#it's that pure gold or fabric of fate

[stone-stars]

i am simply having a lot of feelings about beverly choosing to be a hero because moonshine answered when he reached out and was in need

Transcript:

[Unknown Tome plays in the background.] Bev Sr.: [yelling] I'll tell ya what to do, Bev. Ya turn around, and ya face Thiala. The one who took our home from us. Pick a side, Beverly. Beverly: [softly] … Yes sir. Murph: Um, he holds his hand out to you. Caldwell: I start walking. Uh, and as I'm walking I-- I try to reach out to the spores. I try to reach out to the amulet. I just try to reach out to anything that isn't this. That isn't this duty. That I've always felt deep down. Murph: Moonshine, you feel Beverly in this moment. [Moonshine gasps] Just-- it's faint, it's far away. Beverly: [voice breaking] I don't want to go. I don't wanna go, but I have to. It's my duty. I have to do this! Moonshine: Okay, youngin, I want you to know, I will love you whatever you choose to do. But, here's my two cents. [Unknown Tome fades out.] Moonshine: A child has a duty to his father. [The Blows of a Friend, And Not a Foe plays] Bev Sr: Thanks, Bev. I always-- I knew I could make the deal ‘cause I-- I knew you’d stop me. Moonshine: But a hero has a duty to the world. [Fabric of Fate plays] Melora: Beverly? Beverly: Yes? Melora: I wish you could grow up in a normal world, but the Gods have not blessed you with a normal life. You are afflicted with duty, things thrust upon you far beyond your years. The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor, what an injustice. Moonshine: Now, I’ve got my opinion of which you are. [The Writing on the Wall plays] Murph: And you begin to make out what they’re saying. They’re all saying different versions of the same thing. You hear old people, young people, children: Different voices, in prayer: Please, please let my family be safe. I don’t want to die. Give them strength. God bless our Titans in our hour of need. Protect us, Titans! Murph: You realize that these are prayers about you, or to you, by people around Bahumia. You see that the glowing script on the walls begins to make sense to you. The writing is constantly changing to match the words of these prayers depending on what language they’re speaking. And all signs point to this being the way to the Court of Gods. It would make sense that Gods would hear the pleas of their people as they went in to decide their fate. And here you, having a piece of this divine heart, are able to hear the people around Bahumia and their faith in you. [The Bahumia Theme replaces The Writing on the Wall] Moonshine: But it’s time for you to decide. Beverly: [tearful] Where would I be without the wisdom of the crick. [Moonshine gasps. They both laugh softly.] Moonshine: [also tearful] Where would I be without Pelor's light? Beverly: Deeper in hell than we already are, that's for sure. Moonshine: That's for sure. Caldwell: I nod to myself. I stop walking. [The Writing on the Wall returns] Caldwell: Can we write back? Murph: What do you write on the wall? Beverly: We are here. We are here for you. Murph: You feel an overwhelming sense of relief. What you have just done is essentially somebody praying to god, and god coming back and being like "I’m- I’m here." You hear the whispers come back in your head: Different voices: Oh, thank the gods. Thank you, Titans. Thank you! Protect us. We have faith in you!

[storiesoflilies]

Of Angels and Curses

Synopsis - In a world where Angels and Curses are locked in a never ending war, an unsuspecting seraph becomes entangled with the very thing she is fated to eradicate.

Pairings - Curse!Toji Fushiguro x f!Angel!Reader. Curse!Ryomen Sukuna x Reader. Angel!Satoru Gojo x Reader.

Warnings - Descriptions of violence and injuries, eventual smut.

A/N - What is it with these Zenin boys, huh? They’re just too beautiful hehe. All the big players are finally making their appearances, enjoy!! Ko-Fi.

Next part - interlude (ii)

-•-

Chapter 6

The twins had fussed over her far too long, and it was starting to make Y/N jittery.

“Nanako, you’ve styled her hair too flashy!” Mimiko exclaimed, giving her sister a pointed look.

Nanako dismissed her with a wave of her hand, engrossed in meticulously placing sparkling diamond clips in her hair. “Y/N is practically our queen,” she retorted. “We need to dress her properly!”

“Girls, let’s not fight,” Y/N interjected softly but firmly. “You’ve dressed me perfectly. Thank you.”

On the other hand, it was a blessing that the twins took charge of dressing her, as Y/N doubted her ability to chose something suitable herself. Nothing she could have come up with would have been appropriate for such an occasion – a gathering among the Kings of Hell; convened to strategize and pool resources for the war against Heaven. So far, it seems she would have been underdressed if left to her own devices, as the twins – Nanako – adorned her with even more of Geto’s diamonds. Y/N understood the necessity of this opulence, as did the twins. She and Geto were two pillars of strength, preserving and upholding their dignity with their own hands, against others who would surely seek to bury them in filth and squalor.

Of course, the prospect of seeing Toji again would only have added to her indecisiveness.

Several weeks had passed since her and Miguel’s bloody execution of justice against the traitors, and Y/N had hoped Toji would have paid her another secret visit to her balcony, wanting more than just fleeting whispers of him through their bond. Yet, he had remained almost silent, and her patience had dwindled like a fire burning its last embers. What was the point of a soulmate who never bothered to see her? While the rational part of her understood his need for distance, to protect their bond and keep her safe, another part of her just didn’t care. If anybody dared to come for either of them, then let them cast their own dice in the gamble of death.

The twins nodded and stepped back, allowing Y/N the space to stand and walk over to admire herself in the long mirror. They had chosen an elegant black silk kimono, its fabric elegantly draping over her body. Diamonds decorated her wrists, hair, and neck like stars in the midnight sky of Heaven. She felt luxurious, unable to resist indulging in a moment of vanity, as she savored her almost holy reflection.

“This is perfect,” she complimented, and they both beamed. “Would you girls mind seeing us off?”

They nodded eagerly and trailed behind her as she made her way from the bedroom to the throne room. Gone were the days when Y/N would get lost like a child in her brother’s palace; every corridor, doorway, and secret passageways was committed to memory, each one as familiar as treasured gold. She especially loved the courtyard she had designed with Geto, her own personal sanctuary, where she could find solace and tranquility whenever she wanted to.

It was eerily beautiful; trees with ebony bark and velvety-black blossoms lined the perimeter of the stone pathway, their gnarled branches adorned with swinging lanterns. Nearly trimmed bushes with blood-red blossoms were dotted throughout the courtyard, particularly around the gazebo standing at its center. There were ponds of stagnant opaque water, where koi fish lazily swam, yet these were no ordinary fish – they were Curses, created by Geto himself to dwell there for purely aesthetic purposes.

Her brother was already waiting for her, seated on his throne with legs crossed over. It struck Y/N just how perfectly he belonged here, to be a King of Hell and ruthlessly pursue his ideal world.

And now, she was a part of that ideal too.

Suguru raised an eyebrow at her, amusement twinkling in his warm eyes as he judged her appearance. “Took you long enough,” he teased. “Should I expect a wedding by the end of the day?”

Y/N barked a laugh and snorted, “Surely not. He hasn’t seen me for so long.”

Geto’s eyes darkened ever so slightly, his gaze flitting over to the twins. “Thank you, girls. You may leave us now.”

They nodded, and Y/N smiled softly at them as they left. Her brother’s eyes remained fixed on her with an unreadable expression, but Y/N knew Suguru was analyzing her, contemplating every scenario and outcomes of the impending meeting. She shifted on her feet, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable warnings he was about to impart to her like age old wisdom.

“I trust I don’t need to tell you to keep your emotions in check with Fushiguro around,” Geto said lowly, almost threateningly, as if he was the one she really needed to be wary of.

She almost rolled her eyes at that and muttered, “I won’t even look at him.”

“Good,” Geto said, voice raising an octave. “We have no allies to fall back on, not even him. No matter what the others say or do, you do not react to anything. Because of who we are, the others will look for any excuse to pounce on us. So stay quiet, and try to avoid drawing attention to yourself.”

He sighed. “Although, I’m sure Naoya will have something to say, given the way you look.”

Y/N stuck her chin up, and declared defiantly. “I’m not changing.”

Geto’s gaze softened considerably, and within a second, he stood beside her, looping their arms together. “And why should you, sweet sister? We’re both beautiful, and there’s no shame in that.”

A portal sprung to life in front of them, revealing a dimly lit, oppressive corridor beyond. Without waiting another moment, her brother strode through it, and Y/N almost stumbled as he pulled her with him.

Choso’s palace served as the standard meeting place between all the Kings – a neutral ground, as the half-Curse chose no sides in the wars within Hell. It was nowhere near as grand as Geto’s, exuding an air of shabbiness with walls once vibrant now dulled with time and neglect. There was a distinct lack of refinement or class; the sparse decoration left the place stark and devoid of life. It certainly wasn’t what Y/N had expected for a gathering of the Kings of Hell, simply because it lacked the grandeur she would have associated with such an important meeting. She would have thought that the Kings of Hell would demand only the finest and most grand of places to gather. However, she supposed it served its purpose well enough.

Y/N couldn’t deny her growing curiosity about Choso. Geto had told her that the lowly King was born while his mother was still an Angel, and Y/N wondered how she hadn’t been immediately turned into a Curse following her sin. She guessed that Choso’s conception wasn’t in accordance with the Holy Principles, and the resilience his mother must have possessed to avoid turning against God, given her circumstances, astounded Y/N more than anything. She hoped that perhaps she might have the chance to speak with him, although Geto had warned her the half-Curse was elusive and prone to melancholic moods.

Geto led her down the corridor, their footsteps softly thudding against the faded carpet. He stepped forward to open the twin doors of a chamber lit by orange-flamed torches; a pit of vipers they had willingly walked straight into.

In the center stood a large round stone table in the center of the room, where three Curses were already seated. One, a handsome blonde, had his head leaning casually on his hand, smirking at them as if he was privy to all their secrets. To his right sat Jogo himself, his unmistakable volcano head towering over them like a domineering crown. Almost directly across them sat a dark-haired Curse with his hair scraped into two messy high-ponytails, a curious black line across the bridge of his nose extending to both sides of his face – Choso Kamo himself.

“Ah, the Fallen is finally here,” sneered the blonde Curse. “I thought you seraphim were supposed to be punctual.”

“I see you’re early, Zenin,” Geto retorted smoothly, taking a seat beside Choso, and motioned for Y/N to sit beside him.

She couldn’t help but notice the segregation already taking shape. Jogo and Naoya were seated together, scrutinizing Geto with a mixture of disdain and haughtiness. Choso sat with a hauntingly empty look, his purple orbs fixated on the table as if lost in thought. Y/N ignored the unease settling in her stomach as he met her gaze, exhaustion evident deep within his eyes, and focused on maintaining her composure as she took her seat.

Naoya grinned at her, and purred with words dipped in honey and sugar, “And who might you be?”

“My sister,” Geto stated firmly, his tone protective.

Naoya’s interest seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had appeared, and his lip curled slightly in disgust, while steam started to hiss out of Jogo’s head.

“Oh, another Fallen at this table,” the Zenin sighed, observing her with a bored expression. “How… quaint.”

Y/N didn’t know whether to feel relieved or offended, but remained passive, as Geto remained unaffected by his comment. Choso also remained quiet beside them; he must be so used to their insults and remarks over the centuries.

“Where is the rest of your retinue, Jogo?” Geto asked, swiftly changing the subject, and redirecting their attention from Y/N to him instead.

“On their way. You needn’t worry, little King,” the mountain hissed, his voice as sharp and painful like a spitting fire, his charcoal-black teeth flashing as he smiled darkly.

Her brother’s lips fell into a thin line, refraining from biting back at the insult. As if on cue, a portal appeared, and from it stepped a tiny figure with snow-like hair, which instantly reminded Y/N of Gojo until she saw the red strip of hair running through the back of their head. An uncomfortable chill settled in the room as the Curse raised their head to observe them, moving into the corner of the chamber and blending into the shadows as if it were their natural home.

This had to be Uraume – the only direct connection anybody had to the King of Hell and all Curses. Was it wrong to be so twistedly fascinated by them? Y/N struggled to tear her gaze away, captivated by the mystery and legend that they were attached to. None of the other Kings seemed outwardly perturbed by their presence, as if being watched over by Uraume was the most normal thing in the world, and perhaps it was.

And then, the doors swung open with enough force to command attention. A giant Curse strode into the room, with long thick branches in place where its eyes should have been, and a blooming red rose growing from its left shoulder – decidedly feminine, and grotesquely beautiful. It reminded Y/N of how beautiful the gardens in Heaven were.

And emerging from the shadow of the colossal Curse was Mahito, his face lit up with a delightful expression.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Dread crashed over her like an avalanche.

How?

Geto stiffened beside her, his hands flexing beneath the table.

Mahito locked eyes with her, his grin stretching wider and eyes gleaming madly. Jogo smirked at them both, clearly relishing in their discomfort and the fact he had the upper hand over them. He stared Geto down, daring him to buckle and show weakness.

He knows… they all know.

Her heart raced so fast she feared it might burst from her chest. Desperation clawed at her like a trapped animal, and Y/N’s fought the urge to reach over the table and slice them all into shreds before they had the chance to hurt her or Suguru.

The two Curses took their seats next to Jogo, who cleared his throat before speaking. “Some interesting information has recently been shared with me, Zenin.”

Naoya stopped inspecting his nails, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Oh?”

“This little Fallen King has been hiding a secret from all of us. Mahito here has been imprisoned for having knowledge of it,” Jogo said, tapping his fingers against each other, tilting his head towards the silver haired Curse.

Mahito sighed wistfully, feigning a look of pain on his face. “Yes, it was a horrible situation to be in,” he said, his tone dripping with insincerity.

“I don’t care what happened to you,” snapped Naoya, narrowing his eyes at Mahito. “Spit it out.”

“Y/N here…,” Mahito whispered, ignoring Naoya as his eyes sparkled with the thrill of holding everyone’s attention. “Is Fushiguro’s mate.”

It was silent, and then Naoya started to howl with laughter. Y/N shrank into herself, despising her helplessness in this situation. Geto remained silent beside her, likely questioning how Mahito had managed to escape and just how many of the secrets within his kingdom’s secrets were now public knowledge to their enemies. Meanwhile, Uraume stood like a statue in the shadows, unmoved by the events unfolding before them.

Toji… where are you?

“I said you were special,” Mahito murmured to her, his eyes dulled and sad as his mood shifted like the wind. “Why didn’t you save me like I saved you?”

“And so you betrayed us?” Y/N whispered, barely audible amidst the booming of voices, but he heard her words falling from her lips like it was his salvation.

“Not you,” he answered, just as quiet, and it almost felt like they were the only two people in the room. “But your brother just isn’t like us.”

Naoya stopped laughing, wiping away an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. “Now, Geto, how could you keep such a secret from us? Are we not all allies here?” he asked with mock innocence.

Absolutely not.

“Fushiguro and I decided it was best to keep it between ourselves,” Geto stated lowly, his voice dangerously thin. “My sister had just Fallen, and was still vulnerable.”

“Hmm, she still seems ripe for the taking to me,” Naoya smirked, his interest in her renewed as he gazed at her with hunger. “My cousin obviously hasn’t claimed her if she isn’t with him.”

“Why would Fushiguro taint himself with the likes of her?” Jogo sneered, venom lacing his words, reducing her to nothing.

“They are mates; they are one and the same. But, she is just as pure as me,” Mahito whispered, as if he had a say in the matter, his eyes still locked on Y/N as he defended her in his own way. Naoya looked at him sharply, a strange glint in his piercing eyes.

“So you say,” Jogo said dismissively, as if the notion of soulmates was something foul and he didn’t believe in. “My question to you, Geto, is how do I know you won’t exploit Fushiguro’s power to invade my kingdom?”

“You needn’t worry about that, Jogo, as long as you refrain from stealing from me again,” Geto replied, eyes flashing. “I have no need for his strength.”

“Tch, it’s not my fault if my soldiers happen across an opportunity. You should have better control over your own people,” he hissed, flames spurring from his head.

Y/N tuned out as the both of them went back and forth in a heated exchange, choosing to avoid Mahito and Naoya’s heavy stares by staring at her lap instead. She was disgusted with how much fear had gripped her, but with their secret out, she was no longer safe. Her and Geto needed to get out of here and fortify their defenses, and time seemed to be stretching out agonizingly slow.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Naoya started, sickly sweet sugar words returning, and she reluctantly looked up at him. “What does Toji feel like?”

She wouldn’t answer; she refused. Any form of a reply would be a betrayal to herself and to Toji.

His smile faltered, replaced by a dangerous glint of annoyance. “Did Geto not teach you that you cannot refuse to answer a King?”

“He taught me I always have a choice,” she finally spoke, against her better judgment, her voice as cold as ice.

Naoya hummed thoughtfully, but she knew he was really toying with her. “It seems my old cousin shares the same sentiment. If I was him, I would have taken you with me by force.”

“It’s a good thing you can never be me then, cousin.”

Toji.

He stood beside her as if he had been there the whole time. How had she not felt his approach? Was it his unnatural speed? It didn’t matter, she could feel his emotions clearly now – pure white-hot rage emanating from him like the rays of the sun burning against the Earth. And yet, his demeanor remained level-headed, calm, and almost bored. Naoya pulled back in surprise, and the rest of the room fell silent as they all registered his presence.

“Good, we can begin now,” Geto said, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere as Toji took his seat beside Y/N.

Her arm closest to him tingled with anticipation at their proximity, and Y/N craved his skin to brush against hers just a little. She could feel his warmth radiating from him in a delicious caress, his presence a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos of writhing snakes, and his nearness stirred a potent cocktail of restraint and desire within her. She couldn’t look at him – she mustn’t look at him.

A chair scraped beside him, and Y/N glanced over him to look at a female Curse who had taken a seat beside Toji. She had ice-blue hair braided in two intricate twists, with one long braid cascading over her face like a veil. Y/N didn’t need to see her face to know she was beautiful. The way she sat with her legs elegantly crossed, her skin-tight black dress accentuating her slim build, and the rhythmic drumming of her long red nails against the table all added to her allure. Yet, her beauty was unsettling, for it seemed to mask something as equally dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

Who is she? How come she’s with Toji?

Y/N’s mind began to race, an unfamiliar sting of jealousy prickling at her senses, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her chair.

