Scribblings

World's End | For Our Country's Good

Sun, 19 May 2013 03:47:39 -0400

Ralph turned back to her with a smile. For a woman fresh out of sleep she looked like she’d spent hours getting ready. He was shocked, how she managed to do so in such a short amount of time. Not to mention how beautiful she was period. He couldn’t deny that. The whole country couldn’t deny that.

“I am quite ready, your majesty,” he grinned. Then he walked to take her arm. He appreciated the use of his last name, somehow when she said it was a pet name rather than a formal address.

He looked to her with a knowing smile, loving too much the speech he was about to give. “Now you must hold on tight. Close your eyes tight, it will help with the feeling.” His hand moved over her eyes in a motion meant to encourage them closed.

“My ever so brilliant security design for the palace makes it quite difficult to leave through the front door in the middle of the night so we’re going to have to teleport.”

His hand came up to clasp her other hand, holding over her bag. He stepped a bit closer so that his front touched her side. “Take a breath.” And when he heard it he blinked, and just like that they were standing out in the lightly falling rain next to a small white plane.

He grinned, stepping back, “You can open now.”

His eyes went to the plane pointedly, expecting a reaction. He wore almost a childlike grin, excited to see how she would respond to teleporting thirty miles away from where they had been standing before. He always enjoyed the big reveal. Any time he did magic he wanted to see the reactions of those around him. For the immortals it was another day in the life, but for the average human man or woman it was still something grand.

“Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”

Marylise smiled when he spoke of his security system. In truth, it was probably a nearly impenetrable network of spells. If Ralph hadn’t set them himself, she wondered if he could’ve gotten to her chambers at all. She stood close to Ralph, looping an arm in his and looking up at him expectantly.

She’d never teleported before, and she was intrigued and excited by the prospect. She tried to reel the latter of the two emotions in, not wanting to look like giddy little girl, but it showed in her eyes. She closed her eyes, only peeking briefly after his hand had passed over them, She was going to say something, perhaps ask him exactly how many times he’d given that little speech, but suddenly he was closer, right up against her.

She pulled in a breath from surprise, just as Ralph told her to breathe in. And then suddenly she could feel the cool mist of London rain. She opened her eyes, looking around. It was truly amazing, and she beamed up at Ralph.

“Oh, Ralph,” she laughed. “How splendid! To close your eyes in one place and open them in another.” Her hand went to rest on her cheek as she took in the sight of the plane. This was really happening. So odd that it felt like a beautiful dream instead. She’d been on planes before. Often, in fact, but she couldn’t help but smile. This wasn’t some red-eye flight to help mitigate a dispute in Germany. This was an actual leisure trip. A real vacation.

“I really cannot thank you enough, Ralph,” she said genuinely, putting a hand on the back of his neck. Impulsively, she pulled him close and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before ascending the stairs that lead into the plane. It was luxurious, as tidy and lush as her own jet. Only this one had the wonderful bonus of not being occupied by royal guards.

Marylise set her bag down in one of the empty luggage compartments before picking a seat by the window. There wasn’t much of a view yet, just a dark and rainy tarmac, but she was still grinning from ear to ear. She briefly wondered who was flying the plane.

Her mind went to Kasaar, who was never terribly far from Ralph. She quite liked Kasaar. He was a good man, and funny too, and though she knew it was none of her business, it made her happy to think that he was there to watch out for Ralph. Marylise turned when she heard Ralph board the plane.

“Ralph, I do hope you’ll forgive me if I fall asleep,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “I’m so excited now, but it’s quite a long flight to Fiji, and I fear that I will in all likelihood drop out at some point.”

World's End | Fancy Meeting You Here

Sun, 19 May 2013 03:22:28 -0400

bythemorningdew:

For a self proclaimed playboy and tabloid endorsed lady killer, Henri Masson was terrible when it came to women. He could sleep with them good enough and manage fairly when it came to maneuvering the finer parts of the anatomy. Emotions and temperament, however, eluded him and he had no clue how bad he really was.

He stared up at her, brows knitted together, showing just how confused he was at very apparent annoyance. His mouth opened like he wanted to ask what was wrong but he couldn’t even get a word out before she explained that she was going to bed in a very final tone.

“Okay?” he questioned, in a the sort of tone that made the question sound very similar to “what did I do?”.

He turned all the way around on the couch and remained in the same facial expression of complete and utter confusion,” Are you mad because I didn’t want to marry you?”

Without even waiting for a response he answered the question with a accusatory exclamation, “You were the one who didn’t want to marry me in the first place!”

Okay yes, something had shifted at some point in the night. He had looked at her and felt something in him he’d never experienced before. Yes the feeling he felt he imagined to be love, or at least something close. But he wasn’t very well going to come out and say that, let alone even recognize it in his mind. He rationalized the thought as something passing and instead decided to put his foot in his mouth, again something he hadn’t recognized.

Back to bickering, just like they had been in the past, “I don’t understand why you’re so annoyed, Landry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Henri,” Landry said flatly, hands going to her hips. She was trying very hard not to get too snippy, considering the fact that Henri had saved her life, but it was hard. He was just so… Smug? Arrogant?

She wasn’t sure of the exact word that she was looking for, but really the thing that aggravated her the most about Henri Masson was the fact that he was obviously capable of more. He could be funny and honest and a joy to be around, but for some stupid reason he just blundered on like he thought that people wanted him to act like a horse’s ass. Okay, she thought to herself, maybe she was being a bit harsh. But Henri had a way of getting under her skin.

“It’s just been a very long day,” she muttered. She pushed a sigh from her lungs, letting her hands drop to her side. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lose my temper like that. It’s not like you would understand if I explained.” She hadn’t meant anything by that last comment, certainly not anything insulting. But it was hard for her to articulate without sounding like a naive little child. The last thing she needed was for Henri to tease her for believing in true love and marriage and…

“But I really am exhausted, so I will go to bed,” she said. “I’ll be just down the hall if you need me for anything.” And with that she started towards the hall that lead to the bedrooms. A part of her felt guilty. She should’ve stayed up with Henri so she could keep an eye on his shoulder. But she was fairly certain that arguing with him any further would cause her to snap, and that would be regrettable.

“You can stay up if you want,” she added, pausing and looking back over her shoulder. “But we’ll have to get up early. I’d prefer it if we were gone by the time Carston gets back.” The bodyguard would never say anything about seeing Henri Masson in his apartment, but Landry still felt it would be awkward.

World's End | The party don't start till I walk in

Sun, 19 May 2013 02:34:58 -0400

bythemorningdew:

He smirked at the way Bastian telegraphed his movements. He’d spent so much of his time teaching those who worked for him not to do just that. It was a small thing, but an important one that could mean life or death. If this was a real fight Drake would have countered such a poorly executed attack.

But he was too busy laughing with joy, taking in the sight of white wolf’s eyes over his. Bastian’s mouth was hot and wet hovering over his skin. The sensation of his sharp canines against the unprotected flesh of his neck made him grin, only laughing harder. He reached up and grabbed the boy’s hair, yanking him back. In response he let his own eyes go slitted in their pupil, still as green as they were before. His mouth opened and he bared the sharp fangs of a snake, letting out a hiss.

Then he moved so he had the wolf’s back on the bed with his hands pinned above his head. He laughed, “Now, now. I there’s no need for violence, Bastian.”

Drake grinned open mouthed, his fangs dripping with poison. “I only gave you a command. Follow it and nothing terrible will happen to you.”

His hips kept the boy from wriggling, but he left just enough space for the chance of friction. Truly, as much as he wanted to break the little thing before sending him back to his master, he wanted to fuck him senseless. And Bastian was being difficult when it came to the latter.

He retracted his fangs with a sickening snapping sound. Then he grinned, “Will you be calm if I suck your pretty little cock? Then we can get back to what we were doing.” His hips rolled up against the wolf, showing he would make good on the promise.

Bastian felt like he was under water. It tended to happen as he was shifting but it was usually over so quickly that he didn’t really notice. But now he felt submerged in his wolfside. It was still his body, his form, but the wolf’s thoughts were covering his own, wrapped around him. His wolfside was trying to shield him, but in this instance the immediate danger of being fangoriously attacked and or sexed to death was too overwhelming.

He could hear whimpering, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from him. There was nothing human to the sound, just the humiliatingly frightened canine pleas. Drake pinned him, fangs out, the irises of his eyes like the thin cut of a stiletto, glaring down at him. He was speaking, but Bastian was only catching every other word.

Language wasn’t the same when his wolfside took over. Tone was infinitely more important, facial expressions. Though Bastian really only understood his name and “follow” and “calm,” he knew what Drake was communicating.

