call it rapture

malin. 25. she/hers & they/them. i use the same 5 fuckin FCs, press f in the chat. selective indie – pals only!

[lumencoeleste]

ofcorpses:

         samiah rotates the blade slowly : admiring the way light glints off of it , listening to it sing as a blackened claw scrapes sharpened edges , guestimating the weight of it. she studies it without deviating too much attention from lucifer , peers at him over the blade as he broaches the gory history of it. it encourages the curling of an upper lip , derisive in nature for the fallen king. 

“  how deep stretches its hunger?  ”      she’s yet to release her grip on it , possessive already , when she speaks. she’s not one for sharing her food , but then a blade       even one birthed from hell itself        is unlikely to have the rapturous hunger she does. still , the blade feels at home in her grasp and she won’t part with a gift , even one as dangerous at ths. she’s held as dangerous things many times throughout her extended life and she isn’t afraid of another. curious about it , infinitely so.     “  the blood type does not seem to matter. does the truth it speak pertain to whatever it feeds from or does it simply spout a truth with little concern as to the relativity of what it speaks?  ”

Samiah studies the dagger, but she also studies him, and there they are – taking turns calling each other into existence, two obsidian mirrors with a lone candle flickering between their shared reflection, unknown things lurking within their shimmering surfaces. Scrying is a bloodsport.

“Not so much as yours,” he says, and his dark timbre hints at the purring of a hellbeast, affectionate in the way of monsters. “It speaks relative to whoever holds it. The more you feed it, the more damning it becomes, but–” Lucifer quirks a brow. “It’s fickle.” A dangerous toy.

“–– How are things here?” Among mortals, in this realm you’ve made for yourself?

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

Sage scrunched her nose up at the scent of outside, too sweet and floral. Distracting. She squinted up at the sky when they exited as if it had outright offended her, but resumed walking, kept up the appearance of a bounty hunter who had just collected her dues despite the rain. Always keeping up appearances. She felt her new companion’s eyes on her, but when she glanced over she caught the side of his hood instead of his gaze. She must have imagined it. 

She shrugged it off and adjusted her suit to the weather, immediately the rain stopped soaking through the fabric of her clothes. It was custom, the tech for it  acquired through luxuries she lifted while on different contracts and put together by someone tight-lipped who didn’t ask any questions for a good price,  It didn’t keep the rest of her from getting soaked, however, so by the time they made it to her ship, her hair was sufficiently damp. 

 “Took a contract on you.” She pressed a hand to the port and the ship scanned her biometrics, then a pad made up of symbols popped up on her wrist, visible to her with her installed optics. She tapped across the screen and the port slid open. “Didn’t know it was actually a ‘you’.” She continued, leading the way into her ship. She let him by her and then turned to shut the port behind them, waiting until field settled into place before she moved further in. It was for intersystem travel. Her actual ship, the one she went off world in was docked in Concord 3′s outer system. It wasn’t the best in the sector, but she had learned early on in her experience that it didn’t matter.

 “Contract said ‘pick up asset’, sent coordinates. Thought it’d be tech or something, not someone. Showed up, same as the others.” The memory of the hunters with a different contract sprang to mind and her gut twisted, chest constricting. Only she was there to save the asset– no. Him. She had been there to save Anthony.  

Unless, he was lying. She studied him outright, then sighed, finding nothing. She couldn’t read him at all. 

He trailed after her into the maw of her ship, immediately studying the interior of it yet again: exits, entrances; weapons, unconventional or not; hiding places. Fourth was her, and the way she studied him in turn. Anthony could only nod at what she told him; had to content himself with not knowing what his fate was. That it now lay in the hands of a stranger, one who had saved him, at least for the time being.

Trust had never come easy. But what choice did he have? None. Which wasn’t so different from what the rest of his existence had been, up until that point. He told the impatience prowling in his rib cage to stop growling, to stop beating its head against the bars. He had waited this long. He could wait even longer.

If he was smart, he would keep his mouth shut. Would find something else to say. Would convince her to let him stay, somehow; would swallow his pride and beg, maybe. 

“–– I’m going to be honest, whatever they’re paying you is probably a better offer than what you’ll get if you let me stick around,” he said, careful to keep his expression neutral. “I really am–– grateful. For what you did. But–” I’m more trouble than I’m worth.