“You think we’re finished with this conversation?” snapped Jogo, glaring daggers at her brother. “Fushiguro, tell me that I don’t need to worry about you turning on us for these Fallen.”

He said it so disgustingly, as if the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth, and Y/N clenched her jaw.

“You don’t,” Toji agreed simply, his green eyes narrowed.

Both Naoya and Jogo looked at him with just a hint of surprise, as if they were expecting a completely different response. Y/N would be lying to herself if she didn’t think the same – Toji’s unexpected stance felt like abandonment, leaving her and Geto to completely fend for themselves in this precarious situation.

Naoya cleared his throat, resuming his air of arrogance. “Of course not. Now, let us discuss how we exterminate these seraphim once and for all,” he declared with bone-chilling casualness.

-•-

Y/N trailed her fingers back and forth through the water, watching the black and white fish swimming curiously towards the ripples she created. Even as she sat in front of the pond, she couldnt shake the sensation of Toji’s rage pulsating through their bond. He was in Geto’s throne room, presumably letting out his grievances, and she felt a pang of sympathy for her brother, knowing he was Toji’s prime target.

“King Fushiguro expects you to be ready for him,” the ethereal woman had announced without a care in the world, as she strolled through Geto’s court like they were all beneath her.

Y/N bristled at her presence, feeling a surge of tension ripple through Miguel and the others as they seemed to instantly become defensive. Geto sat atop his throne, his anger simmering quietly and deadly; like a volcano on the verge of eruption. He had been unnervingly quiet on their way back from the meeting, and she knew he was ready to blow and unleash his fury at the slightest inconvenience.

“Careful, Mei-Mei,” Geto hissed. “Even crows need to show respect, especially when showing up unannounced.”

Mei-Mei, that was her name, Toji’s second-in-command. Was she considered his queen the way Y/N was Suguru’s? Y/N didn’t bother to ask anyone, instead opting to ignore and walk straight past her on the way outside towards the courtyard. Y/N didn’t want to be in her presence, or anybody else’s – not even Toji’s for that matter. Being in quiet solitude was safe; nobody could hurt her if she ensured she alone. Besides, her soulmate had made it clear that her and Geto were alone in the coming war against their enemies.

Did he really think just a little bit less of Geto and her – because they were Fallen?

Y/N felt so very stupid and naive, realizing how cocky she had been just that morning, about not caring if the others discovered their bond. Reality proved starkly different to fantasies, but it was always be a shock to discover that notion. She’d been too caught up in her newfound power as Geto’s second and her ability to command and rule – a mistake she wouldn’t be repeating again.

A crow cawed loudly from a tree in front of her, and Y/N almost jumped out of her skin. She didn’t know why, maybe it was Geto’s comment echoing in her mind, but she was certain that the crow had everything to do with Mei-Mei, and she resented its presence. Y/N struggled to articulate why she already harbored such a strong dislike towards Mei-Mei, and she didn’t really care to explain it either. The bird continued to watch her closely with its beady eyes, and she glowered darkly in response. It had shattered her sense of solitary safety.

Footsteps tapped against the stone pathway behind her, prompting Y/N to instinctively grab the hilt of her katanas and leap to her feet.

Toji stood there, his usual attire abandoned for a dark blue haori instead. His expression was inscrutable as he regarded her, not saying a word. The crow flitted about in the tree, and his sharp gaze locked onto it. A faint twitch played at the corner of his lip.

“Nosy bitch,” Toji muttered, and within a flash, he flung a small, deadly knife at the bird. It made no sound as it landed lifelessly on the ground.

Y/N said nothing, unfazed by the bird’s death, and ignored Toji as she resumed her previous sitting position, gazing at the koi. She heard him sigh, and a shiver trickled down her spine like water running down a tree. His robes rustled as moved and crouched beside her, his warmth palpable as their shoulders almost touched.

How could he be so dangerous and so intoxicating at the same time?

“Your brother make these?” Toji grumbled, his words still tinged with anger like flint sparking against steel, nodding his head towards the koi.

She nodded wordlessly, and Toji grunted in response. They fell into an uneasy silence, and Y/N felt the urge to break it, even if she didn’t really know what to say to him. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t risk angering him further? And yet, she deserved an answer to the question nagging at the forefront of her mind; would he would ever see them as equals? After all, it was his fault that she had become a Fallen – a fake Curse in the eyes of many.

She just didn’t think his eyes were among those.

“Are you… alright?” Toji asked suddenly, uncertainty lacing his words, and Y/N frowned in response. Her resolve slightly softened when she glanced at the genuine look of concern on his face.

“Not really,” she whispered, her head hanging low.

Toji shifted, as he settled into a reclined position, leaning his weight against his hand. Their fingertips hovered near each other, almost touching, a tantalizing and forbidden electric charge crackling between them.

Y/N swallowed nervously.

“They’re going to come for you, you know?” he said, his voice deep and solemn. “You’re the only thing that could unify me and Geto, so they’ll do anything to stop that.”

A flash of annoyance coursed through her, and she sighed exasperatedly, “I know that.”

Toji exhaled heavily, head thrown back to look at the dark sky as he huffed, “I can’t stop a war that’s inevitable.”

Frustration… at himself?

“I never asked you to,” Y/N murmured, adding perhaps somewhat childishly. “You made it very clear that you wouldn’t stoop so low and help the likes of us.”

“I’m not putting my people at risk for someone else’s war. I’ve said that from the very beginning – me and your brother are not united. I’ve only agreed to leave his kingdom alone, but it has nothing to do with you both being Fallen.”

Someone else.

So she was just someone else then, even if she was the root of all the ensuing violence and death.

Y/N suddenly felt quite foolish.

“I see,” was all she could manage to say, as her face flushed with the heat of embarrassment.

He grunted, “I don’t give a shit about all that you know?”

“You seemed to before,” Y/N snapped, her anger surprising even herself.

Toji rolled his eyes, and droned, “Have you ever heard of lying, little angel?”

“Don’t call me that.”

She felt such crippling shame for being a massive burden on her brother, and for being the cause of the war creeping menacingly closer towards them. Why had he even come if he was just going to be an ass?

A flash of hurt…

A small part of her felt guilty, but it paled in comparison to what she was already feeling, and to how he had added to her turmoil. They sat beside each other in uncomfortable silence, but Toji’s hand remained stubbornly where it was beside hers. Y/N felt only slightly more at ease, finding solace in his silence, until she was abruptly reminded of the crow lying beneath the tree. A gnawing question clawed its way out of her throat, disrupting the fragile peace between them.

“What do the crows have to do with Mei-Mei?” she blurted out, torn between wanting to know nothing about the sly Curse and her insatiable curiosity.

Toji’s brow furrowed as he replied slowly, “She controls them; they’re her eyes and ears.”

“Her spies, then.”

“Hers, mine, same thing. Why do you ask?”

“I just… want to know who she is to you.”

“She’s my second in command, just like you are to Geto. Her crows go anywhere I tell her to send them, and in return, I pay her in gold, diamonds, whatever else she wants.”

“Whatever she wants?”

“Intelligence is everything. I keep her in my pocket so she’s not in anyone else’s. What are you trying to imply?”

Y/N knew Toji was fully aware of what she was really asking, yet she still asked anyways. “Is she anything more?”

Toji gave her a sharp and pointed look as he growled, “Are you sure you want to know if I’ve fucked her or not?”

Y/N blushed furiously at his brash language, feeling so exposed by how easily he was able to pick her apart and read her like a book.

Toji smirked, but it was cruel and cold, and snorted dismissively, “I didn’t think so. Don’t ask questions you’re not ready to hear the answers to. My past is no-one’s business, and don’t think for a second I owe it to you.”

Oh.

She moved her hand away from him as his words stung her deeply as if he’d actually bitten her. Y/N realized Toji’s anger never truly dissipated; it lingered beneath the surface, always ready to strike and unleash itself like a viper in the shadows. He was a stormy sea, untamable and unpredictable, and she realized he had absolutely no desire to be anything other than exactly that.

This is who I nearly died for.

Nanami died for me to have him.

Gojo died because of him.

“What’s the point of this, then?” Y/N said softly, almost to herself, her voice barely above a whisper as the waves of loneliness and shame washed over and completely drowned her. “I think you should go.”

Toji’s expression turned inscrutable, and his eyes dulled from their usual intensity. Wordlessly, he rose from her side, the loss of his heat causing prickling goosebumps to appear on her arm. Without so much as any sort of a goodbye, he disappeared straight into a portal, leaving Y/N alone once more.

He never even looked at her.

Her solitary haven didn’t feel so safe anymore.

-•-

Geto came to visit her later that night.

He had immediately noticed her glossy and tired eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I should have checked on you first.”

“It’s ok Suguru,” Y/N assured, as convincingly as she could manage. “There are things that need to be done.”

“May I come in?” he asked politely, offering her a small, yet tight, smile. Y/N moved over to to the side to let him in.

Geto took a seat in the padded chair in front of the crackling blue fire, and sighed deeply. “He came to see you then?”

She took a seat in the chair beside him, and nodded. “Yes, not for very long though.”

“I assume it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation.”

Y/N shook her head, and Geto seemed genuinely saddened by this. “I’m sorry to hear that, I thought perhaps I’d bore the brunt of his anger before he met with you.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. What did he discuss with you?”

“Well, that I should have been more careful with ensuring Mahito could never escape, and he was right.”

“We all underestimated him.”

“So it seems, and we’re paying a heavy price for that now. I should also mention that he demanded I convince you to stay with him.”

“What, really?”

“Oh? He didn’t ask you himself?”

“He… well, no.”

“How interesting, so what happened then?”

“I asked questions I shouldn’t have, let’s just leave it at that.”

Suguru leaned forward in his seat, his eyes comforting and warm, urging her to continue. “Tell me anyways, sweet sister.”

“It’s not worth it Suguru, none of it is anymore,” Y/N huffed, tears prickling her eyes, embarrassed at repeating the incident out loud. “But, I… I did ask him if he and Mei-Mei ever…”

“Oh, Y/N. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know, Suguru. I just… I don’t know what I was looking for exactly.”

“I don’t know either. But I do know that Fushiguro is definitely not still a virgin after eight-hundred years of living in Hell.”

Y/N’s face burned, and she looked away from Geto, who softly chuckled. “I’m not that naive, brother,” she snapped.

“Good. I’d be worried if you were,” he said, still chuckling.

As her brothers laughter faded away, the atmosphere turned serious, and Y/N tensed as Geto asked gravely. “Do you need me to stay here while you sleep?”

“What? No, Suguru.”

“I’d understand. I’m not going to be sleeping much for the foreseeable future.”

“Neither am I, so there’s no need for you to hover.”

“As you wish.”

Geto stood up from his chair and leaned over to softly kiss her hair. “I’m sorry for not protecting you better,” he whispered, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

“There’s no need, because I wouldn’t have gone with him even if he’d asked me to,” Y/N said firmly, squeezing his hand comfortingly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Geto appeared visibly gladdened at this and bade her goodnight as he gently closed her door. Y/N wasted no time in moving to quickly to lock it and then ensuring the balcony doors were also secured. She checked to see if her katanas were within reach beside the bed, placing a hand over her hip to make sure the hidden dagger buried beneath her robe was still there. The paranoia threatened to consume her alive, like maggots buried deep within her bones, burrowing out from within to devour her flesh, and she felt powerless to stop it.

But now wasn’t the time for weakness; she had to steel herself for battle, as she had done a thousand times before. Despite the comforting inner mantra that she repeated to herself, reminding her of past fights and the resilience she knew she had within her, Y/N couldn’t shake the jarring thought that she had at least gone to bed knowing that she was safe. Nothing could have harmed her in Heaven, under God’s protection, and Y/N was so acutely aware of how vulnerable one was when they were dreaming.

God…

Would it be… wrong?

And yet, there couldn’t be anything that felt more right. Despite the paradoxical nature of it, Y/N knelt at the foot of her bed and clasped her hands together.

And prayed to God.

-•-

taglist: @kkhaosxx @better-imagination-9 @gabrielle2013 @angelheavensblog @cyberang3lic @justmarlen3 @pinknipszz @moonwingeys @luzzbuzz @hornabbyyy @mitsuyasblackwifey @chosolover736 @spookyjyestha @elisqq @sillyrings978 @littlekittensoftpaws93 @starryluv4 @99k4manii @maid4nanno @chososrealwife @iloveitwhentheyrunnn @kamoslut @rubyrose2014 @hannah5max @transparent-nature

[nestagetbehindme]

My Contribution to Elucien Week 2024

Elucien’s First Time🥵🦊🌸☀️

Summary: Throughout their journey in the Day Court, Lucien and Elain have had their fair share of angst and emotional buildup. All of their turmoil paved the way to this moment right now between them. At the pinnacle of their tension, the dams finally break, walls tumble down, and a passionate kiss seals the deal

Warnings (also tags): nfsw, first time, fingering, good ole missionary, glowing Lucien, neediness, making out

. . .

There was a beat of silence. Almost as if the world was at the edge of its seat, awaiting the fate of the two mates. Then, time shifted as Lucien surged forward and captured Elain in a desperate kiss.

Elain did not hold back a single ounce of her desire as she slid her fingers into his hair and met his own long awaited passion with hers. His lips were soft and warm as his tongue gently swept in, a cautious question. Gods, she wanted him so bad. She wanted to feel him. His skin, his muscles, his magic, his hair– she wanted him, no, she needed him too much.

Their tongues began tangling as their fervors collided. His scent of smoked-cinnamon and amber awakened her immortal soul. She felt like she was alive, truly alive, and near out of her wits with desire.

Suddenly, he broke their kiss for a moment, to which Elain quite irritably held onto him.

There was no way in hell he was going anywhere.

She didn’t really recognize the possessiveness of the thought as her hands dug into the shoulders of his white fabricated tunic. His lips hovered above hers, and both of their wild gazes locked. His metal eye whirred as he studied Elain.

“Can I touch you, Elain?” His voice was gentle, yet she didn’t miss the slight growl in it. It seemed like he was holding himself back. Like the magic of the bond was overwhelming him, but he was still trying to maintain some semblance of control.

“Yes, anything,” she panted as she brushed their lips together for more “Please, touch me, Lucien–”

She was abruptly cut off as he again crushed their lips together, a tangle of teeth and tongues, and slid his hands from her intricately styled hair to her back. Then lower. She gasped as his hands began feeling and kneading her rear.

Lucien again broke the kiss to gauge her reaction and then backed away raising his hands up in surrender.

“I will stop. I need to stop– I want you, I need you too much.” He was panting as he backed away, his hair now mussed because of Elain’s deft yet sneaky pale fingers. “I–.”

“It’s fine– it’s fine. I’m fine. I need you Lucien, please do not stop,” Elain pleaded with unsteady breaths. Lucien just shook his head, the fire in the hearth casting a warm glow on his hair.

“We go slow then. I don’t want to do something either of us will regret. I refuse to have this moment between us sullied by my own untamed thoughts.”

Elain only nodded, closing the distance between them.

“You tell me what you want,” he continued, “where to touch you, where to kiss you, I want this to be perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Elain cooed as she again ran her fingers through his hair. He didn’t yield a step this time. “I want and need you too.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Again, his question charged the already electrified air around them.

She gestured to her face, her body, her rear–

“Everywhere,” she clicked her tongue.

Lucien only huffed a laugh as Elain smiled without restraint. A beam of pure unadulterated joy. The bond between them glowed like a blinding thread of gold, stretching out to the other's chest.

“I love you,” they both said in unison. Then, their lips finally met in a softer motion. This time their kiss was different. Although the desire to shred one another’s clothes remained, there was a sweeter more passionate feeling about this embrace. Lucien’s hands began moving back to her rear, feeling her and every inch of her upper body.

Elain moaned in his mouth at the feeling which seemed to encourage Lucien even more. A growl slipped from him as he began to feel his way back up to her dress. He looked into her beautiful brown eyes, wide as saucers as she faced him. The silver lining within them shined with her own declaration of love. He began tugging on the gown’s laces, but he did not undo them with one simple move.

Again his eyes searched hers for permission. A gentlemale through and through. She only nodded before she reached her arms out to grab the shoulders of his thinly draped tunic.

His fingers made quick work with the laces of her dress, and in one swift movement, the garment fell to the floor in a pool of white silk. She still had a thin gold underdress beneath the white one, but her bare shoulders were now displayed.

She began pushing the shoulders of his tunic down to reveal the rest of his chest and his muscled arms. He was beautiful. Every inch of him. The fire casted a warm glow upon all of his brown skin– it almost looked as if he was glowing.

She immediately reached for the cuffs of gold around his wrist as he kindly pulled the thin straps of her underdress from her shoulders. She smiled at him as she removed each cuff of metal, to which he returned her own smile with his as he slid the straps of the dress down her arms. Finally, the underdress was a pool of gold on the floor, and there were no barriers between them. No more dresses, no more leathers, no more tunics, and no more gloves.

Elain shifted on her feet a tad as she stood under Lucien’s ravenous yet cherishing gaze. Even though the fire was warming the room, she felt the coolness of the air against her bare skin.

Finally, they reached for each other again. His hands dug into her brown curls, knocking some of the combs of pearls and gold to the floors. She laughed against his mouth as the jewelry hit the floor, and slowly he backed them onto the large bed of ivory silks, covers, and blankets.

Lucien’s legs hit the edge of the bed, and he laid down on the sheets. Elain crawled on top of him, and hovered over his beautifully naked form as he settled himself beneath her. A memory flashed and retreated in her mind of when they had been in this exact position in that lovely prairie of green grass and flowers. So far away from this moment now. Then, she had been such a wretch, wishing the wonderful male beneath her to disappear from her life entirely. To know that now she loved him more than anything, more than life itself–

She crushed their lips together again, and Lucien groaned. She liked that sound, she liked every little growl, groan, and moan she could get from him. His fingers explored her skin, stroking and kneading at her curves and muscle.

She pulled away from him just as he playfully nipped at her lower lip. Both of their mouths were slightly swollen and pink. But neither cared, nothing mattered in this moment except them. The bond again glowed brightly with that declaration.

“I want you to be on top of me when you...you know,” She nosed at his jaw, placing a soft kiss there. Lucien chuckled as he propped a knee up. Then, in one swift motion, he flipped them. Elain now looked up at him, feeling his weight braced above her.

This was...everything. This wasn’t her first time lying with a male of course, but everything with Lucien felt different. She felt like everytime she was with him, she was experiencing something new– even though she had already done it.

