Theme
11:27am November 2, 2013
12:41am November 2, 2013
everlurker:

ANTHEM OF THE LONELY | [listen here] | a mix inspired by everyone’s favorite monster, the werewolf

i. the howling - within temptation | ii. animal - disturbed | iii. the kill - 30 seconds to mars | iv. breaking point - digital summer | v. what i’ve done - linkin park | vi. howl - florence and the machine | vii. anthem of the lonely - nine lashes | viii. inside my head - digital summer | ix. lost in the echo - linkin park | x. breathe into me - red

everlurker:

ANTHEM OF THE LONELY | [listen here] | a mix inspired by everyone’s favorite monster, the werewolf

i. the howling - within temptation | ii. animal - disturbed | iii. the kill - 30 seconds to mars | iv. breaking point - digital summer | v. what i’ve done - linkin park | vi. howl - florence and the machine | vii. anthem of the lonely - nine lashes | viii. inside my head - digital summer | ix. lost in the echo - linkin park | x. breathe into me - red

11:22pm November 1, 2013

Ashland!!!

I miss you my love!!! You better be ok!!! Love you like a sister Xoxo d

2:30pm October 17, 2013

Never-ending Story || Florney [SS]

ashlandofimagination:

His hand, so much larger than her own, engulfed hers in a cocoon of terrifying strength and heat, a warmth she knew better than to welcome, for once the gates opened, they would be flooded with feelings better left unresolved and perhaps even ignored. But short of alerting him to the very real possibility that she danced alongside nervousness, Tierney was resolute against the notion of succumbing to the fears assuaging her mind with nightmarish outcomes far more suited to the dreamworld. He was an intimidating specimen, one she knew to tread carefully around, but she simply wouldn’t – couldn’t — allow fear or the man himself to drive her from her purpose. The system believed he was finally ready to engage the world once again, his good behavior marking him as the perfect candidate for their rehabilitation program, and nothing would alter that desired outcome, not if she had anything to say about it. As she boldly and bravely held his piercingly intellectual eyes, however, Tierney suspected that incredible gaze of his could easily see through her guise of courage and into the heart of the woman who bore it. “The pleasure is mine,” she returned crisply, the press of his lips against her knuckles bringing a blush to her cheeks. It was odd, the strength of her reaction to his oddly chivalrous gesture. Who greeted women like that in this day and age? It would have flustered her if she had the time to allow such emotions to simmer. Perhaps it was a good thing then that she was so focused on the present situation. She needed that focus more than ever now.

"I trust you know why I’m here?" She hastened to ask, for no other reason than to distract herself from the imposing presence of the man her professional respect and success was riding on the back of. She’d read the file on Prisoner 45982, of course, had studied extensively the crimes he’d been accused of committing — and they were doozies. But nothing could have prepared her for this face-to-face meeting. Despite the security cameras to be found in every corner of the room, never mind the guards on patrol who were awaiting directive from her should their interference be needed, she was of the impression that had he wanted to, he could have already harmed her and then some. Safety, she knew, was ever an illusion, and with this man, it wasn’t even that. There was a deadly air surrounding her assigned convict, an air her own instincts had yet to shut up about. Her only course, one would assume, would be to inform her superior that she hadn’t the experience to deal with someone like this, but her stubbornness prevented her from making that critical mistake. The instant she admitted she wasn’t equipped to handle situations of this dangerous magnitude, her boss would see fit to relegate her to the desk twenty-four seven, never trusting her to do her part again. Even now, he wasn’t as confident of her abilities to succeed where he believed others would have failed. There was a reason he’d allowed her this opportunity to prove herself. According to psychological evidence, Floyd was far more likely to respond favorably to a woman than he would a man — at least that was their educated guess given the number of interviews he’d participated in over the duration of time he’d been incarcerated. Straightening her shoulders, determination hardening her against the notion that failure could very well creep up on her, Tierney glanced down at their intertwined hands, shocked to find she hadn’t even attempted to pull away yet. She gave an experimental tug, her dark green gaze slicing toward the other side of the table in a show of fortitude. "Will you cooperate?" She challenged in a surprisingly steady voice at odds with the almost violent pounding of her heartbeat. 

She was a curious specimen. Full of feelings, to which he tuned when their hands connected. How interesting. He’d long forgotten how to feel. Sure he could sense the pitiful emotions that humans radiated in masses, such as their fear or awe, and he could almost experience moments of sympathy for their plights but for the most part his carriage remained steadfast as one of utter indifference in the face of lowly feelings. He’d rose above the need of such a millennium ago, when he’d first ascended and now they were like some intangible mystery he couldn’t quite align himself to comprehend - how ironic for an omnipotent. When one could see — unanimously — the whole galaxy and all that it contained, the finite details became lost in the sea of unimaginable mass. Tuning into one enough to fully see took great focus, though physical contact did help as it opened up a conduit for a melding of minds, so that he may stream their emotions to siphon as his own. Contact with mortals was not something he initiated often, though he had a strange impulse to know about this curious lady who thought herself bound by duty to claim responsibility for him, in spite of her fear. How strange, but then emotions were so alien to him that he found even the taste of her anxious courage as peculiar.

Not that he couldn’t derive pleasure out of things, for he did such as in humor of which he was quite fond but then pleasure isn’t so much an emotion as a natural response, like pain it’s merely an indicator that no being is without. Floyd always had a honed sense of humor, though it is indiscernible behind the solitary prowess he radiated. Powers that warned not only of his immense strength — that would send you flying to Timbuktu — but a somber disposition that screamed back down or be forced to submit. His eyes didn’t help, certainly not now with their intensity dolled upon her. She was petite for her occupational position, and scared. Petrified. He could smell it. The anticipation in her sweat mingled with her natural scent reminded him of amber resin and honey; musky yet sweet. It was like an aphrodisiac and even the gods weren’t immune to that shit. They would go to great extents to chase the tails of lust, though he supposed that was the same old story for any addict. He’d always thought himself the exception, but his cock betrayed him now. It left him wondering if it had something to do with that grating thirst to feel, something he imagined like a blood-thirst, one of the few things he did inarguably feel; often.

"I know everything," he replied in a husky, curious tone. "Though knowing and understanding are hardly the same." His eyes bore down into hers, piqued by his own curiosity that hadn’t been plucked in the past half century, besides the sudden desire to be able to comprehend human behaviors. He’d been with them since the dawn of their time, fuck he’d even used them as his pawns of war for centuries and yet he had never earnestly bothered to understand the very creatures they, the gods themselves, had crafted. "Why are you here little officer? What motive could possibly drive you to agree to taking on me?" He cocked his brow in a way he’d seen many a prisoner do, or guard, when questioning his motives. The idiots were fools to think he’d tell them the truth. Mortals couldn’t possibly comprehend why he was here. It had been boring, yes, utterly so but his sentence had flown by in all reality. What was twenty years to a god? It was a blink of an eye, really. He’d expected it to have felt longer — though he supposed it did for the humans, after recalling the looks of anguish he’d seen brandished on their faces whenever they’d spoke of their convictions; it was a high fraction of their petty existence.

