1. Amor has finally locked the doors as per the very sad [Closing Announcement]. You should still be able to read threads and conversations (just in case you are late to getting things saved) up until AUGUST 1st. All subscriptions have also been cancelled so no one is donation billed for a dead site!


Discussion in 'Laboratory' started by Villains, Sep 21, 2017.

  1. To dump my useless profiles, blurbs, race tidbits, worlds, and whatever else.
    Occasionally smut. > 3>;
    Feel free to read/laugh/recoil.

    Things I write blurbs about: Space sluts, Fae sluts, Dysfunctional Fae clan dynamics, Slice-of-life scenes for villains who don't deserve to be happy.
    Things you can do: Read, rate, and/or PM me about ordering a commission. Yes, I'll peddle blurbs for cash.

    That K-list:

    Show Spoiler

    Reoccuring One Night Stands, DDLG, Aftercare, Casualness, Fingers in Mouth, Collars, Dirty Talking, Masturbation, Underwear Bulges, Very Experienced Partners, Love Marking / Affectionate Bruising, Uppity (Expresses an interest in engaging in an RP in which the submissive and/or bottom character is combative and disobedient in any number of ways.), Story Driven, Anal Sex (Recieving), Giving Oral Sex, Receiving Oral Sex, Throat Penetration, Gagging, Vaginal Sex, Cunt Worship, Swallowing Semen, Soft Cum Facials, Sloppy Seconds, Internal Cumshots, Creampie, Non-Consensual Scenes, Sexual Restraints, Master / Submissive, Master / Slave, Master / Pet, House Toy (Refers explicitly to the use of a submissive by a predetermined group or set of dominants that share the submissive.), Discipline / Punishments, Spanking, Begging, Sadism / Masochism, Choking, Hair Pulling, Ice / Snow, Sexy / Slutty clothing, Smoking, Suits, Gags, Twincest, Master and Slave, Ageplay (Older men for younger women), Human Cocks, Monster Cocks, Anatomically Correct, Curvaceous, Large Breasts, Large Cocks, Lycanthropy, Demons, Vampires, Incubi, Shower / Bath, Sleep/Dream Scenes, Nightclub / Bar Scenes, Nonsexual Roleplay, Biting, Cock / Balls Worship, Double Penetration,Extreme Tightness, Heat / Estrus, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Male Partners, Older Partners, Prostitution/Sex worker, Pseudo-Rape, Size Differences (1 - 3 feet), Triple Penetration, Twins/Clone, Coercion / Blackmail,Titfucking, Hatefucks, Moral Opposites, Deep Plot, Long-term.

    #1 Villains, Sep 21, 2017
    Last edited: Feb 28, 2018
    • Long story short, she was a mage locked away in a tower on the outskirts of a ruined civilization, and a foreign power sent their version of Templars to purge the land of the wickedness within this tower. Three stalwart defenders arrived to do the deed but ended up running a train on bad girl Vian.

      In case it isn't obvious, the thread was pretty much pure smut from start to finish - ended abruptly after each of the three had thoroughly used Vian. Real life pulled the plug on a continuation, but Vian lives fondly in memories and over here.

    • Large hands, warm and encompassing, hugged her hips so she was level with the tip of Red's cock. Vian couldn't help but shudder in anticipation as he pulled her lower, the thickness of his bulbous head spreading her lower lips so the hint of her excitement trailed slick juices across the sensitive flesh. Parting for his presence, her wanton hole was penetrated ever so slowly, allowing the thick member to mold her inner walls around his circumference, shaping her taut sex to wrap hungrily about his cock. Inch by inch, he was swallowed in the depths of her heat, given a mere taste of the pleasure she offered the towering figure beneath her. He felt powerful, and the mage drank in his strength, her hands instinctively positioning themselves palm side down so she could lean inward with the motion. Still, the magic was potent, filling the enclosure of the curtained bed with demands of flesh; demands to act with craven intent.

      From behind, Blue waited not a second longer than he needed to before spreading her ample cheeks so his cock could prod exploratively against the compressed ring of muscles. Her entrance resisted him only briefly, though such resistance was met by his fervor, an appetite she admired in any soul who found themselves in her bed. When he thrusted, her tight confines expanded for his throbbing girth, pressing the thin skin between her two thoroughly filled orifices so the men felt one another invading this magical creature in their mutual grasp. Her company was accidental, but they were willing. Beneath false doctrine and hasty vows made to appease their superiors, Vian knew they wanted to enact their hedonistic natures. She was their savior, their salvation, burning away the web of lies with an awakening of flesh they never knew was possible. Every man deserved to feel the delicate undulations of a woman wrapped tightly around their shaft, and for these three, Vian fully intended to divulge in her personal conquests while her companions endulged in one last hurrah.

      The two penetrating her dripping cunt and her stretched asshole complimented one another so well, Vian almost forgot about the third of the men, with his cock coming to press tight to her lips. Obliging his need with her own, Vian's lush lips parted over the smooth skin of his crown to feel his pulse along the tip of her tongue. While he teased her with a mere taste of his precum, the mage explored the underside of his taut foreskin, her skilled tongue tracing the outline of where the skin had been cut and fashioned; sculpted so beautifully, in fact, she questioned how he could be wasted on the likes of the Templar Order. Men, despite how she yearned for them in the darkest reaches of her cursed homeland, were fools. These three were proof enough, content to be used by her for debasing, carnal instincts stripping the last shreds of doubt from their once trained minds. Warriors they were, but beneath the guise of honor, they were just meat. Hers to play with, to fuck until they were mindless and empty husks.

      A smile threatened to slip over her spread maw, but it wasn't alloted the time to form, replaced by a throaty moan that caused the back of her tongue to reverberate against Yellow's tip. Red pulled away while Blue pushed, tensing Vian's desperate insides so she was strangling both the men's engorged cocks. Red, in particular, was so large that he had to work to sink his throbbing member as far into her depths as he could reach, which had the Elf riding his lap to grind eagerly with the pace. For Blue, he could feel how her body tried to push him back, invaded and ever tight around his lubricated shaft. When she whimpered, overwhelmed by how stuffed the two had managed to make her slutty holes, Yellow muffled the ecstatic cries from their mistress, able to indulge in her moans as they were made around his thick cock. Every lash of her tongue, with the watering of her mouth, his to fuck until she was choking around his fat head lodging itself into her constricting throat. Vian didn't care if she cried, her sniffles a charade forced from her excited lips while she sucked hard along Yellow's cock to match the rhythm of the three men. Three sets of hips demanding she bend to their whims, three cocks looking to fill her warm holes with their seed.

      Vian lulled in her enthralled state, overloaded with stimuli and possessed from every angle she was capable to take. Blinking back her tears, she even looked up to Yellow so he could watch how her eyes lit up while he fucked her mouth, the bobbing of her head making sure she took him all the way to his base so none of his thrusts were put to waste.

    • I Love This I Love This x 1
    • Rhailo is one of my absolute favorite characters, but her story is often interrupted by falling out with old RP partners. Some of her story was entirely destroyed, but other storylines are intact despite being incomplete. Regardless of these issues, she's always been a character I loved to write for. Her reactions and interactions always felt right. Whether she was romancing a Mandalorian or earning the affections of a wayward Terran, she fit the situation and rolled with the punches - both literal and figurative.

      In short, Rhailosiobhan Destros is an Auroun from the planet of Ixxin'lo. The race is best known for their pale skin, eyes, and hair - as well as their incredible use of psionics. Rhailo has great potential but is undeveloped as a psionics user, and it gets her into trouble when she attempts to overstep her skill barrier. She has several bounties on her head, a slew of enemies who'd rather do the job themselves, and she's always looking for more trouble wherever trouble seems like the most fun. Fragments of Rhailo's adventures can be found here, here, and here among my other blurbs.

    • A silhouette lingered before it was lost like a shadow at high noon, replaced by the hunter's set of features she had seen so briefly before, she was almost surprised. Almost. He didn't even ask to join her; he just stepped in, and immediately made himself comfortable in her presence. Looming. Rhailo was mid objection when his his lips were on hers, hungry. Carnal. For a split second, warnings flashed through her consciousness to continue their objections while his grip put a stop to her pleasuring digits. Back against the shower stall, all the Auroun could do was close her eyes and let herself be taken. It wasn't necessarily consensual, it just was. Demanded from her. He was taking what he intended to pay for, and as the woman ran her tongue against his bottom lip, it was apparent she was willing. So they worked now on a bartering system-- To ensure her safety, she would give him just what he craved. The politics of the matter were as old as the act itself; there was no shame in the use of sex as a commodity.

      Especially when one was left without a choice. Perhaps, had the Auroun wanted him to snap out of this animal state, the hunter would have. Demagol was a warrior of an order older than some races, and despite their work in bounty hunting, there was a code of ethics. Honor. They weren't rapists... so he already knew Rhailo had no intention of screaming or trying to break away. As Demagol tasted her parted lips, one might assume he was asserting his dominance, and in such, it was left as her burden to either accept this, or to fight him for the position. Rhailo was too tired to fight. That was the excuse she would use if ever prompted over it. She was too tired to fight, but also too aroused to want anything more than to be fucked by her mysterious savior. After all, wasn't he something of that sort, having rescued her from a bounty she would never have been able to pay off otherwise?

      A soft whimper left the woman when his lips pulled back, but he soon was moving her in a circle to face the wall, where she rested her features sideways so he could see her profile. Quite abruptly, muscular arms held her against the surface, pinned. Rhailo wouldn't be going anywhere until he was finished with her, even if that meant the Mandalorian would have to hold the Psion to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. A strong hand guided her hips away and out, ensuring her ass was available for him to linger over in great detail. The shower was unrelenting, just coating the pair in a wash of warmth, and the woman savored the heat on her fatigued muscles. All that running, and now she was spread, wanton for his affections. The head of his member prodded and Rhailo shivered, realizing what was happening as her expression shifted to a hazy screen of lust. The male was privy to her portrait, catching how she bit her bottom lip secretly when he pressed the head of his cock along a meaty cheek to test the waters.

      Maybe just to prove that he also could tease a response out of her.

      There was no pause to Demagol's pace. Just when she was getting comfortable in the embrace of his grip, the head of his cock slid along the curve of her nether lips to part them, then forced its tip in that tight, lubricated hole of hers. Rhailo couldn't stop herself from emitting a series of lilting murmurs, her lashes fluttering before they shut to him. All she wanted to feel was how his cock spread narrow walls, making her body fit him. It was all muscle memory, taking his throbbing member enough times that her cunt knew just how to please him. In time, he'd have her trained. For now, the Auroun was tensed ever so slightly while the hunter sank deep in her folds, driving himself to bottom out while her plump rear spread teasingly at his waist. Just as he wanted, the Mandalorian had her to himself, and the muscles within wrapped pleadingly around the girth of his piece. Sometimes, the constricting muscles seemed so taut and strained around his cock, it felt like they could push him out.

      Maybe they were trying to, but the Auroun personally wasn't. On the contrary, her hips worked to grind where they sat at the base, daring him to go further. To fuck her hard. When a craned visage moved to bury teeth in her neck, Rhailo cried out; the sound shifting from sharp pain to a purr of longing. Throaty, desperate desire. Stretched around his cock, she was as expectant as she was frightened. The edge of danger always seemed to get her juices flowing, and where he was making idle thrusts to drill into the Auroun, her breasts were shoved into the wall he used as a brace for them. Her sounds were quiet, panting murrs of praise, fed with each shift of his hips. Repetition just seemed to tense her figure, making his motions through her tight sex that much harder as the cluster of inner muscles kneaded at the length.

      Possibly blind to much of what was happening, all her senses seemed to focus on where he invaded her between parted thighs. Even when his mouth released her throat, Rhailo gave little more than a faint sigh while listening. Hopeful to hear more as he growled under his breathe a name she wouldn't soon forget. The barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips as she replied with a defiant whisper, "You know my name.. Fuckin' prove it."

    • <Yes, there was a great deal of bleeding, though nothing vital was hit.> Pouting, snowy lashes fluttered as she went on to say, <But I didn't think you had done it intentionally, you know? I thought it was just reflex because of what had happened to your friends.> The woman paused to take a deep breath, her shoulders shuddering with the action, which in turn brought the weight of her breasts to heave with her breathing. It was difficult for the Auroun to imagine she was finally able to converse with Arken, but her nervousness was testing her patience, and she didn't wish to seem vapid on the eve of their introductions. Rhailo blinked again, realizing there had been no actual introduction to speak of; only the vaguest notion of a rescue.

      <My name is Rhailosiobahn,> Fidgeting, her hands drew up the cascade of her wavy hair to gingerly shake free dried vitae remnants. <But everyone calls me Rhailo. It's easier, I guess.> Scooting to the edge of the bed, the woman rose lithely from the sheets like a specter in the darkness. Next to Arken, she didn't feel very tall, though she wasn't childishly short either. It was comfortable where she need only tip her chin slightly to continue staring into the depth of his icy hues, their neon details a maze of circuitry Rhailo wished she was capable of exploring. She bit her bottom lip at the thought, glancing away quickly to lead towards the far wall of her bedroom, though it appeared there was nothing of interest where she stopped.

      <Yes.> Absently, a set of digits danced against the paneled wall in a practiced manner, which caused the wall to part seamlessly to reveal a compact shower stall built in an oval shape. It wasn't large enough to house more than two occupants, and even then, it would be a tighter fit than Arken might have expected. <If that isn't an issue, of course. It takes roughly a day to fill the water tank, and I would rather not wait that long if I can help it.> Shifting uneasily as she noted his hesitation, Rhailo added in a far softer voice, <You seem unhappy about it...> All those fantasy situations involving the human were starting to feel incredibly selfish, and the Auroun knew the guilt accompanying the thoughts was more than willing to show itself in the moment.

      <Maybe we can take half showers, for now, if you'd rather, and we can just wash the blood and the dirty away.> Forcing a smirk across her lips, she didn't feel nearly as confident as the gesture suggested. <But it's easier just to go in together, isn't it?>

      Returning to the task at hand, the Auroun faced away from Arken, giving him ample time to take in the curve of her rear as she bent to turn various nobs. For a long moment, she seemed preoccupied, though most of the preparation work was actually just Rhailo scolding her choice of wording as though she had somehow chased away the male before there was any chance for them to make a connection. A substantial connection, which differed from him simply staying in the same housing unit as her. His association was still foreign, his reasons for being there completely related to Rhailo's desires. She wanted to save him from the second she glimpsed his existence in her dream, and now he remained thanks to that instinctive inclination, but it wasn't enough.

      Rhailo wanted Arken to feel welcome, and to stay of his own volition.

      Eventually, Rhailo pulled back from the shower doorway just long enough to grab towels from a matching compartment nearby, setting them aside for future use. Looking to Arken, she took several steps backward into the stall, nodding gently to indicate it was safe for him to do the same. <It's okay,> the woman pressed through the telepathic link, <we can be quick.> Water soaked her back first, coming in a heavy wash over the crown of her head so the follicles fell flat where they lay plastered to her milky skin, but her eyes remained open to study his reaction. If he chose to strip and join her, the compartment door would seal behind him, leaving them in the mutely lit shower together.

    • I Love This I Love This x 1
    • Chance Arden is the OC most people would associate me with playing. The villain that helped spawn Villains as a persona and preference in characters. Way back in the good ol' days, anyway. Less now, but that doesn't mean Chance hasn't been to hell and back when it comes to her story. She's been beaten, raped, sodomized, molested, strangled, stabbed, shot, half eaten, cheated on, robbed, lied to, tortured, and murdered - but she's done worse. That's always been the great appeal of one Chance Arden.

      No matter what consequences might await her, Chance is always Chance... even if it kills her.

      For those unfamiliar, Chance Arden is a homebrew Fae. I have a whole huge thing with Fae/Faeries and their clans and their lore (as I've created it), so it's easier just to tell you there is too much for anyone with limited free time to look into. If you're super curious, ask. I'll link stuff and share stuff with you on a by request basis. For now, accept some Chance here.

    • Chance lived in the dark side of the station. Catcalls and sticky floors; the kind that audibly suctioned to the bottom of her stilettos. Her skirt’s hem was always too short. No matter where she intended to go, she took a clutch purse, the strap swinging lazily in time to calculated clicks against metal grating. The air was sterilized for the hub city, but that didn’t help the ground level industrial sectors, and those occupying lower levels shielded their faces with personal ventilation masks. Chance stood out without trying - no mask, no inkling of concern for potential hazards in the atmosphere. The world might change, and her living situation could very well cease to be considered normal, but Chance Arden rarely approved of seeming mundane.

      Change was good. Or, someone had told her that was the case. In her case, it wasn’t always favorable.

      Despite constant smog and the Technicolored haziness of the lower sector’s red light district, Chance looked impeccable. Hence the obscene sounds the passerbys made, their muffled hoots and shouts of hyped masculine encouragement bringing a feigned blush to her cheeks. Had she really expected anything different? Another night, another set of rounds to make. Her life wasn’t all about looking good. On the contrary, there was business down in the belly of the station, and the Fae had obligations to meet. There were countless limitations to being Fae, but her least favorite involved contracts and those she had made were very few and far between. It was best this way. The last thing she needed was additional baggage regarding liaisons and their significance in her otherwise private life.

      When one had a face the public recognized, it was best to keep it from shady venues like the one she was approaching. Unfortunately, Chance had never been particularly concerned with catching the public’s eye. Fantastical beings were newsworthy. How could she possibly avoid leaving a trace when the future was one of surveillance and totalitarianism? Preposterous thinking was that Chance might somehow manage to avoid every scrutinizing sighting for the sake of her watcher. Lauri would be forced to work twice as hard to squash the rumors that circulated, but Chance needn’t waste time tip toeing through the contained orbital metropolis.

      Benji Ruy had been, at one point in his career, the best-known prize fighter this side of the galaxy. Had he not lost a fight against a start up named Leo Oskatar, he would be in the high-rises towering above the red sector, snorting coke pixie dust off some mega model’s nipple. As history went, he lost, and the dominoes all fell one after another until Benji was resorting to working as a hired thug used by one of the local syndicates. His only way out was to forget his past, and resort to a life of crime he actively opposed for decades prior. His saving grace came in the form of one very familiar blonde. Long legs, an ass to write anthems over, and the best set of tits he would likely see in his prolonged life. He had never cum so hard in his life.

      For Chance, he was another mediocre morsel put on her plate, though his open admittance post coitus left her feeling generous.

      Tumbled in motel room sheets, the room was pitch black save for the light Chance’s eyes produced, though as she listened to Benji, the glow dimmed with the closing of her lids. “I really want to fix what I fucked up.” He muttered between inhales of his cigarette. “Ya know, losing wasn’t the real end for me. It was losing everyone close to me. Used to have, uh, a family in the ring… Guys I trained with, the dudes who popped up to learn a thing or two from a champ. Fuck, I miss feeling like I could help someone.”

      “What’re you mumbling about?” When she asked, she didn’t sound nearly as eager to hear as she may have been, though he ignored the rudeness for explanation’s sake.

      “I was a boxer a few years back, and I keep thinking I could get back into it.”

      “Why did you stop?”

      And so the story was shared, which Chance Arden accepted as a cause to pledge minor allegiance to for the time being. Life for the notorious blonde had been excruciatingly dull for several months aside from a murder or two to sate Loe’s appetite, which meant the Fae needed a hobby. A pastime. A project. So, a Benji would suffice.

      “Would you like my help, Benji?”

      Biting into the filter of his cigarette to capture it for steady holding, the male struggled to seat himself against the headboard. His muscles visibly ripped, his body nude and scarred like every fight he had ever been in was written across his flesh. Chance liked how weathered he appeared, his features those of someone in their late thirties while his body seemed built upon youthful vigor and childhood promises. His dreams still clung to a battered body, and in her lust for such attributes, Chance felt spiritually nourished by his cause. How this was possible, she hadn’t the faintest idea. What she knew was he would need a contract, and for that to happen, he would need to be prepared. His silence didn’t satisfy the Fae.

      “Benji, what if I told you I could help you - and all you need to do is start stroking your cock for me.” Eerie blue hues flickered open, though this time, the light was directed over her companion’s lower half. Muscled thighs were spread, one hand resting atop the leftmost. He visibly shifted as his other hand took the dying cigarette and directed to towards a crushed end in the bedside ashtray. “I mean it, you know.” Chance added with the ghost of a smirk stealing her features. “Unless you don’t want to give it a shot…”

      “You’re a crazy broad, you know that?” But he smiled almost enthusiastically as his now free hand gripped his member like a man seasoned in self-satisfaction. “Gonna watch me get off, and that’ll solve my problems? Sure you don’t wanna go again? I could definitely go again-” A few solid strokes, and Benji was back to his usual veiny girth, which Chance knew had fucked hundreds of women before his inevitable fall from fame.

      “Oh, we’re going again.” Chance moved fluidly as she rose from the sheets, her body little more than shapes without any lights in the room. Her gaze was fixated on his form, on what he was doing, and there wasn’t much thought to whether he needed to see her body to reach peak performance. Teasingly, she crawled over his lap and rose to her knees, letting him feel the heat of her sex over the head of his cock. “And this time, you need only to tell me what your heart desires most. Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you what I want - my one desire from you… And we’ll make a contract. We’ll be bound, Benji. You’ll be mine, and I will be yours.” Until the contract is fulfilled. That’s the part she never bothered to elaborate on, being she was a horrible being hellbent on ruining lives rather than save them. Still, he got the gist of what she offered.

      His skepticism must not have been as obvious as it seemed on his expression because in the wake of her body tempted his now throbbing erection, Benji Ruy nodded. “if it’ll get you back onto my dick, I’ll do it. I’ll be your daddy-”

      This would be the one time Chance paused, and it was to cover Benji’s mouth with her palm to whisper. “You’re not my daddy, and he would be very upset if you called yourself such.” Perhaps this would have been the time for awkwardness, but Chance was trying hard not to think of Eneru, and fucking someone else helped in the moment. Briefly. At least, it would have helped had he not mentioned that word like he knew what it meant to the woman. Her eyes closed to once more enhance the feeling of Benji pushing through her tight folds, but her mind was increasingly focused on other things. First, on Eneru’s cock. On the way it stole her breath right from her throat when he held her down and didn’t ask which hole he could claim. Then, onto what it meant to be entirely safe for one sweet moment. On to what they had been before their lives took separate paths.

      Chance moaned and released Benji’s mouth to catch hearing his groans, but her mind formulated imagery favorable to what she truly wanted. Her hips were held, his grip slamming her ass downwards so it spread over his thighs, and his fingers kneaded into the supple flesh in attempts to further spread her cheeks. Each thrust he succeeded to make upwards was only to close the gap Chance created when she pushed away with her knees. Her lips met his, and while she kissed him, Eneru was in the forefront of her thoughts. Over and over, she moved with practice a human wouldn’t have nearly enough life to perfect, and Benji reacted as was expected. He sped up, hardly willing to take the time to appreciate his prize; she tasted his greed and relished in it. “Tell me now, Benji…” It was a whimper, a coo - the sound of a woman enthralled. She wanted to hear his words to seal the contract. “What do you want?”

      “I-I want…” He groaned, his features twisted as he tried not to lose his concentration, and finish too quickly. “I want to start a gym and… Oh god, you’re so fucking tight. I could fuck you straight for a week, you fucking slut. God, I-” Chance kissed him again to stop his list of demands before they escalated any further, though when he seemed at the peak of his climax and the twitches of his cock became inevitable, Chance mouthed, “Eneru.”

