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fat-satyr · 5 years

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part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || x

A short story I patched together for my creative writing class. I liked it enough to keep it, considering it details a bit of lore between some characters here and there.

Title: Sanguine Characters: Beryth Draghici, Konstantin Vladisav, Vanithas Word Count (Total): 6,321 Word Count (Current Part): 1,397 Warnings: Weird, supernatural gore-adjacent stuff, family issues, emotional manipulation.

And a grand night it had certainly been.

Beryth was awakened by the sharp feeling of Marcovici’s boot granting him a swift kick to the ribs, his pale eyes flying open as he yelled out in utter agony. He rolled over in an equally groggy and defensive manner, hacking up a bit of blood as he tried to put a healthy amount of distance between them. When he looked up, he noticed that the pulsating orb of ectoplasm was still present, but it… Seemed as though it fell dormant.

“Why do you speak to me as if you know me, beast?” He spat out, wiping the excess blood away from the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” came Marcovici’s haughty reply. Another shimmer overtook his form, and the once caramel-colored strands of his hair began to reveal that they were a dark shade of obsidian—even the structure of his face began to contort, his eyes becoming more almond-shaped and his lips drawing into a thin line. A small beauty mark dotted the left corner of his mouth, which ended up contorting into a sickening grin. “Certainly Sir Draghici remembers the one he ruled beside for so long, no?”

Beryth felt like he’d just been kicked in the ribs again despite the space he’d made between them. The way that the illusion dropped from the vampire’s very being was like watching the curtain in a theatre fall, but instead of the pleasant feeling one might experience at the end of a good show, he only felt distraught.

"Konstantin?” He squeaked out, his eyes widened to a ridiculous degree.

"Who else?” The newly renamed man laughed cruelly. “I’m surprised you even remembered me…” He gave way to a pout but ended up shaking his head. “Though, I digress. Have you had the chance to meet my darling little treasure?”

He moved his hand back in an incredulous gesture, his clawed fingers all pointing towards the foul-looking thing behind him. There was a subtle shift in the magical energy that surrounded the lot of them, and with a blinding flash of light, the sac let out a tremendous, deafening roar and split open. The sound was disgusting and meaty, but what emerged wasn’t as awful as one would assume. At first, it appeared to be an angelic being, but as the moon bathed their pale face in her softest light, another revelation was made in Beryth’s mind. Their blonde hair framed their face, the moonlight illuminating the back of it like a halo around their head. They stood at a height that was much shorter than Beryth’s if he were standing upright, but the slightest glimpse at their hollow black eyes was enough to freeze his thoughts in his tracks. They canted their head to the side, placing one finger to their lips in a “shushing” motion as they glided across the floor and came to stand between the two men, soon placing their arms behind their back. Tendrils of ectoplasm reached out and caressed the androgynous figure, placing a set of threatening horns on their head and a pair of folded wings at their back. Both were made of fluid, pulsating blood given solid form.

But to Beryth, the shape of their face was unmistakable—even if their eyes were blacked out as his own had been mere moments before. The stranger that had come into his home so many years ago resembled them in near-perfect mimicry, but… No, this couldn’t be them.

"The heir of the Draghici family crawls back to Traguca after following the scent trail I left for him to follow.” Their voice was a dead-ringer to him. It sounded disappointed, to boot. “Do you think you’re smart? Were the implanted emotions not enough to keep you away from this accursed place, boy?”

Such harsh words inflicted an internal wound on the hunter as he placed his hand to his chest. His short-lived denial had been shot down in an instant as numerous questions bubbled in his mind. Was everything he experienced fabricated? His passion, his drive, his sadness, all of it? No, no, no!

"Worry not, Vanithas,” Konstantin reassured the demon, waving a hand in their direction, “His stubborn attitude has been knowledge of mine for many, many years. It’s no surprise that he stepped so boldly into failure, even without your influence.”

"Don’t speak of me as though I’m not here.” Beryth demanded lowly, his tone slipping to a growl.

"And why shouldn’t I? Vanithas gave you a gift, but you chose to follow the foolish path instead of the righteous one.” Konstantin inspected the underside of his nails.

"A gift?” Beryth hatefully questioned, "You would call what that creature gave me a gift?”

"Of course it is. Must I explain everything?” Konstantin groaned, rolling his eyes as he flicked his wrist towards Beryth. “Vanithas. You take care of him.”

