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lunar-wandering · 3 years

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Delirium

@smallpwbbles happy birthday, take some delirious Wukong-

Word Count: 2k

Read on Ao3

MK paused in a mixture of shock, horror, and awe as he took in the sight before him.

Pigsy had his head in his hands, looking for all the world like he was totally done with the situation. Tang was standing beside him, trying to hide his increasingly obvious laughter. Mei had no such qualms, and was laughing out loud, practically on the verge of literally rolling around on the floor. Red Son stood next to her, holding up Mei's phone, which seemed to be recording, the fire demon trying desperately to look neutral to the situation, but a small smirk on the edge of his lips betrayed him, revealing his amusement. Sandy stood slightly off to the side, holding a blanket, ready to step in at any time.

And Macaque stood ramrod straight, appearing to be somewhere between 'embarrassed' and 'would somebody please strike me down already'- as Wukong leaned against him, saying a series of sloppily put together compliments.

MK took a deep breath, speed-running all five stages of grief in under an instant. (Possibly a new record for him.)

"I left. For five minutes." He said, taking note of how some places on the deck seemed to be dented, and was that smoke coming from over there? "How, exactly, did things end up like this?"

He received no answer, the others having jumped and turned to stare at him when he had spoken, having not noticed his return.

...Wait, where did Wukong-

"MK." Wukong said, and MK did his best not to jump as the delirious Monkey King appeared beside him out of nowhere and put a hand on MK's shoulder. "My, my dear su- ......succulent.....?"

"Successor." MK corrected, trying to ignore how the others were barely restraining their laughter. (Macaque, at least, looked somewhat sympathetic, but he also looked far more grateful for the fact that Wukong's attention had shifted away from him.)

"That's, yes. That's the word, yes." Wukong said, before grabbing hold of MK's cheeks, squishing them a little as he made sure MK was looking at him. "I am so proud of you."

"...Thanks?" MK said, questionably, pulling himself out of Wukong's grip. Wukong briefly glanced at his hands, seemingly confused as to where his successor had gone. "Monkey King- I'm right here. You should really be resting, until whatever this is gets out of your system-"

"Red Son!" Wukong exclaimed, the aforementioned fire demon making an audible noise of terror, slipping to hide behind Mei as Wukong spun around to face him-

Only to trip over his own two feet, slamming into the deck, denting it ever so slightly.

...For about the twenty-third time that day.

Sandy took this as his time to move forwards, gently laying the blanket down on top of Wukong, before announcing that he was going to try and make some more healing tea, (Wukong had dumped the first pot of it over the side of the ship, claiming that it was 'too bitter', 'wouldn't work anyways', and complaining that it didn't 'taste like peaches'), and the river demon left, going back down inside of the airship, leaving the others without his calming presence.

"...Okay guys, while Monkey King is....asleep..." MK wasn't even actually sure if Wukong was asleep, but he'd stopped moving and had become utterly silent since slamming into the deck, so- "I suggest we make it so that he doesn't hurt himself or us with anything on the ship."

"What, are you suggesting we should baby-proof the entire ship?" Pigsy asked.

"...More like 'Monkey King-proof', but yes, actually, that is exactly what I am suggesting." MK said, "We're going to need to cover all of our bases-"

"Uh, kid?" Macaque interrupted, grabbing MK's attention by lightly tapping on his shoulder. "If you're going to Monkey King-proof the ship, you uh, might want to start with the railing."

He pointed to the edge of the ship, and MK followed his gaze to see-

"Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me." MK said, just catching the barest, tiniest glimpse of Wukong, wearing the blanket around his shoulders like a cape, leaping over the side of the ship. "That's the fifth time he's done that today."

It wasn't all that hard to find him again. All they had to do was follow the destruction a delirious, overpowered monkey leaves behind.

Or at least, that was MK, Mei, and Macaque's strategy, up until they stumbled upon a perfectly normal, entirely untouched clearing.

"...What do we do now?" Mei asked, and Macaque made to give an answer-

Only to have to jump back, barely avoiding being impaled as Wukong suddenly appeared out of the surrounding woods, carrying a rather large tree. He had twigs, leaves, and dirt all throughout his fur. The blanket was seemingly missing, but neither MK, Mei, nor Macaque really wanted to find out where it had gone. The group of three took a cautious step back as Wukong locked eyes with them.

"Wanna see how up I can lift this tree?" He said, already lifting said tree above his head. (Everyone ignored how he'd seemingly forgotten the word 'high'.) MK and Mei shared a look as Mei slowly pulled out her phone, opening up the camera.

"I mean, we really shouldn't, but..." MK said, and Wukong beamed, shifting to hold the tree with one hand, taking the chance to show off. MK and Mei 'ooh'ed and 'awe'd appropriately, but Macaque rolled his eyes and looked away.

Which cause him to miss seeing the exact moment when Wukong's strength faltered, the tree falling upon the Monkey King's back, pinning him to the ground.

Macaque certainly didn't miss Wukong's screech of terror though.

MK and Mei had froze in shock, but Macaque reacted instantly, running over to the pinned monkey. The panicked mutters of "Not again, not again, please not again-" left little doubt as to what was currently going through Wukong's mind.

Macaque practically sent the tree flying in his rush to get it off of the other, and, not knowing was else to do when that didn't immediately quell Wukong's panic, flipped him over, desperately hoping that seeing the wide open sky, with no mountain in sight, would calm the Monkey King down.

And, well, it must've done something, as Wukong quieted, blankly staring up at the sky, without blinking.

"...Are you....okay?" Macaque asked, fearing that he had made things worse as he kneeled down beside him.

"...Have I... ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?" Wukong muttered, and Macaque paused.

"Ah- no. No." Macaque said, standing up. "No, we are not doing this again- MK, come get your stupid mentor, we're going back to the ship."

"MK- hey- hey kid-"

"What is it now, Monkey King?" MK sighed, tired. It had been unanimous that Wukong could no longer go even seconds without being supervised, and now had to be watched at all times. MK, unfortunately, had gotten the short end of the stick and had been chosen for the first watch, (They had drawn straws, and he had not missed the sighs of relief from the others, nor had he missed how Macaque had magically changed the length of the straws. He swore he'd get that shadow monkey back somehow), which of course meant that he was the first to have to put up with the delirious Wukong's complete and utter bullshit.

"Um- Would, do you think Macaque's fur tastes bitter like his rationality?" Wukong asked, from where he was laying on his back, on the couch, yet another of Sandy's blankets set on top of him. (They'd tried to cocoon him, but after enough protesting they'd given up on it for now).

"Wh-" MK started, confused, turning the sentence over in his head to make sense of it before responding. "...First of all, no, I think it would just taste like hair, second of all, did you mean to say personality?"

"....Yes...." Wukong said, slowly, before a wicked smirk came over his face, and MK felt fear settle into his bones. "Do you wanna see me make a hair buddy-"

"No!" MK yelled, and he may have lost all his powers, including his enhanced speed, but you wouldn't have known it from the way he practically flew to stop Wukong from blowing on his hair. "You are not going to be making any clones any time soon, okay? Monkey King I need you to look at me and confirm that you will not make any hair clones while you're delirious."

"...I will not make hair buddies while I'm serious." Wukong said, and MK sighed.

"Good enough, I guess." He said, sitting back down in his chair, slumping, momentarily closing his eyes in exasperation.

When he opened them again, Wukong was gone.

"Fuck-" MK said, jumping up and spinning around-

Only to see Wukong on the other side of the room, curled up on top of the other couch. He'd somehow gotten more blankets than before too, MK was certain there had only been two in the room before, but now there appeared to be at least seven.

MK didn't want to question where and how Wukong had gotten them.

