#mist sly art

[earthlybeam]

🎄🎁Merry Christmas everyone🎉✨

✨🌾⚔️ 𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷 ⚔️🌾✨

how would the elves react to this?

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Elladan Version below. (reader/you are his lover). Featuring what I wrote below is: Building a Snowman (With a Twist), Snowball Fight, Sledging Adventure, Snow Angel.

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Building a Snowman(With a Twist):

⭒ The cold air of Rivendell was crisp and invigorating as the first blanket of snow settled over the valley. The trees were dusted with white, and the faint outline of mountains stood tall in the distance, their peaks veiled in mist and snow. A perfect winter day, the kind that begged for laughter, mischief, and snowball fights. You and Elladan had found your way to a quiet clearing, the scene peaceful save for the occasional sound of crunching snow underfoot as you worked together to build a snowman. The two of you were practically shoulder to shoulder, your hands cold but nimble as you rolled snow into giant balls, carefully stacking them atop one another. Elladan’s long, graceful fingers moved with ease, shaping the snow with practiced elegance, but it was clear that his focus wasn’t purely on perfection—there was mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Ah, perfect!” he declared, stepping back to admire the snowman’s form, his breath visible in the chilled air. His usual grin, full of mischievous charm, was wide as he adjusted the snowman’s scarf, the ends playfully flaring in the breeze. “Now that’s a snowman I can get behind. But, you know,” he continued, his tone taking on a teasing edge, “I think I can make it even better.”

⭒ He stepped around the back of the snowman, his movements smooth and swift as he began gathering more snow, packing it with an almost too much enthusiasm. His back was turned to you, but you could hear his soft chuckles under his breath as he worked with a growing sense of purpose. “What are you up to back there?” you called, your voice filled with curiosity but with an amused undertone, aware that Elladan’s plans often came with a twist. “Just you wait,” Elladan called over his shoulder, his voice playful. “I’m making a masterpiece. You’ll see.” His eyes glinted as he packed the last bit of snow, stepping back to survey his creation. When he turned back to face you, his grin had grown impossibly wider, and you could feel a laugh bubbling in your chest as you looked at the new addition to the snowman’s figure. A perfectly shaped, round “booty” now adorned the snowman’s backside, the soft snow curved just so, creating the illusion of a cheeky, almost playful rear.

⭒ “Ah, perfect!” Elladan said, hands on his hips as he admired his work. “This is art, if I do say so myself.�� He gave the snowman’s ‘booty’ a light tap, making a soft crunching sound as if patting it with approval. “What do you think, darling? A little extra snow for flair—really gives it… character.” You stifled a laugh, shaking your head at the audacity of his creation. “Elladan, you didn’t—” “Of course, I did!” He stepped back, his gaze flicking between you and the snowman as if presenting a finished masterpiece to the world. “Wouldn’t you say it’s quite… caked?” He winked playfully, leaning in to give you a gentle nudge with his elbow, his tone full of mischief. You could hardly contain your laughter at the absurdity of it all, and as you tried to catch your breath, Elladan suddenly grew even bolder. Without warning, his robe fluttered around his waist as he lifted it up, exposing his own backside with a cheeky grin.

⭒ “Does it match?” he teased, his voice laced with a challenging playfulness, giving you a sly wink. His actions were so absurd, so full of mischievous charm, that for a moment, you could hardly believe what you were seeing. The sight of him standing there, robe lifted in defiance of the chilly winter air, was enough to send a wave of laughter through you. He held the pose for just a moment longer, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced back over his shoulder at you. His playful smirk never wavered. “Well? Does it have the same effect?” It was impossible to stay serious for long in his presence, and your laughter erupted once again.

⭒ As Elladan lowered his robe with a satisfied flourish, you couldn't help but laugh, the warmth of your affection for him only growing. His playful antics always seemed to get under your skin in the best way possible, and you couldn't resist joining in the fun. Without warning, you reached out and, in a swift movement, slapped his backside-much as he had done to the snowman. Elladan yelped in mock surprise, spinning around to face you with a raised brow, his eyes flashing with mischievous delight. "Ah!" he exclaimed, feigning indignation. "Is this how you repay me for my art?" His lips quirked into a smirk, and before you could react, he was pulling you close, his arms winding around your waist. "I suppose I deserved that," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. You smiled, leaning into him, feeling the rush of warmth between you despite the cold air. "A little artistic flair deserves to be appreciated," you teased back, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his robe. "But you're not getting off that easily, Elladan." And with that, you both shared a quiet, playful moment, the laughter of your shared antics blending with the gentle winter winds of Rivendell.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Snowball Fight:

⭒ The world around you was a quiet, winter wonderland, the snowflakes falling gently from the sky and covering the earth in a pristine blanket of white. The trees, draped in layers of snow, seemed to stand watch over the quiet scene, their limbs heavy with frost. Rivendell had been peaceful all day, but the quiet was soon interrupted by the sound of playful laughter that rang through the air. You stood facing Elladan, your hands already clutching tightly onto freshly packed snowballs, ready for what promised to be an epic battle. The glint of mischief in his eyes was unmistakable, a look you knew all too well, and it was clear that this was going to be no ordinary snowball fight.

⭒ Elladan grinned mischievously, his posture relaxed but his focus sharp. His dark hair, tousled by the breeze, framed his face in the most disarming way. The snow caught the light in his hair, making him seem like he had just walked out of a winter’s dream, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that always made your heart race. “You ready for this?” he called out, his voice filled with playful challenge. He raised his snowball with ease, his fingers expertly shaping it into the perfect sphere. “I don’t plan on going easy on you, love.” Before you could even properly respond, Elladan was already launching his snowball at you with expert precision. It soared through the air, narrowly missing you by inches as you ducked to the side, the powdery flurry of snow landing behind you. You shot him a quick grin, already pulling together your counterattack.

⭒ “Oh, it’s on now!” you declared, your competitive spirit fully awakened. With a quick flick of your wrist, you sent your own snowball hurtling toward him, watching as it collided with his shoulder, the soft snow splattering across his tunic. He didn’t flinch, only giving a hearty laugh in response. And just like that, the battle was in full swing. The snowballs flew faster now, each of you dodging, ducking, and hurling them at the other with increasing intensity. You both were so caught up in the excitement that time seemed to slow, the only sounds being the laughter in the cold air, the crunch of snow underfoot, and the occasional soft thud of snowballs meeting their target. But soon, the playfulness of the battle began to shift. The competitive edge that had driven the snowball fight quickly turned into something else entirely—a mischievous, playful wrestling match. Elladan’s grin never faltered as he sidestepped your next throw, quickly closing the gap between you. He lunged forward, grabbing you around the waist and sending you both tumbling into the snow, the cold sting of it a distant feeling compared to the warmth of your laughter.

⭒ Elladan’s face was inches from yours as he pinned you gently in the snow, his breath quick and warm against your skin. “Ha! You thought you could win?” he laughed, the playful glint in his eyes dancing like firelight. “Think again, darling!” Before you could react, Elladan scooped up a handful of snow and shoved it directly into your face, his grin widening as you spluttered in surprise. The snow was cold, but the laughter it sparked was even warmer. You quickly retaliated, gathering a handful of snow and shoving it right back at him, laughing as it landed in his hair, sending flecks of white cascading into his face. “You think you’re the only one who knows how to play dirty?” you teased, your voice breathless from both the laughter and the sudden rush of the moment.

⭒ Elladan’s grin only grew wider. “You’ve got some fight in you, love,” he said, his voice full of admiration and amusement. “But let’s see how you handle this!” With that, he piled more snow onto your face, covering it completely with a playful, dramatic flourish, as if he were claiming victory over the battle. But as he leaned back, his eyes sparkled with that same mischievous energy that had started this whole adventure. “I think we’re both covered in enough snow to make a snowman by now,” Elladan said, his voice teasing as he finally pulled away, standing up and brushing the snow off of his clothes. His grin was ear to ear, his expression full of triumph and joy.

⭒ You lay there for a moment, still laughing, covered head to toe in snow. “That’s it, is it?” you said, trying to catch your breath. “I think I’ll just need a few more rounds to make sure I win next time.” Elladan reached down a hand, offering to help you up, his smile still unshakable. “Oh, don’t worry, love,” he teased, pulling you to your feet. “You’ll have your chance. But for now, I think I’ve earned the title of Snowball Champion of Rivendell.” He winked at you, clearly enjoying his victory, but there was a softness in his gaze—one that matched the warmth of the moment, despite the chill of the snow around you.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Sledging Adventure:

⭒ The winter air in Rivendell was sharp and invigorating, the snow-covered landscape glistening under the pale light of the midday sun. The hills were perfect for sledging, and you and Elladan had taken full advantage of the opportunity, racing each other down the slopes with wild abandon. Elladan had always been competitive, but today, his energy was off the charts. His laughter echoed through the valley as he pushed off the top of the hill, his sled carving smoothly through the snow as he shot forward, a blur of dark hair and bright eyes in the frosty air. “Ha! I’m winning this one, no doubt!” he shouted, his voice full of excitement, the wind making it difficult to hear him clearly but impossible to miss the challenge in his tone.

⭒ You grinned, already feeling the thrill of the race, your heart racing in time with the speed you were picking up. You had been neck and neck for most of the run, but just as you started to pull ahead, you heard the familiar sound of Elladan’s sled behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed that he had picked up speed, his grin wide and full of mischief. “Not so fast, love!” you called, your breath visible in the cold air as you leaned into the sled, trying to push yourself even faster. But just as you reached the bottom of the hill, Elladan’s sled came roaring up behind you, faster than you’d anticipated. With no time to react, he crashed straight into the back of your sled. The sudden impact sent both sleds careening off course, and in an instant, you found yourself hurtling through the air before landing in a soft, snow-covered heap at the bottom of the hill. The cold snow exploded around you, and you blinked a few times, dazed but laughing uncontrollably. You could hear Elladan’s infectious laughter above you as he tumbled into the snow beside you, his arms flailing before he landed next to you with a loud “oof.”

⭒ “Well…” Elladan began, rolling over onto his back with a dramatic sigh, his voice tinged with mock innocence. “I didn’t mean to do that, but I do make a great landing pad, don’t I?” You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound of his voice mixed with the exhilaration of the crash and the joy of being caught up in his antics. As he brushed the snow from his hair, his mischievous grin only grew wider, his deep eyes sparkling with delight. Without warning, he scooped you up into his arms and pulled you close, wrapping you in a quick, tight hug. “Guess you won’t win this round, my love,” Elladan said, his voice playful and warm against your ear, “but I’m still happy to finish in style.”

⭒ You could feel his breath warm against your skin as he brushed a handful of snow from your face with a teasing glint in his eyes. His touch was gentle yet filled with that same playful energy he exuded in everything he did. The cold air and the snow didn’t seem to matter, not when you were wrapped in his arms, laughing and glowing with the thrill of the moment. “Maybe you’ll win the next one,” you teased, still breathless from the crash, “but only if you don’t crash into me again!” Elladan winked at you, his face a picture of amusement and contentment as he leaned in just slightly, his smile never wavering. “Oh, don’t worry, love,” he said with a mock-serious tone. “Next time, I’ll give you a head start. But I can’t promise I won’t still catch you at the last moment.” And just like that, the competitive spark ignited again in both of you, each eager for the next race, knowing it would be just as full of excitement, laughter, and the occasional unexpected tumble.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Snow Angel:

⭒ The soft, fluffy snow covered the ground in a serene white blanket, and the chill of winter had settled into Rivendell’s quiet, snow-covered landscape. The sky above was a muted shade of blue, with the occasional flurry of snowflakes drifting lazily down from the heavens. The world felt peaceful, almost magical, as you and Elladan lay side by side in the snow, letting your laughter ring out in the cold air. It had been a morning of pure mischief and joy—snowball fights, playful races, and now, this, the peaceful yet whimsical creation of snow angels. You glanced over at Elladan, his dark hair tousled by the wind and his face flushed from the cold. His deep laugh still echoed in your ears, a sound you would forever treasure. His eyes twinkled with an easy, relaxed joy as he observed your work, his head propped up on his hand, his expression tender. “You’ve made such a beautiful angel, my love,” he said, his voice soft, with a touch of admiration. He smiled at you, a smile that reached his eyes and made your heart flutter. “It almost seems like you belong in the heavens.”

⭒ You smirked at his compliment, feeling the warmth of his gaze but knowing exactly how to make the moment even more amusing. As Elladan laid back in the snow to make his own angel, you seized the opportunity to get a little more creative with your work. You had already been plotting a mischievous twist to this moment. The peace and calm of the morning felt like the perfect cover for a little harmless fun. Elladan was so carefree, so relaxed in his enjoyment of the moment, that he wouldn’t suspect a thing. While he hummed contentedly, enjoying the peace of the winter morning, you got to work. With careful precision, you used your finger to carve into the snow around his angel’s form, shaping what appeared to be horns at the top of its head. You twisted them upward with a deliberate flick of your wrist, then added a playful, wickedly curved tail that snaked its way from behind the angel’s legs. A satisfied grin spread across your face as you stepped back to admire your work. The once innocent, serene angel now looked more like a mischievous demon, a playful impish creature with devilish horns and a wicked tail.

⭒ You barely had time to stifle your laughter before Elladan noticed. He had been so caught up in his own creation, but as soon as he turned to look at yours, his sharp eyes widened, and his brow arched with playful suspicion. “What have you done, hmm?” he asked, his voice full of mock disbelief, though the twinkle of humor never left his eyes. He leaned up on his elbows, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and the snow angel you had so carefully altered. “This angel looks a little… different now.” He slowly sat up, brushing the snow from his tunic and his hair, his deep laugh now bubbling from his chest. His gaze fell upon the horns and tail, and his face lit up with a mixture of shock and amusement. “Is that… a tail? And horns?” He threw his head back, laughing heartily as he ran a hand through his snow-covered hair, the sound echoing in the stillness of the winter air.

⭒ You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. Elladan’s laughter was contagious, and his amusement only made the whole situation more delightful. He finally looked back at you, his expression now one of mock disbelief. “You’ve turned my angel into a demon, my love.” He paused, still grinning. “But I can’t say I’m disappointed. Perhaps a little devilish side suits me just fine.” Elladan’s smirk was infectious as he slowly got up from the snow, brushing the remaining snow from his shoulders with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. He moved toward you with that same playful gleam in his eyes, his every step confident, like a prince of mischief. Without a second thought, he leaned down, pulling you toward him with a roguish grin. “I’m your snow demon now, love,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine. “And I’ll do my best to keep you in the mischief you deserve.”

⭒ Before you could respond, he pulled you closer, his arms wrapped around you in an unexpected but entirely welcome snuggle. You gasped as he stuffed snow into your cloak hood, lifting it over your head with a triumphant smile. “You didn’t think you’d get away from me so easily, did you?” His voice was full of playful mischief as he rested his chin on the top of your head, the snow crinkling under his touch. You squirmed slightly in his grasp, trying to brush the snow out of your hood, but he simply tightened his hold, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, the snow between you both providing an odd but comforting barrier. His playful smirk never faltered as he glanced down at the demonized angel. “I think this demon looks far more at home in the snow than that poor angel did,” he teased, and for a moment, you both lay there, nestled together in the snow, content in the warmth of each other’s presence and the fun of the moment. Despite the cold, the mischief in Elladan’s eyes and the warmth of his affection made the winter day feel infinitely more special.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦ ꕤ ၄၃ ꕤ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[yngyng2]

Echoes of Betrayal: The Xikers Mystery

Chapter 1: The Invitation

Rain poured down in steady sheets as the members of Xikers peered out of the van’s fogged-up windows. The storm had picked up intensity in the past hour, casting an eerie haze over the winding forest road leading to the secluded mansion. The invitation had arrived a week earlier, printed in gold on heavy parchment, inviting the band to perform at a mysterious private gathering. The host’s name was barely familiar to any of them—a wealthy art collector known only as Mr. Blackwood—but the promise of a significant donation to the group’s chosen charity was too good to pass up.

“Are we sure this is the place?” Minjae murmured, squinting through the rain-speckled glass as they approached the mansion’s gates. The towering iron bars stood like silent guards, slick and cold under the rain. Beyond them, the sprawling mansion loomed, half-hidden in mist and shadow. It was a grand, intimidating structure with spires and gargoyles that looked like they belonged in a gothic novel.

“Yeah,” Jinsik replied, looking down at the map on his phone, though it had long since lost signal. “This is it. Kind of…creepy, isn’t it?”

Seeun chuckled from the backseat. “Maybe it’ll be more fun than we thought. You don’t get invited to a place like this every day.”

As the van passed through the gates and rolled up the gravel path, the mansion came into full view. Despite the rain and the encroaching night, lights shone warmly from the windows, casting a strange, inviting glow. The grand doors opened as they stepped out of the van, and a tall, suited man appeared, holding an umbrella.

“Welcome, gentlemen,” he said in a low voice, extending a hand toward the front entrance. “Mr. Blackwood has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

The members exchanged glances as they filed inside, taking in the luxurious, somewhat intimidating decor: walls lined with paintings of stern, unsmiling figures, chandeliers with crystals that reflected ghostly prisms on the polished floors, and tapestries in rich hues of maroon and emerald. Everything was grand yet had an air of something old, something a little unsettling.

As they were shown to a private lounge, a handful of other guests began to arrive, each one seeming like they’d stepped out of a different world. There was a novelist whose eyes darted around the room like he was reading everyone’s secrets, a retired politician with a watchful, calculating gaze, and a film director who stayed close to his assistant, whispering to her with an intensity that caught the eye. Each guest had an air of mystery, as though they too harbored a hidden agenda.

The band settled onto a plush couch, trying to make sense of their surroundings

“Why do you think he wanted us to play here?” Yujun asked quietly, glancing around at the other guests.

“Maybe it’s just a fancy night for rich people,” Sumin replied, though his voice held a tinge of unease. “Or maybe he just… really likes our music.”

Just as the room fell silent, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hall. Mr. Blackwood, a tall, severe man with graying hair and a gaze that seemed to cut straight through them, entered the lounge. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit, a gleam of gold glinting on his cufflinks.

“Gentlemen, and honored guests,” he began, his voice smooth and polished, “welcome to Blackwood Manor. Tonight, we gather not only for music but for… an experience. One that none of you will forget.”

A murmur ran through the room as the guests glanced at each other, intrigued yet wary. Mr. Blackwood’s words hung heavy in the air, both an invitation and a warning.

“Please, make yourselves at home. Enjoy the evening, explore, and, of course,” he added with a sly smile, “don’t be alarmed if you find yourself lost in these halls. There’s more here than meets the eye.”

With that, he raised a glass and toasted, “To an unforgettable night.”

As the guests responded with murmured toasts, Minjae felt a chill crawl down his spine. The words had sounded almost too rehearsed, too carefully chosen. It was as if Mr. Blackwood knew something they didn’t, and for some reason, he wanted them all to feel it.

And in that moment, as the thunder rumbled outside and the mansion’s lights flickered, a question seemed to hover unspoken in the air—a question none of them wanted to ask.

Just what, exactly, had they gotten themselves into?

[z0mbieb0ys-recs]

Sweater Weather

part one of Sweater Weather & Vaincre

by: @lumosinlove

[art by mist-sly]

Chapters: 23

Words: 156,108

Ship: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Remus works for the Gryffindor Lions as a physical trainer, and has been half in love with Sirius Black, the Lions' heartthrob captain, for a while now, but he never expected Sirius to return the feelings. Read if you like cute nicknames, slow burn, and pining. Yep. That's it.

[danco110]

“H-H-H-Hey…W-Wait!”

One of the two chilled goblins called out, stuttering from the cold. The planeswalker who had frozen them in the first place paused. He did not speak, but instead merely shook the icicles from his hand and tilted his head quizzically at his attackers.

“H-How’d you d-d-do that fancy magic?”

The man began to reach into his pocket, but seemed to think better of it at the last second. He abandoned the motion in favor of turning to point behind him with his other hand, at a tall building in the distance.

“W-What, the l-l-l-library?”

The planeswalker gave the goblin a sly wink and gestured for him to watch as he rolled up the sleeves of his beige sweater. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he disappeared in an haze of red vapor, much to the goblins’ dismay.

“A-Awww, h-h-he disappeared!” one groaned.

“I think he’s t-trying to tell us, we can l-l-learn the same…stuff…”

The two goblins swapped looks of realization, then instantly began sprinting towards the library in slow-motion, still chilled by the planeswalker’s spell.

—

“Hey, that guy was right! There’s those spells he used, and so many more!”

“Better spells, even! Cooler, too! And the coolest one of all…”

“FIRE!”

The two goblins shouted in unison as they set fire to one of the library tables. The staff finally gave up on controlling the rowdy patrons in favor of fleeing the building, which was quickly catching fire.

“Now we’ve just gotta figure out how to make our spells look like his!” one of the goblins grumbled.