The demon obediently turned toward Beryth, outstretching their arm as silvery threads sprouted from their fingertips. These bound the hunter to the ground despite his fervent protests and heavy breathing; his struggle was futile, especially as Vanithas glided towards him as they had done the night they had met. The hand not sprouting thread touched Beryth’s forehead again, but this time, he didn’t pass out. He felt every emotion at once crashing into him like a wave, and the blood that coursed through his veins made him feel as though his entire body was on fire. He twitched and writhed in absolute misery as the illusory glimmer overtook his own body, revealing the whites of his albino eyes to be black and rendering his canines much longer than they should have been. His nails and ears came to a fresh point, the tips of the claws themselves almost ripping through the measly fabric gloves he wore.

He arched his back as the transformation slowed, his screams dying out as he flopped down against the cold marble once again. Sweat beaded on his brow, mingling with the strands of his pristine white hair as he slipped over to his side and clutched his gut in agony.

"Come now. No self-respecting progenitor should scream like a little girl,” Konstantin egged with an awful grin, “You’ve got something to be proud of for once in your miserable life.”

Despite the crippling pain he had felt only seconds before, the comment on pride really lit a fire within Beryth. His limbs trembled fiercely as he quickly picked himself up and made a beeline for Konstantin—he wasn’t sure of what would happen when he hit him, but he knew that he needed to at least try—and that plan was immediately thwarted as he became aware of a sudden pressure on his chest. He felt his ribs cracking before he realized what was going on, and by the time he’d been flung across the ballroom to make a heavy impact with the distant wall, he was seeing double. Konstantin had one of his hands balled into a fist, his damning gaze fixated on his wretched body.

"Doing this will get you nowhere.” He stated flatly, his once jovial and theatrical voice taking a dramatic turn, “You have the blood of nobility in your veins, and yet you deny your gift? The demon took pity on you when they first saw you and gave you the means to do as you desired, and yet you—” he trailed off, gritting his teeth. “I had at least hoped to keep you distracted until I could learn to control my temper, but alas…” He took off the glove of the hand he’d punched Beryth with, rubbing his knuckles soothingly, “… I don’t have time for someone with the mind of a child pretending to be a knight. Come and find me again when you’ve learned how to properly duel, at least.”

Once again, Beryth couldn’t get a word in. Even his advanced regeneration wasn’t fast enough to get him in working order by the time Konstantin disappeared in a puff of shadow and Vanithas did the same, leaving him alone with the corpses of those he’d sworn to protect. He knew what Vanithas had given him on that fateful night when he said he’d do anything for his family and his people, but he didn’t want to use this curse for a goal that was so pure in meaning.

No monster could ever become a hero, could they?

#story: sanguine #oc: beryth #oc: konstantin #oc: vanithas #my writing

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sunriserose1023 · 7 years

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A Cold and Broken Hallelujah

Here’s my entry for @dr-dean‘s A/B/O Birthday Challenge! I love to read A/B/O stories, but I’ve never written one myself. I hope you guys like this one.

*ALSO* When I was finishing up this story the other day, I was struck with inspiration for a new fic. If this gets good reviews, or if there’s enough desire, I’ll go with it. Destiel isn’t my normal pairing, but I love reading it.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: THIS IS A DESTIEL FIC. IF YOU DON’T LIKE DESTIEL, DO NOT READ THIS. DON’T INBOX ME HATE. This story also contains A/B/O (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics. That’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it is @dr-dean‘s, and since this was a birthday challenge, I wanted to write dr-dean’s favorite pairing.

PROMPT: “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen. (He wrote it, but my favorite version is by Kate Voegele and can be found HERE.) CHARACTERS: Dean Winchester, Castiel WORD COUNT: 1738 WARNINGS: This went super angsty guys; explicit smut

TAGS: @mrswhozeewhatsis, @kittenofdoomage, @deandoesthingstome, @sinceriouslyamellpadalecki, @ferferelli, @fangirling-instead-of-working, @faith-in-dean, @mamaimpala, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @jotink78, @notnaturalanahi, @ilostmyshoe-79 (Thanks to Michelle for the tag list!)

“Well, I heard there was a secret chord David played and it pleased the Lord, But you don’t really care for music, Do you?

Well, it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth, The minor fall, and the major lift. The baffled king composing ‘Hallelujah.’”

