#Living Legends: Fallen Sky

[diejager]

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Previous

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse. 

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs. 

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse. 

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped -  different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved. 

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well. 

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay. 

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades. 

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms? 

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times. 

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater. 

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed. 

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage. 

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh. 

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him. 

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home? 

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father. 

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake. 

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had. 

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat. 

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in. 

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word. 

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt. 

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it. 

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container. 

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed. 

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge. 

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial. 

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes. 

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes. 

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart. 

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you. 

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway. 

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped? 

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier. 

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you. 

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something. 

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you. 

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him. 

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence. 

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him. 

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving. 

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten. 

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon. 

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking. 

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it. 

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man. 

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him. 

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency. 

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there. 

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more. 

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply. 

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything. 

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves. 

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were. 

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic -  he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place. 

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him. 

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive. 

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern. 

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights. 

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you. 

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly. 

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else. 

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making. 

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.” 

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance. 

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed. 

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love. 

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness. 

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

[heartfullofleeches]

Offer me your flesh... Not like that

Yan Cultist + Forest Entity/Deity Reader [+18 mdni]

Warnings/Tags: Breeding, monster fucking but you are the monster, tentacle peen, slight size difference/kink, brief mentions of gore/blood but not related to the fucking dw

The watcher of the woods.

A creature known by many names for none of which it cared but remained its mantle to claim. Skin akin to aged bark; horns rooted from the base of its skull like the curving arches of branching trees - the beast towered over all sort of man and earned its title for its eyes. Rare were nights starless, but upon an eve without a single dot in the sky it was common to find them hiding out in the trees. As ancient stories foretold - it's said that on those days the guardian of the forest used all its strength even the light of the stars to lead lost souls home. Imposing as it may be, the creature was a peaceful giant, protecting its land and those who treated it in kind, but as legends of old often became lost in translation - it too fell to the hapless adulteration of time and unwavering, blind devotion.

The worship of humans was a peculiar mistress. Old as the soil itself, the watcher predated the existence of mortals in the region and civilization as a whole. When the founders of the town at the base of the hills culled its land to build the foundation their homes - the watcher taught them cultivate the furtile ground and keep peace. It consindered all who entered its lands as members of its flock - no matter how strange they may be.

For the majority, the humans adored their new guardian. The teachings of gods known before where easily tossed aside in favor of a new master. Caring as it may be- the watcher's fair intentions were mistrude as otherwise when it was found to take the bodies of those lost forever to the forest back to the mountains where it lived. It had seen the way humans stored their dead and wanted to honor their cultures as best it could. Its followers mistook its deeds as a call for sacrifice from the crop it had harvested - and who were they to deny their God.

Those who oppose and those who worked their entire lives towards the ultimate goal of being sacrifice to their God were the first to face death. Blood drained; bodies butchered and displayed on the forest floor like fine feasts. Their God was not pleased with their actions and was repulsed by the smell of human blood; diet consisting purely of what its land birthed and the occasional scraps left behind by the natural hunters of the woods.

The humans would sacrifice those worthy at mass and considered new loses to be god's will. It was seen as sacrilegious to return after a night lost in the woods. The watcher lost favor in their humans through these massacres- and the heart wrenching sobs of a lost hiker it had savecthroughly mislead in their worship and bestowed their false knowledge on new generations - but there was one thing they had gotten correct with their research and discoveries involving their lord.

A shift in behavior - marking the change between seasons summer and fall. The watcher's hardened shell withered and softened into thicker, mossy flesh; antlers curling twice as thick and pained whines the kind to send anguish into the hearts of all beings if not for the pleading moans and scents it gave off. The guardian longed for mate - just like every creature in its forest.

In true alignment with their predecessors, the new age failed to realize the correct way to approach their God in such a sensitive state accordingly. Bathing in the blood of the fallen and wandering naked through the wounds - it repulsed the creature so it fled into premature hibernation to rid itself of the aches and frustration. Doomed for entity - the only of its kind; the watcher suffered countless falls with release. It no longer desired the company of man yet yearned for embrace. Alone, wretched, miserable - the watcher imagined its remaining years trapped in endless parallel and pain... and yet as with the seasons-

All things change.

It happened as the trees were stripped of their bearings and nights grew fringed. A musk within range of the watcher's natural intensity wafted over the forest. The fresh dew of spring and the warmth of summer - two elements that brought the creature comfort in harrowing times. Following the scent, the lewd slick of flesh and muffled moans overlap - flooding the lesser god's loins with familiar ache and need.

The watcher tread out into the clearing to find a human perched beneath one of its trees - fingers at work between their legs and shirt tucked between their teeth. A circle of candles and incense surrounded them; a bed of leaves and spare blankets cushioning their body from the hard floor. The tee helped between their teeth was the same color as the moss encasing the local deity's body and the emblem of its horns. A ranger - one that bares resemblance to a face once riddled with fear; now barring the opposite emotion. Lowering the match the mortal's height, the watcher did as it does best - studying the human's acts of self pleasure with intent. Startled by a pitched whine, it's antlers knock against the trees as it lurches.

"You're finally here, huh? Kept me waiting."

The watcher reals as the ranger spreads their legs, fingers plunged deep as they wiggle their hips at the air.

"Don't be shy... We have a special connection you and I.... I'm talking to you."

With a soft chitter - you exit the trees. Stalking forward on all fours, you sniff at the human's arousal as your snout draws against their skin. Black tongue wagging, it sweeps their tender flesh pleased to find no traces of acidic blood and a hint of ripe fruits instead. Enthralled with their taste and scent, the fright as they bring a hand up to your face is enough to cause second retreat. They coo, swallowing the stimulation of being in their lord's presence, and reach out - free hand carding through their hair.

"Hey - hey, don't panic- You remember me, don't you? I was that hiker you saved a few summers back. I always thought the legends were bullshit, but I was still afraid of the unknown. It turned out to be beautiful - my soul mate. See this? I got it when I fell in the river and hit my head on the rocks."

A dated scar bleeds through their hairline. You snort, breath fanning their neck as you cage them to the trees with your larger body, awaiting their next move. Faith unwavering - their hands skim and carcass your torso, glinding through the mossy fur down to the build up of your tension. Teasing the sheath with their nimble digits, you shutter - legs parting as a tendril the color of the night sky and thick as the ranger's thigh unfurls from the slit. Quick to work, the human slides under you - both hands at the base of your appendage. You whine as their lips haul your girth in a trail of kisses - length traveling the side of their face as they reach your thigh.

"You must be in so much pain. So many years with everyone in town going about things the wrong way. It's crazy to think I'm the only one to have figured things out - but it just further proves we're meant to be. Don't worry - I'll take all of your loneliness and pain away."

You don't bother to piece together what their saying. The exhales between each word heightened your sensitive to their mouth riding up to the tip of your growth - lips wrestled slack by the weight pressed to them. You cushion their head and neck with one hand as you thrust, seeking the heat of their mouth. The tendril, slick as it may be - only hits quarter way before the human chokes; the convulsions of their throat drawing a pleased hum from your throat which drones into a concerned murr at the tears lacing their flashes. You pull free - bending down to lap at their face. The ranger's heart swells seeing the light of their god's eyes shine for them solely.

"Don't worry about me - I've prepped for this day since you sent me home. My body is a vessel for your desire - and our future seedlings."

Lost in translation - you get the general picture as they on their back, body displayed for your taking. Devotion engraved into their very being and supple flesh free of damage - this is all you've ever lusted for. The mortal body at your beck and call, captured in its purest beauty. You press forward - crying out in pure frustration and agony as your tendril glossing over its intended target. Rutting and huffing through desperate attempts - your follower guides through your eagerness and their own dire need, and angles themself properly beneath you - wind knocked from their lungs as you sink in at last.

Pushed to edge by every muscle contracting around you, and the sweet relief of finally, finally- obtaining an outlet for your insufferable heats - you howl in frenzied glee. Wasting no time, you start off at a brute pace - jowls snapping in rhythm to each slap of skin. Your follower mewls along with you, hands based on your torso - praying the entirety of the town below can hear your unity. Their stomach bulges with the outline of your tendril and they clench around you conjuring the swell of your young.

"Yes! Ah! My love - breed me! I've waited for this for so long. Take me as you. Give me your love, your young - anything, please!"

Their worship is cut short by the infiltration of your tongue down their throat. Choking as they did on your cock - their eyes dart back as you pin their knees to chest, steady on yours as you plow them into the makeshift bedding. The slick plap of their wetness dragging you back in and the suction of it drives you deeper with every grind. The lack of oxygen from your tongue altering the flood of air makes their muscles tighten further - ripping the first orgasm of the eve out of you as your talons pucker their flesh. Stilling momentarily - thoughts overload with the realization of your true purpose in this realm. Breeding every hole offered to you.

The smell of blood premonating your scents does little to waver the force and intensity of your release - years, decades of build up breaching as you slam against them - pursuing that increasing, staggering high. Your cum floods their hole - leaking around your cock and down their thighs. Rubbing your cheek against their head, you lazily fuck nearly every drop back into them as they twitch and spasm around you. The blessing of being the first real sacrifice to their God was tear inducing.

Your tongue pulls from their mouth, licking salty tears and saliva as apology for nearly asphyxiating them. Your follower gasps and pants, lips formed in conversation but missing the voice to speak. You slip out of them, fluids gushing from their stuffed hole. The sight causes another stir in your nether reigion. Picking them up like an oversized doll, you lean back against the tree as you lower them into your lap - this time being the one to guide your tendril into their greedy hole. Head rolling back, a hand shoots out to grab your horns as you rock upwards into them. Pleasure rocks your very core as they hold onto your sensitive mounts, hands climbing with each bounce. Your cock throbs as they eventually catch on and pour the remainder of their strength into rubbing every curve and bump of your antlers.

Mouth agap - the skin of their shoulder catches in your teeth. Having lost all restraint and repulsion in the stench you bite down, marking as they likely desired. An assumption proven seconds later as a scream tears out of them, body stuttering as they cum around your appendage. Your hand pads their stomach, adding surface for you to better fuck your squirming length into them. You take both of their wrists into your hands - slamming them back on your cock as you finish at the end of their peak - overestimating their shot senses as your length spasms against their fleshy walls. More of your spend leaks from them as you pull out which they shove back as you slump against the ground still cradling them in your arms. The ranger attacks your jaw and chest in kisses, warming your tendril with their thighs and rubbing their own sex against it. Your eyelids fall heavy, twinkling lights dimming. The ranger nestles into your chest - fatigue on the horizon but job far from complete.

"We'll be amazing parents someday. I'm so happy you chose me. Rest now - I'll take care of everything else from here on. Sweet dreams, Dear~"

A new scent - the smell of pine needdles in the winter. Winter - the season when you fell into a deep sleep."

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 5

-> Part 1

-> Part 4

-> Part 6

Crepus Ragnvindr had been ready to die.

Ursa the Drake was a living legend amongst people of Mondstadt, a terror beyond comprehension that left destruction and death in its' wake for a millenia, with no equal to threaten it.

Utterly uncontested and utterly beyond control.

The only way to survive Ursa the Drake was to never cross path with it at all, he knew that, but it did nothing to quell his resolve.

Crepus had already been reaching for his Delusion, ready to lay down his life to protect the caravan, to protect his son with everything he had despite how hopelessly outmatched he was, despite swearing to himself to never use the Delusion at all--

His sons were worth so much more than any personal values he swore to uphold.

But he hesitated.

He didn't know why he hesitated. Ursa was right there, playing around with his son like he wasn't one of the strongest Knights of Favonius Mondstadt had, like he wasn't one of the strongest people he knew, like he wasn't trying his best to protect everyone, despite being so terribly young and undeserving of such a heavy burden that should have been his instead. The drake could have chosen any moment to get serious, to stop playing with its' food, to kill his son without even so much as trying, so why was he hesitating?

Something deep inside told him to wait.

He didn't know if it was mere instinct, if it was a higher power staying his hand or something else entirely -- but he hesitated just long enough to hear a roar from the distance.

He had to dig his feet into the ground and brace himself so the sudden storm wouldn't sweep him off his feet as it did Diluc.

His eyes watered as he tried to keep them open.

Ursa screeches a horrible sound that has his ears ringing as a dragon the color of the sky itself landed roughly on the drake -- pinning it to the ground even while it trashed and tried to throw the dragon off.

Faintly, he remembered the tales his Opa shared over a candle when they both couldn't sleep. Stories of a brilliant azure dragon blessed by Anemo itself, a dear friend of Lord Barbatos that has supposedly fallen when valiantly defending Mondstadt from a danger many centuries past.

And then a person he hadn't noticed beforehand at all slipped down from the dragon's (one of the Four Winds, he couldn't help but think hysterically, high on adrenaline and hope both) back, looking as casual as casual one could be despite the grand entrance and the dangerous drake still wiggling around underneath the dragon.

Off-handedly, he noted that they looked like they rolled out of bed and didn't bother changing. It was such a contrast against the majesty of the dragon it brought a little clarity to his mind and finally let him think a little.

He didn't reach for the Delusion again.

The conversation between the two flew over his head almost entirely as he worked on centering himself. He caught bits and pieces, of course, something about stalling and about being able to put Ursa down permamently (which he noted to himself so he could ask later, far too shaken to really focus on it now, but knowing it was too important to Mondstadt, to himself, to the safety of his sons to simply forget).

He only really got back to himself when he was mid-handshake with the mystery dragon raider, a wave of calm washing over him and the fog he hadn't even realized was muddling his senses lifting from his mind. The weird feeling of hesitation that stopped him from using the Delusion seemed to almost purr at him in satisfaction like a smug cat, before it slipped away like the wind.

He couldn't help but grin brightly at the newly introduced (Name), feeling an invisible weight lift off his shoulders.

The Knights of Favonius came with Kaeya at their helm soon after, most likely having assembled in a hurry after getting Diluc's hawk and hurrying all the way here as much as the horses and the armor allowed.

Kaeya was frazzled, worried and looking like he'd collapse from relief when he saw everyone was fine.

Kaeya was fine.

Healthy.

Uninjured.

Logically, he knew he would be fine. He knew Kaeya was far from the danger and that he was surrounded by other talented, strong Knights, but the physical reminder as he hugged both his sons tightly was appreciated.

Crepus Ragnvindr had been ready to die, but he was glad it hadn't come to that.

He had a feeling that had it not been for (Name), things would not have ended so favorably though.

A feeling of warm, soft gratitude swelled up in his heart and he couldn't help but invite them for dinner to show his thanks, at least partly. A bit of food hardly made a dent in the debt he owed them, but it was a start.

He'd think how to possibly thank the Dragon of the East at a later date.

Perhaps Elzer or Adeline would have some ideas?

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

Some Crepus POV as a lil treat for everyone, to show that this truly isn't a cult fic. There is no obsession, no immediate recognition, just a bunch of really nice feelings when you're around All-Mother.

Though Crepus was a bit busy freaking out about Ursa and his sons and the assumed KIA Dvalin popping back into existence only to skeedadle immediatelly after (honestly, we should all aspire to be like Dvalin, what a damn diva), so those nice feelings didn't exactly get a front row performance XD

Guess who's gonna be really suspectible to All-Mother's presence? There are multiple answers, one of them we've already met!

Well, we met two, but one was more prevalent. Semantics, semantics~ *waving hand dismissively*

I'm getting a lot of comments and repost tags and I love each and every single one, I promise I read everything even if I don't respond to it ❤✨

✨Taglist✨

@game-savvy @chaoticfivesworld @mmeatt @avalordream @ymechi @andromeda-gay @naynayaa @undecidingfate @thedevioussmirk @tumb3ld0wn

Yell at me if I missed you!

