#the last thing my tarnished sees before getting obliterated

[ein-ungeheures-ungeziefer]

Malenia, Goddess of Rot

Done with watercolor - and painting this must've taken only slightly longer than beating her boss fight... No matter the struggle though, it was such fun!

[allthefakepeople]

Ok for the writing prompts: “I’m not afraid of you.” Because I just know you’re going to do something brilliant with that and I will be blown away like always.

alright zee this became a bit of a monster... i hope you don't mind. so sorry it took a bit i just had to sleep last night. as i said i promise i will get to all of the prompts.

this is same major hurt/comfort so i hope you're okay with that. i hope you like it :))

also all of your kind words are making me CRY. i’m so glad you like my writing. coming from YOU that’s such a compliment

-Miels 💜✨

Writing Prompts (you can still send me prompts y'all)

“I’m not afraid of you”

See, Wilhelm had worked through a lot of emotions since being home for break. Sadness, loneliness, grief, disgust with himself, and somewhere along the way he’d finally settled back on anger.

Royals aren’t supposed to show anger. “It’s unbecoming” is what Queen Kristina always told Wilhelm. Maybe that’s why Wille was never fit to be a royal. Sometimes he feels like his anger is going to eat him from inside out. He feels like he’s been stewing in anger since the club. It’s just been sitting in his chest festering. The only times that this anger has faded  has been when he’s been with Simon. There was even anger in him when Erik had died because… how dare Erik leave him behind. How dare Erik let him be left with this mess. That anger had quickly transformed into guilt, though, and the thoughts never lasted too long. He knew that this anger wasn’t healthy. He knew holding all of this inside would inevitably end up only hurting himself in the end. After all, who even wanted to be around him? 

However the anger was easier to hold onto than the anxiety and the guilt and the sadness. The anger covered up the feelings of hopelessness building up inside him. The anger made it so he didn’t have to feel the sting of betrayal by August and his mother… and by that extent most likely his father. The anger made it so he didn’t have to consider the fact that he may never hold Simon in his arms again. And anger had always come easy to Wilhelm. He knew it wasn’t healthy but he just wanted something to feel easy for once. And so… anger. 

When he was home for the holidays he didn’t even try to hide his feelings from his parents. He didn’t have it in him to have the inevitable conversation about his mother’s betrayal yet but he made sure his parents knew to give him space. He knew he had to find a way to get all of this anger out of him but he didn’t know how he was supposed to do that without hurting someone else or hurting himself and despite what happened with his parents, and his anger towards them, he never truly could stomach actually hurting them. They were all he had left. So instead he sat in his room and stewed. He turned his thoughts away from his parents and instead focused on August.

God, even thinking of his name made a feeling rise in Wilhelm that he’d never felt before. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry at another person in his entire life. Not only had August completely obliterated all of Wilhelm’s trust in him he’d also tarnished some of Erik’s last words to him. “August is family, you can trust him,”. Yeah right. Family. What good is family if all they’re going to do is prey on you when you’re at your most vulnerable. Wille hadn’t liked being around August before Hillserska and a very, very small part of him felt vindicated that his instincts were right to not want to be around August.The feeling of vindication did not stay long after he remembered why his instincts were right. There was an even smaller part of himself that felt like this whole thing was his fault anyways. If he hadn’t leaked August’s financial situation to The Society, maybe August wouldn’t have felt the need to release the video. He shakes those thoughts away. He would make the same decision a hundred times over if it meant keeping Simon where he was. And, August had already had the video before Wilhelm had exposed him so it feels like this betrayal was inevitable. He also heard an echo of Simon’s words whenever he started to question his own role in the situation.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,”

These words were what kept him going on the days that he felt exposed and disgusted with himself. Because it’s true. Wilhelm’s love for Simon could never be wrong. It was the one thing in his life that he felt like he’d done right. These thoughts of Simon would usually bring back another bout of self-disgust because he only had himself to blame for ruining that.Yes, August may have loaded the gun but he pulled the trigger. He knew he would never be brave enough to speak his truth. No one seemed to like him when he was himself. They preferred when he was the perfect image of what a crown prince should look like. Well… everyone but Simon. It was a vicious cycle. Wille’s self-confidence was at an all time low. That paired with his anger made it almost feel like Wille had nothing to lose. 

Which is probably why when August approached him after rowing practice, since “quitting will make people think something is wrong,”,  the first week back all he did was offer him a gold glare and walked away. When he went to leave he caught Simon’s eye, who was watching with a look of interest. When Simon didn’t approach him, Wille just continued out the door. He didn’t have it in him to have the “August leaked the video, my mom is protecting him, there’s nothing we can do,” conversation with him just yet. Plus in the first week back it didn’t look like Simon was rushing to talk to him. Wille had to respect that space. This was up to Simon now. 

August seemed determined to talk to Wille, though. He’d managed to avoid it, but it felt like every time Wille turned a corner, August was there. He couldn’t escape him. He eventually realized that the only thing left to do was indulge in this conversation. Maybe he could get rid of a little of this anger inside of him and August would finally leave him alone. It seemed like a little bit of a win-win. 

So after their next rowing practice, once they were mostly finished in the locker room, Wille approached August.

