#Sinfully Undead

[fatedsinners]

Sinfully Undead \\@epilvgue Sinday Meme BS\\

The undead really did try to ignore what was happening, had turned to sharpening his knife despite the grating sound making his teeth grind. But hearing the sound of a body hitting the floor had him looking up. He sighed heavily, standing from where he'd been settled, rubbing at his face until the sound of something else crashing down and no 'I'm okay' being cried out had him climbing the stairs quietly. If the other was having some sort of fit, he wasn't going to let the Plant hide it from him this time. He'd already had the horrific realization that the other was dying. What he didn't expect when throwing open the door, knife in hand just in case there was a threat, was to see what he was shown. The man practically naked, prone with the bare ass in the air. The feathers weren't new, he's seen them countless times during high stress events. So his eyes cast around, before he dared to stab his weapon into the wall, closing and locking the door as he tried to understand what was happening. His nose flared, drinking in the scent before a brow crawled up his forehead to meet his hairline. "I could hear ya from downstairs." it's drawled out, that lazy tint of his Latino accent finding home on his tongue as arms crossed. "Something tells me this ain't the usual call of nature, else I don't think you'd have been so loud... Or destructive." he steps further into the room, nudging a few long feathers with his booted foot, grunting when he nearly tripped over one slithering around. "Geez, Needle-Noggin'! What, are you in heat or somethin'?" the words come when he's forced to stop nearing the other, too much movement around him for him to feel he could approach without stepping on a feather. "Need, like.... A hand or somethin'?" To what he was offering the vampire had no clue, unsure if he was offering sex, companionship, cleaning or assistance to the bathroom. Truthfully, all of the above would be completely fine for the dead man walking.

[winterarchives]

joel miller drabble (p2)

The clicker had been two inches from digging into the fucking meat of your shoulder, as Joel so kindly reminds you every few minutes.

The air between the two of you is stale inside your run down apartment, but you can feel Joel’s irritation kick up every so often. The incessant tapping of his boots against the patchy linoleum isn’t as quiet as he thinks it is. Cheeky bastard.

“You know, it really wasn’t that bad-“

“If you finish that sentence, I swear…” he drifts off, leaning over in the kitchen chair and resting his forehead into calloused hands on the matching table. His boot, caked in dried mud and speckled with blood from your undead assailant, taps aimlessly against the floor still.

“I’ll rip your fucking foot off, Miller.” You snap, slamming the cooler closed after you yank free a water soaked bottle of whiskey. An ice run would be necessary tomorrow.

He stops the tapping, thankfully, but levels you with a heated glare.

“You could’ve died tonight,” he growls.

“Could die tomorrow,” you sigh, worrying at your bottom lip while you twist the top off the bottle, “thing is, Joel, I didn’t fucking die.”

Now you’ve done it. He drops his hands from his face with a deep chuckle, sounding damn near sinister. Anybody else would be frightened by the display, but you’re the cat that got the cream, stomach heating up and coiling tight in anticipation.

He rests his hands, big and rough and begging to be on you, on his thighs, “that so?” He asks, it’s a trap, of course. Everything’s a trap between you and Joel Miller. It’s just hard to tell who the victim is sometimes.

You take a deep pull from the whiskey, hissing as it makes its way down your throat. Liquid courage, there’s nothing like it.

You step closer to Joel, watch the amusement spark in eyes before it shifts to a heated want.

“Wanna check, cowboy? See if I’m still breathing? If my heart’s still tickin’?”

Joel’s eyes heat once more, and you can just barely make out the slight twitch in his faded blue jeans. The muscle beyond the fabric is taut, presses so sinfully against the material you’re practically salivating and seeing stars already…

“Give me that,” he orders when you’re close enough, pulling you onto his lap and the whiskey from your hands in one fluid movement.

You settle automatically, relishing in the feel of him against you as you lean your head into the crook of his neck. You drink in the sight of his adam’s apple bobbing along the length of his throat while he works at the bottle, his swallowing loud against the shell of your ear.

“You done bein’ a brat?” He asks, “or is this what we’re doin’ tonight?”

You grin against his throat, run your teeth and tongue against the slight stubble and flush red at the low rumble that sounds in his chest, “m’always a brat, Miller. But if you want me to stop,” you whisper, pressing yourself flush against the aching hardness in his jeans, “by all means, tell me to stop…”

“Gonna send me to an early grave, sweetheart,” he groans, setting the whiskey firmly on the table and hoisting you up into his arms, “let’s go, see if we can’t get your heart tickin’ some more.”

[copiousloverofcopia]

I'm back from my little mental health hiatus and feeling ok. So why not come back with a bang and a brand-new chapter of Holy Mary!

Thank you all for being patient with me while I catch up on everything and I hope you enjoy this new chapter....

Holy Mary Chapter 6: More Questions Than Answers

Sister Mary Catherine was only weeks away from taking her vows when she has a chance encounter with a man. A man she finds out is the Pope of the Satanic church.

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven't started yet? Read from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

Thick black mist swirled around them. Quiet and fluid, it lingered in the air. Its movements slow and intentioned, as it fell upon the three Emeritus sons. The brothers’ eyes held shut, closing off the ties to the mortal realm in which they sat. Unified in their shared conjuration. 

The chamber was dark, lit only by a few candles. Dripping into the lattice left behind from those that came before them. Covering the ground in veins of wax, bleeding across the floor toward them. They had come to the bowels of the Abbey, to the one room made for the old rituals and ceremonies. Ones that even the most jaded of siblings avoided like the plague.  

Behind the closed doors they sat. Surrounded by damp stone walls, covered with moss and grit. The floors were beginning to rot beneath them. Old wood planks rising up from the ground like the undead, broken and worn down over centuries past. It felt unholy inside, hard to breathe. The sensation of phantom hands gripped tightly to windpipes. Primo chanted on, respecting the unseen forces that surely dwell there.  

Terzo couldn’t help but twitch his nose. His nostrils assaulted with the faint scent of smoldering flesh and desecrated earth. The soil beneath them, creeping out from the cracks within the floor. It’s grains holding onto vivid memories. Seasoned over the years with more than a few drops of blood spilt. It was here where they were the closest to the other side—a place to commune with the dead. 

It has been days since Mary developed her wounds. Hands punctured through their centers. Blood spilling from them like wine poured from promiscuous bottles. Bountiful and indiscriminate. Terzo had felt helpless, completely unsure of what to make of it, but Primo knew.

From the moment he saw them, Primo recognized the marks of the Stigmata. Sacred wounds that had befallen Christ. They had only ever been known to afflict the most devout of his followers. Saints and martyrs, those whose life belonged solely to God, now appearing on the body of a young girl. Cast out from her church and sinfully swollen with Terzo’s child. 

