#girls face the consequences of mortality and humanity at such a young age and are forced to mature so much quicker

[passingnights]

Our ragged, bloodstained girl in red. Flesh stained teeth, earth crusted nails. An animal-girl.

Girlhood knows red. She knows of blood and the hollowing hunger that resides in the pit of stomachs. She knows her way around organs and the fresh scent of danger. Girlhood knows of red eyes, red hands, red tongue licking a full, satisfied smile.

Red waits with the Creature resting on her grandmother’s bed. It lies with one paw over the other. It yawns and sleeps and bares its neck. It waits for inevitability. Fear wears the clothes of love.

“If you cannot eat, you will die. This is the Law.”

Tears swell at the corners of the girl’s eyes. Who are these tears for, my child? Humanity lays at the corners of her eyes. She wipes them with the back of her hand.

Hunger and hunger and hunger grips the girls stomach. Starvation. Instincts. Animal.

She lays the iron weapon into the Creature’s skull.

Red Riding Hood devours her shadow. She rips apart fur, finds the critical spot where the meat comes apart the easiest, where the heart pounds and fades the quickest.

She splits the skull apart, pulling the strings that have tormented her Story many times told. She strays the path and follows her instincts. Animal.

She eats. She eats and drinks and swallows. Bright red. Raw meat. She picks the fur and guts out of her teeth. She wipes her mouth on the collar of her white dress and her hands at her thighs. “My teeth were made to eat you”.

Unrecognisable child. People fear you the way they feared the Big Bad Wolf. What have you done? Predator claws and ears grow from her body. Alien, familiar. Maturity, mortality, humanity, innocence— the blood at the end of girlhood.

“I met death, and Death wants me to live.”

[calico-kiwi]

@izzybellepenguin OK SO-

it all started with this one art idea I had maybe a year ago (it's a wip lost to the ages that may never be finished)

it was basically knight Kagami kneeling down to look at mermaid Marinette who was half in and out of the water smiling up at her

and because i have no self control I accidentally brainstormed an entire mini-story for it

we find ourselves watching as Knight Kagami (who comes from a long line of honorable, greatly capable, and respectable knights and warriors) serving some kingdom I haven't come up with a name for

adrien's a marquess and his father's a duke, chloe's the princess with her parents as the rulers, and, to be honest, the kingdom's falling to ruin because of them BUT THAT'S A WHOLE NOTHER STORY AND CONSEQUENTLY IRRELEVANT TO THIS

anyways back to Kagami

so she's a well-known young knight, right?

and one day while she's out patrolling and she goes a bit farther than her route strictly pertains to but she's bored and feeling adventurous, sue her.

she ends up at a very small and rocky secluded beach where she catches a glimpse of something so unbelievable that kagami's half convinced she imagined it and gaslit herself into believing it was real

shocker, it's mermaid marinette who was having fun sitting on a rock in an almost comically cliche mermaid pose. girl was just vibin taking in the beauty of the mortal world like 'wow look at these colors and these shapes and the fluidity of movement up here is so different and it's dry and warm and-' anyways you get the picture

she sees kagami and books it back into the water. kagmi's left standing there like 'did I just see a mermaid? a very beautiful, breathtaking, ethereal-looking mermaid? with a cute smile? preposterous.'

not so preposterous, though, because kagami's intrigued enough to always deviate from her patrol route now. miss goes out of her way to go to this beach in hopes of catching this mermaid. yep. definitely catching. definitely not to stare at them. nope.

mari's just sorta watching from a distance like 'wow a human, haven't interacted with much of those. she's pretty. she has shiny scales.'

eventually she gets bold and one day she just. pulls herself out of the water in front of kagami and stares up at her. as if it were a normal occurrence

kagami is trying (and failing) very hard to not look like a floundering idiot in front of this gorgeous mermaid and marinette just starts garbling

bc mermaids don't exactly speak french, y'know? or any human language for that matter.

and mari's all exasperated and slightly fed up bc even tho she can't understand this other creature she knows she's being talked to like a baby so she just gestures for kagami to come closer

and the other girl does

then mari grabs her hand, yanks her down, and holds kagami's face inches from her own.

and kagami's trying (and once again failing) to hold it together and not disturb what is clearly some sort of magic process

suddenly, like, directly into her ear, she hears this absolutely adorable voice speak to her in fluent french 'hi! I'm marinette, what's your name?'

kagami is like, 'oh the mermaid can talk to me now' and now the two are making pleasant conversation and kagami regularly visits her dear friend *cough cough* yes friend *violent coughing attack* mhm. friiiiieeeend *keels over from violent coughing*

i'm sure i could fit interesting plot in here somewhere. i really could. but. the foundation for the first bit has been set. marigami mermaid au

set in a universe where i could so easily create another story to intertwine with this one, but the other story would feature the rest of the cast.

oh! i didn't include it bc this is already way longer than I thought it would be (kinda lost myself there a bit, whoops) but I definitely have a way to reverse so it's human mari and mermaid kagami btw, and the story and universe would be different too. so. yep.

thank you for reading my brain dump, I'm here forever and always have more

marigami mermaid au marigami mermaid au marigami mermaid au marigami mermaid au it can work either way marigami mermaid au marigami merma-

[blueiight]

I see some people compared revolutionary girl utena and iwtv I don't get it I watch both series and don't get the comparison (I'm very slow)

ik it sounds hypocritical cuz i call myself slow but i promise u ur not! ur curiosity alone suggests u care & u have something up there. the comparison lies in how both adaptations tackle similar themes. the vampire and the prince are both parasites by definition, sold to u as the pinnacle of species but really leeches on life who so desperately want to cling onto a facismile of humanity bc theyve been locked out of it forever someway somehow. the sterile opulence of akio ohtori’s tower reminds me a bit of the dubai penthouse dont u think?

the 1973 first interview tapes with louis are all but said to be very similar in tone to a jilted ex complaining about his lover. “i was his superior in every way”. it wasnt even a tale of triumph over an abuser, it was mania, a bender, a second hand high off sampling the lives of drug addicts in a gay bar. ep3 louis all but saying he encountered an older jonah in europe who saw the devil in his eyes the way his mother did, encountering multiple vampire cults & the open question as of the writing of this post on amc claudia’s life in the 1970s. is it any wonder he saw europe as a failure & wanted to try again in america, in the epicenter of black empowernment going on in the state of california.. u can imagine how this creature pushing 100, when asked to recall his maker, can be so resentful in his recollection of him at the moment?

speaking of blurred boundaries.

what was the full quote : the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb? yea..its all a lie. we got daughters thats makeshift brides thats also makeshift brothers and siblings who despise the broken mirror showing them the child they once was.

modern day louis attempts to sell this tale of triumph in the face of a fucked up gothic romance & the consequences of death made eternal to mortals. louis says this is a warning, but it serves more as his eulogy. louis wants u to believe claudia & him triumphed over lestat: first lover, his progenitor, all in one, but this story collapses when revisiting the monstrosity of recollection. at a time where death consumes the world, where death is brought from the push of a button in boardrooms thousands of miles from the scene, we are bought to the question of memory, intimacy in the eternity of death, and just what it even means to remember something. just as a vampire is born from trauma, a prince is born as the witness to eternal suffering.

utena posits very similar questions w regard to what it even means to recall, what happens to u in the midst of memory formation. we are introduced to utena, a girl who wants to be a prince, who was saved by the prince when she was young& wants to be him, whos said to wear a boy’s uniform and the whole universe shes in sees it as such. the audience sees it for what it is, a poor man’s imitation, unusual attire, something marking her as the odd man out. we are initially introduced to some of what made utena want to be a prince thru saionji. saionji realizes in this moment, that he would have to age out of his companionship with touga to become a “Man”. eternity to saionji, represents the accursed day before he found the girl. but it is through mikage’s utter distortion of mamiya’s entire existence, through anthy, that we find out utena was the suicidal little girl seeking eternity, neither touga nor saionji brought it to her, and the eternity showed to her was the ghost of a prince showing the eternal suffering of his little sister who sacrificed everything for him. a girl who cannot be a princess is doomed to become a witch. all vampires are creatures born of trauma.

what does it mean to be eternal?

is the question both of these shows ask u. what is eternity, if not living the same miserable life over and over again? repeating the cycles of duels to get the hand of the bride, whos revealed to be a witch all along, and the endless pursuit of a prince whos never existed in the first place.

there was never an escape from the constraints of mortality, u could never escape the sorrow that surrounded u in death. u r permanently the traumatized, broken creature u were on the verge of death/suicide/some other intimate tangle with a mortal death. now what do u make of it? unlike utena tho, there is no true way at liberation. u r the beast of the outside world.

[mythvoiced]

@astremourante​ |  ❝ i'm sorry, what ? your name is HERPES ? ❞ Amelia had most definitely heard the m. He didn't have to know that.

---

The laughter that erupts out of the god of travellers is meant to be pleasant to the ears. He's a young god, in appearance at least, he's meant to charm and enamour all those who have the (mis)fortune of being in his path when he comes rushing through.

With sparkling eyes and that pleasant, good-humoured smile always tugging and tugging at the corner of his lips, pulling his chin up along with the pull of all the commentary bursting like stars in his mind, one working nearly as fast and hard as his feathered shoes.

He's meant to have fathers worry for their daughters travelling the roads he's patron of.

Usually.

Other times, his laughter reminds of the wrath gods like to enact upon mortals, as if obsessed with the notion to have their blood stream between their feet, comparing their darkness to the golden ichor they shall never see spill.

He's not as vengeful as Apollo, as strict as Artemis or as compulsive as Athena.

But he's a god nonetheless.

As amusing as Amelia Sinclair is to swirl around - enough that he's come to race across continents whenever the whim to visit her befalls him, always with a grin, always ready to see what carnage she's leaving behind in her wake - she's still little more than a girl.

In his eyes, for her age, for the weight her sins weigh her down, the guilt she masks under the danger of her maniacal fists when she chooses to deploy them, under the readiness of her trigger-finger, under her boisterous commentary, her obnoxious flirting, her shit-eating grin.

She feels, he sees, she feels quite a lot.

Remorse, hatred for the scars on her knuckles and the memory of the faces she's broken to gain them. Willingness to go again and again and again.

He assumes most she fights read her differently, the monster they see is all they care about, Hermes might even agree. But he has millennia on his back, he's the one amongst the gods most likely to interact with a mortal, he's the one who carries their souls to Charon, the one who gifted Perseus his aid, the one who was lover to Circe a while (daughter of a titan yet very much human in spirit).

He knows humans.

And he likes playing with them.

He doesn't like when they try to play with him in turn.

He does, he does, he does.

Though, her sin is not as punishable as the sin of being dull. At least she's still sharp, still witty, still interesting.

The air in his lungs fades out and the anger vanishes off his features. A few seconds it had sat there at most. His smile softens again.

“My, I knew you liked playing with fire, but to this extent? Might want to invest in a call to a hotline next.” A little threat, joyfully delivered, with a tilt of his head, almost amicably, almost as if a lover standing with a bouquet full of knives at her doorstep.

As one of the gods to preside over hospitality, he'd take a gift like that quite seriously.

He leans closer, leans down, slowly because he doesn't intend to keep the promise of consequence quite yet, with his hands folded behind his back. “It's Hermes. Though, we both know you know that.”

He steps away, drops the attitude of deity to look around himself, put his hands on his hips, stepping from side to side, restless legs, restless feet, always restless, as if readying to bolt any moment.

“If it helps, you can call me Mercury as well. I'd like to see what you can come up with, with that one. Honestly! Let me hear it.”

[fanficshiddles]

Don’t Disobey, Chapter 1 (READ THE WARNINGS!!!)

Summary: Loki’s attack on Midgard was a success. He’s become ruler of Earth, over all the mortals. The Avengers were defeated. Over time he’s taken over every country and city. Now he’s going for the smaller towns and villages to conquer, recruiting strong men for his army and beautiful young women to be his sex slaves.

Ivy is captured amongst some other girls. She is smart and knows from the tales of Loki’s palace that it is best to behave to survive. But being a good girl quickly makes her Loki’s favourite. And being his favourite is not going to be easy for Ivy.

WARNINGS: RAPE/NON-CON, VIOLENCE, MURDER, KIDNAPPING, SEX SLAVES, IRON BRANDING, CUTTING OFF TONGUES, CHOKING, OVER STIMULATION, FORCED TATTOOS, BREAKING BONES. (I’ll add more on future chapters as I go) 

Loki is not nice in this fic! There is no happy ending where he turns soft and falls in love for the OC. In-case that’s what anyone is looking for. I dunno why, I was just craving some really nasty Loki… See how far I could go with it… It’s a long chapter, in my standards anyway. But this fic won’t be updated as often as the others, but I think this fic will only have maybe five or so chapters, if that… But who knows. Gotta be in the right headspace for this! Lol.

-

Ivy was shaking badly as she was marched into the castle. Taken from her village along with some other young women, they were flown over to where Loki had taken up residence in Prague castle. It being to his liking the most out of all of Earths castles… A few adjustments here and there to make it even more extravagant and he now called it home.

Loki’s rule of Earth had devastated everyone. For reasons unknown to the humans, he wasn’t very sparing of lives. Thousands and thousands of people had been murdered within the first year for things as small as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Everyone in prison had been culled off, along with elders in care homes and sick people in hospitals of all ages.

The internet was monitored constantly, anyone saying anything slightly bad about Loki was hunted down and slaughtered. He had eyes everywhere.

One of the first laws brought in was couples weren’t allowed to have more than one child. It was clear that Loki was trying to lessen the human population. But what the humans didn’t know, was it was the only condition from Thanos for Loki’s rule. To thin out the herd.

The group of women were taken straight to Loki, who was in the throne room. He was sat on his throne, legs splayed like he owned the place… Well, the whole damn world for that matter.

His horned helmet caused a huge and terrifying shadow behind him from the lights, some of the girls started panicking and tried to back up, but the guards surrounded them and wouldn’t allow them to leave.

Ivy remained near the front, arms wrapped around herself as she shook on the spot. She kept her eyes down, especially when she heard Loki get up from his throne and make his way down the steps towards them all.

The guards pushed at the girls, getting them to line up just as Loki reached them.

‘Well, what have we here? New toys for me to play with, how delightful.’ Loki grinned and started at one end, looking the girl up and down.

‘Too old.’ The woman was grabbed roughly and dragged away as Loki took a step down the line to the second girl.

‘Too skinny, she would break far too easily for what I have in store.’ He flicked his hand to dismiss her. She was also dragged away. To god knows where, Ivy dreaded to think.

The third girl looked defiantly up at him, nose scrunched up. ‘You will NEVER be my King!’ She spat at him, shocking everyone but Loki. The guards went to move in, but Loki swiftly grabbed her face as he leaned down towards her, sneering.

‘You dare talk at your King like that.’ He squeezed her cheeks hard, making her open her mouth as she cried out in pain. Loki quickly grabbed her tongue and hauled it out as far as it would go, then as quick as lightning he cut it off with his dagger.

The girl fell to the ground in agony, clutching at her mouth. Tears streamed down her face but she couldn’t make much noise at the loss of her tongue.

The other girls, including Ivy, cried out in fear upon seeing the girls tongue land on the floor on front of them. But Ivy quickly closed her eyes and kept herself in check, while the others kept crying and trying to get away.

Loki looked along the line, smirking at their reactions. ‘Let this be a lesson to you girls. Under my rule there are consequences for your actions.’ He started walking down the line as he spoke. ‘There are also rewards for good behaviour, so you best choose wisely how you proceed.’

Ivy couldn’t take it anymore. She was so scared for her life. Hearing all the rumours before about being under Loki’s command, she knew she just had to try and survive. That was the only goal here.

So she sank to her knees on front of him, head down in respect.

Loki had just passed her, but he stopped when he saw the girl falling to her knees before him. He took slow, menacing steps back towards her until he towered over her. Ivy could see his boots appear in her line of vision.

He reached down and smoothed his hand through her hair, his touch making her jump at first, though it seemed gentle… But then he gripped hold of it tightly and yanked her head right back so she was to look up at his face.

His rather beautiful features caught her off guard for a second. But being a God, it wasn’t surprising he was handsome. It was just such a shame his personality was so cruel.

‘What’s your name?’ He asked, eyeing her up carefully.

‘I… Ivy… My King.’ She whimpered, her lower lip trembling.

‘Ivy.’ Her name rolled off his tongue. He released her hair and took a step backwards. ‘Everyone could take a leaf out of Ivy’s book… Smart girl, knows her place in this world.’ He said as he glanced back down at her. Then he looked to his guards. ‘Take her to my chambers.’

A guard grabbed her arm and led her away. She didn’t look over her shoulder when she heard one of the other girls starting to cry hysterically, but was quickly silenced. How, she dreaded to think.

Being captured by Loki was not the time nor the place to make friends, or to even look out for established friends. It was every woman for herself now.

And Ivy knew she had to be selfish and look out for number one.

-

Loki waltzed into his quarters and to his harem of girls.

All of them cowered and tried to avoid eye contact when he entered. Some of them scurried off into other rooms, while others continued with the chores of keeping the place tidy.

‘Where is my new girl?’ Loki asked the girl nearest him.

‘Awaiting you in your chambers, Sir.’ The girl said with her head down.

Loki nodded, then looked her up and down. ‘Turn.’ He swivelled his finger around.

The girl looked absolutely petrified, but she turned around for him. His hand shot out and he gripped her shoulder tightly, stopping her as he looked down at her backside.

‘Where’s your plug?’ He asked, his tone rising.

‘I… I’m sorry, Sir… I… I had to take it out when I went to the toilet… I couldn’t get it back in… I’m so sorry.’ She started sobbing.

Loki grabbed her hair tightly and pulled her across the room, she struggled to keep up with him and fell to the ground, but was dragged along by her hair as Loki was on a mission. The other girls around looked on, but didn’t do anything to help. Knowing better.

She was dragged over to the fire place, Loki hauled her on front of it and pushed her down onto her stomach. He put his foot on her lower back to keep her in place when she tried to crawl away. ‘Stay there!’ He snarled.

The girl begged and cried for his forgiveness, continuously struggled underneath him. He pushed down firmer on her back, making her yelp in pain.

He grabbed the branding iron from beside the fireplace and placed it right into the fire, heating it up nicely until it was scalding hot. The girl could hear the sizzling as he drew it closer towards her. She struggled anew, screaming so loudly that it could be heard throughout his quarters.

And that was before it had even touched her.

Loki clicked his fingers and a ball gag was placed into her mouth to shut her up a bit. But as he pressed the iron brand against her backside, it didn’t do much to drown out her screams of pain.

Ivy started shaking all over again when she heard the painful screams of another girl in the main room. She tried to block it out, closing her eyes and head down. She had been told by a guard how to be ready for Loki’s arrival in his room. To be naked and kneeling on the floor, hands behind her back.

But even though she knew she was doing what she was told, it still hadn’t prepared her for when she heard the heavy foot-steps of Loki coming into the room. And the click from the door as it was closed made her blood run cold. She knew that meant it was just her and him in the room… All alone.

Loki hummed in approval as he looked over his new play thing. She seemed obedient, which was good. Better behaved than any other girls so far, none had ever knelt for him without him telling them to upon first meeting.

His helmet vanished and so did his heavy armour, leaving just the underlay. He strolled over to Ivy and circled her, taking in every part of her. He could see her trembling in his presence, that made him smirk.

He reached out and cupped her chin, making her look up at him, her eyes were skittish as she looked up at him. A small whimper of fear escaped from her lips, she had been unable to contain it.

‘Shhh, shhh.’ He soothed, brushing his thumb up and down her cheek. ‘We both know that you’re a clever girl. If you do exactly as you are told, you will have no reason to fear me.’ Loki spoke calmly, almost putting her at ease. But she knew better.

‘There are rules here, you should know.’ He let go of her chin and stood up straight, she put her head down again, looking to the floor.

‘You are to address me as Sir, unless I state otherwise. I do not accept no as an answer, ever. I don’t want to hear that word from your lips, under any circumstance. You are not to wear clothes again, aside from on me they are banished in these quarters.’ He walked over to a dresser and opened it, pulling out some rope. ‘You can converse with the other girls, aside from when I am in the same room, then I demand utter silence from you unless answering a question from me.’ He crossed the room towards Ivy and moved behind her, he tied her wrists together at her back as he continued. ‘I don’t mind if you girls want to play around with one another, providing there is not a single mark on any of you that wasn’t put there by me.’ He leaned down so she could feel his breath against her ear. ‘Do I make myself clear?’

She swallowed hard before answering. ‘Yes, Sir.’ She said quietly.

