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withoutyouimsaskia · 7 months

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Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 1)

GIF: Originally posted by @tavners

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Home invasion. Voyeurism. Implied masturbation. Dream manipulation.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: Wow, this took way longer to finish than I had originally planned. My head's been all over the place with trying (and thus far failing) to find a new job. The themes are very different to what I've written before; I hope it reads okay. Please let me know what you think. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Fate.

A phenomenon that governed every particle of matter within the known universe and even those beyond.

Some considered it a comforting concept that excused them from the burden of decision making, citing: "I'll leave it up to fate." For others the phrase was a cursory, throw-away comment or a romantic line they heard in the lyrics of a song.

The real truth of the matter was that Fate was a trio of immortal beings, goddesses, with sight so potent that they knew the past, present and future of every individual to have lived. The mythology of the Greeks, Romans and Norse hadn't been too far off with their stories of the Moirai, Parcae and Norns but of course, no humans really believed there to be any realism in myths. They were just stories. It didn't matter either way; they existed and had influence regardless of what the majority believed.

For beings such as The Endless siblings, the presence of Fate in the cosmos was not only real, but also something that affected even themselves.

For the King of Dreams, an eventuality had been prophesised long ago by The Kindly Ones that spoke of a bond that was to be forged between himself and a mortal.

Lord Morpheus, in his pride, had tried to be above such a foretelling, even questioning its validity because the notion of a mortal accepting his version of the universe seemed wholly implausible.

But he could not truly stop himself from wondering about you, reaching out to see if he could feel your presence in the minds of the dreamers he hosted.

It wasn't something he indulged in with frequency. More of a once-in a-decade interval. Enough to appease his curiosity.

Of course, this was put on hold during his imprisonment at Fawney Rig.

Morpheus had had much to contemplate during this period. The damage his absence caused to the collective subconscious, the decay of his realm, the loss of freedom and dignity. There was also a chance that you had been born and died in the 106 years he spent in captivity.

What if he was too late and had lost the chance of discovering who you were?

It was a nauseating prospect that scraped and scratched a space deep within his being; bleeding him of his remaining stores of hope that were so significantly depleted after the death of beloved Jessamy.

Despite the nasty emotional wound, finding you was a charge that he assigned at the end of his priorities after his escape.

Recovering his scattered tools, restoring the Dreaming, locating his absent creations, unravelling the mystery of Rose Walker and confronting Desire all had needed to come first.

The latter interaction had left Morpheus with a seething rage that was currently propelling him down the boards of the dock that sit above the Ocean of Dreams.

The dense mist in the air is buffeted by his movements and the only sounds are the tread of boots, the creak of wooden slats and the lap of water.

With each step, the liquid becomes choppier as it reacts to its master's mood and by the time he has reached the end of the dock, the surface of the water roils fervorously, completely in line with Morpheus' dangerous temperament.

The words of Desire's final silken-toned taunt echo in his mind with grating persistence.

"Oh, poor Dream. I really got under your skin this time, didn't I?"

He is loathe to admit there is truth in the question.

There are moments where Morpheus ponders the turn that the relationship between them has taken. How Desire went from being his favourite sibling to someone one shade shy of an adversary. Their faultless adeptness at provoking his temper and manipulating the events that encircle him would be impressive if not for the danger posed to humanity.

The agitated water eventually draws focus to how out of control he and his emotions have become. Morpheus knows he must get them in check, and quickly, for he knows the consequences all too well should he ignore it.

He clenches his fist and swallows it all down, pushing it deep inside his belly until the crackling entropy of the anger is fully dispelled.

Morpheus then sweeps his coat out behind him as he sinks lithely into a crouch. Trepidation nips at his heart and tugs his attention to a sobering thought.

This foray into the water may be fruitless.

You may be long gone and there would be no way of ever knowing you.

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath; he has run out of excuses to not look, even if he is afraid of the outcome.

Long, delicate fingers dapple the surface of the inky ocean. The waves still at the touch, obedient to him with instancy.

He repositions to full height and reaches into his coat to find the pouch of sand stashed in the pocket. A handful of twinkling grains slip off his palm into the ocean, lighting the water it touches to a luminous green.

"Find my soulmate," Morpheus commands silently.

The intention is set. He steps off the dock into the water.

At first, like every other prior attempt, there is no sign of you. Morpheus floats submerged in the tepid liquid, filtering through the hubbub of countless other dreams and nightmares.

Then there is a pull.

It is faint yet indisputable. Warmth explodes in his chest and he groans inwardly from the delicious sensation of relief.

You are alive, and you are dreaming.

A path of radiance appears in the water, a line that shows your connection, and provides a location for him to hone in on.

Morpheus dives deeper without hesitation.

As he reaches the edge of your subconscious, he rejoices that he got a handle on his emotions. He wouldn't want your first perception of him to be one tinged with rage, however unaware you were of him, with your soulmate being the source.

He hesitates for a moment before entering the dream you are in and is somewhat taken aback by what he finds.

A room comprising of four blank walls, a floor, a ceiling and a door. There is but one other feature; a window, and its view is as non-descript and inoffensive as the internal space.

You stand by said window, head turned from him.

Despite being unable to see your face, he sees your anxiety with immediacy. It is an aura hovering about your body, being sucked into your lungs with every fast-paced breath.

You begin to throw glances towards the door. Morpheus filters through the layers of the dream. No one is scheduled to come across the threshold.

The more he observes, the more questions arise in Morpheus' mind.

What was making you so affected? What were you expecting to happen?

There's nothing in the scene that is intended to be unpleasant yet you are reacting in a way that most observers would characterise as unsettled.

Morpheus, despite not yet knowing you, doesn't like to see you this way. His dominant instinct is to end the dream but he quashes the desire to review the bigger picture.

The empty room dream was symbolic of a beginning.

It clicks into place.

What you were feeling, even if on a purely instinctual level, was the anticipation of meeting your soulmate and starting your new life.

Morpheus steps into the frame, just a couple of paces behind you.

You feel his presence instantly, eyes full to the brim with tears as you whirl around with a soft gasp.

You see him.

The tears spill and patter onto the white floor.

Morpheus reaches out, overcome by his need to provide comfort.

You disappear.

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Morpheus is sat on his throne. He pores over the book he had located in the Dreaming's library a little over a week ago that contains the details of your life. It is something he has taken to doing when the impatience of waiting for you to fall asleep becomes too keen.

Your subconscious has him enraptured, watching it every night as if it is a stage show. Each dream he delves into is like the tug of fingers on a loose thread, your psyche has begun to unravel before him.

Everything from whims to cravings, hopes to fears. Your temperament, the things that delight and irk you. What drives you and demotivates you. He consumes it all with an insatiable hunger.

Based on the projection of yourself that he sees, there is no doubt that he is attracted to you.

All that prior haughty disregard for the Fates' prophecy has been cast aside like a negative thought in a meditation session. Morpheus is a romantic. A believer. He is ashamed to have even doubted your coming.

He wonders if it would vex Desire to learn of him finding his soulmate and by extension, the prospect of companionship, perhaps even physical intimacy or love.

It is all too easy to imagine the sickly sweet grin they would smile at him, shown to be fake by the almost imperceptible contempt glinting in their golden eyes.

Would his triumph drive them to distraction?

It is this smug sentiment that spurs his next decision. He wants more. The next logical step is to find you in the waking world.

He rises from his throne, a sure hand ready to bring forth his pouch of sand when he falters.

Tears pool in his eyes.

His mind is suddenly marred with the memories of what happened in 1916. The agony, mortification and rage that followed. He couldn't go through that kind of treatment ever again and the waking world expanded the risk of it transpiring.

"No," he says resolutely. His sadness turns to resolve, the hard line of his grimace matching those set in his brows.

He will not let the actions of a group of mortals dissuade him from going to you. And besides, he has researched everything he can about you from within the safety of the Dreaming.

He takes a measure of sand and uses it to materialise within your bedroom.

It is obvious from a quick scan of it that deliberate attempts have been made to ensure the space is cosy and calming.

Two marshmallowy pillows support your head. The cotton sheets have been meticulously tucked to avoid drafts. A lavender reed diffuser fragrances the air with a subtle scent. There are no devices or screens visible.

Everything has its place. A coaster supported glass of water within reaching distance. Touch activated lamp in case of emergency. The diary lined up with the back left corner of the bedside table, pen placed parallel in the spine dent. All clothes are in the wardrobe or stashed in the laundry basket.

Morpheus moves to the curtain-shrouded window and delicately moves the dark, heavy fabric to catch a glimpse of the outside world.

The scene is sepia stained from an old streetlight positioned right outside your home. It explained the choice of curtains.

You stir slightly from the change in environment and Morpheus allows the curtain to fall back in place. He remains stationary until your breathing returns to its previous pace. It is imperative that his presence remains undisclosed. He knows that mortals do not take well to home invasion.

Then, your right hand slips out from the duvet cocoon revealing a cushion cut ruby ring on your middle finger.

He smiles exultantly. The similarity between the jewel and his own now-destroyed dreamstone was undeniable.

The Fates were making it transparent.

You were the one.

Morpheus approaches the side of your bed now. In your momentary discomfort, you had moved your head, making your whole face visible to your uninvited guest.

He bends gracefully so his face is closer to yours and observes you with an intent fascination.

Even in the gloom, Morpheus asserts that your features are even more captivating now that he is able to look upon them in person and is certain that if he could guarantee an absence of fear then he would fall to knees and worship you right there.

Fingers stroke a lock of hair splayed across the pillow and his thoughts turn darker still, imagining what he would do with you if he could get you alone in the Dreaming. How he would seduce you with words, and then pleasure your body with his own until you were senseless.

Getting you there would be so easy, all he needed to do was move his hand up and touch your skin and -

Morpheus stops himself, deciding that now is not the time for an introduction. He will wait until tomorrow. You need to rest. It will be quite the revelation for your sweet mortal heart.

Morpheus whispers a promise, "We will be together soon, my precious soulmate."

He leaves after taking one last look at your peaceful form.

When he returns to the Dreaming, Morpheus discovers that the visit has riled him way beyond what he thought possible.

It was supposed to sate his curiosity and answer some questions.

It has done the opposite.

His craving for you is sublimely intense, opiate-like in its ensnarement.

He needs to possess you. To have you all to himself. Everything would fall into place. Loneliness, disillusionment, jealousy; they would never darken his outlook again. You would heal him, he is certain of it.

He paces restlessly in the low light of his private chambers as heat ripples beneath the surface of his being, charging him with pure sexual lust.

