#I wanna be your little angel but your little angel didn't make the cut.... doomed onewing

[paranormalglass]

i am so full of eepy. but the urge to draw stupid doomed yaoi. ough.

[fandomworld9728]

The Life of the Morningstars - Chapter 17:

Lucifer caught both Angel and Niffty before they could hit the ground. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? He wasn't about to let some ugly, overgrown moth get away with something like this. Lucifer was pissed. There was fire running through his veins, burning the same way it did when someone hurt his baby girl. Glaring at the man in front of him, he checked on the two in his arms. Niffty seemed fine but Angel... he was bleeding.

"What makes you think you can treat him like this?!"

The room was deathly quiet as he set the two sinners behind him. Their little group standing close by. It seemed that no one had recognize him yet. Good. That just means there's no ass kissing. Nothing but true intentions.

"Oh? Now, who is this feisty beauty?"

Gross. "You don't know who I am?"

"Val. No, don't. J-Just walk away. Don't-"

Pink smoke curled around them before turning in chains and a shackle around Angel's wrist. The moth, Val, yanking him forward and to the ground. "Angel~ Shut that pretty mouth of yours. I'm busy. Now then, where were we? Oh, yes. Your name."

Lucifer didn't even try to hide his growling this time. Summoning his cane, he used the apple topper to smack the horrid man in the face and send him to the ground. Walking up to him, the omega stomped on his chest before digging his heel in. With a wave of his hand, he was back in his normal attire. Placing his hat back on his head, he let his full demon form out, the fear in the room both suffocating and energizing. 

Leaning down close to the sinner's face, he let his smile turn sharp and deadly. "Me? I'm Lucifer fucking Morningstar. Your king. And as King of Hell, there's a neat trick I'm able to do. Watch closely now."

Grabbing a hold of the pink chain, Lucifer poured some of his power into it. The chain slowly turned gold before breaking and turning into a soft leash and landing in his hand. The shocked looks on everyone's face had his smile widening. As did the shocked look on Val's face that morphed into one of pure rage. "How dare you-"

Cutting him off with a slam of his heel to the moth demon's face, effectively breaking both his sunglasses and nose, Lucifer walked over to his group. "I'm the King of Hell. All souls belong to me, and I can do whatever I please with them. So, stay down unless you wanna be nothing more than a stain on the floor, bitch." Flipping him off over his shoulder, Lucifer walked further into the club with the others to get away from ugly man bleeding on the floor.

"Holy fuck, short king! That was- I can't even... Thank you."

"No thanks necessary. I'm not going to let anyone treat any of you like that. Oh, hey Niffty. What you got there?" 

The small cyclopes had climbed onto his shoulder and showed the fluff she had stolen from the other sinner with a maniacal laugh before jumping over into Alastor's awaiting arms.

~

Charlie laid huddled up in a blanket on her bed. How could she face everyone now? She had failed and now they were coming to attack the hotel. Not only that but her girlfriend of three years had hidden something huge from her! They shared everything. Thoughts swirled around her head and wouldn't stop no matter what she did. Is this what her dad felt like all the time?

Speaking of her dad... It seemed like not even he could cheer her up. So, he just sat with her until she felt better. Charlie was going to have to send everyone away from the hotel, so they didn't get hurt.

"Oh, Charlie. You look an absolute mess."

And now here was Alastor. Just materializing in when all she wanted was to be left alone. She wasn't in the mood for him to try and poke and prod at her failure right now. "Ugh! Go away Alastor."

"Now, now, is that any way to act after picking a fight with all of Heaven and dooming everyone you love?"

"Okay bastard. That was a low fucking blow."

"Ignore him dad. He's just trying to get under our skin. He thinks this is funny." Turning to the radio demon, she let her hurt and anger take over. "Now leave. I have enough on my mind without hearing your sadistic idea of a joke, asshole." Laying back in bed, she rolled over and let her dad wrap his arms and wings around her. It made her feel safe and warm. Just what she needed right now.

"Who's joking?!"

"Whoa!" Jumping at the sudden appearance of the demon next to them in bed, Charlie ended up knocking the two of them to the floor, while Alastor looked amused as all Hell watching them from the bed.

"You have a captive audience downstairs waiting to hear what kind of inspiring performance you have planned next."

"Why don't you understand that I can't? How can I face them after failing them all so hard? They came here to be saved and all I gave them was more pain. I'm a disgrace of an alpha and just as bad as the cruelest Overlord in Hell. Maybe worse! At least they don't go around giving false hope." She had to get up and move. If she stayed still too long, she'd just wallow in her negative emotions for as long as possible. She'd completely shut down.

"Well, I never expected to see such a miserable display of self-loathing from you."

"Oh, fuck you, Alastor! All you do is stand there smiling while you watch us all struggle and fail. I don't know how you can enjoy all this suffering so much..."

"Just because you see a smile, don't think you know what's going on underneath. A smile is a valuable tool, my dear."

That was true. Lucifer knew for a fact that was true. He's been hiding behind smiles his entire life. But right now, all he could do was smack the sinner's hands off his daughter and lowly growl at him from behind her. He wasn't going to step in unless absolutely necessary.