He had to calm down, stop fighting or Drake was going to make him stop. The human part of his mind understood completely, but the wolfside was still trying to get them to safety. Bastian felt himself trying to arch his back, buck his hips, anything to give him room to squirm away and run. But there was no real room to move, just enough that his hips rubbed against Drake’s. The added frustration wasn’t very helpful at all.

Drake’s hips rolled down, and Bastian stilled, growling softly. His entire body was tense, unsure of whether or not Drake’s offer was just some kind of tease. But he remained still all the same. He had a feeling that Drake’s patience wouldn’t last much longer, and while he’d already made an entire mountain of stupid decisions, he had no intent of driving Drake to actually kill him. Not on purpose, anyway.

He huffed out a little breath, trying to fo cus, the white eventually bleeding out of his irises, returning them to their normal, blue color. He bit down on his bottom lip, clearing his throat. He didn’t say anything, didn’t trust himself to, but he took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain as calm as possible.

World's End | Reconnaissance Mission I

Sun, 19 May 2013 01:01:51 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

“Please, this is the job we signed up for.” Jace shoved off the worry Remy had in his voice like it was nothing. He didn’t want the other hunter to think he’d used guilt to convince him. Obviously it was easy to get the blonde to go with him. Jace looked back at Remy as he continued. his eyebrows rose in surprise at the follow up. He wasn’t sure what he’d find offensive. Remy seemed to give out lots of unnecessary apologies.

His mouth pulled up on one side when Remy said ‘presents hunter’. From the context he could put together what he meant. Gifted. Jace smiled wide at the other hunter and then it faded in surprise and his eyes got a little bigger when Remy said Jace was essential. The blonde opened his mouth then closed it again and blinked a couple times. He hadn’t expected that at all.

It took him a moment to recover then Remy continued and the blonde smiled softly at the next few words.

“It was my choice. It’s my own fault.” Remy took his hand and Jace felt his heart thud. He hadn’t expected that either. Jace swallowed and put it down to Remy’s attempt to keep them together. It didn’t stop another small smile to cross his face as he squeezed back his hand to reassure Remy he was with him. He moved with the other hunter to the side door and shook his head with a smirk.

“You are very essential to me.” Jace turned his words back on him. “And if you got hurt without me there I wouldn’t like it. I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezed Remy’s hand again then with his other pulled the door open. His eyes turned to the outside. Directly around the base there was some grass but it grew out of a mixture of dirt and sand that was more sand than soil. Luckily the wind wasn’t too high today. Maybe they wouldn’t have to worry with goggles.

“Besides if we find a new type of creature maybe they’ll name it after us.” He chuckled then shook his head. “Raclatimer? Jamy? I think Raclatimers sounds like a good name. I don’t wanna miss that.” Jace glanced over at him with a grin then looked back out. The forest was obvious in the distance. The environments a hunter moved in with so different most of the time.

He imagined it had to do with whatever happened to the people before all of them. When the Earth made more sense than it did now.

“So, we’re heading that way.” He pointed off, bringing the map back up in his head. Another thing Laina had pushed hard. Memory and making it work for him. Maybe someday he’d have to thank her.

They’d been out in the woods for almost an hour and a half, but there had been neither hide nor hair of the creatures. A few julachids from the nearby hive had skittered by, but they’d barely paid the hunters any mind. One of them had come up to Remy and seemed to sniff at him. It was almost like it recognized Remy from his full-moon excursions. Remy had knelt and put a hand on the creature’s head, muttering a greeting in French.

The julachid had only lingered a few minutes longer before it was on its way again. Remy had just hoped that Jace didn’t think it was odd. But then again, Brie kept a julachid as a pet, and it didn’t seem out of place to anyone aside from Sheppard, who ran scared any time he saw the poor little one.

Remy had been trained to hunt and kill monsters his whole life, and at first he’d had little compassion for the things they tracked down, but as time had gone on, he’d realized that he was one of them. After that, it had been only logical to extend basic courtesy to the creatures that didn’t mean any harm.

And anyway, Remy was feeling especially calm today. He knew that he’d suggested the mission in the first place, and for the most part he was zero’d in on the job at hand, but there was a part of him that felt.. He didn’t know what the feeling was. But Jace had said that Remy was important to him, that he didn’t want the Frenchman to get hurt.

It was like a soft, warm touch to his core, a soothing buzz that made Remy feel light. He kept finding himself glancing over at the Tuatha, wondering how much it would hurt when the day came that the other man realized that Remy was no better than the things they were hunting. He surprised himself with his answer. It would hurt more than anything had in a long time.

Remy paused, taking out his canteen and drinking. They were very close to where he chained himself up during the full moon, and he was starting to notice the claw marks on the trees from where the Tasmanian devil had been. Jace would surely notice, and Remy was trying to think of a way to explain the scratches and cracked branches and paw prints in the dirt. They weren’t related to the creatures they were looking for, but he didn’t know how to dismiss them without explaining how he knew that.

“Raclatimers,” he suddenly said. Jace had suggested names for the creatures when they’d first set out, but Remy hadn’t been sure how to respond, so he’d merely nodded, an almost-smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. But now seemed like a good time to actually discuss it. Jace seemed to be comfortable working in total silence, but Remy knew that they blonde was a very social person. He wanted to at least try for some light conversation. “Is jamy not what you would put on the toast?”

Devil's Trap | You Can't Carry It With You

Sun, 19 May 2013 00:31:00 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

Jo’s stomach dropped at her nickname. It wasn’t said with the same smile he’d previously used. The look in his eye finished off any doubt she had. The apology was like a coffin nail. She could almost imagine the sound of it. Loud and final. Her arms wrapped around her stomach again unconsciously. Brown eyes dropped to the bed and she licked her lips and tried to think of what she could say.

“Thanks for not lyin’.” She mustered up with a humorless chuckle. “At least now I know.” Jo couldn’t remember a thing of it. Which made her wonder about whether or not anything existed after. Then the even more important question, why the hell was she back? Not that she was ungrateful but how could that happen? When people died weren’t they supposed to stay dead?

“I had a feeling.” Her eyes found his again. “I don’t remember any of it.” She shook her head and her hair brushed across her face. “Just the…way you two looked at me.” She shuddered. She wondered if she should have cried but she felt no connection to the life lost. She didn’t know the memories, didn’t know who she truly was. Perhaps that was why this felt easy. When she remembered she would find out what she lost.

Terror crept in but she pushed it back down. She had to find out and if these Winchesters were the key then she was glad she had already authorized the call to them.

“I don’t think I can handle asking what happened.” Her eyebrows pushed together as she searched his face. “I’m obviously young and I don’t think it would have been pretty cause of this…hunting thing.” She gestured at him with one hand. Jo glanced towards the door and felt emptiness eat at her. She didn’t want to go back with her thoughts right now.

“Can I just…stay here?” She reached out a hand for one of his and held on tight. Cross felt steady and he cared that was obvious. “If that’s weird I mean…” She pulled her hand back. “I don’t know how we were before? Would it be strange?”

Cross could only imagine what was going through Jo’s mind. He knew what he would’ve asked in her shoes. How had it happened? Where had he gone after? Why’d he come back? How? So many hows and whys and wheres, it made his head spin in second-hand anxiety. He felt guilty. He’d been shocked to see her, and retrospectively, he wondered if he could have hidden it. He wasn’t sure that he could.

It was one thing to lie on a job. It was for the greater good, and anyway on a job he typically was interviewing someone that wasn’t ever going to see him again. But Jo, whether she had all of her memories or not, was his friend. Cross had a pretty lousy poker face when it came to his friends. Especially friends that were looking at him like the sun would never come up again.

Cross looked at Jo’s hand on his. She’d always had such dainty looking hands, but Cross knew that they were also highly capable. He hadn’t been on many hunts with her, but when he had she’d been a force to be reckoned with. Not as experienced, but with a natural sense of the job. She’d been shaping into a pro before the incident in Carthage. Had she lived, she would’ve become one of the best, he had no doubt about it.

“It’s not weird,” he said gently, reaching out and putting his hand over hers. His hands practically swallowed hers, the softer pale tone of her skin notably different to his own, which were heavily marred by scars from cuts and burns and scrapes. Neither of his jobs were easy on his hands, he mused. He gave Jo’s hand a soft squeeze. “Like I said before, we were friends. As far as I’m concerned, we’re still friends, if you want to be. You’re welcome to stay here. La mia casa é la tua casa.“

With that he scooted over on the bed, throwing the covers back so that she could climb in and make herself comfortable. It occurred to him a moment later that he only had a pair of cotton sleep pants on. He smiled sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Do you need me to put a shirt on, bella donna? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Devil's Trap | I don't think the warranty covers this

Tue, 14 May 2013 23:30:09 -0400

Elia didn’t do a lot of hunting anymore. Since the Apocalypse had broken out, she’d found herself quite preoccupied with the newfound duties of her life as a Trickster. Especially after Gabriel had disappeared. Died, she supposed, was the common consensus. That’s what the Winchesters had said, and there’d been a body and everything. Elia wasn’t really sure what to believe.

