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cxptain-capsicle · 3 months

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Beyond the Sea | Luke Castellan | II

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Unclaimed Poseidon Daughter!Reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, slow burn flashbacks, established relationship present day, Gods being terrible parents

A/N: If you are new around here I love taking suggestions and incorporating your guy's ideas and headcannons in my series so feel free to leave thoughts in my inbox!

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“So all of the major 12 gods have their own cabin where their children live. Children from one cabin can’t go into another god's cabin.” Luke explained as he walked you down the aisle of houses. “This one is ours.”

“Ours?” You raised your eyebrow questionably.

“All the new arrivals stay here, in the Hermes cabin.” Luke gestured towards a cabin that was much larger than all of the others. It wasn’t nearly as elegant as the ones around it but it felt warm and welcoming. It looked like a simple log cabin with a large front porch held by tall log columns. On the front of the house was a large green banner with a Greek symbol in the center. Over the door a semi-circle stained glass window that reminded you of the ones in the Big House. The cabin looked a little run down but that wasn’t shocking considering the amount of kids running around inside. Walking inside felt like entering a circus tent. There was yelling, laughing, singing, kids running around, hanging upside down from bunk beds. Even with the chaos it still felt cozy. The inside was dimly lantern lit, the walls were paneled with dark wood, in the center was a large fire pit that made the whole room feel like a warm hug. You followed Luke further into the cabin as several heads turned to look at the new arrival.

“Here,” Luke said as he led you to a bed and dropped the few things that you had on the bed. “This one was mine, now it’s yours.”

“You’re giving me your bed?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugged. “I’ll move to the top bunk, it’ll be nice to have a change.” He was humble. He was willing to give you one of the only things that was his and he didn’t want any praise for it.

“Thank you.” You meant it, and you didn’t know what else to say.

“Everyone!” Chiron announced as he trotted into the cabin doors. “Your attention, please. This is Percy Jackson. I trust you will see to whatever he needs.” Everyone stared at the sandy-haired boy awkwardly. Everyone in the Hermes cabin was used to this by now. New kid comes in, new kid gets claimed, new kid leaves, and the cycle continues. Within seconds everyone went back to their conversations although many of those conversations now included the word: Minotaur.

You and Luke glanced at each other unsure if you should say anything to the boy.

“He shouldn’t be alone.” You whispered to him. “Grover said the Minotaur killed his mom.”

You followed Luke as he made his way to the boy, who sat up quickly when we approached.

“Look, if you want to give me a hard time, just do it tomorrow.” He said before either Luke or you could get a word out. “I can't do any more today.”

“Heard what happened to you on the hill.” Luke said slowly, arms crossed over his chest. “And I just... wanted to say I'm really sorry.”

“I know what you're going through.” You chimed in. “Believe me, I really do.”

“I'm Luke.” He reached out to shake the boy's hand.

“Percy.” He hesitantly grabbed Luke’s hand.

“Y/n.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. He reminded you so much of yourself when you first came to camp so many years ago.

“Rise and shine!” Luke’s voice boomed above you. You groaned and turned away from him in an attempt at protest.

“Five more minutes.” Luke chuckled at your words but he didn’t take it for an answer.

“C’mon.” He ripped the blanket off of the bed. “First day at camp, gotta make it count.”

“Luke!” You shouted, the cold air shocking your body. “Do you make it a habit to torture the new campers?” You groaned as you rolled out of bed and began to put your shoes on. Luke was already geared up and ready to go, twitching with excitement.

“Only the ones who make it easy.” He smirked.

“Screw you.” You reached to grab your pillow and threw it at his face. It caught him by surprise causing him to stumble back, making both of you laugh.

“Maybe you’re an Ares kid?” He faked injury dramatically. “We’ll find out today.”

“What?” That piqued your interest. Ever since you arrived at camp yesterday you couldn’t stop thinking about getting claimed.

“We’re gonna figure out what you’re good at. Maybe that’ll help us figure out who your parent is.” Luke explained.

“Where do we start?” You stood up with excitement.

“Breakfast.”

The two of you made your way to the mess hall, it was much more crowded this morning than it was the previous day. Each of the tables were nearly full with kids chatting over breakfast.

“So what’s your story?” You asked Luke as you sat down with your breakfast.

“What do you mean?” He chuckled slightly.

“Your story.” You repeated. “How’d you get here?”

“Well,” He sighed. “I’ve been here for 3 summers.” He pulled at the necklace around his neck with three colored beads strung on the brown cord. “I came here with Annabeth, an Athena kid.”

He gestured over to a girl a few years younger than you sitting at the Athena table. “And Thalia, she uh- she didn’t make it.”

“Oh,” Your voice trailed off. “I’m sorry Luke.”

“Thalia died getting us to camp safely.” He continued. “She died a hero.” An uncomfortable silence fell over the table. “Then I got here, got claimed by Hermes.” Even mentioning his father seemed to send chills down his back.

“What happens if I don’t get claimed?” The thought had crossed your mind more than a few times.

“Well,” Luke shifted in his seat. “It doesn’t happen too often but, you’d stay in the Hermes cabin. That’s where all the unclaimed kids stay.”

“Well if that’s the case, I’ll need to move beds because you snored above me all night.” You teased.

“Oh no way I’ll just follow you wherever you go.” He said as he took a big bite of his breakfast. “So who are we looking for, a mom or a dad?”

“I’m not sure.” You said through a bit of toast. “I was left at a firehouse as a baby so I have no idea who my mortal parent is either.”

“So where did you live?” Luke leaned onto his elbow on the table in interest.

“Foster families, group homes, things like that.” You explained. “Until monsters would trash them and I’d get blamed for it and get moved.”

“Well, we can’t rule out any god but we’ll start out with the olympians. We’ve got a lot of work to do,”

After breakfast Luke led you all around camp. He took you to Arts and Crafts and sat you down at an empty sheet of canvas and easel with a bowl of miscellaneous fruit in front of it. Luke went around to the front of the easel and knocked the bowl onto the floor.

“I have a better subject for your painting.” He stood in front of you, placed his hands on his hips and looked to the side triumphantly. The pose of a hero. You laughed at him and did your best to capture him on the canvas. You tried to take your time but Luke quickly started complaining that his arms were hurting and urged you to hurry. The top half of the painting was pretty good, you could tell it was Luke, you even captured his smug smirk which made you smile. As you went down the painting got more rushed and sloppy but you blamed Luke for that.

“Tada.” You said enthusiastically as you took the canvas off the easel and turned it around to show him. He came up quickly to grab it.

“You didn’t fully capture my good looks, but other than that it’s pretty good.” He shrugged and you laughed and smacked his shoulder with a paintbrush. “So maybe an Apollo kid.” He took the canvas from you and rolled it up, saving it for later in his bag.

Luke continued to lead you around camp trying everything he could think of. He took you to the forge and quickly decided you were likely not a Hephaestus kid after you struggled to even make a dent in the hot metal. He took you to the archery range and despite never holding a bow before, you weren’t too bad. Artemis could be a maybe. He took you to a little training obstacle course by the arena designed to test speed and agility. You did your best but got hit by multiple bags of sand that were built to resemble flying harpies. So Hermes is a no. “Well, we’re definitely not siblings.” Luke laughed as you got hit by a sandbag that toppled you over. For whatever reason that felt very relieving to you. He took you to the strawberry fields where you propagated a few berries. Possibly Demeter. Finally Luke wanted to test your swordsmanship. You were excited for this. Only being here a day and a half you had already heard of Luke’s skills with a sword. Having been on the run from monsters basically your whole life you had gotten pretty good at fighting,

“We’ll get some swords and go to the woods to practice.” Luke told you on the way to the armory.

