sold soul

𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎

[noxpraelia]

Fingers lace with hers, his skin stark against her pallid tone. A physical tether. More than just whatever the fuck is going on between them. This perpetual tension riding the borders of...

A chuckle to his banter. A quick, nice distraction.

Whatishappeningwhatishappening. The urge to flutter away like a raven, to pull away as she always does. It's like a fucking itch, gnawing in the back of her skull to do so. And yet, it's also dull. Internal alarm bells that are comically punched out.

She gulps. A lick of her sable lips. She stammers. Maybe just like his footing in that world, she can't find hers in this one.

❝ P-Please, as if you could ever rough me up. I'd like to see you try. ❞ She cringes inside. Pray to Gods he doesn't run with these words for any innuendo. Instead opting to attempt a tap to his chest lightly with a closed fist in a friendly jab.

The fist softens more to an open palm akin to a flower blooming as he brushes her hair away. Even moreso when their eyes met, she can see the faint glow of blue on his visage. Maybe that's why he looks down. Maybe that's why he says those words.

An old insecurity rises up.

Freak.

She looks down to their entwined fingers, away from the blue highlighting his jawline ❝ Y-Yeah, we should... ❞

But she doesn't move.

[glaswen]

The urge to joke is tempting, he could offset the tension right now with the response sitting in the back of his mind. And would it be so bad? Bring them back to square one, the easiness of riffing back-and-forth instead of this taut timidity between them now. She's nervous, that much is clear.

And he doesn't want her to be, not with him.

With the soft impact of her knuckles upon his chest, he lets out an exaggerated gasp, lungs filling with a short but sharp intake of breath. "Ow, I'm sore enough already." A smile.

He'll save the joke for later, when Divine is least expecting it. He has enough foresight to know the right callback could pay in dividends.

A soft glow illuminates from her in blue reflections; the light is not cold nor hot on his skin. The human he is, all mortality and mundane flesh, cannot place the sensation it brings to mind. Completely alien, yet comforting---Because it's her.

A cloud of frustration brews within himself, the indecision nipping at his heels. He's gotta throw this caution into the wind, when has he ever been nervous about a thing like this? Because it's her.

He doesn't want to fuck this up.

Eyes lift from the gravel beneath them, to the unearthly, azure shine of her eyes. He inches forward, close enough to brush her nose with his as he angles slightly. The thumb of his free hand brushes against her jaw, encouraging her gaze to return to him once more.

"Since we both agree," his voice hush in proximity, "... then let's not."

He waits a moment to gauge her response, before he seals the distance and gently meshes his lips to hers. The act gentle but certain, a departure from earlier kisses between the two of them, a fiery storm of lust and vexation. This is to say: I'm sure of this, of us.

[glaswen]

“Did you miss me? Ya, you missed me”. [Severen]

@roadvirus

Trent had pulled the door towards him with little regard of what or who could be on the other side. Ten times out of ten there should have been no one there to wait on him leaving. But this normalcy for him brief, ever fleeting, and he gets too comfortable within the comforting grip of mundane reality. The knob was twisted until a click and just as he was about to open it completely, something familiar stops him. The voice coming from the outside.

He catches a brief glimpse of dark hair and dark sunglasses between the door jamb and frame. A sweet sickliness wafted in the smell of blood from the figure, prickled with tangy rust.

Trent's first instinct is to slam the door right in Severen's face, not letting the vampire get past that first 'miss me'. He gets about halfway before the door stops from something blocking the path. The rusted hinges squeal in response to the stress applied by both sides. An immovable object and a humanly stoppable force. He doesn't look on whether Severen was blocking with his arm or foot, instead he shoves his body weight against the other side shoulder first and tries to force the door closed.

It's a losing battle, a hasty struggle where the vampire gives him just a taste of winning before slamming the door wide open in his face. Trent falls backwards the other way. He tries to find his way backwards from the breached entrance (and now more importantly, a potential exit).