It was a hard sell to paint her former mentor as a necessarily good person. He’d spent the past two millennia on earth causing trouble and killing people. There was a crooked sense of justice to it, if she squinted, but by and large, the Archangel Gabriel, also known as the Trickster God Loki, had done a metric crap ton of bad stuff. Even so, he’d also taken her in and trained her, showed her what she really was and all that she was capable of. He’d protected her, and in the end he’d decided to do the right thing.

And now he was probably dead. Elia knew better, though. Where the supernatural was concerned, death was never a solid fact. And in her experience, angels had a way of cheating it. Well, actually, Castiel specifically had a way of cheating it, but she liked to think that somehow, someway, Gabriel was still running free. In the meantime, she had been left with a heaping plate of responsibility.

She wasn’t in charge of the Tricksters. Not by a long shot. She was new to the ranks, and as far as power ranking went, she was definitely towards the bottom of the list. But she’d been Loki’s last apprentice, and as such had been sort of adopted into a small cluster of those that remained loyal to his ideal.

Reynard the Fox had the best claim in the current war of succession, but so far he’d expressed very little interest in seizing command. And so factions had emerged, and things were starting to get out of hand. Elia spent a whole lot of time helping to make sure that things didn’t erupt into global conflict. The world had barely started to recover from one apocalypse; it hardly needed another.

Every now and then, though, she found some spare time to help some of her hunter friends out. She was doing just that, as it happened. Sam and Dean had called her in to help locate some old thing that belonged to some old guy that would help break some old curse. Standard hunter stuff, basically. She hadn’t been able to locate what they needed until a stupid hour of the morning. The sun was starting to think about coming up, and there was just enough light out that Elia could see the outlines of the cars in the parking lot.

Luckily, she thought to herself, the Impala was fairly distinctive. She stepped through the lot, envelope of instructions in one hand and scalding hot latte in the other. She could remember a time when the taste of coffee made her pull a face, but that was a distant and laughable memory now. She had just gotten to the Impala when she head the flutter of feathers behind her.

Her first thought was that it Castiel, but there was a scent of perfume on the breeze. Her heel ground against the pavement as she turned in place. A woman with brown hair, elegantly dressed, stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest.

“Raven,” Elia gasped out, throwing herself to the ground just as a wave of magic flew over her. Ever since she’d began honing her powers, she could see the supposedly invisible blasts of magic. It wasn’t colorful fireworks or sparks of light. It was more like ripples in the air, like heat wafting off of the top of a car in July. Whatever Raven was trying to do had literally flown over Elia’s head.

She had no idea why the other woman was there, or what she had up her sleeve. Most tricksters had some kind of specialty; Raven’s seemed to be making Elia’s life difficult. The younger trickster scrambled to her feet. By some miracle, if those even existed, she still had a hold of the envelope, and her latte had barely spilled.

Elia decided to celebrate this by hurling the scalding beverage at Raven, sending the cup flying at her face. Predictably, the older trickster easily dodged the improvised Starbucks missile, but it freed up a hand, and in the time it took Raven to turn back, Elia had raised said hand, fingers poised to snap. Not every trickster had to snap to use their powers, but that’s how Elia had learned, something she’d gleaned from Loki.

“Try something,” Elia challenged, ready to move if necessary. “Go ahead. One move, and I will call Reynard here.” Raven glared for a moment, but then her gaze shifted, looking over Elia’s shoulder.

“Well, it’s not what I was hoping for, but I think that should keep you occupied for now,” she said, quirking an eyebrow. And with that she vanished. Elia blinked to adjust to the sudden absence. It was always a punch to the perception to see something disappear right in front of her eyes, no matter how many times she’d seen it happen. The coast now clear, her mind refocused, and she quickly turned back around.

The Impala had been right behind her, and she fully expected to see poor Baby with her rear windshield blown out, or something similarly horrible that would result in Dean having a coronary. what she saw instead was a man lying on the ground. Had he been there the whole time? Elia could’ve sworn that the Impala was behind her, but maybe in all the confusion she’d seen it wrong. She knelt by the man, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“H-hey, are you alright?” she asked, hoping that Raven hadn’t killed the poor guy.

Crack | World's End | A Little Shy And Sad Of Eye

Sat, 11 May 2013 05:13:52 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

Riley let out a heavy breath against Solo’s lips after his tongue had passed. Not for the first or last time he wished that he could pass more than feelings to someone. Why not knowledge of something he excelled in? This situation would have easily been resolved without any awkwardness. He’d been with plenty of people but he’d never had to school them on what they were doing.

“Solo…” He pushed out a breath. He was really about to sleep with someone that he had to give the sex talk to first? This felt wrong. Not that Riley thought of himself as a person who was ‘right’. He’d done plenty of wrong things in his life. Handled things the opposite of how he should. It was a very long list. With Fonzy towards the top. He’d already hurt a Porter and he’d never wanted to do that in the first place.

“Hold on a second.” Riley’s hands came up to grasp Solo’s. When he had made the mistake of falling for Alexis, though it could be debated the real mistake was being with her for so long, everything had felt new to him and look how he had turned out. He couldn’t imagine if it had actually been entirely new. He’d been fucked up enough. He swallowed and clenched his jaw tightly.

I can’t believe I’m gonna fucking do this.

His fingers slipped in with Solo’s and he tried to look as earnest as possible.

“Listen.” He sat up moving away from Solo some so their foreheads didn’t touch but still holding onto his hands. “I don’t want you to think this is because I don’t want you. I think it’s pretty obvious that I do but maybe.” Riley’s eyes dropped to his lap and he let out a heavy sigh. “We should not do this right now. We aren’t…” He grumbled at himself.

“Like this normally and maybe you should be sober when you decide…and more informed. So can we just…” He stopped talking and stared at Solo for a few breaths then grumbled. “Like lay here for awhile? Sleep maybe? I just think that if this happens it should be slow.” He released Solo’s hand and rubbed his hand on the back of his neck with a sigh.

Solo’s eyes darted to Riley’s, smiling as their fingers twined. He sat up along with Riley, tilting his head curiously. He was still pretty drunk,but he understood what Riley was getting at. It would seem a bit odd to learn how sex worked as he was having sex. And the last thing he wanted was to make things odd with Riley. He leaned back against the hand on his neck and sighed contentedly.

“That’s okay,” he said, nodding a little. He moved so that he wasn’t on top of Riley, instead sitting next to him on the bed. He put a hand hand on the other man’s shoulder, nudging him a little so that he would lie down, waiting a minute before falling back on the mattress himself. He curled up next to Riley, stifling a yawn and resting his head to his friend’s shoulder.

“I like this a lot,” he said softly. He wrapped his arms around Riley, hugging him gently. “This whole cuddling-sleeping thing. It’s like hugging, but lying down.” A moment of quiet lapsed over them, which Solo promptly broke with a drunken giggle.

“So is there like a pamphlet on this stuff?” he asked. “Or is it like one of those slideshow thingies?” He pictured Riley giving a lecture, using a stick to point at charts and diagrams. In his head, the other man had thick-rimmed glasses and an endearing ugly sweater vest. It was so very unRiley that it only made Solo laugh harder.

World's End | Reconnaissance Mission I

Sat, 11 May 2013 04:22:21 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

“When I first started it sounded like a dying cow.” Jace shrugged his shoulders with a wide grin. He saw the brief twitch of the smile but it was gone in no time. He didn’t know why Remy didn’t smile much or if he would ever know. It didn’t seem like a polite thing to ask so he didn’t. No matter how curious it made him.

He pushed the snaps on his glove closed again and nodded when Remy asked him if he was ready.

“Oui.” He chuckled then glanced around the room and on him to make sure he had everything. “We’ll have to stay close.” He tapped his ear as he headed out of the room then shut his door behind Remy. “Can’t use the comms unless we want it to route back to the news desk.” Which was apparently their lingo for the command center that he’d picked up.

“I bet we both know the hand signals by heart.” A thing hunters were taught in case comms went down. The situation was rare enough that not everyone took it seriously. Jace did. He didn’t want to be the one that didn’t understand the difference between stay and go and get them all killed by a Grimhorn.

