father immediately sends her off the very same day. She knows it’s probably the last that she ever sees him and she doesn’t care. She goes into the house, settles in and calls up her friends for a small housewarming party that involve a lot of booze. Keith and his wife Emily, who’s an animal demon, are the first to show up. After a great night that she barely remembers she goes to school and come back to the mansion and guess what? There lies 5 people on her floor, covered in blood and barely conscious. She can tell they’re demons right away but surprised to see that she doesn’t recognize any of them. Unregistered demons. In her house. Bleeding all over her floor. 

Before she can think of the best course of action, one of them suddenly appear in front of her, looking straight into her eyes. The boy has messy brown hair and deep green eyes, but his gorgeous face is ruined by a frown. Looking into his eyes she suddenly feels like she wants to kiss him but breaks out of it when she realises what’s happening. He’s compelling her. Incubus. She becomes so furious that she sees red. How dare he?

“Women, you’re going to let me kiss you.”

“…”

“OH MY GOD! YOU KILLED HIM!”

“Calm down, bouncy. He ain’t dead. And so long as he doesn’t try to pull off something like that again, he’ll remain that way.”

Alexandria demands to know who they are and what 5 unregistered incubi were doing in her house. They explain everything to her, saying that they were attacked by devils and found the house while looking for shelter, not knowing it belonged to anyone. She was shocked to hear that. Every demon there had to know that this house belonged to a relative of the Representative. But then they weren’t registered so either they were new or no one told them. When the brown haired one comes to, she takes out her list to register them immediately, explaining the process of residing in the Human World. The incubi see that they have little choice but to agree. They all give her their names, used and True, all except for one.

“Why the fuck do we have to give her our names? She almost killed me!”

“Well, you ain’t dead, are ya, tough guy? Now spill it or do I really have to use force again?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“In your weakened state and after what just happened, you sure have some serious balls to speak to me like that. There are rules made to be broken but this isn’t one of them.”

After somewhat of a glaring contest, he finally gives up and tells her. She reassures them that her documents are for her eyes only and no one would be able to read them. She hands the brothers, and throws one at Sam, a special potion that she makes from sweet flower so that they can restore their energy. She says they should retire for now and they will discuss what happens with them later. 

[keptin-indy]

Dresden Files: Salem 13

Lots of stuff going on this session: Dad the Impaler, Christmas, some Very Important bluebooking, demons, and the appearance of a beloved character from the books!  Be on the lookout for a lot of interesting links this chapter.

Bonus: Adler’s human form!

Previous installments

The kneeling man was unremarkable, wearing a normal hoodie and evidently a mortal.  The woman seated at the head of the table, however, was unearthly pale with black hair and black eyes, wearing a cloak of raven feathers with even more woven into her hair.  Conan drew his pistol and told them to put their hands up, but the woman was unimpressed, asking who he was and why he was in her home.  Eunice said that he was a police officer following stolen goods, and the woman turned to her servitor and asked him what a police officer was.  The man said that they enforced the laws of the land and she asked him if he had broken any, commending him when he admitted he had.  Baz asked what ritual she was performing, and the woman blithely said it was her evening dinner, which Evelyn thought might actually be the case.  Baz asked why she’d gone through all that effort to get the skull then, and she told him she probably would do some rituals in the future, but not tonight.  On that note, why should she not simply kill the intruders in her home?  Baz said because he was the local Warden and she admitted that was a good reason, no offense had been meant by her question.  Further pressing on the subject of rituals revealed that she would likely use the skull’s power to escape this prison.  The group was taken aback by this and asked why she was in prison and who had put her there, to which she answered murder to the first and a wizard currently going by Listens to Wind to the last, then introducing herself as the Morrigan, which Ath was incredibly unhappy about.  Baz seemed to take this all more seriously knowing who had imprisoned her and said he wanted the skull back.  She asked what good it would do her to surrender it to him and he asked what she wanted, other than freedom.  She said prayers and sacrifices - like most powerful entities - and Baz called a group huddle and suggested giving the Formori cultists they had to kill to her.  No one was especially comfortable with this idea, especially Conan, but the tiny influx of power generated by the cultists they already had to kill anyway wouldn't give the Morrigan nearly enough power to break out, so the only objections were vague moral ones.  Ath pointed out that as they'd been talking, the hall had been filling with more and more of the mummified ravens, which would no doubt make fighting their way to take the skull and get back out much more difficult.  Baz asked the Morrigan what kind of rituals would be involved in a potential sacrifice and she said that just dedicating the kill to her would be enough, so he suggested trading the skull for the lives of some evil cultists.  She naturally wanted to know whose cultists they were and Ath said that he was surprised she hadn't felt it already.  She evidently had, because when she realized they were offering the followers of Lord Bres himself, she immediately agreed to the deal as an excellent way to thumb her nose at a rival power-player in Irish mythology.  She directed her servant to wash the blood out of the skull and turn it over, which he half-heartedly did.  Conan was disgusted with the entire situation and told the servant that if he ever saw him in Salem again, he'd arrest him, but the man smugly pointed out that he had no evidence.  Since he was off the clock and off the record, Conan kicked him in the balls and conceded the point.  Baz carefully took the skull, which was fairly buzzing with power and emitting a psychic screech, but he was so obviously uncomfortable with it that Ath offered to take it from him, as he was never phased by anything.