‘Good girl.’ Loki purred, kissing her shoulder. ‘Now, I am going to mark you, as all my girls get when they arrive. Usually there is a trial period, but I have a good feeling about you.’ He gave her head a pat and then took hold of her bound hands to lift her up to her feet.

He walked her over to his bed and lay her down on her front.

‘I am not a beginner when it comes to restraining girls, so don’t think for a second I won’t do it if I have to. But I prefer submission, so you will remain still until told otherwise.’ He said as he got on the bed too, straddling over her lower legs.

Ivy had no idea what to expect, but she was bloody terrified. Not wanting to make him angry, she was going to do her best to remain still…

But then the pain started.

Using his Seidr, Loki was giving her a permanent tattoo on her lower back. Simply using his finger, though it felt exactly like a tattoo gun. But more painful.

She bit down on the quilt underneath her, hoping she wouldn’t get into trouble for it. But it helped her to focus on something other than screaming in pain.

Loki noticed her hands clench into fists. She jerked a little, but remained rather still. The most still he’d seen a girl stay when applying his tattoo. Yes, this one was going to be good. He was excited to start playing with her, see how responsive she was and what she could do.

But he had a feeling she was going to be exquisite. Her submission already, clearly from a place of fear, was highly arousing. He had been sporting a hard on ever since she knelt for him in the throne room.

After carving his name into her, to be there forever, he was pleased with how she’d taken it. She was in tears, but the noises from her had been minimal. He had noticed her biting the quilt, letting small whimpers of pain escape but nothing more.

That pleased him greatly.

He ran his hand over her lower back, growling deep in approval. But he wanted her to see it. He wanted her to see that she was now his property.

Getting off the bed, he snapped his fingers to get her attention. ‘Come on, up.’

She hurriedly got up, albeit awkwardly because of her hands still being restrained behind her, and slipped off the bed to stand on front of him.

He turned her around and walked her over to a full-length mirror. He then had another appear behind her, at the right angle so she could see her back. He stood to the side, watching for her reaction as she looked at her new tattoo.

First, surprise crossed her features, then fear, and then she looked kind of intrigued. No doubt at how he managed to do that without a tattoo gun.

‘You belong to me now, pet.’ He said darkly, having the second mirror vanish he moved in behind her and ran his hand down her spine, stroking his name again. Then he moved in close, she saw him looming over her in the mirror, so much bigger than she was. He practically enveloped her entirely.

‘What do you think of your tattoo? Hmm?’ He reached around and started stroking her body, over her stomach and upwards, fondling at her breasts in turn while he waited an answer.

‘If… If you are happy with it, Sir… Then I am too.’ She whispered, trying not to cry as he started stroking her nipples that were hardening under his touch, much to her embarrassment.

Loki smirked, clever indeed. Picking her responses carefully, hoping to please him. He liked that.

‘Have you been shown around my quarters? Where you’re allowed to roam?’ He asked, his hands falling from her body.  

‘No, Sir.’ She said quietly, shaking her head.

‘Come then, let me show you around before we play.’ He turned on his heels and headed for the door. Ivy scurried after him, having to take quicker steps to keep up with his long legs.

She felt very self-conscious being naked, not only around Loki but around the other girls too. Though they were all naked as well, so at least that levelled out the playing field.

Loki made sure she was following him and he showed her throughout his quarters. There was one room she wasn’t allowed in unless she was with him. But he showed her into it just now anyway. But her eyes widened when the door swung open and it was filled with various machines and contraptions, they all looked like torture devices in some way.

But in the middle of the room, on a Sybian machine, restrained and going nowhere, was a young woman. She was completely limp as the machine buzzed like mad underneath her, a vibe was nestled inside of her cunt and a part of it was covering her clit. It was relentless and she was completely overstimulated, it was agony.

‘Oh, so sorry dear. I forgot I’d tied you here last night.’ Loki said with a slight chuckle as he walked over to the girl and turned the machine off.

There was drool coming from her leather gag, it was soaked through. And there was a mess of excreta and arousal all down the Sybian and on the floor.

‘What a mess you’ve made.’ Loki chastised. As soon as he untied her wrists that had been tied behind her and to the wall, to keep her upright on the machine, she fell forward to the floor. Loki tsked in annoyance and nudged her with his foot. But she was completely out of it, being stuck on the machine for near twenty-four hours had broken her. She couldn’t even feel her clit anymore, likely so much nerve damage after having many orgasms forced from her and enjoying it at first.

Ivy swallowed hard and tried her best to get rid of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

‘GIRLS!’ Loki yelled and soon two girls came running to see what he wanted.

‘Get her out of here and cleaned up. Then get this mess cleaned up too, if it’s not sorted within ten minutes, I will tie each of you to this machine for longer than she had.’ He said in warning.

The two girls squeaked in fear and quickly got to work.

Loki saw the colour had drained from Ivy’s face, making him grin. He walked back over to her with a predatory look and put his arm around her, leading her out and back towards his bedroom.

‘Come, pet. I want to see what fun I can have with you.’

[floribus-reginae]

His steps came to a stop, yet Sesshomaru did not turn to look at Rin right away. He felt conflicted. A part of him thought he should just keep walking and ignore her plea. It warned him that doing otherwise would lead to unpleasant consequences, maybe to a conversation he did not want to have.

Against his better judgment, he half-turned to rest his gaze on Rin. Or who he struggled to recognize as Rin, anyway. It was still a bit frightening how quickly humans aged and changed. There was almost nothing left of the child he had gotten used to trusting by his side for so long, many years ago.

For daiyoukai like himself, time simply flew at a different pace. What humans called a week was but a second to him. A year felt little more than mere days. That was why some youkai slept for thousands of years. How they were capable of holding grudges for centuries, or mourn for even longer.

If for anybody else Rin’s growth had been natural and regular, for the man who had granted her new life and brought her to this village it was like she had been swapped with an unfamiliar girl overnight. It was a feeling which had started almost as soon as Rin entered puberty, and it had made him uncomfortable. His visits had been rarer, and shorter. Would he even consider himself used to her before she died of old age?

He didn’t like it. Her growth was like a clear embodiment of her mortality. It reminded him, with each time he gazed upon her, that soon she would be too old and too far gone for even Tenseiga to bring back. Soon he’d have nothing to even come back to, and perhaps in an unconscious mechanism of self-preservation, Sesshomaru was seeking to detach himself emotionally. Trying to let her go, before any hurt could be felt.

And what he dreaded the most was that she might have caught on to that.

His eye contact with hers was emotionless, his voice spoke matter-of-factly. “You know I cannot stay.”

He didn’t need to point behind her. He was sure she was aware of the wary looks the villagers still directed at him whenever he came by. Even as years passed, he was feared and respected as a dangerous threat to their lives. It didn’t bother him. This was how things were meant to be. @roleplay-abiogenesis2

•*¨*•♫♪♪♫•*¨*•.¸¸Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ    The    young    lady    was    already    foreseeing    that    response    from    him,    nevertheless,    his    utterance    perforated    her    gentle    quintessence    like    a    poniard,    acrimonious    &    pernicious.    Rin    knew    the    western    land’s    Lord    well    &    his    unbreakable    personality,    a    sealed    countenance    that    seldom    bestowed    any    kind    of    emotion.    The    prince    was    a    stoic    being    &    difficult    to    interpret,    even    for    the    brunette    who    was    looking    at    her    precious    Lord    with    a    crestfallen    face.    Her    hopes    had    entirely    petered    out.    

❝H-Hai.❞    Uttered    in    a    whisper,    looking    down.    His    visits    were    increasingly    meagre,    brisk.    Despite    his    essentially    unaltered    posture,    Rin    was    noticing    more    &    more    inconstancies    in    his    demeanour.    His    departure,    even    if    uninterrupted,    was    affecting    her.    Why    would    he    neglect    her?    She    couldn’t    attain    a    plausible    answer.    With    an    exhale,    she    faced    him    again    with    a    smile,    attempting    to    camouflage    her    disquietude    &    the    vulnerabilities,    all    the    morose    sentiments    that    were    travelling    inside    her.    Coffee-coloured    cores    locked    themselves    in    Sesshoumaru’s    ambers    as    if    they    ache    to    read,    decipher    what    was    going    in    his    thoughts.    Would    he    always    be    an    enclosed    and    indecipherable    Codex?    Who    would    have    the    privilege    of    surveying    the    pages    of    his    thoughts    &    decode    the    conundrum    that    was    his    kernel?

❝Demo,    I    feel    like    you’re    trying    to    ignore    me.❞    Stated,    using    her    typical    honeyed    timbre.    Neglecting    the    glances    of    some    inhabitants,    she    sat    cautiously    on    the    river’s    bank.    Even    after    so    long,    the    demon’s    ubiquity    still    instilled    suspicion,    &    of    course    respect.    The    demoiselle    was    one    of    the    few    people    capable    of    being    in    his    presence    without    feeling    intimidated.    She    &    Sesshoumaru    had    a    story    together,    ventures    that    she    frequently    told    the    juveniles,    trying    to    enforce    the    etiquette    that    humans    &    demons    could    coexist    in    friendship.    These    adventures    had    ended    as    soon    as    Sesshoumaru    had    decided    to    leave    her    in    the    village    with    Kaede.    They    granted    her    the    opportunity    to    live    with    her    own    species,    grow    as    normally    as    possible,    mature    &    self-discover    in    a    natural    way.    At    first,    her    unification    with    the    other    children    was    complicated    because    they    looked    at    her    with    repugnance,    however,    this    feeling    was    promptly    replaced    by    curiosity,    excite    in    the    adventures    she    had    spent    with    her    dear    Lord.

Relations    were    enhanced    over    time,    leading    the    tender    young    woman    to    make    acquaintances    with    humans    &    half-demons.    Throughout    the    years    Rin    recognised    that    she    &    Sesshoumaru    were    from    completely    parallel    realms.    Not    only    because    he    was    a    demon,    but    also    due    to    his    social    prestige.    He    was    an    inheritor    to    one    of    the    most    prominent    empires    of    the    feudal    era    while    she    was    merely    a    human    belonging    to    the    peasant    class.    Despite    the    colossal    disparities    between    them,    Rin    wanted    to    be    part    of    his    world    even    if    it    was    only    partially.    Regardless    of    the    companions,    the    harmony,    she    felt    something    was    missing    in    her    life,    something    that    nobody    could    replace…

❝You    don’t    visit    me    as    frequently    as    you    used    to.    I    feel    like    something    is    going    on.❞    Confessed,    looking    up    to    gaze    at    him.    During    adolescence,    her    friends    began    to    evolve    emotionally,    developing    more    profound    affections    for    each    other,    or    individuals    from    other    settlements.    It    was    throughout    this    period    that    Rin    was    confronted    with    some    emotional    things    that    she    didn’t    know    until    then.    Her    closest    companions    started    dating,    courting,    and    some    married.    Many    were    those    who    sought    &    still    attempt    to    conquer    the    young    woman’s    awareness    with    sweetness    &    gifts    but    without    success.    For    some    mysterious    reason,    her    feelings    were    blocked    &    couldn’t    get    beyond    friendship.    For    a    long    time,    she    lived    in    obscurity,    doubting    herself,    until    later    something    awakened    in    her.

❛When    you    are    troubled,    or    anxious,    or    sad    or    any    other    time    feel    free    to    call    me…❜

❛I    will    come    to    you    immediately.    Even    if    we    are    far    apart    if    you    call    my    name    I    will    absolutely    come    flying    to    you.❜

❛Our    hearts    are    tied    together…You    can    examine    your    heart    at    your    own    pace.❜    -    Inuyasha    cd    drama.

The    maiden    had    never    forgotten    such    messages,    so    she    wasn’t    understanding    what    was    occurring.    Was    he    also    experiencing    some    kind    of    metamorphosis?    Had    she    done    something    to    agitate    him?    Why    after    saying    those    words    he    wanted    to    leave?    leave    everything    behind.    She    had    been    left    in    the    village    to    grow    up,    studying    her    core,    her    feelings    &    then    deciding    whether    she    wanted    to    be    with    him    or    not.    Even    before    she    knew,    she    had    already    made    a    decision.    She    craved    to    be    with    Lord    Sesshoumaru,    that    was    her    strongest    eagerness.        ❝Did    I    do    something    wrong    Sesshoumaru-sama?❞    Rin    missed    him    &    Jaken.    Nothing    would    be    like    before,    she    was    no    longer    a    child    even    though    she    still    had    some    naiveté.    ❝I’m    sorry    if    I    did    something    that    upset    you.❞    Apologized    in    advance.

[theuniverseisforgetting]

Anime Recommendation List

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Hyouka

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Carole & Tuesday

Genre: Music

Episodes: 24

Information: Tuesday Simmons runs away from her affluent lifestyle as the daughter of a politician and makes her way to Alba City where she crosses paths with Carole Stanley and the two decide to team up as a singer-songwriter duo under the name Carole & Tuesday.

Golden Boy

Genre: Comedy

Episodes: 6

Information: Golden Boy depicts the life of Kintaro Oe, a free spirit, roaming Japan from town to town, job to job. During his travels, Kintaro meets several women whose lives he dramatically changes, despite poor first impressions.

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Episodes: 24

Information: follows vagrant schoolgirl Ryuko Matoi on her search for her father's killer, which brings her into violent conflict with Satsuki Kiryuin, the iron-willed student council president of Honnouji Academy, and her mother's fashion empire.

Is It Wrong To Pick Up Girls In A Dungeon

Genre: Fantasy

Episodes: 25 + 2OVA

Information: The story follows the exploits of Bell Cranel, a 14-year-old solo adventurer under the goddess Hestia. As the only member of the Hestia Familia, he works hard every day in the dungeon to make ends meet while seeking to improve himself.

No.6

Genre: Dystopia, Science Fiction

Episodes: 11

Information: Shion, a boy raised in the elite and privileged environment of his home, gives shelter to another boy, who only gives his name as "Nezumi" (or "Rat") on the former's twelfth birthday. What Shion soon discovers is how drastically life will change after meeting with the mysterious Nezumi, with whom he had shared one unforgettable, stormy night.

The Devil Is A Part Timer

Genre: Comedy, Fantasy

Episodes: 13

Information: The story is about a demon king named Sadao Maou seeking to conquer the world of Ente Isla, but when confronted by the Hero Emilia, he is forced to retreat through a gate that transports him to modern day Tokyo, Japan. To survive and find a way to return to Ente Isla, Satan gains part-time employment at a fast food restaurant called MgRonald.

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Genre: Apocalyptic, Mecha, Psychological Drama

Episodes: 26

Information: Evangelion is set fifteen years after a worldwide cataclysm, particularly in the futuristic fortified city of Tokyo-3. The protagonist is Shinji, a teenage boy who was recruited by his father Gendo to the shadowy organization Nerv to pilot a giant bio-machine mecha called an "Evangelion" into combat with alien beings called "Angels".

Fooly Cooly

Genre: Comedy, Science Fiction

Episodes: 6

Information: A boy's humdrum life turns upside-down when he encounters a maniacal girl who causes strange things to grow out of his forehead and draws him into conflict with a mysterious, otherworldly organization.

My Hero Academia

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy, Superhero

Episodes: 88

Information: The story follows Izuku's entrance into U.A. High School, a school for training the next generation of superheroes. Izuku and his new friends try to balance their Hero training with ordinary school duties. However, the League of Villains, an evil organization established by All Might's archenemy All For One, has plans to destroy all Heroes and take control of society.

One Piece

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy

Episodes: 917

Information: The story follows the adventures of Monkey D. Luffy, a boy whose body gained the properties of rubber after unintentionally eating a Devil Fruit. With his crew of pirates, named the Straw Hat Pirates, Luffy explores the Grand Line in search of the world's ultimate treasure known as "One Piece" in order to become the next King of the Pirates.

Snow White With The Red Hair

Genre: Fantasy, Romance

Episodes: 24 + OVA

Information: Shirayuki is a herbalist with red hair. However, her hair gets noticed by Prince Raj, who wishes for her to wed him. Refusing his orders, she escapes to the neighboring kingdom of Clarines, where she meets and befriends Prince Zen and his two aides Mitsuhide and Kiki, who turn her life around. Shirayuki passes an exam for a position to train in the palace as a herbalist.

Relife

Genre: High School Drama, Slice of Life, Romance

Episodes: 13 + 4 OVA

Information: One day, a mysterious man named Ryō Yoake offers 27-year-old Arata Kaizaki, who has been unemployed for several years, a job opportunity; but first, Kaizaki needs to become a tester for ReLife: a scientific experiment to make him appear 10 years younger and send him back to high school as a student.

Seven Deadly Sins

Genre: Adventure, Fantasy

Episodes: 24 + 2 OVA

Information: Follows the adventures of a princess in the Kingdom of Liones as she sets out to find the seven deadly knights to save her empire from their repression.

Terrorist In Resonance

Genre: Psychological, Thriller

Episodes: 11

Information: In an alternative iteration of the present, Tokyo has been hit by a terrorist attack that has devastated the city. The only evidence of the culprits is a cryptic video uploaded to the Internet, which sparks paranoia across Japan.

Parasyte

Genre: Body Horror, Horror, Science Fiction

Episodes: 24

Information: Teenager Shinichi Izumi is a high-school student who lives in a quiet Tokyo neighborhood with his parents. His life changes when wormlike creatures, called Parasites, appear on Earth, bent on taking over the brains of human hosts by entering their ears or noses.

Free!

Genre: Sports, Swimming

Episodes: 37 + 2 OVA

Information: Free is set in the town of Iwatobi, Japan. The story is centered on high school student Haruka Nanase, a gifted swimmer. After encountering his childhood rival, Rin Matsuoka from Samezuka Academy, he and his friends revitalize Iwatobi High School's swim team.

Yuri On Ice!!!

Genre: Sports, Figure Skating

Episodes: 12

Information: Yuri Katsuki makes his way to the Grand Prix ice skating competition as Japan’s top representative with his eyes on the prize. However, instead of celebrating, Yuri walks away defeated and ready to retire for good. But a run-in with champion Viktor Nikiforov and rising star Yuri Plisetsky ignites a new fire within him. With the two of them close by his side, Yuri will take to the ice once more.

Charlotte

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Supernatural

Episodes: 13

Information: In a very small number of young boys and girls, the onset of puberty brings with it special abilities beyond mortal ken. Yu Otosaka has one such ability and he uses his power to live a fairly normal, average school life. Suddenly in front of Yu a girl named Nao Tomori appeared and due to this chance meeting the fate of special power-users will be exposed.

Fruits Basket (2001)

Genre: Comedy, Drama

Episodes: 26

Information: The Sohma family has been cursed for generations. When a member of the clan is embraced by a person of the opposite sex, they transform into an animal from the Chinese Zodiac! After keeping their secret hidden for years, their unusual household is turned upside down when young Tohru stumbles into their life. She must promise to keep their secret as one of her own—or face the consequences!

Assassination Classroom

Genre: Action, Comedy, School, Sci-Fi, Offbeat

Episodes: 47

Information: A powerful creature claims that within a year, Earth will be destroyed by him, but he offers mankind a chance by becoming a homeroom teacher where he teaches his students about how to kill him. An assassination classroom begins!

Attack On Titan

Genre: Action, Drama, Fantasy, Horror

Episodes: 59

Information: After his hometown is destroyed and his mother is killed, young Eren Yeager vows to cleanse the earth of the giant humanoid Titans that have brought humanity to the brink of extinction.

Banana Fish

Genre:  Action, Drama, Mystery

Episodes:

Information: Nature made Ash Lynx beautiful; nurture made him a cold ruthless killer. A runaway brought up as the adopted heir and sex toy of "Papa" Dino Golzine, Ash, now at the rebellious age of seventeen, forsakes the kingdom held out by the devil who raised him. But the hideous secret that drove Ash's older brother mad in Vietnam has suddenly fallen into Papa's insatiably ambitious hands--and it's exactly the wrong time for Eiji Okamura, a pure-hearted young photographer from Japan, to make Ash Lynx's acquaintance

Junji Ito Collection

Genre: Horror

Episodes: 14

Information: A collection of animated horror stories based on the works of Japanese artist Junji Ito.

Bungo Stray Dogs

Genre: Action, Mystery, Supernatural

Episodes: 36 + OVA

Information: After young man Atsushi Nakajima saves a man from his wish of suicide, he and his friends join the "Arms Detective Company," a league of literary figures that also harness special powers.