      The warm gush of his cum leaking from her filled cunt was exhilarating in ways Chance had yet to get tired of, though when she orgasmed, the credit belonged elsewhere. If she had a nickel for every faceless fuck who had brought her back to her roots without knowing it, she would be twice as rich. Her body eased weakly against his chest, and Benji was gentle. He held her in his lap, even if she would much rather it be someone else keeping her close. This time, when her eyes closed, they would stay closed for the remainder of their evening. “You’ll have it all, Benji. Back on your A game, champ.”

      “I like that… Like when you call me champ.” He panted, smelling of cigarettes and sweat and raw sex. Chance didn’t seem to notice.

      “I can give you that much… Champ.”

      Chance walked into the gym like she owned the place. In her defense, she partially did. How else would she have held up her end of the bargain? The week of straight sex had been the hard part, but only because Benji kept trying to get emotionally attached, and Chance didn’t need a lover. The whole thing had been something of a bore. Now though, it was prime time to cash in on her end of the bargain and her mood at present couldn’t have been a better one. Ignoring the various equipment and scattered weights left scattered about, she headed towards the back office and opened the door without bothering to knock. Benji was hunched in his chair over a tablet, his finger flicking absently over the digital face. “Closed, bud. Sorry ya didn’t catch me earlier.” When he looked up after the door remained open, his mood shifted slightly to express an almost grateful smile. “Oh, Chance. Ya caught me off-guard.”

      “I’ve heard that before.” The Fae mused quietly as she retrieved a small envelope from her purse. Extending it towards the male, she nodded slowly. “I’ve come for my part of the contract.”

      His eyes ventured to the letter, then back up to Chance, before he took it from her hand. “Yeah? Don’t tell me you want someone dead… I’ve never been a killer. I just don’t got it in me.”

      “No, not dead. Actually, you’re just going to play messenger for me.” The Fae explained when the note had exchanged hands. “Deliver this to who I ask you to deliver it to, and we’ll be even. Completely square.”

      “You throw close to a million credits at me, and you want me to deliver a note? Really?” Placing the object of interest on his desk, his palms rose to brush over his features. “Are you sure this isn’t like, I dunno, a hit notice? Fuck, you’ve got me panicking and I-”

      “No, champ.” Chance replied, her demeanor calm and her voice remaining airy and light. “Nothing to do with anyone dying.”

      “Then who am I gonna be giving this to?”

      “Oh, you’re going to give it to Daddy, of course.” The mask of calmness split into an all too pleased grin. “I just heard he’ll be on the station in a few days.”

      The air around them was suddenly thick with jealousy, which immediately sparked a sense of wanton deep in the Fae, though she would do her best to ignore its presence. “Why can’t you fucking give it to him?”

      “That wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining. A woman must remain mysterious, after all. Besides, you can believe that he’ll find me when he reads it.”

      Benji snorted before expelling an audible sigh of disappointment. “I know I can’t give ya anything you don’t already have, but couldn’t you give me a better job than tracking down some guy you haven’t fucked in a while? What makes you think he isn’t avoiding you?”

      Chance clicked her heels with every step, hard against the off-white flooring, before resting her rear on the corner of the desk. “He has been avoiding me, actually… But when he knows I know he’s around… Well, that’s when the fun starts. He won’t be able to pass me up. Now, this is your side of the contract- can I trust you to deliver this to Eneru Killian?”

      Begrudgingly, Benji nodded and waved a hand before lighting up a cigarette. “Fine. Fine? I’ll do it, alright?”

      Quickly, Chance leaned towards the ex-boxer and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Check your email for the address. Just, you know, don’t fail me.” Or else.

      Chance left the same way she had come, feeling accomplished for the first time in almost a year. Time moved so slowly here with the mortals, so when an event as important as Eneru’s arrival introduced itself into the mix, Chance felt obligated to put forth her best effort. Of course, she had never specified Benji couldn’t read what she had written, though the words would mean little, written in a language long dead. Still, Eneru would understand. If nothing else, he would appreciate the sentiment - or completely detest it. Either way, he would come to her.

      ‘Remember when I cooked for you? Let me do it again. I’ve gotten much better since the last time. I promise.’

    • Sometimes her memories were less sketched out than the minimalist exhibits she had seen in Paris and Prague. Everything had a tendency to fade over time, or simply overlap in a grandiose smashing of events and details and misplaced facts that weren't necessarily untrue, but not entirely true in that sequence. It wasn't so important to remember everything as it happened, but to recall the importance attributing from the memories. Faces that deserved recognition. Tragedies she had caused or had lived through. Those whom she loved and, more importantly, those who had slighted her. If anything was true, the Fae would hold her grudges to her grave, so long as the memories tied to them were kept intact. With every passing year, the lesser of the offenses became little more than scrambled recollections while their more severe counterparts were emboldened. Exaggerated.

      Chance never had a problem exaggerating her distaste for someone, Zeno Ralin being one such individual slippery enough to have evaded her wrath. Yet, he was one she refused to forgive and forget.

      It was a cold, bitter New York winter when Chance Arden blew in on the chill of January air. Her body was hidden beneath furs, mink and stoat, the color of the snowy city. The eighties were a flashier time for the Fae, and her extravagance may have peaked at this point, accentuated by the car service she hired to escort her through the local nightlife. Discotheques or pubs or downtown theaters, none of it mattered to the creature where she rested in the back of the Bugatti. It's elongated seat hosted her nonchalance, knees crossed and cocaine spread like the plowed city sidewalks across her topmost leg; hovering features were lowered to snort the lines as the driver chimed information in a drone of cheeriness.

      "-lacking proper attire, but they usually manage to sneak their way in. Is that where you would like to go, Ms. Arden?"

      Attention was something Chance rarely gave to anyone unworthy, so his words were ignored in favor of another line. The only sounds leaving the back of the vehicle were the short, clean inhales of the Fae.

      "Ms. Arden, we're leaving the main strip. Would you like me to take us back the way we came?"

      Knuckling her nose with a drowsy shake of her head, Chance righted herself and sat back. "Take me somewhere dark."

      "Dark, Ms. Arden? What do you mean?"

      The driver was new or just plain confused by her vague requirements, so Chance explained her thoughts with a sigh. "I want to go where all the street urchins drink. Take me to the shittiest bar in this shitty city, and make sure you hurry. I'm hungry."

      As was required of him, the driver found his way to the slummiest area of the city, though he asked repeatedly if she was entirely sure. Of course she was sure. Fucking of course. Had she stuttered? Had there been some sort of miscommunication? Chance's sneer was enough to end his commentary for the rest of the trip, leaving her to finish the final bump of her stash and relax for the remainder of the drive.

      The bar she was dropped off in front of was hardly more than a door slightly askew on rusty hinges. Ushering the car away with a wave of her hand, she made her way towards the stoop where a litter of cigarette butts and broken glass greeted her. Heels crunched absently over the trash while she entered, and the dim of the establishment hummed with muffed music from the radio. Several faces turned to take her in, with those furs and the accompanying woman a focal point of discussion, but none bothered to make any sort of approach. There was something intimidating about Chance, with those lush lips poised in a small smirk of satisfaction.

      Reaching the bar, she took a seat and beckoned for the bartender, who looked more like the killer in a slasher movie than any employee should. "Sazerac."

      "Dun' got it."

      Eyes alight in their usual swirl of ocean blues, Chance shrugged. "Then go find me some, you incompetent prick."

      More heads had turned by now, scruffier men than the one serving her beginning to rise from their seats at her words. "I'd watch yer fuckin' mouth, sweetheart. This isn't uptown and I sure as shit ain't gonna let you march in and make demands of me."

      "Only, you will." Chance breathed, her voice a cold whisper of contempt. "Now find me rye whiskey on those filthy shelves of yours, or I'll break you over my knee like a child having a tantrum."

      At this point, the group of patrons had closed in on the woman, and one particularly bold fellow in leather thought it a good idea to grab her shoulder. The lights in the bar died just as a blood curdling scream ripped through the room, followed by another in a different set of vocals. Several more came as repeats, each harsh and male and ended quickly with slick, sloshing demise.

      When the light returned with the recoil of her Obtenebration, the pulp remains of the men were smeared over much of the establishment and the remaining patrons, minus Chance in her spotless ivory coat. The bartender fumbled backwards in his panic, fear so strong that the scent of piss was almost enough to overwhelm that of the blood. "FUCK! OH MY GOD, FUCK-"

      "Now." Chance straightened and gave a satisfied smile, head tilting to one side while she looked over the lone attendant. "Get me something to drink. I want Sazerac, and soon, or I'm afraid the lights might go out again." There were still chunks of his regulars strewn over his counter top, their thick remains barely distinguishable from rotten fruit, infected with whatever dark entity the woman harbored.

      Increasingly disoriented, he didn't manage any sort of verbal response; instead just hustled back to the supply room. When he returned, he carried with him several bottles of what she asked for, as well as others of similar description. Chance grabbed a glass without assistance and gave no thanks for his part in her order, instead pouring the whiskey to nurse over the course of several minutes. The rest of the patrons, who had gore and grim covering them, left when they were brave enough to do so. Before long, she was completely alone with the bartender, but even he was useless now that what she wanted had been received.

      "Leave now."

      Shocked, he shook his head. "I-I can't just leave my bar."

      "Well, it's my bar now. So, leave my bar." Holding the glass at lip level, the creature peered over the rim with an unfocused gaze. "Now."

      There was no argument as he practically ran from Chance, out through the entrance and into the streets, screaming whatever horrid noises he had been too frightened to make in her presence.

      This was a nightly routine to some extent. None of the events had done more than brighten her mood, giving the Fae a sort of radiance akin to a healthy glow. Devastation fed the soul just as well as benevolence, and she excelled in such endeavors.

      But her nightcap was interrupted as a set of footsteps approached. Fine soles clicked on the sidewalk, but were harsher still on the wood flooring of the bar; the door of the establishment swinging shut as quickly as it had been glided through. Chance slowly swiveled to make out the person in her company, in his expensive suit with Armani loafers and Vuitton cuff set. His grin was contagious, the sort to rile up one's nerves without fully explaining itself. He smelled like sickness, like brimstone and fantastical evil. Truthfully, his scent was a delicious and sinful mix of sex and smoke. Chance polished off her drink before he took the seat next to her, placing the cup down just as he moved to grab it.

      "You came at an awkward time."

      "Or I came at the perfect time." He smiled, and she couldn't help returning the favor, his strong jawline and blue eyes making for a handsome man, even if she hadn't necessarily wanted such a fellow to show up. "Looks like you had quite a bit of fun without me though. Not a fan of sharing with others? I suppose I'll have to make my own fun this time around." His fingers dropped to her thigh, twisting over the smooth skin beneath the hem of her skirt like the curl of covetous talons. In that moment, he possessed her body and sent the faintest shiver of desire surging through Chance.

      "Well, aren't you bold?" As the stranger grabbed himself her glass, she replaced it with another, and the two were poured new drinks to speak over. "Did you even look to see if you sat in anything unsavory?"

      "I don't care if I did." He answered with a grin, his visage appealing as it peered sidelong at the blond. "I'm too excited to worry about something so insignificance. I'll replace my slacks. You though... I've been looking for you."

      "Oh, have you now?" The Fae chuckled. "And why is that?"

      "Don't act flattered. I'm sure you've heard it before- yet you're humoring me, so you must be interested." He swallowed his whiskey without savoring it, lips smacking as it was taken in. A way to keep from stalling the pace of their conversation. "but let's be honest with ourselves for a moment. Look at you. I can't remember the last time a woman of your caliber has crossed my path, and when I saw you last night, I knew I needed to meet you." While his drink was cradled nonchalantly in one hand, his other was free to run along her inner thigh, tickling at where the lace of her panties kept him from intimate contact.

      "You followed me from Amsterdam?"

      "And you didn't even notice. Crushing."

      Chance straightened her posture and shrugged, her body lighter with the lift of the drugs coursing through her system. "I wasn't looking for you... So, no. I didn't."

      Looking around the emptied room, her companion motioned for the door. "Let's ditch this place. If you're game to play with me, I have a place we can go."

      "Again, incredibly bold." Still nursing her Sazerac, the swell of her breasts strained against her top when she sighed at the thought. "What if you bore me?"

      "If I was boring, you wouldn't be talking to me." His smile never seemed slip or falter, incredibly attractive while still managing to boast things Chance had yet to agree with. Her curiosity was piqued, true, but he had yet to do anything noteworthy.

      "Do you have a name?" Chance finally asked, looking him over with a sweep of strange orbs.

      "Zeno." He matched her scan with one of his own. "Will you share yours?"


      "Is that a pet name for you?"

      "Ah, no. It's the name I was given, and after so many years, I've grown attached to it. Call it sentimental, or something..."

      Zeno nodded and finished his whiskey without pause, and then rose to his feet. "Do you ever feel like you need to fuck someone to really get to know them?"

      Laughing, Chance followed his lead and stood next to him, where her heels made them the exact same height. "Is that what you want to do? Fuck me?"

      "Ah, see, you're doing it again. Asking questions you know the answers to, expecting different answers." Zeno slapped his hand firmly around the curve of her ass and pulled her inwards to rub the bulge in his slacks against the lower part of her stomach. "Yeah. I'd like to fuck you, just like you want to get fucked by me. Maybe I'll get to know you a bit better in the process. That work for you?"

      "I guess you aren't one for foreplay, Zeno."

      "I followed you halfway across the world because I want to fuck your ass. I'm the king of foreplay."

    • When Eneru's naked body pressed deeply inside her, she was home. Stretched muscles flexing along the thickness of his shaft made Chance feel truly alive. If Hell released it's best denizens to drag her home to the deepest, darkest recesses of the void, she wouldn't regret any of her terrible life. That is, up until she lost Eneru.

      There was no skin quite like his. No eyes so light a shade of blue, they resembled icebergs lost adrift amidst foggy waters. No other lips quite so adventurous, nor hands so adept, nor hair so radiantly bizarre. There hadn't been another soul so engaged in making her feel complete, and as time pressed on, Chance learned there never would be. Theirs was a love she couldn't explain, though she could obsess over the parts she liked best.

      Such as his forgiveness in overlooking her affairs. He was adamantly protective of her investments, even if they were better unprotected. His devotion was given to who she was in the moment rather than who he expected her to become. Chance would always find herself deteriorating; ground into a pulp and reformed through the events that unfolded. This, a daunting prospect sentient beings are expected to suffer through, wasn't meant to be shared. The weight of transition was hers to carry, but damned if he didn't try to ease the burden. To expect any other being to fill his shoes wasn't going to happen. Thinking they would ride the wave as it traversed the path of becoming a tsunami was asinine

      Yet at her most vulnerable, Eneru kept her safe. Even as she grew into the monster the rest of the world needed safety from, he chose to remain at her side. Complete. Satisfied. As Chance reasoned with herself, ignorant.

      It had been years since the two had spoken. Sometimes the woman would venture near his home, where a fire was lit during the cold months, and the screen door was left open in the summer. Sounds of family echoed free. Youth blossomed around the manor like geraniums in his attached garden. Often Chance considered taking it all away from the one she loved so fiercely lifetimes beforehand. More often than this, she wished it all to come crashing down around him so he would know a pain unlike any he had previously been forced to bare. As monstrous as Chance Arden had grown to become, the thoughts of annihilation just weren't as compelling as the songs he would sing his children. They were all so full of life, abundant energy sources that zoomed from one side of the house to the other, laughing and playing and fighting and crying and inevitably, growing.


      The years never ceased to pass, but the hands of time didn't take hold of either lost soul. Chance was given her usual distance from her history, but it was a troublesome system of circling and backtracking. Eventually, it sent her sauntering into his presence one more time. Eneru, his mauve hair still a sheen so fine and pristine, now hunched over the graves of his earthbound family. How long he had mourned was hard to tell, but the dates on the gravestones weren't recent, and Chance didn't know how to express her empathy. Maybe she never had, and that was what led them to this moment, two opposites caught in a loop that seemed endless.

      "I'm sorry-"

      "Kenji was the last of my line. Dead to a brain aneurism at forty-one years old." Eneru slowly rose, with white scarf billowing at his rear, eyes still cast towards the deceased in question.

      "There were no other children?"

      "He didn't bother having any. No, he was the very last one."

      "But I remember children everywhere. Small and loud and always singing-"

      "Generations ago. You forget how quickly they age, how fast their lives go by. Yuki and Jun have been gone for many years, and their relations came and went. When I say Kenji was the last of my line, I say so with a heavy heart. I didn't want it to come to this."

      Chance forced her expression to settle into complacency, agreeable for the time being. "You must have forgotten about our children. I suppose it's been a very long while since you needed to think of them."

      "Your children you mean. Yours because I wasn't allowed to be involved in their lives." Eneru turned to offer his profile, though it was a slash of unmistakeable disappointment. "I didn't even have a choice on whether we had children, Chance... But I didn't forget them, no. I loved them as best a man with just a few select memories could. What more was there to do?"

      "Nothing. I wasn't implying you needed to do more than you have." Remembering her cigarette, the Fae flicked her ash idly between thumb and forefinger. "Just reminding you of your per-existing lineage. Watching you like this makes me feel...

      "As I said, they were never really mine."

      "Oh, stop it. Stop saying that." Dropping the remainder of the carcinogen onto the ground, a spiked heel quickly snuffed the cherry and smashed the rest into paper bits. "I didn't come here to listen to you deny your involvement in the lives of two individuals you conveniently write off."

      "Then why are you here?" Eneru finally turned inwards, looking into swirling orbs with an intensity she could never seem to get beyond. Even in her dreams, those eyes managed to seek her out and steal the wind from her sails. They were a compelling enough argument to travel all this way to see him. One of many traits she had always found enamoring.

      "Does it bother you?"

      "What does it matter if it bothers me? I knew you stalked around the house all those years ago, and when you left then, I thought you left for good. Seems I'm never right about seeing the last of Chance Arden." The Incubus practically spit, her name treated like a wretched taste in his mouth. "So tell me, why did you choose now to make a grand appearance? Did you think I was going to forget the past several hundred years, and hop right back into bed with you?"

      Buried beneath all the anger beginning to surface, terror bubbled from what he said. Not that she would admit such things even to herself, but it wouldn't have been a far fetch to expect his company. Wonders waited for them, and all he needed to do was accept her back into his life, flaws and all. Just like old times. "No."

      "No, fucking- of course not. You just came to gloat. Fine, here I am. Gloat all you want. Tell me about how wrong I was to fall in love with a human. Tell me how it was my fault you left me. Tell me how good every dick you sucked since mine was." Eneru didn't shout, but his voice rose so there was no mistaking his anger for jest. "Why don't we just sit down and you can tell me all about how being fucked by everything this side of the galaxy could really make you miss me! Why are you here, Chance? Why are you still so hellbent on ruining my life?"

      Chance stood in silence while he ranted, but the last part struck a cord. Finally breaking their gaze, she lowered her luminous hues so they needn't focus on the pain entwined with his voice. The sorrow in his shoulders as they hung limp at his sides. His losses, all lined in the cemetery like conquered chess pieces. "I never interfered with their lives."

      "But you wanted to, didn't you?"

      "Yes." Breathing deeply through her nose, the blond nodded. "But I never did."

      "And what? Are you looking for some sort of thanks from me? Fine. Thank you for not hurting innocent people because you were feeling petty."

      "You're being unreasonable. I just came to speak with you about us, about our life before all of this, and you refuse-"

      Eneru laughed a hollow laugh before bringing both massive hands up to cup his features, hiding the release of a sigh. "Just stop this."

      Brow furrowing, Chance chided back, "Stop what? Stop trying?!"

      "Yes. Stop trying. Stop visiting. Stop thinking about me." Figure straightening, the demon returned to looking down at Chance as if trying to gauge whether she was truly listening. "I don't want to go back to how things were. Neither of us are the same as we were..."

      "But... You said it was forever. How can this be what you expected?" Chance forced herself to swallow, to save herself the embarrassment of crying over rejection. It didn't suit her to cry even if this was incredibly painful to hear. "This is nothing! Hundreds, thousands, millions of years! THIS IS NOTHING! You promised me forever!"

      "You aren't worth it." Cold vocals slithered from his lips, hitting Chance so hard she felt physically winded. "I promised to love you forever, and I can't help loving you even now, but we will never be together again. I can't watch you transform any more than I have. I see you now, my beautiful Chance, and I want this to be the last way I see you. Not as the monster, but as the woman I love too much for no good reason."

      Something must have found it's way into her eyes because tears formed along the corner lashes, thick and salty, making the smell of saline all at once overwhelming. "Was this... How I made you feel?"

      "I wouldn't wish how you left me on my worst enemy; least of all you."

      Shaking where she stood, Chance's entire body felt like it was close to toppling over. "This- This isn't right, Eneru. It's just not right! We are... We have always been... This is us, Eneru. This is all we know!"

      "Do you know what sort of fear that leaves me in? How scared I am that I won't be able to resist myself, and we'll end up as we were? Chance, listen to me." Moving closer, arms outstretched, Eneru grabbed her uppers arms and pulled her close. It was the closest the two had been to one another in more than three hundred years. "I won't survive losing you again. Whether it's you leaving me, or it's you becoming the host- it doesn't matter. I just can't."

      He released her with a step back, fixing his jacket by roughly tugging the cuffs of the sleeves. "I'm sorry."

      Chance was left in the graveyard with pocketed hands and tears on her cheeks. She didn't have the courage to watch him leave, still not fully comprehending the severity of his word. Now she was paused. Thinking. Confusion and pain blended into some new twisted collection of heinous thoughts, saturating what clarity the conversation was meant to provide. Nothing had gone according to plan, whatever that plan may have been. It wasn't until fires were lit across the entirety of her earlier intentions that the Fae muttered something under her breath before skulking back through the ancient cemetery gates.

      "You're not sorry... But you will be."

    • I Love This I Love This x 1
    • One of my newer characters, Iman Ekko is an Ifrit who lives in a modern setting, existing under the radar of greater supernatural beings and deities. At times, she's a buxom woman keen to follow the rules and take direction from her employers. Her attitude is calm and considerate, but her personal thoughts are kept under wraps until she's really and truly ready to get close to potential significant others. Her days are dedicated to her profession, but her nights are usually filled with club visits and relaxation of whatever variety might appeal to her.

      I mostly played Iman here.

    • Less often, Iman takes a male form, though when he decides to do so, it's often due to work obligations or physical demands unfit for his smaller female frame. The Ifrit loses nothing when switching between the two forms, save for various physical attributes that matter little to a being nearing their sixth century of existence. Iman does prefer to exercise when he is taller and broader, and at times, it's easier to please his lovers when male; he'll stay in the form to better play into the kinks of his companions. Despite his physique, Iman is a power bottom with occasional switch cravings, and he's attracted to masculine men who stand taller than he does when he is male.

    • Iman found the low hum in her throat a natural response, a sensual purr that crawled from her lips like a hungry plea to her companion. "Let me try," She cooed with a hasty swallow, salivating at the sight of his engorged member as her hands dragged needily along Sam's torso. Feeling every muscle beneath his dress shirt, digits roamed the material with a curiosity unsated in their current state. Even mostly clothed, he was irresistible to the Ifrit - tall and broad and so foreign, she ached with her desire to experience what he promised. A different brand of affection expressed by large hands positioning her petite frame so it was pinned to the wall, her slick cunt on display for the Irishman beneath the disheveled arrangement of her skirt. Iman whimpered, grasping Sam's tie with a passive tug when he subtly splayed her drenched lips to peek the glistening bud of sensitive nerves. When he touched her clit, even briefly, the woman arched hard into the wall and hissed a pleased sigh while her head reared backward.

