my finest creation!


a nessian one-shot.

a semi-related part one here

@sparkleywonderful as soon as you reblogged the anon’s prompt, i knew we were going to surpass 30 notes, and hence this fic.

@squaddreamcourt hopefully this lived up to your expectations.

“three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, the truth”


The bells tolled exactly at nine o’clock in the morning, the fast fading face of the moon floating away.

The male stepped off the porch, ignoring the fists slamming against the entrance door. He slid the key in his left pocket and walked off without a second glance back.

“You bastard!” Feyre screamed. “I was doing you a favor!”

The bells tolled exactly at ten o’clock in the morning, the whispers of words and sounds of shoes fading into the church.

The male slid out the window, ignoring the raging protests from the representative. He slid the neatly folded contract in his left pocket and walked off without a second glance back.

“You thief!” the businessman yelled. “I’ll find you!”

The bells tolled exactly at eleven o’clock in the morning, sparks flying from the black stone and fire raging around the slab of rocks.

The male held out his palm, and the blacksmith set the warm leathed into his rough hand. He gripped the hilt and watched the sharpened blade absorb the piercing light.

“My finest creation,” the blacksmith stated. “Dark and deadly.”

The bells tolled exactly at twelve o’clock in the afternoon, the dry rays of the blearing sun falling across the deserted village.

The male went up the steps of white-cracked stone and strode under the dome of the church. Flinging the iron-rodded doors open, he carelessly twirled the blade in his hand.

“—are there any objections?” the priest started, and stopped—

—gaped at the dangerous male stalking down the aisle—the darkness exuding from him, the darkened blade of obsidian and might, and the delightful wickedness curved onto his mouth.

Murmurs broke through the pews, but the male only focused at the bride, at the veiled woman in gray, not white.

He smiled wider. “I object.”

The husband sneered, malice pinned over those beady eyes. “A bastard thinks he can claim my property?”

The male saw red, and twirled the blade to a stop. “Property?” he breathed lowly, too softly.

Those at the end of the pews leaned forward eagerly. The priest edged further away from the altar, sensing the brewing trouble.

A pause. Then — “Property?” the male roared, and strode forward at a faster pace.

The proclaimed husband sneered, and drew his own blade from his side. “She’s indebted to me, anyways. By law you can’t interfere, bastard.”

It was time they learned to not provoke the bastard he was — little did they know his true ferality and rage — little did they know the game they’d just stepped into — little did they know the true wildcat behind that veil.

The male merely shrugged, sheathing back his blade. The priest visibly sighed, the husband smirking in victory.

Pawns indeed.

The male drew the contract out of his pocket.

The pews were silent.

“What’s that?” the black and white figure of a husband called from the top of the steps. “You can’t beat me by sword, so you turn to paper?”

The male could see the outlines of the female’s lips under the veil — curved up into a crooked smile.

It only made him smile more.

“Sure, Tomas Mandray,” he drawled out. “But it’s not legal to marry Nesta Archeron, either.”

“ ’the hell you mean?” the Tomas Mandray bit out.

The bride lifted her gray skirts and took one step down from the platform. The male walked one step up, rolling out the paper. The priest took the contract warily, eyes skimming over the legal document.

The priest cleared his throat.

The man at the altar clenched his fists. “Well?”

The priest looked almost apologetic. “It seems you cannot marry Nesta Archeron because, she—in fact—is already married.”

Tomas’ mouth dropped open and closed.

The bride tore off her veil, revealing the vicious woman underneath. She didn’t stop there, tearing off her skirts and sleeves — revealing the combat clothes underneath.

No more gray and white, but ink and darkness.

Her true self.

Nesta Archeron held out her left hand, revealing an obsidian ring embedded with pure, shining rubies.

“Hello, Cassian,” she smiled, and down the rest of the steps towards the male. “My husband.”

Tomas seethed.

Cassian walked up the steps, and kissed her forehead. “Hello, wife.”