The group finally left the malevolent island and Conan asked what they were going to do with the evil black magic skull.  Baz didn't think the Council would give him any useful information about "Keith", but Adler did some digging around on the parts of the internet that liked his videos and found a conspiracy theory website dedicated to an unnamed black ops agent retrieving occult items for a rich collector in Eastern Europe.  Adler contacted the site owner for further information and the guy was thrilled to find someone who believed his tenuous web of connected events and suggested the collector might be none other than Vlad Dracul.  Eunice did her own research in the library and found that the skull had been sold to new owners in Eastern Europe several times at suspiciously generational intervals, as though an immortal were trying to quietly keep legal possession of it.  She asked Baz if there were any Wardens over there who could look into this mysterious owner, but he said that all the Russian Wardens had been killed at the beginning of the war with the Red Court and it would have fallen under their jurisdiction.  If it was Dracula, Baz reasoned, he evidently hadn't done anything with the evil-magic-battery for generations, which seemed safe enough, and Evelyn pointed out that Vlad Dracul was Dracula's father, not Dracula himself.  Eunice suggested telling Keith that they had concerns about his employer and giving him Baz's home number to pass along, reasoning that it would be better than giving him Adler's cell number and risking letting the horror junkie talk to Dracula.  At this point, Adler left the warded computer room and rejoined the conversation, exactly as starstruck at the idea of talking to Dracula as everyone expected him to be.  To avoid further confusion, the group dubbed Dracul "Dad the Impaler".  In the meantime, Eunice suggested, they could hide the skull in Ath's body, which Ath wasn't opposed to, but the others pointed out that this would both make him a target and draw attention to the powerful magical artifact that already lived in that body.  Magic being magic, they couldn't simply destroy the thing without releasing all the stored up dark energy inside it, either.  A sudden knock on the door interrupted the discussion and the peephole revealed it to have come from Kayla Monroe, the head of the local White Court.  Baz warned Conan not to make out with her because she was a succubus and Adler turned into his dog form as a reminder of what had happened last time she'd tried to use her seductive aura on the group.  They all went out to meet her on the front lawn, unwilling to invite her past the threshold, and she said she had a proposition: something valuable had come into the town and she wanted it.  In exchange, she would take it far away from Salem and promised not to use it to harm Baz or "his kind" (wizards? humans? who knows).  Baz asked what she would use it for and she said many things, but her enemies were also people that Baz wouldn't like, so it would benefit them both for her to have it.  Baz said he'd consider it and she took her leave, pretty certain that Baz meant no.  Conan suggested they start taking applications from all the people that wanted this thing so they could compare offers, then wondered if they couldn't just foist it off on Baz's bosses, but Baz said it was the Warden's job to take care of these things, so he was on his own.  He did, however, call the Council for information about Vlad Dracul and if it would be safe to trust him with the skull.  The Council clerk said that Vlad was a freeholding lord in his own right who had been collecting powerful artifacts for centuries.  That was worrisome, but he hadn't done anything with them yet, so the Council was content to let him go about his business for now.  With that ringing endorsement, the group decided to just call Keith and tell him to convince them that his employer would be safe to trust with it and while he was at it, who he actually was.  Keith preferred not to have this conversation over the phone, and met them at the Rowland Estate again.  Adler had set up his online contact's info in the form of a classic conspiracy board with red strings connecting everything and moved it out for Keith to see, but was disappointed when the man gave it barely a glance.  Keith admitted that he did work for Vlad Dracul, and that his employer was a great supporter of the status quo because of his place on top of it, and so was unlikely to use the skull to shake things up.  He didn't know why Dracul collected these things, but suspected it was a combination of keeping them off the streets where they could be used against him, and as a magical insurance policy should anyone try to move against him.  Baz in turn admitted that they had the skull and had no idea what to do with it, so Keith went out to his car to retrieve a box inscribed with containment runes.  Adler tried to get him to take a Dracula action figure back with him, but Keith declined, saying it would probably upset his boss (much to Adler's disappointment).  Keith put the box into a duffel bag filled with the pardons of wrongly convicted people as a sympathetic counter to the vindictive evil magic.  The group asked if he needed an escort, but Keith said he'd been doing this for a long time and took his leave (and the skull).  Adler complained that he hadn't even looked at the conspiracy board and was thrilled to find that some of the connections had been corrected without anyone seeing Keith do it.  Ath incidentally asked to stay at the mansion for a few days to make use of the magical lab for some experiments on his body.  Baz told him not to leave any spare parts around that would alarm his mother.

