"I'm fine." To make a point, she then kissed Sophia on the nose, making the girl pout. Taylor laughed as she hugged her adorable girlfriend. "I'm made of tougher stuff than this, Soph. I'm fine."

Her girlfriend looked conflicted, "I know you are, babe, but it pisses me off that we have to hide like this."

Taylor laughed, that carefree sound lifting Sophia's heart a bit, "Unfortunately, we're in Brockton Bay, Soph, home of the American brand Nazis. I've already been accused of being Jewish. When they found out that I'm in a homosexual relationship with a black girl?" There was a quirk of her lips as she smirked, "I'm sure the 88 is going to be all over that."

Her smirk faded as she leaned forward again, touching foreheads with her girlfriend, "I'm not ashamed of our relationship, Sophia. But I'm afraid that I may get in your way if the Empire finds out. I don't want to know what would happen if I become a burden to you, Shadow Sweetie."

Sophia's blush returned at Taylor's private nickname for her, but there was a hardness in her eyes as she stepped back, "You're never a burden to me, Taylor."

"Sophia?"

"I want the best of everything for you. I want to see you happy, Moon Of My Life..." She stepped closer, cupping her hands on Taylor's face. She looked into Taylor's eyes, a burning conviction in hers. "Even if I have to bring you the sun and stars to do it." Then she leaned up, planting a kiss on Taylor's forehead.

Taylor as blushing at such a hearfelt declaration, but...

She snickered.

Sophia blinked, the very picture of innocence, "What?"

Taylor was laughing now, "Oh my god, Sophia. Did you actually memorize that line from that one Aleph book just to say it to me?"

Sophia pouted, "S'not like there's anything wrong with that. Drogo's amazing."

Taylor suddenly pulled Sophia into a cuddle, "Oh, Sophia, my Stars and Shadows," Her eyes twinkled, making Sophia's blush deepen, "you're just too adorable~" Then she began to shower her shorter girlfriend with affection.

Sophia didn't mind.

* * *

Spoiler

Hidden in the shadows of the park the two had decided to have their date, newest vigilante Sensationalle bit her knuckles to stop herself from screaming in frustration as she continued her vigil over the couple.

'OH MY FUCKING GOD, YOU DORKS!' Emma screamed in her thoughts, 'JUST KISS ALREADY!'

EROTOARCANA

(Автор: hellgodsrus)

AN: Ok, I did warn y'all when I started it that it would contain some fucked up shit, but I don't think even I knew how deep the damn rabbit hole would go. Thus, for the sake of the reader, I must say — if any of the following bother you, please don't read on: prostitution, non-con roleplay with mind-alter assists, extreme inhuman physiology, dominance games, near-danger play, chemical injection, asphyxiation play (mild, mostly due to cunnilingus/french kissing), vagina dentata, inflation/impregnation, Skittles shipping and a likely very inaccurate depiction of what it feels like to have something come inside you. With all that said and done, those of you who remain — welcome to the — EROTOARCANA

* * *

The flyer had been...discrete. Hardly surprising given the establishment, its reputation and everything else. Lisa couldn't even remember how she'd gotten hold of it — she'd just woken up one morning to find herself holding a black envelope sealed with a red wax seal — {not actually wax, biological degradable compound designed to emulate wax, designed to be conductive to vibrations, heat; solid until correct materials applied then becomes malleable}, her power had babbled — a simple, beautifully hand-written business card inside.

To Whom it May Concern,

The Erotarcana has arrived in Brockton Bay. We are open for business for the next thirteen days. Follow the sigils.

Lovecraft X

It was hard not to have heard of Lovecraft and her/its/his — her power never was quite sure how to classify zir — entourage; zir defeat and overthrow of Jack Slash, zir charity contributions and fight against the Endbringers and, of course, zir business.

Erotarcana. Illegal in the extreme, invitation only — the rude would call it a brothel. A place for those whose powers made it difficult for them to enjoy sex, or perform it, or who wanted to experiment with their powers in a different context than combat, or simply those who had particular fetishes that they couldn't experience without a powered partner.

Erotarcana's service providers were, without exception, all former murderers of one stripe or another. From the truly infamous — Screamer, Shatterbird, Siberian — to the more recent controversies surrounding their recruitment of Canary. Discovery of politicians using their services had toppled not one, but two governments.