He hungers for the moment when you feel the same about him.

For now, all he can do is stand and touch himself while thinking of your face, an act that has been carried out repeatedly in the days since he found you in the Ocean of Dreams.

An erotic idea enters his mind.

Your subconscious is still in the Dreaming; he knows the feeling of it intimately.

Perhaps he could bring you a dream mirroring his own current fantasy.

To give you a taste of what was to come.

A gift that only he could bestow.

The mere thought of it turns him on even more. His back arches and his eyes roll back as he choses the words through which he would deliver the offering.

"Dream of me," Morpheus murmurs breathlessly. "Dream of me."

He repeats the phrase until he is unable to continue, moans taking over the darkened space around him.

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It is dusk the next day when Morpheus returns to the waking world.

The instant he touches down on the Earth's surface, he knows exactly where to go. The metaphysical connection between you is as strong as the energy pulsing through a ley line.

The city he is directed to is thrumming with life but the side street he stands in has been spared from the furore.

It is fortuitous that he is permitted to be unobserved for Morpheus is struggling now with the urge to get closer.

Providence is pulling him in and also locking him out.

He walks up to the door and then an invisible force makes him back away.

He doesn't even try to fight it.

The Fates hold all the cards. Morpheus is beholden to their each and every whim.

It is surprisingly liberating.

He is dancing in the cross hairs. Blinkered by the tie the universe has fashioned for you.

All he has to do is wait.

The door to the building is pushed open.

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Taglist: @herfantasyworldd

"Fate. Up against your will. Through the thick and thin. He will wait until you give yourself to him."

479 notes · View notes

amostnobleyandere · 15 days

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Persephone, swept away into the deep

Yandere! Wriothesley x GN! Reader

Warning(s): yandere, toxic behavior, possessive behavior, mention of blood, violence (Wriothesley beats someone up), stalking, obsessive behavior, unjust execution of the law, possessive behavior, corrupt official Wriothesley (?), drugging (needle injection), kidnapping, captivity, implied stalking, non-consensual touching, forced romantic relationship

A/N: I’m not sure if I did a good job at translating the themes ✨ of the hades and Persephone myth (however slight they may be in this particular fanfic) but I tried ;)

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Every happy customer that came out of your shop would inevitably spread your business through tongue—that’s just the way things worked in Fontaine.

Of course, you weren’t complaining. You were running a thriving business and their lively conversations often brought you joy and pride. The little gardener on off of main street, the florist who sells the most beautiful bouquets you’ve ever seen, the flower shop tucked away like a hidden gem, they’d say, fondness in their tone and the echo of good memories in their minds.

You were proud of the lifestyle you had made for yourself and the reputation you had garnered. Your natural green thumb had made your shop quite popular among commoners and socialites alike, as anyone of any class could stroll inside to find something for a person precious to them; whether it was a child, a spouse, a friend, or an infatuation, you had helped mold their stories, crafting and shifting them around petals and bows.

Though some days, you let yourself dream. Of petals and bows, not meant for someone else, but meant for you. Though your business had seen many love stories, its owner had yet to find a love of their own.

On your worst days, you scoffed and thought to yourself about how ironic your life was.

But…some days, your aching romantic heart would have you sighing wistfully as you watched customer after customer buy carefully cultivated blooms to gift to their beloved. They would leave gleefully, only for you to remain in your shop, watching them walk out with a piece of you. A piece that you wanted to give to your own special someone.

Always watching, never experiencing.

And then suddenly, everything you had built was being torn down by the one thing you desired the most.

——��——————

On a day that was insultingly ordinary considering the damning events that followed it, you were sitting in your shop, furiously pruning flowers and cutting stems and leaves. You were a little behind in work, so you had kept your shop open later than you usually would.

A festival was going to be thrown at the center of the city, and that meant you were busier than ever. Business was slow at the time, but it always picked up during events, as it was common for people to take advantage of the merry mood and ask out the apple of their eye, or propose, or buy a bouquet just to enjoy life.

And your bouquets were certainly beautiful, as you had heard from the many couples that walked into your shop, fawning over the arrangements and each other. You were sure you would see many lovers come into your shop once the joyous celebrations began.

You sighed, feeling the solitude of the your profession begin to seem depressing. It made you happy knowing your creations would be appreciated, yet, you knew the festival would end up torturing your heart with the same stale loneliness you often felt.

Friends had invited you to come with them to enjoy the festival together, so you weren’t all alone. Ultimately, you had declined.

Business would be booming.

…Plus, it wouldn’t be as special if you couldn’t go with someone special. It would only hurt to go out into the bustling streets and to see all those people holding hands, touching arms, carrying your bouquets, while your side was cold and your hands were empty…

You snipped at a rainbow rose a little too hard, hissing as the tip of the shears nicked your finger. You watched in mild panic and exasperation as the blood began to fill the small cut, feeling a sting form in your finger. Reaching for the medical kit you kept close by, you swiftly treated and bandaged yourself, watching the gauze go from white to a bright red.

Shaking your head, you waved away the pain and your nasty thoughts. You were sure your friends would be fine without you and, more than anything, you needed to be here to sell your flowers. It would be a waste to throw out your beautiful blooms because you let them wither, and soon customers would be grabbing for them…and who knows? Maybe you might meet someone.

Maybe you would even find someone to enjoy the festival with….

You heard the telltale ding of a bell and looked up, peaking out from behind the wall of floral remains you had constructed around yourself.

A man walked into the shop, and the first thing you noticed is that he was handsome. And big. Like, slightly intimidating big. A large, built stature, with broad shoulders and heavy boots on long legs. You pinched yourself, feeling your cheeks slightly heat up. Who were you to get flustered? And by a stranger? Pull it together.

“Hello!” You greeted cheerily, thankfully turning on your usual customer service voice without problem. “How can I help you today?”

“You’re still open?” The man asked, a note of surprise in his voice. The question sounded weirdly familiar for it to be spoken by a stranger, but you chose to ignore it. Plenty of people knew your hours, it wouldn’t be odd for one of them to send a new customer over.

You paused, taking him in. The stranger was tall, dark, and brooding, a person that looked strangely out of place in your little safe haven that was crammed to the brim with mosaics of colorful flora.

However, his eyes were the clearest color you had ever seen. They were like steel in their cool quickness, taking seconds to size you up. You unconsciously shrunk under the pressure of his gaze. Still, you smiled up at him.

“Yes, sir. We’re still open. What can I get for you?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure. I came here because of a recommendation; they say you’re the best in town, with the freshest flowers. I’m guessing you outsource from the country?”

“No, sir. I grow them myself.” You said, still smiling sweetly.

A flash of recognition behind those steel eyes. “Ah. You’re the owner then?”

“Yes, sir.”

He hummed, looking away in thought. “I’d like an all blue bouquet—something with an air of delicacy to it. Nothing too fancy, just something pretty and light.”

That sounded…really romantic. Delicate? Pretty? Those were words people used to describe bouquets with romantic intentions behind them. You had heard them time and time again, as you carefully put together arrangements and your customer fawned over the person it was for, tone sugary sweet. Those words never failed to clog up your chest with a bitter jealously.

A feeling of disappointment filled your chest and your heart sank. Of course, he was already going with someone. It seemed that everyone, except for you, had a date for the festival. Of course. That made sense. Anyone that good looking would most likely have a date—

You smiled, sweeping away the disappointment and putting back on a false merry face. You had just met this man, really. What was there to be sad about? You decided to fill the silence that was quickly making you want to curl up into a ball and hide.

“So you’ve got a date for the festival? I’m sure they’ll love it, since you seem to know what they’ll like. Can I get a name for the order?”

“Wriothesley. And, no. I haven’t got a date.”

Your brain short circuited.

“But you’re so good looking?” You blurted out, the thought in your head coming out of your mouth without warning.

Wriothesley looked momentarily stunned, and you wanted to scream. Of all the times to embarrass yourself in front of a cute guy, it had to be now—

“A-Ah!” You stuttered out. “I’m sorry! Sometimes my mouth moves faster than my brain! I just said what I was thinking, I hope you’re not insulted by it…or uncomfortable….not that I meant to insult you—“

He laughed, the sound startling you. When he looked at you again, he seemed less guarded, his eyes shining with mirth as he gazed at you with interest. Oh, and that smile. Oh wow. That. Wow.

“You know, people are usually too afraid to say stuff like that to my face. Or really, they’re too afraid to say anything to my face. Guess I was just lucky to meet you today, huh?” He grinned and let his voice drop as he spoke. The glint in his eyes turned bright, like a dancing flame. He leaned into your space, letting one arm rest on the counter.

You felt the smooth words roll down your back and over your skin, excitement or fear (or maybe a mix of both) running up your spine and through the rest of your body.

You laughed, trying to play off his words as if they were meant to be friendly. (At least, you thought they were meant to be friendly.) Maybe the naturally deep tone of his voice and his intimidating aura made your brain misinterpret harmless words as…predatory.

You grinned. “Well, I don’t know about luck, but everyone deserves a compliment every once in a while, right?”

He leaned back, that dangerous glint disappearing into his eyes as if it was never there. He crossed his arms, looking smug.

“Right.”

Silence filled the air again, and your curiosity got the best of you quickly.

“Goodness, I’m sorry but who is this for then?”

He chuckled and you were immediately relieved that he wasn’t annoyed with you. People didn’t like it when others pried into their business. The thought of Wriothesley with his leather boots, pretty face, and icy eyes glaring at you with disdain nearly sent you into shock.

“It’s for…a co-worker, you could say.” He continued. “She does a lot for me and I thought it might be nice to get her a gift to show my appreciation. Everyone’s in a good mood with the festival coming around, so I might as well, you know?” He smiled. “Sorry to disappoint you, though. No romantic feelings involved.”

You nodded, a weird feeling of relief filling your chest after finding out that a man you didn’t know and that you probably would never see again did not have a date for the festival.

Maybe you were just glad to know that you wouldn’t be the only person going without a partner.

You began to gather sample flowers, spreading them out between you fingers and taking comfort in the familiar weight of them in your hands.

“Not disappointed at all.” I’m also single, you thought, but thankfully didn’t say out loud. “I guess I’ve just gotten so used to lovebirds walking into my shop, I was surprised you weren’t one of them.”

“Because of my face?” He asked, amusement seeping into his tone. You wanted to smack that smile right off of his smug, beautiful face. Of course, you wouldn’t, because that would be a crime to everyone else who had eyes. You couldn’t mess up that piece of art.