Perhaps it was her being fae, her magic, the court...or maybe it was just him. Yet, none of those ‘first’ felt as significant as this moment now. This moment in which their souls would be tied forever. She would never leave him, and he would never forsake her. Perhaps that fact scared her before, but now...no fear remained to cloud the bright glow in her chest.

Her eyes began burning, just as he lowered himself to her. He positioned himself at her entrance, and with one swift motion he would be inside her. But he was waiting. Waiting for what?

She inched closer to him, slightly feeling the length of his cock against her core. Her whole body awakened at the contact as the bond sang a loud symphony between their souls.

“Elain, we need to slow down,” Lucien’s voice was now erotically soft and she felt her core throb with need. He was here. Right here. She didn’t want to go slow. She wanted him inside her. She wanted them to be joined together forever. No more pain, no more loneliness, no more walls between them.

“We are going slow.” She grabbed for his waist, his skin warm against her fingers. His tenderness was too much. Grayson hadn’t been like that when he had taken her maidenhead. She had just lied there while nodding and wincing through everything he did. Grayson wasn’t anything like Lucien. And yet somehow he had meant everything to her human heart.

And now she was immortal, or close to it, and she couldn’t even remember why she had fallen for him. Her past and him all seemed so far away. And she didn’t want it back honestly. Not anymore.

“You aren’t ready.” He lowered his mouth to her neck, peppering kisses and nibbling slightly. “Can I feel you?”

Elain’s brows scrunched as she tried to figure out what he meant. She had already said yes to him touching—

“Oh.” Oh. He meant to touch her center. She blushed, and buried her nose in his shoulder. Thinking she could hide her embarrassment and lack of experience there.

“Oh as in...,”

“Oh as in yes,” she laughed against his skin. He returned her amusement with a gentle smile, probably just to assuage her embarrassment. Then he took his fingers and began tracing a line down her collar, her stomach, lower—.

She didn’t feel him get any lower as he began pressing his lips in the same spots he traced his fingers with.

Then, she felt a brush against her core. A soft whimper left her lips. He pressed a kiss to the center of chest, between her breasts. Then, he began peppering kisses to each one. Whatever she was feeling was beyond comprehension, and expanded further into disconnect as his finger slid through her folds.

She was already slick, so his fingers glided through her. As he started circling that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, her gasps turned into moans. He looked up from his view of her chest and watched her face contort with pleasure. His eyes looked ravenous as he watched her face. Like he wanted to imprint the image in his mind permanently.

Again he circled those bundle of nerves and sucked at her breast, and Elain felt her back slightly arch off the bed. The feeling of his mouth on her chest was enough to make her core clamp down. She wanted him inside her, or his fingers at least.

He seemed to read her desperation because he circled those nerves just once more before taking his fingers and—

“Can I feel inside of you?”

So many questions and not enough movement. God she loved him. She loved him so much.

“Yes! Oh my gods Lucien, just don’t stop,” she didn’t even recognize her own voice. The raw and sex-addled tone of it combined with her desperation to keep his mouth and fingers on her.

“Alright, my lady. Needy aren’t we?”

She couldn’t even fathom how he could call her a lady right now in this moment, but she definitely couldn’t fathom anything anymore when he gently eased his finger inside her.

The feeling itself wasn’t pleasurable, but when he curled it slightly, some specific spot in her core was applied with just the right pressure and she started seeing stars.

She didn’t climax, she didn’t think. Not as she started to feel him pumping his, now two, fingers in and out of her. Then, another finger began massaging the nerves at her center. The sensations collided to strike her with an overwhelming sense of pleasure.

She covered her mouth, biting her hand to keep from moaning louder than previously, and tilted her head back into the soft ivory pillows. She felt like she was melting on a bed of clouds. She felt utterly ruined and near out of control as Lucien thoroughly wrung her pleasure out from her in steady rhythms.

Suddenly, she felt a build in her lower abdomen. Anticipation tingled her spine, as her muffled moans and gasps started to get more desperate, yet sporadic. She felt like she was getting pushed to the edge of a cliff, awaiting a fall that would send her out of her own body.

Lucien didn’t slow for any second. He kept massaging and pumping, while also murmuring words of praise to his mate. Mate. She was his mate. She was his and he was hers. Nothing would change that or come between them ever again.

“Let go, Elain,” he cooed gently, “you look so beautiful like this, just let go. Don’t hold back anymore.”

His words knocked her from her ledge, and she felt her vision white. She couldn’t help but cry out as she came on his fingers. He slowed down with each of her pants, allowing her aftershock to run through the rest of her body.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thighs before bracing himself back above her. She looked utterly beautiful like this. Naked beneath him, panting for breath as she tried to find some level of comprehension, and her hair fanned out beneath her in a long golden-brown cape. He couldn’t help but savor this moment. Drink in every inch of skin, every heave from her chest, and every pleading look she gave him.

“Do you still want more?” His breath was a needed warmth against her skin. And, somehow the after effect of her climax seemed to disappear entirely with his question. A newfound energy now buzzed through her as she nodded.

A muscle in his jaw flickered as he said, “Well you’re probably more than ready now.”

They both chuckled as he returned to his original position when they had first laid upon the bed: his cock lined at her entrance, and her finger tips digging into the skin of his sculpted shoulders.

He didn’t take his eyes from hers as he slowly hooked one hand behind her knee and rode it up. She felt more open like this. Like he could just sink into her with one motion if he tried.

“Keep your legs like this. It will feel better, I promise.”

His cock now brushed against her entrance, and she grinded her hips to feel at least some sort of friction. They both groaned at the feeling.

Then, he brushed his lips against hers before capturing them in a passionate kiss. She opened for him, letting his tongue sweep in and taste and tease.

Simultaneously, she felt a slight nudge against her entrance. A fleeting push, then it was gone. Again that nudge against her entrance, and she felt the shape of the tip inside of her. But then it was gone.

“Faster. Please, faster,” she whined against Lucien’s lips.

This time she felt him push in, not fully, but with more of a gentle force than before. Her entire body locked as he pushed in again, this time hitting that same pressure point in her core that made her see stars. She moaned and kissed him again, encouraging him to keep going. Go faster and harder and just completely ruin her–

He kept pushing in and pulling out, forcing her to feel every change in his movement. Forcing her to feel every moment of their joining. No more pain.

He pushed in again, not fully seated inside her, but close to it. She could feel the brush of his balls against her center which meant one more little thrust, and he would be all the way in. No more loneliness.

Then with much anticipation he thrust all the way in. Her core clamped down around all of him at once, causing him to moan softly— such a beautiful sound. No more walls between them.

This was heavenly and everything at the same time. She would never get enough of it, of him. She needed everything he had to offer, and she would give him everything that she could in return. Lucien, her mate.

Again they lost themselves in the kisses and touching, but as Lucien slid all the way out to then gently push back in, Elain cried out. Her whimpers and moans encouraged him to move in a steady rhythm in and out. He would thrust and push and massage himself in all of the right places inside her that she couldn’t help but hold onto him for dear life.

She couldn’t remember her name or anything else for that matter besides him. His name, his eyes, his scent—

She didn’t even recognize the building pressure in her stomach until it reached its peak, and she was at that cliff again. This time, she was begging for the fall. Begging for them to go together.

“I want you to go with me. I want us to go together,” she gasped. Lucien nodded before kissing her brow.

“I love you, Lucien.”

He grunted which ended in a whimper as her core clamped down around him again. He was close, she could feel it. They both were at the knife’s edge of their pleasure. One more thrust and they would both be gone, lost to their uncontrollable desire for one another.

Suddenly a glow began to seep from Lucien’s skin. At first, Elain thought it was just his beauty and her exertion— she was starting to see her mate glow. But then as he thrust home, hitting that spot in her core that made her hips buck, she realized he was actually illuminating.

She climaxed hard enough to feel like her body had left this world. Right then, Lucien cried out as his release finally hit him hard. He crumpled over her, bracing himself up to keep from crushing her. However, Elain pulled him close, mindlessly stroking at his glowing skin even though her chest racked for breaths.

They didn’t know for how long they laid like that. Mindlessly caressing the other, panting for breaths, and trying to piece their minds back together.

Finally, he took a long breath before easing himself out of her. As she whined a bit at the loss of fullness, a warm trail of his seed leaked from her core and onto the soft skin of her inner thigh. He collapsed into the assortment of silk pillows next to her, causing both of them to bounce slightly.

In unison they both huffed a fatigued laugh.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice raw and still recovering from the whole ordeal.

“I feel...” she turned to her glowing mate, who seemed to not realize for whatever reason that he was glowing practically golden right next to her. It must be his Day Court magic. “I feel wonderful.”

They both smiled, and he seemed to glow even brighter at that. Her eyes squinted a bit to adjust to the brightness of the light.

“You’re glowing, Lucien. Literally.”

Lucien’s brows lifted slightly before raising a hand to his face. He only studied the light for an instant, the way his whole skin illuminated like a lantern, then he turned back to his mate with an unrestrained smile.

“What?” Elain chuckled quite coyly. Lucien only shrugged as he reached over to brush a lock of hair away from her face.

“I’m happy.”

And the awe in which he spoke it and the way his eyes roamed over her body while his hand traced gentle chaste circles on her skin was enough to make Elain believe he hadn’t felt so in a long long time. She wanted to cry, cheer, and laugh for both of them. Everything they had endured had led them to each other and this moment. Her mate. His mate.

This time she leaned in to kiss him again— so much kissing between them. However, this one held gratitude and compassion all at once. And when Elain lost her breath and needed to break apart for just a moment, just to catch her breath, Lucien leaned back in to peck at her lips.

Finally, they both laid there synchronizing their breathing while mindlessly touching each other again. His magic hadn’t relented a bit. His heartbeat still ached with mirth and glee, so he just simply shined brighter than any star.

Like the sun scared away the dark, Lucien forced away the fears, doubts, and hardships from the past. They were both here, entangled with one another, with the mating bond glowing like a forge of gold between them. For if that was the truth of their circumstance, then nothing else mattered.

. . .

Now I’m gonna go hide in a corner🫣

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

RARE PAIR WEEK DAY 3: "...and they were roommates!"

Normal Fantasy Dude Tucker x Divine Donut for the alt universe prompt :3c

Writing for the au below the cut!

Lavernius Tucker was not entirely sure how he got here, but he couldn’t be mad about it. He wasn’t a pious man. He wasn’t exactly the most devout follower of the gods. Honestly, he suspected the only reason he was allowed into the temples, into the inner chambers, was because of the sword he carried. Just his luck he found the damn thing, right? Right. Luck.

“Tucker? Is everything okay?” The Oracle asks, and Tucker grins. He may not be a religious man, but he is a damn lucky one. Evidence? Right here- the Oracle himself, divine figure of fate and fortune, the one who strikes true and sees through time itself. One of the fucking gods.

“I’m good, Donut,” Tucker answers, because fuck yeah he was on a casual name basis with a fucking god. Then he leans in, and presses a warm kiss to the side of Donut’s mouth, because he was also the god’s lover. Suck on that, everyone who said he’d never amount to anything. 

“You sure? If we need to stop-” Donut fusses, because that’s what he does. Over ten feet of pure divine power, and he worries like a sheepdog over kittens.

“I know our watchword, Donut,” Tucker says, stealing another kiss. Donut’s hands are warm around him, and they’re not really doing much (this time, at this moment, at least) but the gentle brush of Donut’s fingers against Tucker’s hair make it really hard to focus on anything except relaxing into that touch. Donut hums with a pout on his lips and Tucker shifts his weight so he’s kneeling as he leans up to wrap an arm around the back of Donut’s neck. If he asked, Tucker had the excuse of playing with the long hair that floated around Donut like a halo. But it turns out, the god of fate and fortune had a hard time reading people. All of time and space? Sure, no biggie, like reciting a story you’ve heard your entire life. But people? Their expressions, their body language? Donut was utterly blind to it. It was endearing, in a very strange surreal way. It made him so…well. Human. Tucker runs his fingers through the thick locks of Donut’s hair, watching the small motion ripple out to the ends where it faded to soft gold. 

“I was just thinkin’, ya know? About how lucky I am,” Tucker grins wider, and Donut looked some awkward mix between curious and embarrassed. He thought he was sooo subtle. “Lucky to survive some of the shit I’ve seen, lucky to find this sword, lucky to be assigned to your temples…” 

Tucker pauses and lets his other hand slide down Donut’s shoulder, over the soft silk-like fabric of his tunic. Donut’s good eye, the one that witnesses the present world around him, follows the motion as best it can. When he can’t watch Tucker’s hand, Donut turns his attention to watching his face.

“Right…lucky,” Donut repeats, and Tucker loves watching the blush creep up into the god’s pointed ears. He just makes it so easy!

“Mhm,” Tucker is leaning in again, Donut watching him intently, but he isn’t done talking just yet. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone with some strings to pull was watching out for me. Nudging things to go just so, yeah? Making sure I’d end up in the right place, at the right time,”

“Would it bother you? If that were the case? Cau-cause I’m sure if it was- and I’m not saying that it is- I’m sure he-I-they’d only have your best interests at heart. But if you wanted them-him-them to stop-” Donut stumbles over his words, and Tucker lets him, for a beat, before he laughs.

“I don’t mind. I like having luck on my side, after all. Best kind of company there is, from what I heard. Besides, Luck is pretty damn cute, especially when he gets all flustered,”

“I- you- Tucker!”

Lavernius Tucker was not a devout or pious man. He was, however, a damn lucky one.

[cynic-spirit]

Top of the world

warnings : fluff, maybe a little stalking I am not sure, again very long, i dont know how to create chapters.

ari levinson x yn

At Jessica's bridal shower party, the club was filled with laughter, chatter, and the pulsating rhythm of music. Y/N sat with her friends, trying to remain inconspicuous as they urged her to sing.

"Come on, Y/N! Sing for us!" Jessica pleaded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Y/N hesitated, feeling the weight of their expectations. Singing had always been something she kept to herself, a private joy. But as her friends continued to cheer her on, their enthusiasm infectious, she found herself unable to refuse.

With a deep breath, she rose from her seat and made her way to the small stage. The room quieted, all eyes on her as she took the microphone in hand. The spotlight bathed her in a soft glow, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the familiar melody of "Top of the World" by The Carpenters fill her mind.

As the first notes played, Y/N began to sing. Her voice was like liquid gold, rich and warm, wrapping around the lyrics with effortless grace. Each note was pure and clear, resonating through the room and captivating everyone present. The emotion in her voice was palpable, a blend of joy and nostalgia that brought the lyrics to life in a way that felt both intimate and universal.

People swayed to the music, caught up in the beauty of her performance. The softness in her voice carried a sweetness that perfectly matched the hopeful, uplifting tone of the song. Her expression was serene, eyes closed as she lost herself in the music, and for those few minutes, the world seemed to pause, entranced by the magic of her voice.

When the final note lingered in the air, the room erupted into applause. Y/N opened her eyes, a shy smile spreading across her face as she stepped back from the microphone.

"That's the only wedding gift you’ll get," she said with a playful smile, her gaze meeting Jessica's as she stepped down from the stage.

The crowd cheered and laughed, charmed by her humility and the effortless beauty of her performance. Little did Y/N know, that song—delivered with such grace and sincerity—had already sealed her fate. Unbeknownst to her, someone in that very room had been listening and watching with a different kind of emotion, their heart stirred by the power of her voice and the soul she had bared through song.

Ari Levinson, the imposing biker turned mobster, stood at the edge of his club, his towering 6'6" frame commanding attention even amidst the lively crowd. His well-built physique, a testament to years of rigorous training and hard living, exuded an aura of raw power. His dark leather jacket and rugged demeanor contrasted sharply with the sleek, modern design of the club. His deep-set eyes, often shadowed by the brim of his hat, now fixed intently on the stage, where the spotlight illuminated the center of his attention.

The woman being pushed towards the stage was striking. Her black hair, long and glossy, cascaded down her back like a silken curtain. Her face, framed by soft features, held an innocent beauty that was almost ethereal. She seemed both hesitant and overwhelmed, her large, expressive eyes darting nervously around the room as she made her way to the microphone. Despite her apparent shyness, there was something undeniably captivating about her presence.

As she began to sing, Ari's attention became utterly focused. Her voice, rich and hauntingly beautiful, cut through the club's atmosphere like a delicate thread of melody. Each note she sang seemed to weave directly into the fabric of Ari's being. The elegance of her performance was magnetic, and he felt a strange, inexplicable pull toward her. It was as if every word she sang resonated with a part of him he hadn’t known was longing for connection.

Ari’s hardened exterior melted away as he watched her. The sheer vulnerability and sincerity in her voice stirred something deep within him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. His heart raced, each beat echoing the rhythm of her song, and a profound sense of recognition and longing washed over him.

As she finished, the applause filled the room, but Ari's focus remained solely on her. A soft, almost reverent murmur escaped his lips: "Sunshine." The name felt right, a private endearment for the woman who had unwittingly captured his heart with her melody.

In that moment, Ari made a silent vow. He would have her for himself, determined to make her a part of his world. The gentle yet resolute glint in his eyes revealed his newfound obsession. The woman with the hauntingly beautiful voice had unknowingly stepped into his life, and Ari was resolute in claiming her for his own.

From the day after their bridal party, Y/N was greeted with a bewildering array of gifts that began to appear at her apartment. It started subtly enough—a sleek, elegant box of gourmet chocolates with a note saying, "For your sweet voice." But this was only the beginning.

The next morning, as she opened her front door, she found a lavishly wrapped package waiting for her. Inside, she discovered a stunning designer dress, its fabric shimmering in the light. As she marveled at the quality and the price tag, a delivery arrived with a collection of high-end bags and shoes—each piece a testament to luxury. There were classic leather handbags, elegant stilettos, and ornate accessories, all presented in their original, pristine packaging.

The gifts kept coming. The following day, an assortment of dazzling diamond jewelry was delivered to her doorstep. Sparkling necklaces, intricate bracelets, and sparkling earrings filled the boxes, their brilliance casting a radiant glow over her living room. Each piece was more extravagant than the last, and while she admired the beauty of the jewelry, she was puzzled by the source.