“Yeah,” grunted the other. “Making ice was easy, but making it grow on my hand like that? Still haven’t figured that out. And the mist teleport thing! We’ve gotta lab that!”

“For sure. Well, at least we can make fire, now, while we learn the rest!”

“Oh, yeah!”

The two goblins continued to practice their newfound magic, all the while oblivious to the destruction they caused.

[Both arts are by the same artist!]

[ohmelodycave]

Writing, in the form of creative energy transfer. A knock knock knock upon the head. A dashing stranger selling wares on my doorstop. An old friend gifting the moon. A smile. A line. A prompt. Some drabble of an idea I can’t help but chase. A white rabbit who’s ever so late. It sticks and gets stuck in my head. Needs to come out. Discordant beats, opaque dreams, a bolt of lighting. An abstract. Some dialogue. Swirling colors and rolling mists. Distant drums.

It has to make sense. (But does it?)

An alluring, mysterious stowaway getting under my skin and burrowing ever deeper. A sly grin (I pretend not to notice whose face it’s on while staring in the mirror). Putting a finger to their lips and extending their other hand in invitation. Ever so tempting, beckoning, enticing. Smoldering. Daring me to follow. Promising big magic. An epic adventure. A slice of life. A laugh. An escape. A twinkle in their eyes (and now mine).

All I have to do is pick up a pen. Or tap tap tap tap tap on the keys or screen through this looking glass. There’s never a hesitation. (Just an emphatic yes, yes, yes — where do I begin?) All too ready to narrate. Eyes wide open. Standing on the precipice, one foot lifted in the air, and —

Oh, do I fall ever so easily off the side. A graceful mess. Time and again. Head over heels. Wantonly. Desperately. Hooked. Line and sinker. Utterly besotted. Forever beholden. A fool for plot and love and character death. Rebirth and loss. Lost in the head winds. Diving in. Swept into white river rapids of noun and verb, ink and word now sinking in. Coursing through my veins. A voice — theirs, mine… what does it matter? ours is but one point of view now — whispering sweet little, ever-loving nothings in my ears.

Bitch, stop fighting the process. It’s okay to let go and have fun! (Surrender, surrender, surrender into the abyss.)

Allow allegory and myth to lead me, flowing yonder, just beyond the river bend. See where it’ll end. Over drops and cliff-hangers. Over breathtaking, death-defying waterfalls. Plunging me in suspense and a building angst (hopefully with a happy ending), into the frothing, gurgling waters. Breaking me open ever so beautiful and raw. My heart glistening under the forgiving star of morning. Another dawn rising. Rinse and repeat as much as necessary. All that I desire just out of reach. Keeps me thirsty and reaching.

Until I’m being spilled forth and infused into the steeped and storied depths; into the healing, enchanted oceans I’ve only ever heard whisperings of. A glimpse of cosmic bliss… I gasp. Guzzling in too much stardust. Nearly drowning. I need to- to breathe! Breathe. Breathe… (No, baby girl. Not yet. Save your breath for what’s to come.)

I wander and drift in the currents, holding on… (To what? Myself. That’s all I’ll ever truly have) upon calm glassy seas, reflecting the heavens. Then getting tossed and thrown into unforeseen currents. Monster waves and mega-storms. At the mercy of it all. I’m not the one at the helm of this ship. There’s nothing to do but have the orchestra play on deck as we all go under.

And I go. Pulled under once again. (Have I lost the plot?)

Tumbling, trickling, rolling, crashing upon the sands at the moon’s behest. Spit out in cyclical, never ending tidal waves along the shorelines of self. I cough and cough and cough. Finally catching my breath. Finding my voice. No longer standing on sea legs, but standing strong. Finding my feet. Finding truth through all the illusions.

I was meant to be a storyteller. A scribe. An illustrator. To document and journal. Report. To scribble. And watch. To take copious notes. To follow the plot line into outlines. Or to say the hell with it, and fly by the seat of my pants. There’s never a guarantee Muse will smile upon me, granting favor upon any new work in progress, on another labor of love. But by all the divine beings that ever were or will be — what if she does?

Writing, Art Magicks, Storycraft… as much a part of me as water and blood. Forever flowing, pumping, eroding, pushing, changing, shaping, carving into my body, my flesh, my understanding, my mind, my spirit — the very depths of this heart and soul — all my current, various forms, all the separate parts totaling the whole. I write. I paint. I draw. I create and craft. I am an ever changing landscape. Natural and wild and free.

I am character — anti-hero, heroine, sidekick, protagonist, in my villain era, the main character, a nobody, all too human, a super hero, a mutant, a grocery clerk, a fox, a snail, the wind, the source of it all, consciousness itself… playing pretend, and ensemble cast, each — forging a path. Embarking on an odyssey. Arcing high. Trying to touch the sun. Learning all too well the hard of lessons of life. Striving onward. Persisting. And yet… ever still. Each breath each word each action shaping me.

I am story. A mystery. A romance. Tragedy. Dramedy. A Grimm’s Fairytale. An indie sci-fi. A warning. Sympathetic. Indifferent. Unapologetic in all my ups and downs. A complicated plot line. A four act play. A once upon a time. A retelling of one of the classics, a tale as old as the ages. Told again from a new POV, for the lost souls and dreamers and saps and readers of today. Of tomorrow. For all the souls that ever were. If ghosts are real I think they’d like their own stories.

And then? What happens next? Darling, just put pen to paper. Write. Write. Write. Turn the page. (Shh…shhh…shhh! Goddamn it, let me first finish…) Let me illustrate. Let me orate. Let me gather my thoughts and put this all into words.

Let me tell you a story. ✨📖✨ It started like this…

“how did you get into writing” girl nobody gets into writing. writing shows up one day at your door and gets into you

[alleiradayne]

In Through The Out Door | Art Master Post

Castiel was dead. Again. And it was all Dean's fault.

After failing to drink himself into an early grave, Dean finds a little resolve to pick himself back up and do the right thing: save people. With Sam and Jack by his side, and a little help from a few other survivors, they take on Chuck, restore the world, the multiverse, and everything's back to the way it oughta be.

Everything but Castiel, that is.

Dean clings to a death wish five miles wide after that. And he gets that wish, dying on a hunt. But the worst is yet to come when he wakes up and finds himself in the Empty. And he's not alone.

Chapter 9

Summary: Sam, Dean, Rowena, and Jack, with their plan, face down Chuck. Warnings/Tags: Samwena flirting, violence, blood, gore, broken bones Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester, Michael (Adam vessel), Sam Winchester, Rowena, Sam/Rowena, Jack, Chuck, Amara, Eileen, and a whole bunch a minor characters Word Count: 6899

“You good?”

Rowena rolled her shoulders back and flexed her fingers around Billie’s scythe. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Hey,” Sam started, only to pull up short. Whatever had gotten into him in the last twelve hours—ever since discovering Rowena had survived Chuck’s tantrum, he surmised—it had gripped him like a vice. And he let it. He let it drive his every impulse. So when he reached for Rowena, fingertips touching her cheek, it came as no surprise. To either of them, he realized. She leaned into the connection as she closed her eyes and breathed.

“You got this,” he continued. “And we’ll be right there. I won’t let anything happen to you. Ever again.”

Her eyes popped open, wide and glaring. “You had better. Or it’ll be your hide.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from my queen.”

“Hm.” Rowena paused, a thoughtful look gleaming in her stare as it narrowed. “Never thought I’d appreciate the sound of that honorific coming from you.” She shimmied out of his reach, and crimson tendrils coiled from the sand at her feet. Then she spread her arms, one hand grasping the scythe, the other fingers splayed, and she said, “We survive this, Sam Winchester, and I’d like to get to know Eileen a little better.”

“It’s a date,” he said over the rising gale.

She grinned and gave him a sly wink. “Go. Time to set the stage.”

Set the stage. The sudden finality of that statement chilled Sam to the bone. He had to force himself to turn and trudge through the sand back to Dean’s side some twenty feet away. There, the massive lake’s crashing waves drowned out the wind, and he took it all in; the snow-capped mountains, the glimmering water, the blazing orange and red trees in full fall foliage. It might be the last time he’d see any of it ever again.

“You know, normally, I’d bust your balls for hitting on her,” Dean started, “but that might make me a bit of a hypocrite.”

Sam’s neck twisted with a hard double-take. “Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

“Nope,” Dean stated, and that was the end of it. “You good, kid?”

From behind them, the empty beach replied. “I think so.”

“You better know so,” Dean shot over his shoulder. “This is one of them do-or-do-not situations. No trying.”

“I do. I am. I can do this,” Jack said, his voice emanating confidently from nothing.

“Alright,” Dean replied. “Showtime.”

Together, they looked back at Rowena and found her consumed by a mass of crimson mist, whorling and roiling about her like a tornado captured, harnessed by her power. More and more, she drew in and the mist thickened until Sam could hardly see her. Sand and debris pelted their faces, and he raised an arm to shield his eyes. He dared not look away, not for one second.

“Is it working?” Dean asked, raising his voice over the now howling wind.

“Y—yes!” Jack nearly shouted. “I—he’s here! He’s—”

Lightning struck the beach, and the three of them leaped back a step. When the afterimage faded, Sam lowered his hands. Rowena’s power had all but ceased, the last vestiges drifting in aimless tendrils. And before her stood Chuck, waves of solid molten glass arcing out in all directions from where he had landed.

Of course he’d arrive in a bolt of lightning.

Self-righteous dickhead.

“Alright boys, cut the theatrics—hey!”

Rowena wasted no time attempting to end it all right then and there. Which was not the plan. A wild swing—stunningly quick—only narrowly missed spilling Chuck’s guts.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Chuck spat as he snapped his fingers.

Sam lurched a step towards them despite knowing he could do nothing. He said he would protect her and damn it all to hell, he’d meant it. Even if he had to step between her and God himself, he’d do it. She’d sacrificed her life to save them all from Chuck’s last fit of rage. He owed her nothing short of his own life.

But nothing happened. Chuck snapped his fingers again and… nothing. He scanned the beach, eyes wide as he turned over his shoulder. A hint of trepidation twisted his face into a scowl. Real, raw fear flashed in his eyes as his stare landed on Sam and Dean, freezing Sam in the middle of his stride.

And then it was gone. As though it had never been, Chuck’s fear vanished, replaced by a terrifying grin. Lazily, he turned back to Rowena.

“Alright, Rowena, I get it,” Chuck droned. “You’re in love with the Winchesters, nobody cares anymore.” He paused then, laughing to himself. “Because there isn’t anybody to care. You can blame your heroes for that one.”

“They don’t control you! You did this all on your own!” Rowena hissed as she manifested her powers anew, the scythe’s blade bursting aflame with her crimson weaves, and she swung it again, narrowly missing. Sam forced himself to stay back, to trust Rowena. “This is all on you! Everything I’ve been through has been because of you!”  Another swing, another near hit. “The loss of my son at the hands of yours, the deaths of my sisters because of yours—” A third swing ricocheted off an unseen force at the flick of Chuck’s wrist, but Rowena persisted. “And then, just when I had nearly everything I wanted, all the power I could have ever hoped for, you took it all away from me!”

A final swing arched high, just missing Chuck’s eyes. But he avoided it, leaning back as though he’d seen it coming. Another casual flick flung the scythe from Rowena’s hands, her power vanishing, and the blade soared down the beach right into Michael’s readied grasp as the archangel manifested from his signature white whorl. The next lazy gesture knocked a wave of force into Rowena, launching her down the beach where she collided with a fallen tree.

Sam shouted as he charged Chuck, but Dean cut him off, bounding ahead of him before he could take two steps.

“Alright, I’ve had enough,” Dean barked. “You came here for us. We’re right here, you fucking coward.”

Chuck rolled his eyes and turned to Michael as the archangel approached him. When he held out the scythe, he spoke. “It worked. And now not even Death can stop you.”

“Michael,” Chuck sighed and shook his head. “Death never stood a chance.” Then he placed his hand on Michael’s head, and Michael understood too late. Light burst from his wide eyes, his gaping mouth, his ears, burning away his corporeal existence, then his angelic essence. Michael ceased to exist, and Death’s scythe fell, burying itself in the sand.

Chuck turned to face the two of them then, a disgusted grimace contorting his face as he approached them. He wiped his hand on the bottom of his jacket, thoroughly repulsed. “There’s nothing either of you can do, Dean,” he said. “I’m not letting you get out of this. You dug this grave and now you get to—”

Sam’s right hook landed square across Chuck’s jaw, cutting him off. It wasn’t as if he’d thought to do it. He hadn’t thought at all, really, let alone intentionally considering something as stupid as suckerpunching God. Whatever had driven him to do it hardly mattered, though. His fist was flying through the air as he bellowed his fury before he realized it. Then fiery pain unlike any he had ever felt before lanced through his hand and up his arm upon impact, his howling rage contorting into a strangled scream.

Chuck, however, appeared unscathed.

“What did you do to him?!” Dean shouted as he lunged for Sam.

“Nothing. Fighting me is pointless,” he sighed. “You really ought to know that by now.”

“Worth it,” Sam growled as he crouched, cradling his ruined hand. “At least I’ll go down fighting.”

“Except you won’t,” Chuck said, towering over him. “You always give up in the end. You always take the easy way out. The path of least resistance… the worst consequences.”

“And who’s fault is that? Huh?” Sam spat. “You’re the one that’s supposed to be writing this shit.”

If he hadn’t been watching so closely, Sam would have missed the twitch at the corner of Chuck’s left eye. Shocking, really. He’d actually gotten under Chuck’s skin, if only the tiniest bit. Had something changed? Did he… care?

“Maybe,” Chuck began, “and this is just a thought, but, if you had just done what you were told, you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Chuck grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up to his feet as though Sam weighed nothing at all. Dean shouted, attempting his own assault, but Chuck rolled another lazy wave at Dean that put him on his knees with an invisible punch to the gut. Then Chuck wound up, pulled back his fist, alight with his creator’s power, only to hold his strike there.

And Sam stared God down. He had to. Had to look his maker right in the eye as he unmade his creation. But when the end did not come, and Chuck’s eyes widened again, Sam knew without a doubt something had absolutely changed. Chuck was hesitating. Now, after all this time, when they needed him to fully unload, he found his damned conscience.

He had to think of something, a way to taunt Chuck without showing their hand. “You’ll never stop us,” Sam spat. “We’ll keep fighting until you take us out. There’s no more bullshit plot twists for you to come up with. No matter what you do to us, we’ll always get back up. And you know that. You wrote us that way. Why would you think we’d do anything else?”

All the light in the world seemed to coalesce in that moment as Chuck’s righteous rage channeled through his fist and directly into Sam’s face. He felt nothing, thankfully. The light winked out on impact, and darkness followed. Sand and stone caught him as he collapsed to the ground, barely aware of his body crumpling beneath his weight. A familiar, oppressive nothingness encroached, weighing him down, threatening to pull him under. And he almost let it. He wanted nothing more than for it all to end, all the fighting and striving and constantly churning his body through one trauma after the next. It could all just end. Right then and there.

“Sam!”

A pinprick of light, a mere hint pierced the veil, and he pushed back the inky void.

“Sam, get up! Don’t give—”

Dean. His brother’s voice cut off with a grunt.

“Sam, you have to get up! You can—”

Rowena. Her words clipped with a short scream, then silence followed.

He had to do something. Anything. Whatever he could manage to get in Chuck’s way, give him a new target. He had to try, at least. 

Pain—familiar, reassuring that he yet lived—spread from his nose to his cheeks. Broken, he knew. Multiple bones. But he’d suffered broken bones before and survived. Survived worse, even. Still, it took all the strength he had left just to roll to his back.

“Don’t, Sam.”

He looked up to see Chuck standing over him, and Dean’s bloody, motionless body lying five feet away. Beside Dean lay Rowena, her curls a tangled mess obscuring her face.

“It’s over,” Chuck said. “You kinda missed out on the best part.”

It couldn’t be. If Chuck still drew breath, then it wasn’t the end. Jack still had to be out there. That thought brought him up to his hands and knees, his last inkling of hope.

A boot connected with Sam’s stomach. He rolled, arms clutching his middle. Another kick broke two ribs. A third kick broke three more. Sam screamed himself hoarse, blowing out his voice. But the onslaught never let up; Chuck bore down on him ceaselessly, stomping, kicking, punching.

But each time he had the chance, Sam took it. One foot under him, then the other as he stood. No way he’d take a beating lying down, curled up in a ball. Chuck was wrong. Sam wasn’t a quitter. It was their mess to clean up. He had to face it head on, give it his all.

“There’s nothing left, Sam!” Chuck shouted. “Give it a rest! There’s nobody here to save, nobody to be heroes for. Throw in the towel and I’ll—”

Rowena’s sudden scream startled them both. She had come to and surreptitiously crept up just behind Chuck. Then she flung her hands towards the sky, channeling twin crimson lightning bolts of her own. Sand and dirt erupted with her power, the red mist shrouding her as massive dark gray clouds gathered overhead and blotted out the sun.

“For the love of God, will you people stop interrupting me?!”

Stormwinds crashed the beach, tossing Sam aside to land where Dean lay. He could hardly bring himself to look. If Dean was actually dead—

Sam shouted as Dean bolted upright gasping for air. When he spotted Sam, he flung his arms around his shoulders and pulled him in close. Together, they climbed to their feet, then started for Chuck only to stumble well short.

Black and red clouds had consumed Rowena and Chuck, completely obscured by her terrifying display of power. The churning mass soon threatened to swallow them up if they didn’t move. Though they tried, they could hardly take a step—Dean’s leg was broken again—and the squall gained on their miniscule progress.

“We need to get to the car!” Dean shouted over the wind.

“What about Jack?!”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. He’d have done something by now if—”

His shouting voice echoed on the surrounding cliffs. The wind had cut off as though sliced with a knife. They turned back to the lake and found Rowena and Chuck toe to toe, both of her hands wrapped around his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Chuck said to them. “I really am. But this… it’s as good an ending as you deserve.” He looked back to Rowena, the fury of a thunderhead in her scowl. “I’ll start with you.” He pried her fingers from his neck without any effort at all, then grasped her by the shoulders. “And all he’ll be able to do is watch, knowing it was his fault. Knowing that he—”

“Did everything right.”

Chuck spun about, throwing Rowena to the ground as he searched for the source of the voice.

“Jack?” he called out. “Is that you, son?”

Only the now gentle waves crashing on the shore responded.

“We could remake this world, you and I,” Chuck continued. “We could rule together.”

It was working. Though Chuck appeared confident, palpable fear tainted his bargaining. And the longer Jack remained hidden, Chuck’s ire grew.

Amidst the distraction, Rowena scrambled to her feet and hurried to Sam’s side. He pulled her in tight, clinging to her and Dean. They’d done everything they could, drawn Chuck out and forced his hand. Jack had to do his part, now. It was all up to him.

“No.”

Chuck whirled about again, backing up towards a pile of long-dead trees fallen on the beach. “What do you mean? You can’t stay here, Jack.” Each step brought him closer to the timber. “Your powers won’t allow it. You have no place on this Earth. You belong in Heaven with me.”

“I belong with my family.”

The lingering storm clouds vanished in a single beat as Chuck erupted, bright as the sun in a scorching column that pierced the gray. Sam flung up his arms to shield his eyes, his face. Sizzling smoke curled up from his forearm and he cried out. Dean, too, shouted a pained yelp, and he tugged at Sam’s shoulders. Dammit, Chuck, don’t burn it all down now.

But as soon as it had come, the burning ceased. Sam chanced a look over his arm and found Rowena towering over them as though she were a giant, reaching for the sky. A thin red curtain of her magic shimmered before them, blocking out the strongest of Chuck’s rays. In that reprieve, Sam watched in awe. In reverence.

Then came the booming voice of God.

“I AM YOUR FAMILY.”

Sam collapsed, taking Dean with him to the ground as they clamped their hands over their ears.

“YOUR ONLY FAMILY.”

Rays of raw sunlight punctured Rowena’s shield. Ignited, those penetrated edges burned, embers chasing fuel. Sam tore his flannel from his back and tossed it across himself and Dean in one last futile effort to protect them.

“YOU ARE MY CREATION. MY—”

“Artifice.”

The light winked out, plunging them into momentary darkness. A chill swept the beach as cool wind from the lake filled the void. Sam ripped the flannel from his head, and slowly, his vision returned. Jack, completely present, stood right in front of Chuck, and he had grasped his grandfather by the head with both hands.

“Machination.”

Chuck took one more step back and stumbled over the fallen trees. Jack held on, following him as Chuck crashed down atop logs. He gave no quarter, towering over him. Then he leaned down, their faces a scant inch apart, and he hissed.

“Contrivance.”

He shifted his grasp, placing one hand atop Chuck's head, and Chuck immediately attempted to snap his fingers. But again, nothing happened. Fear unlike any Sam had ever witnessed consumed him, eyes wide and roving. Then he begged, shouted, screamed, but to no avail. Golden light illuminated Jack from head to toe. And then that familiar burst of radiance burned through Chuck’s eyes, his mouth, his ears, blinding them all once more.