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Annular Eclipse ଓ♱˚⋆

A long time ago, I binge-watched The Ancient Magus’ Bride and that decision came back to haunt me in my Church AU…… *evil laugh*

As always, thank you to @diodellet for beta-reading this piece!! And to my dear mutuals, I hope you all suffer enjoy the sinful story of Cartaphilus! Pierro x Angel! Darling ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭

Tw:: yandere, blood, violence, death, suicidal ideation, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 5.7k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns, with a unique fate reserved for the one who goes by the name of Pierro.

♡ After the Cataclysm, Pierro led a group of survivors to Snezhnaya where they established a new home. For three centuries, it was a peaceful haven hidden from the divine gaze of God and the Church…until it was exposed by a traitor and destroyed with manmade flames. In the ensuing chaos, Pierro was the sole “survivor” in the sense that he managed to escape. The rest were critically wounded, buried alive, and left to suffer for all eternity.

♡ Having lost his second home, Pierro began a search for other Khaenri’ahns, only to be further disillusioned. Many communities had also fallen to ruin, if not from persecution but by their own madness. Others, blinded by dreams of death, had resorted to violence and witchcraft in their fruitless attempts to break the curse. And several individuals had embarked on quests for the Tree of Life, only to disappear far away from their homeland. In two more centuries, Khaenri’ah was reduced to a forgotten myth, and Pierro had lost all hope for his people.

♡ So when he gets into an accident, he sees no point in saving himself. If he were younger, he’d be horrified at the thought of falling off a cliff. At best, he’d end up with more scars albeit another permanent reminder of his tragic fate. As for the worst-case scenario, he’d become paralyzed, trapped below the cliff, doomed to eternity as a living corpse. But now, hanging off the edge by his fingertips, he considers the possibility that his head takes the brunt of the impact. A coma would be the closest thing to a reprieve from his waking hell.

♡ Just as his grip weakens, a hand reaches out and catches his wrist. The action is so sudden, so forceful, that Pierro has no time to think before he is pulled up and his back hits the grass. Above him, eclipsing his view of the sun, is the face of a stranger. A tearful expression. A kind gaze that seems to pierce through his soul.

“Are you hurt? Why didn’t you call for help?! You poor thing, I’m sorry for only seeing you now.”

“I am…” He averts your gaze and instead focuses on the sky. It is the color of twilight—a harmony of blues, oranges, and reds that pale in comparison to the crimson skies of his nightmares. “...fine. Thank you for your kindness.”

♡ Once the shock wears off, Pierro takes a careful look at his savior. You have the appearance of a typical human, roughly the same age as he was when his body stopped aging. Definitely not a Khaenri’ahn, given your lack of cursed marks and star-shaped pupils. Neither are there any religious symbols on your clothing, which is a relief. As for your tears shed on his behalf…he’ll chalk it up to pity.

♡ At your insistence, you treat him to a meal at the nearest inn. When Pierro introduces himself as an ordinary traveler, you make a similar claim and suggest journeying together. It is a tempting offer—the both of you are alone with no destination in mind, and you seem harmless. So against his better judgment, Pierro accepts your proposal.

♡ Over time, he warms up to his new companion. You are kind, competent, a bright presence in his life. Traveling with you is like seeing the world with new eyes—you lead him to bustling cities, picturesque forests, places teeming with life. The only downside is your visits to the Church for prayers and chats with the local priests, but you at least seem to be an open-minded believer. You always tell Pierro that he doesn’t need to follow along but he does so anyway, if only to evade suspicion and admire the religious art with you.

♡ Other than that, you don’t reveal much about yourself. But you aren’t one to pry into Pierro’s past so he gives you the same courtesy. At times, he finds himself looking at you fondly, feeling a spark of physical attraction, dreaming of a happy future with you. But those delusions are always dashed by the fact of your humanity, so he instead resolves to cherish what little time you have left before death claims your soul.

♡ That was his goal until he begins to notice certain…oddities. It’s common for the two of you to share a tent, a room, sometimes even a bed. Neither of you are fazed by it, especially when Pierro’s main concern is concealing his cursed marks with makeup. But a few months into your travels, he makes a quiet realization: In those nights of shared slumber, not once has he fallen asleep without feeling your gaze on him.

♡ At first, he assumes that you merely sleep later and wake up earlier than him. But every time Pierro wakes up in the middle of the night, you immediately sit up and tend to him, acting as energetic as usual. Neither do you appear lethargic after nights when it is difficult to sleep. So he puts it to the test by regularly chatting with you late into the night; you always follow along, not once sounding tired nor in want of sleep. Once, he talks to you all night long and in the morning, while Pierro is plagued with fatigue, you look perfectly awake. And only when he subtly points it out do you yawn and go back to bed.

♡ Other mysteries follow. There is the time the two of you trekked through a barren wasteland and ran out of food. It took you two days to reach civilization and while Pierro was starving, you never complained about hunger. If anything, you still managed to walk and fight off beasts at your usual energy levels. And on the rare chance that Pierro is injured, you are the one who treats his wounds…and they always heal at an unnaturally fast pace.

♡ A year into your travels, he decides to look for answers. One night, he shares a bed with you and feigns sleep. For the next few hours, he just lies there and takes note of your unnatural way of sleeping—no slowed breaths, no involuntary movements, yet the persistent feeling that he is still being watched. Shortly after midnight, he pulls out a dagger from under his pillow and aims it at you.

♡ It was only a test to see if you’d react quickly and reveal your ruse. Which is exactly what you do, eyes fluttering open and your hand catching the dagger before Pierro can stop short of stabbing your chest. The look on your face is calm, utterly devoid of fear, and you make no move to leave the bed. You just stare at him with the same piercing gaze.

“Good morning,” you tell him. “Are you going to explain the sudden wakeup call? I don’t believe this is rooted in any Khaenri’ahn practices.”

At the mention of his homeland, Pierro’s grip on the dagger tightens. “So it appears that my suspicions were not unfounded. Answer me, are you a spy of the Church?”

Your answer is a benevolent smile. A soft light shines from your body as a halo—silver, pierced with nails—appears behind your head, followed by a wispy veil. Luminous wings emerge from your back, caging Pierro in a feathery embrace.

Your hand, marked with a bloodstained scar, wraps around his wrist.

“I’m your guardian angel,” you whisper.

♡ Technically, your statement is untrue. In a calm voice, you explain that Khaenri’ahns can’t be assigned guardian angels due to their immortality. Moreover, most angels harbor contempt for his kind though you are a rare exception, having taken pity on Pierro and chosen to become his unofficial guardian. The last part triggers an offended response—are you mocking him?

♡ As for your true nature, you’re the leader of the Archangels. As an angel of the Third Sphere, you are one of the closest to humanity, a divine messenger with the additional tasks of providing blessings and guiding humans towards the path of righteousness. Only, you’re currently on a ten-year “break;” it just so happened that you noticed Pierro at the start of your sabbatical.

♡ Once he is confident that you won’t smite him in cold blood, he goes to sleep—it’s been a long night and fatigue will only dull his senses. When he wakes up, he can almost believe that last night’s events were a dream…until you loom over him in your true form, wishing him a good morning. After a long conversation, he decides to continue traveling with you. That way, he can keep a close eye on you and gain some useful knowledge.

♡ Thus resumes your journey. In addition to Pierro’s distrust, there are major changes to your dynamic. You still travel in your human guise but you switch to your true form when it’s just the two of you. Since angels don’t need food or sleep to sustain themselves, you stop eating with him unless you’re in public. At night, only one bed is needed and you simply watch over Pierro, wishing him a peaceful slumber. Your gentle gaze is always the last thing he sees each day, though it takes months before he can fall asleep comfortably.

♡ He also learns about your nightly pastimes. As it turns out, while Pierro is asleep, you like to fly around the city to help lost souls. Just small acts of kindness in your human form…and if needed, divine interventions in the Church. It explains why he often wakes up to news about corrupt priests who experienced “visions of an angel” and publicly confessed their sins.

♡ Along your journey, you also stop by the homes of the humans previously assigned to you. At the beginning of each visit, you go to the cemetery and speak to their grave. Afterwards, you bring Pierro to their favorite places and reminisce about their lives. When he asks why you can’t simply see them in Heaven, you give him a sad smile and explain that the deceased reside in a realm beyond the jurisdiction of angels. In a paradise where every soul is purged of sin, what use is there for an angel’s guidance?

♡ You mourn the lives of angels as well. It comes as a shock to Pierro, the idea that even an angel is susceptible to death. To which you explain that many of your divine siblings were killed by demons. And because afterlife does not exist for spiritual beings, both species simply cease to exist once their lives have ended. As for your former brethren, they cut all ties with you after their descent.

♡ Slowly, Pierro grows to trust you again. It helps that you were able to prove yourself a year later by saving him from your own kind. Granted, he could suspect that it was merely an act but the sight of a Principality cowering before you, their cassock staked to the floor by silver nails, is quite convincing. Not to mention your cold gaze overflowing with wrath.

“So tell me. Why exactly did you attack my dear human?”

The room is silent, save for the younger angel’s whimpers. To think that a few minutes ago, Pierro had been sleeping peacefully. Now he stands beside you, blood trickling from a cut under his scarred eye, still gripping his unused sword.

“I…” Despite being a rank above you, his attacker is clearly terrified. “But ______, that man…he is one of the accursed sinners! He—”

“Now, now.” You kneel to their level but all kindness is lost in your tone. More nails appear out of thin air, all pointing towards the angel’s body. “Look me in the eye when I am talking to you.”

♡ In the end, the angel kneels before Pierro and begs for forgiveness. He accepts their apology, but not without harsh words and a swipe of his sword against their face. After they leave, you worriedly turn to Pierro and heal his injuries. Thanks to your powers, all of his wounds close up without a trace. Still, when you take your hand off his face, what he sees in the mirror is not his healed cheek but the cursed marks exclusive to Khaenri’ahns.

*✧･ﾟ

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Despite the nature of the attack, you are the one acting emotional. A tear rolls down your cheek as you trace the cursed side of Pierro’s face.

“You need not apologize on behalf of your brethren,” he mutters. He glances at his right arm, sleeve pulled up to reveal a similar pattern of blue veins and black markings. “...or your Heavenly Father. And I believe I’ve told you countless times not to waste your tears on me.”

“Still.” Shaking your head, you look him in the eye. “How can I not cry every time I gaze into your soul? I wish I could save you, put an end to your suffering…but it’s beyond my capability.”

“So why do you still devote yourself to me, ______?”

______. It is the false name you go by in the human realm, spoken by every person who has known you as their guardian angel. As for your true name, it remains a mystery to Pierro.

Still, he’d like to believe that he is the human who knows you best. He knows that you are the First Archangel, one of the oldest beings in existence. He knows that you were opposed to the Cataclysm but powerless in stopping it. He knows that your decade of rest was caused by an accumulation of stress, an endless cycle of giving and saving and sacrificing which will only continue in a few years’ time.

And what then? At the end of your journey, will you still have time for him? Or is he truly cursed to drift aimlessly in eternal solitude?

His half-mask rests on a nearby drawer, a relic from his second home. He picks it up, thumb pressed against a painted gold tear.

“You astound me,” he continues. “You, of all people, know that salvation is forever beyond my grasp. And yet you continue to spare me absolute grace. Anyone else would have deemed me a lost cause.”

“That is because I love you.”

At that, Pierro nearly drops his mask. He turns to you, starry eyes wide with wonder. “Can you kindly repeat that?”

But the moment he sees your face, he realizes his folly.

“I love you,” you tell him, a soft look in your eyes, “as I love all humans.”

Has kindness ever sounded so cruel?

“...I understand.” He puts down his mask, pride shattered. “Such is to be expected from a being for whom the love for humanity is inherent.”

A love which he and his compatriots are no longer beholden to.

“But of course.” At that, your countenance turns reverent. Your wings fold inwards, and you place a bloodstained hand over your chest. “An angel’s purpose is to serve God and to save His creations. Beyond that, there is no other point to our existence.”

Silence. This time, Pierro doesn’t bother to hide his judgment.

“Well, that is our initial reason,” you add, noticing his expression. “After all, what’s not to love when your kind is capable of so many wonderful things? Really, you never fail to surprise us.”

“How so?”

“I’ll confess, many of us angels were once in awe of Khaenri’ah,” you admit. “Think of it: Your people found a way to create life, sorcery, powers that were once exclusive to God. Had I met you during your days as a royal mage, I surely would have been impressed.”

Hard to say. Despite his previous status, Pierro hasn’t practiced Khaenri’ahn sorcery in years. It’s likely that his powers have eroded alongside his spirit.

“Then only a century after the Cataclysm, there was the Angel-Killer who performed miracles using our flesh. As a matter of fact…I made the mistake of assigning his first victim to him.”

Your grief isn’t lost on him. The bed creaks as you take a seat next to Pierro, adjusting the chain of mourning lockets around your waist. It bears mementos of both humans and angels.

“Thirteen angels lost their lives to him, including two of my dearest siblings. Needless to say, we were all relieved when Il Dottore finally died, though I had to be given a century’s worth of rest to recover from grief. Sohreh, Pasithea, Oizys…I still think of them to this day.”

Il Dottore. He is an infamous figure in history, a priest whose sins rivaled those of Khaenri’ah. And yet even he was granted the mercy of death.

 “And there are the humans I was blessed to watch over,” you tell him, eyes shining with tears. “I remember all of their names, their smiles, every achievement they made in their short lives. And I’m sure that there will be more in the future.”

That is the final nail in the coffin.

“You are right.” With that, Pierro leaves the bed. “As such, there is no need for you to dwell on how the world is now. I have no doubt that many souls owe their salvation to you, ______, and anyone would be a fool to dismiss your efforts.”

“...Thank you. It means a lot.”

You don’t let him leave, however. A hand around his wrist is all it takes for Pierro to stop, to yield to your embrace. In the dim room, you are the only source of light, an idol of unparalleled benevolence. Divine, beautiful, yet never within his reach.

“Eight more years,” you tell him. In your eyes, his reflection has never looked more hopeful. “That is the amount of time we have left. And until then, I will never leave your side.”

*✧･ﾟ

♡ The next eight years are content. More travels. Deep conversations. Peaceful nights. Another angelic encounter, in which a subordinate merely reported to you and avoided Pierro’s gaze. At one point, you reveal to him that the Tree of Life is no longer in the human realm, eliminating any hope of breaking the curse. His devastation is softened by your comfort, and he can only imagine the reactions of his compatriots if they knew this truth.

♡ Not that he has anyone to share it with. In the Church of Fontaine, Pierro is surprised to recognize the head priest as a Khaenri’ahn. She is only a descendant and thus spared from the curse—a blessing for Arlecchino, a tragedy for her ancestor who likely mourned the generations between them. After their chat, Pierro leaves without divulging her lineage. It’s enough to know that one of his kind is leading a fulfilling life, though he finds it ironic that a Church ended up in a Khaenri’ahn’s hands.

♡ Other than her, there is the familiar face he spotted in Inazuma. Blond hair, blue eyes with star-shaped pupils, a distinctive half-mask…but before Pierro can approach Dainsleif, you grip his wrist and enable him to see the eagle-winged demon clinging to his former comrade. In a fearful whisper, you explain that she is one of Hell’s strongest demons, the slayer of countless angels. And when she turns in your direction, Pierro feels the weight of her crimson-gold glare. In the end, the two of you walk past them, preventing what could have been a bloody reunion.

♡ As your sabbatical reaches its end, Pierro finds himself making the most of your remaining time together. He smiles at you, holds your hand first, asks you more personal questions. Your travels also end in a surprise destination—a forest near Snezhnaya, concealed with divine mist. Leading the way, you explain that it was a meeting place for you and your closest siblings until they all perished, including the Virtue who created it. And when you turn to Pierro, asking if the area suits him…he accepts the gift with full gratitude.