Surely the scent of sin on her was too great. How would she have received such an honor from the almighty. Why? Primo asked himself. Over and over he contemplated its meaning. 

He had already spent weeks researching ancient tomes. Pouring over pages of text, whose ink had all but faded into nothingness. Begging at every turn for spirits to lead him. Still nothing had come of it. 

There had already been two, the first Mary’s crown of thorns. Primo was angered that it had managed to escape him. The eldest Emeritus son worried that the wasted time could and would have serious consequences. Now with the appearance of her palms, wounds opening open from thin air—there was no mistaking it. Now the urgency of his cause had become that much more dire. 

Something was happening to the sister, Mary, named after God’s most beloved of mothers. It was Lucifer who planted the seed of this situation, his reasoning still yet to be revealed. Primo sensed it, in the early morning hours before the sun had risen, that all the answers were just on the horizon. If he could only use the strength of his brothers to obtain it. 

“In hac sacratissima loca ad te vocamus. Spiritus qui ante tempus resident, et in fine ejus manebunt. Attende vocationem meam et da mihi responsa pro quibus peto.” Primo called out, spitting onto the earth between him and his brothers. The ground hissing as his saliva seeped down into the dirt. He concentrated hard, desperately hoping to uncover the hidden truths. He took a deep inhale, drawing in deep the smoke surrounding them into his lungs. His closed eyes, opening slowly to reveal blackened sclera. The smoke, now fully disappearing inside him.

Terzo opened his eyes to watch, marveling at his brother’s power. There was an unnerving silence. The hushed sounds of Secondo and Terzo’s breath, just barely audible. “Fratello. What do you see? What do you hear?” Terzo asked him. 

Both him and Secondo wincing as Primo’s grip on their hands tightened. Hands turning red with the pain as he squeezed. Primo let out a gasp, “Can you hear them?” he asked, dropping their hands and his black eyes widening. They could hear it too, whispering and sounds of scratching. Like claws drug along the walls, countless voices speaking to them in a language neither Terzo or Secondo had ever heard before. 

Primo remained muted in his trance. Terzo, feeling his heart pounding hard against his ribs. “What are they saying?” he begged, hoping Primo would be given all the answers. 

“Shhh… Listen.” Secondo hissed, putting his finger to his lips. They watched in shock as Primo began to lift off from his seat. Levitating slowly into the air, eyes still black as night. When he was almost at the ceiling, the candles that surrounded them began to flicker. Blowing out one by one as a wayward breeze circled around them. Coming from nowhere and accompanied only by the intensifying whispers. It was then Terzo could feel breath against his ear. 

She belongs to Lucifer as much as she does you, Emeritus son. Maybe more.  

“Cazzo!” Terzo jolted, when suddenly Primo began to fall. Secondo and Terzo rushed to catch him and help to lower him down to the ground. The smoke, beginning to billow out from inside him as he descended. Candles relighting themselves as the whispering came to an abrupt stop leaving the three brothers in complete silence. 

“Fratello? Fratello?” Terzo pleaded for Primo to respond. He opened his eyes to them, their appearance returned to normal. His white eye glowing as he gazed at them. Primo sat up with their help, his body aching and his mind satisfied with new knowledge. His face had contorted to show he had learned something. A smirk of accomplishment tugging at the corners of his mouth as he began to speak. 

“The child. Your child fratellino…he is special.” Primo began. Secondo furrowed his brows trying to figure things out as Primo explained. “Your seed mixed with HIS essence when the child was conceived. When you agreed to do his will.”

“What are you saying Primo?” Terzo asked, swallowing back the knot in his throat.  Secondo gritted his teeth. His mind flooded with the implications of Primo’s words. Already certain he knew their meaning.

“What are you babbling on about old man? Just get to the point!” Secondo demanded, 

“The child you have fathered Terzo. It belongs to the dark one as much as it does you…and to Mary. The child you have made… he will become the Antichrist.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her dark and lengthy mane had become even thicker in the passing weeks. The richness of blood, lush with nutrients, came shining through all aspects of her appearance. Like a fertile goddess, she glowed from within. Almost angelic to those who saw her. An ironic twist of fate considering her circumstances, Mary had thought as she pulled the brush through her hair.

She held tight to the dark wooden handle, so elegantly hand-carved with floral accents and ornate designs. Its cushion, covered in soft ball-tipped bristles that felt gentle on her tender scalp, still healing from her wounds that surrounded her head. It was Terzo’s mothers. A woman she now wished she could have met, never having really known her own. 

Maybe she could have told her what to do, how to feel—Mary, so lost and confused in her circumstances. For now, she would pounder them as she continued to brush her hair. A pastime she’d found to be one of the very few ways to help her relax. Her mind, constantly swirling within her circumstances and unable to truly let go of the unknowns.

The morning was soon coming to an end, and she had yet to see Terzo. Still sitting at the vanity in the Papal rooms they now shared, she waited for his return. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Mary couldn’t help but hope to see him behind her. Appearing to her and bringing her into his arms. 

Now she only saw her own face looking back at her. The face of a woman she felt she barely knew. Who was this person, pouty lips, tinged red and parted for a promised kiss? Her warm brown eyes, innocent but wanting. A gaze filled with unfulfilled desire. She had noticed more and more that she missed him. That in only a short time, she had come to love the man who fathered her child. 

Terzo too was clearly deeply in love with her–even if she could not love herself. As time passed, they grew closer. The Papa, never allowing her out of his sight for too long. So afraid that something else may happen to her, or their child in his absence. Good enough reasons, as any, for Mary to wonder why he hadn’t yet returned. 

She had felt him leaving the bed hours ago. Awakened before sunrise, just as their child had begun to quicken once more inside her womb. She hadn’t said anything to him, hoping to fall back asleep, but with the baby bouncing around inside her, there would be no return to slumber. 

She sat down the brush on the vanity, feeling the sting from her wounds. Reminding her of what lay beneath the wraps on her hands as she released the handle. What was happening to her? Would it happen again? Was God really willing to take her back into his light?

All questions that lingered in her mind as she rolled back her head. The weight of her heavy breasts, wreaking havoc on her shoulders and her neck tense from the emotional stress she carried. She pulled it side to side, hoping to relieve a bit of tension before she felt the softness of gloved hands along her bare shoulders. She looked up, catching sight of a pair of familiar mismatched eyes. 

“Where were you?” she asked as she turned to face him fully. Terzo smiled, gently kissing the top of her head and kneeling before her on the floor. Mary looked into his eyes, her hands gently caressing her bump beneath her black silk nightgown, as she awaited his answer. 

Terzo wasn’t sure what to say. It had been only moments since he learned the truth. Their child was the most unholy of all creations. The bringer of the end of days, the harbinger of death.

