#(how can he not when he left ruby’s body behind in the cathedral?

[willowcrowned]

it’s actually wildly funny that amethar’s epithet came about because he was the only person in his family not horrifically murdered. imagine if every single one of your relatives got stabbed and from that point on everyone called you “johnny no-stabs." that’s amethar’s life

[introvertedelf]

The Mundane and the Shadowhunter

An Alec Lightwood x fem!reader story.

Warning(s): Future mature content, Alec falls in love with a woman, future violence

Summary: You are a mundane who can somehow see Shadowhunters and you stumble upon the institute. What happens when you’re caught by Alec?

Chapter 1

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

YOUR POV

It was a typical New York City rainy day, but of course one that you hadn’t planned for. So there you were, no umbrella, no rain boots, with your hair sopping wet. It was pretty chilly outside, and you’d likely catch a cold if you didn’t find shelter.

To your left, you noticed a huge building. A cathedral, to be exact. One that you’d seen multiple times, and watched strange people go in covered in tattoos. You made sure not to ever make eye contact with them, as they certainly seemed like some sort of cult. It was New York, you wanted no business with that sort of thing.

But, it seemed like you didn’t have much of a choice. Maybe they were a good cult? You had your fingers crossed.

You pushed open the tall door, your breath taken away upon entering the massive building. When you finally brought your eyes back down to in front of you, there were several of those black-clad tattooed people right in front of you, and one of them had an arrow pointed not three feet from your face.

“Woah! What the hell?!” You put your hands up in surrender, and the man who had the arrow pointed at you quirked a brow. He was rather handsome, you noted. The perfect specimen of the saying ‘tall, dark, and handsome’.

“Who are you? How can you see us, mundane?” His voice was low and rich, like bakers dark chocolate. What the hell? Why was I just thinking that?

“I’m Y/N—and what do you mean how can I see you?” You looked around at the others, most had glowing sword things in their hands. “Uh, are you guys some sort of cult? Because if so, I’m just going to—“ You spun around towards the door quickly, only for you to slip on the floors due to your shoes being all wet still. You felt two large hands on your waist, stopping you from hitting the hard-looking floor.

You looked behind you, the dark haired handsome man who had an arrow pointed at you not ten seconds ago still holding onto your waist and looking deeply into your eyes.

“You okay?” He asked and sounded almost concerned. You simply nodded in reply. You turned around again to open the doors to make your leave carefully this time, only for the man to grab your arm.

“Sorry, but I can’t let you leave,” he said firmly, eyes locking with yours again.

“What the hell do you mean?” You yanked your arm back from him. “I only came into your supposed cult building to get out of the rain. But if you’re going to try to kidnap me or something, I’ll risk getting a cold instead.”

A girl stepped forward that looked a lot like the man, her dark hair shining and lips painted red. She had a great body with a tight black dress on.

“Mundane, we’re not kidnapping you. We will explain everything, as long as you are truthful with us. Now, come with me. We need to get you into some dry clothes so you don’t catch a cold,” She said kindly. She didn’t seem like a dangerous cult lady, so you nodded, looking at the handsome man one more time before you steadily walked towards her.

She smiled at you, putting an arm on your back as she led you up the just as elegant stairs.

“I’m Isabel, by the way. The guy you kept clocking is my brother, Alec.” She smirked, winking at you.

“What? I wasn’t—“

“Oh come on, Mundane. Don’t worry, he seemed to be checking you out too.” You both arrived at a room, and it was clear to you that it was likely hers when she opened the door. Clothes were everywhere, along with makeup and other girly things.

“One second,” she made way to her closet, rummaging through the seemingly expensive outfits. She pulled out a rather risqué little number. It was dark red, like a ruby and had the tiniest spaghetti straps you’d ever seen.

“Isabel, all do respect, but I don’t think I’d fit in that,” you gestured to yourself. It wasn’t that you were self conscious exactly, but you had a little extra fat on you that a lot of other girls didn’t have. In fact, you quite liked your extra weight, thinking it made you look soft and cuddly.

“Oh don’t worry, it stretches,” she pulled the fabric in demonstration, revealing that it was quite stretchy.

“Don’t you just have some leggings and a t shirt or something?”

“Hmm, fine. I guess that would be more comfortable, and you’re shivering. I don’t have any t shirts, but I’m sure Alec has one that he wouldn’t miss,” she smirked, running off before I could protest. Oh god, I was going to wear one of his shirts…

Isabel came back quickly, holding a plain grey shirt in her hands. It was huge, and would be more of a dress on me. But, it was better than what Isabel had suggested.

“Here you are—Oh, what was your name? How silly of me, forgetting to ask.”

“It’s Y/N”, you nodded, taking the shirt in gratitude from her. She went to the dresser and pulled out some soft black leggings.

“Alright, I’ll just turn around and you can get all changed. The bathrooms right there, so you can give me your wet clothes and I’ll put them over the tub to dry.” You figured she couldn’t leave you alone exactly because you were still a mystery. In their eyes, you could be an enemy.

You huffed, shivering even more once you stripped out of everything. Shit, no underwear or a bra. Guess you’d be going commando and bra-less. The leggings warmed you up instantly, and the shirt—oh hell. The shirt smelled just like him. A rich scent of sandalwood, rain, and musk washed over you. You wondered if you were drooling.

“Okay, I’m done,” you handed Isabel the wet clothes, to which she draped over the tub like she said.

“Alright Y/N, now you get to be questioned by my brother. Don’t worry, he’s all bark, no bite.”

Great. You and her made your way down the stairs again, your nipples hardening at the cool air. Shit, they’d be visible beneath the shirt since it was grey and you had no bra…

When you saw Alec, his eyes were not on your eyes, but you shirt. Well, your nipples really. You cleared your throat, and he quickly shot his eyes back up.

“Is that my shirt?” He asked you, not really sounding mad, though. Isabel laughed, speaking up.

“Sorry big brother, Y/N didn’t want to wear any of *my* things,” she chuckled, Alec shaking his head.

“It’s fine, you look good in it,” he mumbled, eyes widening when he realized he must have said that out loud. I heard Isabel snort, trying not to laugh.

“Sit, Y/N,” he pointed to a chair in front of his. I gulped, doing as he asked. He was rather serious, but in a dark, brooding way.

“So, how can you see us, mundane?” I looked around, seeing a couple other Shadowhunters gathered around.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“Mundanes aren’t supposed to be able to see us. We’re Shadowhunters,” he said as if it was obvious.

“Shadowhunters? What?” Alec sighed, and then proceeded to tell me all about their world.

“Wh-why are you telling me all this? Is this some kind of joke?” I felt like I was going completely insane. Alec drew out a pen that looked like it had a Crystal on the end of it and proceeded to burn his skin.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I lurched for him, thinking he was literally burning himself until I saw the magic. It looked like a sort of symbol, flaring and glowing.

“What the fuck…”

“I know. This must really be a shock to you. It’s a shock to all of us too,” he gestured at the others. “Mundanes aren’t supposed to be able to see us.”

“Then how—“

��That’s what we’re going to try and figure out,” he cut me off. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, seeing into my soul practically.

“You’ll have to stay here for a while so we can be sure you’re not a threat. Isabel will show you to your room,” he got up, walking out without time for me to object.

I turned to Isabel. “I can’t just stay here, I have an apartment and a cat and—“

“We’ll take you there so you can get your things and you can bring your cat here. I’m sorry Y/N, but there’s no other way. You will have to stay here now.”

[wri0thesley]

Forever- Vampire!Lisa Lisa x Fem!Reader (Kinktober Day #16: Biting)

NSFW. 18+ ONLY. AFAB reader. Fem pronouns. Vampire Lisa Lisa, biting, blood, possible dub-con/hypnosis (your mileage may vary depending on how you read it - i think of this all as entirely consensual). 

You are in search of the Lady of the Island.

The man steering the boat had not wanted to take you out to Air Supplena Island. He had been most insistent of the fact that the moment your feet touched solid ground on the island, he would be turning back - his mouth had set in a grim line, his eyes shadowed. 

“I ain’t gonna be responsible for her findin’ me trespassing on her land,” he’d said. “N’ if you ask me, you’re a damn fool to be goin’ no matter what.”

You had still tipped him, of course. He had been the only man with a boat who’d been willing to even make the trip, as little time as he would spend on Air Supplena Island’s shore notwithstanding. You had sat in his boat with your hands folded in your lap and your posture ramrod-straight, anxiety gnawing through to your bones; but you would not rest. You would not turn back. You had followed the legends and the whispers of who the lady of the island was for too long and tried too hard to waste all of your hard work because your fear held you back at the last moment. 

You step off his boat and onto the island proper with your purse significantly lighter and evening filtering out the last vestiges of the day’s sunlight. You turn to thank the man who brought you here, feeling unsteady and afraid - to see that he has turned around with a second glance at you. 

He thinks you are mad, and perhaps you are. 

You are slow as you approach the buildings themselves, aware that night is falling all around you. All of this, from one brief encounter in a warm speakeasy and a beautiful woman at your side? 

She had kissed you, once, and you had tasted danger on her lips and felt it when her hands had caressed the shape of you in your ugly dress. The entirety of the world had seemed to stop - everything had become unimportant to you, except her lips and the way her eyes seemed to shift ruby tones in the low candlelight. You had been dragged here by the young lady you had been hired to be the ladies companion of; whilst her parents had clearly thought you’d be a good influence on her, they had also not reckoned on the wild streak in her nature. 

So you had been dragged along to all kinds of seedy underground places she should not have known about. You had always stayed in the background, watched, tried to make sure she did not get into too much trouble, waiting to intervene just in case she overstepped that small boundary. But it had been in a smoky underground cavern in Paris (“The fashion capital of the world!” Your charge and companion had told you. “You simply must wear something more fetching than that old thing.” You had not acquiesced.) that had changed you forever. 

“Come find me,” she’d breathed against your neck, and you had felt something sharp scratch briefly across the join where your neck and shoulder met. “You could be so much more than this. I’ll show you.”

And she had gone, and you had not been able to shake her lips from your mind for months. 

Your companion had noticed but thought it prudent not to say anything; even in the free-spirited nineteen thirties, she was not quite ready to accept that she had seen your eyes glaze and your mouth part for another woman. But she had noticed your distraction; that you were less hard on her for going against her parent’s wishes, that you were wistful and maudlin and daydreaming about the night - eventually, she had taken pity on you and come to you to relieve you of your service with an early pay packet of far more than you’d expected.

“I went back,” she said, off-handedly, though her shoulders were tense. “To that seedy little place in Paris. They told me her name was Lisa Lisa - the lady of yours. They called her the Lady of the Island, though I don’t know which one. She’s Italian, apparently - or she makes her home there, now. Don’t ask me anything else. I don’t know it.”

You’d looked at her, slowly, some of your lethargy fading away as you’d felt a hum beneath your skin of promise. 

“Thank you,” you’d said - and you’d left the next day for Italy. 

It had not been easy. Though your purse was heavy with your payment for a year spent travelling Europe, you were aware that you were plain and simple and prime victim material for shoplifters and men of opportunity. You had stayed in lodgings that were out of the way, perhaps shoddier than what you could and should have afforded, giving them all the same story; you were in search of an older brother who had ran away and had last been seen in the company of a lady that he called the ‘Lady of the Island’. 

You did not get your first bite until you had found yourself in Venice, in a small art shop by a canal. The piece itself was of an island, all gothic cathedral imagery and towering columns; you’d been looking at it, and the proprietor and artist had come to stand beside you. 

“That’s Air Supplena Island,” he had said to you, obviously able to tell that you were not a local. “They say that the Lady of the Island lives there and slaughters anyone who comes close.” He had shrugged broad shoulders. “I don’t believe it myself, but people will cling to their stories, won’t they?”

You’d beseeched him to tell you more, trotting out that tired old story - that you had become tired of telling, as weeks had grown into months - and his nose had wrinkled, brows drawn down. 

“Oh, the Lady of the Island isn’t interested in men,” he’d said, and the stress he’d put on the last word had convinced you that you were on the right track. You had done your best to tamp down enthusiasm as you’d asked and probed about Air Supplena Island - and as you left, you hid your smile behind your hand as you’d bid the man a good night. 

You had wanted to employ somebody to take you to the Island as soon as you could, but you had done your best to be sensible. You asked around a little more, probing for information about this Lady - having your suspicions of her legend confirmed. 

“They say that she bathes in the blood of virgins,” one older woman had told you. “They say that she will drink a man dry if he so much as breathes in her presence,” - another. “They say that the buildings on her land are made of bones and teeth.”

They confirm what you had thought; that  the woman you met in the smoky jazz and the press of bodies is something more than human. The idea should fill you with fear. You should have gotten as far away from Italy as you could; instead, the thought of her inhumanity sets heat aflame between your thighs and makes your heart hammer in your chest. 

If she kills you, you think, you will die happy. At least you won’t dream about her any more - the silky sweep of her hair, the curve of her lips, pinpricks sliding into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your shoes sound very loud on the stone, as shadows begin to claim the island entirely. You continue to walk. 

You imagine you hear whispers, rustling, the sound of shadows converging and waiting to be told to jump upon you and consume you entirely - still, you walk. And when the foreboding wooden doors that you think give entrance to the vast majority of the building that dominates Air Supplena Island open as if by unseen forces, you do not question yourself - you walk forward, into the entrance hall. 

“I thought you’d come.”

The voice is amused. It is low, and deep - shivering with suggestion in every syllable. You recognise it as the same voice that has haunted your dreams since the first time you heard it. You stop where you are, transfixed as she seems to melt from the shadows, just as beautiful and statuesque as you remember. Her skin seems to shimmer like mother of pearl in the moonlight; her lips are redder than blood, her eyes dark and beautiful. She looks at you and smiles, and you see the faintest flash of sharp eye teeth - and immediately, a rush of confusing feelings tumblr all around inside you.

She’s beautiful. She’s terrifying. You know the rumours are true, from her easy stance and her elegance and how she looks at you like a cat stalking a canary - but you cannot find it in yourself to be afraid. Instead, you feel your thighs slick with desire and your body ache to be touched. If she wished to bathe in your blood . . . you think you would open your veins for her. All she need do is ask.

She steps towards you like a leopard hunting her prey, though you have no intention of running anywhere. Her hips move seductively with each step, her eyes not moving from you for a moment - you take in a deep, shuddering breath as she gets closer and closer to you, waiting for her to pounce. You imagine you’ll see your own neck snap as if from very far away - you wonder if the man who brought you here on his boat is even now laughing at your terrible fate.

“Oh,” she breathes, as she gets closer. “Look at you. You found me all on your own, hmm? I knew that you’d be a perfect choice.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You ask her, softly. She stops in front of you, raising a hand to your face - her thumb ghosts your cheekbone, traces the lines of your lips, and all you can do is let her. Everywhere she touches you feel trails of fire spring up in her wake, your body singing in a way that you don’t think it ever has. 

“If I were going to do that, dear heart,” she whispers, “you would have been dead before you step foot on my island.”