♡ The last year is spent constructing a humble house in the heart of the forest. On the day of your departure, the two of you enjoy a final meal together. It’s bittersweet with recollections of your travels, though the mood dampens when Pierro asks about your angelic duties. With a sad smile, you tell him that you have a lot of work to do. At some point in your journey, you even laid eyes on a young human and applied for a position as their guardian angel.

♡ At midnight, Pierro goes to bed and you wish him good night for the last time. He only closes his eyes when you disappear, when he no longer feels your gaze on him, when the residual warmth of your embrace has been chilled by the night air. When he wakes up in the morning, you are nowhere to be found.

♡ In the following months, Pierro develops a new routine in the forest. Hunting, foraging, visiting the neighboring cities, admiring the aurora-colored sky, even practicing his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. He doesn’t see you again but there are hints of your visits—a luminous white feather, seeds for fauna exclusive to Mondstadt, a wound that healed overnight. Eventually, he gets used to sleeping in solitude again.

♡ One day, he decides to visit his old home. He knows it is futile to seek out his people; after two centuries, their bodies must’ve fully decayed and mixed with the soil. Still, he might as well see what the Church did with the area…and if he can take revenge on the traitor. So he packs his bags, leaves the forest, and travels to the other side of Snezhnaya.

♡ …There’s nothing left. When he reaches his destination, he finds a glorious city built over the mass grave of his people. Only the cold of eternal winter welcomes him back, but the entire city—the devout Snezhnayans, the stories of the city’s origins, the magnificent church in place of his old house—is unfamiliar. Not even the traitor remains. Perhaps they, too, were given a coffin, forever trapped below layers of ice and concrete.

♡ He gets an answer on his way back to the forest. Near the border of Snezhnaya, Pierro is ambushed by a group of heretics…and when he demands an explanation, their leader holds up a preserved eye, the pupil shaped like a four-pointed star. As their fight continues, Pierro deduces their motives—to achieve immortality using the flesh of Khaenri’ahns. It’s pure mockery to hear those fools refer to his curse as a blessing, but his warnings fall on deaf ears as he is outnumbered.

♡ Just as he is about to lose hope, a bright light shines above him. It’s you, in all of your angelic glory, commanding the heretics to let him go. Most of his attackers fall to their knees, in awe of your divine presence, but their leader interprets it as a sign that Pierro is truly the person they’re after. They swing their sword at him…only for their entire group to be impaled by your nails.

♡ It’s a bloody sight. But once your wrath has subsided, you fly down to Pierro and check his condition. You’re incoherent, healing his wounds with trembling hands, apologizing for your late arrival. He assures you that he is fine, only to be interrupted by a sudden ray of light. But this one is blindingly bright, coming from the sky, the same holy light which shone upon Khaenri’ah during the Cataclysm.

♡ It hits him just then: In harming those humans for his sake, you’d violated one of God’s orders. Yet in the midst of His divine wrath, you muster a false smile and tell Pierro to go home. Then you fly up into the sky, disappearing above the clouds along with the holy light. He does as he is told, but not without killing all of the heretics to ensure that they won’t come after him or more Khaenri’ahns. As for the traitor…he doesn’t bother to ask for their location.

♡ The forest is the same when he returns. The next few hours pass by in a blur—unpacking,  checking the animal traps, cooking dinner, and so on. The whole time, he can’t stop worrying about you. He doesn’t know if God would listen to his prayers but he tries, anyway; it’s not like he can help you in any other way.

♡ He goes to bed early, only to jolt awake when a flash of light illuminates the bedroom. When he rushes to the window, it’s just in time to see a falling star. It shoots through the sky, outshining the auroras, a beautiful sight if not for the fact that it seems to be drawing closer to him. It disappears from his range of vision, followed by a deafening sound and a severe earthquake. Then the world falls silent, returning to its tranquil state.

♡ After a few minutes, Pierro leaves his house to investigate. Seeing how the meteor bypassed the divine barrier of the forest, he doubts it was a natural phenomenon. You once told him that the Fourth Order of angels, the Dominions, are in charge of the celestial bodies—could they have been ordered to destroy his third home?

♡ Thankfully, the destruction is limited to a crater at the edge of the forest. But instead of a meteor, he finds you curled up in pain. Fragments of your halo pierce your body. Your right wing is gone; all that remains of it are clipped feathers and sawed bone. Most prominent are the curved horns jutting from your head, covered in a mix of blood and torn skin. You became a demon.

♡ Your half-conscious cries prompt him into action. Carefully, Pierro carries you to his house and treats your wounds. When he notices your hand on your stomach, he remembers what you said about demons needing food and sleep to survive. So he heats up some soup and feeds it to you; and once your hunger has subsided, he tucks you in bed. In your delirium, you can only muster a single sentence before falling asleep.

“Pierro? I’m sorry…it’s my fault, not yours.”

“Silence. We may talk tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.”

♡ That night, you sleep for the first time. Pierro watches you all night, checking your pulse every so often. When you wake up, the sun is high above the sky and Pierro has already cooked lunch. You’re more coherent now, able to feed yourself, though you wince in pain every so often. And when Pierro asks about your descent, your expression darkens.

♡ In a shaky voice, you explain that the heretics’ ambush had been a test from God. It was fated to occur at the same time as an important event in Heaven, the decennial meeting between God and the leaders from all Nine Orders. As soon as Pierro’s name was brought up, you were quick to defend him. And when you were informed of the attack, you stormed out of the meeting to save him, fully aware that it would bring about your downfall.

♡ And despite it all, you’re the one apologizing to him—for your late arrival, for the danger he was put through, for the “burden” of taking care of you. At the last part, Pierro finally finds the words to chastise you, to say that you won’t achieve anything by wasting your tears on Heaven.

“I wish you would not think so lowly of me. After all these years, do you truly believe that I would harbor anything but gratitude towards you?”

♡ That shuts you up. For the next few weeks, you meekly accept Pierro’s care—he cooks for you, dresses your wounds, lets you sleep in his bed. There is only one problem: Your body refuses to heal. Blood continues to seep from your wounds, and you’re in a perpetual state of pain. Still, he faithfully tends to you day and night. It’s the least he can do for you.

♡ One day, he leaves the house to pick fruit and comes back to find a dark silhouette in his bedroom window. He rushes inside, armed with a weapon, to find a demon. Only, they’re kneeling by the bed, holding your hands, shedding tears of joy. That is when he notices the bloodstained scars on their hands, their tattered veil, your kind words for them…they, too, are a fallen Archangel.

♡ All peace, however, is dashed when your former subordinate tells Pierro that they are bringing you “home,” in other words Hell. As for the matter of your health, they claim that while your divine punishment is unheard of, they should be able to find a cure…from Il Dottore of all people. And despite your conflicted expression, it’s clear that you are seriously considering their invitation. Only for Pierro to take that choice away from you.

“And what makes you believe that I would allow ______ to leave our home?”

♡ Prior to you, Pierro never would’ve dared to challenge a spiritual being. But now, after all he’s been through, he takes a step forward and tells the demon to leave. It doesn’t take long for their argument to turn physical. But before the demon can smite him, Pierro defends himself with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. They’re a formidable opponent, however, and the fight continues until he aims a galaxy-like aura at their heart. Quickly, you protect your former subordinate with a shield of rusty nails, only for the element to refract and hit you instead.

♡ Much to everyone’s relief, however, it has a different effect on you. Your feathers take on a black tint and a deep blue iridescence. The same thing happens to your horns. Most importantly, all of your wounds close up, leaving scars identical to Pierro’s cursed marks. And when he rushes to your side, asking if you are all right, you breathily tell him that you feel so much better.

♡ That is what convinces the demon to leave, but not without promising to return once they’ve informed the Devil. With peace restored in your home, the two of you go downstairs for lunch. You still need Pierro to support you, but it’s the first time you’ve managed to walk in your new form. And your appetite is bigger, healthier compared to your previous portions.

♡ After a few days however, the effect wears off. Your body loses its blue luster, your feathers fade to their original color, your pain returns. Once you’ve fully reverted to your original state, Pierro decides to try out his Khaenri’ahn sorcery again. This time, he holds your wrist and carefully channels his power into you…and it produces the same healing effect.

♡ For the sorcery which doomed his nation to save the life of his beloved…the irony leaves him at a loss of words, on the verge of laughing. But it does explain why you landed in Pierro’s home instead of Hell, and why God allowed the two of you to reunite. The knowledge brings a dark smile to his face. You’re at his mercy now, dependent on him for all eternity.

♡ When he faces you, he can tell that you’ve reached the same conclusion. Still, you entertain the thought of moving to Hell—surely, there must be a way for you to live without forcing Pierro to expend his energy on you. That is when he grips your hands, pulls you towards him, and tells you that you aren’t leaving him. If the two of you are truly fated to suffer, then it is only right that he returns all of the love you have given him.

♡ It’s easy to persuade you. After all you’ve experienced, you’re tired so you just nod and lean into his embrace. And in the following days, you slowly adjust to your new life. You help Pierro around the forest. A new bed is built, to fit two people. At night, the two of you engage in your usual bedtime conversations but you’re the one who falls asleep first.

♡ When your former subordinate returns, Pierro stands his ground. With you asleep, he is able to fight them outside and easily subdue them; he even had the wisdom to enhance his weapons with blood from your used bandages. And with his argument that any attempt on his life is equal to risking yours, they have no choice but to accept your situation.

♡ You’re still asleep when he returns to your shared bedroom. Careful not to wake you, he changes out of his bloody clothes and leaves his sword on the table, next to his old mask. Then he takes off his glove and traces your features with his cursed hand. And when you open your eyes, the look he gives you is one of pure hope.

“Pierro? What time is it?” you mumble.

“Far too early,” he replies. “Go back to sleep. I will join you shortly, ______.”

“...All right.” Yawning, you snuggle into the pillow and close your eyes. “Can you wake me up later? I don’t want to oversleep again.”

He smiles, caressing your cheek. “If you wish.”

It doesn’t take long for you to return to the world of dreams. Your sleeping face is truly a wonder to behold—an expression so tranquil, well-rested, vulnerable to his kiss.

“And when you awake, I want you to tell me your true name.”

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

..…Don’t ask me how Pierro ended up with the highest word count in this AU. All I can say is that it was very cathartic to make him suffer, which is a recurring theme in his fics. If y’all enjoyed his story, do let me know (๑･̑◡･̑๑)

Also, soft launch for the next couple + story!! I’m rlly excited to write for Dainsleif, and just know that he’s in for a lot of surprises <3

Tag a Pierro enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @naraven @euniveve @stickyspeckledlight @harmonysanreads @oofasleep @mistymem0ryy @lazyroseart @teabutmakeitazure

[sleepy-the-loz-enthusiast]

Lu boys headcanons !!

- Almost everybody has fallen asleep on Twilight before, either as a wolf or Hylian.

- Legend and Sky like to braid Wild's hair

- Wind, despite hating being treated like a child, rides on Time or Warriors' shoulders a lot

- Four is a mum friend

- Sky has broken at least one person's nose when they approached him from behind without warning

- Hyrule is the most likely person to end up sitting on someone

- Wild sleeptalks and has held whole conversations with people before in his sleep (Wind and Legend take advantage of this)

- Warriors had a large family, but lost them somehow and it led to him enlisting in the army

- Time often has horrific nightmares but refuses to acknowledge or talk about it with anyone but Malon

- Four is good at baking and when they stop at a town, he'll most likely find a way to bake cookies

- Wild has nightmares about losing the others (mostly Twi)

- Sky and Legend are both deathly afraid of storms and silently seek comfort in eachother

- They also both have chronic pain and rope Wild in to their cuddle pile when it gets bad (there's no way his scars and overall trauma leave him unscathed)

- Warriors went to therapy before the whole time travelling adventure thing, he's a good therapist friend for the others

- He's also afraid of losing the others and sees them as his new family

- Sky has a lower bone density than the others due to living in the sky and riding on giant birds, this also leads to him breaking bones a lot easier

- Twilight hates large amounts of fire and panics whenever it gets too hot in an enclosed space

- Claustrophobic Wild

- Legend has a magpie brain and hoards anything shiny he can get ahold of, but most of the time it's useful

I do not own Linked Universe ! These are just silly headcanons partially inspired by others

[ellethespaceunicorn]

The Howling of Claw Creek Forest, Chapter One

Chapter One: Hide and Seek 

Rating: Mature, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: Werewolf!Walter Marshall x Reader 

Word Count: 2.7K 

Series Summary: You live in a small town called Claw Creek, surrounded by a deep, dark forest. Since you were a kid, an urban legend of the creature in the woods has been told. If the distant howls at night and mutilated livestock are anything to go by, you fear the stories to be true. 

Chapter Summary: After a curfew is set in place, you and your best friend sneak out past the town border for a drunken game of hide and seek. What could go wrong? 

Warnings: drinking, peril, mention of blood 

A/N: A special thank you to @peyton-warren for being my lovely beta and soundboard for this.  

Dividers by me 

Support/Reblog banner by me 

Cover Art by me 

Series Masterlist 

My Masterlist 

“C’mon, girl. You need to get out of the house for more than just work and the coffee shop. Look, we’ll even stay in town. Just please don’t make me stay in and watch The Great British Bake Off again. Paul Hollywood’s eyes still haunt my dreams.” Your best friend drapes herself against the couch in a dramatic show of boredom. 

“Liv, you’re the one that agreed to wine and TV. So, what? You wanna hit the bar now?” You guess, sitting on the arm of the couch. 

“Yuck. No way. I was thinking of something much more exciting. But you gotta agree to it before we go. That’s the deal.” She props her head up on her fists, while she lays on her stomach, letting her feet swing in the air back and forth. As innocent as she looks, you knew better. 

But then again, you could always go for a little adventure.  

And that is how you ended up in a clearing in Claw Creek Forest with Olivia, a heart full of optimism, and a six-pack of Jack Daniels Watermelon Punch. By the time you are halfway done with your second bottle, the sounds of the night are almost calming. Crickets are chirping, owls are hooting, and leaves are rustling in the light wind that tickles your neck. 

You’re downing the rest of your drink and looking up into the sky when Liv suddenly stands up with a look that can only mean one thing. She’s got a terrible idea that she thinks is genius. 

You decide to stop her before she even starts, “Girl, whatever idea just popped into your head after two wine coolers is not gonna be as brilliant as you think it is. Just say it so I can turn it down.” You twist off the top of your third bottle and look up at the defeated face of your best friend. 

“Damn, way to try and spoil all the fun. I just wanted to have a chugging contest.” She sits down on the fallen log next to you and grabs the last bottle from the cardboard pack. She twists off the top and you nudge her with your elbow before winking at her. 

You smile at each other before bringing your bottles to your lips. The rush of the bubbly drinks makes you both stop every few sips to breathe and burp a little. But in the end, you finish your bottle first and shoot up off the log to slam down your empty bottle. 

The moment you are upright, the blood rushes to your head and you instantly feel ten times more drunk. A few seconds later, you feel like you even out and you can hear Liv’s laughing as she falls backward off the log and her drink goes flying. You crumple to the ground, laughing your ass off, until she pops up over the log with a small scowl on her face. 

“Oh, you think that’s funny, huh?” She stands up and brushes off her pants before picking up her now empty bottle along with yours. Her little attitude is adorable, but you don’t dare say that. As she walks past you, she doesn’t look at you. 

“Olivia, don’t be like that. Come on, girl. We’re having a good time! I don’t want it to end. Please?” You’re not too proud to beg, and she’s not the only one who can pout charmingly. 