As if that weren’t enough, Y/N found herself inundated with flowers. Bouquets of roses, lilies, and orchids arrived daily, each arrangement more extravagant than the previous. They filled every corner of her apartment, their fragrances mingling in a heady perfume that almost overwhelmed her senses. Each bouquet was accompanied by a handwritten card with poetic compliments and expressions of admiration.

Despite her gratitude, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The sheer volume and opulence of the gifts seemed excessive, and the anonymity of the sender only added to her growing sense of confusion. She tried to inquire with the delivery services and check with her friends, but no one seemed to know who could be behind such a grand gesture.

As the days passed, Y/N found herself caught in a whirlwind of luxury and mystery. While she was tempted to enjoy the lavish presents, the underlying mystery of who was sending them—and why—left her feeling increasingly unsettled.

Y/N's curiosity had been piqued, but the gifts kept coming without a clue to their origin. One afternoon, she was home when she heard the familiar sound of a delivery arriving. Rushing to the door, she caught sight of a man in a sharp suit placing a luxurious box on her doorstep.

“Stop!” she called out, stepping outside just as he was about to leave. “Who is sending these gifts?”

The man turned slightly, his face hidden by the brim of his hat. He offered a polite but enigmatic smile. “Perhaps you could come to the club and find out,” he said, his tone light but carrying an undertone of challenge.

Before Y/N could ask more, the man turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing on her doorstep with a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“Club?? What club!” she called after him, but he was already out of earshot. Her questions hung in the air unanswered as she watched him disappear into the distance.

Y/N was left with the growing mystery of who was behind the gifts and why they wanted her to visit this elusive club. The intrigue and the unanswered questions tugged at her mind, leaving her with an unsettling sense of anticipation.

Y/N was perplexed by the mention of the club. Since Jessica’s bridal shower, she had avoided clubs, preferring quieter, more personal environments. The mention of a club intrigued and unsettled her in equal measure. The gifts had been so extravagant and persistent, sparking her curiosity about the identity of the sender.

After a day of mulling over her options and trying to dismiss the growing tension in her chest, Y/N decided she had to investigate. The allure of finding out who was behind these gestures—and why they were targeting her—compelled her to visit the club.

As evening approached, she dressed carefully, choosing an outfit that balanced elegance and simplicity. She chose a fitted dress that complemented her style but wasn’t overly flashy, wanting to blend in while still looking polished. She paired it with understated jewelry, just in case.

Arriving at the club, Y/N was struck by the contrast between the upscale exterior and her own reservations. The club’s entrance was grand, flanked by imposing columns and illuminated by soft, inviting lights. The bouncer at the door, recognizing her from the delivery’s description, greeted her with a nod and a warm smile, ushering her inside.

The interior was a blend of opulence and comfort, with plush seating, ambient lighting, and an elegant bar that shimmered with a variety of high-end spirits. Music played softly in the background, adding to the atmosphere of sophistication.

Y/N moved through the club, trying to find any clue as to who might have sent the gifts. As she walked deeper into the venue, she noticed a section that seemed more private, cordoned off with velvet ropes. Her heart raced as she approached, feeling the weight of anticipation and apprehension.

Just then, a familiar face emerged from the crowd—Ari Levinson. His towering presence and commanding demeanor were unmistakable. He stood with an air of effortless confidence, his gaze meeting hers with a blend of curiosity and intent.

As Y/N approached, Ari's eyes softened slightly, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “Welcome,” he said smoothly. “I see you’ve come to find out who’s been sending you those gifts.”

As Y/N stepped into the club, her eyes scanning the room for answers, Ari Levinson’s imposing figure caught her attention. He approached her with a smooth, confident stride, his presence commanding attention from everyone around him. Y/N’s heart raced as he closed the distance between them, his intense gaze never wavering.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as she took a small step back.

Ari’s smile widened, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Ari Levinson," he introduced himself, his voice deep and smooth, carrying an authoritative edge.

Y/N’s brow furrowed in confusion. "Why are you sending me these gifts? I don’t know you."

Ari leaned in slightly, his proximity making her acutely aware of his presence. His gaze was unwavering, his tone matter-of-fact. "It's not uncommon for a man to shower his girlfriend or future wife with gifts."

"Future wife? Girlfriend?" Y/N repeated, her voice edged with disbelief.

Ari’s gaze softened just a touch, but his tone remained firm. "You," he said simply, as if it were an obvious truth.

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. "Me? I don’t even know you!"

Ari chuckled softly, his gaze holding a mixture of amusement and determination. "That's exactly why I wanted to meet you. The gifts were my way of getting your attention. I think we have a lot to discuss."

Y/N struggled to process his words, her mind racing as she tried to understand the situation. "I don’t know what to say…"

Ari’s internal thoughts swirled as he watched Y/N’s reaction. He had anticipated her confusion and resistance, knowing that such a grand gesture would come with its own set of complications. The look of surprise and uncertainty on her face only fueled his resolve.

She’s even more captivating up close, he mused, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her features. Her innocence and beauty are just as I imagined. This isn’t just about claiming her—though that’s certainly part of it. It’s about making her understand that she’s special, that she’s someone I want in my life. The gifts were just the beginning. She’ll come to see that I’m someone she can’t ignore.

As Y/N hesitated, Ari continued to watch her, his mind calculating his next moves. I knew she’d need time to adjust, but I’ll make sure she sees that what I’m offering is more than just luxury—it’s a commitment, a promise of something real and lasting. She’ll come around. She has to.

Ari’s large, strong hands gently touched Y/N’s sides, his fingers grazing her waist before pulling her close. The movement was both possessive and tender, drawing her into the warmth of his body and the solid strength of his frame.

“You see,” he said, his voice a low murmur, “you have taken something very important from me.”

Y/N instinctively placed a hand on Ari’s chest, trying to create a bit of distance between them. The firmness of his muscles beneath his shirt was undeniable, and she felt a mix of fear and confusion. “I didn’t steal anything from your club, I swear,” she said, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to assert her innocence.

Ari’s expression softened, though his eyes remained locked on hers with an unwavering intensity. He chuckled softly, the sound rich with a blend of amusement and warmth. “Oh, sunshine,” he said, his tone now almost tender, “but you did. You stole my heart.”

His fingers brushed lightly against her cheek, the touch so gentle it felt like a caress. The gesture was both affectionate and possessive, as if he were trying to memorize the feel of her skin. The tenderness in his touch contrasted sharply with the weight of his words, adding a layer of emotional complexity to the encounter.

“And now,” he continued, his gaze never leaving hers, “I cannot let you go.”

The declaration hung in the air, charged with determination and devotion. Ari’s hand remained on her cheek, his knuckles brushing softly as if afraid to break the fragile connection between them. His grip around her waist was firm but gentle, a silent promise of his intent.

In that moment, Y/N felt the full force of his resolve. The mix of his physical presence and the depth of his gaze left her feeling both overwhelmed and entranced. Ari's touch was careful, almost reverent, as if he were handling something precious and delicate. The force of his feelings was palpable, his actions speaking louder than words as he made it clear that he had no intention of letting her slip away.

For Y/N, the combination of his words and his touch created a whirlwind of emotions—confusion, fear, and an unexpected flutter of something more profound. The declaration of his feelings, paired with the intense closeness, left her grappling with the realization that this encounter was far more significant than she had anticipated.

Y/N’s voice was barely a whisper as she asked, “What do you want from me?”

Ari’s gaze remained steady and unwavering, his expression a blend of intensity and warmth. “I want you,” he replied simply, his tone brooking no argument.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way out. “Take all the gifts back,” she said, her voice trembling with a hint of panic. “If that’s what you want, I haven’t used them or touched them.”

Ari’s smile remained, though it softened into something more reassuring. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch delicate despite the strength he exuded. “It’s not the gifts I’m after,” he said, his voice soothing. “It’s you. The gifts were just a way to get your attention.”

Y/N’s eyes darted around, searching for any means of escape, but Ari’s presence was all-encompassing. “I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, her voice quivering. “I don’t even know you. I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

Ari leaned in slightly, his face close to hers, his breath warm against her skin. “I’m doing this because I’ve seen something in you that I can’t ignore. You’ve stirred something in me, something real. I want you to be a part of my life.”

His words hung heavy in the air, filled with a gravity that left Y/N both unsettled and intrigued. She felt the weight of his gaze and the sincerity in his voice, yet she still struggled to reconcile his declarations with the reality of the situation.

“What if I don’t want this?” she asked softly, her eyes searching his for any sign of compromise.

Ari’s gaze softened further, though his resolve was clear. “You’ll find that you do. I’m not asking you to make a decision now. Just know that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re important to me, and I intend to prove that to you.”

The tenderness in his voice contrasted with the intensity of his gaze, leaving Y/N caught between her fear and the undeniable magnetism of Ari’s presence.

“But I don’t want this?” Y/N asked softly, her eyes searching his for any sign of compromise.

Ari’s gaze softened, though his resolve remained firm. “You’ll find that you do,” he said, his voice steady and assured. “And I’ll convince you that you do.”

His eyes held hers with a blend of determination and warmth. As if to punctuate his promise, Ari leaned in and gently brushed his lips against the corner of her mouth. The kiss was brief but possessive, leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to imprint on her skin.

“For you are only mine now, sunshine,” he murmured against her lips, his breath warm and his tone a low promise.

The intimacy of the kiss, combined with his declaration, left Y/N feeling a whirlwind of emotions. The touch of his lips was tender yet marked with a clear sense of ownership, making her heart race and her thoughts swirl. Ari’s words and actions made it clear that he was not going to relent easily, and Y/N was left grappling with the intensity of his feelings and the future that seemed to be unfolding before her.

“You cannot fall in love with someone just like that,” Y/N argued meekly, her voice barely above a whisper.

As she spoke, Ari’s attention was focused on her, his lips tracing gentle, slow kisses along her face and neck. Each touch was tender, his lips lingering momentarily on her skin, savoring her unique fragrance. His kisses were soft and deliberate, as if he were memorizing every inch of her, making her feel both cherished and vulnerable.

“Hmmmm,” Ari murmured in response, his breath warm against her neck as he inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. He did not address her argument directly, his focus instead on the intimate act of kissing her.

His silence spoke volumes, and his gentle touches seemed to convey a deeper message: that his feelings were genuine and that he was willing to wait, to persist, and to show her that his love was real. The contrast between his soothing affection and her confusion created a palpable tension, as Y/N struggled to reconcile her emotions with the intensity of Ari’s devotion.

As Ari continued his tender torment, his lips brushing along Y/N’s face and neck, she found it increasingly difficult to suppress any sounds of pleasure or distress. The mixture of his warm breath and gentle kisses sent waves of sensation through her, leaving her on the edge.

“Please stop,” Y/N pleaded, her voice wavering as she tried to maintain her composure.

To her surprise, Ari immediately halted his movements. He pulled back slightly, his gaze locked onto hers with a look of intense focus. It was as if, in that moment, she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

“You’re scaring me,” she admitted, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Ari’s expression softened, though his voice remained gruff. “Sunshine, I am a scary person,” he said, his tone carrying a blend of roughness and tenderness. “But if there is one person who shouldn’t be scared of me, ever, it’s you.”

Y/N’s eyes searched his, filled with uncertainty. “Why me?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Ari pulled her even closer, his body pressed firmly against hers. His lips came dangerously close to hers, their proximity electrifying. “You make me feel on top of the world,” he said, his voice a low, intimate murmur.

The reference to the song she had sung at the bridal shower lingered between them, a reminder of the emotional connection they shared. The song had resonated deeply with Ari, and now it served as a symbol of the feelings he was trying to convey.

In the silence that followed, Y/N could feel the weight of his words and the sincerity in his gaze. The kiss, though unspoken, conveyed a depth of emotion that words alone could not fully capture. As Ari’s eyes held hers, the intensity of his feelings was undeniable, and Y/N found herself grappling with the reality of the connection he was offering her.

Ari's gaze was intense as he leaned in, his voice a low, determined murmur. “Now I am going to kiss you,” he said, his words filled with a resolute certainty.

Y/N's eyes widened in shock, her mouth opening slightly as she tried to respond. “Wha...?” she began, but the word was cut short as Ari closed the distance between them.

His lips met hers in a fervent kiss, a collision of warmth and passion that left no room for hesitation. The kiss was deep and consuming, a testament to the intensity of his feelings. Y/N's initial surprise quickly melted into a blend of overwhelming sensation and bewilderment as Ari’s kiss conveyed a depth of emotion that words alone could not express.

His hands remained on her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, their breaths mingling in the charged space between them. In that moment, Y/N was caught in the powerful storm of Ari’s emotions, unable to escape the force of his affection and the fervency of his kiss.

Y/N felt a deep resignation settle over her as Ari’s kiss finally broke. She realized she had little choice but to accept the overwhelming presence of this powerful man who had claimed her so decisively.

“You cannot force someone to love you,” she said, her voice tinged with a mix of defiance and surrender.

Ari’s gaze remained steady, his expression unwavering. “I won’t force you,” he said, his tone both firm and reassuring. “You’ll love me… soon.”

His confidence was palpable, and his words carried the weight of his belief in what the future held. There was a determination in his eyes that suggested he was prepared to wait, to show her his love in ways that went beyond mere words. The promise of time and patience was embedded in his declaration, a testament to his commitment and his certainty that she would come to feel the same way.

[trshtffc]

You're Lucien´s bride

You can't stop beaming as your best friend fastens your dress, the soft pliant fabric highlighting your shape as it flows to the floor, shifting like water with your every step.

"Stay still!" She chastises you, and you comply, taking to fidgeting with the ring on your finger while she fixes the veil on your head.

By all rights you should have a dozen maidens fretting about now, waiting on you hand and feet, you're marrying the heir to the Court, after all.

But you live your whole lives in public, two beloved emissaries, the life of every party, Prythian´s darlings.

So this will be only yours.

Two witnesses, a borrowed dress, a feast of cheese, bread and fruit afterwards, out on a tablecloth under the ancient oak you had chosen for the ceremony, in a Court made for love. Helion will surely forgive the two of you this whim, and Lucien´s mum will find it immensely romantic.

You walk out of the room, your best friend going before you to join the other witness. If you were paying attention, you'd have seen the High Lord of this Court moving things around on the altar, or the High Lord of Autumn incinerating a falling leaf before it could land on his brother´s hair.

But you don't see any of that, you only see him.

Lucien is beaming at you, the golden skin glowing from within, and he takes a deeper breath as you approach. The sun filtering through the leaves dances on his hair like tiny flames, catching the glimmer of tears his eye and the gold of the buttons on his jacket and vest.

Even now your groom is a politician, clad in Autumn Court burgundy and the pure white of Day. There's even a field flower tucked behind is ear for Spring. Lucien looks so beautiful it hurts, and you wonder if you'll ever get used to the way his eyes come alight when he smiles, or the purring accent of his voice when he whispers your name, his lips on your skin, teasing. Or the emissary´s silver tongue.

"Can you at least wait until we're done here?" Your friend blows some air through her nose, and her bawdy remark gets a smile from the High Lord of Spring.

Lucien chuckles, a blush rushing to his face.

The Mother had no business making him that beautiful. Will you ever stop smiling?

"That might be too much to ask of them, hurry up, Tamlin." The High Lord of Autumn slaps his brother lightly on the arm "Focus, Lucien."

Because, of course, your precious memories had prompted a similar reaction in your groom, and his cinnamon and apples scent grows headier with it.

Tamlin clears his throat, dropping the glamour to allow Spring Court to shine through his skin.

"Welcome all. Who comes before Spring to be married today?"

Lucien swallows, his smile growing wider.

"I, Lucien, son of Helion, come before Spring today to be married."

Tamlin turns his eyes to you, smiling.

"Who will take Lucien, son of Helion, in marriage?"

Your voice comes out a bit too loud from how excited you are. When he asked for your hand, Lucien had only stipulated that he didn't want to be married by a priestess, so it was a matter of picking one High Lord out of the many he was connected to.

Eris would have drawn out an hour-long ceremony, Tamlin was more of a practical male.

The High Lord of Autumn smiles as he recites.

"If there is any who would challenge their union, let him meet my sword."

You all hold your silence for a moment, allowing the chirps of the birds to fill the air, while your best friend clasps your hand together with Lucien´s, his skin warm as if he had been in the sun a whole day.

"They are joined." She recites, stepping back "I witness to it."

"And in being joined they are now husband and wife, one flesh, one fate." Lucien´s glow outshines the glow of Spring from Tamlin´s hand when he places it over your clasped ones "May your love blossom and thrive."

You can't help laughing as your husband pulls you in for a deep kiss, the honeyed taste of him filling your mouth, numbing every other sense.

Somewhere around, you hear the felicitations, and your friend making a comment that has Tamlin laughing, and Eris says something of no importance. When you let go of Lucien, the tablecloth is already spread, your wedding feast displayed in the center of it.

"I'll love you as long as the Sun shines." Lucien whispers in your ear before helping you down on the fabric "I can't wait to tear this off of you."

"It's borrowed." You whisper back, as he offers you a fat strawberry.

"For shame, Lucien, we're trying to eat!" Eris poked your husband in the ribs.

Your husband. You bite down on the strawberry, offering Lucien a slice of brie.

You're Lucien´s wife.

[nightlylaments]

she who owns tragedy - a wip by @nightlylaments

GENRE | dark fantasy. TARGET WORD COUNT | 90-100k STATUS | first draft; first book of a series. POV | dual first person pov (kinda wanna change it to third person) THEMES | black mc's, diverse cast, inherited magic system, cult/hidden society, prophecies, fated mates, sacrifices to gods, traumatic pasts, all living things possess magic, forest setting, morally grey characters, bloodlines & lineage, fate & free will, race of people is persecuted, destructive magic, feuding gods, identity. TRIGGERS | blood, violence, mentions of war, abuse, forced relationship, mental abuse, obsession, depressive thoughts, mentions of child abuse, mentions of human sacrifice, mentions of genocide, manipulation.

SYNOPSIS |

In the kingdom of Azurani, people are mysteriously going missing, nights are lasting longer, and something dark has begun to seep into the soil. Something that is tar black and smells of death and decay. Something that will send the entire kingdom into chaos. Followers of the Old Faith called it the Dawning, and they said it would end the world. Not many in Azurani believe in the Old Faith anymore, as its followers have been driven into hiding by the High King, but those that do fear the Dawning.