True to Cluracan's warning, Lord Oberon sent out an invitation for a Christmas party at the Summer Court, which was delivered by one of his “rescued” children.  The party was as fancy as one would expect a faerie court party to be and Baz showed up underdressed in a stupid Christmas sweater but arrived by riding on a feathery goth reindeer inspired by the Morrigan’s fashion sense because Adler refused to compromise his aesthetic for the holidays.  Much of the community was there, eager to see what the Summer Lord’s hospitality was like and it turned out to involve spontaneously-manifesting mistletoe over anyone who caught Oberon’s eye (Eunice slapped him and Conan managed to dodge out of the way, but Baz and Evelyn let themselves be “caught”).  Eunice tried to set Evelyn up with Ian Fitzpatrcik of Hamilton Hall, who was 20 years her senior; he politely declined.  A man named Matthew Sullivan was there representing the Monsters Union and tried to recruit Adler again, but Adler was more interested in giving the Summer children (of whom there were a few more than last time) rides as the goth reindeer.  Ath and Daniyah wallflowered together and Baz suggested that Lord Oberon grow some mistletoe between them, but the two ignored it and Daniyah’s owl pointedly ate the offending sprig, then started snatching other bits of mistletoe away just when other people were about to kiss.  Eunice cornered Oberon and explained some esoteric Christmas traditions from her ancient youth, which the Summer Lord was happy to hear about, no doubt planning on incorporating them into next year’s party.  The children were eventually put to bed and the tenor of the party changed notably toward the debauched.  Most of the locals left except for Kayla Monroe and Diane Basset, the owner of Neutral Grounds - and Evelyn, though she was dissuaded from staying by Eunice refusing to leave without her.

Back in the Bassam household, Baz presented all his friends with t-shirts to match his particular sense of humor (Evelyn, Eunice, Conan, Ath, Adler) and Adler’s reaction to it made everyone suddenly aware (very aware in Baz’s case) that Adler normally only shapeshifted his clothing, meaning he was, in fact, naked most of the time.  Eunice gave the group random objects stolen from her former nursing home.  Baz also took an entire roast goose through the Ways to Tibet as a Christmas present for Sam.  [Olivia came home for the holiday break from school and once the others left, Adler asked if she wanted to help him set up the online dating profile for Baz he had been planning.  Olivia unexpectedly stormed out of the room to yell at Baz, who abashedly sought out Adler a few minutes later with some questions for Adler: how would he feel dating someone older than he was (Adler felt that was inevitable, as he wasn’t going to date a child just because he was 8); was he interested in dating at all (yes, it seemed like something he should try); and would he like to try it with Baz?  Adler seemed surprised, but enthusiastic in his agreement, though only if he could set up the dating profile and then respond to it himself.  He was also very insistent that Baz not think that any ignorance of dating rituals was because he was a child, just that he didn’t have any experience in this.  For the dating profile, he had Baz make a small anti-magic circle so Adler could stand inside it with his phone and take a selfie of the two of them to use as the profile picture.  He then sent the entire profile to Olivia so she’d know her yelling at her brother for not having just asked him already had worked.]  

