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zeciex · 6 years ago

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Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 13

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, death

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link I’ll need some extra love for these next chapters since its getting increasingly harder to find inspiration to write. We’re so close you guys!

Voodoo of New Orleans

The Louisiana air was hot and damp, it made you sweat and wish for a cool breeze. Oya had always hated when the air was damp, hated the way it made clothes stick to skin, the way it curled up her back and collected as sweat at the nape of her neck. She walked through the french quarter, black long pants ending just as her black heels began, a white airy shirt to top off the look. In hand were her old scratched up leather bag, containing what was left of her supply of candles, herbs and stones. People glanced after her as she walked through the crowd of tourists much like it did in venice.

It wasn’t before she reached a little shop called ‘sticks & stones’, its outside a faded green peeling off the wood, with big trimmed windows displaying all sorts of ‘magical’ things, most of which didn’t have any magical properties at all. Upon entering the air smelled of a mixture of dust and jasmine. The bell rang, alerting a newcomer had entered.

Oya dropped her bag at the register to wander further into the store with empty hands. She turned her nose at ‘magical potions’ and ‘holy candle lights’. The energy flowed through the room in an easy rhythm brought on by the few magical items that were.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Do you have snake oil?” She asked still turned to the table filled with stones and crystals. Her hands hovered over them to see which one emitted the most energy and stopped when it came to a sapphire, she picked it up and continuing until she held moonstones, hematite, carnelian and orange calcite, all of which would help her perform the ritual she had in mind.

“We do, is there anything else I can help you with?” the woman behind the front desk answered, turning to the many vials behind her. Her hair was beautifully braided, collected on top of her head and held together with golden pins. Around her body were various items for protection, love and stability, all in the fashion of bracelets worn all the way up her forearms, clicking together as she moved, and various necklaces around her neck. From her ears hung big golden hoops, as well a small one from her nose. They stood out against her darkened skin. If Oya didn’t know any better she’d have though her as a goddess blessed by the sun. But there was no magic in her blood, no more than all other humans.

“Your warding is off,” Oya commented rummaging through bagged herbs to find the ones she needed. The owner went silent, she could feel her eyes on her as she turned with some of the essentials she held, dropping them off at the register. “You should strengthen it, it won’t keep out evil spirits as it is.”

“What do you know about it?” Aisha, or so the necklace told, asked. The woman’s defences went up, her eyes studying Oya with interest and mild annoyance. Oya paid no mind to it and turned around to go through the aiels.

Most of the things sold were more souvenirs than anything else. Various masks with empty eyes glared at her, the crystal and stone skulls reminding of the inevitability of death, for some. A box was filled with voodoo dolls, best sellers from the look of it, from the ceiling hung dried herbs, blessings and curses with no magic bound to most of them, rosemary's and crosses. The store was a mix of cultures and mythologies but the most prominent was the voodoo aspect, as it should be for New Orleans. It is after all were witches sprung from once upon a time.

“I know a thing or two of warding. Do you have Balm of Gilead? Dragon’s blood? or maybe some pinto beans?” Oya asked, eyes running over the pendulums with various cut stones at the end. She already had one, it was old and not nearly as pretty but it was good and stayed true to what she needed it to do. Instead she picked up a bunch of candle lights, filling her arms with them before returning to the counter and the woman behind it. She gave her a soft smile.

“Is it okay the Dragon’s blood is a oil? The rest we have in solid form,” Aisha said, scuffing over the creaking floor to get what she asked.

“What do you know of the New Orleans coven?” Oya asked, dropping off the candles and continued to venture through the small store.

“Coven? You mean Miss Robichaux’s Academy?” A deep frown settled upon her face as she returned with the herbs, neatly packed in a fine paper and a bag. The wariness electrified the air, tension settling in her shoulders. Although she was young, something told Oya she was an old soul, one that had seen loss. “It closed down a year ago when the girls inside got massacred. The house remains closed off after that…”

“Do they know what happened?”

“...No, they never caught the ones who did it but the guess is, is that it’s a hate crime,” Aisha answered almost hesitantly. “What ritual are you planning to do with this?”

Oya shrugged and began putting the things on the counter in her bag with all her other things. The candles were by far the heaviest item but the bowls took up more space, still the bag was big enough to fit in a lot more. “It’s for scrying. I want to see what happened so that I can find the survivors.”

“You shouldn’t go there, they say the place is cursed,” she warned, pushing forth the bag with herbs, letting Oya take them with a soft smile. “They say the place is haunted by the witches who died there.”

“I’m sure that if they were ghost they’d have returned from the grave already,” Oya said, rummaging through the bag. “Witches tend to do that.”

“Who are you? Things like that you should leave alone, the darkness there you should leave alone. Spirits and necromancy you should leave alone.”