      "تجعلني ركوب ديك الخاص بك." Kissing him offered only a fraction of the satisfaction she sought, but Iman repeated the action, tongue slithering against the male's shifting muscle so she was permitted to taste the wanton fresh off the tip. Her hips moved in time with their feverish adoration, demanding in a languid way, fitting snugly against the curve of Sam's waistline where his slacks remained in place. Both her employer's hands ended up sinking their digits into the meat of her thick cheeks, spreading her rear while she rose with the motion, her legs parted to either side of Sam while the pulse of his ebbing shaft caressed her dripping slit. Her thighs quivered with anticipation to his teasing, growled questions earning another filthy string of words from the captive femme. Lashes fluttered while she ushered weakly through the space between them,

      "ديك الخاص بك يشعر بالارتياح حتى داخل لي."

      Not once did she presume Sam was fluent in her native dialect, but he wanted to hear her commit verbally, even if she did so in the guttural croon of her native tongue. Hanging in impatient wait, the Ifrit moved to the buttons of her shirt, undoing those that had somehow remained ignored up until this point. With the blouse open, Iman struggled to slip from her bra, leaving the garment pushed to her navel so her breasts were bared from Sam to see. The tattoos, all etched in the faintest tone of cream, sparked to life from time to time. Reacting to stimuli, encouraging which behavior she wanted him to continue without her needing to make suggestions. Ifrit weren't capable of faking their response to their partner, so what Iman enjoyed was as clear as day when written in inscribed runes across the palette of her bronzed skin. With another content hum, the inscriptions roared to life when Sam aligned their sexes, the head of his bulbous crown penetrating Iman's constricting entrance ever so slowly.

      When she moaned, her eyes snapped shut, the vision of flames in their vivid irises hidden from the fellow as her walls stretched to accommodate his thick girth. Inch after inch fed into her tight cavity, causing her desire soaked insides to hug in a taut fashion around the invading length. "أكثر." The creature breathed, wanting to feel him sink his cock all the way to the base, so full of his throbbing manhood that it was reminiscent of her first time. It only made her wetter to think about being taught to take Sam's impressive circumference in that slutty little hole of hers. She needed proper training, though, and her companion complied with her thoughts. Taking his time to violate her desperate cunt, all while Iman's fingers tweaked and teased her erect nipples, quiet moans muffled by the way she nibbled on her bottom lip.

  2. The Auroun - currently unfinished, but getting there slowly.

    Show Spoiler
    Possibly a human variant, the species is (at least) hundreds of thousands of years old.

    Male and female Auroun share these similarities in appearance:

    Bipedal with two arms and two legs, four fingers and an opposable thumb on each hand, and five toes on each foot. Auroun share genetic properties with humans, but also with certain plant genuses. When the genetic mutation first took place is currently unknown. How this genetic adaptation occurred remains uncertain, given the lack of organic life present on their capital planet, Ixxin'lo.

    Auroun irises and hair follicles are opalescent like the surface of a pearl, with only the oldest of the Auroun possessing a more silver/gray base to their pigmentation. Their species is recognized for these physical characteristics: fair pigmentation that blends mint green or pale pink complexion with otherwise milky flesh. Male Auroun have horizontal powder blue half stripes along their inner thighs and their inner arms, and Auroun females have pastel pink 'fawn' spots encircling their areola, navel, and labia.

    Male Auroun genitalia is the greatest variant the Auroun possess, but to such an extent, it's still questioned on a biological level by accredited scholars. Both shape and function are unique to the species. The penile organ of the Auroun is phallic shaped, comparable to that of a male Human, but the testicles are attached to tubular stalks that wrap around the penile organ in preestablished grooves starting beneath the head of the penis. When the Auroun is flaccid, these bulbed stalks remain tightly wound around the penis, settled in their grooves, but when blood is pumped into their erection, it also engorges the stalks that primarily function as a means to inseminate female Auroun. They enter with the penis upon insertion but act independently upon doing so, seeking the female Auroun's uterine tubes to deposit semen.

    Ectopic pregnancy is possible with Auroun, but many female Auroun instead choose to lay their eggs after they are fertilized. This process is known as Beddening.

    After reaching adolescence (at roughly 25-27 Earth years of age), female Auroun experience an estrous cycle that lasts between seven to nine Earth months every three Earth years. Because of this, Auroun genes are commonly used in genetic race splicing to promote a healthy libido in the spliced subject.

    The average Auroun male is 5.6-5.9 feet tall.
    The average Auroun female is 5.4-5.7 feet tall.

    • Lifespan: The average Auroun male lives to be 325-340 (earth) years old. The average Auroun female lives to be 320-335 (earth) years old.
    • Defence Mechanisms/Strategies: Auroun are psionic users, as well as sentient life forms with advanced technology and FTL travel capabilities.

    • Abilities (Most common):
    Phase Shift (Type One):: The user can pass through corporeal barriers/objects while in an incorporeal state. They travel via small jumps through incorporeal space (by way of the Umbra), though the act is often seen as a teleportation skill.
    Clone:: Matter is pulled from the environment and condensed in a rapid particle effect, creating a carbon copy of the user.
    The Copy's lifespan is dependent on the skill of the user. Some copies have lived long enough to be considered individuals, though most die within a few days of creation.
    Clones only have memories the user has made in a 12 hour period prior to the Copy's creation, though they will believe themselves real and are capable of acting in their creator's stead.
    Clones are tethered to the collective consciousness of their creator and will follow orders given to them by their creator as well as the primary objective they were created to accomplish.
    LDT (Long Distance Telepathy):: Short range telepathy is often found in alien species, but the Auroun have mastered using telepathy at great distances. Dependent on the skill level of the user, it is possible to speak through channels fabricated within the Umbra. These channels are typically narrow, so messages move distances of 10 to 30 miles instantly, but a greater user has the ability to widen the channel, making it possible to speak through telepathy at distances comparative to intergalactic means of measurement.
    Flicker:: Dependent on the capabilities of the user, an illusion is created, and it has an accompanying persuasive aura to it that can be used to draw attention. From creating a scenario of fear, or calm, or arousal, or anything the user chooses to create, these fictional fantasies can last days depending on the imposed will of the user. Typically, they last anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours.
    Dissolve:: The user vanishes into the Umbra. How long the user can remain hidden is determined by the skill of the user. This is an act of stealth, and life signs from the user cease to extend to the fleshlands for the duration of their Dissolve.

    • Locomotion: Walking, running, swimming - Humanoid movement.
    • Herbivore, Carnivore or Omnivore?: Omnivore capable, but culturally herbivore.
    • Diet: Vegetation, fruits, seeds, nuts, grains.
    • Intelligence: Cognitive capabilities are equal to, if not greater than, humans.
    • Illnesses:
    • Predators: The greatest threat to the Auroun are the galactic species who take interest in their race.
    • Problems (any problems that are caused by the species physical appearance/abilities):

    Species Culture:
    • Habitat:
    • Environment (how has it affected them now and in the past):
    • Time Period: Space age/far future.
    • Rituals/Traditions:
    • Language: Ixxin'lo natives speak Auzi, but Auroun who leave their home planet are quick to pick up other languages
    • How does the species attract a mate?:
    • Gender Status: Male dominated society, where women are considered lesser beings than their male counterparts.
    • Do they travel in groups/packs or alone?:
    • Government (how do they choose a leader?):
    • Clothing (do they wear clothes?):
    • Does their religion dictate their clothing preference? (eg. always wearing religious robes/garments/symbols):
    • Religious beliefs (how important is it to them?):
    • Other beliefs (any beliefs caused by a lack of knowledge, illusion, etc):
    • Jobs (what jobs are unique to this species? How important are these jobs to supporting the species as a whole?):
    • Special holidays (how do they celebrate them?):
    • Are there any inventions, tools or machines that are unique to this species? Why?:
    • Law (what laws are unique to this species, how do they punish those who break the law?):
    • How does the species think and behave as a unity?:

    • How do they procreate?:
    • Infancy (what is childhood like for this species? How do mothers care for infants?):
    • What happens when they age? Is it any different from humans?:
    • Death (does this species die in a different way?):

    • General history of species:
    • Any significant events (wars, revolutions, etc) in this species' history that has affected them:
    • If this species is just an animal, has it been domesticated by another species? If so, how was it domesticated?:
    • How has this species evolved to its current state?:
    • Are they aware of this evolution? (meaning do they know about their pre-evolved ancestors):
    • Have any "special messages", traditions or beliefs (eg. myths, prophecies, folklore) been passed down through the generations of this species' evolution?:

    • Using the information above, draw some concept sketches and work out a final design for this species, keep in mind the body proportions and mobility of the creature (so be creative, but don't make the body proportions so out there that the creature couldn't possibly move around eg. if the creature can fly, don't give it wings that are too small to support its body, unless you explain how the wings support the body)(your audience is willing to suspend disbelief for your creature, but not to the point where it gets ridiculous)
    • Try drawing male and female variations of your creature (like the new Pokemon sprites), make the differences between them as subtle or as obvious as you want. This will support believability for the species.
    • If your creature wears clothing, try designing unique casual clothing, religious clothing, royal garments, swimwear, sleepwear, etc. It's important the audience recognizes the clothing as clothing, but try to make designs that are unique to the species' society.
    #6 Villains, Nov 30, 2017
    Last edited: Feb 23, 2018
  3. Two Tin Cans
    pt. one
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    "Nice helmet-" came a voice from behind as Teague was sent fumbling forward by a sudden forceful shove to the base of her spine.


    The impact from the second blow is what floored her, the data feed streaming across the inner visor of her helmet was riddled with static spikes as the aftershocks distorted the surrounding area, leaping pixels in her peripherals enough warning to Teague to be prepared for an impending blackout of the system. "Shit," she mouthed just in time for a pressurized hiss to usher forth, the backup computation chip forced to pick up the slack left in wake of the main motherboard being compromised. The entire system was rebooting to avoid short circuiting, and Teague found her helmet a dark place as a boot crushed her torso further to the cement. With the heel digging between her shoulder blades, the woman growled through gritted teeth, partially grateful her attacker couldn't hear the signs of her distress.

    "Move and I'll blast your ass back to Nal Hutta, Foxwell." The weight of the foot wavered as if her attacker was considering their options until it eventually lifted so a set of stun cuffs could be adjusted over what little skin was accessible of Teague's wrists. "I'm fuckin' impressed you made it this far, kid-" A pause, "Wait, is that modified neo-crusader armor? Really? I dropped two thousand creds on schmoozing some squeakers to find you, and I come to find out you're wearing armor from the shit age? Oh, this is fuckin' rich. Just fucking perfect."

    Hoisted from the floor, Teague wobbled blindly as the inside of her headgear remained without its usual data feed, thus without any means to see what was happening or who had managed to catch her off guard. Muffled and quiet without the voice modifier built into her rig, she asked brazenly, "You here 'bout the parking fines? Damn, didn' think they sent grub lackeys this far into space." She expected some backlash, though the kick she received still earned a soft grunt from the woman before she was half led, half dragged from the edge of New Jedah city to what could only be a ship. Call it a hunch, but Teague had experienced the grating clank of boots slapping laminasteel plating more times than she cared to recall, and the smell of rhydonium never boded well for a prisoner in chains. "We can't even stop to get my things?" She quipped through the silence of boarding procedures, not expecting an answer.

    She didn't receive one.

    Instead, Teague was left watching a miniature hourglass to the bottom left of her field of vision, denoting the progress of the reboot. Much like watching paint dry would fail to entertain, so too did the observation of a minuscule indicator dripping pixels into an equally pixelated ampoule bore the captive femme. Eventually, despite feeling well rested some two hours prior to taking off, she fell asleep with the hum of the aircraft filtering through vents on either side of the armor. With the battery life consistently worsening on the helmet, it wasn't any wonder that she would wake several hours later to stale air from slumber stifling the narrow lip of available space. No credit to the ion drive engine humming beyond the sleek compartment of the ship, but with her grogginess dissipating in tandem with a series of mechanized coughs through the distorted voice modulator, the sound was noted.

    Not just the engine, but the rest as far as Teague could hear from her strapped in position. There were steps approaching, heavy thuds over the grates of slated sheet metal flooring. Despite her otherwise thrilling activity of 'Guess that sound', she knew it was long overdue to relaunch systems and press for information regarding the charges. It wasn't that Teague wasn't guilty of a great many things, but which of those things might matter in how a fellow Mandalorian perceived her, even if he was the one who had ambushed her in an empty alley. As far as Teague was concerned, she wasn't worth the credits being fronted for her capture, but someone considered her a threat, and learning that much was of utmost importance while the two were in transit. Her only saving grace was being spared the containment cell further down the corridor, one which buzzed with energy despite being empty.

    "You're awake?"

    Teague merely grunted, the screen of her helmet reactivating with the display parting from the middle, stretching to encompass the entirety of her field of vision, and in such, the entirety of the mystery man now kneeling a few feet in front of where she was restraints, elbows resting on his armored thighs so his hands were left swinging idly in the space between himself and Teague. Through his helmet, she couldn't make out his expression, though his voice modulator was lacking and the monotony occasionally lilted with his vocals. For instance, with the grunt Teague issued, the man replied softly but the playfulness was easily read through whatever attempts existed to mask it.

    "Easy credits, Foxwell. Enough to buy a very pretty girl with a healthy repertoire of tricks. At this rate, that's what you're going to end up being, you know- Well, minus the pretty part. I'm almost positive you're as ugly as an upside down Bantha under your helmet-"

    For the life of her, she couldn't help smiling as if she were keeping a secret from the stranger while still masked, but her reply was coarse due to the lack of use her throat had received since their trip began and hardly passed for the smooth transition Teague had intended for it to be. "How much're you gonna wager?"

    "On how ugly you are potentially...?" He laughed while a set of his gloved fingers dragged absently over where the plates separated on his leggings. "Nothing. I'm alright with being wrong so long as me being wrong means you're worth the credits I'm being offered to bag and bring you in." Reaching out his other hand, the stranger issued a few short pats to the top of Teague's helmet in the fashion one might show encouragement to their dog and added, "Pretty girls come and go. A Foxwell is one in a billion."

    "Funny," Teague goaded while swiveling her head, rolling the helmet as best she could from the attention of her captor's touch even when it was apparent she wouldn't manage to shake him while strapped in, "but there's plenty of Foxwell kin in this neck of space last I checked. Hell, I talked to Titus a few weeks back, and sure as shit, he mentioned a bounty on my head." This wasn't entirely true, but banking on the ego of her captor wasn't the worst plan Teague could orchestrate in a pinch, and there was no great loss if he didn't want to get into the details immediately. So long as he didn't fall quiet, Teague would have ample opportunities to learn who was pulling the strings on this operation and how she could weasel out of the contract. At this rate, the unknown man was being rather chatty with his prisoner and that eased her concerns involving his motives.

    "I'm sure half the galaxy was looking for you. As we both know, contracts made by a Hutt are the most lucrative." Drawing back his hands, the stranger wrenched off his helmet just long enough to show tan features and dark hair slicked back in a small knot on top of a nest of ebony curls. His features were aged, the lines accentuating his eyes and mouth giving Teague a general age to work from. By her guess, he was in his mid-thirties, and behind dark lashes were pale blue eyes that seemed to defy the natural order of his countenance. She flared her nostrils as if revolting against her immediate thoughts on the matter, but before she could make a snarky remark, he returned his helmet and released a muffled groan from inside the armor. "They told me you'd be an issue."

    "Because I'm a Foxwell?" Doing her best to move past his attractiveness, Teague offered a meager shrug before asking, "Where are we going and how long will it take to get there?"

    "Ganthel." He said flatly, not bothering to answer the latter part of her inquiry. She knew well enough it would take months to get to that part of the galaxy and without realizing it, her fingers tightened nervously around the restraints over her torso, knuckles whitening where they dug into the bindings. "Do you want your helmet off?"

    "No." She whispered, trying to envision what might wait for them on Ganthel. No matter what scenario came to mind, the outcome was the same. Kotaska.

    "I'm gonna take it off you anyway. It's gotta be uncomfortable wearing that piece of shit while you're back here. No air conditioning for prisoners..." He trailed off before unceremoniously plucking off Teague's helmet, not bothering to ease it off her head. The force of his actions left her gasping, and she blinked as the outside world met her sweaty portrait, bright red pixie cut dripping rivulets of perspiration down her brow so the only hope of not blinding herself was to blink them away as furiously as possible. Now she was visible, vulnerable even, for the stranger to take a moment to stare her down before noting offhandedly, "Not what I expected, Foxwell."

    "You expected a body to lug around." Without the mask between her and the male, her voice rang like a bell; short and clear and surprisingly feminine. She hated the sound of it, and more so, she hated that he got to keep his helmet on while hers was left on the seat next to her, out of reach and unable to assist with her current plight. "Why would a Hutt want a drop off on Ganthel?"

    "Fuck if I know." Tugging out a scrap of cloth from his chest piece, the stranger leaned inward to dab away the sweat from Teague's face. When she was free of the threat to her eyes, he was satisfied enough to return to a more upright position, the cloth once more tucked behind armor plating. "Maybe they have a buyer lined up for you there."

    "Don't think they're lookin' for a chemist on Ganthel..." Shaking her head with a sharp exhale through her nostrils, she remarked, "I'd be happier with my helmet back on."

    "Who said I gave a shit if you're happy?"

    "Guy doesn't make sure I don't get sweat in my eyes if he doesn't care about my happiness."

    "No," He said with a chuckle, "I care that you're comfortable enough to live through this trip. It's a long trip, after all, and as far as I know, they want you in pristine condition. Like brand new, ya know? Now, in the state you're in now, that's you seeming brand new to me... So, I'm gonna make sure you're no worse for wear by the time we get to Ganthel. Princess treatment." Clicking his tongue several times, he seemed to regret his choice of words immediately after they were shared. "Well, damsel in distress treatment at least."

    "That makes you the villain." Teague snickered quietly before dragging her sights away from the Mandalorian to once more assess the environment of the ship she could see from her seat. "I gotta pee."

    "Seriously? All this shit is happening and you gotta pee?"

    "Yeah. It's almost like some sick fuck abducted me from an alleyway outside the cantina I'd been relaxing in. I would have pissed at home, but hell, I never did make it that far." Deadpan, Teague went on to add, "I got nothing to lose by peeing all over your damn upholstery."

    "Besides getting to sit in it for however long I leave you."

    Teague sneered. "Try me, fucker."
  4. Bress
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    Narrowing corridors of flesh pulsated, the slumbering behemoth in which their home rested was always moving in one fashion or another. Entrapped souls howled, wights feasting upon the lowest levels of the damned; chipping away at the spiritual knit of the wavering flooring. Bress had not been gone long, yet it felt foreign to pass by humanoid furnishings and over arcing ribs decorating the massive hall of assembly. Other Abaasy paused to stare, perhaps taken back by her appearance, as she was more contained than most present, her flaws buried beneath an all too human veneer. There was no pause in her pace, coasting through the newly redeemed and the elders alike as if none within the sleeping great one could pull her attention from whatever task was at hand.

    She was headed north, up through the tightening passageway of the Abaasy's throat and carefully through razor-sharp maze of jagged teeth larger in size than she was. It's spongy tongue undulated idly even as she made an exit from the beast, finding the gripping darkness of the void ahead. The Land of Nod was all ash and bone, smoke and blood. The sky, if it were truly a sky, was alight with flashes of distant lightning and cracks of constant thunder. Very little could be seen through the debris of unfiltered miasma, though Bress had memorized the path in which she needed to take, and after some time wading through foul conditions of the smoldered realm, her steps slowed to less than a casual meandering.

    His scent was heavy in the stagnant air.

    "Kysad?" Coming to a complete halt within the frame of a great door, her hands breezed over the calcified surface in search of the handle. Clearing years of accumulated ash from the surface didn't change anything. Her pale eyes narrowed suspiciously as she inquired indignantly, "Was this some sort of trick? To beckon me with haste, but only to mock me? Shame on you for choosing such a dour location to play your games!"

    "I've never been much for games, Bress." A voice replied stiffly, "At least I can rest assured you haven't changed since our last encounter. I'll open the door."

    True to his word, the door opened then, and Bress stepped hastily through so not to miss her opportunity. It was best that she did this, as the door was quick to shut, barring anyone else from following. Where the Goliath city they both hailed from was all flesh and living, Kysad's cavernous home reflected the death of the landscape of Nod. No trapped souls begged for mercy, as he kept none. No warped and grotesque furnishings were in sight. Instead, everything was crafted from obsidian and fire stone, lit by candles whose flames flickered enticingly through the dim. The foyer was large, but the chamber it feed into was much larger, with a ceiling that stretched high and uneven. Runes were embedded in most available surfaces, archaic and amateur, yet powerful enough to keep the tide of the spectral fiends far from crossing the threshold of this place.

    "What a surprise to find you locked away, alone in your makeshift bunker. If I was wise to your reasoning, I'd surely boast, but I'm afraid I don't particularly understand just what keeps you in seclusion." Bress glanced around the open hall, hoping to spot his figure somewhere in the shadows. "I heard Kaithness is no longer among us. Perhaps that's why you've run?"

    "Throwing salt at my wounds won't assist you in being any more knowledgeable of my choices." The voice barked a laugh. "I wasn't the one running. I sought quiet, which I found, but you ran through the ages with a Vaalen on your back." A tense pause stilled Bress' tongue, and the voice fed off her unease. "Did he ever get what he wanted? Perhaps it was your annihilation? That certainly didn't happen. Maybe something more carnal? I've heard the Vaalen are like stone - rigid and thick. Isn't that what you desired?"

    "Hardly." Circling the room without finding the source of the replies, Bress finally seated herself in a fire stone chair towards the center, nestled between tables and trophies of fallen monstrosities from the void. "It's so presumptuous of you to tell me what I desire. Had I any wish for a Vaalen of my own, I'd have one." Her bare legs crossed, milky skin almost too pure for the bleak tower the two occupied. "Were there any need to lay with one, I would still be caught in the throes of ecstasy." Bress twirled her silky ivory locks while a playful smirk crossed her features. "Instead, I'm here with you. Perhaps my desires are closer to home."

    "You always were an awful liar."

    "Oh, that you're right about." Bress leaned back in her seat before exhaling a pleased sigh. "Nothing of this place piques any interest from me. Hideous Abaasy vying for political power, all warped and malignant by their deeds. I'm too beautiful for any of you, to be frank."

    "At least your charm is still positively repulsive. I thought I had forgotten why I never wished you well."

    Appearing before the seated woman, Kysad was another example of a demon appearing quite demonic. His horns were sharp and angled upwards from each side of his head, his tail a flickering appendage with a tapered length and spaded tip. His eyes were small orbs of fire, lit within his skull by whatever damned presence willed his existence into being. Even his teeth were fangs, all of them, so his smile was nothing short of horrific in nature. Coal black skin speckled with gold flecks gave his appearance an almost chameleon quality in the pitch of his home, and Bress felt relieved all at once that he was uglier than she remembered.

    "Ah, I was right. You are hiding because you did something absolutely atrocious. Well, Kysad, I can't say I'm surprised. You were never very bright." Naked as she was, Bress uncrossed her legs just long enough to tease the other Abaasy, then recrossed them. "So, now that you're disfigured AND stupid, tell me why I've been summoned to this troll cave of yours."