“Cause we’re the good students.” He walked side by side with Remy down the hall. The base was quiet as usual. Jace lifted his wrist to check his watch. Someone might be on the monitors but it was right at change time and they could go out the side door. The one they normally smoked by. There was no camera out there.

“We can go like we’re having a smoke.” He peeked his head around the corner into the living room. Empty. He looked back to Remy with a smile.

“Looks clear.”

Remy nodded in agreement as he followed Jace out into the hallway. They would have to at least stay within shouting range, though truth be told Remy intended to remain closer than that. It was unsettling to him, how quickly and quietly the unknown creatures moved. They were almost assuredly predators, and Remy had no doubt in his mind that they were lethal.

“I concur,” he said. “It would in fact make me more comfortable if we didn’t leave each other’s sight. The speed of these creatures is disturbing, and I do not wish to endanger you. I have put you at enough risk asking you to come along. I would not risk your safety any further.” Jace was a very capable hunter, and Remy didn’t doubt him. But he couldn’t fathom what he would do if the blonde got hurt all because he agreed to follow Remy into the woods.

“I hope that this is not offensive,” he added a moment later, squinting as he peeked into the living room. He half expected Sheppard to lower himself from the ceiling and ask where they were going. It would have been a humorous mental image if it weren’t actually a regular occurrence. “I do not wish to imply that I think you need looking after. You are one of the most presents hunters I have ever seen. I just…” He furrowed his brow and tried to think about how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“You are very essential to me,” he said, knowing that that wasn’t exactly the right word. But he felt it would communicate the message effectively enough. Jace was one of the closest people to him; he would be devastated if any harm came to the other man. “If we are attacked in the woods, and if you were to get hurt, then it would be my fault. I do not want that.”

He moved through the living room, taking Jace’s hand in his as he went. He’d intended it as a mere signal so they would move together, but his hand remained on Jace’s as they walked through the common area. He glanced at them, noting how much contrast there was between their skin tones. For all the time they spent out in the wild, Jace’s skin had a bronze tone to it. Remy, for his part, couldn’t seem to tan for the life of him. The paleness of his own skin seemed to jump out when butted up against Jace’s.

As they came to the side door, Remy lifted his gaze to meet Jace’s eyes. “Are you sure you wish to accompany me? It will be very danger.”

World's End | Angel In The Centerfold

Sat, 11 May 2013 03:00:30 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

“Maybe you should be a super secret agent instead.” She wriggled her fingers at the boy with a smile. “With all those fancy gadgets. They need to sneaky.” She shrugged at him. “The other stuff can come with practice or the right teacher but…not everyone should be a hunter.” Layla snickered at the mascot comment. She could see Gideon in a giant chicken outfit on the sidelines of some game. Loving every minute most likely.

“I think he’d let you stay. He’s actually really…understanding.” Her eyes clouded for a moment with the memory of the talk she had with him about her “condition”. “I doubt it would be a problem.” Layla looked up at him when he asked about what she’d been doing. She glanced behind her at the suit on the bed and chewed at her bottom lip then he eyes drifted back to him.

“I was just patchin’ up a hole in my suit. It got a tear on the last hunt we went on. Nothing too serious.” Lassandra had recommended she go to the doctor but the blonde had slipped her way through to her room instead. There was no point. The wound had already closed up. Jonas had taken blood samples but they seemed to have magically disappeared before they made it to the lab. She assumed Ethan was to blame.

“I dunno, can you sew? You might do a better job than me, sugar cube.”

Gideon laughed at the thought of him being a secret agent. Sure he was mighty light on his feet, but most gadgets confused him something fierce. Plus he couldn’t drive a car or talk to ladies like the spies in movies could. And he was an awful liar.

His brother had tried to teach him how to play poker once or twice, but the concept of a poker face was just beyond his means, and when he tried to bluff, he just couldn’t. Maybe it was just guilt. His mama, after all, had raised him to be a good, honest sort. But any time that he tried to lie, there was a tight feeling in his throat, and his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He didn’t like it either way.

“I know it’s silly of me,” he said, stuffing the final towel into the laundry basket. “I just get so nervous around him. I mean, he’s a big ol’ fella, and I don’t know if I’d make it if I got tossed out of a window.” He lowered his voice at the last part, as if paranoid that someone would overhear. Shep had told him in his letters that Ethan didn’t like people talking about his adventures in defenestration.

He looked into the room again, following her gaze. He could see the tear in the suit from the doorway. It was long, but it didn’t look too complicated to fix. In addition to sneaking, he also happened to be pretty handy with a needle and thread. It had been the segue into his CO at the academy recommending him to medical training.

“Actually I can sew,” he said, smiling at Layla. “That doesn’t look too bad. I could fix that for you real quick like.” He paused to laugh at himself good-naturedly.

“Have no fear, Miss Layla. The Quilting Ninja is on the case.” And with he walked over to the suit, inspecting the tear up close. “Do you have a sewing kit?”

Devil's Trap | You Can't Carry It With You

Sat, 11 May 2013 02:25:10 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

When he sat up her eyes went a little rounder. Jo hadn’t realized he’d be half naked. Not that it was the most pressing matter on her mind but it was difficult to ignore. At least until he turned the mic back over to her and she was actually supposed to talk. The blonde sat down and tucked some hair behind her ear as her brow furrowed and she stared down at the comforter.

“Thanks, Cross.” That was an easy place to start. Easier than outright asking the question. Her arms dropped from her stomach and she pushed out a sigh and chuckled at herself before she met his eyes. She thought about how easy it would be to play this off as nothing just a shake of her head and a never mind. Was she really ready to know?”

“Ever have one of those question you just really don’t wanna ask but you’re pretty damn sure that you have to ask it if you’re gonna make it through?” She pressed her lips together then finally met his eyes. They looked kind and warm, even though she’d woken him up. She cleared her throat and her eyes dropped again. Her brow furrowed tighter and she ran a hand through her hair.

The nerves made it hard to sit still. She took a deep breath and tried to will strength into her body. Her hands dropped to her legs and she grabbed hard onto the fabric of her pants and gripped while she lifted her eyes to his slower but a little stronger and determined.

“I wasn’t just missing was I? I came from god knows where and landed naked in a parking lot. I felt like I could swallow a lake and I can’t remember a thing.” Her hands gripped harder and her knuckles turned white but her eyes stayed on Cross’s face.

“Was…I dead?”

Cross sat in patient silence, letting Jo talk through her thoughts. It was his experience that sometimes the most helpful thing a person could do was just to listen, especially when they were trying to help someone who’d been through some kind of trauma. He’d heard through the grapevine that at some point down the line, after Jo and Ellen had died, Dean and Sam had died and seen heaven. A friend there had told them that the Harvelles hadn’t passed through the pearly gates.

That left only a few other alternatives, and Cross’s very Catholic upbringing had led him to believe that said alternatives were wholly unpleasant. Even if they had been in heaven all along, the actual experience of dying couldn’t have been easy and definitely counted as a trauma. He nodded when she looked at him, though he was fairly certain that the question was rhetorical.

As he listened to her, he could feel the inevitability of her oncoming question settle in the room like a fog. He would tell her the truth, of course, but he’d been hoping that he wouldn’t have to be the one to break the bad news to her. It was selfish of him, he knew. Nothing about this situation was truly a matter of what made him uncomfortable. It was all about helping Jo. He moved on the bed so that he was sitting next to her, far enough away to give her space, but close enough that if she wanted or needed a hug, he could quickly oblige.

“Bella donna,” he started gently. He faltered. How exactly was he supposed to say this? Somehow, ‘yup, you were dead as a doornail’ didn’t seem to cut it. He took in a breath. “I wish that there was some way I could make this all easier. I’m so sorry.”

It was easier with Elia, he thought. With Elia he knew that he could wrap an arm around her and hold her to his chest. He knew that he could pet her hair and tell her that everything was going to be alright, even though they both knew that he had no way of knowing. But with Jo he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way. With a small sigh, he finally nodded.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “You were.”

World's End | Flashback | Freedom is what let you run wild

Fri, 10 May 2013 23:39:56 -0400

bythemorningdew:

Remus raised his eyebrows, “The Oracle?” He sounded impressed, and he was. “Then it is an honor to meet you. I have visited your sisters before.” Though he did not pray to the same Gods as she, but Apollo was one God that both their people shared. He had been to Delphi a long time ago, back when the Athenians and the Spartans found themselves at war.

It was a troublesome journey, but one he found necessary. Though he didn’t like to think of it, the answer had not been one he was satisfied with. The opposite would have left him dissatisfied as well. Does my brother Romulus still live? The answer had been no

His eyes cast down at her mentioning her death. It was a strange ordeal, to give respect to the dead when the one dead was sitting in front of him. He passed the topic of his own death in his mind. His scar stung, but he was sure the sensation was in his mind.