Perhaps that was it then; their moments were much more precious in their scarcity.

Floyd released her hand and wrinkled his brow, perplexed by her mental assault of circling emotions. It was like she was all over the map. Excited. Scared. Determined. Aroused. Stand-offish. Politely curious. None of it made a lick of sense, and left him frowning at her after another moment’s observation. How did humans function with such a conflicting array of inner influences? The most perplexing part however, was her sense of duty to see this through no matter how much of a pain he proved to be — and she as he’d seen, was expecting him to be a royal pain. All thanks to his file. Frowning, Floyd narrowed his eyes as he studied her, not sure what to make of this insight. Strange, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d actually think that her opinion of him mattered. “Cooperate?” He repeated, as though that word was foreign despite knowing every surviving language, and then some. Again he arched that dark brow, chiseled features rearranging themselves to mirror his doubt. He’d never simply… Cooperated, but then he supposed perhaps that is exactly what he had been doing for the entirety of his sentence. Good behavior, they’d called it. The truth was they wouldn’t have even known had he done anything they’d deem… wrong. “Haven’t I?” When one didn’t have an answer, it was always best to respond with a question. It gave him control of the conversation again, something he was much more comfortable with. Those beguiling green peepers of hers were likely to twist the truth out of him if he didn’t take heed. That was the last thing he needed.  

2:45am October 11, 2013

M!A: Nightmare - Galenity (SS)

Serenity hesitated before stepping into the revolving door. You’re breaking every regulation in the book. Not that there was strict regulations in the business of telling fortunes, but there was a decorum of sorts. A pirate code of the clairvoyant if you will, though just like with the pirates it was more a code of conduct — guidelines really. Still, Serenity would tack tracking-your-client-down-at-his-work down on the major no-no list. Pretty sure you just passed the petty con artist rank and jumped straight into deranged stalker territory. The more troubling thought? Serenity almost believed the last one was real. Nightmare. Vision. Whatever intangible noun you want to call it. Why else are you here? She’d never gone this far for a buck before, especially when that buck was already in her bank. But they’d been so real. Every horrifying image, the explosion, the helicopter blades, the blood all so vivid she could smell the singed hair. They hadn’t just come in her sleep either. But when she’d showered (when the grisly scene of his detached head had induced vomiting) and when she’d left her apartment to come here (causing her to forget her wallet, something she had yet to realize.) Now his face was seared into her memory, and there was no mistaking it was him. He’d only come to see her — apparently at the behest of his persistent sister — yesterday afternoon and his striking appearance had left an impression. Not because he was the kind of handsome that made you want to take a bite out of him, either — though he totally was.

He’d given her the heebie-jeebies from the get go, but not exactly one to believe in her trade as much as she claimed Serenity had been all too willing to pass it off as a farcry beyond way too much caffeine. Or she had been until she’d dealt him a reading of ill-omens that frankly, she couldn’t have laid out in a worse combination had she faked it. After that, she’d been haunted by a series of mysterious events, like the cards he’d drawn suddenly showing up in places she knew she hadn’t left them. Like on the pillow beside her in the morning, and stuck to the mirror when she got out of the shower. The one in the fridge had demolished any sense of appetite she might have had. These occurances had birthed a chill in her that had yet to leave, and she couldn’t quell this feeling that someone — or something — was watching her. Like that uneasy feeling that chased you up stairs; Serenity had the inborn instinct to run. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to smooth down the unruly hair she’d attempted to tame in a loose off-center braid. Stepping into the lobby that turned out to be a lot nicer than she’d expected, Serenity suddenly self-conscious of her wrinkled dress and baggy coat covered in white cat fur and considers pivoting on a heel-less flat to b-line straight back into the revolving door. She would have too but another nightmare-worthy vision stopped her. Ok, just go check to make sure he doesn’t actually work here, and then you can write this off as utter garbage. She never took work information from her clients; generally she took just first names (though she’d still take someone’s money lacking that one detail.)

This building had been in one of the dreams. So theoretically there is no way he should actually work here. The so-why-are-you-here echoed around in her head.You can still turn around. She thought, even as she smiled at the receptionist. These nightmares aren’t going to go away if you don’t confirm they’re totally bogus. With that thought she leaned into the counter and glanced around at the state of the art room. “Is Galen here?” Much to her shock, the receptionist actually nods before paging a number and asking if he was taking visitors. Maybe it’s a coincidence. I didn’t give a last name, maybe it’s not as uncommon as I thought. With a detached nod, Serenity follows the receptionist’s point, and nearly forgets what she’s doing in the elevator up to find him — it took that long to find the right floor. Maybe I should have paid more attention to what’s-her-face at the front desk. The sad thing was she’d actually gotten the receptionist’s name, but it wasn’t even on the tip of her tongue now — it was gone without a trace. It was a miracle she remembered his, names were always her downfall. When she finally found the door baring his, Serenity shoves it open — completely expecting it not to be her Galen. It was. This must be what they call an acid flashback. "Please tell me you’re not planning to get on a helicopter today?" As far as hello’s went, that was the most unorthodox one she’d ever given out — and she’d been known to greet her clients with some weird ones. 

12:40am October 11, 2013

Fear Awaken Go With It Now || Shibus (DH)

Phobos relished being covered in blood, especially when that damned substance was leaking from his enemies. But as he parried Murder’s attack he couldn’t help but sigh at the familiarity of it all. Damn Misery and her love of company, her posse had been wreaking havoc in the human realm up to a level that could be considered declaring war with the frequency of their recent battles. The fact that dream gods were being called in as the reinforcements told you just how bad it was. The number of Dolophoni had been reduced greatly with Noir and Azura’s recent attacks, not to mention how those remaining had barely had the time to regroup. He had to grit his teeth together to ignore his newfound concern for the well being of all those surviving and the guide of being the one forced to ask them to battle — especially when they were already at a disadvantage in this realm. He’d already lost a tooth to Murder when he’d staggered over seeing Shiloh hit, and he wasn’t one to typically fall victim to distraction. Refocusing, Phobos rolled his battle-stained fingers into and out of a fist, loosening his muscles and adjusting the blood flow before he threw a left-hand punch so hard it knocked Murder airless and backwards after smashing against the gut — having distracted the pesky personification with a feigned right-hand punch to the face. Letting out an unoriginal murderous bellow — one that left Phobos raising a cocky eyebrow — Murder charged him.