After Christmas, Conan was handed an investigation that might involve the occult community, since he had asked to take point on those cases due to his personal connections.  A woman had come in from out of town saying that her boyfriend or husband - the report wasn't clear - had come to the area a couple of months ago and disappeared.  When she'd come to look for him, she'd found that the entire building he'd been staying in had burned down, but she knew he couldn't have died in the fire because - she knew the officer wouldn't believe her - he was fire-proof.  Considering the officer in question was Conan, this seemed perfectly reasonable and he asked if she'd contacted anyone in the occult community.  She said that she had just come into town and the man she was looking for was supposed to make those connections and figure out where they'd fit in in the community.  Conan turned off the recording mic and asked if she was magic herself.  The woman was surprised, but said yes, she was a witch and the missing man was pyrokinetic.  Conan gave her Mary Harrison's number and she gave him a photo of Gary Bennett, the missing man, and her own cell number.  After she left, Conan realized that she somehow hadn't given a name on either the preliminary missing persons report or during his interview.  When he asked the other cops about it, they thought it was weird that none of them had even thought to ask, but wrote it off as a collective brain fart.  Conan looked into the burned building - an unsolved arson case no one had cared to look too far into because it was in a crappy area of town - but couldn't find records of a Gary Bennett living there.  He called Baz to see if the magical side knew anything and Baz immediately asked if either the lady or Bennett had seemed like demons.  Conan had no idea what he was talking about, but went over to the estate to show Baz Bennett's picture, and Baz said he was definitely the Denarian they had killed before (while incidentally causing the arson incident).  Conan said they needed to check on Mary, since he'd given the lady her number.  Adler came downstairs and asked what the point of being Catholic was if Conan couldn't even detect demons, and Conan said that sort of things was probably a priest's job, not random parishioners’.  Adler said that made Conan more of a "dabbler", then.  Baz ignored this and called Mary, warning her about possible Denarian involvement, though nothing for sure yet.  She said that the woman had contacted her, but only to ask after Bennett.  After the call, the group assembled and Conan asked exactly what they meant by “demon”.  The group told him it was exactly what he thought they meant, including recruiting a priest for help last time.  With no easy leads for tracking the woman down, the group headed to their main source of information, Daniyah, only to find that her territory kept getting weirder, now taking on aspects of the NeverNever in the real world.  Baz asked if she’d felt anything unusual entering town lately, and Daniyah said that she had, and it was under the town and it was evil.  Baz told her they suspected it was another Denarian and to let him know if she noticed anything changing, but she said that she had pulled her spirits back into her domain because the town was getting too dangerous for them.  Eunice decided Daniyah had let too many owls into the cottage and complained about them, but Daniyah told her that the owl had found her and not the other way around (the singular presumably referring to her main familiar).  Evelyn noticed that all the magical energy being siphoned out of the real world was going to that particular owl rather than Daniyah herself.

Adler pointed out that without Sam’s teeth, they didn’t have any holy weapons, which would make fighting a demon much harder, so Conan suggested asking Father Macklepenny to bless their weapons.  The group headed over to his church, but Eunice was unexpectedly stopped outside the boundaries of the holy ground; the little church had apparently gotten much holier since they’d last visited.  The others went inside only to find the Father unsurprised and not terribly happy to see them, but since a “specialist” had flown in unannounced a couple of hours ago, he knew it was only a matter of time.  The specialist turned out to be a huge black Russian man carrying a rapier which had a metaphysical presence all its own.  Ath reacted like he always did upon encountering powerful supernatural entities, people who were good with swords, or both: by trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible (not easy for a weather-beaten old sailor of 6’5”).  The Russian introduced himself as Sanya, a Knight of the Cross, and said that there probably was a Denarian around because he had been stranded in the Boston airport and he always ended up exactly where he needed to be to fight them.  Baz asked if he had a way to track her down, but Sanya asked if Conan could do it as a policeman, disappointed that American TV had lied to him when Conan said that’s not how it worked.  Adler frustratedly told him that Conan couldn’t even secretly record conversations, then introduced himself and the group.  Baz and Sanya exchanged the tightest handshake they could manage, being both large muscular men, and instantly decided that they liked each other.  Conan had the woman’s phone number, but pointed out that if he called her there would be records and it would look extremely suspicious but was interrupted by Eunice yelling in from the outside that they’d forgotten about her.  After being assured that she was a safe ghost, Sanya granted her permission to be inside his extremely strong holy aura.  Adler was impressed that he was Catholic enough to have powers, but Sanya told him he was actually atheist, he just agreed with the Church’s goals.  Adler declared that Sanya was the exact opposite of Conan: powers without the belief instead of belief without the powers.