You nodded, your face burning. “Because of your face.” You confirmed.

“Well, I’m flattered.” He said.

You thrusted the sample flowers out in front of you, mortified that he was making your already embarrassing situation worse with teasing.

“Pick out the ones you like.” You said, your face practically on fire.

He did, without further comment at that, but a smirk pulled at his lips the entire time. He looked at you, with that grin molded onto his perfect lips, more than he did the flowers in your hands.

He refrained from torturing you with teasing remarks for the rest of the conversation, and when you told him it would be ready for pick up in a few hours, he gently placed a bag of mora on the counter.

Only when he was walking out the door did you realize how much mora he had given you.

Your eyes bulged as you peeked into the bag, nearly fainting at the amount. Who carries this much on them?! What if he had gotten robbed?! Well, he would probably never get robbed looking like…that, but still.

“Hey!! Wait—Sir!! You gave me way too much!”

He waved as he closed the door behind him, the bell ringing cheerily as he ignored you protests without even turning around.

You stood gaping behind the counter. You turned to the bag, determinedly picking out the correct amount and putting the rest away so that you could throw it at him when he came back. Not his face, though. Never his face.

A few hours later, he came back, his face neutral and undisturbed, like nothing in the world could move him to react.

He saw you, and his expression twitched and changed, looking just as smug as when he left.

You wordlessly pushed his bouquet, which you had worked extra hard on out of spite, not because you wanted him to like it or anything, towards him. Again, without saying anything, you pushed the bag of mora back towards him.

He quirked an eyebrow but kept his mouth shut, also determined to win the quiet challenge that you had started. He (rather cheekily) slid the bag back towards you, a smile fighting to pull onto his face.

You, more forcefully this time, slid the bag back towards him, face betraying no emotion.

Eyes sparking with amusement, he held out his hand.

Oh my Archons. You thought. What does that mean? He doesn’t want to….does he? You hesitatingly raised your hand in response, suspicious of the man in front of you. He gently slid his hand under yours, making your heart pound in your rib cage. His gloves covered most of his hand, but the skin that did touch you was startlingly cold. Your skin downright tingled where his touched yours.

Whether it was from the temperature or just him, you didn’t know.

He placed the bag of mora in your hands, a graceless plop and a cheerily jingle sounding through the quiet room.

Okay. You take it back. This mora was going directly at his face.

“This mora is going right at your face.”

“What?”

“What?” You parroted. Inside, you were crying. The first time you’ve ever threatened a customer and it’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep and long and archons even his laugh sounded angelic.

“I could’ve sworn you just—“

“I didn’t.” You cut him off, panicking. You pushed the bouquet towards him, hiding behind it. “Enjoy your day. Thank you for your purchase. Have fun at the festival.”

“…Thanks.” He said, still amused, but following your lead and taking the flowers from your waiting hands. For a moment, maybe on purpose, his hands brushed yours, the touch sending a spark of electricity up and down your arms, making your heart beat faster….Must have been the cold from his skin, sending you into shock or something.

He left the shop (without the bag of mora) and you wistfully thought that you would never see that beautiful face again, kicking yourself for not asking him out. You were both single, right? Right??

Ultimately, you went home with the same familiar wistful feeling that soon turned to giddiness at having almost held hands with such a handsome man—his personality was odd but that could be overlooked.

Overall, it was a good day.

——————————

Except he was there the next day.

And the next.

….And the next.

Everyday he would order a bouquet of a different color. Once he ran out of colors, he began grilling you on what kinds of flower combinations you liked best. You would tell him, practically shaking while trying to prevent yourself from imploding, and that’s what he would order. He spent an enormous amount of money at your shop as the ridiculous mora bag battles continued (you were going to throw it at his face, you really were. You just needed to muster up the courage).

He would take the flowers home, and you would be left with a burning face and a quivering heart.

Then one day he asked you if you would like to go out. With him. Together. And you said yes, tying a bow around his order with trembling hands as a strangling giddiness filled up your entire chest.

So, you went to the festival with him right after work.

For the first time in weeks you were closing the shop and stepping out into the fresh air during the middle of the day.

You had an amazing time.

You found out that Wriothesley was extremely funny, and that his dry, sarcastic wit could have you doubling over and laughing in seconds. You found out that he liked tea like, a lot. Like a concerning amount. You found out that the co-worker he gave the first of many bouquets to is a melusine and a nurse. You found out that he talked to the Chief Justice regularly and somehow knew a lot of important people.

You explained to Wriothesley that you actually did have a life outside of flowers. You told him about your friends, your hobbies, and whatever else you could think of in the moment, feeling comfortable with him after just a few hours together.

He bought you food, somehow correctly guessing your tastes at every stall you visited. When you protested and offered to buy him something in return, he merely shook his head with a smile and said you could buy him lunch another day.

You walked together through the streets under golden lights, eating delicious food and buying trinkets. At the end of the night, you tentatively inched your hand toward his, and he interlaced your fingers together, holding your warm palm against his cold one tightly.

You felt yourself grinning like an idiot, thinking that absolutely nothing could change the way you were feeling.

Everything was going great until you got back to your shop, laughing and chatting idly with the man beside you.

Your heart stopped as you realized that something was wrong, and your hand left Wriothesley’s for the first time that night as you ran towards the open door.

The entire place had been ransacked. The money in the cash register was gone. Your precious flowers—countless blooms that you had taken the time to grow and cut had either been stolen or trampled on. One window had been smashed in with a brick. You lifted up your foot, feeling the shattered glass break into smaller shards under the pressure—Archons, it was everywhere. Luckily, the small vault you keep most of your savings in was still closed but dented in multiple places and on its side.

You nearly collapsed on the floor right then and there. It was only Wriothesley, who caught you as you were falling to the ground, that kept you from completely breaking down. You were mourning. All of your flowers. All of your hard work, ripped from your hands, without so much as a warning.

You felt rage and misery burn in your chest, resulting in hot tears running down your face as you pathetically picked up the ruined flowers scattered across the shop floor. Next to you, shadow cast Wriothesley’s face in darkness, hiding his expression from view. You heard him assure you that he would take care of it, that he would fix all of this for you, as he told you not to worry in that perpetually assertive tone of his. Your muddled and distressed mind immediately clung onto it like a life line, desperate for something to ground you.

Wriothesley would take care of it, you told yourself. If not him, then who would help you?

—————————

You found out soon after that the man who had robbed you was a rival store owner whose business had gone under ever since you had moved in. His storefront was situated on one of the more populated streets, streets that saw more foot traffic and that attracted customers of a higher class. Still, he had been losing to you, a small shop on some nowhere street, for months. In the end, arrogance and jealousy had driven him to attempt destroying your business.

Whether it be from fear and intimidation, or hopelessness from losing all the money you had made in the past couple months, he had hoped that you would chose to pack up and leave after he ruined the inside of your shop.

Fortunately, he was not a master criminal. A few shop owners on your street had seen his face and identified him to the guards. According to rumors you had heard from friends, he fought the guards during his arrest, shouting that he was not some lowly commoner to be pushed around. The guards and some mysteriously clothed people flooded around him, dragging him to the court house and sentencing him within the hour. He was allowed to go back to his shop, as his home was above it, but was put on house arrest for the time being and had guards stationed outside of every window to await further punishment.

It had happened so…quickly.

Wriothesley, during all of this, was very supportive.

—————————

It all came crashing down on the last night of the festival, a week after you had been robbed.

You were in the process of walking home before you realized that you had left your keys in your bag.

…Which was at the shop.

…That you would have to go back to.

Groaning, you made yourself turn around and trek back towards the storefront so that you could actually get into your house.

As you walked down the main strip of stalls and shops, you realized with a bitter heart that you would have to pass the shop of the man who made your life hell to get there and back quickly. You were glad that he had been caught and sentenced swiftly, but you were still incredibly angry about the damage that had been done to your business. The mental and emotional wounds left from the shock of seeing everything you had worked for destroyed were still fresh.

You fastened your pace as the night lamps began to turn on, the sky quickly turning dark as they became your only source of light. You knew the city was mostly a safe place to live, but that didn’t mean crime never happened, and it would be just your luck for you to get robbed a second time.

Then there was shouting.

You slowed your pace as you heard a voice echo off the tall buildings, only amplifying the panicked screams.

Uh oh. Had you walked right into a crime scene?

You looked around you, noticing that there were no guards in sight. Hopefully they had noticed the trouble and were taking care of it.

You sighed. You really needed to get into your house, as you weren’t too keen on sleeping on a bench for the night. Cursing whatever being had brought this upon you, you continued forward, walking in the shadows and hoping to avoid whatever drama was happening near the home of the man who had robbed you.

You turned a corner, freezing as you took in the sight of a group of men huddled together, seemingly trying to apprehend someone—

Wait. Was that—

You recognized that figure—those boots—that coat…

What was your boyfriend doing here in the middle of the night?

Swiftly, you moved back out of the light, eyes trained on the man you could now clearly recognize. You watched as Wriothesley raised his fist, his knuckles connecting harshly with someone’s jaw. You startled at the harsh noise of skin splitting skin.

You felt yourself flinch as blood splattered across the pavement. For a moment, you were grateful for the imposing figures blocking your view of the violent scene.

The victim was splayed across the stone due to the force of the blow, thrown right into the circle of people that had formed around him, pathetically whimpering as he tried to pick himself up.

You watched as he was dragged away, looking genuinely terrified, screaming bloodcurdling words as he went mad with fear. His pleas fell on deaf ears as those around him stood still, Wriothesley silently watching as he was picked up and thrown into the back of a carriage. The door squealed as he yelled that he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve to go to the Fortress of Meropide, please—doors slamming shut, cutting off his final sentence as the men and the carriage disappeared into the night.

Wriothesley stood under a street light, a short distance away from where you hid in the shadows. His body was tense, his back drawn tight as he gazed at the retreating carriage, with the man he had assaulted and doomed to a life in prison lying within.

You stumbled back, you feet scuffling against the pavement. The noise sounded like an explosion in the dead quiet of the street.

His entire body stilled. He turned around, almost in slow motion, his eyes widening in horror as your gazes met.

You spun on your heel and ran, heart pounding in your chest. Heavy footfalls followed you, leather hitting stone with threatening thumps that seemed to get closer to you with every passing second.

You got to your shop, flinging open the door and rushing to the back of the building, heading towards the closet where you kept all of your supplies. Hearing the bell above your door chime mockingly, signaling that Wriothesley was in your shop oh Archons, you slammed the door shut and locked it from the inside.