[phreshouttarunway]

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

Sage watched him take in the room, everything controlled and under veil, but his eyes picked at the secrets of the scenery behind her. She waited, taking in another sip, noting his own glass was still on the table just as full as it had been before he’d touched it. 

Harvested? 

“That’s awful--” Sage fought the recoil at the word, forcibly blocking the images from memory that came along with it. Her mind replaced it with a million other thoughts related to his revelation. There was a reason, then, that she had been given such a hefty reward for what she thought was a menial task. It was a trap and she had fallen for it. Sooner or later, someone would find her and then, if the rumors of the particular data extraction methods that existed were to be trusted, him soon after that. Great. She swallowed the rest of her drink down. And if Anthony was to be trusted, the types of people that would be on him– she wasn’t sure if she could help protect him from them. She was dead or missing, either way. 

“Well, Anthony, I guess I can’t just let us go our separate ways, then. Lucky me.” She grinned with a wink then twisted, towards the room behind her. She surveyed it as if she was debating joining in on the fun– a ruse for anyone watching – but she agreed with Anthony, it wasn’t a safe place for them to be talking. She turned back to him. “Place is a dud, how about we get outta here?”         

“Yeah,” he said, thinking about the ease with which she put on a smile for the rest of the place, the way she made it seem like nothing was out of place. “Let’s go.” Can I trust her?

He had no other choice.

They stepped outside, and the scent and sound immediately hit him: artificial rain was falling down as tasteful droplets from a strange, lilac sky; synthetic notes of honeysuckle and jasmine teasing the streets of Concord 3. Thick clouds congealed overhead. They darkened like bruises, grew deep violet, were cut through with the threat of electric pink – a lightning lightshow, thunder silenced.

It was beautiful.

He didn’t trust it.

(What other machines were up there, hidden behind the cloud layer? Yes, it was beautiful; a marvel of the galactic age, but why had they made it? What was its purpose?)

He pulled on the hood of his jacket, and found he missed the mask. No, not the mask. The anonymity. Freedom, so far, wasn’t what he’d thought it would be. Then again he wasn’t really free. Not yet. 

He snuck another glance at Sage, and wondered, not for the first time, who she was. Really was. What had brought her there, abstract. What had made her save a stranger, literal.

The streets began to narrow as they neared the hover docks, the rain coming down heavier, puddles forming that reflected the lights in the sky and the shifting, ever-neon glow of buildings that towered behind them, monuments to modern deities: industry, commerce, invention, trade.

“.. How come you were there?” he said, voice low as they stood outside her ship.

[lumencoeleste]

@shadowspurr

It was the same as any other dive bar by the roadside – a strong whiff of spilled beer right by the door, guitar spilling out in tinny licks from the speakers fastened along the walls. Windows that seemed designed to hide the time of day from its patrons; sticky stools by the bar top that seemed to keep them rooted in place as they sat down and stayed there.

He did not open the door to enter. One moment, he was not present, and the next, he was there, five long-legged steps from her table with a whiskey neat in hand. He was tall, the way he’d been the first time. Looked awful human, despite it all, in a suit without the jacket to match, white shirt crisp and clean despite the humid heat that lingered and clung to the world outside. Like he couldn’t feel it.

“Miss Reed,” he said, sitting down opposite her with no invitation, a smile on his face that said I’m sure you know by now.

[maximura]

nebula detail | original photography by joel filipe via unsplash

[lumencoeleste]

ofcorpses:

        she is , and yet she is not. she is dead , but not. alive , yet not. a strange sort of in  between , had she not made the most of her state. had she not gazed into the abyss and welcomed it , invited him to play when he breathed life into her.  she’d watched countless try to harness him , humans and beasts alike who thought they could command a part of nature       who strove to harness and wield him rather than befriend and play. fragile , tasty bodies with their summoning spells and traps  ouija boards and all other odds and ends. and when only rage and ruined followed , they had the gall to wonder as to why. 

she’s never asked why she was chosen , why she was gifted this way       she’s only grateful for it. grateful and enamored. she is as enamored with hell and its ruler as it and he are with her. 

eyes of luminous gold sweep to the dagger in his hands and , in an instant , it is in hers with nothing but the quiet tinkling of her bangles to suggest movement. clutched carefully in clawed hands , the dagger turns slowly so that she can examine it.     “  where did it come from?  ”     a claw traces the blade’s edges as she speaks , head canting and eyes peeling briefly from the blade to lucifer before returning.     “  i’ve never seen anything like it.  ”

His mouth curves into a smile with all the subtlety of a knife as she snatches the offering from his hand – sharp, yet affectionate. “Hell,” he says, “by way of a king’s tomb.” Suitable, no? “Feed it, and it might whisper in your ear. ––Just don’t let it be your only council.” At this, his smile becomes wry: he doesn’t think she ever would, and so the joke is at the expense of those who have not heeded him prior, fools who didn’t know better to begin with. 