How could he tell the sweet woman before him, radiantly awaiting the birth of their child—that the child was surely of darkness. What would the knowledge of this do to her—what would she do with it? There were too many unknowns. Too many courses that led to an unsavory end for them—he couldn’t bear to say it.

“Honestly, I have been with Primo and Secondo.” Terzo smiled, hoping to leave it at that as he took her hand in his. Pressing his lips gently to the back of her hand. 

“Doing what exactly?” Mary laughed, until she saw the change in Terzo’s face. “Terzo? Tell me what’s wrong?” she begged, bringing her other hand to his jaw. Guiding his eyes back to meet with hers. 

“We are trying to find out what plagues you? Why you are having these afflictions. I can’t lose you.” he lamented. 

“You won’t.” Mary assured him, feeling deep in her bones that he was keeping something from her. She only hoped it was no worse than what she’d been keeping from him. Conversations with things unseen. Hidden motives still kept her feeling uneasy. Mary realized she must have made a face of her own because Terzo seemed more worried than before. 

“Mary is there something you aren’t telling me?” he asked her, ashamed to assume she was holding back something, knowing he wasn’t being honest with her. 

“I just missed you is all.” she smiled, “the baby woke me up this morning and you weren't here and well…I get nervous when you aren’t around. Everything here is so strange. My whole world has been flipped upside down. My life, uprooted for this little thing” she continued glancing down at her belly, “...and I just well…never mind me it's probably just hormones.”

“I would never leave you amore, not truly. I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe.” Terzo cooed, his lips pecking gently to hers. As they parted, their eyes met. Heavy and full of affection. The taste of her mouth, too much for Terzo to resist, as he brought his mouth back to hers.

Conquering her with his kiss, her body becoming languid with his touch. He rose up from the floor, picking her up off the small stool from which she sat, bringing her to lie on their shared bed. Setting her down with care. Treating her like she was made of glass, beautiful and fragile.

“You won’t break me Terzo.” Mary told him. Her breathing labored and her heart pounding loudly in her ears with anticipation as she felt him drag his lips along the line of her neck. He quickly traveled to her collarbone, his hand caressing her breast as he enjoyed her scent and the softness of her skin against his lips and palm. 

“I must remind myself to be careful with you. I can be quite the beast.” he smiled against her skin. Hands making quick work of gathering up her nighty. The fabric gripped tight in Terzo’s hand, as the other reached below the neckline to touch her bare breast. Mary moaned when his fingertips grazed her nipple. Terzo hovering over her as his fingers tried to find their way blindly beneath the fabric of her panties. 

So easily now, she gave into him—wanting him as much as he wanted her. It was moments like this she forgot about God. Forgot about the voice that called to her. No one spewing hatred for her lover, for her sins, for the child she carried inside her. Only love between them now—an obtainable salvation.

Maybe she was going crazy before. A surge of hormones and stress, making her hear things, but that didn’t explain the wounds. For now she didn’t care, feeling the rush as Terzo’s fingers met with her aching, wet flesh. “Terzo…” she whispered in her ragged breath, “make love to me.”

“Non c'è nient'altro che preferirei fare.” Terzo promised, pulling her breast from beneath her gown and sucking her nipple into his mouth. Working his fingers diligently as her hips rolled to meet the motions of his hand. Her legs parted wider for him. Mary licking her lips and breathing hard as he pressed deeply into the upper walls of her core. His fingers removed only a moment to gather up her slick. Pressing gently in circles on her clit a moment before returning to the sanctuary of her inner heat. 

“I want to taste you amore.” Terzo hummed, Mary’s nipple falling from his lips as he trailed kisses down her chest and over her swollen belly. 

“Mmm…” She writhed beneath him. Mary’s hand gripped tight to her own breast as Terzo’s handsome face disappeared below the roundness of her pregnant belly. She felt him grab her thighs, spreading them wider as his tongue gently slipped through her swollen lips. The tip, dancing along her folds with ease as he moaned against her. The vibrations were torturous, traveling to the bundle of nerves pulsing in her clit.

He worked her over, his tongue pressing taut against her and slurping gently. Two fingers carefully pumping in and out as he lapped at her. He stopped a moment to catch his breath, lightheaded in his ruthless endeavor to make her see stars. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. 

“Giuro con tutto ciò che sono che non c'è niente di più dolce del sapore della tua fica contro la mia lingua.” he confessed, breathing heavy and mouth dripping wet. Mary’s Italian was novice at best, but from the few words she could make out, she knew what he was trying to say. His words heated her up and sent a flush of red over her face and chest. He returned to his ministrations. Eager to make his lover cum. 

“Oh Terzo, it feels so good don’t stop.” she mewled as she gripped tight to his hair. Blood, beginning to seep out from her bandages as she lost herself in pleasure. Terzo buckled down, using the width of his tongue to move through her lips, tip flicking up at her clit. Sucking it gently as Mary began to release. Her body quivering as he drove her over the edge. Clit encased blissfully against his lips and tongue with his fingers buried deep inside her. 

Terzo was absolutely ravenous, working her over until she came for him twice over before he’d let her rest. Climbing back onto the bed as he pulled her into his lap. Mary was dizzy, the pooling of blood between her legs making her hazy in their shared lust. Terzo quickly brought himself inside her, lowering her down, taking her fully onto his cock. 

“Ah! Mia dolcezza, è davvero tutto essere tra le tue braccia.” Terzo moaned, feeling her fluttering inside. Her body, forming to him just as it always had. The two of them, fitting together as if they were made to do so. He held her close against him, only her belly keeping them from being closer as he took her. 

Mary began to feel more disoriented. Waves of dizziness befalling her as Terzo continued to thrust up inside her. She held tightly to his shoulders as he panted in her ear. Suddenly visions of bodies piled up on top of each other flashed before her. All of them writhing in agony and screaming while covered in blood and stacked miles high.  

She began to cry, her body unable to hold back the surge of emotion. Fueled by the horror of her vision and the hormones. The guilt and shame, rearing its ugly head as she came once more.

You asked for my forgiveness and yet you still so willingly…and gleefully commit yourself to sin. If I didn’t know better Mary…it would seem you were too far lost within Satan’s grasp.

The voice remanded her, forcing her back to reality, reminding her of her transgressions. Mary struggled to digest the words as she shifted against the deep violet sheets. Sweat, sticking her to them as she struggled against them wanting to crawl out of her own skin. Still coming down from the highs of her orgasm, her insides still pulsing with pleasure. Just as fast as it came, it went. 

Had her own shame and guilt manifested itself into madness? Was the vision from God? Or the devil? Terzo collapsed beside her. Pulling her close to him and holding her lovingly in his arms, seemingly unaware anything was amiss. Mary’s body continued to shiver, tears still rolling down her cheeks. 

“Are you alright?” Terzo asked her, holding her tight against him. 