For some reason, you could have never imagined him being so violent. You were shocked and terrified, seeing your new boyfriend, who you had only ever thought of as safe, as anything but. Now you knew. He was dangerous. You were so stupid for trusting a complete stranger—

You heard him run towards your hiding place, calling out to you as the heavy foot falls slowed to a stop.

“Y/N.” He said, voice calm and level, betraying no emotion at all. It was like he was discussing the weather and hadn’t just chased you down the street.

Your breathe hitched in your throat. Somewhere, in your frayed mind, you hoped, prayed he would just go if you were quiet enough—

“I never meant for you to see that. I’m sorry. Let me explain.”

The doorknob began to turn. It stopped, hitting the lock.

You heard rustling and then a faint jangle as Wriothesley stepped away from the door.

You had left your keys in your bag.

The bag was on the counter, the keys were in your bag—

….He knew where you kept your keys?

You had never told him that.

The door knob began to turn. You grabbed onto the it with a white-knuckled grip, stopping it from the inside.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, beating rapidly as you desperately held onto the cool metal.

“Leave me alone!” Please was left unsaid. You shouted the words, terror making you shake and tremble.

Wriothesley fell silent. You heard him lean his weight against the door, his movements causing it to creak.

The doorknob stopped turning.

You prayed that he wouldn’t try to force it, or worse, break the door down. You didn’t know if it would hold, or if you could hold on, considering how strong he was.

You imagined his hulking figure standing outside, only a few mere inches of wood separating you, towering over you from your spot on the floor.

You were practically paralyzed with fear, and didn’t know what you would do if he actually managed to get in and get his hands on you—

“Damn it, I ruined it all, didn’t I?” Wriothesley murmured.

You jumped, not expecting the despairing admission amidst your racing thoughts that were trying to pinpoint where you had went wrong in life.

His usually playful voice was monotone, eerily flat for the self deprecating words he spoke.

You didn’t deign him with a response. You merely listened to the quiet that followed, feeling more scared than you would have been if he had been raging and banging on the door. There was something about the silence; something about it felt foreboding, like a threat was creeping up behind you and you couldn’t hear it no matter how hard you tried.

You heard him turn away a few minutes later, heavy footfalls walking towards the door, and finally the bell signaling his departure.

For a few minutes, you sat there and waited.

Eventually, you opened the closet just a sliver, looking out into the dim lighting with flickering eyes, checking every possible corner that he could be hiding in. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t in here.

You slid out of the closet and almost immediately ducked behind the counter, still shaking from the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

Shakily, you peeked out from behind the counter, checking for any sign of him outside. When you found the street to be devoid of him, you silently gasped in relief.

You ripped your keys out of the door with rushed hands.

You went home alone, without Wriothesley, who had taken it upon himself to personally walk you there almost every night of the week. A part of it felt strange to deviate from the routine, but you needed no reminder to know that the man you had trusted and spent time with all week was now a dangerous threat. You ran to the door of your home, opening it hurriedly and slamming it shut.

You tossed and turned as you slept that night, a doomed feeling settling in your churning stomach.

—————————

The next day, you took measures to start rebuilding. Perhaps you were just frantic to get back to some sense of normalcy after having the rug ripped out from under you the other night—or maybe you were desperate to have something to keep your mind off of the buzzing anxiety that was constantly gnawing at the back of your mind.

The man who broke in had already been put on trial and sentenced to an undetermined amount of time in the Fortress of Meropide, and had also been forced to cough up more than enough mora to cover the damages.

This, oddly enough, had all been told to you by a third party, someone hired by the court to watch over legal proceedings.

Someone was pulling the strings behind the case, and you didn’t want to think about who it was, just in case the pieces started falling together. (Deep down, you already knew.)

When you had heard he was being sent to the Fortress, you felt something in your gut twist unpleasantly, a kind of stone-like anxiety that weighed and sunk a permanent pit in your stomach. People who went there didn’t usually come back, or if they did, they weren’t the same. They weren’t viewed the same, either. What would happen to him once he came back? If he came back?

You shivered as the memory of him being dragged away resurfaced.

You sighed as you swept up errant pieces of class, determined to discard of every shard before you allowed any more precious customers or flowers to come through the door. The window had already been replaced, as a very nervous man had knocked on your door a few days after the…incident with Wriothesley, and claimed that he had been sent to repair it. You hadn’t even talked to anyone about fixing the window. A sinking feeling appeared in your chest as you watched the jumpy man chip away at glass and wood, his movements tense and swift. When you went to close the shop, you checked if you had locked the door three separate times before rushing home, practically running through the stone streets, running from absolutely nothing at all.

There was no sign of Wriothesley during the months it took your shop to recover. You were glad that he had taken what you had said to him in your moment of fear seriously. Still, you feared that he would show up on some random day, at some random time, and catch you off guard. That you would be reminded of the violence that seemed to follow him like a shadow, leaving trails of devastation in his wake.

Everyday you went home glancing over your shoulder while walking briskly down the street, always making sure to make it home before dark.

—————————

You unlocked the door to your home, hurriedly glancing behind you as you shoved the keys into the lock, pushing the door in quickly as it gave way. You closed and locked the door behind you, allowing yourself to relax minutely against the cool frame.

“Back so soon? I noticed you’ve been closing earlier nowadays. What’s that about?”

You froze, an ice cold fear creeping through your veins.

There, sitting in the dark of your unlit living room, was the man you had been simultaneously avoiding and thinking about constantly for months.

You could make out the silhouette of his hulking figure, leaning back into your favorite chair with his fingers laced together and knees spread apart, relaxed and causal. His eyes, which always held a mildly scrutinizing gaze, had turned razor sharp—they hadn’t moved from you since the moment you had stepped into the room. You were a pinned butterfly under that look, being dissected and picked apart by glacial, stormy irises.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, your voice coming out a little more shakily than intended. You tried not to hyperventilate. You really tried, but you could already feel your chest tightening, like just being in his presence was suffocating—

He stood up. Rooted in place, you didn’t dare move. If you tried to run, you knew he would catch you.

He moved towards you slowly, like he knew just as well as you did that you couldn’t escape.

He stopped a foot away from you, his height easily trumping yours, his figure casting a large, beastly shadow in the dim lighting.

You tilted your head back to look him in the eye. Even now, those icy eyes were beautiful. You thought it was unfair. Now that you knew what he was, what he was capable of, you thought, his eyes should come as warning. They were the eyes of a predator. And yet, still cold and steely, clear like cryo vision that hung from his hip, which you had never even seen until now.

Still beautiful, reminding you of clear water and arctic oceans and quiet. It was so quiet.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you dared to break the careful silence.

He reached up, curled fingers gently caressing your cheek, dragging down along the side of your neck, as if a simple touch with too much force behind it would shatter you.

His eyes flickered to the place where your shirt had lifted to expose your collarbone, coat hanging off your shoulders and pulling the fabric down.

He ran his fingers over the exposed skin, making you shiver as you felt rough, calloused pads run across you gingerly, lightly. A delicate touch from a hardened man. He looked back at you, his eyes soft. Intense. Adoring. He had moved closer in the last few seconds, you remarked. You only noticed because you had to crane your head up more to look at him. His chest touched yours. He leaned down, ghosting his lips over your forehead. His hand had moved. One had settled on your waist, holding and trapping you close to him.

You felt a prick in the side of your neck, vision going black as you collapsed into his arms.

—————————

The next time you woke up, you weren’t in your house anymore. There was gauzy, heavy fabric hanging above you. You had been placed in a canopy bed in a room that was expensively furnished, and yet somehow untouched. You were in a bed, which was in a prison, at the bottom of the ocean.

Wriothesley walked in only an hour after you woke. You had a feeling he had been routinely checking to see if you were awake.

He looked down at you, his eyes painfully tender in a way that you regretted not noticing before. There was a fondness, a suffocating fondness, which told you that all those things he now whispered to you at night—how he wanted to protect you, how he had longed to have you for so long, how he had been watching you from afar with his heart in his hands, just waiting for the right moment to give it to you—

His eyes told you that they were all true.

Somehow, you couldn’t hate him.

Wriothesley had been living as a lonely prisoner in his own kingdom—his underwater kingdom that he ruled, because he thrived on the depths of the cold, dark ocean and its inhabitants that yielded to his power.

And yet the king of the underworld yearned for just a little bit of life. Life that you were familiar with—life that you thrived off of, and that thrived in return under your guidance. Life that you loved.

Life that had attracted you to him.

You didn’t know if anyone still talked about you on the surface; if they talked about your existence, or more so your disappearance, in hushed whispers with shifty eyes. No one talked about you down here—no one knew you existed, except for the head nurse and your husband.

You had been stolen away, under the ocean, that little shop off main street missing its owner forevermore.

You, who had always been surrounded by the life of the surface, had been transported to the underworld, a land of misery and lost souls, away from all life, surrounded and trapped by the love you once longed for—and mourning the life you once had.

—————————

Reader: *lets go of Wriothesley’s hand bc they got robbed*

Wriothesley: oh this jerk is gonna pay *sends the guy who robbed you to the bottom of the sea*

he’s been waiting to hold that hand for so long )):< wtf dude

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beesmygod · 1 year

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we can all look back on and laugh at this when im wrong, but it seems like social media in its current incarnation is dying an undignified and overdue death. it turns out throwing all of humanity into one room and expecting everyone to develop a single ethos was beyond insane conceptually and the artists who built their following on social media are probably in a tail spin right now. people jumping to bluesky are insane lol. did you forget jack dorsey is the idiot who got us into this mess in the first place. why would you choose to subject yourself to this shit again. for what purpose?

the stock answer i got was that "for discoverability/audience" and if that's true thats a problem. i've been hollerin about this to anyone who would listen prior to this but the customer base of twitter (and all social media) is its advertisers. they have not been shy from the start about that fact because its the only way they generate income, as far as i know. YOU (the user) are the product. YOU (still the user) are also what draws people to the site. there is not a social media website on earth that has figured out that making a good website (which would require hiring and paying for quality labor over an extended period of time) is more likely to result in economic success than exclusively courting the businesses whose interest is in making the website worse to use with ads. at no point were our interests ever a factor.

in fact, imo, the number of people following you is not an accurate representational sample of your audience. the reasonable assumption you should make is that the vast majority of numbers involved with any website (esp those with a vested interest in showing off big numbers to VC investors or advertising execs) are inflated or just outright fake. the numbers exist solely to drive you insane and make awful people happy. the numbers cause you and everyone around you to start spontaneously spawning myths about a beast called "the algorithm" that possesses the incredible traits of being both something you can game for success or blame for your failures. it coerces you into enacting out nonsense superstitions to try to counteract or appease it in the hopes of, let's be honest, breaking it big and going viral. this way, you, the creator, do not have to do the hard work of building up a rapport with an audience. none of this goes anything but adds more numbers for the ceos to look at and nod approvingly or disapprovingly at.

the people running the world today are, without exaggeration, cartoon villains. they are deeply stupid, devoid of empathy, and open about their intent to do deeply evil acts in order to further their economic interests. trying to derive some kind of financial benefit from the creations of these unapologetic losers was always bound to be a wasted effort. the best thing i can say about twitter, a website i was banned from countless times and returned to out of stubborn desire, was that i got to make some great jokes with friends and cause some chaos lol. letting people know i have a web comic was always a secondary function once the realization of what social media was turning out to be set in like 7 years ago. any artist who insists that you have to do this or that on this or that social media site is trying to drag you down into the quagmire of online numbers poisoning.

run away!!! children heed my advice!!! the joy of creation does not lie on a path that encourages you to cater to the lowest common denominators while casting your net. just fucking have fun with it. if its not fun then it wont even be fun to do financially anyway. and isnt that, like. the point.