Castiel stood in the doorway, leaning against it, caught in a trance. Dean’s voice floated through the small room, the only sound besides his skillful fingers picking out the melody on the guitar he held on his lap. The room was filled with a soothing, relaxed scent, mainly because Dean thought he was alone. But, he never really minded when Castiel snuck in to watch and listen to him. Castiel’s eyes were drawn to the guitar, and he watched Dean’s fingers pluck the strings.

It wasn’t too long ago that those fingers were dancing over Castiel’s skin, drawing an entirely different melody out of him.

“Your faith was strong, But you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof. Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.

She tied you to her kitchen chair, She broke your throne, she cut your hair And from your lips she drew the ‘Hallelujah.’”

Castiel hadn’t understood this song the first time Dean played it for him, on an old cassette tape that his mother had mixed together herself. He knew the Bible story of David and Bathsheba, and he easily drew the comparison with that story and the first two verses of the song. The rest of it was confusing to him, but the way Dean sang seemed to make everything make sense somehow.

Well … almost everything.

“Baby, I have been here before. I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor. You know, I used to live alone Before I knew you.

And I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, And love is not a victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken ‘Hallelujah.’”

Castiel reached up, absently rubbing a hand over his chest. Dean had his eyes closed, fingers constantly moving over the guitar, voice growing louder now, passion and heartache and wonder echoing through the words he sang.

“There was a time when you let me know What’s really going on below. But now you never show that to me, Do you?

Remember when I moved in you, The holy dove was moving, too? And every breath we drew was ‘Hallelujah?’”

Tears gathered in Castiel’s eyes as he thought back to an hour earlier. Dean had held him and kissed him until slick was all but pouring from Castiel. His heat wasn’t for another little while, but Dean seemed to draw whatever he needed from him. Dean’s knot hadn’t even been an issue this time. He had spent a lot of time by Castiel’s neck, where he kept saying he wanted to bite and claim him, but Cas wouldn’t let him. Nevertheless, the sex was good—it was always good—but it had felt a little different.

Castiel knew why now.

“Well, maybe there is a God above, But all I’ve ever learned from love Was how to shoot somebody who Outdrew you.

And it’s not a cry that you hear at night; It’s not somebody who’s seen the light. It’s a cold and it’s a broken ‘Hallelujah.’

Hallelujah, hallelujah. Hallelujah, hallelujah.”

Dean opened his eyes, a smile coming over his face when he saw Castiel in the doorway.

“Hey, you.”

Castiel walked inside as Dean set the guitar on the floor, crawling into Dean’s lap and burying his face in his neck, taking in a deep breath. Dean smiled, wrapping his arms around Castiel, breathing him in, as well.

“I got you, Cas. It’s okay.”

Castiel nodded, staying exactly where he was. Dean sighed, leaning back in the chair, gently rubbing his hands up and down Cas’ back.

“Did I do okay?” “You did wonderful.”

Dean smiled.

“You’re just saying that.” “I’m not, I promise.”

Cas sniffled, lifting himself up, looking into Dean’s green eyes and giving him a smile.

“You’re going to blow them away.”

Dean’s smile widened.

“You think so?” “I know so. L.A. isn’t going to know what hit them.”

Dean laughed, leaning in to press his lips to Castiel’s. Dean’s phone started ringing, and he patted Cas’ thighs until he stood up. Dean jogged to his phone and slid his finger over the screen.

“Hello? … Hey Sammy! … Yeah, we’re still on. Booked the flight last night. … I can’t believe it, either. But how many times does one get invited to try out for The Voice?”

Castiel walked over to the guitar, slowly strumming one finger across the strings.

“You’re picking us up from LAX, right? … Don’t leave us stranded, man. I will come to Palo whatever and kick your ass.”

Dean laughed and Castiel swallowed. Dean was expecting him to be on the flight with him, to be sitting in the audience or backstage as he performed, jumping and screaming when all four chairs turned, which Cas knew without a doubt they would. Dean was expecting him to be there when he won, to run through the crowd and jump onstage as the confetti fell around them, as Dean’s dream finally came true.

But that was Dean’s dream, and Cas was going to have to let him go to let him have it.

“Yeah, yeah. Well, let me go, okay? I got to start packing. … Don’t bitch at me, Sam. You’re not my mother. … Whatever, bitch.” “Jerk.”