"Is that all you’ve got?" He taunted, manifesting a dagger just as his opponent barreled into him, driving the blade hilt deep into Murder’s chest. It wouldn’t kill the bastard, but it bought him time to check on his Dolophoni. Two of them were chasing Madness down the alley, which left him focusing on Shiloh’s progress with Misery. The girl could fight, he’d give her that. Hell, he’d even admit she looked good doing it. Though green to his team of the children of the furies, he’d come to trust her at his back rather quickly — as much as he trusted anyone brother notwithstanding, though even Deimos he didn’t trust with some things; such as playing a fair game of chess. Not that his twin occupied even a fraction of his mind as his burnt-amber gaze slid over her slender, graceful physique that was as honed as any athlete. It stirred things inside him he didn’t quite know what to name, though suspected his mother might be the authority on the matter. He never had understood her ways; he was much more like his father — but that was what being literally fear got you.

That’s when Murder returned the knife; by oh-so-fucking-generously sinking it into his shoulder. Letting out a hiss, Phobos spun to enact his revenge only to blink. Surprised as Murder and Misery retreated into a building across the way, narrowing his eyes suspiciously Phobos scans the building’s exterior before spotting the sign — and more specifically the hidden symbols on it that marked it a sanctuary. Fuck. He didn’t trust those two not to break the rules of the neutral ground. Casting a glance towards Shiloh he arched a dark brow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Striding towards her in that confident, lethal swagger that was primal to the core, Phobos twists around when he gets closer and indicates to his blade-ridden shoulder. “A little help?” Sure, he could just use his powers to dematerialize it but then he’d forgo the fun of seeing her horrified expression. Blame it on a sick sense of humor — at least he did. It was either that or fess up to just wanting to feel her hands on him, however messed-up the reasoning — which admittedly made a solid case given how he’d all but eye-fucked her in the thick of battle. Besides, as she was distracted pulling the knife free he’d get the perfect chance to make sure she wasn’t trying to hide any injuries on him. It wouldn’t be the first time. Damn women and their pride.

10:53pm October 10, 2013

Falling Off The Edge Today || Lyxis [DH]

ashlandofimagination:

She was a beauty, the blonde Aimee had determinedly insisted would make a perfect fit. Maxis eyed her suspiciously; the thought that she might have had something to do with this set-up had crossed his mind. Thankfully this wasn’t a situation he suffered often, but the fact that he was forced to do so now rankled. While he could leave any damn time he wanted to — only, leaving Sanctuary was out of the question, at least not until he could defend himself — he decided against acting upon his instincts and instead continued to sit there silently, watching the girl watch him. Her baby blue orbs were fixed on his gaze, guileless, innocent, their vividness appealing, and she gave off an inviting aura, one that welcomed him to join in their unsurprisingly one-sided conversation. He’d never cared enough to answer invitations of the social variety before, and he hadn’t thought he would now — but that was before she’d plopped down at the table he’d deliberately vacated with his standoffish nature, a bright smile grazing her lips — bright enough to light a spark in his otherwise cold existence. That in itself was cause for great wariness.

"We’re old friends," Maxis answered curtly, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse. The girl was human; she couldn’t possibly understand the intricacies that existed in the relationship he shared with Aimee. He couldn’t tell her that he’d stumbled into Sanctuary centuries ago in search of a place to hide from those who hunted him. Bleeding, his wings shredded beyond repair, Maxis had waited for death to claim him. But the Peltiers had refused to let him die. Aimee herself had seen to his care. Since then, he’d remained hidden in their attic, refusing to venture below for any reason … until now, it would seem. Paranoia ran heavily in his bloodstream and for good reason. Far too many people would see him dead. All things considered, he should have left long before now, but he hadn’t exactly liked the thought of risking his life over something as inconsequential as stubbornness; although Aimee had certainly used hers in an effort to coerce him into doing her bidding. "How do you now Aimee?" He pursed his lips, curious despite the situation. He had nothing against humans personally, but he didn’t think very highly of them, or much at all, and he rather doubted Aimee gave them a second thought. So then how did this peculiar friendship come about? And why did he care to hear the answer? It was official; perhaps he’d finally lost his mind — or worse, the loneliness was finally getting to him; just as he’d always claimed it never would. Never say never

"Max," he corrected without hesitation, but then frowned when he made that realization. Very few addressed him as Max, and those who did were considered friendly acquaintances, as he wasn’t a drakos known for his trusting nature. But this strangely innocent human inspired trust. Yet another reason not to acknowledge his physical response to her … body. Her sweet, feminine scent hardly assisted him in matters of indifference. Strike three? Perhaps. Even so, he maintained a steady observation of her features, most of which were set in lines of interest. "You know my name, but I have yet to learn yours." Tense, Maxis folded his arms atop the hard, recently polished surface of the wooden table and subtly passed a cautious, battle-ready glance around the crowded room, relaxing only a fraction when his inner threat detector didn’t go off. If he were alone, it wouldn’t matter nearly as much, but something told him he wouldn’t stand for the blonde to be hurt in any fashion. He was old-fashioned that way.

Okay. Lyssa had to hand it to Aimee; he was far more attractive than that pile of homework dutifully waiting for her back at the cheap apartment she shared with two other UNO students. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. No longer feeling the same urge to rush home to be studious, Lyssa visibly relaxed and leaned forward to rest on keen elbows while her gaze swept unabashed across his sternly chiseled features. Aimee is so my new best friend. “Lyssa,” she replied automatically, her smile twisting mischievously with the offered open-faced palm she held up expectantly for him to take. “Actually it’s Alyssa, but I’ve never been very fond of the A. I like to say it’s a silent A.” Rather than being nonplussed as he stared at the olive branch, she waggled her fingers teasingly. “C’mon, you’re not really going to leave me hanging are you?” That electric grin sizzling into place, Lyssa offered a playful wink that was entirely out of character save the stubborn grin paired with it; a grin that said her arm would remain awkwardly held out in front of him until he felt he had no choice but to shake it. Lyssa, though sweet and innocent, was anything but shy; especially not when it came to triple-A grade perfect man-meat like this fine candidate — not that she cared only about looks, but it certainly wasn’t a bad place to start.

Besides, she’d always taken pride in her asshole radar, and so far he hadn’t set it off.

"You must be if she lets you get away barefoot," though her eyebrow shot askew with the ribbing, her simper was entirely playful, not mocking. Her eyes radiating genuine warmth that made them sparkle, Lyssa rolled back one shoulder in a lazy manner that suggested she honestly didn’t know how she’d befriended Aimee. "I guess I managed to charm her in the time it took for our coffees to brew." Laughing at the memory of how at first the other blonde had been as stand-offish as he was, Lyssa raked the man Aimee had eventually (aka by the time their orders had come up) insisted she just had to meet with a bemused look. “Granted, my roommate Marissa might have had something to do with it. Apparently they know each other well?” Leaving that hanging like a question, Lyssa shrugged again and craned her neck to look for Aimee — if only to thank her with a super secret ninja thumbs up — but before she could find her newfound friend, Lyssa’s gaze fixated on another blond, a male that dogged her brow taunt with unanimous confusion and familiarity. “Max, do you believe in past lives?” Because I swear to the gods that blond was my brother. Slowly tugging her head away and locking eyes with him again, Lyssa shook the crazy thoughts aside and attempted to discern how he took that before tacking on a strangely self-conscious “Sorry, that was totally a random. The question that is. Nevermind. It’s nothing.” And I’m a terrible liar.