    Opposite where she sat, he seated himself as well, equally nude yet visibly impressed by her show of perfection. Her wickedness remained inside, and perhaps Kysad wondered how she managed to keep from undergoing the same changes all other Abaasy seemed to fall victim to when they committed heinous acts. His eyes wandered her figure, dutifully searching for flaws to the skin as precious and clear as porcelain, though it seemed a moot point and both were aware of this. All he managed to do was make himself hard, so one of his clawed hands idly stroked his cock. "In need of assistance." His fiery eyes closed for the moment, yet her body didn't leave his thoughts. His stroking remained an afterthought to the task otherwise unexplained.

    "Right. I gathered as much. You wouldn't seek me out if it weren't some desperate plea for help. I'm just curious what help you require, given you've hidden away from our people, and from traveling through the worlds beyond ours. What pressing matters could you possibly have?" She eyed him as though he wasn't readying his length, as the Abaasy felt no shame from such things, and Bress worried over no man's sex. Eons of orgies, deviancy and debauchery left one feeling numb to sexual contact of any sort. The power trip was what really got her off. "So, being less cryptic this time, why did you summon me?"

    His nails, like talons, raking against his foreskin as his eyes opened once more. "Tell me how you, of all the Abaasy I've met, seemed to retain this human guise of yours. Horns and tail aside, you pass for something entirely unlike our kind." His grip tightened when it stroked down his shaft; thoughts of Bress' blasphemous mouth wrapped around the head of his cock polluted his thoughts like blood in bath water. There was no cleaning his psyche of her, but rather than grow angry to her entrancement, he welcomed the calm. Throbbing, Kysad hissed a pleasured sound. "But your malignancy is so thick, the air reeks of death when you approach. Your crimes are many. So many, I couldn't begin to list half of them, as we haven't got centuries to do so." Shifting where he sat, he felt her figure trying to seduce him from her chair, and the pull was almost enough to break his resolve. Almost.

    "Oh? You think my appearance is something I would share the secret of?" Her laughter chimed through the stillness of the cavern. "And what can you possibly give me, Kysad? You can barely contain your desires as you sit there with your manhood in hand, so whatever I might happen to want from you would be easy enough to get. Blood or bone, muscle or cum - you're nothing compared to me. Older, wiser, perhaps better suited to elevate than I am... And yet, still seeking me to solve your problems." Sighing again, Bress rose nimbly to her feet and stepped close to the spread male, her fingertips finding the tips of his horns. "Ghastly to be changed so violently, wasn't it? I can only imagine."

    The closer she was, the more feverish Kysad's strokes became, his cock crushed in the center of his palm as her shapely figure lingered achingly near. "I've never been one to barter with a devil."

    "And I've never been one to watch a beast fuck itself. Does it bother you to know I could take you now, and you would be powerless?" Moving to his front, one of her knees was lodged between his hip and the arm of the chair, the other following suit on the other side. Above his frantic hand, her glistening cunt hovered near his face as though taunting Kysad. "Weak and powerless, as are those within the behemoth, and those beyond Nod. All of you, with your ethics and your morals, clinging the humanity you never had. Living by the example of a species a fraction the age of our own." Roughly, she grabbed his mane of thick hair and forced his face between her legs. The feeling of his tongue compliantly lapping against her delicate lips brought a genuine murmur of amusement from the woman.

    "Kysad, once so proud and so desired, now taken like a slave..." Her whispered words were slow and precise as her hips bucked in time with the rhythm of his savoring mouth. Forked tongue penetrated her slick hole and expanded in devilish design, leaving Bress to moan softly between where her head bowed lower towards his. From his hair, she relinquished her grasp to prove a point, and he didn't cease. Instead, the hands on his length brought themselves to her ass, where they groped and spread her plump cheeks desperately. Bress continued to belittle him even as she found her climax, the warm rush of juices filling his mouth while she uttered in delight, "Broken and used..."

    Licking away the remnants of their heated exchange, the pleasure remained hot on his tongue as his body ached to be further inside hers. Looking up at this creature he loathed so deeply, his voice held the tight desperation he wanted only to relieve himself of. "Take a seat, Bress. Don't torment me so."

    "Hah! As though I'd follow your orders, you filth." Abruptly, her palm slammed into the bridge of his nose to push him away, and with his recoil, she stood triumphantly before the shaken Abaasy. "But of my appearance, you wish to know the answer? Fine, Kysad, I'll tell you the secret while you nurse your battered ego." Bending to lean over him, her hands planted on the arms of the chair so she could stare down the beast, breasts full and perky, her nipples sensitive to closeness. "I was the ugliest of all Abaasy once. Vile, horrible... The most repugnant creature to come from the spawning of Nod." Barely above a whisper, the secret seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before she added, "But then I did as we all do."

    "...Which is what?"

    "I committed the most treacherous of acts against all those unfortunate enough to cross my path. Only, as luck would have it, I didn't corrupt further. I was already at the height of the damned, a pinnacle point..." Bress smiled wickedly at the confused male, and even that was infectiously attractive. "I cured my own disease, Kysad. A curious case, and one few can boast, I could get away with more than murder. I could get away with genocide. With broken promises and pacts, with lies and stealing, with cheating and scandal. I could take who I wanted when I wanted, and I could torture those resistant in ways more terrifying than even the most skilled torturers were capable of thinking up after millennia at work. I am so radiant now, I glow. I am so pure in appearance, I stand like a beacon among the rest of our kind, and my only secret is this one. My only regret is not having more time to reap the benefits of my abnormality."

    Kysad, as taken back by her words as he had been by being struck in the face, had nothing more to say. The shock was evident on his bloody features, tar-like vitae streaming from his thin serpentine nostrils. Bress had already lowered herself to her knees, though this time on the floor, with her pale cheek coming to rest against one of Kysad's thighs. Expelling a rush of breath against his painfully erect cock, she peered up where he was stunned into silence, though found one of his hands had followed her down so it could rake taloned fingers through her ivory curls. "And now, you are without need of me, yet here I remain." Her tongue flicked lazily to brush the crown of his manhood, tempting him to try again with his pursuit, yet Kysad remained unmoving. "What if your personal hell was this, Kysad? To never fulfill this indulgence you seek? Intoxicated and in dire need of release, yet kept on the cusp for all time?"

    "Your cruelty is your appeal to some, perhaps, but you know it has no power over me." Yet he sounded unsure if this was true, as his body was alight and his mind begged that he vocalize sure needs to the woman. "Be gone from my sight, Bress. This game is over."

    "My games are never over, Kysad, as they are a great deal of fun to play when I'm always the winner." Giving his cock one last tantalizing lick for good measure, she rose to her feet and dusted away ash coating her knees with an absent gesture. "You can tend to your cock on your own. In the future, should you find the courage to summon me, you might want to be prepared." Turning away, the Abaasy sauntered off the way she had come, through the dim of Kysad's solitude - leaving the elder demon to furiously howl in frustration towards her departing back.

    [I should probably spruce up this one. Ugh. So old.]
  5. Rhailo

    Rhailo popped her gum with her gaze hooded, and her expression displaying clear dissatisfaction.

    The chase wasn't nearly as exciting as Demagol had promised, though in his defense, the Auroun wasn't entirely sure any such chase had begun. The two were propped against the bar counter within the cantina, Demagol in his typical Mandalorian armor, and Rhailo in the equivalent to a body suit if the body suit's sole purpose was to outline every curve and swell of the woman's figure. Very little was left to the imagination, and when Demagol was busy speaking with the locals, Rhailo acted as a beacon for their curiosity otherwise. She was a time sink for hungry eyes, and a pitfall for those advantageous enough to attempt closer encounters with the creature.

    Demagol didn't stand for anyone closing the distance, but his anger really came to surface when Rhailo was turned into the center of attention. Rhailo couldn't recall just how many potential problems had been solved by the Mandalorian's temper, but she didn't kid herself into thinking the number mattered. He was possessive, and in this way, she was happy to be possessed. The collar of her ensemble was just high enough to cover the slender metal band she wore around her throat, with a small engraving laser etched in the steel, and the weight of the jewelry acting as a reminder of ownership. Rhailo wasn't in charge, but that didn't stop her from acting like she was, especially then, with her mixer in hand and a smile easing across lush lips towards a patron down the counter.

    "He doesn't need to buy you a drink." Demagol, through his armor, only briefly turned to glance down at his Auroun. "You're just baiting him."

    "I know I am." Rhailo said softly as her features dipped towards the cocktail in her hands. Cupped, she nursed from it before batting her lashes upwards at where Demagol remained stationed. "I just don't see why you have an issue with who I bait. You bait people- for money, no less. Yet, if I want to get another drink, you're on my case about it. Why?"

    Demagol had returned to reading the stacking lines of information crossing the display field of his helmet, though his voice remained hers to hear. "I just think it's counter productive when I already buy you drinks. If you had a drink from every man willing to buy you a drink, most of them wouldn't get touched, and there would be a waste of time and alcohol on our hands. Now, I know you don't care where money goes, so long as the intention is that it's spent on you, but you're shaking down the derelict while sitting there in 5,000 credit boots." Perhaps Demagol smiled to himself as he added, "Which I bought you. Notice the pattern here?"

    Feigning naivety, the creature blinked pale lashes from the Mandalorian to the man seated down the way, and inspected what she could concerning the other man's appearance. "He doesn't seem all that poor."

    "Disheveled appearance. Torn jacket. Lack of a personal HUD. Balding." Demagol shrugged once before stating, "There are things to notice when you're staking out a target. If you can't make out the impoverish from the wealthy, you're not really looking at them correctly."

    "Well, maybe that's my issue. I'm not looking at them as objects. I'm looking at them as the people covered in objects." Rhailo clicked her tongue before returning her opalescent hues back to her drink. "Besides, it's nice to get attention."

    "Why do you need attention?"

    "That's a really silly question." Rhailo straightened her posture and made an about face so her shapely rear wasn't in view for all the distant patrons trying to ogle her from the back. "Why do you like to kill things?"

    Demagol didn't respond, though beneath the cover of his helmet, the ridge of his brows creased angrily. Before any time had passed between their topic change and his disapproval of it, Rhailo was already making for the door of the establishment with a breathy sigh escaping her throat. Like a ghost, she drifted almost weightlessly, earning eyes from all directions even when she had no interest in their potential drink buying. She would make it about a block or so, tipsy and careless, before the hunter caught up with a growl and a very quick hand wrapping about the top of her arm. "Where are you going?"

    "I was going somewhere that wasn't that cantina, because it's dirty, and the people there are poor." Plainly spoken, Rhailo pulled away from the hold and danced backwards towards the mouth of the alleyway closest to them. "You don't like me walking out alone?"

    "I don't like being walked out on." Demagol slowly followed, his visor helping in the dark of the passageway despite the glow Rhailo emitted from her person. "You think I won't discipline you here?"

    "You can't in your suit..." Maybe she enjoyed teasing her counterpart, though it seemed highly unlikely he appreciated the jabs as much as she enjoyed giving them. Neither of them were especially cruel, but there were times when Rhailo was several drinks into an uneventful evening, and her favorite pastime became instigating Demagol. She slinked backwards still, and he followed, stalking through the gloom like some mechanized beast. Silent but always in her sights, illuminated beneath the weight of her gaze. "And that must be so frustrating, Daddy. Too wrapped up in packaging to punish me. Tsk."

    A very fast set of hands had the Auroun pinned to the wall before the gasp she made had finished leaving her throat. His booted feet forced apart Rhailo's, keeping her legs spread as the Mandalorian coaxed a few weak whimpers from the woman. One hand remained tight on both her wrists, holding them in the cuff of his fingers, while the other set of digits groped and pawed their way to the seal of her suit situated along the swell of her crotch. While searching, Demagol pushed his fingers inwards, parting the lips of Rhailo's cunt while she remained covered in latex, and asked, "Are you baiting me, Princess?"

    "Mm.." Wiggling, she arched and sighed to herself before replying with, "I might be."

    "Might be, might be... Rhailo, I'm going to teach you a lesson on restraint tonight. Are you ready?" Demagol unsnapped the seal over Rhailo's sex, exposing the slick pink folds that the hunter had no issues sliding his gloved finger between. He didn't penetrate his pet, but he lingered there, rubbing aimlessly at the nub of her swollen clit while the Auroun panted and bucked helplessly in her captive state. "I know you want to roam, but you're not going anywhere without Daddy..." His pace picked up, sparking a series of guttural moans to breach the darkness as Rhailo remained feverish and wanton, her spread legs quivering around where Demagol solidified his stance.

    "I-I'm sorry, Daddy-" Rhailo breathed, though they both knew she wasn't sorry. She would do it again, perhaps often, because she knew he enjoyed it just as much as she did. His gloved finger was dripping with cum by the time Demagol pulled it away, which allowed Rhailo a pause to wilt in the hold he kept on her wrists. "I just wanted attention." Rhailo didn't need to lie, and Demagol was already well aware why she acted out when she did. Still, his suited figure only seemed to move closer as the Auroun swayed on her spread legs, threatening to fall over without the brace the mandalorian had created for her with his body.

    "We're headed back to the ship." Already working to snap and seal the crotch of Rhailo's suit, he finished reclothing the woman with a satisfied sigh through the filtration of his suit. "When we get there, I'm going to do something about that attitude of yours..." He let free Rhailo's wrists before waiting to see if she was capable of standing, and when she proved able to do so, he edged his finger beneath her chin and tugged at the metal collar. "Someone keeps forgetting whose in charge, and that's unacceptable..."
  6. Kismet & Kayen
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    Kismet kissed his lips again and again until the taste was more than a memory. Stolen, kept. Hers to savor. "I said I love you. Say it back- please say it back."

    He didn't respond. His eyes remained shut, his figure unmoved.


    It wasn't often that she cried, though these tears were as artificial as the snowy drifts collecting around the cottage. The Dreaming housed their reunion. Their harsh ending. It was a place of pretty lies and miserable truths. The sort of place Kismet wished and hoped and prayed to avoid, yet there she huddled in her discontent, with a lifeless body neatly laying before the false light of the fireplace. A cottage in the woods was meant to be romantic. It had been meant to be theirs to share, but the dream was ending, and things had taken a turn for the worse.

    Kismet wasn't familiar with death.

    Not in the way many creatures were, having seen those around them perish to the bane of life expectancy and wasting disease. Fae didn't fall to those ailments, and a true death among her kind was rare. Rarer than her clan would lead others to believe. Cautious for much of her life, the creature found her carelessness had led to this accident, and the guilt already wrenched at her nerves. Uncoiling like a serpent of doubt, questions arose from the death like poppies in lush spring fields. Spiraling hues of pale green circled as they stared, vacantly looking over the male in question while shaky hands clasped at his shoulders.

    She shook him. No movement. She was shedding tears over his features, which remained rigid and still. Again and again, the woman jostled and wrenched at the body until her crying turned to sobbing, and her shaking resembled a tantruming child with a rag doll. "Please wake up... I-I can't..."

    But there was no waking him, and her eyes would find themselves bloodshot and sore before her wracking sobs ceased. Her throat tightened, her limbs stiff in the position she had chosen to take, resting over his body like a wounded beast protecting it's young. There was defeat in this stance; swathed in resentment. Kismet left her mouth agape as she finally pulled free from the corpse to dissolve the background of their cottage confinement. The shifting of the Dreaming churned in colors of the spectrum few would have a chance to see, so vibrant and bright that they threatened to blind the viewer.

    Yet, she looked on like there was more to see besides the prismatic background swallowing the fallen Fae into its light. He ceased to be just as soon as the dream was released, replaced with the engulfing shroud of otherworldly light. Back into the soul stream he went, to feed lae lines Kismet prayed she never found herself a part of. On her knees, the woman stayed, still knelt and panting through her constricted state, though quivering fingers dragged painfully through blonde locks. Knotting in the tangle of her hair, Kismet screamed. Again and again and again, screaming into the ether that stretched beyond the cosmos known, and onward still.

    Kismet would continue to scream until a voice spoke from behind her, silken and deep, with a curious sense of familiarity silencing her wounded sounds. Surprise dotted contorted features as she scrambled to look at the figure hovering precariously close to her position.

    "You brought a mortal here." Dark haired and devious with his smirk, the standing figure arched one brow in question. "What did you expect?"

    There were countless ways Kismet could have answered her company, but even as the distant light of the Dreaming receded back into the endless expanse of the realm, she found herself mute. Perhaps taken back anyone had found her here, of all places, or simply because it seemed so torturous to ask her that now. Of all times. Her mouth closed.

    "Don't let me interrupt, if that's what I'm doing." He was taller than she would be standing, a towering presence donning a dark suit that clashed against the pastels of the pale plane. He pulled a cigarette from the breast pocket of his blazer, and the object was lit before it managed to reach his lips. "Halflings aren't true Fae. They get snuffed out pretty quickly here. Too much energy for them to handle. Like mortals, you know." His inhale was sharp, released as a hiss through his teeth. "Essentially mortals. There's no room for lesser Fae in the Dreaming."

    "I didn't know."

    "Wouldn't expect you would. No one teaches these things. Not back in Arcadia, and certainly not in that shit hole plane you've been living in. You're Kismet?" He flicked ash into the nothing of the Dreaming with little regard to the woman beneath him. What fell from the end of his cigarette drifted over her, but was gone before it managed to land on her slouched figure. "I know you. I hear things here that I shouldn't."

    Craning her neck further, Kismet squinted upwards in a meager attempt to take in the details of the man speaking. Why he seemed so familiar, she couldn't place. His visage bore similarities to many she had seen, though not enough that she drew unnecessary conclusions. Instead, she asked, "What happened to your wings?"

    Seemingly taken back, the stranger shot a look backward to the bound bundles folded and captive against the back of his jacket. "They're still there?!"

    "Yes..." Kismet answered hesitantly, her own wings neatly crossed where they were, adorned with studded piercings along the arches of their bodies. "Were they not supposed to be?"

    He chuckled darkly before another inhale was stolen between thoughts.

    "Of course they're supposed to be there. Are you always so dense?"

    Frowning, Kismet gathered up her skirt hem and rose to her feet, teetering only slightly as she shook her head. "No, but you didn't really answer my question at all. You insulted me... All you did was pretend like they weren't supposed to be on your back and-"

    "Hush. You'll know when I mean to insult you. For now, just be happy I came to see you." His free hand made a sweeping motion of the area and it's desolation before he continued with, "See all of this? This is mine. This has been mine since I was put in the time-out corner by your dear, sweet Matriarch. You, Kismet, stumbled into my Kingdom." A pause was issued as that same hand moved to graze long fingers against the curve of her jawline. "You're a pretty young thing... Spitting image of your whore mother. Tell me, Kismet, do you know all the same tricks Chance does?"

    Instinctively, Kismet stepped away and shook her head. At first, in regards to his forwardness regarding her mother, though it soon related to his latter inquiry. "No, I don't... No. I'm not like her at all."

    Sighing, the stranger flicked away the remainder of his cigarette to be swallowed by the Dreaming. "What a shame. It's always so hard to break Fledglings in. I figured you would know a thing or two before I went to work on you, and that makes it easier." Hands now free to do as they pleased, they busied themselves rolling up the sleeves of his jacket and shirt to bear tanned forearms while his sentiments continued. "Not that I plan to take it easy on you. I've been away from pretty young things for too long, and Ki never comes to visit. That one, Kismet, let me tell you... That's my pride and joy."

    Her frown only seemed to furrow deeper in her neat features as she listened to his statement, recognizing the name despite misinterpreting the meaning behind the rest of his words. "Who are you?" Glancing around quickly, the woman asked slowly, "Are you going to punish me for trespassing? I didn't mean to, but I did, didn't I? If this is your realm, then I guess I did..."

    "I am Kayen Vereaux, and you are Kismet Vereaux." Finished with his sleeves, the male tapped one of his temple's lightly. "Is it coming together, Kiddo?"

    Confusion replaced her previous expression, paired with several blinks upwards at the towering Fae with the bound wings. "No... I thought you were, uh... You're dead."

    "Do I look dead?" Before Kismet had a chance to reply, Kayen breached the gap between them and wrapped his arms around the smaller figure's torso, just beneath the swell of her breasts. "Better yet, do I feel dead, Kismet?"

    Gasping as she was held pinned to the larger body, she struggled with a shriek, thrashing at the physical restraints his arms created. "Get off me!"

    "Or what? You'll tell your mommy? Go ahead. Ask her how I fucked all her tight little holes too. I've already had all she has to offer-" His head bowed over Kismet's hair to take her scent before he continued with a guttural growl. "But you're new, and you look like you'll be fun. Don't struggle so much, precious. You might even like it."

    Physically hoisted into the air, Kismet fought tooth and nail against the hold even as she was carted off through the light, though the farther they moved, the dimmer the area got. Eventually, the two were in a state of twilight, with chirping crickets serenading their ill-fated meeting. Marshy fields stretched on for miles, a mock sky hosting pinprick stars high above their location. He trudged onwards with his prisoner in tow until they had entered the mouth of a gully beneath the dark shade of heavy Cyprus trees, and only there did he unceremoniously drop Kismet onto the illusion's ground. She hit the dirt hard, scraping her hands and bare knees as she scrambled away from where she landed.

    "So, we can do this one of two ways." Kayen began speaking as his massive hands worked to unclasp his belt buckle. "You can do as I say, and I'll be gentle with you. So gentle, in fact, you'll enjoy yourself. I'm cruel only when I need to be. Otherwise, you can fight me, and I'll fight you back, and I'll break that pretty face of yours, and I'll rip off your wings so no one will ever take you in again. No house, no clan." Licking his lips slowly, he added under his breath, "Even I got to keep my clan when I was banished. Funny how that works, isn't it?"

    She was crying again, and her lashes blinked away the tears as they came, though she didn't try and wipe them with her bloodied palms as shock settled. Kismet looked at the other Fae with an almost frightened gaze, though beneath fear, a spark of curiosity had begun growing. "Why?"

    "Why what?"

    "Why are you doing this?" Sniffling quietly, injured hands finally lay across her lap in the messy sitting position she had taken.

    "Because..." Kayen ran his tongue against the front of his teeth while humming low in his throat. "Well, firstly, I want to fuck you. It's that simple, you know. You wander into my neck of the woods uninvited, and I'm just supposed to leave potential prey to run free? It's awfully presumptuous of you to think I wouldn't fuck you." He laughed, and it was a sound she liked despite everything happening. Kayen was incredibly likable, regardless their state of interaction, and Kismet resented this fact. "Second, and perhaps more importantly, I hate your fucking Matriarch. I hate your mother. I don't hate you yet, but I know it's a matter of time before I do, so I might as well give you plenty of reason to hate me. That way, you'll give me reasons in the future to hate you, too."

    "That's stupid," Kismet said immediately following Kayen, her head shaking in disapproval. "And you know it's stupid. Why would you even say that?"

    Kayen paused, a puzzled glance shot at Kismet before he inquired, "And why is it stupid?"

    "Well, you could have just asked me. Or just, I don't know, tried to hit on me? You know... Normal things. Normal fucking things." Her voice raised slightly, the lilt hinting at that sense of distress eating at the back of her mind. "I may have fucked you without you carrying me here and throwing me on the ground!"

    "Yeah?" Moving to crouch, Kayen made himself eye level with the younger Fae, his smile returning in devilish style, with the brightness of his swirling hues casting faint light over her features. "Why would you fuck me?"