“Why are we going to the woods?” You questioned.

“So I don’t embarrass you in front of everyone when I beat you.” He smiled widely.

“I hate you-” You laughed but were cut off by someone yelling from up the hill.

“New girl!” Another girl shouted. As you kept walking closer she became easier to see. She was dressed in full greek armor and wore a helmet with a bright red crest. When she took off the helmet her dark curly hair slipped out and gave you a better look at her face.

“Her name is Y/n,” You swore Luke was scowling. “Play nice.”

“Am I not allowed to meet the girl we almost died trying to find?” She faked offense.

“You were in the cave.” You remembered. “You thought I was dead.”

“You looked dead.” She shrugged. “So what are you two doing out here?”“Y/n’s gonna try her hand at some combat.” Luke explained.

“Perfect.” Clarisse said menacingly. She grabbed a chestplate off the rack and held it out to you. “I’ll take the first round.”

“Clarisse, I don’t think-” Luke started but you cut him off.

“Let’s do it.” You eagerly took the chestplate and a sword off of the wall. Something about Clarisse invigorated you. Luke looked at you wearily but figured he was quick enough to stop Clarisse before she killed you. You and Clarisse were stationed about 6 feet away from each other, you armed with a sword and her with a spear. Before you even realized you’d begun she stormed forward, her spear pointed towards you. You took a step to the side to avoid being impaled and she quickly redirected the tip of her spear to follow you but you went under the head of the spear with your sword blade, sending the tip of her spear towards the sky. You took a swipe at her with your sword but she quickly deflected. While you were recovering from your failed attack she slashed the head of her spear down. You stepped back to avoid the spear hitting your face but the tip of the spearhead tore into your shoulder causing you to whine in pain.

“Y/n!” Luke cried out and he began to run to your side but you held out your hand telling him to stop. Your face flushed hot with anger. You weren’t mad at Clarisse, it was a fight and people get hurt. You had always been easy to set off especially in competition.

“It’s just a cut,” You stared Clarisse down. “Let’s keep going.”

“I like this girl.” She laughed before rushing forward again with a giddy smile before taking a stab at you. You took one hand off of your sword and grabbed the shaft of the spear as tightly as you could. She pulled and pulled but couldn’t get the spear free from your grasp. You picked your foot up and landed a hard kick in her stomach sending both of you flying backwards. Despite your best efforts you lost grip on your sword but went down with the spear. You both stumbled to your feet and when you did were both met with a blade under your chins. You with her spear and her with your sword. A draw. She laughed and lowered the sword and you did the same.

“Good to know we didn’t risk our lives for someone completely useless.” You thought that was a compliment coming from Clarisse.

“Let me see your arm.” Luke panicked as he rushed over to you. He grabbed your arm and began examining the cut on your shoulder. The cloth of your Camp Half-Blood was torn and the gash was bleeding much more than you had realized. “Let’s get you to the big house.”

The entire walk to the big house Luke muttered under his breath how it was so stupid to fight Clarisse and it wasn’t until after a few of the Apollo kids treated your wound he admitted that he was impressed. Saying that of course you still couldn’t compare to his sword skills.

I would love to hear feedback! <3

Taglist: @fudosl @lenasvoid

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #luke x reader #percy jackson show #percy jackson x reader #luke pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo

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evilminji · 8 months

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The House of Mysteries is Arguably Sentient Right?

(O.O ) I sit here... contemplating the... WEIRD Ghosts Danny might come across. The true Haunted Houses. Planets. Theaters. Boxes bigger on the inside. Living ships and A.I.s, Etc.

All things can die. If the house of mysteries is someday utterly destroyed? Is that not death? If the Planet and Green Lantern Mogo is broken to pieces like non-sentient Krypton was, has he not perished?

Do they not stand equal chance of become Ghosts?

Are.... Are Haunts even created? Or are they a symbiotic ghost relationship? The dual fulfilling of Obsession. A house, properly haunted and taking care of someone. And a Ghost, watching TV or organizing stamps or living out the fantasy of their Perfect Life.

All behind purple doors.

Houses are demolished all the time. Or lost to war or disaster. An old enough house? Enough people living and dying in it? Could arguably start to accumulate ectoplasm. Become, not sentient, but a touch more. And in dying? Like any animal, leave behind that Idea of who they were. That ALMOST and Instinct.

Certain places though? That are alive? That have seen far too much death? They seem to carry over. Castles and long burned libraries, coliseums, and frozen hills. The places life was lost, over and over or all at once.

Floating islands from long dead planets.

I bet we could find Kryptonian flora on some of them. If we looked in the right area. It must be a strange mix. Down right bizarre. Facing just about anything and wondering if it's sentient.

With Ectoplasm? It could be.

But at the same time? Imagine the RELIEF? Of, after the stress and fear of dying, waking up CHANGED, somewhere new and alone... searching desperately for something, anything, to ground your self? The relief you'd feel... when a door seems to drift right into out of nowhere. Just? Gentle bonk.

And yeah, it's purple. Looks like every generic door that's ever been. But? It has this VIBE. Like you're staring at the door to your first shit apartment, but it's YOURS and YOU paid for it and you're... you're home now. You open it.

And it's like some crammed every inspo board you ever had and all the parts of every room you ever loved, together. Familiar, new, and best of all? NOT a vast swirling green void. You drift inside.

If you're like so many ghosts? Probably never leave. Why would you? It's spooky and loud and crazy out there. Everyone's nuts. In HERE it's nice. No fights, art and food the way you like it, time feels muted and far away...

You only really snap OUT of your happy Vibe Sesh with your House Haunt when someone intrudes.

There us probably a whole flip side of the Zone that we never really see. Haunt politics. Competition for the really GOOD Ghosts. Haunts that don't want a ghost because they are waiting for somebody who may or may not come.

Other fuckin MOGO'S. Seriously. Sentient planet. That may be rare, may even be the sole example IN THEIR UNIVERSE, but the Zone is Multiversal. Literally Infinite.

Which means there ARE at least a handful or more of SENTIENT PLANET GHOSTS. How do you?? Cope? "Oh this is my buddy, the PLANET EARTH." But possibly BIGGER.

Fuck that's a lot of Ectoplasm. Thank Zone their Obsession's are usually "Be Prosperous Planet" and "orbit and protect this Star, which is sentient and my frient".

Oh? They forgot to mention the SENTIENT FUCKING STAR? As in giant ball of fire and death? Whoops! :T

Don't worry! THEIR Obsession is their planets! It's a full circle thing. Just leave that little system alone and they won't annihilate you and everything you've ever loved! Easy.

Lookin a little pale there, your Majesty. You need to lay down?

(And to think, all this... because Pariah's Castle got into a literal land war with other castles over who gets the New King.)

(Accusations of being a Greedy Bitch were thrown. Suggestions to Get Good and stop being A Loser Crybaby were offered. Somehow, there were cannons? Danny is still unclear but has been told under NO circumstances is he to step foot in ANY ghost building until mediators can be brought in. It could be seen as declaring a preference.)