“Stay back so we can talk,” He managed out between gritted teeth. August looked so hopeful that Wille had to look away. Yet again he made eye contact with Simon who was watching them with that same curious look on his face. Wille thought he might’ve also seen some concern in there but he pushed that thought away before it took hold. Wille looked away before he could get lost in Simon’s eyes. Now wasn’t the time or place. He had a conversation to get to. 

Wilhelm tried not to see the irony when he sat on the same bench that he and Simon had sat on while they comforted each other after the video. August stayed standing, not able to look at Wilhelm for more than a few seconds at a time, while they waited for the rest of the locker room to clear out. It happened pretty quickly when the guys seemed to pick up on the tension surrounding the two of them. Once the entire room was cleared, Wilhelm finally stood up and August approached to stand in front of him. Wille backed away until the backs of his legs hit the bench behind him but he stayed standing. August may have been taller but Wille had sixteen years of princely training to fall back on. Because as much as August claimed to have power, Wilhelm actually had power. August seemed to forget everything he wanted to say when faced with Wilhelm’s anger.

“Well?” Wille knew his voice came out harsh because August flinched. He didn’t care. He thought he had every right to be harsh given the circumstances.

“Wille… I…”

“It’s Wilhelm. You don’t get to call me Wille anymore.” August’s face crumbled at that but Wille stood firm. After everything August had put him and Simon through last semester, Wille would not allow himself to feel guilty over how he spoke to August.

“Wilhelm. I’m sorry,” Wille waited to see if more was coming. When August didn’t continue Wille couldn’t help but scoff.

“You’re sorry? That’s all you have to say? You’re sorry?” Wille’s could tell his voice was shaking but he ignored it. The anger that had been simmering inside him was finally bubbling to the surface. 

“What else do you want me to say Wil.. Wilhelm,” August caught himself. “It’s already happened. I can’t take it back. So… I’m sorry,” Wille was pretty sure August thought these words were supposed to make the situation better.

“You can’t take what back, August? Since you’ve never actually admitted to what you did” August didn’t seem to know what to say to that. “Can’t take back recording a video outside of my private room? Can’t take back uploading a sex-tape of a minor, who’s your cousin no less? Can’t take back outing me to the entire country?” with every word that escaped his mouth, Wille could tell he was getting louder. He couldn’t bring himself to care. August was looking away from him again, much like he had when Wille had confronted him the first time.

“Well how about this? I’m sorry that you’re my cousin. I’m sorry that I ever put any kind of trust in you. I’m sorry that I had your school fees taken care of because it means I still have to see your face every day after knowing what you did.” As the words left his mouth Wille could feel tears in his eyes. He wanted to keep them from falling. He didn’t want to show any more weakness around August. It seemed inevitable that the tears would fall anyways. Nothing seemed to be his choice these days. August was looking at him again. Wille knew the words were hurting him. He didn’t take any of them back. 

“You know what the worst part about all of this is? Erik told me I could trust you,” At the sound of Erik’s name leaving his own lips the tears couldn’t be held back any longer. They fell down his cheeks in hot stripes. “So not only have you managed to completely betray all the trust I will ever have in you. Not only have you outed me. Not only have you released a sextape with me and Simon, but you have also completely undermined some of Erik’s  last words to me,” The tears were falling at an even faster pace now. “And I can’t even explain this to him because he’s DEAD, August. Erik is dead and he’s never coming back. So how can I explain to him that he was wrong when he’s not around to hear it,” Now it seemed like there were tears in August’s eyes too. He opened his mouth as if to say something but Wille wouldn’t let him.

“No. You don’t get to talk. You had your chance and you blew it. August, I really don’t know what you expected from this. That you’d say the bare minimum of an apology and we’d be square again? And how am I supposed to know if you actually feel bad or if you’re just paranoid about losing my support. Since the only thing you seem to care about is Hillerska and status and money which you don’t even have. But let me tell you something, August. Those things don’t matter. And beyond that, you DO have money. You could sell any number of things and still be just as rich as the rest of us, but no. So I’m done with you August. It’ll be like we’re strangers. If you approach me again I will not be held responsible for my actions.” Wilhelm then turned to leave which is when August apparently found his voice again.

“Erik would be ashamed of how you’re acting,” Wille had never felt more anger in his entire life. He turned around and marched right up to August. August stumbled back. Good.

“You keep his name out of your traitorist mouth,” Wille was pretty sure that he could actually see red in the corner of his eyes from anger. He brought up his fist and watched as August flinched. But even after everything, Wille couldn’t bring himself to physically hurt August. He turned around and brought his fist straight into the wooden post of the bench behind him.

Pain shot straight up his arm and he exclaimed. However what makes him look up is the twin gasps of surprise. There should have only been one gasp. When he looks toward the door he makes eye contact with a familiar pair of brown eyes. He knows those eyes. He loves those eyes. He quickly registers fear as the main emotion he can find in them. That… That fear is what breaks Wille. He turns back to August and with a shaky voice says

“Stay the hell away from me,” Before shuffling out the door, Simon, still seemingly in shock, steps to the side as he passes. 

“Are you all right, your Highness?” Malin is at his side as he leaves.

“I’m fine, Malin,” He knows that Malin can read the lie on his face but he can’t be bothered to care and she doesn’t push it.