And they were very well hidden. Multiple Strangers, multiple Thinkers, multiple Tinkers all working to keep them out of sight and moving from one city to another.

And she'd been invited.

The sigils were simple to spot. For her, at least. What would look like an odd patterned stain or a shadow on brickwork to anyone else, she instead saw as made by the same brush, with the same specially made paint and so on and so forth along the trail.

And thus she found herself at the end of the road. In the Trainyard, facing a door.

She'd agonised over the decision. It was massive expense for what, an hour or two of pleasure? It wasn't like she couldn't masturbate. Well, she had to clean herself very thoroughly first, but she could still do it! But they'd know what she liked, and she'd heard they could turn off powers that were too troublesome to work around, that they were consummate professionals...

She knocked.

The door opened onto blackness with the creaking generally associated with a house filled with ghosts.

She stepped through.

A moment of disorientation, whirling colours, and —

— she stepped into a high arched obsidian hall decorated with elaborately laid out cobwebs — {not actual cobwebs, set dressing, not actually obsidian, chitin castoffs} — and a spiral staircase climbing up she knew not where.

She'd come in costume, of course. They might not respect the unwritten rules, but they seemed to prefer to deal with the caped persona of most people.

`Hello Tattletale.' The voice seemed to emanate from everywhere, both a whisper and at perfectly normal volume for conversation, accent one of those obscure British ones — Glaswegian, Scouse, Cockney; she couldn't tell the difference. {sound trickery, glottal stops in wrong position to be created by lips and teeth, fakery}. Screamer most likely.

`Lovecraft not available?'

`Oh, I'm always available, dearie.' Same voice, but somehow closer —

It should have been impossible for a seven foot tall woman in skirts almost as wide across as she was tall to sneak up on anyone. Somehow, the woman behind her had managed it.

{not skirts, flesh, folded rib cage, touches floor to hide limbs beneath it, multiple limbs, multiple everything, second redundant organs under skirt — } She didn't want to know. Her power kept on going regardless — {skirt is chitin, skirt is flesh, arms have retractable claws, retractable and prehensile skin, paralysing mucus, injectors}.

`Lovecraft.' She tried to grin confidently.

`Miss Wilbourne.' Lovecraft's face was bizarre in real life — perfect enough that it sat exactly in the uncanny valley. Poreless, porcelain white, dainty snub nose and brilliant scarlet lips with a cupid's bow. Not a hair stirred as ze curtsied. {hair under direct control, more akin to tendrils}. Thanks power. {not dress, is naked}. Thanks power. `I see you accepted our invitation.'

`Yeah. Thought I might see what you've got going for yourself.' She made a point of looking around. `The faux goth look is interesting, I guess.'

`It fits with the overall carnival theme we possess. A travelling circus.'

`But with sex?'

`Succintly put, Sarah Livesy.'

She really wasn't rattled by that. Really. `So. How does this work? My selection of guys and girls, or what?'

`We like to craft an individual experience. You are, of course, a virgin, so we will endeavour to make it a special occasion.' Ze gestured with one arm. {quadruple jointed, three elbows, inhuman}. `Come.'

`No discussion of payment?'

`If I wanted your money I would have it already. We ask for a slightly different payment from our cape customers.' Ze smiled. {prehensile tongue, coated in mild narcotic, capable of manipulating surface texture, folded to conceal true length, teeth density equivalent to tungsten}. `And it's rude to discuss such matters before we've served our clients.'

The computer was disguised as a typewriter. Some clever tinkering, that was almost certain. {not mechanical, biological, merely data entry point}. Fuck a duck. Lovecraft's hand glided over the keys. `We have a complete database of all of our residents within. Each has a unique or particular service summarised in their document. We also do offer with certain residents role-playing scenarios which are also listed within the document. Additions, such as removals of powers, specific drugs, scanning of erogenous zones prior to encounter and so on will cost more.'

`Any examples before I dive into the files?'

`Shatterbird and Screamer are popular as a duo. Neither likes to be in the room with clients, but they have a wide array of glass implements to use, and Screamer is very, very good at dirty talk. Think of it as sex with yourself — rough and hate filled if that's how you feel, or something a little more tender and consoling.'

`Isn't that masturbation?'