@hypewinter @hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe

#dpxdc #dcxdp #ghost buildings #what ARE haunts?#haunted houses #pariahs castle is a dramtic asshole #theyre also a bitch #its why Pariah liked them #the other castles dont have to stand for this!#local observatories are suggesting maybe the king wants some nice STARS #words are being thrown #and chairs #your architectural designs are GAUDY and no one likes you!#gasp! take THIS!#cannons go brrr

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perenians · 9 months

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PEREN’S CURATED KYLE RAYNER READING LIST 💚

CORE CHARACTERIZATION:

green lantern volume 3 issues #0 and #48-181, annuals #4, 6-9

PERSONAL RECOMMENDATIONS:

green lantern: secret files (1998)

green lantern: circle of fire (2000)

ion: guardian of the universe (2006)

convergence: green lantern/parallax (2015)

CROSSOVERS, EVENTS, OTHER APPEARANCES:

hard travelling heroes - the next generation (1996): green arrow volume 2 #110-111 (ties into green lantern volume 3 #77-78)

dc universe holiday bash (1996) #1

flash/green lantern: faster friends (1997)

dc universe holiday bash (1997) #1

three of a kind (1998): green lantern volume 3 #96, green arrow volume 2 #130, the flash volume 2 #135

aquaman volume 5 #10

JLA volume 1 #1-76

new titans #115-130, annual #11

JLA/titans (2002)

countdown presents: the search for ray palmer (2008)

ARGUABLY IMPORTANT READING:

rann-thanagar war (2005)

green lantern: the sinestro corps war (2008)

blackest night (2009)

brightest day (2010)

green lantern: war of the green lanterns (2011)

green lantern: rise of the third army (2013)

green lantern new gods: godhead (2014)

green lantern: lights out (2015)

AVOID:

green lantern: new guardians (2011) - it’s bad. also just kind of gross in its treatment of kyle & his dad

omega men (2015) - mischaracterization of both the original omega men AND kyle

hal jordan and the green lantern corps (2017) - sucks.

#is this biased yes. but also fuck you guys i’m right #reading list #kyle rayner #kyle rayner reading list #kyle rayner reading order #my reading lists #calm down per #pinned

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gococogo · 8 months

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Day 10: Priest/Demon

Kinktober 2023 masterlist will be after October

「Synopsis 」 : Castiel is a priest that has a bad habit of calling upon a certain incubus. It's becoming a pattern that it has the demon, Dean questioning what Cas does outside of the church. But the priest doesn't like sharing is outside life.

「Word count」 : 4.4K

-> Genre: Supernatural Smut

Paring: Demon!Dean Winchester and Priest!Castiel

[Warnings] :Smut/Degrading/hints of dubcon/Demon!Dean/Priest!Cas/Top!Dean/Bottom!Cas/Anal/Choking/Tongue Fucking/Man Handling/Size Kink/Biting/Sadism/Masochism/Blood/nsfw/READ WITH A HINT OF SALT

The symbols are a mess and the chalk breaks in half for the third time. Castiel breathes frantically as he draws the insignias in the circle. He needs to make this deal. It’s the only way to help him. He’s the only one in the church but hopefully not for long. Only the candles and lanterns are lit in the church to give light since the waxing moon outside isn’t giving much tonight.

Castiel is just glad this ritual doesn’t need any specific moon phase or a certain hour of the night or a certain person to do it. Because he knows for a sure that a priest like himself wouldn’t be able to make a lot of rituals for where he stands in the church. For this ritual though, anyone can do it because the demon will take any soul. They don’t care, they don’t meet any requirements to give out your wish, just your soul.

Now see, Castiel has worked his way around this. Never in the demon’s word do they say that they need your soul. Castiel still has the entirety of his soul intact and will keep it like this. He would like to go to heaven when he dies and not some demon’s pet. He knows what lies beyond. But would he ascend for the stuff he has done? Or would he be damned where all the demons and the devil lies in wait. They must find this one big joke, a priest dealing with them more than once.

He finally stands up and looks over his work. He walks over to one of the church chairs and picks up the small jar that has a small soul flittering around inside. Somewhat like a firefly. One would think that souls would be bigger and yes, they do pack a large amount of energy. The source itself is quite small. Doesn’t take much for a demon to go feral over.

Castiel places the jar in the middle of the circle and steps backwards until he’s out of it. He’s careful where he steps, not wanting to smudge the chalk. He begins speaking an old, forgotten language only known to living demons now. The chalk begins to glow a red, crackling and sparking like live wiring. The soul begins to frantically bump around in the jar. It knows what’s going on.

A hand reaches out from under the jar and grabs it, black fingers wrapping around it and dragging it into the ground. A chuckle comes from the spot in the circle and Castiel doesn’t let it sway him from his words. He keeps speaking, reciting the lines to allow the demon to cross over. The chalk bursts into flames and Castiel has to step back to not get burnt. The flames all lean and flicker towards the centre of the circle and the priest just hopes that no one calls the fire department. He’s had it done to him once before and it was an embarrassing thing that had happened.

Suddenly, in the centre of the flames rises the demon. The fire licks his structured body but it does not burn him. His light brown hair is short to his head and he doesn’t wear much. As the fire slowly dies down. Castiel is able to see the old scars that line the demon’s body. He’s finally able to stop his reciting and let the ritual finish itself. Let it stabilize so the demon can leave the circle without harm.

Pitch black eyes stare at the priest before they flicker over to more human eyes that are always the same sage green. A smirk comes across his face as he sees who has called upon him. He has dealt with this priest multiple times. He stopped asking a while ago where and how he got his souls. The priest said it was a secret, so the demon never pushed.

“Cas!” The demon calls out. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Dean,” the priest keeps it short.

Dean is a demon that makes deal. But he isn’t any type of crossroads or bargaining demon. He’s an incubus. One that makes deals for a soul. The deal made with something more than blood or a signature. And for some reason, Dean always finds himself in front of this particular priest.

“What do you need tonight?” Dean asks as he places his hands on his hips.

“I need you to erase all evidence of me in the police records,” the priest says with a little haste.

Dean raises his eyebrow at that and begins walking closer Cas. His thin tail flicks from behind him. It’s a cliché demon tail with an arrow like tip on the end. It’s a charcoal black, like the line that runs from his neck down the centre of his back to the tail.

“Oh, so someone has been a naughty boy again?” Dean tsks and lightly pinches Castiel’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “What do you do outside of being this priest?”

Castiel looks up Dean’s up and meets his eyes. “That’s for me to know,” he says a little too confidently that lean towards cocky.

That leads to the incubus to raise an eyebrow. “The answer is always the same, Cas. When will I get to know you?” He asks.

“Never,” the priest says bluntly. “This is strictly business.”

Dean doesn’t believe that. He looks the priest up and down, waiting for the punch line. There is none. He sighs and turns around, facing his back to Cas and he lets his tail feel up the priest from the crotch to his chin, flicking him on the nose. The priest stiffens up, blushing bright but never taking his eyes off the demon in front of him.

“If this is strictly business, then you could make this deal with any other incubus. But…” Dean says as he turns back around to the priest, “you always ask for me. I think this is a little more than business, Cas. Don’t you think?”

Dean gets real close to the priest now and sees the reddens that flushes his cheeks. It’s cute. Castiel looks away but it’s very hard when he is nose to nose with a demon. But the look is all Dean needs to tell him everything.

“So, you want me to get rid of all evidence of you in any of the laws hands?” Dean asks, his lips inches away from Castiel’s.

The priest looks back to Dean from under hooded eyes. He slowly brings his hands up to grab onto the demon’s arms. He’s warm. Almost burning to the touch.

“Yes,” Castiel breathes.

The demon’s hands come up Cas’s sides, sending a chill down his back. If Cas has to be honest, he would say he isn’t the best priest in town. All because the seal in the deal is something he always looks forward to. Or dealing with a literal demon would make him the worst priest. That would be a starter.

Dean backs Cas up with a hand on his chest until his calves hit the front pew chair. With a shove, Cas is pushed down onto the bench with a grunt. All without taking his eyes off the demon. Dean looks down at the priest with a sly grin, showing his fangs off.

“Someone has definitely been a bad boy then,” Dean chuckles lightly to himself.