“I am sorry to make you think of your death,” he said softly. “It was not my intention to bring up sad thoughts.”

He cleared his throat and moved to his horse, fastening his bridle to ease the tension he’d created by asking of her past. “It’s only a short ride from here. There’s not many people around so we can ride as fast as we want and I will share my saddle with you of course.”

His eyes went back to her, smiling softly, “Would you like to go now? There you can have a bath, I’ll give you those clothes I promised. You can rest, I have empty beds.”

And then he smiled, “And perhaps we can talk more? I don’t mean to be intrusive but you make me curious. I want to know you and I hope that by knowing you I can understand myself. Why the Gods have given me such a gift.” He nodded. “But it is your decision. I will not push you to speak of anything you do not want. I can offer you a place to stay and provisions and money for a journey you would like to make. I have a man in the city who will help create an identity for you if you plan to stay in the Roman borders.”

He looked at her expectantly, waiting for her answer.

“There’s no need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault,” she said. Her tone surprised her. It was more gentle than she’d heard herself speak in a very long time. When she’d been with Brand, she’d learned very quickly that there was no room for softness. Every inch of kindness she had in her heart had been another vulnerability, something that Brand could stab at, something he could use to hurt her.

Part of what had eventually made her such an efficient assassin had been the fact that she’d shut her heart away, closed off all the emotions. With Brand, emotions were just pain and suffering and fear and rage. She’d only relearned what emotions could really be when she’d met Cale. Kindness, compassion, love, all stirred within her when she’d met him. After she’d died in Delphi, she’d gotten up and walked away, but it wasn’t until she met the fae prince that she’d truly come back to life.

Remus had the same goodness to him that she had seen in Cale. Her initial urge to bristle and push him away quickly subsided. He was not her lover, not her Cale, but he was perhaps someone that she could trust. A friend. Perhaps. For the time being, she would take the risk. She gulped down more water, standing up quickly. She felt the pull of skin at her ankles, where her wounds were still knitting together.

Looking down at them, she noted that while they were still raw, they looked much better than they had. Her wrists, too, had begun to heal, along with all of the other little cuts and bruises she’d sustained during her recent journey. Her back, specifically ceased in it’s throbbing. It had grown sore from her constant thrashing in the caged wagon. She was glad that his house wasn’t far. A long ride wouldn’t have helped her physical state all that much.

“Very well,” she said levelly. She knew that she shouldn’t have been behaving like she was actually in control of the situation. The truth was that she felt tired and vulnerable. But four hundred years of conditioning had taught her never to show weakness, so she stood with her back straight, walking confidently over to the horse. “I will stay for the night. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

It was far more than simple hospitality, though. It was generosity, charity even. He was offering her a place to stay with food and drink and clothing. And it appeared that in return he only wanted to speak to her about their mutual condition. There was a soft voice in the back of her mind, admitting that she wanted to stay for longer than a night, but she was stubbornly adamant about not agreeing to anything more.

Crack | World's End | A Little Shy And Sad Of Eye

Fri, 10 May 2013 22:27:37 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

Riley smiled. His eyes closed as Solo moaned. It was a perfect sound. One that might not have been made before but Riley thought the world shouldn’t be denied any longer. His eyes opened at the sound of Solo’s voice again. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t exactly good either. Then a gap of surprise and his fingers tightened on Solo’s skin when he pinned Riley down harder. He bit his lip and moved his hands to Solo’s back to hold onto him.

Had he gotten Solo wrong? Maybe he was was going to take charge of the situation without another question. Perhaps a top had been hiding in there the whole time. That wasn’t what happened though. The soft touches of his lips did serve to drive Riley crazy and Solo pulled a very quiet white out of Riley when that contact was gone. He opened his eyes again to look up at him. Riley’s hands moved to rest of Solo’s thighs.

Riley’s back arched up as Solo’s fingers traced his skin like every inch was precious. It caused a mix of panic and adoration in Riley. He’d given emotion very little slack to run around as they pleased and yet here he was. Solo just being the sweet thing he was…to think it was a drunken hookup. Maybe that wasn’t all it was.

Riley twisted at the touches on his side and he grabbed Solo’s arms.

“Now that tickles.” He pulled himself up when Solo got shy again. His hand moved to trace his jaw as he stared at him. “You don’t have to be worried with me.” the serious expression turned into a smile. “I want you to enjoy yourself with me.” He tilted his head at the Porter and raised his eyebrows.

“Would you rather be at my mercy?”

Solo swallowed slowly, staring wide-eyed at Riley like the other man had just asked him the secret of life, or how to physics, neither of which Solo knew anything about. He didn’t know much about the matter at hand, either. He was aware that sex fulfilled the biological imperative to procreate. He knew that it involved being with another person and doing stuff. But he wasn’t sure about the specifics. Growing up, he’d overheard little bits and pieces, but ultimately he didn’t have a clear picture of the actual happenings.

When he’d been about that age, Daddio had taken him aside and tried to give him what had become notoriously called “That Talk.” Solo had gotten so embarrassed and scared that his eyes had nearly bugged out of his head, and he’d ducked out with dizzying speed. Daddio had tried several more times, but the result had been the same. Eventually, poor Daddio had just told Solo that when he was ready, he could come find him, and he would help.

But Solo had never been quite ready, and then Daddio had… He sighed internally. But they lived on a ship, and their quarters were close. He occasionally overheard things, mostly from the direction of Tish’s room. At first he’d been afraid that someone had snuck onto the ship and was hurting his cousin at night, but when he’d asked her about it, she’d merely smiled and explained that she was what was colloquially known as a screamer.

Solo didn’t know what that meant, but the way that Tish had laughed about it, he figured it had something to do with sex. He looked at Riley, shifting a little as he straddled his hips. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. He kept getting distracted by how beautiful Riley was. Leaning down, Solo kissed him, cupping his face in his hands, resting their foreheads together.

“Just tell me what to do,” he said softly, liking over Riley’s bottom lip. “I’ll be on top. You just have to walk me through it.”

World's End | When He Calls To Me I Am Ready

Fri, 10 May 2013 03:29:53 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

“I enjoy you when you aren’t ladylike.” He snuck in quickly as he leaned against the table next to her so he was closer to her as Ailith kept talking. He breathed deeply at the smell of her this close again. He tilted his head at the sadness that cut across her face. Distracted by it. An expression caused by her family, he could only imagine what might have crossed her mind.

Ailith needed to meet Amber and have the vampire show her that there were other options for her. Just because she was born into those chains didn’t mean she couldn’t break them but he was getting ahead of himself again. It was a habit of his when it came to people he enjoyed. Calling himself a collector sounded cold but it wasn’t that far off. Jyotika fit that word better than he did.

“If you get brave and decide to sent it in you can hide here.” He smirked and moved away from her. “But all your secrets are safe with me. The ones I know anyway.” His eyes trailed down as she leaned back. He pondered if she knew what a weapon her body was. Her sharp tongue and wit. Everything about her. If Ailith hadn’t been sheltered most of her life there’s no telling what she could have been already.

“That is something we could do.” He slipped away from her, letting a hand slide down her leg on his way to the table that had his cameras laid out. His fingers ran over them, taking his time and letting her wait. His hand stopped on one and he picked it up and clicked through some option to set a timer as he walked over to a tripod he had set up in the room. A smirk formulating along with the plan in his head.

“Let’s try something new.” He looked through the lens and set it with her in the sights. He snapped a couple of Ailith sitting there waiting then walked back over to her. The flash going off behind him once before he got to her at the table. Frazier moved to stand between her legs and put a hand on each side of her.

“After all I want to make sure you aren’t posing.” He leaned down and his lips met hers lightly at first and a thrill went through him. Though he would never imagine doing anything with the pictures the smoking gun of a McCallum princess with Cormac Cain’s, a vampire with mob connections, son who owned a night club frequented by the very thing that family hated was delicious.

Frazier’s hands moved to her back and slid up to her shoulders to pull her closer. He had trouble written all over him and yet here she was with him. Again.

Ailith’s gaze snapped to the side, looking directly at Frazier. He was smiling. No, she corrected herself. Smirking. An expression that she’d seen so many times with her cousins that it was familiar as drawing in breath. And yet on Frazier it embodied an entirely different meaning.

“Be careful what you offer, Frazier,” she cautioned. “I might just take you up on that.” She’d never lived anywhere apart from her home, but sometimes she’d imagined what it was like to wake up somewhere else. There had been the rare occasion when she’d been able to crash at Carston’s apartment. She and her cousins used the place like a special little retreat. But the thought of actually wake up in a new place and know that she never had to go home again was a kind of liberation. It was so bizarre to her, how her heart panged out in longing for something she’d never had.