Oya looked straight at the woman in front of her. It was obvious that Aisha believed in energy, in herbal properties, in what her shop carried weather it was magical or not, but the notion of scrying into the past seemed too far fetched. Or just maybe she was worried that a client of hers would encounter whatever she believed to be at the academy. “You wouldn’t know me, my name has long been lost.”

“I’m warning you, don’t go there, don’t be white people stupid, there are spirits there, bad juju that should be left alone. My sister went there and she said the place was filled with bad energy, not even Marie Laveau would set foot in there, god rest her soul.” Aisha seemed desperate to keep Oya away, it was cute in a way, how humans can worry about another person they have just met. A smile widened on her lips trying to invoke a sort of trust with that woman, she was after all just worried on her behalf.

“Thank you for your concern,” Oya began, pushing a gold coin over the table, one of the ancient coins she acquired for her work years ago when they were used. It was the only money she had, this new from of currency in the form of a plastic card remained untouched by her, mostly because she never needed one. “but I’m far more capable than you think. I won’t be, what did you call it, ‘white people stupid’?”

“I tried to warn you,” Aisha muttered under her breath. “Don’t go blaming me when you end up dead.”

Oya took the bag and turned to walk out the door but stopped when Aisha called after her in an angry tone, her brows know knitted together in fury rather than worry. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You gotta pay for that!”

Confused Oya nodded towards the coin on the desk. “I did. It’s worth more than these items are worth.”

“I can’t take this,” Aish yelled, picking up the coin and waving it through the air. “What the hell, lady! I don’t even know what this is!”

“It’s a gold coin from early mesopotamia,” Oya answered with a huff, dropping the bag to the ground and walking back to the register. Maybe it’d be best to remove the memory of this in case the coven doubles back and senses her energy there, they might find a way here and she did prefer to remain in the shadows. Letting out a breath, Oya unfolded her energy, letting it wrap around the woman who stilled in trance. She reached over the counter, softly placing her fingertips at the temple, her suntouched skin standing out against the smooth dark skin of Aisha’s. Small electric tethers sprung from the touch, searching through her mind to wrap around the memory. Ever so slowly Oya pulled her fingers from the temple to hold them in front of her. Small silver pedals bloomed against the skin of her fingers, only visible to the eye of those who possess excessive magical properties.

“What are you holding?” Aisha asked quietly, eyes glossed over in trance.

“I’m holding your memory of this, for your protection and mine. It’s a small thing, the memory. When pulled from the brain it’s a fully blossomed flower, silver pedals so fine you can see through them. They don't wither, instead they fold in on themselves as if it’s blooming in reverse until it’s a small fine pearl. There are many ways to do this but this by far is the most beautiful,” Oya answered with fascination of the pearl now formed between her fingertips. “You can keep the coin, it’ll bring you great fortune and though it will not save you from the future it will make your present more fun.” She turned, letting the pearl be hidden by softly cut moonstones the size of the coin she had just parted with, pushing it to the bottom. She had no use for that memory, keeping it with her would be a waste. Some things are better hidden in plain sight. Oya withdrew her energies on her way out of the store.

Finding Miss Robichaux’s Academy would prove easier that she thought, the place famous for coming out as witches, the only school for witchcraft in the world, or rather, the only school known for it. It was famous for that and infamous for the tragedy that happened within its walls.

The house stood tall and proud with its columns and white walls standing out against the green bushes surrounding the premise and the dark spiked fence that caged it all in. From the outside it looked like the rest of the houses on the street, expensive and upper class, with the common Louisiana air surrounding it. Behind her the taxi speed away, leaving her alone on the pavement overlooking it with an wary eye.

Sweat beaded on her neck, it made the white shirt stick to her back uncomfortably. Hair stuck to her skin, the ponytail proving to not help against the humid air. Her eyes landed on the gate in front of her, on the chains and padlock wrapped around the bars to keep people from entering. With a fick on her wrist the padlock sprung open and fell to the ground with the sound of scuffing metal following it the way down and continuing after it had stopped by the chains following in its path. The gate opened with a loud groan, the mental complaining.

With one single step over the barrier the air changed as if all the oxygen had been pulled out and replaced with a void. It seemed stale, with no mention of life, no vibrance at the presence of magic. It crept along her spine and made the hairs on the back of her neck stand in spite of being stuck to her skin.

Oya passed over the fine stone path, the grass withered and overgrown, reaching towards the sky in the hope of a drop of water. She neared the porch, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet, groaning at her weight.

In front of her were the reminands of a voodoo ritual for breaching a barrier of protection, a bowl with the contents rotting away, traces of ash and blood on the dark wood. It was a spark of magic, nothing more, a faint rippel overshadowed by the empty void that lingered in the air.