What he would like to know though, was-

"...Why did you move to the other couch?" MK dared to ask, prompting Wukong to stick his head out of the pile of blankets he had buried himself in.

"Cause this one's more soft! The other one's too....too..." He seemed to blank on the word 'stiff', and instead said; "Boney. Boney couch. Bouch."

MK took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from breaking down then and there. It was, of course, at this moment, that he noticed Red Son try to sneak pass the open the door and down the hallway.

MK didn't let him.

"Red Son!" He said, rushing over (never taking his eyes off of Wukong), and looping his arm around the demon's. Red Son squeaked, but MK ignored it as he dragged him over to stand in front of Wukong. "Perfect timing, I think it was about time for me to have a little break, y'know? Would you mind watching him for me for a moment?"

Red Son was about to say no- but the look on his face, the look of someone who was oh so close to Losing It made him reconsider.

"...Sure..." Red Son said, slowly, "So long as it's only for a bit-"

"Cool! Thanks!" MK said, immediately letting go, turning and practically sprinting out of the room. "Good luck!"

Red Son had the ever looming sense that he had just doomed himself.

(He should have never accepted their offer to join them on the ship. But dammit, MK had offered some of that spicy candy he knew Red Son liked, and the fire demon just couldn't have refused.)

For a few blissful minutes, it was silent, Red Son staring at Wukong in apprehension, while Wukong hardly seemed to have noticed that anything had changed at all, still snugly wrapped in his nest of blankets.

And then Wukong lifted his head, a questioning expression on his face.

"...Does blue exist?" He asked, and a look that was somewhere between exasperation and pure terror made it's way onto Red Son's face.

"Noodle Boy, hurry up with your break and get back in here, your mentor's going existential!" He yelled, looking in the direction MK had gone, desperately hoping that the other would come back and save him from this fate.

"You can handle it!" MK's voice called faintly.

"...If blue doesn't exist......Then red doesn't exist......so does that mean you don't exist?" Wukong asked, under his breath, looking at Red Son with fear.

"I most certainly can not handle this!" Red Son yelled, "Could somebody please get over here?"

Nobody answered his call. Red Son honestly hadn't expected them to.

After all, he would've made the exact same choice.

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out how to respond to the monkey that currently seemed to be having an existential crisis.

Only to jump as he heard an ear shattering scream of frustration ring through the ship.

This had the fortune of snapping Wukong out of his crisis, instead having him simply look confused. Red Son ignored the faint shouts from Macaque's room (something about 'fuck you've got a serious pair of lungs' and 'warn a guy next time') as he tried to calm himself down from the sudden scare.

Geez. MK had seriously needed that break.

#Monkie Kid #fanfic #my writing #happy birthday!!

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angelisverba · 4 years

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come out, come out wherever you are

in which y/n agrees to do something really stupid, and harry is a bit of a shit

word count: 5k

pairing: vampire!h and y/n (different au from my other vamp!h fics, though)

warnings: drug use, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of blood (duh, he’s a vampire).

author’s note: okay so i know that i put vampire!h in the pairing, but this h is a wierd succubus x demon x vampire mix where he can feed off the emotions he wants to?? i’ll explain it in the story. enjoy your reading :)

She shouldn’t have agreed to play hide and seek in a cornfield.

At night.

During a full moon.

On Halloween.

Y/n’s logic always disappeared when she was… under the influence. Whether that be with alcohol or other sorts of… fun substances. That was not to say that she was an alcoholic, or a drug addict, she just… hated to be a party popper. When her roommate invited her to college parties, she didn’t say no to the red solo cup because she knew that some way or another, she would end up giving in by the end of the night. Or when it was just her and her closest friends passing around a freshly rolled joint, she didn’t say no because she didn’t want to be the odd one out.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that she enjoyed it… most of the time.

This? This was not one of those times.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Josephine, her roommate, had barged into her room with a smile over her lips as the brightness of her phone lit up her face from the bottom up, casting spooky shadows since y/n’s room was dark and she was falling asleep.

“Y/n, look!” She said, turning the phone so beams that felt like they came from hell illuminated y/n’s pinched face, marks from her pillow decorating the place above her lip. She mumbled something, and Josephine kept speaking, “Travis just sent me an invitation to one of the frat’s Halloween parties! Come with me, it’s gonna be so much fun!”

And to get her to leave her room, she agreed. She must have, because the next morning as she was getting ready for her 10 a.m. literature class, she was bombarded with a series of costume ideas and questions about what was considered cheesy or overdone. Josephine had made it clear that it was okay that they didn’t match, especially because of their differences in clothing choices. Jo was more risqué, and y/n liked to dress in what she felt comfortable in.

It didn’t take her a long time to figure out what she was going to go as for Halloween. That same morning, just before she walked into class, y/n stopped to stare at a framed art print in the hallway.

La Belle Dame sans Merci by John Keats was a poem that she knew by heart, and the painting was one that she could get lost in for hours. Stopping to stare at it before walking into class was not an unusual occurrence for her, but that time an idea came to her, almost like it was written in the long locks of her red hair.

Y/n would go as a Victorian princess. The dresses had always fascinated her, with the intricate lace details and elegant rippled of muslin fabric that flounced in a puff around the hips of Countess, or trailed behind the average cottage girl as she frolicked in fields full of daisies. She could picture it in her mind, and it made her giddy to know that there was a possibility she could look as pretty as one of the poet’s muses. She spent the entirety of the class switching from writing notes to browsing the five pages worth of gowns on Amazon, looking for something pretty yet within her price range.

By the end of the period she’d had what she wanted in her cart. A baby-blue wisp of a dress with intricate lace detailing at the neckline that curved like the top-hald of a heart to cup her breasts. The sleeves bunched around her arms mid-bicep, and scrunched again around her wrists, the transparent fabric looking as if her arms were wrapped in the sky. Built in ribbing created a corset that added an extra curve to her waist to make way for the heaps of fabric that exploded from her hips and cascaded down to the floor like the foaming spray of a waterfall.

It fit like a dream. When it arrived a few days before the party she dropped everything she was doing to try it on. The moment Josephine patted her shoulder to tell her that she was finished zipping up the back, y/n twirled around in the limited space of their dorm room to see herself in the narrow mirror at the end of her bed.

Every penny she had spent on it was worth it. Sure, it was snug around the bust and refrained her lungs from expanding the extra millimeter they needed, but it made her feel… nice. Pretty. She liked the way it cinched her waist, how her wrists looked dainty covered in the lacy ends of the sleeves, and the way her breasts looked… accentuated by the frilly detail.

Jo had squealed once she had a full look at her friend, and wouldn’t stop talking about how good they were going to look walking in together. She was going as Cat-Woman, complete with the latex suit, boots, mask, and all. She looked every bit as fantastic as y/n, only on opposite ends of the Halloween costume spectrum.

Building up to the day of the party, the pair talked make-up and hair details, both of which Josephine would be taking care of because she was better at them. At one point, y/n thinks she even dreamt about making a grand-entrance, boys and girls gawking at how amazing she looked, and the most handsome guy stepping forth to profess his undying love for her.

Which wasn't really how it went the night of, but she attained the same satisfaction.

The party was located a little ways away from the city, at a plantation-style frat house in-front of a huge cornfield. Carved pumpkins with candles illuminating them from the inside out lined the pathway up to the front-doors, the trees nearby created crunchy pathways of orange and yellow leaves, and the moon was out; yawning tiredly, but glowing an eerie yellow color over the scene.

It looked like the opening scene of a horror film.

Y/n did receive a lot of stares, though. Most of them were from guys whose beady little eyes pointed straight to her chest, and the ones she got from girls were on the nastier side of envy. She could tell. But, oddly enough, she liked the attention.