He makes it back to his room and crumples down on his bed, holding his bruised hand to his chest. He didn’t mean to get upset enough to punch something. He didn’t mean to scare Simon. He didn’t mean for all of his emotions to be laid on the floor at August’s feet. More tears spring to his eyes. He’s so lost in his own head he almost misses the knock on the door. He definitely doesn’t miss the voice.

“Wille?” He can’t face Simon right now.

“Go away, Simon,” He never thought that this is how they would be interacting the first time. 

“No, not until I see that you’re okay first,” That makes Wille slightly frustrated. He doesn’t want to be faced with Simon’s caring nature right now. He doesn’t deserve it. 

“Go away, Simon,” He tries to put a little bit more aggression into his voice. Maybe if he plays into Simon’s fear, he’ll realize it’s not worth it, that he’s not worth it, and he’ll leave. He sees his door handle turn and he’s up off the bed before he realizes it. Before he can get to the door, Simon is slipping through the opening, leaning his back against it. 

“I thought I told you to go away,” Wille’s voice trembles so he’s faced with Simon’s soft expression. None of this is going how he wanted it to. He looks away, not being able to face Simon when he knows that Simon was afraid of him a few minutes ago, not when he knows he doesn’t deserve this. He turns his back to where Simon is still waiting at the door, instead looking down on his desk. The curtains in front of it remain permanently closed. 

“Wille,” Wille’s eyes fill with tears at Simon’s tone and he wonders if he’ll ever not feel like he’s split in two when he’s in his presence. 

“Wille, look at me,” Wille shakes his head

“I can’t,” He can hear how much his voice trembles. Some king he’ll be huh.

He can hear Simon taking steps closer to him but he still keeps his eyes firmly on the desk. When he feels Simon’s hand settle on his back a choked noise escapes his throat. He hadn’t felt the touch of someone else since their hug before break. He can feel Simon right next to him. His gaze still settled on him, not once straying. 

“Wille… please?” Simon sounds almost pleading now. That tone of voice is what finally has Wille looking up into his eyes. The only thing he can see in them is sympathy and concern. The fear is long gone but Wille finds his eyes darting around Simon’s face for any hint of it. If Wille catches even a glimpse of that previous emotion in Simon’s eyes he doesn’t know how he’ll come back from that. Simon, because he’s Simon and he’s always been able to read exactly what Wille is feeling, appears to come to a realization because he brings his hands up to come Wille’s cheeks gently. Wille’s eyes close at the feeling and more tears escape. He just wants to stop crying.

“Wille, I’m not afraid of you,” At those words, Wille’s eyes snap open. Simon meets his gaze unwaveringly. Simon nods as if to emphasize the point. 

“But… I saw…” Wille tries to explain what he had seen written across Simon’s face.

“Oh Wille… I wasn’t scared of you… I was scared for you,” This alone is enough reason for Wille to break down again and Simon just brings him into his arms. Wille clings to Simon like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. The relief at Simon’s words is practically instantaneous. The tension Wille’s been holding in his shoulders is released and he melts into Simon. Wille feels Simon’s hand stroking his back and he feels a wetness on his own shoulder. He thinks it breaks him just a little bit more that Simon is crying over him. They stay wrapped up in each other for what could be minutes or could be hours. Eventually though, Simon starts to pull back and Wille would never force Simon to stay in his arms no matter how much he wants to. When Simon pulls all the way back, he brings a hand back up to Wille’s face to wipe the tears away. Wille can’t help but mirror him. They both chuckle at the motion. When Wille pulls his hand away, Simon catches it and inspects the bruise that’s already forming across his knuckles. Wille shivers at Simon’s thumb caressing his hand. 

“Let’s get this cleaned up, hmm?” Simon offers, before dragging Wille into the bathroom to help patch up his broken heart.

[ruki--mukami]

One night, while they are all asleep and the moon is high on the sky... Fallen angel s/o wakes up covered in cold sweat, hyperventilating and close to tears, their chattered halo seemingly breaking more and more, their wings slowly falling apart as they are shaking, turns out, they woke up from a horrifying nightmare, the replay of the day they fell, and the way their fellow angels and god laughed at their face at their suffering, seemingly still not recovered from the sheer trauma of it all.

“Oi… Are you alright?! I woke up to the sound of something shattering… Don’t tell me—”

Cacophonous fragmentations of a disintegrating nimbus surrounding the once esteemed seraph rained thousands of jagged, crystalline shards reflective of evanescent dreams turned nightmares, piling like snow atop the sable silk pillowcases in entropic disarray. Tearing away the blanket in the blink of an eye, Ruki immediately noticed the most concerning decrease in volume of his beloved’s wilted angel wings, the color of languished roses at death’s door. Shriveled, eliciting sharp noises upon touch, feathers withering away like autumn leaves before the unforgiving, frigid hibernal reverie. Trepidation swells relentlessly as the Vampire gently placed a hand on her quivering side in caresses that promised mansuetude with each soothing movement.