With a sigh she hitched the bag up to get a better grip of it, her palms sweaty and unable to keep a proper hold of the heavy thing. The door opened screaming to the sky for oil on it’s hinges and it screamed again as it closed behind her. Inside the house the void became more apparent and for a moment it took her breath away. The air inside was a complete contrast of the outside, it was cold and dry, small specks of dust gleaming through the rays of light that slipped in between the skotters. It smelled dusty and illventilated, and of course it would, there had been no one here since the investigation wrapped up. Everything was covered in a fine layer of white dust. With each step she took she made footprints over the hardwood floor.

She followed her instinct that lead her to what would have been the dining hall, with a long table placed in the middle of the room, a white ghosty cover thrown on top of it in an attempt to keep the dust from settling on its surface. Though by the look of it, the surface would already have been ruined. Around the floor chairs was scattered, some tipped over while others were forced to the corners furthest from the table.

Traces of blood lingered on the wood speaking of the tragedy that happened within its blood splattered walls, with white chalk lines were drawn around where the body would have been.

She took a step into the room and felt something beneath her shoe. It was an old nail, it’s tip bloodied. Not far from it were the remains of aquamarine and shell casings. There should have been energy knitting in the air, magic reminands remaining in a place like this, there should have been something. But the void hollowed it out, carved into the seams of energy and killing them before they formed. Where there had been life there should be embers left of it, fragments of it, especially with so many witches.

Oya dumped the bag on top of the table, opening it up and placing the content in the open. Everything was placed neatly and in order, the black candles standing out against the white, the dark ceramic bowl a circle and the herbs and stones placed neatly and ready for usage.

Instead of beginning the ritual something drew her attention. She followed it up the stairs, past the blood stain on the floor and through the ghostly halls. A mixture of her own herbs burned as sage in her hand, the white smoke dancing in ever changing patterns in front of her. She passed through a door and into one of many bedrooms. It was faint, the fragment of magic, but it was there.

Upon entering further into the room she noticed the burns in the floor. It wasn’t the fragment she was looking for but it did speak of powerful magic. Her incense filled the room with a varied smell of burning herbs, it continued to fill the room with smoke when she put it down on the bedside table, she caught onto remnant.

“Papa Legba,” she mused in thought.

A shadow passed over the walls, followed by a dark laugh. Magic filled the air, electrified it and tickled over her skin. One moment she had been alone the next she was joined by a powerful presence.

“It is not every a goddess speaks my name,” a dark voice with heavy accent spoke, each word formed a particular way she could not place. Oya turned and watched the dark shadow’s owner, a black man who wore white warpaint that framed in his red eyes. Dreads draped over the shoulders of his tux jacket, underneath a white shirt ruffled up. Power emminated off of him in surges. She raised a brow at him, eyes watching with caution as he took a seat, placing both hands on top of his cane.

“Papa Legba?” She asked, taking a seat on the bed. Whatever he came here for it was not to harm her. Though his power was dominant and mighty, her own reached just as wide as his, if not more.

“That is my name,” he smile an alligator smile. A demigod like him didn’t fit into the frame of the Robichaux witches, none of the practiced voodoo or any variation of that. It was more likely that any voodoo practitioner in the french quarter would call for him than these witches and still, somehow, they knew of him, had called him.

“Why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, mon cheri,” he answered. Something about him made her heart speed up, not that she’d let it show. “I was down in hell when I heard your voice speak my name and I just had to see if the rumors were true.”

“Rumors?”

“The goddess of the underworld is back,” he answered and offered another smile, red eyes gleaming. “What is you doing here, child?”

“I wanted to see if I could find the witches,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. Papa Legba laughed, the sound carrying itself up the walls, booming through the room with a dark base. “You’ve had dealings with them, why else would your reminands be here?”

Papa remained silent, watching her with eyes of a predator. He reminded her of an alligator, its eyes shining through the dark of night, revealing the presence of strong jaws and endless teeth. But he also felt strangely familiar, not in the way that they knew each other but in the way they stood equal, a goddess of a forgotten religion that gave birth to the one that would overshadow it and the other a demigod of a religion just as forgotten, with myth being the only thing to carry the tales of him.

“Do you know where the witches are?”

“An answer like that demands a steep price,” he spoke.

“Tell me the price and I’ll pay,” she exclaimed quickly, cutting Papa Legba off from continuing. He grinned at her, not minding her sudden outburst but rather finding it entertaining.

“An answer like that demands a steep price,” he repeated, “If only I knew the answer. I do not know where the witches has gone, they have hidden themselves and are beyond my reach.”

She wrinkled her nose, letting out a sigh at the setback. She should have known, in a way she did, the expectations to find something not even the devil himself could were highly unlikely. Michael had told her they were gone, finding them were unlikely but when he had told her he were to attend a meeting, she took the opportunity to travel to Louisiana to see for herself.

And maybe it was just not for seeking the witches, but to see what she was up against.

“It can’t only be out of curiosity you come here,” Oya said with suspicion laced in her voice.