When she turns around, the first thing she does is look at your pout and scoff, “OK, fine. But I’m only staying if we play a game of hide and seek. It’s spooky season, after all. Well, technically, in my head it’s always spooky season, but you get it.”  

“You wanna play hide and seek...in the woods...in the dead of night...drunk?” You hoped there was enough moonlight so that she could see the incredulous look on your face. 

Wiggling her eyebrows, Liv bites her bottom lip and says, “All of those things together are so perfect. We’re drunk. It’s nighttime. Spoo-ooky woods all around. Come on, babe, the kid versions of us would be so proud to say we weren’t too scared to play hide and seek as adults with barely any wits about us.” As soon as she finishes speaking, the cutest little hiccup escapes her, and you can’t help but laugh and shake your head. 

“Fine! But I’m hiding first. Count to 30 so my drunk ass can find a good spot around here. And don’t cheat, Liv!” You direct her to face a tree and cover her eyes so she cannot sneak a peek at where you are going. You also make her count loudly so that she can barely hear your footsteps crunching over the leaves. 

Even drunk, you are surprised you can think of all that. You back up slowly, turning around to run in a full sprint in the opposite direction. When the tree cover blocks out the light of the moon, you slow down and pull out your phone to use the flashlight to light up your way. 

You don’t know if you got very far in 30 seconds or if Liv just stopped counting, but you can’t hear her anymore. You turn off your flashlight so she can’t use that to find you. You tip-toe forward in case she has gotten closer to you. You find a tree with large roots above ground and decide to try and hide in the little alcove it is shaped into. 

But something catches your eye. At first, you think someone is shining a flashlight or something a bit away from you. But flashlights don’t usually blink, do they? But if you can remember correctly, you’ve seen those glowing yellow eyes before.  

And now they were slowly moving toward you. The glow of the moon illuminated dark fur covering pointed ears and a muzzle that only hid its teeth for a moment. As those fangs came into view, a billow of hot breath turned into a smoke cloud in the frigid night air. The sudden huff of the beast made you realize you weren’t moving. You were standing stock-still while an imposing wolf thought about making you into its dinner.  

Turning on a dime, you begin to run further into the forest. Not looking where you were going, you didn’t see the pile of rocks in your path. Your right foot slips, and you fall face-first onto the unyielding ground. You grunt as your head connects with a sharp stone. Your head starts to swim as you try to lift yourself to continue running, another huff directly behind you scares you enough to flip over onto your back.  

Ringing starts in your ears, and you suddenly feel light-headed. You start to hyperventilate as the wolf comes closer. As tunnel vision closes in, you think you hear it whine softly. The last thing you feel is a wet snout against your temple and then nothingness. 

What was once the sensation of cold wetness is replaced by warmth as you start to regain consciousness. You reach a hand up to your forehead and feel a wet cloth being pressed against your temple. When your hand touches what is holding it there, your eyes shoot open, and you try and scuttle away.  

A firm hand grips your shoulder, and you find it hard to move. Turning your head slowly, you first look at the hand that holds you down. Thick fingers clutch your joint tightly, and the connected veiny forearm is covered in a smattering of dark chocolate hair. Even under an old woolen sweater, you can see the outline of a sizable bicep. The broad chest breathing heavily under that sweater triggers the onset of hyperventilation until the hand that was holding your shoulder moves away. 

When a warm palm touches your jaw, your eyes threaten to close. But when a thumb brushes your cheek, you finally lock eyes with...an angel? 

You can’t tell if the dimly lit room you are in is fuzzy or if you have a concussion. But if you were a betting person, your money would be on head trauma. Because there was no way he positioned himself in front of a light to have a slight glow about him. Maybe that just works like that? 

Deep cocoa brown curls are about ear-length on his head, but a few unruly strands are hanging above his slightly raised brow. Concerned aquamarine eyes with a touch of brown in the left iris aren’t enough to hide the growing bags under them. A strong nose sits in the center of his face. And a small, yet inviting, mouth is outlined by a dark beard speckled with a few greys here and there. 

“...best you lie back down.” The stranger speaks and you only catch the last bit of it because you were looking at his pretty face. 

“I...,” You start, your hoarse voice causing you to clear your throat, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” 

“I said, it’s probably best you lie back down. You’ve got quite a lump on your head. If I hadn’t found you when I did, who knows what could have happened?” With one hand grabbing for the warm compress, his other hand guides you back down to lay your head on a soft pillow. 

“Found me? Was there a wolf near me? He was huge and he chased after me and then I slipped and hit my head. And where am I? Where are we right now? Who are you? I need to get back to my friend.” Your words exit your mouth hastily as if you are in a rush to get the hell out of...wherever this is. 

“Try and stay calm. Yes, I found you not far from the trail. I didn’t see a wolf anywhere, though,” He pauses quickly, but picks right back up where he left off, “Ehm, my name is Walter. Walter Marshall. We’re in my cabin, just outside of Claw Creek. I didn’t see your friend anywhere but, as soon as this swelling goes down a bit, I can take you into town.” Walter speaks clearly and smoothly, his voice is dark yet pacifying, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t enjoy talking.  

“I guess I should give you my name,” You rattle off your name, and Walter nods, “I’d like to say it’s nice to meet you, Walter. But considering the circumstances of our meeting, this could have gone a lot differently. Not the way I hoped to end the night.” You laugh, mostly to yourself. 

“I should hope not. When I found you, you were still bleeding a bit. I was able to stitch you up and get you cleaned up. But I’d probably go and see a doctor first thing in the morning.” Walter suggests in a strong tone. 

“Thank you, Walter. I hate to think what would’ve happened to me had you not shown up when you did.” Your bottom lip quivers as you think the worst. 

“Hey. You’re stronger than you think. And the swelling has gone down some. Why don’t we get you back to town where you can get more rest?” Walter pats your shoulder and gets up from the chair he was sitting in. 

Your eyes follow him as he moves about the cabin. You realize that you hadn’t looked around before, so focused on him previously. It’s a nice, cozy place. Full of warm, rich colors and various little knickknacks on shelves. It lacks a woman’s touch, so to speak, what with all the antlers and not enough candles to cover the smell of a man. However, it suits the man who lives here. 

Grabbing a set of keys, Walter comes back to where you lay on the couch in the center of the room. He gently and slowly helps you up and off the soft furniture and guides you to his truck parked outside. He helps you into the passenger side, shutting the door when you’re seated, and walks around the front to get in the driver’s side. Turning the key in the ignition, the truck rumbles to life and you are on your way home. 

You’re rubbing your hands together and shoving them into your coat pockets before Walter gets the hint to turn on the heat. It’s only a couple of minutes before it is warm enough to be comfortable.  

The drive down the tree-lined road is mostly silent, save for the low music playing on the radio. Walter points out where he found you and you almost can’t believe you made it that far on foot when you reach the edge of town. But you were drunkenly competitive, so you had your eyes on the prize. 

Once you make it to town, you pass a curfew checkpoint and Walter supplies the officer with a story about how you two lost track of time while out of town. You thank him for the cover and direct him to stop at Olivia’s house to make sure she got home safely. Of course, you told him it was your place, and that Liv was your roommate. 

As handsome as he was, serial killers come in all shapes and sizes and no way were you giving this man your actual address. You’d apologize to Liv later. 

Once he stopped outside of her house, you went to unbuckle yourself and thank Walter for all his help. Protocol for this type of situation eluded you, so when you went for the door handle, you weren’t expecting his voice to stop you. 

“Do me a favor and be careful from now on. No more late-night drinking in the forest. It can be a dangerous place." His calm smile brings out the most adorable dimples and you resist the urge to poke them. 

“I promise. Scout’s honor. No more drunk forest parties. Thank you again for everything.” You place your hand on his arm and squeeze before exiting the truck and waving as you walk up the pathway to Liv’s house. 

The light on the porch turns on and your best friend rushes out and hugs you tightly, bringing you in from the cold as Walter drives off into the night. Once you are in the warmth of her home, she takes your coat and prepares you a cup of tea. She asks who brought you home and you tell her about your ordeal. 

When she asked if he was cute, you shouldn’t have been surprised but you still giggled bashfully. She also playfully swats you when you mention that you didn’t get his number. But that’s fine because at least you have his name.  

Once she deems you safe enough to be on your own, she drives you the few streets over to your home and has you promise to call her in the morning. You take off your boots at the door, remove your coat, and start to sling it over the back of one of your dining room chairs. As you look closer at your coat, you make a note to take it to the cleaners tomorrow. 

You survey the coat for any damage to the fabric and thankfully it just looks a bit dirty. You begin to wipe it with your hand and notice that it’s not all dirt on the coat. You can’t be sure, but if you had to guess what was on the sleeve and collar of the coat, you would say it was dog hair. 

Coarse, short dark-colored hairs that when you hold them under a lamp look to be an inky brown. You try and stop yourself from jumping to conclusions, but it is almost impossible not to do that very thing. If these truly were what you thought they were, that means that you didn’t hallucinate that giant wolf. He was there with you, and he didn’t eat you. 

You decided to get to the bottom of this. You’d schedule a check-up with your doctor in the morning. And after that, you would go back into the woods.  

In search of the wolf? Possibly. In search of the truth? Definitely. 

There was only one place to start. At Walter Marshall’s front door. 

To be continued... 

A/N: Walter is finally in the story!! Yay. I really hope you all enjoyed this chapter.

**Tag List** 

@deandoesthingstome @cakesandtom @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @thabiddie23 @sweetandgentlecreature @foxyjwls007 @art2emily @titty-teetee @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @milknhonies @peyton-warren @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @cardierreh15 @viking-raider @imaslutforcuddles @ilovetaquitosmmmm @warriormirkwood @shellyshellshell @calwitch @meanlilbean @samahenoyrhye 

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁 

[sailor-aviator]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter One

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter One

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Alcohol consumption, Sassy Bob, Flirty Bradley, Supernatural elements, Siren calls. I think that's it?

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: Here is chapter one!! I hope you enjoy this story as much as I am enjoying writing it lol I'm so excited to continue this one. Just a quick reminder to you all that I will be out of town Wednesday-Saturday, so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to update as I will be attending a wedding! As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can also follow me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I will be posting updates as well!

Series Masterlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

You crossed the bridge to North Island a few hours later, the sun hanging low in the sky, but not quite to the point of setting. You marveled at the expanse of water that stretched on beneath you as you drove.

“Not sure why the founders wanted to settle way the hell out here,” Bob grumbled beside you. “We’re too small to even have a damn Walmart.”

“Walmart is overrated,” you told him, turning the radio down. “Besides, small towns are so cute!”

“Not when you’re forced to live there every day,” Bob retorted with a roll of his eyes. You rolled your eyes back at him, repositioning Rusty who still sat on your lap.

“You’re too close to it to see all the charm it has to offer.”

“I give it two weeks before you eat those words,” he smirked. You reached over to smack his shoulder lightly, and he looked over at you in mock shock. “Don’t hit the driver!”

“Well, maybe the driver shouldn’t be such a cynic,” you teased, leaning back. Bob chuckled as the car reached the other side of the bay, passing the crowded beaches. “Does North Island get a lot of tourists?”

“Only during the summertime, really,” he replied. “It’s a calm, quiet little town with white beaches and pretty views all over the island. The founders have really played into the local legends over the years, so we have a lot of souvenir shops dedicated to those.”

“What local legends?” you asked him, quirking a brow. Bob flushed, the tips of his ears turning a bright red.

“It’s dumb,” he grumbled, but you were listening intently now.

The two of you drove through the downtown area, people milling about and enjoying the end of the summer day. The dinner crowd was beginning to pick up and you could hear the music blaring from several different buildings.

“No, come on,” you grinned. “You can’t drop that little tidbit and then not tell me.”

“Alright, fine,” he sighed, glancing at you. “For as long as the town has been around, there have been stories of…things in the water.”

“What do you mean? Like a really big fish or something?”

He shifted in his seat, turning down a side road that led away from town.

“I mean,” he hummed, “things like mermaids.”

You laughed at that, and Bob grimaced. “I told you it was dumb,” he muttered.

“No, no,” you giggled. “It’s cute, really. I love mermaids!”

He rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t if you grew up surrounded by them.”

“There you go being all cynical again,” you scowled. “I would have killed to live somewhere like this with such fun local legends.”

Bob pulled down a gravel driveway and past a grouping of trees. You saw a grand, white house perched at the edge of the hill overlooking the water. A porch wrapped around both the first and second floor, and you saw a path lead down the hill towards the beach.

“I’m glad one of us is excited to be here,” he chuckled, coming to a stop on the blacktop as you stared at the large house in front of you.

“You live here?” You asked, looking over at him in shock.

Bob had the decency to look sheepish as he turned off the car. “Yeah, this is home.”

At that moment, a small, blonde woman opened the door with a wide grin. She rushed out onto the porch as a burly, spectacled man stepped out behind her. Bob opened his door, and you followed suit. Susan Floyd rushed down the steps and up towards you, wrapping you in a warm hug before turning to give her son a matching one. Richard Floyd gave you a warm smile as he clapped his son on the back.

“You two must be exhausted after that drive,” Susan cooed, ushering you into the house as the two men moved to get your luggage out of the car. You smiled warmly at her and allowed her to lead you into the house.

“I’m not too tired,” you told her as she sat you down in a stool by the island in the kitchen. It was a spacious room, opening up into the dining room. A set of glass doors led out onto the back porch, the ocean sitting front and center in the beautiful view of the beach below.

“That’s good,” she hummed, stirring the pot on the stove. “Are you hungry, sweetie? I made some of my special spaghetti. It’s Bobby’s favorite, you know.”

Bob groaned as he stepped into the kitchen with his father. “Mom, I’ve told you. It’s not Bobby, it’s Bob.”

Susan smiled at the younger man affectionately. “Yes, of course dear. Were you hungry?”

“Starved, actually,” he smiled, plopping down in the seat next to you. Susan began piling noodles and sauce onto two different plates before setting them down in front of the two of you. Bob uttered a thanks before shoveling a healthy fork full into his mouth. You giggled, watching as he ate like he hadn’t eaten in months. You took a much smaller bite than he had, humming at how good the sauce tasted. It had a hint of red wine that pulled out the flavors of the garlic and herbs.

“How’s it taste?” she smiled at you, leaning against the counter.

“Ifs delisus,” Bob said through a mouthful of noodles. She scowled at him before throwing a napkin at him.

“Don’t talk with your mouthful,” she scolded before turning to look at you expectantly. You chuckled before nodding your agreement.

“It’s delicious, Mrs. Floyd.”

“No, none of that,” she scowled. “Call me Susan.”

“Yes, Susan,” you smiled. She smiled at you before turning to clean up the rest of the kitchen. Bob inhaled his first plate of spaghetti, and Susan was quick to load his plate up with more.

“Has Bob told you any of the town’s history yet, y/n?” Richard asked you from his spot at the dining room table. Bob groaned, hiding his face in his hands as you smiled.

“He told me about the mermaid legends,” you grinned. You saw Susan pause out of the corner of your eye as Richard gave you a wry smile.

“I don’t know if I would call them mermaids,” he mused, giving a pointed look at his son who refused to meet his gaze. “But our town has a long, storied history, yes.”

“Oh?” You asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Richard hummed, leaning back in his chair. “No, mermaid is an insulting term for what these creatures are. They’re fierce hunters, preying these waters with deadly accuracy. Sometimes they even hunt on land.”

“What do you mean?” You frowned. Susan gave him a warning look, but he continued.

“They say these creatures come out of the depths to prey on humans on the land, dragging them into the depths never to be seen again.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Susan snapped at him, Richard giving her an apologetic look. “I don’t want to hear any more of that nonsense tonight. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go take out the trash?”