You swallow as she tips your face upwards, studying you in the pale moonlight. You wonder if you’re pleasing to her - the thought makes you feel curiously hot and bothered. You have never put much stock in your appearance, but if it has helped to win her attentions . . . surely you cannot be that unfortunate to look upon?

She laughs as if she can read your mind. 

“You’re extremely pleasing,” she says - and then, she kisses you. 

-

Lisa Lisa - she gives you her name like a secret, and you whisper it against the cool marble of her collarbone, marvelling at how it rolls around in your mouth - has you in her chambers in what feels like moments, though you know it must be longer. Her fingers dance over your skin, working open the buttons and hooks of your plain dress - when it falls from your body, you want to pull yourself in and shy away, but she is above you on the bed and she sighs against you, her breath cool. 

“Look at you, little flower,” she murmurs. “You’re beautiful. Ripe for the plucking.”

Her nails scratch sharp across your sides as she caresses the curve and dip of your hips and waist. Her hands take hold of your breasts, testing their warmth and weight, squeezing them so that your back arches and a soft noise of surprise escapes you. She bends her head and the sheet of her hair falls across your skin, a silky sweep that has goosebumps rising along your newly bared flesh. 

Her mouth fastens about one nipple, her tongue teasing the nubs to hardness. You have only ever touched yourself under sacrosanct cover of darkness, chaste and afraid - but Lisa Lisa is not at all shamed by how she enjoys your body. She holds you as if it’s perfectly natural to do so, and though you feel exposed, you also feel . . . beautiful. Like something precious to be held against her and kissed and stroked. 

“You’ll do beautifully,” she whispers, moving her mouth from your breast to kiss up your collarbones, to trace the fluttering pulse point in your neck. She traces your jawline with her lips, up to your ear - you gasp as she nips at your earlobe. “Oh, you were wasted anywhere but by my side.”

“What will you do to me?” You ask her, breathlessly, as she rears up onto her knees and reaches to tug off her own clothes. You are transfixed by her figure, slowly revealed to you beneath the fine fabrics she’s wearing. She’s like a Greek statue - marble, untouchable, unmarked. Only . . . she takes your hands, brings them to her hips, lets you feel how smooth and cool and soft she is. 

“Nothing you won’t like,” she says - and as she dives back down to kiss you again with the hunger of someone who’s been starved for a week, you do not doubt her. 

As she kisses you, nipping with her blunt front teeth at your lower lip, her hands urge your thighs apart. You feel ashamed to spread them - especially as you hear the wet sounds of them parting - but she breaks the kiss to inhale deeply. 

“I forget, that mortals are so warm,” she says, as one of her hands slides up your inner thigh, nails teasing at the sensitive skin. “You’re boiling to the touch, my darling. You’re hot and warm and soaking wet - did you know?” The last words are conversational, her middle finger swiping through your damp slit, briefly parting your labia lips as your hips arch and a whimper falls unbidden from your lips. 

“I haven’t done this before . . .” You say, your cheeks uncomfortably warm - and Lisa Lisa laughs, a rich, deep noise that feels like black silk running down your spine. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” she tells you. “I’ve done this many times - and you’ll have plenty of time to learn it too. For now . . . relax, dearest. Lay back on the bed. Let me take care of you.”

There’s a sharp edge to the words; even as you let yourself relax into the soft coverlets beneath you, you feel like she is asking for permission for more than she lets on. Still - you cannot think, at this moment, what you would deny her. Not as she spreads your thighs even wider, those same nails scratching at your skin so your spine prickles, her fingertips leaving blazing trails despite how cool they feel against you. 

She makes sweet, soft noises - like placating a baby animal - as your thighs jump as she parts the lips of your sex, exposing those slickened folds to the chill of the air. 

“Look at you,” she says, enthralled. “Oh, I have picked beautifully--”

You do not know what she means, when she speaks of choosing you. But her fingers are stroking your folds, now - teasing at your clit and your entrance, making your entire body sing, and you cannot concentrate on anything but how that feels and the way that the fabric beneath your fingers bunches up as you fist hands into sheets. 

You are sensitive. Your body reacts with shivers and shudders; little electrical currents going straight from the place between your legs to every other part of you, sending signals of white-hot pleasure to your brain. As she slides one elegant finger inside you and your sex clamps tightly about her, she laughs a noise of soft amusement. 

“We’ll train you to take more, my dear,” she says, and she pumps the lone finger in and out of you, rubbing against sensitive patches inside of you that have your hips wriggling. You’re aware that you are making little noises - whimpering and moaning, gasping out noises intended to be words. Her lips are a dark red curve in the white of her face. Her thumb swipes across your clit, rolling the bud beneath the pad, toying with the swollen little bundle until you whine. 

“You’ll take another,” she says, softly, and you nod - a sob bubbles in your throat at the brief stretch of two, scissoring you open and wider for her - but it quickly devolves into a groan as your hips cant forwards towards her, urging her to be more thorough in how she’s thrusting the fingers and and out of you. She makes a little chastising noise, clicking her tongue - but you can hear the pleasure in her tone as she murmurs. “Now, now. One thing at a time.”

It’s good. It’s so good. The way her thumb grinds against your clit, the way that her fingers rub against those sweet spots inside of you, the feeling of fullness and the sweep of her hair and the knowledge of who it is and what she is that’s making you feel like this . . . Your body seems to seize up, teetering on the edge of something - and, abruptly, fingers are pulled out of you and the pressure on your clit ceases. You whimper out a noise of confusion and distress; that you were so close to something wonderful, and had it torn away--

“One more thing, before I let you come,” Lisa Lisa says, her lips that perfect red curve again. “Creatures like me do not do things for free, you see.”

“I’ll do it,” you say, feverishly - her index finger lazily strokes your folds, toying with your clit in a way that makes you shudder and your head feel cloudy and strange. “Wh-whatever it is . . .”

Lisa Lisa leans down, kissing the mound of your sex. Your back arches as her tongue flicks out, briefly darting to taste you. She makes a noise of sheer pleasure at the wetness on her tongue that intensifies the ache inside of you and makes you feel as if a curtain is descending all over your judgement. Slowly, she laps at you again - her tongue rolling your clit luxuriously, slow rocks of pleasure overwhelming you. 

“You’d agree before hearing my terms?” She says, though she does not sound at all surprised - if anything, her tone is pleased. “You’d trust me so completely, even knowing what I am?”

She does not tell you what she is. She hasn’t - you have known since far before you stepped foot onto her island, and perhaps even before you’d made it to Italy. She knows that you know.

“You can have my blood,” you tell her, wildly, without thinking. “Just, please--”

She pulls back again. Her body moves over you like a cat once more, so that her face is close to yours and her cool breath brushes your cheek. Her breasts press against your own, one marble-smooth thigh between your own legs. 

“I want more than blood from you,” she says. “I want you to stay with me, here. Forever.” Her hands trace your hips, cold as she grasps you. “You deserve more than a boring little life and a boring little husband. I can make you a Goddess, my darling. I can make you feared and loved and reviled; I can make you like me. I can give you a life by my side.” She lowers her mouth, pressing her lips to your cheek. Your entire body feels like stone. 

“You already knew what I wanted from you, didn’t you, my clever girl?” Hands sliding over your thighs, her body moving. Your legs spread wider, urging her hand and her fingers back between them. She laughs, like a bell tolling. “You’ve known since you walked into my home.”

“Yes,” you say. “Yes. To all of it.”

(You have known, this whole time - since those first words and the promise you were made for better things than this. It had taken her touching you and feeling you and driving you to the brink of release to see it clearly, but now you can - you can see you by her side for eternity.)

“My good girl,” she breathes - and, as her fingers dive inside you again, three pressing against the walls of your sex and clenching around her, her thumb grinds back into your clit. Her fangs slide into your throat. 

Both of them feel like fireworks in entirely different ways - low between your thighs, like a man diving into the sea, your body all flaming hot wetness as a tidal wave of heat and need crash over you. In your throat, an explosion of colours and sounds as your head is tipped back and you feel the wetness and heat of your own blood cascade down your body. The rhythmic sucking of Lisa Lisa’s lips against you coupled with the rhythmic way she rocks her fingers into you.

You let your eyes close, the sensations wash over you. It’s the first of many, she said. The first day of the rest of your life. 

The two of you have an eternity now, after all.

[s4mmysbunk3r]

Sam Winchester x fem!reader fanfic: Wedding Bells part 1

A/N: This ficlet can be enjoyed on it’s own or with the other tie in chapters: 1. Seashells from California. 2. Late for your Date. 3. The Hidden Gem.

Will Y/N be able to marry the love of her life Sam Winchester, or will her insecurities get the better of her? Will Sam be able to calm her down in time to say I do? Enjoy!

“Oh fuck,” you say. “I’m marrying Sammy.”

“It’s ok, Y/N,” says Bobby. “Sammy is just as nervous, I think, but what matters is that you are both so in love with each other than nothing else even matters. He would walk hell for you Y/N.”

“That’s why I’m worried!” you cry. “What if I’m not good enough for him! I’m not, am I? You know that Bobby! Fuck!” You fling your heels off and storm away. Tears streak your eye make up down your face as you hyperventilate. “I can’t do this!”

You dive into the womens bathroom and lock the door. You slide down to the floor. “Fuck!” you swear, and you fold your mouth. Not only are you not good enough for Sammy, but now you’re ruining his wedding by being a little bitch! Large tears roll down your porcelain cheeks to the floor. You hold your hands to your breasts which are soft under your dress and your white teeth clack. “Fuck.”

A fist slams at the other side of the door which shakes your whole body, and you crawl away from the door. “Occupied!” you wail. 

“Y/N,” says Sam from the other side of the door.

“Fuck… fuck, Sammy…” You continue to sob.

“I have your heels,” says Sam. “Bobby said it seemed like you were having a hard time with them…”

“It’s not my heels I’m having a hard time with,” you cry. “It’s you, Sammy!”

You can hear Sam start to cry on the other side of the door.

“Y/N…” You can hear a thunk as Sam leans his broad forehead into the door. “Y/N, please tell me what is wrong, I can help.”

“You can’t,” you cry. “Sammy, I’m about to ruin your life!”

“What are you talking about, Y/N?”

“I don’t deserve you Sammy,” you say. “Don’t you see? If you marry me you’ll be throwing your whole life away. Don’t waste it on me, Sammy. Go find somebody who deserves you, please!”

“I already have found somebody!” Sam says. “Y/N, I remember the first night I first laid eyes upon your body. It was so dark and so scary, and so loud, and blood was swirling, and my brain was overloading, and my ears were roaring, and my fingers were biting. And I remember my eyes fading to black as the demonic ichor poisoned my veins. It was the demoness Ruby who bewitched, bothered, and bewildered my mind. I was opening a seal and I did not even know that there was any idea that that could have even been conceived as something that was realistically possible. I was a coward and a fool and I was about to eviscerate the world and succumb to the boiling tenebrosity within my hallowed soul. And as I stood there and cast the demon blood spell I could feel the earth rocking beneath my timbs, and Ruby was howling, cackling, shrieking, caterwhauling like a demonic witch. Evil was thick in the air, with the sweet and sickly scent of pure evil. The horrible scene was unfolding, unravelling, unwinding in front of my demonic obsidian orbs. The horns of Satan were forming and rising out of the swiling whirlpool of blood pooling at my timbs. The Devil was rising in Atlanta Georgia, and he was rising at my hand. My hand was still outstretched, my eyes still black as sin but I could only watch the terror, and hear the terror of the demoness’s laughter, the demonic witch and her laughter. Tears ran thick and fast down my face from my eyes black as ebony. And I knew, Y/N, I knew, that everything was ending and it was my fault. And the incubus whore, Ruby. But then, the doors exploded apart and crashed apart and fell apart on the floor in pieces. And I was terrified. I thought the world was exploding. But it was only you. And when I twisted my body and twisted my neck and chin and moved my eyes to look at what had fallen and crashed behind my face, that’s when the glorious light of the sun broke over the jagged mountains of my hate. And the sun was you, Y/N. It was you. And it was still dark, and the ground still rattled like a snake, but there now ignited a flame of hope inside of my chest. And I didn’t know who you were or what you were doing there or why you had come or how you had found me or what you wanted from me or what you intended to do or why you weren’t scared of Lucifer rising and rising and rising in front of you. But what I did know, was that somehow this world would continue, and it would follow at your high heels. And Y/N, that’s when you strode with your legs into the that darkened House of God, and you walked right past the incubus whore and didn’t even look at her, and she didn’t dare look at you, because you were looking at me, and I was looking only at you. And I felt your eyes swallow me like the deepest throat until all that existed was you and me, looking at each other’s eyes. And you said one word: “Sammy!” And that’s when I knew you were my Supergirl. You grabbed hold of my large hands and held them in your hands, and the spell imploded behind me, and Lucifer melted into a pile of demonic blood, and the demoness whore Ruby fled for her life. And all you had to do was break that evil concentration for the spell to end and the world to be saved and it was only ever you. And I looked at you and I knew inside my body that I never wanted to look away ever again. And when my…brother Dean Winchester came bumbling into that cathedral, all too late to do anything, and you turned and you looked and you laid your eyes upon him and you opened your mouth and you spoke words and those words told Dean Winchester that he was too late and that he was always too late and that I deserved better than someone who only pretends to care about me when it’s too late. And when he fell to his knees in tears, he knew you were right. And I knew you were right. And after he left, and I looked at you and you looked at me and I asked you who you were and you said words I’ll never forget, and those words which you spoke, I’ll never forget them, and I’m sure neither will you. And then I knew who you were, and you knew me, and I’ve always known you, and you’ve always known me. And what we knew, Y/N, was love. Between us. Between you and I. Between one sorry man and one beautiful woman. That’s how it felt. And I know that’s how you felt too. So I asked you out, and you said yes, and we went immediately to Ruby Tuesday. And we ate of the same burger, our eyes locked, our souls bound. And I knew that this would never end. I watched your luscious lips part and encompass the burger patty and all of the toppings, encapsulated in your mouth, and your teeth white as pearls and sharp as daggers dug into the meaty delight of the burger. And you bit deeply, strongly, passionately, flirtatiously and sundered your piece of our shared burger. Your lips smacked together ever so daintily, with a few specks of bun and patty still visible on your rocket red lip gloss. You chewed, moving you jaw up and down, up and down, up and down, juices dribbling down the corner of your mouth and supple chin. And then, your throat tightened, and the lump of this burger, of our burger, slid smoothly, gracefully down your slender oesophagus and toward your little tummy. And then with slender fingers you selected a napkin off of the checkered vinyl table, and you lifted it in your fingers, and then, Y/N, you folded your napkin with all skill and grace of an origami virtuoso, and as if putting the finishing touches upon your magnum opus with the gentle stroke of a brush, you dapped at your rocket red lips until your plump lips were cleared of debris from our burger. And then you curled your slender fingers around your red plastic translucent cup, and lifted it to those matching red lips, and you swallowed gulp after gulp after gulp of chilled Dr Pepper, condensation dribbling down your chin to the checkered vinyl, and I watched as you wiped your napkin over that, too. And that’s when I knew. That’s when felt the truest love I have ever felt in my life. And it was your love, Y/N. And every moment since then, I have been fighting, I have been praying, I have been dying, for you, all for you, always for you, just for you. I brought you that seashell from California, I fought off that nest of vamps that were tailing you to our date, I defended your honour against a demon who only wanted your body. You are my only and my all. You are my greatest treasure and my greatest weakness. You are my left hand and my right. You are my lifeboat and my sail in this tepid ocean. So be my lifeboat, be my sail, and let’s set out across that tepid ocean, let’s sail away! So will you please open up this bathroom door, and come marry me?”