“Why not?” He questioned, tilting his head a little. The necklaces he wore sounded off, bones clicking into each other. If he were an alligator she was a serpent.

“You said there were rumors of me,” she continued, dismissing his question for one of her own. “What rumors?”

“The queen of the underworld walks upon the earth once more, no longer bound,” he answered her. His accent turned most ‘t’s into ‘d’s, shaped off the words into something softer and yet clear. “You kingdom awaits you. It may be smaller than what the previous queen had but it is still there.”

“My kingdom can wait, I still have much to do here.”

“Mmm, with the antichrist,” Papa hummed at her, leaning back in the chair that groaned beneath his weight. “Your kingdom will not grow if he is the one to end this world.”

A frown formed on her face, brows knitted together in question. “What do you mean?”

“You do not know?” Now it was his turn to be surprised, or rather act like it. Something about him told her that he knew things she’d never know, a keeper of secrets, one who saw the strings and knew where they lead. She supposed he should, being who he was. “Every life you take, child, brings their soul to your kingdom.”

It took a moment of confusion until it dawned on her. “If the world is whipped out by the bombs the souls would either go to heaven or hell and my kingdom, the underworld, will never grow.”

“For it was not you who took their life,” Papa finished. Oya mused over it, biting her lip in thought.

“What of you? Do you have a kingdom?”

“I am but a demigod. I stand between this world and hell. No, I do not have a kingdom…” he answered her. He did not have a kingdom but he had many souls beneath him, many helpers, soldiers, whatever he needed. Satan gave him orders, he was the boss of hell, but that didn’t mean Papa didn’t have any power down there. Not at all.

She suppose that’s what would happen if she didn’t claim her throne, if her kingdom dwindled in to nothing, that she’d take up as a part of hell, be a glorified crossroad demon. As other religions fell, so did their worlds. If Oya hadn’t been born with the blood of Ereshkigal, if she hadn’t been reborn with her soul, her underworld would have succumb to hell.

Maybe that was why her powers lashed out, to make a mark, however little it was, that it should still remain. She killed thousands and now their souls were hers.

She killed her mother.

“My kingdom may not grow in the underworld, Papa, but it will grow in this world,” She voiced with confidence. Papa smirked at her, no more and no less.

“The antichrist would give you a crown?” He questioned and lifted his cane only to immediately drop it to the floor with a click. “Would call you his queen?” Click. “Will see you as equal?” Click.

“Yes,” Oya said and stood. “If he give less than I deserve he will pay.”

“I am sure he will,” Papa said, watching her movements. Oya passed through the room, towards the door. There was nothing left to be said, Papa had planted his words and seen them cropped when they set root. Oya was confident in her stance with Michael, confident in his words.

“Goodbye, Papa Legba,” She said, turning to look over her shoulder as she had reached the door. Legba remained seated, sending her an alligator smile, eyes red and gleaming.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Cheri,” His voice were soft. Papa drew in a breath as she stood, his shadow passing over the walls in an unnatural way, a faint sound of hissing seemingly coming out of nowhere. “I hope to see you again soon and with crown this time.”

Papa disappeared in front of her eyes, taking his shadow and the hissing with him. It was in the moment of farewell Oya realised everything had been spoken in korean, in her native tongue, it left a strange knot where her heart was.

In the air lingered his presence, the touch of his magic, ancient and otherworldly. Oya closed the door after her, passing through the halls as silently she could with her heels clicking against the floor.

As she came into the dining hall all the candles lit up, casting a warm glow through the empty house, lights and shadows dancing on the white walls. In the chermetic bowl she placed the herbs she had purchased, pouting snake oil over the dried up content. In the bowl she crushed bone of a goat, then added an oil she herself had made, one to open up the mind. Oya ran two finger through the sticky content, lifting them to her eyes and drawing circles around her eyes.The mixture was then crushed together into a liquid, one that’d make a person's stomach turn by the smell of it, even more so when she put it to flame.

Blue flames licked the air, slowly dissipating into heavy smoke than poured over the sides of the bowl, fell thickly onto the table to its edge and then to the floor. Soon the entire room was covered in white smog so thick the dark hardwood floor was gone. Oya spoke in tongues, words long forgotten forming on her lips to be send out into the room. She held her hands over the bowl, swaying back and forth to tempt the past to come forth. Her magic filled the room, every cavity that had been left. A sudden jitter went through her and when she opened her eyes once more, they had gone completely white.

The room became fully lit, no longer were the light withheld by shutters, the white covers gone so that she could fully see the antique table. Nails and stones were scattered over the wood, scratching up its surface in an unholy way. At the end of the table opposite her were a woman, hair grey and pinned up, her skin wrinkles and covered in wounds. A girl cried to her side, clawing her way over the floor only to be stopped by a bullet coming from a black cladded woman, a woman whose face she didn't recognize nor did she care to look properly. Instead her eyes turned to Michael, passing through the room with his hands folded behind his back, hair a shorter halo that what she was used to. He stepped over the bodies of the witches as if they were nothing more than mere obstacles. Michael turned towards her, his tongue behind his lip as he inspected the death around him.