Suddenly awkward for the first time since sitting down, Lyssa swallowed nervously and dropped her focus to the fine detail of the grains in the wood, tracing the outline of one with her fingertip. This was so unlike her, but then she hadn’t told anyone of her vividly real dreams. Not even Marissa who’d once or twice caught her screaming from the more disturbing ones. Paranoid, it was only then that Lyssa took note of the anxious way he glanced around, and immediately grimaced at his discomfort. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d trapped someone talking longer then they’d cared to. “I won’t be offended if you think I’m bothering you,” she got out, tapping the table with the finger that had been tracing the grain. Please don’t say I’m bothering you. Lyssa wasn’t done with him yet. His aloofness intrigued her, and he possessed a strange je ne sais quoi that ignited a fierce urge to soothe him — though of what she wasn’t certain. “Or we can go somewhere quieter if you’d like.” 

4:40pm October 10, 2013
ashlandofimagination asked: m!a for serenity: Nightmare. Muse is plagued with horrific images and scenes both in sleeping and in waking for a day. (okaaaaaay! so we haven't started our fortune teller and skeptic plot yet, but i saw this one, and she immediately came to mind. at least i hope this is serenity. LOL. i could be wrong, but right. moving on. so this could probs take place after their initial meeting. but really, creative freedom is yours, moi dahling! i just thought this could actually fit w/ their plot. <333)

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED

I think it’s funny that we’re starting their second interaction before their initial meeting thread BUT STRANGELY I HAVE NO QUALMS ABOUT THIS. Oh, and you are right. That would be Serenity. AND I CAN SO MAKE IT FIT THEIR PLOT SO THEEEEEEERE.

4:38pm October 10, 2013
ashlandofimagination asked: Ask Azura: 13. What is your biggest goal in life?

"To find my sister, catch the Malachai and subject the world to my whims, naturally." 

12:42pm October 8, 2013

M!A: To The Stage || Hopuel [SS]

ashlandofimagination:

The job of the host was not to fight but to accept the fate that had been bestowed upon it in the arrival of its master. The demon within couldn’t quite understand how an insignificant human female — teeming with innocence no less; how bloody repulsive — possessed so much inner will, and yet the longer he fought to retain control over her body and mind, the harder it became. Not that he had any intentions of allowing the foolish girl to stand in the way of his fun. Sooner or later, she would have to give in. Having existed for as many centuries as he had, most of which had been spent locked away in Hell, awaiting the moment when he could finally roam free, Imael refused to bungle this one chance, for it was likely to be the only one he would be given in lieu of Lilith’s reign. The woman wasn’t exactly the compassionate or forgiving sort. As soon as he proved himself inept, she would see that he was firmly ensconced in that damn brimstone again; a life sentence he’d rather avoid if he could help it. As he forced his host to stand in the middle of the slightly crowded room, he considered what must be done to ensure he remained a useful ally for the queen. She didn’t tolerate failure well.

Hope!” A male voice snapped, and Imael turned to regard the rotund man with disgust. Throughout most of the afternoon, the idiot had been tossing orders about, expecting them to be heeded without hesitation. He supposed the tag on his shirt gave him some power over the waitresses fluttering to and from the kitchen. He’d learned enough about this time and this work place to have some authority on how his host should behave according to the rules dictated to her by this fat, profusely sweating male looking to copulate with his employees. “What’re you standing around for, Hope?” The annoying, nasally voice jerked him from his thoughts, earning the pissant a fierce glare for his troubles. It was a gesture that sat ill upon a face that appeared as sweet as it did innocent. That was one of the main reasons why he’d chosen Hope Messinger as his host. She would be the last person anyone would ever suspect of any wrongdoing, and that could only work to his advantage. “You have tables to serve!” The self-important bastard was really beginning to gnaw on what little patience he could claim to possess. Imael raised one fine, burgundy eyebrow in what many would deem as the arrogant gesture of one who felt they were above such dictates. When he said nothing, however, little boss’s face reddened as anger crept into those beady, dull brown eyes of his. “Get back to -” He started to say but was immediately cut off by the slender hand suddenly gripping his throat. He sputtered, lifting his own hand in an attempt to forcibly remove his host’s — to no avail. “Listen to me, you little cockroach,” the demon growled in Hope’s naturally soft, lilting voice. “You have no control over me.” He punctuated each word with a squeeze, the man’s wheezing music to his ears. As he saw it, it was time he was given the respect due a demon of his immense power. A menacing smile curved his lips as he passed a mocking glance around the diner, reveling in the looks of shock he’d garnered with the suddenness of his movements. Smile widening, his attention returned to the struggling manager, whose face had already begun to turn purple from lack of oxygen. “You live only because I will it, understand?” Imael hissed, the fingers of his host tightening around his pudgy flesh. “You would do well to remember that.”

What the hell are you thinking? Honestly, Chamuel had no idea as he slid into the booth, but one thing kept cycling back in the forefront of his mind. Hope. And not the state, but rather the mere slip of a girl who’d somehow wormed her way — in a single meeting no less — to a place nobody ever got; onto the list of people he actually gave a fuck about. Chamuel, unlike the other Archangels, had never been one to socialize or crave the company of others, especially not humans. To be perfectly blunt, he didn’t like company at all. Ever. No matter what the gender or species. Unless it was demons he was kicking back to hell. Which was probably for the best, given he was not an angel of forgiveness, and his powers were not that of healing and creation. He’d be more likely to torch them on the spot for looking at him wrong then judge mortals fairly. At least that’s how the theories went. This combined with his self appointed isolation and, admittedly, acerbic personality had never done him well with the whole fitting in thing. But what did he care? He knew the rumors, that he was more demon than angel, that he’d made a deal with the devil to get his hellfire, that ultimately he was defective and couldn’t be trusted. It didn’t help that he’d been assigned Lucifer’s post after the former Archangel had fell. Just like he knew the reason that they all (even Michael) gave him such a wide girth was because they feared his corruption. He spent as much time bordering hell as he did heaven and they didn’t trust him, none of them ever had. But Hope did, and with that little seemingly insignificant act she’d infused herself within his very soul. At least that’s what it felt like, but somehow even Chamuel — who had no experience with women, except the worst sort of bitches deserving of hell — knew that what he was currently doing was slightly on the stalker side.