Kamisama Kiss

Genre: Comedy, Romance, Slice Of Life, Kids

Episodes: 25

Information: Nanami Momozono is alone and homeless after her dad skips town to evade his gambling debts and the debt collectors kick her out of her apartment. So when a man she's just saved from a dog offers her his home, she jumps at the opportunity. But it turns out that his place is a shrine, and Nanami has unwittingly taken over his job as a local deity!

How NOT To Summon A Demon Lord

Genre: Action, Adventure, Comedy, Fantasy

Episodes: 12

Information: Takuma Sakamoto is famously known as Diablo throughout the MMORPG Cross Reverie. And although he’s a magical prodigy in-game, in reality, he’s a total social outcast. One day, in his video game body, Takuma is summoned to another world by two girls seeking to control him.

Toilet-Bound Hanako-Kun

Genre: Comedy, Supernatural, Romance

Episodes: 12

Information: It is said that "Hanako-san" lives in the girl's toilet on the 3rd floor in the old school building and will grant anyone a wish for a price. Yashiro Nene goes looking for "Hanako-san" in the hopes for a successful love encounter, but the one that she meets is completely different from what she imagined.

Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Genre: Action, Drama, Magical Girl, School

Episodes: 12

Information: In this world, there exists strange creatures who have the power to grant one wish to a chosen girl. However, in exchange, that girl must then become a magical girl and use her powers to fight against witches, evil creatures born from darkness that are responsible for murders and suicides. Madoka Kaname is one such candidate. Will she choose the path to become a magical girl? This is her story.

Stars Align

Genre: School, Sports

Episodes: 12

Information: The teen adolescence story revolves around the coming-of-age of boys in a junior high school's soft tennis club, which is on the verge of shutting down. Touma Shinjou asks Maki Katsuragi to join the team for his vaunted abilities, and mentions a summer competition. Katsuragi asks for money in return for joining the team.

Case File No 221: Kabukicho

Genre: Action, Mystery

Episodes: 24

Information: Shinjuku ward east side... The center of the street with most chaos, There's a Kabukicho full of neon lights. When the light is stronger, the shadow is deeper. The story begins when certain bizarre murder happens one night!

22/7

Genre: Drama, Slice Of Life

Episodes: 12

Information:

Miu Takigawa is a shy, introverted girl who one day receives an invitation from a talent agency. What doors might this invitation open for Miu?

The Hentai Prince and the Stony Cat

Genre: Comedy, Harem, Romance, Super Power, School

Episodes: 12

Information: It is said that a stony cat standing in a hill can make our dream come true. Asking for their wishes, the protagonists come to a hill and ask for their wishes to the cat. Then, for some reason or other, a high school boy loses the face he wears in public and his nickname becomes a pervert prince. A cute girl is deprived of her true feelings... The cat makes mischief to their relationship better and worse. What will become of them?

Shimoneta: A Boring World Where the Concept of Dirty Jokes Doesn’t Exist

Genre: Comedy, Fan Service, Harem, School, Off Beat

Episodes: 12

Information: It's 16 years since the "Law for Public Order and Morals in Healthy Child-Raising" banned coarse language in the country. When Tanukichi Okuma enrolls in the country's leading elite public morals school he is soon "invited" (see - blackmailed) into the Anti-Societal Organization (SOX) by its founder, Ayame Kajo. As a result Tanukichi is forced into taking part in obscene acts of terrorism against the talented student council president (AKA - the girl he has a major crush on).

Haikyuu!!!

Genre: Sports, Volleyball, School, Comedy

Episodes: 85 + 4 OVA

Information: Inspired by a small-statured pro volleyball player, Hinata creates a volleyball team in his last year of middle school. Unfortunately the team is matched up against the "King of the Court" Tobio Kageyama's team in their first tournament and inevitably lose. After the crushing defeat, Hinata vows to surpass Kageyama after entering high school, Hinata joins the volleyball team only to find that Tobio has also joined.

The Promised Neverland

Genre: Drama, Horror, Mystery

Episodes: 12

Information:  Emma, Norman, and Ray are the three most brilliant children the Grace Field House has produced in decades. Unlike in a typical orphanage, they, and their fellow children, eat well and are given an intensive education. However, despite living in a peaceful environment with fun games and a caring mother, there's something not quite right. When six year old Connie is "adopted" by foster parents, she forgets her favorite stuffed rabbit, and Emma and Norman sneak out to return it to her. When they arrive at the scene, the two realize exactly why they had always been isolated from the outside world.

Gamers!

Genre: Comedy, Romance

Episodes: 12

Information:  Keita Amano is a lonely young man who loves video games; Karen Tendō is the beautiful president of the video game club; Chiaki Hoshinomori constantly fights with Keita; and Tasuku Uehara puts on a facade of being satisfied with his life in the real world, but he in truth loves video games.

Kiznaiver

Genre: Comedy, Drama, Psychological, Romance, Science Fiction

Episodes: 12

Information:  The fictional Japanese city named Sugomori City is built on reclaimed land. But as the years go by, the city's population is decreasing. One day, Sonosaki tells her classmate Katsuhira: "You have been selected to be a Kiznaiver." The Kizuna System, which allows Katsuhira to share his wounds, connects him to the classmates whose lives and personalities completely differ from his. The Kizuna System is an incomplete system for the implementation of world peace that connects people through wounds. All those who are connected to this system are called Kiznaivers. When one Kiznaiver is wounded, the system divides and transmits the wound among the other Kiznaivers.

[obutsuwrites]

A Little Wicked (overhaul x reader)

Summary:  “Are you denying yourself your innermost wishes? Do you not quiver for my touch?” Overhaul countered, his gruff voice shrewd. The sorcerer tried to hide his morbid pleasure. Lips curled into a lustful grin. The knot in his stomach was hot. Touch-starved fingertips excited.

warnings: non-con~!

word count: 3,460 xxx basically a self-indulgent overhaul smut fic~! oops,,

my ao3 for more shitposts

my ask box is also always open 4 requests or wateva

Notes: 

numinous (adj.) - describing an experience that makes you fearful yet fascinated, awed yet attracted--the powerful, personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired

nemophilist (n.) - a haunter of the woods; one who loves the forest and its beauty and solitude

The young adventurer navigated through the overgrown forest, screeches of owls echoed over head; sounds of nature after dark. Thick trees obscured the woman’s vision. Mother nature was finally reclaiming lost land. However, this particular forest held a secret as precious as new life. A powerful sorcerer was said to inhabit this jungle of trees and predators. She knew man-eating animals roamed this land. The woman had grown up on heroic tales of would-be heroes besting creatures of the night. Heroism. Adventure. Glory. Tales she idolized. Titans of old seemed almost god-like to her. Abilities she had prayed for every night. However, her pleas fell upon deaf ears. 

After enduring this for years, she realized she must manifest her own destiny. The allure of magicks too tempting for her quest. She knew it was wrong. No respectable explorer had stood on the back of giants. No. They started small; stories eventually amassing to celebrity. Folk tales repeated for generations. The ultimate means of being remembered, she acknowledged. Mortality no longer applied to them. They gained immortality through legends. 

The young woman sighed. The lantern was her only light source in the decrepit grove. Thick roots ran along the leaf scattered earth. She had already tripped once, her lantern almost shattering. Tonight, even the moon hid. Just like the predators. The hoot of owls were the only sound in the moonlight. She wondered if the fabled Sorcerer of the Forest even existed. The tales of him on par with legends of heroics. Was it possible the man didn’t exist? The land showed no sign of recent travel. Untamed earth. 

She stopped. The sudden thirst hit her senses. Her mouth was like the desert. Quickly, slender hands grasped the gourd that sat upon a leather belt. The woman drank deeply; water trickling down exposed flesh. After a swallow, oxygen-starved lungs greedily inhaled. Earth and pine wafted through her nostrils. 

Suddenly, a twig snapped behind her. The rhythmic pounding of her heart threatened to leap out from her bosom. Primal fear seeped into her body. Goosebumps painted into her skin. The dame paused, her hand at her side, clutching the gourd. 

Breathe, she told herself, You are brave.

“Who is t-there?” The explorer called, her tone momentarily faulting. Anxiety ridden eyes waited. Could be a rabbit, right?

A gruff voice broke their silence, “Filthy mortal. You have been searching for me, haven’t you?” The man sounded perturbed. As if her very presence was a nuisance. “Well, here I am.” Ungrateful.

The woman blinked. Surely, this wasn’t the Sorcerer of the Forest? The male sounded no older than her. Far too youthful to be such a myth. 

“I don’t t-think you’re him,” she replied, slowly turning to face the owner of the voice. 

Foreign eyes observed her, his nose crunched with disdain. The young man was adorned in black; a pulled hood and avian mask blurring his features. A pristine cloak hung around his wiry frame. Leather gloved hands fidgeted. His posture betrayed his voice, uncomfortability spread throughout his spine.

“A sorcerer. You mortals ask for such frivolous things,” the masked man replied. Despite his age, the Sorcerer of the Forest never quite understood mortals. Useless stories amused them. Inspired them. This caused a problem for him. Rarely the man would receive dim-witted guests to his side of nature. Naive mortals that didn’t understand his terms. They would agree to his services, not realizing the peril. 

A laugh escaped from the woman, a nervous habit. Clearly, this man was mortal, too. Just has a little superiority complex. It wasn’t unexpected. Such a talented display of magic was too prideful. Like a secret to be shared. 

“...okay. Wait. You know what I need?” 

The words hung in the dusk. Disgusted eyes still trained upon her, memorizing her. He looked almost pensive. A leather gloved hand rested against a clothed elbow. The masked man’s dark brows furrowed together.

“Moronic girl,” he chastised, “you desire a strength potion. It’s rather bold to assume I’d stoop to such a vile practice.” The man was a sorcerer, not a desperate apothecary.

Another laugh bubbled from her. Genuine sounds. “You’re a sorcerer. Surely, you mix potions?” 

The woman’s tone was immature. Naive wonder spread across her face. She prayed he would remove the formerly intimidating birdlike mask. It’s shape provoked a primal fear within her. As if she should run as far as her legs would carry her. Instincts screaming.

The man stepped forward, dead leaves crunched under his boots.  

He scoffed, his eyes darting from her. The mysterious man smoothed invisible hairs along auburn hair. His hair looks soft, the woman noted. Perhaps he was an Adonis underneath the beak. With the distance between them shortened, she noticed brass goggles upon gilded orbs. The same contempt within them. 

“Do you even carry a sword? Perhaps a dagger. Oh, I know. You don’t do you?” he quizzed. The man clearly taking delight in her vulnerable form. 

The maiden softly gasped and dropped her gourd to the ground. Her hands now wrung in doubt. No legend about the Sorcerer of the Forest told of his scorn. He was the un-sung hero; the powerful force that provided the hero a winner’s edge. 

She didn’t reply. Horror locked the adventurer in place. Her eyes trained on the man before her. 

He closed the gap between them, the linen of his cloak brushed against the woman’s shirt. “What you desire will cost you.”

Xx

The young explorer had followed the mysterious, angry man to his hut. The design was simple, but presistine. Not a single ingredient or amulet out of place. His shack reminded her of the shaman huts in her village. The after smell of incense a permanent fixture. 

The two discussed their deal. An insistent voice spouted a word vomit of myths. Her eyes alight with passion. The possibility within her hands now. 

“...and that’s why I need this potion, talented Sorcerer of the Forest! I don’t care about t-the consequences.” The maiden stuttered, her excitement had gotten the best of her. 

“I have told you, mortal. I am Overhaul. This fantasy of the ‘Sorcerer of the Forest’ doesn’t exist. Merely stupid childish stories,” the man corrected. His tone stern. 

Overhaul.

Instantly, the woman realized the mistake she had made. The man before her was not the great Sorcerer of the Forest, but his antithesis; Chisaki Kai. A rumored lesser demon in fables. Overhaul being his preferred title. His deals the catalyst for despair in his epics. The being a play on devil’s advocate. A strong occultist that dealt in absolutes. In his parables, the heroes would receive their most intimate desires, but at the grievous cost of their humanity. Their soul.

Her features were clouded by concentration. The temptation mulled over in her mind. Is… Is it immortal to sell my humanity for the greater good? Surely, heroism cancels out sins.

She offered her hand in a show of solidarity. “Please.”

A good handshake was the cornerstone for any business transaction. Even the resident smithy had a crushing grip. A truth the maiden had learned early, the concept of goodwill familiar to her. 

Golden eyes stared at her. His indifferent glare almost seeing through her. 

“Handshakes are informal. If you weren’t so naive, you would know.” Naive laced with venom. Ignorance was a sin to him. Cretins were beneath a messiah. 

Stand tall. Make your demand known.

The nervous woman straightened her back. Eyes meeting Overhaul.

“Sorcerer or lesser demon; I humbly request the potion. Please,” she asked, her hands clasped in prayer. Stubborn hands with steadfast faith. Illusions of adventure plagued her. The poison deep in her bones. She could taste her immortality in fiction. 

Overhaul almost pitied the woman before him. Feminine graces for deceit. The ghost of a smile stretched across his features.

“As you desire.”

Xx

The aspiring adventurer had inquired about a strength potion. A rudimentary task that would only require several days work for Overhaul. The reply caused a grin to break out upon the young woman’s face. Her face… almost cute. 

While working, Overhaul caught flashes of the maiden’s frightened expressions. A sick delight taking root into him. His psyche was a chasm of perverse thoughts. The mixture of worry and dread intoxicated him. Like an inch he couldn’t scratch. 

He felt on fire. 

Xx

She wandered aimlessly, soft footsteps echoed through the abyss of trees. This was her ritual now. Naively calling for Overhaul. The beaked man was behind on his promise. The confident woman’s belief in him wavered. A gourd still hung from her belt; a failed lesson. 

“You can be so damn loud. Do you realize that?”

The naive mortal’s expression tightened; the intimate reaction caused a flush to scatter across him. Foreign anxiety and a rush of dopamine through his body. Hot breath huffed against the hollow of his beak. The fervor burned like a wildfire. 

She averted her eyes; the earthen ground her chosen subject. Overhaul’s aura engulfed the young woman in anxiety. Instincts feral. 

The nemophilist beamed; fangs bared for prey. Sadistic glee painted into his face. Amber eyes studied her. Victim no match for an apex predator. 

“Sorry… I’m happy I found you, I think. You’re behind schedule, Overhaul, but it’s for good reason, right? Maybe you ran into a lack of ingredients?” the woman hoped, her heart unable to conjure the alternative. Panic surged through her nerves. A feeling she couldn’t ignore. Body hot with anxiety.

“Follow.”

Xx

Yet again, the young maiden found herself in the wooden cabin of the occultist. A scent of wood and flowers assaulted her nose. The smell less pleasant than before. 

Overhaul held the vial; gloved hands gingerly guarding her desire. She felt a pang in her bosom. The promise of immortality dangled before her. Breath caught in an eager throat, words cramped. 

“Please. I have money. Gold. I can pay you.” Desperation covered her tone. The zealous woman features pulled tight. Eyes glued to the vial. The key to her quest. 

The masked man laughed, placing the vial on the wooden table between them. His eyes stuck to her. Selfish eyes fixated. Overhaul’s chest hitched; the anticipation of her fear tantalizing. He felt drunk from her presence. 

“No… No money. As Overhaul we both know I’ll claim my due. For someone that prides themselves on mythos; you genuinely are stupid,” he sneered. His words overrun with acid. The man was merely prodding for her adorably fearful visage. An image that haunted him. Perhaps, he could coax the emotion out of the meek woman via insults. Overhaul knew the power he held. His veins burned with it. 

The woman nodded. Distinct horrible stories flooded her. The sparks of misery burning into her psyche. A terror she prayed to avoid. “Whatever, Overhaul. We made the deal. So drop the act. It’s embarrassing.” As soon as the words tumbled from her mouth; the ignorant mortal understood the weight of them. The nervousness in her back. 

“Take it before I change my mind.” 

An empty threat, or so she thought.

Xx

A week passed. The young explorer still felt as before. No obvious strength stockpiled within her. It took her three days to deduce that the willowy man she met had been a pretender. Merely a man fascinated with Overhaul. She was familiar with the insanity of it. The very same thing motivated her to find the Sorcerer of the Forest. A pretend man. 

Life for her was stagnant as before, too. No excitement lived in the heart of the village. Routine a sacred theme. Mundane. 

Despite this, the steadfast mortal had continued her prayer. Feverish belief burned in her chest. Perhaps faith was the secret to immortality in mythos. 

Xx

Soft knocks echoed through the woman’s door. A late night visitor. Panicky fear settled in her bones. After dusk visits only brought tragedy. Slowly, she rose from bed. Anxiety flowed through her muscles; simple movements a struggle. 

Delicate feet dragged across wooden floors. Tired eyes in a haze. She reached for the door knob, the brass cold against her. The young explorer cautiously opened the door. A sheepish plastered. One must be strong in misery. 

The exhausted mortal’s eyes dropped; Overhaul curiously before her. The man barely an inch from her. Just as before. The kindling of a blush erupted across her face. Pink, squeezable cheeks.

Overhaul’s urge to touch such a filthy creature was almost overwhelming. And yet, he restrained himself. A promise of fulfilling her desire fueled him. He ached to see her afraid again.

“What are you doing here?” She was unprepared for the gravity of her choice. No soul was worth heroics. Not even a naive mortal’s. Humanity was the last shred of chaos the woman had. Every aspect of her life routine. 

A smirk took root. “Moronic girl. I’m fulfilling your greatest desire. Follow.” 

A phantom hand guided the woman’s numb body through the village and into the forest. Overhaul only a few paces ahead. A haze developed over her; the extent of her actions a mystery. 

Xx

She had no memory of adventuring to the occultist Overhaul’s hut, yet, here she was. A dressing gown clad body sat across from gold eyes. The ghost of a smirk still lingered on his face. Her distressed frame was the source for his perverse joy. A sick knot settled into his stomach. 

“Do I give you my soul?” she inquired, a sniffle in her tone. Tears building inside her chest.The reality of her agreement attacked her. 

Overhaul stifled a chorkle. An unrealistic expectation mortals held. So side-eyed. He assumed nothing less from her. Naivety was an illness. “No, idiot. Strip.”

Her mind glazed over. Robotic limbs carried out the sorcerer’s demand. Dark magicks at work. 

“Please… stop. I don’t desire t-this.” The maiden stood before him; horror in wide eyes. She cowered. No memory of disrobing; her heart in her ears. Had he drugged her? Was the vial a love potion? 

Gently, gloved hands removed the avian mask and goggles; Overhaul’s face on display. She did not expect him to be handsome. His features carved from stone by da Vinci. The ironic nature not lost. How could a vile man be so beautiful? 

“Are you denying yourself your innermost wishes? Do you not quiver for my touch?” Overhaul countered, his gruff voice shrewd. The sorcerer tried to hide his morbid pleasure. Lips curled into a lustful grin. The knot in his stomach was hot. Touch-starved fingertips excited. 

He licked his lips. Pining yellow eyes burned into her. The man known as Overhaul drank from her vulnerability. The woman’s soft body was a treat. Only for him. 

The mortal blushed. Crimson obvious in the moonlight. “Not like t-this.” She was attracted to him, but every instinct screamed at her to flee. The man was suffocating. 

Overhaul reached out, pinching her flesh between his fingers. Tense skin responded to his touch. She shivered. 

“A brat like you doesn’t deserve to use my title, don’t you agree? Refer to me as Kai.”

The woman felt helpless beneath him. Even his thin frame towered over her. The height difference only incited Chisaki Kai. Her vulnerability was a luxury. A privilege. She shifted, a futile attempt to escape him. 

Kai suddenly grasp the woman; his hands finding purchase around her wrists. Her skin was a map of goosebumps. He pulled her to him; the heat of her body melted into him. A delicate form for him to break. He shuddered at the thought. A tapestry of bruises. Lilac suits you.

“O-Kai. Kai, please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. It hurts,” she pleaded, as purple blossomed on her wrists. The beginning of a bruise. Gloved hands ignored her cries. The filthy mortal’s request only riled up Kai. A throbbing ache formed between his thighs. An urge to bury himself inside her crawled from the back of his psyche. 

Lecherous eyes scanned her body. Kai’s body snug against the frightened woman. Clean linens. A faint bouquet of clean linens drifted to him. This must be the essence of the disrobed body before him. Simple fabric separated Kai from eden. The garments weren’t flattering, he convinced himself. That’s why a gloved hand detached from her wrist; her arm falling limp as the sorcerer examined dull cloth between disinterested fingers. Florcets of pink rested twisted into pure horror. Traces of anxiety now settled in her ribs; the woman’s throat choked shut. The lack of sound a disappointment to Kai. The inch on fire with arousal for terrified looks. 