Richard heaved a sigh, standing to obey her. He passed you with a wink, dropping a hand to your shoulder.

“I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, y/n,” he smiled, turning to head out the door. Susan sighed, turning to look at you once she heard the door close behind him.

“I’m sorry about him,” she grumbled, shooting a glare at where her husband had just disappeared. “He loves those crazy stories. Don’t even pay him any mind, okay?”

“I don’t mind!” You assured her. “I think it’s all very interesting. The most anyone talks about where I’m from is Bigfoot.”

“As much as I would love to hear you go on your bigfoot theories tirade again,” Bob spoke up, rolling his eyes. “I thought you might want to go out tonight.”

“Bobby, I’m sure she’s tired,” his mother started, but you shook your head, turning excitedly to look at your best friend.

“No, it’s fine!” You chirped. “I think it would be fun to go out and get to see the sites. Where did you have in mind?”

“I was thinkin’ I could take you down to the Hard Deck,” he mused.

Susan rolled her eyes at him. “You want to take her to a bar of all things?”

“Why not? The gang is going to be there tonight, I already texted them to make sure. They’re anxious to meet her.”

Susan seemed to brighten at that. “Oh, you’ll love’em, y/n! They’re such a good group of kids, and I just know they’ll love you too.”

“So we have your blessing then?” Bob joked, earning another scowl.

“Yes, you kids go out and have a good time, but don’t be out too late! I think your father said something about wanting to take the boat out tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am!” He mock saluted, earning a smack to the top of his head this time. You chuckled at the two of them as Bob rubbed the back of his head. He turned to look at you with a scowl at your obvious amusement. “C’mon, I’ll show you your room.”

The night was warm despite the cool breeze blowing in through the window from the ocean, and you chalked it up to the densely populated bar you now found yourself sitting in. You had followed Bob inside, having to grab his hand in order to keep from getting separated amongst the crowd.

“Bob!”

You turned to see a group of five seated at a large table on the far wall next to the patio. The only woman in the group raised her hand to grab his attention, and Bob eagerly dragged you over to them.

“Hey, college boy,” grinned a tanned man with long, curly hair that was slicked back. “How’s it hangin’?”

“More importantly,” said the dark-skinned man across from him, looking at you, “who’s your friend?”

“Guys, this is y/n, my best friend from Duke,” he gestured to you with a grin. “Y/n, this is Mickey, Reuben, Natasha, Javy, and Bradley.”

Each of them waved to you at the mention of their name, and you waved back with a small smile. The mustached one, Bradley, grinned up at you before shuffling over on the bench.

“Ain’t no need to be shy, sunshine,” he winked at you, gesturing to the now open seat next to him. “We’re all friends here.”

You sat down slowly next to him, Bob scooting onto the bench across from you and next to Natasha.

“So, y/n,” she smiled, leaning forward with intrigue clear in her eyes, “where you from?”

“Oh, I’m from Missouri,” you smiled at her.

“Missouri?” Mickey snorted, earning a ribbing from Javy. You chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Yeah, it’s not glamorous or anything, but it’s home,” you explained.

Reuben leaned around Bradley to look at you. “So you were in the same major as Bob, right? How did you even get into that?”

“Oh, I’ve always had a fascination with the sea, I guess. Felt like I might have been a mermaid in another life,” you joked, and the group chuckled, earning a look from Bob as you looked around uncertainly. “Did I say something funny?”

“Nah, sunshine,” Bradley grinned. “It’s just cute is all. Imagine you being a little mermaid.”

“In fairness, I was five,” you blushed, and he reached down to pinch your cheek gently.

“Don’t go gettin’ shy on us again,” he drawled. Javy rolled his eyes, taking a sip from the glass of beer in front of him.

“You’re almost putting Jake to shame right now,” he chuckled, causing Mickey and Reuben to both snort. Bob looked around the bar, brow furrowing.

“Speaking of, where is he?” He asked the rest of the group. Bradley let out a low chuckle, resting his arm behind you as Natasha rolled her eyes at the name.

“Mandy has been especially clingy, as of late,” Reuben frowned, peering towards the bar with a pointed look. Bob turned, frowning at what he saw. “Been dropping hints left and right for weeks. She barely leaves his side.”

“Well, yeah,” Bradley scoffed, taking a swig from his bottle. “I’m not surprised since it’s almost time for-”

Natasha cleared her throat, giving a pointed glance to you.

“Almost time for what?” you asked, looking around at the table. No one said a thing, giving small glares at Bradley who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He cleared his throat and looked down at you, an easy smile spreading across his face.

“I just noticed that you don’t have a drink, sunshine,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me to the bar, and I’ll get you something?”

You gave one last look around the table before nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay. I could use a drink.”

You stood, Bradley close behind you, and you looked over at Bob. “You’re usual?”

“Please,” he said, giving you a tight lipped smile. You returned it softly, following Bradley up to the bar.

“Bradley,” hummed the older woman behind the bar, green eyes narrowing in on him as she saw you next to him.

“Penny,” he smirked, leaning against the counter. She walked over to the two of you, placing a hand on her hip as she frowned at him.

“What can I get you?” She asked him.

“Two beers and?” He turned to you, eyebrow raised.

“A jack and coke, please,” you smiled at her. She returned the gesture warmly, moving to make your drink.

“You best be careful around this one, honey,” she drawled, eyeing the man next to you. “He has a habit of goin’ around breaking hearts.”

“Penny, you wound me,” Bradley cried in mock hurt, gaping mouth quickly turning into another grin. He shot you a wink. “I would never do that to sunshine here.”

Penny snorted, handing him two beers and you your glass. “Right. You’re no better than Seresin over here.”

She jerked her head to the other side of the bar. You followed her gaze, seeing a blond man turn at the sound of his name. He glanced over to where Penny was looking at you and Bradley leaning up against the bar. He had an easy smirk on his face that rivaled Bradley’s, and when he turned his green eyes to you, you swear your heart stopped beating for a moment. His eyes were like sea glass, a frosty, almost moss colored green. It was like the world faded to black around you as you looked at him. You felt something that you could only describe as a tether snapping into place as his eyes bore into yours. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn his eyes started glowing as he continued to stare into the very depths of your soul.

“Y/n?”

Your eyes snapped to the side where Bradley was watching you worriedly. You shook the silly thoughts from your head. “I’m sorry, what?”

Bradley chuckled down at you, a hint of worry still tugging at his lips.

“I was just asking if you were ready to head back to the others?”

“Oh,” you trailed off, glancing back at the stranger across the bar. He was still staring at you, face unreadable. The brunette standing next to him looked very put out as he continued to ignore her.

“Jake!” She hissed at him, gripping his jaw and turning his face to look at her. “Are you listening to me?”

Jake looked down at her, a puzzled expression on his face. “Huh?”

“You are so dense sometimes,” she snapped, dropping her hand back to her side. The stranger, Jake, glanced back over at you, and the brunette followed his line of sight, scowling when she saw you. Bradley let out a low whistle before nudging you with his elbow playfully.

“Would sure hate to be him right about now,” he joked, an exaggerated grimace making you giggle. “Mandy is no joke when she’s pissed.”

“Jake!” Mandy shrieked. You chanced another look across the bar. Mandy looked like she was about to blow a fuse as she stared daggers between you and the man at her side. Said man was now frowning, eyes darting between you and Bradley. “I’m talking to you!”

“C’mon, sunshine,” Bradley said with a roll of his eyes at the couple across the bar. “If we stay any longer, I might lose my hearing.”

You followed him back to the table silently, still feeling the heavy weight of two green eyes on your back.

You slept with the window open that night, eager to feel the sea air on your skin as you slept. Your curtains billowed lightly as the moonlight poured into your room. You tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position to fall back asleep in. Your bed wasn’t uncomfortable, quite the opposite in fact, so you weren’t sure what had woken you up. You glanced at your phone, the numbers on the screen showing that it was far too early in the morning to still be awake. You huffed out a sigh, listening to the waves as they crashed against the shore below. That was when you heard it.

You weren’t sure what it was at first, it was so unlike anything you had ever experienced. It was a low hum that slowly turned into a lamentful cry amongst the breaking waves. You tossed your blankets back, quickly getting up and padding over to the window. The cry turned into what you could only describe as a song, not too dissimilar to one a whale would make, but this sounded almost…human? You peered out the window, heart racing as you continued to listen to the strange song. You felt a yearning unlike any other crescendo inside of you, calling to you from a distance almost like it wasn’t even your own. Your mind began to feel heavy, hazy with what, you weren’t sure. The song continued, calling to you, begging you to follow. Your eyes grew lidded, skin warm as you felt the call seep into your skin, drowning everything out but the inherent need to obey. You turned, taking a step towards your door.

A dog began to bark, causing you to jump and the song to stop. Shaking the cloudiness from your mind, you looked out the window once again. You caught sight of what you could only describe as a fish’s tail, silver scales gleaming in the moonlight, rising up before disappearing back beneath the waves.

[kiyovazquez]

Memories - Macaque x Kiyo

Notes: I like to write although I may lack practice. English is not my first language so I used a translator, I'm sorry if the writing has spelling mistakes or pronouns are changed haha.

It was a warm night with a full moon, where its silvery glow filtered through the bright lights of the city. From atop the roof, the warm wind brought echoes of pop music and muffled laughter rising from the apartments.

On an old blanket of light blue and white, Macaque lay in a carefree posture, a half-drunk can of soda in his hand. Beside him, Kiyo gazed up at the night sky; her short dark hair contrasted with the pearly color of her scaly skin.

The young goddess turned her face to her six eared demon friend and gave a half-smile.

—I can't believe you went so many years without dating— she whispered in a jocular tone. — You've got to be kidding me.

Macaque gave him an amused look back, undeterred by the teasing.

—Maybe I exaggerate a little—  said Macaque with a half-smile, before taking a sip. — There was the occasional fling, but I was more focused on getting revenge on Wukong and making his life miserable than I was on my love life.

Kiyo listened to him intently, her eyes reflecting the moonlight.

—But... —she encouraged him to continue.

Macaque let out a short laugh and sighed, as if recalling some memory of his past wanderings.

—I must admit I have a few stories to tell— he admitted mischievously. — Some antics from my youth that might interest you. But that's for another night...

Macaque laid his back on the old blanket, leaving the half-drunk can to one side. He clasped his hands behind his neck and closed his yellow eyes in a carefree attitude. He smiled sideways as he heard a soft moan come from the lips of Kiyo, who stood beside him.

—Come on, I know well your taste for bragging about your exploits— she prompted him mischievously. — I don't think a few past love stories will tarnish your reputation.

Macaque opened his healthy eye and looked at her from the corner of his eye, with a mischievous smile peeking between his lips.

—Are you jealous? — he asked mockingly. — Why so much interest in my love life?

Kiyo raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the joke. The moonlight reflected off her scales, giving her an unearthly glow.

—I'm simply intrigued to learn more about you— she replied calmly, lying down beside him on her side so she could see him. — Unless you fear not living up to your own legends.

Macaque let out a short laugh. He knew the goddess had succeeded in disarming his cunning trap. So, he took a deep breath and prepared to evoke his most secret memories to please his astute listener, who looked at him intrigued to learn more about his love interest.

—The truth is that I have only fallen in love twice— confessed Macaque in a low voice.

Kiyo arched an eyebrow in a mocking gesture, though her eyes revealed a hint of surprise. Over 500 years of existence and only having two affairs was hardly believable.

—I don't believe you— she replied mockingly.

—There is a difference between mere carnal pleasure and true love— he replied wisely.

—I must agree with you on that one— Kiyo admitted, easing his mockery. —May I know more details?

Macaque averted his gaze and his smirk faded. He reflected with a more serene and calm countenance.

—Mmmhhh... – he mumble between my lips, debating internally. — If I talk too much, it could ruin my reputation— he said in a thoughtful tone.

—Not even for me? — the girl asked. Her eyes, veiled in doubt, searched his. —I promise to keep silent.

Macaque analyzed her request. Talking about his first love with her, his only friend, didn't seem so far—fetched. However, he still wasn't sure he could trust her with his secret.

Kiyo noticed his hesitation. Her voice, suddenly softened, caressed his ears:

—We have all fallen in love with people who in the end have not been worth it, you should not be ashamed of that... —she murmur, trying to reassure his friend. — Forgive me, you shouldn't tell me if you don't feel comfortable talking about it.

Kiyo lay down next to him, contemplating the starry blanket above them. Only a few stars shone amidst the darkness of the city. Macaque pondered silently, wondering whether to finally unveil that memory buried for centuries. The warmth of his friend enveloped him, softening the old wounds of time.

In the background, a soft melody was playing from the young goddess's phone, with a metallic light blue tone. Macaque did not recognize the song, but its rapture filled his serene mood.

After a while of thoughtful silence, he spoke in a murmur:

—Wukong....

Kiyo looked up into his friend's yellow eyes expectantly. That revelation was coming after centuries of secrecy.

—I guess he was my first love.

The goddess could not hide her surprise. Was he in love with his now nemesis? The one who once tormented her out of past grievances. Kiyo ignored the details of the story between Wukong and Macaque, ignorant of a past not yet fully revealed, only that they were great friends, brothers in the order founded by the Monkey King where together with other demons not only guarded their home, but sought to rebel against the gods. Until, after the defeat and imprisonment of Wukong for five hundred years, some grudge broke their bond. And in their last encounter, Macaque lost not only an eye, but his life at the hands of what was once his best friend and brother. He later resurfaced, thanks to Lady Bone Demon's “favor”, but what happens next is a separate story.

—But you hate Wukong now… —muttered Kiyo, still trying to assimilate that unexpected revelation.

—You said you'd keep quiet— Macaque reminded him with just a hint of annoyance at the break in his story.

He exhaled a sigh and continued. Her yellow eyes were lost in the silvery moonlight, avoiding her friend's curious gaze.

—I was an insignificant, weak and lonely demon back then. Wukong was the first to see more than that in me. He saw my hidden potential, a potential I was not even aware of yet. And I fell prey to his vision, to his trust.... I fell in love with the one who for the first time made me feel valuable. The one who saw me as something more than a shadow....

Kiyo listened hurriedly, lying on her side so as not to lose detail of the story. She watched Macaque's face, which looked remote and sorrowful at the same time. His yellow eyes were lost in the moon or wandered to another distant point, avoiding her gaze, as if he regretted even today to stir with his words those feelings buried deep down for ages. His voice held echoes of sadness, resentment and spite not entirely healed by time. Kiyo understood then that the wounds of the heart are the slowest to heal.

Kiyo waited in silence, contemplating Macaque's lost gaze, still absorbed in old memories. Shee did not want to interrupt his train of thought.

At last, in a barely audible whisper, she dared to ask:

—Did you ever tell him?

Macaque denied with an ironic grimace.

—I kept my secret out of cowardice. I was afraid my love would ruin our friendship or be unrequited. But I think he knew— a sad smile curved his lips. — Wukong had that telltale look that betrayed he was deciphering my feelings even without words, but he preferred to feign ignorance to spare us the awkwardness.

Kiyo looked at him with a mixture of compassion and regret. She did not want his friend to relive old useless pains.

Macaque noticed his regret and spoke in a calmer tone:

—After Wukong's imprisonment, I tried to remake my life outside the Brotherhood. I had the occasional carnal encounter with demons and mortals, men and women alike, but they were only fleeting moments to forget. When I saw him with that monk, something snapped in me. Jealousy and spite choked my reason. It was my undoing.

He said this last with a wry smile. He admitted his bad temper, although the spite of the one who once made him feel special and now abandoned him to his fate, was deeper.

—Wukong made me discover what's behind this facade. And in the end, he left me alone again, just like before I met him. I guess this stupid heart still hurts even today.