Josephine y/n’s hand and led her through the mass of costumed-bodies. There was a variety of ‘sexy’ professions (the usual: nurses, cops, cowgirls, and school girls) and those that come from fandoms (Hogwarts’s students, Eleven from Stranger Things, Mia Wallace from Pulp Fiction, multiple heroes from the Avengers) or those that came for shits and giggles (T-rex blow-up costumes with tiny hands, Joe Exotic, sumo-wrestlers, those things that sway outside car-dealerships, and even a Trojan condom packet). There was a lot to see, and honestly, it was beginning to overwhelm y/n.

Not only was it slightly disorienting to see everyone disguised, the interior itself was something to look at. Chandeliers and velvet sofas, gold lamps and fancy carpets and curtains. The epitome of privilege. She felt trampled, every once a while there was a tug on the ends of her dress.

“How about a shot to start off the night, y/n?” Josephine asked her, hooking a latex coated arm around hers. The music was a rumble on the backs of their heads, shaking them through and through as some nameless rapper sang of drugs, sex, and money. What it always came down to.

She agreed, and took the plastic shot cup. On normal nights, she would’ve usually required some type of coaxing, but not then. Y/n was almost looking for the hangover the next morning. She wanted fun.

Three shots later and her fingers were dragging in front of her face. Her knees were wobbly and cheeks tinged with spirits. Everything was funny and if you asked her what two plus two was she’d tell you five. There was a new swagger in her step, and some might say that was the influenced hand-eye coordination, but to her it was newfound confidence. She felt good, she looked good, and she was having a damn good time. Laughing, making the best conversation she’d ever made, and when Jo suggested they go dance, she danced the best she’d ever had.

And sure, she was drunk out of her mind. A light weight. Everything was under a glamourized rose filter. It only made sense that the crowd parted like the Red Sea at God’s feet.

Y/n’s lungs stopped working the moment her eyes locked with his.

He was her counterpart. Literally.

Dressed in a navy blue Victorian prince’s suit decked in gold trim and gold medals pinned to the breast. The tan pants that hugged his muscular thighs like they were made just for him, and his hair was slicked back. Jaw a sharp, smug line that worked as he popped a piece of pink bubblegum between his molars. A gleam of appreciation sparking in the forest of his eyes as they raked a path on her figure.

It was like the work around them stopped, put on pause by some higher power so they could relish the moment of their discovery. What was that shit called? Divine Intervention? The millisecond before and after and between the time Eve’s teeth sunk into the taught skin of that forbidden red apple, and the snake’s tongue slithered out to see her. He was a stranger to y/n, but it seemed as if the feeling he stirred deep in the core of her being was one she’d always known, one from a past life. Besides her, Jo stopped doing whatever lucrative dance she was doing to see what had caught her friend’s attention. Y/n stood, tongue dry, feet glued to the ground as the handsome stranger approached her, a clear path in front of him.

Then, he takes one step forward and whatever conversation he had been involved with before was no longer of importance. Besides her, Jo stopped doing whatever lucrative dance she was doing to see what had caught her friend’s attention. Y/n stood, tongue dry, feet glued to the ground as the handsome stranger approached her, a clear path in front of him.

“Oh,” Jo huffed in her ear, “he’s hot.”

“I-Is he?...” Y/n’s question died on her tongue.

“Coming right for you, girl. Good luck,” Jo pressed a kiss to her cheek and disappeared in the crowd.

The stranger stops closer than she would have thought him to; a finger away from her nose, and when he spoke, she could feel the vibrations of his speech through her breasts where they nearly grazed his chest.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever met before... princess?” His voice is deep, raspy and filled with grooves like the bark on a tree. He mocks a bow (given their costumes) and their nose touch before he straightens again. Up close, y/n can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, and she hopes her mouth doesn’t stink (it probably does, given the alcohol she’d had). A chilled palm grips her bicep, and the fabric of her sleeve sinks under his touch, “Would you like to get off this shitty dance floor and speak somewhere else?” He asks her.

Her heart is pounding and she wonders if he can hear it because she certainly can, rushing in a taunting, roaring stream past her eardrums. Y/n nodded her agreement; yes, she did want to speak with him. A thrum of warmth comes from where he holds her, and he tugs her so that she’s standing in front of him, her back touching his chest as he pushes her through the crowd.

Her fingers shake as she lifts the fabric of her dress to avoid tripping, and her saliva goes thick. Not because of what might happen, but because the man who ripped her bicep tenderly, like she was made of the most fragile china, was the most good-looking man she had ever seen. Her mind ran images of things to compare him to, and almost all of them were of the Greek statues put up in museums for all to admire.

He leads her past the crowd and the kitchen where everyone was making drinks, past the wrap around stairs on the inside of the house, and even past the calmer sitting areas where couples were making out or groups of friends passed a smoking joint. He leads her right through the open back doors of the house so they faced the seemingly endless cornfield and the barn that was a speck behind it. The deck was less populated than the couches where kids smoked weed, but y/n guessed that it wasn’t to his liking because instead of turning off to the side so they could have a much less strained… conversation, he continued to walk- this time standing beside her instead of behind her.

Grass crunched under their feet as they got closer to the stalks of corn. Confused, y/n spared a glance to what she was leaving, and then to him. He stared straight ahead, but she caught his eyes flickering in her direction, and a smirk quirking cockily on his lips before they returned to the yawning face of the moon.

There was a short wooden fence separating the house from the cornfield that reached her hip, and he stopped there.

“Finally,” he sighed, “Some peace and quiet.” He makes a gesture to the fence, and pops his gum.

Dizzied, the tequila still in her head, she watches his tongue gather the gum back into his mouth, his lips shining with his own spit. Y/n doesn’t register that the movement towards the fence was his way of telling her to take a seat on the wooden bars.

“C’mere,” he murmured. Placing his hands on her waist, he lifted her up so she could sit on the wooden fence, and her hands went to his wrists instinctively, trying to keep herself steady.

Suddenly out of breath, her eyes shot straight up to his. There’s no way he can’t hear my heart right now, she thinks. He’s so close to her, his breath on her face. He smelled like pink bubblegum, cologne, and a liquor much more sophisticated than what she had to drink. His eyes held the same spell that she felt she was under.

“What’s your name?” He asked, his hands still on her waist. He didn’t look like he was in a rush to step away from her, and that was okay because she didn’t want him to.

“Y/n,” she whispered. It was physically impossible to raise her voice any louder. The stupid corset was making it harder for her to breathe, along with the added pressure of being in his presence. “You?”

“Prince Harry, at your service,” he smiled then, and y/n got a glimpse of shockingly sharp canines. They had to be fake. Longer than most in length, and she swore she saw one of those cartoonish-diamond glitter at the knife-like tips of his teeth.

She pointed to his mouth and said, “Are you a vampire prince?”

He looked at her strangely, his brows furrowing and his tongue running along the inside of his cheeks. Then, he laughed. “Something like that.”

“I-” She was gonna say something along the lines of ‘I think you’re a very good looking vampire prince’ until he cut her off.

“How about we play a game?” One of his hands lifted from her waist, and she let go to steady herself by grabbing onto the plant. Y/n hoped that her dress wasn’t getting dirty, but the moment that Harry brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear it flew out the window.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and she leaned into his touch like a purring kitten. She blamed her blatant carelessness on the alcohol. “A game?”

“Yes, y/n. A game,” he muttered, watching the way her eyes twitched under her eyelids.

“Which game?” Her eyes fluttered open again, and her breasts pushed against the corset as she took a deep breath, “I thought you wanted to talk?”