The name goes straight to Cas’s crotch and he can’t help it. Outside of this Castiel wouldn’t let a single soul know what his true desires are. Not even when he has another in bed, he’s the one in charge. He has to be otherwise he won’t enjoy it. But then there’s Dean. A literal demon that has the priest’s knees turn to jelly every time he summons him.

“Come on,” Cas bites back.

Dean tsks at him with his brows furrowed. “No no, tonight isn’t going to go how you like, dearie. Tonight I want some answers from you if you like it or not,” the demon says playfully.

“What?” Is all Castiel is able to get out before Dean grabs him by the front of his shirt and lifts him up. He swings him around and pushes the priest back into the ritual circle. Castiel trips over his own feet and lands heavily on the floor with a grunt. His ass hurts now and he feels like he’s sprained his right wrist.

This is not what Castiel was expecting tonight. He needs his name wiped now otherwise police are going to be here by morning. He goes to stand up but Dean presses a foot to his throat and the back of his head hits the floor. Castiel grabs onto his leg and tries to lift it off of him but the demon doesn’t budge.

“Get off me,” the priest wheezes out through his teeth.

Dean only shakes his head, “I will when you tell me what kind of person you are. Every time I leave when we have one of our one night stands you always leave me with questions. Where you get your souls so you can keep your own and,” he bends down so he’s still pressing on Castiel’s neck but he can get right into his face, “why you seem to be on the run from the police every time we meet.”

Castiel tries to speak but his windpipe is currently being crushed so his words come out as little rasps and grunts. He hits the demon’s leg but yet again, Dean doesn’t budge. He can’t breathe properly and the grip he has on the demon’s leg starts to slip. Black dots start to come to his vision.

Dean all but watches as Castiel’s face becomes red. Before the priest blacks out, he takes the pressure off of his neck. Castiel takes a large inhale in, gripping on his leg tightly. He breathes deeply, getting air back into his lungs. His chest burns and he coughs and splutters.

“What the fuck!” Castiel snaps, his voice hoarse.

“I’m curious is all,” Dean replies.

The priest sighs a, “Fine.”

Dean doesn’t move from his spot, knowing damn well that this priest is going to do something if he lets up. He can see it in the dark blue eyes of his that he wants to buck and claw. As much as Dean wants to continue this deal his curiosity has gotten the best of him. This priest isn’t the goody two shoe he makes himself out to be.

“I punish the sinners of my church,” Castiel confesses.

It almost feels like he’s one of his victims in his confessing booth. Dean has heard of priests like this. He never thought that Castiel would be one of them. But now thinking about it he should have seen it coming.

“So, they confess to you their bad shit. You see it as a sin that can’t be forgiven and take it into your own hands, hmm?” Dean sums it out. “Am I right?”

Castiel stares up at him. “I’m committing an act of service for my lord.”

Dean rolls his eyes and takes his foot off the priest’s neck only to press it down onto Castiel’s crotch. He doesn’t step down hard but it’s enough for it to sting and Castiel to hiss. His hands come to grab at Dean again but he stops himself, balling his hands into fists and holding himself tense.

“I never took you for one of those priests,” Dean says with a smirk.

Cas looks up at him, trying to hold himself together but he pants lightly and a sheen of sweat is starting to form on his forehead. He’s hard and he knows Dean can feel it. He’s enjoying this rough housing a little too much for his own liking.

“I’m filled with surprises,” Castiel breathes out. “Now are we going to continue this deal?” He asks a little urgently.

Dean purses his lips and thinks for a moment. It would be a waste not to. He takes his foot off of the priest and takes a step back. The priest already looks a mess and he hasn’t even done anything to him yet. His hair a mess and his shirt sticking to him from the sweat.

“Take your clothes off,” Dean orders down to him.

All while looking up at the demon through his lashes, Castiel hooks his finger into his white collar and takes it off without hesitation. Without it, he looks like an average man in all black. He begins unbuttoning his shirt to reveal an average build. He isn’t built or anything but he’s got a v line that accents his hipbones. After chucking the shirt aside, Dean watches with hungry eyes as the priest begins shuffling off his dress pants. He shucks off his shoes and then he’s able to get his pants off properly.

Castiel is hard and his dick sits between his legs with an eagerness. He lays back on his elbows in the centre of the ritual, waiting for the incubus to make a move. Dean soaks up the sight a little longer before sinking down to Castiel on his hands and knees.

“You’re sloppy at your job. That’s why you’re always coming back here to get me to cover your ass,” Dean smirks into his lightly said words.

The priest’s face screws up. “Even though I told you about what I do doesn’t mean you need to bring it up,” he snaps.

Dean chuckles. “Oh, but I’ve learned something new about my favourite customer,” he smiles as he ventures down Castiel’s body, trailing his fingers down his belly. “It makes you all that much interesting.”

Castiel doesn’t comment on that as he’s too concentrated on the incubus hovering over his dick. But that’s all Dean does, he hovers. He doesn’t touch it or spit on it. He instead grabs the back of Castiel’s thighs and lifts his ass up into the air. It takes him by surprise and he has to plant his back fully on the ground so he’s not folded awkwardly in half and it doesn’t hurt his back.

“You know,” Dean says without taking his eyes off Cas’s ass. It makes the priest feel exposed and he knows the demon is going to talk more about this new found information he just found out. “Knowing you’re not this goody two shoes makes me like you more. I love me a bad boy,” he says.

Before Cas can reply he’s stopped by the sight of a long tongue flicking out of Dean’s mouth. Without a warning, he licks a long hot strip along the priest’s ass. He flinches at how hot and wet it is. The second long lick is a little less surprising than the last but it still has Castiel holding his breath the entire way. Then, Dean dives his tongue into his ass. It draws a shuddering breath out of Cas at the foreign feeling.

They’ve never done anything like this. He didn’t even know that Dean’s tongue could get so long. And it feels like it just keeps going and going as it thrusts into his ass. Dean licks and brings his tongue out to only go in a little bit further than before. It’s hot and wet and thick and Cas quickly finds that he really likes this. His dick is hard and twitch at every new sensation the demon is bringing to him. Dean grips onto his thighs tighter as he buries his nose into the priest’s balls to get that little further into him. He draws back, breathing in deeply before going back in.

Cas can’t help the whine the comes back him. He tries to hold onto something but there’s nothing around him but the ground he can claw at. He finds his eyes drifting up to the ceiling and he gets lost in the hot pleasure that Dean is giving him.

Dean pushes Castiel’s thighs more so that his knees are beside his face. The tongue is pulled all the way out and the priest releases a short exhales at the sudden loss of feeling full. Dean licks a long strip from his ass to his balls to his sensitive dick. A shiver runs down Castiel’s spine. The priest locks his hands behind his knees so that he has something to grab onto as Dean runs another hot strip from ass to dick. The tongue is shoved deep into Castiel’s ass once more making him flinch. He tongues his ass for a little longer, making sure the priest is ready and a panting mess. All Castiel can do is watch as the tongue disappears into him, feeling himself become hot from the wet appendage. He feels full now, but he knows how big Dean is. He knows what Dean is doing right now. The demon normally prepares him with just fingers and a little time. But Dean seems desperate to get him ready for his cock.

When the incubus is satisfied, he pulls his tongue out with a saliva string connecting them. Dean lets go of his thighs but Castiel holds onto his own legs. The demon removes his garments, chucking them to the side. He looks back down at the sight in front of him and can’t help but stare. Castiel is all his. He’s beautiful. Ready for him.

Dean lowers himself over the priest and presses his hip against Castiel’s ass. Castiel lets go of his legs and wraps them around the demon’s waist as he comes face to face Dean. Green eyes stare at plush lips. Dean wants to kiss him but he resists for a moment.

“Do you collect these souls to see me?” Dean asks with a smirk.