“You don’t need this,” Kai whispered, his breath hot against the woman’s exposed skin. Unceremoniously, Kai ripped the brassiere. Fabric ripping the only sound between them. Quick, short breaths followed. The occultist felt overwhelmed. His fantasy before him. Saliva pooled; the man’s mouth flooded. 

Delicate skin winced in the biting chill. A free arm shot up in a frantic attempt to cover shame. Chisaki Kai frowned. Adonis features twisted. Fangs threatened in a snarl. “Show me.” 

She held steadfast, a lilac now settled into her wrists. The naive explorer refused to allow an erratic man the pleasure of her stripped bosom. A right reserved for lovers. Not a cruel con man. 

Gloved hands swiftly detached from her. He harshly pulled off the leather gloves and pathetically tossed them behind him. Kai was finally able to feel her. Feverish hands returned to exposed flesh. Sadistic hands roughly grabbed the numinous woman. A yelp sounded from her, his impatient touch a cause for surprise. In her nerves, she felt a spark.

Yellow eyes marveled at the beauty before him. Inspiration. 

“On your knees.” 

The mortal woman before him obeyed. Dread flowed through her body. Images of violence danced before her. Promises of Chisaki Kai’s power.

“Not such a bitch, now are we?” Kai teased, a cruel smirk upon his face. Satisfaction from her blind devotion. Warmth tightened against his pants. The compassion he held for her. A little gift for not misbehaving. Kai couldn’t spell his excitement; his chest heaved in anticipation. 

“Isn’t t-this enough? I’m begging you; please stop.” A chorus of no’s followed after as Kai pressed the dame’s face against his crotch. His throbbing need now stimulated by the friction. He moaned, the sound deep and guttural. Animalistic. 

Satisfied, Kai released her face. Feverish hands unbuttoned his pants. The furor caused slender hands to shake. “I don’t care. You desired this, wicked girl.”

The scared woman audibly gulped, terror and arousal swirled in her mind. Gentle hands found his hard cock. Length throbbed in her palm. The man’s very body craved her touch. She began to tenderly stroke him; her hand exploring veins. 

Kai growled, instinctively bucked into her. No time for shame. He could chastise the adventurer later. Her hands were heaven sent. Curiosity mingled with lust. A free hand snaked to her panties. The woman teasing herself. A whine fell from her lips. The syrupy sound encouraged Kai; the sorcerer’s sentence spilling out. 

“Suck my cock.”

She stopped pumping him, her hand poised around his head, foreskin pulled down. Innocent eyes viewed the brown haired man. A meek air engulfed the woman. Moist hands now covered the grove of rose upon her cheeks. The heat devouring her. Was she on fire?

Breathe.

Plump lips wrapped around his cock, veins pulsating. Kai’s pleasure was obvious. The flustered woman began to swirl her tongue around him; her hands caressing his manhood. He melted into her touch. The man’s bucking now at a  sweltering pace. An idea presented itself. 

He knew he had to be quick. Otherwise, she could bite him. A degloved hand shoved her head down him. The wet chasm of her mouth coupled with gagged sent Kai into ecstasy. The knot branded into his stomach, working its way to his chest. An orgasm approaching. 

“Don’t fucking stop,” the auburn man mewled. Spit spewed from the asphyxiated woman; droplets decorating his hips. She needed to breathe, he reasoned. Hands clawed at thighs in a vain attempt for air. He released her.

Hungry lungs inhaled; the aroma of wood and flower heaven sent. 

“No more…” she rasped. Voice hoarse from the man’s violent bucking. Snot leaked from her nose, eyes brimmed with tears. 

She looked so broken, Kai realized. The fire within him a roaring blaze. A dire need exploded in his chest. The man roughly grabbed the woman’s face, shoving her against him again. 

An anxiety fueled mouth played with his length. Muffled cries juxtaposed against moans. Tiny streaks of fear now displayed down her cheeks. Pink cheeks shining. 

Orgasic euphoria burst from Kai. The abrupt event caused her to gag; a sloppy spray of hot cum and saliva ran from the woman’s chin, the final droplets resting against her bosom.

[emma-nation]

Bloodline - KamilahxMC Fanfiction (Chapter 3)

Summary: A Feral attack, a mysterious serum and a big mistake… what consequences will it bring to Kamilah’s life and her relationship with Amy?

Rating: T

KamilahxMC Tag List: @iam-the-fuckin-queen, @annabellewerecorgi, @voltos9, @scorpistraub, @leavemeandmyshipsalone, @jen825, @andreear17, @spacecarrousel, @justejuste727, @aureliaxj, @graceschoices, @sleeping-with-her06, @supersphynxsworld, @gavryllo, @galaxyside-0, @msuhailey, @zoe6111, @ptxgirwaffles, @tigerbryn11, @shanuuh, @ilovetaylor13m, @honorablebicycle, @ilovekamilahsayeed, @fal-carrington, @begging-for-kamilah, @kennaxval

Notes: 

- Thank you so much for the positive feedback on my post-finale fic, Till Death Do Us Part. I never imagined getting over 100 notes lol. Your likes/reblogs/reviews are deeply appreciated.

- When I wrote this chapter I had no idea of Chapter 16 yet, so I beg your apologies for putting Kamilah through more angst.

The Changes - 1 month later, 9:30 AM

Kamilah woke up in the morning with strange activity coming from her kitchen. At distance, she also heard music. A modern song she wasn't very familiar with. At first it appeared strange, but it didn't take long for her to remember she no longer lived by herself. She smiled fondly.

After finding out about her pregnancy, Amy didn't want to spend a minute away from her. Kamilah invited her to move in to her penthouse. It was the first step into this crazy family journey ahead of them. The female vampire thought she'd have a hard time getting used to the idea, but she was enjoying it more than she could ever imagine. Amy was working hard into giving her a lot of extra attention and care, and Kamilah loved rewarding her for that.

Actually she felt like doing that right now, the smell coming from the kitchen suggested Amy was preparing them an delicious breakfast.

"Oh no," looking at the digital watch on her bedside table, she realized how late she was for work.

"Amy, I missed the alarm," she complained, by the kitchen table.

"It happens, Kamilah. To all of us."

"It had never happened to me before."

"I've read many women will experience excessive sleepiness during pregnancy."

Kamilah rolled her eyes. That was a brand new symptom, aside from the intense hunger and mood swings.

"You're too obsessed with these books," she mocked Amy. The girl would invest long hours into reading pregnancy books and websites.

"I know," Amy winked and smiled.

Kamilah embraced her from behind, placing a trail of kisses all over her neck.

"What are you doing?"

"Thanking you for cooking such a delicious breakfast?"

Amy turned around to face her and the female vampire kissed her long and passionately, while pressing their bodies together against the kitchen counter. Increased sex drive was another thing Kamilah was experiencing with her pregnancy, and apparently Amy did too.

"Aren't we... late?" Amy asked, between moans.

"We can make ourselves a little bit later," Kamilah told, nibbling on her lower lip. "Perks of being the CEO."

They left together to Ahmanet Financial. Amy never returned to her job at Raines Corporation after the argument with Adrian. She was doing a good job at Kamilah's company as Junior Executive. She didn't know yet, but part of Kamilah's shares were now hers. Since they were going to become a family, Kamilah wanted her future wife to have part of her assets.

She and Amy agreed to wait until the baby was born to decide if they were ready for marriage. Kamilah didn't want her to feel any pressure.

From the bigger fridge she installed inside her office, Kamilah took a blood bag. She had improvements with sickness, but her hunger had never been so intense.

"Kamilah," Amy entered the office, carrying some papers. "They loved the idea of building a space for children before school age inside the company. We've got... 100% of the votes."

"Great job, Amy," Kamilah responded with a smile. "Not only your idea encourage women to keep pursuing a carreer after giving birth, but the space is very educational too, preparing children for the school years. Congratulations."

"Thank you so much for giving me a chance. I mean, I didn't want to be an assistant forever, but I wasn't sure I was capable of something so big yet."

"Amy, you're capable of so much more. I trust you, this is why I've given you this job."

Kamilah placed a kiss on her lips. Amy placed her hands on her waist, then caressed her stomach.

"How long until it starts to show?" She asked, with some frustration. "I just can't wait."

"Not too long, I assume."

When her belly started to show, Kamilah would publicly announce to the media she was going to be a mother. Before, Amy would tell her family and introduce Kamilah to them.

Kamilah still wasn't fond of the idea of being pregnant. But Amy did everything to make her feel better about it. In the previous night, they went out together and the girl suggested they should buy an item for the baby. Kamilah thought it was too early, but she eventually agreed. She bought a beautiful navy-blue bodysuit with a little crown embroidered on it. Amy bought a pair of Converse shoes for infants.

"How are you feeling today?" Amy asked, noticing the empty blood bag on her desk.

"The same," Kamilah told. "No sickness, but the hunger is still extreme. Nobody can say this boy isn't your son, after all."

"Hey!"

----------

The Invitation - 1 month later, 12 PM

Kamilah was surprised when Lily Spencer wanted to see her in the middle of the day. Being such a young vampire, it should be more difficult for her to be out in the sunlight, even only for a few minutes.

"She said it's important," Erin told.

"Let her in."

Minutes later, Lily entered Kamilah's office in a hurry, joining her and Amy.

"Lil, what brings you here so early?" Amy asked, noticing she looked a little affected by the sun.

"I... I received this last night," Lily told between pants. "As well as... everyone else in the Shadow Den. I needed to ask Kamilah what it's about... people are panicking."

Kamilah took the envelope Lily handed her. It was a formal invitation for a Vampire Assembly, to discuss matters that could compromise the safety of the entire community, as well as the human race. Hosted by Adrian Raines.

"What?!" Kamilah shouted when she finished reading.

Amy grabbed the invitaton and read it too.

"Do you think..."

"I'm very sure of it. After all, I'm the only Vampire in New York who hasn't been invited."

Kamilah confirmed with Erin. She hadn't received any mail from Adrian in the last couple of days.

"Guys," Lily looked at them confused. "What's going on? What are you talking about?"

Kamilah let out a long sigh.

"Tell her," she told Amy.

"Just like that?" Amy asked. "Lil, Kamilah is pregnant. With my baby."

Lily laughed for five minutes straight, before realizing they were serious. It was only when Amy explained in details, that she was finally convinced.

"Wait, so you're telling me this crazy experiment Adrian made, impregnated Kamilah with your child. Who could be not only the heir of Ahmanet Financial, but the most powerful living vampire?"

Amy nodded in response. Lily immediately broke down in tears and hugged her best friend as tight as her mortal body could handle.

"I'm going to be his aunt, right?"

"Of course, Lil," Amy started crying too. "In my mind you've been his aunt since the moment I found out."

"That's it," Lily sniffed and wiped off her tears, "we need to celebrate. Kamilah, where's the booze?"

Kamilah wasn't paying any attention. Her eyes were red in pure anger again. Adrian was hosting an assembly to convince the Vampire community of New York that her son was a hazard, and ask them to sign a petition in favor of interrupting Kamilah's pregnancy. That shoudn’t be allowed to happen.

"Kamilah," Amy placed a hand on her shoulder. "We should go to this assembly. We have the right to expose our version of the facts too."

"After what Gaius has done, Amy? They'll hunt us alive to preserve their safety."

"We can't just stay here with our arms crossed while they make this decision for us! It's our son."

"The best we can do is to leave New York," Kamilah lamented. "One of my major offices is in Los Angeles. We'll be safer in West Coast."

----------

The Assembly - 1 month later, 10 PM

After much pondering, Kamilah decided Amy was right. They couldn't simply run away from their own home. The life of their child was their decision to make. No petition would make her change her mind about keeping her son.

When they arrived, the largest conference room in Raines Corporation was crowded. Every vampire in New York was watching as he presented a slide show, explaining his experiment and the mistake he had done.

"This baby was generated from blood of the Tree Of Eternal Life, as did Gaius, Xenocrates and Rheya, the First Vampire. He will be carrying the very same power in his veins. A power that will control him and transform him into a ruthless monster."

Kamilah crossed her arms, wondering when would be the most appropriate moment to interrupt. By her side, Amy couldn't hold herself anymore.

"Kamilah is not only being irresponsible," Adrian continued, "but extremely selfish. After everything this city went through with Gaius, are we ready for another bloodshed, another war?"

When Kamilah noticed, Amy was already standing by his side in front of the room. The Vampires started to yell all kinds of insults and offenses.

"Good, Adrian told his version of the facts," she started. "As you know, every story has two sides and now I'm here to tell you mine."

They weren't willing to listen, but Amy proceeded with her speech. Kamilah was admired by her bravery and determination to fight for their starting family.

"You couldn't have picked a better mom," she thought, placing a hand on her belly. It was the first time she actually did that. Amy spoke to their baby all the time, telling stories and assuring him of how much he was loved.

"The blood from the tree was only part of this child's conception. He's the result of Kamilah's DNA mixed with mine and most of all, he's resulted from our love."

Amy glanced in Kamilah's direction and the female vampire responded with an approving nod.

"I understand you are all scared, after everything we went through with Gaius. But I promise you, that if we have one chance to raise our son, we'll make him a good man."

"I'm not risking my existance again," a vampire yelled from the middle of the crowd.

"Neither will I!" Another one added. "Death to the Third Son!"

The rest of the crowd joined him. All repeating the same words.

"Death to the Third Son!"

Upset, Amy returned to Kamilah's side. Kamilah wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"You tried," she attempted to comfort her. "But there's no problem, okay? We're going to Los Angeles, where nobody will ever touch our boy."

"Okay," Amy muttered, "it's still unfair. He's being judged and sentenced even before he's born. New York should be his home too."

As they left the room, Kamilah exchanged one last look with Adrian, who passed his petition to the crowd. There was something different about his face, instead of darkness, Kamilah detected a hint of sorrow and sadness.

----------

The Promise - 1 month later, 1 AM

Despite the exhaustive day she had, Kamilah couldn't force herself to get any sleep. Amy was sleeping by her side, like a rock. She wished she had this same ability of resting her mind so easily and get a deep night of sleep.

She closed her eyes, trying to relax, when she heard the bell ringing. Who could it be, so late at night? Before opening the door, she looked at the video security system.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she sighed, opening the door. "What do you want, Adrian?"

"I wanna talk to you," he answered.

"We have nothing to talk about. I've made my decision."

"Please."

Kamilah guided Adrian to the living room. She acommodated herself on the couch, next to him.

"Only Lily refused to sign the petition. Jax isn't willing to risk the safety of his clan again," Adrian told.

"Who cares about their opinion?" Kamilah scowled. "It's my son and I'll kill whoever tries to hurt him."

There was a moment of silence between them, until Adrian crumpled the petition and threw it in the fireplace.

"I know. And I completely understand you."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry, Kamilah," he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "There were a lot of things going through my mind. I failed my company when I made such a big mistake. I failed you too. You've told me you never desired to have children, not even as mortal."

"I'm still not very fond of the idea, but..." Kamilah's lips curled up in a smile. "Amy makes it look so easy and amazing. I want to try. I want to start a family with her, the woman I love."

"I've been there. I still remember when Eleanor told me I was going to be a dad. I was happy, but at the same time I was scared, insecure. In the end, I failed them both too."

"Adrian..."

"But I won't fail again," Adrian fought a smile. "Kamilah, do you forgive me for all I've done? I was so consumed by my own feelings that I never considered yours. Deep down, I think I was jealous of what you and Amy have, and of your child. I'd do anything to..."

"You stil can," Kamilah placed her hand on top of his. "You can have a family again."

"Would you give me the honor of being this kid's uncle? I promise to protect him with my life, if I have to."

"Of course. After all, if it wasn't for you he'd never exist."

Adrian wiped off a few tears from his face before hugging Kamilah and stroking her stomach.

"Thank you, Kamilah. So, have you picked a name for this little guy yet?"

"I may have something in mind."

----------

The Betrayal - 1 month later, 6 PM

After some effort, Kamilah and Adrian managed to convince the vampire community to trust they'd keep them safe, and raise that child with caution, watching for any possible signs of danger.

With that, she was free to live in New York with Amy by her side. There was still one thing she'd like to do though, make their commitment official. Inside her secret drawer, she grabbed a small box containing a ring and smiled. That night, after taking Amy for a special dinner, was the perfect opportunity to propose her.

"Ms. Sayeed," Erin knocked on the door. "The blood bags you ordered have arrived."

"It was about time. I'm starving."

Kamilah took a blood bag and stocked the rest in her fridge. Erin watched her in silence.

"Anything wrong, Erin?" She raised an eyebrow, while she drank.

"Nothing, Ms. Sayeed. I'd like to know if you'll need anything else before my shift ends."

"Actually," Kamilah grinned. "You can go home earlier. I have a special dinner tonight."

"Really? What's the occasion?"

"I'm officially asking Amy to marry me."

"Such good news, Ms. Sayeed," her assistant prepared to leave her office. "I wish you all the luck in the world."

"Wait," Kamilah told her, "could you do me one last favor? Would you hire a..."

A sharp pain in her lower abdomen made her wince. The pain started to grow stronger, becoming more and more unbearable. Something Kamilah had never experienced before.

"Erin..." she groaned. "Call Adrian... I think I'm... I'm losing my baby."

Erin stared at her with a cold gaze. It was obvious she had put something in Kamilah's blood bag. Some abortive substance.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sayeed. I've heard the news. I'm not willing to risk the future of my kind to preserve your child. Have a good night."

She closed the door and locked it from outside. Leaving Kamilah and her baby at their own fate.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Choice ― IV.i. Complex Creatures Are They

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ PART IV ⥽

— London, 1876. They have been everywhere and done everything. Watched empires rise and fall and seen marvels never even dreamed of. The Trinity have wealth, they have youth — they have each other. But after two thousand years... is it still enough?

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Invitation to dine at the Montes Estate is a desirable thing. Earning the ire of its Lords and Lady; less so. Though the years continue to change the Trinity's devotion to one another will always stay the same.

[READ IT ON AO3]

London, 1876

“If you ask me my opinion on the matter —”

Valdas sighs around his forkful of mutton — a little thing easily missed by mortal ears, but they catch it quite plainly. Valdas has the patience of a man who has weathered the petulance of monarchies for ages. If he cannot hold back his disdain there must really be something worth disliking about the man.

Well that much is more than obvious. And this is only one of the several evenings they are meant to host the boorish Viscount?

“Please,” Cynbel encourages with less than half a heart, “do go on, Lord Edwards.” And because his head is so far up his own rear end he does. In such a fashion that matches his red-faced appetite no less.

“Well, my opinion is that of Her Majesty’s. Shame only that she could not have exerted her authority enough to silence that ponce Gurney permanently.”

Pick any other dining room in London and one might find Edwards’ sentiments met with agreement from all around. Here, however, he’s lucky to get similar views out of even a third of the table. The best part is that he has the misfortune of realizing it far too late to take it back.

That they have been able to surround themselves with like minds so quickly since their arrival is nothing short of luck. Or perhaps, he’s willing to admit, expert skill on the parts of his lovers.

There’s a reason Cynbel is no longer allowed to attend even a simple tea without one of them; at the very least. Usually it takes both to undo the damage he unwittingly causes whenever he opens his mouth.

Because the Viscount Edwards is a fool he waits — lets the silence drag on uncomfortably in the hopes that someone might raise their voice to agree with him. Doubtful such a fragile ego could handle healthy debate.

Valdas and Cynbel exchange glances of barely-contained bemusement. They do so enjoy watching her tear into lesser men — even if it no longer means literally so.

“If you would not have women in the medical profession, my Lord, where would you have them then?”

Their darling girl — she’s never been known for her mercy. She doesn’t even allow the Viscount a moment’s offense before she snaps her fingers brisk, startling him into attention. “I asked you a question. As you are in my home and at my table, and as the words you so childishly spew are wetted with my wine, the least you could do is muster me an answer.”

“Such a brazen young wife you have, Lord Montes.”

Cynbel covers his mouth with his hand — if he starts to laugh now he simply won’t be able to stop. Valdas, too, looks ready to mock the man but he knows better by now. Both of them know this is simply the mentality of such fragile creatures; it is in the nature of the weak to find someone to subjugate as a means of removing that weakness. But it is still there; they are merely blind to it. And it will be the death of them.

“I believe it was the Lady Montes who was addressing you, my Lord, not I.”

But Cynbel’s restraint is only so much, and far less than his beloveds. “Unless you picked up a fair talent for ventriloquy in secret. Have you, Valdas?”

“I doubt even a master of the profession could impose upon my Lady his will.” She would eat his tongue for even trying.