When the light faded, Jack stood tall, stoic confidence masking his face. With one hand, he reached out, and from the sand at his feet, Billie’s scythe rose up to him. And then Sam spotted Chuck still laying on the ground, very much alive. As Jack grasped the scythe near the blade, Sam’s stomach dropped, fearing they had made a grave mistake. How could a child, a toddler, resist the power of God?

“No… no, no no!” Chuck shouted. “You can’t… you can’t do this, Jack! Don’t leave me like this!”

Jack looked down at him. All the stoicism in the world couldn’t hide the pity in his eyes as he stared, weighing, measuring. As though he were battling a choice. Sam’s fear leaped into his throat as Jack raised the scythe haft into his other hand. But then he spoke.

“Goodbye, grandfather.”

With that, he turned and strode up the beach towards the treeline.

Chuck scrambled to his feet and attempted to follow him, but Rowena wasn’t having it. A coil of red wound around her fist and she whipped the tendril with an ear splitting crack. Chuck froze on the spot, hands held in the air as if caught thieving.

As Rowena strode past him, she slowed and said, “If you attempt to follow us, you’ll learn quite quickly just how hot it is in Hell.”

Chuck backed away, hands still held high and he remained silent. Satisfied, Rowena released her whip, then said over her shoulder, “Let’s get back into town.”

Sam stood then, and helped Dean up to his one working leg. Together, they shuffled towards the treeline, but not without one more interruption.

“You can end it, Dean,” Chuck spat. 

Dean tripped on his good leg and stopped short. “What?”

“Put me out of my misery,” Chuck insisted. “I’m… pathetic. Look at me, I’m… I’m human.” A disgusted frown contorted his face. “You’re a killer, Dean. You do it all the time, you’re a machine. And Sam, you’re fucking ruthless, I’ve seen your work. I’m begging you to do it. Please. Just… put an end to me.”

Sam tried his best to move Dean along, but Dean shoved away from him and hobbled closer to Chuck. “That’s not who I am,” he hissed. “That’s not who we are.”

“What?!” Chuck shrieked. “Of course it is! I wrote you, your stories! I created you!”

“Exactly,” Dean said, voice barely audible over the waves. “Wrote. Past tense. Not anymore. The story belongs to us now. And this is how it’s going to end. You’re gonna get old, just like us,” he said as he pointed, prodding Chuck in the chest. “You’re gonna get sick, just like us.” Another jab of his finger. “And one day, you’re just gonna fuckin’ die.” A third poke. “You’re gonna die all alone on this God-forsaken rock that you destroyed. Unless we go fix it. Again. So, if you don’t mind, we’ve got work to do.”

Dean turned his back on Chuck, and Sam hurried over to meet him. “Think you can make it?”

“Yeah, let’s just get the fuck out of here.”

Chuck shouted at them then, demanding their attention. Sam did his best to ignore him, and he knew Dean had no trouble tuning him out. With one arm flung over his shoulder, they set out again for the treeline, and Chuck’s voice slowly faded. Once they reached the trees, Dean gave the beach one last cursory look.

“C’mon, man, let’s just go.”

And he did. Despite Chuck’s protests, his pleading and begging and goading, Sam and Dean trudged into the woods. Soon, they reached the path to the parking lot, and the dense forest surrounding them muted everything, blocking out what little was left in the world. For a long while, they walked in silence but for their labored breaths until Sam noticed the long look on Dean’s face and asked, “You good?”

Dean nodded. “I’m… yeah, Sam. I’m good. Glad it’s over.”

Sam nodded, understanding. No words. Not right now. Probably never.

They shuffled up the path to the parking lot in silence then. For Sam, no words sufficed. The complete exhaustion wracking his body, his mind, left him feeling like he’d been fed through a meat grinder. In a way, he supposed he kind of had been.

When they reached the car, they all piled in wordlessly, not even greeting Jack who already sat in the front seat, Billie’s scythe hanging out of the window. Once they were settled, Jack reached out for Dean first, and in a blink, wiped away his injuries. Dean tested his leg, lifting his boot off the car floor, then dropped it back down with a thump.

Jack then held out his hand over the seatback, and Sam gestured for Rowena first. She shook her head and, with a regal flourish of her own hand, healed herself. So Sam placed his hand in Jack’s and the rush of healing—neither cold nor hot, he was surprised to feel—coursed through him. All his cuts and broken bones mended, his bruises and knots receded. Satisfied, Jack turned back over the seat and remained still as stone in the silence.

For a long second—one that lingered, suspended by some unseen force—they just sat there, the four of them, and simply breathed. Finally. At long last, it felt like things might turn out okay. That, in the end, everything would go back to the way it ought to be. And if it wasn’t quite right, then it wasn’t the end. Not yet.

Warmth enveloped his hand in his lap, dragging him up from the vast depths of his thoughts. Rowena’s fingers slipped between his, and squeezed. That reassurance was as much for herself as it was for him, he knew, and he smiled a small, crooked thing that she returned.

The engine roared to life as Dean twisted the key in the ignition, obliterating the silence as if with a hammer. Then he backed the car out of the lot, one hand spinning the wheel as the other reached for the shifter. The transmission hardly had a second to synchronize before Dean slammed on the accelerator, tires squealing as the car galloped down the open road.

They still had work to do. 

But the worst of it was over.

Dean pulled the car up to a curb at an intersection nearby Eileen’s cherry red Roadrunner where they had left it. Sam had insisted on bringing it with. Just in case. And if the plan had failed it wouldn’t matter much anyway.

But that hadn’t happened, he thought. They’d survived. More than survived. They’d won.

When the engine cut, Dean twisted over the seatback, and Sam froze. The bright, hopeful look on his face was one Sam had not seen in… in as long as he could remember.

“Last step.” He took in each of them with a pointedly anticipatory look, ending with Jack. “You got this?”

Jack—who had remained silent the short drive back into town—nodded slowly. “Yes.”

A shiver ran up Sam’s spine. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

Sam’s skin crawled, but he couldn’t tell why. Dean’s hopeful beacon had dimmed and Rowena studied Jack through narrowed eyes. Something was wrong. “Jack, do you—”

“Sam, I assure you, I am well.”

Oh… oh no. “God? Am I… am I talking to God right now?”

“Of course,” he replied, then scrutinized them all with his own measured stare. “Were you expecting Chuck?”

“We were expecting—hoping Jack was gonna stick around,” Dean said. “He’s… still in there, right?”

Jack smiled then and nodded one, slow bob of his head. “I am still Jack. But I also possess all the knowledge and power of God. So I am also… Him.” He paused, taking in their wide stares. “I promise, I am still Jack. But I have, indeed… changed. Immensely. Irrevocably. And I cannot hide that.”

Put so simply, Sam couldn’t find the space to argue. But it creeped him out. Jack’s tone was so… sterile. As if everything he said was common knowledge. He hoped all that power hadn’t changed Jack’s mind. “So… you’re still going to help us,” Sam stated. “Right?”

“Absolutely,” he began. Then he reached for the door handle. “In fact, I can begin… now.”

Jack stepped out onto the curb, then rounded the nose of the car. Sam watched, along with Dean and Rowena, through the windshield. None of them made a move to get out. In fact, Sam sat as still as a cornered mouse, unsure of what was about to happen.

When he reached the center of the intersection, Jack turned down the street, facing the Impala. Feet planted, he raised his chin and… stared. At nothing. In fact, he did nothing at all. For several long seconds, absolutely nothing happened. Sam risked a glance at Dean, who mirrored his apprehension, then Rowena, her face a little paler than usual. Together they shrugged, and Sam turned his attention back to the street. No more distractions. He had to focus on Jack—on God. Something could go wrong. And he had to be on his toes. Ready for anything. Ready to run, to fight, to—

He had missed it at first. But then Rowena gasped, pointing through the windshield, and he spotted what had elicited such a reaction from the Queen of Hell. Thin black misty tendrils crept from Jack, from all around him, reaching aimlessly, as though adrift, anchorless. The wisps stretched, more and more appearing until it all nearly shrouded Jack in a shadowy veil. But then it ended, the final trailing coils leaving his body and amassing beside him.

The churning black mass condensed, thickened, took shape. Head, neck, shoulders, arms… then all at once, a corporeal woman stepped from the darkness and into the light.

“No fucking way.”

Dean repeated his curse as he exited the Impala, compelled. Sam and Rowena followed, equally driven.

For she is half of the whole and without one another they are incomplete.

Sam recalled the words he had read in The Worst Author and the Greatest Book He Ever Wrote. Loud as a struck gong, the quote reverberated in his head until Dean finally spoke.

“Amara?”

The Darkness—God’s sister, who had shrouded the universe before He had shared his light—stood before them, concern and dismay contorting her face.

“Yes, Dean.”

“What—” Dean choked. “What's going on?”

Amara regarded each of them in turn, weighing them equally. Then she surveyed the quiet street, and her eyes widened a fraction. She turned her head, her glare lingering on the empty road out of the corner of her eye. Then, at the last second, she pulled away, seemingly drawn to the presence behind her.

“Auntie.” Jack's perfunctory tone suggested neither malice nor deference. It simply was.

“Nibling,” Amara began. “You released me. Chuck is… ”

“No longer an issue,” Jack completed. “We have something very important to do.” He held out his hand and Amara took it without hesitation. “Right some wrongs. Put things back to the way they were…”

“The way things ought to be,” Amara agreed.

And then it was.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam caught movement, but he heard the car door slam shut first. He whirled about to his right where the Roadrunner still sat empty. But there on the sidewalk stood Eileen.

It was too good to be true. He had hoped, but he hadn’t truly believed it would all work out in the end. He had cheated her death, cheated the natural order. He had broken the rules, so he knew, deep down, that the likelihood of her return was so slim, the heartbreak would finish him—

“Sam!”

He caught her. Barely. But once she was in his arms, Sam hauled her up flush to his chest and just held her. The longer he clung to her, the more he hoped, and the more he hoped, the more he believed. Familiar voices crowded in around them, but Sam refused to give in to the distractions. Refused to let go. He couldn’t. If he did, she might disappear again, reduced to nothing at the snap of some capricious god’s fingers…

“It’s done, Sam. She’s safe. I promise.”

Amara’s soothing confidence did little to reassure him. But then Eileen shifted, quick as ever—she was always so damn quick, quicker than him and he loved her for it—and her hands slipped into his hair as she kissed him. If he hadn’t been holding her up, Sam might have melted. He wanted to. Melt right into her and stay there forever.

Eileen pulled back, parting their kiss, but only just. “You did it. I'm back. It's okay.”

“I know, I’m just… scared.” He clung to her tighter somehow.

“I swear it to you, Sam, she will not come to any harm,” Amara said. “Trust me.”

He did. How, he was not sure, but Sam trusted Amara. So he set Eileen on her feet, and it was only then that he registered the sheer number of people surrounding them. They poured from the shops, exited their cars, and filled the streets. Some searched, for their belongings, for other people. Some wandered, traipsing down the street, the sidewalk as they took everything in, trying to make sense of it all. And yet others still raced to one another as they found familiar faces, relieved and elated and confused all at once. 

And then he, too, spotted the familiar faces surrounding them. Bobby, despite not being the same man from their universe, crowded in close. Charlie and Stevie tenuously embraced, then held each other at arm's length to simply gawk, struggling as Sam had to believe in the miracle. Everyone else that had been lost at the silo in Hastings stood before him, families whole again, people back where they belong.

He spotted Donna and Jody embracing Patience and Alex. Kaia and Claire were there too, crying openly, unashamedly, as they clung to one another. Garth tried his best to embrace his whole family, Beth, Gertie, and the twins, the pack made whole. More and more familiar faces filled in, tear-stained, halfway between laughing and crying. And then he heard a voice he never imagined he would hear again in a million years.

“Took you long enough.”

Sam wheeled about and his jaw dropped.

Gabriel strolled up and clapped him on the shoulder, then pulled him in for a hug. Eileen had been more than enough, more than he could have ever hoped for. But this… it was too much. A fit of laughter overcame him, quickly sliding into sobs, then back again just as fast. And even Gabriel let his sly facade slip as he held him out to look at him, eyes red and smile twitching. “Not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, I guess. But I suppose I should go thank my family at the very least.” He shot a smirk at Eileen, then Rowena right beside her as he backed away and mouthed, “I’ll call you,” with a wink.

Jack greeted Gabriel as though they were old friends. Sam supposed they were. In a way. They smiled as they talked, embraced. As he watched the interaction, it occurred to him then exactly what Amara and Jack had just done. There had to be a catch. He turned back to Amara and spoke.

“How did you pull that off? He died in another universe.”

Amara considered Gabriel a moment then puffed up her chest as if to defend herself. “Think of it like a… reverse butterfly effect,” she said.

“So the multiverses are…” He gestured a knife-hand’s cut through the air. “Separate again?”

“They are indeed,” Amara said. “By reconstituting those barriers, we were able to restore all the multiverses Chuck destroyed.” She glanced at Gabriel and smiled. “That also meant I could… undo a few events as well.”

A nervous twitch tugged at the corner of his eye as Sam considered Eileen.

“I will not undo what you did,” Amara said. “Only what Chuck’s petulance had wrought.”

What you did. His racing heart slowed for the first time in hours. Days, really. Finally. It was finally over.

Without a second thought, Sam enveloped Amara in a tight hug. She returned it, albeit in her reserved way, but he hardly cared. All that mattered then was that it was over.

As Sam let go, Amara raised a pointed finger. “That is, as long as you agree to one very serious stipulation,” she insisted, then waved Jack over to her. Gabriel followed, clapping  Sam on the back as he passed him for Rowena. They embraced each other completely, her head buried in the crook of his neck and his arms wrapped entirely around her tiny frame. Sam’s cheeks stung and he turned away lest someone get the wrong idea. Not that that was possible. They'd be right.

Dean had eased in beside him amidst the shuffle, one arm slung across his shoulders. That pulled Sam’s attention back to Jack and Amara. “What’s this I hear about a stipulation?” Dean asked.

Amara glanced at Jack, who deferred back to her. “No more freebies.”

“I ain’t askin’, honey,” Dean retorted. “Nobody said anything—”

“I’m serious, Dean. No more. Promise us that whatever death either of you—or your friends or family—may meet, it is final.”

It had to be worth it. Everyone he had ever loved was right there, alive, safe and sound. How could he ask for more than that? Sam considered Eileen to his right, Gabriel and Rowena behind him, then all the familiar faces surrounding them. They were all there, all of them.

All of them except…

Oh. Oh, no. How could he have forgotten?

Sam’s heart sank just as Dean’s arm dropped from his shoulder.

“Jack,” he began. “Or… God?”

“Please, Dean. Jack is fine.” 

Dean nodded, though he hardly looked comforted by that response. “I… look I’m no expert on the powers of deities and the like, and I ain’t about to criticize your work, it’s top shelf.” He hesitated then, a shaky breath bolstering his grit. “But I was hoping you’d be able to…”

For the first time since absorbing God, an actual emotion flitted across Jack’s face, however miniscule it was. A hint of a frown played at the corners of his lips. And then it was gone, as if it had never been. “I am sorry, Dean. But Castiel sacrificed himself of his own volition. To save you. To save the whole world, in fact. Death would have reaped you both without his sacrifice, and we would not stand here now. That I cannot undo. It’s a… fixed point.”

He’d expected it. Sam saw that plain as day. Dean had prepared himself for the worst, the absolute worst, and so his disappointment came off so nonchalant, Sam nearly believed it. But that only upset Sam more.

“That’s not fair, Jack,” he insisted. “We lost everything and kept fighting. You owe us—”

“Sam.”

Dean’s interruption caught him flat footed.

“It’s fine… just forget it. I’m too tired.”

Sam stepped between Dean and Jack and said, “No, Dean, it’s not fine, we’ll find a way—”

“I said I’m too fucking tired!”

Dean had averted his eyes, shouting at the ground rather than directly at Sam. And Sam hated it. He hated all of it.

“Besides. We have a promise to keep,” he glared at Jack and Amara, then slid back to him. “Now get in the damn car, we’ve got a long drive.”

Dean turned to walk away, but before he took a step, Rowena grabbed his hand and he stopped. “I can bring you home. All of you. Cars included.” She grasped Eileen’s hand as well. “It’ll be quick.”

“Any other day, I’d take you up on the offer,” Dean said with a sardonic smile as he withdrew his hand. “Help them. I could use a long quiet drive.”

And with that, he strode off for the car.

“We’ll go with him.”

Sam spun back to Eileen. “What?”

“Between the three of us, we can trade off driving. Rowena can send my car ahead,” Eileen said, but she made no move to part from Rowena.

“What about you?” he asked Rowena. “I know you said you wanted to… to spend some time with us.” He swallowed hard. Too much. It was too much to take in all at once. The emotional whiplash alone, snapping him between elation and Dean’s devastating disappointment, would be enough to break anyone’s neck. And new territory like this was rare for Sam. “I still want that.”

Rowena scanned the crowd. “These people need me here, now. And Hell requires my attention, most assuredly. But, don’t you worry, Sam.” She paused as she slipped her hand into his palm. “I’ll be around. Soon. In the meantime, the two of you—” Rowena pulled him to Eileen, threading their fingers together. “Deserve a break. A solitary, romantic vacation, even.”

Sam looked to Dean who had wrenched aside the driver’s door and dropped into the Impala.

“I’ll ride with Dean,” Bobby added as he stepped through the crowd. “I’m good for keepin’ my trap shut.”

Too fast, everything was going too fast. Sam turned back to Jack and pointed. “If he doesn’t make it back to Kansas, it’s on you.” He glared at Amara. “You, too. Why? Why can’t you do anything? You brought back Gabriel, why not Cas?”

“He chose. That is free will. Was that not what you wanted?” Jack asked.

Free will. How dare he throw that back in his face? He sucked in a deep breath and opened his mouth to unleash a tirade upon them. But then Eileen tugged at his hand. Anything he said in parting would serve no purpose. So he exhaled one giant sigh, then turned to leave, nothing but their boots thumping on the pavement to accompany them.

When they reached Eileen’s car, he turned to drop into the passenger seat and saw Rowena already organizing the throng off the street into a nearby town square. Good for her, he thought. She could put all that power to good use one more time before returning to what was an undoubted shitshow in Hell. At least they didn’t have to worry about that any longer. And he would see her again soon enough.

Eileen started the car then, dragging him up from his thoughts. As they pulled away from the curb and followed the Impala, she asked, “What did you mean about spending time with us when you were talking to Rowena?”

Shit. “I uh…” What had he meant? There weren’t any lines to fall back on anymore. This scene had long since been redacted. Omitted, even. “She wants to get to know you better.”

“Why?”

Sam shot her a glare only to find a coy smirk on her face. “Don’t play dumb,” he said as he signed.

“But I kinda like watching you squirm.”

He scowled at her with a playful scrunch to his nose. “I imagine you’ll get to see plenty of my discomfort over the next few months between you and Rowena. Not to mention Gabriel…”

Eileen’s laughter filled the car, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh with her for a moment. But, as she directed the Roadrunner onto the frontage road, following Dean and Bobby in the Impala, his laughter faded. The ache in his chest for Dean redoubled, and Sam fell quiet then. He silently thanked Eileen for the peace, for the space to be in his own head for a while. Despite that comfort, that victory of having her and nearly everyone else back, Sam still felt hollow.

It was all over and they still had work to do.

Son of a bitch.

This series is complete! Reblogs are loved and feedback is welcome!

In Through The Out Door | Art Master Post

[rainbows-in-me]

The Dance of Sarcasm

Sarcasm drifts through conversations like a shadowy mist, its edges blurred between jest and truth. It whispers with a voice that twines irony into every phrase, a playful yet piercing lilt that dances on the edge of sincerity. It’s the sly smile that accompanies a remark, the glint of mischief in the eye that speaks volumes without uttering a word.

In the theater of emotions, sarcasm is both a mask and a mirror. It shields the soul with a veneer of wit, a clever facade that deflects deeper wounds and shields fragile feelings. It wraps truth in layers of humor, a delicate armor that allows laughter to hide what is often too painful to reveal. Behind its veil of irony, sarcasm reveals a longing for connection, a silent plea to be understood beneath the surface of jest.

Sarcasm is a dance of shadows and light, where meaning shifts like the play of sun through leaves. It speaks in tones that shimmer with hidden truths, inviting those who listen to peer past the facade and into the heart of the matter. It is a language of contrasts, a play of light and dark that challenges us to find the warmth in the coolness of its delivery.

Yet, within the layers of its artful deflection, sarcasm holds a softer note—a yearning for honesty wrapped in the guise of jest. It is a delicate thread, weaving between laughter and lament, a testament to the complexity of our human dance. Sarcasm, with all its sharp edges and clever twists, is a reminder that even in jest, there lies a truth waiting to be uncovered.