A sigh escaped from his chest, laden with the melancholy of unfulfilled dreams. Kiyo understood that fear of risking everything for unrequited love. And he also understood that time had not completely healed the wound of the unconfessed youthful passion for his enemy of today, for the one who was once his most precious brother and his everything.

Kiyo understood Macaque's feelings perfectly. She herself had known Wukong's love not long ago, recalling his tender words, warm embraces and sweet caresses. Even though she knew now that it was wisest to maintain a friendship, deep down she longed for the peace lavished on her by his company and their courtship that she once saw as a dream achieved.

Gently she slid her hand up to meet Macaque's, entwining their fingers in a mute comforting gesture and asking if she could take the next step.

—Wukong had the ability to make himself indispensable to those he loved— she sighed, resting her empathetic gaze on him. — I know what it's like to be made to feel unique only to be abandoned. I'm sorry you carried that pain for so long.

Macaque was surprised by that physical contact unaccustomed to such displays. A small, barely perceptible blush appeared on his cheeks and he smiled a smile of gratitude, squeezing Kiyo's hand in silent gratitude. She truly understood his suffering, and with her gesture she was giving him the warmth he so desperately needed to finally heal the wounds of the past.

—Time heals everything. It no longer hurts; only a closed scar remains. Now I focus my energy on other, more profitable goals.

—What do you mean? —Kiyo asked curiously.

—Oh, you know. Annoying grumpy little gods who sleep like hibernating bears— he replied mockingly.

Kiyo feigned indignation, punching him gently in the chest which made Macaque laugh.

—How dare you talk about me like that! —she protested with laughter.

—Calm down, I never mentioned names. If you identify yourself, it's your problema— he replied with sly mischief, causing Kiyo to blush with embarrassment.

The two continued to laugh merrily, leaving sad memories of the past to which they belonged. Their hands remained clasped in a sign of the trust and comfort they now shared with each other, aware as they were of not being too physical with even their closest confidants.

When Kiyo's song ended and a new one began, Macaque still didn't recognize the melody, completely oblivious to the current pop culture, but he could hear part of the tune.

"And even though I think about you day and night

I'm not sure if this whole love thing

Sounds quite right"

—So... —whispered Kiyo, looking away from the song and focusing on the golden eyes of his partner.— You mentioned two loves.... who was the second one?

—Mmhh? —Macaque murmured, puzzled.

—You said you fell in love twice. You already told me about Wukong, who was the other person who stole your heart?

Macaque blushed slightly and let out an enigmatic chuckle that left Kiyo intrigued. Was he teasing her?

—You'll know in time— he replied, averting his gaze again to the stars.

Kiyo was about to complain when she noticed a subtle squeeze on her hand. She looked up at Macaque and was moved by what she saw. Though he was looking up at the sky, his face wore a smile different from his sarcastic grimaces: it was warm, serene, even tender. Her golden eyes shone like stars in a peaceful countenance as her face was bathed in moonlight, letting it reflect the warmth and peace she felt inside.

Several minutes passed before Kiyo understood the hidden meaning behind her gestures. A blush covered her cheeks as she realized the obvious.

Oh...

Silently, she entwined her fingers in his, returning the sentiment with the same tenderness. She was falling again.

[adrift-in-thyme]

I’ve been meaning to make a post like this for a while now but kept forgetting. Since First isn’t widely known I wanted people to have an explanation of who the heck this guy is (and why they should love him). So without further ado

Who is the First Hero?

(All of the following pictures are from the Hyrule Historia)

The First Hero (or First as we call him in the Linked Universe fandom) shows up in a tiny manga at the back of the Hyrule Historia (that’s basically an encyclopedia for Zelda). He isn’t technically canon and doesn’t have a game of his own. But according to the manga he is the first Link, Skyward Sword Link’s predecessor.

He lived in a time when Hylia was still a goddess and before Demise’s first attack. He was a royal knight, much like Hyrule Warriors Link, and seemed to be a man of great respect and esteem. Until, that is, he was framed for an unknown crime and imprisoned.

He remains in the dungeons for four years. Then, when his so called “premonitions of danger” begin to come true, and Demise attacks Hyrule, his people decide “oh, wait! They kinda need a hero now!” So, they set him free and practically beg him to fight for them. He’s understandably bitter about the whole thing, but being the hero he is, he goes out to battle.

No sooner has he agreed to fight, than the goddess Hylia shows up on her crimson loftwing. She has come to battle Demise and help her people escape to safety.

The loftwing looks down upon the humans as weak and cowardly. But Link stands up to him, telling him “there are those among us who have the courage to fight.” The loftwing admires him for the sentiment, but isn’t convinced. He promises to keep watch over him to see if Link is a worthy rider.

With the loftwing gone to the heavens above, Hylia gives Link the Master Sword

Link doesn’t think he is worthy of it after his imprisonment, but Hylia assures him that the sword knows better. It sees beyond his tarnished reputation to the kind, brave man beneath.

Though Link is still bitter about everything he has endured, he swears to fight for his friends. He takes the sword and hones it into something a mortal can wield.

Then, he goes to battle.

Hylia rallies the other races around Hyrule to help the Hylians. Meanwhile, Link and his men fight for seven days. Despite their efforts, Demise begins to burn Hyrule to the ground.

In the end, Link goes to face him, promising to slay him.

But he is badly wounded in the fight. He collapses, weak and near death. Before he can fade away, however, the loftwing shows up and chooses him as his rider.

He swears to ride with the loftwing forever. Shortly afterward, the dragons from Skyward Sword bless the Master Sword with the power of the Triforce. Then, Link gives the sword to Hylia, who carves Hyrule from the earth.

Link retrieves the sword and drives it into the ground, finishing the job and sending Hyrule skyward.

He wants to follow his people to the skies, but his wounds catch up to him. He falls to the ground. In his last moments he promises that his spirit will always be with his people.

Hylia seals Demise away, even as the enraged god promises to prevail. Then, she goes to where her fallen hero lies.

She holds him, crying over him and lamenting the pain he had to endure to become the hero Hyrule needed. Knowing that Hyrule will need their help once more, she then promises to reincarnate them both. Only this time, she will be a mortal.

This story, we learn, becomes legend in the era of Skyward Sword. And the loftwing who Link swore to ride with chooses the child who has his reincarnated spirit, Skyward Sword Link or Sky.

Now, as for First’s standing in LU…I’m know multiple LU fans (myself included) speculate that Jojo will include him at some point. She’s been cryptic about it when asked though, so we don’t know for sure. Neither do we know when he’ll show up (if he does). So, for now, we can only hope.

…and create our own AU’s in the meantime ;)

[lilybug-02]

Once upon a time, a LEGEND was whispered among shadows. It was a LEGEND of HOPE. It was a LEGEND of DREAMS. It was a LEGEND of HUMANS. It was a LEGEND of MONSTERS. This is the legend of the UNDER TALE For millennia, HUMANS and MONSTERS have lived in balance, Bringing peace to the WORLD. But if this harmony were to shatter... a terrible war would occur. The sky will run black with terror And the land will crack with fear. Then, their heart pounding... The MONSTERS will draw their final breath. Only then, shining with hope... Three HEROES appear at HYPYERDEATH'S battle. A HUMAN, A GHOST, And a PLAYER. Only they can save Asriel. And banish the BARRIER. Only then will balance be restored, And the MONSTERS saved from destruction. Today, the BARRIER- The spell that locks us away- Stands tall at the center of the kingdom. But recently, another HUMAN has fallen on the flower bed... And with it, the balance of the HOPES and DREAMS of MONSTERS begins to shift...

*blink*

Did...did you make this entire poem yourself? Either way this is awesome. 🔥✨

[honestlyboringperson]

This alliance dissolved faster than sugar in hot water. (Persona 5 AU)

Also I know Bigb and Lizzie have similar outfits and themes and Ren is more red than Pearl, who’s codename is literally just another word for “red”. Eh, oh well.

Southlanders

Team B.E.S.T.

The Scottage + Gem

Magic Mountain + Cub

More under the cut!

Lizzie - “Flora” - The Tower Arcana - Carabosse/Persephone

Once the leader of a sorority and with sky-high academics, Lizzie has since fallen from grace after allegations of foul play were revealed. Even if Lizzie didn’t commit such actions, the label stuck and she has since been outcasted from the student body and now spends her days in the shadows, taking care of quite a few stray cats. Despite these setbacks, she still retains her gleam of authority and tries to help lead the phantom thieves, using some of her old connections & IOUs from her days as an honour student. She’s in an active and loving relationship with a certain former delinquent.

Within the metaverse, Lizzie uses Carabosse. Carabosse is more well known as “Maleficent” or the thirteenth fairy from sleeping beauty. As revenge for not being invited to a party, she curses the newborn princess to prick her finger and die, which another fairy changes to simply falling asleep after pricking her finger. I wanted to combine the two aesthetics and themes Lizzie finds herself in; cutesy fairy and supervillain mastermind.

Her Ultimate persona is Persephone. Persephone is the wife of Hades, and queen of the underworld and goddess of spring. Persephone is often equated and conflated with Despoina, who’s real name isn’t revealed to anyone but those who initiate her mysteries. She is noted to be so terrifying, one must never utter her by name out loud unless they want to catch her attention. This is heavily contrasted by the later interpretations of Persephone as a simple spring goddess.

Ren - “King” - The Emperor Arcana - Arthur/Fenrir

Ren is a prodigy actor at a local theatre, with his acting skills being matched by no one in the theatre. He specializes in dramatic characters with flowery speech and theatrical monologues, to the point whenever he’s in the metaverse, he LARPs as an Evil King. He helps hook the Phantom Thieves up with a weapons expert, who for some reason wears a goat mask 24/7. Upbeat and Loud, he and Skizz helps keep morale high in the phantom thieves. He’s very close with Martyn, despite Martyn insisting he’s just using them as pawns. Whether or not this is true or not is yet to be determined.

His persona is Arthur, namely King Arthur. He is a famed king, known for his sword Excalibur and his large entourage of knights. His story lives on through media, be it through simple books to as grand as whole stage plays. He is often portrayed as a well meaning king who defends the land from both human and supernatural threats. Although his legend has changed throughout history, his story is one bedecked by both tragedy and grandeur.

His Ultimate Persona is Fenrir, a key figure in Ragnarok and killer of Odin. A child of Loki, he and his siblings were foretold to bring the end of the universe and in Odin’s attempt to escape this prophecy, he ends up giving them the power and motives needed to enact the tragedy. In Fenrir’s case, he was brought up the wolf in their home where only Tyr had the courage to approach him to give him food, which sparked a friendship between the two. However, due to his rapid growth everyday the gods made three leg cuffs and had Tyr helped trick Fenrir into putting the cuffs on. When he realizes the trick, he bites Tyr’s hand off. In Ragnarok,he breaks free of his chains and swallow Odin whole, killing him.

BigB - “Spectre” - The Temperance Arcana - Winchester/Eshu

A velvet room attendant who is currently abandoning his duties as an Attendant in the first place. Since the new velvet room manifested, he has since been shirking his duties to explore the outside world, never really returning to the Velvet Room. He still speaks in a somewhat strange manner but is polite and charismatic, making him well liked by the people around him. He initially joins the Phantom Thieves to keep Watch of Grian, as he is aware of his true nature, but eventually finds more reasons he desires to stay. He is especially gifted with persuasive speech and helps come up with alibis for the Phantom Thieves whenever they get into shady business. He has an odd habit of exiting rooms through doors that weren’t originally there.

His persona is Winchester, both the person and the mansion. Sarah Winchester was the wife of the inventor of the Winchester rifle. After she was widowed, she was told she would be haunted by those whose lives were stolen by the rifle her husband created. In order to prevent the ghosts from harming her as well as to possibly contact the ghosts of her lost loved ones, she turned her farmhouse into a strange, maze like mansion with doors and windows that lead to nowhere, stairs that end in ceilings, trapdoors, and barred windows.

His Ultimate Persona is Eshu or Èṣù, a Yoruba Orisha who specializes in divination and acts as a messenger between heaven and earth. He was known to have tricked Ifa out of his secrets of divination, and another where he frees Ifa from his imprisonment within a palm tree and casts him as a founder of the Ifa religion.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 24: Neglect

The prompt is kinda funny cause a lot of this fic centers around being cared for but anyway here it is

Read on ao3

Warnings: injuries galore, blood, a little vomiting, removing arrows and a broken bone

————————————————————

Sky doesn’t even have time to feel overwhelmed.

The moment the last monster is cut down, he’s running back towards the others, none of them in fighting shape anymore. It had been Sky alone who’d defeated the last several infected monsters, and the screams of the others as they’d fallen still rings in his ears.

He drops to Hyrule’s side first, the traveler clutching a hand to the side of Warriors’ neck. Blood streams through his fingers as his hands glow blue, but he seems heedless of the blood dripping off his own forehead and arm, and his face is pinched in concentration, even as he shakes.

Legend is next to him, holding Warriors steady, but one of his arms is held tightly to his chest, and his face is pale in the light from Hyrule’s magic.

Sky looks between the three of them, wondering where he should even begin, but then Hyrule exhales, and lifts his bloody hands.

“H-He’ll, he’ll live,” he croaks, hands shaking uncontrollably. Sky has just enough time to catch him as he collapses backwards, unconscious.

“I got him,” Legend says as he reaches over, but Sky shakes his head, scanning Warriors’ neck and face. He’s unconscious, but Hyrule was right that he’ll live, the slice that had slipped past the captain’s defenses and sent him plunging to the ground in a spray of blood now almost fully healed. He has other smaller injuries, but they’re less pressing right now.

“Drink this,” Sky says, handing a potion to Legend after rifling in his pouch. For once they’re actually well-stocked in healing supplies, and Sky thanks Hylia for it.

“Give it to Four, he’s almost passed out over there,” Legend says in a mutter, and Sky glares.

“We have plenty of potions and your arm is a disaster, drink it,” he says firmly, then gently sets Hyrule on the ground next to Warriors before getting to his feet. Hyrule’s injuries will have to wait until he’s awake, or they can find a fairy. “Besides, Four needs care before he drinks one.”

Sky doesn’t wait to see if Legend obeys or not, rather slides himself over to the smithy himself. Four is curled over himself, his leggings ripped and legs scraped, and shakily trying to remove the arrows stuck in his upper arm.

“Here,” Sky says gently, placing a hand on Four’s back. “Let me.”

The smithy looks at him, his face drawn with pain, and nods weakly. Sky gives him a smile that hides the unpleasant feeling in his stomach, and quickly gets to work, the familiar motions of pushing the arrows through or snapping them in half born from bitter experience.

Four clutches at Sky’s arm the whole time, the Skyloftian patiently letting him hold on so tightly he’s sure the smithy leaves bruises. He murmurs comfort as Four bites back cries of pain, holding a hand firmly over the holes he leaves, and finally he pulls the last arrowhead out.

Four breathes in a shaky breath as Sky wraps up his arm, then gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

“Go help the others, I can handle myself,” Four says a little shakily, and Sky hesitates, then nods as Four starts to fish in his pouch. He trusts Four not to cut corners.

Sky gets up and looks around, and runs over to Twilight’s side just in time to help him turn over and throw up into the grass.

Sky swallows and looks away, but he doesn’t let go until Twilight is done, panting for breath, sweat and blood on his forehead. He lets out a quiet whimper, and Sky gently brushes the hair back from his face, trying to get a good look at his eyes.

Twilight blinks at him, looking the very definition of concussed.

“Sky..? Wh... wh’ happened?” Twilight slurs, and Sky sighs, patting him on the shoulder as he studies the blood pouring down the side of his face. There’s a lump under his hair, and several nasty gashes all along his temple.