Yeah, he missed him like a rabbit misses a rabid coyote.

"Shit," he spits out beneath his breath as he quickly rises to standing, "was hopin' you died."

Gotta start running again.

[glaswen]

[glaswen]

[thunderousmemes]

 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

(steel meets skin, laughter turns to breathless stillness)

Training Grounds & Bruised Pride

❛ You’re getting better… but not good enough to beat me. ❜

❛ That swing would’ve taken my head off if you weren’t distracted staring at me. ❜

❛ You call that a punch? Try again. Harder. ❜

❛ Careful—if you keep touching me like that, I’ll forget this is just training. ❜

❛ You’re supposed to disarm me, not pin me down. ❜

❛ If you wanted to get me on the ground, there are easier ways. ❜

❛ Oh, so now you’re blushing? Didn’t expect that from you. ❜

❛ Don’t hold back just because I’m close. Hit me. ❜

❛ You like this too much to call it practice. ❜

❛ You’re bleeding. …and you’re smiling about it? ❜

Clash & Proximity

❛ Stop moving—if you do, I’ll let you go. Maybe. ❜

❛ You’re enjoying this way more than you should. ❜

❛ I could feel your heartbeat when I had you pinned. ❜

❛ You’re supposed to block, not get distracted every time I breathe. ❜

❛ Funny how you only get serious when I get close. ❜

❛ Is this still a fight, or are we pretending it is? ❜

❛ If you wanted to touch me, you could’ve just asked. ❜

❛ That smirk’s going to get you in trouble. ❜

❛ You’re trembling. Adrenaline or something else? ❜

❛ You’ve got a death wish standing that close. Or maybe just a bad idea. ❜

Verbal Sparring & Tension

❛ What’s wrong—afraid I’ll beat you? Or that I won’t stop when I do? ❜

❛ Keep taunting me and I might forget to pull my punches. ❜

❛ You talk too much. Let’s see if I can change that. ❜

❛ Didn’t realize arrogance was one of your fighting styles. ❜

❛ Don’t act so calm—you’re shaking. I can feel it. ❜

❛ You like pushing me, don’t you? ❜

❛ Admit it—you only challenged me so you’d have an excuse to touch me. ❜

❛ I thought you were dangerous. Turns out you’re just distracting. ❜

❛ You keep saying this is training, but you keep looking at my mouth. ❜

❛ Try again. And stop pretending you don’t want to. ❜

Pinned & Breathless

❛ You should really get off me… unless you plan to stay there. ❜

❛ You gonna move, or are you enjoying the view? ❜

❛ You’re heavy. …Don’t you dare move. ❜

❛ Your hand’s still on me. Not that I mind. ❜

❛ Is this where you finally admit you like losing to me? ❜

❛ You can let go now. …anytime. ❜

❛ I said training, not straddling. ❜

❛ If anyone walks in right now, I’m blaming you. ❜

❛ Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me forget we’re supposed to be fighting. ❜

❛ I thought this was about technique, not temptation. ❜

Aftermath & Smolder

❛ You’ve got blood on your lip. …Here, let me— ❜

❛ You hit harder than you should. I liked it. ❜

❛ I should hate how close that was. But I don’t. ❜

❛ You’re shaking. Here—catch your breath. ❜

❛ For someone who swears they don’t care, you sure looked worried when I fell. ❜

❛ You didn’t have to pull me that close. ❜

❛ I’ve fought a lot of people. None of them ever looked at me like that. ❜

❛ Are we still sparring, or… something else? ❜

❛ Tell me you didn’t feel that too. ❜

❛ Maybe next time, we skip the weapons. ❜

[glaswen]

I don't think the demon in Trent's hell verse ever keeps his vessels too long. They end up burned from inside out since he pushes the body to its limit.

[noxpraelia]

Okayokayokay--Maybe she was a little fucking rough on him. Those damn puppy eyes of his getting to her, let alone the sensation of his warm hand over hers, his breath, this fucking closeness that's teetering ELSEWHERE.