[mist-sly]

“You showed me love, glory from above. Good glory.” - Pink + White :Frank Ocean

Some on-ice coops kissed to brighten up your day or night ✨

Sorry I have been so inactive. Between work and having to isolate twice now, it’s been a bit shit. 😅

Character credit: @lumosinlove

[drgnsmile]

First experience with Sly

[suna-reversed]

𝐩𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

toji fushiguro x reader

You could have anyone you want

Why would you want to be with me?

I’m nothing special

WC- 8k+ || MINORS DNI !!

my fic for the “great conjunction collab”

Warnings/tags- (unprotected sex, oral sex, slight voyeurism, choking, nipple play, mating press, size kink, slight breeding kink) (historical AU, non-canon timeline, greek mythology, hades-persephone retelling, mentions of misogyny/sexism, depression, religion, hurt/comfort, angst, heartbreak, major character injury, descriptions of blood, violence and death, manipulation)

𝙀𝙧𝙞𝙙𝙖 - 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙

It would be an understatement to say that Toji, despite being one of them, had never felt like part of the clan and had hated the whole Zenin bloodline through all his years of suffering.

And the only thing he hated more than his own blood? It was the damned nobles who looked down upon him- mocking his lack of power under whispers and rumours. The spineless cowards didn’t even have the courage to spit those venomous words at his face.

He kept note of every single one of them- it was hard not to with how their laughs echoed in his mind each night as he dug his nails into his palms. So of course his attention was bound to drift towards the mother and daughter from a titled family that happened to take residence in the Zenin estate when they got news that their home down-south had been attacked. 

𝘼𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙚𝙖- 𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮

Your home had not been attacked. It was all planned of course- your travel to the mountains up north that crossed the Zenin abode, your mother having fabricated the news so that she had an excuse to find an honourable match for you from one of the most powerful clans. Her sly spies had already done the dirty work, providing you with two suitable men- even if one of them was twice your own age and the other known for his aggressiveness. 

The white gown your mother had dolled you in and the orchids she had braided into your hair had every single eye focused on you as you made your way up to your chambers. You kept your head down, too nervous to meet the eye of anyone- hoping no older man took an interest in your facade of purity and innocence and decided to stake his claim on your body. Oh, how you wished you could get away from this life, get away from the wretched woman you had to call your mother, get away from all of it- the stupid clan- the stupid suitors- the stupi-

“Ah!” 

You yelped as your body crashed into what seemed to be a rock hard wall of muscles, the scent of night chilled mist and cedar taking over your senses. You blinked. 

Gulping, you moved back a step, ready to start sputtering apologies before your mother peeled your skin off for already having embarrassed yourself. Instead, your words stayed stuck in your throat as your gaze met with an intense pair of orbs- filled to the brim with the rage of achilles, but somehow also his sorrow. Your breath hitched in your throat, and in the back of your mind, you knew you should do something- move, apologise, scowl like a noble lady would if nothing else- but all you could do was stand there stunned, the man’s stance mirroring your own. 

You flinched as the pot-bellied butler who was leading you down the hallway came back, and you thought the dark haired man might kill him right there for interrupting the burning moment between you two. Instead, you were shocked as he let himself get pushed to the side, stuffing his hands into his pockets, head down as he made a beeline towards the exit.

You barely felt the crescent moons being engraved into your skin as your mother dragged you to your room by the arm, a clipped smile on her face. 

𝙊𝙧𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙪𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙀𝙪𝙧𝙮𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙚- 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚

“Toji”

He continued walking, even as his eyes held a warning look. Gritting his teeth, he increased his pace.

“Toji-”

He shuddered. Say it again, he wanted to command, instead he turned the corner, hands curling into tight fists.  

He had been confused at first, almost appalled, at you- at your audacity to try and act like he wasn’t who he was- a piece of scum, the lowest of the lowly in the clan. But it seemed like this is how you had decided to spend the rest of your time whenever you weren’t being flagged by suitors or being paraded around your mother as the ideal of a chaste loyal wife. 

He had indulged you the first time you had struck up a conversation. Perhaps that was his initial mistake. His second being committed just now as he turned to you, the glee on your face making bile rise up to his throat. He had seen women like you before- well born “ladies” of the court in dire need of a good fuck, before they were packaged off like objects to a husband who’d only ever look at them as a vessel for carrying his children. Toji huffed in annoyance, eyes doing a quick scan of his surroundings before he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into one of the storage rooms right around the corner. 

“Look-”

Toji cut himself off as he saw the baffled look on your face, your eyes starting to fill up with fear and panic. Somehow, he found himself speechless, the bitter words of telling you to go look for pleasure in a whorehouse now dissolving on the tip of his tongue.

He knew who you were being considered as a match for- having overheard the conversation during a clan meeting- it was supposed to be the sons of one of the higher ups and he could already picture the half wilted life you’d be living. And right then, something clicked in Toji’s mind- all those years of hatred and resentment flashing before his eyes as you hesitantly stepped back, tears welling up in your eyes, and right there, Toji knew what he wanted to do- what he had to. 

He took a deep breath and your heart hammered even harder in your chest. He had been different from the rest of them- you had known it from the first time. However, now you doubted your own wits, trying to recall the ways of combat you had seen the soldiers back home perform- even though you didn’t quite see how you’d succeed against the tall burly mass of flesh that towered above you. You jumped back as he strode right towards you- eyes clenched shut, hands raised in front of your face ready for the impact and pain. 

You were met with nothingness, barely feeling the light brush of his arm as he moved past you. 

Toji sighed at your almost childish antics, even though he agreed your actions would have been justifiable if it was any other man having pulled you into such a secluded place. He waited for you to calm down, lazily looking for the latch of the huge glass window situated on the other side of the room. He easily lifted it open, biceps flexing as he did so- placing his hands on the ledge before pulling himself to the other side.

He turned back towards your gawking figure, rolling his eyes, ready to put forward the offer that would decide if you were worth his time and effort or not. He extended his hand, trying to ignore the heat crawling up to the tip of his ears at the giddy relief-filled grin that spread across your face as he asked, 

“You ever visited the countryside princess?” 

--

You must be an angel in disguise, he finds himself thinking. It terrified him- the time he had spent staring at the column of your neck, watching your chest fall and rise with every breath- and the time he could have spent simply admiring every crook and nook of your body. 

You looked serene in the golden hour of the afternoon, lying on the grass with your eyes shut, sunlight cascading down your figure making it seem as if you carried your own halo. Toji was afraid you’d sprout wings any second now, disappearing away to someplace heavenly- someplace better than the hell you were about to be condemned to- someplace that didn’t have monsters like him. But at last, you were only a human- soon to be one of the Zenins if nothing else. 

The time you had sneaked out to the lake in the countryside with him had not been the last of your rendezvous. You had been quite different from what Toji had expected. You hadn’t made any advances towards him but you weren’t the pure little thing everyone believed you to be either.

You were smart to say the least- a trait that families often suppressed in women of your status, trying to force them into nothing but submissive concubines for their future husband. You were oddly aware of it- had mentioned your doomed fate quite a few times now, and he was struck by how you always laughed, as if your own self being stripped away was a joke. You seemed to do that quite a bit, and he understood it in some twisted way of his own plight. 

Even as his mind kept reminding him that you had still grown up being pampered, being spoiled, having others do your work for you- others like him. But conversation had flowed so naturally with you, he found himself showing you more and more of his places of solitude he had found all over the village through his years of misery.  

You were also naive in many ways, but still blunt in twice as many. Toji had rolled his eyes as he had asked you what you did with your free time back home- the answer was expected- it always had to be something related to the arts and education, trying to pump the ladies full of culture so that they have something to talk about at the dozen balls and galas they’d be attending every month. However, he had almost choked on the pear he chewed as you had started listing names of erotica after erotica- the titles being lewd enough to let him know just how filthy the content inside would be. 

You had burst into laughter at the look on his face, crumbs of fruit left on the side of his mouth making him look even more bizarre. You had reached up your fingers almost instinctively, eyes widening as you realised you had brushed them over the scar he never seemed to talk about. His hand was wrapped around your wrist in less than a second, halting it in place. 

He had stared right back at you, breaths heavy, eyes calculating as he loosened the grip around your skin, but not before he lifted your fingers to press against the mark once more. You swore you could have heard the drumming of your heart, and perhaps he did too.

As you brushed away the remaining bit of the sweet fruit, you couldn’t help but notice the flush that had formed on his cheeks, even as he scowled. 

𝙀𝙧𝙤𝙨- 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙧𝙚.

“You’d better be quiet or everyone’s going to know what a naughty little slut you are.”

You’re bent over the table in the storage room that has somehow become your portal of escape from the person you have to pretend to be. It’s not the first time Toji has whispered his filthy administrations into your ear, but he’s never done it quite so close to where anyone could walk in and catch you red handed. 

Perhaps it was the fact that his face had turned a sick shade of green at the sight of your suitor tucking your hair behind your ear, your lips twitching upwards at something he said- the same way they had twitched up the night before when he had risen from in between your legs, the taste of yourself flooding your mouth as he had pressed his lips to yours. 

This is exactly what you were here for, and despite it, Toji knew who’s name you screamed at the end of every day. So then why did another hand on you ignite a bestial flame inside his chest? Why did he feel the need to pull you away in the dead of the night amongst the crowd of tipsy people, ridding you of the fabric of your dress in one swift movement as he had pressed you against the nearest surface. 

You didn't panic for even a moment, you knew it was his hand just from the touch of it, his hot breath against the shell of your ear, and his throbbing member pressed against the curve of your behind as a thumb rubbed circles into your hip bone. 

You throw your head back against his muscular chest, craning your neck upwards till you meet his eyes- they soften for the briefest of moments, but the way his tip brushes against your underwear-clad core seems to fill them with raw electricity once more. And you think he’s going to fuck you right there- make you cry out his name for letting another man so close to you. Instead, you gasp as his rough hands grab the flesh of your thighs, kneading the muscle as he spins you around, a smirk being flashed your way as he gets on his knees. 

He looks ethereal in that moment. And your breath hitches in your throat as you realise you’ve made a fallen angel bow before you- have tricked him into thinking you can cleanse him of his deeds when the only sinner in this room was you. The way his lips press against the inside of your thighs, nose rubbing against your freshly flowing juices- it’s tantalising, even worse when he takes both your hands in his as they try to find solace in his locks, pinning them to your sides onto the table instead. 

He rests his chin right below the apex of your mound, eyes wandering to your face as he sighs, the lazy but smug curve of his lips accentuating the scar you had grown to cherish as much as your own heartbeat.

Your chest is heaving, the sound of your heavy breathing hanging in the silence of the room as you look down at him. If this was to be his ruination- his fall from grace- Toji would die a happy man. The scent of you is lingering right below his nose, his mouth watering alone at the thought, but he cannot seem to pull away his eyes from your beguiling face, bathed in the moonlight. The words seem to escape him before he can think twice of them.

“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

You’ve barely let his words settle in before he presses his thumb right against your wet heat, rubbing small circles onto your sensitive bud. You don’t have a chance to respond as he proceeds to dive into your drenched cunt- his tongue giving kitten-licks to your clit, lapping up any wetness that dares to drip down. You cry out loud as two of his fingers join his mouth’s onslaught, slapping a hand against your own mouth remembering where you were. 

The sounds filling the room as he suctions your clit in between his lips are filthy- arms wrapping around and under your thighs, pulling your arousal even closer to his starving mouth, the new angle of your leg being thrown over his shoulder letting his fingers rub against the spongy spot inside your walls that makes the coil in your stomach snap. You’re grinding against his face and he’s letting you, nose pressing onto your clit as he licks up the remnants of your juices, fingers continuing to fuck you through your climax as they quiver and shake around his head. 

You’re still coming down from your high, body hanging limp at an awkward angle against the hard wooden surface. His strong burly arms are easily lifting you up, carrying you towards the other side of the room- right towards the glass window. Your eyes widen as you realise the malicious idea that has popped up into your lover’s head, but you’re barely able to put in two words of protest before your feet are hitting the ground, the cold surface making you gasp as your tits are pushed against it. You’re crying out loud as he rubs his thick length against your soppy folds. 

“Toji- someone could see us- we shouldn’t- ah!”

You’re cut off as he lines himself up at your entrance, a pleasurable burn down in your core as his girth stretches your walls. It always hurts. No matter how many times he’s made you cum on his fingers and tongue or prepped you up with an ointment- his size is something no one would ever get accustomed to. He knows it too, but tonight he seems to care less about taking it slow and letting you adjust. You honestly cannot care less too, not when you're gushing around him as such when he’s barely even halfway inside. 

“Too big Toji- too much.” You’re mewling, hands trying to grip onto something.

“You can take it- fuck just let me-”

He’s hastily moving his fingers across your stomach to rub your pulsing bud, groaning lewdly at the way your cunt flutters around him, letting him move deeper inside of you.

The growl that leaves him as his tip hits your cervix is grossly animalistic, making you moan loudly. His other hand is coming up to grip your jaw, cheek pressed against the glass as he lifts up one of your legs, the angle letting him thrust in and out of your poor drenched hole even deeper. His thrusts turn sloppy, eyes clenched shut above you as the sounds of his balls slapping against your flesh with each thrust fill the room.

You’re both groaning in unison, his strokes getting faster as he feels your walls clamping down on him. You’re choking on a breath as his hand moves to wrap around your throat, the sensation making you moan even louder.

“Call me selfish-”  

A sharp smack is delivered against the flesh of your ass causing you to arch your back, the action making your tits press up against the window even more,

 “... but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

His lips have been suctioned to your neck, your delightful noises being muffled as he’s turning your head to the side till his tongue slips into your mouth. He tightens his grip around your neck and you’re seeing stars, along with the pace of his fingers on your clit and his rapid thrusts making the well in the bottom of your stomach come apart, tears of pleasure slipping your eyes, the feeling of his seed painting your walls making you clench against him amidst your own orgasm.

You barely feel the arms cradling your body, carrying you to set you down on the table. You furrow your brows as Toji strips himself of his shirt, and your eyes widen at the thought of him ravishing you once more so soon. Instead, you shudder as he swipes it against your sex, cleaning up his mess. 

The way you beam at him, even in your exhausted state, is honestly worth the ruined shirt- he finds himself thinking as he moves to pick up your dress from the ground. He clicks his tongue as he realises just how much of shreds he had ripped it into in his feral daze. He’s lifting his head to meet your eyes, wondering how he’ll tell you that you have to find a way to get back to your chambers in this state- 

“Oh-”

Your saccharine voice is pulling Toji out of his thoughts, surprise forming across his face as you burst into laughter at the sight of what he’s sure has cost twice as much as all the clothes he’d ever owned combined. 

“How well do you think I’d fare going out in one of the potato sacks?” 

How could he have not smiled right back at you. 

𝘿𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙨- 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙡𝙚

Toji had never wanted to rip his own heart out so badly before, inject his blood with ambrosia so that he could be worthy enough for the goddess that was ready to abandon her sanctity- her piece of heaven- for him. He had always known how it would end- in an empty heath of a fire gone out long ago, the only thing keeping it burning now regret and sorrow.

 Love could not have sustained you when there was barely enough space to breathe, when there was barely enough food for your kids to live off of. Once the love faded, all that’d remain would be your wish to go back to the past, getting drunk on forgetfulness so that you can survive within the stone cold walls of a house- not a home.

Once again, Toji knew what he had to do- knew he willingly stepped into this hoping to ruin what was supposed to be the prize of his own blood- in order to humiliate them and fulfill his revenge.

He also knew he was the ruined one now as thoughts of you plagued his mind day and night- how his tactful game of cat and mouse had turned into sweet kisses and hushed giggles, and how all he wanted was to find a pit stop in time where his blood did not matter, where the sins of his past did not matter. But despite it all, he knew he couldn’t have dragged you into his own hell, even if you begged him to take you.

He sighs. 

You had recited the exact conversation you had with your mother- laid yourself bare before him as you poured out your heart- letting him know that it’d be worth tasting the 7 seeds of evil even if it meant living in hell for half your life. 

He had thrown his head back and laughed. 

“You really thought our little getaways meant anything more than a fling to me? More than just a decent fuck?”

You stood still, mouth agape at the words that had slipped past his lips, a hand fisting the fabric of his shirt right above his heart, desperately searching for the pulse of the man you’d grown to adore over the past few weeks. 

He had looked down at you, the scar you had so tenderly ran your fingers over twitching upwards- in amusement- in laughter, face contorting into one of resentment- of revulsion before he had suddenly stilled. 

“Did you forget your place princess? Pretty little head got too lost in a fool’s paradise- did you forget you are one of them- always have been one of them.”

He had spat the last words at you and you wanted to shake your head, wanted to tell him he was utterly wrong, but all you could do was clutch on even tighter to him.

He had put his hand over yours and you had almost begged for him to tell you that this was a sick joke- almost pleaded for him to intertwine his calloused warm hands with yours as he always did- as he had when he made you scream his name, instead you had found yourself gasping at the icy touch as he flicked away your wrist, brows furrowing in repulsion at the contact- at you.

The tears that had slipped through your eyes had only worked to make him throw his head back like a giddy child once more. He had looked up at the sky as if he was mocking the gods in Olympus - look at how I’ve so beautifully wrecked what you created,

while you had stood there looking up at him as if he was your religion, mouthing,

this is not a joke, love me, love me.

𝙊ï𝙯ú𝙨- 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙮, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛

You felt raw. But you did not fight the black hole opening up in your chest. You let it settle into your bones, nurtured the hollowness- ignited it until you felt it turn into flames instead.

You couldn’t have let the ice creep into your heart- it would mean giving up the tears, giving up the feeling of wanting to be swallowed whole by the ground beneath, and that would mean you no longer felt- no longer harboured the only thing that made you feel alive in the cage of bones and flesh your troubled mind resided in. 

There was a heavy pain in between the arch of your shoulder blades- like your wings had been clipped and your halo ripped away.

You ignored the scowl that rose to her face, the way she flinched as you leaned over to rest your head in her lap. You couldn’t tell if the wetness on your cheeks was yours or hers- mourning the daughter she was going to lose. You felt your mother’s burning gaze through the back of your head all throughout the journey back home- could already feel the wrath of your father and the nasty bruises that were to come as her hand came down to rest on your head. 

You instead found yourself being locked away immediately- not a single word from anyone. The only time your door opened was for a maid to serve you your half portioned meals. Not like you had an appetite or a will to do anything else. 

Days passed by, perhaps weeks or months, and you counted the scattered marks on the wall beside your bed like you had done once with the freckles across his back, and you waited-  for what? You weren’t quite sure yourself. You waited and waited until the day your door opened, but it wasn’t the regular pitter patter of steps of the maid who served the food.

Instead, your eyes met the raging ones of the head of your clan, and for the first time in days, an icy shiver creeped up your spine.

----

The torment you’re put through is much worse than expected. You were well aware you were to be disgraced, to be stripped of your title, but somehow the gaze of your own friends and family avoiding your beaten bloody form and ignoring your whimpers and cries of agony was what had stung the most. 

The world seemed to be upside down, fading in and out of hues of colour and greys and blinding lights. You could barely feel the blood dripping down the back of your head and into your shirt as your gaze managed to remain focused on the window outside of the rattling carriage you lay in, panic rising in your chest as you recognised the familiar scenery. 

You fought your hardest to stay awake, but you lost to the increasingly heavy pressure against your head, hoping your blood would run dry before you had to face the hell you were being thrown into. As your head lolled to the side, you wondered if satiating the hunger within you was worth the price you were paying- if this was what happened to every soul that had brought the god of the dead to his knees, wondered if you were the first to do so- wondered if you’d be the last. 

𝙃𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙨- 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙, 𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩

Toji had left the clan- made a living of his own by doing what he did best, by doing what he was made to- destroying and causing wreckage till there was no piece of his soul left to be salvaged. 

He had avoided news about you like the plague, and had still ended up finding out that you were locked away back at your home from the gossiping servants. He had chuckled bitterly, what had he been expecting? He was right after all, you'd never have to face any consequences in life, and soon this whole scandal would be swept under the rug and you would be well on your way to marrying another wealthy brat, having filthy little kids with him who’d have the same luxuries in life and-

Toji found his heart dropping, the axe along with the freshly chopped wood he carried thumping down against the forest floor as he reached the entrance of the wooden cabin he had taken residence in. He saw the pool of blood first- the familiar mop of hair later.

No-

He must be hallucinating- 

But he still found himself moving out of his own accord, gathering the crumpled figure into his arms, feeling a thick fluid drip down his skin- stain through his shirt as he tried to pick you up. A chill ran down his spine as he realised what those savages had done for your body to resist even in an unconscious state- 

And that’s when his eyes slid to the nails in the ground, the sharp metal going right through the flesh of your fingertips, a note pinned to your abdomen in between your shredded dirtied clothes-

“We don’t want the gross wreckage of your perverse ruination. Keep the whore since you wanted her so much.” 