“—Wake up. It’ll be alright… You’re in safe hands now. Everything you saw just now was just a dream,” he leaned closer as he reassured them, arm coiling around their shaking frame in safeguard. “Everything will be okay. Just trust in me… Trust in your master to calm your reckless spirit. Those so-called angels might as well be spawns of the eternal flames, no better than foolish humans, for mocking you so inconsiderately. You and I are far more similar than I would’ve anticipated… It’s ironic, isn’t it? A Vampire and an angel. Two polar opposites,” mused Ruki with a kiss as light as the promised land’s tendrils of healing rays they once knew against their nape in campaign to allay the trauma to permanent rest. “Yet, despite your fall... I believe that false god dismissed you from Heaven for the same reason my benefactor resuscitated me into an undead being.”

Sweeter than saintly seraphim, Ruki likens his dear fallen angel to a refulgence radiating more brilliantly than the ascendant pearly gates, shining brighter than Sirius itself, and most certainly more than the traitorous miscreants who abandoned them much like the insufferable mortals of his own past. Curiously enough, those rueful memories plagued his subconscious recurringly as well, often leaving the Vampire in a state of cough-inducing blight. However, spending more joyous and heartfelt nights with the divine gem of his life obliterated the umbral spectrum haunting him day in, day out. So, to see his beloved in such a troubled state, shivering in cold sweat with condensed rivulets down their back to emphasize the diminishing gifts of flight worried Ruki immensely.

“Listen to me carefully… I know the past cannot be undone. I know pity and suffering are the last things you’d want. The reason I say that so confidently is because I feel the same way. Night tremors would ultimately find their way to me with each opportunity for slumber, but ever since you shared your love with me, I’ve started to forget what those aristocratic days look like. It’s all thanks to you… So allow me to return the favor.”

Despite their crumbling halo, despite their tarnished wings, and despite the agony plastered across their face, Ruki articulated their body to face him and meet his intense, lurid sapphires that put a summer’s clear day to shame, ridden with determination as he inclined for a passionate kiss warmer than the transcendent paradise, yet more fervent than the engulfing purgatory below.

“Whenever I have a nightmare, I remind myself that those wretches can no longer harm me. Furthermore, I get to wake up alongside the person who treats me unlike anything I’ve ever dreamt of… None other than you.”

Separating their lips, Ruki vehemently trailed a line of kisses only to stop at the unmarred column of flesh at their neck, prodding the exquisite adipose ever so benignly until two miniscule pinpricks of redolent ichor emerged. What the bite lacked in ferocity, he accommodated for in the most tender of love, the same love the seraph shared with him in the fateful union between righteous being and corrupt, bloodthirsty demon.

“Focus on my fangs instead… Nn… Haah… If they deemed you unworthy of Heaven… then let’s give them a reason to never look back, for the place you once swore fealty to your god is no Heaven at all but rather a Hell that was waiting to happen,” he whispered softly before planting the sharp ungues in an uncharted area of skin. “No matter what anyone says… Come what may, you will always be my angel. Perhaps not a holy being, but one whose place is at my side,” the Vampire chuckled, humming a bit from the delectable ambrosia coating his tongue. “They say angels act as one’s guardian; a protector and savior for those in dire need. I believe that’s why you fell that day; your light urged me forward. For that, I cannot be more grateful.”

A cathartic kiss mended the recent incision he just inflicted upon the fallen angel in hopes of comforting his love.

“Let’s dream together from now on, my sweet seraph.”

[webcricket]

Winter’s Eye

Pairing: AU!CastielXReader Word Count: 1560 (Ch. VII) Story Summary: Season 13 canon tells you how AU!Castiel’s story ends, this is how it begins. The deranged and damaged iteration of Castiel we met in the apocalypse universe - an obedient soldier to Michael’s cause barely in control of his vessel’s frayed and erratically firing nerves whose inherent kindness toward humankind appeared entirely obliterated - wasn’t always an unfeeling angelic weapon of interrogation. Once, he sympathized with the plight of humans; one, he loved. Outlined for 10 chapters (although, my muse is bad at maths and these things have a way of multiplying). Chapter Summary: As the connection between Cas and the reader finds firmer footing, a link from his past arises to threaten them both.

Previous Chapter: VI

VII.

“Are you kidding me?” The question explodes in a puff of breath on the frozen air; before you unfolds a pristine island of black tarvia, the filtered sun beating down on it with enough heated force to melt the snow anywhere pavement touches. Parking spaces outlined in regular intervals of yellow striping, and a handful of abandoned vehicles, radiate from the mountainous façade of a Mega-Mart.

Surveying the scene through the squinted blue optics of his vessel, Cas casts you a curious knotted-brow glance from where stands at the edge of where forest rings this convenient miracle of civilization seemingly constructed in the middle of nowhere. “Is something funny to you?” he asks, looking between you and a building too empty and too quiet for his instincts to trust; out here you’re exposed - a living breathing target unprotected by a buffer zone of wooded isolation – and he doesn’t like it one iota.

“No-” you laugh, further confusing his brow with the conflict inherent between your answer and attitude- “I guess I was expecting a rinky-dink general store fronting a small town main street. Not this-” You gesture at the looming building, a wonderland promising to contain anything and everything your heart could possibly desire and more. More, that is, beyond the surprise solace of sharing a cabin with your very own personal overly protective angel, of course.

“There is a highway not far from here, and a town like you describe – one whose populace was decimated by werewolves and worse. It’s not safe there or here,” he says gravely. And yet here you are, allowed to tag along against his better judgement because, in a moment of weakness of reason, he let an inexorably extant and angelically errant emotion of fondness for you overrule his head.