Castiel can’t help his face become redder than it is and he wants to looks away. Anywhere but the demon but he can’t look away. He can’t bring himself to.

“What if I do?” The priest asks with his own cockiness.

Dean pulls away slightly, his smile growing and fangs showing. “I’d be flattered,” he chuckles deeply. “But like I said, you’ve been a bad priest. You haven’t been following the acts of your lord, dear Cas. Someone has to punish you for the sins you’ve committed.”

The thought of punishment should waver this moment but it only makes the priest curious and interested. His eagerness must be readable because it brings another smirk to Dean’s face. He grabs onto Castiel’s waist and lines himself up. His cock is thicker than his tongue and Castiel knows from experience that it’s longer as well. And it does take a bit getting use to.

Pushing the head to Castiel’s hole, the priest’s breathing quickens. Dean takes notice but he doesn’t care as he pushes in rather quickly. The feeling is very different to the soft wet tongue. The sting doesn’t hurt, he’s felt far worse but it’s uncomfortable. Yet it grounding. He likes the sting. He likes the fullness that comes with every bit of himself that Dean pushes in. He thrusts in a little bit and comes out all the way only to come back down a little bit further.

Castiel finds himself whining with each thrust forward. He can’t help the noises that are forces from his throat. Dean concentrates on getting all of him into the priest, holding Castiel’s hips so tight that there’s going to be bruises there tomorrow. Castiel quickly gets lost in the pain that slowly brews in his gut, holding onto Dean’s shoulders for support.

There’s an inch that Dean can’t fit in and it frustrates him. He changes his angle slightly, moving forward so he can put his hands on the floor near Castiel’s head. With pushing forward he lifts Castiel’s hips into the air again so he can drive straight down into his ass. He pulls out and slams his hips down, pushing his entire length into the priest. Castiel feels like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him. His mouth is wide open and only a silent groan is heard as he exhales. He shakily inhales in, closing his eyes tightly at the painful throb emitting in his gut. Now, it’s getting a little much.

Dean stays still for a moment. Feeling Castiel clench around him. Feeling his warmth and listening to him squirm brings a sadistic feeling to him. His hands slithers around the priest’s throat and he holds it there, looking at those pretty blues staring back waiting for his next move. Then he starts squeezing.

Castiel grabs on his arms but doesn’t pull him away or tell him to stop. His face turns up into a grimace but that’s the only indication that Dean gets that he’s uncomfortable. Either Castiel trusts Dean not to snap his neck right now or he’s stupid. Either way it’s both. Dean squeezes a little harder as he pulls his dick out halfway. He watches the priest’s pained expression as he slams back in. Castiel breathes out of his mouth raggedly, a moan cut short as he isn’t getting enough air into his lungs.

Dean quickens his pace, slamming his dick down into the priest with determination. Castiel wheezes with each thrust but it’s getting very hard to breath as Dean keeps pushing down a little harder each time. He finally grabs onto the hands that are holding him in place as he feels himself become light headed. His head swirls as there’s so much happening through his body. Dean notices, coming out of his high and but only squeezes a little bit harder.

Castiel chokes, not being able to draw in breath. He begins panicking as his body goes into flight. But Dean takes his hands off his throat completely before the black dots dancing around the room become bigger. The relief that floods through his body at that first inhale is blissful. It’s very hard for the priest to catch his breath though when he has a demon hitting his prostate with every thrust.

“Dean,” Castiel chokes out, his voice boxed abused.

The demon tsks as he grabs the priest’s wrists and brings them above his head. Dean pushes in dick in further and almost folds Castiel in half again. He stays there for a moment, giving the priest the privilege to catch his breath. The mix of pain and pleasure that washes over Castiel creates a fogginess over his mind that is almost intoxicating. He lays there just taking Dean’s abuse, his half hard dick bobbing against his stomach.

He begins to phase out, drowning himself in the buzz that is slowly taking over his body. But it all changes when Dean comes down and bites hard at Castiel’s nape. This, this the priest reacts to badly. He flails and screams silently as he grabs onto the demon, trying to push him off as he can feel his fangs sink into his flesh. But Dean holds on, claws digging into his arms as he holds Castiel in place.

Dean lets go finally and licks at the bite mark. Without having to look, Castiel knows he’s bleeding. The entire time, Dean had not let up his pace on him. The demon chuckles darkly in his ear before pulling away from the panting priest. Castiel looks up to him through hooded eyes, suddenly not having the energy to do anything else. Blood covers the demon’s mouth and chin and all he does is lick it up.

“You taste sickly sweet, Cas,” Dean purrs out.

All the priest can respond with is a grunt and a groan. He can feel himself coming close but he’s right on the edge. He can’t tip over to seal the deal. He needs to finish it. But the fucking demon above him smile wickedly, knowing what Castiel wants, knowing what he won’t give him.

Dean wraps a hand around his cock, but he doesn’t stroke it gently or firmly. He squeezes the base roughly so that if Castiel does want to come, he can’t. This, this has Castiel breathing heavily, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Dean is going to lengthen this out the best he can.

But Castiel doesn’t have all night. He grabs onto Dean’s wrist and tries to pry it off. But the stubborn demon holds tight, snarling down at him.

“Let me finish this, Dean,” Castiel urges firmly.

“Why should I?” The demon hisses as blood drips from his chin.

“I won’t call upon you next time,” the priest bites back.

Dean’s movement faulters and his eyes widen slightly. A flicker of desperation crosses over the demon’s face. Something along the line of uncertainty. It all turns into a toothy scowl as he lowers himself down to Castiel’s face.

“And why shouldn’t I kill you now so there isn’t a next time?” Dean threatens lowly in his face.

“Because if you do, there won’t be a next time.”

Now Castiel’s seem to hit home. It strikes harder than Dean’s hollow threat. The priest knows far too well that this demon likes this way too much. Likes the idea of fucking a priest on holy ground because he can. Because a priest is letting him. A dirty priest let it be known. Dean finds that humorous and he wouldn’t give that up.

Because this is the best fun he’s had in eons.

He snarls and begins harshly stroking the priest’s dick to the timing of his thrusts. Now he’s on a mission. His head becomes bowed, his tail flicking aggressively behind him as he works Castiel.

And this, this has Castiel panting through his nose and biting his tongue to keep the grunts and groans from escaping his mouth. But Dean’s fingers come to his mouth, prying his jaw open so that all the priest can do his moan out loud. He holds onto Dean as he starts to come close again, his noises becoming louder and louder. It’s very hard not to when each and every time the demon pounds into him it’s straight into his prostate. It feels like his entire gut is on fire at this point.

When Castiel comes, it wracks his entire body. His vision goes black and spotty and his nerves feel like they’re fizzing out like a fire sparkler.

He comes back to Dean coming deep in ass with a growl. His claws dig into his thighs, holding him in his place. The sensation of being filled sends a shiver up Castiel’s spine as whatever cum was left in his dick comes out onto his stomach.

He’s a mess. But the deal is done.

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mindshelter · 10 months

Text

"we shouldn't talk about it, okay? it's too much."

"you're right. so, what kind of music is popular in your dimension?"

green lantern: circle of fire #6

#kylealex #kyle rayner #alex dewitt #comicedit #comic blogging #hehe

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echo-goes-mmm · 8 months

Text

Hoarding Behavior #3

Masterpost

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), objectification (non-sexual)

“Oh my god,” said Kit. The dragon tilted his head, grinning at him. He picked up a torch from a holder bolted to the wall. The dragon spat a stream of fire, lighting the torch.

His captor grabbed him firm by the arm and onward they went.

The cavern got smaller and smaller, until they got to the end of it. The dragon blew out the torch and it was pitch black and cold.