You heave a sob. “Sammy…”

TO BE CONTINUED

[titanias-stolen-shoes]

The Tragedy of Liam Wilhelmina

Read on AO3!

-

Act I: Neglect 

The circumstances of his birth were rather unfortunate ones given that he was born into a land in open rebellion. Do not fret, though, for the “rebellion” was rather peaceful. There were no battle fields to flee or torture to fear. In fact, Liam Wilhelmina would never see war in his time as Duke Joren Jawbreaker’s son.

Even as the only one born to Joren’s lawful wedded wife, he was still one of the youngest. Six older brothers born to partners the church didn’t recognize, more responsibilities fell to him. He was the Count and first in line to take over for Joren when his time came.

But that is not where the tragedy lies. The here tragedy lies in his neglect.

As boy, he was often left to care of his older brothers, his parents or any of their partners, busy. In the time he was with his brothers, they never let him forget how small he was. They never hesitated to laud their bulkiness and battle prowess against him. They never let him live down that he was weak.

And his mother, Spearia Mentha, ever so thoughtful and ever so caring, did not notice. Did not see the bruises that would crop up on his arms from being grabbed too tightly or his back from where they stepped on him, playing their “games”. Did not see that his extended time in the woods weren’t merely from an interest in seeds and local flora.

As for his father, Liam was lucky if he remembered his name.

That’s not to say his parents didn’t love Liam. In fact, they cared for him very much. Spearia, a priestess of the Sweetening Path, taught him her ways. The flow and change of magic as a natural force. Joren, for as forgetful as he was, remembered Liam’s Saint’s Day every year and for his fourteenth, gave him a peppermint pig by the name of Preston—an animal companion that would be his best and dearest friend for years to come.

There is no denying that he was loved. To do so would be a fallacy of the highest regard, but a mere lack of love would not lead to tragedy.

Act II: Alienation

To leave Joren Jawbreaker’s choice to openly rebel against the Concord without repercussions would be remiss. The Concord was something all kingdoms agreed on after the Revening Wars decimated their lands. Peace had reigned for twenty years and yet he still rebelled.

To not promote any active hostilities against him and his people, Joren gave Liam to his nephew, Amethar Rocks, as a political prisoner. And suddenly, through no fault of his own, Liam Wilhelmina was far from his home with no one he knew.

But he was not alone. There were the twin princesses Jet and Ruby, only a year older than himself, and always having fun. Theobald Gumbar, Lord Commander of the Tartgaud, who always made sure Liam was safe and accounted for. Lapin Cadbury, the royal tutor and Primogen of the church, was stuffy but glad to teach him if he attended any lessons. Queen Caramelinda was kind and appreciated what he was doing for his family and King Amethar, while not particularly good with kids who weren’t his own, did his best to accommodate Liam.

So where is the tragedy of this act? He has girls his age he can speak with any time and a myriad of adults to look after him. No brothers to bully him or responsibilities outside of staying in Castle Candy. He is well taken care of and never alone if he chooses not to be.

The tragedy here is in the subtle alienation he felt in the months he tried to make Castle Candy his home.

While Jet and Ruby were close to his age and never too busy, it was hard to break into their dynamic, so wrapped up in themselves. He found their relationship interesting and was a little envious of it. He could never imagine playing pranks with his brothers, let alone getting along with them.

Theo was always nice, but he had an important job to do, and couldn’t always be there for Liam.

Liam did his best to avoid Lapin when he could, sure that the rabbit hated him.

Queen Caramelinda, while kind, always felt more pitying and King Amethar never seemed to know what to do with Liam.

It wasn’t just that he was lonely—he was plenty lonely in his own home. No, it was the knowledge that he didn’t belong which alienated him. This wasn’t his family, this wasn’t his home, and this wasn’t his choice. 

And so, in the many months of his stay, he spent most of it in the woods. He and Preston would forage for seeds to collect or walk around when nothing else could hold his attention. 

 Act III: Loss

There is a muchness to this act in that loss runs rampant through it. The first loss he experienced was the loss of his sense of safety.

In that fight to save King Amethar’s life, he had cast magic in front of a stadium that hated his path to magic. They gasped, whispers of witchcraft floating over the breeze as their eyes landed on him, judging and fearful, until Ruby stood tall, two incriminating water-steel daggers in her hands. For a moment, their attention was no longer on him.

Then time went on and they remembered the witch boy that had disrupted the tournament. They remembered his sins against the church and that night Liam looked into Amethar’s eyes and begged him to not let him die. Amethar had grabbed Liam by the neck, making a promise no one was sure he would be able to keep.

Liam did not sleep that night.

The next loss was soon after, as the next day he was put on trial and Amethar was forced to admit his infidelity and had his title and land stripped from him, making Liam a Prince and his father King Joren Jawbreaker.

The cathedral was the first battle of war Liam ever saw. It was also the first personal lost he ever experienced. Lapin stepped in front of him, eyes steely and narrow as he pushed Liam out of the way, taking then hit for him. And when they were trying to run, Preston had went back to protect Lapin and they both died.

Something dark and bitter and sharp started growing in him that day.

This next loss was his most recent and painful. See, Ruby, Jet, and Liam had been growing closer by the day. Ever since they’d left to Comida that first day, their dynamic had changed. They had included him in things, let him in their circle, and in the end, taught him their secret language. ‘An honorary twin!’ Ruby had called him. ‘You’re one of us now!’ Jet had said.

Jet died in his arms, murdered by a man they had hoped they could trust.

He wrapped her up and placed her somewhere safe, running to get the rest of their family so they could take her. He was invisible in the dark, his tears stuck behind his eyes as he stared ahead with precision.