A cough sounded from behind them, Tomas snarling, a vein popping out from his forehead. He had brandished his sword again, the edge aimed at Nesta’s back.

Cassian immediately moved his wife to his side and launched forward, deflecting the blow in a smooth, fierce motion, drawing out his own sword in a single movement.

Tomas’s sword flew through the air and snagged through the golden curtains covering the crystal, mosaic windows.

The priest ran.

“You dare harm an unarmed female?” Cassian snarled.

Tomas backed up against the altar, lines of sweat running down his face.

“She does not belong to you — never has and never will.”

Tomas reached for the goblet on the stand and tossed it at Cassian’s direction.

Cassian easily dodged the flying goblet and lunged — wielding the blade under  Tomas’ neck. Leaning in, he made sure the other male could hear every enunciated syllable.

“Midnight. Here. We settle our scores there.”

Tomas swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing.

The blade pressed against the other male’s neck, drawing little lines of crimson pressing against his black suit.

“Fine,” Tomas Mandray managed to snipe out, eyes blackening. “Midnight.”

The pews emptied.

The bells tolled exactly at twelve o’clock midnight, the moon casting disillusioned rays of white against the dark, the only witness of what served to transpire at the church.

The male walked up the stairs of the church with air of confidence. He pushed open the cold, steel doors and walked down the single path.

Another male figure stood at the altar, a larger sword hanging low at his hips. “I thought you wouldn’t show,” Tomas rasped.

“No one hurts my family,” Cassian snarled, “and lives to tell the tale.”

Tomas descended from the altar, Cassian striding up.

When Tomas lashed out with his first stroke, Cassian dodged — a tossed his own sword to the side.

A maniacal grin. “I don’t need another weapon to kill you.”

Tomas faltered. Cassian’s right hand reached out and grasped Tomas’s neck.

He squeezed, relishing in the sounds of protest and the aroma of fear. Tomas weakly swung his sword, but Cassian merely grabbed the edge of the blade, and yanked it out down — dislocating Tomas’s wrist.

Tomas squeaked and let go of the blade.

Cassian expertly caught the sword with his left hand and raised Tomas by the neck higher.

He squeezed — a crush to the windpipe.

Perhaps Tomas Mandray pleaded, but Cassian — the bastard — never heard him above the other male’s own choking noises.

Cassian raised his left hand, the steel sword glinting in the faded fray of the church.

He struck a line down Tomas’s abdomen. A semicircle and a slash. More lines. More blood. Tomas’s body stopped squirming in Cassian’s grasp.

Cassian drew Tomas closer so the male could hear every enunciated syllable. “As Nesta Archeron is my wife, her debts are paid. You have not a single legitimate claim to or on her.”

Tomas stilled.

Cassian plunged the blade — not through Tomas’s heart, but through Tomas’s kidney.

Cassian twirled Tomas’s body around, and slashed the blade in an arc — not through Tomas’s neck, but through Tomas’s spine.

A cripple.

He dropped the convulsing body.

“The blood spilled here tonight was spilled by your own sword.”

A horrid cacophony of coughing and spewing emerged from the floor.

Scarlet and crimson red stained the royal red carpet, soaking into the tiles and through the pews.

Cassian spared one last look at the twisted figure at his feet, and the lines carved over the fallen’s stomach: RAPIST.

“By tomorrow, you will excommunicated for your sins. In front of everyone, you will be damned.”

The bloodied body twitched.

The male left the church, the moon shining a brighter eerie glow along his path, the darkness and shadows swallowing the other fallen male’s body whole.

The bells tolled exactly at one o’clock in the morning, the moon a crescent and half-smile of a Chesire’s cat leering down in expectation.

The male rounded the cathedral where the priest slept.

He pushed open the golden-rimmed doors with silver embroiderment.

The figure in the bed roused awake quickly, pulling the blankets around the bed. “Who’s there?” A whisper.

The male merely flicked the blood-stained blade up in answer.

The figure shrieked — a high pitched sound belonging to a female.