    "Well, you're really hot-" Kismet said quickly, though swallowed hard to cut herself off. To take a moment to think, she looked away towards the walls of the trench before adding softly, "I don't like them either. My mother, Lucky... I don't like anyone in the clan."

    "Oh? And what did they do to you?"

    "They abandoned me," Kismet whispered, her voice wavering as she looked back to Kayen. "I don't care if you fuck me. I don't want you to hurt me, though, okay?"

    Eyes narrowing in the pitch of their outdoor meeting place, Kayen studied the shaking form of the creature before him before very gently placing his hands on her thighs. They ran slowly, and smoothly, along with the extent of her bare flesh, right up to the crumpled hem of her skirt. "You want me gentle?"

    She would nod, and his hands would continue stroking the skin of her legs as though he wished to truly study her body. Slow, methodical movements up and down against the grain of the finest follicles a being might possess. "Please."

    "Why did you bring that little Halfling into the Dreaming?" When he asked, his touching ceased, save for gripping each of her knees in his palms.

    "I loved him. I wanted to show him the Dreaming because I thought he would like it here."

    "But your love is fleeting." Kayen chided quietly, his vision lowering from her face to where his hands pried apart her legs. "You haven't gotten used to human emotions. You love everyone, don't you?"

    "Not everyone."

    "Not the clan, but those you meet. The strangers you make friends with. People down in the Fleshlands, regardless what their intentions are." He had dragged his hands further up her thighs so they were hidden beneath her skirt, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly against the front of her panties. "You would probably love me if I promise I wouldn't abandon you too."

    "Why do you say that?" Shivering, her arms became anchors behind her back while her hips gyrated ever so slightly in their attempt to further his effortless grazing. A craving had already begun to seed in her stomach, twisting like the serpent of desire invading gardens of old. "That I would love you?"

    "Because I know what it's like to be young and lost." Removing one of his hands from the tent of her pleated skirt, it was moved to cup her cheek so as the towering male leaned inwards, she couldn't draw away from his lips brushing her own. "And I know what it's like to love someone without reason. Love is blindness, after all. Our kind isn't supposed to feel love, but I know we do. I've felt it before." He kissed her slowly, taking the small whispered purrs she issued in time with each swirl his fingers made against the moist garment keeping him at bay. He pressed it inwards, forcing the material between Kismet's folds so he could stroke and tease at her damp sex even after he pulled his face away. He watched her, though, hawkish. He watched each and every quirk of those lovely features while the tips of his digits coaxed against her swollen clit.

    "I feel sorry for Fledglings, Kismet, and I regret the evil this clan contains. Evil like me, like your mother- Part of the problem at large. I know I am, but I won't change. Even when I see tears on your cheek, I'm still using my powers to control you. I'll still fuck you senseless while you're under my control. I'm going to ruin something pure because I can, and the only Gods left to face for my crimes are those of our kind arrogant enough to claim that title. This is my existence here, and you- you were concerned enough to ask why my wings are bound? Because I ruin pretty little things like you." His teasing ceased then so he could yank down the lacy undergarments she was wearing, just enough to expose her slick soaked cunt. Not bothering to remove them completely from her long legs, Kayen's voice lowered as though what he said was a secret between the two currently present. "You're worth more than being fucked in the dirt, Kismet, but this is where I want to fuck you."

    He nodded with his chin towards the blonde as he added roughly while lowering his slacks, "Get on your hands and knees."

    Kismet was caught in a daze, her reactions airy and graceful despite having her underwear bunched up in a wad at her ankles. Shifting, the woman did as she was told, balancing on her scraped hands and knees so her bare ass was presented to the Elder Fae. Her wings parted to either side in a sleepy slump, and Kayen hummed approvingly before claiming the display, sinking long fingers into the thick flesh of her cheeks to knead at each while pulling them apart for a better look at the details of her spread cunt. Beneath the light of his gaze, hunger grew in his stomach as one hand dropped down to tend to his erection. He spit on his right palm for posterity's sake before giving his cock several invigorating strokes as the woman beneath his attention wiggled apprehensively while left to wait.

    "Little slut you are..." He began under his breath. "You're desperate for this cock, aren't you?"

    Where she stared outwards, Kismet bit her bottom lip and nodded at the question as her thighs spread as wide as they would go with her ankles still bound. Kayen took advantage of her eagerness by directing his cock with one hand while the other returned to the blonde's shapely hip. Pulling her inwards as the head of his cock squeezed between her tight folds, he forced himself through the constriction of her tight inner walls while growling low in his throat throughout the sheathing process. Kismet whimpered like she had before, her tone sweet and saccharine, even as her cunt molded to fit the girth of Kayen's cock. He made her take every inch, stopping only when the dark tuft of his ebony pubis tickled at the spread of her ass cheeks.

    He couldn't help smiling to himself as he bucked her forwards, just to pull her back along his length. Her tightness made his blood boil, and a flush rose to his cheeks while she cried out in ecstasy as a response. Under his spell, she was nothing more than a glorified cock holster, but he needed to feel her quake and writhe in time with his pounding hips returning her back to his groin. Over and over again, he possessed her as much he could, with the hand not holding her hips snaking around the smaller Fae's body to grope at her breasts beneath her blouse. He could really get into this school girl appeal Kismet had, with her thigh highs and her mini skirt, traipsing around in dimensions she had no business being in, with a pair of panties as the only barrier pretending to keep him at bay.

    He wanted her spread and wanton, begging for his cock while he coveted that pristine appearance she boasted as a prize to receive. He couldn't keep her, but he could pretend for a little while she was his to keep. This was his kingdom, and she was his prisoner. If nothing else, he could teach her what happened to pretty little things who wandered too far from home. Kayen snapped out of his rhythmic thrusts when he felt Kismet clench tightly like a vice around his cock, and the shift in her thighs left him struggling not to cum just yet. He may have been successful had it not been for the moans she made as her body convulsed beneath his; that broke his will. His hips locked in a paused state as he shot the buxom blonde full of his seed, a groan breaking the chain of his shallow pants. Pump after pump until he had emptied his load across those pink insides of hers, though he remained based in her constrictive orifice long enough to allow her to ride the aftershocks of her orgasm.

    Kayen was no stranger to guilt. When it came upon him, he remained unapologetic.

    Yet, with the concern she would topple over if he released her, Kayen pursed his lips and exhaled deeply through his nose while keeping her hugged against his chest. "You'll hate me soon enough, Kismet. They always do." He knew little of the girl in his grasp, but he knew enough regarding what he had done to her. One earned no favor by taking advantage of a wild youth.

    "They always have."
  7. Rhailo and Brax
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    Coffins were once made of wood, Cyprus and Mahogany and Walnut; all sorts of materials Rhailo had never ever seen first hand. They were cushioned and contained, meant to bury the dead comfortably so they may rest easy in the afterlife. They had a sense of peace attached to their very presence. An almost ethereal quality of assurance that no matter what else might occur, the dead would receive their proper send-off and no harm would come to those resting below the sacred earth. Now, the Auroun was left only with a memory capture to send into space while her brother and his entourage watched somberly.

    She didn't know where he ended up, in pieces or entirely intact. He was simply gone. Perhaps she should have waited longer. Years. Lifetimes. Eons. She had such time to wait and wonder, but Rhailo resigned herself to whatever fate had humbly offered as condolences, and seized present opportunity to suture still fresh wounds in her heart. The ache was seething like burned skin, sensitive to reminders and to memories. The memory capture especially, where the light in his blue eyes held a mirth almost uncharacteristic of the hunter. Her lips quivered as a voice she didn't wish to use broke the silence aboard the vessel.

    "Can you tell me how?"

    Brax turned vacant hues off towards the stillness of space, knowing no way in which to answer that didn't seem entirely cold. He was cold outside and in, yet his twin deserved more than a frigid rebuff. The acting captain had joked that the twins could use a two-for-one coupon for their journey given how identical the pair appeared, yet it was a bond deeper than appearance, and when Rhailo ached as she did, Brax couldn't help but ebb with similar feelings. Strange as they were, they were precious in times like these. Times when he couldn't provide any true comfort to someone in such great need.

    He cleared his throat. "How what?"

    "How to detach myself from someone," She began, her voice betraying her, "who I can't promise is dead. How? How do I give up on something when it's all I remember?"

    His eye twitched, a strange tinge of distress forcing an expression to his otherwise steady gaze. "You remember me, and the Crystal Fall, and the prism sky we were born under. You remember home, even if you hate it. You remember things, Rhailo. He wasn't your life. That you cannot give to anyone so willing to vacate it." He paused briefly before a sternness overtook his message. "If he lives, he's given you up. You are no longer his, and... Well, he is no longer yours."

    Fingers tightened around the image so hard, prints threatened to shatter the glass display. "Then he's dead." So clearly forced, her throat tightened in protest as tears found their way to her pale eyes. "Dead. He didn't... N-no, not while he lived would he do such a thing."

    Brax kept his silence in wake of her words, again feeling the grip of fear subduing inner commentary. His intent was never to cause his sister pain. Never. Not even to shine light on the abandonment she likely suffered; another misstep in a life often led astray.

    The pallbearer was a stranger, and the remnants of the hunter handed to him weighed nothing in his hands. To Rhailo, she had carried his very existence in those last shreds of his belongings. Handing them over had been the worst part, but cry as she might, the deed was done. When the man stepped away to place them in the designated ejection capsule, her teary gaze found it's way to the depths of space, though unlike Brax, she didn't see the vastness. It wasn't so cold in Rhailo's thoughts, but peaceful as any of the graves of days long forgotten on worlds she never visited. The mystery of where he went would remain a mystery, but to Rhailo, he would live forever in a place time couldn't take away.

    "Are you ready?" Brax asked quietly, long arms crossed over his chest as his tall stature remained perfectly straight. Respect for the deceased.


    A distinct WOOSH was audible from the sealed compartment where the belongings had been placed, and in moments following, Rhailo tracked the progress of the capsule as it drifted through space until it wasn't distinguishable from distant stars. Even longer she remained to stare, even as the gathering dispersed and she was alone with Brax still as a statue. When he finally walked away and the room had been emptied by all but her and her thoughts, the tears came back. A palm pressed to the reinforced glass, twitching and desperate to grab hold of what was long gone, but she couldn't.

    Never again.


    Space can be so lonely, Rhailo thought bleakly as her pale hues watched the seemingly unchanging expanse of universe where it stretched endlessly before their vessel.

    Lonelier when I think of him.

    Exhausted as the Ahroun felt, she couldn't bring herself to sleep. That was proven out of the question as every attempt she made to rest seemed to incite dreams of her fallen Mandalorian. Love stained her heart, causing such a strangely tragic residue to take hold of her person. It bled from a wound that refused to heal under any plausible circumstance. A barricade of depression, a sea of self doubt. Her body shook with anguish for days after their departure, and when his remains were sent out into the aether of space, Rhailo couldn't help noticing the sharp pain her ravaged emotions harbored mercilessly. It wasn't attractive or becoming of the woman, so when she was with others aboard the space craft, her best option proved to be silence. Unapproachable. To not give her thoughts or opinions, as they could only pull those loosely tied drawstrings desperately keeping the flood of unresolved hurt at bay.

    In the pit of her stomach was a sense of disgust as well on Brax's behalf. He was carrying half of this weight, and it wasn't his burden to bear.

    He never complained though. He allotted her space, and time, and above all things, the quiet she silently pleaded for. There wasn't a slew of incessant questions directed at what her future plans might be, nor was there a barrage of remarks encouraging her to cheer up. Rhailo didn't want to cheer up. She just wanted to mourn in traditional attire of seamless black while she watched the galaxy they traversed continue in starlit sprawl as though eons of travel wouldn't be enough time to bring them home. Of course, she knew they drew closer to neighboring solar systems with each passing day, and that rekindled a hidden strength long buried beneath her layers of grief and fear. If she could face the daily condolences of the crew, she was capable of overcoming her impending terror regarding her parents.

    At least she thought it was a possibility. What did she have left to lose?

    The evening murmurs of flight hands dwindled as it grew later, and the artificial lights above dimmed to replicate conditions for working sleep cycles. With a glass of wine in hand, Rhailo counted another night lost to sleep, but felt nothing of it. Escaping the dreams had become her only priority in transit. Lost in personal thoughts, she hardly noticed the automatic door sliding open, though as she turned, surprise muted on her worn features. "Oh, it's you."

    Brax nodded once in slow response as he stepped through her quarters. Sterile white, it looked utterly depressing in the dark, though his luminous eyes found her seated in shadows with knees pressed close to her chest. Her drink was swirled absently when she turned back towards the stretch of window. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet as of late, so I hoped we could speak."

    "I don't have anything to say." Rhailo admitted, her hooded gaze drifting between stars. "Nothing you want to hear anyway."

    "I find it hard to believe you would filter what you say to me. You've never been one to do such a thing." A thin smile crossed his lips as he took a seat against the window, far enough to leave her space should she choose to move. "I'd love to hear whatever it is you think I don't want to hear."

    "Okay." Rhailo began calmly as she straightened, still only offering her portrait to Brax. "I can't sleep and I can't eat and sometimes, I think I can hear Demagol speaking to me. So, I try not to close my eyes. I try not to think about him." She laughed harshly, her head shaking as she continued with, "But it's so hard not to think of him." When she turned to Brax, she shrugged her shoulders as though for sure she knew the answer he was going to give. "I know you don't get it, okay? I know you think I fell head over heels in love with a foreigner just to spite the family. I know you can't understand what I felt for him. How can I ask you to?"

    "You think I don't understand love?" Long fingers rose to brush through his coif of white hair. "Or that I don't understand how you could love him?"

    "Maybe both."

    "Well, I can assure you, I have reasoning for both of those cases. Would you like to hear why?"

    It was Rhailo's turn to nod, though her downcast eyes were sign enough that she was bracing for painful backlash and tension between them. Brax chose to speak anyway.

    "There was something about him that you found attractive. From the tale of your rescue, it was likely his part in assuring your freedom. He bought you, and subsequently freed you. For that, I'm in his debt to some degree, were he alive for me to pay such a debt. I don't fault your feelings towards Demagol. If anything, you feel so admirably that I'm envious I'm not granted that level of emotional strength. I might never know that intensity of love because of my shortcomings. I do know love though." Scratching under his chin, Brax looked over his huddled sister closely. "Not romantically, as you loved him, but I know that I love you dearly. I would move the stars to see you home safe, and I would slay anyone who dared try and hurt you-"

    "I know Brax, and I'm sorry I implied you didn't love anyone-"

    "But I would also lock you away without so much as a second thought if it were for the better good." Clearing his throat, his vision tore from the other Auroun, and settled itself in his lap.

    "I love you, Rhailo, but I don't always approve of these messes you make. This whole business with Demagol and a bounty on your head? I don't know how you managed to make these issues for yourself. You only met him because you were a wanted fugitive! Rhailo, you can't possibly believe that it would end well for you. What, you were going to hunt down criminals with this mysterious stranger for the rest of your life? How? What would happen if he got angry with you in the middle of a foreign galaxy, and just decided to sell you? Or kill you?" Brax's hands clenched into tight fists against his thighs. "You didn't know him. Not after a few days together. You knew bits and pieces - just enough to love the idea of him - and that isn't right, Rhailo. Even I know that, as cold as you perceive me to be.

    "There was no future there for you, and deep down, you know that. His death is fresh, and I don't want to lecture you now that he's gone, but I fear for your choices in matters to come." Rhailo had brought her free hand up to cover her teary features, but Brax pulled it back down so he could meet her gaze. "I don't want you to make the same mistakes again. I want you to be free, because no matter what love you felt for Demagol, you have always wanted freedom first and foremost."

    "B-but that isn't even an option anymore, Brax!" Sobbing, Rhailo shook as she nursed her wine, her throat tight as she choked out the words. "Back home, I'm a prisoner! I don't want to go back... back to that place. I don't."

    "We're not going back, Rhailo." Brax replied softly before tapping the glass with the tips of his fingers. "We're actually headed to a colony right now."


    Visions of lush green, of thick foliage. Orbital pressure passing over the nose of the ship. Alarms. Rocking, jerking motions. Decorations displaced. Turbulence. Flashing lights. Gravity pulling, attempting to split the hull. Approach. Blinding emeralds and breathtaking golds.

    Rhailo awoke drenched in sweat, luminous eyes wide in the darkness as though expecting to find a ghost lost in the reflections of space. The massive windows overlooking the cosmos brought no sense of calm. Instead, an eerie foreboding tore at her thoughts as dim pictures of her dream remained plastered as recent memories. She had felt him - his panic, his resolve, his yearning - yet how was that possible? He was dead, and she was in mourning; locked away to weep. Her heart hammered violently, enough that she worried over the pace, causing her hands to trail ethereal light towards her chest, and rest over the erratic heartbeat.

    Brax would think she was crazy.

    They had said their farewells and released the lingering sadness his death had caused, yet Rhailo was no more removed from the loss than she had once been. All she could think about was the possibility. Could he be alive? Their ties were intimate, and for weeks, she had felt nothing from him; no pull. No messages had been sent. A line of contact, psionic or scientific, was never made. All she heard was the distant human of a life force out of reach, an empty highway of thought blocked from her senses. That was why, and how, Brax had assured her that Demagol wasn't coming back. That vacant lane of communication wasn't returning her pleas for contact, and if there was nothing to answer, there was no Mandalorian left to yearn for.

    Be it his personal choice, or his inability to respond, she might never have known...

    But tonight was different.

    Tonight, in the wee hours of the morning when the rest of the ship's crew slept peacefully in their chambers, Rhailo Destros saw Demagol among the fern and flora of a foreign planet, alive. Where her hands were planted at her heart, the woman squeezed weakly as if unable to stem the tide of emotions her revelation brought upon her. Shaking at the knee, the Auroun stumbled from her bed and lurched through the darkness until she met with the switch on the far wall. Flipping it on, the room glowed with pale white luminescence her eyes had little difficulty adjusting to.

    She had to do something. Whether Brax believed her or not, she couldn't leave the matter be. The drain of her sorrow was too much, and to live half broken was no life Rhailo cared to partake in.



    As his arms grabbed her, the woman's physical presence wavered like a digital hologram, causing her features to turn towards where Brax stood with his face wearing a guise of apprehension. "I'm sorry, Brax."

    Lashing out at the false Rhailo, Brax howled with rage as his slender figure crumpled towards the floor of the ship. Met by metal panels and sterile white walls, the projection knelt near him, as distressed over his actions as Rhailo's psyche could manage to convey from a distance. His defeat echoed with those long howls, mournful cries that almost caused the real Rhailo to turn her shuttle around and return to her twin; they were inhumane sounds she wished never to hear again. Gritting his teeth, he growled through them, reduced to savage echoes as he snarled a question.

    "And what becomes of you should you find him?! WHAT THEN?"

    The doppelganger brought a ghostly set of digits to her brother's cheek, unable to touch him, though trying to imply the sentiment of closeness in his time of need. "I save him."

    "For what? So he can keep you from your people? From me? Even if he lives, why did he leave you? How can you forgive this?" Crashing his fist into the plating where he sat, the floor dented under the impact. "Why are you doing this?"

    Hesitating at his anger, Rhailo only offered a weak admission of, "Because I love him."

    "But what does love matter to us, Rhailo? What had love ever done for you? The pain you were in - I can't feel that again! I can't carry this burden for you, and alone, you won't be able to survive the heartache he will cause you." Faltering, Brax swallowed, his eyes wide and wild as they stared at the projection of his sister. "I can't lose you, Rhailo. Not to him."

    Elsewhere, in the dark of space, Rhailo Destros felt tears leak from their ducts, creating warm trails down her pale cheeks. The console beeped, honing in on the coordinates she had given the ship, though she was unable to see the flight path. Only Brax's neat visage, suffering, remained clear in her mind's eye. "Brax..."

    "Who else will love you entirely, Rhailo? Demagol? He can fuck you and make you empty promises until he grows tired of you, but I'm the only one who truly loves you for you. The council cut my ties, Rhailo- they stole my capability to love anyone... What remains is our bond, and to lose that would be my end. That much I promise you."

    "Braxiskroi, please." Begging, the woman's projected image leaned as close as it was capable of going to offer the ghost of an embrace around his shoulders. "He wouldn't do that. He isn't a competitor, and we both know that. He needs me now. Now, while he's stranded and alone, and I can bring him back to us."

    "To us? What? You think he had any intention of keeping you with me? With our kind?"

    The question earned a pause in Rhailo's replies, her expression offering little in way of assistance to her cause. Finally, quietly, the woman admitted, "No. No, he would not wish to stay with the Auroun."

    "Don't give me false hope, Rhailosiobhan. I deserve better than pretty lies!" One last spell of rage coursed through the fair skinned male as the same spot he had impounded before was struck a second, and then third, time. "He will be the death of us both!"

    "I don't believe that," Rhailo answered gently, her apparition beginning to dissipate as her spacecraft traveled outside the range of her communicative capabilities. "Just trust me, Brax- trust me not to abandon you."

    "How can I when you run to his aid?" Having settled in amid the aftermath of his tantrum, bloody knuckles rose when their digits pushed back a shock of white hair from his eyes.

    "Wouldn't you do the same for me?"

    She was gone before he could answer her, though that didn't stop Brax from uttering miserably under his breath, "Yes."
  8. Taiga

    Autumn swept across the Court of Seven like a blanket of deep reds, toffee tans, and tree bark browns. The sky above, which was glamoured as heavily as free reign magic saw fit, reflected those colors as if a giant body of water encompassed the capital and what imagery showed within its reach was displayed. The surface rippled at times, the flow sizzling with the seasons, though the shifting was calm in its current state. Winter was just around the corner. The whole of Arcadia, steeped in the beauty of the mirage ceiling, shined like a jewel bathed in radiance, though the creatures who called the crown city of their empire home didn't respect the artistry of the landscape. A world sculpted by hand, molded from the ether, yet not a single beautiful face turned in awe at such sights. Rising towers and open gardens, connected by pathways so clean, they were fit to lay across as one watched the enchanted sky.

    Forgotten, as extravagance often was over countless years.

    It was only Taiga who seemed wooed, struck by a sense of wonderment she knew directly related to her usual distance from the capital. Her work was elsewhere, in the realms of men, and nothing outside of Arcadia could compare to the majesty. Chest tightening, she felt overwhelmed yet also welcome. It was so strange to feel so strongly connected to one place, but the magic of the dimension smothered her senses in exhilaration and something akin to remorse as if she had lost a great deal to be among her kind. Or maybe she had lost more by being away from Arcadia for so long.

    There was no right answer to the questions that plagued her conscious.

    While the trees lining the walkway shifted and sang a song older than Taiga's kind, she noted the changes to her appearance. Her tattoos were gone, the scars she once bore now distant memories. Her eyes without the aid of glamour burned within their sockets like amethyst fires, the triad of purples circling counterclockwise around her stationary pupils. Outwardly, she was glowing, her skin pale and pristine like she had swallowed the moon and refused to release it back from whence it came. Had she missed being so beautiful? Perhaps at times when she was traveling with Nic through the darkness of the fleshlands, battle weary. Self-pity wasn't attractive, though neither was deceit.

    She told herself time and time again that she would be honest with herself, even if she was not allowed the courtesy of such acts around other Fae.