“It doesn’t care where its next meal comes from, so long as its blade is wet.” Like so many of Hell’s creations, it speaks ruinous truth – without context, nuance, counterbalance; with a voice that makes it all-too-easy to listen. It will not tell her that it isn’t an oracle, that it speaks the truth, yes, but that the truth has facets and not all of them come to pass.

The gift of it isn’t a test: instead, it says I trust you to be wise to its tricks.

“They killed him with it, in the end. Didn’t care for the way he sacrificed the rest of his court in search of the ‘infiltrating enemy’, and before long.. the enemy had him surrounded.” It’s a shrug of broad shoulders, his fingers trailing the shelves of her collection, all serpent’s grace as he walks with quiet steps around the room – and then he stops, molten gaze on molten gaze again. Will you keep it?

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

He shrugged, a nonchalant agreement to her suggestion, and set the head he’d picked up on a stalagmite for safe keeping.  The magic-user’s mood did not escape him, her weariness understandable after their activities, but he kept a keener eye on her just in case. The magic of their world was vast and varying, he would be a fool to not consider it as much a threat against them as it was of use to them. “We should be quick.”

A glance around at the bodies at their feet revealed their weapons, though most of them were rusted, the scabbards they used scraps of leather rather than the finer bejeweled things a noble might equip. “If their swords are in tact, might be able to show them to the blacksmith. We can search the bodies for anything more.”

Winona gave him a nod, shooting one last glance at the preserved head before she set about searching through torn and tattered armour for scraps that might be of use. A while later, she had a little pile of coins, mostly copper – though a few select pieces were silver – and even three simple bands of gold, thin as thread. She’d found the shattered remains of a potion bottle within a pocket, had almost cut herself on the glass. The weapons weren’t much to look at, not even the ball-and-chain flail one of them had wielded.

“Coins,” she said, “a few rings.” She held them out for Rhys to see, the three golden bands resting in the palm of her hand, the coins rattling inside a pouch. She could feel the way tiredness nestled inside her, and did her best to bury it. Smiled, instead, cocked her head to the side like a bird might, like there was nothing bothering her at all. “You find anything else? I can help carry it.” She could. She would. 

[specxrum]

SAINT JACK || {jack&eden}

[lumencoeleste]

specxrum:

Just as she was about to turn back to Dom, Eden continued on. She’d hoped the answer would have shut the redhead down, but it had not. Instead of just accepting the situation, Eden was apparently still curious. Jack could see the insecurity and slight awkwardness of Eden, which made the interaction even worse. Normally she hated being mean, but Eden was the exception. Jack exhaled and smiled before answering the question. “There’s going to be a big party at Teardrop.” Teardrop was Arcadia’s most exclusive spot for any type of party or banquet. The fact that their party planner had been able to score a reservation was something to celebrate. 

Jack felt a bit smug at the interaction. “Then some girl friends and I are going to Paris for ten days.” That would be the highlight of everything, for sure. Spending ten days in a beautiful city with her closest friends- she could hardly fathom how much fun it would be. “My mom is going to come with us. It’s going to be a lot of fun.”

Teardrop, hmm.. Her mom?

Immediately, she felt her interest pique. Jack wouldn’t be going to Paris at all, she decided. Would she make it to the Teardrop? Maybe – but it was a big if. She beat her own bloodlust into submission, smothered it with another simpering smile. “That sounds great.”

“Well, um– guess I better be going.”

Arcadia had been getting boring, anyway. Teen drama wasn’t as entertaining as she’d hoped it would be – not nearly enough masked serial killers terrorizing Makeout Creek, or whatever; no pig blood proms. She would fix that. With a final nod and smile, Eden walked away, shoulders held high as her long legs carried her towards her locker at the furthest end of the hallway. She debated compulsing Dom to look at her as she walked away, but– no. That would be too simple. If she was going to break Jack.. it might be more fun to let it all be perfect, right until it wasn’t.