`No. We leave such fantasies to our arrays of human-controlling Masters. Others...others...ah, Apollo, the metal man. Though given his build he'd be more your new teammate's type than yours. Dear Garotte should you have a taste for asphyxiation — though in my opinion some of our aerokinetics, especially Mistral, are better.'

`I'm straight.'

`You don't have the experience to know, dear child. And please, dear, do be honest. I know how you've rubbed yourself to screaming orgasm thinking about your teammate and her expression when she realises how you saved her, her gratitude and slim little fingers — or sometimes her rage, forcing your head between those legs and -'

`There are no telepaths. How do you know -?'

`How we delivered our flyer to you. We like to vet potential clients extensively.' Ze smiled, mouth stretching impossibly, inhumanly wide. `Nice Guy and Valefor had wonderful reports on you.'

`Y— you.' They can't have. Surely she'd remember. `You can't have.'

`Can't have what? Ordered a whore to be fucked to test her out?' Ze laughed and there was a low chittering to it like claws on steel. `The saddest part was they barely had to use their powers on you before you begged for it. They taped every second of it. What would your dear Taylor say if she saw such a thing, I wonder?'

{`your dear Taylor', spoken to hurt, emphasis on dear rather than your, phrasing — `begged', `whore' `wonder' — not her choice of words}. What — {enjoying this, has seen you naked before, has spoken to you before, your own choice of words — }

Lovecraft sighed. `Darn it. You figured it out again, didn't you?'

`This is a fantasy I paid for, isn't it?' Lisa wasn't sure how she could both feel indescribable relief and comprehensive disgust at herself.

`Second attempt actually.' The petulant voice seemed to ring from loudspeakers. `Arranging the surgery necessary to get you to think and act the right way and forget the memories of your first visit here was really hard.' {tinker, responsible for computer, didn't design tech to alter memories, but did use it}.

`Now now Anansi. We can hardly help it if our client has such a versatile power.'

{said affectionately, knows you well, has had sex with you before}.

`Bwuh.'

`Ah, and now she's bridged the gap and worked out some of the rest.' Lovecraft somehow managed to make zir horrendous smile contain a touch of whimsy. `Anansi darling, leave us be. Lisa and I need to catch up.'

A distant giggle and the clatter of metal feet. {robots under control, source of Anansi's voice, made by Anansi, have eight legs}. `Mmm. You asked to be made like this you know. A little weak, a little unsure. Taking control back, I think. Or so my dollar book psychiatry tells me.' Ze walked closer. {deliberate muscle shifts putting sashay in hips, knows you'll notice, knows you like the voyeurism of being caught watching particular behaviours}. `My dear, it seems your fantasy has failed, but that won't prevent us having — some — fun.'

Lisa was sure there was a damp patch spreading down her legs, but even she wasn't sure whether it was piss or arousal, at the idea of this master seductress who knew everything about her and about whom she knew nothing. This freefall was exhilaratingly different.

`Maybe something a little — simpler.' The grin stretched wider. Lovecraft's face was virtually splitting in two from it, the ordinary teeth retracting and twisted tusks and canines taking their place, something flickering behind them. {more tongues, fully capable -}.

A sting on her arm and the voice of her power shut off. Glancing down, Lisa saw a small bloated shape like a tick dropping away from her. Some sort of device? Something to turn —

She hadn't noticed how close Lovecraft had gotten.

Her shriek of surprise half died as one hand with fingers that seemed far too long wrapped round her waist, lifting her up even as the other swept round, unfolding at the elbow — no, a second arm coming from the elbow, previously folded back against the upper arm like a mantis-claw, forming the puff of the `sleeves' of Lovecraft's armour — and smashed the typewriter into pieces against the wall with a casual backhand. She struggled feebly.

Lovecraft pressed a single digit to her lips. It was jointed, dark, insectile. It tasted like lemons. Lisa looked into that face — the horrifying mouth, up the dainty nose and to the dark eyes. She suddenly noticed that the pupils weren't human — semi diagonal patterns of slots, half disguised by the dark colour of the iris.

`Now Lisa,' — and ze hissed her name with a slight drone to it, like a swarm and fuck her if it didn't make her tremble and shake — `Lisa darling.' The fingers on her waist tightening, drumming.

Then the claws raked up her back, brushing against her skin as they tore the costume from her, the clinging material vanishing, pulling away — but the blades somehow didn't cut her, just ran themselves against her spine. An implied threat, not a true one.