A sea of rage rose in the back of Toji’s mind but it stilled, the vicerating waves crashing against the shore that was the barely noticeable action of your chest heaving. He held back what was a choked sob, mind barely sane as he took out the nails as gently as possible- a man so familiar with death yet utterly horrified by it as he counted your laboured breaths, thanked every deity out in the universe for every huff of air that he could feel against his chest as he carried you inside. 

—

How do you kill a god? 

You had asked him once. He had raised his brow, ruffling your hair before pushing you down onto the bed once more, intent on at least letting you know how you got to heaven. 

How do you kill a god?

It now echoed in his mind as he watched your broken body lay on his bed, having done everything he could have to fix you up even though he feared there would be wounds more than just the physical ones when you gained consciousness- if you gained consciousness.

How do you kill a god? 

Pit him against another god. Let him stare at his own reflection and see all his glorious flaws until he’s falling to his knees, begging for the taste of ichor to be washed out from his mouth, begging to be stripped of his damned divinity- because the curse of immortality is a heavier burden to carry than the curse of mundane suffering- because it’s easier to drown in a sea full of blood than live with it staining your hands.

𝘼𝙥𝙝𝙧𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙚- 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣.

“How do you kill a god?” You had asked him once.

Afterwards, you had lain awake late into the night as he had given you a taste of his own holiness, bare in his arms as he had muttered the words into your hair, barely a whisper as they escaped past his bleeding lips, 

How do you become a god?

The burning light attacked your eyes and you flinched loud enough for your own ears to ring, and then flinched even harder as the hot searing pain spread through your body, especially across the tips of your bandage covered fingers. You tried to use your voice but your throat was like a desert and your own harsh whisper scraped against your sensitive ears.

All you could do was stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling, lying numb, waiting for your saviour- or perhaps your torturer to come.

All had gone still once the door opened, your gaze falling onto the familiar hands that carried a bowl of water and about a dozen different small bottles in a basket. You stared through him, through his wide blown eyes and through the sigh of relief that left his mouth as he rushed towards you. 

How do you become a god?

There was much more you had wanted to tell your mother. You had told her you were sick of pretending, sick of being the goddess of spring when everything you touched died in your hands- how every beam of light you emitted was a stolen one from another soul. Perhaps, you had always craved pomegranates and death - had always willingly walked into the darkness with a smile and open arms.

How do you become a god?

You let him plead and writhe to have a taste of your lips - make him believe it is his only salvation. And right when his lips meet yours, you dig your teeth in deep and not let go, even as his fingers grip the column of your throat and his growls rumble inside your mouth. You let the trail of crimson coat your tongue and feel his tears burn your flesh- you make him taste your blood and take his throne. 

—

He says your name like it’s a prayer and you want to rip out his heart.

Instead, you turn your head towards the wall opposite to where he stands, clenching your eyes shut, hoping the next time you wake up it won’t be here. 

Still, you can hear his voice. Every single day of every waking moment- even as you sleep- even as you wake up in cold sweat haunted by the bittersweet melody of his laughter the day he crushed your heart in two, or the time your own blood nailed you down into the earth. 

But most of all, you hate it when you can hear the gruffness of his voice, still heavy from sleep as you let him cradle your head, shushing you- letting you know it was just a nightmare- but it was a nightmare you had lived through- a nightmare he had put you through. 

Not that he didn’t acknowledge it equally as much. It was odd- almost laughable the way he was so desperate to bring even just a flicker of the light back inside your eyes, breaking free from his stoic and tight lipped demeanour to whisper grossly sweet nothings into your hair.

He had explained his regrets the first few days that you had refused to even look at him, simply staring at the wall as he stripped you of your clothes to redo your bandages, not even the barest of reaction visible across your face. He had caused this. 

The first words you had muttered to him weren’t of hatred or anger or sadness- they were said into the heavy air, late into the hours before dusk at a point in time where your bones still couldn't support the burden of your body, 

“I need to pee.” 

You had said it through gritted teeth, had scowled throughout the process of him picking you up and carrying you into the bathroom, giving you privacy to do your business. 

The second time you had spoken to him was right after and it had somehow dented itself much deeper than he had expected it to, even as it was all he had been preparing himself for in the past few days, 

“I hate you.”

You had said it with no anger, no poison in your words- had simply stated it like it was a mere fact. 

“I know.”

—

It was weeks later and you seemed to have fallen into a strange routine.

He’d go out to do his filthy work, come back bathed in blood and dirt, even as he washed himself off outside thinking he was sly with it. You’d pretend not to notice as you’d cook for yourself, sometimes leaving bits behind as leftovers even if you had purposely spilled the extra bit of rice- had regretted it as soon as you had realised you had done it because he hadn’t had dinner in three days.

Perhaps it was the irony of the situation, and maybe even the cold winter air creeping into your bones that let him move from simply holding you when you woke from your nightmares- to him warming your bed at night even when you dreamed of nothing but the scar beside his lip. 

Still, you let him know you despised him every night that he pulled your body against his chest and every morning that he rubbed his warm hands up and down your arms. Even as you felt yourself leaning into his touch, felt your heart softening at how he’d mutter apologies into your hair while he thought you were asleep, how he’d pay attention to the foods you took more of and made sure to get twice the amount next time, how he’d shred his own shirts to provide you with cloth for when you got your monthly cycles. Yet, you couldn’t find any other words to say to him. 

𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚- 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙐𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙂𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

You had woken up alone as you did on most mornings, grateful that you wouldn’t have to face the shame that came with having your limbs tangled with him. The day was like any other yet different, perhaps it was the monotonous dread of living a life such as this- of having to live at all after being stripped of everything you had called yours.

You had somehow ended up taking steps outside of the wooden door, outside of the small garden the burly man used to grow his own vegetables, and even farther outside the vines and shrubs that kept the cabin hidden from any unwanted visitors.

You had walked and walked till your feet carried you to the edge of the world, a never ending fall down below from where you stared at, the sound of water flowing signalling the presence of a river running deep under the steep cliff.

You had stopped walking, the silence of the forest being the only noise to have outdone the heavy emptiness in your heart in months. And you simply continued to stand there, bare feet digging into the dirt and grass and stone, barely realising when the light faded away and darkness took over. Hadn’t it always been like this? 

It had taken no more than two rounds of the house and the trail of footsteps in the garden out back for Toji to realise you had left. His heart had dropped into his chest as he had followed the dents of your feet in the ground, careful not to step on them as his mind bitterly reminded him that it may be the last of what’s left of you by now.

He knew where the trail you had walked along led- had himself sat on the edge of it once, legs dangling off as he his mind had replayed the memory of your glossy eyes and crestfallen face when he had hit you with those fatal words months ago. Toji’s breath hitches in his throat, hands shaking as he pulls away the last branch blocking the view of the edge of the cliff. 

His feet are moving faster than his mind can think as he all but falls onto his knees, clutching your abdomen as if you’d disappear forever if he let you go now. You turn around in his arms, a look of confusion on your face, your eyes still as hollow as a void but all he cares about right now is the steady thumping he can feel with his chest pressed to yours. He’s clenching his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before he’s sliding his hand into yours. You don’t protest- letting him lead you back into the warm safety of his house and he’s too relieved to consider whether your lack of resistance is a good thing or not. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed and you can hear him ruffling through something in the bathroom, door ajar, eyes glancing towards you every two seconds as if he’s expecting you to bolt out the door any second now. For once, you don’t want to stare at the wall as he walks towards you, getting down on his knees- making a blow of nostalgia hit you right in the gut. But your eyes remain fixed at the top of his head, at the dark locks that had grown out much more since the last time you had let yourself gaze at him. 

You only realise what he’s been doing as you notice the bowl of water kept on the floor, hands gently lifting up your dirty feet, cleaning them of the mud and the blood from small scrapes. He’s lifting up your legs onto the bed once he’s done, adjusting your pillow as a gesture for you to lay down. He’s blowing out the lamps and soon enough you feel the mattress dip, his arms engulfing you tighter than ever before. You can feel the slight tremble in them and you feel guilty for the small pinch in your chest. You wait for his breathing to steady, head to fall limp into the crook of your neck before you roll over towards him in the dark, eyes set on the small crinkle between his forehead and brow. 

The warm hand that cups Toji’s cheek has him convinced that he may have lost his mind. Opening his eyes, he knows for sure that you have. Especially as you slide your other hand into his, pulling it till it’s placed onto the crest between your collarbone and chest, adjusting it a little more towards the left. Toji’s staring intently at you, wondering if this is your way of telling him that you’re still alive- that even though you’ve been cursed and damned to living in this hell, your heart still beats- it still fights. 

Toji bares his own emotions through a gesture- pulling the small hand that holds his to the apex between his upper ribs- pressing it till your fingers feel like they might just pass through his flesh. He hopes you know that if he could, he’d snap each one of his ribs open so that you can reach inside and press the palm of your hand against his beating heart, rip it right out of his body and spit inside the hollow space of his ribs with contempt- even then he’d survive on your hatred alone if it means surviving with you for the rest of his life. 

“I don’t hate you.”

The words are whispered in the dead of the night with no emotion, no trace of forgiveness or affection- simply stated as if they are common knowledge.

The soft lips coming down on his own have his mind spinning. He realises what it is you wish for- to be able to live once again as a human, to feel once again as a mortal- he can almost almost hear you saying the words into his mouth as your fist bunches up the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m tired of being a god.” 

He can feel his own sentiment being passed right through as his hands slide under the cloth of his shirt that you wore, exploring the expanse of your reverenced skin, mouthing his response against your cupid’s bow.

“I’ll worship you even after you fall from grace.” 

And he does, pulling himself up on arms above you, dipping his fingers into your soaking sex, making quick work of ridding you and himself of your clothes. He’s tucking your legs against your chest, feet dangling over his broad shoulders as he comes forward to meet your lips. He’s pulling away and you’re mewling at the loss of contact- the loss of his taste. 

“Do you want this? Do you want-” He takes a deep breath, forehead coming forward to press against yours till your noses brush against each other, “...me?”

Your response comes in the form of sliding your hands to the back of his head, pulling him forward till his lips crash against yours once more- bucking your hips up till the tip of his massive girth is brushing against your heat. He doesn’t miss the moan that escapes you, eagerly kissing you back, moving to litter a plethora of kisses against your jaw- your neck- your collarbone. When he comes back up to your face, he’s well aware of the effect he’s had on you- the want in your eyes as you lift your hips against his once more, a small plea leaving your mouth. 

The need that comes over him is animalistic as he moves a hand down to position himself before sliding into your soppy hole, he swears he can see stars with how hungrily you swallow him in. You’re gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he strokes your insides so languidly. Your faces are close enough for you to feel his breath on your mouth, to feel the fall of the hot droplets on your cheeks, your own tears of grief- of freedom- of a love gone to waste so long ago combining as he continues to thrust in and out of you deeply. 

He’s dipping his head and the tears are being kissed away as his hand moves down to play with your over sensitive bud. You can't stop peppering kisses against his lips, moaning his name in his ear as he hits a particular spot inside you. He can feel you getting closer with how your breaths get deeper, fingers moving faster, strokes getting sloppier. 

You feel the tight coil in your stomach start to unravel, and all it takes is for him to lower his head and suction his lips around one of your nipples for you to come apart underneath him. He’s reaching his own arousal soon after, pulling out to spray his seed onto your stomach. He all but collapses on top of you, rolling over to his side once he catches his breath, another hitching in his throat as he finds you crawling onto his lap, legs straddling his waist as you bury your face into his naked chest. 

This is what being a god feels like. The taste of wine coating your tongue and the way his lips meld with yours- swallow you whole and then spit you out. You reach for him again in the dark, his chest panting against yours as the moonlight cascading from the window hits his face. You rest your chin against the centre of his chest, looking up at him with droopy eyes, his own stare right back at you- filled with tenderness and affection. 

“No one will ever hurt you again, I promise.” 

His voice is gruff and heavy, but carries a sincerity warm enough to send tingles down your back. You can’t quite place the look on his face, it's determined- pointed. You can feel the unravelling of the violence beneath his skin as his hand comes to cradle your jaw, and you wonder just what kind of monsters the god of the underworld plans to unleash.

His hand moves to caress the back of your head, adoration-filled eyes raking over your still panting figure. He presses his lips to your temple and says your name like a prayer. It all floods in- the pain- the love- the sorrow- the joy- you’re sobbing and he’s holding you like he has time and again. Only this time, he finds himself awestruck by the spark of ember that comes alive in your eyes, even if just for a second, he knows you’re going to be fine. 

-

The god of the dead had bowed before you, offered you his crown, his throne- would have ripped off the flesh from his own back and handed it to you without any hesitation if only you asked. 

You were the goddess of spring and everyone had loved your life and light, but who except him had acknowledged the death and destruction that came along- had reached out their hands into the rotten parts of your flesh and kissed every bruise and scar?

This was Toji Fushiguro’s life now, coming back home to his precious darling each day- the only burst of spring in his everlasting winter, the only ray of light in his world swallowed by darkness.

Tonight, as you lay on him bare-bodied and covered in sweat from your previous feat, he finds you asking him about the season, about how far the harvest festival was. He’s confused at your sudden curiosity but answers you nonetheless, telling you it’s in a fortnight. He finds himself asking why. 

“Every single member of our blood attends the festival- they had waited for it while they kept me away.” 

It’s the first time you’re talking about the incident and he can feel you quiver in his arms. It makes his blood boil, and he finds himself protectively pulling you even closer into him. 

“...they had wanted each and every single one of them to get a chance to cut through my skin.” 

That’s all you say before falling asleep, the tears on Toji’s chest making a storm of anger rage inside his mind. 

--

It’s a fortnight later and Toji watches the red and orange hues of the flames making your face glow brighter than the sun. 

You’re standing there hand-in-hand with him, looking over the half wrecked ruins of the village, the screams of the people you had grown up with- who had taken no less than a second to turn their backs on you- who had left you to die- now echoing in your ears. Right on the edge of the hilltop you stand on, you see a small figure running towards the slope, clothes burnt, high pitched sobs filling the air as it succumbs to the heat that had spread through it’s bones.  

She must’ve been eight or nine years old judging from her size and half burnt frills of the frock she wore. You know she’s at peace, much like the many others who would’ve faced nothing but agonising hardships being raised in the hands of your cruel persecutors- all of whom lay as nothing but bones and ash and dust now. 

Toji’s worried that he’ll find the same emptiness he’s spent months breaking through as he glances over at your face. Instead, there’s a fire being reflected in your eyes, a sadistically deliciously smile stretched across your supple cheeks. He finds his own lips curving as he grips your jaw to turn your head and press his lips to yours, the screams and shouts of your monsters merely anything but white noise as your fingers come to tangle in his hair. 

After all, Hades may have been the god of the dead, but it was Persephone’s wrath which brought upon the destruction.

© suna-reversed — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated.

credit- prompt list

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[silriven]

The Vow Eternal

This is an edit of my compiled thoughts and favorite quotes originally posted in a readthrough on Twitter about The Vow Eternal, the new short story that features Wrathion.

*sighs, rolls up sleeves, cracks knuckles*

Alright.  Let's see what we've got.

First off, I love the cover art.  After 2+ years of low key dreading that when Wrathion made his post-BfA return, it would be as a villain or antagonist, it's been pretty nice to see him depicted heroically, even enveloped in a golden glow.  We've really been spoiled with good art for him this expansion, which hasn't even come out yet.

No. I must not look up. But no sooner did he think it than he began to twist and shriek. Metal plating spread over him, containing him as he contorted into a form less of solid flesh than of liquid fire.  When the horrifying transformation was complete, the monster he had become, fueled by hatred and rage, opened its massive iron jaws. “There is no Wrathion!” the thing of metal and magma cried. The voice was dreadful, heart-stopping, and . . . familiar.  “There is only I, Deathwing—now and always,” Wrathion found himself hissing. But it was not his mouth. He watched, helpless, as the Aspects swooped to attack him, as the black dragons doubled back to blast him, their old enemy made anew . . .  All they saw was Deathwing.

...ok, to start, I am pleasantly surprised that we're kicking off with the implications that Wrathion regularly has Deathwing body horror nightmares, a type of Wrathion angst that is very near and dear to my heart.  Good, strong start.  

Short story: 1

Silriven's dignity: 0

Wrathion composing himself after shouting out in his sleep is a nice touch.   It's also interesting to note that Wrathion drinks a lot of wine...or at least has been recently.  Also, he's spending time at the Horde inn at the Shrine of Two Moons, rather than the Alliance inn.  Maybe he’s also giving The Tavern in the Mists a wide birth because he hasn’t reconciled with Tong, though I’d like to think that the Black Prince, not unlike the Lannisters, always repays his debts...eventually.

Wrathion scoffed. The pleasure of your company. Ha! This wedding was a monumental event in Azeroth’s history—the joining of two powerful leaders—and yet he knew he had been invited only as a courtesy. No one in Azeroth really wanted a black dragon—especially him—at any sort of grand occasion. It was good political theater to trot out someone so instrumental in defeating the old god N’Zoth and saving the world, but neither the couple nor their high-profile guests would deem being in his company a pleasure.

So far I think I'm on board with Wrathion being self conscious about attending a social event like this, it makes sense.  Credit where credit's due, I have to say it's also nice seeing attention drawn to his role in N'zoth's defeat instead of dwelling on War Crimes/WoD.

Wrathion crumpled the scroll with unnecessary vigor and flung it into a corner. Weddings were notoriously sappy affairs, and this one was likely to be especially so. According to the reports of his Black Talon operatives, it was a true love match, one that had blazed to a flame during a poetry competition, of all things. There would be other giggling, happy pairs; families with their giddy children; old friends reuniting.

Positively stomach-churning.

This is how I also feel about Lor'themar & Thalyssra's great big heterosexual wedding getting center stage so no complaints here.

There was High Chieftain Baine Bloodhoof, who, Wrathion observed with a sly grin, came with Mayla Highmountain.

Jesus, and people make fun of shippers for pairing two people who have just stood next to each other.  Sorry, I really would be enjoying this a little more if it was like, Shaw and Flynn's wedding or something.  Joking aside, I like the implication that Wrathion keeps up with Horde gossip, or maybe this comes from Ebyssian passing on Highmountain gossip to his brother.

In the past, Wrathion had sought to protect Azeroth by pitting Horde and Alliance against one another, in order to determine which side was the mightier. Now he understood that the fate of the world hung not on conquest but on collaboration.

Character growth, we love to see it.  I think this is one thing that most WoW players don’t understand is that the betrayal is a feature of Wrathion x Anduin, not a bug.

Anduin, the king of Stormwind who had been absent from that role over the past few years, had always believed permanent peace was possible between the two factions. He had worked toward that goal with a quiet tenacity that Wrathion had admired. After the Fourth War, Anduin’s hope had become a cautious reality.

There's something kind of poignant about the Horde and the Alliance finally gathering together in peace and Anduin, someone who's fought hard for this, being absent and unable to experience it.

At this point, overall, I'm surprised by how much I don't hate this.  Roguish Wrathion deciding to utilize the party to listen for "tidbits" of interesting conversation is good, Taelia being awed to meet him is good, Kalec being happy to see him is also good.  Fairshaw cameo is...better than nothing I suppose.

Taelia’s eyes widened, and she took a step toward him. “I am honored to meet you. I hear the world owes you great thanks.”

Seriously, Taelia x Wrathion shippers come get your JUICE 😍

Wrathion spread out his arms as he strode toward them. “Magni!” he cried, genuinely glad to have spotted him, for the two had worked together to defeat N’Zoth.

“Och! Wrathion! Come here, laddie, an’ let me introduce ye to my family. Me brothers, Muradin and Brann, and me dear daughter, Moira.”

“I of course know all your names,” Wrathion said with a dashing wink. It was true. “And what a pleasure to finally meet you,” he added, taking in the lively bunch.

“Oh, we know about you too!” Moira said. “Me da here willna shut up!”

Wrathion was caught off guard. Such a warm welcome almost undid him. The feeling was . . . contagious.

So this section right here, where Magni and his family give Wrathion a warm welcome like this and Wrathion is taken back by it?  This is the moment where my stone cold heart defrosted.  I still think Wrathion’s familial connection to Blackrock Mountain and the Dark Iron dwarves would be a great thing for World of Warcraft to explore.

Wrathion understood not having many friends—or any friends. He’d never truly been a child; he had grown so swiftly and been driven by so dark a purpose that there had been no time for play. Of course, a childhood disrupted by wars and conflicts didn’t help. Meeting Anduin in Pandaria had been both a gift and a curse. A gift, because Wrathion had learned that someone, anyone, might deem him worth caring for. A curse, because Wrathion had chosen to exploit Anduin’s trust in an ill-conceived attempt to protect Azeroth. They had met again years later, and that encounter had been . . . Well, suffice it to say Anduin had a much better right cross than Wrathion had given him credit for. He hoped they could reconcile once Anduin returned from . . . wherever he was.