But she'd have to obtain the details, first. It would be easy enough – she could attend class and steer one of Jack's little cheerleaders at the same time; could take instant measure of the invite and decide on a course of action. Could even get access into Jack's inner circle with no one any wiser. Fun.

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

Sage took the paid-for drink and ordered two more, bending her ear to the AI that had bought the shot burning through her system. Her eyes glitched blue for a millisecond and she felt her pulse accelerate. A booster…interesting…The exchange was an innocent flirtation, one of little note for anyone not intently watching and when it was over, the person beside her was gone with a blink replaced by the drinks she had ordered. 

She swiped her wrist, wobbling back towards her table, her laughter overlooked by the masses, blending in with the other patrons in the best way she knew how. Her demeanor shifted as soon as she sat down, back turned to the rest of the bar, almost trustingly. She set one drink in front of him and held onto the other. Her smile, more genuine than the one before, met the brim of her cup and she sipped. 

       “S’just a job, I already got the creds.” The AI she had just seen made sure of that. She waved off the gratitude, her gaze drifting to his side. “Someone…really wants you.” She leaned forward, elbow on the table, chin resting in the palm of her hand. “Said something about dead or alive…”

His knuckles rested against the surface of the chrome-covered table, hands held in loose fists. It took effort, making sure they didn’t clench at her next sentence, that his gaze didn’t turn to steel.

He cleared his throat.

Unfurled his left hand, fingers gripping the glass instead – but he didn’t lift it; just held on to it, let it be a focal point as he considered his answer. Again, his gaze took in their surroundings, triple-checking for any perceived threats. He didn’t want to tell her – but he knew that he should, because as much as it pained him, he wouldn’t get by without relying on her for a while yet. And should she let him stay, she’d be in trouble by association. So.

"I.. can be harvested,” he finally said, because it was the easiest way to explain it. “Not sure this is.. the best place to talk about it.” Even with all the noise, even with the relative lack of attention on them..

“I’m.. an asset, to them. Not a person.” It was a statement of fact, his tone neutral; as if he had no skin in the game whatsoever. He hadn’t been a person in a long time. This – seated at a bar opposite the woman who had saved him – was the closest he’d gotten in over two decades. “My name–” used to be “– is Anthony.”

[lumencoeleste]

Her ‘office’ reminds him, in many ways, of Hell: the lurid richness of details, even in the darkness. Trinkets and trophies arranged in a witch’s cabal of belongings. The gardens, too; overgrown yet clearly cared for, moss hanging from weeping willows like the veils of a thousand lost brides, all of them lured in by the scent of jasmine on the evening breeze.

Reality arranges itself at his behest: one moment, he is not, and the next, he is. Tangible, touchable, taller than anyone has any business being. The sclera of his eyes are black, irises shifting through the colors of molten lava; his face not human and yet deliriously so – the angels came first, after all, and Lucifer was counted among them, eons ago.

He hears– no, he doesn't hear her. That is one of her gifts. He feels her approach; his senses still muddled from shaping himself into being, and then the acknowledging scrape of her claws against the floor finally makes him turn. Samiah, with her maw that renders flesh, bangles and her sharpened cross around her neck.

“I brought you something,” he says, because he almost always does – curiosities, trinkets; the last a weathered skull – humanoid, save for the horns. His voice rings deep, a pleasant, dark timbre, and the strange dagger in his hands hums along. It is bone-white – and still cold to the touch, even where he’s held it as he offers it to her.

[specxrum]

SAINT JACK || {jack&eden}

[lumencoeleste]

specxrum:

Jack had never had a difficult time making friends. People always said that when others know you have money they go out of their way to try and make friends with you. However, things were a bit different on Arcadia. Everyone had money. Of course there were different levels to this wealth, but everyone was wealthy. As far as wealth went, Jack’s parents were two of the wealthier individuals (thanks to her father’s inherited wealth). But Jack wasn’t sure that was why she was popular. She had a feeling it was more due to her attitude and demeanor. Not mean to every person that crossed her path, but she also wasn’t welcoming every single person that crossed her path into her friend group. Being head captain of cheerleading came with a status of its own. 

