⠀⠀ 𝙎𝘼𝙈𝙐𝙀𝙇 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 ! * OF VARIOUS STORMS &. SAINTS, his former glory remains lost forever, but eventually, he shall reclaim the droplets of his reaped magnificence. carved by lazarus. ⠀⠀

╱╱ ; I have not forgotten anyone! I will get to replies either tonight or tomorrow. I got busy, ——— so apologies.

╱╱ ; What if I make a comeback. 🧎🏻‍♀️

〝 I —— need a drink. 〞 Appearance is rough to the edges, skin ——— despite it being spring, is pale and not his regular olive—hue. He’s back from the dead.

╱╱ ; I’m back and the urge to make a Jon Snow, Rhaenyra Targaryen or both is strong … Someone tell me what to do 🧎🏻‍♀️

A blade, ——— twiddles between ashen—digits ; dancing like a flame within the grasp of his palm. Mere—seconds pass and he’s bored, a flick of his wrist and the blade is lodged in the wooden—surface of a table. Forgive him, he’s bored.

Warmth, ——— a familiarity he has not felt in ages ; and as ice doomed to fire, the youngest—Winchester melts into the woman’s touch. Eyelids closed, he thrives to her presence with delight. He’s missed her, deeply!

Nimble—digits mold themselves around a paper—cup illustrated with winter season symbols and pigments, ——— two drinks captive between his large palms ; a gingerbread latte. 〝 I —— uh, bought you a treat. 〞 Please, ——— accept this hot beverage.

Oh great Halloween day, ——— he’s back in business. Ignore the bags of candy he’s attempting to stash for later. It’s his weakness.

It’s me, dear girl—boss!

⠀⠀ ━──┈ ⠀

Ding dong, ——— The Winchester is back.

I’m buying us cowboy hats as we speak.

This couldn’t be more real.

Jaw clenches, ——— cranium merely tilts, and his large—palm clasps around her dainty—wrist, guiding her hand away from his locks. 〝 Sorry, sweetheart. This heart isn’t for the taking. 〞His syllables, they’re laced with venom ——— cold and stern.