That dark and sharp thing grew bigger and deeper as they sailed into the night, Amethar holding Jet’s now cold body to his chest and Liam watched, unable to look away.

~~~

The tragedy of Liam Wilhelmina isn’t one of his own doing. If he had had any say in the way his life went, then surely, he would have chosen differently. Surely, he would have been content with his pig and his mother and his magic. Surely, he would have chosen differently. But as it was, Liam had no control over how his life.

And he still doesn’t.

-

@allsevenmaidens

[prophecy-is-inevitable]

Indulgence of Divinity: Chapter 3

Michael Langdon x OFC

Michael and Ms. Mead follow the Divinity deep below the Sanctuary proper after accepting a dinner invitation. The court's private rooms are unremarkable--with one enormous exception. The woman and Michael reach an understanding of sorts.

Chapter Warnings: mild language, bad-mouthing religion (maybe?)

Word Count: 3756

(Also posted on Ao3 under the same title.)

--------

Chapter Three: Into the Sanctum

“If you have the time, I would be honored if you could join me for dinner this evening.” She turned to smile at the older woman, her face once again stern and protective as she stepped to her king’s side. “Ms. Mead as well..."

Evening had descended throughout the halls, artificial though it may have been, when Michael and Ms. Mead found themselves in the presence of the “Divinity” once again. Head held high and hands clasped daintily in front of her, she moved with a grace and fluidity unexpected for someone that had been restricted from the rest of the Sanctuary. Once again, she was clothed in delicate white. It was much simpler than before; Michael caught himself musing on the swaths of white linen wrapping over her shoulder, around her waist, sweeping around, and the forest green cords crisscrossing over her abdomen. Quite the contrast to his elegant all-black ensemble of fitted pants, knee-high boots, and satin black dinner jacket with red velvet lapels and Ms. Mead’s usual onyx authoritarian pantsuit.

Murmurs followed in the wake of the trio. Sometimes she would cast the residents a polite smile and a nod that sent them off kilter. Who the hell was this bitch waltzing around like she owned the place? And wearing white in the presence of the Antichrist? How pretentious! Clearly, Michael hadn’t been the only one unaware of her existence within the Sanctuary. Again, the remarks were met with the gentle bowing of her lips and a knowing glance. The air around her simmered with restrained reprisal, something lurking just beneath the serene exterior. No wonder she’d been cordoned off from the others. She couldn’t help wondering if their treatment of her would be as callous had they been made aware of her purpose from the beginning. In hindsight, she would have taken the risk if it meant a chance for true socialization. Each couple or group they passed celebrating the holiday of love with lustful acts filled her throat with a suffocatingly bitter sensation.

Their strides carried them through the towering mahogany stacks of the library. Anything salvaged before the bombs fell was stored within the large interconnecting chambers and provided with the proper care and protection to ensure their survival. Whether it was for educational, historical, cultural, or entertainment, all texts deemed valuable in any fashion rested here for survivors to pluck and peruse. Glistening spines of newer volumes winked from the shelves in the candlelight and then faded from view as the three ventured further. The air grew thick with the musty organic smell of the immemorial collections. Tomes and documents of the most importance were sealed and accessible only with supervision for those that had received the lead historian’s permission.

A large relief carved into the farthest wall depicted a massive tree bearing various fruits. The sculpture was polished and otherwise devoid of embellishment with the exception of two areas. Each fruit depicted was inlaid with gems of their respective color. The focal point, however, was the great serpent woven through the branches and entwined around the thick trunk. Scales of ammolite covered the body in dark iridescence. Candle and firelight refracted within the individual shards to bring life to the inanimate; every flicker of flame gave breath to the creature and the illusion of the rigid body ever-winding around its arborescent host. A golden crown rested atop the serpent’s head and a gleaming cinnabar heart within the fangs poured red water into a fountain below the tree’s carved roots.

Michael watched as their guide reached forward to situate a circular ruby into the hollow depression of the serpent’s eye. The fountain ceased its flow momentarily, the sound of water diverting behind the wall, and propelled hidden mechanisms. One of the dark wood shelves retracted into the floor to reveal a staircase that descended further still into the depths of the Sanctuary. Flames ignited in the channels lining the stairs to provide light when the first footfalls landed on the top stair.

“I apologize for the theatrics. The court was adamant that our chambers not be something a resident could simply stumble upon,” the younger woman explained as she retrieved the red gem she had placed in the sculpture. The bookshelf returned to its original position after Ms. Mead passed through the threshold. Michael heard the patter of her steps quicken just a fraction to stand nearer, and he turned to offer her a slight nod of reassurance. He would never let harm befall her ever again.

The steps carried them deeper into the mountain and below the main construction. Portions of the walls next to the stairs had long been eroded, giving way to caverns of mineral pools and natural ornamentation of calcite draperies, flowstone, stalactites, and other formations. Michael found his eyes greedily drinking in the splendor that he hadn’t known lurked beneath feet since the very beginning. His preoccupation with ending the world had left little time for him to explore and appreciate the wonders below the surface.

“These caverns and passages have been here longer than any human construction above ground. It was part of what made it the perfect place to house the vestiges of humanity. Half of the work to create a habitable city had been done ages ago by nature. Of course, it needed some refinement and polishing to reach the exceptionally high standards of the world’s remaining elite. I preferred for our area to remain more natural.” Her fingers danced over the rough-hewn wall when it reappeared beside them.

A landing appeared around a slight curve illuminated with an inordinate amount of light. The air grew warmer with each step towards the rays streaming through the doorway until they reached the crest of another staircase. The sigh of annoyance was barely restrained when it passed Michael’s lips. The invitation had been one for dinner, not a hike into the bowels of the mountain. When they passed through the doorway, the gentle scuffling of his boots on the floor came to an abrupt halt and nearly caused Ms. Mead to walk directly into his frozen form.

Sensing that her charges were no longer at her heels, the woman turned and observed the slackened jaws and wide, darting eyes of the pair for whom she was quickly developing a fondness. There was almost a reverence to their expressions, and it filled her with gratitude and satisfaction. It showed on the widening smirk gracing her tranquil features. She was happy to let them admire her work for as long as they liked.

The tunnel opened up into a room of immeasurable size, and the elevation of the stairs provided an excellent vantage point. No palace ballroom, no exquisite cathedral, came to mind as an equal comparison. Even the Orangery of Versailles fell dismally short of the grandeur and expanse of the sanctum before their eyes. Towering column reliefs patterned the chiseled walls, and natural springs had been converted to focal water features that bled across the floor--the earth and soil--below in creeks and streams. The rest of the walls were tiled up to the vaulted ceiling in square, mercury glass mirrors. The reflections blurred the reality of a boundary existing within the room and added to the enormity of the space. Climbing vines of greenery and clustered purple flowers rooted into some cracks and crevices and dangled from the ceiling. An ornamental sculpture of a compass had been carved out of the domed ceiling and indicated the cardinal points.

Despite the low symphony of sounds and sights, their eyes were drawn to the burning orb casting light around the room as it sank towards a pond at the western edge. Ms. Mead was the first one to ask what they were both wondering. Almost.

“Is that…?”

“An affectionate imitation of it, yes. It’s hard to compress such a force to fit in this space, but it helps simulate natural growth cycles and circadian rhythms. I’ve been working more within biomes, and it’s helped with determining what areas of the sanctum can maintain which regions.” The younger woman tilted her head and extended a hand to indicate down the stairs. "I'd be happy to show you more if you'd like."

They reached ground level, below the oak and pine boughs, below the rainforest canopy, at the same moment a pale gray sphere rose from a small pool at the eastern wall. She grinned at the appearance of the lunar resonance and stopped next to the water.

“Perfect timing; I’m glad it rose early enough for you to see. The moon was much easier to create. I’ve been banned from creating fire, at least for the time being,” she turned with a slender finger pointed at Michael, “since that’s your job.” She was certainly looking forward to her restraints coming off now that they had been introduced and would soon be testing their abilities together. It was going to be spectacular if the atmospheric tension crackling between them was anything to go by.

Michael wasn’t quite sure what to make of things. For the moment, it was easy to believe that they were no longer underground. Trees stretched above their heads, branches curving around the pathways in verdant embrace, and birds and other small animals flitted along in interest. All of this...had been destroyed by the bombs and nuclear winter, yet here it was in an impossible place miles beneath a mountain. He craned his neck and nearly danced as he spun and twisted to view as much as possible, and he noticed the shifts in flora and fauna the farther their journey took them.

“Gargano used to be the last remaining area of ancient oak and beech forests left in Europe. Many of those trees here are from acorns and beech nuts I was able to salvage when we first came here years ago. It seemed a shame to lose something so beautiful because of the failure of humans.” She gingerly plucked an acorn from the ground and cradled Michael’s palm in her own to deposit the seed in his hand. Her hands gently closed his fingers around her, her fingertips trailing over his hand lightly when she pulled away.

“Repeat after me. ‘Cum mea vita, et vos vivetis.’” Michael did as she bade him and repeated the words softly. They echoed one another as they continued the chant, breath ghosting over each other’s cheeks when she stepped closer and covered his hand once more, and their gazes locked. Spindly roots wrapped around his wrist, snaked through his fingers, and a stem rose through the gap between. “With my life, you will live,” she finished, stepping away to let him observe his work.

Michael’s hand holding the seedling remained outstretched before him. Roots continued to curl along his skin as the stem grew further until two fragile leaves unfurled. Michael stared, eyes wide and glassy, at the vulnerable greenery in his grasp.

“How is this possible?” His voice was soft and bewildered. He’d burned away the souls of others with those very same hands. How could they also bring prosperity?

“While your powers may be unholy, their origin is still heavenly. Your father used to be the most favored of all angels, remember? He was never stripped of his power; it simply corrupted to fit the purposes he needed. All it needs is a little push to remember what it’s truly capable of doing.” She bent and scooped a small hole in the earth beside them. “Ms. Mead, would you mind carefully extracting that seedling and helping me plant it here?”

Ms. Mead looked to Michael for direction. There was a glimmer in her eyes that closely resembled fear. Was their plan to awaken the divine side of Michael’s powers and forsake their master? Would he forsake her? She swallowed thickly and glanced down at the woman kneeling in the dirt. Her Michael had done such wonderful things before, but never anything like this woman had enabled him. More than likely they had only just scratched the surface. Perhaps against her better judgement, Ms. Mead dismissed the doubts and began unwinding the delicate roots from around Michael’s fingers. The smile on his face was one she hadn’t seen in quite some time--one of excitement and delight, and for some reason it called to mind the warm smell of french toast. His eyes were sparkling with newly rekindled purpose.

Once the roots were free of Michael’s jeweled fingers, Ms. Mead stooped to place the seedling in its new home in the rich soil. The younger woman placed a clean hand gently, reassuringly, on Ms. Mead’s upper back until it was time to pack the earth to support the delicate sprout. Very briefly, the women’s hands both covered the dirt and they exchanged a small smile.

“Perfect. Thank you, Ms. Mead,” the younger of the two sighed contentedly. It was important to Michael that Ms. Mead felt included in his endeavors, and he extended his hands to help both women stand. He appreciated this stranger’s consideration where others would usually overlook his maternal figure. “You’re both welcome to visit the sanctum whenever you’d like, but I must ask that you refrain from bringing other guests. It’s better for them to think that their food comes from hydroponics and ingenious animal husbandry than...here.”

It felt like hours passed while they explored the eden. Woodland forests turned to lush foliage and bright flowers with humid air, arid sands grew resilient plants and faded to open water at one end while grasslands turned to frigid tundra at the other.

“How long have you been here?” Michael asked upon losing count of the different species of wildlife roaming around.

“The bombs fell almost two years ago, and you were planning for three years before that… I’ve been here for about five years, then.” Five years. Time had moved quickly while she was occupied with her studies. Now it was time for it all to come to fruition. “They moved me from the safehouse in New England to the Sanctuary here in Italy as soon as you made yourself known.”

They arrived at the far edge of the room and slipped through an archway to a dining hall. It was nowhere near as extravagant or embellished as the common rooms in the Sanctuary proper. The walls were unrefined and the same rough texture as the cavernous hidden stairway. The table was simple cherry wood surrounded by eight unimpressive matching chairs. One of the chairs was currently occupied. Michael tensed at the unexpected guest. He had been under the impression the three of them would be alone to converse leisurely.

“This is Aldair. You might recognize him from this morning. He is the High Priest in charge of my instruction in Neopaganism, which I’ve honestly found to be some of the most useful. The focus on nature has been very beneficial. He’s acting as my chaperone this evening.” The man stood to greet them, his wavy chestnut hair slipping into his olive eyes for a moment when he bowed, and he smiled brightly when turning to face his divine lady. His close cropped beard glinted in the dim light from the large fireplace and tall candelabras as he moved to pull out her chair.

She sat to Michael’s left so that Ms. Mead could remain at Michael’s right hand as he took the seat at the head of the table. Aldair made his way around to hold Ms. Mead’s chair out for her as well and gave her one last courteous bow when she was seated. The domes over their plates disappeared with a quick wave of the Divinity’s hand, and revealed lightly steaming fillets and baked vegetables in a sweet and savory glaze. There seemed to be an absence of meat on her plate, and a wider range of vegetables and grilled fruits took its place.

“I hope that you will find the meal to your liking. Everything is fresh from today. Please, enjoy yourselves, and feel free to ask anything you like. I’m sure you must have a lot of questions, and we can speak freely in front of Aldair. He’s considered a close friend.” She reached over and gently squeezed the high priest’s hand with an affectionate smile before returning to her meal. Michael’s shoulders immediately straightened at the display. Close friend? Discreetly, his icy eyes narrowed and he stared at the man with every intention of reaching into the deepest, most secluded corners of the man’s mind.

“Mmm, this is delicious,” Ms. Mead chimed after finishing a piece of the fillet and subsequently broke Michael’s concentration. “What is this?” The smirk that tugged at the other woman’s lips was nothing short of mischievous in conjunction with the gleam in her resin eyes.

“It’s venison,” she replied, and took a bite of her own food. Michael’s lips stretched tightly over his mouth in an attempt to hide his amusement at the slight cough from Ms. Mead. “I’m glad that you find it satisfying.”

“You said that you are open to any line of questioning?” Michael received a nod from the raven-haired woman on his left. “If you have been here for so long, and known who I am, why haven’t we been introduced? Santori gave his explanation. Now I want to know your truth.” She nodded again and politely wiped her mouth with her napkin. Michael’s eyes bore into hers with the same fire he’d used when conducting interviews months ago; however, he found her to be frustratingly unreadable as his glare unfocused.

“Honestly, I’ve been given the same reasoning as you. We needed time to develop our powers individually. You had a purpose to fulfil far sooner than I did, and they didn’t want to cause any distractions for you. Since the Apocalypse has begun, your abilities have grown tenfold. As you grow stronger, so do I. Now, the only way for us to increase our abilities is together.”

As you grow stronger, so do I. A surge of recognition forced him to genuinely focus his eyes on her and found her gaze already upon him. The same satisfied smirk graced her lips as it had this morning. The words, and the sensations they conjured within him, were more than familiar.

“Are you involved with the Cooperative?” Her smirk grew wider by a fraction.

“Yes. I receive all communications sent to and from the Cooperative. I also helped draft some of the Outpost Construction Plans, picked the location for and designed many areas of the Sanctuary, and worked with Research and Development on sustainability and resources.” So she’d been involved all along. He’s probably been in direct communication with her at some point and hadn’t even realized.

“You know Jeff and Mutt?”

“Oh yes,” she chuckled lightly at the mention of the coke-addled geniuses. “They’ve been working on something for me for a little while. I haven’t been in to see their progress lately, actually.” There was a brief moment of silence where her thoughts on the project took up her attention before she caught the others still waiting for further elaboration. “Of course, they don’t know who I am exactly. My credentials and my email are under a pseudonym, for obvious reasons.”

“You really do not have a name?” Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the table to watch for any flicker of emotion or tell for a lie. He was skeptical at best, and she could tell.