She watched as a girl ran through the opened doors and up the stairs, a bullet painting her white shirt red, then another to bring her down. Oya’s heart raced, death clung to the air, filled it with a cold touch, skellet fingers trailing up her spine. Death was something, it was of substance while the void she had felt were nothing. Death clawed at the wooden floors, painting the world in red, life snuffed from a full fire ablaze to embers. Embers were still something.

One moment the room was full of light, of red, of death and then the next it was dark, the moon casting a ghostly light into the room. Oya watched as a blond woman, cheeks stained with sorrow, lips quivering with pain, walk through the room. Her hands shook. When she saw one of the witches on the floor she fell to her knees with a cry that cut through the air.

Oya neared her, feeling how death had left the room, replaced with the vast void of nothing. All embers of life were gone, snuffed out. It was as if Michael had poured water over life's fire until even the embers, the smallest traces of life, were gone completely. There were nothing in these bodies, no tether for the soul to find its way back to, no fragments of life or traces of the soul. There were nothing.

It clung to her, strained Oya’s breath as fear flared up in her chest. She gripped one of the chairs to hold herself up, but found her hand went through it. Oya fell to her knees beside the only life within the house. The woman leaned down trying to breathe life back into the younger witch, to no avail. Her breath were mere air, no magic could bring back what no longer existed. She tried desperately, choking out cries when nothing happened.

Whatever Michael had done it was permanent. He had taken their life and extinguished their souls. There were nothing left of them, nothing for heaven and nothing for hell. Just nothing. It reminded her of the Inbetween, the vast empty but there was a difference, the Inbetween was something.

Oya found herself kneeling on the floor, hands gripping at the wood but hidden by the white smog. Slowly it began to lift, what was hidden beneath revealed. White floors stained by blood. It took a while to compose herself enough to stand and when she did, she gripped the table and used it as clutch while her mind spun.

The vision had told her nothing of where the witches were but it did reveal a fearsome truth. Michael had the ability to erase someone completely. What she feared wasn’t Michael nor really his intent with the ability but rather the erasement itself. The trust she held him didn’t waver.

But she did feel a twig of sympathy for the mourning witch. To see her loved ones gone, erased from every world. It was nothing but a mere afterthought, the witches had caused far greater pain, to her they were no allie nor anything resembling a friend. Witches were the ones that bound her, they were the one who conspired so much pain and agony, they saw themselves as inherently good, just like they thought their magic were. But magic were neither good or bad, it was not light or dark, magic was neutral in every way, it was the intent behind them that painted them one way or another.

With a sigh she pushed away the bowl and found another one, placing the same herbs and ingredients as the one she had done at home. If the witches were to come back she’d know.

It was the last thing she did before leaving, now with a lighter bag.

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs fic #obsidian & angelite

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zeciex · 6 years ago

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Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 8 M

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, Sex (oral and penetrative), cream pie.

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

The Inbetween Calls

For days she’d listened to a voice, a mere gust of wind with no words, begging her forward, pulling at invisible tethers tied around her body. The dark waters of the lake called, black as ink, a void in the landscape. It beckoned her forward finding her finally at the water, it's cold bite nibbling at her toes.

She wasn't sure how she got there, a moment ago the sun had been high on the sky and she was inside the warm walls of Michaels home, with him ghosting his lips over her skin and whispering ‘You’ve been standing here for days looking out at the lake’. She couldn’t recall what she answered.

There were cuts all over her legs, scratches from branches and stones looking like claw marks. Like the marks the skeletons had made.

It wasn’t before she was waist deep that she heard Michael callout her name from the shore and she was jolted back into reality. The water was cold, it brought paleness to her skin and formed goosebumps over it.

“Stay there, Michael! There’s something I need to see,” she called back.

Michael ran his hands through his hair and scoffed with annoyance before stepping out into the water ruining his fine leather shoes. “Come back, Oya! You’re going to get hypothermia or fucking drown.”

Instead of listening to him, she continued until her feet didn’t touch the bottom, until her chiffon dress laciously moved around her like a veil caught in the wind. The stream pulled at her, dragged her beneath the surface with a cold hand. Invisible strings wrapped around her ankles. Underneath the surface she saw herself reflected, her hair floated around her, skin pale as the moonlight, eyes endless voids. She sank, hands reaching towards the sky. Darkness surrounded her, she felt the water press in on her, guiding bubbles out of her lungs that rushed to the surface. Her eyes closed and body began to fight against the tethers that dragged her down.