Seeming no less amused by the situation, the Overlord walked a bit away from the father daughter pair while continuing on as if nothing happened. "It inspires your friends, keeps your enemies guessing, and ensures that no matter what comes your way, you're the one in control."

"But I'm not. I'm the farthest thing from in control. The person I trusted the most has been lying to me for years. Heaven refuses to listen like dad always warned me about. Even if they did, I can't prove the hotel works. Adam has an invincible Exorcist army pointed right at my doorstep, and there's nothing I can do about any of it!"

Lucifer caught her fist before it could slam into the glass. He didn't need her to hurt herself and break things in her rage.

"I know something you don't know~"

Oh no.

"Those big, scary angels are not quit as indestructible as they seem."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just that you and your band of misfits stand more of a fighting chance than you think."

"How? I'll do anything!"

"Charlie no! I taught you better than this. I know you're desperate, but you can't go rushing into something with those words. You can't ever take them back." This bastard wasn't about to give up the information willingly. Lucifer understood that how he worked but it still pissed him off to no end.

With how Alastor's smile grew, he knew he had both of the Morningstars cornered. One of them was going to give in and make a deal with him. Lucifer was going to make sure it was him. He wasn't going to let Charlie take the fall for this.

"Anything? Then let's make a deal."

"You... you want my soul?"

"Your soul? Heavens, no! All I need is one itty bitty favor. What's a favor between friends?"

"And what's important lifesaving information between friends?"

"Oh, your majesty, you wound me. Are you offering to take up this deal instead? Since we aren't friends?"

Standing in front of her father, Charlie glared at sinner. "We won't hurt anyone for you."

"Who's asking? One favor at the time of my choosing where you hurt harm no one! In return, I tell you what I know. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal."

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[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"

[forsakenism]

THE KNIFE THAT NEVER STOPS CUTTING, a wip by @forsakenism, prev. SHATTERED ALTARS by @landfillmp3-moved

GENRE: sci-fi, thriller, murder mystery

POV: first person present tense, one pov

THEMES: grey morality, loss and reclamation of identity, parent and child dynamics, fate vs free will

TRIGGER WARNINGS: death, graphic violence, physical and psychological abuse

DESCRIPTION

HUNGRY BOYS AND GIRLS OF ALL AGES, TRY YOUR HAND AT THE WHEEL OF FATE!

Here at Arkwright Labs, we guarantee fast, efficient service- a lifetime of service, isn't that what I said- abilities like you'll never believe- a power trip you'll never come down from, but I wasn't supposed to tell you that- the means to remake the world in you image- oh, the noose with which to hang yourself when it all comes crashing down. Applications open to ages five through ten, preferably those who won't be missed. Too many complications, well, complicate matters. Don't bother filling out a waiver.

HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STARVING?

It has been so long that Nell Huỳnh hardly remembers. She thinks perhaps it began when she was a child, for that was the source of so many of her neuroses. But, no, that still feels too recent. More like she has been hungering since the womb. For certain it did not begin when her father took her and made her his beast, but you can be sure it didn't hurt.

WHAT DOES "FATHER" MEAN TO YOU?

A title, for some, and no more than that. A job description, maybe, or a cloak that rests uneasy and ill-fitting on the shoulders. In almost all occurrences it means creator. For Nell and Jacob it has always meant God.

HOW DO YOU MAKE A MONSTER?

Well, it's simple, once you have the right ingredients. You find a participant, willing or not. Many, for some won't survive the process, and every good experiment needs test subjects. You tinker around in their heads, make them yours, break them, just a bit. And when you're done with your work, maybe you'll have your own syndicate of sycophants, your own angelic army of half-starved half-dead divinity. And then, well, what can't you do?

OH, ONE LAST THING. ONCE YOU MAKE YOUR MONSTER, HOW DO YOU STOP IT FROM DEVOURING THE HAND THAT FEEDS IT?

We'll get back to you on that one.

CHARACTERS.

ELEANOR "NELL" HUỲNH. 22. bold and charismatic and ruthless, and more than a little dangerous. the only of her kinfolk to escape her father's grasp, for what she hopes is forever. but just how strong is the pull of blood?

TRISTAN CAMPBELL. 24. inquisitive and bright and perceptive, and not equipped for the darkness of nell's world. willing to do anything for the truth, or for nell. but how far is one willing to fall, when it comes to the woman they love?

JONAH EVERHART. 28. brutal and unforgiving and could've been a good man, once. an empty shell, a vicious guard dog who takes far too much pleasure in his work. but how much choice does a puppet have in the matter, really?

MARISOL MELÉNDEZ. 24. caring and bubbly and generous, and needy to the point of desperate. all too practiced in forcing aside her own feelings to care for others. but how long can she keep the hole inside herself contained?

JACOB ARKWRIGHT. 58. brilliant and devious and grasping, and prideful enough to doom his family for the sake of his ego. willing to sacrifice the world at the altar of his legacy. but how long can he rely on the monsters he's created?

CLEMENT "CLEM" ST. PIERRE. 17. daring and blunt and impulsive and too eager to die. a lifetime of living for other people has him searching for any way out, no matter the cost. but how far is he willing to go for freedom?

Taglist: (this is from my old blog when this was shattered altars so if it's been to long and you wanna be removed lmk <3

@llesbianwrites @marchdove @you-are-my-neverland