The male stalked around the room, noting the intricate scrawls of feminine writing. When the figure at the bed made to leap out and away, he turned around with abruptness that had the hooded figure halting in shock.

Cassian smiled — a predator’s grin. “You should have known better, Ianthe.” He tsked his tongue. “You — even a High Priestess in Priest’s clothing — should have never, ever mess with a bastard.”

He shot forward and grabbed Ianthe’s jaw, forcing it open.

Before she could scream, he nicked off her tongue in a clean slice.

It fell to the ground.

The scream died at her lips.

Cassian drew the blade through her second kidney. Blood splurted over blue robes and all over the pearled floor.

“The blood spilled here tonight was spilled by Tomas Mandray’s sword,” the male recited.

He pulled the blade out.

He pulled back the Priest’s hood, revealing the blond-haired woman inside.

“Tomorrow, you will be excommunicated for as imposing as a male who serves a higher status than you.” Cassian watched the convulsing figure on the floor. “In front of everyone, you will be damned.”

He stalked out of the cathedral, tossing the bloodied blade into the fountain of holy water.

The bells tolled exactly at two o’clock in the morning, the shadows seeping out from the lines of the fields of lilies.

The male leaned down and picked on in full-bloom along the stem.

A woman appeared from the stalks, a ghost of a phantom.

She swung the obsidian sword in her hands easily, the red encrusted jewels glimmering through the darkness.

“My plan fully worked?” Nesta asked.

She pressed the hilt into his hands.

The blade was clean, immaculate.

He pinned the flower behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

The wind blew softly around them.

The male nodded. “Remember to tell me to never get on your bad side, Nesta Vatra.”

A viper’s smile. “Feyre’s unlocked now, and can’t suspect the other’s deaths.”

A soft breeze carried away their secrets of the day and dawn.

“Just curious,” the male drawled, nodding. “But why the kidney?”

She intertwined their fingers. “A strike to the heart or across the neck, and the village would have expected you.”

Cassian chuckled deeply, and stared at the woman — his wife. Dangerous, dangerous this woman.

Sheathing his blade, he wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, lifting her up along the white light of the moon, and kissed her deeply, the flowers singing the melody of dark and deadliness around them.

“To the future and the past,” she whispered, as he nipped her lips.

“To freedom, Nesta Vatra.” And Cassian Vatra lifted her into his arms bridal style, carrying her into the dawn. 

*Vatra means fire in Croatian; I’ve always imagined Cassian as Middle Eastern among others. 

castiellover  asked:

Hello! Could you please make Castiel a real man?

Why would I do that son?
And why say a real man? he is not Pinocchio, and he is perfect as he is.

Castiel is one of my finest creations as an Angel. He made me proud so many times, his flaws as a son are my failures as a father. He will keep his grace and wings as long as I’m around at this side of the universe. When he comes back, I’m working on the details right now, he will have the choice to keep those and made his own rules. He constantly has demonstrated me his strength by loving my dearest creation.

 This may seem a weakness for his brothers, but as he began to understand that free will is always a choice for those who dare to take it, and make the best of what they truly believe in their hearts are the right choices because they were guided by love. Oh yes, angels have a “heart” as you humans have this idea that an organ in your body gave you the ability to love, angels discovered it as an act of caring beyond commandments or missions that I gave them. Like Castiel did 9 human years ago. 

 At the beginning, angels weren’t given the natural choice of feelings as I gave you humans inherently at birth. But some discovered this ability by watching over you, and not because it was an assignment that I gave them. Some choose to feel love, some fall for the love you inspire in them. Castiel has fall so many times and in so many ways, but his reasons were always pure.

And that’s why he need to be an angel right now, to fulfill his needs of protection of whom he loves the most. If is his choice to give up his wings and grace, I would gladly accept. But if it were my decision I will gave him the keys to my kingdom, so I can enjoy all the lost time with my sister. 

But he chose to have free will, so I have to wait and agree on his decisions, like I wait and see how you take your own over your precious world. One constant prayer I have been receiving for Castiel is about making him an Archangel, and I wonder what would he think about that. If he will accept more power, or he will give it all for his love to “humanity”.