Wrathion drained his glass, and the strange ache in his chest returned.

This is the really interesting bit, the part where Wrathion addresses Anduin directly.  I think hell has frozen over or I'm reading something incorrectly because this reads like confirmation that Anduin cared for Wrathion and that Wrathion feels heartache when he thinks about that.  It’s unexpected and...honestly, pleasant.

Kurog kept going, scrutinizing him. “How were you made, Wrathion? Cobbled together out of pieces of corpses? You and your depraved kin . . . You are the very symbol of all that has gone wrong in this world.” While most onlookers murmured in shock at Kurog’s words, Wrathion heard a voice from deep in the crowd cheering the tauren on.

A chill ran through Wrathion, but not from the voice of dissent in the crowd. Rather, from the peculiarity that a shaman would know this bit of awfully specific information. He wondered if he was the reason the tauren had decided to show up . . .

This part was also interesting, too, I wonder how the shaman found out this information or if it will come up again.  I kind of respected and liked how blunt this was, if they were going to keep Wrathion’s strange origins as is, it was a good way to utilize that information during this tense scene.  I think it also made for a good lead-in to the part where Wrathion looses his temper.  Something like this, so personal and said in public, in front of high ranking members of both the Horde and the Alliance, would make him loose his temper.

“You’re very kind, but I should have realized that my presence here would be . . . provocative . . . to some. I hope this did not tarnish your memories of this most joyful occasion. I must depart, and I wish you both nothing but happiness for all your days.”

They did not protest.

“I owe you my thanks,” Baine chimed in. “Kurog is a powerful shaman. He—”

Wrathion held up a hand, flashing a charming smile. “No need for thanks.” The black dragon bowed, straightened his shoulders, and strode off without another word.

Ouch 💔

“Kalecgos! What do you wish of me?”

The blue dragon lifted a bottle of arcwine and two glasses. “Some help in drinking this fine vintage.”

Kalec comforting Wrathion is sweet, so is Wrathion returning the favor.  I don’t ship the two but I cheer it on enthusiastically from the sidelines.  At least you don’t get the jokes about Anduin being a domestic abuser over there.

So at this point I started getting worknight tired and was a little distracted by figuring out that the mechanics/metaphor of the heartache that Wrathion has been feeling throughout the story are a literal affliction, the pull of the Dragon Isles on all of dragonkind to come home.  I didn’t really appreciate the weight of the next part until I read the short story a second time the following day.  I thought that Wrathion’s pain was going to be explained as him not recognizing what perfectly ordinary heartache is, but then Kalecgos is revealed to have the same feeling in addition to other dragons who have congregated at Wyrmrest.

Alexstrasza stepped forward and, as if there was not and never had been mistrust or resentment between them, gently placed a hand on his face. To his own surprise, he allowed it, comprehending that the significance of this moment transcended any quarrels.

“Young one,” the Dragon Queen said, exchanging a sage look with Nozdormu, “you have heard the call . . . and you have answered.”

Wrathion did not understand. “The call?”

“Yes, the call,” she said, speaking to all of those standing closely around her. “One long awaited. All of us—here, below, anywhere in the world—we have all been called, and we have heard it with our hearts. The Dragon Isles are awaiting our return.”

“But . . .” Wrathion shook his head, still not comprehending.

“Wrathion,” she said softly, “you are homesick.”

The ache. The desperate longing for something he had never had.

“Homesick?”

The Dragon Isles had never been denied to him. They were only waiting. For him, and for every other dragon in Azeroth. His people. Wrathion had not been excluded.

He was being welcomed.

He belonged.

This?  This bit is nice.  Wrathion being accepted and welcomed by the dragons, especially their queen, truly, for lack of a better phrase, sparks joy.  The one-two punch of Wrathion realizing that he is homesick for a home he never had and then feeling welcomed by other dragons as a part of the family does land emotionally, at least for me.  My one quibble is I wish Ebyssian was included in this moment, being the first dragon that Wrathion sees as family.  Ebyssian is curiously absent in this short story, though it juggles so many characters as it is.

I think this also reframes the later questline in Dragonflight proper where Sabellian is questioning Wrathion's right to seek the title of Aspect, knowing that Alexstrasza and other dragons of Azeroth, like Kalecgos, do accept him as he is and as one of their own.  It softens how harsh this interaction is, when you take into consideration that Wrathion’s mother was forced to breed by the Red Dragonflight and her whelps, including Wrathion, were experimented on with the end goal of curing the Black Dragonflight of the Old Gods’ corruption.  This is the one obscure lore fact that I keep hammering on, sorry, I know it gets old but

[ “Everything not saved will be lost. - Quit screen message, Nintendo ]

I don't think we were going to get a satisfying resolution to the old conflicts between the Red and the Black Dragonflights, one that addressed the experiments done to Nyxondra's children for example, so in my opinion this isn't a bad way to start fresh.  I kind of don’t want this game to touch the subject of forced dragon breeding again.  The way this MMORPG approaches its story doesn’t lend the kind of nuance and gravitas you need to tackle a story like that in good taste.  Let's have a new narrative.

Overall I really liked this short story.  I think this is better characterization than the snippets I’ve seen from the so far from the Obsidian Citadel questline in the alpha/beta, or at least complements it better.  I’m also a little self conscious because, to be honest, after Shadowlands, my expectations for Dragonflight have been practically on the floor.  World of Warcraft can be hard to talk about, too, because content comes out at such a slow drip feed, there's a lot of excitement when things drop.  I've been looking forward to the possibility of a Wrathion short story for a while so I'm also trying not to get too swept away in the hype.  Still, Wrathion enduring both a wedding and its guests is a fun ride.

tldr; Wrathion needs more gentle touches to his face, I can get behind this short story.

[itsaash]

The 6 days of winter(pod)fics: Day 3

The System

If you follow sweater weather fics, you know @heyitssmiller!! and I feel so lucky to get to know you from across the continent, mills! You are a ray of sunshine, you're our perfect voice for Leo, and whenever I've had the pleasure of having your voice in my headphones you make my day better. And I'm the lucky one to get to make you a fic exchange present! So I recorded your sweet fic, The System, which could be any cubs fan's bedtime story.

Here's the link to the podfic featuring @arrowofcarnations, @heyitssmiller, @peggyrose19 (yes, mills had to help make her own gift, alas). Characters by @lumosinlove.

I made this moodboard as a cover art, which includes art by @mist-sly, and basically tells the story of the fic in pictures 😅 Mood boards may not be my forte. But, miller thank you for sharing all the amazing things you have written and maybe let's podfic Frosted Windowpanes next year :)))

[pickingwinkles]

Most of the world isn’t here yet but the sun is up and it’s May 18th five years later. This day has been creeping up slowly, insidious and sly, while we go about our business. It’s been lurking around corners, slipping by my peripheral vision in a smoky mist. I knew it was there. Sort of.

I can count on one hand, three fingers, the entertainers whose deaths have left a ragged hole in the universe. Many others have hit hard but it’s a tiny few who had a small hand in shaping who I am through their art.

Chris Cornell is one of the three. It’s been five years.

I discovered Soundgarden at the perfect age, when music consumption transitions from passive to active. His music and voice embedded themselves into my very soul. Who can listen to that man hit those high notes without every cell in your body trying to shake itself apart? He was beloved.

So five years on, there remains a black hole in the sun where he once stood. I’m sorry to end this with some very poor puns but here we are.

Say hello to heaven Mr Cornell. No one sings like you any more.

[starstruckkittensweets]

“Subordinate” (Levi x Reader)

**SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 - DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU ARE ALL CAUGHT UP**

Soooo, this dirty little idea came to me courtesy of this official art. I have no excuse. I just like torturing Zeke. My buddies on our discord server encouraged me to go through with this, so I blame thank them for the existence of this fic. With that being said, I hope you enjoy this piece of absolute filth. 

Fandom: Attack on Titan  Pairing: Levi x Reader Words: 5.2k 

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW content, exhibitionism, oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, power play, authority kink, pet names, hair-pulling, praise kink, vaginal sex, Levi being an absolute fucking tease and torturing Zeke just for the fun of it

You’re skeptical about the idea the moment you hear about it. Just the thought of Zeke Jaeger, the man responsible for wiping out ninety percent of the Scouts on the outskirts of Shiganshina, is enough to make your blood boil. Every night before you go to sleep, you think about how it would feel to slide a knife right across his throat. How it would feel to watch his fingers stretch out for nothing, to see the life drain from his eyes.

But instead of killing him, you’re tasked with protecting him. In the middle of the Titan Forest, with about thirty other soldiers with you. No doubt he’ll try to pull something and try to catch you off guard. After all, he’s a sly bastard. You don't trust him as far as you can throw him.

Luckily, you’re not alone in your suspicions; Captain Levi is just as pissed, perhaps even more than you are. It doesn’t help that you two are currently trapped in a carriage with Zeke, sitting directly across from the bastard. Levi shows his frustration through furrowed brows and a tight jawline. Every so often, his lip curls up into a sneer, and across the way, Zeke’s mouth inches up in a smirk.

“It’s a little intimidating,” the bearded man begins, “having you glare at me like that. Why don’t you try being a little nicer?”

Levi remains silent.

“...Come on, we can talk as adults, right?”

Again, no reaction whatsoever. You shift in your seat, tugging at the hem of your coat.

But then his dull blue eyes slide over to you, and your shoulders tense up instantly. You focus on the streets of Trost, ghosting a hand along the window’s curtain.

“A subordinate, Levi?” Zeke tries again. You swallow hard as he keeps his eyes on you. “What, you don’t think you can handle me all by yourself?”

“I’m more than capable of killing you on the spot,” Levi growls at once. “Don’t mind her. She’s just another soldier.”

Levi knows you’re a capable soldier in your own right, so you’re not mad at him when he says this. In fact, you’re a bit grateful. Anything to get Zeke’s eyes off of you.

But he’s a persistent man. And he refuses to lift his eyes from your form. “A subordinate, huh? And how long have you been with the captain?”

Your face burns. Levi snarls at him again.

“Long enough.”

“Let the lady answer.”

That makes your blood sing. Your fist clenches around the curtain as you turn to him, meeting his gaze with a cold glare that rivals even Levi’s.

“Long enough,” you reply, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see the faintest smirk on Levi’s face.

Zeke purses his lips and leans back in his seat. “Why are you both so antagonistic towards me?”

The reasons pour into your mind, one after another. The screams of the Scouts around you as boulders rained down on them. A mist of blood settling over the battlefield, painting your skin a dark red. The sight of Erwin’s bleeding stomach, his eyes drifting shut with each ragged breath. Levi's dull gray eyes, so full of sorrow, as he watched his best friend die right beside him.

There are a lot of reasons why you hate Zeke Jaeger, the man in control of the Beast Titan. But out of all of them, it’s the pain he’s caused Levi over the years that makes you absolutely loathe him.

You open your mouth to scream all of this at him, but one glance from Levi silences you. You snap your lips shut and stare ahead, still glaring at the bearded man.

“Oh?” His eyebrow quirks up at the motion. “You have her wrapped around her finger, do you, Levi? A faithful little soldier at your side, just like a loyal dog?”

You've heard much worse during your time as a soldier. But it’s the fact that it comes from Zeke that makes it hurt that much more.

“I don’t think you should be the one comparing others to animals,” you spit back at him, before Levi can stop you. “You’re quite the animal yourself, with that fucking Titan of yours.”

His eyes glimmer in amusement. “Is that so? Levi, I have to say, you haven’t trained her that well.”

The sound of your name cuts off any retort you could’ve prepared. Levi gives you a shake of his head—a warning to stay quiet. He can handle this. You just have to trust him.

“I’ve trained her just fine,” he replies, tightening his arms across his chest. “Now shut up. Your voice is getting on my nerves.”

There's a precious beat of silence, with only the wheels of the carriage filling the air. You tug the curtain back over the window, shrouding the carriage in darkness once more. Zeke's eyes flicker back and forth, from you to Levi, and then back to you.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how far does your loyalty for him go?”

This time, you wait for Levi to nod before you answer. “I do mind,” you reply with a glare. But you’re still proud of your loyalty to the captain. “I would do anything for him. I’d die for him.”

“Really?” For a moment, it looks like Zeke is actually stunned by your answer.

Is it really so hard for him to believe? That you’d put your life on the line for your captain? To follow him into battle, knowing full well that you might not return home?

Ugh, who are you kidding? Of course it is. You doubt the bastard’s ever had someone look up to him like that.

You would do anything for your captain. Anything.

“Anything?”

You pause. It's not Zeke who asks the question.

You glance over to Levi, who’s watching you carefully. His arms are still crossed over his chest, his overgrown bangs hanging over his eyes. Even in the low-lit carriage, his eyes are darker than usual.

What is he getting at? He already knows the answer. Too much as happened between you two for you to say anything different.

Nevertheless, you swallow hard and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

It's the sir that makes him snap. He leans back in his seat before turning back to Zeke.

“Then show him just how loyal you are, soldier.”

The tone of his voice sends a shiver down your spine. You've only ever heard that tone once—on the night before the raid on Liberio, when you didn’t know if you would make it back alive. Just like Shiganshina, you were sure this night would be your last in this world—the last one you would ever get to spend with Levi. So the two of you stole it for yourself, shrouded in shadows, enveloped in warm skin and burning kisses.

Why would he use that tone here of all places, right in front of Zeke? A dark thought bubbles up in the back of your mind, but it’s so outlandish and out of character for Levi that you disregard it at once. Surely he’s not going to do anything like that in front of him, right?

...Right?

“Are the doors locked?”

You know they are, but you check behind you anyway. “Y-yes, sir.”

Fuck, you didn’t mean to stutter!

But both men have caught onto it. Zeke arches an eyebrow, and Levi’s smirk only grows wider. A second later, he reaches out and crooks a finger in your direction.

“Come here.”

Your knees nearly knock together as you slide closer to him on the bench. But it only seems to fuel his ego, and once you do, he places a hand on your thigh. Zeke tilts his head at your sharp intake of breath.

What the hell is he doing?! Out of all your years of serving him, you’ve never known your captain to be so blatant with showing physical affection. It's always behind closed doors, where only you can see it. And even then, it’s the bare minimum. Forehead kisses, hand squeezes, and maybe a one-armed hug once in a while.

That's not to demean any sort of affection he shows you. With every little bit, you fall in love with him even more. You savor the warmth of his fingers on your arm, the soft touch of his lips on your skin.

But they’ve always been between you. So why is he allowing Zeke to see all of this?

The bearded man rolls his eyes at the sight before him. “I hate to break it to you, Levi, but you’ll have to do much more than that to prove her, undying loyalty.”

His fingers tighten around your thigh. “I plan to.”

Then he turns to you, and biting your lip, you meet his eyes. They have a certain shadow to them, dimming the faint blue edges around his pupils.

You recognize that look. It's the same one he gave you the night before Liberio—the one he gave you as he pressed you against the pillows of his bed, fingers curled around your wrists. The same one he gave you as he hooked his fingers around your pants and slid them down to your ankles. The same one he gave you as he kissed you and held you close, as you writhed in pleasure beneath his body.

But there’s something else in his gaze. Another look that you’re well accustomed to. The one that silently asks you if you’re okay with what he’s about to put you through.

Like hell you’re going to stop him now.

You give him the tiniest nod, and his eyes darken completely. The carriage jolts softly, and Zeke grunts at the impact.

“Come on,” he breathes your last name, burying his fingers in your hair. “Show him just how loyal you really are.”

You realize his plan at once. Of course, he intends to show you off and use you—directly in front of Zeke. To show that bastard just who you belong to. To rub it in his face and assert Levi’s claim over you. Of course, that’s where Levi is going with this.

“Yes, sir,” you reply, your voice much firmer than before. “What do you want me to do?”

The corner of his lips tugs up in a smirk.

“Get on your knees for me.”

You obey at once, sliding down and settling yourself in between his legs. You gaze up at him, mouth watering at the sight of his arms across his chest, his legs spread open in front of you. There's a soft groan behind you, but you don’t dare to look back in Zeke’s direction. Right now, all you’re focused on is Levi.

“Good girl.”

He reaches down to graze a hand over your cheek. Warmth pools in the space between your legs at his praise, and the fabric of your panties begins to dampen with slick. It's tempting to rub your thighs together, but you hold your place. You don’t want to move until he gives you the order to.

He cups your chin in his hand, pressing gently against your cheeks and opening your mouth. Your tongue lolls out slightly, and he groans deep in his chest at the sight. No doubt he’s thinking about having your mouth wrapped around him.

“You know what to do, soldier.” You nod eagerly, and his lips string up into a smirk. “Now get to work.”

As soon as his hand leaves your face, you turn your attention to the tent in his pants. He leans back and tilts his head up as you slide the belt through the buckle. A second later, as you’re working on the buttons of his pants, his voice fills the air.

“You’ve never had a soldier get on her knees for you, have you, fuzzball?” He digs his fingers into your hair as you slide the zipper down. “No, I bet none of them have sucked you off.”

Zeke clears his throat behind you, and while he does his best to hide it, his voice is strained and hoarse. “I never took you for the type to be popular with women.”

“I’m popular enough.”

You tug his pants down, freeing his half-hard cock. The tip is already flushed red, with a small bead of precum gathered around the head. At once, you wrap your hand around it and give it a few strokes. His hand tightens in your hair, and he hardens completely in your grasp.

“That’s it,” he groans, still keeping his eyes on Zeke. “You always know just what to do, princess.”

Heat flares in your chest at the nickname. He's never been one for pet names before, so why now? The most he’s ever called you is either brat or kid, or maybe on a good day sweetheart, when he’s feeling gentler than usual. But princess? It almost sounds too fancy for him.

Then again, you’re not about to complain. You can feel your arousal worsening by the second. And when you rub your thighs together, you realize your panties are practically soaked.

You stroke his cock again, swirling the precum along the tip. You lick your lips, eyes darting up to your captain’s face. His cheeks are already tinted with pink, and his eyes are as dark as you’ve ever seen them.

He tilts your chin up with his thumb. “Start sucking. Give him a good show.”

“Yes, captain.”

His title has always been his weakness. A soft moan fills the carriage as you take him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around the rest. You groan softly, and his nails dig into your scalp.

“Fuck—that’s it,” he whispers, “take it in. All of it.”

You obey and slide him further down your throat. This time, you hear Zeke clear his throat again.

You have to wonder, what does he think about all of this? Of Levi essentially using you for his own pleasure, asserting his dominance to the only other male in here. You should probably feel angry—after all, it seems like he’s demeaning you.

But you know Levi better than that. He respects you as a person. Besides, if you didn’t nod at him earlier, he wouldn’t have gone through with this.

He's showing Zeke just how far you’ll go for him. How you’ll obey his every command without a single complaint. How you won’t refuse him, no matter what he suggests you do. Your loyalty runs deep and true, and he wants to make it clear to Zeke. Hell, if he told you tomorrow to die for him, you’d put yourself in the line of fire in the blink of an eye.

But there’s another message, especially in the way he holds your head in place. And when you glance up at his face, his eyes are fixed into a glare at Zeke.

She's mine. Don't touch her.

“Jealous?” he growls out as he slips his cock further down your throat. You start to bob your head, earning a fierce groan from him. But he keeps his eyes on Zeke—especially when you start to pick up the pace. “Yeah, I bet you are. Fucking bastard. I bet none of your subordinates get on their knees for you like this, huh?”

Zeke remains silent, but you can hear him shift in his seat. Probably a futile attempt to hide his erection.

Levi seems to catch onto this. “What is it, fuzzball? Your dick hard already? Be patient. She just started.”

Your cheeks burn at the implication. How far does he want you to go with this torture? You're no strangers to edging each other, but you know how needy and vocal he can get when you drag it out for too long. Does he really want Zeke to see that side of him?

But you don’t have to wait long for an answer. He tugs on your hair and presses his hand against your forehead. At the cue, you pull your mouth off his cock, and he wipes a thin line of drool away with his thumb.

“Not yet, princess. Pace yourself.” Your eyebrow shoots up at his words. “I said give him a good show, right?”

He leans in close, lips brushing against your ear.

“Make him suffer.”

Oh.

Well, who are you to question your captain’s order?

When he leans back in his seat, you start stroking his cock again. He moans a bit louder this time—no doubt an attempt to rile Zeke up even more. As he slides his hand back into your hair, you lean forward and take just the tip of his cock in your mouth.

“Oh—fuck—just like that,” he hisses, tossing his head back slightly. “Just like that...”

You decide to take it a step further and cup your other hand around one of his balls. This gets him to moan out loud—completely unrestrained and needy. You're almost tempted to glance over your shoulder at Zeke, just to see how he’s taking all of this.

Almost.

“Princess,” Levi moans again, fisting your hair, “shit—fuck, I love your mouth so much—”

But then he tugs on your hair again, pulling you off of his cock altogether. He grits his teeth as you massage his balls, but he still keeps his voice firm when he speaks.