Another person that seemed to have an aura around them that brought forth popularity was Eden. She’d managed to wiggle her way into Jack’s friend group. Not the inner circle, but close enough that Jack didn’t like it. She didn’t have an exact reason why she didn’t like the girl- she just didn’t. Typically Jack was not the type to dislike a person for no reason, but it seemed like Eden was the exception. 

And of course there she was. Just in time to interrupt a moment Jack was having with Dom. Not just that but she was asking about the invitations Jack was handing out. Clearly they were for being sixteenth birthday- what else would they be for? Pushing off from the locker she was laying against she turned to Eden, her hair flipping in Eden’s direction as she turned. “They’re for my Sweet 16,” She replied with a small smile that only partially indicated the annoyance she felt. Jack would have been lying if she said that she didn’t take at least a bit of satisfaction in not inviting Eden. People would question it. Jack looked down to the empty basket, then back up to Eden, before continuing on.  “I’m sure you’ll see it on Instagram.”

Ooh, hairflip. Judges rule it a 10 across the board.

Jack was a delightful master of passive aggression – or, rather, as good as she was at hiding it, more than enough to justify it to any of her friends, Asmodeus immediately clued in on it, hyperfocused. It itched a scratch she always had, but not nearly enough to sate it.

“– Oh,” she said, feigning teenage insecurity masked with chill, threads of awkwardness woven in.

“Okay, uh–” Discomfort. Even a dash of surprise. Reigning in her feelings to save face. “Well, I hope you have a great Sweet 16.” Polite, paying attention to the top dog. Sheepish, like a puppy that didn’t want to admit it had just been kicked. 

Asmodeus wished someone would take a picture. What a performance. 

“How are you spending it?”

How To Ruin A Sweet Sixteen Beyond All Means of Repair: A Memoir was rapidly writing itself in the back of her mind. Killing Jack was too easy. No, it was a slight that required appropriate deliverance. Karma got its kiss for you and all that. As Eden played her part, Asmodeus’ mind relished its existence as one giant dark corner, dreaming up nightmares.

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

He didn’t recognize the pattern she wove and held his breath as her blood was absorbed by the head. He doubted there would ever be a time when he wouldn’t be a mixture of awed and frightened by her abilities, despite their travels together. Rhys carefully kept his expression level, half expecting the head to begin talking, but it remained completely silent. He waited a second, loosed the breath he’d been holding, and then picked it up by the hair, satisfied when the strands held and skin didn’t peel from skull. “Thanks.”

He turned at her question to see her eyes on him and shook his head, a little too quickly than he meant. “None of its mine.” He assured, referencing the blood drying on his armor and clothes. He felt fine, albeit a little sore from where he’d been tackled into a stalagmite, but nothing that warranted extra of Winona’s attention so he shrugged it off, feeling a smidgen cocky. “Ready?” 

Rhys always did a good job of schooling his face into an expression of neutrality. She was grateful for it: she knew what she was, and so did he, and yet there they were, all the same. She wasn’t sure just how much it bothered him, the things she could do – but she had her suspicions.

“Yes.” It was a single nod; the magic wearing off, leaving her tired. She wanted a bath. Wanted to curl up in a bed. Their last few stays in inns had left her spoiled, and she felt it even more on days – nights? – like these. “-- Wait.” Her clean (cleanest) hand shot out to grip his arm, palm against his bracer. 

“Is there anything here we could sell?” She didn’t think much of it would be of use to her – nothing that could top up her component pouch. But money was always a good thing. Always, always, always. That too had left her spoiled: she didn’t think she’d ever been so secure or well-fed as she was, traveling with Rhys.

[lumencoeleste]

shadowspurr:

There’d never been a time when Crowley hadn’t indulged herself. From drugs to liquor to sex to violence, she refused to deny herself anything. She was a proud glutton - always consuming more. It seemed like ages ago that she’d grown up wild and starving for more in the concrete jungle of Philadelphia. Something more than just dead-end jobs and failed marriages. A junkie always searching for her next fix and luckily the future had provided that fix so sweetly. The lights were bright in Eden Prime and the shadows were larger. 

It was perfect. 

Asmodeus’ lips against her ear was perfect. 

Crowley’s lips twitched, pulling back into a feral grin. Asmodeus always seemed to understand that the dark beast in her chest constantly needed feeding. After all, it was by the older demon’s hand that Crowley usually ended up close to satiated. Close but never quite. Of course, the challenges that she provided made it fun too. 