“I do not. My mother--she was a nun--was told not to name me, not to get too attached, because I was ‘a sin’.” She rolled her eyes as she made quotation marks with her fingers. “It’s amazing how people who call themselves believers seek to invalidate something genuine when it doesn’t fit exactly into their archetypes.” Michael hummed and smiled in reminiscence. He knew very well how those of a faith could quickly turn on their own when not precisely conforming to a given image. “I went from the convent straight into the care of my court. There was never much time spent with one person to charge with the task of naming.” Her indifference surprised him for a moment, though he supposed this had always been her reality and was simply considered normal. He leaned his chin on the back of his hand and let his gaze slide over her form.

“And so that responsibility falls to me.”

“You and I are expected to form a bond, so I suppose they decided it would be an ideal start to the bonding process if you chose.” Once again, there was the feeling of receiving a pet instead of a colleague or partner. Michael leaned back to swallow a mouthful of food and watched her push a forkful around on her plate.

“Are there any names that you like?” How was he supposed to choose a name for someone he didn’t even know? She smiled sadly and shook her head.

“Not really. I’ve never thought of names in that way since I knew it wouldn’t be my choice.” Michael frowned and titled his head to watch her. He had anticipated utilizing some of the “Cooperating” techniques when presented with the opportunity to seek his answers, and now the hardened façade he’d prepared was once again crumbling despite himself.

“It could be your choice. If you wanted it to be.” A slim hand reached across the table and clasped his loosely. He found that he had no interest in pulling away, and he rather enjoyed the gentle coolness and pulse of contentment she emitted.

“I appreciate that. I do. To be honest, I’m excited to see what you come up with. It would be quite special to receive my name from my king” She mimicked his inquisitive head tilt and squeezed his hand softly. “I trust you.” The words were nothing but the truth. Michael felt a sense of pride. And a sudden impending pressure to do right by this person that had granted him her trust. It felt like such a strange word after years of receiving worship. Was that considered any form of trust? His fingers inadvertently returned her gentle grasp.

“I believe it would be in both of our best interests to leave that for a time once we are more well acquainted. If we are truly to be equals, your name should be as meaningful as your purpose. Not something derived from impulse.”

She positively beamed. An unlikely someone was showing her respect and consideration, let alone acknowledgement of her role, that sometimes even her own procession lacked. Michael’s chest swelled in triumph at her pleased reaction. Compassion and flattery earned far greater rewards than hostility and impatience, after all, and that was something Michael knew all too well.

[emybain]

Filigree Bracelet

“Can you write a story where Adrian figures out Nightmare’s identity because her sleeve gets torn or burned during a fight and he sees her bracelet?”

requested by @insomnianovanightmare

yall...can I just say that fight scenes go better in my head than when I type them out? fr..

also this has been a nightmare (no pun intended) for the past like 24 hours because it would never post. praying it posts this time, or I will just cry!

    Adrian could feel the chill of the cathedral through his suit.

    Every one of his nerves told him that he shouldn’t be there, that it’s too dangerous, especially since the arrest of Ace Anarchy not a month ago. But Nova…

    Nova was gone.

    She had stopped showing up at headquarters over a week ago. Concerned, the Renegades sent people to check out her house, only to come back shaking their heads. Nothing. Nothing except her wristband, which had been found sitting on a naked mattress in what they believed to be her bedroom. Adrian, in denial, went with Oscar and Ruby to check out the scene for themselves. The house had had police tape across the front door, but he hadn’t cared. An investigation had been opened up to find the missing Renegade, but there hadn’t been anyone there when they went. The house had been completely emptied except for a few picture frames of what he assumed were of Nova’s relatives. Completely emptied, as if she and her uncle had decided to just up and move without telling anyone. Or they had been robbed, and something had happened to them.

They had searched the rowhouse, looking for any clues that could help them find their partner. They had gone up the stairs to the second floor, finding two bedrooms and a small bathroom. Adrian had gulped when he opened the door to what was marked, probably by an investigator, as Nova’s room. Inside, there had been two bare mattresses sitting on the floor. Across from them, an old vanity, which struck Adrian as odd. Nova wasn’t the type for that kind of furniture. She was much more simplistic. Perhaps it had been a gift from her uncle. Whatever the case, they had left disheartened. They had found nothing.

But Adrian had a hunch.

He believed that the Anarchists had taken Nova for killing one of their own.

And he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

The universe had already put him through so much.

First his mom, then the attack on his dad, then Max, then Danna...he refused to let his girlfriend go on top of everything else.

Voices caught Adrian’s attention. He stiffened, then crouched down behind some debris. A piece of what seemed to once belong to the ceiling of the cathedral.

“...in two days. We don’t have much time.” Adrian held back a gasp. Peeking around the corner, he saw the black uniform of none other than Nightmare, her back turned to him. In front of her stood Phobia, his hood hiding any facial features, if he had any.

“It’s not enough,” he hissed, voice echoing across the cathedral. “It is foolish to even consider.”

“Do you have a better plan? Or are you too busy brooding around here?” Nightmare crossed her arms. Adrian took note of her rigid posture. Clearly, even the Anarchists were wary of Phobia.

“Do not let your inner conflict out on me, little Nightmare.” The room grew cold all of a sudden. Was it just him or did Phobia grow another foot? “You cannot hide your constant battle with yourself. It grows every day. The Detonator was right in believing you would betray us.”

To Adrian’s shock, Nightmare shrank back. When she spoke, her voice was shaky, yet icy. “They’ve taken everything from me. I will kill every last one of them if it means Ace is rescued and we win.”

An airy laugh, if it could even be called that, broke out. “I have seen this fear in you many times over, and before you, countless.” He began to circle her, gliding across the tile. “Abandonment. Loneliness. Not being accepted for who you truly are-”

“Shut up!” Nightmare drew a knife from her belt. “You know, Phobia, I don’t know why I came here in the first place. I thought maybe you would care enough, but clearly you’re still playing the same games.”

Phobia hissed. “It is not I playing the same games, you petulant child. It is you, unable to fuel your anger to revenge instead of fear.”

“I will kill them,” Nightmare repeated, voice shaking. “I will avenge my uncle.”  

Cold air blasted through the cathedral, “Of course, child. If that’s the case, then why don’t you start now? I bet your little Renegade friend hiding would enjoy your anger.” Phobia vanished into the air, leaving Nightmare to whip her head around, eyes wide. The grip on her knife visibly tightened.

“Who’s out there?” she called out, turning in circles.  

Adrian contemplated leaving, blasting a hole through an outer wall and making a run for it. But he was here for Nova, for answers. He had to find out what they did with her. So, Adrian stood from his hiding spot, slowly, as if he were in no hurry. He stepped out into the light. Nightmare narrowed her gaze.

“Of course,” she growled, before pouncing on him.

He stumbled back, momentarily stunned by the force of her attack. But with a raise of his arm, he sent her flying back with a scream, hitting a wall and slumping to the ground. He made his way to her slowly, as if she were a feral animal. She remained where she was, laying with her head down and back against the wall.

“What do you know about Nova McLain?” Adrian raised his arm again as a precaution. Nightmare tensed, then peered up at him.

She blinked slowly. “What?”

Adrian rolled his eyes. He took a step closer, blocking her only escape. She pressed back against the wall, much to Adrian’s confusion. Since when had Nightmare become so...weak?

“Nova McLain. Renegade.” He swallowed. “Maybe you’ve heard of her, seeing as you keep messing up my life.”

Nightmare shook her head, confused. She must’ve been concussed, or something, from her hit. Great. Adrian sighed and lowered his arm. She was no use to him here; if he was going to get answers, he needed to take her to headquarters. Maybe then she would talk.

“Get up,” he ordered. “You’re coming with me.”

Nightmare started to stand, but fell back with a loud ‘oomph’. Pathetic. She made quite the Anarchist. Against his better judgement, Adrian took another step towards her and held out a hand. She looked at it, dazed, then raised her own to accept it.

Next thing Adrian knew, he was on his back, the wind being knocked out of him. He had gone numb from the waist down. His arms were pinned down by his sides. Nightmare hovered over him, her eyes glaring down at him from under her hood. Despite her surprisingly small frame, she was able to hold him down. It wasn’t hard, when he considered it, seeing as he only had control of his upper body.

“Don’t worry, the effects of the poison will wear off in about...twenty minutes. Enough time for me to figure out who you are. Now tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?” All traces of her assumed concussion were gone, replaced with hard, determined eyes.

“The infamous Nightmare shows mercy? That’s not what I heard two minutes ago,” he mocked. She had hold of his arms with her knees, and she put more pressure on them. Only then did Adrian notice how close her knife was.  

“I’m not all bad, if only I was given a chance,” she retorted, batting her eyes innocently. “Is it true, Sentinel, that this helmet of yours comes off?” Her free hand began roaming around his head, searching. He struggled, but she pressed the knife against his chest plate. “All I need is one puncture, one touch. Don’t even try it.” Adrian ignored her.

The back of his helmet clicked, and her eyes gleamed with pride. With one toss, the helmet was sent somewhere across the room, clanking against the cracked tile floors.

Adrian expected laughter. Adrian expected a knife to the throat.

Adrian didn’t expect Nightmare to gawk at him.

He felt the numbness in his legs wearing out. She had said that it would take longer; perhaps it was the suit; perhaps it was a bad poison. Nevertheless, her reaction allowed him to build up heat in his hand, shooting flames onto her thigh. She cried out in pain, her grip on him loosening, enabling him to push her off of him and flip their positions.

They struggled, rolling around. Adrian threw punches at her face, but she reflected them. Only when he had her pinned down did he realize that she wasn’t fighting back like before; she was defending herself. There were tears in her eyes, threatening to spill. Adrian couldn’t decipher what they were from.

A glint beside him caught his attention. A portion of her jacket was burned, exposing red, angry, blistering skin beneath the remains of her sleeve. Apparently, her arm had been caught in his previous blow. But it wasn’t the jacket that caught his attention. No.

It was the filigree bracelet dangling from her wrist, with a star in its center and a clasp made by Adrian.

“Where did you get that?” He turned his attention back to her, dug his elbow into her neck. She gasped for air.

“Where do you think?” Her surprise from before had disappeared, and her hardness had returned. “You were right about one thing, Adrian Everhart. I do know where Nova McLain is.”

“Tell me.” He gritted his teeth. “Or I will kill you. For everything you’ve done.”

She squirmed underneath him, but it was useless. Finally, she spat out the response that Adrian dreaded. That turned his blood cold.

“She’s dead. I’m sorry, Adrian.” Then, her hand was on his cheek, achingly familiar and gentle and calloused. His eyes widened in disbelief, but then closed as the world around him went black.

[missameliasmithers]

The Aforementioned Sokai Demon AU

“I Was Dead When I Woke Up This Morning” 

-Sora gets possessed by a demon and seeks out the mage (Kairi) that is rumored to work miracles

Read on AO3

“Well, well,” his demon hummed. “What do we have here?”

“Be silent,” Sora mumbled, valiantly attempting to fight the lush creeping to his cheeks. “Slink back into your shadows.”

The hunter had spent the better half of the lunar phase in search of her –and two winters before simply chasing whispers. The sages and holy-men had been next-to-useless, the herbal women ineffective, and the soothsayers charlatans. She was his last hope.

He had heard rumors once or twice in passing before the possession, of the apprentice mage who appeared saturated in light. Gifted, he’d heard, blessed with an old magic. Capable of great feats.

Another cheat, he remembered assuming.

Now however, with the clawing talons of this monstrous darkness embedding themselves deeper into his soul, now he would try anything.

The nearer he got to her village, the more murmurs he caught. A miracle worker, some said. A gift from the Gods Almighty. An angel of innocence and health. The best white mage in millennia. He just hoped she was as good as they all claimed.

He found her hut with no trouble, not because of its size or splendor –as it was a humble lodging—but from the throng outside her door. Thirty heads was his estimate, and since he never had been one to mill about in a queue, he trotted off to the tavern to lose some hours in a bottle.

He returned as the sun was caressing the horizon and abided in the shadows of a maple as he waited for her final patrons to leave. He was rewarded two sun-marks later, when the hutch opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out, bowing and throwing exuberant praise over her shoulder as she left. A smaller figure in hooded red robes followed her out, waving farewell to the departing woman before snuffing out the lantern beside the threshold.

Closed for the night.

But one more patient.

Sora pushed himself off the tree and glided toward the mage’s hut. The soft rap of his knuckles on the door could barely be called a knock, but it served to alert his presence.

The robed figure was on the far side of the room –which was not a great distance considering the size of the dwelling—stooped over a large, open tome on a modest wood table. At the sound of his entrance, the figure raised its covered head.

“I’m sorry, but I’m closed for—oh!” She stopped in her tracks when her eyes landed on him, apparently as startled at his appearance as he was with hers.

She was certainly not what he had been expecting. He had envisioned this mage to be a withery old woman, or at the very least someone his senior. The face that greeted him from under the hood however, was a fresh-faced woman, perhaps a year or two beneath himself. She had ruby hair and shining eyes that seemed to glow and pierce him in the lamplight.

There was nothing outwardly spectacular about her –though admittedly she was quite visually striking—yet she emanated a sort of… light. No candle adorned her, nor did she wear crushed pearls as the court ladies did. A natural warmth seemed to seep out of her very being, and it made Sora want to move closer. To bask in her.

The demon in him roused in piqued curiosity and uncoiled like a serpent around his heart.

“My shadows are yours,” he rumbled. “You want her.”

Sora’s blood was on fire, racing to his chest, his face, his—

“I want no such thing.”

The demon huffed. “Are you not yet sick of denial, hunter?”

Sora allowed himself a steadying breath to keep his voice from wavering as he finally spoke.

“I realize you’ve stopped seeing patrons for the evening,” he said, “but I could not wait until dawn.”

“I can see that,” the woman said, her tone light despite the his rather impolite intrusion. “I don’t blame you. With that creature rasping in your ear all day, I’m sure I’d be tired of it as well.”

Sora’s eyes widened. “How did—?”

“I can feel the darkness from here,” she said, gesturing at his torso –at his heart. “You’ve got an impressive demon inside you, stranger.”

“Sora,” he said. “My name is Sora.”

“Kairi,” she supplied. Stepping from behind the table, she gestured to the tea table in the centre of the room. “Sit down, Sora. Let’s talk about your demon problem.”

“I would have you know this beast is not of my own making,” he told Kairi over a cup of Camilla.

She smiled. “I sensed as much. How did it come to find you?”

“The tale is brief, though rather grim,” Sora said with a sigh. “I had been out on a hunt and was tracking a boar through the wood. Midway through the brush, a new set of prints appeared –these belonging to a human. It is not uncommon to find travellers lost on the trail, but these were speckled with bloody drops.

“I do not consider myself a man of highest virtue, however I could not in good consciousness leave a wounded man alone in untamed timberland,” Sora said, tracing the rim of his cup. “I followed the tracks and came upon a young page collapsed in the thicket. He appeared to be my year, with a soft face dirtied and blonde hair tangled. His chest labored with breath and his eyes went wide upon seeing me.

“He told me to leave. Begged me to turn around, but crimson gashes littered his forearms and chest, and I could not bear to leave him in such misery. I tried to bandage him, but he protested. ‘I did this to myself,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to rid him of this realm. You must leave while you can!’”

Sora’s throat burned as Kairi continued listening patiently. “I did not understand him at the time. I believed his injuries were causing delirium. I kept trying to help. I attempted to heft him over my shoulder, but he pushed me away. ‘Please leave,’ I remember him saying. His words are forever ingrained in me. ‘I cannot hold him back much longer.’

“And still I stayed.

“Tears began to form in his eyes. ‘This isn’t how it was supposed to happen,’ he said. ‘He was supposed to fade. Now he will persist in you. I’m so sorry.’ And then, with tears staining his cheeks, the page took a final breath and expired.”

Sora inhaled, long and shaky, before letting it out. “My memory after that moment is spotted and full of fog. The last clear recollection I have is waking up in my cabin with a pain in my head and a strong feeling of nausea. A laugh that was not my own rumbled deep inside me and I haven’t been able to be free of him since.”

Kairi offered him a genuine look of sympathy. “That sounds like a dreadful ordeal.”

“Living with him is worse,” he replied.

“We’ll remedy that in time,” she said. “You have a powerful light inside you, Sora. Keep it lit and drive this demon back.”

Sora winced. “I’ve been trying. It’s been getting more difficult to keep him contained. He’s getting stronger. Takes control more often.”

Kairi reached forward and rested her hand on his. “I will help you.”

That enchanting warmth that thawed his bones earlier returned at the contact of her palm. It trickled up his veins and calmed his frayed emotions. He delighted in the pleasant calm.