But the Sages spoke of a prophecy. There is a land where the rivers flow with the blood of the Goddess, trees sprout from the ashes of the ancient war, and spirits of those who perished reign. There is a land where a sleeping army has resided for a millennium. They have been slumbering for too long. And a girl made of destructive magic running from an obsessed man and a ruthless heretic made of shadows lives are tangled together by cruel fate. They hold the key to saving the world or destroying it.

SETTING/HISTORY |

When the goddess created Azurani, she created the Mundanus to give life to her new world. She fell in love with a Mundanus man, and when she birthed her first son, she created two kinds; those who could and those who could not.

Namari loved her creations equally, but her blood flowed through one and not the other. Kimenas were gifted with shards of the Goddess's powers. The Mundanus grew jealous and demanded their own powers, but the ones she gifted them paled in comparison to the Kimenas. They took this as favoritism.

A millennium ago, the Mundnus raged war against the goddess and her people. And a new God rose from the darkness and bloodshed, proclaiming himself the High King, gifting his most loyal warriors their own lands and allowing them to do as they pleased with the Kimena. The goddess had perished, and her children fled the palace going into hiding. Some kept their bloodline pure, while others found it better to breed with the Mundanus. Now the Mundanus rule with an iron fist, and Kimena are forced to hide their magic or be persecuted.

CHARACTERS |

Nezi'a Vasily; end bringer, soul guide, soul eater, the golden one

is sewn from tragedy, a melancholy girl with gold-speckled skin and a heart that does not beat. Her fabric has been ripped at the seams.

Zyon Almatsi; the king of shadows, umbraki

is made of shadows and carved from stone. he is ruthless divinity; the stars are jealous of how bright his anger burns. 

Mazu Atelier

is undeniable beauty and sharp teeth, she is a creature grown in dark, cold water, a seductress with a heart of gold. she hides behind confidence and a sharp tongue.

Nox Tempest

is a vagabond whose home is a girl he should hate; the son of a fabled pirate king, he bleeds gold and controls his loyal crew with an iron fist.

Karro Vasily

is a shattered mirror whose pieces cut him too deep, leaving his palms bloody and his spirit broken. regret ravished him. he felt too much, so he decided to feel nothing at all.

Cipher Skash

is a righteous man, loyal and damaged. hier to a throne he deserves but does not want, he follows his heart even if it is slowly breaking.

Selah Ajea

is made of ice and envy. she is a master of poisons, that wants what she knows can never truly be hers. violently brought into the world, she is beautiful and deadly.

Amar Duman

is made of darkness that consumes him. he is a weapon, cruel and merciless, hiding behind his web of lies and handsome face.

wip page | wip tag | wip inspo

✧ ask to be +/- to tag list ✧

[raisoramizu]

Chapter 3: Unfinished business

Charlie arrived at the room she remembered all too well—the place where she had her first, ill-fated encounter with Adam. Anxiety began to morph into fear, pressing so hard against her chest that she instinctively mimicked her father, clutching the white fabric of her shirt between her breasts.

This time, however, the room was brightly lit. The large white and gold space was already illuminated, and at the far end of the long table stood Emily and Sera. Emily's face lit up with a radiant smile the moment she saw her.

< Charlie! > The little Seraphim flapped her six wings rapidly, hovering just above the ground as she flew over to her, eagerly reaching out to grasp Charlie's hands. < It's so good to see you again! > Emily was pure joy personified, full of hope; her childlike smile was always sincere, accompanied by the expressive gleam of her large, pupil-less blue eyes. She was small in stature, with very long hair that faded from white to blue—the same colors as her wide, princess-like dress—hazel skin, and a glowing halo adorned with tiny diamonds.

Sera, on the other hand, remained still, standing at the head of the table. She was extraordinarily tall, taller than anyone Charlie had ever seen—even Adam. She shared Emily's color palette, with hazel skin lit by a few white freckles beneath her eyes, long curls, and a more mature appearance, her double halo resembling a crown adorned with celestial stones.

< I have so many wonderful things to tell you! I can't wait for you to visit us again, and this might be the right time! > Emily chirped, leading Charlie toward Sera. < ...We still don't know how it happened > the High Seraphim interrupted, her deep feminine voice and composed demeanor cutting through the excitement. < It could have just been a coincidence, > she added.

< What happened...? > Charlie asked, both intrigued and surprised, her gaze shifting between the two.

Emily squeezed her hands with vibrant energy. < Hold on tight, Charlie! Sir Pentious, your friend and guest at the Hotel... he's in Heaven! He's redeemed! >

Charlie's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening. < Whaat!? > she squealed, causing the little Seraphim to beam with even more delight. The two began jumping up and down, laughing happily and shaking their clasped hands. < But that's wonderful! Sir Pentious is safe, alive, and in Heaven! > Charlie repeated.

Sera, her expression slightly displeased, added < For now, only the angels of the tribunal know. > < Yes, we wanted you to know first... so we could spread this wonderful news together! > Emily chimed in. < When Heaven and Hell find out, there will be chaos... How will they react...? > The High Seraphim lowered her head, rubbing two fingers on her forehead with the expression of someone who had a headache.

< Oh, Sera, don't worry! This is a monumental event; we could save millions of innocent souls! > Emily said, moving closer to Sera and trying to catch her eye from below with a worried yet hopeful look, holding her hand in both of hers.

Then, as if with a delayed reaction, Charlie exploded with joy, her blonde hair flaring out as she let out a loud < YES! > that startled Lucifer, who was sitting bored in the waiting room outside the chamber.

Charlie gulped, taking a few frantic breaths to calm herself, her eyes wide. < First of all, I'll tell my father and the others, and as much as I'd like to make the news public immediately, we'll need to organize to welcome all the guests who will arrive in droves—because, damn, they will arrive in droves after news like this! I mean, redemption is possible! Can you imagine? I hoped for it, but believing in it this much? No! Do you know how many times I thought I'd go crazy, and yet here we are—redemption is possible! Sir Pentious is alive; he's in Heaven! > She spoke like a machine gun, barely pausing for breath. < Damn, I have to rewrite all the lessons! The one on trust, the one on sincerity, the one on friendship, the one on kindness, the one on altruism, the one on sacrifice, the one on... > she continued, listing them off, finger by finger.

< Don't rush, Morning Star > Sera interrupted with a sigh, bringing down the silence, only broken by Charlie's panting. < I agree that before making the news public, we need to organize and evaluate what it will entail... > She furrowed her brows with concern. < Everything will be fine, Sera > Emily reassured her, smiling warmly and gently squeezing her hand. The High Seraphim looked at her for a moment, then softened, her expression becoming gentler.

...

In the Common Room of the Hazbin Hotel, with its newly reconstructed bar tended by Husk, a tense silence filled the air. While most of the building was now far more expansive and modern, this wing clashed with an anachronistic 1930s aesthetic. It was clearly Alastor's handiwork—every piece of furniture and decoration, designed to suit the tastes of the guests and owners, felt like a retro portal that didn't even match the corridor leading to it. The room smelled of old wood; it was spacious with a glossy, creaking wooden floor and had a large sliding side door that opened to an outdoor area furnished with decorated white tables, benches, and swings. Inside, there were dark velvet couches, a dance floor, and a small, currently empty stage. Behind the long counter, in front of an elegant mirror, rows of bottles and glasses of all kinds reflected the room's red and black color scheme, echoing the card suits favored by the Cat Demon.

The chatter between Angel Dust and Vaggie echoed amid the dim greenish lights emanating from the gaudy chandeliers. Angel Dust, with his characteristic white tuft and pink-striped sweater that left his furry chest exposed, sat on a stool facing the counter, while Vaggie stood with a more anxious expression than usual, her arms crossed over her red top. She wore a black miniskirt and thigh-high stockings below.

< ...Oh, come on, what are you worried about, Vaggie? She's out with her father, right? She's not in any danger! > The high-pitched, seductive voice of the little spider, dense with a smile lit by numerous sharp teeth, echoed mockingly. He waved his first right hand in the air, while with his second left hand, he picked up his glass of brandy on the rocks from the counter.

< That's not what worries me; it's the angels. They've been out all night > she snapped back, fixing him with her one good eye—the other hidden by a patch marked with a red X beneath the tuft of her long white hair, tied up with a ribbon. She took a couple of agitated steps back and forth in the room.

At that precise moment, a cheerful Charleston tune filled the room, heightening the already excessively retro atmosphere and drawing the attention of all three—Husk included—toward the vintage radio perched on one side of the counter: Alastor.

The Deer Demon stood there in his red suit, microphone cane in hand, staring at them through his monocle with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. < Thanks, sexy deer > Angel Dust exclaimed with amusement, eyeing him mischievously from head to toe with his mismatched eyes: one with a white sclera, the other black. < Oh, don't thank me, my annoying friend; it's a pleasure not hearing you talk nonsense > the other demon responded sarcastically, his voice thick with his signature radio static effect.

Suddenly, the Hotel bell rang, its sound echoing loudly through the Hall at the reception counter, making Vaggie snap to attention. < They're back? I'll go! > She bolted down the corridor.

Alastor, still with his wide smile: < Husky, could you make me a whiskey, please..? > < ...A whiskey..? I haven't seen you drink in years. Are you in a good mood? > Husk grumbled, both annoyed and puzzled, as he started to prepare the drink.

At that question, the Radio Demon seemed to swell with a strange satisfaction; he arched his thin back more, casually inspecting the nails of one hand before waving it lazily in the air. < Oh, it could be~ > < GRAN HIJO DE PUTA!! > Vaggie's furious voice thundered from the entrance, making the three of them immediately turn toward the corridor. Angel Dust jumped off the stool and dashed in the direction of the commotion.

The spider quickly covered the distance and reached the Hall just in time to see what was happening. < !!! > Adam! Was it Adam? It looked like him. What the hell was Adam doing at the door? But no, it couldn't be him—just a Sinner who looked too much like him. Damn, he was identical! The only difference was the lack of a halo and his eyes, which were two different shades of red accentuated by poorly applied black eyeliner. But the rest... how could anyone forget? He was still enormous and imposing, wearing a large, studded turtleneck sweater that closely resembled his battle tunic, but now the predominant color was black, and the "A" printed on his chest was blue. The sweater was longer in the back, while the front left his dark, ripped jeans and boots—also studded with metal—perfectly visible.

The First Man stood still in the doorway, both hands raised to show his palms in a gesture of surrender to Vaggie, who, in a tense attack stance, pointed the spear of her angelic lance at his neck. < Oh shit, Vaggie... but—is it him? > Angel Dust stuttered, frozen at the entrance to the room, his four hands hovering randomly in the air. Husk peeked out from behind him. < Of course it's him; I'd recognize this pedazo de mierda in any form! > the angel growled, her shoe planted firmly against the floor, tense like a bowstring ready to snap. < Oh, is that how you greet your Commander, Vagina? > Adam mocked her, puffing his cheeks. < You certainly haven't lost your bitch face... look at that face! > He pointed a dark finger directly at her blazing eye.

In response, Vaggie snapped her lance with both hands, coming dangerously close to grazing Adam's neck, making him stiffen and step back with a growl. His teeth gritted sharply, and his sclera darkened to black. < Are you planning to kill me without even knowing why I'm here...? > < You should be dead for good; Niffty stabbed you in the heart with an angelic weapon! You're a damn curse! > Adam curled his lips, snorting in annoyance. < I want to talk to Lu— >

But he didn't finish: a sizzling radio static rose in intensity until it nearly burst everyone's eardrums, forcing them to bend over in pain and cover their ears. Alastor's unsettling, grinning face appeared in the shadows of the corridor behind Husk just before a powerful explosion of acid green smoke blasted them all in different directions. The blast primarily hit Adam, sending him flying several meters out of the Hotel until he crashed on his back onto the ground, sliding even further into the square in front of the building.

< Ugh! What the fuck... > The First Man barely had time to push himself up on his forearms to lift his aching shoulders when he saw Alastor looming over him.

Adam's eyes widened at the sight: Alastor was titanic as he crawled out of the Hotel on all fours, then straightened up so that, even hunched over, he reached halfway up the building's height. The Deer Demon was so massive that Adam was completely engulfed in his shadow, which stretched out beneath him and shrouded every single stone of the square in deep black. From Alastor's shoulders emerged six enormous pitch-black tentacles that twisted through the air, even stretching past the precipice of the hill where the Hotel stood. From his head, his antlers—elongated and branching out—extended beyond his animal ears.

< YOU HAD THE NERVE TO COME BACK HERE! > Alastor growled, his voice deeply distorted as if several voices were speaking in unison. His jaws were wide open and drooling, revealing his red tongue. His eyes were completely blackened, with two ticking radio dials instead of pupils.

He began to laugh wildly, monstrously. < AHAHAHAHA—NOW I WILL FINALLY END YOUR SHITTY LIFE! >

< The damn jazz demon! > With a swift move, Adam managed to dodge an enormous tentacle that fell with a powerful whip, striking the square with a myriad of debris. Generating loud black, membranous wings, the First Man crawled on all fours for a few meters before leaping quickly into flight toward the city. But another tentacle seized him violently around his abdomen, squeezing him. < Oufh! > and slamming him again a few meters into the ground amidst the dust and under the terrified eyes of Angel Dust, Vaggie, Husk, and Niffty, who had meanwhile joined them, clinging to the Half-Cat's ears.< UUHH, the bad boy is back! Mhuawuhuhuehehue > No, she wasn't terrified at all.

...

< ...seems like everything is going fine, right? > Valentino's seductive—and curious—voice broke the silence that had fallen in the lounge, where, with Vox and Velvette, they were watching the scene projected on a television through the external cameras positioned in front of the Hotel, drawing their incredulous gaze toward him.

...

Adam climbed back up, gripping the edge of the hole, emerging completely disheveled with his hair whitened by debris and his face scratched in several spots. He coughed a couple of times. < Damn piece of shit, rest assured I'll finish the job now! > ... < I'll shove those tentacles up your ass! > Finding himself on all fours in the square, once again, he just managed to open his hand and generate his guitar-like battle axe from a beam of light before one of the Radio Demon's tentacles grabbed him again, but this time winding around his neck, choking off his breath in his throat.

Adam puffed his cheeks, spitting out a spray of blood, his eyes widening as he found himself hanging, suspended dozens of meters from the ground; he kicked his legs, flapped his black wings, scratching at the tentacle strangling him with his claws. < AHAHAHAHAH > Alastor continued to laugh, deranged and excited. < WELCOME TO THIS NEW RADIO BROADCAST! > Clenching his jaws and furrowing his brow, the First Man tightened his grip around the guitar's shaft, pulling it back. < Grr, I already told you, you fucking asshole: radio is DEAD! > Swinging it upward, he created a true black laser that, from below, rose to sever the tentacle that held him, passing dangerously close to Alastor's face, cutting off a lock of his red hair, and causing the windows of Lucifer's apple-shaped room to vibrate before dispersing into the sky.

< ALASTOR! > The moment Adam touched the ground again, cushioned by his wings that disappeared immediately after, Charlie's alarmed voice echoed in the square, halting the battle and magnetizing every gaze on her, including the giant skull of the Radio Demon, which, however, showed no sign of diminishing its size.

With a hurried step and dropping a multitude of packages of all sizes on the ground, she went right under the Half-Deer, keeping her chin raised and her eyes wide open. < Stop it, what's going on! We just rebuilt it! > Desperate, she covered her face with both hands. < ... > It was at the exact moment that Alastor focused on the small—especially from his current size—figure of Lucifer appearing behind Charlie's shoulders that he seemed to calm down and desist from all his belligerent intent, beginning to shrink until he returned to normal size, panting and drooling; he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, casting a sharp glare in the direction of the other Sinner, who was standing still, panting, with the base of the guitar resting on the ground and a hand clutching his neck.

< You got lucky this time too, cringe voice > Adam mocked him, equally panting and wounded, completely whitened by debris and the blows he'd taken, so much so that he was even bleeding from his mouth. Vaggie, Angel Dust, Husk—with Niffty on his shoulders—joined the other three, forming a little group to confront the figure of the First Man. < Charlie... why did it take you so long? > asked the former exorcist, wrapping his hands around his companion's. < ...I stopped with my father to buy some gifts... > The Princess replied, a bit confused, turning to the packages and parcels she had left scattered on the ground. < Oh... > she exclaimed, disappointed, her eyebrows arching. < Don't worry! > ... < Let's go pick them up, move! > Vaggie imperatively called to the other three with a broad wave of her arm before heading off with them to retrieve the items.

< ...so, who do we have here? > Lucifer suddenly chuckled, arching his eyebrows with amused surprise and pointing with the apple of his cane at the disheveled figure of Adam. < The order for you to leave applies as much as it did when you were an angel—oh... > He arched his lips downward in an exaggeratedly sad expression, gradually mounting the other's anger as he stared at him with gritted jaws. < ...you couldn't hear me at that moment, that's true. How forgetful of me! > He tapped himself on the forehead before proudly leaning on his cane planted on the ground. < Are you done mocking me?! > Adam exploded loudly, pointing at him and taking a sharp step in his direction. < YOU mocking ME! > He added, wildly agitated, his hair curled in fits, so much so that, at that moment, it was really hard to take him seriously. < But look at you, you're just— > < Just what?! > the Seraphim pressed, leaning in his direction with a tight smile—more a baring of fangs than a grin—and not followed by his irritated glare. He planted his hands more forcefully on the apple of his cane. < Why don't you finish the sentence?! >

< ENOUGH! > Charlie shouted, bursting momentarily into flames that bared her horns and turned her sclerae red, prompting both of them to turn, startled, in her direction. The girl was panting. < Enough... > She repeated, swallowing hard twice and casting a sharp glance at Alastor, who... was no longer there. She sighed and turned toward her father. < We just returned from such a beautiful situation, and we have to ruin it like this...? >

Lucifer felt a pang of guilt, his shoulders hunching up.

< You > Charlie then addressed Adam, making him startle with resentment. < ...you're a Sinner. Why are you here? Do you want revenge, or do you want to become a guest at the Hotel? >

< ... > Suppressing a surge of anger, the other made his guitar-shaped axe disappear. < I want... to talk to Lucifer. > He darted his red eyes toward the angel, who was still gazing, concerned, at the spot where Alastor had previously been.

< ...?! > Feeling called out, Lucifer jumped back in surprise, looking almost dumbfounded. < With me? > he asked foolishly, before furrowing his brow again and baring his teeth in a snarl. < And what makes you think I want to talk to— >

< Enough, Dad!! > Charlie shouted sharply again, cutting off the Seraphim with another startled jump of guilt.