With every quip the Viscount huffs and puffs, red face now a compliment to the plum of Cynbel’s dinner jacket.

And if there is one thing the Trinity has learned since immersing themselves in the upper echelons of Victorian society it is this: the wealthy are fools who equate riches with longevity; because they have money they think they will live forever.

Yet they do so love to dig their own graves.

“I admit there are certain advantages to having the nurturing concern of a woman at one’s sickly bedside,” Edwards digs and digs and digs, “but there is an inherent difference between the sexes that cannot be denied. That has been proven scientifically! And by those very same who would now burden themselves with the task of catching a woman up to their decade’s worth of knowledge.”

“‘Nurturing concern?’ Who, our Iss’?” Cynbel whispers for Valdas’ amusement even though it receives him the sharp sting of a shoe on his toes.

Though if either man had not seen the carnality Isseya was capable of with their own eyes they might not believe any claims to such. Not of late, anyway. They humor her these lashings of wit because she suffers the brunt of the burdens among this closed-minded society — the least they could do is allow her to bring men like the Viscount to heel like the dogs they are.

A task which she has not only accepted — but which she flourishes in. More than once her words have been enough to sway the dustiest of aged lechers, the young men raised to think their mothers less than them, the whole lot.

And when words are fruitless—because some are born and will die ignorant—both Valdas and Cynbel watch with delight (and no small amount of desire) while she serves them threats on their lives dipped in honey with their wine.

Cynbel shifts so as not to do so obviously — but one look to Isseya’s perfect features and he knows the Viscount will join the latter ranks this night.

He slips his hand down to rest on her thigh. Draws soft circles with his thumb, carves the old tongue they try desperately not to forget in the light drag of his fingernail over silk. Her tension eases slightly.

“Bold that you would impose such vulgarity on me in my own home.”

“Your husband’s home.”

Valdas tsks and folds his hands over his meal. “Best I’m kept out of this, I despair to think of the mess.”

“My home,” another snap to draw the Viscount’s attention, “where you have grossly overstayed your welcome.”

Of course men like him have the gall to look offended. Guest of Parliament or not Cynbel is having a hard time resisting the urge to tear his spine out in the middle of the entree. If he could manage to find it, anyway.

“I beg pardon?!”

“No amount of begging could change my mind, though you are welcome to try.” Isseya smooths her skirts and stands, her lovers following suit. And with them, the rest of their guests save the Viscount join in.

“Montes, surely you see this—this —” Don’t say it… don’t say it… “— this hysteria for what it is!”

Innovation has been a wonderful thing but Cynbel knows firsthand he and his are not the only vampires resentful to some of its finer points. Disposing of a body used to be such a simple thing; you could just leave it out and save grieving families and vengeful lovers nothing more would come of it. Do you know how hard it is to make a body vanish these days?

But the effort of it is a necessary one. His title will spur investigation, and already he’s contemplating when the constable will come knocking with statements of this very argument in hand. And it will be worth it for the satisfaction their beloved will get in eviscerating him.

It is Valdas who speaks and they both know why. Neither of them particularly eager to deal with the consequences of the fangs Iss’ will undoubtedly bare.

“Get. out.”

“My Lord —”

“Now!”

They scurry like the insects they are. Those who have been to the Montes Estate for before—and wish to do so again—are polite enough to push their chairs in before they join the crowd. Valdas takes note of their faces. They wouldn’t have survived this long without knowing the faces of what few humans were worth getting acquainted with.

The Viscount takes his pitiful time. Still aghast; unable to fathom that he is somehow in the wrong despite insulting the hostess numerous times, lacking in the common sense to read the bloody room.

He is the last to leave. As though lingering might somehow change their minds, as though they might apologize. He has the political clout to make Valdas’ work with the House of Commons difficult and he’s undoubtedly petty enough to do just that.

Or he would if he had the chance.

He won’t.

Only then does he notice that Isseya isn’t still at all. She’s shaking.

“Iss’…?” Cynbel moves to pull her close by the waist — or he would if she doesn’t slap his hand aside with a noise of discontent.

He doesn’t know what to say, to do. Looks to Valdas because he is their Light, their Lord, and he always has the answer. But even he seems uncertain.

His tone is perhaps a little too warning and not sympathetic enough. “Isseya, that was uncalled for.”

“Fuck your ‘uncalled for!’”

Cynbel is a victim of proximity and bears the weight of her lashing; squeezes his eyes closed so tight the spectacles they once thought so amusing on him nearly slip off his nose. The stale evening air doesn’t lessen the five points of pain where she gored at his cheek. Feels his blood wet and warm in rivulets trickling down his skin to drip drip their crimson stain on his collar.

Not like they haven’t struck one another out of passion in their eternity together. They have before and no doubt they would again; such is the burden of loving too hard—too much.

But Isseya doesn’t even look remorseful. No, she looks satisfied.

It stuns both of her lovers still and silent. She bares human teeth with a fire in her eyes. “You think all is made calm with a—a touch?! That fucking me content undoes the words I take night after night after night?!”

“Neither of us would dare,” replies Valdas cool and calm. It only angers her further.

“I will not deny it was amusing at first; toying with their heads, seducing their wives, dismantling the safety of the disgusting mentalities they have held for far too long. But I can only take so much. Why should I have to make argument as to whether or not I am worthy of personhood in front of these worms?!”

Cynbel has to wait until his cheek has healed to speak, until he can no longer feel the breeze near the candles against his teeth. “You seemed as if to enjoy it.”

“Like I said — at first.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She snarls. “I do. Every. god. damned. night. I do.” Her chest heaves against her corset with every word and Cynbel can’t remember ever seeing her like this; so repulsed by him, by them. “But I don’t even get to kill them! To show them just who they have angered — who they have wronged. A thousand years ago no man would dare say such things even in my presence lest they lose their precious cocks, or find their entrails strung up like garlands in the trees, or taste their pathetic little spines.

“But I can’t do that anymore, can I? Not without risk of exposure, of being caught. If not as vampires then as murderers.”

“We have all made sacrifices in the face of a changed world, darling.” Valdas insists, but they all know it to be true.

She raises her chin despite the trembling of her lower lip.

“I can no longer, my Lord. Do not ask it of me, not even for another night. I can’t.”

When their Divinity rounds to her Isseya struggles, even if only at first. Tries in vain to pull her wrists from his grasp, to push him away, but Cynbel knows firsthand the efforts are fruitless.

Then, not even a needle of space between them, she dissolves into tears in her God’s arms. Wails with the might of a banshee muffled into his collar and he weathers the storm of her in an eternal embrace.

Of course. Of course they have all given up the old world, the old ways in lieu of progress. And Cynbel thought himself the most resistant to it all but he could not have been more blind to the truth. In many ways he is still given a berth to be the hunter, the predator that lurks beneath his skin. But not her, not Isseya.

When Valdas goes to rest his hand upon her hair the ornaments braided in stop him. Ornaments, baubles they bought her, bound her with Cynbel’s mind unhelpfully reminds him — but he pushes it aside to gently comb them free, to free her even if just a little bit.

He could—should, is about to—step back. But with claws still stained by his blood Isseya reaches back for a fistful of his dinner coat. Don’t go. So he doesn’t; rests his forehead against the crown of her and allows them both to envelop her until she is no more.

It was a drunken amusement to them; this echoing cavern of a house in the heart of crowded London. Certainly it was more space than they would ever need. They had their bed, as they had always done. And more often than not every other room stood still — as preserved in time as the home’s occupants.

Only by force has the Trinity ever slept apart.

Until now.

He’s awake but Cynbel doesn’t open his eyes. And when he does his arm is thrown over them. Trying to keep the world away for as long as possible.

It’s with a selfish relief that he wanders into the dining room to find the other parts of his soul looking as just as sleep-deprived and lost as he feels.

Cynbel’s half into his seat at Valdas’ left when he catches Isseya’s subtle cough. Looks up to her as perfect as ever and strangely he’s a little disappointed their healing did not let her stay red-eyed and savage — as though it somehow seeks to invalidate her agony — but he can’t imagine not being at her beck and call and makes his way to her instead.

Before Iss’ can rise to meet him Cynbel takes a knee at her side.

The absent rustling of papers stops behind him; Valdas taken with the sight of them even all these years, decades, centuries later. But pride is for those better-rested, so Cynbel settles on contentment that only grows when Isseya’s hesitant hand begins to card through his hair.

“Waking was…”

“Torture?” she offers, and he takes it because it’s true, “I… would fall to the edge of sleep, but there was such a void around me I never really rested.”

Cynbel nods, knows. “I must have come to around midday but could not bring it upon myself to move.”

The Children of Valdemaras look to him as one. Neither of them could expect the stack of bound papers he produces from his lap. “I finally finished that play I started with William.”

They laugh because it’s ridiculous and because they could not possibly lament any more than they already have. There’s a comfort between them even if he’s sitting on the rug so that’s where Cynbel stays; where he pulls the manuscript down and flips through it while Isseya tries to read over his shoulder. “No no, go back, I saw ‘cock-chamber’ what the bloody hell is a ‘cock-chamber’?” And when Valdas does not answer his Golden Son makes use of long legs and nudges teasingly at the man’s groin for incentive to do so.

“Come on, tell us. Tell us. Please tell us? Tell us please!”

“You’re like a child!”

“You adore it.”

“I — you both know very well that this catastrophe of a script was started under some very strong hallucinogenics. Get your foot — we’ve discussed my dislike of your feet!”

Valdas bats away the offending foot; fixes what likely would be a harsh and cold glare down at his firstborn. But there’s a snort up above Cynbel’s head and both of them look to the sight of Isseya with different tears in her eyes, desperately plugging away at her nose and they’ve only made her laugh like that maybe ten times in two thousand years and she’s so beautiful — he’s so beautiful — they are both so fucking beautiful it hurts him all the way down to his bones.

“Oh I remember,” Isseya agrees, “and if my memory serves me—which it usually does—you came back to us in full costume regalia for the role of a… what was it, beloved?”

She looks down to Cynbel, whose mischief matches her mirth.

“Why my dearest love I do believe it was the role of a whore.”

Not that they haven’t told him this story dozens of times for the sheer amusement of it, but that each time Valdas still manages to look so offended makes it all the better.

“I—without proof I refuse to believe —”

“You made such a pretty whore,” Isseya croons.

“I would have paid you in the crown jewels.”

“You—the both of you are such awful, terrible, ungrateful progeny!” And I will love you as I have loved you, as I love you now; boundlessly and effortlessly and eternally. He doesn’t need to say it. That’s what makes it wonderful.

By the time their attending man comes in with the post Cynbel has returned to a proper seat. But the corners that divide the three of them no longer feel so sharp at the edges; the distance no longer so vast.

How delightfully, dreadfully domestic they are in these moments. One could forget they once ravaged continents were they to see this, now; three vampires pouring over letters, missives, the paper.

Isseya lets out a noise of discontent, a lilted “bastard,” as she devours a small handwritten missive. Cynbel glances at the envelope but doesn’t recognize the handwriting.

“Not another wedding invitation, I hope.”

“You know I would prefer it to this betrayal.” She takes no small amount of satisfaction in holding the thick vellum sheet over the nearest candle; lets it burn bright and until the flames tickle her fingertips before she drops what remains onto her empty plate. “It seems my own ungrateful progeny has taken it upon himself to choose the new home of the Musea Sanguis.”

Valdas frowns. “We agreed Jingyi was to move the collection here, to London. Don’t tell me he’s kept it in Paris.”

“On the contrary, snide little worm stabbed us in the back. He sends his ‘good tidings and well-fucking-wishes’ from New York.”

And they all know what that means. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with the Godmaker taking principle ownership of the Musea, in fact given the political unease on their side of the world it makes the most sense.

Still. “It would have been nice to reclaim a few of our things before they fell into his hands,” Valdas mutters, and is not disagreed with.

With the fewest ties to society Cynbel rarely has anything specifically bearing his title. And if he does its importance is always greatly exaggerated. Like the invitation to Tepes’ new estate in Prague — he thought the man would have given up by now; what with his other dozen requests for their attendance at his bal masqué ignored. Unfortunately not.

Today, though, is different.

“Would you look at that…” He drags his knife along the common stock envelope but there’s only one person who would take the time to address him these days. “Seems Ambrose has made his way North. Though I suppose if there’s ever a time to wander those winters it’s when you can no longer feel the chill.”

“The boy from Virginia? He still writes?”

Cynbel shrugs and hands the letter off to Valdas’ curious eye. “What can I say, he saved your life and I was feeling nurturing.”

It’s the word that earns Isseya’s scornful mocking. “Then you shall be the one to keep the estate tidy.”

“I am the fairer sex, thank you for noticing.”

“Positively porcelain.”

“Isseya, my love?”

“Hm?”

“Kindly fuck off.”

It’s the kind of laughter that can’t help but be infectious. Seeping from one to the other to the other and linking them as they link their hands.

This. Cynbel knows it, feels it between and through them. This is worth living for.

And it is.

They’ve given themselves this gift for a reason. This indulgence, this life of excess. It is their reward for such a brief time without. Is it possibly too much too fast — he won’t say no. But what is endless life without going a little too far sometimes?

And though they are so desperately (painfully, yearningly, eternally) in love, the Trinity accepts that there are simply some facets of life in which they will never agree.

That would make this splendid time — trivial though it is — a first for them. A time in which they are all contented enough.

He should have known it would come crashing down sooner or later.

It takes a few days, lulls them into a false sense of security, but it does. It always does.

Cynbel’s mood sours the moment he steps into the mortuary. The smell that tickles the tip of his nose — fake death. Just let corpses rot, fucking humans.

“You’d better have a good reason for dragging me down here so close to dawn, Whittaker.” He barks because he knows his voice will echo harsh on the room’s tiles, because he knows the skittish man will (and does) cringe and make his shriveled self smaller at the mere presence of him.

Whittaker is a small whelp of a man. He never stops fidgeting, messing with his hands. Cynbel has half a mind to take one of his medical devices and saw his feet off at the ankles just so he doesn’t have to hear the rustling of his shuffled steps.

As expected he jumps out of his own skin; barely puts it back on before he’s tripping over himself in an attempt to greet the vampire at the door.

“As I ss-said in my letter, I deeply apologize for the inconvenience, sir,” and his words are oily with prostrated subservience, “but this could not w-wait. You will thank me f-for the warning.”

Exactly how Whittaker’s mortal life had crossed paths with enough evil to curse him revenant is a mystery Cynbel will never solve, but one that will haunt him until the end of his days.

“This way, if you please.”

Technically there is not a living soul among them. Three bodies — two who just so happen to have the fortune (and misfortune in Whittaker’s case) of permanence on this the plane of the living.

The revenant’s translucent hand hovers over the sheet for a moment. Perhaps he debates on whether or not to withdraw his summons — though they both know Cynbel will not allow it. He grasps the edge and pulls it back.

Cynbel isn’t surprised to see Viscount Edwards there; their unwilling guest of honor. Gladdened, perhaps. Concerned, deeply. But not surprised.

“You recognize him then.”

“Would you have called me here if you thought I would not?”

There is almost an “ah-ah,” from the mortician as Cynbel reaches for the corpse, but he thinks better of it and simply hovers. A fly seeking spoils while the vulture circles carrion.

His touch is clinical, methodical. Fingertips over peeling lips and down the full face. Eventually he whips the sheet aside and lets it fall behind him to be forgotten. Hears the mad dash of Whittaker to pick it up but doesn’t really listen to it.

“I feel no trace of warmth coming from him.”

His question, unspoken, is answered; “Lamplighters pulled him from the Thames not a few hours ago.”

“A drowned man doesn’t look like this.” Like this, he says, but even for a connoisseur of death such as himself Cynbel struggles to put it to better words. And he cannot help his reluctance to turn the man’s chin this way and that — but there are no wounds to be found even on his neck.

With every answer, a dozen questions more.

When he finally manages to wrench his eyes away Whittaker is back on the other side of the table straightening his smock. “I’ll need a carriage and a disposable driver. He’s not yet in rigor — have you a trunk or a crate? Something discreet.”

No creature as low on the evolutionary food chain as Whittaker should ever look at him like that; with pity. He’s feeling enough strangeness as it is — adding anger would only be adding fuel to the fire. “This is not a task to be negotiated, whelp. I’ll take him back to Montes and you will claim the death a suicide.” Why else would he have brought Cynbel here if not to help him cover it up? “Isseya can perform her own autopsy.”

“Ah, see…” Whittaker ticks his tongue; Cynbel takes great pleasure in the thought of ripping it out with a pair of nearby forceps, “that — I mean to say — that won’t be possible this time.”

This time. Because he’s to believe this creature has suddenly grown a spine? Bodies in far worse condition and definitively by the Trinity’s hand (because this, this he isn’t sure) have gotten the same treatment. Why else would he keep Whittaker’s ill company? He wouldn’t.

Cynbel leans forward and braces his hands on the edge of the table. It creaks under the weight of his years and Whittaker is right to jump in fright.

“And the logic to your insanity would be…?”

There is a great deal of fumbling and the metallic clatter of scalpels on the stone floor. All leading to an offering; a file of worn leather — something that has seen its share of reports all of them with bodies such as the Viscounts; set about in an endless cycle of morbidity.

“A—A detective of the Yard, sir. He’s already opened an investigation.”

Happenstance and the Trinity’s bad luck, really, that at the same time two skin-and-bone Lamplighters soaked through were catching the attention of a night constable, across London a detective was doing his level best to avoid his wrathful wife by staying on the job as long as he could. That he was two steps out into the night just as that same constable was rushing up in a fright.

Happenstance and really. bad. fucking. luck.

“So you s-see,” Whittaker hastens to finish his tale, casts glances at the poor excuse for a window near the ceiling to gauge the morning’s arrival, “I must dissect the poor Viscount here. Claiming his body gone would — dare I say it — be even more suspect than it already is.”

“So you brought me here to make a mockery of me?”

“Of cc-course not sir!”

“Then why —”

“To warn you.”

There’s a twinge of the Veil in the bespelled man’s warble. Whispers both his and not on lips that don’t move, a tongue that doesn’t speak. Cynbel prides himself on being a worldly man, on knowing secrets of both the worlds of light and shadow, and has seen this from Whittaker before.

If only it would stop the sinking pit of despair growing inside.

Their home is vast, yes. But Cynbel is loud.

“Isseya! Isseya!”

He breezes past the one who tries to take his coat and thinks little of it. No break in his bounding strides up the stairwell three at a time even though he hasn’t an inkling where they might be hiding at such a cunning hour.

“This isn’t the time for games! Valdas — Isseya!”

“Grief, you’re a dramatic one. We’re in the drawing room!”

Cynbel rounds the doorway to a peculiar sight. The first of its kind and for them that’s a bold statement.

But Isseya does not look up from her careful medical practices. Her grip doesn’t waiver even slightly on her scalpel where it slides like a hot knife in butter inside their Divinity’s abdomen.

Valdas reaches up what little he can where he lays prone on a chaise and dabs at her forehead with a handkerchief. As though live and conscious surgery is as much a part of them as lovemaking.

If this their darling girl’s fascination with the medical profession continues it may very well become such.

Cynbel’s words choke back down his throat as he approaches. All thought gone but for the sight before him. Watching intently as she slices along the layers of Valdas’ skin until she can pull back the flesh enough to expose bone.

Valdas hisses at that, which causes Isseya to still. Not to remove herself from him, but to wait until he gives the go-ahead for her to continue.

“I’m glad you’ve returned before she finished,” wheezes Valdas — a noise that draws Cynbel’s attention up to his similarly-filleted left lung as it goes through the familiar process of molding itself back together, “here I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t get the opportunity to ask your opinion on the matter.”

Would his opinion have stopped her? “My opinion on what, exactly?”

“How lovingly our dearest penetrates me, of course.” Both of his children can see the strain on his insides as he holds back his laughter. “She’s not as thick as you are, Cynbel, but she’s a quick study.”

“Obviously.” She mumbles back.

“Do you mean sexually or medically, beautif—aah, ow—ul?”

Even at the compliment she remains focused. “Yes.”

For a moment it’s almost enough to forget; to imagine all is well. Until it isn’t.

Valdas picks at a stray bit of flesh absently. “Whatever had you in such a maelstrom must not have been that important. Though if you care to explain why you return so close to sunrise, I would hear it.”

Isseya muses alongside; “One would have thought you got your fill of sunlight for the next century or so. I certainly did.”

Yes, right. “Whittaker sent for me.” And their disgust is understandable.