Castiel whispered the word, and by the smile that came over Dean’s face, it had been exactly what Sam had said. Dean ended the call, walking over to Cas and wrapping his arms around him, kissing his lips for a long minute.

“Come on, babe. Let’s get to packing.” “You go ahead. I think I’m going to give my brother a call.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised and Castiel shrugged. Dean pursed his lips and nodded, kissing Cas’ cheek before walking to their bedroom. Cas swallowed, walking to the door and grabbing his coat, slipping it on before walking outside. He pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled through his contacts, but locked the phone back before he clicked on one of his brothers’ names. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets and took a long walk, coming home with a pizza for supper.

“Hey, there you are. You okay?”

Cas sighed, but nodded. Dean walked up behind him, kissing his cheek and wrapping his arms around Cas from behind. Cas reached up and patted Dean’s hand, leaning back against him and letting Dean’s warmth soak into his own skin. Dean’s scent quickly filled the kitchen, overpowering Cas’ scared, worried one, soothing the both of them.

They ate dinner, and once the dishes were washed and the kitchen was clean, they went to bed. Dean sat on the bed, watching Cas rub lotion on his elbows, noticing the way he kept tilting his neck from side to side. Dean walked over to where Cas was sitting, laying his hands on Cas’ shoulders, kneading gently. Cas’ head fell back, raven hair tickling Dean’s chest where it brushed against his bare skin.

“God, that feels good.” “Why are you so tense? What’re you so worried about, baby?”

Cas sighed, closing his eyes, groaning as Dean’s hands moved a little lower, increasing the pressure just a bit.

“Same old shit. Work. My family.” “Let it go for a while, baby. We’ve got a little vacation coming up.”

Cas swallowed and nodded, opening his eyes and looking up at Dean. He smiled and Dean leaned down, pressing his lips to Castiel’s, both of them slowly sinking into the kiss, letting it get a little more heated and intense than either one initially intended.

When Dean stood up and took Cas’ hand, leading him to the bed, realization slammed into Castiel like he’d been hit by a train.

This was the last time they’d be together.

They didn’t need foreplay; they usually did it just because the build-up was fun, but they both seemed to sense that tonight was different, more urgent somehow. Still, they took their time. Dean slid Cas’s pajama pants off and used his fingers in a wonderfully slow rhythm to bring Cas right to the edge. Cas slid off the side of the bed and deep-throated Dean’s cock until Dean was chanting for his Omega and Cas couldn’t stand it anymore. He straddled Dean’s waist, sliding down until he was sitting backwards on Dean’s lap and Dean’s cock was throbbing inside him.

Despite Dean’s repeated requests, Cas rode him slowly, feeling Dean’s knot growing, catching on his rim every time Cas sank down. The little hitched breaths Cas kept giving, along with the squelch of Dean’s cock slipping through the slick Cas continued to produce drove Dean right to the edge, and he finally surged up, pushing his cock deep into Cas, pushing his knot inside and keeping it there, locking them together as Cas wailed his name as he came between them, untouched. Dean threw his head back and moaned as he came as well, thick ropes of Alpha come filling Castiel.

Cas finally collapsed onto Dean’s chest, curling up on him, using what he could reach of him as a pillow. Dean kissed the top of Cas’ head, wrapping his arms around him. He did his best not to jostle them too much as he reached for the blankets at the end of the bed and pulled them up and over them.

“I love you, Dean.”

Dean smiled, rubbing his hand over Cas’ back.

“I love you too, Cas. Always.”

In the morning, when Dean woke alone, he didn’t think much of it. Cas got up early sometimes, went for a run or a walk or to get breakfast. But when time went on and Cas didn’t come back, Dean got a little worried. When he called Cas’ cell phone and found the number was disconnected, his worry grew. And when he got up and realized that Cas’ most favorite things were gone, he grew frantic, calling every family member he had a number for, all their friends.

Only one person answered, telling him that Cas was fine, but it was over. Dean needed to go chase his dreams, and Cas wouldn’t be joining him.

That was when he realized exactly what it meant.

Love was a cold and a broken hallelujah.

#abo birthday challenge #supernatural fic #destiel fic #dean winchester #castiel #SPN #spn fic #destiel #abo dynamics #angsty #angst #smut #song fic #hallelujah #rachel writes in 2017

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