< Sorry, Charlie, I... > he muttered, lowering his gaze. < It's fine > the Princess sighed, spreading her arms to call for calm, before stretching her lips into a smile directed at an incredulous Adam. She approached him, looking up at him from her shorter stature compared to his imposing figure. < I'll take you to one of the rooms; you can settle in while we all calm down, and then you can tell us why you're here, and maybe you can... > She paused, once again searching for Lucifer's eyes, who took her words like another burden on his head. She then continued, gently wrapping the former angel's arm with her own. < ...talk to my father. >

< W-w-what...? > Lucifer stammered, nervously fluttering his lower eyelids over his eyes, his mouth deeply curved downward.

Adam allowed himself to be dragged, dazed and bewildered, towards the entrance of the Hotel by the Princess, followed by disapproving comments from the others who joined them, carrying various packages.

...

While a heated discussion brewed in the common room of the Hotel between Angel Dust, Charlie, and Vaggie regarding Adam's stay, Adam himself had settled into his room.

It was a simple setup: a single room with a double bed, a small terrace door at the back, and a compact bathroom equipped with a shower. There weren't any knick-knacks, but the design of the walls, paintings, and bedcovers featured a motif of card suits and eerie eyes, all in the typical crimson hues that defined this place.

Adam rose from the edge of the bed where he had been sitting, letting out a deep sigh. His hair was still damp from the shower, and a few scratches adorned his face and the backs of his hands. His sweater was frayed in places, but overall, he looked more presentable than he had a while ago.

What he couldn't shake off, even if he tried, was the sense of fear and anxiety that gripped his chest since his arrival in Hell. It felt like everything could go wrong at any moment, like he'd never get the chance to meet Lute again. Damn, he could use another hit of that drug he'd taken the night before; at least it had pushed him past his emotional paralysis, making him overly enthusiastic rather than stuck. What a damn softie he'd become.

He paced around the room aimlessly for a bit, trying to summon the courage he needed. Finally, he headed toward Lucifer's room.

It had to be the apple-shaped room in the West Wing of the Hotel. While he was at it, he discreetly planted a couple of micro cameras for the Vees, ensuring he wasn't seen or followed. Everyone was downstairs, laughing and joking among themselves. Maybe the angel would be there too, and he'd find no one in the room, but when he reached the door, he found himself staring at it.

The entire wing was reserved for that room, which already showed its semicircular shape from the hallway. The door was white and gold, with two leaves, adorned with a variety of stickers, most of them depicting ducks dressed in various outfits.

< ... > What the hell was he going to say? Should he knock? And what if he got attacked the moment he stepped inside? He could hardly hold his own against Lucifer. Millennia without seeing him, and here he was, running into him twice in three days. Had it been three days or more since his death? If Lucifer didn't want to help him, Adam would blackmail him with everything he knew about him and Lilith. Lilith... that was what was really making him anxious: that damn bitch.

Adam's breathing quickened, his heartbeat pounding in his chest. Was it getting hotter, or was it just his imagination? When had he become so paranoid and insecure? Ever since that woman had gotten involved, that's when.

Without realizing it, he found both his hands in his hair.

"< How much longer do you plan to stand outside the door? >" Lucifer's voice came from inside the room, making Adam flinch.

The lock clicked, and the door opened by itself a few centimeters, spilling the reddish light from the hallway inside. Adam placed his dark right hand on one of the leaves and stepped forward, entering.

When the door closed behind him, the First Man found himself in a suite—a massive, two-room unit with semi-circular walls that mirrored the apple's design visible from the outside. In the entrance area was a small living room with a sofa, a couple of armchairs, a low, white apple-shaped table, and numerous shelves filled with books, but more importantly, overflowing with rubber ducks of all kinds. They were piled everywhere, even obstructing the passage. Boxes spilled over with more ducks, some hidden under the table, others scattered so randomly that one had to be careful not to step on them, and still more were carefully placed on the shelves.

The reddish glow from the infernal sky barely filtered through the white curtains that covered the windows along the outer wall, but there was no immediate sign of Lucifer.

Adam glanced around, bewildered, unsure what to make of the room. He raised his red eyes to the ceiling, then back to the closed bathroom door before moving towards the open doorway leading to the bedroom, where he could already see the foot of the bed.

Three steps and—"SQEEEECK!"

< Fuck! > He stepped on a duck and immediately kicked it away. < What the hell is this...? > He growled. < Lucifer! > he called angrily, quickening his pace until he stumbled into the bedroom, which also had a predominantly white color with red accents and, of course, was also overflowing with ducks.

On the opposite wall from the bed was a makeshift desk turned into a workstation with pencils, rulers, and bizarre tools—including a saw and a drill—hanging on the wall. The bed was a canopy style with drapes gathered around its four white posts, and the golden headboard was designed to intertwine, forming the image of a snake.

< Catch! >

Lucifer's voice warned him just in time, and Adam caught a chubby rubber duck with golden bird wings, a goat mask, and a luminous halo—it was a parody of Adam himself.

Adam furrowed his brows in annoyance. < Really...? > ... < You've reduced yourself to this? Pff > he puffed his cheeks, bursting into a mocking laugh as he turned around to search for Lucifer. Nothing. < And you, you come to judge me. I never understood what Lilith saw in a failure like you > he snarled, baring his sharp teeth before his expression shifted to a malicious smile that radiated arrogance. < ...but now I perfectly understand why she preferred to spend the last seven years in Heaven... with me. >

At those last words, a surge of heat and fire erupted behind Adam, making him jump forward. He turned sharply, both terrified and enraged, his eyes flaring black as he instinctively extended dark horns from his forehead: there stood Lucifer.

He was standing straight-backed, his dark hands—his left adorned with a wedding band—resting on the apple-shaped knob of his cane planted on the ground. He wore neither his jacket nor his hat, his blond hair slicked back except for a few rebellious tufts. His face was round, youthful, and beautiful, with large golden-sclera eyes and red irises, cheeks flushed like a little clown. He was half Adam's height, dressed in his striped vest but lacking a bow tie. His hooves were bare, black with white nails.

< I remind you that you are now a Sinner... > Lucifer's melodious voice cut through the silence as his gaze lifted under his purple upper eyelids, meeting Adam's astonished expression. < ... IN MY HOUSE! > he flared up again, horns curving out, while his serpentine halo and the apple at its center blazed with fire.

Adam felt his legs buckle as if an invisible force were pulling him down, and he collapsed onto the floor, dropping the rubber duck. Supporting himself with both hands, he suddenly found himself looking up at Lucifer, his own eyes bloodshot and his irises turned golden.

With a few swishes of his tail, Lucifer calmed himself again, his shoulders shuddering as he reverted to his seemingly harmless human form.

< What do you want...? > he asked with a pleasant smile.

...

[feyravenchatter]

Listen. Angel with a Shotgun is still one of my stim songs that I will listen to on repeat ad nauseam. And the pieces of this started falling into place the last time I listened to it for about 3 days straight. I do have it vaguely outlined-ish, I know who the contact is, I have an idea of how that's going to go, it's just on the back burner for now

☆・*☆*・☆

The war between angels and demons, Heaven and Hell, had been raging for millennia.  It had spilled out into the mortal world, both sides hiding in plain sight.  Battles were called gang wars by humans, and it wasn’t far from the truth.  Both sides wanted to claim the realm of humans for their own, and the fights were always bloody.

Lance hadn’t been back to the Angel Garrison in a long time.  Long enough for him to have known the grandparents of the humans he hid amongst.  He’d been sent on a stealth mission nearly a century earlier, meant to infiltrate one of the demon factions, masquerading as a fallen angel.  His initial ruse had worked, the Marmora clan accepting him as one of their own.  This was where his problems started.  He quickly realized the demons might actually have a valid point.  A few valid points.  Humans should have their own will to determine their fates, not strung along by Heaven to an end that wasn’t what they were promised.  What Heaven threatened Hell was like was wrong too.  Neither side knew the other well enough to understand what their true goals were.  Lance did, and after a century, he’d determined his side was wrong.

He'd gotten close to one of the demons he was meant to be spying on as well.  Heaven strictly forbade personal relationships, deeming them troublesome and unholy.  Hell did not, fully allowing demons the freedom to get as close as they wanted with whoever they wanted.  Lance understood when he met Keith, the demon carved from ivory and ebony and inlaid with amethyst.  He was the most beautiful being Lance had ever seen.  He couldn’t help but get closer.

He first noticed his wings changing after fifty years.  He and Keith had just escaped a losing battle with far more angels than just the two of them.  Lance was hurt, and sank to the floor of the abandoned warehouse, one hand pressed to the bleeding wound in his side.

“Lance, we’re ok,” Keith said, “We’re safe.  Let me take a look at that.”

Lance winced as he moved his hand away from torn and burned skin and shredded fabric, gold blood soaking his clothes.  It felt awful; even being grazed by an angel’s smite was no joke.  His wings lay folded, his primary feathers pooling on the floor.  Keith wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t needed to carefully brush them aside to have better access to the bleeding wound.

“Your feathers are turning,” he said while taking stock of the injury.  It was pretty bad, but nothing life threatening.

Lance snapped to look, hissing at the pain.  But Keith was right.  The pure white was becoming stained, midnight blue and tarnished gold bleeding in from the tips.  It was his first indication that he was truly falling and no longer just pretending.

Fifty years later, and Lance and Keith were back-to-back in the middle of a fight.  They knew it would be fairly close quarters before they headed out that night and came prepared, Keith with a forearm-length blade in each hand, and Lance with a shotgun.  It had been a long time since he’d felt anything except pity at taking out other angels.  They’d never know how wrong they were, but Lance knew, and he also knew that there was no saving most of them.

Keith’s charcoal and purple leathery wings snapped open, and with a single powerful beat he took off for the air, spinning toward one of the angels.  That poor fuck didn’t even know what hit them.  Lance’s back was exposed, but he knew Keith wouldn’t leave him unprotected.  He heard movement, and spun to face it, pulling the lever on his weapon.  He only needed a split second to aim, and another to fire, the concrete block wall painted gold with the felled angel’s blood.  Lance stopped, muscles tensing, when he felt the hand pressed between his midnight blue wings edged in tarnished gold.

“Oh, look, it’s the traitor.”  The voice dripped heavily with self-righteousness and condescension.

Lance mentally cursed himself.  “The fuck do you want, James?”

“What do I want?  I want all stained, worthless traitors dead.  And tonight I think I’ll start with you.”

James decided to play dirty that night.  He was summoning a full smite, bare-handed, directly against Lance’s back.  There would be nothing left to save if it was completed.  But James had forgotten about Keith in his angelic arrogance, and Lance heard his quiet gasp at the luxite blade suddenly at his throat.

“Let him go,” Keith growled.

“No.”  James tried to sound sure of himself, but the tremor in his voice was too obvious.

“Let him go or I’ll cut your throat where you stand.”

James tried a different tactic.  “He’s betraying you, y’know.”

Keith scoffed, the dagger’s sharp edge biting in deeper.  “Like fuck he is.  I know all about why he came to us to begin with, but that’s over.  Right, babe?”

Lance huffed a laugh.  “Damn right.  Sorry, James.”

Keith was sent reeling back at the angelic scream and holy light.  Lance moved quickly, but not quite quickly enough, the incomplete smite exploding inches away from his back.  Keith recovered faster, throwing himself back into the fight.  Lance staggered, but remained standing, watching as Keith sliced his way through the remaining angels, bright gold blood spilling freely over black concrete.  James was glowing with his rage, white wings fully spread, and he left the rain-slicked pavement, hovering above the battle.

Lance, between the searing pain and literally incandescent angel, forgot about the shotgun in his hand, instead summoning a smite of his own.  It was different now, not backed by the power of Heaven like James’ was, but by his own will.  His own anger took physical form, racing down his arm and coalescing in the palm of his hand.  James was too angry to notice, and had no time at all to react when the unholy smite was set loose, a concentrated storm cloud of cerulean power crackling with dark gold lightning finding its target.  James screamed again, Lance’s smite consuming him.  White cracked and splintered into blood red and shining gold and then became black as the smite burned him from inside, not even ash left behind.  The rest of the angels lay dead, and Keith flew across the battlefield, catching Lance as he fell.

The last thing Lance heard before passing out was Keith’s worried voice.

“Hold on.  We’ll take care of this.”

When Lance woke, it was in one of the Victorian bedrooms of the Marmora mansion.  He was on his stomach, instantly reminded of why when he tried to get up.  The pain was incredible, and he gave up immediately, collapsing back down to the plush mattress under him.

“We took care of it as well as we could,” Keith’s voice said from the doorway, “But you know it can’t be perfect.”

“’S gonna scar, huh?” Lance asked, muffled by the pillow.

Keith sat in the chair beside him.  “Yeah.  Kinda looks like a starburst.”  He paused, gathering his thoughts.  “What James said, about you betraying me-”

Lance cut him off.  “It’s bullshit.  You know that.”

Keith interrupted this time.  “No, I know.  But you’re still in contact with them.  Is there anything they might know?”

Lance turned his head.  “No.  I don’t even tell my contact the truth, as much as they’re on our side.  It’s too risky and they know it.  All I give them is the false info to keep throwing the rest of them off.”

“You know I trust you.  I think I was just wondering why he’d bring it up.”

“Because, he had no way of knowing what I might have told you.  There is nothing to worry about.  We’re safe.”

“Ok.”  Keith leaned in for a soft kiss, a small smile curling his lip.  “Love you.”

Lance reached out, twisting their fingers together.  “Love you too.”

“Rest, love.  I’ll be back.”

When Lance had fallen asleep again, Keith left, heading for the meeting in progress.  Kolivan stood at the front of the war room, the rest of the clan spread throughout.  City maps both new and antique papered the walls, battles marked as either won or lost, Keith and Lance’s fight marked with a clear win.  Every head snapped to the door when it opened, Keith walking past them all to address Kolivan directly.

“He’s resting, and although the smite was incomplete, the injury is still severe,” he reported, “It will take at least a few days to heal enough for him to leave bedrest.”

Kolivan nodded.  “And our other matter?”

“Confirmed.  The contact needs to be retrieved.  Lance didn’t say exactly, but it sounds like they’re in danger of being found out.  I believe their knowledge of Heaven will be invaluable to us.”

“And you still trust him?”

“With my life.  Lance came to us as a spy, yes, but he has never once truly betrayed us.  Every feather has turned.  There is no question at all that he has fallen.”

“Aw, love you too, babe.”

Lance was standing braced against the doorway, clearly still in pain.  The fact that he should not at all be out of bed yet was fully ignored in favor of the newest change to the fallen angel.  Lance’s once unblemished bronze skin now bore new marks.  Wide V-shapes like spread wings now sat high on his cheekbones in richly glowing blue, the same color chasing down his arms and torso in vine-like lines.  His once clear blue eyes were darkened like the depths of the ocean, ringed in the same tarnished gold as his wings.

“But I’m going to have to disagree with your assessment.  I hadn’t fully fallen yet.  Have now.  I know none of you have ever seen a truly fallen angel, Heaven isn’t exactly known for letting us live this long.  You got the wing thing right, but this is the rest of the transformation.  And by the way, Keith’s right.  We need to get my contact out of the Garrison before they’re caught.”

Kolivan studied Lance, turning over both Keith’s report and Lance’s new appearance.  He nodded once.  “We will retrieve your contact.  Thace, Ulaz, you will lead the infiltration team.  Antok, Regris, you will support them.  Lance, can you hide your fall?”

“I’ll need to recover from tonight first, but I think so.  But we won’t have a lot of time.  I knew James.  They’ll be looking for him and when they can’t find him, they’ll be looking for whoever killed him.”

“Understood.  Keith, you’re dismissed.  Stay with him.”

Lance leaned on Keith once they were out of sight of the rest of the Marmora clan.  He was exhausted, both from the fight and completing his fall from grace.  Keith was quiet as usual, but there was an undercurrent to it.

“What was it?” he asked eventually, “What made the fall complete?”

“I killed an angel.”

“You’ve been killing angels for a century.”

“Not with my smite I haven’t.  That was what did it.  Killing one of Heaven’s children with a corrupted version of what they consider to be one of their greatest gifts.”

Keith scoffed.  “Greatest gift my ass.  What happened to the unconditional love and compassion they’re always screeching about?”

Lance laughed softly once.  “Turns out terms and conditions do apply.”

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Earth & Fire

Chapter I - The end of everything

04/10/2023

Pairing: Hades (Hozier) x Anthea (OFC)

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: attempted rape, angst, violence, nudity

Summary: As the All-father, Zeus is used to getting whatever his heart—or loins—desire. But when his attention falls upon Hephaestus’ daughter, for the first time he is met with unexpected resistance.

A/N: I had a blast writing this. Enjoy!

Earth & Fire - Masterpost

Picture by Mark Olsen via Unsplash (cropped)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

Despite his elevated position in the pine tree, a pair of sharp eyes drew in every single detail about her naked form. From her tantalising curves and the petite mole that decorated her behind to the tiny hairs that stood erect all over her body as she entered the gentle waves. They were lapping at her skin, swallowing inch after inch and for once he found himself envying his brother, who, if he had felt the same torturing ache in his loins as he himself did now, could have easily taken the sweet diversion this woman promised before she would even know what came over her. Her consent wouldn’t matter. He wanted her, needed to have her, to move inside her, possess her in every way possible, and who was she to deny the king of the gods his satisfaction? A nobody, nothing but a mere mortal, she should be thankful that he had singled her out and even considered sating his hunger on someone as lowly her. 

True, her beauty and voluptuousness were rare. They had mislead him at first. If he didn’t know better, he would have guessed she was a goddess, a fertility goddess perhaps, or at least the descendant of one. But then he had found out who she was and felt foolish for thinking so highly of her. She truly was a nobody, an orphan, left at the doorstop of her foster father, unwanted and abandoned even by her own flesh and blood. Her only luck had been that the man had such a soft heart. He had taken her in without hesitation and loved her like his own, the sappy fool. Maybe she reminded him of his own fate or he saw her as his only chance of a happy family, one he had never had as a child. Whatever it was, this circumstance made it almost impossible to fulfil his burning aspiration.

Almost. 