    The Fae did not lie directly. They were mastered of subtle roundabout thoughts, and cunning conversational tactics, but to lie to another being's face was unwise. To be caught was to be branded an oath breaker, and while Taiga was many things, she was none so heinous among the court of the Fae. Oath breakers were cast aside, their wings taken. There was no redemption, only ostracization. Most Fae took this to heart, as there were no current records of a Fae living for any prolonged extent of time after being cast out. Most chose to simply return to the lae lines in a bid at a new life, and as far as Taiga had considered such a thing, she felt she would do the same.

    Fall foliage canopied the closing distance between the grand entrance of the Seven Wings and where she was, each step alive with the energy of the harvest, each stray leaf to fall dissolving just as it's drifting body met with the ground. The stronghold rose above her, threatening to breach that beautiful sky filling the horizon. A place of records, of politics, and of clans in power. History lived in the monolithic structure, written in the marble and glass, etched across the wood. An ivory township within a city of alabaster and pearl. At times, she wished for nothing more than to be far from the steps of the Seven Wings but now was different. There was a purpose in her stride, a reason for arriving unannounced to the only home she had known for thousands of years.

    Taiga felt taller here, entering the hall to see the paintings of her ancestors aside other Fae notables. Without her glamour, she was inhuman in height and slender as a reed. All grace, swaying, without the disguise she insisted upon while living within a cage of humanity. Without a need to hide, Arcadia saw fit to deny it's residence the ability to do so. No personal glamour could withstand the auspex of the city, and so the woman was left to remain inhuman; a walking torch of blazing white with pinholes of mauve bleeding from her eyes. Haunting elsewhere, but a sight considered normal here among the Fae. The tapestries moved and reenacted battles and festivities, each telling a story of times long since passed.

    Would she one day find her presence immortalized among the art of the castle?

    A concept she didn't have resources to dwell on, the thought was pushed aside as the seven corresponding corridors branching from the choke point of the main hall came into view. Each bore the name of the clan connected, all seven houses represented in an almost plain manner, stripped of refinement so only carved stone lettering gave a sense of individuality. Vereaux to the farthest left, followed by Englos, Arden, Barris as the middle most path, Valencoste, Morandori, and finally the Quies on the far right; a semi-circle wrapping around the room. Clan Barris' nameplate was seated slightly higher than the rest, though the archways leading to their respective destinations were exact replicas of one another. No two differed, and the doors at the end of each corridor were equally similar. Some more used than others, especially in the case of the Arden, meaning that path had the most visitors over the ages.

    It wasn't surprising that her clan's wing was so worn in, given the necessity of the Arden. For every Fae created, an Arden was assigned. They outnumbered the other clans ten to one. Even so, there was hardly anything formidable about the Arden, save for their talents as watchers, and ultimately, the keepers of the history of Fae. The other clans rarely argued with them for fear they would lose their dedicated historians, and the Fae were a vainglorious sort who needed that kind of adoration to thrive. The Arden rarely took offense to minor slights, as it was said they were most tolerant among the reigning clans, bearers of the best traits between the Englos and the Vereaux.

    From three, there came to be six. From six, a seventh was forged. That was the start of the hierarchy at large; the council ruling the Faerie realm of Arcadia.

    Her fiery gaze tore free as she walked towards the mouth of the corridor to her clan's wing, the barrier slowly wrenching itself open like the door of a massive safe. The inside appeared pitch black momentarily as she stepped through, though once the door had closed, light flooded around the great library as it materialized into existence. It appeared endless, the catacombs within the athenaeum collected over lifetimes of Arden watchers chronicling their charges. A collective of information brought to words by the diligent few who the clan could afford to keep behind. Arden in-between being dedicated to a charge, or those too frail to exist outside Arcadia were prime candidates. It was thankless labor with long hours and constant upkeep to maintain, but the prized few were exceptional in their efforts.

    The Arden pursued the truth above all things so their annals were never lacking. Their kind deserved nothing less than a complete record.

    A series of four wooden desks cut to crescents formed a circular center point to the great archive, and at one such desk, Caspian sat with his head bowed. His hands ran against the pages of an aged tome, the glow of his body a beacon inside the warmly lit gallery. She could tell he was busy, but his voice cut through relative silence when even his eyes dared not look.

    "I know why you have come." Each pass his fingers made against the delicate parchment brought words to the page, the written message of thoughts spilling directly from his mind. Still standing, Taiga wished she knew just what that meant, but she didn't ask. Instead, she stepped closer before falling to her knees in the open before the gathering of tables.

    "Des will need a replacement." Her skin burned slightly as the patriarch brought his scrutiny to his guest. "As well as a means to rest. Her essence remains elsewhere."

    "She deserves better, doesn't she?" What mirth played Caspian's features was a lie. Taiga looked up to meet his gaze but was met with the lost feelings of home. Instead of warmth, they held emptiness. A tired ache that didn't belong behind such a handsome visage. It was as if she had come home, but there was no family to greet her. No furniture to remind her of the good times she had once associated with the house. She could pace the empty halls in search, but there was nothing left of what had once dwelt inside those walls. What remained frightened her, and his ache seemed contagious as she too felt it seeping through her very essence to corrupt her core.

    There were tears in his eyes as he said, "It is so rare to lose one we love that I had forgotten this pain." Clapping shut the book he had been working in, Caspian beckoned Taiga to rise. She did so, immediately coming to sit in a chair next to the patriarch while his hands held hers. Perhaps he needed an anchor. A release from this sole burden he was meant to bear. Taiga wouldn't allow their leader to carry his pain alone, even if it meant rekindling the pain she had gone to great lengths trying to swallow before her return to the white city. "She was your sister. I expect the pain you feel is equal to my own."

    "No." Taiga admitted quietly, her brow knitting while the flames of her eyes rested on the tri-colored hues Caspian possessed. Spinning, they resembled a whirlpool in the middle of the ocean, the three distinct shades of blue moving fast around his dilated pupils. "There is no loss that compares to the loss of a child."

    Caspian sighed, and the sound tugged at Taiga's heart as if it were a stringed instrument only he was capable of playing. "And where do we place our blame this time? The cause of our anguish lies where?" The question itself seemed sharp and the words stung Taiga. She didn't want to answer, but she knew the truth. She knew who he meant. While she lowered her features to hide the tears in her eyes, Caspian did no such thing. His head remained high, kingly, as tears streamed down his cheeks. He didn't sob, but as surely as they sat there in the quiet of the library, he wept precious tears for the fallen Arden.

    "That thing should receive no further watchers." Surprising herself with the words, Taiga must have shown her shock because Caspian released a hollow laugh.

    "You know I cannot deny one of the Vereaux," He replied, a hand breaking the grasp they had maintained so he could wipe his eyes with the back of his knuckles. "Especially not the one who falsely wears our name."

    "There must be a way to rid ourselves of her. Caspian, please, do not send another of my siblings to their slaughter. Des... Des should be treated as a cautionary example. Her memory deserves more than a replacement to fill her role. She isn't replaceable."

    He seemed to be thinking, and for a moment, there were no words between the Arden pair. Then, slowly, Caspian explained, "We have lost many of our brothers and sisters through the years, Taiga. My children have been snuffed from creation for as long as I've had children. I cannot show favoritism towards Des' case, even if it pains me gravely to send another with the task Des was unable to accomplish." He sighed again, quietly, his face a mask of placidity betrayed only by his tone. "We may mourn her as we see fit, but our allegiance is to the truth of our kind, and to deny that Chance Vereaux is a catalyst would diminish our value with the council. Most of what we know of the scourge of the Vereaux was because of Des' efforts. We cannot let her hard work be wasted after she sacrificed so much."

    Wanting to argue, but finding she couldn't, Taiga let free a resigned whisper of breath. Caspian, unaging and as close to immortal as their clan knew to exist, was right. She didn't have the heart to argue further, not with tears blotting her vision, increasingly hard to ignore in the way they decorated her lashes. Heatless fires were drowned by tears, eyes unable to see so long as the pain they held felt bold enough to present itself. She wanted to scream, to beg, to stomp and rage and feel the human feelings the fleshlands drew out of her body when she was far from the mute clutches of Arcadia. She knew then why she didn't wish to stay, to live among the other Fae in the decadence and splendor. There was only control her, and Taiga had grown accustomed to feeling more than the ghosts of emotions left by human interaction.

    It was a wonder Caspian was capable of showing his emotions after so long removed from humanity. A leader as pure of heart as he deserved more than secondhand accounts of his family being destroyed by those they were entrusted to watch.

    "Who do you plan to send as a replacement?" Taiga managed to ask, albeit softly. She had half a mind to pledge herself, but she was sworn to Nicholaus, and to abandon her charge for another was just another form of oath breaking. A contract between them existed, and not only Nic and herself knew this, but Caspian as well.

    "I believe Laurie is the most suited for the task." He spoke in opinions because to state a fact would be a lie. No one could be certain just which Fae was fit to follow Chance Vereaux, and the more seasoned Arden were predisposed like Taiga, unable to volunteer even if they wanted to. Taiga recognized the name, though vaguely, as this was one of her younger siblings. Barely old enough to have finished studies and training. The skepticism worn on her face was enough to earn a nod from Caspian.

    "Yes, I can tell you do not approve of my choice." He didn't sound angry, though he had right to be. Taiga was his child and an inferior that had no room to pass judgment on her superior's choices. "It was difficult to make. We are less than we were in numbers. Our best are unable to break an oath to their sworn charges, and many of our youngest are not ready to leave Arcadia. Laurie is what we have available to offer. Laurie is who we must put our trust into."

    "Yes, Caspian." Taiga whispered, taking one parting glance at his strong features, the short sweep of his golden quills rich in color like sunlight through fresh honey. "I understand."

    "Arrangements are being made for Des' return to the Dreaming, Taiga. I assure you that I will do my best to honor her memory, and word will be sent to all of your brothers and sisters when the time comes." Pausing, Caspian straightened his posture before his other hand was removed from Taiga, leaving her to clasp those unsteady palms together in her lap. "But you have come with other news, haven't you?"

    In wake of discussing Des, it didn't seem appropriate to mention anything else. Not even Aisling and her plans she briefly spoke to Artemis about. "I don't want to talk about it."

    "Can I talk about it for you?" As he always seemed, so too did Caspian come off knowledgeable of matters Taiga hadn't thought him aware of. At least, she believed it concerned Aisling, as her life otherwise was mostly chronicling Nic on his adventures, which left desperate few opportunities to adventure on her own. Not that she minded. She was old enough to have grown weary of traveling alone, and what was left to explore remained far from the safety of the mortal realm; far from Aisling. Nothing of that nature appealed to her sense of discovery. Sad as it was, it was the truth.

    A Fae uncomfortable with the wanderlust accompanying her lifestyle. What a cruel cosmic joke.

    "If you like, you may." Finally tending to her tears, the woman wiped them away in the same fashion as her creator, deliberately trying to remain attentive even as she did this. She had missed his voice like a sailor misses the scent of the sea. It was what remained of her upbringing, a reminder that no great challenge accomplished would compare to the peace their solemn wing of Arcadia brought her.

    "You have never been in love before, but I hear that is the case now." The glimmer in his eyes made it seem so secretive as if Taiga hadn't mentioned it to another soul. He wanted to be her confidante, and she let him, matching his easy smile with one of her own.

    "Yes. She is beautiful and bright. A sunrise. A moonbeam. She can speak to voices beyond." An air of whimsy clung to the words, their spill from her throat as natural as her need for the fortune teller in question. "She has a gift, Caspian. She is beyond what I know of humans. She is something entirely different."

    "Your paramour sounds divine." His head tilted as he asked thoughtfully, "But do you worry about her life?"

    "What do you mean?"

    Gesturing openly with his hands, Caspian rose from his seat and padded softly away, wings against his back sharing the coloration of a falcon. "Do not forget who you are, Taiga Arden. A woman of mortal blood is a blessing, of course, but also a great liability. Fragility will be seen, and some might wish to capitalize on that weakness." He rubbed the stubble at his cheek, unable to entirely rid himself of facial hair even when they were safe from humanity's influences. He had spent too many years among the flesh, and so did the patriarch permanently change over time. Aged in a way. His height towered even at the distance between them, broad shoulders slumping ever so slightly. "I worry for your heart as much as I worry for your body. Your essence will always return to the Dreaming, and you will be born anew - but the rest can be broken. An old soul like myself wishes only the best for my fledglings."

    Turning back to Taiga, he added in a whisper that had no issue carrying to where she remained seated, "Promise you will be careful. Be her protector, her champion, but Taiga, do not be a martyr for this woman."

    There was that feeling again, the distant call of rage that she couldn't manipulate in Arcadia. There were no means to harness the anger, not a viable outlet to explore the depths of her fury. Instead, it was a nagging sensation. It ate at her stomach, her chest, and up to her shoulders. It caused her wings to jitter violently, though even that was no more than a show. Mouth opened only to close, her words stuck halfway up her throat like she was choking. It was the best she could do not to scream at him, irrational as it may have seemed. Steeling herself as she forced herself to stand, the easing of her muscles followed suit while her hands wrung anxiously.

    "I know my place!" Managing not to snarl, the message still sounded arrogant. Inappropriate. "I'm not stupid..."

    "No, my dear, you have never been stupid... But you are willful, and you know the tales as well as I do. Our hubris is the key to our undoing." Walking back to Taiga, Caspian wrapped his long arms around her much thinner frame and pressed a kiss against the crown of her head. "Please try to be safe. Keep Aisling safe as well. She makes your glow that much brighter, and to see you smile, I know she is worth one of my most valuable treasures."

    She didn't struggle nor did she wish to, given how rare she had contact with other Fae. She just leaned into his chest and sighed with each breath, trying to maintain a relative calm to match their tranquil library. "I will continue to try, Caspian. I always do."

    Another kiss was planted atop the first, into the spill of her mauve tresses, before he released her gently. "Now you must go. The longer you stay, the harder leaving will be."

    Catching herself biting her bottom lip, Taiga took a few careful steps backward. "Never forget I love you very much. I worry about you as well. I worry more than anyone realizes, and it pains me to be so far from the clan. From you." Her smile was a meager thing, all tilted lip corners and forced muscle control.

    "And I, you." Nodding, he looked elsewhere, reminiscent. "You remind me very much of your mother, Taiga. Gods, how unruly she could be when she believed she was doing the right thing. You never knew when she was angry or just passionate." He looked back to Taiga with a hearty chuckle. "Oh, but she knew love and could love more fiercely than any other Fae I have encountered. She said it was our greatest strength, stolen from humanity but perfected by the Fae."

    "You rarely speak of her." It had come so abruptly to hear Caspian speak of Mercai that Taiga almost missed the praise implied. "I know it hurts you the most out of all of us to think of her gone."

    "But the pain I feel is worth the years she was mine. I would carry this pain for eternity for the memories I am lucky enough to retain." His hand brushed over the cover of the tome before giving it a reassuring pat. "Her life lives on here, so here is where I stay with her."

    Taiga, usually so long winded, left in silence. Thinking of family. Thinking of more than that. No, it was of the clan and their commitments. Of their importance. Once, Taiga had believed they were the least necessary clan in the realms, bogged down by paperwork and history lessons. Only then, as she left Caspian, did she realize just how important the Arden were.

    "Where would our history go without us?" She murmured, alone and headed back to the breach in the veil. "Would we cease to be?" She decided they would. Dreams had brought them to life, but how they remained ripe with vitality relied heavily on those recollections cataloged in the great library.

    Where Caspian guided his flock and tended to the stories of their brethren clans.

    The only place Taiga considered home.
  9. Krig
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    "I know you're there."

    "Well, I wasn't trying to hide the fact." Sitting on the edge of her window sill, the scraggly fellow cracked an all too amused grin. "Vian, you look lovely as always."

    "You shouldn't be here," she started with a frown that creased her brow and narrowed her gaze, "and if he finds out, you'll get both of us in trouble."

    "Because I'm well known for shying away from possible trouble." As his fingers danced against the open window, he leaned inward to take a long sniff of the air. "Have you been smoking?"

    "No." She lied, though her indignant response was guilt enough. He knew better than to trust her anyway.

    "Well, it's good to hear you're not smoking, though what a turn on it would have been to hear Kayen's angel had a dark side." Glancing around her bedroom, it was almost shameful how he looked in dark rags of clothing, filthy from hard travel. Vian's whole situation was too decadent for words. The carpeting, the drapes, the armoire stashed thoughtlessly in the far corner, and the canopy bed with gilded frame work an artisan was once tasked to slave over for countless hours - beautiful and wasteful. Stories lined the walls, knit to moving tapestries, and faintly, he could hear a chorus of whispering bells play from her music box.

    "I doubt father would appreciate the stench." Sapphire hues sought the Quies boy like he was a stain on the floor, questioning and accusatory. "Were you bored, Krig? Is that why you stopped by?"

    Perhaps it had been boredom that led the youngest of his clan seeking council with the outcast Vereaux, but Krig didn't see reason to admit such a thing. Dark lips contrasting his ghostly features curled into a salacious grin. "I've come to steal you away. What other reason would I have for visiting so late when you've already prepared to retire?" Motioning to her nightgown, he hopped from the window and began pacing the floor, well aware he was tracking dirt with each precarious step. "Or, another option, you come willingly."

    "With you?" Vian laughed, and the sound was as cold as the Alps during winter. Such a frigid soul, Krig hardly knew why he pined so openly for the woman, and yet he remained, with that same look painted over his scarred visage. "Why on earth would I go anywhere with you?"

    "Why not? I can't see a reason you wouldn't trust me, and I haven't a reason to keep you from following me into the night. There's plenty to see, plenty to do, and whether you care to admit it or not, you want to go." His posture straightened, but he still had a rather unsettling quality about him, as though what resided beneath the surface was far more threatening than dirt on expensive flooring. "Being locked away isn't any sort of life for you, is it?"

    Vian's eyes rolled, slow and willful, until they seemed to have made a full circle in her head. "No. I don't want any Rumpelstiltskin promises or Pied Piper enticement. I'm ready for bed, and you're being weird... as usual."

    "I'm not weird! If anything, I'm fun and adventurous and... Hm, I suppose a bit weird. Maybe you're on to something." Krig chuckled softly before shaking his ratty head of ashen hair. "But I can respect being told no, even if it's against everything I stand for."

    "And what is it you stand for, Krig?" Vian asked aloud, pondering without giving it much thought of her own. "Unhygienic practices and random late night meetings? Had you not tried, what, three nights in a row then I might take a chance. At this point, you seem far too lonesome to be as happy as you claim to be, gallivanting around late at night."

    "Yes, well, it's easy for someone like you to judge someone like me. You come from a place few of us are allowed to experience, with all this luxury to ease your pain. It's no wonder why you're happier here than you might be exploring. That doesn't mean I won't continue to try and lure you out, if only for a drink." Teetering on the balls of his feet, he added in a sing song voice for emphasis, "Buuuut nooooot toooooonight."

    "No, definitely not tonight, and maybe never."

    "Well, never isn't such a long time." Krig teased under his breath, unable to suppress the smile that followed subsequent. "I can wait until never if that's what it takes."

    Clicking her tongue a few times, the Fledgling Vereaux gave her visitor a once over before asking, "If I come out with you tomorrow, will it satisfy whatever this fascination is you have with me?"

    "Satisfy? Hardly. Though, were you to hate my company after a night with me, I couldn't begin to tread upon your feelings. I'm adamant, but not disrespectful." Stepping back a few feet, he reached behind him in a blind search for the window frame he entered through. "Thankfully, I have more confidence in our arrangement than to give up entirely before we've had our fun. I'll see you tomorrow night then, Vian?"

    "Yes." Vian promised, and this time, she was being honest - which seemed even more peculiar than her rapid change of heart. "Just be sure to wear clean clothes. Please. It's the least you can do."

    "Ah, what you ask of a man who lives in a hole... Alright. A clean outfit so I'm not such an eyesore." With a half bow and an awkward climb out her window, Krig left Vian to sleep, though he sang his jubilation very loudly, listing acts he intended upon her even as the street lights popped and fizzled in response to his presence. Even the bugs stopped chirping their nightly serenade, silenced by the youth of Quies blood who knew no greater joy than that he found in an icy queen of royal lineage.
    #13 Villains, Feb 23, 2018
    Last edited: Feb 23, 2018
  10. Reyr
    [​IMG] [​IMG] [​IMG]

    His hands.

    Her hands.

    Their hands.

    Reyr was having a difficult time making out just whose hands were where, though as a single finger slid between the crease of her slick nether lips, she didn't fixate on who present was controlling it. Her head rolled, lolling where it hovered over Sol's cock, a thread of saliva dangling precariously from her mouth. Dazed, she moved to Nova's features, kissing her. Again and again, while the barest whispers managed to steal through like runaway fears avoiding self-control's incessant rules. They had been drinking like usual. They had planned to go home like usual.

    So why was she moving between Nova's thighs?

    Head bowing, her lashes fluttered, causing the room to spin and shift while Nova shuddered. Reyr's tongue was quick, unabated by the situation even as her mind shuffled through still images of their evening. One shot, two shot, three shot, four. On and on until Reyr felt Nova's legs tighten, her moan low and deep like a beast in heat. Reyr tasted her come, warm and welcome as panting breaths beat down on the other woman's clit. Her tongue swirled and pirouetted and bounded for that tight hole spasming that opened in recourse.

    The bar had been quiet, and they had thought drinking was going to pass the time.

    Nova's mouth was covered, Sol kissing her.

    Sol, whose fingers continued to draw needy circles around Reyr's sex.

    Sol, who only stopped his adoration of Nova to push Reyr forward.

    Sol, who ensured her body remain splayed over Nova's while he stroked his already slick cock in anticipation.

    How many drinks had Reyr shotgunned before they stumbled upstairs to the hotel portion of Radius? Her cunt rubbed against Nova's as Sol forced himself between her desperately tight walls, the muscles stretching to fit his girth even as her whimpers of protest were stifled by Nova. Lips on her lips, a slow grind. A slap to her ass, and her mouth tasting Nova's, which tasted like Sol.

    How many drinks?

    Frustrated, Reyr moved one of her hands to hold Nova's while the other slid between them, again teasing at the swollen point between her parted lips. Reyr's fingers didn't care that Nova was bucking upwards in a coil of desire, the waves of tension finding release over and over; Sol's cock feeling the undulations of Reyr's excitement. Reyr prayed they remembered to lock the door.

    The bed rocked, three bodies piled, their movements all in sync.

    Sol's pace picked up and so did Reyr's, her hand covered in Nova's repeated orgasms. Nova bit her lip in protest, dancing the fine line between overwhelmed and ecstatic, though Reyr couldn't help continuing. Down the rabbit hole they went, Sol's grip on her hips alleviated slightly as he wrapped his grip around her throat. Reyr felt him finish, cum hot and filling until she was shaking, dripping. Sol pushed her aside, reforming their three stack by maneuvering Nova to play the middle piece. Wide eyes met her, aroused and unforgiving - enough to make Reyr blush in the dark.

    Payback. Reyr felt what it was like to be unable to fight back. She loved it, loved the vulnerability, loved the sensation of skilled fingers forcing her to climax. Her kisses to Nova were appreciative, thankful. Her cries were soft and moist as Nova's tongue reigned supreme over her own. Sol fucked Nova harder than Reyr, deeper, and Reyr was dizzy again by how feverish the alien above her worked now that she was being filled so insatiably.