“Just hormones.” She dismissed his concerns, feeling terror for what she had seen and for what may yet come. Was she truly shunned from the light of God’s love? Had she damned all mankind along with her? Mary’s head began pounding, her thoughts racing inside her mind when Terzo noticed her bandages were saturated with blood. 

“Amore, let's get you fixed back up, si?” he suggested, gently holding her hand as he helped her from the bed. Mary only nodding in response. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Secondo flew into his chambers. Slamming the door behind him before leaning against it. He could feel the fire burning inside him, the heat of frustration, and the bitterness of jealousy coursing through his veins. He was angry—angrier than he’d ever felt before. 

It wasn’t enough that his power was not as developed or refined as Primo’s. Or that his charisma paled in comparison to his younger brother’s. He was used to being overlooked. The sting of it this time, hitting hard when rejection came by way of Lucifer himself. His vexation, reaching its new heights knowing that he was once again outshined by Terzo. Given an honor the highest any follower of Satan would ever hope to receive. 

Terzo was the chosen one—chosen to father the vessel for the Antichrist. Secondo couldn’t help but clench his jaw tight. His teeth on the verge of cracking with each second, he grew more and more livid. Wondering what would come of things should they be revealed to Mary. Mary the mother of his brother’s child. Would his lover keep him within her good graces and remain loyal knowing that he had done to her. Damned her to eternity of Hellfire, and along with her all of humanity.

Notes:

In hac sacratissima loca ad te vocamus. Spiritus qui ante tempus resident, et in fine ejus manebunt. Attende vocationem meam et da mihi responsa pro quibus peto.- In this most sacred of places we call to you. Spirits that reside before time and will remain at its end. Heed my call and give me the answers for which I seek. 

Cazzo- fuck

Non c'è nient'altro che preferirei fare.- There is nothing more I would rather do. 

Giuro con tutto ciò che sono che non c'è niente di più dolce del sapore della tua fica contro la mia lingua.- I swear with everything that I am that there is nothing sweeter than the taste of your cunt against my tongue. 

Mia dolcezza, è davvero tutto essere tra le tue braccia.- my sweet, it is truly everything to be in your arms.

[gaymarvelboys]

21c for kevin/jasper

21C Here

Jasper had been holding back for a lot of his more recent undead life- it had been something he was even known for by this point. And yet that reputation would be the furthest thing from one's mind if you saw the vampire right now, his skin shining like diamonds in the bold sun as he fucked a very impressive cock into the human under him. A hand reached up to grip Kevin's hair as he tugged back. Those bold golden eyes of Jasper's just glinted in the sun as he groaned loudly, the sound echoing though the woods around him. The other felt sinfully good, every little moan Kevin gave, every gasp and wanton whimper just made Jasper thrust himself harsher into the boy, he was losing himself in that pleasure- in that need for the other. It was like a dam had been broken and the water was rushing free unresisted and dangerous. "Fucking hell.."

@crownedkxngs

[elevenharbor]

DDN CHALLENGE SUBMISSIONS!

Another round of DDN done! This time I actually stuck to the 100-words (yay improvement!) AND attempted to make each drabble challenge related to each other (idk how I fared, but double yay nonetheless! Phew my head hurt!) I did 9/10 prompts (skipped prompt 9 because that’s about when my flow died and my demon puppy dog-child decided to be an attention ho), but extended prompt 10 to 200 words, so it makes up for it...?

Also, super major kudos/shoutout to @cakeit0n​ for being a great host, making both the rad banner (after prompt 10) and Spotify playlist... and just for being awesome.

The prompts and this week’s playlist are all posted here, and it is open to anyone who wants to take a stab at it! (do it, do it! it’s fun!).

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Prompt 1: Transformation

Demons. 

Folklore to many. The stuff of nightmares for some. A source of vexation for others. 

To Kagome, it was her salvation, and her demise. 

Claws that were capable of shredding her to pieces within a blink of an eye flashed through her mind. 

Yet those same claws that could cause such destruction were also capable of transforming into something so...sensual. Sinfully delectable. Soothing, almost. 

Magenta stripes. Claws sharper than a scalpel. Beautiful, yet deadly. 

But as she held her breath while sharp claws raked slowly through her neck, she didn’t know which way her fate would sway tonight.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Prompt 2: Electricity

“What brings you here, Miko?”

Sesshōmaru’s throaty voice pierced through Kagome’s soul, like a jolt of electricity that sparked life into her. Fear and excitement mingled together until one was indiscernible from the other. 

His hold on her neck never faltered. Claws prickled, but never enough to draw blood. 

“I-I was just...ahh..walking through the woods..” Kagome stuttered, helpless.

Sesshōmaru brought her face close to his. Inspecting for subterfuge. Sniffing for lies. Smelling for fear. 

Swallowing her fright, Kagome reached across the space to cup his cheek. 

A spark of electricity shattered the infinitesimal pause, as reiki collided with youki. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Prompt 3: Invisible

As soon as Kagome’s feather-light touch grazed Sesshōmaru’s sensitive facial markings, his iron-clad mask of indifference cracked. 

A sudden burst of youki sheltered them as a barrier formed, rendering them invisible. 

“You play a dangerous game, Miko.” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave lower. “Do not start something you cannot finish.” 

Kagome’s heart thumped like a jackhammer smashing against concrete. She knew what she was getting into...or did she?

What started as mere adoration from afar blossomed into full-blown attraction, as his group joined hers for the final battle. 

His presence emboldened her. Made her feel less invisible.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prompt 4: Wrapped

The lithe fingers that wrapped around her delicate neck loosened, if only by a fraction. Sesshōmaru’s instincts were still on alert, plagued with confusion and curiosity at the vexing woman before him.

She lived in the shadows of the undead priestess, wrapped under the hanyou’s little finger. His wish was her command, which he never understood. 

He knew she was powerful; her potential endless.

Yet, being in each other’s personal space this very moment stirred feelings he could not fathom. The thrum of her reiki called out to his raging youki. 

It attracted him like a moth to a flame. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prompt 5: Fangs

Kagome studied Sesshōmaru as he dissected her with his gaze. She knew seeking him out in the middle of the night could mean nothing or her death. 

She did not expect the great daiyoukai to be as receptive as he had been thus far. 

Her eyes traveled down to the cupid’s bow of his upper lip, knowing very well that behind those candy lips laid two sharp fangs that would give Dracula’s a run for his money. 

Daringly, she wondered how his fangs would feel as it grazed down her throat, before piercing the junction between her neck and shoulder.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prompt 6: Howling

Sesshōmaru detected the slightest change in her scent. Something new, something sharp. Something he had been privy to whenever a bitch was in heat and demanded a male’s attention - his attention. 

The little miko, the perfect picture of purity and innocence, radiated a scent akin to arousal. 