Until the dragon pushed him forward, but instead of hard stone, he stumbled through fabric. It was a false wall.

Kit’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the sudden light.

The room was an enormous circle, with a high ceiling big enough for the dragon and his massive wingspan. In the center was a pit twenty feet across, lined with furs and fabrics. Giant stone pillars held glowing lanterns, and the room had a plethora of rugs, furniture, bookshelves, chests, and more. A stone fire pit was off to the side, and a cauldron of something steamed over the smoldering fire. The whole room was warm and dry, nothing like the cave they had just left.

The dragon let him take it all in before shoving him forward. He kept pushing Kit until he stumbled into the pit. He sank into it, and it was soft and plush like a giant mattress.

His captor took his wrists in hand, and with a clawed finger, sliced through the rope like it was nothing.

But he didn’t stop there. He cut through Kit’s clothes, his shirt, his pants, everything until he was completely nude.

He cupped his hands around his junk and flushed. The dragon snorted in amusement while inspecting him. He loomed over him, and Kit regretted not sitting up as soon as he fell into the pillows.

The dragon took hold of Kit’s chin, tilting his face back and forth. His golden eyes roamed over him, and Kit fought the urge to squirm.

He traced over Kit’s skin with the tip of a claw. Goosebumps broke out on his body.

“You are so pretty,” said the dragon. “Such beautiful green eyes.” His voice was like velvet and buttery smooth.

“Th- thank you, Master.” the dragon paused. He tilted his head to the side.

“Master…” said the dragon, grinning. “I like that.” He tapped the point of his claw on Kit’s chest. “Up,” commanded the dragon.

They got up, and the dragon- Master- pulled him along by the wrist, across the warm stone floor.

Master led him to a tunnel, an offshoot of the main room, and he could sense a change in the air.

The temperature became a touch warmer and the tunnel was humid.

It was a short passage, and it opened into another spacious room. A rectangular pool took up most of the length.

Master unbuttoned his red silk shirt and pulled it off. Patches of red scales glimmered in the dim light. Master stripped off his black trousers, and Kit had the sense to look away. The dragon picked up a bar of soap and a cloth.

“Come,” said the dragon, and he guided Kit into the water.

“I can’t swim,” he said as they waded into the warm, steamy water.

“I will not let you drown,” said Master. His voice was so sure, Kit believed him.

The pool was sloped, and gradually the water rose to just under his chest before he stopped. Master dipped the cloth into the warm water.

“You need a bath,” said Master, rubbing the soap and the cloth together. He set the soap down the edge of the pool. “Hold still.”

The dragon began to wash him.

It was… embarrassing to be bathed by another person. Master was painstakingly gentle, unlike before, like he was glass and could shatter.

The dragon was thorough and it genuinely felt nice when he washed Kit’s back and hair. He did, thankfully, let Kit wash his own bits.

After their bath, Master ordered him to sit in the nest, still nude.

The dragon (who had unfairly gotten dressed) dug through his various chests and drawers, pulling out a rainbow of assorted fabric. He dumped the pile next to Kit, and one by one Master held up each scrap to his face.

“Wha- what are you doing?”

“You will look better when I have decided what colors compliment you instead of choosing blindly,” said the dragon, matter-of-fact.

He tossed several yellow scraps to the side, dissatisfied. Apparently yellow was not Kit’s color.

After several minutes, the dragon had a sizable pile of ‘acceptable’ shades. And then Master fetched a few small boxes. He opened the lids, and Kit had never seen so much gold and silver in one place before.

“I should display these better,” muttered the dragon as he dug through the pieces. He huffed, smoky, as the rings caught on his clawed fingers. He upended the box of gold out of frustration, shaking out bracelets and earrings and who knew what else.

Eventually Master settled on a few pieces. Silver ‘washed out his skin’ or whatever that meant, and he decided on no gemstones because they ‘distracted from his eyes’.

Kit felt like a doll in the hands of someone playing dress-up. The dragon slipped on delicate golden arm cuffs on each arm and wide, snug bracelets for each wrist. He clipped an anklet on his left leg.

The jewelry only seemed to emphasize his nakedness, and Kit didn’t like it. He may have snuck a glance in between Master’s legs in the bath, but the dragon was smooth down there, like he’d magically tucked away what was supposed to be visible.

Logically speaking, the dragon probably wasn’t interested in him sexually. They were different species after all, but they looked too closely compatible for Kit’s comfort.

Sex was never Kit’s job before. He usually cleaned or worked in the kitchen. He always felt bad for the poor souls expected to pleasure their owners.

Thank goodness the dragon looked at him like an object and not a mate.

Master hid a yawn behind his hand, and Kit had to wonder what time it was. There were no windows in the cave obviously. He was exhausted, but that meant nothing. He wanted to go to bed since the trek into the woods.

The dragon scooped up the excess jewelry and fabrics, putting them away. He handed Kit a set of soft, luxurious blue pajamas.

Master watched him dress, and seemed pleased with the result.

“I am going to call you River,” said Master. “It suits you well. I am Noct.” It wasn’t the first time a master changed his name (‘Kit’ was a leftover), but River had a feeling this would be the last.

“Yes, Master. Thank you.” Noct smiled at him.

“Would you like some dinner? I have some spiced stew ready.”

“Yes, please.” River hadn’t really eaten since that morning.

Noct ladled the bubbling stew into a ceramic bowl. It smelled heavenly, and the warm combination of spices and tender fall-apart meat and soft potatoes comforted him.

Noct ate with him, and River took the time to really look at his new living conditions.

His expectations were all wrong. Master had not eaten him. The cave was not dirty and cold, but clean and warm. The expected smokiness of a dragon didn’t affect the air. Even the cooking fire and lanterns were smoke-free. Perhaps that was just how dragon fire was.

Master finished his meal first, and wandered off to dig through his things again. River helped himself to a second bowl as he thought. It was really good, and there was plenty in the pot.

The dragon definitely had a vast collection of finery, but no giant pile of coins like in fairy tales.

A huge bang shook him out of his head. Master was in the center of the nest, a hammer in hand. What was he doing?

He ate while he watched Noct hammer something into the stone. The vague curiosity turned into a wariness as Master picked up a coil of metal chain. He couldn’t see exactly what Noct was up to, but he could guess.

He shoveled the stew into his mouth.

Master attached the end of the chain to whatever he’d bolted to the stone, and began to walk to the exit. The chain clunked to the floor as he walked.

He was measuring how long River’s freedom of movement would be.

Noct stopped a few feet before the exit. He marked the chain with a claw. The nest was dead center in the dragon’s den, and River would be able to reach everything except the bathing pool and the entrance tunnel once he was attached.

At least there was that.

Master glanced up at him, and River looked away.

From the corner of his eye he saw Master spit fire, heating the iron red-hot, before taking it in hand and snapping off the desired length. Holy shit.

Master put away the rest of the chains. River heard a few clinking noises as Noct fidgeted with his project.

River finished his bowl, setting it to the side. He wasn’t hungry for thirds.

Noct came over, a shackle in his hand, the chain trailing behind him.

“I won’t run,” said River. “You don’t need to worry about me. I promise, Master.”

Master looked at him. “I know,” he said, locking the cuff around his right ankle. Master had padded the iron with fur, and River thanked god for small mercies.

“This is more for me than for you,” said Master. “I keep a close eye on my things. I would not want you to wander off. Try leaving.”

River walked to the opposite end of the den. The chain stopped him from even touching the false fabric. He tugged, just to prove to Noct he couldn’t do it.

“Very good,” he said. A strange sound came from Master’s chest, and River realized he was purring.

“Time for bed, treasure.” River followed Noct back to the nest. Master went around the room, dimming each lantern until the entire den was a very dim red. River made himself comfortable, which wasn’t hard. The nest was just a giant bed, and he was spoiled for choices for pillows and blankets.