She watched as Fraze readied his camera, sitting up a little as he walked over. The flash was still blinking out behind him, and a thrill crept up her spine. This meant there was actual photographic evidence that the two of them had been in the same room. A small thing, perhaps, but it was still big to her. It wasn’t the first time she’d disobeyed her family’s orders, but it was the first time that there’d been any kind of evidence. Proof that she could be daring in her own small way. To hell with sending pictures to her family. If the day ever came that she felt brave enough, she would plaster the pictures on billboards around the city.

As Ailith mentally waved the red flag of rebellion in her mind, the fact that Fraze was now standing incredibly close to her proved startling. She jumped a little from surprise, eyes going wide, even more so when she kissed him. She knew that she shouldn’t have been kissing him. Shouldn’t be alone with him. Shouldn’t have even left home in the first place. But she had had it with “shouldn’t”.

She grabbed the front of his shirt, kissing him back, sloppy and inexperienced.

World's End | For Our Country's Good

Sun, 05 May 2013 16:52:30 -0400

bythemorningdew:

Ralph smiled at her preparedness. There was a sadness to it, remembering a time when he’d encouraged a king and his family to keep a bag packed in the case of an emergency. After the shift, not all the humans were pleased with the royal family relinquishing all power to the council.

Now she was safer, Marylise was popular with her people and no matter the case the head senators’ deaths would be far more impactful than hers. In reality Ralph was bigger target than she was, but along with the rest of his fellow head senators, he was hard to kill.

He laughed as she jumped into his arms, wrapping his own arms around her, “Well what do you get the woman who has everything?” It was true. Buying birthday gifts for a queen was rather troublesome.

With a grin, he leaned away from her, “Now I would recommend not wearing a nightgown and no shoes out in this rain. It is rather nippy and you’re terribly mortal.” He laughed softly, letting her go.

On his heel, he turned, facing the wall, “I can’t possibly go back out for worry that they’ll catch me sneaking you away. But I’ll give you privacy to change.”

He took up a stance, his hands overlapping and resting on the small of his back. His legs upright and straight, shoulder width apart. In other circumstances you could mistake him for a guard. He never had been, but his father was insistent on treating him like a solider in his own personal army before he fell head first off the deep end at fourteen.

Marylise held onto Ralph perhaps half a moment longer than she honestly should’ve. But he had such strong arms, juxtaposed by the tenderness of his embrace, she hardly wanted to pull away. But she did, because no matter the circumstances of her affections, she would never risk making things awkward between them. She laughed, stepping back.

“Shame. This nightgown is rather comfortable,” she sighed dramatically. Nonetheless, she smiled as she went to her wardrobe, picking out a simple lavender blouse and a black a-line skirt. Gathering the outfit, along with some undergarments, she stepped behind the dressing screen she kept in her room.

Normally it was just a decoration, a handsomely made cherry affair, with elegantly carved little spires and curves along the top. The top third was actually canvas, and when it was pulled out, it revealed a replica of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night.” It had been a gift from her father for her fifteenth birthday, just before he’d fallen ill.

She carefully draped her new clothes over the top, quickly discarding the nightgown. It would be a bit chilly for the skirt, especially with the rain, but layered with a coat it would suffice and still be practical for when they arrived in Fiji. She wondered how long the flight was, not that the thought of a long flight particularly distressed her. It wasn’t how long it took, but who was taking her that truly mattered. She was always in good spirits with Ralph.

Peeking out from behind the screen. she smiled at the sight of Ralph. It was almost like he was standing guard, which in a way was true. He’d always been there to help her if she needed it. He was one of the few people that Marylise could unequivocally rely on. She dressed quickly and slipped on a pair of sensible black pumps that clicked against the hard wood of her floor as she stepped out, grabbing a black trench coat and a white pillbox hat and scarf from the wardrobe and pulling them on as she grabbed her bag.

“Ready when you are, Mister Temple,” she announced, hands clasped on the straps of the bag as she held it in front of her. Her tone was playful. They’d long since passed the point of formality when in private, and the use of Ralph’s surname had become something of an affectionate nickname rather than a proper address.

World's End | The party don't start till I walk in

Sun, 05 May 2013 15:23:23 -0400

bythemorningdew:

He smirked as the little wolf obediently rid him of his vest. The fabric of which caught the low light of the room on it’s reflective surface, like armor in the fire light. A sigh that stirred memories of the past. He had at one time donned plate armor.

His mind was with the past for a moment. With cold and foggy English moors. Falsely worn kings’ colors and his ever trusted sword at hand. Ashara. The same sword now so delicately and reverently tucked away in a chest in the room. He could remember just after the battle being so high on the chaos that he didn’t dare return to Tat until some of it had subsided. When people told him that he had no care for others, he would laugh. As a general rule, yes, most other people were no concern of his. But there were a few that he would protect. Even from himself.

Bastian, however, was not. More so he was an enemy and a poor excuse of a rival. This thought fueled his rough removal of the boy’s pants. He nearly ripped off the button holding them closed and then yanked them down, along with his underwear, off of his legs. With an inconsiderate shove, he threw him down against the bed.

Then he crawled up over him, placing a bruising kiss to his lips. The thickness of his bottom lip caught between his teeth and he let a growl of his own. He smiled, leaning back.

“And my shirt,” he demanded, his palm moving up Bastian’s length. “Or perhaps I can just leave you here until you remember how sex works.” He grinned devilishly. “Or perhaps I make it that you have no say or control over what I do to your body.”

There was a disconnect as Drake removed the rest of his clothes, the slightest delay between knowing that he was now entirely exposed and the sensation of the open air hitting his skin. Normally, he wouldn’t have objected, but it felt as though something else stripped away with his clothing. Pride? Dignity? Perhaps it was both. The shove caught him off guard, and he tried to sit up as soon as he hit the bed.

But Drake was already on top of him, kissing him hard. Bastian felt the growl against his lips, and before he could stop it, his wolfside tensed under his skin, baring his still sharp teeth and growling back in kind. It shoved at Bastian’s mind, urging him not to submit. To remember that he was a Crawley, bred to be an alpha, blood of the First raging through his veins.

Drake’s hand slid over him, and his words prickled along Bastian’s ego. As if he didn’t know how sex worked. The proposition was enough to draw a derisive scoff from him. But it was the last suggestion that urged him to action. It was strange, how in the end it wasn’t pride or anger that goaded him, but fear. Fear of losing himself, or mindlessly bending to someone else’s will.

True, he’d sworn allegiance to Vlad, but that was entirely different. Trusting himself to an alpha, submitting to his authority, wasn’t relinquishing self-control. That’s not how packs worked. It was like a social contract, accepting a subordinate role, allowing a chosen individual to lead with the understanding that when threats arose, they would protect each other, that the Alpha would help keep them safe.

“No,” he snarled, grabbing onto Drake’s hips. In a burst of speed, he rolled their bodies on the bed, landing on top. His eyes, which had been switching between bright white and blue like a mood ring, were fully white, and his teeth went directly to Drake’s neck, sinking into the skin, settling on either side of his jugular, fully intending to rip the man’s throat wide open.

World's End | Angel In The Centerfold

Sun, 05 May 2013 06:02:52 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

Gideon’s face was about as red as an apple. Maybe worse. Layla chose not to draw attention to it. Just in case it might make the blushing worse. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to receive such a reaction from Gideon and cause that shade of red on the kid’s face. Perhaps he was just shy. Anyone standing next to Shep would be shy by comparison or at the very least socially awkward.

He craftily evaded the first question or whatever caused that bright red color on his face distracted him. Layla couldn’t be sure but she left it alone. After all she could think of ways to get it out of Shep all by her lonesome. Besides if he avoided it that was a solid clue the answer was affirmative. She shrugged at the next statement Gideon made.

“Some people ain’t built for huntin’ Lil Sheppard. I don’t have an opinion on you regardin’ that yet.” She folded the blanket on her lap then dropped it in and grabbed another one.

“But if you ask me every base could use someone to just look after them. Keep them from forgettin’ they’re cared for. It’s easy to lose that.” She gave him another warm smile. “But that’s just me.”

“Aww, shucks, Miss Layla,” Gideon laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I know I haven’t been out in the field since I got here, but I promise, I’m plum awful. Can’t shoot straight, can’t throw a knife. Shoot, just about the only thing I am good at is sneaky around, and that can only get you so far, you know?” He shrugged. He wasn’t bitter about his lack of hunting skills. Sure, there were times when he wished that he could be cool like his big brother, but by and large, he’d accepted that his skills probably lied elsewhere.