She bursted through the surface in the great inbetween, hands splashing through water and gripping the invisible foor. Suddenly she wasn’t swimming in the water but lying on the watered floor, with only inches of water between the bottom and the surface. For the first time she was completely soaked through, hair clinging to her skin, water dripping off of her.

Oya pushed to stand, her lungs filling with air, painting violently while her body shook. It was cold here, freezing. Her breath formed evaporating clouds in front of her face. Something whispered at her. Through her body she felt a hollow coldness run, fear coursing through her blood.

She ran, the water splashing up at each step until she felt stones beneath her feet, water suddenly thicker and sticky. Looking down she found that the stones were not stones at all but bones and the water were blood. Thousands of bones, millions of them as far as the eye could see were lying all around her. Mountains of them. She turned, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, constraining her breathing and drying out her mouth. So many skulls with empty hollow eyes looked upon her, their eyes sad and pained. The bones groaned and cracked beneath her heels as she stumbled through them, eyes violently skaning over the surroundings.

The sky was grey as ash and closer to her than she had ever experienced, she could almost touch the clouds. The air vibrated with pain, screams piercing through her, cries filling the air. The pain crawled under her skin, it felt so massive, so all consuming it made her head spin.

Never had she experienced the world in such complete and agonizing pain, so filled with sadness. Never had she ever felt so alone. There were nothing but death. Death and destruction.

Her eyes snapped to a figure on top of a mountain of bones. He turned slowly, pushing his hood down to reveal long golden locks and piercing blue eyes that could look straight into a person's soul. Even if he looked older with longer hair and a hint of red eyeshadow at the inner corners of his eyes she could recognize him anywhere. Michael looked down upon her with indifference.

It pained her. She began to stumble towards him, feeling her feet sink in between the bones, slip in the blood. It felt like a nightmare, watching him watching her with indifference. She felt small and insignificant. The fear of abandonment bittering her tongue and forcing tears to her eyes.

Why where she shown this? What was the meaning?

“Michael!” She screamed at him, reaching for him and wanting nothing more than for him to reach for her. But he didn’t, he instead stepped back and turned. “Michael! Don’t! Don’t leave me, Michael. Please!”

Boney hands wrapped around her ankles causing her to fall. Bones snapped under her weight, ashes stinging her eyes, bones cutting at her skin. The world pressed in on her, the overflowing pain that shouted out from every bone, every open mouth in empty cries. Her body was dragged back, down into the mass of blood and bones, her fingers gripped at nothing in an attempt to keep above ground, to not be dragged into the darkness that felt like death. She cried for Michael, cried for him not to leave her behind and become another one of the many skeletons, just another body in the mass grave that was the world.

Her fight was futile, she had seen what it had meant for her to see. Pieces of the future entwined with pieces of her worst nightmare, one she had just realised. The future was death and she wasn’t sure if that meant her own. All the wanted was to be by Michaels side and he had left her so easily.

“M-Michael!” She screamed with what energy she had left, the weight of the bones pressing in on her with just her head above ground hands reaching for the sky as if someone would ascend down to rescue her. Blood began to fill her eyes and with one last breath she was gone.

There was an empty calm to the darkness. Nothing, no pain, no fear, nothing.

From the nothingness there sprung a fire, that burned through her lungs until water were cast out of her mouth. Something warm were lying on her chest, pressing the water out of her lungs. For a moment she laid there underneath the stars just staring up until she coughed up another breaths of water. It burned and hurt, tears mixing with lake water upon her skin.

Her body began to shake as she realised she was back in the real world, lying at the lakeside, with Michael breathing heavily above her, his hair now in wet lumps, a complete mess, water dripping from his nose and onto her skin. He looked like a drowned cat.

“What happened?” She croaked, breathing fresh air. Michael looked at her with fury and who could blame him.

“I brought you back,” he panted, trying to dry the water off his face with his wet sleeve. “What the fuck was that?” When she sat up Michael removed his hand from her chest and instead removed the hair from her face with affection. His anger was mixed with relief and relief turned to a chuckle when her teeth began to clatter from the cold.

“Let’s get back,” he said with a softer tone, lifting her up. She rested her head against his shoulder, pressing in on his warmth. God she wished he could just consume her and warm her up that way.

“You l-look absolutely terrible. I-I think it’s the first time I’ve seen you look terrible,” she mumbled against his chest. There were chaos within her mind, millions of thoughts intertwined into a big mess with no end and no beginning. The vision daunted at the edge of her mind, slowly revealing itself, cutting through the cluttering chaos with a sharp clarity.

“And who’s to blame for that?” He uttered gently.

The trees turned into walls, cold wind into a warm one, darkness into light as Michael stepped through time and space and into her bathroom. He put her down inside the shower with a gentleness only expressed towards her. The stream turned hot immediately when he turned on the shower, taking the head and rinsing off the lake water and dirt from Oya’s body.