“Oh,”he glanced down, to her lips and for half a second, to the repressed mounds of her tits, “I promise the conversation is going to be much more interesting after a game of hide and seek.”

“Where would we even play t-that?”

“Right,” he pinched her chin with two fingers so that her lips smushed together, and gently tilted her head towards the field of corn. “There.”

That’s how she found herself, running for her life in the middle of a corn maze, at night, on Halloween.

What had started off as her giggling and running had soon into a panting, scared-shit-less run for no reason. Maybe it was because she just couldn’t get Harry off of her tail, or maybe it was that she was running with no direction into a cornfield she was sure was lost in. Maybe it was a combination of all those things.

Harry yelled, “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” and it only made her want to cry.

It was strange, really. Y/n didn’t know where this fear was coming from, it started out with them actually having fun, the tips of his fingers tugging at the fabric of the skirt before he let her run a bit, calling out how he was going to get her, how he was gonna catch the princess and she was giggling, turning to see him disappear when she turned.

Then he went quiet. The footsteps stopped. And his tone of voice dropped to something much more… sinister.

“Come out, little one,” he said, a clear whisper poured directly into her ear.

Y/n turned, and she felt him getting closer so she tried to run faster. But she was getting so, so tired, and it felt like she couldn’t get any air into her lungs. All she knew then was the moon, with her tired face, and the intimidating, tall stalks of corn.

Harry supposes that he’s doing her a favor. A lot of people wish they could run through a field wearing a dress like the one y/n has on. He was a bit of a shit, sure, setting her up for failure given he had abilities that she did not possess, but, he knew just as he knew the sky is blue- that she liked and wanted to walk into the corn field. Now, it wasn’t because Harry happens to be really good at reading people, no.

As an empath- one of the terms in the fine print of the being he was- he was able to connect into the funnel between her veins, the curved out thrum of what she was feeling. The witches he knew compared it to reading an aura, but it was much more than that. There was no need for interpretation of colors because it was like he was her, feeling what she was feeling. And she liked it.

Up until, of course, he switched up his game.

After a few minutes of running around and playing with her like she was a mouse, Harry decided that he wanted to scare her. He wanted to give her a taste of himself. He wanted her to be scared- to not like him. Because he was something that shouldn’t be liked. It was a sick thing, really, that he happened to be so good looking when he was a literal monster. Harry fucking drank human blood. He wasn’t something that should be thought of as Greek statues.

The part of him that remained human throughout the years felt bad for doing this to her. But, he had to. It made him feel better when he sunk his teeth into a victim’s skin. Almost like… he’d warned them, and it was their fault that they hadn’t taken the signal.

A scarecrow loomed overhead, and her lungs were running out of air, so he decided to go ahead and make his final jump on her.

When y/n broke through the final turn to reach the very small clearing in the center of the field where a scarecrow stood in between a few bales of hay, she felt his breath at the back of her throat, and her knees buckled.

She’d never really been much a screamer during a jump scare. Instead, she sucked her breath in, really loud and sudden, and because she was having such a hard time breathing, that instinctually breath caused black dots to litter her vision and suddenly those weak knees contributed to a faint.

Harry caught her, and picked her up, huffing a small laugh to himself as he laid her across the piles of hay.

She really was a sight to see. Flushed, hair a mess from all her running. Her lips were dewy and her waterline was agitated, he could see the moisture in the place where her eyelashes sprouted.

With a few pats to the cheek, her eyes fluttered open, he was still hovering over her. Harry did not make a move to scoot back.

“You’re awake, princess,” he said, smirking.

Y/n blinked, her eyes wide, and… gasped when Harry pressed a kiss to her cheek. His lips were cool against her heated cheek, and the curved ends of his slicked back hair tickled her chin.

“You chased me,” she gulped, “for a long time.”

“Yes, I did. And you liked it. Didn’t you, little one?” He allowed the tip of his nose to follow the line of her jaw, testing the waters. She liked it, he could feel the shudders it sent to her heart in his bones.

“I did.” Her eyes furrowed at her own admission. Why was she being so carefree? Why was she allowing herself to continue to stay in this cornfield? What was stopping her from questioning further what the fuck was going on? Her attraction, and his implied interest, that’s what.

Harry’s tongue slipped out of his mouth, and licked at her jaw before he placed another kiss to it, “Good. What do you say we have some more fun?” “What kind of fun?” Her head titled, and he was given direct access to what he wanted. Her neck. The column of her throat was pulsing with the beat of her heart, and the veins he could almost taste criss-crossed beneath her skin.

“Fun is fun, pet. But if you must know, the kind of fun I’m talking about involves a lot of mouth to mouth,” He moved so his face was directly in front of hers again, and his palm gripped her waist beneath him. Unconscioslu, her legs parted and Harry had more space to slide both of his thighs between hers, one of his knees resting on the bales of hay she rested on.

Y/n was no longer worried about the state of her dress, but rather, where his mouth would land, and where she would put her hands. Her eyes bounced between his, but they struggled to remain still under his intense hold. “O-okay. I’d like that.”

“The prettiest princess I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled into the hollow underneath her jaw. And it was true. He’d seen a lot of royalty all throughout his wretched life, and none of them had been as pretty as she was. He felt a shiver of arousal go through her at the same time the air came fresh into his lungs, and it felt like he was going to explode from the inside out.

“I think you’re the most handsome prince I’ve ever seen.”

Y/n wanted to slap a hand over her mouth the moment those words left her lips, but Harry only chuckled and the vibrations felt heavenly against her skin.

“You've been seeing other princes’, little one?” Harry teased, his mouth tracing their words against her lips. He pressed forward and kissed her; just a peck, testing. Again, she liked it.

“No, just you,” she shivered. Her words were coming out in pants now. The fabri of her dress was too thick and too abundant to allow for any frisky actions, but his mouth was enough. One of his fingers was running over the tops of her breasts. Her mouth opened, she wanted more. Harry tasted of pink bubble gum. She wondered where it went.

He chuckled and kissed her once more. “Then how do you know you know I’m the most handsome?”

“I just do,” she said, arching into his touch. His finger was hooking into her sleeve, and he let it snap into her skin.

“You do?” He licked her bottom hip, and she whined. This game, whatever it was, she wanted it to be over. It was too much for her to handle.

“Yeah,” y/n said in a dreamy, far-off voice. “I mean, yes. Yes.”

Harry relished in what she felt, and soon enough, his cock twitched in his trousers. He never let himself become… involved in his meals emotions, but it was different with her. She was tender, and sweet. Willing and not a nuisance that he drowned out before biting.

“Am I handsome enough... for you to let me bite you?” And that was another thing.

Harry never asked for permission. Y/n was drunk enough that she’d wake up the next morning and think that he was just some kinky dude who’d left a sick hickey on her throat, as all of his ‘victims’ were, but still. Harry had asked for permission.

“Bite me?” She was confused, head fuzzy with the same feeling that was heating in her groin. The lacy knickers she wore were probably soaked through. The bale on her bum was beginning to hurt.

“Yes, princess. Bite, right,” he licked a stripe right where her pulse was the strongest to accentuate his intentions. “Here.”

“Okay, Harry.”

He was handsome. And she was horny (with a mix of other things), she didn’t see a reason to say no.

“Thank you, pet.”

It was the same as it always was. Harry nuzzled into the spot, sniffing like a dog meeting a new friend, and with no preamble, he bit into her. The tips of his teeth pierced her flesh, and he allowed them to retract once the blood started to flow. When the first drop touched his tongue, he groaned. She was good, one of the best he’d ever had, and the heady flavor was just as sweet as she was. He was so caught up in his own satisfaction that he didn’t notice the moment her hands bunched the fabric of his suit from the late 1700s into fists, or her body going tense before he slowly relaxed, her heartbeat an irregular mix as she decided whether or not she should be panicking.