    They changed positions for hours. Like a game of Twister, the players all bent and leaned and knelt. Sol fucked her throat when he wanted to hear her gag. Nova held her arms and legs spread while Sol pummeled her ass. When it was Nova's turn to be violated, Reyr licked her friend's tears and brought her mouth around Nova's aroused nipples. Each grunt Sol made rekindled the spark in the pit of her stomach. Each filthy word Nova whispered in response caused Reyr to tremble. Reyr's last memory was Nova's mouth against her cunt, proving she was the better of the three when it came to making Reyr beg.

    How hungover would she be come morning?
  11. Tis the Season

    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    Iman hadn't been one for celebrating holidays after the surge of human-related marketing campaigns, and Christmas was the biggest act of consumerism this side of the Atlantic. Not bringing to attention the music and how it put the Ifrit on edge, it was the flashing lights and constant propaganda concerning the season, as if the snow wasn't enough indication old saint Nick was headed for Dublin. Above all the tacky decor, Iman loathed walking through snow, the cold earning a miserable whine from the male as he waded through scattered drifts picked up by the winter winds. Bundled as he was, it felt like tissue paper, barely enough to rightfully neglect the chill threatening to cut off circulation to his feet. He was only in this form to travel easier, as the creature's female guise had nothing appropriate to cope with the climate changes across the city, and heels simply weren't an option when ice was a risk with each careful step.

    After reaching his building, the Ifrit fished out a few pounds to slip the doorman before shuffling inside where the surge of heat filling the lobby greeted his tan features. Pleased by the change in temperature, Iman coasted toward the elevator with a few soft hums, arms still full of grocery bags containing various necessities for the week. Even in the dead of winter, Iman needed to eat, even if Sam believed Iman's diet was nothing more than organic bullshit to follow the health craze the city had been swept by in recent years. Contrary to that sentiment, Iman rather enjoyed protein shakes and granola bars but arguing the point only made Sam more adamant to point out what the Arab was missing; alcohol topping the long list. Several months into their relationship and Iman remained strong in their stance regarding liquor. A personal triumphant when suffering the teasing of their significant other.

    Even the elevator was flooded with Christmas cheer, playing sappy jingles that caused the male to roll his eyes and yawn unappreciatively even without an audience to notice his disdain.

    With a ding of the bell, the lift opened to the top floor, flush with hanging garlands and preemptive clips of mistletoe atop each nearby doorway. When traversing the hall, Iman noticed some tenants had removed their mistletoe accessories, with one going so far as to leave a note taped to their door stating they didn't want to find any more of the plant around their apartment. Health reasons. Specifically, health reasons regarding their cat. Impractical as mistletoe may have been, he had never once considered the ramifications of the holiday garnish on pets. Iman's Parrot was low maintenance, uninterested in decorative fluff so long as there was a healthy supply of fruits at his disposal. For some reason, Iman had always held a fondness for avian life, even if most birds were weary of his kind. Not Parrots, though. If anything, Carmine the Parrot was quite the sweetheart toward his owner.

    Unlocking the door, or attempting to, Iman found it was already unlocked - meaning someone had dropped by unannounced. Blinking long lashes as the options were narrowed, the last was always the most obvious in retrospect, which brought a short sigh from his lips. "Sam?"

    "Took ye long enough. Could've sworn ye said ye'd be home by now." Lounging was in Sam's nature, his broad back positioned against the arm of the sofa, long legs stretched across the expensive leather upholstery. "How'd the snow treat ye?" In one hand, he held a snifter of brandy as was customary for the Irishman, though his other was toying with the butt of a cigar. An ashtray had been placed on the coffee table, a new addition, though Iman wore an expression of shock for other reasons as the door was shut in his wake. Mouth agape, the Ifrit cradled the paper bag in one arm while the other drew large motions through the air toward the fireplace and the tree now located there.

    "W-what is that?" Iman asked with a sharp hiss, eyes narrowing at stray pine needles scattered along the foot of the base. "Did you... Did you bring this up all by yourself?"

    "Aye, of course I did." Puffing at the cigar with a rumble of deep laughter, Sam went on to say, "Well, don' just look at it. We got decoratin' ta do, Love."

    It took every ounce of Iman's resolve not to be angry, the intricate Sanskrit inscriptions along his throat and bare knuckles alight with heat as he unceremoniously stalked into the kitchen and relinquished the grasp on the grocery bag. Testily pacing back and forth for a moment, he paused finally to state, "Fine," even though both knew it wasn't fine. Grumpy Iman didn't have a decent argument, though, so off to the bedroom he went to change from the layers of his winter attire. Discarding the heavy coat and the boots, the rest was much easier to shed, leaving Iman nude and debating just how to broach the subject of not being entirely keen about celebrating the holiday. Yet, deep down, the creature still had hopes of pleasing their counterpart regardless their religious beliefs.

    When Iman returned, she was wearing a tight pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweater, with one hand holding her ponytail of raven hair back as the other wrapped a hairtie around the collective. "So-" she said, expression deadpan, "you brought me a tree. Thank you." A pause. "But why?"

    "Love, it's Christmas eve. Ye can't very well expect me to simply ignore the fact." Sam rose from his seated position to make long strides toward the woman, his cigar snuffed in the ashtray prior to his transition between rooms. "It was either come here an' spread some holiday cheer or make a fleeting appearance at the office party. Ye know I'd rather just be with ye." Flashing a brilliant display of pearly whites as he hugged the smaller female to his front, he added, "An' ye need to learn how to decorate a tree."

    "Why?" Iman asked, sulking though eager for the embrace of the hulking Leprechaun. "What's your angle?"

    Feigning a look of shock, Sam pulled away to press his palm to the front of his suit, presumably above his heart. "As if I'd have an angle. Ye wound me, Love." Chuckling off the charade, he led her by the hand to a box set to the side that was full of Chrismas related adornments, including but not limited to ornaments and a massive golden star with a cupped spherical base. "Now, here's the tricky part." Swallowing the last of his brandy, the empty glass was placed on the coffee table so one of his hand was free to gesture over the pine tree in question. "So, we're gonna start with the lights as those're the most important part." Releasing Iman for the time being, the redhead gathered a string of lights in hand to demonstrate how they were meant to be wrapped around the body of the pine.

    Not needing to encourage the act, Iman watched with one eyebrow quirked, and when she was turned to expectantly by her employer, she sighed softly and followed his instruction. "Like this?" She asked when her lights were up, though how he rearranged them after a moment was enough to prove Iman wasn't as familiar with the custom. For a few moments, the two took turns stringing up the additions until the tree was a mess of dimmed bulbs, though Sam took care of plugging in the collection so the colors danced through the needles like captured stars in a sky of earthy green. Even grumpy Iman could appreciate the effort by the finished product, and a small smile crossed her lips as she admitted, "It looks good now."

    "Oh, it's gonna get better, Darlin'." Next came a prepackaged bag of popcorn and thread still spooled. Iman must have looked confused before with a laugh, Sam showed what he intended to do with the fluffy kernels. Lacing several onto the length of thread in his hands, he passed it to the woman so she could continue his work, grabbing more to continue the tradition as he had countless times over. Unlike Iman, Sam loved Christmas. Also unlike Iman, Sam had every reason to be excited for his evening, as this was his chance to really surprise the Ifrit. If nothing else, he took pleasure in how she slowly came to terms with their activities, and if he was reading her signals correctly, she enjoyed the impromptu holiday session.

    Lastly was the tinsel and ornaments, oddly shaped trinkets and curiously designed baubles that caused Iman to peer over them closely to scrutinize further. "They look rather old," She noted between hanging the objects on outstretched branches, unable to shake the satisfaction she took when positioning them just right without any aid from her partner. "And what is this, uh, stuff that keeps falling onto my carpet?"

    "That'd be tinsel." Sam boasted proudly, more than willing to answer any and all Christmas related inquiries.

    "Hm. I don't know if I like this, ah, tonsels stuff."

    Narrowing his gaze slightly, Sam peered down to Iman's features before snickering. "Say it again?"

    "Why? What, did I pronounce it wrong?" Flustered, Iman blinked back her confusion to try once more with the word. "Tinselt?" Sounding it out in her head, she whispered more to herself than to Sam, "Or teasles..?"

    Unable to contain his laughter, the towering fellow turned away from the decorating to unleash his laughter, all while Iman played over the word several times incorrectly before eventually giving up altogether. "Whatever." She breathed with an indignant sniff, waving off the incident without much interest in asking further. "I just don't like it, alright?"

    "Fine, fine. Next year, we'll skip the tinsel," he teased playfully before shifting once more to face their almost finished tree. "Now, though, we add the last bit. Best part, probably. Ye get to do the honors."

    "Which is?" Skeptical, Iman peeked into what was left in the box, met only with the golden star she had noticed when their task started. "The star?"

    "Aye, that'd be it, lass. Now, grab it and I'll help ye put it on top."

    With a small nod, Iman Eko placed her first star atop their Christmas tree while Sam O'dwyer held her petite waist in his encompassing grasp. The act even earned a small laugh from the Ifrit, her bare feet dangling briefly before she was placed back onto the mostly immaculate carpeting covering her living room. Suddenly, struck with the sprit of the season, Iman proclaimed with a nod, "We did excellent work."

    "Well, I'd hope so. I wanted the setting to be perfect for yer present."

    Lashes aflutter, the woman questioned, "Present?"

    Raising a hand to silence any further curiosity for the time being, Sam peeled off from their position to wander toward the back bathroom, and upon his return, he held a tiny bundle of orange and white fur with squished features and large eyes that blinked lazily as though the animal had been roused from a deep sleep. Holding out the small creature, Sam beamed his pride expectantly toward the woman. "Merry Christmas, Iman."

    Stunned by the discovery, Iman could only accept the kitten into her sleeved hands, and instinctively, hugged the gift to her sweater covered breasts. Her mind was a fog of questions, and beyond that, a blank, but she managed to say softly while small tears dotted her dark lashes.

    "Merry Christmas, Sam."
  12. Ki
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    Heels clicked smartly against the polished linoleum flooring, steps passing without pause through long empty halls, treading various patchwork carpeting en route as the openness of the building was accentuated by the lack of clientele. There was a silence here that didn't sit properly with Fae, the sort of dead zone one might associate with abandoned buildings or dark thickets skirting untamed wilderness. She considered turning around, heading back the way she had just come, and never stepping foot in the reaches of the agency Adon was currently contracted to, but she wasn't cowardly enough to make haste when the inkling arose. Instead, Ki slowed her pace as the last door between herself and her brother was sighted, a posh designer engraving in the wood acting as the only actual affirmation this was indeed their destined meeting place.

    Before she was given a chance to pass through the seal entrance, the door swung open to reveal her brother in all his disheveled glory, a crass smile stapled to his full lips. "Oh, speak of the devil..." Reaching long arms through the doorway, Adon pulled Ki forward by her shoulders, his commentary briefly paused as he glanced away from his sister to the host of individuals lounging in the background. "I was just telling the new models about our family. You know, because there's so much to say." Ever casual with his slights, Adon released his grip when she was clear of the entry, allowing him to seal their private party before any fleeting attention might be garnered. "Actually, come to think of it, you've never stopped by before this afternoon. Must be a real doozy of an issue if it dragged you away from the Hunter."

    Instinctively, Ki brushed her blouse to rid the material of creases caused by the other Fae's touch, an expected response given her generally sterile attitude toward affectionate gestures. "Yes, quite the doozy..." Trailing off, Ki flicked her wrist at the women spread about the room as if to banish their existence from her sight. "Could you do something about your entourage for the time being? This isn't a topic I wish to discuss with an audience." Of course, the topic was one she would rather never speak about, but such options were entirely implausible due to the current state of Vereaux affairs. Much had changed in the recent months since their father's return from the Dreaming, and with those changes, a slew of awkward mishaps Ki had been charged with taking care of.

    Where fires sprouted, Ki came running, armed with the fire extinguisher of pretty lies and overtaxed Glamour.

    "What? My loves? All of them?" With a flutter of his dark lashes, the male peeked over his shoulder at the curious humans in their company, feigning exaggerated feelings of heartbreak. "But Ki, can't I keep my favorites at least?"

    "And which would that be?"

    "Why, all of them, obviously." Turning his portrait sidelong for Ki to analyze, he added playfully, "Besides, this lot is zonked out on Xanax right now, so they barely register anything said or done to them."

    "Truely astonishing," Ki seethed bitterly, lids narrowing over her sibling as if she were debating his viability regarding her current predicament. Had she been given more options than what was readily available in Adon, she may not have come to his neck of Valesport seeking assistance, but her bridges elsewhere had long since burned in the fires of Kayen's release. A tragedy considering her tireless work to get on the good side of the other clans, but necessary in the long con. All of this, from Adon's rise to stardom in the fashion world to her attendance at the tea house, was necessary. Everyone was given a lot in life, a position they need fill to work in favor of the greater good, and by acknowledging this, Ki signed her own death warrant.

    There was no turning back now.

    "Fine." Adjusting the strap of her purse with a small inhale, the raven locked Fae removed her cell phone from the bag and swiped the screen several times. "Do you know what our father is doing right now?"

    "See, I know this is a trick question," Adon began thoughtfully as he busied himself with pouring two glasses of champagne, one of which was handed to his company quickly before the other found a home in his gentle hold. "You mean who is he doing, correct?"

    Shifting her weight from one patent leather pump to the other, Ki nodded and said tersely. "Yes." The hand tending to the offered flute of champagne raised so she could sip the beverage, but to what end, she wasn't entirely certain. Meanwhile, the other hand extended the series of images she held as evidence to Kayen's escapades, the captured history of their father beaming a wicked grin while pounding the backside of a prone female victim completely visible at the angle she offered vision of.

    Taking the phone, Adon flitted nonchalantly as further images were scrolled through, the collection a rather broad tapestry of Kayen and women of all variety in various states of undress, though each one featured the devilish sire of the lineage smiling in one fashion or another. Finally, reaching the end of the folder of images, Adon cleared his throat and handed back the phone before asking, "So?"

    "So? What do you mean so?"

    "Well, I mean so what? How did you get these anyway? Are you snooping on dad?" Smirking, Adon wagged his finger at Ki like he had caught her stealing cookies from the cookie jar. "You naughty girl, you just can't let him go, can you?"

    "He sent them to me!" Snarling, the abruptness of Ki's change in demeanor was enough to rouse a sleeping model but only long enough for the girl to reposition herself amid the bodies of her coworkers. "He has been texting me these- these pictures!" Jerking back, Ki stuffed her phone back into her purse before continuing on with, "He has been everywhere in this city, making a mockery of the family name! Anything he can get his hands on, he takes!"

    "And this bothers you why?" Chuckling, Adon didn't bother to hide the satisfaction painting his visage as he slipped closer to where Ki was standing, going so far as to give her a small push so she was pressed with her back to the door. "Honestly, it's like you didn't know who you were freeing before you did it. What, Ki? Did he promise to be on his best behavior once he was free? Did he promise he only has eyes for you?"

    "Stop it." She breathed, the weight of her gaze lowering to the space between them that even now threatened to be encroached upon by Adon's closeness. "You have no idea the risks I took-"

    "Like fucking me? Like lying to me about just what Kayen intended to do? Gods, you are so fucking despicable, I would be in my right mind to banish every last bit of your existence from my life." Even with such cruel words shared between them, Adon's hand slipped through the ebony of his sister's hair in a soothing gesture. "You did what you needed to do for him, didn't you? Now, why don't you give up the ghost, Ki? Just stop letting him use you."

    "Why do you care?" Turning to expel a deep sigh, the Fae asked further, "Why did you pretend to care about what happens to father if you couldn't give a damn less?"

    "Maybe I want to use you," Adon said as his face moved to bury itself in the nape of her neck, his lips tender against her fluttering pulse, "Because I deserve recognition. Didn't I help? Where are the thanks I deserve?"

    "You don't understand the gravity of the situation, Adon-" But before she could finish her thought, teeth bore down in the delicate flesh of her neck, sinking against the elasticity of skin until they punctured and drew a sharp gasp from the woman. "Adon, stop!"

    Maniacal laughter erupted from the snow topped male as he pushed away from his sister, a crimson coat visible across the face of his incisors. "Stop what? If he did it, would you be so fucking angry? Honestly, Ki, what do you want? I can offer you anything he can, and possibly more if you're looking for things to pass the time with." Giving the vaguest of gestures, he said, "Try not to spill that on the carpet. I'm not worried about a stain, but for the sake of not wasting good champagne, it's best you be more mindful."

    "What on earth has gotten into you?" Fingers traced the wound to her neck, shaking with a mixture of confusion and anticipation now coursing through her system. "This is our father I'm talking about!"

    "I guess I'm just tired of being part of the Kayen clean up crew. Did you ever stop to think that I might have a life already? Look around, Ki, and tell me you haven't noticed? I am SOMEONE without the Vereaux name! I made a name for myself!" It was Adon's turn to be angry, his teeth gritting in time with his irritated vocals rising to consume the sleepy dressing room. "You threw me into the middle of this stupid fucking lineage bullshit by using your cunt to lure me in! I only agreed because you fucked me, and I needed that, okay?! I needed someone like you so I could see what the fuss was about- but the part that gets me, right? The part that gets me is how even now, after all this stupid shit has happened, you could give a shit less about whether or not you're ruining my life!"

    Ki's champagne flute crashed to the floor, foamy liquor soaking into the fabric of the carpeting.

    A moment would pass. Another. Several came and went in the quiet of the room, waking models blinking their confused hues in the direction of the siblings, their blank expressions a sure sign of their continued drug induced stupors. It took the movement of one of these women to snap Ki's attention away from Adon, her motility between the door and the couch this particular girl occupied happening in the blink of an eye. Without waiting to see Adon's reaction, the girl was snatched by her hair and twisted so the room thundered with a sickly snap before she was thrown to the ground with a heavy thud. Now unmoving, lifeless eyes stared up at the mirrored ceiling, her lips forming a silent scream, though the other models were loud enough in their frightened wailing that another voice wasn't needed.

    One by one, Ki rampaged through the seven women, her murderous intentions undeterred by any amount of struggle she was met with. They died screaming and horrified, left crumpled piles on the expensive carpeting as whole vessel drained of their lives or dismembered parts Ki felt exceptionally scornful toward. It was all the same in the end; bloody. Ki could feel flesh beneath her nails as her wide eyes finally returned to the shocked portrait of Adon who had not moved an inch in the several moments of her tantrum, though even if he had, she doubted he was brash enough to throw himself in front of her tirade. He was a model as well, after all, and while she may not have been capable of outright killing her sibling, she could destroy that well sought after face of his just as easily as she had broken every one of his current playthings.

    "This is what happens, Adon," Ki began softly, the violence of her explosive temper still settled on the surface of her aura as a malignant swirl of ghastly blues and purples. "Never think for even a second that your make-believe human life is more important than the matters of the clan... Humans die. Easily, as you can see. In hundreds of years, all these faces you see on the streets will be gone, replaced by replicas and reiterations and vague resemblances, but the Vereaux? That is constant. Forever, Adon. You don't get to walk away. Never. I won't let you."

    Hands sticky and shaky, they reached to pry open the door, hitting a motionless corpse in the process. Kicking back the head and arm impeding her exit, she added coldly, "You'll find a new favorite."
  13. "Go Back To Bed."

    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    She said it in her husky drawl, the alcohol heavily wafting where it drifted around Phae, her evening helping of endorphins fading fast as the last of the energy drained from her tired frame. New bruises blossomed across the outline of her jaw, crawling up tan flesh until they resigned with a splash of swollen skin; a wine red soon to mellow into burgundy highlights. Within another day or so, the injuries would contrast as a line of vague spots in dusky shades of blue tracing her bone structure, but if her limbs were still in working order, there wasn't much she would worry about. She could still chew the inside of her cheek, which she did as her unsteady steps teetered through the quiet apartment.

    Her mother simply watched the spectacle with a secret sorrow buried behind pale hues.

    "Phaerakaus..." But when mouthed from her lips, Phae couldn't hear the plea, and trudged along with the same blind ignorance she had worn for the better part of her adulthood. Years of silence and swallowed arguments, and of course, the guilt - that's all Khalun had to fall back on when it came to her only child. The strong, independent daughter she had raised alone. The vibrant young woman who harbored no ill will toward her upbringing. At least none that Khalun was privy to. Of course, there had been spats and bickering. A lifetime gave endless opportunities for such things, didn't it? They had fought amongst themselves because there had never been a third to stand between them. It was peculiar.

    Phae had mentioned the peculiarity of her mother's bachelorette status several times but to no ends beside a knowing smile and Khalun's correction.

    "Bachelorette would imply I'm younger than I am, dear."

    Perhaps this much was true, but Phae insisted it made no sense that Khalun didn't attempt to date. It wasn't as though there was any hint of her father in the picture to protest. Phae always made sure to include this adage with the hope it might persuade her mother. It didn't. When it came in usual and inevitable mention, Khalun steered the conversation away from her marital status and on to other more approachable topics. Anything easy to digest. Anything not involving her uninvolved lifestyle. Once, when Phae had become broody after this part of the back and forth, Khalun offered, "I've had my fill of men. Enough to last me a lifetime, and longer still."

    Maybe that was enough of an answer for Phae. She asked less in recent times, and only in passing; between outings and over dishes cleared after meals. No more persistence fueling a line of questioning. Just gentle words backed by the whispers of lifelong curiosity. She asked because she felt obligated to, and Khalun respected this but would never have an acceptable answer for her only daughter.

    They were distant in recent years. Phae was a grown-up, living the life of a grown-up, and Khalun struggled not to baby her in the brief windows they were in close proximity.

    [storage bc I don't have time to finish this atm]
  14. Rio
    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    No one spoke on Ixxin'lo.

    For countless millennia, the Auroun were without a spoken language of their own. Only thoughts shared between thinkers, visions passed from one user's mind to another, and the subtle and spectacular art of body language. Eventually, the introduction of foreign races into the Auroun culture pushed the native Ixxin'lo population to develop a dialect of their own called Auzi. Generations later, it was a regulation educational material, as necessary to the curriculum as Galactic Standard, though less frequently used. In actuality, many Auroun adolescents pushed their Auzi lessons to the furthest recesses of their minds with no intention of using the seemingly archaic language.

    As susceptible as any sentient creature confident in their psionic abilities, the Auroun succumbed to hubris and decided by and large to refrain from the use of spoken dialogue unless in the company of lesser beings. This predominantly consisted of Embassy races and their secondary allies elsewhere, but with the collective acceptance of Galactic Standard, additional languages were considered redundant and ineffective. In this, Auzi fell victim to tax cuts and lessened teaching qualifications. It wasn't until Cariot'lo was released from empirical council rule that Auzi seemed close to extinction, teetering on the precipice so many dead languages had fallen victim to. It was no longer viable in the everyday lives of Auroun, no longer realistic based on the length of time becoming fluent in Auzi took average students, and no longer considered a cultural anchor since the Auroun considered spoken dialectics impediments of their innate talents.

    But Rio took nine awful years of Auzi courses.

    Luckily, so did Eon.


    Arc'phi District was blindingly white.

    From the pebbled roads and neo prism walkways to the towering cloud spires half lost in hazy violet tones, there was no better example of Ixxin'lo uniformity than Rautrah'ai's Arc'phi District. Wesker cycles zoomed by inaudibly, following pre-established tracks underneath the clear veneer of each street. Pedestrians walked neatly and carefully in lines as though also following tracks designated to them. It was an elaborate display of discipline, best explained by more recent generations of Auroun who were less impressed by Rautrah'ai than their forefathers. Mostly, the city served to instill a sense of peace in the citizenship because, without that peace, any number of horrific and terrifying events might occur.