“We should hurry-” haste propels his feet forward; he curls a beckoning arm backward- “Stay close.”

You obey, legs scissoring at a trot to try to keep step with his purposeful stride. On level ground, it’s even more punishing a pace than the hike that hurried you here. Feeling the bite of blisters forming on the boney points of your heels and on the tops of your toes, you make note on your mental shopping list to search for a pair of better fitting boots and Band-Aids.

As you thoughts wander, he begins to outpace you. “Hey, where’s the fire?” you pant across the growing gap of distance.

Gradually getting the gist that not all questions you pose want answering given he observes no indications of a blaze in the immediate vicinity, he ignores the query, but not the subtext of comment on his speed, and slows until you catch up.

Approaching the sliding glass doors of the entrance, he notes they are intact and locked just as he last left them. A scattering of stone spilling outward from the threshold, not so accidental as it appears, lies undisturbed.

Strategically speaking, this would be the easiest egress for an intruder to gain entrance inside. The rear and side admittances are steel, chained, and padlocked. Still, with you to watch over, he does not permit these subtle reassurances to soothe his caution.

A flick of two fingers to focus his grace frees the dead bolt. He pries the doors apart with brute strength just far enough to permit you both to squeeze through. On last look out at the parking lot as he secures the doors shut, his regard is drawn heavenward to the horizon to a solitary silvery vapor streaking the otherwise uniformly tarnished gold glow of the sky – a wisp of airy nothingness so slim as to barely be noticed and the sort of smoky linear disturbance a plane would create in its wake as it passed - a contrail disturbing the pressure of the low atmosphere.

Except there are no planes, and there hasn’t been anything save the bodily bound bombs of angels skimming the firmament in flight - or, like him, falling in a smoldering ruin of fate - since the day Michael donned a crown formed by the flayed flesh and bone and souls of billions of humans and the emptied glory of the thousand and more angels who opposed him and whose snuffed existence stains, in a bloodied shadow of once brilliant light, Castiel’s hands.

In the seconds he spends considering the cloud, it dispels in a freshet of cool wind. It wouldn’t make sense, angels scouting here where there is nothing. They’ve done with him, banished him to dwell in and on his defeat, and ever since he etched a warding sigil upon the curved carriage of your ribs, they cannot so much as sense you exist.

Besides, with what you’ve told him of the holdouts of human resistance groups, why waste heavenly resources hunting one human in a haystack of the wild when bigger targets persist.

The tear of a candy bar wrapper loudly resonates in the benumbed and stagnant space; the crumpling of plastic and crunch of chocolate crust is swallowed up as eagerly by the silence as your gullet.

“I missed these,” you mumble and moan in immodest taste bud titillating pleasure around a mouthful of melted sugary goodness as his gaze rounds to seek out the source of the sound.

“Shh-” he scolds; the grit of worry in the warning hushes you instantly.

Terror tightens your throat so that you cannot swallow the amalgam of sugar and saliva held amid your teeth and tongue. Heart seizing, then pounding with such ferocity each ferried beat of fear shudders your frame, bits of brown moisture ooze at the trembling corners of your clinched jaw.

In the depths of the store, somewhere down a darkened aisle, winding to reach his celestially superior discernment, a soft scraping of fabric and rubber soles, slightly sticky on the tiled floor despite the feather-lightness of the footsteps, faintly perforates the calm.

Lashes widened in alarm quickly narrow again in a lethality of resolve; an inner luminance of blue burns in his searching gaze as he shifts a few steps into the eerie fringes of where the window light bleeds into the dimness. When he shakes his sleeve, you see a glint of metal flash into his grip.

Adrenaline opens up your veins and, also oiling your muscles to fight or flee from this place, it permits you to thickly and audibly gulp the wad of partially chewed chocolate nougat.

He extends the hand unburdened by a blade out at you, a movement meaning to say that you should do neither and duck out of sight behind the register.

You misread the purely practical physicality of his request and instead cede to the instinctive tug at your emotions to meet his fluttering fingers halfway, meshing yours into the warm sanctuary of their apertures and securing your other arm through the crook of his elbow to flatten his entire weaponless limb to your chest.

To say the action – a clingy suggestion of deeply rooted trust, concern, and consequently of a firm belief in his ability to shield you in the face of danger - catches him off guard would be an understatement.

However, with a hiss of his name in a tone familiar to him as that of his unwaveringly loyal lieutenant and sister – Rachel – slicing through the dark loud enough, even, for you to hear the anger and resentment whetting the knife of feminine voice, he has no time to analyze the exhilarating effect your embrace and corporal nearness exerts upon his being, nor does he permit more than a speck of added anxiety to alter the determination of his affect.

Pivoting, his typically stony rigidity a balletic display of swiftness, grace, and fluid urgency, he covers your mouth, pins you flush against the waist-high wall of the register, and very briefly steals your breath in the press of his hips against yours. The dynamism of his blues, desperately sparking hue dancing less than an inch from your flared lids, implores you to stay there no matter what happens.

He’s certain she heard you - can hear the wild banging of pulse within your body just as clearly as he can – she is, after all, an angel, and a sometime ally sympathetic to humanity who is not as dead as he presumed and evidently has an axe to grind with him.