But that hadn’t stopped him from popping in for dinner. Human dinner, which held no substance for him whatsoever and he knew it was a piss poor excuse at best. Materialized in the human-form he wore to, as Michael put it, better mingle. Thinner (though just as tall) he was not the raw solid powerhouse he was in his angel-form, and lacking that deadly aura he could easily pass as human; if the sample group being referenced was strictly steroid pumping wrestlers. Still, he only raised a couple eyebrows — a record for him — and thankfully looked different enough to fly under even Hope’s radar. He didn’t want her to see him, because he had no idea what to say to her. So he just watched the beguiling waitress as she went about her busy, overtop of this menu he could barely read — what the hell were hot dogs anyway? You bust guys for less creepy shit than this. The thought couldn’t help but silently mock him. But did that make him get up and leave? Hell no. If anything it just made him exchange the menu for a newspaper as he feigned interest in some bullshit article about some Media Princess being murdered. Not that he gave a crap, not when he could smell her. Close enough it was damn near driving him insane. That’s it. You’ve lost it. Might as well nail yourself to a cross and hope for mercy. He had no business being here. At least that’s what he thought until the commotion broke out. Instantly Chamuel dropped his newspaper and abandoned his hot chocolate — something she’d made him last time and had become an instant guilty pleasure — in order to put a stop to it, the fire already erupting around his fists. “Unhand he-” Chamuel cuts off as he realizes he’d got it wrong, she wasn’t the victim. Features tugged taunt and wide in lack of comprehension. He actually had to refocus his eyes thrice over. This can’t be right. “Hope” he swallowed, taking an uncertain step forward. “Let him go.” His tone was soft, dare I say even weak. Chamuel had never been apprehensive about apprehending his target. But then again, he’d never given a fuck about his marks before. In fact, had she been anyone else, he’d have already blasted her to hell by now. Before the humans witnessed anything else. His own inaction told him that was clearly no longer an option here. As his fierce, unrelenting gaze slides across her soft features, Chamuel prays that something isn’t right — and more importantly, that whatever it is he can actually fix it. “You’ve got it wrong sweet spero, you live only because I will it.” He willed it enough to renegade on his duty. Something he’d never done before. 

3:34am October 7, 2013

M!A Surprise Witness : Cherian

ashlandofimagination:

She thought he was going to hurt her; he could hear it in the trembling tone of her voice, in the way she held herself so stiffly against him. He was a murderer, a bastard in every sense of the word, but with Cherise, he’d found something with which to fill the void of his possessiveness. Her sudden and unexpected presence here, in this place of unimaginable filth and bloodlust, had never once come into the equation. He’d made damn sure to keep the two separated, allowing her arrival only when he knew for certain what time she planned on coming over. Never in all his planning had he once considered the notion that she would want to surprise him. And surprise him, she did. Except, he wasn’t the only one caught completely off guard. Going by her pale features and the fear in her pretty eyes, it wouldn’t be long before she succumbed to a nervous breakdown. Bastard though he might be, Adarian didn’t particularly yearn to see her brought so low.  ”Hurt you,” he growled low in his throat, irritated that she would even jump to such a wrong and damned insulting conclusion — but then again, he was covered in the blood of his victim and possessed a darkness inside his soul that he knew she could sense. Her fucking friends had tried to turn her against him, and if not for the high esteem she held them in, he would have gone for the bitches’ throats earlier. Maybe he would now that his secret was out. He knew what he was, was more than fucking content to tear idiots apart with his bare hands — and he had on several occasions — but Cherise was the only person in the entire world who he would never think to hurt in that fashion. “If I’d wanted to hurt you, I would’ve already made you bleed.” Uttered in a guttural tone; he slanted an accusing glare in the direction of the pathetic, mewling demon, as though blaming him for this travesty of a night. If he was forced to watch Cherise walk out of his life, he would bathe in the blood of demons everywhere. They deserved nothing less for being disgusting parasites he enjoyed torturing to death. “Him?” He snorted his contempt, his dark eyes seething with intensity and hatred. “You don’t need to concern yourself with him. He’ll be dead soon.” So maybe he should have been a little more tactful and considerate of her weak, human constitution, but fuck that. He was pissed as hell, and since he wasn’t about to take a strip out of Cherise’s beautiful hide, he’d settle for putting that asshole in his place, which just so happened to be six feet under. “Look at me,” he commanded sharply as he willed her to do just that, wanting her gaze off the demon scum parading as a human; partially because he wasn’t in the mood to chase her and partially because he didn’t like having her eyes on anyone else. “None of this has anything to do with you.” He gripped her chin firmly between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her gaze to lock upon his. “Got it?” 

Cherise squeezed her eyes shut, needing a mental break from the sensory overload. Part of her was already up the stairs and out the door, but the tangible side remained ever stoic, as stationary as a statue save the heart that pounded ear drums and the lungs that let loose a whole body sigh when he confirmed what she should have known. How could she think him capable of that? Desperate her mind raced to come up with some golden means of justification that could gloss over the horrific truth, but in all honesty Cherise would have already been gone — quite possibly forever — had his grip not remained steadfast on her arm, ironclad only in how his fingers locked with each other and refused to budge, but otherwise ever gentle. He touched her like he was afraid she’d break. It was what had drawn her to him; how despite his intensity he could still be so sweet and tender, and when he took her to bed his touches were filled with love and adoration. Insistent she always get her pleasure first. In the end it was not so much the physical restraint itself that kept Cherise rooted firm, as it was that literal reminder of how he with her he was different. He’d sooner hurt himself then her. That much she now trusted, though she was still wide-eyed and deer-faced as her bright eyes scanned his walls decked with varying devices of torture, each more elaborate then the last. Cherise could only hope was all just part of some elaborate movie set or photo-shoot; but she wasn’t that gullible or naive.

It took that firm grip he placed on her chin to tear away from the scene that would give her under-eye-bags for weeks, and not because she wanted to be plagued with nightmares. God knows she’d much rather look at him. But like with many things beyond disturbing the human mind could find the sickest fascination, making it impossible to look away. So she was rather relieved when his hand (forget that it was bloodstained) pulled her gaze to his in time to catch that flash of jealousy. Stunned, Cherise’s interest immediately unlatched from the poor man bleeding to death to Adarian’s sinfully handsome face. “You don’t have to be jealous because I don’t like seeing people hurt Adarian, or you’re going to have to start being jealous of cute little puppies and kitties and I don’t know how that’ll play out with your self-esteem.” How she could tease him in a moment like this amazed even her, but maybe it was merely a coping mechanism, or perhaps the guilt at showing up unexpected, witnessing something she had no idea about and accusing him of being capable of cold blooded murder was. After all there could still a good explanation. “So what is all this? The Mafia? Or are you some kind of spy?” Please be a spy. I can deal with spy. Chewing her lip, Cherise is indecisive as she holds his eyes, relentlessly searching for any sign of that unexpected goodness she’d fallen so hard for. He looked equally unsure of whether he wanted to answer. “I deserve to know what I’m getting into.” She pressed, before finally reaching up and offering the reassuring contact of her hand to his cheek and a weak we’ll-figure-this-out-somehow smile. Sure, all hope seemed bleak but she was ever the optimist. “Just don’t lie to me mister, or I will walk.” Contrary to that weak threat, Cherise sought out his comforting warmth and snuggled closer until she breathed in his richly masculine scent. Does he always have to smell this good? It was damn distracting. “Do the right thing baby; finish it.” That was definitely the last thing she ever imagined saying, before she added. “Put him out of his misery before I do.” Correction. That is the last thing she ever thought she’d say. “And I really don’t want to have to do it.” Damn straight, but she also couldn’t stand here and hear the poor thing make such agonizing sounds any longer. Forget medical attention, she’d gotten a big enough gander to know he was way past too far gone; the poor thing. “No one should have to suffer like-” cutting off, Cherise stares at the victim in shock. A victim that no longer appeared quite so human now that she was curled up against Adarian. What in the world? “Uh..Baby?