Lowering his face to where her shoulder and neck met, he took the faintest sniff to confirm his suspicion. The sweet tang of arousal mixed with her natural scent of morning dew tickled his nose.

To his surprise, his inner beast howled ferociously, furiously.  Clamoring to be released.

The miko was in heat. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prompt 7: Fearsome

“Sesshōmaru-sama..” Kagome whispered breathily. “W-what are you doing?”

Bright, amber eyes narrowed back at her, burning with something she couldn’t discern. Was it rage? 

Releasing her neck, Kagome only had but a moment to take a quick breath as he grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her face square against his. 

“Have you come to satiate your carnal pleasures with This One?” Sesshōmaru demanded, reminding her once again of the fearsome beast that he truly was under that handsome, humanoid façade. 

Kagome didn’t know what caused the shift in behavior. All she did was imagine...

Comprehension dawned. “What? N-no!”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prompt 8: Inhuman

The monstrosity of his youki burned with intensity. It was heavy and oppressing. Most of his foes would have perished or would barely get away with their life.  

The miko, human as she was, surprisingly held her own. Her reiki surged to life as it reacted to his youki with force.

Azure eyes blazed with fearlessness. Her reiki ebbed and flowed around his youki synchronously. Pink waves danced with red swirls tantalizingly. Beautifully. 

No other being in the history of his near-immortal life - human nor demon - balanced his youki as strongly as her reiki did. 

Stupefied beyond comprehension, Sesshōmaru questioned her humanity.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Prompt 10: Black/White (either or, or both)

Before Sesshōmaru was fully cognizant of his actions and its subsequent implications, it had been too late. 

A million questions sailed through his mind as midnight black tresses mingled with silver-white strands - her reiki and his youki continuing their hypnotizing dance. 

A distant memory sprung up from the deep recesses of his psyche, one that had plagued him since the day he met her. 

She accomplished the impossible - pulling out his father's coveted fang out of its resting place with ease, when he was unable to even hold its hilt without injury. She was able to shatter his impenetrable armor with a single arrow, when foes with far more speed and strength couldn’t even land a scratch. 

What was she, and why was he drawn to her?

Tonight’s symbiotic display of energies provided him with the answers he didn’t even know needed answering. She was the calm to his raging storm; he was the solid foundation to her shaky ground.

And now, here she stood - defying him, challenging him, subconsciously provoking him to do the unthinkable.

With nothing but mere inches that separated them, he closed the seemingly insurmountable distance with a searing kiss, sealing their fates. 

This fatal attraction, he reasoned, would evidently be his downfall.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The banner <3

[wromwood]

(I'm gonna talk about the third Bill and Ted movie in this post, but mostly with info that was used in the trailers. I'll still tag for spoilers, though.)

Overall, I really enjoyed Bill and Ted Face The Music (although admittedly it has its flaws), but there was one thing that bothered me ever since I saw it mentioned in the trailers. Why did Billie and Thea go to hell and not heaven?

The movie proved that Billie and Thea are sweet, supportive, and most excellent people. Just like their dads! Their dads, however, had a reason for going to hell in Bogus Adventure: they were banished there by a seance while undead.

Billie and Thea, however, were not specifically banished to hell. And yet they still ended up there, even though they seemingly didn't do anything to deserve it. So what damned them?

My theory:

Bill: As pleased as we are for a most epic conclusion to our lifelong quest, we're still plagued by a heinous thought.

Ted: Yeah. How did you, our most excellent daughters, wind up in Hell?

Billie: Oh yeah. About that.

Thea: We, um, sold our souls to Satan for one corn chip.

Bill and Ted: No way

Billie and Thea: Yes way!

Billie: We just saw so many memes about it online and thought, well, maybe it works!

Thea: And then we found some totally menacing grimoires at the library and decided to try it out

Bill: Did you really get a corn chip?

Thea: Yeah.

Ted: ... Was it good?

Billie: Sinfully good

All four of them: (air guitar riff)

[ashleyfanfic]

Do you have any Jonerys nsfw fic recs? I need some smut in my life any kind extra points if it starts with Jon masturbating and turns into a hot session with his queen. 😏

Oh, Anon - this could take a while. Buckle up, this is gonna be a bumpy, but pleasurable, ride! I’ve divided this up from Modern AU and Canon/Canon Divergent. I know there are more than one entry for most of these authors, but what can I say? When I find an author I like, I usually consume everything they write.  CANON/CANON DIVERGENT Up Against the Wall - by @meisiesmut   A shameless love story told with a backdrop of war, politics, past trauma, heroes and villains, dragons and duty. Goes from Dragonstone, to Kings Landing, to the North, and eventually back again. Falling in love amidst the War for the Dawn, as told by Daenerys Targaryen. The explicit rating is no lie. Damsel In Distress by @meisiesmut   There is very little that is weak and defenseless about the Mother of Dragons, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend. In which Daenerys blows off some steam from the pressures of ruling, and her husband grudgingly indulges her, until the wolf comes out to play. Roleplay smut, trigger warning for dubious consent. Ozymandian - by @frostbitepandaaaaa​  She should have been more prudent, instead of falling into him like a spell. She should have handled this thing like the fatal tangle of thorns it was, instead of drinking the air from his lungs like the sweetest Arbor gold. She should have picked it up about the edges, holding it at arm’s length until she could find a safe enough place to rest it upon the earth and walk away forever. On Fire’s Gentle Shore - by @justwandering-neverlost​   This one shot is post season 8. Dany and Jon are ruling Westeros and escort Missandei back to her home in Naath. How We Heal - by @justwandering-neverlost​  What was intended to be some love-filled Jonerys drabbles, but has turned into a full-blown S8 canon adventure complete with romance, dragons, drama, angst, politics, prophecies, and the Battle for the Dawn. Fluff, smut, and all the feels still included. Go South, Get Warm - by @lawonderlandwriter​  An alternate route to Winterfell! After being resurrected, Jon Snow leaves for Oldtown to stay with the only person he can trust - Samwell Tarly. But after he receives a raven from his sister Sansa requesting help to take back their family home from the Boltons, Jon goes on a mission collecting allies in the South - the Tyrells of Highgarden, the Sand Snakes of Dorne, the portion of the ironborn fleet commanded by Yara Greyjoy...and of course, the queen across the sea, Daenerys Targaryen. Jon and Daenerys build a quick rapport and she soon makes him the Lord Commander of her armies. Together they face the Lannister, the Boltons, Euron Greyjoy...and finally, the Night King. Note: Main relationship of this fic is Jonerys and Dany comes into the story at chapter 8. A Wolf In The Sand - by @notpmahlem​  I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it. He died. He was resurrected. Coping with that betrayal, additional information upends him again and sends him to the last place anyone would expect him to go. In search of Dragons. The Burnt World - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​ Its been over two decades since the Mad King burnt the world.Now Daenerys has finally returned home to right the wrongs of her father. But once again a mad ruler threatens to burn the world anew.Up North, Jon Snow is racing against time to defeat a swarm of undead that threatens to kill all that remains. The Painted Table - by @muttpeeta​  Daenerys summons Jon to the Chamber of the Painted Table the night before his journey beyond the Wall to give him a proper farewell. Slight canon divergence. Held Captive - by @fierypen37​ - Upon landing in Westeros, Daenerys makes a pact with the King in the North, with interesting results. Or, in which Robb lives as King in the North and Jon is given to Daenerys as a hostage of war. Can I Be Your Prisoner? - by @tomakeitbeautifultolive​  Following their first tense meeting on Dragonstone, Jon is left stimulated in more ways than one when he asks the dragon queen whether or not he's her prisoner. After Daenerys clarifies by answering "Not yet", three dreaded words slip from his lips, to his horror—"Can I be?"