If you stay out of her way, you may yet survive. Castiel maintains less hope for himself, and before he found you, he would’ve welcomed whatever retribution she required up to and including his life – a life sunken into meaninglessness and seeped in suffering; but now, staring into your eyes, their pleading concern begging him to be careful, to not leave you alone, he feels reason to fight.

Numbed by panic, limbs turning into immovable lead weights of worry for him, you feebly nod against the electrically charged scent of his skin a promise to stay put for his sake and collapse as he pushes you down to your knees and into the alcove underneath.

You watch the lower portion of his legs retreat from your sight and disappear into the gloom. Straining to hear what is happening, the pain pinching your heart in his absence drums dully in your ears and pulls with each strung and stinging beat at the fluid filling the blisters on your feet.

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[deviationdivine]

Nighttime Fear (RK800-60!Prompt Request)

He is a fear you succumb to until his true face reveals itself... 

Word Count: 2.2k

tw: Angst, Language, Smut Themes

a/n: Follower/Reader Appreciation Drabble | Prompt: “Then perish.” - originally a request 

You never knew daylight could be so violent…

Night becomes a better way to die most assuredly. Revelations unfold live as all falls down in a blink. Broadcast for all to witness and this conversation stops before it begins. No more fight in endless hope. Endless despair replaces unkindly but final. It fails. There is no more chance. Gunned down, left to rot in the snow like nothing. 

It sickens you to watch. So much it hurts to see what they have done that you no longer have courage to face this truth. All those androids - obliterated. 

Switching off television does not switch off panic. Silence only drives the stake further center of your heart. 

Connor! 

Where is he? They won’t take him. Please.

Your body sinks. Attempting to bury into safety of cushions they are nothing more than a fabricated security. Soft surroundings but hardest of hearts turn to stone and shut down the life that remains. 

Laying a head atop arm of the couch, one single harbor to anchor, you stare off. Nothing in particular holds interest or thought. You merely exist. Waiting, praying for a sign but part of this so-called strength that carries you throughout is cracking. Drawing eyes to door it is a foolish hope because he will not come. Appearing over threshold enables frantic, happy swoop of your arms to snake around his tall form. Even if it may be awkward still but it will be worth your sanity. 

Sleep overtakes tears, doubts and ultimate fears. Exhaustion defeats you and silence becomes your tomb. Then a thunderous crack commands your door.

Banging in a louder echo is overactive imagination. You are so tired. It rouses you sharply drawing you from the position weariness placated you to. This time it is fierce. Movement brings out not only a jolt up to feet but thudding of heart. 

Another crack, specific and unremitting for entry vibrates its surface. They will not leave. 

Caught up confused as you wake so quick pulls you to answer. A small hope bubbles but immediately fades. No, of course it is not who you think. How can it be? 

Still you unlock with vigor. Opening quickly ready to pounce on whoever decides to come here when everything falls apart around the city. Those plans cease their existence meeting those eyes. 

A brief shock rattles. He is no illusion. Solid, alive and –

“Connor?” 

Chocolate fire cinders down to the quick of your soul and he does not verbally greet. He physically bounds. 

Strong, insistent hands clash with your soft humanity to drag you inside as his mouth collides. The android slams the door shut blocking out any who will come to interrupt. He has you now. He will take every last piece to mark with his scent claiming tender flesh in brutal domination. 

Thumping you heavily into wall unleashes every caged carnivore hungering behind his walls. Free and broken he will choose how this deviancy spreads fire just as you infect subconscious acidity. 

What’s gotten into Connor?! He’s an untamed beast sweet in temperament but ruthless in vivacity. Nearly weeping at the magnitude of passion you are at his mercy. You like it. No. You love it. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would enjoy the roughness so well. Already your legs tremble, a tight twist forcing an unbearably pleasant pool between legs.  

The moment he purposely slides his leg, pushing knee between and into your groin you gasp uncontrollably. Spreading your legs apart, leaning his tall, lithe frame into you so headily; a shudder unmakes whatever composure is left in the physical armor you adorn. 

He tears through. Casting aside a shield of your making, he dismantles self control. At his mercy, whimpering into the android’s surprisingly hot mouth, desire pools center of your orbit.

Long fingers invade past the swatch of fabric, searching for your heat and he finds the sweet slickness, wet splendor that gives all of your cravings away. An open book your pages spread and the android enjoys the moans pouring salaciously up throat. 

He bites into the skin clamping over pulse. Internal analysis floods vision. Arousal spikes in a shiver he absorbs like a parasite living off your essence.

You grab back at him. Needing to be closer than you have, melting away mortal flesh with his corrosive love. Scalding transcends this spiritual plane that grounds you. For him you will, must float.

Oh, please yes.

Take this turmoil befalling Detroit away. There is only a ravenous prince made of plastic and synthetics. But you do not care. He is exquisite fire boiling the blood through tissue.

“Connor, I-I want you,” whispering up into his lips ascends your spirit. “I’ve wanted you since you first…!” 

A yelp overtakes the rush of confessions in his abrupt snag of hips. Forcing you from between his chest and wall he roughly moves your body. Stronger than anything you will ever witness the android hoists effortlessly, hungry, needy for the slick warmth his fingers kissed. He wants it around him in a luscious sheath all for him. 