But, he knew that she continued to enjoy what she was doing.

“H-harry, I-” She went limp in his arms, and the small squeak that left her mouth was the mermaid’s song that enchanted Harry.

He knew this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see her again.

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

hi! happy halloween babies! or better yet, happy harryween! i hope you enjoyed this peice, it was for sure out of my comfort zone and something new for me. if you haven’t yet, please check out my fanfic on wattpad in which harry owns a more aesthetic version of playboy mag. you can read it here.

#hunflowershalloweenchallenge #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #vampire!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurbs #harry styles blurb

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themadlostgirl · 4 years

Text

Abandoned

*So this quickly got out of hand. When I first got this prompt I started writing it and figured that it would end up being a two part prompt cause the story I was writing was getting long. Then at some point I said ‘F*ck it!’ I’m going in whole hog! So as I have it planned right now this is going to be a 12 chapter Reader x Peter Pan fanfic. I hope you like it!*

Prompt: Hook’s daughter and is left behind in Neverland

Requested by: Anon

Warnings: language

~~~

It started as it would end, on a beach.

My whole life revolved around the ocean. Ever since I was born I have known nothing but the sea. I learned to walk on a rocking ship deck. Sea shanties lulled me to sleep at night. Monstrous storms scared me under the blankets of my bed. I learned how to steer a ship and tie a knot before I ever learned how to read or write. My blood was saltwater and my life was an endless adventure among the seas with a pirate crew.

Not just any pirate crew mind you. The fearsome buccaneers of the Jolly Roger led by the infamous Captain Hook. Of course I knew him as papa. I was a surprise to him and mama but they raised me well until mama died. Then it was just me, papa, the crew, and the ship. It was a good life up until papa decided to travel to Neverland.

Oh Neverland. It sounded like such a dream when he described it to the crew. Now we had been stuck in the realm for years forced to do the bidding of the island’s ruler. That arrogant and cruel imp that called himself Peter Pan. I disliked him immediately. Years passed and it was soon realized that we had been more brought to our torment then our paradise. Nothing but endless days sitting out in the bay with nothing to do but go stir crazy outside of when Pan made us run tasks.

The most interesting thing we ever got to do was go ashore for provisions. Now, you would think being the pirate daughter of the deadly Captain Hook would lend me to more important tasks. But, from the moment we had landed in Neverland papa had made it very clear that the island was a dangerous place that I shouldn’t venture alone. He kept me from leaving the ship most of the time. I think it’s because the first time I went ashore we ran into Pan and his horde of Lost Boys. Pan had a peculiar interest in me when we met that papa did not like. Hence, I was never allowed to go to the island by myself.

Today that had changed. Maybe he could sense that I was going stir crazy on the ship and wanted to give me a respite. It would be nice to get away from all the scabby pirates and rocking of the waves for an afternoon.

Papa gave me a row boat and set me off to grab some fresh water from the island. He assured me that the fairy, Tinkerbell, would be waiting at the shore to escort me. When I got to shore though, no one was there. I thought maybe I was early or in the wrong place so I wandered and waited yet still nothing.

I could not wait around all day and so went to grab the barrel for the water. As I tried to heave it out of the boat I noticed it was much heavier than I was expecting. I opened it up and saw that it was full but not of water. These were my clothes and my books and other various knick knacks and souvenirs I had acquired over my life. What were they doing here? Shouldn’t they be in my room on the ship? Was this a prank papa and the crew were playing on me?

I looked up over the horizon and could not spot the Jolly Roger. Had papa moved the ship? I closed the lid on the barrel full of my possessions and ran along the coast of the island searching for the ship. I climbed to the top of Dead Man’s Peak and looked out but the ship had vanished. Where...where had it gone? Why had it gone?

Dread started to set in. This had to be a mistake. A trick. An illusion. That nasty Pan must be playing a joke on me. He has to be. The ship is still out there it has to be. It all has to be a prank.

“You seem lost.” The voice behind me made me jump. I whirled around with the sword at my hip now drawn.

Peter Pan.

“There’s no need for all that, Lady Jones.” The demon boy leader grinned at me. “Please, let us be civil.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to be civil around you.” I sneered. I glanced at the sea. “Is this your doing? Hiding my father’s ship from me?”

“I have done no such thing and frankly I resent the remark. For what reason would I have to hide your father’s ship from you?”

“To torment me.” I kept my blade level with his face. “I am not so ignorant to your games and tricks, Pan. If you think hiding his ship from my view will stop me from getting back you are mistaken.”

“Does this not at all strike you as suspicious?” He asked, leaning against the mountain face. “You are barred from coming to the island alone for years, then one day out of the blue you are sent here by yourself?”

“I’m strong and I can handle myself. My papa knows this. He trusted me with getting fresh water for the crew.” I bit back.

“You? One person was supposed to take that big barrel and fill it with water and carry it back out to your little row boat? That is at least a two man job and you thought that you were going to be able to do it all on your own?”

“I’m stronger than I look. Besides, he said Tinkerbell was going to--”

“Tink?” Pan laughed, “I know for a fact that pirate hasn’t said a word to her in months.”

“You’re lying.”

“What do I gain by lying to you?”

“You’re trying to trick me! That’s what you do!” I started to back away, keeping my sword and gaze aimed at Pan. “Now I am going to go back down this mountain and this had all better be sorted.”

“I fear you’ll be gravely disappointed then.” Pan sighed. “But I’ll let you go for now. See how long it takes for reality to set in.”

In the blink of an eye Pan had disappeared. I sheathed my sword and raced back down the mountain and back to my boat. This was all just a trick. A joke. It was. It had to be. Papa would come for me when it started to get late. He has to.

I waited on the shore staring out over the horizon until the sun started to dip over the waves. It was sunset. Where was papa? Surely he had to notice that something was wrong. He had to. I need to calm down. I’m fine. I know what to do.

I went into the jungle and started gathering some branches to start a small fire. That way when the sun goes down and if papa still hasn’t made it here he’ll see the fire and know where I am. As I was gathering sticks though Pan’s words started to echo in my head. This all was rather suspicious in a way. Any time someone went to the island it was always in pairs of at least two. Then there was the matter that all my possessions were stuffed into the barrel. Why would anyone do that? What sort of prank was that supposed to be?

Now the ship was gone and the sun was setting and I was all alone for the first time in my life. But I for the life of me couldn’t think of why papa would leave me here if it wasn’t for Pan barring him. I’d be okay though. I’m the daughter of the fearsome Captain Hook! I could survive one night on Neverland by myself.

I sat down by the fire I made and munched on some berries I had also gathered while scavenging for firewood. For as horrible as this place was it was rather beautiful. Looking out over the inky black sea with the crescent moon reflecting across the rippling waves. It was so strange to look over the sea from the land.

I fell asleep next to my fire and when I woke up in the morning the ship was still missing from the waves. “Papa…” I whispered in fear and horror. Where is he?

“Good morning,” I turned and saw Pan sitting in the sand poking at the remnants of my fire from last night. “I was wondering when you were gonna wake up.”

“Get back.” I reached for my sword and froze when I didn’t feel it in its sheath.

“Yeah, I didn’t appreciate you waving it in my face yesterday.” Pan stabbed my sword into the sand next to him. “Now maybe we can have a civil conversation.”

“I have no interest in talking to you!” I reached for the dagger strapped to my thigh and groaned. I glared at Pan and he waved the small blade at me.

“I’m honestly surprised you don’t have a pistol but am otherwise glad that was one less thing I had to sneak off you.” Pan shrugged. “Did father dearest never teach you how to shoot?”

“Go away!” I grabbed a nearby rock and chucked it at his head. “Leave me alone!”

“Don’t take your anger out on me. I’m not the one that abandoned you.”