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gremlinscomics · 4 months

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No comic today y'all, Crow and I are still getting chapter 2 put together, HOWEVER-

Would y'all like some more Big Mama's Assistant content...?

Just a quick intro to who she is at this point in SOOP, read it on AO3 or just continue reading down below, enjoy!

Big Mama's assistant has been given many, many names throughout her life.

A champion, a work of art, Big Mama’s finest masterpiece.

She is everything that is to be expected from someone brought up by the most powerful Yokai in all of the Hidden City. A sharp-witted young woman and the perfect extension of power.

Outsiders may say she’s barely more than a pet, never out of her owner's sight, a product of a flamboyant businesswoman's flights of fancy.

She’s an echo, who’s voice is nothing more than myth to those around her, whose face is concealed by a well designed muzzle.

Big Mama’s loyal assistant, with not a thought of her own, merely a vessel for a higher power.

The older Yokai at the hotel, the ones that have been there since its beginning, who witnessed her sudden appearance, will deny that she’s simply just Big Mama’s assistant.

To them she is known as Venus DeMilo.

Sole heir to the Nexus and all the glory surrounding it, a child born with a silver spoon in her mouth. They say that her loyalty to Big Mama is nothing new, not something that simply appeared one day. Even from a young age, she was more than willing to obey every order. It’s not uncommon knowledge that she was raised knowing her status was high above those around her, second only to her Mother’s.

She and Big Mama once attended human galas together; Their carefully crafted cloaking brooches allowing them to seamlessly blend with the crowds of New York elites. Venus was an endless source of bragging, with Big Mama never passing up an opportunity to talk about her dearest daughter's latest achievements or praises.

Even as the years went on and, despite her social appearances becoming fewer and further between, her reputation remained intact.

Venus DeMilo is a loyal daughter who preens at the praise of her elders and puffs out her chest when Big Mama mentions her latest accomplishments.

Venus DeMilo comes from a high pedigree, she’s a debutante.

But, there’s an air around her, one that sets others on edge. She is something more than just a ward blinded by their admiration for their provider.

She is a soldier who will gladly spill blood if her commander tells her to.

And she does.

Venus grows up in the arena, with millions watching.

She goes from a child to a champion nearly overnight, to the surprise of few and the cheers of many. Her first match for the title of top fighter in the Battle Nexus drew in droves of Yokai, all more than eager to watch a young Venus crush opponents ten times her size under her heel.

In the arena she is untethered, no one there to hold her to the etiquette and rules of high society. She breaks bones, maims without a second thought, competitors beg for mercy when they see their fleeting lives in the reflection of her tessen and she always, always, emerges victorious.

Venus looks up after every match, like clockwork, not towards the roaring crowds who adore her every breath, but at Big Mama's private box high above them; always asking a silent question, waiting almost hesitantly for a few moments, before bowing her head and making her exit; a trail of destruction left in her wake.

Big Mama brags about her creation, her crown jewel, always praising Venus on how close she is to succeeding; Lamenting on how she’s nearly caught up to her reputation.

Over the years, Venus has never wavered, never questioned her place. She loves her mother and her mother loves her, wants what's best for her, and that is enough.

She is content with her role, she is happy to blend into the shadows until Big Mama asks her to step into the spotlight, to show what years of an upbringing under proper conditions can yield.

There’s a power behind Venus, a constant brand, reminding her who she owes her success to. It whispers and instructs, never leading her astray.

If it tells her to jump, she jumps, if it tells her to win, she snatches victory up from her competitors' cold, stiff hands.

When it tells her to live up to the statuesque legacy she’s been given, she gladly chips and chisels away every single inadequacy; always just out of perfection's grasp but nearing it more and more with each attempt.

Because she is Venus DeMilo, soon she will be Big Mama’s pièce de résistance.

Soon she won’t just be a champion.

She will be a victor.

#rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt big mamas assistant #rottmnt venus de milo #soop #shadows of our past #cw violence #not a lot... just a lil'#but better safe than sorry!#fanfiction #gremsgoodies

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jessamine-rose · 4 months

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⋆˚♱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

#pierro #pierro x reader #yandere pierro x reader #yandere pierro #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui x reader #genshin x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dark #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: death #tw: sui ideation #mdni #g/n reader #jessamine-writing

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five-rivers · 1 year

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If you're still doing prompts, may I suggest Danny learning about the legends following his time travel (what the Romans thought was up; the Buddhists, that one kid, etc

Physics and engineering major or not, Danny still needed credits in the humanities. Comparative Mythology and Folklore was the obvious choice for that. All through high school, Sam and Jazz had been on his case about knowing so little mythology, on account of his ghostly enemies and allies sometimes being mythological figures.

(Also the constellation thing, but they didn't bring that part up all that much, funnily enough.)

At the time, Danny had figured (see what he did there?) that there wasn't much point to it. Pandora wasn't all that similar to her mythic version, Medusa didn't turn people to stone, and winged horses were, by and large, not friendly.

Recent events had made him reconsider that stance.

Anyway! The class was a "two birds, one stone" sort of deal. He got both credits and practical knowledge. Theoretically.

So far, they'd covered creation myths and etiological stories, gods and goddesses, the monolith and the hero's journey, and now, in the tiny slice of time before they had to start studying for the final, they were looking at weird minor similarities without clear causes.

"Now," said the professor, "this next one is probably my favorite, because it's so specific and so widespread. Of course, the most obvious reason for this is that it's a story that traveled, much like how the pre-Indo-European gods traveled. However, the times and locations involved make that very unlikely, at least in my opinion. The other end of the spectrum is, of course, aliens, which are even more unlikely."

There was a soft smattering of laughter throughout the large classroom. Danny started to get a bad feeling about this.

"The other strange thing about this particular similarity is that it comes out of seemingly nowhere, with regards to the larger culture. There have even been several instances of it in this century - although, given modern information infrastructure, those instances may not be entirely organic. But Imperial Rome, China, Colonial America, just to name a few… That's weirder. Any guesses about what I'm talking about?"

No one raised their hand, and after a couple of minutes, the professor used their remote control to go to the next slide of their presentation. Danny sank down in his seat as he stared up at a collage of himself in a dozen different art styles.

"All around the world, there are stories about a young man or boy with white hair and dark clothing coming from 'distant lands' to either fight off 'monsters' or to retrieve unspecified objects. As you can see, despite some of these pieces being from cultures that never had any contact with one another, the resemblance of the figures is striking. The– Yes, you have a question?"

"Will this be on the final?" asked a student a few rows down from Danny.

The professor sighed. "As a general rule, if I'm teaching you about it, I'll be testing you about it. Moving on–"

Danny forced himself to start taking notes. He couldn't believe he was going to be tested on himself. Especially when he was pretty sure he hadn't even been to all of those places yet.

Clockwork must be laughing his head off.

#danny phantom #answer #ask #prompt #prompt fill #prompt fic

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the-heros-sidekick · 4 months

Text

❝ went looking for a creation myth, ended up with a pair of cracked lips. ❞

He feels it first at the back of his neck. A buzzing, like the crackling of electricity underneath his skin, reverberating against the hollow of his skull. Something is knocking, making its presence known: A particular kind of evil that had snuck into Stiles’ mind once already, stealing away control over his body. Condemning him to sit back, trapped in his own mind, rendering him powerless. Doomed to watch in horror as his blood-stained hands wielded sharpened blades against those he loved. They’d gotten him out, though nearly at the cost of his own life—a sacrifice Stiles had been more than willing to make, so long as no one else would get hurt because of him. And yet something must have stayed behind, lodged into the membrane of his skull like a shard of glass. For the longest time he’d managed to keep the horrors contained to only haunt him in the dead of night, leaving him sleep deprived and wrung out, every nerve ending scraped thin. But now, even the light of day no longer offers refuge for Stiles to feel safe. Long gone is the once obnoxiously loud, carefree kid—left in its stead is a man carrying himself with caution, treading quietly across the space between other people’s reality and what lies beyond. He knows there are demons out there listening, waiting for an opportunity to exploit any sign of weakness—a door left slightly ajar, perhaps, much like the door to Stiles’ mind they’d never managed to close. The feeling of impending doom crescendos and Stiles, feeling sick to his stomach with fear, clings desperately to the words he repeats to himself like a mantra. "Nothing gets in unless you let it.” But the words turn to ash in his mouth, memories of past experiences proving him a liar.

an exploration of Teen Wolf's 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈 who, after leaving Beacon Hills behind, settled down in New York where he's now considered the FBIs golden boy ― crafted for @fakevz. following canon events of the show with additional headcanons. low activity & very crossover friendly. minors dni. this blog operates in english only. est. 2014 ♗ ©

𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍: loss of innocence ⊹ comedic sidekick ⊹ overcoming demonic possession ⊹ a morally gray world ⊹ undying loyalty ⊹ survivor's guilt ⊹ agent of chaos ⊹ deflecting with humor

✧ 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ✧ 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 ✧ 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

I think I've loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity.