“Normal exorcism will not work on this form of demon, I’m afraid,” Kairi admitted, setting down her cup. “But I believe if we draw out your light, it will drive the creature from your body.”

Sora put down his cup as well. “How do we do that?” he asked.

“A kind of meditation,” she said, rising to her feet. Sora followed suit. “I will try and share my light to boost your own, but it may take a few tries.”

“I’m willing to try,” the hunter said.

“Come with me, then.”

Kairi led Sora to a different section of her home, this new room simple and modest as the rest. Draperies and shelves lined the walls, and a small pedestal with cushions lay in the middle. A pleasant scent wafted through the air, a sweet incense.

Without hesitation, Kairi climbed up and took a seat on one of the pillows. She gestured to the remaining one across from her.

“Please have a seat.”

Sora did as he was told and once comfortably situated on the cushion, he looked up at Kairi for further instruction.

Her reassuring smile sent a summery rush through him as she outstretched her hands and turned his over.

“It is important that we maintain physical contact during this meditation,” she explained, grazing her fingers along his upturned wrists as she rested her hands on his. “Our auras will be linked during this time and if our contact is broken, we will be left unbalanced. If you are left weakened, your demon could very well take control, perhaps permanently.”

Sora gulped. “Okay.”

“Are you ready?”

Sora raised his head and met Kairi’s gaze. There was no uncertainty in her eyes, rather a proud determination, as if she hadn’t a trace of doubt in her mind that he had the power to vanquish this darkness. It made him feel strong.

He nodded resolutely.

“Then let us begin.”

He was in an unfamiliar land.

All around him was night, yet the moon and the stars had abandoned the sky. The ground beneath his feet was fashioned from glass, glittering and colourful like the windows of a cathedral. The air around him was thick, but he could not decipher what with. He tasted something sweet, but detected sourness and bitter flavour.

“She’s quite something, isn’t she, hunter?”

Sora whirled around to find the image of himself, vastly the same as a reflection, but mutated and contorted into a more twisted version. His normally brown hair had been inked in charcoal, his skin ashed, and his eyes an uncomfortable yellow.

“Leave me alone, demon,” he hissed.

“You are the one who called on me,” the black creature said. “You and that charming mage you are so infatuated with.”

Sora’s face reddened. “I am not infatuated.”

“Foolish boy, you cannot hide your emotions from me,” the demon said. “I am in every crevice of your mind. I know your thoughts. I know your desires. Though I must say, this was a surprise. Who knew you had a tinge of darkness to you as well?”

“You’re the darkness in me!” Sora growled.

“I had thought the same until recently,” the demon admitted. “There were a few times in the past I thought I saw a glint of shadow in you, but you always stamped it out. Now though, oh now it’s abundantly clear.”

Sora scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“I do not blame you for it, of course. It’s quite natural for a healthy male such as yourself. Even a demon such as I cannot begrudge an attraction to a woman so alluring.”

The blood drained from Sora’s face. “I’m not—I don’t—”

“Lust is my favourite deadly sin after all,” the demon continued. “It is a little absurd that a pair of pretty eyes and the brushing of a hand is enough to evoke this strong of a reaction from you, but I’ve seen worse in my years. At least you haven’t released in your britches yet.”

“You’re what’s absurd here!”

“Come now, as I said, it’s quite normal. That light of hers is delectable, after all. I can’t wait to have a taste.”

Sora glowered. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re wavering quite a bit,” the demon grinned. “Just a little longer and I’ll be able to devour that lady myself.”

Sora grasped for the beast, but stumbled through his haze. Turning on his heel, his attempted to punch him, but was awarded the same result. “Don’t you touch her!” he cried.

The demon smirked. “There it is.”

The hands resting below the mage shifted, but held contact. Sora’s fingers inched along soft skin, gently caressing Kairi’s palm as they moved higher to her wrist. The movement caused a smile to tug at her mouth even as she maintained the meditative link. Such an innocent touch, but one that reminded her of a tender presence.

And then the fingers clenched around her wrists possessively and Kairi’s eyes flung open to see a pair of golden eyes.

“Hello, pet.”

“Demon,” Kairi replied.

“Vanitas,” he corrected. “It is a delight to meet you in person, Princess.”

Kairi frowned and the demon chuckled.

“Do not act surprised,” Vanitas said. “I have lived far longer than you mortals can imagine. I could tell the moment my host laid eyes on you that you were a Princess of Heart. I can feel your light surrounding this entire town. Very impressive.”

“How are you here? My and Sora’s light should have kept you contained.”

“That’s the funny thing with light, Princess,” Vanitas said, using his grip on Kairi to pull her closer. “It always casts a shadow.”

“Not if it shines from all directions,” she retorted.

The demon brought his face besides Kairi’s nudging her cheek with his nose and moving his lips to her ear. “And you believe two beams will be enough to eradicate the darkness? I’m afraid not, love.”

Kairi squirmed as a scorching-hot tongue traced her jaw. “Release me, foul creature.”

“Whatever for?” Vanitas smirked. “Both myself and my host are thoroughly enjoying this.”

“Sora would never—”

He nipped her neck. “You have quite a lot to learn about men, my dear.”

Kairi continued to struggle as the demon laved attention to her skin.

“I can’t remember the last time I tasted something so delicious,” he mumbled. “I ought to sever your connection right here and take control of this body, but I am loathe to drag myself away from this feast.”

The mage’s heart stopped. Sora was certainly out of balance if his demon was in control. If Vanitas let her go, their link would break and he would be trapped, a prisoner in his own mind.

Reaching deep into her heart, she concentrated her light. She dredged up every positive thought she could muster, the kindness she sensed in him, her empathy for him and his plight, her desire to save him from this beast. She wrapped it up within itself, folding light into light and sent it soaring through the link.

Please, she whispered, please let this soul find balance again.

When Sora came to, his tongue was licking a stripe up Kairi’s neck.

Springing away, he yelped an apology and ducked his head. His face burned and his mouth held the curious taste of—

“Sora?”

Timidly, he raised his gaze to meet Kairi’s. Her face was flushed and her eyes were searching.

“It is you, isn’t it, Sora?”

“Of course,” he said, blush still flaming. “What happened?”

“It, uh…,” she started, “it didn’t work. Are you feeling alright?”

“Embarrassed,” he said sheepishly, “but otherwise, I’m fine.”

Kairi nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. “I can still feel your light, just as before. Can you sense it?”

“Um.” Sora took a moment to analyse himself. His soul weighed the same as it did when he arrived –not as heavy as it was the day of possession, but not as light as he would like. Still, there was that brightness that lingered inside him, the one that flared whenever he helped people in need, or watched a sunset, or look in Kairi’s eyes.

“Yeah, it’s there,” he concluded.

Kairi looked relieved. “That’s good.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“So it didn’t work, huh?”

She shook her head. “Not this time.”

Gently, Sora grazed his fingers over hers. “Would you mind if we try again?”

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 2

In honor of the Boatsex-versary today, I give you another chapter of Masseur!Jon and CEO!Dany

Sweat streamed down his face. His hair had fallen loose from its tie and one curl bounced annoyingly against his cheek as he ran. His leg muscles screamed with each stride, each breath sawing, his heart thundering in his ears. More speed. A block left . . .  Ghost loped on the leash, matching him step for step. Half a block left . . . The old Targaryen Palace shone under floodlights ahead. The sky was a leaden grey, thick humid air promising rain. A stitch burned in his side. Gods, almost there . . .

Jon summited the last stair with a last burst of energy. Jon pulled up, folding his hands behind his head, sucking in deep gasps. Ghost circled around his legs, his tail wagging madly.

“Aye, you’re faster than me, as always,” Jon wheezed, grinning. Whew. He loved that burn in his leg muscles, that deep ache in his chest ebbing away to a subtle euphoria. A fierce sense of accomplishment. He’d conquered the bastard.

This early in the morning, there were only a smattering of people gathered on the plaza. Tourists, by the look of them, marveling at the spectacle of the Targaryen Palace behind ornate wrought iron gates. By any reckoning, it was impressive. The Targaryen sigil roared on a massive plate, brilliant in red gold on a background of polished slate. Though their numbers dwindled and government had shifted to a more egalitarian parliament, any man or woman of power invoked an echo of Targaryen strength.

A flash of pale hair out of the corner of his eye. Jon’s heart leapt to his throat. Oh fuck. She did say she ran the stairs on Aegon’s Hill . . .

“Ghost heel, you big lout,” Jon said with a tug on the lead. He yanked his hair into a semblance of order, peering through the clusters of gawking tourists—the woman was at least six inches taller than Dany, neat-featured and cute, her hair a spill of honey blond, walking arm in arm with a girlfriend. Not her.

Jon shook his head, marveling at how the mysterious Dany Steele snared him. The bewildering hunger hadn’t waned in the week since he’d seen her. Not by a longshot. Not only was it inconveniently lustful dreams that left him irritated and hard, but heart-stopping near-glimpses while he was getting morning tea before work, walking home from the laundromat, or running stairs with Ghost. Creamy white skin, pale hair, that little mole high on her shoulder, that fucking moan . . . Shit. His heart thudded as some blood thundered south. Jon exhaled an irritated breath.

He’d surreptitiously poured over her file at The Oasis, mooning idiot he was. A massage once or twice weekly for the past month. Missy’s neat cursive detailed the problem areas in her neck and back. Nothing else. No contact information, no health history, not a measly scrap of information. Consummate professional she was, Missy didn’t gossip about her clients. Not that Jon could summon the guts to ask when they crossed paths.

Jon pulled out his smartphone, finding two texts from Sam, one from Arya, and one from Tormund, his boss at the contractor’s office. A tap opened the text from Tormund.

The fucker Greyjoy called in again Can u pick up a shift 2day? Succinct and to the point, as always. A smarter person than Jon wouldn’t answer their phone on their day off, but Jon had never been accused of being smart.

What time? he tapped back.

9 to 9 The Westerling project needs 2 b finished ASAP I’ll owe you

Jon muttered a curse under his breath. Another twelve? On his day off? The bells within the Sept of Baelor chimed the hour along with fanciful embellishments to wow the tourists. Eight o’ clock now. Time to go home, shower, grab breakfast. Maybe working himself to exhaustion would quench the erotic dreams. After wanking himself blind for the past week, a night of untroubled sleep was appealing.

“A girlfriend would work too,” he said wryly to himself. Working two jobs, he barely had time to sleep, much less find a girlfriend. One night stands after going to the pub with his buddies was the summation of his romantic life lately.

Ghost, a huge white mutt—the lady at the shelter swore he was part direwolf—nudged his hip with a big wet nose.

“Don’t worry, buddy. Sam’ll check in on you,” Jon said.

I’ll be there U owe me

Tormund answered immediately: Thx Snow U r a lifesaver I’ll buy u a beer after work

That doesn’t mean anything U and ur wife own a pub

Then I know the beer’s good! My lady misses you

Jon snorted.

“Come, Ghost. Let’s go home,” he said, tucking his phone back in his pocket.

Heat radiated from the concrete beneath his trainers. A listless breeze tugged at the flag flying over the Targaryen palace: nine gold shields on an azure field halved with a black axe and sickle. King’s Landing stretched out beneath him, the streetlights scattered jewels of orange and green light, the horizon lost in gauzy swathes of mist. The view was part of the reason he subjected himself to this torture six days a week. No time to relish it now. Jon took a steadying breath and picked up the pace down the stair. Only five minutes until the next El train south toward his building.

                                                         ~

 Daenerys passed a hand over her burning eyes, leaning back in her office chair. A sizable dent made in her emails to colleagues, assistants detailing upcoming court dates, arraignments and board meetings. The war with the Harpy Triumvirate raged on. Rakharo of her security detail sent a weekly dossier detailing the latest threats on her life. The promise of torture, rape, and murder, as long as she spearheaded the effort to block the Triumvirate’s interests both in Westeros and abroad. Standard fare. The words were empty, and bounced off her mental armor without a scratch. Vis vociferously fought her devotion to such work. In his mind any energy not focused on Rising Dragon Inc. was energy wasted. The threats underscored his point.

Another folder held the wedding plans, adequately labeled The Hot Mess. Her cursor swerved determinedly away from that. The caterer backed out to serve some party in the River district. The florist threatened to level a ridiculous surcharge to ferry the blooms she wanted from the Reach district. Daenerys stifled a yawn. She could stare down pitiless lawyers and hardened criminals, endure deaths threats all day, but she hadn’t the mental fortitude to argue with an uppity dress designer. No, not tonight. Daenerys pushed back from the sleek computer, incongruous compared to the ornate ironwood desk, polished to a rich patina.

Alone in the office at this hour, she stretched her arms over her head. The sharp-shouldered suit jacket stretched taut across her shoulders. Rigid muscles ached. She sidled close to the window. Floor-to-ceiling one-way windows filled the eastern wall, offering a breathtaking view of the city and Blackwater Bay beyond. By city ordinance, no building was built higher than the old Targaryen Palace on Aegon’s Hill. The thorny red-stoned towers rose above her building, lit by the cool glow of floodlights. A constant reminder of Targaryen heritage, as Vis was fond of saying. Daenerys glimpsed her distorted reflection in the window. Circles under her eyes. The white silk blouse hung listless. She’d lost weight.

Daenerys kneaded the back of her neck, an angry knot of tension clenched like fist in her muscle. A glance at the clock said it was half past nine. She’d been in the office since five forty-five this morning. Long past time for her to leave the damned emails for the night. A traitorous thought wondered if The Oasis was still open, and if Jon was working. The memory of his hands on her sent a warm shiver through her body. The first flicker of arousal she’d felt in months.

Daenerys heaved a sigh, eyeing the ruby ring on her left hand. Daario Naharis, a wealthy businessman from Tyrosh, was a partner of Viserys’s. His roguish charm and easy humor was disarming and welcome after those long, ugly years building their company back up from nothing. But now . . . now so many things were different.

Her smartphone chirped.

U r STILL @ the office???

“Three question marks, really?” she said under her breath. The pain in the back of her neck intensified.

Would tonight be like so many others of late, with Daario draped over the sofa, his dyed blue hair in disarray, sniping about this guest on their guest list, or the how haggard she looked, and she had a headache again tonight? The thought made her stomach churn with a familiar acid burn of anxiety. Sex was too godsdamned difficult. She could never unwind enough to enjoy herself. It stung Daario’s masculine pride that he couldn’t get her off with any regularity.

Finishing up. Another hour. C u at home, she tapped back. Let him chew on that for now. A quick computer search found The Oasis’s dinky website. OPEN UNTIL 11 PM. Missy would probably be home with Grey at this hour. But maybe Jon . . . The phone chirped over and over again scrolling increasingly irate messages from Daario. Daenerys tapped the lock screen and tucked her phone in her purse. Tonight she’d do something for herself for a change!

The upper floor of Rising Dragon was deserted, florescent lighting a muted, yellow-hued glow. The cool, humming silence held a strange quality, a yawning, almost malevolent emptiness. Daenerys hurried to the lift. The foyer rose to soaring ceilings, a cathedral of glass and polished ironwood and wrought iron. Mr. Strong manned the security desk. Her tension eased by increments. His broad bulk and warm voice always reassured her.

“Headed home for the night, Miss Targaryen?” he said with a white smile.

“Finally, yes. Thank you Belwas.”

“Shall I call your car?” he asked. Daenerys considered a moment, then shook her head.

“No thank you. I’ll take the El.”

A frown puckered Mr. Strong’s smooth brown skin.

“Be careful, Miss. Goodnight,” he said.

“I will. Say hello to your partner for me,” Daenerys threw him a reassuring smile over her shoulder as she clicked across the polished marble floor. The Oasis wasn’t far.

                                                         ~

 Jon scrubbed his wet hair with a towel. A deep ache pervaded his body, eased by the long hot shower. His building was older, trending toward shabby, but the hot water almost never ran out. Westerling, some West district bureaucrat, requested a complete reno of his King’s Landing brownstone. Today he’d helped Tormund with the fiddly detail work: custom crown molding, installing the cabinetry, paint, and a dozen other little things. His boss had been generous: he had the next two days off, which made for a surprise long weekend. Maybe he could book a train home to see Bran and Arya.

The white glow of his smartphone caught the corner of his eye. Without his glasses, the print was a soft myopic blur at this distance. Jon wiped steam from the fogged lenses and pulled them on. A text from Shae.

D. St. requesting a late appointment. Missy left for the night and Ros is with another client. Can you help?? So sorry Jon No other choice

Jon’s heart thudded hard against his ribs. Dany. He looked at the time stamp. Shae’d sent the message ten minutes ago. The Oasis was a five-minute walk from his apartment. Adrenaline zinged through his nerves and all the weariness of the day melted away. Dany. Close enough to touch, breathing in the scent of her . . . damn. Just the thought had him half-hard.

“Get your shit together, Jon,” he told himself sternly.          

I’ll b there in ten, he texted. The phone pinged a half second later:  THANK YOU!!!  

Five minutes later he was dressed in a black polo and jeans, wet hair pulled back in a floppy half bun on top of his head. He rapped on 302, hearing the sweet, mournful strains of the cello through the door. Sam’s broad good-natured face appeared in the sliver of door beyond the chain.