“I bet your pussy’s getting all wet, huh?”

His eyes flicker up to Zeke, to gauge his reaction. But he keeps your chin in his hand, thumb and forefinger pressed into your cheeks. A trickle of saliva slips out, but he catches it with his thumb without batting an eye.

“Ever get a girl this wet, fuzzball?” Without warning, he yanks your head to the side—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you squeak in shock. “Tch, look at that bastard. Can't even hide himself properly.”

You blink. Indeed, Zeke is shifting uncomfortably in his seat, trying desperately to hide the tent in his pants. No doubt, he’s turned on by this. You should be disgusted, but it only makes you all the more excited.

To think, the man you consider your worst enemy, watching you suck your captain off. The idea shouldn’t make you as wet as it does.

Levi's breath clouds over your ear. “Let me feel how wet you are, princess.”

The belt around your waist is pulled apart, and Levi’s fingers dip below the hem of your pants and into your panties. You gasp as his fingers brush over your folds, grazing over your clit gently. And when he pulls his hand away, the tips of his fingers are coated with slick.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Zeke groans as he dips his fingers into his mouth, tasting the slick and licking it up. “I’ll take care of you once we get there, alright?”

You almost smile at the proposition. Of course, he’s not going to fuck you outright here. Not where Zeke can see. No, instead he’s going to torture him just a little bit more, to make sure he doesn’t get the pleasure of seeing Levi destroy you. The sight of your naked body is something Levi wants to keep for himself, even for just a little bit longer.

“Think you can hold on until then, princess?”

It's the name that nearly makes you faint. “Yes, captain.”

“Good girl. Now start sucking again.”

You don’t hesitate to take him in all the way. Tears prick your eyes as the tip of his cock brushes the back of your throat. With each bob of your head brings a strangled moan from the captain’s lips. And it’s not long before he holds your head in place and starts to buck into your mouth.

A few moans of your own burst from your throat, and Levi hisses at the vibrations against his skin. He keeps his eyes forward, his teeth bared, as he stares Zeke in the face. Tears tumble down your cheeks as you glance up at him. Of course, he wants to make sure that bastard sees him when he comes.

“Such a tight little throat,” he growls, “and your pussy’s even tighter... Fuck, I can’t wait to feel it later—”

Zeke clears his throat for the thousandth time at that. But you only smile, the thought of Levi taking you over and over again tonight making you even wetter.

“Fuck—oh, shit—” He tugs on your hair, nearly ripping the strands from their roots. “Princess, I—”

He comes hard, without warning, as he bucks his hips one last time into your mouth. A hot, salty fluid bathes your tongue at once, and you groan at the bitter taste. But you swallow it all—every last drop. It's what your captain wants, after all.

When he’s finally done, his cock softens, and you pull away with a soft pop of your lips. You give the tip a soft kiss before tucking him back into his pants, and when you do, he grabs your upper arm and pulls you up onto the bench beside him.

It's satisfying, to see Zeke’s contorted face. His head is tilted, so you can’t read his eyes behind the tint of his glasses. But judging by the clenched fists on his thighs, as well as the straining tent against his pants, he’s not doing too well.

And when he does lift his head up to meet your gaze, you lift your thumb and wipe away a white drop at the corner of your lips, guiding it back to your mouth. He grimaces at the sight, and you only smile contently, as Levi smirks beside you.

Nighttime is no different. Thirty Scouts are stationed in the Titan Forest, under Hanji’s command, to aid both you and Levi in watching over Zeke. Of course, Levi has the final say in where Zeke is placed and what he does during the day.

And being the sly bastard he is, he stations him in the tent beside his own—where he’s intent on fucking you till dawn.

At first, you feel bad for the other Scouts at the camp. No one wants to hear you two going at it in the dead of night, especially when they have to watch over Zeke. But all of that is cast aside once Levi settles himself in between your thighs and sets to work.

You twist your fingers into his hair, moans spilling from your lips as he drags his tongue along your folds. You've been wet for hours, awkwardly shifting in your seat in the carriage, and later on your horse’s saddle. But Levi had promised to take care of you once the sun went down, and now, it’s clear he intends to make good on that promise.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers against your clit, “sucking me off like that—fuck, I didn’t know you could be so fucking filthy.”

Through your blurry eyes, you manage to smile at him. “O-only for you, captain.”

He growls in agreement and curls his arms around your thighs, tugging you even closer to his face. “You’re fucking right. And you’re mine.”

You want to agree, but your words come out as incoherent babbles as he begins sucking on your clit.

You twist and turn beneath him, throwing your head from side to side. Fingers rake through midnight tresses, and you tug his face even closer to your pussy. His tongue laps greedily at your skin, licking up every bit of your arousal. With every stroke of his tongue, you’re brought closer and closer to that beautiful edge of bliss.

“Levi,” you whine, “please... Please!”

He swirls his tongue around your clit and presses down hard. That's when you lose it, screaming out his name so loud you’re sure Zeke can hear you.

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers again, as he laps up your release. “Make him hear you. Make him jealous.”

You're curious to see how long he’ll drag this torture out for Zeke. No doubt he hates the man with every inch of his being, but how long does he plan to do this with you?

You're about to ask him about it, but he silences you with a kiss. Before you know it, your hips are lifted up, and he throws your legs over his shoulders. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance, and immediately, a bolt of arousal shoots straight to your core.

He slides into you with a groan, and you curl your fingers into the sheets of the sleeping bag. He gives you a moment to adjust to his size, matching his breaths with your own. No matter how many times you’ve done this, he always has to give you a minute to get used to him.

But you don’t really mind. It just gives you an excuse to hold him close.

He gazes down at you, his hair hanging in front of his eyes. “Ready?”

When you nod, he starts to move, and you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure. His nails dig into your hips, hiking your legs further up his shoulders as he begins to thrust. You gasp when his cock brushes against that special spot inside you—and when he notices, he focuses on that particular spot, ramming into it as hard as he can.

“Levi,” you moan, tears pricking your eyes, “...Levi! I...I’m close!”

He smirks down at you, spreading your legs even wider. “Already? Princess, we just started.”

There it is again—that beautiful pet name that makes you see stars. You arch your back and scream his name, heart pounding with every thrust of his hips. He drops one of your legs and lifts the other, stretching you further and deepening his thrusts. The shift in angle nearly makes you lose it right then and there.

Your clit throbs violently, and you whine and buck your hips against him. He seems to catch on, and he drops his hand down to your clit and begins to circle it with his thumb. His name flies from your lips, no more than a whimper.

“Please!” Your eyes shoot open, and your hands grip the sleeping bag tightly. “Levi! Make me come—please!”

He responds by picking up the pace, in both his hips and your clit. The irregular slap of his hips against yours, combined with the rough pads of his fingers against your bare clit, is enough to push you over the edge. You cry out his name and throw your head back, pure bliss washing over you in warm waves.

But Levi doesn’t continue his movements. Instead, he pulls himself out, his cock still painfully hard. In the blink of an eye, he flips you over onto your knees, your palms pressing into the soft material of the sleeping bag. Your thighs tremble as you feel your juices trickle down your skin. Levi leans over, his chest pressing against your back, as he pushes his cock back into you, and a whine slips through your mouth as he fills you up again.

“Better prepare yourself, princess,” he murmurs into your ear, “because I'm not stopping anytime soon.”

And he doesn’t. For hours and hours, he has you coming on his cock, so much you start to lose count. Under him, on top of him, on your side in front of him—every position you can think of, he takes you in. Every scream and moan that leaves your lips, he makes sure it’s loud enough for Zeke to hear. And when he doesn’t think it’s loud enough, he smacks your ass hard. That gets you to scream louder next time.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you tear at the sleeping bag with your fists, arching your back and pushing your ass back into his hips. It's the third time he’s had you in this position, and you think you’re about to run out of strength. But before you can collapse onto your front, his arms slide underneath you and hold you up against his chest, all the while pounding into you.

“One more time,” he growls low in his throat. “Come for me one more time, princess. Let him hear you scream.”

So you do. You come hard around his cock, your juices dripping down your thighs and onto the sleeping bag. Levi groans against your neck as he continues to thrust into you, chasing after his own release.

“Levi, please...” Your words are slurred and your vision is blurry. And you bite back a scream when he dips his hand below your waist, rubbing furiously at your clit. “P-please, no more—”

“Take it,” he snarls, still snapping his hips into yours. “Take it all, princess.”

Your voice is hoarse as you come again, clenching around his cock violently. Luckily, that’s all he needs to reach his own peak, and groans your name as he spills his seed inside you.

It takes you both a minute to untangle yourselves from each other. You're both sweaty and exhausted, and in your case, covered with cum. Levi is the first to move, as he always is, and grabs the bucket of water and a cloth in the corner of the tent. He wipes you down first and wraps you up in a clean blanket before tending to his own needs. You watch him with lazy eyes, chest still heaving and arms still limp.

A few minutes later, you’re curled up in a fresh sleeping bag, still naked underneath the covers. Levi drapes his arm across your waist, and you lean your head on his chest, smiling at the thump of his heart beneath your ear. You can’t help but smile at this; whenever you’re in this position with him, you forget about the dangers of the world. Of the constant threat of the Titans, and of your enemies across the sea.

But then you open your eyes and prop your chin on his chest. “Levi, how long are you going to keep this up?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Keep what up?”

You giggle. “Y’know, the whole ‘torturing Zeke’ thing. How long are we gonna keep doing that?”

He rolls his eyes before shifting himself in the bag, rolling the two of you over until he’s hovering above you, with his hands pressed into the pillow on either side of your head. You gaze up at him with large eyes, and he cups your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin of your face.

“Until it pleases me.”

You laugh again as he swoops down for another kiss, his hands already roaming your body. Immediately you feel him harden against your thigh, and your laugh only grows louder.

“Again? By the Walls, we just finished! And you just cleaned me up—”

“I can clean you up again,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You roll your eyes. Looks like he’s already thought this through, huh?

So you give in, just like you always do. He settles himself over your body, sucking on your neck and leaving a trail of love bites in his wake.

But as you begin to move against each other, there’s a rustle in the next tent over—followed by an annoyed groan. You and Levi only look at each other and smirk, before he pulls you in for yet another kiss.

Who knew pissing off Zeke Jaeger could be so damn amusing?

[the-gay-prometheus]

Frankenstein AU Segment - “Willful Disobedience”

Clervalstein yearning goes brrrrrrr

Anyways- uh... so as I said at the beginning of pride month, my goal for June is to write at least one directly Clervalstein related AU segment each week because gay. 

This time around, I was inspired to write about the events that led to how Henry would eventually find Victor and the Creature on the mountain, so in terms of timeline, this takes place before all segments I’ve written except for “Home Again” and “Same Scars, Same Stitches.”

A couple of fun little tidbits about the making of this segment (feel free to skip over them and get right to the segment below the cut, this is just me rambling about some inspiration):

1. The whole bit with Victor drawing and the Creature mimicking him by drawing as well was somewhat inspired by the “Forbidden Friendship” scene from How to Train Your Dragon. I listened to that specific track from the movie score a few times while I was in the process of thinking about this idea!

2. Another bit of musical inspiration actually came from the Chronicles of Narnia, specifically the track “Evacuating London” from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. If you time it just right and you’re somebody who can actively read and listen to music at the same time, it should somewhat line up with the last few paragraphs (excluding Henry’s bit at the end) - starting at where Victor says “I’d give anything-”, then with the little piano part being timed with the paragraph that starts with “It was intricately detailed-”, then the major swell in that half of the song should line up with the paragraph where the Creature begins feeling the need to disobey Victor’s most important rules; then comes the part that begins with a bit of bells and eventually vocalization, and that entire half of the track should align with the Creature carrying out his plan at least most of the way. Of course - all of this depends on your reading speed, but I would definitely recommend listening to the song after reading at least and imagining those parts of the segment along with it if you’re interested in a little peek into my crazy writing process! 😅

Anyways- this is another wholesome segment, so no warnings needed to my knowledge!