“You know.” Crowley murmured, stepping out from the booth and already slipping a cigarette between her lips. “I think yours is the only Mass I’ll get on my knees for.” With Asmodeus’ arm firmly tucked with hers, she escorted the other demon out of the restaurant for a few steps before pausing. “One sec.” Unhooking her arm from hers, Crowley pulled out the relic in her pocket. Smiling almost fondly at the flash bang in her hand, she yanked the ring, opened the door to the restaurant and tossed it inside. Spinning the ring around her finger, she returned to Asmodeus. 

“Now, after you.”

****** ****** ******

Smoke trickling out of her mouth, Crowley flicked her cigarette away and followed the Prince toward the club. The closer they got, the more out of place Crowley became and more terrifying Asmodeus became. Flamelight flickered off her red hair, drawing all eyes to to her and taking them off Crowley. It was rare for Crowley to share the spotlight but it was impossible not to with Asmodeus. She was hard not to look at. Naturally, Crowley took advantage of that. Each person they passed that stopped to steal a look, Crowley’s nimble fingers found a way to take something back. She had to offer something when the church came around for collections.

It was tantalizing, Crowley would admit. Had she been human still, maybe she would have succumbed to this place as well but she was more than that. Even now, she could hear the city breathing and moaning through the carefully constructed fairytale the Sphinx Club had concocted here. It was too peaceful. She felt the familiar itch begin to crawl up her spine, the respect for Asmodeus and the intrigue in their game being the only thing stopping her from kicking over one of the braziers and watching the trees burn. 

While the bouncers buckled immediately under the Prince’s presence, she felt their eyes turn to her with renewed wariness. Crowley didn’t hide her danger well. She wore it proudly, openly, violently. If a fight were to break out now, she knew exactly who she’d target just for the sheer fun of hearing him squeal like a bunny getting its spine broken. She blew him a kiss as she passed. 

“And what does their sacrament usually entail?” Crowley murmured in the Prince’s ear. “Sacrifice? A little blood play? The pure, chosen virgin on an altar?” She shifted her feet, fancy footwork leaving her walking backwards in front of Asmodeus as they delved deeper, searching for some poor soul. Or souls.

When it came to opportunity, Crowley didn’t necessarily like going after low-hanging fruit. She preferred something with higher stakes and risk. She’d stolen straight from Satan in first fifty years for a reason. If she was going to live forever, it was going to be worth it. Still, it wasn’t usual that something brilliant landed in her lap but as her gaze flicked round, it landed on someone she hadn’t expected to see. 

A certain child of a higher ranking official in Eden Prime. Her tongue pressed against her canine so hard that she tasted blood already. 

“What about her?”

“All of those,” Asmodeus crowed back, “but not enough killing.” It sounded like a joke. The way she laughed, the way her lips curled into a clever little smile beamed right at Crowley, certainly made it look the part.. but she was – hah – dead serious.

“Oh, she’s perfect–” What should have been a coo came out a serpentine hiss instead, Asmodeus instantly transfixed on Crowley’s pick. She could feel it: the two of them were sharks in the water, circling prey, the taste of copper in the water slowly waking them from their slumber.

Abruptly, she turned to her partner in crime, gaze delighted. “So,” she said, “how do you plan on getting away with murder?” She stepped closer, footfalls silent, ignoring the rest of the world as her fingers crept up the side of Crowley’s arm, like a spider waltzing.

“Do we cheat–" Black nails dug into the flesh of Crowley's arm, sharper than one would think. "– or do we talk her into it, champ?”

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

 “Should.” Before he tended to their ‘proof’, he passed Winona a relatively clean cloth from his pack. “Best not to leave much of your blood here.”

He turned his attention back to the undead corpse, still kneeling next to it. Rhys fingers clamped around the hair at the top of the head but the strands crumbled at his touch. He sighed through his nose, pensive as he stared down at this little puzzle. He was against having to carry the thing in his hands all the way back to town, but putting it in his pack with the rest of his stuff was out of the question. He once again let his gaze drift to Winona, his brows creased center in a familiar glare.

“Oh– yes. Thank you.” Her face went through a two-beat step of surprise and realization; she didn’t quite feel the sting of it until Rhys made her think about it again. He was right, though – she didn’t want to leave her blood for someone else to find, not more than she could help. She watched as he kneeled beside the corpse, Winona tearing the sleeve of her shirt so she could wrap the clean cloth he’d given her around her wound. 