“Jon! Give us a moment, I’ll get the chain.”

The door slammed shut, with a tinkle of metallic fiddling. Sam reopened the door and Jon was swamped by warm golden light and the rich spicy scent of Pentoshi takeout. Jon’s stomach gave a liquid grumble. The sandwich and crisps that made up his lunch was too long ago.

“Who is it?” a female voice said behind Sam—his wife Gilly. Jon stomped down on a shoot of envy. Sam’s easy domestic bliss made his own life look wan and colorless by comparison. Gods, he dropped everything to go to the client he was mooning over. He chose not to dissect that train of thought further.

“It’s only Jon!” Sam shouted back.

“Jon? Oh give him my love! Little Sam, supper!”

“’Evening Gilly,” Jon said.

“’Evening, Jon. Do you want to come in for a cuppa--”

A higher voice interrupted with something indistinguishable, but apparently contrary, for Gilly’s voice rose in counterpoint: “You said ‘five more minutes’ twenty minutes ago, little lad! Come wash up for supper!” Sam’s smile was equal parts proud and apologetic.

“So sorry. Little Sam’s become quite the cellist. We’re hoping to get him into Dragonstone Academy next fall. You were saying?” Sam said. Jon grinned, feeling a reflection of Sam’s pride. Big Sam had been his best friend ever since he moved in, and Little Sam was smart kid. Sweet. Reminded him of Bran.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your supper, Sam. I got called in to work. I’ll just be gone about an hour. Check in on Ghost for me before you put Little Sam to bed?” Jon asked.

“Of course! Happy to!” Sam said with an easy grin, “truth be told, minding Ghost has gotten Little Sam off the train of demanding his own dog.”

“Thanks, Sam. Ghost’s happy to have the company,” Jon said, turning toward the stair, “He’s already been fed, so don’t mind his begging. I’ll be back soon.”

“’Evening, Jon!” Sam called after him.

The evening breeze was fresh with the briny scent of the sea, the sky overhead darkly overcast. A few people made their way down winding sidewalks, bicycles darted between lumbering buses. Heat radiated from the sidewalk, the buildings, clinging like a wet blanket. Jon loped across the street as the garish blue-hued streetlights clicked on. The grade steepened as he neared Visenya’s Hill. Jon tried to stifle the jolt of jittery energy. For the thousandth time, he wished for a cigarette. The sweet smoke curled in his lungs would give him a measure of calm. The bell chimed as he shoved open the door. Shae unfurled herself from the office chair.

“That was quick,” she said with smirk.

“I live seven blocks away,” Jon said with a defensive shrug. Shae’s dark eyes held his, and Jon squared to meet the challenge in them.

As the proprietor, Shae was a stickler for professionalism. When Ros crushed on Mr. Baelish, Shae had threatened her with firing if there was so much as a whiff of impropriety. At the end of the day, Ros had two kids to take care of, and that was that. If Jon remembered right, Baelish turned out to be a creep, perving on a redhead girl half his age. Locked up in Iron Island Penitentiary serving fifteen years.

Shae must have been satisfied in what she saw. Dismissed with a graceful jerk of her chin, her silken cap of black hair rippling around her face.  

“She’s in Room Two.”

Jon made his way down the hall, sucking in slow, deep breaths. Calm. Professional. He paused at the laundry closet, scrubbing his hands clean. Normally, he’d review his notes of the previous couple sessions. But Dany had etched herself into his mind in startling, vivid detail. Jon rapped gently on the door.

The room was dim and warm. Faint mournful strains of a cello filtered through the speaker. There she was, lying on the table, sheet tucked up to her chin. The crisp sheet fell over Dany’s body like a lover. Sweet secrets lurked in those rich shadows. Gods, still as beautiful as he remembered. Her blond hair was loose this time, a long silken spill. Mm, he never thought he had a thing for hair, but he wanted to thread his fingers through it, pet her head, bury his face in it and breathe in the smell of her. The room was so dark, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact shade, or even see the details of her face clearly, something he now passionately lamented.

Jon gulped, reaching for his usual detached calm. Jon tapped the table near her shoulder. Thin eyelids lined with long mascara-darkened lashes fluttered open. Her eyes must be a pale color, blue or green. They didn’t swallow the light like a darker shade would.

“Hey, Miss Dany. I’m Jon. I’ll be your masseur again today. Any changes since the last visit?” Good, his voice was steady, calm. Detached, Zen. Something clicked inside him with massage, a serene place of focus. It was a faint relief he could still reach that place. He had a good memory. With routine clients, he had their problems areas and preferences nailed.

“No,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. Smooth voice, faint upper crust Crown district accent. Lovely mouth. Full pink lips . . . oh fuck. The zen-like bubble wobbled. Blood was surging south.

“W—Would you like something similar to our last session?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said.

With scalp massage, he could indulge his wish with her hair, kneading all those tense spots and ogle the details of her face up close. If he started with her on her back, he could hopefully get his body back in line before she could sneak glances at him. Jon debated the pros and cons for an uncomfortably long time.

“Erm, ok. I’ll get started,” he said, settling on the stool. The angle was better for hard-on concealment. He urged her to move toward the edge of the table. Oh sweet Mother, from the corner of his eye, he saw the subtle jiggle of her breasts as she scooted. Already half-hard, his cock surged to full salute.

“Here ok?” she asked.

Jon sputtered out something hopefully coherent. Sweat dewed under his polo. Beet-faced and tongue-tied. Luckily massage didn’t call for chitchat, and the dim lighting was a godssend. Jon relaxed in the rhythm of his work, fingers gliding smoothly along her scalp. Seeking out tension and trigger points behind the ears, at the occiput.

He gobbled up little details of her face. The slope of her nose, lovely thick eyebrows, the cute curves of her ears. The lobes were pierced. Even through the murky dark, he wouldn’t forget her face now. Oh, that sweet little shudder when he pressed at her crown. Gods. Jon clenched his jaw, reaching for the lotion tube clipped to his belt. A blob in his palm, smoothed over his hands to warm it. A smooth glide up the back of her neck. Mm, he wanted to soak up that warm energy shimmering on her skin. Like moonlight on the water.

“Are you all right?” her voice startled him. Her bright gaze sucked him in, like a tractor beam on a sci-fi movie.

“Hmm?” Jon grunted.

“You’re scowling. Is everything ok?” she asked.

“Yes, just a headache. Don’t worry. It’s your job to relax,” Jon said, teasing. The lie slipped off his tongue easily. I’m trying not to think about how hard you make me. Yikes. He didn’t want to be a creep that used massage to feel up women. Despite his trepidation, his dick throbbed, insistent. Her answering smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. This time it was his heart that gave a sharp flip.

“Ok. Relax. Got it,” she said. A tremor of laughter shivered through him. He was in serious trouble.

Jon took a steadying breath. Zen. Calm. Unhurried, no wasted motion. The bubble closed around him as he worked his way down both sides of her neck, the weight of her skull relaxed and trusting in his hands. Sweeps along her jawline, a press of his thumb along her collarbone. The whisper of the sheet brushed his knuckles. Boundaries. Good.

He loosened the drape of the sheet and instructed her to roll over. A soft gust of her scent and warmth washed over him, sweat and floral soap and . . . yum. Musky woman smell. No mistaking it this time. Not good. Now he was thinking about her pussy. Sucking in breaths of that sexy smell, tasting her juice, licking and loving all her juicy pink girl parts. Jon’s mouth flooded with saliva. Gods, he was actually drooling. His cock throbbed. Fuck, had he ever been this hard? Nope. Enough of that. Fucking enough of this juvenile horndog bullshit. She was a fucking client and he was a fucking professional, damn it. Shut. That. Shit. Down.  

Wiping lotion from his hands on the hem of the sheet, Jon cradled the silky weight of her hair, draping it over the table edge. The ends brushed his wrists in a ticklish caress. A delicate sensation that went straight to his dick. Just her hair. Who knew? Jon poured more lotion, paying attention to the tension in her neck and shoulders, careful not to press too hard. Deeper tissue massage would be better therapeutically speaking, but she was sensitive. High-strung, nervy. Like a thoroughbred.

He steeled himself for the effleurage along either side of her spine. Last time it had been . . . memorable. Shifting to conceal his erection, Jon smoothed his hands down her back with light pressure. Slick with lotion, his hands glided down. So smooth. No moan this time, just a puff of exhaled breath. Jon bit back an absurd feeling of disappointment. Did he want to be erotically tortured by an unobtainable woman? How fucked up was that? His hands moved of their own will, performing the same motion again. A soft little whimper. He could picture her biting the plush softness of her lower lip with those white teeth to stifle the sound. Jon exhaled a frustrated breath.

Moving to one side, he sought his trance with fierce determination. After this session was over, he’d ask Shae to assign her to another masseur if Missy was unavailable. This shit wasn’t good for either of them. He’d probably end sucking on her toes or proposing if he had to sweat through this again. Freaking her out with his own kinky bullshit. He finished on her back and legs. He returned to sweep down each arm with even pressure of his forearm. A lot of tension lodged in her wrists. Working on a computer, or with pen and paper. Maybe she was an artist. Jon kneaded at the tendons in her wrists, relishing her quiet hum. He moved to the other side, and a gem’s glitter caught the light. On a very important finger.

“Fuck,” he whispered.          

[monster-massage-blog]

Do-Over; Part 1, Malicious Revenge

Saga found himself sitting on the throne...this was a familiar sight. He looked at himself. He was an Abra once more...there was the flowers. That meant Asgore was behind him and the human was going to arrive. He took a deep breath...he felt weaker. Of course he was weak. He didn’t have his powers as a deity of calamity and he was a child. He knew how to fight now though. He didn’t have long to wait though...the human, no, Chara strolled into the throne room with knife in hand. Their eyes widened slightly as they had been expecting someone else. The only one in the throne room was that monster that they had encountered a few times but something felt different now. Their eyes were open and their eyes were red as rubies. They had expected a more gentle color. Still they would play this off. “Aha…interesting choice for a final showdown.” Chara said with an amused smile. “You are the prince though. Does this mean I have you cornered?”

“Shut your fucking mouth and come at me.” Saga said curtly and gently hopped off the throne, knife in his right hand, and taking a stance.

Chara seemed momentarily stunned. What the heck? Did they really- “You’ve got a mouth on you all of a sudden.” The Human said, eyes narrowed.

“I told you to shut up.” Saga ordered. “Or do I have to come to you?” Chara was getting tired of this pretty quickly and charged forward, raising their arm up high and swinging down with all their might but the Abra raised his left hand and quickly palmed it to the aside, the right hand thrusting forward and planting the dull knife into the human’s throat. Chara’s eyes widened, but Saga wasn’t finished yet, and tore the knife sideways, almost decapitating the human, where they fell backwards, the crimson staining the flowers. He knelt down as he saw the light fade from their eyes. “Now what you were expecting was it? A battle with magic where your HP would protect you. No...no no no. I’m going to kill you with a pain you can still feel.” The prince whispered, wiping the knife off with the human’s shirt. “These will be mortal blows for sure but you’re not going to die right away. You’re going to lay there until you bleed out. You’re probably not conscious are you? Oh well. I’ll just make sure the next one is drawn out.”

Saga waited there, content with his work while taking a few practice jabs at the human’s limbs to test the power that his smaller limbs contained, but eventually death took the human and there was the familiar tearing as the world seemed to fall apart and then snap back together...only something was different now. Now it felt...earlier. Everything seemed the same though. Just...earlier perhaps? Then he felt the familiar tearing as someone else beat the human, and things were reset. They were fighting Sans. He HAD gone back. As his stomach settled down, he hopped off Asgore’s throne and took off running. The Cathedral wasn’t too far away.

“Heya. You look frustrated about something. Guess I’m pretty good at my job huh?” Sans asked with a smug grin on his face.

Saga was charging as fast as he could, flying past the skeleton and shoulder-checking Chara in the chest, catching both Sans and Chara by surprise, and sending the human tumbling to the floor with a bewildered expression. Saga sighed and turned around. “Sans. You are relieved of duty. I’ll get this.”

Sans amused and laid-back expression had changed into something more serious. “...What happened to you?” He asked. This wasn’t the same kid he’d talked to earlier. That child was frightened but determined. This was...someone else. Something else. His eyes were open as well. He’d never seen that before. Those eyes looked firm and hard. Red didn’t suit him.

“I’m aware of the resets. I always have been.” Saga said with a hint of bitterness. “I guess I found my limit. Now stand back. That’s a royal order.”

“You’re seriously gonna try that one?” Sana asked.

“Papyrus wanted a skeleton to be among the Royal Guard. Ideally it would be him but wouldn’t he be delighted to find out you’d done it?” Saga asked.

San’s expression hardened. “Those are some pretty words...but you don’t really mean that do you?”

“No. I don’t. But I’m going to say to get you to leave this to me. If I lose you can mop up afterwards and this will never have happened. Now STAND. ASIDE.”

“...Suit yourself.” Sans said and started walking off. “...You’re dad is gonna be a sad man.”

Saga was about to retort with something VERY biting but there were more pressing matters to attend to. The human was getting back to their feet.

“You…what the hell is going on?” Chara demanded. “You’re not like this...and now I’m back here! I already beat him! I know I saved before I got to you! Why am I back here!?”

“Don’t wanna tell you.” Saga said and held up the knife. “I promised you pain but you were unconscious.”

The Human glared at him with unrestrained venom before charging forward. Saga swung his own knife, deflecting the human’s strike with a blow to the side before thrusting forward with a rather quick slash and gouging out one of the human’s eyes. They screamed in pain as their vision was abruptly lost, their other eye shutting in pain. Saga didn’t want to wait for them to recover though, grabbing their hair and shoving their head down to meet his raised knee with a rather sickening crunch. Their nose caved and they stumbled backwards, trying to escape this onslaught, but he was far from finished. He teleported behind then, kicked them from behind, and grabbed their wrists as they fell forward. They didn’t make it to the ground, now on their knees as Chara forced their one good eye open, staring back at the vengeful prince. “W-what are you going to do?!” They demanded, but dread was filling their voice.

“You were very naughty with these arms of yours.” Saga said simply. “You punch even when you were disarmed. I think...you would be better without them.” He started to pull with his arms and push with his foot, which was still firmly planted against the human’s back.

“Wait...no, stop! This isn’t fair!” The human roared but they couldn’t managed to get any other words out, the prince yanking even harder, and the human screamed as both arms were pulled from their sockets. The pain was too great...as he released them, the human fell forward, gasping desperately for air. This wasn’t right...how were they supposed to fight? There was supposed to be a back and forth sort of thing. Then they felt something against their shoulders...the prince had picked up their sharper knife and was gently feeling around with it, serving for where the bone and shoulder had been disconnected. “W-what…?”

“I want to cut them off.” Saga said simply. “I want you to stay awake as long as you can as I dis-arm you completely.” Saga said almost cheerfully. “I want you to feel the warmth leave your body and your strength fade. I want you to fully appreciate your death and every aspect of it...because I’m going to come for you. Every time you come back I’ll be there to kill you again. Every person you’ve killed, all the progress you made, every number that you increased, back to how it was, bit by bit. I’m going to make you fear me. I want you to feel what it’s like to lose all hope. To be hunted by someone you don’t stand a chance against. A REAL monster.” He found the spot. “Still...I’m strong, but I can’t chop through bone, even with this nice knife. Good thing it so kindly moved out of my way.” And with that, he started to slice through the flesh. The rest of the strength in Chara’s body and the rest of the air in their lungs was spent screaming as the prince methodically sliced through the soft flesh and the cloth of the human’s sleeves. Their life’s blood spilled generously from the holes and Saga watched with some satisfaction...and then indifference. “Hmmm...sure takes human’s a long time to bleed to death doesn’t it?” He mused. “Oh well. We’re going to spend a lot of time together. I’ll think of some other fun way to snuff you out when you come back. See you then.”

The human’s vision was blurry. They couldn’t speak. They could barely managed to breath. Soon all fell to darkness...and they were back again, this time outside of Asgore’s home. All of their injuries were gone but the memory remained...they needed the knife! They ran forward, threw open the door, and their felt a sudden coldness in their stomach. They looked down in disbelief...at the knife. It was in their gut...and holding the handle was a yellow hand with a lacy pink fingerless glove. “Guess whoooo~” Saga said almost lovingly. “I said I’d be here for you when you came back...I hope you saved often. I’m not letting you escape me...ever.”

[emybain]

Total Fluff Where Nova Surprises Everyone

I previously posted something about a mother coming up to sketch’s team in public and asking them to hold her baby while she did something, and the baby is crying and all of that, and no one can calm them down except for nova, much to everyone’s surprise and amusement. I decided to write it because i have nothing better to do with my life. Im gonna say it takes place post-archenemies but pre-reveal so…. Here. 

Edit: Holy heck I did not mean for this to be so long Im so sorry. Warning: this is unedited bc im tired.