8:13pm October 5, 2013

M!A: Ryuji - Karik [SS]

ashlandofimagination:

She was dreaming. There was no other explanation. This had to be a dream. Nearly chocking on a gasp of shock as her strangely heightened, slitted gaze swept across the thankfully empty meadow, Karma struggled with her understanding of the situation. Terik — he’d been chasing her. Wait. No. He’d stopped. Well, okay. Maybe that wasn’t entirely accurate. Maybe she’d stopped running, and as a result he’d stopped chasing her. But then what? Oh, right. They’d argued — a lot — about his jewel, and then out of nowhere, he’d laid one on her, catching her completely off guard. But not for long; she’d wasted little time in assaulting that remarkably fit body of his with her hands, mouth, teeth, tongue — anything and everything she could use. Damn if she didn’t make good use of them. Afterward, he’d taken them somewhere else, somewhere supposedly safe, and … Blank. That was it.

Thick, scaled fingers curling in frustration, her inability to recall exactly how she came to be sporting the dragon-effect (as she’d taken to calling it the instant she’d realized what had happened) a vexation she could very well do without, she stomped her way across the meadow, pausing only long enough to shoot the ferociously growling wolves a warning glare. For some reason or another, they’d deemed her worthy prey to stalk. Why they had yet to run from her repulsive, lizard-like countenance, she didn’t know and wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know. But if they didn’t hightail it the hell out of there in the next five fucking seconds, she’d make shish-kabobs out of their matted, bristling fur. Yet, instead of running like normal creatures would when faced with dragon breath in the morning, the wolves growled louder, the harsh sound grating on her oversensitive ears. So was this what Terik dealt with on a daily basis? God, he must have to endure the headaches from hell, because she sure as shit was feeling one creeping up on her poor, abused temples. Cantankerous — and really, she had no one to blame but herself; this was what happened when one fell into bed with a dragon, or so she liked to tell herself — Karma slammed the thick length of her tail against the ground as hard as she dared, the earth splitting upon contact. Now that was something she could get used to, being privy to all that strength in the bulk of her dragon ass; there was obviously ample weight to go around, and didn’t that just kill a girl’s self esteem? She chuffed, billows of smoke curling outward from her wide nostrils as she was hit with yet another boost of irritation. “What now?” She muttered to herself, but then blinked those yellow, lizard eyes in surprise when her voice came out sounding relatively normal. Well, at least she could still talk. For a minute there, she’d feared she would have to go scouting for a Dr. Dolittle for dragons. Surely one existed in this day and age. Maybe.

With a shake of her massive head, Karma contemplated leaving the meadow, and she might have given into temptation if not for the fact that she’d probably be shot out of the sky for flying in a no-fly zone. Assuming she could get these large, leathery wings to work, of course. Introspective, she somehow managed to fold her arms across her gigantic, unnaturally shiny chest — the navy blue scales glittered in the morning sunlight — and stalked back across the meadow. She could always return to Terik. Maybe he could shine some light on her … predicament. If she couldn’t figure out what the hell was going on so that she could properly handle this damn situation on her own, then she’d have no choice. She rolled her eyes skyward and stopped in her pacing to snap her fangs at the now snarling wolves. Talk about being caught figuratively between a rock and a hard place.

Terik hadn’t known amusement like this in centuries. Admittedly, he’d been as stunned as she was by her transformation when he’d teleported them back home to the Amazon — a place he hadn’t been since Mavek had been prince to their people, before Tarquin had claimed kingship through treason. Not for much longer. It was a reassuring thought — and part of the real reason he brought her here, that claim about it being safer aside. He’d been a little hasty with that promise, it would be safer. Mavek was planning to take back what was rightfully his and give Tarquin a royal ass whooping and Terik wasn’t about to miss out on that show. Speaking of shows, it hadn’t taken him long before he stood a casual bystander to Karma’s eyebrow raising antics, his human foot tapping to the rhythm of his own rich laughter. Perhaps it was rude, and part of him did yearn to soothe the frazzled nerves of the woman he’d come to know rather intimately within the past mark of the candle, but a larger part of him thought she deserved this dessert. She had stolen his gemstone after all; regardless of the fact it had turned out to be his heart. Besides even with the wolves following her, she was in no real danger. Still, even lacking that red beating organ he had enough compassion to follow in her furious stead, bemusement teasing his lips as she stomped and snorted as though concerned about what gigantic number she’d tipped the scales to now. Little did the saucy elemental know she was even more attractive to him in this form; even if she was still adorably clumsy in it as she snarled and snapped at the wolves.

He eyed the pack drolly, but let them be for the moment. Let them think he was no threat, but if she proved unsure of how to fend them off or alternatively wary of attack, they’d be fried hot dogs before she could even get out the condiments. The wolves seemed to pick up on the predatory gait to his pace, for they gave him a large respectful girth even as they stalked his heart-thief. You know, for a fire elemental I’m surprised it’s taken this long to test out your real dragon’s breath. Projecting his thoughts straight in her head in a way that implied he’d heard that morning breath comment, Terik crossed his arms across his chest and cocked his head as he watched her — all while growling threateningly at one wolf that got a little too close to biting her tail, the small beast instantly cowered and backed away. “I trust you’ve got this? Or do you need me to get rid of them for you?” He said teasingly, using his real voice now that she’d finally taken notice of him. Apparently she’d been so caught up in her transformation she hadn’t even noticed him slowly trail her. Then again, he hadn’t wanted to be noticed. Terik’s posture screamed arrogance as that pretty, strangely delicate dragonhead snapped in his direction, those azurite scales shimmering in bright contrast to her golden eyes glowing with an inner ember that he was willing to bet was heightened by her elemental nature. Slowly, his thick lips curve into a smirk so smug it was sinful, one side of his cheek dimpling mischievously as his own steely eyes flash with amusement. “You do realize they can smell your uncertainty, right?” He paused for a moment then, before once again projecting his thoughts to her. And stop worrying about your ass, it looks perfectly fine.