The only problem was that he didn’t know where, exactly. He was a decent medic, but not as good as Jonas was, certainly not good enough that he felt like he could do it for a living. He knew that his family would never love him any less for not being a hunter, but he’d felt obliged to at least have a go at it. But he liked Layla’s idea. He wondered how it would go over if he could just look after the people at the base. He liked the idea of helping them feel better. In this line of work, sometimes it helped to have someone to talk to.

“Maybe I could ask Commander McNamara if he’ll make me the official mascot,” he smiled, only half-joking. He’d stay at the Alvaro base for as long as they’d let him, in any capacity. But the prospect of talking directly to the commander scared him a little. He’d yet to actually speak to the man on his own. There’d been the quick debriefing when he’d arrived at the base, but Reggie had been with him the whole time. And outside of that, Gideon just found the man too intimidating, based just on the stories Shep had told him in letters.

“What were you working on before I klutzed out in front of your doorway, Miss Layla?” he asked curiously, changing the topic. He took note of the suit on Layla’s bed. She wore it for hunts. Gideon wasn’t sure why, exactly, but it sure was a fancy, and if he recalled correctly, there’d been some tape on it when Layla had come back from the last hunt. Gideon looked to Layla. “Anything I can give you a hand with? You know, since you helped me and all.”

World's End | Reconnaissance Mission I

Sun, 05 May 2013 05:20:53 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

“You should give it a try.” Jace gave him the Remy smile. He’d coined the term because it seemed to be a unique expression. Equal parts support and happiness on his end. At least he hoped that’s what it conveyed. He couldn’t be sure. Remy didn’t talk for a beat and Jace felt his palms get a warm with nerves in his gloves.

He met the other hunter’s eyes when he lifted his chin and then instantly confusion crossed Jace’s face. His eyes snapped back down to the instrument it was in the same place that he’d left it. The instrument didn’t look disturbed at all. The blonde looked back up at Remy and shook his head and put his hand on his arm briefly again before he turned to the case.

“No. no. I’m not mad.” He waved his hand at the other hunter his voice distracted as he picked up the instrument and turned it to look at it. It looked fine. His brow furrowed and he shrugged at Remy with a smile and took off one of his gloves with his teeth. The buckles on it unsnapped and he dropped it on the bed and grabbed one of the reeds out of the bottom half of the case and removed it from plastic before he put it on his tongue.

“There’s really only one way to find out but it doesn’t look broken.” He said around the reed on his tongue. A smile in his eyes. After a moment he twisted the reed into place with the ligature and blew a quick melody through it that sounded low and jazzy. His fingers moving across the keys. He took his mouth off the instrument and shrugged.

“Seems fine to me. Doesn’t work like a piano I gotta put my lungs into it.” He reflected for a moment. “Probably shouldn’t be smoking then.” He leaned and put the sax back into its case and looked over his shoulder at Remy. “No need to worry.” he turned back to the brunette as he pulled his glove back on.

“Besides, accidents happen Rems. I’m not going to get angry with you over an accident.” He reached out to pat his shoulder and in that moment realized he was making all sorts of excuses to touch the other hunter and gave him a shy smile smile and pulled his hand back off his shoulder, rubbed his fingers together.

“Takes more than that to get me mad.” He shrugged at Remy. Jace was fairly patient most likely due to his training. Waiting for Laina to give him positive reinforcement took quite a long time. He’d for weeks for a smile if he had to. Possibly longer.

“No worries.”

Remy was confused. Jace was not angry, and as far as the Frenchman could tell, he didn’t want to punch Remy. He stared, wondering how it was that Jace could be so kind, even to him. He watched Jace’s hands move over the instrument with a practiced ease, assembling it as quickly and efficiently as Remy might’ve put together a sniper rifle. His eyes only got wider at the noise, and the right side of his mouth quirked up at the sound.

“That was very beautiful, Jace,” he said softly, awe dancing through his voice. Just as suddenly as the almost-smile had appeared, however, Remy seemed to realize what he was doing and cleared his throat, training his face back into it’s default neutral expression. He couldn’t let Jace see the scar. Remy didn’t even understand how Jace had so much patience with him as it was. He didn’t want to push his luck.

He looked at the hand on his shoulder. He liked the weight of it there and almost protested when Jace removed it. The other man’s voice echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of his mother’s. Sometimes accidents happen.

It was part of the reason, he supposed, that he’d asked Jace above anyone else to accompany him on this unauthorized mission. With Jace, he felt something that he hadn’t in years. Safety and, just as importantly, trust. He had the same stirrings off emotion when he was near Atticus, but that entire situation confused Remy, so he didn’t like to think about it too much.

“No worries,” Remy repeated, his shoulders going slack as his tension bleed out. He nodded towards the door. “You said you were ready, oui?”

Devil's Trap | You Can't Carry It With You

Sun, 05 May 2013 04:15:31 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

“It’s a date.” Jo faked a guilty expression at Cross’s reaction but it broke into a smile. “And I will apologize at length for being so very wrong.” His mood quickly turned though and she held back the overwhelming tide again of how much she was missing from this interaction. She gave him a quick nod as he walked away. The drop of his tone made her mind retreat to the worst conclusions. She glanced at Elia who just seemed pleased still then dug back into her burger.

The only way she was going to find out was to ask. She just wasn’t so sure she was ready to know the answer yet.

Later that night she arrived at the conclusion that she was ready or as ready as she could be. She had her eyes on the ceiling for longer than it should have taken her to fall asleep. When she’d finished the beer and polished off the burger she’d felt the exhaustion more intensely. It had also been a great excuse to avoid being a part of that phone call.

The idea of sitting by and twiddling her thumbs when they called had made her stomach twist. A helpless sort of feeling took root at the thought. The nerves crashed back in. Instead after Elia had poofed her into a black tank and a pair of very comfortable pajama pants that had a gray and black flannel pattern, she’d gone to bed and thought that was the end of the night for her.

Not so much.

She threw the covers off of her and crossed the hallway to Cross’s room. He’d been so accommodating so far and he had said if she needed anything…it still felt like imposing. It was a necessary imposition. She lifted a hand and rapped lightly on the door which moved inward with the force. She bit her lip and looked towards the bed. Jo took a step in then realized how intimate it was for her to do this. It just felt like he wouldn’t mind.

The blonde just knew she didn’t want to walk in blind to this encounter. Cross and Elia made it sound like she was important to Dean. If her suspicions were right and she’d been…dead, she didn’t want to treat the meeting like it was less than it was. She swallowed hard then spoke out loud,

“Uh…Cross? Can I talk to you for a minute?” She moved closer to the bed then folded her arms around her stomach. She felt weak and like she had the disadvantage. It didn’t just feel like it. She knew she did. She set her jaw and tried to feel less like a frightened kid. “You don’t have to get up or anything.”

Cross had left the calling of the Winchesters to Elia. He liked them both well enough, but Dean had never been overly fond of him. Elia, on the other hand, worked with the brothers a lot more frequently. She’d waited until Jo had settled in for sleep before giving Cross a quick hug and disappearing. They could’ve called, of course, but they’d mutually decided that this recent development would be better delivered in person.

After Elia had gone, Cross had cleaned up a bit. He knew that Jo had said she didn’t mind, and he was pretty sure that the state of the dusting was the last thing on the woman’s mind, but his mother had always told him that it was important to take pride in his house and always keep it at its best, especially when he had company.

The cleaning, in conjunction with his shift, more or less tired him out. He showered, though it was really more him standing under the water with his eyes closed, half-heartedly soaping up and rinsing off. He’d pulled on boxers and sleep pants, dragging himself into bed and collapsing onto the mattress, falling asleep as he’d landed.

But he’d always been a light sleeper, and when he heard Jo’s voice cut through the darkness of his room, he lifted his head, rubbing at his eyes. He had to squint, but he could make out Jo’s outline. She looked nervous, and the sight alone caused him to sit up. He waved her over.

“Of course, bella donna,” he said, his voice groggy. He cleared his throat. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.” He surveyed her as she moved closer. Her posture indicated anxiety. Maybe she’d had a nightmare. Or maybe she was having second thoughts about meeting Dean just yet. Whatever it was, Cross just wanted to help.

“What’s keeping you up?”

World's End | Reconnaissance Mission I

Sun, 05 May 2013 03:53:22 -0400

somekindafrankenstein:

Jace walked into find Remy as he qwuickly rose away from the saxophone on the bed. The blonde walked over to him to get a view of his face and a small smile appeared when he caught sight of it. Remy looked perplexed and maybe a little upset. The tuatha tilted his head at him and reached out to touch his elbow so he didn’t surprise him then withdrew his hand.