“What could that thing have possibly wanted that warranted such an outrage?” asks Valdas, but it’s Isseya that Cynbel fixates on when he speaks next.

“He wished for me to identify a body pulled out of the river. That of Viscount Edwards.”

Her composure slips in an instant. Her blood-slicked grasp veers harshly to the side, is followed quickly by their Lord and Light’s cry of malcontent and fresh blood bubbling up from the new incision. Of course he has sustained greater wounds, he is the Made-God of countless ages and innumerable battles. But that doesn’t stop Valdas from watching their darling beauty with a hesitant shadow on his previously carefree expression.

It takes little time for Isseya to regain her composure, she clasps fingers interlaced over the wound as if to demand the pieces of him knit back together. Cynbel grabs a cloth from the nearest washing bowl and kneels beside her to help.

That she goes rigid at his touch hurts him more than she can ever know.

The Made-God speaks first. Because his Golden Son has no more to say. Because his Priestess will not.

“Explain yourself.” But the movement only agitates the wound and the doctor.

“When you’ve healed. Stop talking.”

“I am not beholden to your whims, Isseya,” Valdas doesn’t care that he smears his blood on her as he grasps her chin; forces their eyes to meet, “you are beholden to mine. I seek an answer, and you will not deny me.”

Decades have passed since they have heard that voice from him. The one that demands their worship and takes nothing less than all they are. The voice of their Maker; more than a God in affectionate compliments but real and true. Old and craven.

Even Cynbel feels the pull of his blood towards Him, how it turns his skin inside-out and bends his spine in supplication. Were he not so desperate for the same answers he would almost pity her.

Fuck, she’s so proud. Not defiant—never—but proud. “Of course, my Holy One. I could never — would never think to.”

“I will not repeat myself.” Explain yourself.

“There is nothing to explain.”

He moves in a blur; a speed they will never hope to match. Grip tight enough to part her lips and expose her tongue. Her scalpel still stained with his blood now with the tip pressed against it. She learned her favorite torture methods from Him after all.

“You would lie to me with mine own tongue? Then I will take it back.”

“Were I lying I would cut it out myself in offering,” and for the first time she actually wavers, “but I am not, and would ask my Holy One to spare me for it.”

Two fights in the same fortnight. He wants to scream. But he cautions a tender hand between her shoulder blades instead. “Iss’… think about this.”

Not like they haven’t killed for revenge before. So why does she tempt his wrath like this here, now? Why would she not boast of this cur’s well-deserved death like she would any other?

The thought must occur to Valdas at the same time. He drops her and the blade all at once and pulls her against him, teeth grit through the pain of his healing body but that would never be enough to stop him.

Their kiss isn’t one of apology. This is what the two worshipers of Valdemaras walked willingly into millennia ago. They love Him for this. And He loves them in return.

Cynbel’s wide palm rests where their thighs meet. Their hands cover his on instinct.

“Wash up,” he tells them, “I worry that the revenant calling on me was a sign that this will not be a thing so easily ignored. The Yard has called for an investigation.”

It’s a messy thing; the way three bodies intertwine fingers. But they have seen the uniformity of two held hands and deemed it mundane; too mundane for what they are together.

“I…” Isseya tries to speak — but the words catch in her throat. So of course Valdas kisses her again; of course he takes the words she cannot say.

“I know.” He rasps.

“You swear?”

“On my love for you,” he squeezes their hands again, “for both of you.”

Promises like that are not easily cast aside.

“I’m still struggling to understand what makes this one instance different than all the others.” And Isseya has a point, really she does — but the growing petulance in her voice is admittedly unbecoming of someone with her rank and years. “He was a disgusting, pathetic little nuisance and — and surely the both of you can attest I was positively tame that night.”

Valdas exhales through his nostrils long and slow. A pointed effort on his part to continue sipping his tea rather than speak his thoughts on the matter.

“Unlike the Ambassador to Bombay?” He’s the most recent in Cynbel’s memory and only because he still remembers the smell of fragrant oils, burning flesh, and tropical fruit. A wonderful chance to reminisce of their days trekking across the continent.

“He touched me.”

“And lost those charming looks he so coveted for his troubles.”

Valdas’ cup clinks against the saucer and draws silence from them both; has them waiting on bated breath.

“A fine memory to be sure, though made less so when paired with the hefty sum it cost our coffers to shut him up.”

Cynbel averts his eyes. Isseya refuses to regret her actions — rightfully so — but even she can’t deny the effort it took to smooth over that particular incident.

“My point remains. The Viscount and I exchanged words but he left very much alive. Call upon the other guests — force them to speak on my behalf.”

What made Cynbel think Isseya was behind the Viscount’s midnight swim in the first place? It didn’t take a genius to come to that conclusion. Revenge is to justice is to swift acts of cruelty — all things they love about her.

Valdas pinches his brow. “He was a guest of Her Royal Highness. She will want to see a culprit found and hanged.”

“Well that’s not so bad.” Cynbel himself has been hanged more times than he can count. But his relief is not shared among them.

“If Isseya is hanged we will have to flee London.”

And as always their Divinity is the most rational even in irrational hours.

“Worse —” the serving spoon in her hand doesn’t survive intact; is quickly replaced by the attending butler so used to their displays of frustration, “— if I am hanged he wins.”

“He is dead, dearest.”

“His ilk, those fucking skeletons with their skin that clings like wet lace to their outdated ideals of broodmares and sacrificial virgins.”

A word choice that has Cynbel adjusting his cravat. “You say that like being a sacrificial virgin was a bad thing…” And its a sympathetic offer his God gives but he takes the outstretched hand nevertheless.

Isseya continues; “Hang me and any woman who dares challenge those living mausoleums will suffer the same. And that I will not abide.”

Their God hums his approval. “I was wondering when you would find your righteous cause.” And her confusion only amuses him, but he takes pity and continues; “Thank about it. All of my attempts at freedom from my Maker—fruitless at times but not always—they have fueled me as much as your companionship. And Cynbel… well.”

“Such lofty compliments you bestow.”

“You tread dangerously, beloved mine. But you always have, haven’t you? Just as Gaius will always be snapping at our heels there will always be war and you haven’t exactly been subtle in your desire to seek it out.

“But nothing has held my Priestess’ interest for long enough to consume her, as we have been consumed.”

She hesitates.

“Now that I have found it I will burn London to the ground before I let it go.”

“We would not dare ask it of you. This is a good thing, Isseya. Even shadowed in death as it is.”

“A little death isn’t a bad thing.”

It takes a moment but soon his lovers wear matching smiles; the pressure of what might come eased from their shoulders.

Truthfully it would solve much of their current strife if something were to rile the world. Something to silence the aristocracy and cull the herded masses. Something to distract the Yard so the Trinity may take care of this unpleasantness swiftly and quietly.

Cynbel would kill for a war right now.

Idle hands supping on silver spoons have always fueled the world’s creativity. Didn’t matter where they went, what they saw, what was tearing nations and empires in half outside the safety of gilded walls.

The rich always find a way to make life interesting. Anything for them to feel something, even the barest spark, that their wealth no longer offered.

All those brimming vices, the pot so very near boiling over, paired with the stiff and reserved top of the English social class? Fucking insanity — and the best kind, too.

All one had to do was pull back the velvet curtain to see every temptation succumbed to, every fantasy explored, every debasement given if only for a night — if only here. What? They had to be known for something; better sodomy and seduction than for their body count. Or… that was the plan.

“Forgive the interruption, my Lord,” says the butler with all the tact of an ass in a thoroughbred race, “but your presence has been requested in the library.”

How laughable, he thinks, and because the opium started to kick in mere minutes ago he does indeed laugh. Swings his head heavy with no crown in sight and looks up with utter disinterest.

“It’s not Whittaker, is it?”

“No my Lord.”

“Thank the Christian god.” Cynbel, however, makes no move to stand and take his leave. Instead he goes back to the far more enjoyable show of paint-smeared flesh closest to the window. At least his abandoned hobby was good for something.

“Ahem, my Lord.” What are they paying him, again? Whatever it is it isn’t enough — such determination, such professionalism and decorum. Though his voice strains the third time; “Please, my Lord.”

“Cynbel just go with the fucking man,” growls Valdas from his confines; his eyes brighten red when his firstborn doesn’t immediately obey, “because at this rate I’ll have his head just to shut him up and Tobias has been so very good to us.”

“He’d be far better if he would let me enjoy the show in peace.”

There it is; the barest chip in Tobias’ almost preternatural ability to stay composed. The young man nearly rolls his eyes but catches himself at the last breath of it — especially when he sees Cynbel has indeed abandoned his delights.

“Very well,” he relents, but Tobias’ relief is short-lived, “can’t you just invite whoever it is up here? I hate that I should be inconvenienced because someone didn’t bother to send word they were calling.”

That the butler’s hesitation is confusing doesn’t make it any less amusing to him. Not until Tobias forgoes his usual announcing tone to lean forward and practically whisper into Cynbel’s ear.

“Forgive me, my Lord, if I speak out of turn. But I would rather think you would want to keep a detective far away from events such as…” he gives a shaky exhale, “such as these.”

His ease drops out from underneath him and makes Cynbel pull back; judging the truth in the familiarity of Tobias’ too-bright eyes. A detective, though of course he should have suspected this it comes no less of a surprise.

The Trinity seek one another out about the width of the drawing room. Statues of flesh soft as silk but no less stone amidst passions abundant; their artist might call them The Tragedy of Youth. Or something equally waxing philosophical and waning in temperament.

Valdas nods almost imperceptibly. Go.

Well there’s no use in staying now, anyway. Nothing kills arousal quite so easily as the police.

Just before Tobias opens the library doors Cynbel stops him with a touch to his shoulder. “Wait — did you sense anything about him? Is he…?”

With the high almost completely vanished it’s easier to see through Tobias’ glamor. He prefers to keep himself ignorant to the young man’s true face — even despite coming into a fair bit of contact with various sects of faerie outcasts through his long life there’s nothing quite so disturbing as when the shimmering veil of magic is parted and one catches the first glimpse of them. Cat-like eyes and too-high cheekbones on faces nearly always perfect and even.

Unlike in his earlier years it’s nearly impossible for the Trinity to come across an exile of the Fair Folk that meets even half their age but it isn’t impossible. Tobias is a mere three hundred at best — “But time is so different in our lands,” he had told them, “your ilk are so easily measured in generations, but we are less so,” — yet how his true face looks upon Cynbel now makes the vampire feel…

It makes him feel vulnerable. The gall of him.

Cynbel does little to contain his relief when the butler shakes his head no. “The detective is entirely human, my Lord. His aura carries echoes of will-o’-the-wisps, but —”

“But they are likely from his interactions with the revenant at the Yard.”

“I thought the same. My Lord, if I may…” he hesitates; to see an elven face uncertain is an ominous thing, “he carries the burden of grief in his soul.”

“He has seen death, it doesn’t surprise me.”

But Tobias is insistent. “The grief is not his own. Mortals are dull things to be sure but few among them have been known to… understand our world even if they are not conscious of it.”

There’s no masquerading it — its a warning; one Cynbel would be a fool to ignore. And of course he wants to hold them both back just a little longer, ask Tobias what exactly he’s trying to say, but he knows it would just be in vain. Powerful creatures were the fae. Powerful and utterly incapable of saying anything plainly and not laced in a thousand metaphors.

So Cynbel just nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

Tobias’ glamour begins to shift back into place. Though his eyes may look human now, though, he can’t see anything but the seelie truth. “The Trinity has been good to me. I could have found the same fate as the rest of my kind; wandering the foggy moors up North and giving the humans something to both fear and revere. But I have work, I have my own earned wealth… I would not see that taken from me so soon.”

As long as our interests align. It’s the only thing about the boy Cynbel half-likes.

He gives the go-ahead and Tobias opens the doors.

[crvelsovls]

—

delphine laurent has been seen walking around town. hazelgrove is familiar of the twenty-nine year old demon as she is against restoring the town’s glamour spell. the people of hazelgrove can agree that the dancer can be poised yet still be destructive. let’s just hope something can be settled before the town is turned upside town. + rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, black satin dresses draped over a svelte frame and blood-red roses in a vase on the window sill.

why, hellooo there !! i’m chrissie and i’m super duper excited to be here !! this here is the first of my gals ; delphine aka my sassy lil demon child fkhfjh she’s kinda a newish muse so pls bear with me while i navigate this chaotic hellcat lmao anywaysss i’m utter plot trash so feel free to slap a lil heart on this and i’ll come pester you for plots n all that good stuff !! : )

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. delphine athena laurent.

nicknames. del, & della.

physical age. twenty-nine.

actual age. three hundred and fifty seven.

birthday. unknown.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

species. demon.

nationality. unknown.

religion. agnostic.

birthplace. unknown.

current residence. hazelgrove, me.

sexual orientation. pansexual.

romantic orientation. aromantic.

education. psychology degree.

occupation. dancer at purgatory.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. unknown.

birth father. abraxas.

full blood siblings. unknown.

significant other. n/a.

children. n/a.

pets. n/a.

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, spanish, french, italian, german, & russian.

negative traits. brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. etiquette, resourcefulness, knowledgeable, quick-thinker, original, brainstorming, charismatic, & energetic.

weaknesses. argumentative, insensitive, intolerant, finds it difficult to focus, & dislikes practical matters.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, skilled with firearms, hand-to-hand combat, memory recall, physical stamina, able to use initiative, & excellent problem-solving abilities.

talents. violin, dancing, & photographic memory.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. green.

hair colour. dark brown.

height. five feet, five inches.

weight. 61 kg.

build. she is considered average height for a female and is both slender and toned.

scars. a rather noticeable one across her clavicle and a few others in less visible places.

tattoos. n/a.

piercings. earlobes.

glasses. n/a.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. unknown.

element. fire.

house. slytherin.

myers briggs type. entp-a.

alignment. chaotic neutral.

enneagram. type eight.

temperament. choleric

intelligence type. intra-personal.

character label. the vixen.

diseases. n/a.

past mental disorders. post-traumatic stress disorder, & acute stress disorder.

current mental disorders. undiagnosed.

addictions. tobacco, cocaine, & alcohol.

vices. lust, greed, & wrath.

virtues. temperance, diligence, & humility.

allergies. n/a.

diet. carnivore.

dominant hand. ambidextrous.

accent. american.

blood type. o negative.

felonies. petty theft charge when she was fifteen. she also has a history of both kleptomania, & pyromania when she was a teenager.

vehicle. red 1966 shelby 427 cobra.

BACKGROUND.

trigger warning(s). mention of death, mention of imprisonment, & mention of murder.

although the region of her birth remains a mystery to delphine, she knows for certain that her parentage is a complex story. the by-product of a human mother and a demonic father, delphine entered this world destined for a life of chaos and disarray. though she never knew her mother, her father had been thrilled by the sheer idea of having a child he could mould and shape into the pitch-black soul he desired her to be, minus the influence of a mortal. indeed, the demon abraxas had big plans for his little girl, plans she grew to work against despite her father’s best efforts to rein her in.

the instant little delphine began to display her powers, make use of her abilities and disobey daddy dearest, the girl was locked in her room. a room that contained every possible thing that a child could want. for the first few years of her life, delphine was homeschooled by a demon under her father's command. while her father made sure she had wanted for nothing, the older she grew the deeper she desired to explore the world  and her capabilities. one fateful night, the girl managed to escape her father's abode; used her enhanced speed and endurance to run far into the dark night. of course, it wasn't long until her father's demonic henchmen were on her tail, dragging her back to her prison. delphine knew her father gave her the best life possible but she also knew that there were ulterior motives behind his kindness.

eventually, delphine proved to defy her father to breaking point resulting in him having her shipped off to an all-girls boarding school. during her schooling years there, her father sparsely visited or, instead, often sent one of his subservient demons to check in with his daughter in his place. then, after a long period of time, the visitations ceased; the last thing delphine heard was that her father had wound up entangled with a couple of hunters.

delphine deemed this both a blessing and a curse. a curse as all she'd known was her father's rule. a blessing as she was finally free to lead her own life; make her own choices and follow her own path. she wasted no time in graduating from the academy before deciding to move to new york city where she found herself enrolled in new york university, undertaking a psychology degree.

still, with no word from her father or his servants, a small element of delphine continued to look over her shoulder in fear that they would creep back into her life. perhaps her father’s involvement with the hunters had ended in disaster. or perhaps he’d simply given up on his daughter fulfilling the prophecy he placed upon her. though the latter seemed unlikely to her, delphine wasn’t entirely sure if she truly cared enough to give any of it a second thought.  

after her graduation, she was cornered by a demon who claimed to work for her father. it soon became apparent that her father had vanished, seemingly having fell off the face of the earth altogether, and that this demon had stepped in to fill his shoes. naturally, the demon was trying to recruit delphine into the fold once more but refusing to take no for an answer had deadly consequences for this other demon.  

having killed the new ruler of her father’s faction, delphine made her way across various states until she would up in hazelgrove where she laid low for the first year. after a while, she began working in purgatory as a bartender until she decided she wanted to be front and centre stage, ending up becoming a dancer. 

while delphine isn’t fond of the idea of serving demons, she isn’t utterly opposed to working alongside them nor using her demonic powers. delphine can be a ruthless, callous creature who most definitely doesn’t exist to serve anybody or bend to the will of anyone.

PERSONALITY.

the semblance of delphine can only be accurately encapsulated by ribbed turtlenecks and skin-tight jeans with red-bottomed heels. the air of her seemingly callous persona epitomised by the ease of narcissism and offhand sardonic quips accompanied by a playful grin. delphine is the perfect balance of an elegant, self-assured woman and an intelligent, artful creature; effortlessly displaying only a rare sum of her persona, the elements of her she wishes others to see while concealing all the other elements of herself she deems less than favourable. one’s initial opinion of delphine might be that she appears cold, the kind of person who wouldn’t blink while grasping any opportunity to cut you down only to build herself up. delphine couldn’t be farther removed from her childhood self. every inch, every last detail of the once bright-eyed young girl has been broken down and reshaped into the icy-glared creature who lives today. life strengthened her, shaped her into a careless adaption of who she once was; a woman who stands her ground and speaks up for herself and what she believes in, never fearing the consequences of her actions.

QUICK FACTS.

owns waaay too many pairs of heels.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

often wears suits and totally rocks them.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. always carries one on her person at all times.

has never been in love or had her heart broken.

although she wears a lot of red, black is actually her favourite colour. she feels her most powerful in an all-black outfit.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo. it has her initials engraved on it and where she got it or from who is something she’ll never tell.

always seen with a cigarette in hand. she seriously chain smokes. always says she needs to quit but never does and probably never will either.

is very soft underneath and a lot more sensitive than she lets on but she’d rather die than expose this about herself.

has a history of both kleptomania and pyromania when she was a teenager.

has a felony of petty theft when she was fifteen.

has a psychology degree from nyu but never tells people about this.

drives way too fast but loves the thrill of it.

is aromantic. believes she doesn’t have the capacity to love.

can speak quite a few different languages though she never usually makes use of this.

she can be pretty deadly if you piss her off enough.  

thrives on chaos.

a tad theatrical.

is truly an independent woman who don’t need no man.

her drink of choice is vodka tonic.

WANTED PLOTS.

for wanted connections and potential plots, i’m open to anything and everything. seriously, throw any idea at me and if it has angst, i’m a million per cent there !! however, some connections i’d love to see delphine have are :

a confidant / friendship.

a best pal.

an unlikely supernatural creature who turns out to be her friend.

of course, fellow demons.

a potential love interest.

past or present flings / hookups / fwb / one night stands.

frenemies or plain ole enemies.

clashing personalities.

somebody she often spends time with, most likely drinking with.

[reading-while-queer]

Adult Onset, Ann-Marie MacDonald

Rating: Great Read Genre: Realism, Literary Representation: -Lesbian protagonist -Lebanese protagonist -Protagonist with anxiety/panic disorder Trigger warnings: Infant death, Stillbirth (explicit), Child abuse, Child sexual abuse (not in scene), Homophobia, Misogyny, Biphobia, Animal death, Internalized racism, Reclaimed D-slur

Note: Not YA; somewhat sexual but not explicit

Transitioning into reading more adult fiction than YA in your early twenties is often unpleasant.  Disturbing topics make a happy home in adult fiction, and they don’t always announce themselves in the book jacket.  (Adult Onset’s book jacket even describes the novel as “hilarious” - a fact which is hilarious in itself. Are adults okay?) The disturbing topics aren’t bad in and of themselves.  Adult readers of these difficult literary novels can sometimes resonate with the battle between ugliness and meaning, finding catharsis in the trenches.  Some readers may even find an unpolished aspect of themselves reflected in the novel, their relationship to the book becoming a form of literary therapy. The books that save lives are rarely the easiest reads.  By the same token, undertaking a difficult literary novel can put a bitter taste in your mouth. Sometimes that moment of catharsis isn’t worth the taste.