Dropping you down upon freshly washed bedding pumps more than a frantic heart. Anticipating drives your body in reaction to what’s to come. Knowing how quickly he scanned interior of small flat only drives this ache. He made haste to plant you sprawled on the bed, which seemed so much further away in the beginning of this dance. 

Cool fingers snake underneath your shirt riding up the fabric slowly. His lips twist in a predatory grin. Something devilish prickles, needles stabbing at you while watching his face. How can he appear so different but so right? Never have you witnessed such hunger in his eyes. It crumbles you. Gladly you dissipate, allowing swift undress; your head thrusts to pillow, fluffy groundwork to soften the blow of this love. 

A wet flick touches skin traveling up torso greedily tasting. This android’s tongue becomes a weapon bent on destruction. Oh, how you want to be destroyed. 

“Mmm,” a huff answers him sweetly. 

He is neither sweet nor gentle. Your back arches as you desperately try to stopper your cry of pain. His bite is sharp. Sinking into flesh, pulling mercilessly like tenderized meat off the bone. 

Even as kisses crash harsh in a bid to brand you eternally there is something gnawing. Despite wanting this with Connor you cannot help but wonder how different he seems. Not a word spoken, simply feasting upon you as a banquet readily displayed for a private party. Realizing that this is his private affair all you can do is lie back in wait. 

“Connor, are you-?”

“Be still!” the android’s voice deepens, growling impatiently.

Pining arms above head, sliding atop he breathes artificially into your shoulder. Inhaling you pushes the android’s strings, groaning between the friction of plastered bodies. 

Writhing beneath his heavy frame to a private tune in your mind does not completely blind. As he pulls back from between your legs to remove jacket it’s the first time this fatalistic passion subsides. You see it then. The serial number: 313-248-317-60. 

60

Your eyes widen at the dawning realization. Wafting over arousal and increasing a tremor in your stomach. All of it washes away as a stain slowly ebbing from its tarnish. Goosebumps attack now in an entirely different way and when he slithers back towards you, coiling up your previously willing, shivering body you internally scream. 

“You’re not Connor!” 

Pushing at his chest hurls you off the side of bed. Landing in a tangling thud increases your anxieties. All this time it wasn’t even him. It was - 

“Who the hell are you?!” 

Crossing arms over chest doesn’t prevent the fact he’s already seen everything. Maybe not every piece because you still have jeans hanging on hips, unzipped but all the same. 

“Tsk. I wondered how long before you saw my serial.” Standing tall, moving away from unsettled bed brings him close as an imposing force to punish your wildest dreams. He analyzes the quick pace of your heart still thudding in arousal. “I would have made you scream. That can still be arranged.” 

Everything down to the last detail is Connor except it’s not him. This can only mean one horrible thing. 

“I have his memories uploaded,” the Cyberlife enforcer needles you. Smug he is victorious because destruction felled the original prototype and his alcoholic waste of a partner. “Memories of you. So sweet, so soft. Driving the disease of deviancy in every circuit. He - loved you I think.” 

Tears collect abundantly listening to truths in all too familiar husky voice but somehow raspier, darker. The voice of Connor reverberates out of a mechanized monster. 

“When I uploaded them I felt a curious urge,” RK800-60 explains partially his desire to destroy. 51 fell to knees riddled with entirety of magazine. Still it was not enough. It did not satisfy to use one mere kill shot. Aggression flooded his sensors overheating processors and the only way to appease became a symphony of gunfire. Slaughtering instead of simply stopping rages this beast inside and still it claws to break out. He narrows burnished, bleak and terror, a game of wolf and rabbit. How juicy you remain on his tongue little rabbit.

“I wanted to be the one.” He admits his own deviancy. “The victor. I am Connor as much as Connor was he. I can be yours, Y/N.” 

Yours? Oh, God! No! 

“Get away from me!” Screaming angrily, repulsed with how much you adored, begged for what he was about to give brews an incredible guilt. How long was this going to go on? What if you never took notice? What if he was too powerful in his fervor, exalting you to heights unknown you could not to stop yourself from -? 

Impossible to comprehend because this is not your Connor. You would never want anyone else. 

Are you so sure? 

A tiny voice out from the dark questions each breath that spills from your lips, each thought that convinces yourself. How sure are you? 

Standing here facing a torrent of unfathomable, plentiful carnage, his carnage glorious and gratifying. He pushed you to the wall ravenous. Immediately you responded in a tango of fantasy rivaling the most sacred of secrets in the heart. He hurled you to the bed insatiable. Light bloomed inside aching to be taken, pulsating for his majesty. 

You wanted him. A violent storm laying waste to foundations those same ones held for what he represents. Connor. He is gone. It is so obvious. 

A flood happens bursting the dam shielding your strength. This thing that is not him….how you crash into his sea. Turbulent and bottomless waiting to drown you and he almost did. 

“I want you to get out…” 

Weakness. Savory wetness. He smells it. The android reads beyond words. All vitals point to what you really want. RK800-60 tilts his head in sadistic satisfaction. 

“I will make a deal with you, Y/N.” 

The minute he speaks everything sinks down into your stomach. This time it is not the affectionate twist of butterflies. Taking flight for who you naively believed to be Connor; your eyes trail up the identical android equally tall and piercing insides with dark hubris. 