“What did you see?” He asked and lead the stream wash over her shoulder and neck to clean it off dirt. Oya frowned, brows knitting together when she remembered. He was going to end the world, burn it down into cinder and ashes. He was going to use her and then let her burn in the fires, leave her behind to die. A blistering anger boiled within her chest.

“Nothing,” she dismissed and moved away from his touch. Michael noticed the change and stopped, suddenly confused by her distance and coldness in her tone.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing to concern you with,” she voiced without sparing him a glance. Michael grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at him, the anger evident in both his eyes and voice.

“I say it’s something to concern myself with. What did you see, Oya.” He didn’t ask anymore he demanded. Nails dragged over skin when she forced his hands off of her.

“It’s none of your fucking business! You don’t tell me everything so why should I? What are you gonna do, huh? Are you going to force it out of me?” She spat at him. The muscles moved beneath his skin as he clenched his jaw, the grip around the showerhead becoming forceful and turning his knuckles white. If her anger boiled his blazed. “What is it you’re so worried I’ll see?”

Michael refused to answer. The water rose up when he let go of the showerhead before he walked out, not saying a single thing. His hands were clenched into balls at his side. Instead of yelling, instead of showing a display of anger and how far his powers really reached he choose to walk away, leaving a bewilted Oya staring after him. In truth she’d have thought he’d mirror her anger and explode. Instead he controlled it and left her with a hollow feeling inside.

Why’d he leave like that? If he wanted her to tell the truth he could easily have made her and yet he didn't.

She didn’t understand him.

This boy would bring the end of the world, he’d kill billions of people and yet he had done nothing to harm her, ever. It should scare her, the apocalypse, she should fight against it and feel for the people who’d all perish but she didn't. The world had never done anything for her, she would not weep at its end. What scared her was her abandonment, that Michael would leave her to die when the time came.

He was the antichrist and what would he need a goddess for when he had the world by its throat.

With quivering lips Oya picked up the showerhead letting the water warm her.

They avoided each other like the plague. Two days went by in the blink of an eye. Michael had become a ghost that haunted her relentlessly. She heard his steps, felt his presence but never saw him. And she were angry for that, angry that he was angry with her when he was the one that never truly let her in. As much as he spoke of the bond between them he never revealed more of himself, of his plans, of the future and instead he had focused on her, made her reveal her soul to him, made her bound not only by the bond between them but also by owing him for releasing her.

Two days turned into four.

Each night brought her frustrations when her dreams left her aching for him, for his touch, his mouth, his being. Any relief she tried to give herself never satisfied the growing need. Dreamful nights turned into sleepless ones.

One night the ache was too much and though she was still angry with him, the need drow her to his door in the middle of the night. She pushed open the glass and stepped inside, finding Michael tugged under the covers. For a moment she considered leaving, no harm would have been done if he never knew she was there. That moment disappeared when he sat up and looked directly at her, hair still tousled from sleep. The need set root, it burned out any remainder of sanity that told her that her anger was valid and she should turn around.

Softly she pushed the collar of the robe over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing her naked body for his eyes and his eyes only. With confidence she walked to him, first caressing his cheek before pushing away the covers. More than anything else he was curious as to what exactly she was doing. He didn’t oppose when she straddled his hips and leaned in to trail kissed over his neck, carefully grinding into him. Her teeth grazed over his sensitive skin drawing a deep and rumbling moan from his throat, one that she felt tremble through her lips. She sank her teeth into his shoulder hard enough to bruise, it earned another moan, hips shifting up into her. With agonizingly slow kisses and maddening nibbles, she made her way down his body, nails raking red lines over his pale skin. He marked her, he had always been the one to do so and the only thing she left on him had always been red nail marks but now, now she let her kisses become blooming flowers with purple pedals. She bit at the skin of his hip, fingers pulling at the band of his boxers until his erection sprung free, hard and needy.

Oya gazed up at him, desire bruning in her eyes. Michael was looking at her the exact same way, the blue eyes darkening when she wrapped her hand around his cock. Her tongue darted out and traced over the head, Michael mewling at the feeling, his head falling back against the pillow and hips lifting off the bed with need. Oya took her time teasing him, letting her hot breath tickle against his skin, grip loosening, tongue circling the head. He growled, fingers curling in the bedding. She smirked at him, empowered by his need for her touch and yet not begging for it.

She savored the moment before wrapping her mouth around him. Michaels eyes fluttered at the feeling, a loud moan tearing through his throat. Her mouth were hot and soft. She hollowed out her cheeks and sucked until his body was shaking. Slowly she sank further and further down, lightly pressured by the hands that were now curled in her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. Around him she swallowed, eyes watering at the feeling of him in her throat and still she continued. The ache between her legs grew, she wanted to grind against the mattress just for some sort of relief. The hand not wrapped around his cock found its way between her legs, trailing circles over her clit, the feeling dragging a moan from her. It vibrated through him, his hips snapping up with a feverish need.