Nova’s eyes followed Adrian as he paced back and forth. They were in the lounge, waiting to be called in for a patrol shift. Oscar and Ruby were playing Battle to the Death, like they always did, and were volleying insults to one another. Danna was...well...stuck in swarm mode still. Nova’s stomach churned at the thought. Her butterflies had disappeared after the gala a couple of weeks ago, according to Adrian, and hadn’t made an appearance since. Nova was constantly checking her surroundings whenever she was alone to make sure that one of them wasn’t following her the way the one currently trapped in the room she shared with honey was. She tried to push down thoughts of Danna, and how if her trapped butterfly somehow got loose, it would all be over for Nova.

    Nova wanted nothing more than to be done with the Renegades, but she still had a mission. A mission that was supposed to have ended two weeks ago, had it not been for the arrest of her uncle, Ace Anarchy. This hero charade was running itself dry. Nova was back on track; her uncle’s arrest reminded her of that. She was expecting Leroy or Honey or Phobia to tell her any day now that she could put Nova McLain and Insomnia to rest. That she could become Nightmare, fully, again.

    She waited for that day with anticipation, fingers itching to grasp it. It was only a matter of time before the Renegades caught onto her game, also. Too many clues, too many reckless mistakes, had been left behind the night of the gala. Then, she had thought her time parading around as a Renegade was over. She hadn’t cared about what she did or the damage she left that would lead the Renegades busting down the door to her home and arresting her. She cared now. Every step, every maneuver, every breath, was taken with precaution. Even now, Nova’s eyes left Adrian’s pacing form to glance at the elevator doors, at the exit signs, at the room full of Renegades that could easily outnumber her. Every time the elevator buzzed open, she expected more experienced and higher up Renegades to come bursting in, armed with powers and weapons and handcuffs and Agent N specifically for Nova.

    Adrian passed her for the umpteenth time, and she grabbed his hand, which had been used to amplify his rant about Nightmare. She had only been half listening to him, as it was stuff she had heard a thousand times before, how much he hated her and how she would pay for what she did to Max.

    Max, who was currently hidden away in his quarantine. No one was allowed to visit him, not even Captain Chromium. After barely surviving being ran through with the chromium spear, and having to go through a surgery that lasted hours, Max had been transported back to his quarantine to avoid the media and to prevent prodigies from being affected by his power. He was on strict bed rest, and would be that way for many weeks. Nova’s heart tugged, and she longed to tell Adrian that it wasn’t Nightmare who almost killed Max, but Genissa Clark, who was no longer a Renegade after being tranquilized by Nova herself. However, there was no way for her to tell Adrian without revealing her true identity and ruining everything. Not that it would matter much if he knew the truth, anyways. He still hated Nightmare with a burning passion.

    Ironic, really.

    Adrian paused in his ranting, mid-sentence about how in the hell did Nightmare even have access to Agent N and how she was able to take down Frostbite’s entire team alone. Another thing that could trace itself back to Nova.

    Adrian looked down at their hands, mouth open slightly. He stopped pacing, finally, too surprised by her confidant gesture. Nova took the opportunity and pressed her luck more, covering the back of his hand with her other one, sandwiching his together between hers. She squeezed his hand softly with the one holding his palm and stroked his knuckles with the thumb on her other hand. She gazed up at him, trying to feign a worried face. She batted her eyelashes, opened her eyes a little wider, raised her eyebrows, pursed her lips. It wasn’t hard, as she was truly worried about him. About his obsession, his lack of sleep, his constant Nightmare this and Nightmare that. He was worrying himself sick over the same person he was letting hold his hand.

    “You need to stop, Adrian.” Nova insisted. “You’ve been going on about Nightmare ever since we set foot in here, and you’ve been obsessing over her ever since that night.” He flinched, down casting his eyes.

    “You don’t understand,” he muttered. “I have to find her, Nova. She tried to-”

    “I know.” Nova sighed, a little frustrated. She pushed down the negativity, though, and stopped her stroking to stand and nudge his chin so he would look at her. He jumped at the contact.  “You need to get your mind off of her.”

    Adrian tugged her closer, making Nova’s heart race. She ignored it. Mostly. “I’ve tried. It’s just...it’s hard to after what she did.”

    “I know,” Nova repeated. They were inches apart. For all Nova cared, they could be the only two people in that room. In the entire world. “How do you think I felt after my family..you know..” she trailed off, then shook her head. “I was angry for a long time, Adrian. I’m still angry, but there’s nothing I can do about it to change what happened.” When his eyes started to drift away from hers again, she placed a desperate hand on his chest. “Adrian, Max is still here. He was very lucky.”

    Adrian stared at her for so long that she shifted, feeling his eyes bore into her, making her feel bare. Then, he closed his eyes, let out a slow breath, and pulled the hand that was still holding his to his lips. The soft press of his kiss on the back of her hand was so intimate that it sent a shock through Nova’s body. She felt her cheeks light up. He held her hand there for a second, then pulled back, letting their entwined hands fall between them. She instantly missed the contact, even though they were still holding one another.

    “You’re right,” he finally said, with a slight nod.

    Nova pressed a smile to her lips. It was tight. “I have an idea: let’s take a walk. Maybe go to the park? They clearly don’t need us here right now if we haven’t been called in yet, and if they do, we’ll get a message through our communication bands.”

    Adrian seemed to ponder it for a moment, then nodded again, this time firmly. “Alright. Should we tell Oscar and Ruby, or should we let them continue their bickering?”

    They both glanced over at the pair, who had moved onto another arcade game that Nova was unfamiliar to. It looked like some sort of racing game, with seats and steering wheels. Ruby was trying to mess Oscar up by swiping at his steering wheel, causing his car to veer off-course. He cursed her and swatted at her hand, shoving her away, although not harshly. Ruby cackled, trying to do it again while controlling her own wheel, but Oscar was able to keep her away this time. He kept glancing at her, and if it was out of precaution or affection or both, Nova had no clue. She shook her head.

    “I think they need some fresh air, too.”

    Nova and Adrian trailed behind Oscar and Ruby, hand in hand. Oscar must’ve made a bad joke, because he threw his head back laughing while Ruby groaned, face palming. Nova caught a glimpse of a smile on her face, however. She also noticed Oscar’s failed attempts to reach for her hand, as Ruby was animated and used her hands whenever she spoke. A pang of sympathy went through Nova for Oscar.

    “When are they going to get together,” Nova said under her breath, shooting a smile to Adrian. He chuckled and shook his head.

    “When they decide to fess up to each other.”

    “So never?”

    “Probably.”

    Nova shook her head, watching the two in front of them. She thought back to her conversation with Oscar back at the gala. He really was charming, despite, well, everything he did. And it was clear that Ruby liked him back; he was just too in-denial to see it.

    A breeze blew through, sending goosebumps down Nova’s arm. The weather was starting to turn, becoming chillier every day. The issued Renegade’s uniform wasn’t exactly made with material for winter. Nightmare’s disguise would’ve kept her warm, she thought smugly.

    Ahead, Oscar and Ruby slowed to a stop and looked behind them, waiting for Nova and Adrian to catch up. When they did, the four of them started walking again.

    “Have either of you heard anything from Danna?” Ruby asked, worry lacing her tone. “Oscar and I were just discussing that, and how her swarm won’t fair well with this weather.”

    Adrian shook his head. “No. Nothing since the gala, when I last messaged her.”

    “Yeah, we haven’t heard anything since we saw her butterflies at the cathedral.” Ruby shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

    Nova opened her mouth, about to feign having not seen her either, when a young woman with a crying baby in her arms rushed over to them. The group stopped, all four surprised.

    “Excuse me,” the woman said, clearly stressed. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but there are no other mother’s around, and I saw the uniforms. Can you watch my daughter for me for like five minutes? My son just ran off and I can’t catch him while holding her.”

    Adrian was the first to speak. “Of course, ma’am.” He smiled at her pleasantly. “Do you need any help finding your son?”

    Relief swept over the woman’s features. “No, I know where he’s going, I just need to grab him before he gets there or I’ll be in huge trouble. He’s done this dozens of times that I know his route and how fast he goes, so it won’t take long.” She hurried forward and pushed the baby into Adrian’s arms, forcing him to let go of Nova’s hand, much to her dismay. “Thank you so much! I’ll be back in a minute!” The woman waved a hand over her shoulder as she dashed off in mad pursuit of her rogue son, shouting his name.

    Adrian looked to Nova, then to Ruby, then Oscar, panic written all over his face. His shoulders were stiff, and he held the baby at a distance from himself, awkward. The baby continued to cry, harder than before now that she was separated from her mother.

    “Help,” was all Adrian said. Nova’s mouth twitched, and she bit her cheek to keep from smiling. It was too comical.

    Oscar was less nice about keeping it in, and bust out laughing. Adrian glared at him. Ruby rolled her eyes and stepped forward, muttering about how useless boys were. She took the baby from Adrian’s arms without question, cradling her close to her chest and making shushing sounds. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet, rocking back and forth.

    The baby continued to cry, fisting her hands against Ruby’s uniform.

    After a minute, Ruby looked up with the same panicked expression as Adrian. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she stammered out, “I used to hold my brothers all the time when they were babies, and I could usually get them to stop crying. Oscar?”

    Oscar backed up, eyes wide. “Hell no. I love kids as much as anyone, but me holding a baby is bad luck.”

    Ruby groaned, shifting the infant in her arms.

    Nova had an idea. A terrible idea, really, but one that would work. She debated for a bit, arms crossed and biting her lip, then stepped forward, arms outstretched.

    “Give her to me.” She beckoned for Ruby to place the crying child in her arms. Ruby looked at Nova as if she had grown a second head. Adrian and Oscar held similar gazes.

    Nova’s face reddened at the staring. Her jaw tightened in defense. “What? I had a baby sister. I knew how to calm her better than my parents.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She spent multiple nights using her power on Evie to keep her quiet in their tiny apartment.

    Ruby hesitated, then sighed, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was about to do. She placed the baby in Nova’s waiting arms, unfurling her little fists from her uniform. Nova held the infant close to her chest, cradling her beneath the head. Her pudgy face was scrunched up and scarlet from crying. It didn’t look like she would be giving up anytime soon, either.

    Nova glanced at the others, who were watching her closely. With a great sigh, and a small tinge of regret for what she was about to do, Nova cleared her throat. Her Papà used to sing her and Evie to sleep when they were having rough nights. She distinctly remembered one lullaby that always got her to fall asleep quickly. And if that didn’t work on this baby, well, she had her power.

    Reluctantly, Nova opened her mouth, and sang.

“Ninna nanna, ninna oh

Questo bimbo a chi lo dò?

Ninna nanna, ninna oh

Questo bimbo a chi lo dò?”

    Out of the corner of her eye, Nova saw Oscar’s jaw drop. He elbowed Adrian roughly, whispering. Blushing furiously, Nova turned her back to them, swaying from side to side to the rhythm of the song.

“Se lo dò alla befana

se lo tiene una settimana

Se lo dò all’uomo nero

se lo tiene un anno intero.”

    The crying from the baby had stopped, thankfully, and the little girl’s eyes were open. Their deep brown orbs stared up at Nova in wonder, mouth open. Nova cracked a small smile, sad, as she thought of Evie.

“Se lo dò al lupo bianco

se lo tiene tanto tanto

Ninna nanna, nanna fate

Il mio bimbo addormentate.”

     The infant did not close her eyes as Nova had hoped. Instead, she reached up and tugged at Nova’s hair. Nova ignored this, remembering that Evie used to do the same thing. She started the lullaby again, doing a little dance now. She kept her back to her teammates, not daring to look at them. When she got near the end of the song, she let her power flow through her gently, like with Evie. She stroked the baby’s soft curls, smiling at her as the baby’s eyes grew droopy, then closed. The baby girl relaxed instantly, curling into Nova. Nova hummed the lullaby, pretending that she was still trying to get the baby to fall asleep as she turned to face three wide eyed Renegades, mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. She avoided their gazes, continuing to hum and rock and look at the baby’s features. The baby was pretty adorable when she wasn’t screaming her head off.

    “Thank you so much!” Nova looked up to see the mother, now sweaty and out of breath, coming towards them with a squirming toddler beside her. Nova could see how white the woman’s hands were from holding her son so tightly. He looked very proud of himself, mischief in his eyes. “Oh my goodness, you got her to fall asleep?” The mother gaped at Nova, then glanced down at her child, still fast asleep in Nova’s arms.

    Nova laughed nervously. “Um, yeah. I sang to her and she just passed out. I used to sing to my little sister all the time when she was a baby. She was always crying, and my parent’s could never get her to sleep. But, whenever I held her, she would fall asleep almost immediately.” A partial lie, but the stranger didn’t need to know that.

    “She hates going to sleep!” the woman exclaimed, still staring at her baby in wonder. “It takes me hours to get her to even close her eyes. You have a true gift!” She turned her attention to her son, made him promise to not run away again, let go of his hand, and took her daughter from Nova, slowly to avoid waking her. “If you ever need some extra money, I would love to have you as a babysitter.”

    Nova’s eyes widened, and she shook her head vigorously. “Oh! Um...I would love to, but...I..I’m already so busy with Renegade work and my studies and things at home.” She smiled sheepishly. “But thank you for the offer.”

    The woman’s expression fell for a moment, and Nova felt bad. But what was she to do? Nightmare becoming a babysitter was the last thing Nova needed, even if she could bring in some money for the Anarchists.

    “Well, okay. If you change your mind, my name is Liliana Hemmings. I walk through this park every day around this time, so feel free to come find me.” She smiled brightly then at all four of them, gratitude written across her features. “Thank you again so much for the help. It’s always good to know we can count on the Renegades. Have a nice day!” She waved to the four of them, and they all said their goodbyes. Nova bit her lip in irritation at her comment. No one should count on the Renegades. They only brought disappointment.

    Oscar whistled loudly, moving forward to clap an arm around Nova’s shoulders, which she pushed away instantly. He snorted, unbothered. “Well, would you look at that? Our vicious and antisocial little Nova not only knows how to rock a baby, but she can sing too!” Nova glared at him, then cast her eyes downward. When she didn’t reply, Oscar continued. “And did you guys hear that vibrato? I say she’s a solid soprano.”

    “Shut up, Oscar.” Nova rolled her eyes, annoyed, yet trying to keep a smile from blooming on her face.

    “No, but seriously, where did you learn all of that, Nova?” Ruby raised an eyebrow, amused.

    Nova shrugged, shrinking under so much attention. “My dad used to sing all the time in Italian. And like I already said, I used to help put my sister to sleep all the time because my parents always had a hard time.”

    They seemed to ponder this for a moment. Then, all of their communication bands went off.

    “Looks like they need us.” Ruby beckoned them. “C’mon, let’s head back.” She and Oscar started walking, and Nova was thankful, for the first and last time in history, for the Renegades for saving her from further embarrassment. She started to follow behind Oscar and Ruby, but was pulled back by Adrian. There was a teasing smile on his face that burned her cheeks, yet she still allowed him to pull her against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist confidently. Through their uniforms, she could feel his heart beating against hers.

    “You have a beautiful voice,” he murmured, moving a hand to cup her cheek. His hand was cool against its heat. “I had no idea you could sing.”

    “Oh, we’re being Mr. Suave now, are we?” Nova tried to keep a neutral voice, but she couldn’t hide the shaking in her tone. Adrian grinned, much to her frustration, pleased at the not-compliment. The hand still at her waist squeezed, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. Her arms remained at her side, balled into fists. She would not be drawn into his antics.

    “I’m feeling much better because of you, Nova. I wanted to thank you.” His voice turned sincere, and he pulled her closer, tilting his head down. Nova’s eyes betrayed her, flitting down to his lips. She glanced back up at him.

    “You’re welcome,” she said, although it came out hoarse. She could feel Adrian’s breath on her chin. Unable to control herself anymore, Nova closed the space between them, pressing her lips against his. He grinned and returned the kiss, deepening it slightly.

    “We’re in public.” She pulled back slightly, just to have Adrian chase after her lips.

    “And?” He moved both his hands now to cup her face, kissing her tenderly. Nova wrapped her arms around his neck, digging her fingers into his hair. She could go on like this forever, wrapped in Adrian’s warm embrace, cuddling, kissing, enjoying every second life had to offer.

    And then Oscar had to ruin it.

    “Ay, lovebirds!” he yelled, almost twenty feet away. The people around them turned their attention to Nova and Adrian. Nova pulled back instantly, but Adrian leaned in for one final peck, lingering a second too long for Oscar’s liking. “Can you keep your faces apart for two seconds or am I gonna have to come over there?” Nova turned, glaring. She wanted to slap that smug smile from Oscar’s face. Next to him, Ruby held her face in her hands, probably embarrassed for Nova and Adrian.

    “We’re coming!” Adrian called back, tugging at Nova’s hand.

Not two (2) days later, in the lounge before a night patrol:

    “You guys remember that time Nova showed her soft side by singing in Italian for a baby in public?”

    “Oscar if you don’t shut up now I will throw this pillow at you.”