Heat flares up like the start of a fire on a December night, color blossoming her pallid cheeks. She scoffs, ebony smile that follows a soft laugh, her worst attempt to wave off whatever this is, ❝ Ch'yeah and you're a masochist. Would you rather I be soft...? Tender, even? ❞

She jests but there's truth in her words: Should she dial it back? He is pretty fragile. Widdle baby.

She moves half an inch closer, the free hand rising to ghost his cheek and gently, so gently, brush strands of his russet hair away. Her fingers, faint as they were already, lazily drawing circles on his cheek after finding some amusement with the hairs peppering his jawline.

Nothing wrong with soft touches, hm?

[glaswen]

He scoffs right back at the proposal, curt snort of his nose in disbelief.

"Nah, I wouldn't dream of it. I have so much fun driving you up the wall." He catches her inflection, the way Divine's voice trails into a question. An uncertainty. Hand-upon-hand, his fingers begin to intertwine with hers.

"I never wanna it to stop," he jests. But this, whatever this may be, right now? It was nice. He didn't want this to stop either. Soft. Freeze time, stay here. Stay, stay, stay ...

It was his time to feel the heat crawl up his neck. Divine's touch tickles him slightly, tips of nails brushing upon prickle stubble. Trent finds himself leaning towards her aimless drawing, as if trying to draw more than the fleeting taste of it.

"How about me, you want me to toughen up?" This question, as well, was a joke. He doesn't believe himself capable of it. His bravery with this new world came in slow increments, never a sure foot forward.

"Or, are you worried I'd rough you up too much?" Blatant lie to provoke a reaction. A breath. He moves his free hand to her cheek, mirroring where she draws upon his as he brushes away the fine sable hair from her face. There's an urge in this closeness, the lack of comfortable space between them.

He speaks and then trails off with a slow intake of breath, his eyes rise to hers and then down to floor. "We should ..." is all that can be heard.

[dykebobbybriggs]

BOBBY & SHELLY TWIN PEAKS | 2.02

[glaswen]

🔦.

[nettlepit]

pissing each other off as foreplay

[noxpraelia]

Tip of his nose nestled oh-so-wonderfully between her pearly whites, she can feel the faint indents she marked him with as she begins to pull away with him; a mirrored dance partner. Only, she's pulling away her head, still on top of him, now moving to adjust her legs over his.

The sight of him writhing in pain, not once but twice now. Of his own doing, mind you. She feels sorry for him, almost. And yet...And fucking yet...

Soft laughter emanates from her, laughter that would roll off his frustrated face. Anger dissipated, she doesn't know why this is all so fucking funny. Why is she even laughing?

Maybe it's because he can't catch a break.

Maybe it's something else.

Either way, despite him moving away from her and releasing her hand-She settles him, hopefully, placing both hands on his chest and give his nose a soft apologetic kiss.

❝ There. You big fucking baby. ❞

[glaswen]

He makes a sore sight for pretty eyes. His full-flushed face and a nose traced by serrated marks. There comes an instant relief with her release, he quiets with a sigh dragged heavy with remission.

"Thank fuck," he mutters. Praise the lord she didn't decide to take his nose with her. You really want a piece of me, huh? Nah, save the line for later. He's no longer in the mood. The glower on his expression still lingers, brows knitting as his lips purse slightly. A glower which, whilst she laughs, becomes more pronounced.

A bad loser.

Yet when Divine moves closer his look wavers, and as her hands touch his chest there's only a flicker of it left. Then the bitterness enveloping his glare dissipates with her apology.

He crumbles just after it and sinks forward, resting his forehead upon her shoulder as though fatigue had won. His body trembles with his own laughter; he lets go of the grudge.