She had yet to wipe it from her hands when he looked back at her, his brows knitted together in what she’d learned to read as annoyance-frustration (mild). She knelt down beside him, her own expression saying ah yes – let me. 

Her hands traced a pattern in the air right above the head, and the blood smeared across her skin began to gather in droplets; rain in reverse. It pooled around their withering trophy, only to seep into it: preserved, at least for a while yet.

“There,” she said, her eyes a little brighter than they were before. She used the moment to study him, coming back to her senses. “Are you hurt?”

[lumencoeleste]

oblivixni:

He tasted the rot in the back of his throat and concealed a grimace, ignoring the chill the damp air sent down his spine. “Mm.” He hummed after a few seconds of catching his breath, his expression hardened as he took in the bodies, eyes raking over them to see any signs of movement. 

Satisfied, he kicked over the beheaded undead that had lurched towards Winona, stooping to pull his dagger from where he’d missed and embedded it into its shoulder. He glanced up and caught sight of blood. “Should we head back?” 

“... Yes,” she said, after a moment of consideration: the stone plinth inside the cavern was broken. Crumbled, actually; so was the carved ritual circle that fed it, sigils no longer connecting, their power gone. Whatever had been there would likely not return, though she couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t try its luck somewhere else.

The reward offered for ridding the local town of their recent undead problem had been substantial, and would keep the two of them going for a while yet. It should last them all the way to Carran, if they got that far without issue.

“Think the head of the one you cleaved will work as proof?”

[specxrum]

SAINT JACK || {jack&eden}

[lumencoeleste]

specxrum:

At fifteen years old, Jack felt like she was in a pretty good place. Certainly in a better place than her mother was at her age. Crystal Keller was born into a family that lived in one of Florida’s most poor cities. Belle Glade was not glamorous or pretty. It was not a place that had ever been marked down on a person’s calendar for their next vacation spot. For the entirety of Crystal’s life she’d told herself she wouldn’t spend her adult years there. She’d convinced herself that she would go to college and get out. Things took a turn down a different path, however, when she turned seventeen and found out she was pregnant. Her parents weren’t actively in the picture, and neither was the baby’s father. It wasn’t until she set eyes on her baby that she knew she’d have to push on with her plan. Her beautiful daughter was not going to grow up in the same place she did. She named her Jacqueline, but she’d never actually called her daughter the name. From day 1 it had always been Jack. Jack was a spitfire, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed bundle of joy that always kept her on her toes.

Jack was four when Crystal met Caspar Chamberlain. Caspar was twenty-five and had the misfortune of getting stranded on a backroad in Florida just as a big storm was rolling in. At that moment he felt like something very bad was about to happen. But it wasn’t a flash flood that greeted him as he stood against the side of his car- it was a tall, beautiful, blonde woman with brown eyes and a warm smile. She was walking down the dirt road, a toddler on her hip, when she stopped and smiled at him. She clearly knew that he was out of place with no way of contacting someone for help. So she invited him back to her trailer, making it inside just as the storm really got started. Caspar and Crystal started to talk and by the time Caspar’s car arrived, Caspar knew he wanted to get to know her more. So he gave her his phone number and that’s how things started. They talked almost constantly for the next three months. Caspar would visit as often as he could until one day he suddenly proposed. It was a whirlwind, but he knew he loved her. And she knew she loved him. So of course she accepted and moved with Jack to Arcadia Island.

The adjustment to life on Arcadia wasn’t easy for Crystal, but she got through it. She went to college and got her degree in ‘Financial Literacy’. She made friends with people living on the island and slowly she became used to how life worked there. It wasn’t until a year after moving to Arcadia that she had a sudden realization. It happened one day when she saw Jack playing in the front yard with an array of toys. The plan she’d made when she was little had actually happened. She’d gotten out of Belle Glade. She was out of Belle Glade and was married to a man she loved desperately. A man who loved both her and her daughter. A man that loved Jack so much he didn’t think twice about adopting her after the marriage was finalized. 