Because even though the All-father was not known for his patience, he had planned this day meticulously. Not long now, before Hephaestus would leave his home, before she would be on her own, unprotected and ready for the plucking. He shuddered as another wave of desire rippled through him, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent his mighty wings from flapping excitedly as a shriek of pure anticipation pierced the silence of the morning.

Immediately she turned, her eyes finding his white head amidst the sea of green at first glance. He knew he should have taken off, it would have seemed only natural, but instead he stayed put, hypnotised by her sudden motion and the quiver of her full bosom it had caused, the two hardened buds urging him to close his mouth around them and suck until she would beg for his mercy. 

More and more of her form ascended from the water, glowing like liquid gold in the morning sun until finally a triangle of short curls was revealed. Another pulse of desire electrified his whole body. He felt dizzy, his want for her almost too much to bare, even for a god, and it cost him every last bit of self-restraint not to discard his careful plan and take her right here and now.

He didn’t even notice the low growl of thunder in the distance or the rustling of the pine cones around him, it was only when she had secured the white fabric above her shoulders and her nakedness was finally covered from his view that he snapped out of his trance. She was still starring up at him as she hurried to get away from the beach. 

He kept on watching, following her with his eyes until the thick underbrush had swallowed her and as soon as she was gone, he couldn’t help the unease from growing when he recalled the notion in her eyes the moment she had spotted him in the trees. What if she knew? What if all his patience and plotting had been in vain? Ruined by one moment of carelessness. A carelessness she was entirely to blame for. The things she did to him. He would make sure she would compensate him generously for all the agony she had caused. 

Not long now. Not long.

With a sigh he tightened the last leather strap around his leg. He already hated it. It wasn’t so much that the leg brace felt uncomfortable. It did. But the memories it awakened were far worse than any discomfort it could have caused. 

Luckily there was no need to wear it at home. He managed well enough around the house and at the workshop, and neither he nor Anthea minded the slight limb in his step when he didn’t wear his orthesis. But he didn’t intend on granting Zeus the satisfaction of seeing him like this. He would consider it a weakness, an affirmation for his decision to throw him off Mount Olympus as a child even though it had been that very act of brutality which had made him a cripple in the first place.

Zeus. That jealous oaf. A child in the body of a mighty god. How anyone could have ever agreed to make him the ruler of the cosmos would forever remain a mystery to him. 

But it was as it was and if the All-father called for him, Hephaestus would have to follow that call, however much he disliked it. If he didn’t, he would only risk Zeus showing up at his home and that was the one thing he disliked even more than being among the other Olympians. There was more than one reason he never went to Olympus even though he wasn’t technically banned from that place, and why he also didn’t care for any kind of relationship with the other immortals. It said a lot how little they had cared about the violence he had suffered from Zeus’ hands. Nobody had spoken up for him apart from his own mother. And even her protest had fallen silent rather quickly and she had taken to secret visits instead.

For a long time he had resented them all and wallowed in self-pity, thinking that staying away and denying them his company was their rightful punishment, but ever since Anthea had come into his life, he had been thankful for the distance he had built between the Olympians and himself instead of lamenting it. As far as he was concerned, Anthea was never to meet any of them. Aside from his mother. And even her visits made him uneasy sometimes. Sure, he had made his peace with her, had even named his daughter after her as an act of grace, but she was still an Olympian goddess and as such, lying and scheming was an inherent part of her nature. She couldn’t be trusted, and neither could Zeus and Poseidon or basically any god when it came to a beautiful young woman like Anthea. 

Hephaestus had made sure she knew that as well, had taught her about the insatiable appetite of the immortals and the methods of deception they used to silence their hunger for a while before it rekindled and the circle would begin again. There were plenty of examples to pick from and he would make sure his daughter would not become one of them some day.

He sighed again as he pushed those dark thoughts aside and shouldered the leather bag that contained a few of his tools. He had no idea why Zeus was summoning him, but he assumed the god was in need of yet another weapon or some sort of tool to keep the other gods or a few unruly mortals under control. Whatever it was, he didn’t intend on staying long. A day or two at most. Actually, he was hoping Zeus would simply place an order that could be forged here on Lemnos and delivered upon a later date. That way, he could be back and forth within a few hours and wouldn’t have to leave Anthea on her own for too long. For his sake more than hers because it made him uneasy to know she was unprotected. Not that she was helpless, far from it. She could very well manage on her own, inside the house and outside. She knew how to handle a sword and a bow, how to properly use a shield and spear. He had forged all those weapons himself, weapons fit to kill a god, and personally trained her. And still he loathed being apart from her. Especially without saying goodbye. It had almost ripped him apart when she had asked that of him, but he knew how much she hated goodbyes. And so he had pretended that nothing out of the ordinary was to happen today as he had seen her off to her morning swim. He had tried so hard not to hug her a little tighter, a little longer, to inhale her familiar scent a little deeper while he held her, but he had failed miserably. He had known when she had tried to wriggle out of his embrace with a grunt, just like he had known that she would forgive him his lapse as soon as a soft smile had started to curl her lips.

Gods, please let him be there. Please let him still be there.

But she knew the second she hurled the door to her home open that her father was gone already. And so she hurried to close it behind herself and push the wooden bar into place. Anthea felt her heart racing in her chest and even though she knew it was stupid to get this upset about a bird, she only felt her sudden panic subside a bit when she had crossed the kitchen and reached the wall that held the sharp carving knife. She didn’t need to look down to know her knuckles were immediately whitening from her tight grip. A grip so strong it didn’t even loosen the slightest bit when she was caught off guard by the mighty thunder that made the pots and pans rattle and forced her heart to stand still for a moment. She didn’t dare move in the treacherous silence that followed, didn’t even breathe until the cry of an eagle reached her ears and made her gasp. White noise flooded her ears, making it impossible to tell whether the flutter of wings that came from behind her back was real or a mere product of her imagination. But she turned anyway, knife ready to strike, just to be frozen in place once more by the sight that awaited her.

He was breathtaking. More handsome than any man she had ever seen. Golden hair fell around his shoulders, matched by a thick, equally golden beard that framed a winning smile which never fully reached his electric blue eyes. The same blue fading into a darker shade before turning into a rich purple coloured his chiton, a piece of clothing so minimalistic that Anthea doubted it deserved to be called that as it revealed more of his sun-kissed skin than it concealed. His strong chest and rippling stomach were on full display aside from one diagonal stripe along his front, shoulder and back. Everything about his appearance called to her. His muscular arms and legs, thick and veiny, surpassing every ideal by far. Even the V-line on his abdomen, put so conveniently on display to lead her gaze right to the very center of his masculinity. It was ridiculous how attractive this man was, only that he wasn’t a man, she guessed. And even if she had never seen any other gods than her father and grandmother, she recognised the hubris only divine power entailed in the way he carried himself. But while it gave her a sense of security around her father, being in the same room as this creature awakened her primal fears.

“Anthea, I believe?” he asked, his voice deep, rolling in his chest like the thunder she had heard mere seconds ago. All she could muster was a nod, her mouth dry, her tongue too heavy to speak. “I was hoping to find Hephaestus.”

He moved while he spoke, slowly, careful not to scare her, but as he drew nearer her survival instincts finally flickered to life and she found her voice again.

“I’m afraid he has been summoned to Olympus. He won’t return any time soon. So there will be no use in waiting for him.”

She delivered her statement with a steady voice. Maybe if she showed strength and made it clear that he wasn’t welcome to wait for her father’s return, he would leave. It was only when she watched the wolfish grin spread on his lips that she realised her mistake.

“What a shame. All this way for nothing.”

His smile grew even wider, contradicting the regret his words held, as he drew in closer and closer. The weight in her hand was her last hope, and so she steadied her stance, fastened her grip, ready to drive the blade as deep as she could. Her attack wouldn’t kill him, not if he really was a god, but maybe it would buy her enough time to make it to her room and fetch her sword.

It wouldn’t. In the blink of an eye a blazing light shot from his hand, hitting the knife in her hand. A sharp pain spread through her whole arm as she felt her fingers open and heard the sound of metal hitting the ground. 

Once again her instincts took over, telling her to back off. Stupidly so, as with the first step back Anthea could see a flicker of excitement in his eyes. The reaction of a predator, thrilled by the stirring of his prey. Her move had marked the beginning of the hunt, even though she had nowhere to run. All it took was one more step before her back hit the wall. He had her cornered, fixed in place to do as he pleased. He had won and he knew it. 

“Well,” he cooed as his fingertips ran along her arm, eager to occupy his newly gained territory, “maybe I didn’t come all this way for nothing after all.”

One hand raised to shield his eyes from the blinding sunlight, Hephaestus glanced up at the heap of clouds that covered the mountain top and veiled the home of the gods from the rest of the world. He could easily avoid the arduous climb, travel through the ether as he had done to get here and be at the summit in seconds, but he liked the challenge and the view was phenomenal. 

He hadn’t gotten far, trees were still lining his way, when a thought suddenly crossed his mind. From the moment Hermes had sought him out in his workshop at the foot of the Mosychlos a few days ago to let him know that Zeus wanted to see him, Hephaestus had not been able to shake the feeling that something was not quite right. He just hadn’t been able to figure out what exactly it was that upset him. But now it seemed so clear to him that he wondered why it had taken him so long to realise. It wasn’t one particular thing that was odd, but the whole endeavour.

Why had Zeus sent Hermes himself to summon him? Why not just send word what it was he wanted, have Hephaestus manufacture and then deliver it? Why make him travel all the way to Mount Olympus when Zeus clearly didn’t want him there just as much as Hephaestus didn’t care for being there if it wasn’t to—

Hephaestus didn’t manage to finish that thought, cut short as the earth began to move underneath his feet. It was only a light tremble in the beginning, hardly enough for him to notice, but it grew stronger by the second, until the trees started to shake dangerously and the first forest creatures fled their hideouts in terror. The god struggled to keep on his feet as another violent tremor shook the ground underneath his feet. 

The shadow of an eagle brushed across his face and darkened the sun for a moment as the mighty bird rose from its nest with a high-pitched cry. But even with the bird long gone, the sun didn’t touch his skin again. As he looked up into the sky, Hephaestus found his fear confirmed. An eclipse. 

This was more than a mere earthquake, he was sure of that now. Something was terribly wrong here. He needed to get home immediately, Olympus be damned. The All-father could wait, his daughter couldn’t. With a quick motion of his fingers he opened the ether, willing the destination of his journey to the center of his mind before he stepped through the opening.

The stranger was so close now. She could see the golden flecks dance in the blue of his eyes as he leaned in to grab her chin. The heavy scent of petrichor on his skin made her dizzy and washed away her last shred of doubt who the intruder was. She could feel him, everything of him, pressing heavily into her body while his mouth came inexorably closer to her own. Giving in would have been easy. If it was true and she was indeed locked against the cold wall by the king of the gods, he would have her anyway, regardless of her opposition. Resistance seemed pointless, but her father had not raised a coward. And so she turned her head just in time before he could close the last distance and hissed, “Let go of me.”

She also tried to push him off, but however much she tried, he didn’t even move one inch. 

“I said, let go of me, kyon,” she pressed out between gritted teeth and revelled for a tiny moment as he blinked upon the unexpected insult. She was trembling, shaking in his tight hold, heat flooding her body as she readied herself to spit her venom at him again. But before she could, a familiar voice boomed through the strained silence and the shaking stopped.

“You heard her, Zeus. Let go of my daughter.”

So it was true. It was him. They had never met before, but her father had told her all the stories. She had always thought he was merely exaggerating, being the protective father he was. But she could see now that he hadn’t told her all the gruesome tales of violation to keep her away from Olympus but to prepare her for the inevitable encounter with its inhabitants. 

But even with Hephaestus present and Zeus’ plan destroyed, Anthea felt that the All-father was reluctant to let go. His slowness was not only testing her own patience, but her father’s nerves were wearing thin as well. He was already taking a step forward, ready to pull her from the impertinent god’s grip with force if necessary, when Anthea took matters into her own hands and pushed the violator aside. She hurried past him until she reached her father. His eyes quickly ran up and down her quivering form and Anthea was sure that she had never seen an equal terror in them before. Not even on the day she had wandered off from his workshop into the cave labyrinth that lead deep into the Mosychlos on her own. 

“Go wait in your room,” he whispered, every fibre in his body tensed and even though she feared what might pass next between the two gods, she did as she was told, squeezing his hand in passing as she left.

“What are you doing here, Zeus?”

The blond sneered, raising his arms in an excuse as false as his smile.

“Does a father need a reason to visit his son?”

“You are many things, Vrontios, but not my father. You made that unmistakably clear when you hurled me from Mount Olympus.”

“A mere misunderstanding. I didn’t think you would still hold that against me after all these years.”

Hephaestus disagreed. He had every reason to still hold it against the All-father. Being thrown down the highest mountain out of spite because his wife had decided if her husband could have a child on his own, so could she, wasn’t exactly what he would call a misunderstanding. 

“You never saw the necessity to visit me before. Why now?”

Zeus grinned. “I admit, you got me there.”

“Then what is it you want that couldn’t wait until my arrival at Mount Olympus—to where you summoned me?”

“Well,” a deep chuckle made his bare chest quiver, his eyes briefly flitting into the direction in which Anthea had left seconds ago. Had Hephaestus blinked in the wrong moment, he would have missed it. But it had been there and it made his blood boil with fury.

“I feared as much. But I will not let you defile my daughter like all the others just to throw her away once you sated your hunger on her.”

“Defile is such a harsh word. I can make her feel good if she gives herself to me freely. And why wouldn’t she? Am I not the mighty Zeus, King of the Gods?”

“I’m afraid you are. Though I still fail to understand who put you in that position.”

Zeus’ blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “Careful, Hephaestus. Tell me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now and simply take what I desire.”

“Because we both know that killing her son and raping her granddaughter might very well be the last drop to let my mother’s hatred for you finally overflow.”

They both knew Hera’s patience with her husband was held together by nothing but a frail thread after all his affairs and constant lies, and if it would snap, that might very well lead to the end of the reign of Zeus. The All-father was fuming as the realisation slowly sank in. Just this once, he wouldn’t get what he wanted, a sensation that was entirely new to him.

“Know this, Hephaestus. I will have her. And even though you think you can protect her, you will find that you two have nowhere to go. There is not a stone big enough in this world for you to crawl under that I will leave unturned. She will be mine, Hephaestus. Mine.”

In a flash Zeus was gone, leaving only smoke and a foul aftertaste in his mouth. But right now he didn’t care about the threats that still lingered in the air as he hurried out of the room. He wasn’t in the least surprised to find her rushing towards him halfway. She must have been frightened to death by this encounter. As was he after finding his worst fears, everything he had been so careful to avoid, had come true.

She threw herself into his arms, her head secured against his heaving chest by a huge palm.

“I’m sorry, my flower,” he mumbled into the softness of her hair. “So, so sorry.”

“What for, father? Nothing happened. I am unharmed.” 

Zeus may not have touched her, and Hephaestus was grateful he had been there in time to prevent the worst. Still his heart broke for his daughter with every beat because he knew that this was only the beginning. Zeus’ greed knew no bounds and in the end, his greed for her flesh would cost Anthea everything. It would mark the end of her life as she knew it. And there was nothing Hephaestus could do about it.

Chapter 2

Tag List:

@ashesofblackroses

[starwarsrecrimination]

Character Spotlight: Abeloth

Is Abeloth the major antagonist of Recrimination? The answer is... complicated. It depends on what version of events you believe. As the Beloved Queen of the Stars gains power and influence, the fabric of the story itself begins to snarl, warp, and unravel. She has spent millennia trying and failing again and again to escape the prison her own Family trapped her in, but before she was the Bringer of Chaos, she was a Mother. And before that- she can hardly remember herself. But change is coming to the galaxy, and she intends to take hold of her own fate at any cost.

For much of the planning process, I had simply no idea how I wanted Abeloth's story to go. In earlier versions of what eventually became Recrimination, she was more of a final boss, fought by the Jedi in the World Between Worlds. When digging further into her backstory, however, along with reconsidering the overall tone and structure of the project itself, I decided to let the characters and audience get to know Abeloth a little better. "Bella" acts as a companion, providing insight and guidance, but her role in the increasing deterioration of character's mental states and the actual structure of the show itself is increasingly suspect as the story progresses. Each season brings new distortions in the form of blink-and-you'll-miss-them scenery changes, corrupted or dissonant audio, delayed, suspended, or accelerated motion, and model breakage, and each season Abeloth grows closer and closer to attaining her goal. While she can appear in any form, the versions of her presented below, which I've dubbed "Lottie", "Bella", and "Abeloth" respectively, are some of the faces she presents as her own depending on her mood or whatever her goals may be in a particular interaction.

Visuals and descriptions under the cut:

This visual was created using @/_tougennkyou's Picrew, which can be found here.

[Image ID: An illustration made using Picrew. The subject is a young girl with pale skin, long white-grey hair tied back with a white ribbon, pale grey eyes, and an uneasy smile. She wears a white jacket and long white skirt, and her legs are bare and taper from flesh-toned into pure white. Blood-stained bandages wrap around her throat and right upper leg, and her hands are clasped as if in prayer in front of her face. The background is pale blue, with a pale gold moon behind the subject and pale hands with reddish fingertips reaching out from the top of the frame. End ID.]

This visual was created using @/sunflower.stoian's Picrew, which can be found here.

[Image ID: An illustration made using Picrew. The subject is a woman with white skin, shoulder-length white hair, eyes with black sclerae and pale white-blue irises with no pupils, and a gentle smile. She wears a light blue sleeveless dress with a scalloped neck and a teardrop-shaped chest cutout and matching dangling earrings with blue beads at the ends. The background is pale blue, with sketchy white clouds and an opaque white circle directly behind the subject. End ID.]

This visual was created using @/brightgoat's Picrew, which can be found here.

[Image ID: An illustration made using Picrew. The subject is an older woman with blue-white skin freckled with purple, long white hair, eyes with swirling black and white sclerae and no irises or pupils, and a scowl that shows sharp teeth. She wears a low-cut grey dress in the style of an evening gown, a thick ornamental necklace with black jewel accents and repoussage detailing, and earrings in the shape of masks, with each featuring one side with an eye and the other blank. White roses appear to be growing underneath her eyes, and a jagged purple scar reminiscent of lightning splays across the bridge of her nose. Rimmed in red, a black eye with a white iris sits in the middle of her forehead, and white hands grasp at her scalp and stretch out behind her head like a crown. The background is a realistic beach under a starless black sky, with distorting particle effects overlaying the image. End ID.]