"Fine, you win," he speaks into the shoulder pad of her leather jacket, exhausted by the sentiment. He raises himself from her after a moment to be eye-to-eye again. His hand finds its way to hers, on his body, and places itself on top.

"Damn. Headbutting and nose-biting? You're sadistic."

[glaswen]

[noxpraelia]

What to say, what to say? When little 'ol Cheesers ascends with wounded pride and ego altogether? Hmm, hmm, hmm! She ponders on this, waiting for his hand to take hers-- Shit.

❝ Motherfuck-! ❞

All that can escape her black-painted lips as she's yanked towards him, entangled in his grasp, and falling together with a painful thud on the ground. Brows furrow 'neath a curtain of ebony, strands falling on her cheek as she glared at him and his smug remark, his smug face, his smug fucking everything.

Pallid hand, free, thank Gods, goes to smack over his lips as she moves her face closer to his.

❝ Shut up, shut up, shut up! I will kill you. ❞ A hushed whisper, quick like steeled knives albeit sheathed for this is no real threat (yet). A flash of dazzling blue, she's too wound up, to ready to strangle this man a la Bart Simpson--So, she opts to bite his nose. Softly. Maybe. Ok, it's three notches up from softly here.

[glaswen]

They tumble together perfectly. 

The gravel needles into his skin and clothes, and his backside is sore after hitting the concrete twice. But the pain is worth every prize.

Her surprise. Her embarrassment. The frustrated, angry threats she shushed between them, the dark hue of her lipstick still nigh perfect despite the fall. No time to admire her lips right now. He eases back with the touch of her hand as she shoves it in his face. A storm of laughter brews inside, snickers slipping past as he tries to keep his nonchalant facade. 

Fuck. Damn. She’s cute when she’s riled up like this. Her eyes like strobe lights. The more exaggerated her angers gets, the more he feels excited, almost bubbly giddy.

“Ohhh, yeaah? You’re gonna—ha ha—gonna kill me? ” He wants to further ruffle those feathers of hers.

Until. What the fuck?

"What the fuck!" A howl with an emphasis on the fuck. He's in awe, he's in shock. He's horrified, actually. The shock numbs the pain, like a jolt of adrenaline. He goes from trying to contain her to attempting to push Divine away, caught in her toothy grip. "Come on, get off me, get off, Ow-Ow!"

[noxpraelia]

God. It's so fucking satisfactory to wipe that smug look off his face. It's enough to accompany the adrenaline numbing the pain throbbing through her cranium down to near nothing.

A soft smirk, pearly whites peeking through in an almost obsidian shark smile, ❝ Ch'yeah, I could get used to this view. ❞ Winterborne hues are soft, shimmering with mischievous mirth.

Former words that she'd hope would add a bit more salt to that wound because, hey, she can't fucking help it. Let him sit in the shit he started.

She gives him a moment, captures this nigh picture perfect image of him getting his shit rocked. If she squints, he's kinda cute like this too. A small shake of her head as she does manage to let out a chuckle, ❝ Alright, alright. ❞

She moves forward, reaching out with an open hand. Least she could do after all their banter, right?

[glaswen]

His eyes raise to Divine, oh so mightily standing over him. Again, he'd like the view too if he were here in other ways. There were more satisfactory positions than being headbutted so hard he falls on his ass. There's a retort on the tip of his tongue, but he'll save it for later.

His skull bleats sharply with pain, and she must have a thicker one than him if she's not feeling a wink of it (or at least, to his eyes, she isn't). Yet she's merciful; her hand extends outwards to him. Fingers outstretched with an open palm. A helping hand to soothe his pride.

Momentary stubbornness grips him, before he relents and accepts her offer of aid.

Trent shifts his weight onto her to help pull himself up, counting on the fact that she would let him. That Divine would drop her guard on account of his clearly wounded pride. The moment she does, he pulls the other way, dragging her to the ground with him.

Here kitty, kitty.