Ever since I first laid eyes on you, I felt this unquenchable need to know you.I blamed it on ulterior motives, justified it because I needed something from you, because you held the answers I was looking for, because no one else was able to help but you. Looking back on it now though, I'm starting to think that maybe some part of me knew right from the start, that first night I stumbled upon you in the woods, what took me years to see: Maybe my heart recognized that it was going to love you right away, and I spent the years to come catching up with what it knew right from the start. That it was always going to be you. How could it ever have been anyone else? Through mayhem and bloodshed, through fear and loss, through grief and sleepless nights, you were the one constant that remained. When I lost sight of everything--first myself, then reality, then hope--you were the one guiding my way like a beacon, or a north star. If I've ever known peace, it's in all the moments that your hand has touched mine and that your arms have held me tirelessly, putting your body like a shield between me and every inkling of danger. Of all the late-night wonderings of trying to make sense of the last decade (and failing), what remains is this singular thought: At least it was you. At least it was me. At least it was us, together. I'd bear it all a million times over if it meant I got to hold your hand at the end of it all. You are the moment of quiet at the end of a long day, you are breathless laughter, you're the patch of sunlight filtering in through the window that I stand in to warm myself. You are everything good in this world and living proof that there is hope despite it all, and I love you beyond measure.

#tag dump:#[ 𝟎𝟏 ] the boy who runs with wolves ╱ * character study.#[ 𝟎𝟐 ] they see right through me ╱ * visuals.#[ 𝟎𝟑 ] i fill the void up with polished doubt ╱ * musings.#[ 𝟎𝟒 ] november flush & your flannel cure ╱ * aesthetic.#[ 𝟎𝟓 ] a morally gray world ╱ * headcanons.#[ 𝟎𝟔 ] brick lane in the brisk cold ╱ * home.#[ 𝟎𝟕 ] one more off-key anthem ╱ * playlist.#[ 𝟎𝟖 ] fidelity . bravery . integrity ╱ * profession.#[ 𝟎𝟗 ] driving past ghosts ╱ * beacon hills.#[ 𝟏𝟎 ] a terrible hunger for knowing things ╱ * memes.#[ 𝟏𝟏 ] wound up a bad comedian ╱ * games.#[ 𝟏𝟐 ] spills of lost innocence ╱ * writings.#[ 𝟏𝟑 ] the greatest of luxuries is your secrets ╱ * ooc.#[ 𝟏𝟒 ] thinking of a master plan ╱ * answered.#thank you @theallegedsourwolf for this amazing edit <3 #it gets sappy under the cut. read at your own risk #supernatural #modern setting #english #r: engaged #f: teen wolf #he/him #editsfakevz #userfakevz

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itsagoodluckkiss · 8 months

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I Know The End

Pairings: Roronoa Zoro x f!reader, platonic strawhats x f!reader

Summary: This is based on one of my favorite songs, I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers, and I take the meaning of this song as a "when you're at the bottom, the only way is up" kind of song. Reader is a friend of Nami, she has air powers and joins the Strawhats after they help her save her town.

Warnings: Mild East Blue spoilers, kinda OC Zoro, typical OP violence, otherwise pure fluff, no use of Y/N

WC: 3.7κ

A/N: Oi, hello there! This is my first One Piece fanfic, took me a bit more than I expected but I did it! I have another one for my first request on the way, but since this is my first, I had to post one about my fave! Also, I'm sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. Anyways, hope you enjoy it, and if you do, pretty please leave a comment! Requests are open! ❤️

“I’m not gonna go down with my hometown in a tornado, I’m gonna chase it. I gotta go now, I know. Driving out into the sun, let the ultraviolet cover me up. Went looking for a creation myth, ended up with a pair of cracked lips… A slaughterhouse, an outlet mall, slot machines, fear of God… Big bolt of lightning hanging low. Over the coast everyone’s convinced it’s a government drone or an alien spaceship.”

Feeling out of place is something you get used to when living in this part of the East Blue and seek adventure; it is called the weakest sea for some reason after all. Even if she loved her living place, she disliked the fact that people mostly minded their own business without blinking an eye to the suffering and corruption around them. She couldn’t entirely blame them; it wasn’t an easy thing caring about neighboring regions when your own was constantly hit by natural disasters, causing deaths and lifetime labors destroyed.

She had just learned that the Conomi Islands had been freed by Arlong’s cruel rule after eight whole years. She wondered how Nami was. They had met a couple of years ago when she caught her rummaging her family’s vault and helped her through it without getting her caught. She hid her in her room while the Navy was looking for the thief. She didn’t need the money and it was obvious to her that Nami did. Nami was her first real friend. The week they spent together, drinking and getting to know each other, talking about their backstories, their wants and plans for the future was the best in her life. She had promised that after she’d buy her village back and free it, she’d come to see her again. She hadn’t heard from Nami since.

They said it was because of the Marines the islands were liberated. She could never believe that for one second. Her curious personality always managed to get her into the Navy’s business, making her family’s influence and prestige on the island take a hit every time she got into trouble with them. She couldn’t help that all this talk from the Marines about justice and keeping the peace made her want to throw up on their shiny uniforms. She knew it was all an act for them and their allies to maintain power. How could Marines talk about values when regions and people were enslaved and the Navy turned a blind eye instead of helping, just for power and some berries?

Her dream was to end all that fake order and bring actual freedom to those in need; to become a freedom fighter and help people. She needed the right opportunity but also, she had to take advantage of every situation if she wanted to get away from that place someday and seek what she so wholeheartedly craved. So she learned her family’s secrets and strengths. It’s not every day you see generations of people knowing how to yield the air around them, giving them a bunch of abilities like flying or sucking the air out of their enemies’ lungs or causing hurricanes of every size. She knew when to play nice and be obedient so that her parents would teach her their ways, thinking that she would grow out of her rebellious phase, would learn about and protect her family’s rule. It’s not an easy task for them to cover up the Navy’s dirt on the island after all.

The more she mastered her power, the more she could see that something was wrong with her family. She had started to notice the patterns. Every time the island was hit by a storm or a natural disaster, they were never home. At first, it would make sense that they’d go and help their people. Then, after the storms, her island’s Navy unit and its captain started collecting “taxes” for rebuilding the infrastructures. Thing was, the taxes would constantly go up, bringing inhabitants to their knees. Meanwhile, her family didn’t seem affected at all. They would just roam the island, giving advices and pacifying the angry voices that protested the Navy. So, she decided, in the next hurricane, she would learn her parents and older siblings’ sketchy business. She had to know what was the cause of all this and what she could do to change it.

Meeting new people travelling between islands and seas was a fascinating thing. She loved hearing stories about their adventures, about different places and bigger dangers, fights between pirates and marines or about the golden age of piracy. About the Grand Line, the different weather conditions in each island, the devil fruits and the abilities they gave their users. She would always wander through the port, looking for more myths coming to life by the sailors that docked their ships on her island for supplies.

When she spotted a beautiful pirate caravel, with a sheep figurehead in its bow and its Jolly Roger with a straw hat, docked in their port, she felt a strange wave of excitement and peace. She couldn’t explain it but that beautiful ship radiated so much love and care, like it had a soul of its own and a smile that made everyone feel like home if they stepped into it. She stood there, admiring it from afar, when she felt someone standing next to her.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Her name is Merry! She’s my ship.”

She turned to look at the stranger. A boy around the same age as hers, with a small scar under his right eye and a straw hat on his head, and that made her assume this was the captain. He had a smile so vibrant, it reminded her of the sun. His energy was so welcoming, she felt like she could be friends with him on a whim.

“Hello. She is indeed a sight to behold.”

She gave him a warm smile back, raising her hand to introduce herself.

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Luffy, and I’m gonna be King Of The Pirates!”

She couldn’t help but laugh, but it had no malice. She loved dreamers, being one herself, and even if she met that boy only a couple of minutes ago, she could see he would give everyone in the world a run for their money. A gust of wind blew, taking his hat away, and before he could react, she brought it back to him through the air around her. She placed it on his head and gave him a toothy grin.

“There! You can’t be King Of The Pirates without your trademark, right?”

“THANK YOU! YOU’VE GOT AIR POWERS? THAT’S SO COOL! YOU SHOULD JOIN OUR CREW!”

She was dumbfounded by his enthusiasm and his abrupt proposal. Never had she met anyone like him, so thrilled by her presence and her little air tricks. Before she could reply, she heard footsteps and another male voice behind her.

“Oi Luffy, stop scaring people by asking them to join us like that, will you?”

She turned to look at the deeper voice, and for a moment it felt like lighting coursing through her veins. Taller and more muscular than the boy next to her, he looked a bit older than them both, with short green hair and eyes gray as steel, three golden earrings that gleamed in the sunlight graced his left ear. He had a sharp gaze that radiated a strong and confident energy, one that lacked fear or hesitation. She never believed in love at first sight, but this felt as close as she could imagine it would feel. The man approached them and introduced himself to her.

“Roronoa Zoro? As in ‘Pirate Hunter’ Zoro? In a pirate crew?”

Of course she had heard of his reputation. Who didn’t know the infamous bounty hunter swordsman in the East Blue? He chuckled at her surprise.

“Yeah, well, long story short, this guy here has an effect of convincing people easily.”

“There you are, you idiots! We’ve been looking for you everywhere! We’re not here for me to babysit you not getting lost, we’re here to find my-”

She heard a familiar female shriek before she felt soft arms around her, squeezing her tight, and she immediately knew who it was. She could never forget her best friend’s hugs. She returned the hug as she screamed Nami’s name, before they both started to cry tears of joy. Her hand grabbed her upper arm, and she felt deep scars where her Arlong tattoo should be but was replaced by another, prettier one.

“I was so worried about you! I learned what happened to your village and I didn’t know what to think!”

“You should have known I’d be okay, you know I always pull through. Although, these guys were the greatest help I could get. They are the reason I’m freed and I wanted to keep my promise to you.”

She looked at the boys around them with gratitude, two more joining them, a blond boy wearing a suit, who looked like he would burst into flames from the heart eyes on his face and another one with wavy hair, a long nose and mischief in his eyes.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping my friend. She means the world to me!”

“Whoa, Nami’s your friend? Now you should definitely join our crew! We’ve heard so much about you, the only reason we stopped here before Loguetown was to find you!” Luffy said with enthusiasm.

“Yes, it’s not every day you hear someone born into money giving them away without question, hiding the thief in addition and fighting their way to get them out safely. You must be quite the character.” Zoro smirked at her.

“And to add to that, you’re also a sight to behold, my lady!” the blond boy said as he kissed her hand and introduced himself as Sanji, making her laugh at his advances.