“You got hit, buddy, right in the head with a spiked club,” Sky reports, and Twilight blinks at him like he’s having trouble focusing.

“...R’lly?”

“Really,” Sky replies. Twilight had been one of the first to go down, and the noise the club had made as it had hit his skull wasn’t one Sky would easily forget. He squeezes Twilight’s shoulder as he props him up, and tries to coax him into drinking the potion he has.

“Not thirsty,” Twilight huffs, turning his head away, and Sky patiently turns his head back.

“It’s a potion, Rancher. You got hit really hard, you need this if you’re going to be healed,” Sky says, and Twilight squints at him suspiciously.

“‘M not a potion rancher...” Twilight mutters, but he finally drinks the potion, Sky careful to give it to him slowly. Twilight doesn’t seem to change much once it’s in his system, but he seems a little less dizzy, and Sky studies him to make sure that the blood is actually slowing from his head.

Once he’s sure it has, he wraps a quick bandage around his head to stop any more blood from escaping, then moves over to Wild.

Wild is sitting up against a tree, his eyes closed as he takes in quick, shallow breaths. His tunic has several bloody gashes torn into it, and he’s clutching at his leg, Sky quickly looking away when he notices the angle his knee is pointing.

Legend is sitting next to him, talking quietly, and when Sky comes up, Legend makes eye contact with him.

“We’ve got to get his leg back in the right spot before we can give him a potion,” the veteran says a little quietly, and Wild’s breath stutters. “And I... can’t with my arm.”

Sky swallows, the sick feeling in his stomach returning. He’d been lucky so far not to have dealt with anything too horrible, the arrows in Four’s upper arm the worst. But shifting a broken leg back to the correct position...

He breathes out and nods, shoving away the lurch in his stomach. Somebody has to do it.

“Just tell me what to do.”

Legend does his best to explain as Sky bandages the gashes on Wild’s chest, and once he’s finished, he feels like he’s steeled himself enough to deal with it.

“Ready Wild?” Sky asks gently, and Wild gives him a faint nod.

Legend grabs his hand with his good arm, and Sky moves Wild’s leg before he can think about it.

The champion screams, and Sky nearly throws up as bones shift under his hands, noises he never wants to hear again coming from under his hands. Legend does his best to help hold Wild steady, but there’s only so much he can do, his face nearly gone white. Sky ends up nearly sitting on Wild as he thrashes and cries out, but he finally gets his leg and knee back in the right direction.

Wild sags, tears on his face, and Sky runs a hand through his hair.

“There you go buddy, you’re alright,” Sky says in a soothing voice, and Wild doesn’t resist when he and Legend put a potion bottle to his lips.

Sky forces himself to watch his leg right itself, the bit of blood and odd shape slowly smoothing out. The gashes on his middle seem to still be there, the potion having mostly gone to his leg, but the color has returned to Wild’s face.

“Thanks,” Wild says in a trembling voice, and Sky smiles a little weakly before going to the only heroes he hadn’t given any attention to yet.

Time is holding Wind to his chest, what of the sailor’s tunic Sky can see looking burnt in several spots. Time himself has claw marks dangerously close to his good eye, and looks like he’s not breathing the easiest, but the older hero is already wrapping bandages carefully around most of Wind’s left arm, the sailor shaking a little as he works.

Time at least seems reasonably functional, considering the states of some of the others.

Sky hasn’t seen exactly what had happened to either of them, but he’d seen fire, and heard a scream that was way too young. Time had shouted, and there had been enemies running around, but Sky had been busy trying not to be killed himself at the time.

“Here,” Sky says as he hands Time a potion, and the older hero shakes his head.

“Wind already had one.”

“This is for you,” Sky says sternly, and Time ignores him, shushing Wind when the sailor lets out a pained whine. “Old man, those scratches need healing, and I’m pretty sure they aren’t the only thing you’re dealing with.”

“His breathing is a little funny,” Wind whispers, squeezing his eyes shut as Time fixes the bandages. “He got hit in th-the ribs.”

Sky puts a hand on his hip, ignoring the sore feeling he gets for his trouble, but Time ignores him as he continues to help Wind.

“Come on, we have enough potions for you to have one,” Sky says firmly, and Time finally looks at him, blood on his face like a mockery of the tattoos on his opposite cheek.

“Please Time,” Wind says quietly.

The older hero looks at the sailor, then silently takes the potion, his face more worn than usual.

And so it continues.

Having given everyone initial treatment, the job still isn’t done, and Sky runs back and forth between the heroes for most of the afternoon and evening, replacing bandages, settling people into more comfortable positions, and scrounging up some dinner as well.

Even the more functional ones of the group are worn out from their injuries and the fighting, and though Sky aches to rest, he keeps going, heedless of his body begging for him to stop.

When Twilight throws up the potion he was given, Sky patiently gives him another, and when it turns out Legend has a nasty gash on his leg he thought he could walk off, Sky is there and helps him clean and bandage it. Warriors wakes up with a choked gasp much later, and Sky calms him down, offering him some dinner, and Four falls asleep on top of Sky’s sailcloth, his face still pale from blood loss.

It’s the early hours of the morning before everyone is sleeping, at least somewhat peacefully (though Hyrule is still sacked out from magic loss). Sky does his rounds yet again, and realizes suddenly that there isn’t anything else for him to do.

The adrenaline and stubbornness that have so far kept him afloat began to drain away, and Sky quickly sits down, exhaustion weighing on him, pain shooting up from his—

Wait, what?

Sky turns his head around to look at his hip, and sees a tear in the fabric of his tunic, mostly-dried blood soaking most of his lower tunic and upper part of his pant leg.

Sky blinks.

He’d forgotten he’d even been injured, right at the tail end of the battle. He remembered the dark knight swinging at him, and the pain that had torn up his side, but he’d ignored it in favor of finishing the fight and helping the others until eventually it had slipped his mind altogether.

Though that would explain why he’d begun to feel rather dizzy as the evening had worn on.

Sky carefully lifts his bloody tunic out of the way, breath stuttering when it sticks a little. The wound underneath is unpleasant to look at, reasonably deep with half-dried blood stuck all over it. Peeling his tunic away made it begin to bleed again, though sluggishly, and Sky can only stare at it for a minute, the sudden urge to cry sweeping over him.

He’s exhausted, from the battle earlier, and from running around all afternoon and evening caring for the others. He hadn’t been planning to sleep (somebody had to keep watch), but he’d still thought he would get some rest, and now there’s a gash in his side that’s bleeding all over the place.

Maybe it’ll just... be fine for the night, he thinks with a sinking feeling. It’s nearly morning anyway, and there’s no—

He leans over to take off his boots, and gasps, stars glittering at the edges of his vision.

Four shifts where he’s curled up next to him, and before Sky can get a hold of himself, the smithy is sitting up and blinking at him. He stares at him for a moment as be wakes up, then his eyes catch on his side, and they widen.

“Sky! You’re hurt!” he gasps, and Sky shushes him, looking at their lighter sleepers.

Nobody stirs, and he looks back at Four.

“Smithy, I wasn’t—”

“You can’t neglect yourself just because the rest of us are hurt!” Four says more quietly, but his voice is still equally dismayed. Sky shakes his head, feeling that same urge to cry come back even stronger.

“I didn’t realize it was that bad, I... I forgot about it,” he says in a small voice, and Four looks at him, his eyes looking almost red in the firelight.

Then he puts his good hand on Sky’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Sky, you’ve done enough for today,” he says softly. “Let me help you.”

“But...”

“You deserve care as much as the rest of us,” Four says firmly. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Sky. You did a good job healing us up, and come tomorrow most of us will be in working order.”

He gives Sky a little smile, and lightly knocks his head against his.

“Helping you after everything you did today is the least I can do. And I know the others would agree.”

Sky can only nod in response, his throat tight as he turns away. Four gives his shoulder another squeeze, and gets to work on his side, grabbing a damp cloth to clean it with, and wrapping it up once it’s cared for.

And after he’s finished, he scootches himself over next to Sky, leaning on his shoulder, and pulling the sailcloth over the both.

Neither of them say anything further, and if Sky sniffles once or twice as he finally lets himself relax, Four doesn’t acknowledge it aside from a gentle squeeze.

[blradley]

intro powerpoint for that one whacky passion project of mine -

Do you enjoy unreliable narrators with a distinctive voice?

Do you like characters who have done genuinely bad things, and now have to Work Through All That while consciously choosing to be better?

Do you like characters who have redemption arcs dangled in front of them, and instead choose to be worse?

Then jump aboard a flying whale and set sail into no man's sky with

Voxalion Ilsair: Grave of Gods!

Cursed by a relic of their long-dead gods, Vox and Mavrik are bound to each other, life to life. If one dies, so shall the other – which is a problem, as Vox wants to eradicate humanity, Mavrik included; and Mavrik wants nothing more than to kill Vox, the lightning elemental who slaughtered her family. Their only hope of breaking the curse lies in the gods' tomb, located on a legendary lost island that rises above the endless Eversea. Mavrik and Vox embark on an expedition, braving skywaymen and sapient storms, so they can be free of each other – and commence their overdue duel to the death. But Mavrik and Vox aren't the only ones seeking the grave of the gods. When they cross a cult intent on claiming the gods’ powers for themselves, Vox and Mavrik learn that they have far worse enemies than each other.

Genre: adult solarpunk fantasy Suitable age range: 15+ (no explicit content but some swearing, violence, and creepy monsters) Status: with my wonderful agent for edits!

Image Descriptions:

Powerpoint slide with a blue sky background. Text reads: “HUMANITY HAD FALLEN. Unfortunately, they got back up again.” The quote is attributed to: Voxalion Ilsair, being a prat, as per the uzshe

Dark blue sky background, title of Worldbuilding Be Upon Ye. Text reads: Okay so hear me out. What if the gods created an amazing utopia where technology and magic were intertwined and humans and zstragi (fey forces of nature) lived side by side But then something went wrong. Their world ripped itself apart and the mountains crumbled and the seas rose and some monstrous force came and wiped out all the gods?? What if an approximate ten thousand humans survived in nine flying cities, situated across the drowned globe? And what if they began rebuilding their civilization – clumsily, desperately, devastated by the loss of 99% of their population? What if they were living in hollowed-out solarpunk temples to the dead gods, surrounded bydangerous artifacts that they didn’t understand, desperately scrabbling for survival on a hostile planet? What if, gradually, the tales of their past became warped by myth and conflicted retelling? What if the humans and zstragi were at war? And had been for centuries? Because, in their relentless struggle of survival, they began to consume each other? What if there were whispers that a treasure trove of ancient knowledge had survived the Cataclysm, hidden deep in zstragi territory: the lawless, storm-ravaged chaos of No Man’s Sky? A meme-drawing of a stick figure holding their head and looking perturbed while covered in sweat, is tucked in one corner of the slide. The caption reads 'okay that's enough world building'

Turquoise sky background. Text reads: TL; DR: In a world where land is a long-lost legend… Where whale carcass blimps, fat with helium, swim through an endless lightning-lashed sky… Where flying cities are beset by sentient storms… …an unlikely group of heroes embarks on an epic journey…

Pale blue sky background with a flying whale. Text reading: That's right! It's Voxalion Ilsiar: Grave of Gods by B. L. Radley

Piccrew of Vox, a blue-green skinned hairless inhuman being with pointed ears, sharp teeth, three eyes, and facial tattoos. Introductory text reads: Voxalion Ilisair, they/them Your humble narrator, providing you with a 100% trustworthy recollection of events ❤️ zero bias here. none whatsoever❤️❤️ (okay so maybe they’re a zstragi terrorist who wants to annihilate humanity) (what a shame it would be if, over the course of the story, they begin to question everything they’ve been taught hahahaaha) Ridiculously OP lightning zstragi who was raised to be a mass-murder weapon. Then they got nerfed by a little girl Now that little girl is all grown up. The divine artifact that tore away Vox’s powers also bound them to her soul – meaning, if she dies, Vox dies. Dammit. Tinkerbell-sized, with attitude to match. N#1 fear: becoming human

Piccrew of Mavrik, a white tan-skinned woman with short fluffy pale blonde hair, blue eyes, and half her face torn off, with lightning scars radiating out from the hole in her cheek that shows off her molars. Text reads: Mavrik Skarr, she/her Vox’s worst enemy. Their foresworn foe. Their nefarious nemesis… Okay, so maybe Vox killed her family and tore her face and (quite literally) broke her heart, and Mavrik swore she would have revenge First though, she’s gotta undo this stupid curse As a stormhunter, Mav is employed to slay zstragi like Vox Grumpy and stoic, she struggles to emote. prefers grunting to talking, and fighting to grunting Has suffered from heart problems since The Curse. Uses Vox as a defibrillator/pacemaker. Basically an unsocialized feral kitten who has 0 clue how to interact with anyone she isn’t battling to the death Juggling her desire for friends against her natural awkwardness, her lack of experience with other humans, and that dark, ugly inclination towards violence that whispers away in the back of her mind… N#1 fear: becoming a monster

Secondary characters slide. First piccrew is of Oliaris, a Black man with a delicate, pretty face, wearing expensive jewellery. Text reads: Oliaris, he/him Nice friendly guy who never did anything wrong in his entire life (I lie. there are atrocities.) (he is coming to terms with the atrocities. But it’ll take a while… 😉) Delicate pretty city-boy who prefers the finer things in life, but is living the Chronic Pain LifeTM instead Super-smart ex-scientist. why ‘ex’? haha don’t worry about that Gets dragged into helping Vox and Mavrik break their curse – but has an agenda of his own… Second picture is of Atticus, a white man with red-brown hair and freckles, in a labcoat. Text reads: Atticus, he/him SPEAKING OF EXES AND ATROCITIES - Has a somewhat turbulent past with Oliaris (they fucked. they absolutely fucked. they 100%, totally fucked.) Now he’s Oliaris’ bitter rival, racing to beat him to the grave of the gods and the treasure trove of ancient knowledge stashed therein Shy, awkward people-pleaser who just wants everyone to like him 😔 Don’t ask about the bloodstains. just. don’t. 🙂

Tertiary characters. First piccrew is of Sylvestra, a Black woman with similiar features to Oliaris. Text reads: Sylvestra, she/her Oliaris’s sister: a professional storm-hunter employed by Atticus who detests her brother. For reasons. Tries to be cold-hearted and unfeeling. isn’t very good at it. Deep down, she just wants her family back :c Next piccrew shows an Asian individual with long black hair and a tattoo on their throat. Text reads: Jagura, they/them Captain of a skywayman ship that terrorizes the vessels of No Man’s Sky Impulsive and friendly, but ruthless. Will rob you while chatting like you’re besties Here for a good time, not a long time xoxo Piccrew 3: a bulky purple inhuman creature with long pointed ears and tattoos. Text reads: Renzou, he/him Jagura’s loyal first mate Will rob you while apologizing profusely Protective and kind Humans are friends, not food! Fourth piccrew: a white boy with pale hair and very blue eyes. Text reads: ??? [no name or pronouns] Once upon a time, a boy crawled into the mouth of a dead whale. What crawled out was changed forever…

stormy grey background to the slide. text reads: One shared goal: To pilot their whale blimp safely through no man’s sky and find the lost grave of gods Conflicting ambitions: To undo a curse. to regain lost power to kill an old enemy. to restore reputation. To seek priceless treasure. To save the world – wait, what?