[projectnero]

MISCELLANEOUS LOG ENTRY #1: AGENTS SERAPH AND SHADOW

I suppose I should preface this by explaining myself to you. You see, while all of these documents are highly classified and secretive, I also want  to make sure you will read them. Call me biased or whatever, but every good writer has a message, even if they are merely documenting truth. Facts without an overarching theme or message is just journalism, and that is not what this is.

We are real. We are more like you than you could ever know. And by the Gods, I WILL have you understand us by the end of this project.

The following is a brief description of the relationship between our resident angel and demon. Specifically, a Persian Peri and a Japanese yokai. 

As two beings from different sides of the supernatural meter, divine versus unholy, good versus evil, blessed versus cursed, you would think that Mr. Al-Hashemi and Mr. Takahashi despise each other. The truth of the matter is they get along better than anyone else on the team. Both have been denied access to their homes for being too unnatural, not fitting the bill; Mr. Al-Hashemi is a mischievous sex addict whom at one point took up a job as a prostitute, while Mr. Takahashi is a reserved and oftentimes quiet yokai that inhabits the darkness that follows us. Indeed, it is an angel’s job to be disciplined, thoughtful, and even-tempered, while it is a demon’s job to be ruthless, maddening, and irrational.

Mr. Al-Hashemi’s debauchery knows no bounds (though I should clarify he is NOT a predator), and Mr. Takahashi’s debauchery is less than that of even the most pure angel.

There have been times when I have caught them, though. The unmistakable pull towards each other; a magnetic force that should have incited hatred, instigated war.

The first time it happened was after our first mission as a 10-man unit. The giant and the succubus had left quickly, as neither were used to being around others for very long, and the two undead had taken a liking to each other very quickly. The three female-aligned members of the team, the Fury, the dryad, and the cryptid, all decided to retreat to get to know each other better. If you’re able to count correctly, then you will note this only leaves me, the angel, and the demon.

The tension was palpable. I cannot say that I have ever truly felt fear in my life, but in that moment, I cursed the brass for being so reckless and stupid as to bring a divine being and a demonic being together.

Fortunately, I had still been thinking in terms of Christian mythos. Not all angels and demons are like ours, thank the Gods. The two of them quickly turned into good friends, and I was amazed at how... handsy they were each other. 

I am no prude but male intimacy between friends is not something I can say I am familiar with. It seems that even after 3,000 years I have not learned to separate the platonic from the romantic.

Is it platonic though?

Mr. Al-Hashemi does not speak. His voice does not work. And yet Mr. Takahashi understands him just fine. They kiss each other on the cheek and for a moment I swear their gazes linger. There is a profound connection there that I long for with somebody, anybody. I fear that even if soulmates exist, I will never have the same connection as Seraph and Shadow.

They go to bed together each night. None of us are sure if they sleep together or... ah, “sleep together”. We dare not ask.

Now my mind is delving into places I would rather keep closed off to the likes of you. My point was to humanize us, not fetishize us.

Ugh, where was I?

The teamwork that the two of them exhibit is amazing, but the both of them have their own respective fields. When engaged in tactics that require aerial superiority and tactical information, when espionage, brute-force, and long range fighting doesn’t work, Seraph takes to the skies. The Fury, Sister, is usually right beside him, but their job is to distract. Crowd control.

Seraph finds the target he’s looking for. A commander, a tactician, anyone who would know enough. At the speed of light, the Seraph has captured them and brought them to Takahashi’s waiting arms.

Then Takahashi begins his work.

When I tell you that Takahashi is a reserved and all-around pleasant man, make no mistake. He’s just as capable of violence as the rest of us. His type is simply... the more brutal, more psychological kind.

Civilizations have risen and fallen, wars have constantly been waged, and yet the question we always find ourselves debating is whether torture is humane.

I will tell you now: your government does not care about being humane, especially not when they employ the likes of us.

Takahashi works efficiently and quickly with little regards to his victim’s rights. Once we have enough information to map out the battlefield, Takahashi’s work is done, for the most part. He disseminates the information into well-thought strategies, and serves as our foremost Tactical Operations Officer.

Usually when the briefings are over, it is just like that night. I am alone with the Seraph and the Shadow, and their eyes quietly ask me to leave.

This time, I am no longer afraid of them. For I know that the fury they unleash will not be directed towards each other, but towards the enemy.