“We’ve heard you have a great mind for plans too. Could use a strategist in this group of idiots that run into danger head on. I always device a plan to beat my enemies. I’m Usopp by the way.”

She was dumbfounded to say the least, taking them all and their kind words in. She met these guys a few moments ago, yet never had she felt such a feeling of being so welcomed by the people around her, she was so used to being ignored that this interaction almost made her sob. She kissed Nami’s cheek before letting her go.

“I… thank you guys… you’re all so sweet… but I don’t think I’m that good-”

“Bullshit, you’ll be the smartest person besides me in this crew. Come on now, I know how much you long to get the hell out of this place, they’ve never appreciated you anyways, and I don’t think anything changed since we met.” Nami proclaimed, smiling at her.

“No… not much anyway. I just learned how to use my powers now… Look, I don’t know what to think of this, I have-”

A loud rumble shook the earth below them. She felt the temperature drop rapidly and she knew what was coming. Now was her chance to find out the truth she looked for, the one that could possibly make her decide to cut ties with her family if her speculations were true. She turned to the Strawhats, as they called themselves, and smiled brightly.

“Thank you guys. But I have to run now. There are rooms for rent down this road, run and cover yourselves and don’t come out before the storm passes. Maybe I’ll see you around after that.”

As they started to protest, she flew off to the source of the hurricane she could see coming from afar.

And sure enough, the feeling of throwing up from disgust and despair overwhelmed her when she arrived at the source. She saw her family controlling the hurricanes and lightings that hit her island, and the Navy captain, who she knew was a devil fruit user, was shaking the ground, causing the earthquake, while his Unit watched from the sidewalks. Bodies were scattered around damaged buildings, scenery of pure horror. Before she could react to stop this, she felt boulders hitting her, splitting her lips and bruising her body, blood running down her jaw as she fell down.

Logically, everything fell into place. Emotionally, nothing made sense. She couldn’t comprehend how she could have been raised by such cruel people. Her eyes welled up with tears, but not from the pain she felt on her body, but from the sight in front of her, as her parents approached her, proclaiming she was not mature enough to understand their family’s best interest and how she has always been such a disappointment, never listening, never following orders, an annoying, meddling child.

“Do whatever you want; we can’t do anything about her anymore.” Her parents proclaimed to the navy captain as he too approached.

“You’ve always been a pain in the ass and I can finally get rid of you.” The captain proclaimed as he unsheathed his sword.

She closed her eyes but she never felt the blade on her skin. The captain’s scream echoed as his arm got cut off from the shoulder, his sword hitting the ground.

“Swords are not toys, captain. You don’t get to play with them.”

Her head spin to the male voice behind her and her eyes widen as she saw the five pirates ready to fight. Zoro was the closest to her, having drawn one of his swords that was now covered in blood, leaving a clean cut on the marine’s shoulder. Usopp was standing a few feet behind, a slingshot in his hand as he shoot at the navy soldiers, the collision ended in blasts and the soldiers started to run away. Nami was holding a strange, long, steel pole that seemed by its use to control the weather around them with air bubbles.

“You’re not hurting a lady on my watch.” Sanji proclaimed before his leg collided with the bleeding captain’s face, kicking him to the ground.

“He was already done, curlybrows.”

“Shut your mouth, marimo!”

They were bickering as if they all were not in a life or death situation. The most shocking thing was Luffy, who was stretching his body as he was wielding what seemed to be the bark of a tree around, taking soldiers and her family with it.

“Nami said you had problems with your family. You seemed worried. So we followed you.” He said with a toothy grin.

Zoro grabbed her hand and raised her from the ground.

“You know how to fight I assume?”

“Yes I do.”

“Well then, let’s give them hell, pretty girl.”

Either way, we’re not alone. I’ll find a new place to be from. A haunted house with a picket fence, to float around and ghost my friends. I’m not afraid to disappear. The billboard said "The End Is Near". I turned around, there was nothing there. Yeah, I guess the end is here.”

And sure enough, she couldn’t believe the six of them managed to stop the destruction while fighting the whole navy unit and her family combined, who were now running away from the angry crowd that had assembled when the hurricanes stopped and saw the whole thing happening.

“You guys… I can’t thank you enough-”

“Pffff, that was nothing, it was funny being blown away, felt like flying hehe.” Luffy laughed as he grabbed her in a hug. “You’re Nami’s friend, so you are our friend too!”

She had started crying by now as she hugged Luffy back, the feelings she felt in that moment couldn’t be described.

“I think… I think I’ll join you guys!”

A week had passed since her family fled off the island that was now filled with marines who listed the damages and arrested their own dirty kind. They had made a futile attempt to take the strawhats in, and before they would even start a fight, the people of the island wreaked havoc, not even letting them close to their saviors. She took the crew in the house that was now hers.

She helped Nami move all the gold from the house onto their ship. She gave Usopp advices for his trinkets and how they would fly through the air easier. She cooked with Sanji and then would catalog the storages that would be taken with them to their journey, with Luffy receiving several kicks from the cook because he tried to eat everything. She had never had so much fun in her life as she had with them. Her favorite moments came at night, usually spent drinking with Zoro. They had talked about their childhoods, he had told her about his family how died when he was a toddler, his promise to his childhood friend who died way before her time, how he acquired that big scar across his chest. The more she got to know him, the more connected she felt to him, like a final puzzle piece falling right in to place.

On their last night, everyone was fast asleep, getting the rest they’d need since they would cross the entrance to the Grand Line the next day. But her anticipation wouldn’t let her sleep. After tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, she got off her bed and walked around the house, taking it in one last time. She had decided to gift it to a large family whose home got destroyed. It was a fact that she didn’t want anything to do with that place anymore. Tomorrow morning her life would change forever. Her mind leading her nowhere in particular, she walked to her terrace. The wind, soft and gentle, rustled through the leaves of the trees, creating a soothing melody, and she could see the sea ahead, illuminated by the moon, which casted a silvery glow on the water. It was a peaceful scene, yet she could feel her heart racing when she saw Zoro sitting on the bench of her terrace, polishing his swords.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked as he glanced at her.

“I… I guess I’m nervous about tomorrow.”

“It must be a little overwhelming, I guess. Don’t worry though, we’re a good crew, we’ll take care of you.”

A small smile played on his lips. His words were reassuring, but there was something else in his tone, something that made her heart skip a beat. She bit her lip, walking to the edge of the terrace, her hands holding on to the railing as she tried to find the right words to say.

“I know I’ll be safe with you, guys. It’s just… it feels like the end is near for me in this place… and being in a pirate crew is going to be something so new and big… and I don’t feel like I bring a lot on the table…”

He chuckled softly as he placed his swords down, walking towards to stand next to her, taking her hand in his to give a firm squeeze.

“The end is near for this part of your life, indeed. But you’re strong, you’re brave, and you’re a great fighter. You’ve been through a lot and yet you’re one of the kindest people I’ve met, still standing here, ready to face whatever comes next. That takes a lot of courage, and it takes character. I think you bring a lot, and you’re going to fit right in with us. You’re not alone.”

She smiled shyly, feeling warmth spread through her chest, her eyes almost welling up. He smiled back, his expression genuine.

“Thank you, Zoro. You really have no idea how much that means.”

“I think I do. I know what it’s like to be uncertain about the future, to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. But you belong with us now. You’re going to make a great crewmate. It’s good to have you on board. I have a feeling you’re going to surprise all of us with what you can do.” He paused, his expression a bit more serious. “And… if you need to talk… or vent or… anything… I’m here.”

A deep blush crept up across her cheeks. “I… thank you… for everything. Same goes for me.”

She felt her heart flutter as he continued to hold her hand, her stare moving to meet his gaze. She couldn’t help but feel more at ease with him and he couldn’t deny the way he felt either.

“For now, I think we should just enjoy being together and explore this new thing we’ll find ourselves in. Who knows what kind of trouble we’ll stumble upon?”

“I’m looking forward to seeing what awaits us.” She leaned a bit closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And I’m looking forward to get to know you better too.”

It was time for his heart to skip a beat at her words. Her eyes widened but before she could shy away, he leaned in closer, and their lips met in a tender, hesitant kiss, a slow, gentle brushing of lips. The sounds of the forest faded away, leaving only the beating of their hearts and the rush of blood in their ears.

“Take care!”

“Come back soon!”

“Sorry I was mean to you, can’t wait to see you again!”

“Be safe and make us proud!”

“Don’t disappear!”

Most of the town’s people were at the port to give their regards to the strawhats and her. The others were already abroad, her being the last to climb the rope ladder on to her new home. She turned around before hoping on to the deck, and took in how weird and eerie her town looked now, like looking at a haunted house from afar.

“So, the end is near, then?”

She lifted her head to see Zoro’s smirk as he gave her his hand to lift her on to the ship. Someone shouted at her to not disappear. She wasn’t afraid of that. She was afraid of staying still. Her head turned around one last time and she saw nothing there.

“Yeah, I guess, the end is here.”

And she took his hand.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #zoro opla #zoro fluff #zoro one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #straw hat crew #roronoa zoro fanfiction #opla!zoro x reader

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floweroflaurelin · 1 year

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So Pixlriffs’ finale is a masterpiece and I’m experiencing a lot of emotions right now ✨🌻✨

For my own reference I made a transcript of the monologue and thought I might as well share it! It's under the cut to avoid spoilers but the whole first 8ish minutes of his video are typed out. I recommend watching at least that much, if you haven’t yet, because it’s really something worth hearing.

We are not done.

Not yet.

Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But before they fade into obscurity, as so many events do, there is one more story left to be told.

[It is the Story

the World.]

It’s important to remind ourselves that history is an account of events remembered—and there are so few left who remember, so it mingles with myth and hearsay, folklore and fireside stories. This is the account of just one man, and others may recall the tale differently. Others still may decide to change the narrative to suit their own ends. And this, it must be said, is no bad thing. So it goes.

[Sun setting

over

our Creation.]

—

In a long-lost age before records truly began, our world was built by Titans (or so it is said). The lands they created became home to people who would seek to emulate and even to surpass that act of creation, and that would eventually bring about their destruction. But destruction is simply part of a cycle. Nothing is ever truly lost.

Those who foresaw the destruction fled before it could bring the walls of their homes down around them. And many who had been downtrodden and overlooked saw it as their chance to find a new life for themselves.

Thus began a great migration, leaving behind the old nations of the world and striking out for somewhere new, a life untethered from the follies of their former state. And though the road was long and treacherous, and many fell behind in the wake of such an awful endeavour, new bonds were forged in the fires of adversity.