7:25pm October 5, 2013
i feel so accomplished omg. we finished another threeeeeeeeeead. BAM. we’re amazing. BUT I’M ADDICTED TO ALL THINGS D, OK. no matter what you do, i’m like ‘/squee squee squee squee.’

YES OMG ME TOO ME TOO!!! AND NOW WE CAN FINALLY PLOT OUT AND POST THE BOOOOOOOOOOOOYS AND THEIR TWINS. LOL! I still think its funny they think they are after the same girl. ngl. ourpoorboys. liketheyhaven’tbeentorturedenough. /clearly evil. 

AND GOOD BECAUSE I AM ADDICTED TO ALL THINGS YOU.

6:06pm October 5, 2013

And All The Things I Bury Gets Exhumed || JAM [DH]

ashlandofimagination:

Of all the people to stupidly approach him, why the hell did it have to be her? Fuck. Teeth bared, anger forever dogging his every step, Jaden pinned the goddess responsible for every fucking travesty heaped upon his head with a glower meant to intimidate as well as warn away. It had been centuries since he’d laid eyes on the treacherous bitch. After the way they’d parted, he’d prayed to the gods who refused to pay him any heed that he’d never have to again. Apparently, they’d decided his danger factor no longer mattered and sought to ridicule him through the only means available. The fuckers have no idea the dangerous game they play. It wasn’t any secret that the various pantheons despised him for being a power unto himself and quite capable of ending their pathetic excuses for lives with nothing more than a concentrated thought — and maybe a flick of the wrist, if only to feel them draw their last breath while watching the life seep from their disgustingly arrogant pores. He really loathed those bastards, but unsurprisingly (considering how often he bemoaned the fact that he was forced to serve the little bitches) he loathed demons even more. In general, he loathed everyone. Yet that hadn’t stopped Cam from pressing her luck — and to what purpose? To make amends? Please. He wasn’t born yesterday.

"Are you’re implying you’ve lost some of that intelligence you used to have in spades?" Jaden asked silkily, his gaze sliding past the slender slope of her shoulder to encompass the park. He was suspicious by nature, refusing to take a person at their word, for rarely did they mean it … And Cam was no exception. If anything, she was worse, because she’d made him care and that was fucking unacceptable. “Never should have, what? Fucked me over? Even worse, fucked Jared over?” Lips parting on the animalistic growl he’d kept contained until this very moment, the moment he’d need to make use of it, he dismissed her admission with a snort of disbelief. It wasn’t bad enough that her actions had sealed his fate, but to involve Jared … Nothing in the whole goddamn universe would ever fix that mistake, would ever make it right. “Tell me, goddess, how do you intend to rectify your mistake?” There was a condescending quality about his tone, an indicator that he was merely humoring her guilty conscience. Why he was allowing her this opportunity to explain, he hadn’t a clue. But at least it beat adhering to the rules set forth by the very beings he longed to plant eight hundred feet in the Azmodea ground. In their bid to control every aspect of his existence, they’d managed to entrap a piece of his essence in a fucking cypress tree, hence why he had no choice but to play by the rules of their game.

For now.

And if that meant catering to the whims of a cowardly demon hell-bent on possessing that which was never meant to belong to him in the first place, then so be it. "Go on, precious.” He sneered, dark eyes glowing a bright crimson with the need to make someone pay for this hellacious bitch of a night. “Tell me what you plan. I’m just dying from curiosity.”

At least he didn’t blast you on sight Cam thought, standing resolute against the onslaught of his fury. A fury she both deserved and took with a submissively bent head, all but baring her neck for his magical guillotine. It was easier looking at the ground through the blur of pain anyway. He was as wild and beautiful as ever and that just made the travesty of his unjust life sentence all the more cruel. The centuries hadn’t silenced her bodily want to answer his call, if anything it had only made it worse; heating up in his mere presence. Her desire a burning reminder that a man that strong should never be caged was followed with the bitter aftertaste that he’d never be truly free again. If only I could release him now. Her inner light was no longer that strong; her powers were already waning from the efforts it took to suppress the demons call. It was no small task cutting him off from their demands, at least it was just a demon and not Azura or Noir, otherwise that simple act of interference would have started a war the world was not yet ready for; it had been the only thing that had kept her from demanding his release when the betrayal was still fresh under the epiphany of her mistake. Cam only hoped that deep down he knew that — if only she were that lucky.

But Cam wasn’t naive, he’d never forgive her.

Still that acidic silky humor that was classic Jaden tweaked one corner of her lips and supplied the courage required to finally meet his eye. “No,” she began, actually daring to touch his cheek in a way that just seared her heart. Sealing the fact he would never be hers to hold and kiss again even as her gaze traveled sadly across his lips. “I had hoped to imply I have finally regained it.” Looking at him now, it seemed unfathomable that she would have ever thought it wise to trade him for a promise of world peace, one that had wound up empty. Duped by her own rose colored glasses, Cam knew she should have known better than to trust Azura and Noir’s to the treaty they’d signed, but that didn’t change the fact she stood here now, a faded version of her former self. That eternal light not just dimmer, but now stuck on flicker. That didn’t stop her from concentrating a bright light through the palm of her hand into his cheek, the warm healing power seeping deep to repair the wounds inflicted by his cruel captors, ones Jaden was constantly forced to hide with his powers as Noir never allowed them to properly heal. But heal they did now, she made sure of at least that. “Jared’s actions were his own. I had no part in that.” Despite this curt dismissal, those words left wounds deeper than any sword could. “Jaden.” Her tone left this open-ended, his name hanging heavy on the air as though unsure of how to proceed. “You think I wanted this?” Recoiling from that cold growl Cam almost lost him to the Demon’s beckoning, but gritted her molars together and held his temporary freedom firm no matter how much of her powers it zapped. “How many times have you acted on their cruel whims against your better judgment?” The goddess snapped, her throat burning in warning of the magic that forbid her from confessing to anyone — especially him — the power Braith held over her. So instead she refocused those steely blue eyes on his glowing crimson ones and spoke in a low, firm tone. Like someone who was resigned to their death.  ”I intend to destroy that tree and release you.”

12:58pm October 5, 2013

Remsin | Ghosts in the Mirror {DH}

ashlandofimagination:

Ur folks hav had a little 2 much 2 drink, TamsNeeda pick-up service hur. Tamsin rubbed the bridge of her nose, exasperation giving way to concern as she returned her cellphone to her pocket, having checked it twice already for any updates on her parents’ conditions. Nothing — but she had yet to determine if that was a good thing or not. She never could tell where her parents were concerned. Since they had a tendency to splurge by spending most of their funds on alcohol, she was left to the purchasing and the making of their meals. As a teenager, she’d resented their juvenile antics, wishing they’d take on the role of parent just once so it wouldn’t fall to her. But her wishes were always in vain. As an adult, however, she’d slid past resentment, diving headfirst into the pool of resignation. Her parents were who they were meant to be, and short of divine intervention, change simply wasn’t in the cards. A frown of regret for a lost childhood tugged at the corners of her lips as with a press of her foot against the gas pedal, the car picked up speed. As she cruised along the street in search of their favorite club — or was it a restaurant? Perhaps it was both; she’d heard them lament on how wonderful it was often enough for it to stick — Tamsin wondered what kind of condition she would find them in upon arrival. The last time she’d been called to the scene, Mom had incited Dad to violence by rubbing herself all over one of the waiters, cooing in his ear, propositioning him for a night of unforgettable sex. Really, Mom? Really? You couldn’t just get drunk like a normal personYou had to go and throw yourself at the first, available, semi-attractive man you stumbled into? She wanted to curse her for her selfishness and irresponsibility, wanted to wipe her hands of both of them for good, but she wouldn’t; because unlike them, she understood the meaning of love and loyalty.