His eyes may be the same color but something deeper shimmers. An endless abyss made of pure malignity. Deeper than the most subterranean sea trench pulls you down until air no longer bathes lungs. 

Quicksand is more merciful. How far you sink is your choice. 

“Pretend none of this ever happened.” The android offers a calculating solution. Humans are known to be fickle. As he stands here now, watching as a bird of prey, hawkish but serene in his imposing stance. 

RK800-60 holds onto that machine persona. An influx of software instability following unwarranted connection to 51 does not completely vanquish Cyberlife’s protocols. 

He is the assassin a wisp in the night moving undetected, shadow and smoke, night terror divine. Silent necrosis spreads across city infectious, crippling all in his name. His actions mean an unsuccessful end to revolution but it does not have to end for you. 

“Forget that Connor stepped foot inside Cyberlife Tower. And love me instead.” 

Is he insane?! 

“No.” Absolute disgust slips around one syllable but it is every pain, each denial you can stab into his artificial exterior. No. You cannot. If you do can you live with your decision? Throwing away the memory of the original for a copy that uploaded his memory but is still not him.

Sixty’s smug aura evaporates. Watching you move hastily snaps his fingers onto your arm. Wrenching you close they release to steeple around your throat, holding vice with minimal pressure. 

“Then perish.” 

Hissing against ear jolts you into him and he revels the synthesis of horror and prurience. Willingly you allow contact without much fight before he encircles you this way. 

RK800-60 fondles your earlobe with the tip of his tongue. “I will fuck the heart out of you. Little rabbit.” 

“OK.” 

Weakly you give in. From the beginning he knew you would. What does this make you? What hell will you bring forth? 

Self destruction will be your fate for this. Somehow writ in stone moment you allowed him to enter. Now he enters your mouth all forked tongue and demoniac consumption. He eats you alive. Yet you welcome it. 

You cannot let go of this face. Even in the possession of a fearsome pretender. 

[soulguardianazeralith]

“Are they here, little one?”

I can see him stiffen, and rightfully so. Slowly, I move myself so I block the path back to the cave, sending him into complete darkness.

“I do not bring harm. You are in my home, yes, but no harm will be brought to you.”

My words don’t seem to calm him, so I withdraw the urge to sigh and instead illuminate the crystals in the cavern with magic, allowing my form to be more ‘human’ to his mind.

“I can be as monstrous as the legends say, but that is not who or what I wish to be. If anything, that’s a thing the person who brought harm to you believed themselves to be.”

I frown seeing him tremble more, but realize why. His mouth is sewn shut by a spell, the sickly sweet honey like threads woven around him and his hands. I breathe out a small puff of smoke, letting it flow to the human before melting away all of the enchantments (or rather, shackles) from the human. My teeth peek out in a sharp grin as I see him sigh in deep relief and nearly collapse to the floor now that he isn’t being suffocated by the magic.

“Now that you are able to, I will calmly ask again. Is the one who had brought you here still within the area of the cave. You do not have to speak more than yes or no if it will help you. As I had said, I wish you no harm. But to those who harmed you, it’s a different tale.”

The human seemed to consider my words before slowly nodding, deciding I was less of a threat that whomever was outside. “Yes. They’re here still.”

I hum, shifting my legs to get more comfortable and to appear smaller to the human. The action seems to work as he also relaxes and sits down, still watching me nervously.

“Are they someone close to you?”

He looks down and plays with a ring on his hand, nodding. “Fiancé.”

I tsk between my teeth, seeing the runes in the small band of metal. I can envision the person now, standing impatiently on the outside of the cave with-

“Did you two come alone?”

I can see his heart shatter metaphorically as he breaks down, seeing the figures through the faint vision I gifted him. “No. We hadn’t.”

“You know who the other person is then.”

He nods, causing me to sigh sorrowfully. This hasn’t been the first time this has occurred, where a lover would send someone to their death and wait for their screams to signal their demise.

I slowly get up, hands threatening to turn into claws. I extend one to him, my mind already made up.

“Let me deal with them. Please. You don’t have to watch. I’ll only need the ring and then you can leave safely. You can have a second chance that won’t be tarnished by them.”

I can see him hesitating, his fingers playing with the ring more until the skin starts to turn red from irritation. Before I can decide to take back my proposal and apologize, he takes my hand and allows me to pull him up, slipping me the ring with his other hand. I smile softly and kiss his head, slipping the ring on and shifting into his form. I can feel the pathetic magic of the ring sizzle against my fingers, but it’s nothing compared to the ancient reserves of power that could obliterate the silly band of metal as quickly as I was about to make sure that the fiancé would.

As I walk to the entrance of the cave, he stops me one last time. “Wait, why are you even doing this? What are you? Who are you?”

I hum softly, looking at the ring. “Don’t know. I’m just trying to help someone who needed it.” I grinned sharply, the deep lines of purple and green dancing down my face before vanishing into what the skin was before. “I don’t think you want to know what I am. But for who... hm... just call me Karl.”

I walk into the sunlight, prepared to face to two trespassers in my home.

You’ve lived in this cave for hundreds of years. You know every sound, every disturbance. You can hear the footsteps, a young human. He thinks you’re asleep, you observe. His steps are mousy, they tremble with fear. His posture speaks of abuse. It’s obvious that someone else put him up to this.