    Having not realized what great potential the Auroun people have for violence until many years too late, Rio was as blissfully ignorant of the stifling conditions imposed on her homeland as any of the neighboring citizens taking their evening shuffle home.

    So neat, so placid - A sea of ivory and silver waves lapping as bodies jostled and moved. Perhaps one swallows doubts when their life is seemingly perfect. With no doubt, there were no questions, and with no questions, there was no concern.

    The pain was sharp, blunt, and the impact nearly knocked Noonajirakoh E'vrio flat on her ass. Another pain was just as quick, but with the distinct addition of fingers wrapping around her upper arms.

    "R'o im imhhb(I'm so sorry)!" The voice spoke Auzi loudly(or so she thought at the time) with a harsh note of panic tinging the sound. It wasn't the lilt in the last word that was memorable for Rio, but the fact someone was speaking Auzi in the first place.

    And with his hands on her no less, staring her directly in the eye.

    "Rg'h mlgsrmt ivzppb. Qfig, bmf qnmd, hpmd wmdn(It's nothing really. Just, you know, slow down)." Taking a slow breath, Rio tore her vision from the stranger and nodded toward the pedestrian lane traveling in the opposite direction. Just as uniform, but moving elsewhere. "Ru bmf ovzn gm svzw umi gsv Zncsmi, bmf szev znmgsvi ypmxq gm tm yvumiv gsv giznhrg lmigzp-(If you mean to head for the Anchor, you have another block to go before the transit portal-)"

    "Bmfi Zfar ri evib tmmw!(Your Auzi is very good!)" Releasing Rio's arms, the man clapped several times before beaming brightly at her. "Smd umigfnzgv R zo gm szev ovg bmf.(How fortunate I am to have met you.)" Beckoning for Rio to follow him, he stepped out of the line of walking Auroun and continued with, "R'ev girvw gzpqrnt gm gsv wvhq xpvip zg hsv smgvp R'o gibrnt gm hgzb zg, yfg gsvb mnpb tzpzxgrx.(I've tried talking to the desk clerk at the hotel I'm trying to stay at, but they only know galactic.)" Suddenly appearing rather shy, he looked away before admitting, "Nb tzozxgrx rhm'g evib tllw, yfg kviszkh blf xzm zhhrhg nv? R dzh slkrmt gl urmw zm rmgvikivgvi zg gsv zmxsli, yfg ru blf'iv xzkzyov lu gizmhozgrmt, rg hzevh nv z tivzg wvzo lu grnv. (My galactic isn't very good, but perhaps you can assist me? I was hoping to find an interpreter at the Anchor, but if you're capable of translating, it saves me a great deal of time.)"

    Forward as the request may have been, Rio couldn't help giving a slow nod of her head. "Dvoo, r hfkklhv r'n zezrozyov uli z uvd nlnvmgh.(Well, I suppose I'm available for a few moments)." Without a second thought, the rest was said telepathically. <Do you mind if we talk this way? I know the foreigners want us to speak galactic, but is Auzi necessary right now?>

    For a long moment, the two stood in silence. This wasn't uncomfortable for Rio, but the stranger seemed like he might crawl out of his skin if they didn't start moving soon. His anxiety only made less sense for Rio when he answered with, <Do you not like Auzi? You are fluent, so why not speak it when you can?>

    <I guess I'm embarrassed,> she offered, unsure how else to respond to the question. <No one else I know is fluent. Most of my friends stopped taking Auzi when the course was made optional.>

    When the other Auroun's eyes flickered back to Rio as lamplights in the dimming evening, she felt a new kind of embarrassment draw out roseate blush across her cheeks. <With a voice so beautiful, you would be crazy not to speak.>


  15. Taiga

    The hand in hers felt small. Fragile. Taiga focused on the fingers, wrinkled with age. The nails long and decorated, but brittle from the years of smoking. The way it grasped her own, and how it the grip weakened. Gulping, the Fae did her best not to shed the tears that were inevitable, thoughtful in her expression while forcing a smile on her quivering lips. "I won't tell her."

    The elder in the bed nodded, decrepit with eyes closed in a desperate attempt to keep from wasting energy. There wasn't much time left. "She can't know. Not yet. But in time, they'll know... You'll find me there."

    "I'm going to miss you." Taiga choked out, saline leaking as her emotions betrayed her. "I-I don't know what to do with myself. It feels like I'm replacing you. I couldn't do that, you know I couldn't!"

    "I'll be there, Taiga. It will still be me... Just a different package."

    Taiga swallowed and nodded, rubbing the back of the other woman's hand. "Okay."

    "I love you."

    "Always. I promise, always." Leaning in, she pressed wet kisses to the dying human's lips. "I will never stop loving you."


    The two met a few months after Aithley's divorce was finalized.

    The two lived in a townhouse in Cambridge, with a small dog named Rupert. The garden grew sage and thyme and rosemary, and Aithley loved to cook. Their nights were wild and loud because they would argue about everything, and follow the conflict with lovemaking in their embroidered cotton sheets. Taiga kissed her neck, her throat, her fingertips and her thighs. She loved to kiss the other woman even when Aithley was mad, even when she screamed and threw various knick-knacks across the room. In the midst of broken glass and a shivering Pomeranian, Taiga just grabbed the broom and swept up the mess. Even when she was angrier than she wanted to admit, the Fae loved her deeply. Truly.

    She died early, a car crash, leaving behind two children Taiga was told to 'stay the fuck away' from.


    Asher had a habit of getting into fights. Not with Taiga, but with anyone who looked at Taiga. Impulsive, volatile, and somewhat off-kilter, this was an incarnation that sometimes scared the Fae. There was a loss in her eyes the Watcher didn't recognize, and it came out when she drank, which was often. They crawled through taverns and pubs and back streets clubs most of the time, fucking in secret where they could potentially get caught. There was always a sense of danger when they met, and Taiga would come back from working months at a time to a tirade of kisses and promises. Promises there would be less to worry about, that the bills would get paid this time around, and that no matter what, she would be better. Things would work out.

    Asher had three abortions before Taiga persuaded her to keep the fourth one, even though she had no part in its creation. A healthy boy was brought into the family, but shortly afterward, Asher gave the infant up for adoption so she could continue living her unsteady lifestyle. Taiga found her after she overdosed, covered in vomit and sores, with nothing to her name but debt. The Fae paid what was owed and returned to the shadows, left to wait out the remaining years until the Goddess was reborn.


    Taiga met Ansley at the ballet, after the show. Graceful and soft-spoken, she was the closest in appearance to Aisling and loved to dance to anything with a beat. Taiga would watch the grueling work, hours on end, mesmerized by how simple every swivel and pirouette seemed. They were a very reserved couple, and their relationship was kept quiet among their friends and family. Taiga was still working under Nic, but she did her best to be at every show with a bouquet for her beloved. When Ansley was put under contract with the Carrington troupe, she was happier than Taiga could ever hope to make her, and the newfound opportunities brought upon a space between them Taiga couldn't cross.

    They only saw one another in private after a few months, and towards the end of her career, Ansley had met a man who could give her something the Fae couldn't. Quietly, Taiga accepted being let go in favor of a family, and wished them the best. At 71, Ansley died peacefully in her sleep. The funeral hosted many guests, and a wing of the ballet academy she had trained at was named in her honor. Taiga first met the young Aiyane at the wake and mentioned that her grandmother had been the most important woman in her life.

    "Because you hadn't met me yet!" The seven-year-old exclaimed, and the Fae laughed with a nod.

    "Maybe you're right."


    Aiyane worked in television, starring on a show called Sculpt the Future. She was a well documented psychic with a gift few could argue, though she had been housed in the archives on cable channels, and she didn't understand why no one wanted to give her more than the barest recognition. "If they had me on prime time, I would be raking in the viewers! Audiences, no, viewership loves me! What the fuck is their issue?" They sat together in the park, their shoulders uncovered to catch the last rays of the September sun.

    "Maybe they're afraid of the backlash." Taiga offered, an arm around her mate's waist. "You know how the conservatives can get."

    "Paranoid? Afraid? Hypocritical?" Rubbing her brow, she sighed deeply. "If I was the Messiah, they'd be all for supernatural showmanship, but because I'm a woman, I'm suddenly some rambling crone."

    "Fuck 'em."

    "Yeah! I'll fucking show them! Fuck them!"

    Aiyane wrote three books, starred in a movie, and had her own line of cosmetics. When she passed, she was a very wealthy woman, proving not all psychics were old white men with cheap parlor tricks. Taiga personally escorted several Westboro Baptist Church protesters from her funeral and acted as the head pallbearer.


    "You're a bit rough for me," Ashton said as teeth dragged against the shaft of his cock. The pain was centralized, intimate, and it made his slender frame quake beneath her hands. Taiga hadn't been with a man in probably a century at this point, so she quietly pulled away and offered a pouting apology.

    "I'll be gentler, sweetheart." Returning to the act, she throated his thick girth with closed lids, picturing his expression in the forefront of her mind. She gagged twice, muscles constricting around the head of his manhood as he came, which hit the back of her throat with an alien bitterness.

    They were the perfect couple in some aspects, appearing proper and prim for parties and social events. He worked as a Lawyer, and in this scenario, Taiga was the merry homemaker. The Goddess' gift ensured he won his cases, and he was considered one of the best prosecutors in his field. Together, they learned to adapt to a lifestyle suited for a man of his caliber. In such, he asked for many things the incarnations before him hadn't looked for, like a marriage and children. The first was easily done, signing paperwork she had never seen before in her long lifetime, and would likely never see again, but the latter was difficult to explain. Initially, Ashton didn't seem to accept that she wasn't able to carry his children, but they eventually came to the agreement that a surrogate would the right compromise. Both of their children with born through in-vitro fertilization from the same surrogate mother, and they were a happy family unit for the time they all lived under the same roof.

    Taiga watched her adopted children grow into beautiful adults, a composer, and a software engineer, and when her husband died of a heart attack in his early sixties, she shared with them that she would be needing to return to her previous life. After hours of discussion and arguments, the two agreed it was for the best that she move along, as it was already a huge topic of discussion that she hadn't aged in all the time she had been with Ashton. She remained in contact with her children until they too passed, and by then, they had started families of their own.

    Aisling's legacy grew larger every generation.


    When Taiga found Aindrea, she was a portrait artist for a magazine. It was a dying industry, but Aindrea had told Taiga it made her feel like she was carrying on a craft that let her see into the souls of her subjects. The two lived in Venice next to a series of canals that fed into the murky depths of the city that had already flooded, and they traveled everywhere on foot. Taiga put her motorcycle in storage for the time they were living in their flat, and though she loved the city and the people, she found this a quieter life than her last few had been. At times, she would ask Aindrea when she planned to move, or where she would like to go, but the other woman was happy just to remain on the riverfront. Even when Aindrea died of Leukemia, she specified that her ashes were to be spread across the canal next to their home so she could 'return to where she belonged'.


    Ashleigh loved horror movies, and Taiga met her during horror week in Toronto. They discussed who did the best movie portrayal of Dracula over coffee and ended up sleeping together in a Holiday Inn. They were friends more than they were lovers, and they told goofy stories when they went out to the bars about how they had been soul mates, and that their past lives all interconnected. As she had promised, Taiga never confirmed this to Ashleigh, but the descriptions were always so clear, she had a hard time not doing so. These talents of soothsaying were wasted on working odd jobs and throw away employment, but the Fae always made sure to keep a roof over the other woman's head. When they became room mates, they were constantly together aside from when Taiga had to leave for assignment, but even on those trips, they were always in contact. There were even times she would bring Ashleigh along to see what she did for a living, which the other woman deemed 'Boring and borderline stalkerish'.

    When Taiga received the call that Ashleigh had passed away, she broke every rule there was to the Watcher guidelines in attempts to try and understand what had happened. Her beautiful young partner was on a slab of metal with a white sheet covering everything but her face, which was still in it's frozen death expression. There had been a gas leak in their apartment, and while she was sleeping, Ashleigh had been poisoned. The coroner ensured the Fae it had been painless, and that despite the loss, Taiga shouldn't blame herself. Of course, the Watcher did just that. She had gotten into the habit of blaming herself for the avoidable, especially when it came to Aisling's reincarnations.


    Asrelle found Taiga after she first made the journey from Earth to the new Terran colony of Isis. They didn't share names for several days, merely seeing one another in passing at the resort's bar. Asrelle was a columnist reporting on the civilian immigration movement, and Taiga was watching Nic stake out some two-bit cheat who had conned the Morandori out of a fortune or two. They discussed their lives rather openly, and as Asrelle explained over her mojito, "Things are hectic, but I manage. At least I know there is another soul out there dealing with the same sort of bullshit."

    Taiga loved her smile, her laugh, and her intellect. She was a heavy hitter and went where the story took her, which sounded familiar in ways the Fae could relate to. A life on the road with stories to write. They dated for many years before they were committed, and when they finally decided to move in with one another, Taiga discovered Asrelle had started hormone treatments. "I just don't feel complete yet," Asrelle explained to a very confused Fae. "I want to be myself."

    Asrelle kept his name but soon looked as masculine and thick as they had hoped to. Taiga supported her partner through the entire change, though often found herself missing the old version of her mate, even if she didn't say as much. At this point, the Watcher had come to terms with the brevity of her relationships and was guilty of dreaming of a future incarnation even while the past one continued to live and work. They had a fulfilling relationship, but towards the end, Taiga was scarce around. When Asrelle passed, they were noted as one of the most talented writers living on Isis. in her eulogy, she called Asrelle 'Brave and independent, without any fear of being criticized' because that was the truest description she could think of.


    Space had been a strange place for Taiga, and she was always seeking humanity to keep herself from losing touch with the dreaming. The most recent incarnation's name was Aisley, and she was a criminal. A drug runner, to be precise. Stashing exports on a cargo vessel, she was in charge of insuring the goods made their way from point A to point B without the authorities catching wind of operations. Taiga had no idea of this for the first eleven months of their relationship, thinking naively that the other woman was a travel agent, and worked odd months. Even at her age, she could still be lied to, and at every turn, Aisley lied. Whether it be about where she was going or what she was doing, it didn't matter; she made sure Taiga was always second guessing her. Even after their lives took them from Isis to Tokyo, and then from Earth back to the far reaches of space, Aisley didn't bother giving the Fae the full story.

    "If you needed to know, I'd tell you."

    Aisley was finally caught in the outer reaches of the Quatro Relion sector with enough narcotics on board her ship to dope up the entire space station she had docked at. Taiga only visited her a handful of times, and through those visits, learned the other woman didn't even love her. Even their relationship had been a hustle. Taiga left the last incarnation of Aisling to rot in her cell, held behind enough security clearances that even the Fae would've had issues with breaking her out - but sometimes, it was best to let them sleep in the bed they made.

    After all, the Goddess would be reborn soon enough, and that would be where Taiga would go.

    [Oldie but a goodie.]
  16. Chance and Eneru
    [​IMG] [​IMG]
    When Eneru's naked body pressed deep inside her, she was home. Stretched muscles flexing along the thickness of his shaft made Chance feel truly alive. If Hell released it's best denizens to drag her home to the deepest, darkest recesses of the void, she wouldn't regret any of her terrible life. That is, up until she lost Eneru.

    There was no skin quite like his. No eyes so light a shade of blue, they resembled icebergs lost adrift amidst foggy waters. No other lips quite so adventurous, nor hands so adept, nor hair so radiantly bizarre. There hadn't been another soul so engaged in making her feel complete, and as time pressed on, Chance learned there never would be. Theirs was a love she couldn't explain, though she could obsess over the parts she liked best.

    Such as his forgiveness in overlooking her affairs. He was adamantly protective of her investments, even if they were better unprotected. His devotion was given to who she was at the moment rather than who he expected her to become. Chance would always find herself deteriorating; ground into a pulp and reformed through the events that unfolded. This, a daunting prospect sentient beings are expected to suffer through, wasn't meant to be shared. The weight of transition was hers to carry but damned if he didn't try to ease the burden. To expect any other being to fill his shoes wasn't going to happen. Thinking they would ride the wave as it traversed the path of becoming a tsunami was asinine.

    Yet at her most vulnerable, Eneru kept her safe. Even as she grew into the monster the rest of the world needed safety from, he chose to remain at her side. Complete. Satisfied. As Chance reasoned with herself, ignorant.

    It had been years since the two had spoken. Sometimes the woman would venture near his home, where a fire was lit during the cold months, and the screen door was left open in the summer. Sounds of family echoed free. Youth blossomed around the manor like geraniums in his attached garden. Often Chance considered taking it all away from the one she loved so fiercely lifetimes beforehand. More often than this, she wished it all to come crashing down around him so he would know a pain unlike any he had previously been forced to bare. As monstrous as Chance Arden had grown to become, the thoughts of annihilation just weren't as compelling as the songs he would sing his children. They were all so full of life, abundant energy sources that zoomed from one side of the house to the other, laughing and playing and fighting and crying and inevitably, growing.


    The years never ceased to pass, but the hands of time didn't take hold of either lost soul. Chance was given her usual distance from her history, but it was a troublesome system of circling and backtracking. Eventually, it sent her sauntering into his presence one more time. Eneru, his mauve hair still a sheen so fine and pristine, now hunched over the graves of his earthbound family. How long he had mourned was hard to tell, but the dates on the gravestones weren't recent, and Chance didn't know how to express her empathy. Maybe she never had, and that was what led them to this moment, two opposites caught in a loop that seemed endless.

    "I'm sorry-"

    "Kenji was the last of my line. Dead to a brain aneurysm at forty-one years old." Eneru slowly rose, with white scarf billowing at his rear, eyes still cast towards the deceased in question.

    "There were no other children?"

    "He didn't bother having any. No, he was the very last one."

    "But I remember children everywhere. Small and loud and always singing-"

    "Generations ago. You forget how quickly they age, how fast their lives go by. Yuki and Jun have been gone for many years, and their relations came and went. When I say Kenji was the last of my line, I say so with a heavy heart. I didn't want it to come to this."

    Chance forced her expression to settle into complacency, agreeable for the time being. "You must have forgotten about our children. I suppose it's been a very long while since you needed to think of them."

    "Your children you mean. Yours because I wasn't allowed to be involved in their lives." Eneru turned to offer his profile, though it was a slash of unmistakeable disappointment. "I didn't even have a choice on whether we had children, Chance... But I didn't forget them, no. I loved them as best a man with just a few select memories could. What more was there to do?"

    "Nothing. I wasn't implying you needed to do more than you have." Remembering her cigarette, the Fae flicked her ash idly between thumb and forefinger. "Just reminding you of your pre-existing lineage. Watching you like this makes me feel..."

    "As I said, they were never really mine."

    "Oh, stop it. Stop saying that." Dropping the remainder of the carcinogen onto the ground, a spiked heel quickly snuffed the cherry and smashed the rest into paper bits. "I didn't come here to listen to you deny your involvement in the lives of two individuals you conveniently write off."

    "Then why are you here?" Eneru finally turned inwards, looking into swirling orbs with an intensity she could never seem to get beyond. Even in her dreams, those eyes managed to seek her out and steal the wind from her sails. They were a compelling enough argument to travel all this way to see him. One of many traits she had always found enamoring.

    "Does it bother you?"

    "What does it matter if it bothers me? I knew you stalked around the house all those years ago, and when you left then, I thought you left for good. Seems I'm never right about seeing the last of Chance Arden." The Incubus practically spit, her name treated like a wretched taste in his mouth. "So tell me, why did you choose now to make a grand appearance? Did you think I was going to forget the past several hundred years and hop right back into bed with you?"

    Buried beneath all the anger beginning to surface, terror bubbled from what he said. Not that she would admit such things even to herself, but it wouldn't have been a far fetch to expect his company. Wonders waited for them, and all he needed to do was accept her back into his life, flaws and all. Just like old times. "No."

    "No, fucking- of course not. You just came to gloat. Fine, here I am. Gloat all you want. Tell me about how wrong I was to fall in love with a human. Tell me how it was my fault you left me. Tell me how good every dick you sucked since mine was." Eneru didn't shout, but his voice rose so there was no mistaking his anger for jest. "Why don't we just sit down and you can tell me all about how being fucked by everything this side of the galaxy could really make you miss me! Why are you here, Chance? Why are you still so hellbent on ruining my life?"

    Chance stood in silence while he ranted, but the last part struck a cord. Finally breaking their gaze, she lowered her luminous hues so they needn't focus on the pain entwined with his voice. The sorrow in his shoulders as they hung limply at his sides. His losses, all lined in the cemetery like conquered chess pieces. "I never interfered with their lives."

    "But you wanted to, didn't you?"

    "Yes." Breathing deeply through her nose, the blond nodded. "But I never did."

    "And what? Are you looking for some sort of thanks from me? Fine. Thank you for not hurting innocent people because you were feeling petty."

    "You're being unreasonable. I just came to speak to you about us, about our life before all of this, and you refuse-"

    Eneru laughed a hollow laugh before bringing both massive hands up to cup his features, hiding the release of a sigh. "Just stop this."

    Brow furrowing, Chance chided back, "Stop what? Stop trying?!"

    "Yes. Stop trying. Stop visiting. Stop thinking about me." Figure straightening, the demon returned to looking down at Chance as if trying to gauge whether she was truly listening. "I don't want to go back to how things were. Neither of us is the same as we were..."

    "But... You said it was forever. How can this be what you expected?" Chance forced herself to swallow, to save herself the embarrassment of crying over rejection. It didn't suit her to cry even if this was incredibly painful to hear. "This is nothing! Hundreds, thousands, millions of years! THIS IS NOTHING! You promised me forever!"

    "You aren't worth it." Cold vocals slithered from his lips, hitting Chance so hard she felt physically winded. "I promised to love you forever, and I can't help loving you even now, but we will never be together again. I can't watch you transform any more than I have. I see you now, my beautiful Chance, and I want this to be the last way I see you. Not as the monster, but as the woman whom I love too much for no good reason."

    Something must have found its way into her eyes because tears formed along the corner lashes, thick and salty, making the smell of saline all at once overwhelming. "Was this... How I made you feel?"

    "I wouldn't wish how you left me on my worst enemy; least of all you."

    Shaking where she stood, Chance's entire body felt like it was close to toppling over. "This- This isn't right, Eneru. It's just not right! We are... We have always been... This is us, Eneru. This is all we know!"

    "Do you know what sort of fear that leaves me in? How scared I am that I won't be able to resist myself, and we'll end up as we were? Chance, listen to me." Moving closer, arms outstretched, Eneru grabbed her uppers arms and pulled her close. It was the closest the two had been to one another in more than three hundred years. "I won't survive losing you again. Whether it's you leaving me, or it's you becoming the host- it doesn't matter. I just can't."

    He released her with a step back, fixing his jacket by roughly tugging the cuffs of the sleeves. "I'm sorry."

    Chance was left in the graveyard with pocketed hands and tears on her cheeks. She didn't have the courage to watch him leave, still not fully comprehending the severity of his word. Now she was paused. Thinking. Confusion and pain blended into some new twisted collection of heinous thoughts, saturating what clarity the conversation was meant to provide. Nothing had gone according to plan, whatever that plan may have been. It wasn't until fires were lit across the entirety of her earlier intentions that the Fae muttered something under her breath before skulking back through the ancient cemetery gates.

    "You're not sorry... But you will be."

    [Oldie but a goodie.]