“No one abandoned me.” I shot to my feet. “You’re hiding the ship and papa from me. Now undo it!”

“I am not hiding anything. I’ve already told you.” Pan dropped my dagger next to my sword. “You don’t see the ship or any of the pirates because they’re gone. They left. They abandoned you here and they’re not coming back.”

“You’re lying!” I grabbed my sword and dagger. I started pushing the rowboat I had arrived in back into the sea. “If you won’t reveal the ship then I’m just gonna row out until I find it.”

“You’re gonna be rowing for eternity then.” He appeared in the blink of an eye now sitting in the boat. “They’re not out there. You can circle this entire ocean for the rest of time but you will never find the Jolly Roger. It is not here.”

“It is here. You’re just trying to keep me from it. You’re tricking me for your own sick pleasure!”

“Deny it all you want but the facts are against you.” He popped the lid of the barrel off and fished around in my things. “Clothes, books, compass, a pocketwatch, seems your entire life can fit into one barrel. That’d be impressive if it wasn’t so sad.”

“Stop rifling around in my stuff!” I jumped into the boat and slammed the lid back down on the barrel and snatched the pocketwatch out of his hands. “It’s just a prank the crew is playing on me.”

“Wow.” Pan shook his head, “You are so deep in denial I think you’re starting to believe yourself. Delusions won’t do well for you, Lady Jones. Best to just accept the grim and heartbreaking reality that you’ve been abandoned by the only family you’ve ever known and try to move on.”

“Whatever sick mind game you think you’re playing--”

“No games,” He grinned, drawing closer so he was nose to nose staring me down. “I’ll leave you be, see how long you can hold out before you accept your predicament. I wager you’ll last maybe a week before that stubbornness finally breaks.”

I shoved him hard and he fell back into the shallows of the shore. I stood above him my blood up and my fists clenched. “You will never break me.”

“Break you?” He started to laugh and the noise sent a tremor of danger through my bones. “I don’t want to break you. Oh no, why would I ever want to extinguish that red hot fire you having burning inside you? I don’t want you broken, my little spitfire. I want nothing more than to add wood to the fire. I want to see how hot you can burn.”

What in the world did he mean? Before I could ask what he was on about he disappeared again. Fine, at least he’s gone now. I can…

I looked down at the floor of the boat and nearly screamed. He took the oars!

I pushed the boat back onto shore and strapped my weapons back onto my person. If this was the game Pan wanted to play then so be it. I would need to find a better source of food if I was going to be stranded here longer. Whenever Pan was done with this idiotic game then he was going to have a lot of angry pirates after him I knew that much.

I stared down at the pocketwatch still in my hand and clicked it open. The hands had been stuck at the same time since we got to Neverland but still it ticked for some reason. On the inside was an inscription. A favorite saying of papa’s that he always wanted me to remember. Those unwilling to fight for what they want deserve what they get. “Well, I’ll keep fighting. I will always keep fighting, papa. I’ll fight until I find a way back to you.”

The rest of the day I spent foraging for food and keeping a weather eye out for any sign of the ship or the crew. I started a fire and stared out over the sea as night fell. Surely someone would come by tomorrow. Someone would come.

The next day was more of the same. I pulled out one of my books to read during the dull hours of nothing that made up my day. Pan did not show up at least. I don’t know whether that is better or worse.

Another day and I decided to build a small shelter in case it ended up raining. Nothing special. Just some sticks tied together and lots of fronds to create a roof over my head. No rain came but I felt like I got something accomplished during my wait.

I spent the entire next day walking the shore of the island. I made a lap around it twice before I started to get hungry and retired to the jungle to hunt down some food. I spotted some of the Lost Boys from a distance but none of them approached me. I realized that I hadn’t spoken to anyone since I pushed Pan into the water.

None of my books were holding my interest and practicing with my sword was frustrating. I went for a swim and let the familiar rock of the ocean ease my mind. I hummed an old lullaby papa used to sing to me when I was a child. I would give anything to hear his voice. I would give anything to hear the hoarse sea shanties the crew would sing. I ducked my head under the water so the tears couldn’t roll down my face.

The temporary shelter I made on the beach was now a small hut. There was more room inside for me to store my books and other belongings. That night I could hear music coming from the jungle and it sounded so inviting. I laid in my hut unable to move in fear of what that could mean.

A week had gone by and still Pan had not tired of this game. He said he would give me a week till I broke down and accepted that I had been abandoned. I held my little bunny toy close to my chest and reminded myself that Pan is a liar. Pan is a liar. Pan is a liar. Papa will come for me. I know papa will come for me.

Two weeks. I tried to find Tinkerbell but the fairy was well hidden in the jungle. I was desperate for someone to talk to. The music at night grew louder and louder to the point my crying was the only thing that could block it out.

Pan visited me after a month. He sat down with me as I cooked myself dinner. He offered to take me back to his camp for a better meal but I declined. I needed to be here in case one of the crew came looking for me. When I looked back at him I could see pity in his eyes. It made me sick.

Tinkerbell came upon my camp one morning and asked what I was doing here. I told her about how papa had sent me to get fresh water and then how Pan made the ship disappear. I could tell she wanted to say something but she didn’t. She invited me back to her treehouse for tea and I nearly cried with joy. Finally, some real human interaction.

I am talking a mile a minute as Tinkerbell leads me through the jungle towards her treehouse. After over a month of having no one but my bunny toy to talk to I couldn’t get the words to stop flowing out of my mouth. If she thought it was annoying she didn’t say anything.

We climbed the long ladder up to her treehouse and she sat me down as she made a pot of tea. It was bitter and scalded my tongue with how fast I drank it. Nothing had tasted better.

“So, you’re Hook’s kid.” Tink nodded at me. “Gotta say I’m surprised. He talked about you of course but he never gave me any details.”

“I’m not surprised. Papa likes to keep things close to the chest even with those he trusts.” I gripped the mug a little tighter, “I guess it has something to do with being a pirate.”

“And you say it’s been over a month since you saw him last?” Tink asked.

“Yes. I came ashore to grab fresh water and when I turned around the ship was gone. I figured Pan was keeping it hidden with some kind of cloaking spell and blocking the crew from leaving the ship but it’s getting to be so long now.” I stared down into my mug. “All my possessions on the ship were in the boat with me when I sailed out and I don’t know how to justify it anymore.”

“Hey kid,” Tink scooted over to the spot next to me and put an arm around my shoulders. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“I have no idea.” I sniffed, “I hear music at night coming from the jungle. It scares me. It scares me cause I want to follow it. I try to remember things but they keep slipping away before I can grasp them.”

“That’s the curse of the island. You stay here long enough and you start to forget. The past, your life, even the things that seem ingrained in your soul fade away.”

“But I don’t want to forget. I want to go home. I want to go back to the ship with the crew and papa.” Tears started to leak from my eyes, “I don’t want to forget anything.”

“I’m afraid there’s no way around it. If you’re hearing the music then there’s really not much you can do.”

I started crying harder. Tinkerbell didn’t say a word as I wept and wailed. Everything was slipping away from me and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I tried to recall the faces of everyone on the ship but they’re blurry. I could only remember specific things like scars and tattoos. Even names wouldn’t come easily. I thought of my father and tried to burn his image in my head. What color were his eyes again? Green? No, blue! Maybe?

I apologized to Tinkerbell for breaking down like I did. I was stronger than that. It was just that after a month of having no one to talk to and wondering if my father was ever going to come rescue me I was in a fragile place. She did not begrudge me my grief and walked me back to my hut on the beach.

The sun was setting and soon it would be night. The music would come again. I know it would. Inviting and terrifying at the same time. Tonight it would stop though. It’s another trick of Pan’s. A ploy to get me to break. If I can stop the music then I can stop forgetting.