There. She leaned forward in her seat, chest to wheel, and squinted at the sign hanging above the doorway of the building she’d sought in her bid to find her parents before they succeeded in hurting someone — it had happened before. But then Tamsin saw them struggling against the hold a large, undoubtedly strong man had on them, and she wanted nothing more than to sink into the floor of her car out of sheer embarrassment. But she had a duty to them and to the patrons of — she glanced at the sign again — Sanctuary. Straightening, her eyes narrowed upon the scene, she shoved open the door to her old, beat-up Cadillac and slid out to stand by its side. She hated that this would cause more of a scene than it already had, considering how her parents reacted to her interference, but someone had to step in. Unfortunately for her, that someone had to be her. Steeling her spine against the looks of pity she’d never been one to tolerate, Tamsin took a step toward them, only to draw up short by the hand suddenly grasping her arm, easily holding her in place just as the man currently sandwiched between her parents did for them. Tensing, the stress of the night threatening to overtake her, she gave a hard, experimental yank of her arm, unsurprised when his fingers didn’t budge an inch. God, could this night get any worse? And that was when his woodsy, masculine scent finally reached her, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth she wasn’t so sure she wanted to escape. It’d been so long since she’d leaned on anyone’s strength but her own. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though to drive his scent from her thoughts, then opened them to slant an irritated glare up at his face. Of course the guy had to be good-looking. Broad forehead. High cheekbones chiseled to perfection. Aristocratic nose. Piercing eyes. And to top it off, he had that brooding thing going for him. Just wonderful. “Yes,” she reluctantly admitted, having debated over whether or not she truly ought to claim them. There was still time to make her escape. If this hulking giant saw fit to release her arm, that is. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my parents off your hands and …” Her voice trailed off in shock as he ordered what looked to be his brother to call them a taxi, announcing in the same breath her incapability of driving them home. How dare he! She was perfectly capable. Why else would she have taken the time to drive about the city looking for them? “That is not your call!” She snapped, disregarding the fact that his appearance would have left her breathless if he hadn’t decided to take charge of her decisions. “I don’t know who you think you are, but those are my parents, my responsibility. You have absolutely no right to make these kinds of decisions for me!”

She didn’t look happy. Well no shit Sherlock. What the fuck did you expect? For her to jump your bones for saying she’s in no condition to drive? Cause women totally dig being told they can’t do stuff. Yeah. Right. Forget the fact she wasn’t even drunk, that comment was just all around chauvinistic and he knew it, not to mention classified as something his late mother would bear-slap him for from the grave. If Aimee didn’t first. Hell, he was lucky she hadn’t overheard and he knew it. Great. Just great. This was exactly what he needed tonight. To loose the rest of his wits and stuff his entrails through the metaphorical meat grinder, at least Remi felt just about that stupid with his hand still clamped around her arm despite her best attempts at glaring death incarnate up at him. Fuck. He could see her with that look in bed, too. It might have had something to do with her tantalizing scent, which he strangely wanted all over him and better yet his damn sheets. What the fuck am I on? Am I really this desperate to get laid? Not that desire was strange for a bear, but it was when that scent belonged to a human, even a pretty one like her. Sure they were good for a quick tumble in the backroom — as Dev had proven — but otherwise, for the most part Remi stayed the hell away from humans. Ironically because he was far more concerned for their safety then his fuck-the-world reputation supported. Though that was neither here nor there, but there was something about her droll unimpressed stare and extra serving of attitude that dug home and struck a direct hit on his empathy patch; kick-starting it with a jolt. Though the desire was inexplicable and the reasoning for it absolutely unfathomable, he just wanted to keep her safe. Even if that did mean enticing her anger and eternal loathing by standing firm against allowing her behind the wheel with her hammered parents. All least one of them distracts her while driving. Overprotective much? Definitely. Did he give a rat’s ass? Fuck no. Though he would hand Dev’s ass to him if his brother didn’t stop with those disapproving glares, a threat Remi mentally shot his way. Can it horndog, or I’ll go full-out bear in-front of these humans. Remi actually had to roll his eyes as he stared at the identical copy of his own face twist with uncertainty. The fucker didn’t believe him. Relax dipshit, I promise I’m not going to hurt her. Like he could, Remi had the unsettling hunch he’d sooner hack off his own balls. Not that he was telling Dev that. Ever. Give me ten fucking minutes. Feeling entitled to at least that given what the fates had put him through, Remi completely ignores his brother and gently ushers the still protesting woman around, towards the bar that was very much away from her parents and his brother.

"Our bar, our rules." He stated bluntly, all while berating himself for knowing this was a bad idea but still insisting it happened. For that matter he still couldn’t get himself to release her arm, and not because she was a risk to herself or others. He was just afraid she’d leave if he let go. "Your parents are patrons here; I have a responsibility to make sure they arrive home alive." Well, that was kind of true. Except for the fact he’d never given a damn before about their patrons - at least not their safety. Why else do they hide you in the back? He knew it was as true as Dev did, but at least his brother had backed off a bit, and by the looks of things had taken her parents to some backroom to sober up — or possibly, hopefully, wait for their cab. Growling low in his throat as she once more tried her luck at yanking free, Remi just stared down at her somberly with an impatient lilt to his lips. “Look, I know that look. The one you’re wearing like a shield.” Sighing, as though resigned to trying a different — less intense — tactic, Remi does something he never does. Opens up. “That kind of anger is a deadly drug. Trust me. I get it.” He paused, as if considering if he should continue before figuring what the hell. He was already balls deep in hot water, what was another step or two? “I’m usually the one trying to function through blind rage. So yes, I do get it. Lucky for you I’m not in the mood to wake up tomorrow and read about a gruesome car crash.” To be honest he’d never be in that mood, but she didn’t need to know that. “So do me a favor and let me buy you a beer.” Remi wasn’t sure who was more stunned by his offer, him or her. Maybe that’s why he tossed in the “It’ll take the edge off,” as if that explained his reasoning. To back it up he — with obviously great reluctance — released her bicep and crossed his arms defensively over his chest; almost as if guarding himself against her answer, or more specifically, her presumed rejection.