As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated!

~~~

Sunlight warmed the cold stone of the mountain ridge upon which Victor sat. His sleeves were rolled up on his arms, as the heat from the summer sun was felt much more intensely up on the mountain top despite the cool alpine breeze. Heavy clouds capped the peaks beyond though the sky was primarily a clear blue, and mist drifted through the valleys below. Though the view was magnificent, the sketchbook that sat on Victor’s knee contained no trace of the mountains. His eyes darted from the open page to the horizon, but it wasn’t the horizon he was searching for. As he stared over the peaks beyond, it wasn’t the view itself he focussed on, and instead an image that was clear in his mind. With a slight smile at the thought, he turned his gaze back down to the page and continued his sketching. It wasn’t long before the smile faded as the sound of quiet, careful footfalls upon the stone broke the calm silence, and he became aware of a presence directly beside him. He instinctively scooted himself about a half inch away as the other figure slowly sat at his side, his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate harder on his sketching. “What are you doing?” came the inquisitive voice of his creation, and he felt the looming figure lean over in an attempt to view what he was drawing. With a further frown, Victor covered over his sketch with his other hand and turned away.

“Last I checked, that was none of your business,” he grumbled in reply. The creature tried to get a better look, but Victor’s hand covered over too much of it for him to be able to see. He sat there for a moment longer, his mind wandering and his gaze flitting about from view to view as he tried to decide what it was he should do. Now that the cabin was finally completed, he found himself with a lack of activities to keep him busy, and though his creator was certainly better company now than he had been when he first arrived to the mountain, he still wasn’t much of a conversationalist and was often preoccupied with his own thoughts or projects. Out of ideas, he hummed something softly to himself, some tune he had once heard Victor singing one day many weeks ago. Victor lifted his eyes at the sound and glanced over at him, but the moment the creature returned his gaze, he rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning back to his sketching. Quieting himself at his creator’s reaction, the creature sighed and stood, walking back toward the cabin. Victor almost felt bad - almost - but he kept drawing, now absentmindedly humming the same tune. After a few minutes, he became distracted by the sound of footsteps once again, but this time the creature sat a ways away from him. He went quiet, trying to ignore his creation and keep his focus, but he heard the scratching of another pen on paper, then a pause, then more scratching, and he felt himself being watched. With an exasperated sigh, Victor dropped his pen beside him and looked over to the creature. “What on earth are you doing?” The creature looked up at him, his expression blank.

“Last I checked, that was none of your business,” he answered matter-of-factly. Victor stared at him a moment, then frowned.

“Back talking me? That’s new.” The creature blinked, but didn’t answer, instead turning back down to the piece of paper that lay on his knee and continuing to draw something on it. Now thoroughly curious, Victor stood, walking over to him and standing behind him to look over his shoulder. The creature made no efforts to hide his drawing, and Victor could clearly see the rough beginnings of a person sitting in the exact same pose he had been sitting in. “Are you… drawing me drawing Henry?”

“Ah, so you were drawing someone named Henry.” Victor blushed furiously.

“Oh you sly bastard,” he muttered. The creature glanced up at him. “How clever of you, to get an answer out of me like that.”

“That was not my intention, but I cannot say I am disappointed by the result,” the creature responded simply. Victor sighed, sitting down beside him before flopping dramatically onto his back. Now trying to think based on memory, the creature gazed off into the distance before looking down at his paper and continuing to draw. “May I ask who this Henry person is?” he asked as he drew. “I hear you speak the name often. He must be of great importance to you.” Victor wanted to be angry. He wanted to tell his creation to mind his own business and stop prying into his personal life, and yet… he couldn’t be angry - not while Henry was the topic of the conversation, anyway.

“Henry is… was my…” He paused, carefully thinking about how to choose his words, “closest friend.” There was a length of silence as he felt an ache in his chest from the thought of Henry, and the creature took a moment away from his drawing before returning to it.

“Tell me about him,” he suggested as he sketched. Victor sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, holding his sketch of Henry over his heart as he stared into the sky.

“Where to even begin with him,” Victor uttered quietly.

“Describe him to me.” Victor lifted his sketch up and stared at it, before holding it out to the creature. The creature glanced up, and looked at it with a curious expression. Victor gave him a curt nod, signaling that he was welcome to inspect it closer, so he gently took it from Victor’s hand and inspected it closely.

“He’s tall, but not too tall - just tall enough that I have to look up in order to look into his eyes. And he’s always well dressed - I don’t think there’s ever been a day when he wasn’t looking his best, though I suppose I might be a bit biased on that.” For a moment he wondered just how much further he should go with his description. How could he describe someone like Henry without giving his true feelings away? He hesitated, then sighed with a smile. His creation already knew one of his secrets, and, after all, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere or seeing anyone else, so what harm was there in completely venting his thoughts? “He has the most thoughtful hazel eyes, toffee brown around the edges and streaked with emerald green that deepens toward the pupils, the kind of eyes you could get lost in if you stared for too long.” The creature’s pen went still and he looked up toward the horizon, trying to imagine what Victor was describing. “And his hair is long - not quite so long as yours, but ends just past his shoulders - and lays in tangled waves always kept tied back, though a few strands never fail to set themselves free. When the sun hits it just right, I could swear it was made of fire,” Victor breathed as he pictured it in his mind. “It’s the kind of brilliant auburn that takes your breath away, that seems to gleam with its own radiant light. Sometimes I swear he’s more angel than man, and perhaps if angels do exist, he may well be one of them.” The creature smiled, but the smile soon faded as his mind drifted to Paradise Lost and further to his past. He blinked the thought away, then turned his eyes back down to his art, setting Victor’s drawing of Henry down at his side. “He’s covered with what must be thousands of freckles, mostly concentrated on his cheeks but they expand over his face and at the very least his arms, chest, and back. I would liken them to… dark stars against a bright sky,” Victor explained. He raised an arm up and began tracing lines in the air as he continued. “I used to try to find constellations among them, and sometimes I thought I nearly could. Orion, Andromeda, Lepus, Lynx, Pegasus, Phoenix, Vulpecula,” he muttered each constellation as he imagined himself tracing the lines between freckles on Henry’s skin, his chocolate brown eyes seeming to light up with wonder as he grew to be lost in his own imagination.

“He barely sounds real,” the creature interjected nonchalantly, hardly looking up from his drawing as he began to focus closer on it. Victor grinned and chuckled softly.

“I tell myself that every day,” he murmured with a hint of sarcasm. “Surely no man could ever be so perfect, and yet there he is-” He paused, reaching higher toward the sky and extending his fingers to feel the breeze between them, “as real as you and I.” His hand dropped back down to his chest as he heaved a sigh. “There’s no man on earth as generous or as compassionate as my-” He stopped himself, blushing hard as he realized what it was he was about to say. “As Henry, I mean. Just… just Henry.” The scratching of the creature’s pen stopped again, and Victor glanced over at him to see him staring ahead in clear contemplation of the implications of his words before returning to his art. “You know,” Victor began, returning his eyes to the sky. “I can just about guarantee that if it were Henry who made you instead of me, you would have turned out ok.” The weight of his words hadn’t set in before he said them, but now that they were out, they sat heavy on his chest like lead. It took him a moment, but he sucked in a ragged breath and exhaled unsteadily. “If it were him instead of me, William would still be alive.” At those words, the creature froze, as rather than a weight to him they felt like a dagger slowly piercing between his ribs and etching each letter directly onto his beating heart. “And to think… Even if it wasn’t him who made you, if it were him who found you here, perhaps your night terrors would have all but ceased by now. And maybe, by his grace, you would be at peace.” They sat in contemplative silence, both somehow altogether calmed and unnerved in each other's presence. “I’d give just about anything for him to be here,” Victor mentioned, breaking the silence and lifting himself up onto his hands. “And I know all it would take is one letter. He’d drop everything to come here. But that’s… that’s just it. That’s the problem.” He sighed, fully sitting upright. The creature glanced over at him. “I can’t let him just… ruin the rest of his life for me. I don’t know how I could live with myself knowing that I held him back because of my own mistakes.” His eyes dropped to his other side. “And yet… I barely know how I can live with myself without him here.” It was at that moment that he felt something being laid gently on his lap, and when he looked down, he saw the drawing the creature had been working on.

It was intricately detailed, each line placed carefully onto the page with such precision. Though it was only simple line art, Victor could clearly see the image of himself sketching from earlier on the page, but standing in front of him was another figure - Henry. He was exactly as Victor described him, tall and well dressed, with long hair tied back and a few strands that drifted over his face. Though there was no color, his eyes seemed just as gentle and full of wonder as Victor remembered them to be as he stared off to some distant land. His face was covered in tiny dots, freckles, each so meticulously pricked on that Victor could clearly trace some of the constellations he described between them. Tears welled in his eyes as he placed his fingers gently on the drawn image, running them gently down the drawing’s cheek, wishing instead of cool paper that it was the soft, warm touch of Henry’s face. “Did I do him justice?” the creature inquired quietly, trying to read his teary expression. Victor sniffled and smiled.

“You… you’re quite the artist,” he managed to answer. Gingerly, he folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket, slowly rising to his feet. “I’ll… I’ll be back later. I need to take a walk and… clear my head,” Victor mentioned, wiping the tears away from his eyes. “Will you be ok on your own?” The creature didn’t answer for a moment, his yellow eyes staring into the distance as he thought deeply, but soon he snapped his attention back to the present.

“Yes, of course. Take your time, Victor.” Victor sighed and nodded.

“I’ll try not to be too late to return.” His creation watched as he wandered off and eventually disappeared into the trees, before returning to his thoughts. It was strange - in all the months that he had been there, the creature had never once considered disobeying Victor, especially out of the fear that he might abandon him again. Suddenly, however, he felt the strong need to disobey each and every one of Victor’s most important rules. He hated to see his creator so struck with longing, but even more so, he considered the positive ramifications of what his carefully formulated plan might bring. Sure, Victor might be initially upset, but with how much he desperately wanted this Henry person to be there with him, surely it would be well worth it in the end.

The first part of his plan was simple. He would need to break Victor’s trust, and search through his personal belongings. He made his way back to the cabin and slipped into Victor’s room to find a mess of folded papers lying on the bed stand - each paper being a letter he had received from a Henry Clerval. Though all he was searching for was an address, the creature couldn’t help himself and decided to read through some of the letters. As he did, he became even more certain about his decision. Not only was this man exactly as Victor had described, but the connection between them was clearly something so strong that it should have been unbreakable. To his luck as well, the creature managed to find amongst the scattered papers a letter Victor had intended to send as a reply to Henry but never had the chance to send, dated from a time before his creation.

The second part of his plan would be the most time consuming, but also the most critical, and this unsent letter would prove to be the perfect resource. Retrieving his pen and a small stack of paper Victor had stashed away, he began crafting a letter of his own. With as much precision as he could muster, he forged Victor’s handwriting and did his best to copy his style and choice of language. A few hours were spent on this, most of that time spent on crafting one single sentence until he was sure it was perfect before finally continuing on with the rest of the letter. After he completed it, he spent a few more minutes checking it once, then once more to ensure it was in fact as accurate as he could make it, before then spending a little more time practicing forging Victor’s signature and finally signing the note in his creator’s name.

Finally came the most dangerous part. With only his own memory of his travels from Ingolstadt to guide him, he would need to find and deliver the letter to someone who would be able to ensure that it reached Henry safely. Of all Victor’s rules, perhaps his greatest was that the creature was to never descend the mountain, and above all, was never to enter civilization or interact with any other human beings. Each of these would need to be broken in order for his plan to succeed. For a moment, he hesitated. Would Victor become so cross with him over this that he would abandon him once again? Where would he go if he did? What would he do? Who could he turn to? Still, it cut him sharp to think that he might be squandering this small chance to bring his creator some joy after all his sorrow if he were to abandon his plan now. His mind was made - no matter what the outcome would be, he was going to ensure this letter was delivered, and hope that Henry would arrive some day soon just as Victor said he would.

He would need to be swift in order to ensure that Victor would never know he had even left, so he quickly yet cautiously put each letter back in its rightful scattered place as though they had never been touched, and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head. With a deep, shaky breath, he could feel a new sensation pulsing through him - a rush of adrenaline that raised his heart rate and widened his yellow eyes. Letter clutched tightly in hand, exited the cabin and broke into a sprint. Down the mountain he ran with superhuman speed, leaping over logs and boulders as though they were mere hurdles. Though he should have balked at sheer cliff faces, instead he lept from them and skid down their sides, ignoring the sharp pain of the rock scraping at the soles of his feet and the palm of his empty hand. Letting his intuition guide him, he continued his swift journey to Geneva. Though the place held painful, dreadful memories for him, the surge of adrenaline that coursed through him overrode the thoughts, and he raced toward the location of the address. Slowing to a walk, his chest heaved and ached from exertion, but he slowed his breathing as he came upon a fence that outlined one of many pastures that outskirted a large house on a hill beyond. In one pasture, he could just barely see a figure on horseback, cantering through a field with his wavy, tied hair flickering ember orange in the sunlight behind him. 

“Can I help you, sir?” came a sudden voice from beside him. He jumped at the sound, instinctively hiding his face in the hood of his cloak.

“I- ...yes. Yes, I believe you can,” he stammered in reply. The stranger, a servant from the Clerval household, gave him a curious look as he held out the letter. “This is a letter for a man named Henry Clerval. I am of the impression that this is his residence?” The servant smiled as he took the letter.

“Ordinarily I would have sent you in the direction of Ingolstadt in Germany, but as luck would have it, master Henry returned home just yesterday.” He inspected the folded letter curiously. “May I ask your name?” The creature froze, gripping his cloak tighter around himself.

“I am but a simple deliverer of this message, kind sir. My name need not be of any concern. As for the letter, I am under the impression that he will understand who it is from once he has received it.” The servant nodded.

“I understand. Thank you - I will see that it’s delivered to him promptly.” With that, the man turned and started off toward where the man on horseback was riding, glancing back at the creature in confusion for a moment before continuing with a brisk pace to the one he would be delivering the letter to. The creature waited a moment longer to watch for the rider’s reaction, smiled, knowing he had made the right decision, and began his sprint back toward home.

“Master Henry? Sir?” the servant called in the pasture, letter held carefully in his hand. Henry’s hazel eyes lifted as he turned his head and gently pulled back on the reins of his mount. The mare he rode slowed to a trot, then to a walk as Henry carefully turned her in the direction of the servant.

“Yes, Marc? What is it? Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing wrong, sir,” Marc replied. As Henry slowed his steed to a stop at his side, he looked down curiously at the other man, who held the letter out to him. “This arrived for you just now from an unknown deliverer. He said you would know who it was from when you read it.” Now thoroughly intrigued, Henry took the letter and opened it. His eyes widened as he beheld the handwriting, and slowly his other hand lifted to his mouth as his jaw dropped while he read. “Is there something wrong, sir?” Tears welled in Henry’s eyes, dripping down onto his freckled cheeks as he looked up from the letter, his expression of shock turning to a tearfully happy smile.

“No, Marc, everything is much better than I had anticipated.” Marc gave him a confused glance. “Will you help me ready a supply pack and ride with me? I will need to be leaving at once.”

“Of course, sir,” Marc replied with a curt nod. “May I ask where it is we are headed?”

“The base of Mount Montanvert.” Henry turned his mount, his eyes resting on the distant mountains. “Be prepared to bring the horses back here for me once we arrive there. I might not be returning for quite some time.”

[asthmark]

❝ comfortable ❞ l.mk

synopsis → “oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

word count → 3k

a/n → instead of admitting to the fact that this has been in my drafts since october what if i just said i was watching superm interviews and got inspired.. would anyone believe that??? anyway superm on the ellen show was a fever dream lol

your leg bounces nervously as your makeup artist touches up your look and you stare at the tv screen in anticipation. you were finally making your television debut. you knew you were blessed for the wonderful opportunity, especially for how new you were to the music industry.

you had started like nearly every other artist; posting covers on youtube. these were well received and gained a good amount of views and likes but your career really took off when you began creating original content. every time you would release a single, it would make it on the trending page thanks to your growing fanbase and exposure to the general public, who seemed to like you. soon enough, requests to interview you whether it be on radio, tv, or magazines were high and, thanks to your managers, you found yourself in los angeles, backstage in a studio, waiting for the ellen degeneres to introduce you to her live audience and thousands of viewers at home.

“don’t move so much, miss l/n,” the woman trying to apply your highlighter comments. “you’re smudging your makeup.”

you force yourself to sit still as you apologize. “sorry. pre-show jitters.”

the woman smiles, emphatically. “i understand, sweetheart. i would be nervous too.”

you’re quiet for a moment, debating if you should continue conversing with her. “can i be honest?”

she hums as she dabs a beauty blender into your cheek. “go ahead.”

“i am so nervous that i’ll mess up or say something stupid. the only thing close to an interview i’ve ever done was a q&a on my youtube channel. and at least i could edit stuff out then.” you huff. “if i make some kind of mistake on my tv debut, my career will be over before it even started.”

“well, think of it this way,” she says. “you went from a moderately popular youtube channel to the ellen show. that doesn’t happen for no reason. there are people out there who really admire you.”

you chuckle in disbelief. “it’s crazy to think about people actually wanting to see me. i still can't believe it.”

she giggles, softly. “they know there's something worth seeing.” at seeing your small smile, almost as if you were barely realizing your own star status, she laughs. “you seriously gotta wake up, girl. you’re famous!”

you smile at her, finding humor in her words. “thanks for the wake up call.”

you both direct your attention to the tv placed backstage that broadcasted what was happening on stage. you listen in to ellen’s monologue as she tells jokes and addresses current topics. before long, there’s a knock on the doorframe. you half expect a staff member to let you know that you’ll be on soon but instead you hear a quiet, “hello?”

you and your makeup artist both turn to the boy standing in the doorway. he's wearing a black jacket paired with dark, ripped jeans held up by a belt. he goes to bow, then remembers that korean etiquette does not apply and decides to wave as a greeting instead. you reciprocate the gesture. he stands with only one foot inside the room, almost as if he’s too polite to enter without being given the okay.

“did they send you to get your makeup done?” the woman who had done yours says.

he nods. “they said something about concealer and bb cream, i think?”

she smiles. “yeah, it’s basic stuff. come on in. what’s your name, dear?”

“oh, i’m mark. mark lee.” he gives her a lop-sided grin, reminding you of a high school boy. the kind you would have a crush on.

“well, mark lee, i’m lily. i’ll be doing your makeup, making sure you look pretty for the cameras.” she motions to you. “i'm just about done here so i’ll be right with you.”

“okay, thank you.” he shuffles in, his eyes glued to you and you hold his stare. he nods, a wordless greeting as he settles in next to you. in return, you throw up a peace sign and he smiles at your casual behavior.

“you know what? somebody used all the setting spray. i’ll be right back, i’m just going to steal some from my co-workers.” with that, lily darts out of the room.

it’s pure silence between the two of you until you spark conversation. “i didn't get to introduce myself but i'm y/n.”

“i know,” he responds, quickly. “i'm kind of a fan, actually. i mean, it’s practically impossible to not be. you’re all over the place. especially with the new single you dropped... which is a bop, by the way.”

you smile at his simply-worded praise. it was a nice switch up from the professional reviews you received from critics. “that’s so cute. i’m honored.” you miss the way mark’s ears turn slightly pink at your words. “but enough about me, what do you do, mark?”

“oh, me? i’m in the k-pop scene.”

you hum. “that’s a good genre to be in. which group?”

“right now i’m promoting with superm, it’s kind of like a side project. but originally, i’m in a band called nct.”

you lean forward at hearing the familiar name. “nct? as in, nct 127?”

mark’s eyes light up. “yeah! you know us?”

you nod, enthusiastically. “oh my god, yes! you collabed with ava, right?”

“we sure did. are you guys close?”

“i help her write lyrics sometimes.” you lower your voice down to a whisper for dramatic effect. “i wrote the chorus to ‘sweet but psycho’.”

the way mark’s jaw drops is almost comedic. “no way! that song got her famous, dude!” his lips curve into a playful smirk. “just because of that i’m gonna have to get you in the studio.”

you return the mischievous look. “is that a promise?”

“i’m back!” lily announces, giving mark no time to respond. she gives no warning as she spritzs you with the bottle she had gone to retrieve.

you cough, choking on the mist. “no heads up?”

“sorry, dear. you’re on in two minutes, no time to waste.”

you feel a chill go up your spine. it was finally time.

mark nudges your arm. “you okay?”

“a little nervous.” that proves to be the biggest understatement of all time because in reality your heart is doing somersaults.

“hey.” you stare at him, his brown eyes boring into you. “you’ll be fine. there’s nothing to worry about. you got this!”

you smile at his words of encouragement. he cared about you and you find that your heart is pounding for an entirely different reason now.

“i'll be here to cheer you on while you’re out there and i’ll be back when you’re done to tell you how amazing you did, okay?”

you nod.

“now get out there!”

“well, we have a great show for y’all today,” ellen says, clasping her hands together, having just finished her monologue. “i mean, it’s always great but the exciting thing is we have two musical guests today.”

the audience that cheered wildly is shown on screen. you almost forget about the knot in your stomach when you see some people in the crowd wearing shirts with the cover art and quoted lyrics of your last single.

“i see you guys are ready so, without further ado... let’s get started. our first guest is a soloist who has made quite a big name for herself in such a short period of time. she currently has three singles on the billboard charts, her most recent music video is number one trending on youtube, and she has a new ep coming out soon. here for her television debut, please welcome y/n l/n.”

you walk out from behind the stage, a huge smile on your face. the crowd screams and you wave to them until your hands become too occupied hugging the hostess who greets you with open arms and a proud smile. once the hype dies down and your entrance music fades out, you take a seat, opposite of ellen.

“how have you been y/n?”

“amazing,” you respond, letting your hands fall neatly in your lap.

“and why is that?”

you sigh, wistfully. “everything has been going so well for me lately. i mean, i feel like all these doors are opening up for me all of a sudden. i think i finally made it.”

“you’re just barely realizing that?” ellen exclaims.

you laugh, along with the audience. “kind of, yeah. it just all happened so fast.”

“is there an experience that comes to mind where you finally realized how famous you are?”

you try to think for a few moments before your eyes light up. “okay so, i was at a mcdonald’s like, last month and i went through the drive thru and ordered some nuggets and fries. so, i pull up to the window to pay and it’s around 2 a.m. so the cashier guy is super out of it, like he’s not even paying attention to me. finally, he goes to grab my card and he gets a good look at me and just freezes. like, full on shuts down. so i ask him if he’s okay and he nods so i try to hand him my card again but he goes, ‘no, you’re famous, you don’t have to pay’. and in that moment i just knew.”

“hold on, pause,” ellen announces, dramatically. “you’re telling me that you have been nominated as artist of the year, gained over ten million followers on social media and made your national television debut but the thing that really made you say ‘wow, i’m famous’ was a couple of chicken nuggets?”

“ellen, c’mon,” you begin, seriously. “it was a twenty piece.”

“oh, well, that changes everything,” she says, playing along with you, as the audience erupts into laughter.

the rest of the interview goes smoothly, running on jokes and sarcastic energy. you discuss your young age (thus resulting in some of your baby pictures finally being revealed to the world), millennial culture (the crowd went wild when you explained terms such as netflix and chill to ellen who claimed she didn’t understand yet her sly smirk said otherwise) and your upcoming ep (that you would be giving a sneak peek of later on in the show).

you continue chatting once the commercial break is announced and ellen showers you with praises, commenting how young talent never failed to amaze her, although it did make her feel old. you get to thank the hostess and tell her how much you appreciated her sweet words and the opportunity she had given you before the crew is dragging you backstage so you can prep for your upcoming performance.

you’re greeted by a “that was awesome!” and a high five one you get backstage.

you flash mark a full smile. “couldn’t have done it without my hype man.”

just then lily walks in to touch up your makeup.

“and my hype woman!”

she just rolls her eyes and chuckles as she reapplies gloss to your lips. 

“seriously though, y/n. why did you have to be so perfect? the bar is all the way up here now.” to emphasize his point, mark raises his arm as high as it will go.

“hey, i only tried hard because you’re up next. you’re a hard act to beat, mark lee. i mean, you’re charismatic, charming, witty; basically every talk show host’s dream.”

he scoffs yet you see how he avoids your gaze, your compliments obviously flattering him to the extreme.

a staff member walks by, cutting your conversation short. “y/n, you’re back on in one. superm is on right after.”

you and mark turn back to each other, speaking the same two words at the same time.

“good luck.”

ellen introduces you again, only this time you hold a guitar and stand in front of a microphone once you’re back on the stage. you perform a never before heard song but judging by the roaring applause and standing ovation you receive by the end of it, it’s another successful hit.

you bask in the amazing response and then you’re ushered backstage for the last time. you catch sight of the staff placing more seats on the stage as you exit and you smile eagerly, knowing exactly what’s to come. you search the hallways for your new friend, hoping you can catch him before the show goes back on air. you’re almost about to give up when you hear your name being called.

you lock eyes with mark who stands a couple feet away, barely hidden from the audience’s view. even from where you stand you can tell he has a nervous smile on his face. you jog towards him and to your surprise, he envelops your figure without a second thought. in return, you tentatively wrap your arms around him.

“great job,” he murmurs, breath fanning your ear. “i really did cheer you on.”

“i’ll make sure to do the same.” you hesitantly pull away from his embrace, holding him at an arm’s length away. “go get ‘em.”

he gives you a determined nod and you watch him rush on stage, the audience’s wild cheering increasing. their energy didn’t fade once throughout the interview and just as you had suspected, mark was doing wonderfully. he clearly thrived in interviews; his awkward, boyish nature enchanting everyone in the studio, yourself included.

ellen crosses her legs and clears her throat. “so, i have to ask you something, you know, for the fans.”

the group leaned forward in anticipation, awaiting her next words.

“are any of you dating?”

the crowd released noises of amusement at hearing the very personal question. you can’t help but feel intrigued although you knew ellen has always been quite the invasive person. you watched as the seven boys looked around at each other, unsure what to say but before their silence can become suspiciously long, mark ends up taking the question.

“why are you always so curious about this, though?” he blurts.

the audience absolutely eats up his response, cheering at his bluntness. even you find it humorous, shoulders shaking with a chuckle. that’s definitely gonna become a meme, you think.

“it’s my job!” counters ellen. “why are you so defensive?”

the crowd is very responsive to ellen’s rebuttal, ‘ooh’ing in amusement.

mark’s silence only pushes the hostess to continue teasing him.

“does it maybe have anything to do with y/n?”

your smile drops. had she seen you two? you’re not sure why you feel so exposed; after all, you had just been talking.

ellen’s lips adorn a sly smile at mark’s stunned reaction. “you seemed to be getting very comfortable with each other backstage.”

the black haired male stumbles over his words before he gets a semi-coherent sentence out. “we just, um—we just met.”

“oh really? you two looked like you had known each other forever.”

mark chuckles breathlessly, eyes glued to his lap, obviously at a loss for words. ellen stares at him expectantly so he mutters, “i like making friends.”

ellen, the audience, and even some of the band members laugh at his response.

“well, i’m sure there’s a lot of fans out there that wish they were your ‘friend’.” her tone makes it clear she doesn’t buy his excuse but she prods him no further, instead turning to stare into the main camera. “when we get back superm will be performing their title track ‘jopping’. during the commercial break, please feel free to place your bets as to how long mark and y/n will remain ‘friends’.”

the camera pans to mark for a couple seconds; his ears are bright red and his cheeks are dusted light pink, his makeup doing nothing to help hide the blush. his eyes dart around, anxiously and then they cut to commercials.

you shake your head, smiling at the entire situation and just how big of a dork mark was.

you attentively watch superm’s two performances, eyes mostly glued to a certain rapper. you sit patiently in the makeup room, waiting for mark to return backstage so you can congratulate him but he never appears. you try to conceal your disappointment, even when lily enters the room, smiling brightly.

“well, the show’s over, doll.” she removes her makeup stained apron and glances at you as she places it on a nearby rack. “hey, why the long face?”

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, no longer bothering to hide your pout now that your frustration had been made known.

“you did great, if that’s what you’re worried about. just ask mark.”

“he left,” you mumble. “i thought i’d be able to catch him before he left and we could… i don’t know, talk a bit more? i just really—” you trail off.

“like him?” lily suggests, too loudly for your liking.

your head snaps towards her, eyes wide, only confirming your feelings.

“don’t worry, dear, you can say it. i won’t tell ellen,” she jokes.

you sigh and slump down in your seat. “yeah. i like him.”

“well, then, i have good news for you.”

you half-heartedly hum, allowing her to continue.

she waves a piece of crumpled paper in front of your face. you grab it from her, staring at it curiously.

“what’s this?”

she nods her head at it, encouraging you to find out for yourself. “open it and see.”  

you obey, unfolding the tiny item. your eyes struggle to read the words inside but if you squint, they become clearer.

please call, me i would love to become closer ‘friends’.

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

it’s mark btw :)

you can’t contain your smile at the cute little note.

“he’s adorable,” you say, mostly to yourself but lily audibly agrees.

“he ran into me as he was leaving and begged me to deliver that message to you. which reminds me, i’m supposed to let you know that he wishes he could have stuck around but his schedule is ‘crazy tight’ so he had to ‘dip’. his words not mine.”

you nod, grin widening. “thanks, lily.”

“my pleasure. nothing like young love.”

you give her a glare although it’s all but threatening.

she folds her arms, teasingly. “so, are you going to give him a call or what?”

you’re sure she sees the phone in your hand and the way your fingers press the numbers on the keypad, excitedly but nevertheless, you decide to answer.

“i’d be crazy not to.”