Be good my son and do good to those surrounding you.

Originally posted by subcas

Changed By the Darkness

Warnings: angst, mild language

Word Count: 2540

Request: “I NEED a ‘You’re A Winchester’ part 7! Pretty please!” “I read your ‘You’re A Winchester’ part 1 just thinking it would be a cool thing that I would find decent, but have found myself ADDICTED! Please as soon as you can make a part 7!”

A/N: Hey everyone! Hope your week is going superb. Here is Part 7 to the ‘You’re A Winchester’ series, as much requested! Enjoy, and I will write the next part as soon as I can :)

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 |

Dean immediately retracted himself back to a standing position, in shock of the darkness that lay in your eyes.

Both of the brothers’ hearts began pounding full speed. They couldn’t believe that they had let their guard down for only a minute, and in that time darkness had found you, to transform you into the very thing that they hunted. A demon.

Neither of the brothers knew what to do, as you blinked again to return your eyes to its normal colour. You stretched your limbs out before standing up from the bed, placing your hands on your hips.

“How did this happen, Y/N?” Sam asked with hesitation. You gave a small smirk before taking a step towards your older brothers.

“Well, I would say that it’s your fault,” you said as you crossed your arms, “But, it is in fact, something that I should thank you for.” You were about to continue talking, but Dean interrupted you.

“No Y/N,” Dean stated, “Don’t enjoy what you are. Being evil, and being a demon is not a healthy way to live. Trust me, I know. So let us cure you. We can take you down to the dungeon right now.”

He began to step forward with an outstretched arm, hoping that you would smile with the warmth that you usually did and take his hand. But instead, you gave a look of disgust as you took a step back.

“You will never understand Dean,” you said, shaking your head, “I want this life, and you can’t stop me.” And with that, you ran out from the room.

Sam was about to run after you, but Dean held out his arm to stop him.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, “We have to stop her! We have to cure her!” Dean just turned to his brother, and sighed, “She doesn’t want to be, Sammy.”

Dean slowly walked out of the room, leaving Sammy alone in your room, looking at your empty bed as he heard the front entrance of the Bunker slam close, indicating that there was no chance that he could run after you now.

It had only been a few hours since you fled, and neither of the brothers had come across each other in that time.

Sam was sitting in his room on his laptop, already searching for any signs of demon activity in the hope of trying to pinpoint your whereabouts, because for the amount of time he had known you, he knew that you hated moving around too much, and loved the idea of having a home to come back to every night. He smiled at the thought of you eating dinner in the Bunker with them, completely oblivious to the events were currently unfolding.

Despite his knowledge of you, he hadn’t found anything important regarding your location, so he closed his laptop with a sigh.

He decided to check in on how Dean was going, because Dean had a tendency to drown his sorrows in alcohol. And when Sam walked into Dean’s room, his assumptions were correct.

Dean was lying on his bed, with a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand, and several empty bottles and glasses located on his bedside table. Upon Sam’s arrival, Dean sat up and swung his legs round to the side of the bed.

“Why did you let her go?” Sam asked as he sat beside his brother, knowing that it was better to just get straight to the point. Dean gave a sigh, took another swig of beer and responded.

“Because I was in that same position, Sam. I know how much that power can consume you and change you into something you never even thought you could become. And I’m not giving up, that’s not what I’m doing. It’s just that I almost want to delay curing her, because I don’t want to see her go through the pain of purification and the emotional baggage that she’ll carry after. I can’t watch my sister go through what I went through. I barely managed to keep it together afterwards, so how will she cope?”

Sam noticed tears welling in Dean’s eyes, but Dean managed to brush them away before they could escape. Sam had never been through what Dean had gone through or what you were going through, so it made it even more difficult for him to try and understand what to do.

“Look, Dean,” Sam sighed, “Of course I don’t want to see Y/N in pain. I mean, I can’t even think about it because it makes my stomach turn. But I also don’t want to see our little sister as a demon. And I know that you know that the real Y/N would hate to live a life as the kind of evil that she hunts.”