[ruejayhamilton]

A Taste of Embers and Ash

As the day slowly drew to a close in the majestic kingdom of Xymyria, the sun cast its final rays across the vast sky, painting it with a warm and inviting golden hue. The bustling city below gradually began to settle as the palace’s grand belfries, standing tall and proud above the city skyline, began churning their delightful melodies. The sounds echoed throughout the kingdom, signaling the arrival of a peaceful and tranquil night filled with the sweet serenity that only came with the end of a long and busy day in farming fields.

The youthful princess was sitting in front of a splendid, rectangular mirror, basking in the ringing bells in her ears. Her reflection seemed to be swaying along with the cadence of the belfries, which were situated in an arcade on the third floor, directly above her quarters. The chimes carried on for a few moments, serving as a clear indication that it was nighttime and all was still.

This meant Lior was late for the masquerade ball, which meant her mother would scold her for not picking simpler garments and decorations. But it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Her lady-in-waiting, Maid Tinsley, had insisted on helping the eighteen-year-old lady get dressed for what would be a night to remember.

With practiced fingers, Maid Tinsley wove Lior’s hair strands into three distinct layers of braids, each wider and thicker than the one above. As this was being done, Lior heard the distant sound of her mother’s voice reverberating throughout the palace, which echoed with a symphony of clicking inside and an aria of cicadas serenading the night outside.

It all meshed with the incoming scent of thyme—spicy, aromatic, and leathery—flowing to her nostrils as she inhaled a breath of oxygen. Then swirling through her senses, she could imagine indulging in an olive or two from the olive tree in the courtyard. Rich in flavor, the juice poured through her veins. And her brain begged for the fantasy to continue. Just one more, she told herself until …

“Lior!”

Perfectly still. That was how Lior remained in response to her mother’s voice rattling down the corridors from the piano nobile. She took in every ounce of her reflection, which gleamed in gold decorations and dusty reddish-orange material of mesh, net, and tulle fabric along with foliate and floral decals on the top from gold to red and purple and green, and the velvet belt that hugged the space below her breasts. Her tan skin was darker than usual. Maybe it was the capped sleeves or the skirt fanning out in waves to create an a-line silhouette that made her appear darker than usual, she considered for a moment. Of course not. It was the whole gown.

Despite any efforts she might’ve made, such as wearing an ornate mask and engaging in dances with many potential suitors from various social classes, the outcome would remain essentially unchanged. In the land of Xymyria, women were bereft of agency over their lives. Their fates were predetermined and outside their control from birth to maturity, marriage and child-rearing, and ultimately death.

At least in Xymyrian royalty and nobility, such was true. All children of Xymyrian titles were subject to the state of being an object, as it was a tradition that ran deep into the veins of their history. In Xymyria, people who bore a title were no less shackled than those in bondage.

Even her eldest brother, Chauncey, was under pressure to marry a woman purely for the benefit of the kingdom. If he could not love the lady, well, too bad. More likely than not, marrying the lady came with an army and money. And returning property came with consequences: a war that could overturn who led the kingdom more often than not, as Lior’s father had explained once. Not to mention, her father would fume over the loss of men and the disdain of a noble family.

As for a princess, it was all about climbing the social ladder or marrying into a noble house of great wealth and property. Chauncey was the Crown Prince of Xymyria, but Lior was just Princess Lior Allard of the House Decroix. And from a young age, those whose care she was under instilled in her the concept that she was more shackled than a man. Marrying her came with an ample dowry and a promise of fertile loins.

Swelling in her chest was a need, not a want, for freedom, for choice in who she could marry. Every moment leading to the masquerade was like mental chains yanking her back further and further into the darkness, into the hollow echo of her chest. And she would not stand for it.

Lior was determined to orchestrate the masquerade ball as a mere guise, ensuring the event was solely for her nuptials. Nevertheless, intricate plots were in motion to guarantee that she would be betrothed to her paramour, a young man named Royce, who was merely eighteen, just like the princess.

The scheming and planning that went into this clandestine affair were elaborate and sophisticated, meticulously scrutinizing every detail to avoid any slip-ups. Lior’s desire to marry the man she loved was strong, and she went to great lengths to make it happen, even if it meant deceiving those closest to her.

[g0j0s]

let me shine some light on how the British looted the palace of Shah Jahan’s daughter; Jahanara

constructed in the shape of a palanquin, the emperor had envisioned feminine beauty & luxury for his daughter’s abode.

but where there resided jewels and riches of India, it also attracted the greed of the British. and the palace met the same fate as it’s companions.

with torches and flames, they melted the pure gold engravings of flowers and motifs inside the palace walls. it’s roof which was made out of pure gold metal was scraped and ripped to be replaced by mere paint.

the stones engraved in the walls and the floors, carpets of pristine qualities, curtains of rare fabrics, tapestries and lavish decorations made be skilled craftsmen were stolen from the womb of the palace to fill the British treasuries.

[str0yberries]

Kannagi Aoi and Fully supernatural Akane

So this is my rewritten fanfiction inspired from an AoiKane roleplay!! To understand this plot better, you need to know that Aoi Akane is a Kannagi (God’s bride) and must remain pure in all shapes and forms until her last day. Akane was born a clock keeper and has lived his whole life as a supernatural who had loved Aoi the second she walked through the school gate. Messing around for a while, despite all the pressure for Aoi to stay pure, she lets Akane ruin her as he pleases until the fated time when she must finally meet her fate arrives. . .  _ _ _ From that point onward, she continued spending time with him as much as possible as she noticed her time was running out. Her 17th birthday,, this day had to be perfect.  The kind of day she had dreamed of since she had been small,, that day she didn’t come to school. Too busy to do the tremendous amount of skincare that was forced onto her face as she was dressed in some of the fanciest fabrics ever. She was forbidden to even get a taste of food or drinks to not ruin them. Despite the heavy makeup put on and the tiredness emanating from her, her mind could only think of 'him'.  Akane was in the clocktower, moping as he held onto his lovers hoodie. One she'd left for him to remember her by. After all..he'd never see her again.. He wanted to spend her birthday with her, but..he couldn't leave the school. And with her staying home, there was no chance to get to see her. His eyes were watery as he caressed the purple jacket, pretending it was her. They'd said their goodbyes a day prior. Promising to find each other on the far shore one day. She was starving as they walked from her house to the backyard of the school. Other citizens joined them as they chanted and charmed the city full of lights. The robe was heavy on her lighter shoulders. Finally 17, such a beautiful teenage dream coming to an end. But then again, had that dream been hers or her family’s?  Even as she walked over, surrounded by lanterns held by exorcists of Teru’s clan, she couldn’t recognize a single person but she knew that under all those demon-like masks, none of them were either of her parents. Just as expected. The white blinded her with every painful step in ballerinas that were way too tight for her. Here her bloodline would end,,  ❝Dear god, I hereby am offering myself to get hitched. Promise us complexion and protect our people-❞  Before she could finish the vows she had so meticulously prepared, she was pushed down the supernatural hole, the effect blasting an orange circle of magic through the whole city. All lights suddenly evaporated as the whole darkened, closing itself slowly. Akanes eyes widened as he began to glow gold. What the-? He'd never had this happen before. His eyes widened as he teleported to a darkly lit cave. The bottom was full of water. He looked around before his eyes caught a familiar girl. And he knew why he was here.  "What a beautiful eternal wife~ be not afraid, my darling. You are safe, and your town has been saved~"  She winced at the pain once her back hit the watery ground. She lifted herself up slightly still on her knees as she noticed the ruined fabric.  ❝Ow,,❞  She uttered before groaning away what her pain tolerance hadn’t been able to block. Hearing the sweet voice she knew way too well, she lifted her head. Silence. Without another word, she got up as she ran to him, with a wider smile than any Kannagi before her. She knew whoever had decided of their fate might’ve considered her stupid. After all, no Kannagis had ever smiled before her.  ❝Darling!! You’re here! How? Why? I’m wedded now,, we can’t be messing around! I don’t want you in trouble—❞ And with that she started rambling, her thoughts speeding faster than her mouth as she overthought and overanalyzed this whole situation from all possible and imaginable angles. Akane rolled his eyes, kissing his newlywed wife sweetly, before pulling away. He grinned down at her as he radiated gold.  "Darling, if we're going to be we'd you mustn't worry so much! You've succeeded in your destiny, and proved your worth to the Akane family." He grinned. Though he wasn't quite sure if she knew what had happened, that he was the God she was to marry. The sudden kiss had her quiet as her cheeks rosed up with surprise. Lifting up her head to understand, her whole world came crashing down more positively. ❝Wed-? Us? No no no, there must be a mistake. My husband will come any moment now— He’s supposed to be brought back down any moments now. I don’t know how you did it but you must—❞ At his grin, she fixed him a bit more apathetically before it hit her. With a widened expression, she simply pointed at him before pointing at her. ❝You don’t mean,,❞ And expecting the better answer, she jumped on him, hugging him tightly, making the both of them fall on their backs as she chuckled happily, happy tears surfacing her tired mortal body that was decomposing away. Akane chuckled softly as he held her, laying on his back with her next to him. He kissed her nose as he held her close.  "I'm beyond relieved..so so happy.." As they laughed to their heart’s content, she wiped the physical tears out of her face as her makeup came undone in the white fabric that had covered her body as a sort of a wedding kimono. ❝So nothing will ever,, separate us again? Right?❞ She still asked as they stayed there, water covering them partly as her hand reach for his ginger locks that had come undone. ❝You’re my husband now, and I’m your wife. There’s no one else, you promise?❞ She scrunched her nose at his kiss, suddenly bursting in tears as she sobbed violently; relieved. Every single ounce of stress and pressure from years crumbling as she lost her composure. She wasn’t unhappy in the slightest, quite the contrary. She was so glad and happy she could only express it through tears and sobs that had her choke on the air she no longer needed. Akane cupped her cheeks as she began to cry. Ever so pleased that they were now eternally wed. Kissing her forehead as he held her soft face in his hands. "My darling, there will never be anyone but you, and only you." He promised, stroking her pale pink cheeks with his thumbs. "Such a pretty bride.." If anyone else had been unfortunate to walk in on them as their members were tangled with one another, they would’ve thought a child was suffering. Skin disappearing little by little as the waters made the place look even more quiet and peaceful in its deadliness. ❝I love you,, I love you so so much,,❞ Cuddled by her groom’s hand and softeness as her purple gaze fell on him now that he finally became warm to her. Butterflies rising in the pit of her stomach, she finally stopped sobbing, calming down despite the tears still streaming out of her. And with one more promising kiss, he silently reciprocated her feelings. 

[exiled-eyes]

" As the souls of the dead fill the space of my mind I'll search without sleeping 'til peace I can find "

Cecco /|\ Quartermaster aboard the Jolly Roger

Dedicated to the crew, to keeping as many people alive as possible. Praying for one less letter addressed to Davy Jones's Locker.

Bio /|\ About /|\ Playlist /|\ Never /|\ Headcanons

Penned by Nyx, she/her, est

Headcanons

Just a few days prior to the cursed sizeable haul, Cecco had been persuaded by one of the Righteous Harpy's crew, a man named Danik, they had been particularly close to during their travels, to get their ears pierced. If there was one person aboard that vessel, who could convince the quartermaster to give in to 'silly antics', it was him. They had sailed all over the world, it felt like. Spilled blood alongside each other and gotten far beyond drunk together. Aboard the ship, or on land, the two were inseparable.   So what was one more adventure for the duo? Even if Cecco didn't believe anything but a bit of pain would come from it, Danik was fond of these silly superstitions, as many sailors and pirates especially, were.  He believed that by having given Cecco a golden hoop in their ear, that it would bring the Righteous Harpy good fortune, and, in the unlikely event that the quartermaster ever found their way in the merciless waters, the gold would prevent them from meeting a watery grave.   So with a bit of ripped fabric, and a slightly bent needle stolen from their surgeon, Danik gleefully began. He even gave them his own golden hoops, which were worn with pride.  Now, Cecco isn't a superstitious person, per se, but given the haul that had been bestowed upon them by Neptune's good graces, it was hard for them to deny that the loop in their ear had given them a certain grandiosity. (Though it was a rather short lived advent) Even now however, as a part of Hook's crew, they can be seen absentmindedly fiddling with the golden hoops that never leave their ears. They won't admit it out loud, but they can only wonder if it was for the gold, that they avoided meeting the same fate as the majority of their prior crewmates. Wondering if perhaps Danik would have been the one to survive if he never gave up the hoops.

Whether they are on land, or fulfilling tasks on deck, Cecco can be found creating their own chants and shanties. Having grown up in the Kingdom of Italy, residing in the ocean front town of Naples, it was common to hear singing among the commoners who found it to be one of the few joys they could occupy their free time with. There was the Filangieri Museum, sure, and if you were lucky, you could have gone to the Galleria Principe di Napoli, but there was so little free time for the folk who had to ensure they could survive throughout the month with their families. Cecco was fond of listening to sailors sing from within pubs whenever they docked. There was something about how lively the shanties were, something about the stories of epic monsters and grand heroes resonated with them.  Each time they joined up with a new crew, they would attempt to create or learn a new shanty, one that they would associate with that specific crew, that precious time in their life.

Wanted Connections

{For a crewmate of the Jolly Roger} If someone were to bump against the pillow of Cecco's cot, a tattered leather bound book would become dislodged from its hiding spot. Letters scatter to the floor, all of which are addressed to different people, none of them are crew members of the Jolly Roger, however! They are addressed to their old brother and sisters in arms from the Righteous Harpy. With peaked curiosity, someone might have read these letters, gaining a glimpse in to the quartermasters past.

{For a Lost Boy or a Smallfolk}  Late night meetings. A parental relationship that developed purely on accident. Despite how skeptical Cecco is with everyone who is not a member of the crew, they cannot help the swell within their chest when they see someone in need of help, regardless of where their allegiance resides. They have taken a liking to this person, and wants to ensure their safety, from anything that dares to threaten it.

{For anyone}  There are few people Cecco is willing to share stories of their past with, at least, the less glorified bits and pieces. Lessons they have learned from betrayals and mutinies. They confide in this person, and consider them a true friend. There is a part within their soul that has yearned to be filled since the Righteous Harpy burned. Since they lost Danik.

[sonxofxgondor]

@ofthevanyar asked: come sit down. have a brandy with us.

Casablanca (1942) Prompts

Draped in the colors of Aragorn and his Arwen, from the windows and across the arches of walls, the fabrics of the returned king decorated the ancient dining hall. Tapestries and textiles dedicated to he. Bold silvers and vibrant lilacs - threaded work that spanned stories - breathed life into the once abandoned room. Dust from the wooden floorboards cleaned, until the mahogany sparkled, the scarlet woven carpet that rested above made soft to the touch. Centuries of gross and grime scrubbed free; the table at the center was dressed in pristine ivory cloth, runner of gold turned immaculate, plates and cups akin more to valued treasures than means to eat and drink. Apples and grapes stacked into ceramic bowl of blue, roasted pig served hot onto bronze platter, and baked breads with fresh cheeses presented on flat cuts of oak, the spread of the meal was a divine sight. Able to cause the mouth to water and the stomach to growl; Boromir drawn to it from first notice, the moment when doors were pulled open and scents flooded toward, the call of his beloved Amarie the final coax.

Adornments kept simple and understated, for the dining hall was still without the pieces of old grandeur, the keepsakes of past kings, physical resplendence was instead replaced by courtesy. Shadows of framed portraits all that remained on the stone walls, memories that took to shape in war-garb and battle-swords put away, stored someplace else. Years of peace and prosperity to be found in Gondor, no more was there to be reminders of loss, of the selfishness of Man or the deaths that pure evils delivered. So many good taken, so many brave and valiant buried in the graveyards, Gondor was reborn. Under the careful hand of Aragorn and his bride, Arwen tender to the fates of those she ruled, noted even as they eat their share of fruits and meat, sipped their drinks and smiled warmly. Unlike anything witnessed before, all the troubles that were endured were finished with, never to be seen again. Boromir was spectator to dreams come true; all that he had wished for, all that was prayed for, found, finally.

Taking the chair closest to Amarie, the delicate scrape of dark maple onto floor as he did so, upholstery stitched in combination of rich oranges and muted tawny, Boromir made himself comfortable. Shifted on the cushion until content, the plush filling still stiff, never used before, grabbed a plate for himself and made his pickings, the slab of pork with the most fried fat sliver, the thickest slice of bread with the thickest slice of cheese, pungent and with hints of nut. A cup of brandy taken for himself also, subtle cinnamon to the tastes, savored from the first sip.

Mouth corners wiped with napkin tip, the bits of pork and bread that clung to, crumbs of grain and flecks of smoked skin, before another bite was devoured, Boromir grasped Amarie's hand and lifted it. Held her slender bone within his larger, admired how they married so well together, pressed a kiss to her flesh, lingered. Breathed in her fragrance - ethereal and refined, sunshine and goodness - poured all his love for her into the caress of his lips, the tickle of his beard as it graced her. Gray eyes lost in the world that was Amarie's; what Boromir would live and die for, his purpose and happiness, his forever love.

Boromir whispered, so that only he and her ears could hear. "Hello, my beautiful."

Delicate in his lips' release of her, Boromir parted from Amarie, returned to his feasting but kept one hand upon hers still, the other busy with the efforts of shinny fork. Beneath the table where neither Aragorn nor Arwen could see without strain, onto Amarie's gown-covered lap, a special affection just for they and none else.

Boromir asked with closed mouth smile, pork grizzle chewed and swallowed as if it were the mightiest of beasts, a gulp from the throat, "my friends, may I inquire about your gathering? When the housecarl mentioned I would find you lot here, I was surprised! Aragorn, Arwen, it is so often that you are found together outside for your luncheons. I can't recall a time when I did not see you two underneath the shade of the White Tree! Something about this meal feels very, well, mischievous. Do tell, is there a plan in the works, a scheme that you all have plotted? And, my Amarie! You have a look about you! Please, as your faithful and devoted man, do not leave me in the dark. I promise, I'll not tell a soul whatever is you three have cooked up. But, my sweet, won't you spoil some of the details? I hate to be left in suspense! Especially when a good adventure is in the works!"