MODERN AU/AU You Heard Me. Take. It. Off. - by @meisiesmut  Jon and Daenerys are young professors at a spooky gothic pile of a university with a unique relationship. BDSM episodes in a modern setting, a somewhat dark and twisted little romance. Likely the only Modern AU I will ever attempt, enjoy the kink. The Pirate Queen - by @meisiesmut   In which Lord Commander Snow meets The Pirate Queen and her crew of cutthroats, much to his annoyance and later delight. AU, 18th Century Caribbean setting, pirates, scenery, bad jokes, canon winks, Jon in a pretty uniform (and eventually a dashing pirate outfit), and shameless smut. I got nothing else, enjoy. Lord Snow and the Madam - by @meisiesmut   Madam Daenerys runs the finest gentleman’s establishment in Mayfair, and knowing men and all their ways, has little time for the pleasures and distractions of an alluring stranger. But a persistent, mysterious visitor to her brothel may just change her mind. Alternative universe, Edwardian London setting, luscious smut, splendidly handsome mustache bean. Quality Assurance - by @muttpeeta​   AU where Dany and Jon are CEOs of competing sex toy companies and meet at a convention. Love In Leather - by @muttpeeta​  Before they dock at White Harbor and leave the safety of their ship, Daenerys wants to make Jon's wildest fantasies come true. Thumbprint Scar - by @frostbitepandaaaaa​   For so long, she had only dreamed about getting away, never of what that place might be. It wasn't until it had started to become a reality, to solidify under her hands, that she started to paint details into the visions of her sanctuary in earnest. Between the Raindrops - by @notpmahlem​   In modern Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen and her foreign army are joined by Jon Snow and the North to unseat Cersei Lannister. Written In the Scars of His Heart - by @notpmahlem​ and @jalenmara​  Daenerys Targaryen, supermodel and face of House Targaryen, a rising star in the world of Fashion, is commonly known as the most beautiful woman in the world. And someone wants her dead. Jon Snow, running from the ghosts of his own past, lands the job any man would kill for— protecting her. But can he protect his own heart from her? Mustache Rides - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​  Jon's sporting a new look and there's really only one thing Dany can do. A PROUD Contribution to the #RideJonsFace2019 and #Twenty69teen campaigns. Let's have Dany rub that mustache off. Vim and Vigor - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​  Seven smutty scenes to ring in the New Year. Jon and Daenerys are a Young Couple living their best life. The Oasis - by @fierypen37​  With uptight and stressed CEO Daenerys Targaryen's regular masseur on leave, she has to make do with the replacement Jon Snow. Relaxation is not something she can find with his hands on her. Too bad he doesn't feel the same. Except unbeknownst to her, he definitely does. When a threat on her life pushes them together, they must both learn to deal with their growing feelings. Sinfully Yours - by @adecila​   Jon Snow finds himself being summoned by a beautiful but dangerous woman. Daenerys Targaryen is a demon hunter looking for a precious treasure. He is a demon with a particular set of principles. However, he also has a dick; and he hasn't used it since way before he died. Instinct by @lawonderlandwriter​   "She heard a twig snap behind her and spun around, heart beating quick as a hummingbird’s wings inside her chest. A lone figure emerged from behind a tree, watching her; she should have known. HIM. The dark-featured male that had wandered into the area a few days ago. She sighed, somewhat in relief that it wasn't something else, but eyed him warily all the same. Sometimes newcomers were harmless. Other times they were not..." Can I Keep You - by @lawonderlandwriter​  "...She patted at her chest over her heart, pointed off in the distance, touched her hair yet again, and then pointed to a nearby dandelion with its wispy white seeds swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly he thought he understood, at least the last part of it. Hair. White hair." Sequel to Instinct! Begins a little bit before Jon and Dany meet. Now You See Me - by @daenerys1417​  Dany has just moved into a new apartment which happens to have a crack in the shared wall between her and her next-door neighbor, Jon Snow. One night, she gets more than she bargained for when she decides to take a peek.

[vianna-orchidia]

Day 17 - You are Mine

Inktober Day 17: Ornament

Kaoru tapped his forefinger against his chin. His eyes were fixed on the mirror, where he scrutinized the black-and-purple costume wrapped on his body. The new UNDEAD costume felt like a fresh start, with a dash of nostalgic touches. The long tail of the jacket was foreign on him, but watching it swish around also filled him with ideas of dance moves that would complement it.

But before that, there was something lacking from this costume.

He just couldn't pinpoint what.

"Ooh, Kaoru-kun," a familiar figure joined him in front of the mirror. "You look radiant."

"Yeah? I think I look like a real creature of darkness, though?"

"A charming, radiant creature of the dark."

Kaoru laughed. He then started to inspect Rei's figure in the mirror, giving a meaningful glance at the tight leather pants his partner was wearing. "Told ya leather would look good on you too," he smirked.

Raising an eyebrow, Rei made an experimental body-turn. "Not as good as you... and your ass."

"Heh, pervert. So this jacket tail is to cover your thin ass, eh?"

"Kaoru-kun is so cruel," Rei faked a sob, but he only got a nonchalant shrug from Kaoru. Knowing his antics wouldn't work on him, Rei quickly set his back straight again and cleared his throat. "Anyway. I'm here for the last touch for your costume," he said, showing a cross necklace made from silver.

"Ah. Here I was just thinking that something's lacking... Huh?" Kaoru took a double look at the necklace. "Is this the one from your old costume, Rei-kun?"

"Close, but no." Rei gave him a proud smile. "The design is similar, but this one was made for you. I asked a friend abroad to make it from the best material they could find." He nudged at Kaoru's shoulder. "Turn around."