Dean looked towards his brother, and gave a sad smile. He then gave a final swig of his beer, before throwing the empty bottle on his bed and standing up.

“What are you waiting for, Sammy?” Dean exclaimed, “Let’s find us our little Winchester.”

It was nightfall, and Sam and Dean had set up everything they needed in an abandoned warehouse about an hour from the Bunker.

Trying to figure out a way to track you down proved to be a little more difficult than they thought. Because you had only been gone about half a day, there wasn’t any signs of demon activity anywhere. Then they thought about summoning you directly, but they figured that you could easily choose to ignore it.

So they knew they were truly desperate when they decided to summon Crowley.

Once the area was prepared, Sam lit a match and began the ritual.

Et ad congregandom, Eos coram me.

And with that he threw the match into the bowl, setting it alight.

For a moment, nothing happened. But then Sam and Dean were confronted with the sudden appearance of the King of Hell.

“Moose and squirrel,” Crowley addressed, “I didn’t think you two were immature enough to use Devil’s traps.”

Dean gave a scoff, “Maybe it’s because you’re not the most trustworthy guy around.” Crowley gave a dry laugh, as Sam began to ask questions.

“Why is Y/N a demon?” he exclaimed, “We know she hasn’t been possessed because she still has her tattoo intact, so why has she transformed into one?”

Crowley took a few steps forward, which was as far as the Devil’s trap would allow.

“Because she’s a Winchester,” he stated, “Having a black-eyed squirrel made for a good time, so why not try it with the squirrel’s little sister?”

Dean’s body began shaking with rage, hearing the way that he talked about you. Sam seeing Dean’s angry state, continued on.

“Okay, Crowley,” Sam said sternly, “You’ve had your fun, so give her back to us.”

Crowley gave another dry laugh. “I’m not just going to hand over one of my finest creations to you! You’ll purify and cleanse her until she’s back into being another boring normal person in this godforsaken world. Dean somehow got through to the other side, but I’ll make sure that she never does.”

Dean had had it. He grabbed the holy water bottle from the ground, and walked with determination over to Crowley, where he began to empty the contents down Crowley’s throat. Sam didn’t even stop Dean. He just watched as Crowley made a series of gurgling noises that indicated the amount of pain he was in.

When the bottle was empty, Dean threw it aside and walked out of the trap, making Crowley fall to his knees in exhaustion.

“Fine!” Crowley shouted in rage, “If you want the little bitch back, then you can have her. But don’t expect her to be the peachy keen girl that she was before.”

Knowing that Crowley would stick to his word, Sam scratched away a gap in the Devil’s trap using his foot. Crowley brushed off his shoulder before disappearing into the air, and returning only a few seconds later with a confused you by his side. As soon as he arrived, he departed, leaving you behind to take a few moments to find your bearings.

Sam rushed over to you, locking you in Devil’s trap handcuffs, before you could attack either of them or leave. You instantly began to protest and attempt to hit your brother out of the way.

“Y/N,” Sam said calmly, “Stop. We’re going to take you back to the Bunker, and we’re going to get you back to normal, alright?”

Despite Sam’s calm words, you continued to try to wrestle free from his grasp. As he slowly attempted to bring you over to the Impala, Dean trailed behind quietly.

The one hour drive home felt like twice as long for both of the brothers. You were continually attempting to try and break free from the handcuffs, and protesting against going to the Bunker. And naturally, it was painful for Sam and Dean to see their little sister being corrupted by evil. So during the drive the brothers did not say a single word to each other or to you.

When they arrived at the Bunker, you had given up trying to escape the restrictions placed around your wrists and was only guided by the light touch of Sam’s hand, until you had finally been moved to the dungeon. Dean grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and relocated it to the middle of the Devil’s trap, as Sam guided you inside of the trap and into the chair.

“Dean,” Sam murmured with a sadness in his voice, “Can you grab some rope to tie Y/N down?”