I found myself waffling over my opinion about Adult Onset.  On the one hand, it’s about the generational gift of abuse from mother to daughter, and the ugliness of that abuse is not safely contained within a “bad guy” the reader can despise, but in sympathetic characters.  It’s an uncomfortable book with a subject matter that isn’t going to appeal to the escapist reader, that’s for sure.  On the other hand, as we get older, many of us develop more tolerance for morally gray characters as we discover that we are morally gray ourselves; it can even be refreshing to read about someone with our same flaws - flaws bad enough we might hesitate to speak about them - treated not as evil, but human.  Reading Adult Onset, I felt myself straddling that line.  Yes, Adult Onset was an uncomfortable, unhappy read.  But at the same time, I saw glimpses of myself in the main character’s serious anger and anxiety.  While I’m not a mother in my mid-forties struggling to manage a suburban household, anyone who has had to grapple with mental illness or abuse will feel kinship to Mary Rose.

Adult Onset is one of those books that can’t be measured by plot. The narrative is urged forward by the compulsion of symmetry, not linear time, and so the story takes a beautiful, mirrored shape, rather than the parabola of a plot arc.  The central character, who is the line across which the shape of the story is reflected, is Mary Rose (“Mister” for short), a lesbian mother of two who used to write YA novels, but who has since traded roles with her wife in favor of home-making, giving her wife a chance to follow her career as a theater director.  Mary Rose has untreated anxiety that causes her to catastrophize everything in her life.  She has untreated anger that causes her to yell and throw things in front of her kids.  She is kind of a dick, to use the most accurate term, which causes her to ask her wife, “If she got the flowers?” when Mary Rose never sent any flowers (but feels like she might be in trouble if she doesn’t make some claim at a redeeming quality).  Mary Rose is also the heir to two generations of abuse.  Her maternal grandfather married a twelve year old child.  Her mother hit her and her brother (her elder sister had a different experience). Both parents rejected her in the most severe way when she came out as a lesbian in her twenties.  She has chronic pain from childhood bone cysts, a pain which leads her down the rabbit hole of memory as she tries to find some closure on a childhood that her aging parents don’t fully remember anymore.  

Adult Onset is a good book.  It’s a beautiful piece of art.  The structure of the novel is inspired, leaving one more than satisfied with the symmetrical beauty of it all.  The narrative about Mary Rose is inter-cut with glimpses from Mary Rose’s mother’s perspective, showing the reader not an old woman with memory loss, but the young mother struggling with postpartum depression she once was.  We also receive the perspective of the main character from Mary Rose’s popular YA book series, a young girl whose magical adventures were unwittingly inspired by Mary Rose’s trauma.  These snapshots of other points of view are unannounced, and even confusing at first - but therein lies their value.  Mary Rose’s identity bleeds into her mother and her main character, and the structure of the novel itself illustrates that.

Adult Onset is a good book.  It takes Mary Rose’s flaws, holds them before the reader, and says: motherhood is not easy, and you’re not a bad person for floundering. It explores where the line is, that makes a person irredeemable.  Mary Rose almost hits her toddler, and she thinks with horror - what if there is an alternate universe where she really did?  She thinks about her own life in those terms, considering that while she is the Mary Rose who was abused by her parents, perhaps there is an alternate Mary Rose who wasn’t.  She loves and defends her parents as if they didn’t pass her trauma down to her, as if she were the lucky Mary Rose - yet she still contends with the unhappy result. She asks herself: if her parents don’t even remember her childhood anymore, are they still the parents who did and said the things that hurt her?

Adult Onset is a good book, but it is also a book that very artfully dances around a concerning issue with its theme.  Herein lies the problem: Adult Onset gives itself an almost impossible task, that of fixing Mary Rose’s unhappy life into a somewhat happy ending.  Mary Rose almost hit her toddler, her marriage is on the rocks because she keeps yelling at her wife, and she refuses therapy to the bitter end.  The reader won’t be satisfied with the realism of the book if Mary Rose changes too much for the better, nor will the reader be satisfied with an unhappy ending.  In the end, Mary Rose doesn’t really change, so much as realize she can ask for help.  She asks a friend to come over and stay with her for a couple of days while her wife is out of town, and she has an all-day play-date with a mom from her son’s preschool - a mom who Mary Rose has always believed is perfect, but who whispers to Mary Rose, “You saved my life today.”  Mary Rose could have said the same thing, a fun little turn of the tables with the positive message that there is no perfect mother.  Women suffer far too much unaddressed misery, desperation, and shame (with dire consequences), but there is solace and reprieve in one another’s support. This one play-date, and the lesson therein, is the cathartic moment of the novel.

Yet one play-date carries a heavy burden, if it is to be the cathartic moment of a novel about abuse, infant mortality, anger, anxiety, lesbianism, and motherhood.  On reflection, a reader might be more horrified than satisfied, that a play-date is the only help Mary Rose is to receive. Perhaps MacDonald would agree, because after this play-date from heaven, Mary Rose’s life magically falls into place in all sorts of ways.  She’s the mom who has it together now, offering organic pretzels to the lesser mothers who forgot to pack a snack for the park.  She even makes peace with a memory of her father’s homophobia, satisfied by how far he’s come in the twenty years since.  Her wife, who hasn’t wanted sex over the course of the novel, suddenly changes her mind when she finds some lingerie that Mary Rose bought for herself (even though she didn’t even really want it). Mary Rose’s experience of gender is what some readers might call dysphoric, but Mary Rose herself calls “internalized misogyny.”  She feels like it’s wrong of her to be uncomfortable with womanhood, so when her wife tells Mary Rose to wear the lingerie to bed, reminding her with exasperation that “I’m attracted to women,” Mary Rose falls in line.  What a tidy ending! Motherhood? Resolved. Relationship with parents? Resolved. Sex life? Resolved. Complicated lifelong relationship to gender? Resolved.

This was the real key to my discomfort with the ending of the novel.  The message seems to be: if you’re about to self-destruct (taking your children down with you)... just get with the program.  At your breaking point? Just ask your friend to come over with spaghetti.  Just set up a play-date.  Just perform motherhood better.  Just perform womanhood better.  How sad is it, that this was all the book could give Mary Rose? If the theme of your novel is also the Nike slogan, it’s not as radical an outlook on life as one might think.

The weak ending aside, there are only a few such cracks in the perfect veneer of Adult Onset.  The Gen X humor is off-putting (What’s up with Facebook, ladies, am I right?), and Mary Rose obnoxiously discredits her wife’s bisexuality, saying “She refuses to call herself a lesbian.”  She still uses the word “transgendered,” too, which even word processors auto-correct these days.  And yet, for all its flaws, Adult Onset is a good book.  If you have anger and have ever been a hair's breadth away from hitting a child in your care - and let’s face it, this is the unspoken shame for many, many mothers - it’s a book that will make you feel seen, and understood.  The mothers that have hit their children in a moment - or months, or years - of weakness are seen too, in Mary Rose’s mother, who is neither torn down nor excused, but simply put to the page.

Adult Onset is a good book, yes, but do I recommend it?  Not to everyone.  It’s a frustrating book.  It covers topics that may be triggering. It’s a book that can, and probably will, ruin your day (Gen X humor just isn’t enough to cut the despair, folks).  On the other hand, it offers an underlying message that not every book can give you: Even if you didn’t solve the problem, even if you’re just barely hanging on by a toxic “Just do it!” attitude, there is grace for you.

For more from Ann-Marie MacDonald, visit her website here.

[angelsndragons]

Lost Times

Crack treated seriously! Kid!Horsemen and weirded-out pseudo-parents Crowley and Aziraphale.

Many thanks to @kedreeva​ and her Death’s Daddy anons for this little gem.

Read here or at AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905892

Most beings believe that Cain and Abel were the first children. They are not. But the only ones who know otherwise won’t say.

The thing is, what neither of them realizes until some six months after the whole garden debacle, is that their actions have far greater consequences than they knew. Crawly had given humanity Knowledge, Aziraphale had given them Will. And with these two forces, well, naturally, others follow. 

“Oh thank Somebody,” Crawly says in a rush as he dashes towards that angel. The angel isn’t alone and while that normally would be cause for concern, he is not accompanied by another of his kind but instead a pale, disconcerting-looking little being which might or might not be a mini-Eve. Indeed, it’s the being’s presence that sends a surge of relief through Crawly, as he has been accompanied by a disconcerting little being of his own since they parted. True, his has giant wings, is as black as the space between stars, and has a skull for a face so it’s not entirely the same thing. But Aziraphale had been willing to help him once and that was when they had nothing in common. Besides, he has heavenly contacts, surely one of them knows what the blazes is going on. 

Aziraphale blinks at him, at his little shadow, and sighs in relief. “You too, then?” he asks, hope dancing in his eyes.

He’s just as clueless as Crawly is. Dammit. “Yeah. Yeah, come here, let me introduce you,” he calls back to the little shadow, who winds himself around one of Crawly’s still unsteady legs. Aziraphale’s little one stares at Crawly’s then darts towards him and holds out a hand. It’s at this moment that Crawly realizes her hair is bright red, nearly his shade.

“I like you,” Aziraphale’s tells Crawly’s, a smile slashing her mouth. Crawly can’t decide whether it’s a good expression or a bad one. “Camael, but I’m thinking of changing it.”

 Azrael, Crawly’s...well, doesn’t say, because he doesn’t have a mouth, but the idea is close enough, as he extends a skeletal hand and takes Camael’s.

Aziraphale seems to be having a similarly indecisive moment, if the way he can’t take his eyes off of Azrael is any indication.

“There are fish in the river,” Camael continues, “I like stabbing them. Would you like to stab them with me?”

Why?

“Because it’s fun,” she whispers, red ringing her gold irises.

Okay, then. Azrael nods then steps out of Crawly’s shadow and lets Camael lead him over the nearest dune towards the waiting river.

“Be sure to give the fish to the humans,” Aziraphale calls after her, his only response a pair of raised fingers from her free hand.

He sighs as the little ones disappear from view. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with her,” he mutters, more to himself than to Crawly.

Crawly gapes at him. “What the blazes is going on? Because, I don’t know about you but-”

“Azrael?” Aziraphale asks, expression torn between amused and concerned.

Crawly rolls his eyes. Because of course that’s the important part here. And what can he say, really? That the little one, the shadow, had rejected all other attempts at naming him, complete with sulking and the silent treatment? That Crawly, in a desperate attempt to have something to call him besides shadow, threw out a mangled version of the angel’s name only for the little one to take to it like a duck to water? That the little one likes hearing their story over and over again? No way on Earth is he admitting to that.

“Oh, yes, I was just traipsing through life when this brand new thing pounced me, attached itself to my leg, and followed me for months. Of course my first thought was naming it after you,” he sneers.

Aziraphale takes his point with a blush and mercifully cuts Crawly off. “I beg your pardon.”

Crawly makes a face at him.

“So we really did create them. What do you suppose they’re for?”

“How the Heaven should I know? You’re the one with the Ineffable Plan.”

“Do the humans see the boy?” Aziraphale asks, determined to ignore Crawly’s mocking.

“Is that what he is?”

“Young humans are called boys or girls depending on their place in society,” Aziraphale explains primly, “and given that beings such as ourselves do not have young in the traditional sense, their words are as good as any.”

”Where’d you learn that?”

“There’s a human settlement a few miles from here.”

“Already?”

“They do move fast.”

“Not been around any humans since,” Crawly admits. “I don’t think they’d see him, though, not entirely. They don’t see your wings, do they?”

“They do not.”

“There you go. Might just see a small human.”

“I do hope so. The humans frequent that river.”

“And you let them go off alone?” Crawly does not yelp but instead voices his question at a very high pitch.

“She can take care of them,” Aziraphale says with a shudder. “She’s quite good with violence.”

“How’d you know?”

“Just trust me on that.”

What Aziraphale means is that when he and Camael had arrived at the human settlement, they were met with more than a little suspicion. The humans, having never seen a child that age before -all of their children were six months old exactly or had yet to be born, had hurled a few insults, and some pottery, their way before the girl had yelled and thrown pots back at them. Her victims hadn’t died but they did fall into a coma which Aziraphale had promptly and helpfully healed. The humans had given the pair a wide berth but hadn’t tried anything since. 

“Spirited thing,” Crawly says when Aziraphale finishes his story.

“And yours?”

Crawly shrugs. “He likes watching. And listening. Thinks a lot. Finds venomous creatures fascinating.”

This is because the being known as Azrael had existed long before the garden, just not in this form and not with his current ability to think, ponder, and experience. But Crawly doesn’t quite realize that yet.

“So what do we do?” he asks the angel, hoping he’s got an idea.

Aziraphale sighs. “I suppose we do as humans do. Raise them until they are grown then let them make their way in the world.”

“And if they’re like me?” The words leave him before Crawly can think them through and realize what he’s saying. He turns away from the angel. Silence reigns for a long moment.

“Then I will have my hands full, thwarting three of you,” he finally replies. Crawly chances a glance but the angel’s looking away too. Aziraphale clears his throat. “But I don’t think they will be. Like you, I mean. Or me. They don’t feel like it, anyway, they feel more...”

“Human,” Crawly agrees with a nod. Azrael reminds him of Eve, quiet and thinking and pondering. What little he’s seen of Camael paints her in Adam’s light, action and impulse and burning desire. The little ones aren’t human but they are closer than the angel and demon ever can be.

A shriek fills the silence.

“Father!” 

Aziraphale charges towards the river in a flash, simultaneously running and gliding. Crawly stays hot on his heels. Whatever’s bad enough to get that girl calling, Azrael’s right in the middle.

At the top of the dune, he takes stock, even as Aziraphale continues down to the river. First, there are half a dozen humans. Three women are cowering in the river, their babies crying on their backs. Three men, presumably guarding the herd of cattle stamping and drinking several meters downstream, are wading up towards the distressed women. And there, at the river’s banks, are their little ones. Camael is shrieking and pointing at something within the herd while Azrael lurches back onto the bank, something clinging to his back and wings. 

Aziraphale is already darting towards the herd so Crawly takes advantage of the chaos. He snaps his fingers and holds time, grunting and sweating with the effort. The mortals freeze. Aziraphale scoops a small, wretched looking being from underneath the legs of several startled cattle. Crawly rushes to the bank and pulls the reed-thin, fragile-looking, brown child off Azrael’s wings. The child kicks and fights him until Azrael quells their resistance with a dark look.

“I do believe we ought to take our leave,” Aziraphale calls to them, the tiny child being on his hip and reaching back for the cattle.

“Ya think?” Crawly snaps as he hauls his catch back the way they came, Azrael hot on his heels. Camael makes a beeline for Aziraphale instead of heading straight towards the dunes. 

For his part, Aziraphale waves his free hand and says, “You can release them now. They’ll think it a dream.”

“Not taking that chance,” Crawly calls back as the dark-skinned being finds their footing and decides they’d rather walk than be dragged. Crawly holds their wrist like a vise anyway.

“How long can you hold them?” Aziraphale asks as they meet. The child on his hips has nasty looking pox and sore scars across their body and deep bags under their eyes. At their whimper, Aziraphale miracles them a brown robe, does the same for the child in Crawly’s grip, the better to ignore all the bones Crawly can count under their skin.

“Long enough,” he says with effort.

“If we head north, we should be able to stay out of their reach,” Aziraphale says, “Granted, finding a new settlement might be problematic but-”

“My things, I want my things!” Camael snarls and stomps her foot, refuses to take another step. “We can’t leave them! They’re mine!”

Crawly wants to growl at her but with keeping the humans frozen, his focus is rather occupied.

“We can and we will,” Aziraphale orders, patience and experience leeching into his tone. “I will make you new things once we are certain we are safe.”

“No, they’re mine, I want them,” she yells and kicks his shin.

Enough, Azrael says, projecting a glare even though he lacks eyebrows and eyelids, or I won’t play with you anymore.

Camael scowls and crosses her arms but starts walking again. Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief. They walk for several miles before Crawly drops the freeze, heaving and stumbling as he does. Aziraphale places the pale child on the ground and reaches towards Crawly before abruptly aborting the movement.

“Do you, um, that is...”

Crawly shakes his head. “Let’s just keep moving.” He’ll worry about feeling the strain later.

Aziraphale, to his credit, purses his lip and frowns. “You could shift to a snake,” he says slowly, “You wouldn’t be that heavy.”

Crawly is about to refuse when Aziraphale says, “I would feel more comfortable if you recovered quickly. Treacherous area, this, even without those humans.”

Crawly sighs but shifts, conceding the point. The sand burns his sensitive underbelly for the brief seconds between shifting and Aziraphale picking him up. He winds his tail around the angel’s waist and settles his head on one shoulder, tongue tasting the air. Beyond the angel’s love, Azrael’s bones, and the new scents of the new little ones, he finds nothing out of sorts. Certainly no humans, thank somebody. Speaking of.

“What were you lot doing anyway?” he calls to the kids staring them down with yellow eyes.

“He was drowning,” Camael says, shoving the brown-skinned child.

“Was not,” the boy retorts, “Was looking at the leeches.”

“You were under the water and not moving forever,” the girl snaps. “You were freaking everybody out so Azrael tried to grab you and you pulled him under.”

“You did what?” Crawly hisses.

I was fine. He cannot hurt me.

Even so, Crawly’s offended on Azrael’s behalf. “You can’t go round grabbing people like that, especially if they’re trying to help you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s impolite,” Aziraphale adds, “Instead, tell them you are fine. Most will leave you be.”

“Whatever.”

“And you, white one, what’s your story?” Crawly asks. The kid’s moving a little slower than the others but seems otherwise fine, her fragile act seemingly just that.

“I like cows,” she says, like it’s all the explanation she need give. “And chickens and sheep. But cows are the best.”

There is something in her tone that sends shivers down Crawly’s too long spine.

“Chickens are stupid,” the boy needles.

“No, they’re not. They’re fascinating.”

“They’re stupid.”

“I think they’re good for wringing necks,” Camael interrupts their bickering, “They make the best noises.”

The boy rolls his eyes while the girl gazes into the distance thoughtfully. “I suppose they can be good dead, too.”

The entire conversation is giving Crawly the willies, Aziraphale too if his shaking head is anything to go by.

“So you decided to look at a whole herd of cows up close then?” he asks the girl.

“Oh, yes. I wanted to look at their mouths but they wouldn’t let me. That’s why they were cross.”

“Next time, ask the herdsmen for permission. They know their animals and can keep them calm for you,” Aziraphale offers.

“If you say so,” the girl replies with a shrug.

“Where are we going?” Camael asks.

“We’ll know when we get there,” Crawly says.

“That means you don’t know anything,” the boy says sagely then tilts his head and sniffs. “Nothing out here for miles and miles. I think there’s humans that away but they’re really far.” He points in the direction Aziraphale is already heading.

“How far, do you think?” the angel asks curiously.

“Thrice as far as we’ve traveled so far.”

“You have a good sense of things,” Aziraphale compliments as the kids go back to their strange conversations.

When night falls and Crawly can’t take any more of the strange bickering behind them, he shifts back into man-form and starts talking about the stars above them. The little ones are distracted for long hours, Azrael especially, as Crawly tells story after story of their creation, points out all the different constellations and different names for each thing in the sky. They run out of night long before he runs out of words, of course. 

They come across a caravan near noon. Aziraphale apparently knows the leader as he steps inside the man’s tent to converse with him. Crawly’s left to keep Camael and the boy from running off, the girl having decided that Azrael is the new most fascinating thing she’s seen and staying close to him.

When they exit, Aziraphale gestures at them to follow him, which they do, into a nearby, empty tent. He miracles a few things, bed rolls, blankets, rugs, cushions, and a few items Crawly doesn’t recognize but Camael does. She begins playing a rather violent game with them, dragging the others into a spirited fight between them.

“Omar has allowed us to remain with the caravan,” Aziraphale says lowly, “provided, of course, that I navigate for them and the rest of us assist them.”

Crawly raises an eyebrow. “And when they notice...” he gestures at Azrael’s wings, Camael’s violent game, the boy’s twig-like arms, the girl’s scars, and his own slitted pupils.

“He knows it’s temporary, just until the next oasis,” Aziraphale replies, just as lowly. His breath tickles Crawly’s ear. “If you have a better idea, I’m all for it.”