Quotes page, set against a blue sky background. Quotes are: ‘Zstragi ate humans, sure. But humans devoured us with equal impunity: crushing our heart-stones, shredding our life-force to add power to their grid and keep their impossible cities aloft.’ ‘As occurred approximately two dozen times a day, Mav got that look on her face that meant she was contemplating tossing me into the oceans and letting fate run its course. As also occurred approximately two dozen times a day, she decided against it. Grudgingly.She and I were trapped together. For better or worse, in sickness or health, till death did we part…’ “I spy with my three glowing eyes…” “Shut up, Vox.” and ‘The distant slurry of Mavrik’s thoughts slid against my own, lumpy with old memories. Dead parents, dead families. Dead-dead-dead; burnt from the inside out, eyeballs popped like squashed flies and tongues crisped to charcoal— Time was said to heal all wounds, but it couldn’t erase their scar. I awkwardly cleared my throat.’

Themes page, with a picture of several angel statues. Text reads: The way ahead is fraught with danger. Secrets abound, old  grudges flare, and hungry storms gather on the horizon… Themes: Humanity. What does it mean, to be human? Are some cruelties so great that the offender should never be redeemed? Equality. At what point do we decide that one life is worth more than another? Why? Family. How do you know when a bond is broken beyond repair?

Dark blue sky background, with text reading: What else have we got? #macguffins #unreliable narrator #enemies to…? #lovers to rivals #copious footnotes #corruption arcs #redemption arcs #multiple queer and disabled characters! #body horror #unique cultures #flying whales #solarpunk aesthetic #in-depth, innovative world building. A stick-figure meme sits in one corner, showing a character grabbing another person's shoulders and digging their nails in to hit blood, their face a grimace of pain. The text beneath reads: 'so much more world building'

[crazylittlejester]

What time of year I think the LU Links were born, except it’s based SOLEY off of vibes and also I’m insane

(and the times of year are based off the seasons as I experience them where I am on this planet)

Time: Late Spring, but the kind of late spring where it’s not too hot yet but all the flowers are blooming and it’s really pretty but also not raining a WHOLE lot. PERFECT picnic weather

Warriors: LATE Fall, ‘First Wave of Winter’; it’s not deathly cold yet and it’s still enjoyable to go outside, but there’s snow all around and everything has a soft warm feeling to it. It’s the type of winter you enjoy, when you’re not yet sick of it and playing in the snow with your friends, at ANY age, still makes you genuinely smile. No body calls it Fall because it’s literally December, but TECHNICALLY it is Fall

Twilight: Very end of winter/‘Is it Spring?’; That cold ass, wet week in March where they TELL us it’s officially spring and we all go outside and tell ourselves it’s warm even though it’s windy as fuck and just as cold as it was the previous day. Everyone’s miserable but because they slapped a label that said ‘spring’ on it, we’re all telling ourselves maybe we WON’T drop out of college mid semester and maybe life IS worth living

Sky: Mid Spring; it’s pouring outside but in a comforting way, and you know the flowers are coming soon, plus it’s finally starting to get warm. You’ve put away your winter coat but now you wear a rain jacket over sweaters everywhere

Wild: Early Spring; it’s foggy outside constantly and the earth feels kind of quiet. Things are starting to wake up and you can feel it

Hyrule: Mid Fall; it’s the perfect temperature to wear a jacket and run around and not overheat. The leaves are turning but haven’t fallen yet, and muddy dirt roads are perfect for exploring

Legend: Early, EARLY Summer; The calendar says it’s summer and the air is warm, but you don’t wish you were dead yet. It’s beautiful out, it’s swimming weather, it’s sunny and nice, and the flowers are still stunning. It’s the kind of weather you still associate with freedom despite being out of school for 5+ years

Four: Mid Winter/‘That One Week That Fools Us All It’s Spring’; always that one week in February where you’re like “oh okay, I can put away my winter coat” just to get absolutely murdered the next time you decide to leave your house because it dropped twenty degrees and snowed over night and you’re so mad about it you fall to your knees and scream in the snow. But Four was born during the one week it was nice

Wind: Mid Summer/‘That One Week That Makes You Think ‘Maybe It IS Socially Acceptable To KMS’; The type of summer heat that has you grabbing your friend by the shoulders and shaking them, begging them to promise you if you EVER complain about being cold ever again in your life that they’ll hit you with their car

[zapreportsblog]

I love your answer to the question I asked. My answer would have been Whitney Houston. She is either a siren or banshee. I would have paired her with Garrett or Charlie cannot decide who.

Twilight Request

Jasper/ Major x Female Reader

The reader has powers like Naruto Uzumaki but her nine tailed beast is a wolf that is white as snow. She has long black hair down to her hips when not put up. She knows many forms of martial arts and several languages and owns several katanas. She stands at 5 ft 11 inches. She likes reading mystery novels like Nancy Drew. Her favorite tv shows are Walker Texas Ranger, Murdoch Mysteries and Murder She Wrote. She goes to the Cullens when she gets word that Victoria has created an army of newborns and that a human is with them. She goes and offer her help to them.

At the training ground, she meets the pack. One of the wolves Paul says something rude to the reader. He goes to attack her but because of her power she has the strength to lift him and pin to the ground. She tells him his bad attitude is not welcome. Jasper/ The Major is her mate.

Feel free to add or change anything.

❝snowbound savior❞

✭ pairing : jasper hale x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (Y/N), a striking young woman standing tall at 5 feet 11 inches, boasts not only flowing black hair that drapes down to her hips but also a unique gift – a nine-tailed wolf beast as white as freshly fallen snow. Her exceptional skills extend far beyond her mystical companion. Proficient in numerous martial arts and fluent in several languages, (Y/N) is a formidable force to be reckoned with. The narrative takes a thrilling turn when (Y/N) receives an urgent message: Victoria, a formidable adversary, has assembled an army of newborns and allied herself with an unsuspecting human. Driven by her sense of duty and a desire to protect, (Y/N) rushes to the Cullens, offering her formidable powers and unwavering support.

✭ twilight masterlist 2

The moon hung low in the midnight sky, casting a silvery glow over the quiet forest. (Y/N), a striking young woman with long, flowing black hair that cascaded down to her hips, stood alone among the trees. At 5 feet 11 inches, she possessed an aura of strength and mystery that drew the eye. But it was her unique gift that truly set her apart—the nine-tailed wolf, as white as freshly fallen snow, that loyally accompanied her.

She had been living a solitary life for as long as she could remember, ever since her powers had manifested. Her childhood had been a blur of confusion and fear, as she tried to comprehend the extraordinary abilities coursing through her veins. The snowy wolf, her constant companion, was her only solace in those early days of isolation.

Throughout history, she had been known as the "snowbound savior." Legends and tales had spoken of a white wolf with nine tails that appeared when one was in dire need of help. Villagers would tell stories around campfires, passing down the folklore of this mystical guardian who emerged from the depths of the forest to aid those in their darkest hours.

But (Y/N) knew the truth. She wasn't just a legend; she was real, and she carried the weight of her unique destiny on her shoulders. Her existence was a secret known only to a select few, those who had witnessed her powers firsthand or had heard whispers of the mysterious white wolf.

Tonight, beneath the silver canopy of stars, (Y/N) felt a strange restlessness in her spirit. It was as though the air itself carried an unspoken message—a call for help that only she could answer. The bond between her and the nine-tailed wolf seemed to hum with anticipation.

With a determined look in her eyes, (Y/N) turned and headed deeper into the forest, her faithful companion padding silently at her side. She didn't know where the call for help originated, but she trusted her instincts. The "snowbound savior" was on the move once again, ready to face whatever darkness lurked in the shadows and to offer her unique gifts to those in need.

The dense forest welcomed (Y/N) as she ventured deeper into its heart. Here, she felt at one with the world around her, a connection that ran deeper than blood. She wasn't just a woman with extraordinary abilities; she was a guardian of nature itself.

As she moved through the ancient trees, (Y/N) could hear the soft murmurs of leaves, the whispers of the wind, and the gentle rustling of creatures hidden in the underbrush. Nature spoke to her in a language few could comprehend, and in return, she listened and responded with reverence.

Today, however, the whispers were tinged with urgency. The very earth beneath her feet seemed to vibrate with concern. (Y/N) paused, her senses on high alert, and closed her eyes to better attune herself to the natural world.

"What troubles you, dear friend?" she murmured softly, her voice a melodious harmony with the forest's song.

In response, the wind carried a somber message, leaves rustled in distress, and the faint echo of a distant waterfall sounded mournful. Nature was trying to communicate something of great significance.

The revelation came like a thunderclap in her mind—a coven of vampires was in danger, and their fate was intricately entwined with the lives of the humans in the town they resided in, as well as a nearby clan of wolf-shifters. The balance of their existence hung in the balance, and the very fabric of the supernatural world trembled with uncertainty.

(Y/N) felt a surge of conflicting emotions. She had distanced herself from the supernatural world, seeking solitude and anonymity after years of bearing the mantle of the "snowbound savior." Her past involvements had left scars both physical and emotional, and she yearned for a simpler existence.

Yet, as she stood among the ancient trees, a profound sense of responsibility washed over her. She had a duty to protect not just the coven of vampires but also the humans and wolf-shifters who unknowingly depended on their presence.

With a heavy heart, (Y/N) raised her eyes to the heavens, her voice resonating with unwavering determination. "Nature, you have my word. I will do all that I can to help. For the sake of balance, for the sake of those in need, I will step once more into the world of the supernatural."

The forest around her seemed to sigh in relief, a symphony of gratitude and understanding. The bond between (Y/N) and nature deepened, and she knew that her path was now clear. The snowbound savior had been called to action once more, and she would honor her commitment to protect and preserve the fragile balance of the supernatural world.

The clearing deep within the forest was a training ground for the local wolf-pack, and tensions were running high as the group practiced their coordinated maneuvers. Alice, the perceptive and clairvoyant member of the Cullen family, watched their movements closely, her golden eyes scanning the scene with an intensity that never wavered.

Amidst the flurry of leaping and lunging wolves, Alice suddenly froze, her gaze distant as if seeing something beyond the immediate present. Her eyes glazed over, and her hand moved with precision as she sketched something onto a piece of paper with a swift hand.

Jasper, who had been sparring with some of the wolves, noticed Alice's sudden stillness and approached her with a concerned expression. "Alice, what is it? What did you see?"

Alice didn't respond immediately, her focus locked onto the sketch she was creating. It was an image of a white wolf with nine tails, each one flowing gracefully behind it. The creature's ethereal beauty was captured in intricate detail.

Edward, always attuned to Alice's visions, joined them, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "Alice, what's going on? What did you see?"

Alice looked up from her sketch, her eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty. "I saw something, someone, I'm not entirely sure," she admitted. "But they're coming to aid us."

Edward's expression shifted from concern to relief. "Good. We can use all the help we can get."

Paul, who had been listening in, couldn't hide his skepticism. "More vampires?" he grumbled.

Alice shook her head, her eyes fixed on her drawing. "Actually, it looks to be a shifter like you all."

Confusion rippled through the group until Alice displayed her sketch for them to see. The wolves gathered around, their eyes widening in disbelief.

Sam, the pack's alpha, gasped as he recognized the image. "The snowbound savior," he breathed, his voice filled with astonishment. "But she's just a legend."

Before anyone could respond, a powerful howl pierced the air, resonating through the forest. It was a howl that carried an undeniable presence, one that demanded attention and respect.

Jasper turned his head toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as he listened. "Guess not," he murmured, his voice tinged with intrigue and a touch of apprehension.

As the echoes of the howl faded into the distance, the wolves and the Cullens exchanged uncertain glances. The arrival of the snowbound savior, a figure of myth and legend, had suddenly become a tangible reality. The balance of power in the supernatural world was about to shift, and none of them knew exactly what to expect.

The ground beneath their feet trembled violently, and at first, the Cullens, along with Sam's pack, believed it to be a catastrophic earthquake. Trees swayed, and the very earth seemed to roar with anger. But what followed was beyond anything they could have imagined.

From out of nowhere, a colossal figure emerged, towering over the treetops, and causing everyone to gasp in astonishment. An 836-foot white wolf, with nine magnificent tails that swirled like a majestic blizzard, stood before them. The sheer size and beauty of the creature left them breathless, their hearts pounding with a mixture of awe and trepidation.

For a moment, the forest fell into a hushed stillness, as if nature itself held its breath in the presence of this enigmatic being. Then, as if guided by an unseen force, the colossal wolf began to shift, its form flowing like liquid moonlight.

In mere seconds, the towering wolf transformed into a striking woman, fully clothed and with long black hair that cascaded down to her hips. Her piercing eyes, as ancient as the earth itself, regarded the assembly with a mixture of wisdom and curiosity.

"I suppose you must all be the ones of whom nature speaks," she remarked, her voice carrying a melodious quality that resonated with power.

Carlisle, always the composed and gracious host, stepped forward. "I beg your pardon, but who are you?"

The woman offered a warm smile, one that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. "I am (Y/N)," she introduced herself. "Nature has warned me of impending danger to this town and the nearby clan of wolf-shifters. It seems our paths were destined to intersect."

Edward, ever the communicator of the family, stepped forward to explain their situation. "A vampire named Victoria is planning an attack with a newborn army. They seek revenge because we killed her mate some time ago."

(Y/N) nodded with understanding, her gaze distant for a moment. "I sympathize with her loss, but I will not allow her to bring death into this town."

As the conversation unfolded, Jasper, who had been watching (Y/N) intently, felt a sensation he hadn't experienced in centuries. It was the undeniable pull of the mate bond, a force that tied him to this extraordinary woman. His gaze remained locked on her, and his heart raced with a newfound intensity. In that moment, he knew that (Y/N) was not only the snowbound savior but also the missing piece of his own existence.

[dilatorywriting]

(just a thought I wanted to shared thinking of grandpa Vil) Howl's moving castle au, Vil's beautiful so you think he'd be howl but no, he's an old grandpa crying about his beauty, you think the poor ol guy has started losing his marbles and let him in to live out his days traveling

Vil: "I used to be so beautiful, royalty envied my beauty, I was a muse!"

reader: "Okay grandpa, lets get you to bed, I'll bring you some tea" :)

Holy fuck holy fuck. Howl’s Moving Castle is genuinely my favorite movie. This is killing me. Also I know this is definitely going in a very different brain direction BUT LIKE. I CAN’T HELP IT

Vil as the Witch of the Wastes, desperately doing everything he can to maintain his youth and beauty. Neige as Suliman’s young prodigy, who easily sweeps in one day to take his place, leaving the once first choice to be the Royal’s Head Wizard as nothing more than a bookend. Vil who after losing access to all the grand magics of the Academy trades his soul away and begins dealing in the inexplicable in order to maintain even a fraction of the powers Suliman tried to strip from him.

Vil, who becomes a living legend and a nightmare—feared so well by all the little town folk that no one ever bothers to even think of getting in the way of his slowly building atrocities. Until one day he curses a poor, innocent, hat shop keeper he sees Neige leading through a waltz in the sky. Curses them to be old, and ugly, and everything he fears. Except after he no doubt ruins their miserable, little, life, they just keep running into each other. The Hat Shop Idiot just doesn’t know what’s good for them. Has sought out powerful magics without thinking to harness it for their own advantage, talks with a fire demon like its a pampered little pet, walks into danger with a stiff upper lip and an even stiffer, tackier, hat. They trade insults with him—as he deserves, who is he kidding—until the both of them are standing at the Gates of Suliman’s castle.

And then that tacky little idiot helps him when his magic fails. Cheers him on with genuine kindness and offers him an arm when his muscles are put under the strains of his real, battered, body for the first time in ages. When Suliman strips him of everything he has left, the poor little Shopkeep he once cursed out of nothing but cruelty takes him with them—saves him too. Gives him his own room in a magic castle and access to every, forbidden, thing he’s been hunting with such wicked fervor. And you, stupid hatter that you are, treat this real, ugly, version of himself with so much gentle kindness that how could he not finally see why all these other magical men and monsters have fallen in love with you too?