Oya continued through tears until she was forcibly removed by Michael, his one hand coming to wrap itself around the base of his cock and effectively stopping himself from coming right then and there. With a confused expression on her face she looked at him. Drying of her saliva with her hand.

Michael pulled her to him, pressing a kiss upon her lips. The kiss was hot and hard, almost with bruising intent and yet with tenderness enough to let them pant against each others lips, silent moans swallowed and teeth grazing the others tongue. With force Oya pushed Michael back until he laid down, straddling his hips once more. His erection pulsed with need, jittering against the skin of his lower stomach. Oya teased him by slowly rolling her hips against his, her folds lubricated him, readying for further interaction. Her eyes rolled in her head, feeling him brush against her, feeling him underneath and when he moaned she moaned with him.

In this madness she wasn’t only driving him crazy but also herself.

“Oya.” By the simple mention of her name she lined him up with her and slowly sank onto him, clenching her walls around him that dragged an animalistic growl from his lips. The sound were absolutely the most erotic thing, it burned through her body, coiled within her with immediate force. The feeling of him inside of her made her eyes flutter and toes curl.

Michaels hands glided up her thighs, holding onto her while she controlled the speed, the motion, she controlled him.

Oya opened her mouth in a silent moan, rolling her hips against his, sliding up and down on his shaft that felt so incredibly fulfilling, it made her eyes water. The pace were slow at first, letting her get used to his size, sinking down onto him until he was buried at the shaft.

With a cruel smirk she ceased to move, instead clenching around him. She kept like that even when his hips tried to jerk up into her, even when he looked up at her with burning desire, brows knitted in pleasure and a hint of pain. She wanted to let him know she was the one who decides what happens, that this time he were a mere tool since her anger towards him hadn’t changed. It was a punishment and when he let a little whine escape she was nothing less than satisfied.

When she began to move again the pleasure washed over her with massive waves, breath caught in her chest. The pace became faster, she finally allowed him to thrust up into, the feeling making her heart flutter and cunt grow wetter.

To steady herself, she grabbed the headboard, fingers digging into the wood. Her hair hung over her shoulders, tickling against his chest while their eyes were locked on one another. She bit her lip trying to stifle a moan when he hit just the right spot that electrified every cell in her body. The metallic taste lingered in her mouth as a reminder of how hard she’d bitten herself. A drop of blood fell from her lip and onto his, licked away by that sinful tongue of his, the one who so skilfully turned truths into weapons and lies into truths.

His nails scrapped over her thighs making her eyes flutter at the pain, heart beating within her chest and blood pumping uncontrollably through her veins. He reached up, wanting nothing more than to taste the metal on her tongue but she firmly planted a hand on his chest, forcing him backwards. Instead she also leaned back, taking his hands and leading them to her breasts. No words were needed, as she continued to chase after pleasure, riding him with an animalistic need, he massaged her breasts, taking her nipples between his fingers and rolling the bud with slight hardness, a delicious pain.

Michael sat up with a suddenness, mouth taking her nipple in, softly biting at the sensitive skin as if it were the apple of eden. Oya moaned loudly not able to keep it in, breath caught in her lungs. Her hands ran through his hair, taking hold and forcing his head back to place a needy kiss on his mouth, taking his tongue in. He thrust into her and matched her moan with his own, only to be pushed down against the mattress once more.

She was so close that her legs were trembling, beads of sweat running down her back, hair sticking to her body. By the look of chased bliss on his face, she’d argue that he were close as well, his legs almost trembling as much as her own. The ache that had build up over the days apart ripped through their bodies, it burned hot and long, shot with electrifying bursts up through their bodies as they came in total and utter ecstasy.

For a moment everything turned white with pleasure, there were only the sensation of undeniably sweetness. Michael thrusted shallowy up into her a few more times, prolonging his own pleasure. Oya hummed satisfied, feeling his seed fill her. If it weren't for her knowledge in herbs and medicine she’d have become pregnant with his child long ago by how deep his seed seemed to reach, how completely filled she felt. She remained, hands running over his skin just to feel him, feel the heat radiating off of him and bask in the glory of coming.

It took a moment until she had gathered and composed herself enough to rise from him, feeling their juices drip out of her and run down her legs when she finally stood.

He didn’t argue for her to stay, actually he didn’t say anything and she didn’t care to listen. Instead she walked to her robe and picked it up, wrapping it around herself on the way to the door. There were no words to be spoken, their fight wasn’t over, this had been a mere truce to satisfy their carnal needs.

If he had asked she would have stayed but he didn’t.

Oya turned halfway through the door. “Goodnight, Michael.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon fic #obsidian & angelite

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