#summerweight
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[Fic] Metamorphose [3/3] - Complete!
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Thanatos/Zagreus
Word Count: 5k this chapter, 14k total
Summary: The thing about loving the son of the god of the dead is that for a man with feet of literal fire, he can be so damned hard to pin down.
—
The Styx roils.
Except—this is different than before. Not the swollen churn which comes with delivering the prince of the house home again; not the froth of shades grasping for the stern jeweled gleam of Hades’s domain. Instead it’s a simple swell, displacement of the holy water marking the very real weight of a boat’s passage.
Charon, Thanatos wonders, all the way up to the moment Hades rises from his throne in full and dangerous glory, his face black as Nyx’s sky. The god of the dead sweeps towards the eastern palace doors, shades cringing away from his open wrath, and then—
A great power surges around them. It’s hot and bright and green as grass, a summerweight shout that stamps its name into every crevice of the palace. It weaves through iron and gem and gold, gentle and inexorable as vines rootling through mortar to crush it over many years.
The queen has returned.
—
Links: FF.net, AO3
#hades#thanatos#zagreus#thanzag#quark writes#it only took 14 months and me getting poison ivy or something on my shoulder#it itches so bad i want to claw off my skin#so naturally i turn to zagreus in these trying times
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Todolf Cultverse "Wanting"
This one is a bit raunchy but not smutty by any means. There will be a sequel where Rudolf ... solves his problem.
Under the cut for Cultverse and the raunchyness.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Rudolf tries to concentrate on his breathing. It’s even. Smooth. But still, his mind is restless and sleep seems as far off as it had been at dawn. Or perhaps even farther.
Aemilia is away, somewhere deep in the woods. Hunting. He’d seen her off at sunset, watching her slim black form slink into the shadows and disappear in a way that seemed almost unnatural.
The servants were all gone for the night. The ground here was holy and it would be improper for them to sleep within what was technically a temple, even if it didn’t usually feel like one. It certainly didn’t look like one unless Rudolf descended the staircase to the altar room beneath the hunting lodge. How much of Mayerling was a construct of his grandfather? How much was the original temple?
He tosses and turns again. It’s not really cold. Certainly a little cool - they are moving into Autumn properly even if the first freeze is still likely a month away. But not cold. Rudolf was still in the loose black silk sleeping garb that was most assuredly summerweight.
In. Out. The breathing exercises seem even more useless now.
Rudolf interlaces his fingers and lets his eyes flutter shut. Words don’t really come to him in the manner of proper prayers, but his thoughts drift toward his god. He wants to be reverent. But his skill at wordsmithing still leaves much to be desired.
Grant me sleep.
His plea is silent, and Tod likely isn’t paying any attention to such a minor little prayer, even one made by Rudolf. His thoughts shift to the night Tod had come to him. To the musical voice in his ear, the undeniable physicality of the great panther, and the strength of the god’s thigh when Tod had taken a more human form.
Rudolf shivers. Tod hadn’t let Rudolf look upon him, not yet. Rudolf wasn’t worthy of that. But from his touches Rudolf could only imagine the god as beautiful.
The room feels suddenly warm and Rudolf shifts, throwing some of the sheets down from his chest to his waist. He feels so restless now, even more so than he had. Perhaps this is some form of sign, and he should go to the kneeler to say some proper prayers.
But Rudolf resists. The bed is comfortable, and as of yet he is not entirely used to spending long hours at the kneeler. Surely Tod won’t begrudge him a few prayers said in bed. Or thought in bed. It wasn’t as if there was a real difference between the bed and the kneeler. It was the altar in the room beneath Mayerling that was the most sacred place.
Rudolf’s thoughts drift to Tod’s physical form again. The tenderness of his fingers as they covered Rudolf’s eyes. The living warmth that seemed such a contradiction for one whose domain was Death. Well, Death and a thousand other things besides. Tod’s dominion was vast.
His loins are stirring, and his cock twitches with interest that Rudolf wants so badly to ignore. He’s trying to pray, after a fashion. It’s inappropriate, and frankly unseemly for a prophet to have such base desires at all, let alone to have them while thinking of a god.