"Ah... Okay," Kaoru obediently turned around, holding his hair up to let Rei clasp the necklace around his neck. His body shivered as cold metal touched his skin, just a second away from the warmth of Rei's lips against his bare nape. The vampire really liked to kiss his nape whenever it's exposed like this.

When the piece of accessory was safely clasped, Rei put his hands on Kaoru's shoulders and turned him to face the mirror again. His ruby eyes looked utterly pleased with the final look—no one would know that Kaoru's necklace, the one he would wear every time they go on stage in front of millions of people, was his present. A silent mark of possession.

Rei's praise was uttered in a sinfully low voice. "There you go. Lovely."

[tulipgardens1]

Inktober day 16: wild

'Who parties harder than the living? The undead. And no undead party would be a wild one without devil's delight's pizza! Our speciality is cobweb surprise pizza topped with spiders, cobwebs, bats (be careful, they'll try to fly away), and mushrooms. It's sinfully delicious you'll just want to sell your soul!

Visit our website at 666-sellyoursoultosatan.com or pay us a visit in Hell's Inferno. We also do birthday parties.'

[fromtheshadcws]

@agbaran

Sinfully good.

But Akande simply looked down on his wardog, lain strewn out on rich sheets. The wraith had decorated himself in beautiful leather and lace while glittering cuffs held him open, ready, quivering for him. He had followed the note, the little gift Akande had left on the desk of the man’s quarters.

A wandering hand grazed over undead flesh. “You are certainly a gift, wardog. All this anger and rage trussed up in such a neat little package, I do hope you prove patient enough to endure what you’ve gotten yourself caught up in.”

Gabriel is almost, almost offended. The mere idea that he, of all people, would lack the stamina to keep up with anyone, even Akanda, raises his hackles as much as it makes him laugh. To think: after all the shit SEP pumped into them and everything else, to still be as easily flustered as a virgin.

He has great stamina, thanks very much.

Still, all Gabriel does is chuckle and roll his eyes, torso twisting as he raises his arms above his head and bares his throat, showing off the sleek curve of dead but pristine muscles, twitching under his partner’s truly hungry gaze and the exploring fingers.

“Tch,” he breathes out. “What kind of aja would I be if you would tire me out so easily? I’m worth more than that and you know it.

[boluellen]

The Passing of a Legend - Anne Rice

The Passing of a Legend – Anne Rice

Anne Rice. That name conjures up delicious images, both horrific and sinfully sensual. Her books led to an entire generation enjoying a new bend to the genre of vampire novels and immortalizing the name Lestat into the lexicon of literature.  Those of us who write horror can see her influence in our works. The terrifying yet seductive nature of her undead characters pulled at our dark desires…

[pure-dragon-age-trash]