When they hit the floor together, he embraces her with his other arm coiling 'round her waist, never letting go of her hand. Leaves Divine with one free arm to scratch his eyes out, but losers can't be choosers in their petty vengeances.

"You know," he says beneath his breath, his face too close to hers. Danger Zone. He'll never learn. "I like this view a whole lot better."

[paper-wounds]

— Tony Kushner, Angels in America

[valtsv]

me: yeah my boyfriend is a bit possessive lol

my boyfriend, a demon: babe that was ONE TIME and it was an ACCIDENT and i SAID i was sorry

[glaswen]

finally kissing that person you've been pining for.

a  collection  of  75+ kisses. | @noxpraelia

They are thieves in the dead of night, stealing glances to one another through the corners of their eyes.

The demon, wrapped within a corpse's skin, pretends to be involved in looking out the train window, watching the cityscape pass them by. His thoughts narrow in on the only other person in this cart, even as he feigns his disinterest.

The darkness of the oncoming tunnel swallows the city from view. In the black of the window, Divine's warped reflection becomes all he sees. Light from her bounces off the glass, distorting her image further into obscurity. Burnt limbs fold against his chest protectively, as though the act would shield his soul from her knowing gaze.

Nothing but smoulders of ash and ember left in him, a moth of a soul flitting around in smoke and haze.

' Hey tussle demon," she asks, with that tentative nickname tied to a doubtful question. She has no other name to call him. " You ever think about when you were human? '

"No," he looks away from the window and shifts his full attention to Divine, "ever think about your infancy?"

Stinging silence.

The demon had pieced together her motives in their brief, violent encounters with one another. If she were anyone else, he'd offer a deal. To go to his master and find the damned soul she longs for in the depths of hell. He'd bring the bastard to the surface, and fling the remnants at her. Laugh in her face and spit on his withering brethren in petty revenge. In exchange for her humiliation, it'd be her soul. Baaierd would love to have her sight by his side. And he, the lesser demon, would be rewarded.

If she were someone else, he wouldn't have a second thought.

"You need to let them go," he breaks the quiet, which had only been filled by the shifting gears of the subway train. His selfishness is disguised as concern, a virulent thread of jealousy laid beneath dead skin. So he believes. He doesn't recognize his own longing, the ghastly figment of human emotion stretching itself into the demonic. "I'm on leave for good behaviour. If I die up here, I'll stay down there. Anyone else ... They could rot for centuries."

The brakes of the train strain with unoiled screeching. The cabin shudders and bounces. Static robotic voice announces the next stop. Soon.

He drops his arms from across his chest and takes approach, standing too close to Divine by the door. This is familiar. A human him once existed. But the man gone now, stretched and pulled asunder like the one Divine hunts for. They're left with a fucked up facsimile.

His hand reaches for hers, but only fingertips brush before he stops himself. Temptation spurns a strange urge, yearning nostalgia now awakened. He feels his body lean towards her, drawn in by endless blue eyes ever since the first time he glimpsed ethereal light.

Bright enough to wake the dead. And the dead man, roused from slumber, whispers, to not kiss her lips with his own desecrated corpse mouth.

But Divine, instead, reaches her own hand up to his (the vessel's) face. Her nails map out his cheek, yet they ghost another silhouette as they trace downwards. Strange urges thrive on either side. Her arm begins to fall from his mien, but he catches her hand in his own.

Like he used to a long time ago.

The demon instead presses the lips (how he wished they were his) to her knuckles. Rough and bruised, skin split with blood and scabbed by ichor. Humanity and divinity all wrapped up into one. Soft is his attempt, yet the display of affection is foreign, and he's stilted after years of violence. Surprised at how she smells of vanilla and iron, a tinge of otherworldly. Never noticed it before now.

I miss you. Miss you?

His motion nimble enough to part from her as quickly as he descended, pulling himself away with the timing to their arrival to the station. The doors clatter open and the demon leaves without another word. If Divine calls he doesn't answer. She has no name to call him by.