“That surprised I play the saxophone? I’m deeply offended.” He put his hand to his chest but smiled at Remy with ease. “I’m teasing.” He added gently. He often saw Remy’s reactions to Shep when the Astika was just kidding with him. Remy must not have been joked with very often, if at all before he’d arrived on the base. Jace tried to make sure that the other hunter knew when he had told a joke to make sure he didn’t end up offended. He hoped it helped.

“I’ve played for a long time now. I think it helps me express myself.” He looked over at Remy. “I’m not good at that sometimes.” He glanced over the hunter. “You’d probably be good at an instrument. You have dedication. Maybe violin or piano with those hands.” He gestured at Remy’s hands then hi eyes went wide. Luckily he didn’t blush much. Jace turned away from him and swallowed hard. He probably shouldn’t have noticed his hands.

“The long fingers.” He cleared his throat and looked back at Remy and adjusted his suit a bit. “Ready to find out what the illusive beastie is?” He tugged at his gloves to set them right and slipped into his hunter mindset as best he could. Even if his skin thrummed with excitement to be going into the field one on one with Remy. It was how hunters thrived.

Amidst the beasts they could find enjoyment. This was a base where people got that. Another reason he fit in well. Another thing Laina had taught him. It had surprised him that she had any value on sense of humor.

“‘Cause I’m all ready to go here.”

Remy heard the soft footfall of Jace’s steps hitting the floor. It was harder with Jace than with others. The other man moved so quietly that Remy wouldn’t have heard him at all if it hadn’ been for his training. He dared not make eye contact, but his gaze did roam to the hand on his arm. Jace moved with an easy grace, as if his motions were all part of some dance. Remy had seen him in the training room a few times, and each time he’d stopped to watch the blonde. His body flowed like paint across a canvas. It was breath-taking.

“I have never had occasion to play an instrument,” Remy said. His father had forbidden music in the house. Remy had heard it for the first time in a train station in Paris. He’d stopped in the middle of the platform, staring up in awe as he’d listened. He’d almost missed his train because of it. It was wonderful, and even though he didn’t know anything about it, he’d adored it.

But he’d never considered the possibility that he could make music himself. It was something beautiful. An art. He was just a soldier. He glanced at Jace before looking back to the case on the bed. A saxophone, Remy thought. That was what it was called. And Jace played it to relax, and Remy had possibly broken it. He almost didn’t want to tell him, but he knew better. It was better to hear disappointment from the source. Lifting his chin, he cleared his throat.

“Jace, I am very sorry. But I was looking at the saxophone, and I believe that… I may have broken it,” he said, averting his gaze to look back down at his feet. “I will pay to get it replaced, and I understand if you are angry.” He braced himself. When he was little, he’d accidentally knocked a mug off of the table. His mother had only smiled at him, telling him that it was alright. Sometimes things like that happened.

His father had been less forgiving. Hauling the younger Remy off of his feet by the front of his shirt, laying him out on the tabletop. He’d shouted, telling him that he had to take responsibility for ruining something of value. There was the flash of metal, and then… Remy’s cheek twinged from the memory.

World's End | Flashback | Toothpaste

Sun, 05 May 2013 03:00:55 -0400

It was chiefly embarrassing that he let himself get this drunk. He’d been forced out of childhood with alarming expediency. He was older than his body, that was for sure. Unfortunately, alcohol didn’t give a rat’s ass about how old his soul was. And even if he’d been the size of a linebacker, the amount of liquor he’d taken into his body would surely have gotten him wasted.

He didn’t want to call, and he especially didn’t want to call her, but his uncle wasn’t answering his phone, and Malcolm didn’t feel nearly sober enough to try and teleport. He walked a block away from the house, far enough that no one would see him. But he was still close enough that he could hear the rager. He’d been the youngest person there, and he’d caught enough shit about it. If anyone saw his ride pick him up, he’d never be able to sneak into another party like that, and for him that just wasn’t an option.

There was a distant sound that blossomed into a dull roar, and a few moments later, a silver sports car whipped around the corner, gliding to a stop. He reached for the door, fumbling with the handle for a moment before the driver reached across and opened it for him. The gesture, undoubtedly meant as a courtesy, only managed to piss him off. Rolling his eyes, he jerked the door open and spilled into the passenger seat. Making a point to not say a word, he kept his gaze straight ahead.

“I brought you some water,” she said gently, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. There was a warmth in the touch, something kind and inviting. But he wasn’t having any of it. He jerked his shoulder, twisting away from her, curling up in the seat and facing the door. The truth was that he was thirsty. He could’ve finished off a lake. But he wouldn’t take a single sip.

He could tell that her hand was hovering just an inch or so from his back as she debated on whether or not she should try again, but the rigidity of his back made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t cave to any such approach. He pretended he didn’t hear the soft sigh, the crushing exhale of breath. And even as a part of him felt bad, there was a defiance in him that felt proud. She didn’t deal in defeat very often. And here he was, sixteen years old, and he could best her without even trying.

The car rolled forward, smoothly and slowly. Even this irritated him. It felt too much like coddling. He grumbled, curling up tighter on the passenger’s seat. A song was playing through the speakers, some old tune that reminded Malcolm of backyard picnics while an old stereo crackled across the hot air of a summer afternoon. He remember an old house that they hadn’t been back to in nearly twelve years. He didn’t want the memories, ones he’d been so careful to tuck away in corner of his mind.

Making a displeased noise, he reached blindly behind him, swatting at the radio ineffectively. She seemed to get the message, though, and soon there was the click of a button and the music went silent. He nearly thanked her, but he wasn’t so drunk that he’d make a mistake like that. For a few minutes, there was complete silence. And then it appeared that she thought she had parenting to do or something.

“I know that you can take care of yourself,” she started, “but you shouldn’t drink so much. Especially if you’re going out alone.” He scoffed, not turning to face her.

“Yeah, sure. Don’t tell the sixteen year old not to drink. Tell him to pace himself and bring a buddy. Kudos on the child-rearing,” he said flatly. Another sigh. Malcolm recognized it as annoyance. It was funny to him. If anyone else had given her that kind of attitude, she wouldn’t have taken it. But all he got was a tempered sigh.

“Malcolm, please, I’m just worried about—-” she began, but Malcolm turned in the passenger seat, the suddenness of the motion causing his head to spin. He sucked in a breath to calm his swimming head and the ripples it caused in his stomach.

“I’m fine. I didn’t ask for your worry,” he snapped. His eyes were fixed in a steady glare, and there was a breath of silence that seeped through the car. She toggled her own line of vision between him and road, He could see the hurt on the features of her face, as plain as the day was long. There was a tightness to her throat, the tell-tale swallow meant to force back tears.

“You’re my son,” she finally said. Malcolm wished that once, just once, she would rise to the bait. If she were angry, if she pushed him, then he could just shove back. As it was, he just scoffed and slid down in his seat. But she wasn’t done talking. “Malcolm, I wish that you would just speak to me. I know that things have been hard. I know how horrible it was. And I know that you don’t think that I’m a good mother.”

That was true, and yet it wasn’t. She’d been there when he was little, and after his father had died, she’d been there. She’d been there even when he didn’t want her there. He’d been the one to pull away. But she’d also gotten his father killed.

He didn’t understand how she could say that she’d loved Mark Kinnear at all when she’d endangered him by dragging him into her life. He didn’t understand how she could say it when he knew for a fact that she loved someone else. Had always loved someone else. He was a child the first time that he saw her with the other man, but he wasn’t blind. She’d looked at him in a way that she’d never looked at his father.

“Glad that we’re on the same page,” Malcolm muttered, shutting his eyes, resolving not to look at her. If he looked, then the guilt would rise in his stomach, and he wouldn’t be able to stay his course. She reached out then, brushing her fingertips against his upper arm.

“But I love you, Malcolm,” she said. “And I will always be here for you. I will come whenever you call. You know that, don’t you?” Of course he knew that. But he flinched away from her all the same.

“I don’t want you to,” he growled, sitting up despite the tumult in his stomach. And really he should’ve stopped right there. But the alcohol had loosened his lips, and he heard himself ramble on. “Jesus, it’s like you’ll do anything to feel needed.”

“You called me,” she countered, and there it was. Malcolm picked up on the indignity edging her voice, however faint it was, and latched onto it. He laughed.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I called you. It’s a mistake I won’t make again.” He saw a split second of the look she gave him, like he might as well have slapped her. But then he shut his eyes and teleported, landing unceremoniously in the alley next to his apartment building. When he threw up, he wasn’t sure if it was the guilt or the liquor.