But he can’t stop it. As much as he restrains himself, balling his fists and keeping them up by his head, his back arches seemingly of its own accord and his cock only hardens more as he thinks of the strength in Tod’s physical form. The smoothness of his hands. The easy, proprietary nature of his touch. How Rudolf had belonged to him and it hadn’t even been a question. Rudolf was Tod’s, whether he liked it or not.
“Master.” He breathes the word in some sort of prayer. A pleading for forgiveness, perhaps. This was sacrilege. But one of Rudolf’s hands begins to drift down from where he’d tried so hard to keep it, tracing down his chest.
The images come unbidden now. Tod’s form would be handsome, or more likely even beautiful. Faces flash through Rudolf’s mind as he tries to imagine which one must be Tod’s. Would the god have dark hair or a halo of golden locks? Different artists tended to depict the god in different ways. Did the god himself choose? That seemed likely. What, then, would he choose for Rudolf? Did Rudolf play any part in it? Was whatever Tod’s current appearance happened to be down to merely his own whim?
He’s just about resolved himself to finally allow his hand to grasp his own member - hard and throbbing with desire as it now is - when the invisible force seizes his hand and slams it back in its original place by his head, opposite his other hand.
“Master.” A plea for mercy now.
“Rudolf.” Tod’s voice seems disembodied, echoing from all around. Rudolf half wonders if the voice is only in his mind. Not that it really matters. He’s all alone at Mayerling. The servants are at the outlying lodge, well over a kilometer away.
“Master.” Rudolf tries to convey all his desire, all his sincerity. Tod knows his thoughts, how devoted he wants to be.
“Fret not, sweet prophet.” The bonds - invisible though they may be - are firm and unyielding at Rudolf’s wrists and ankles, binding him to the bed. “You desire me. That is hardly sinful.”
Rudolf whimpers as the ghost of a touch dances over his chest.
“Even like this, you think of none but me. You offer me your entire being. It’s a rather pure form of worship, really. But a simple bed, albeit one in my temple, leaves something to be desired. Especially for a prophet.”
Rudolf finds himself nodding along. Yes, this isn’t the proper setting. Perhaps that is why he’s so restless. He can tell something isn’t quite right.
“And you are still such a young prophet. A maiden prophet. Yet to consecrate an altar.”
Rudolf finds his back arching ever so slightly. It sounds different when Tod puts it like that. He’s been Tod’s prophet for years, technically, but the god had only appeared to him two months ago. He’s yet young, even by the standards of short-lived prophets of death.
“Master. I understand.” Rudolf isn’t quite sure he does, but Tod must believe him more than he believes himself, because the voice, the presence, the invisible binds - all are gone in an instant, leaving Rudolf panting alone in his bed. Alone and incredibly awake despite the late hour.
He rolls out of bed and drags himself over to the kneeler, retrieving a prayer book as he goes. But his treacherous thoughts remain with the beauty of Tod’s form. The grace of his master. The power of his master.
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GOT: Todd Snyder Summerweight Shirt IN Green Butcher Stripe
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: J.CREW NWT Gray Crewneck Pullover Sweater L.
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Finally bit the bullet and ordered a pattern so I can try sewing this wool/hemp blend up into trousers and a vest. Thanks to several iterations of Kuroshitsuji cosplay I Fukken' Hate!!!! sewing suits but not as much as I hate having a closet full of unused tanmono.
This is a kimono bolt but it's in the old-fashioned narrow width so it's not wide enough for my armspan--the standard bolt has been getting wider as the average person gets taller.
I'm basically always too hot no matter what time of year it is, so summerweight formalwear would be Great. Also it was ¥50 at the recycle shop so if I fuck up, no terrible loss.
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Shady Brady Straw packable Cowboy hat.
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: J. Crew Blue Sutton Chino Pants 36x34.
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: SOMA Womens' Black Summerweight Slimming Crop Pants Size Medium Stretch.
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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Madewell 10" High-Rise Skinny Crop Jeans in Welling Wash.
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Uniform Pants by Propper
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Ever wondered why you gain that extra weight after this exhausting and dehydrating season? . . Check out the new blog on summer weight. Click on the link in bio . . #bodyunbound #balance #diet #nutrition #healthandwellness #summer #summerweight #highfathighcalorie https://www.instagram.com/p/BweGZ_9FIlK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1ozkip0ro2air
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