Night fell and the fire I had made was now only glowing embers. I stared into their warm dimming light when the first notes of a haunting melody floated through my ears. I lit a lantern and stood up staring into the dark jungle. It was time for the music to end.

---

(Next)

#it's nice to have a multi-chapter fic again!#peter pan ouat #ouat peter pan #ouat #neverland #reader x peter pan #peter pan imagine

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indiavolowetrust · 4 years

Text

Carajillo II

SUMMARY: The sequel to Carajillo, which you can read here. A coup d'etat has been staged in the Celestial Realm. The human proposes a plan to halt the impending war.

Part One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Part Two: Coming Soon!

Part Three: Coming Soon!

TW: Blood, Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mention of Rape

PART ONE: CHAPTER SIX

The knife strikes with a steady, precise rhythm against the board, the pearly onions rendered to slices within moments. Then there are the leeks, shallots, garlic, and bunches of mint, all of which sit idly by the expansive chopping board. The bandages wrapped around my hands prove to be rather cumbersome in the task, reducing my efficiency -- but it is my experience that allows me to work deftly around the obstruction. It is likely that I would have to change the bandages at some point within the next hour: the crushing of the cumin, cinnamon, wild bulbs, and numerous other spices that I had found myself unable to name have both stained and left the bandages with a savory smell, leaving me currently unable to work with other meat. Or any other food, for that matter. I imagine that baking a butterscotch pie with traces of pork fat and savory spices would have little appeal.

Despite my best efforts, I find that the image of her is branded into my mind. Seared deep into the recesses of my memory, dredging up both unpleasant and pleasant thoughts. Her dark curls had spilled over her shoulders as I pressed her to me, and I was vaguely aware of the soft, full lips that laid beneath my fingers. The moonlight had illuminated her features in such a loving manner, embracing the soft brown tone of her skin, the shape of her curls, the dark pools of her eyes. Everything about her had been impossibly ravishing, even more so than usual. Had I not known she was only human -- a human spirit, to be exact -- I would have assumed she was a fellow demon who had come to seduce me. A succubus in the most innocuous sense of the word.

At that moment, I had wanted to do nothing more than devour her. To tear her apart in the most wonderful ways imaginable. To feel her body writhing beneath mine as I brought her to orgasm again and again, her pretty mouth letting out soft moans. To hear my name on her lips as her blunt, human nails rake down the skin of my back, the control of her body having fully lost itself in the sensation. To feel my own release paint her insides white. I had prided myself once on my ability to resist temptation, even against my own nature as a demon -- but I could not help but become undone at the sight of her loveliness. Despite the guilt --

A sudden warmth carves a path down my palm. I pull myself back into the present, forcing myself to focus on the sensation.

There is a rather nasty, painful cut on my thumb. The blood spills into the bandages. I watch with horror as the skin does not immediately knit itself back together, the wound remaining a fresh, vivid crimson.

* * *

The hours pass by much quicker than I expected. While the other kitchen staff are allowed nearly an hour of a break for lunch, lower servants such as I have only been given half an hour’s worth. The higher-ranking chefs couldn’t be bothered to do something as lowly as peel potatoes and chop onions, after all. I make a note to increase the pay and rest hours of the castle servants once I return to Lord Diavolo’s castle. There are only twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds until I must return to the kitchens. Twenty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds for me to scout the servants’ halls and whatever else I can find.

And so I make haste.

Maria’s instructions had been vague, given her general unfamiliarity of Sanctum’s layout -- but they are enough. The marble corridors, great columns, and alabaster sculptures pass by in a blur. My eyes flicker towards endless halls and gatherings of various servants as I make my way towards what should be the laundry room, paying little mind to the vicious, judgmental gazes of the paintings as I pass. Even with the aid of the Apple of Lies, there lies enough power left in the paintings for the forms to sense my presence. Given my innate sense of time, it is all too easy to discern the thoughts of the silent works of art, their words echoing in the back of my mind.

Impostor! Impostor! a plump, painted cherub wants to cry out. Its stare is both hateful and scathing. This one is an impostor!

Sinful, abhorrent demon, another wishes to spit. If the alabaster sculpture could shift its features or throw its voice, it would. I hope you rot in the ashes of your own guilt. Have you no shame?

You are but a simple, loathsome creature, says the carving of Samson, one of the Celestial Realm’s greatest demon-slayers. Who were you to play god? Who were you to make her suffer for your own ends? The human hates you! Detests you! Loathes you with every fiber of her being!

Or perhaps it is only my imagination.

True to Maria’s words, a relief of an archangel stands just outside of the laundry hall. The sounds of splashing water and falling garments can be heard from within. I stride just to the threshold of the room, catching sight of a ruddy-faced angel. He stands on the highest most step of a ladder and reaches towards a clothing line that has been strung up high on the ceiling. A sopping wet garment and a pair of pins are in his hands. I knock on the door.

The angel nearly falls off the ladder. The pair of pins clatter onto the floor, the garment meeting the surface with a squelch.

He regards me, eyes wide. “You -- you --” he stammers angrily, clutching the ladder, “-- you could have killed me, you idiot! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock.”

“You know what I meant!” The angel looks with frustration towards the fallen garment. He begins to clamber down the ladder, each step prompting another creak from the rickety object. “Now look what I’ve gone and done. The head laundress will have my neck for this, I assure you, and I’ll be sure to mention --”

“I’m looking for someone named Maria,” I lie. “Do you know where she is?”

He raises a bushy brow. “Maria?”

“Frizzy hair, frail, stands at approximately this height.” I gesture with my hands. “Have you seen her?”

He taps a sole finger on his chin, his free hand holding himself in place on the ladder. “Frizzy hair, you said?”

“Yes.”

“You must be talking about the little one, then. The head laundress sent her out back to gather some water for the washing.” He juts his chin towards the end of the room. A painted door stands wide open, the rays of sunlight nearly blinding me as I look towards it. “Don’t expect info like that to come free, though. In exchange for nearly killing me, lad, you can --”

I’m already halfway to the door.

The sunlight nearly blinds me as I step outside, flooding my vision with pure white. I find myself blinking in the aftermath, shielding my eyes against the sun. Thankfully, the effects do not last long. It is only nine seconds and twelve milliseconds before I am able to fully discern the image before me, the overgrown flora nearly obscuring the path. The nearly hidden path seems to have experienced little, if any, tending, reflecting only a few other areas of Sanctum. Areas that are less likely to be seen by high-ranking officials tend to be either under construction or completely unattended. Even the great hanging garden at the heart of Sanctum appears to have just experienced the fruits of the gardeners’ labor -- an aspect that the pale creature had checked on the first day of our arrival.

That indicates one of two options: one, the new empress has little control over her servants and people, thus leading them to be disobedient; two, the new empress has just come publicly into her position and has had little opportunity to exercise her power. If it were the latter -- which I would assume it is, given the general lack of unrest -- that would further indicate an unsteady balance of power amongst high-ranking officials.

If the new empress wants to keep her head, she’ll have to rule with an iron fist.

I continue onto the path, deftly avoiding the brambles and clumps of thorny flowers that seem to lunge at my feet. Five minutes and forty-one seconds later, the path finally opens into something a bit more spacious. A dry well sits in the middle of the space, a bucket having been long abandoned beside the stone structure. The sounds of activity can be heard beyond the weathered walls of the buildings that surround me. I press forward.