Temptation

(Author's note here, I am TRASH for this ship, and I love my gay sinamon rolls. My girlfriend pointed out that mages typically hold back their magic and only rarely unleash their raw power. I was inspired the the gay flowing within me so I wrote this drabble. Please enjoy, and if you like, leave feedback.) Dorian had never craved power enough to give into the whispers from demons and spirits. He had been tempted, but the full knowledge of what those entities wanted in return kept him grounded. Until now. Dorian had always been attracted to power. The very first manifestations of magic had appeared in the form of fire from clenched fists. He had been a toddler, screaming at the maid who dared to feed him vegetables. The maid had been terrified screaming for the masters. Dorian’s father had been so pleased at the appearance of magic at such a young age that Dorian had dined on fine Tevinter desserts, and the vegetables had been forgotten. It was then that the whispers started. It was then that his father warned of the dangers of the spirits and demons and blood magic. The first offer from a demon had been innocent enough. In a dream, a sweet faced servant had approached him in a palace that glistened, filled to the brim with toys. It was a spirit that had offered him all of the sweets his young heart could desire. His father had warned him of those desire demons. “They always want something in return” he had warned. While tempted at the prospect of never again having to endure the taste of boiled greens, he had refused. Enraged, the desire demon had attempted to posses him as he slept. It was then that he learned how to rebuke them. The second serious offer had come from yet another desire demon. He was a lanky schoolboy with awkward edges and a deadly secret. A secret that could destroy legacies and could rip apart his family. The undeniable desire of lust filled him, but he hushed his deepest craving for love. The demon knew this, and in his dream a beautiful and sinfully desirable man had approached him. They had dined on grapes all while the man teased and beckoned for Dorian. It had seemed so irresistible, but they knowledge that this thing would demand his life in return for an illusion gave him the will to deny it. The demon had not taken the rejection well. The third time he had been truly tempted had been by the rage demon. With its white hot fury and how it cradled his anger. He had finally come out to his father. He had drawn the line and said that he would not marry whom his father had chosen, and that he would stay true to his heart. His father had taken it differently than he had imagined. He expected the rage that had followed every disappointment, the all too familiar scorn and lecturing with a scarlet face. Instead, his father had remained unnaturally quiet and unmoved. The only thing he had uttered was, “So be it” before he had resigned to his quarters. Like a foolish youth that he was, he thought he had won. He had pranced back to his library with pride, practically glowing. He could’ve never anticipated that his father would go to such lengths to try to correct his deviant child. He had awaken to chains digging into his skin. The confusion bled away to pure contempt and anguish when his father’s face appeared in the Maker forsaken cell. He glared at his father, met his distraught eyes with his own rage fueled ones. Maker they were so similar, so determined. He never let his gaze falter, not through the torture or the rituals, he wanted his eyes to bore into his father. He would never admit it, but he had screamed. His father had left, obviously bothered by his son’s stare and what would take place. The magisters were close friends, friends that had counseled his father, had broken bread at his table, and now they surrounded him with ceremonial daggers and spells tomes bound with human flesh. Anything for the fucking legacy. It was during the waves of torture and countless failed rituals that the voice had called to him. It begged to help him break free and to exact revenge on those whom he had trusted so dearly. It was so tempting, to accept the demon’s offer, but his resolve to be nothing like his father drove him to bide his time, nursing his fury and hurt pride. He had played along, acted like the magic had changed him. One of the men had taken pity on him, his heart softened by the screams of the boy he had grown to care for like a son. It was that man who had whispered apologies as the rituals drained him. It was that man who had brought him his meals. It was that man who had loosened the shackles in the dead of night. It was that man that Dorian had spared. It had been a balmy afternoon when he had received word from the spymaster that a few particularly powerful Venatori had made camp in the Hissing Wastes. He had not meant to trouble his Amatus, but the man was a Trevelyan and knew how to coax out secrets. And so they had embarked with Blackwall and Varric in tow to find the pests. The Hissing Wastes were aptly names, nothing but sand and and ruins as far as the eye could see. The enemies here had been toughened by the unforgiving nature of the terrain and the pure ferocity of the wildlife; therefore, they presented a challenge to defeat. He had told his Amatus that he could turn back at any time, that it wasn’t necessary for him to rush out and deal with his problems. That man had flashed him that trademark smile and insisted that the Venatori were a threat to all, and since they worshipped him it was also his burden to oversee in their destruction. He was always so damn smug. With those steel eyes and hair like black silk. Maybe it’s a Trevelyan thing. He mused. To think that one could so easily play with fire. He knew the dangers, but, “Maker be damned, I don’t give a fuck.” He always had a way with words that made his stomach churn and his heart swell. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much to see him fall. There had been a dozen of them, all spread out amongst the camp. Blackwall had engaged the massive soldiers with a yell and a running start. Varric had stayed on the fringes, setting deadly traps while firing his deadly contraption of a crossbow. Dorian had kept a safe distance in order to properly cast his spells, but Cain had thrown himself into the fray. He weaved in between bodies and blades with skill to plunge and slash wish his deadly daggers. As the battle raged, the more fell to their somewhat systematic combat. However, something irked Dorian, like they were missing something. That this group of Venatori would not fall so easily, so when the last man lay dead, he checked their arms. The unmistakeable pattern of horizontal and vertical lines that covered the arms of the dead chilled his blood. “We need to get out of here.” he said urgently. “What’s wrong Sparkler, does their lack of fashion make you uneasy?” Varric joked. “No, but the marks that would suggest a powerful bloodmage is near does make me a bit fearful.” A deep ad horrid laugh made them all turn towards the part of camp they had neglected, and a mage clad in Magister's robes wielded a staff adorned with a skull. He laughed as he drained the blood from his fallen men, feeding himself with it. Blackwall charged first, head on with all of the bravery of a Warden. The magister, now interrupted and distracted was struck by a blade in the back. Every Time Cain performed his hidden blade attack, Dorian struggled to keep his eyes on him. He moved so unnaturally fast, and seemed to strike from the very shadows. Both being everywhere and nowhere all at once. The battle raged on, they were winning Dorian told himself. He ignored the churning fear that gnawed on his insides as he cast, spell after spell. Soon, the magister fell under Cain’s blade, and he turned to face Dorian with a triumphant smile, face all covered in blood. They didn’t know that the magister was not, in fact, dead, but merely resting in the sand, drawing mana from the blood that poured from his many wounds. Dorian noticed this all just moments too late, screaming as the magister began healing himself. The fourth time he had been tempted was when the undead magister channeled his blood into power, and in anguish struck out at Cain with an unrelenting force of magic. He watched as his Amatus screamed and writhed in agony. The smell of burning flesh sickened his stomach, and the sight of Cain burning in that Maker forsaken desert snapped something within him. All reserves had been broken, and he screamed with the anger that threatened to tear apart his soul. The aura that surrounded him sizzled with magic, and he was surrounded by fire. A level headed Dorian would reason that a fire mage would be resistant to his fire attacks, but he was too far gone. He rushed towards the magister, breaking his magical barrier with a wave of his staff, and grabbed him by the throat. He lifted him with little effort, fueled by his rage and unearthly magic. He willed every last wisp of his mana to flow into burning the magister beneath his fingers. His brown eyes glowed like embers, and he yelled like a man possessed. The magister screamed and writhed underneath his grip, but he held fast and the magister’s flesh and bone were burned away. It was only when the magister had burned and crumpled into ash did he relent, allowing the heat to cool and for the magic to ebb away. He turned to see Blackwall and Varric with weapons drawn, ready to put down their friend for fear of possession. He merely walked past them and knelt beside Cain. His chest heaved painfully and the burns streaked across his skin inflamed and agitated by the sand. “Maker I hate the desert.” he wheezed out. “Always with the quick wit.” Dorian said as he grabbed his hand. Cain wove his charred fingers through Dorian’s. “You’re so warm.” he murmured as he nestled his head in Dorian’s lap. Dorian smiled and he willed the magic to flow through him. This time it was a soft sensation that created a very different type of magic. He was no skilled healer, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. “We’ll set up camp, find some firewood from their camp and whatnot.” Blackwall said, reminding the two lovers of their friends’ presence. “And I’ll help supervise.” Varric chimed, waving Blackwall over to the now empty Venatori camp.” All was silent save for the occasional grunt from Blackwall and Varric shouting orders. Dorian stopped the flow of magic intermittently to drink from his supply of lyrium potions. He started again, reinvigorated, and placed one hand on Cain’s chest and his other on his face. Cain had closed his eyes in bliss, savoring the gentle warmth that followed Dorian’s magic. “You’re always so warm.” Cain mumbled groggily, obviously sedated by the health potion. Dorian chuckled and caressed Cain’s face, running his thumb lovingly over his well defined cheeks. “I mean it. You come from a land of warm sands with your skin kissed by the sun.” he continued sleepily, “and you’re always warm. Dunno if it’s the fire magic or the great genes but you’re always smokin’ hot.” Cain giggled deliriously at his own joke. “Fasta vass, stay still.” Dorian scolded, but smiled despite himself. Cain opened his eyes to gaze up adoringly at Dorian, reaching out clumsy fingers to touch his face. Dorian removed his hand from Cain’s cheek to hold Cain’s hand to his face. Dorian was never fond of public affection. Sure he loved to partake in public acts of flattery and teasing, but he always toed a line to uphold an imagine if not for his sake, but for his partners. He would never whisper confessions of love to his Amatus in front of people, Varric would never let him hear the end of it, but he did allow himself to accept Cain’s sweet gestures. Cain had taught him that it was okay to be vulnerable, and to truly not give a single, solitary fuck what the high court of squabbling nobles thought. He noticed Cain’s eyes sober and grow serious for a moment. “Something on your mind, Amatus?” he asked softly. “Just a little scared that I lost you.” “No magister can best me, I assure you. I could never let an ill dressed ruffian take me down.” he said, voice swelling with grandeur and bravado. “S’not what I meant.” Cain mumbled. Dorian grew quiet. “Thought I’d lost you to a demon or somethin’, they’re drawn to that sort of hurt.” he said as he removed his hand from Dorian’s face in search of his hand. Dorian wove his fingers through Cain’s and they rested their hands on Dorian’s lap, next to where Cain’s head lay. “I would never allow myself to become the same as the men who tortured me, or allow anything, man or demon, to control me.” he said softly. Cain, pleased with Dorian’s promise, closed his eyes again. “Sleep now, Amatus.” Dorian had been tempted, but nothing could control him. He had fought for his freedom that day in the cell filled with magisters, blood, and fire, and he had won. He had won the right to forge his own legacy, to love freely and unafraid. No demon or man could take that away from him. And underneath the sky that bled hues of orange and blue, Cain slept soundly in Dorian’s arms. And underneath that vibrant sunset in the grueling expanse of sand, Dorian had never felt happier.