Noct settled on the opposite side of the nest, curled up like a cat. His tail swished around to his side, and he was still purring.

River struggled to get to sleep. He was no stranger to chains or rope or even a cell.

But something about being trapped inside the earth, with only his Master for company unnerved him.

He already missed the sun.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

#my writing #whump #hoarding behavior #slavery whump #carewhumper #possessive whumper

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daisychainsandbowties · 1 year

Note

bea - eviscerate + stitch

this dark is everywhere, we said (and called it light)

a percy jackson au

///

Lilith wakes to the latent heat of volcanic glass seeping up through the palms of her hands, lacing along the blade of her cheekbone, drinking down the tears that scatter out of her lashes as she lurches awake, gasping.

She’s lying spreadeagled on hard, garish black rock, glittering with the reflection of enormous stalactites – a ceiling of sharp ends diving down out of the gloom. Her hair, distinguishable only as a more greyish shade of black, is stuck in clumpy patches to the ground and it peels away as Lilith forces her leaden arms to move, pushing away from the ground that always seems like it wants to eat her.

A tremor of white pain travels from her breastbone to the hook of her floating ribs, and she groans as she glances down at blood-sticky rock. It is shiny, glassy like a dead black eye – and Lilith sees her sword lying in the manner of a crooked smile underneath her upraised body. The hilt is shaped like a fishhook, the blade concave near the hilt and pitching out into a broad convex near the tip.

There’s a chain of soft gold running from the hook of the handle to the blade, and it shines strangely in the wet reflective surface of the volcanic stone that runs up to the high walls of hell itself.

Lilith knows, without looking, that there is a very specifically-shaped bruise running from just underneath one of her breasts down the rungs of her ribs, terminating just above her hip. Others too, splashed across her jaw and the socket of her right eye. There is dried blood crusted in her hairline and on her lips, cuts beneath her clothes that have bled into the fabric.

The last thing she remembers is fighting, knee-deep in snow somewhere in the Himalayas. Red spotted in the drifts and an old oil lantern trying vainly to scoop the darkness up off the snow, throwing reflections onto white-capped stone. She was following a fresh trail of blood and gore up a switchback that couldn’t really be described as a path when a great shape came crashing out of the night.

She recalls being swept aside by a massive paw, or maybe a hand, and landing dazed in the snow. Rolling aside just in time to avoid a sharp-seeming downstroke. Might have been claws, or a blade, or a set of enormous teeth. Her lantern rolled away, and Lilith heard the ringing in her ears that announced death. She scrambled to her feet and saw where her light had been tossed away, where it came to rest by a shape lying limp in the snow, surrounded by a halo of blood.

Lilith didn’t need to roll the corpse over – didn’t have time, as snow swirled and a shape stalked her. There, with snow and ice muddling the feeling of stone beneath her feet, she felt powerless. She couldn’t reach out and rend the earth, couldn’t call fire up from the mantle of the planet. Too much interference, too much fear.

There was a crumpled polaroid in the back pocket of her jeans, showing a smiling woman in a puffy green jacket, pretending to blow on her hands for warmth, though she stood next to a bonfire and underneath a clear, starry sky.

There was no need to roll the corpse over because the jacket lay in pieces around the body, rent by claw or blade or teeth, and Lilith felt anger surge up inside her as she tore her sword out of its sheathe and turned in a wary circle, trying to pierce the blizzard with the tip.

But then she heard a flurry of movement behind her and something rammed into her back, tossing her forward and face-first into snow. A phantom voice in her head whispered through the wind as Lilith reached vainly, dizzily, for invisibility, for her god-given power over not being. Coming up, as usual, against the wall of her own scattered focus.

A voice in her head saying, shut the fuck up and fucking Travel, or so help me I’ll come back to life and murder you.

And so she Traveled. Reaching out to gather up the shadows into a soft blanket, into a blade she pressed willingly through her own body, carrying it away from the blood in the snow and the monster in the dark. And there was nothing and no one and nowhere to think of but home, wretched though it is.

Hades.

Lilith stands, dragging the sword with her so that it dangles with the tip almost touching the ground, resting the blade flush against the curve of her boot. It has a soft black glow, down here in such proximity to the waters where Lilith stood, stripped to the waist and running with cold sweat. Where she dipped the fresh-forged blade into the polluted waters of the Styx.

She’s wearing her black aviator jacket, sunglasses sticking out of the pocket, over a somewhat threadbare t-shirt with a weird, shadowy creature on the front. She keeps meaning to Google what it is, but a giant snake ate her phone last month.

And, anyway, there’s no one left to call.

As ever, a pall of ghoulish green light sits over the gateway to the underworld, seeping along the riverbank in both directions. It’s a little like dry ice, but this isn’t a stage or a theatre. It’s just where she lives.

Lilith frowns down at herself, at the spots where her jacket has frayed, where the black leather has cracked or been scraped away by claws, the chill sitting barely above her bones from weeks of sleeping rough up on the surface. The golden chain on her sword settles against her knuckles – a faint, weird warmth – and Lilith lets a small sigh escape from inside her mouth as the greenish mist rolls past her.

There’s something about the mist that feels animate, today. It almost seems to cup her cheek, to flow over her cheekbone like a cold thumb, taking a little heat out of the bruises. Though, there’s a pressure to it – almost a reprimand.

Lilith stares towards the gates and the looming canine shape that sits squarely inside, worrying the inside of her lip. Is it her imagination, the slightly-chiding care that runs through the green light, the cool river mist?

She doesn’t speak to her father – not more than a handful of times in her life. He didn’t save her mother from the bombs or her sister from starvation, and he tucked her away in a dreamless sleep until he had a use for her. So what does she owe him?

Nothing.

Certainly not conversation, or whatever paltry imitation of love he can scrimmage out of his rotten heart. Fuck you, she thinks. There’s no benefit in saying it aloud, but Lilith lifts her middle finger, pointing it towards the mammoth walls, toward Cerberus and the stupid, banal bureaucracy of death.

The ghost in her head chuckles, low, and Lilith feels the golden chain brush her fingers again though there is no wind here to move it.

A wave of dizziness wash over her – a wild urge to lift the hilt of the sword up to her mouth and kiss the chain, but all she does is stand there in the shadow of her father’s kingdom, aching down to the marrow of her bones.

Then, from behind, from down in the direction of the ferry, she hears the scrape of wood over stone. Here, on the parallel shore of the Styx where nothing moves or walks or breathes but Lilith.

She whirls, sweeping her sword around so that she stands – unsteadily – with her body held sidelong in a narrow target, blade parallel with her raised arm, tip pointed towards whatever foul thing has crawled up out of the river.

Then she freezes, blinks, feels all the moisture in her mouth turn coppery and sour, because it’s not a monster.

It’s a girl.

Shorter than Lilith, with a pair of dark eyes pooled above a grim little mouth. Lilith realises – with a sense of disquiet – that she is beautiful. There’s a dust of freckles sitting like an afterthought on her nose, her cheeks, drawing out the dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her mouth is pulled tight, grimacing, but it hardly upsets the softness of her jaw.

She’s wearing a dark blue shirt over what looks like a thermal base layer. It’s cold down here, though it has never truly bothered Lilith. She’s built for it, or just used to it. Despite the extra protection, there is still a faint tremor sweeping through the girl as she stands, black rock glittering underneath her.

It’s easy to see why.

She is drenched in blood, leaning heavily on a spear made of bronze, decorated with tiny winged shapes. Lilith can’t make out what flying creature it is, but she makes a guess. There is, indeed, an owlishness to the girl as she stands, blinking through the gloom at Lilith, making no move to defend herself as blood spills out from where her palm is pressed into her stomach. Lilith can see the pink glisten of unearthed viscera beneath it, can see that her fingers are pressed inside to the knuckles.