Crawly doesn’t. They could hide in the desert, of course, it’s not like they need food, water, or shelter. But the desert does run out of things to do and Crawly is supposed to report back some new devilish work before too long. Can’t really do it away from humans. And while the little ones are not human, they are young, in a way Crawly and Aziraphale never have been. At least with humans, who do have young who grow and change, there’s less chance of them missing something obvious. And if Aziraphale knows and trusts this group, well, at least they have a little breathing room before their next flight.

“Yeah, all right,” Crawly finally says.

“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale replies then hesitantly adds, “Omar believes you are my wife and they are our children. I did not correct him, should I?”

“If it makes it easier, who cares? They’re gonna need names, though,” he finishes, looking at the newcomers pointedly.

The boy will settle on Dumah, the girl on Kushiel. They will travel for a while, never remaining with one group for too long. They will cross Adam and Eve once more who, remembering the kindness bestowed upon them by the snake and the guardian, will insist on providing a home for the six, together with their two young sons. Dumah and Kushiel will bond over sheep, watch together when illness strikes the lead ram and Adam diligently, but fruitlessly, tries to save it. Camael and Cain will be thick as thieves, Azrael will hover over young Abel.

Life will be decent, for a while, as all things are. 

Things will end in tragedy two decades later, all of them scattered to the eight winds. They will meet again, of course, but will never be the same.

But there was a time, not a long one, when the four horsemen were young and protected by the godfathers of humanity. And, despite it all, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale can bring themselves to regret it.

[queenmorgawse]

i am in the birds that sing (i am in each lovely thing)

THIS FIC HAS SPOILERS FOR CHAPTERS 123-124 OF TGCF. as a disclaimer, though, i'm only caught up with suika's translation, so i don't know how these two actually end up. pls don't spoil me!! content warnings : suicidal thoughts / ....suicide equivalent? think what mo xuanyu pulled in mdzs canon. nothing graphic, but it's not lightly implied either. please take care! here's some soundtrack, if reading with music is your thing.  read on ao3 + end notes.

He Xuan,

This is a graceless beginning to a graceless letter, isn’t it? Of course, it hardly matters. I wish for you to never read this at all, so you can remain as happy as you can be. I don’t even know if this will survive my endeavor. If it has, and if you’re reading it, I urge you to fold it again and burn it. It will bring you no joy.

Why write the letter at all, then? The truth is, I am awfully lonely, these days, and this is hardly something I can simply tell my neighbour when I invite her over for tea. She’s a sweet young woman. I hope she fares well after this. I’ll have to ask her to leave the pinwheels where they are, and see that they don’t get blown away.

I keep getting lost in thoughts, but again, it doesn’t matter. All I have to waste is paper and time, and though I’ve spent much of one already, I shall not run out of the other before I am done.

I suppose I just want to clear my head and go...wherever I am going serenely, without dragging a heavy heart behind. I am also selfish in that special way humans are, and want to cling to the possibility, as infinitesimal as it is, that someone somewhere will know of me.

To the core of the problem, then ⎯ or, actually, the core of the solution.

I have a little divinity left in me, you see. Oh, not much ; figuratively, barely enough to fill a teacup. It will not keep me immortal, or give me my spiritual devices back. Ultimately, it will not save me, so I thought I might devote it to something that will be worth it.

I’ve been doing an awful ton of research. My brother attempted the impossible and, against all odds, succeeded. I made my best attempt at doing the same. There are many spells forbidden and forgotten to find, if one works with single-minded purpose.

I unearthed the one I wanted, after a while.

-

Shi Wudu’s sixth birthday goes by without a hitch. So does the year that follows it, and the next, and the next. He never presses his ear against his mother’s door, waiting with baited breath for a newborn’s first wail. There is no longer a nursery and no new cradle in the Shi family’s mansion.

When he leaves, stubbornly holding his head high as whispers and gossip surround him, what remains of his belongings tucked in the bag hanging at his shoulder, he leaves alone.

-

I thought of looking for a way to bring your family and fiancée back to life, at first. Then I realized that if they did, they would still be mortal, and your happiness would be fleeting. It was a great shame to lose them once ; it would have been a tragedy to watch them die again. I discarded that idea soon after I came up with it.

-

A group of children wades through the shallow current of the stream that runs like a silver ribbon around the town of Fu Gu. The boys rolled up their pants to their knees, the girls hiked up their skirts as high as they dared. They kick and splash water at each other, and the air rings with startled yelps and breathless laughter.

One of the girls latches onto the shoulders of the boy next to her and bears down with all her weight, dragging them both into the river. She bolts to her feet as fast as she can, expecting him to catch her and pull her back again, giggles and wrings water out of her soaked mess of a dress. Instead, he stares at her like he’s never seen her before, like she caught the sun shining high above them and set it into her smile.

Not for the first time, she is mesmerizing. For the first time, he is charmed.

-

When I found what I was looking for, it took me one year to translate it, then another to check it over again and practice. Aren’t arrays that must be drawn perfectly in a single line so very annoying? I had to make sure it worked.  

These are bold words from me, though. Even as I sit here, writing this, I do not know whether it will succeed. All I know is that I won’t be able to live with myself if I do not try.

-

Red robes rustle as the couple kneel and bow their heads before the family shrine.

There is no gold to line the bride’s veil, and the clothes themselves have been handed down three generations. But the joy ⎯ the joy they radiate changes everything. In that aspect, an emperor couldn’t dream of a lovelier wedding.

As is tradition, the bride and groom bow thrice : once to the heaven and the earth, once to the aging couples looking on with tears in their eyes, and once to each other. They rise to the sound of cheers, their hands still clasped in each other’s. The wedding party wishes them good luck, prosperity, healthy children, their words running together like songs.

Blessings come raining down on them, and the road ahead is endless.

-

Here is how it works : the only person who needs to disappear is me. The rest is all consequences, like ripples in a pond. Without me in the middle, there is no stone to be thrown, and the surface remains peaceful. There will be no newborn baby for a hungry spirit to latch on. My brother will never go to the lengths he did for someone who never existed to begin with.

You will have the life you should have had from the beginning, without knowing you ever suffered.

-

In a beautiful two-storied house, a young woman slumps against the bed frame, her face flushed, breathless but somehow glowing. The midwife hands her a small, wailing bundle. She takes it into her arms with infinite gentleness, cradling it to her chest.

The door opens. A young man in dark robes half runs, half flies into the room, a little girl on his heels. The child climbs onto the bed, babbling at her mother the entire time, while her husband leans over her, his gaze softening.

Three dark heads bend together, cooing at the newborn. The baby opens its eyes and chirps at them, small and soft. The mother starts to cry, while the girl whoops and claps until her father shushes her.

A few minutes later, another woman bursts into the room. Gege! she calls, then gasps. Oh, she’s so cute!

He Chunhua, they call the infant, for the spring flowers blooming outside the mother’s window.

-

It is a simple and elegant solution. The best I could come up with, anyway.

Don’t think I rushed headlong into this. I could have, as I rushed into many other messes ⎯ but I thought this time, neither ge nor you would be here to catch me if I fell, and so I proceeded as carefully as I knew how.

I made a list of everyone my disappearance might affect. Of course, my brother and yourself were the first. I used to be upset at this, but now, I am glad the other heavenly officials were never as fond of me as they claimed to be. Fewer ripples in the pond to mind.

I thought of all the prayers I answered over the years, the little demands and the big. But I trust that you, the version of He Xuan I never knew, are a good person, and that you will attend to your worshipers as I have to mine. Hopefully, you will also help His Highness in his time of need.

I suppose that with all this covered, there is not much more for me to say.

-

Three children tug each other by the hand. One is, to tell the truth, a teenager already ; the second doesn’t appear older than eleven or twelve, and the third is only a small boy, eight years old at most. The eldest leads them up the temple’s steps and into the semi-darkness.

There, the shadows are broken by thousands of candles lit by a steady stream of worshipers. Even now, as the dusky sky stretches into night, many still pray at the god’s feet. They ask for kind winds on their journeys, for good fortune for their businesses, for beneficial matches for their children. A hundred prayers rise into the sky, with the smoke of a hundred merits. All over the land, there are such temples, with such people sending the Lord Wind Master their wishes and hoping for his blessing.

The eldest sister lights an incense stick for each of her younger siblings. Together, they kneel among the other devotees.

Unlike the others, their prayers do not ask for anything. They tell the god about their mother, and how hard she’s been working lately. They talk about their grandmother, whose health has been improving a little with the death of winter, and about their grandfather, whose extraordinary resilience still has him running the family’s shop despite his old age. They talk about themselves, too ; how their education goes, the friends they’ve made, the life ahead of them.

It always ends the same way. Father, I hope you are doing well. We miss you very much.  

They will come back next week.

-

If you’ve read up until here, you have thoroughly disregarded the advice I’ve given in the first lines, and I must scold you for it. I understand, though. There are few things more tempting than the truth, once it has shown even a glimpse of itself. I hope this doesn’t upset you too much. You were in so much pain that first time ; even after all that has happened, I do not want to add to it, even in a lifetime where you will not remember.

Well, now you know. If this letter exists at all, that is. The person who wrote it was never here, so it is unlikely, but I cling to the childish hope that it will make it through somehow.

I don’t know what will happen to me. The ritual says very little, only that it goes against the rules of the world. I don’t know whether I will be able to enter the cycle of reincarnation again, or if it is forever barred to me.

What I said that day is true. I wanted to die then, and even now, I cannot bring myself to mind the idea. What changed since I left the island is that I decided I would rather not die in vain. If the letter survived, then at least one person in the world will remember my name. I’m quite happy with that.

I hope it doesn't hurt. I hope it feels just like falling asleep.

I want to say more, I really do. But, He Xuan, if you have read this to the end, I don’t want to burden you with anything you might feel towards the shadow of a ghost, be it hatred, or guilt, or (dare I hope) gratefulness.

Once again, I am sorry. The wrongs of this lifetime will never appear in yours, but I will remember them all the same. I cannot bring myself to forgive that version of you for what you did, no more than I can forgive myself for what I took part in.

It is all right, though. There will soon be a blank slate, a world in which neither of these things happened, and we are happy ⎯ or at least, at peace.

Just know that even though you might think I have done much for a stranger’s sake, you were the furthest thing from a stranger to me.

With hope once again,

Shi Qingxuan

-

In the middle of a convoluted array stands a forgotten god. Blood drips down their fingertips as they bend down to complete the circle with a swift, decisive stroke.

The dawn explodes into shards of light.

When the dust settles, the field is almost empty. A gentle spring breeze blows across neat rows of pinwheels.

All is quiet, and all is new.

[meretiic]

That’s [Rosalie Merit] not [Katherine McNamara]. She’s [24/166] years old and a [Heretic]. She may be adaptable, empathetic, & captivating but she’s also volatile, insecure &  deceptive.

About Me:

I’m not the best with talking about myself, so bear with me. I go by Liv, I’m 24 years old, and I live in the EST timezone. Pronouns are she/her. Um…I like to think I’m a fairly chill person, generally speaking. I’m not in school right now, but I do work the morning shift five days a week at a bagel shop. That means I’m usually up early, so I tend to head to bed early-ish as well. Exceptions being Friday and Saturday, as I don’t work weekends.

Oh! I also have a dog named Lucy, though we also call her Lucille cuz she’s an old lady. Yes, it’s a reverse nickname. Anyways, she’s a yellow lab, nine years old, and fully blind. But before you let that last bit get ya down, rest assured that she is still one of the happiest puppers you will ever know. A legit sweet baby angel.

Basics:

Name: Rosalie Evangeline Merit Species: Heretic Age: 24/155

Personality:

Rosalie isn’t nearly as hardened by her experiences as one might think. Instead of allowing that pain to fester and pull her towards the darker side, she always has done her best to rise above it and allow herself to be happy. Sometimes easier said than done, but she knows that her joy is truly the best way to get back at those who have wronged her(read: non-biological father, ie the man who raised her). That’s not to say she doesn’t occasionally let that inner darkness out. Her kindness is not to be confused with being weak, a lesson she is more than willing to make clear to anyone who might dare to cross her.

Quick Facts:

This bit is gonna be a mess cuz it’s just a quick jumble of facts

she’s done a few shows on Broadway

a couple back in the 1920s, and then again a couple of years ago

she’s a ripper like her biological father, which translates into both her bloodlust and tendency for siphoning too much from someone

it’s because of this that she tends to avoid siphoning living beings, as well as sticking to a diet of animal blood

even after her initial arrival in America, she never tried to find a coven, for fear of being outcast and hunted down simply due to what she was

she’s kept her species fairly hidden over the years, allowing people to believe she is either a witch or a vampire, but never letting them see that she is truly a combination of both

a good part of her life has been devoted to finding her biological father, as she knows that Mr. Merit wasn’t him

Background:

Rosalie Evangeline Merit was born in London, England in June of 1864 as the first siphoner to the Merit bloodline of witches. Though her mother survived the traumatic birth of the child, she was left in a weakened state from which she would never fully recover. Being the first of his family to produce such an abomination, not to mention one who held so few physical similarities to the rest of his children, Rosalie’s father began looking into the possibility that the girl was not, in fact, his. He came across stories of a group of witches born without magic of their own who instead drew their powers from others. He’d spend his whole life trying to discover whether or not it was one of them who had cursed his family with the magical leech he’d called his daughter.

To her credit, Rosalie did her best not to steal magic from her family, preferring to live without if it meant avoiding punishment. Brutal as the consequences were for harming one of her siblings, sometimes accidents happened. Her father, however, was less than willing to listen, often leaving her with scars as evidence of his wrath. It seemed even with all the effort the young girl put into trying to be good, fate was simply never on her side. Without proper teaching, she was never able to truly get a handle on her siphoning abilities, and one tragic night she lost control entirely and killed one of her brothers. Her first kill.

Rosalie immediately packed her things and fled her childhood home. Using what little magic she possessed, she charmed her mother’s ring with a cloaking spell that would keep her hidden from the Merits. There was no going back after what she’d done. So instead, she settled to find herself a means of making money in order to survive. Easier said than done. With no real prospects, she turned to the one place she knew most women could succeed. A brothel. It was likely the lowest point of her human life, but it sparked the beginning of what would be a thrilling next chapter.

Working in the brothel, Rosalie befriended a young woman named Dorothea. It was a connection that would offer the siphoned a new life. A favorite to many, Dorothea often found herself requested by a young man with a fetish for blood play. Odd, maybe, but it would turn out that the man was a vampire, intent on sharing his immortality with the mortal girl. She would agree, but only if he would also offer up his gift to her friend. He agreed, though only proceeded to turn Dorothea, as Rosalie was still unsure if this was a life she genuinely wanted. It was a choice that would be stolen from her by a man she had mistaken as a client. The year was 1888. The man, was Jack the Ripper.

Waking as a vampire was a strange sensation to say the least. For one, she felt hungry in a way she’d never experienced before, but beyond that…she felt powerful. Not just a physical strength either. No, for once in her life Rosalie could feel a limitless amount of magic coursing through her veins. It wasn’t something she was intent on giving up. Like most vampire, her first feed resulted in a kill, though she found it far easier than she’d imagined. Perhaps the man who had raised her - she now refused to refer to him as her father - had been onto something when calling her an abomination.

For so long she had restrained herself, and now she was finally free to live as she pleased. It was an idea that excited her. Her first plan of action, return to the Merit home to face her former abuser. He would not survive the encounter in his office, though Rosalie herself would discover the research he had been doing on witches like her. Claiming it for herself, as well as a sufficient amount of money, she would make her way to the docks and buy herself a ticket to America. A new life demanded a fresh start, and she felt no regret at leaving nearly everything of her past behind her in London. Only two things could tie her to that life; her birth mother’s ring, and the letters she and Dorothea would continue to write to each other even to this very day.

If you have any questions or would like to plot, feel free to hmu to chat !!

[a-crack-in-the-universe]

Book series I would 100% recommend

Anne of Green Gables: 

classic slice-of-life story about a young orphan girl who is adopted by an elderly brother and sister pair. Series follows her as she grows up in Avonlea and has to leave her childhood behind her. The last few books focus on her children. :)

Wicked Lovely series: 

An urban fantasy series about faeries living in a fictional city in modern-day U.S. Book 1, Wicked Lovely, features Aislinn, a young woman who can see faeries and is afraid of them. One day she discovers that a faery monarch is hunting her and she tries to figure out how to stop him and resume her normal life.  

The premise of the series is that faeries live hidden in our world and only a few mortals can see them. Most of these faeries are part of faery courts. There are four faery courts at the beginning of the series: the Summer Court, the Winter Court, the Dark Court and the High Court. Each court has its own traits and needs that are unique to them. For example, the faeries in the Summer Court are very joyful and carefree and need happiness to remain strong, and the Dark Court faeries feed on strong negative emotions such as fear and lust (and are also the faeries who view family as most important and precious).              

Each book focuses on different characters who have to deal with growing conflict between the fey courts, relationships, change and the consequences of what happened in previous books. I like how each book has three or four main POV characters that narrate events in the story, as it gives us different perspectives on story events and characters. 

There are themes of choice present. Each book stresses how important choices are, as characters make difficult and sometimes impossible choices to look after their court or someone they care about or even themselves. Balance is an integral theme in the story as well. Each faery court has a court that opposes them, and each monarch must have a corresponding monarch to balance them, lest they become mentally unstable.       

Kushiel’s Legacy: 

A set of three trilogies set in one fantastical world. The main setting is Terre D’Ange (fantasy version of France), where people are descended from angels and follow a precept of ‘love as thou wilt’. The first trilogy is about a courtesan/spy named Phedre who is cursed to feel pleasure and pain at the same time. At a young age she is adopted by a wealthy noble who uses her to spy for him. She eventually becomes involved in the political intrigues of Terre D’Ange and seeks to unravel deep-laid plots that threaten it.

The second trilogy focuses on Imriel, the son of two traitors. It’s a coming-of-age story, as Imriel has to deal with people’s mistrust and fear and learn how to navigate life as a royal prince. It’s also about love and finding yourself and dealing with trauma and loss.  

The third trilogy is about an Alban young woman named Moirin, who is half-D’Angeline and has magical powers from both sides of her ancestry. She travels to Terre D’Ange to meet her biological father and ends up on a quest to the Far East. This trilogy is set 100 years after the second one.

Deltora Quest/Three Doors trilogy/Rowan of Rin: 

A group of series set in the same fictional universe. Deltora Quest follows three companions as they go on a quest to free their kingdom from tyranny by finding the gems to the Belt of Deltora. Three Doors trilogy is about a boy named Rye who goes searching for his brothers after they go missing while trying to get rid of an enemy that is menacing their home city. He ends up inheriting a bag of charms and helps uncover a mystery.

Rowan of Rin is about a young boy named Rowan who is an oddity in his village (as he is physically weak and sensitive compared to everyone else who are tough and warrior-like) and is bullied because of it. One day the stream near their village runs dry and Rowan is forced to accompany the heroes that go up the Mountain to fix it. It turns out that Rowan is the person they need most of all.

Howl’s Moving Castle trilogy/Chrestomanci Chronicles: 

Fantasy children’s books by Diana Wynne Jones. Chrestomanci Chronicles deals with problems that children may face, such as child abuse, manipulation and neglect, as well as other stuff like not being taken seriously by adults and going to school. Howl’s Moving Castle is more fairy-tale like and is about accepting yourself, growing in confidence and finding your own path in life, while dealing with curses and enchantments.

Lumatere Chronicles: 

A trilogy focused two kingdoms who are cursed and in conflict with one another. First book focuses on Lumateran exiles as they try to return to their cursed homeland and retake it from the enemies who took over it. The second two books focus on the aftermath of the events of the first book and deal more with themes of racism and discrimination. They also focus more on Charyn (the enemy kingdom who takes over Lumatere in the first book).

My favorite books are the last two (Froi of the Exiles and Quintana of Charyn), because I love the new characters introduced in them. I love how a lot of the characters in these books are very flawed and broken but still love fiercely and live their lives to the fullest. I love how they strong they are and how they never succumb to their their trauma and heartbreak and they just keep going.

All of the books in this trilogy are hard reads, because they focus on very difficult topics (particularly trauma), but they are worth it. The characters in these books are very inspiring and human and I really love that about them. :D  

The Gallagher Girls: 

A series about a group of female spies-in-training who study at a school for spies in Roseville, Virginia. The books focus on Cammie Morgan (a pavement artist) as she finishes her final years of high school. First two books are pretty light-hearted, but the last four are darker and deal with more serious issues and conflict. There’s also a lot of good female representation and how women can be empowering and awesome.