The sounds of activity, as it would turn out, originate from a rather extensive training yard. Despite its size, however, as well as my own biases towards those of the angelic persuasion, I must admit that its design is rather clever. The training yard is divided into exactly three levels, each of which is populated by a number of recruits testing the true might of their weapons. Swords ring out rather noisily against spears; another group trains with a smaller set of daggers. A stairwell leads up to each level, allowing convenient access to the space, while an observation deck sits some distance from the highest level. My gaze flickers instinctively towards the observation deck, inspecting the figures that stand there.

My eyes widen at the sight of the pale creature. A rather thick veil covers her visage, creating a shadow -- but it is obvious that she is having great difficulty discerning the finer details of the training. Her pink pupils shiver and waver under the assault of sunlight, and she squints. A slightly shorter angel stands beside her, her skin a deep, rich umber. A number of painted designs trail what skin is visible through her light robes, the fabric dyed surprisingly a vivid collage of orange and gold. Her long, braided hair is beset with gold coils. She lifts her hand to her mouth as she laughs, the multiple rings on her fingers gleaming under the sun, and her teeth --

I pause. I have never seen such a sharp, fearsome maw on an angel.

“Barbatos?”

I turn towards the noise, despite the nearly inaudible quality of it. Maria stands by a well that is situated on the far end of the training yard, hoisting a sizable bucket of water under her arm. A number of curls fall from her low bun, making her appear disheveled, but she strangely shows no other signs of effort. Then again, the shadow created by the awning above does much to obscure her form. Her sudden vigor is likely my imagination.

What are you doing here? she mouths. Aren’t you supposed to be in the kitchen?

I tap my wrist, miming a wristwatch. She nods in understanding, positioning the bucket of water at her hip as she begins to make her way towards me from the well. Given the odd structure of the training grounds, she manages to pass where it is cooler in the shade.

Tomorrow, she mouths once more. As if I would forget. She manages the steps quickly, spilling only some of the water over the edge of the bucket. I am only vaguely aware of the racket of the training yard as Maria begins to near me. If --

I sense the shift in the air before I hear the scream. The sharp reverberation of a blade, passing wildly through the air. The gasp of an onlooking recruit as they turn to witness the disaster that will be, their own reflexes and speed too underdeveloped to make a difference. My eyes only catch the vestiges of the image as the blade moves towards Maria, the human continues unaware down the steps, the balance of the bucket occupying her thoughts at the moment.

I lunge for her. The blade nicks my cheek as it passes by, slicing open the flesh -- then it is embedding itself audibly into the column beside us. Maria squeaks as she falls beneath me, releasing the bucket. It is only a moment before we are both soaked in its contents. I wrap a bandaged hand behind her head before we can both fall against the stone, disregarding the pain that is to come. It is, as anticipated, as unpleasant as I thought it would be: the flesh of my hand nearly tears itself open upon impact, the cut on my hand reopening within the confines of the bandages, and I can just barely see the blossoming of crimson. No matter. Maria’s head has not met the stone. Her body has likely produced no more than a few bruises.

It is six seconds and twenty-one milliseconds before I pull myself away from her. One hand propped up against the stone, the other cradling her head. Her eyes are still wide with shock, the dark, coiled strands sticking her forehead, but upon inspection I discern that she is unharmed.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

There is a clamor before us. I look in its direction, curious -- only to see the empress making her way down the stairs in her finery, the gold coils clinking against one another as she does so. A portion of her robes are gathered beneath her fingers, allowing her to move with haste. Combined with her many rings and golden bracelets, however, it is a wonder how her pace has not slowed from the sheer weight of her jewelry. Even more surprising is the worry that is etched on her features. The pale creature follows close behind, nearly soundless as she glides down one stair to another.

“Are you two alright?” the empress asks, stopping a mere distance from our fallen bodies. Her robes meet the stone once more as she releases them, falling with a hush. Her golden eyes -- the form of which also seems a bit strange, I note -- inspect both Maria and I thoroughly. They widen at the sight of my cheek, which has now been fully drenched in its own blood. “You are wounded, good angel!” she cries, bringing a hand to her mouth. The empress turns to the pale creature. “Oh, Gallatha -- Gallatha, my dear, come closer -- this one is wounded!”

The pale creature, Gallatha, nods. “It would appear that he is. I will send for a healer.”

“Send for the best one that we have, my dear,” she orders. “What if he expires?”

“My Divinity, I am sure that he will not expire at this very moment.”

Before I can react, the empress pulls me from my position and back onto my feet with astounding ease. She reaches for Maria as well, searching her for injuries as she does so, and frowns at the sight of lacerations on her knees and elbows. Maria fidgets awkwardly beneath her inspection, clearly unsure of how to react to the overbearing empress’ attention.

Her face flushes, her eyes quickly averting themselves from the empress’ gaze. “My -- My Divinity, I’m pretty sure that Boris and I are --”

“Oh, nonsense!” She ruffles Maria’s hair with ringed fingers, smiling with the grace of a benign monarch. “There’s no need to be so reserved, my dear girl. The days of that horrid system are now gone. I will ensure that the recruits are duly reprimanded for their carelessness. My advisor will ensure that you two are treated in the infirmary.” She turns to the pale creature. “Gallatha?”

Gallatha steps forward. “Of course, My Divinity.”

I cannot help but stare in disbelief.

According to what Maria could remember in limbo, the coup d’etat had seemingly been the work of one ravenous, powerful beast. A golden creature had stormed into the throne room one day, interrupting a private meeting between God and his council members. The grand doors had slammed against the marble walls with such ferocity that none could help but stare at the intrusion, the sound giving the act a sense of finality. The air of an execution. It was only after a moment that God had dared to speak from his throne.

Begone, foul creature! he had ordered, rising to his feet. You have no business here. Leave this place, and you shall leave here alive. Stay, and I shall smite you until you are no more than scorched earth!

The creature had only tilted its head in a curious manner, its teeth clicking together in terrible humor. Is that so? the creature had said, the sound of its precious stones and many golden coils echoing in the hall. Will you smite me, truly? You, an insect who dares to place himself above the affairs of men and beasts? You, a cowardly beast who has become obsessed with power? You are nothing more than a false idol. Your throne is no more worth than a bed of mud.

And then the great creature had thrown back its head and laughed, its maw shining in the divine light. God had ordered his guards to seize the blasphemous creature, demanding that it be executed at once. Declaring it to be an affront to the Celestial Realm itself.

But he had neither the foresight nor the knowledge to realize what this creature was.

The creature took God by the collar, dashed him against his own throne, and devoured him whole. All was silent for a moment, the screams of the desperate being dissipating to the air. The council, who had for so long reveled in the absolute power and control over the caste of the Celestial Realm, could only watch with horror. And then the golden, wondrous creature had turned to the council with an all-consuming hunger, licking its chops, and the throne room regressed into chaos.

Rich, sweet blood, pooling on the marble. Lumps and limbs scattered about, the bodies having been long torn asunder. The golden creature had lapped at the remnants, its maw a deep, vivid crimson. And then it had plucked the crown from the marble, the precious metal stained with the blood of its former owner, and settled upon the grand throne.

For all that Maria could not remember of her time in limbo, given her state, she had told me these things with the utmost confidence.

And so the kind, generous empress before me cannot possibly be the one who had staged the coup d’etat. She cannot be anything more than a figurehead. I find myself searching the empress’ smile before she is escorted away by her guards, searching for any signs of that terrible maw. Yet there is nothing but the image of her plump, smiling cheeks, her teeth very decidedly not sharp and horrible, her genuine, kind gaze, and her array of golden adornments.

END OF PART ONE

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