Life before Caspar wasn’t easy. For whatever reason it seemed that Crystal had a knack for attracting the most useless sort of man. Ones that, if not abusive, were simply just bad for her. It all culminated when she found out that one of them had been abusing Jack. She’d made the discovery when she found a large bruise on the side of her daughter’s neck. Crystal reported the man to the police and moved, which is how she ended up in the neck of the Belle Glade woods that Caspar found himself in. When he’d left after their first meeting she froze at the realization of the danger she’d just put herself and Jack in. But she’d gotten lucky- Caspar had been the total opposite of every guy she’d ever come across. And now Jack would grow up happy and safe, never having to want for anything. 

When the topic of her Sweet 16 came up, Caspar told Jack she could do whatever she wanted. No idea was too grand or extravagant. Jack inquired whether she could have a Paris-themed party on Arcadia followed by a week spent in Paris with her friends. Caspar agreed and hired someone to plan the whole thing. Her and Dulcie sat on Jack’s king size bed, the pink canopy shading everything with a Valentine’s Day-esque hue. “SO,” Dulcie said with a grin. “We need to figure out who you’re inviting to both parties. We should probably start with the party in Arcadia since more people will go to that one. What do you think?”

Jack nodded and pulled out their yearbook from the previous school year. Dulcie started to go through names and Jack would mark them down in her notebook. “Kiko and Tally, are obviously going on the list.” Jack agreed and marked them down, looking down at the page once again. This time she pointed at a face on the page- Dom Brathwaite. “Dom has to be there.”

Dulcie giggled and Jack immediately turned red. “Shutup,” She said, urging Dulcie forward. Dulcie begrudgingly did so, her finger moving to a picture of a redhead one row down. “How about Eden Ledoux?” Jack stared at the picture of the girl and exhaled, shaking her head. Eden was someone who people may have expected to be at Jack’s party, but Jack wasn’t entirely sold on the girl. So she was a no. The two spent the next hour finishing up the list and gossiping about kids at school. It took the guy that her father had hired only two days to hand make the cards. Jack brought them to school in a beautiful wicker basket, lined in a pink material that matched the cards. The cards were personalized, making sure that only the people meant to get an invitation would get one. 

Jack who was far shorter than Dom was holding his invitation up as she stood on her tippy toes. Dom pretended to be unable to reach it for a bit before finally grabbing it, and in a manner that was obviously intentional, he tripped into Jack and both fell two or so inches backwards into the lockers behind them. “Oh, that’s my bad Chamberlain.” Dom said in a voice that had always made Jack melt. “Total accident.” Dom looked inside the basket and then looked back down to Jack, who had yet to move away from him. “Empty basket? You saved the best for last, good for you.”

The thing about humans was that they were funny.

Not ha-ha funny – it was more of an existential thing.

Someone somewhere had once written Hell is a teenage girl, and then someone else had come along and then they’d plastered it in bathrooms from Los Angeles all the way to Arcadia, and here she was, a ‘teenage girl’ from Hell, and that was funny. In an existential way.

The reason for her little vacation, her little me time, was thus:

1. She was bored. 2. Crowley had already lived through high school. 3. Crowley was also off doing fuck knew what with Lucifer – Satan, King of Hell, the Horned One, the Great Serpent, et cetera ad infinitum. 4. Jennifer’s Body really was a funny movie.

And so, Eden Loretta Beauchêne Ledoux had been crafted. 

Eden Ledoux wore things she shouldn’t, but then, so did most teenagers. Eden Ledoux looked human, all the goddamn time, and no one had ever been home to Eden Ledoux’s house, though everyone swore they had. It had been easy, inserting herself into their lives. No one suspected a thing. No one but Jack Chamberlain, and the worst part was that Jack didn’t even suspect the right wrong thing about her; no, Jack had written off Eden Ledoux for the simplest human thing of all time: dislike. A vague sense of unease; a gut instinct, or whatever.

It threw a massive wrench built from teenage bullshit into her little staycation.

Speaking of Chamberlain: there she was, wicker basket full of pink little invites in hand, blonde hair and blue eyes and perfect pout making Asmodeus think of Britney circa ‘98 – hit me baby, one more time. I plan on it, said the thing inside her.

“Jack, Dom,” she said, by way of greeting – sweet, but not cloyingly so; friendly, but not fake. Casual curiosity. A demon playing at being a teenager playing at being their parents; an iron maiden matryoshka.

“What’s with the invites?”

She knew, of course. But that wouldn’t stop her from getting Jack to spell it out. Just for fun. Ha-ha.