Dean managed a small nod, looking at you with sad eyes as he left the room to retrieve some rope. Sam began to set up all the utensils that he needed for the purification on a small table close by the entrance of the dungeon.

On the way home from the Bunker, they had stopped at a church so that Sam could confess in order to make his blood purified.

Once everything had been set up, Sam looked over towards you. You weren’t raging or crying, instead, just smirking towards your older brother.

“Do you really think that this is the best thing for me, Sammy?” you asked, continuing to smirk.

Sam turned away from you, breathing as heavy as his heart felt in that moment. He had done that same procedure to his brother, and now he had to do it to you as well. But what made it harder is that he saw how it affected Dean afterwards. He didn’t know if he had it in him to see you suffer as well. However, he just knew that he wanted his sister back.

Dean returned with the ropes, and walked over to where you were seated. He began to tie you to the arms of the chair, but was doing it rather slowly, because Dean already hated seeing you as a demon, so it made it harder for him to tie you up.

When Dean had finally finished, he stepped back and stood beside his brother, who already had a syringe at the ready. Dean looked at the watch that he had brought in with him, then nodded at Sam. Sam injected the needle into his arm, retracting it back again to fill it with blood. Once full, he walked slowly with hesitation in his step, as he finally came around behind you, and injected the needle in your neck.

Sam stepped away from you to see you slightly squirm from the pain you were feeling.

“Really?” you smirked, “Is that the best you can do? At least make it a challenge.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, knowing that it was going to be a long night.

Dean looked at the watch, and tapped it to alert Sam it was time for another round. Sam gave a loud sigh, because he didn’t want to see you in pain anymore. It was killing him.

Sam prepared the seventh syringe of the night and pushed it into his skin. The first few times were painful for him, but now the small prick in his arm was nothing compared to the massive punch in his stomach he felt each time he would put the needle into your neck.

He held the needle tightly in his shaking grasp as he walked around to stand behind you. You looked exhausted and weak, despite your continuous attempts to cover up your pain by hurling insults. Sam looked up at his brother whose eyes were red from the tears that had been swelling up and threatening to burst out.

Sam looked back down at you, as he pushed the needle into your neck for the seventh time.

Unlike last time, the pain came instantly and at full throttle.

You began screaming in agony at the blood that ran through your entire body. You tried to wriggle yourself out from the ropes that binded you to the chair. The screaming continued for a few minutes, before finally settling down.

Your shoulders were rapidly moving up and down as you attempted to regain your breath.

And with that, Dean left the room.

It was approaching the eighth hour, so Sam began to prepare himself for the final injection. He looked over at a person who was almost unrecognisable. Your hair was disheveled, your entire body was sweating, your skin was a few tones paler, and you looked like you couldn’t even stand up.

Dean still hadn’t returned, and Sam didn’t expect anything different. He couldn’t blame him for leaving, because, hell, he would if he could.

Sam took a quick glance at the watch, and saw that it was time.

He took a large gulp as he reached for the last syringe that sat on the table, and pushed it into his arm. Once it was full, he wandered over behind you and prepared himself. But when he was about to put the needle in, he heard your voice croak to him.

“Sam,” you mumbled, “Are you sure you’re doing what’s best for me?”

Sam closed his eyes to repress the tears that threatened to fall down, and murmured, “I don’t know. But all I know is that I want you back.”

The needle was injected into your neck for a final time.

The screams that came out of your throat were louder than before, and were even painful to those who heard them. It felt like a burning poison circulating around your body.

Despite it being the most painful of the eight, it only lasted for about half a minute, before the screams ceased and your head dropped down.

It was an uncomfortable silence in the dungeon, as Sam, who had moved back to the corner, walked to stand before you. Dean ran back into the room and stood beside his brother, just watching you for any movement.

Your head began to move upright, and you opened your eyes to reveal the darkness in them slowly fading back to the normal colours that graced your irises.

The brothers continued to watch you, as you attempted to catch your breath, before your head dropped back down.