A half-blood, then.

Lilith’s fingers tighten around the hilt of her sword. It’s Stygian iron – a substance that can only be forged in the waters of the Styx, capable of absorbing the essence of monsters, ripping them even out of Tartarus. Monsters and mortals and gods fear it, but the girl only blinks down the curve of the sword as Lilith holds it aloft.

Her voice, when it drifts out of her mouth, rolling into the mist, is clipped and precise and soft. All by itself it makes a crack in Lilith’s resolve.

‘You’re the daughter of Hades?’

It is, Lilith thinks, mostly a statement. In her bruises and her battered black clothes, with the life-eating pall of a Stygian sword in her hand, Lilith looks like the bastard child of death.

The stranger is a hazy shadow, cut to the quick by the perpetual drain of this place; the sewer of the Styx washing by with a sound like a hundred thousand muttering voices.

Blood patters softly onto the stone at her feet, but it scarcely has a chance to pool before the stone swallows it. The girl, hair half-unbound around her shoulders, strands falling down around her face to complicate it with shadows, stares at her own boots for an instant, wobbling. Lilith understands what she is feeling; it took weeks for the rock of this place to feel solid, to stop warbling underneath her with the threat of turning to liquid, to blood, to ink.

Lilith has dreamed of the bottom of hell, and this is not it. This is only the threshold.

‘Who’s asking?’ she growls, taking a careful half-step forward. It’s more of a shuffle, really – a habit born from fencing lessons held deep inside the walls of the Underworld, in a garden full of soft fruits and the promise of spring. The place she learned to fight.

The girl straightens, stiffening under Lilith’s scrutiny. There’s a sort of raw-boned intensity to her, like she’s holding herself very precisely in check. Her fingers, too, have tightened around the haft of her spear.

She’s shaking, blood now flowing down to drip from the tip of her elbow where it’s clamped tight against her body. Lilith wonders what it took for Charon to ferry a dying girl across the river.

The tip of her sword is only a foot from the girl’s throat as it bobs, as she raises her chin to expose the bumpy layers of cartilage sitting in a line; the very slight bulge above her windpipe.

There’s no point in asking who sent her. If she’s a half-blood, there’s only one place she could have crawled from.

Softly, again, the girl speaks. Backlit as she is by the green glow on the shore, she carries the countenance of a ghost. Lilith might mistake her for one, if she didn’t know better.

‘My name is Beatrice,’ she says, in a voice like cold water and warm milk, ‘I am a daughter of Athena.’

There’s blood on her lips, Lilith realises, as they pull into a grimace. They shiver as Beatrice pulls her fingers out of the slit in her stomach, holding them out in wry invitation.

It’s utterly bizarre, but Lilith finds herself lowering her sword, leaving it to sit against the leg of her jeans. Beatrice has proffered her right hand, so Lilith is forced to juggle the sword into her left so that she can reach out, tentative, to wrap her fingers into the sticky, blood-stained cup of Beatrice’s hand.

‘Lilith,’ she says. Somehow, it feels like an admission, like giving something away.

The daughter of Athena smiles. Pink-tinted saliva dribbles down her chin. It’s ghastly, but Lilith finds that she is somewhere on the opposite end of disgusted, wherever that might be.

There are, after all, no destinations along the river Styx but one. Death.

Beatrice squeezes her hand. She takes a ragged breath, her dark eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, boring into Lilith’s. ‘Pleasure,’ she says, a little giddily. ‘I thought I would have to go deeper into hell to find you.’

‘Well, here I am.’

A tightening around her hand, not quite a squeeze. ‘Here you are,’ Beatrice says. She lists forward, catches herself, ‘I’m here-‘

She coughs, and the redness of it floats weirdly in the mist. Beatrice stares, shakes her head like she’s trying to banish a ghost.

Her voice is very faint. ‘We need your help… daughter of Hades.’

Then the daughter of Athena, her skin like dark gold even in the bad light of the Underworld, falls forward. It happens slowly, at first, like she’s just taking a step, but then Lilith sees her knees buckle, watches the spear slip through her fingers.

And without thinking she steps forward, capturing Beatrice’s warm body in her arms.

...

Ten minutes later Lilith crouches next to a limp figure she has propped up against the pitted, high stone wall, feeling like a thief as she unbuttons Beatrice’s blue shirt and peels her black base-layer away from the slice in her lower abdomen.

Her sword is on the ground next to her, at a right angle to her body, the hilt in easy reach. Beatrice’s spear is propped up against the wall. It is, indeed, covered in tiny filigreed owls.

Beatrice does not stir as Lilith raises her hand, ignoring the unhappy shiver of the mist against her back as she draws on the power in her blood, summoning up a sliver of bone from a tiny vial of bone dust she keeps tucked inside her boot. It forms in the air, turning from powder to liquid to solid bone in the span of a moment, before settling down into Lilith’s red-painted palm.

It’s not ideal, but she can hardly wash her hands in the river. It’s full of plastic and rot and blood. Instead, she makes do with the little wadge of bandage and thread she keeps in the pocket of her jacket.

Beatrice continues to breathe as Lilith carefully threads her bone needle. There’s a voice in the back of her head spouting stupid facts about the history of needles and sutures, but Lilith hisses at it to shut up before dipping the sharp end of the bone through Beatrice’s flesh. The thread turns red as it passes in and out, but it’s proper surgical suture, so it also tugs the flesh back towards itself. It makes whole.

Distracted by her work, it takes Lilith too long to notice the change in Beatrice’s breathing. She finishes her row of stitches – they’re thick and lumpy and as elegant as she can make them, but there is no ringing in Lilith’s ears to ordain death, so it must be enough.

At a loss for any other implement, Lilith picks up her sword and carefully cuts the thread, leaving a little curl of it to sit against the taut muscle of Beatrice’s stomach. She has, of course, attempted not to notice the ripple of honed, hard muscle that runs the whole length of what necessity has forced Lilith to unearth; the evidence of a life spent fighting.

She has attempted to ignore it.

When Lilith looks up, sword resting on her knees where she’s crouched, balancing effortlessly on her heels, she finds that Beatrice’s eyes are open. Hazy with pain, but alert underneath it all.

A tentative smile flutters across her lips, ‘You saved my life.’

She dumps the sentence at Lilith’s feet like it means something.

Lilith shrugs, ‘I’m a freak, not a monster.’

The freckled skin on Beatrice’s cheeks wrinkles in tandem with her frown, ‘Wh-‘

‘You said you needed my help?’ Lilith interrupts before the question can come out and make everything awkward.

Beatrice’s stomach is still laid bare, covered in fingerprint marks where Lilith has touched her – in every single place Lilith has touched her.

Mercifully, the daughter of Athena lets her question fall away. Her bronze spear shines off of some strange reflection in the volcanic rock.

‘Yes,’ Beatrice says. There’s some depth to the word that Lilith doesn’t look down into, in the same way she doesn’t peer into the waters of the Styx as the ferry glides over it. Some mysteries are not fit for consumption.

‘Alright.’ Lilith nods, ignoring the way that the gold chain on her sword tightens against her hand, like a warm tongue, ‘Tell me what you need.’

#warrior nun #wn pjo au #sister beatrice #sister lilith #warrior nun fanfic #i'm reading these books again & now it's everyone's problem #gonna call this part 1 #it'll eventually be avatrice & camilith i think but in the meantime have the usual homoerotic bs between bea and lil #ty for the prompt!#casper writes #i'll put this up on ao3 when it's not 2:30am

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