As time passed, and more joined the great caravan, the host became a nation of its own, a glorious congregation sharing one purpose, singing the same resolute song. Though the road was long, they were homeward bound.

And a home they found nestled in a mountainous landscape, one that might have been carved by the very bones of the gods themselves. There they planted roots, drank deep from the water, and continued to grow. The farmers sowed new fields and raised new flocks. The work of many hands turned to building a new city. And together the architects conceived a castle upon a great plateau that would stand as a monument to their past apart and their future together. To them, the castle itself would tell the Story of the World.

Stone-whisperers from Mythland and the Grimlands, well-versed in masonry of all kinds, sculpted its walls from the abundant rock of the nearby mountains quarried for the glory of their new capital. They wrought rock and iron, carved and timbered their great halls, and raised mighty towers to stand atop the grand cliff.

The mages of the Crystal Cliffs brought knowledge of magic and the beauty of gemstones, and theirs was the sanctum at the heart of the castle, ever-seated at the Ruler’s left hand: their shield and protector.

A tribute was raised to Gilded Helianthia, whose ruler was still revered in the hearts and minds of many, and in time she became their warden against the spectres of the past, carrying the twin burdens of light and shadow on her shoulders; a burden with which the people of Rivendell were all too familiar.

And below, far below, the engineers of Pixandria sought to reproduce the jewel of their empire. A mechanism that would surpass the work of the Copper King himself.

Not all who came to found the Ancient Capital remained for long. Like dandelion seeds, the people of the Overgrown were scattered on the wind, alighting on the mountaintops and valleys. The vast majority of them came to settle in the rolling meadows of Chromia, which was renowned for the richness and beauty of its dyes for lifetimes after.

In the absence of their king, the nation of Mezelea resettled in new badlands, establishing laws and ordinances of their own. Many of them had been armour stands before the king imbued them with life, and some found this a hard habit to shake.

The people of the Cod and Ocean empires, bereft of the waters that gave them life, took to diving in the rocky pools of vast caverns and their affinity for stone grew. Over many generations they adapted, becoming the green-skinned race that folk came to know as goblins—their pointed ears the only remaining vestige of the fins they had once had.

For the gnomes of the Undergrove, this was a homecoming! They had long dwelled here before their exodus through the Nether and the fairy circles of the Evermoore welcomed them with open arms.

And the villagers of the Lost Empire, hiding in plain sight amongst the caravan of peoples, sought to find a place where they would be unburdened by this facade of humanity, standing at last on their own two feet.

But the boundaries of this land were ever-changing, and the nations soon found the cataclysm they had left behind had weakened the walls between their world and others. Waters rose and fell unpredictably; incursions from other realms were possible, bringing chaos in their wake. The tide of history churned and rippled.

None now remember how the Capital fell, only that its remains have lasted: an epitaph to all they had achieved together.

And just like before, new nations would arise. The pirates of Eversea ruled the waters from their secret cove. The inventors of Cogsmeade arrived sailing in from the air on their skyships—only to find whole buildings floating in the golden kingdom of Stratos. Rumours abounded of a Sanctuary hidden in the deepest jungle for those who knew the way.

Their tales are better told by those who knew them well. Our stories do not begin here, and neither do they end. But for this tired historian, it is perhaps best to leave these things in the past and begin to look towards the future.

For whatever comes next, we who have sown the seeds can only hope for a bountiful harvest.

#empires smp #pixlriffs #empires spoilers #empiresblr #empires s2 #empires pixlriffs #transcript #CHILLS. ACTUAL CHILLS.#this set fireworks off my brain btw. I want to make all the things right now #im busy at the moment but I will make things! I will! I must!

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liveinfarbe · 7 days

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Adar and Galadriel reminiscing about their Beleriand days…

These are clips from episode 4 and 7 of season 1. Notice the knife/dagger-parallel.

I've been researching the Silmarillion a little bit, because I think it gives hints about time and place in Adar's flashback account. This got lengthy. I write about the questionable Moriondor assumption by Galadriel and the esteem for flowers, blossoms, willows, glades in the lives of Galadriel and Celeborn, in Beleriand and beyond, and a possible path for hope, forgiveness and growth after trauma, that would lie in a dark Celeborn meets dark Galadriel story: Adar informs Arondir that he's been young in Beleriand once and used to walk down the banks of the Sirion river for miles and miles. He noticed sage blossoms, apparently liked the view, because it left a lasting impression. What I get from this (given the cosmology of that world is actual history and not just mythical) is that it must've happened after the sun and the moon appeared and pulled Middle-Earth out of its darkness, or else there wouldn’t be miles of sage blossoming. It thrives in full sunlight. This puts the account at the end of the First Age, after the Years of the Trees. Interestingly, this is after the "creation" of the Orcs by Morgoth.

Whatever bond and similarity Adar has with the Uruks, he’s apparently not one of those Moriondor that Galadriel talked about to him. I assume the Moriondor concept reflects Tolkien’s idea (he had several) that elves were captured by Morgoth after their awakening in Cuiviénen under the starlight and before Oromë found them and then got corrupted and twisted and thus became the first Uruks. While Adar shares certain physical traits with them, he can’t be one of those first Uruks, because 1.) he lived far in the West, in Beleriand, 2.) the sun had risen, 3.) he’s lived among elves that spoke Sindarin and Quenya, since he speaks it too and not some Avari language, though he could've learned all that in Angband during idle hours, I don't know, he learned black speech too. Anyway, the first mentions of Orcs roaming Beleriand is in Y.T. (Years of the Trees) 1330, but Melkor (at this point in time he's not yet given the name Morgoth by Fëanor) is incarcerated in Valinor. Sauron is in Beleriand though, hiding out in Angband, waiting for Melkor's return, "breeding" Orcs apparently, because their numbers grow and they "roam" Beleriand. This is 200 Valian years before the sun. I'm no loremaster, but I know this is a long time. At this point and later, Adar is still, as he describes himself, young. So Orcs were breathing living creatures before that elf-man became Adar. "Young" I see as meaning before he got captured and tortured and then brainwashed by Sauron as part of the “13 of us” (ep. 2x2).

So something doesn't add up, and Adar implies that in his interaction with Arondir in ep. 1x4. Are the tales of Moriondor a widely spread myth created by Elves, since all accounts about Orcs mostly stem from Elvish chroniclers? Maybe this is what Adar hints at. He says to Arondir

“You have been told many lies. Some run so deep even the rocks and roots believe them. To untangle it all would all but require the creation of a new world.”

He thinks only gods can do that, and he ain’t one…yet. Unlike Morgoth who raised mountains, or other Valar whose wrath sank a whole landmass like Beleriand, and later Númenor. He's just doing what he must, realizing Morgoth's terraforming plan and resettling the Uruks so they can live freely.

The "many lies" that he mentions are reflected in the things that Galadriel - who’s famous as "the scourge of the Orcs", even in Númenor - says to him when she interrogates him in episode 1x6. She’s full of hate and delivers a truly genocidal speech to him that shocks herself in the aftermath. (She acknowledges that somewhat self-critically to Theo in ep. 1x7, and it might be one of the reasons she rejects Sauron's offer later)

The truth about Adar's origin story isn't yet revealed. I think it will be, because the writers put some effort in it, dropped cues and hints in excellent dialogue and made him a multilayered character. Finally, let’s come back to the flowers and blossom mentions in the clips above because they could very nicely tie back to Galadriel and Celeborn in Beleriand and beyond. Adar says he “went down that river once”. Let’s see, if he, for example, came from Doriath and went down the Sirion towards its mouth and saw a lush amount of flowers blossom, he could have come through a region called Nan-Tathren or Tarsarinan that is literally called Valley of the willows. Possibly the home to Galadriel’s “glades of flowers” she danced in.

Why would she dance there and not in Doriath? I don't know, but there's a clear hint that she was in that region and even made meaningful personal connections there. With Ents. And Celeborn, too. Tarsarinan, Valley of the willows, means something to the couple and Treebard, as mentioned in a passage in The Lord of the Rings. The memories of Celeborn, Galadriel and Treebard of that place are intimately entangled.

Then Treebeard said farewell to each of them in turn, and he bowed three times slowly and with great reverence to Celeborn and Galadriel. ‘It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone, A vanimar, vanimálion nostari!’ he said. 'It is sad that we should meet only thus at the ending. For the world is changing: I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, and I smell it in the air. I do not think we shall meet again.' And Celeborn said: 'I do not know, Eldest.' But Galadriel said: 'Not in Middle-earth, nor until the lands that lie under the wave are lifted up again. Then in the willow-meads of Tasarinan we may meet in the Spring. Farewell!

“Many Partings” - The Return Of The King - LOTR - J.R.R. Tolkien

Okay… 1.) Treebard's “It is long, long since we met by stock or by stone” sounds a lot like Adar’s words to Arondir "even the rocks and the roots believe them", 2.) A vanimar, vanimálion nostari! is translated as "Oh, beautiful ones, parents of beautiful children"

That last point reminds of Adar's relationship to the Uruks and the rhetoric surrounding it: Adar whose name translates as "father" calls the Uruks "my children", "my sons and daughters", main difference is that they’re not that beautiful, neither is he — but that lies in the eye of the beholder. Does Adar imply the propaganda about Uruks is so pervading that even the eldest Ents believe them? Possibly his old friend Treebard… ?

I mean he's certainly wreaked havoc in the woods, forced the felling of trees, displaying not much respect for the Ents. On the other hand, Adar is shown planting Alfirin seeds, that grow into flowers. He's still very Elvish, full of respect and longing for "new life, in defiance of death".

Finally… Lothlórien, Galadriel and Celeborn's later safe space, is literally meaning "Lórien of the Blossom". Treebard calls it "Dreamflower".

With all that cherishing of flowers - I think even his chain mail shirt displays flowery ornaments - could Adar be Celeborn in a rather depressing and long-lasting dark phase of his life in ROP? Explaining where he’s been all that time since she last mocked him as a “silver clam”? And if he is not, wouldn’t that be a really good story if he was? Adar doing the work could be an arc about hope and the possibility of healing and changing — it’s what Galadriel needs, too, in the long run.

At this point she’s confused and hurting after the betrayal by Sauron, because she liked him more than anyone in ages, but also because she had to witness herself being unreliable and, frankly, unwise. Yes, she’s vindicated for having always been right about Sauron, but the way she went about it fills her with shame, it’s gnawing at her, not primarily because of wounded pride, I believe, but out of compassion for the victims of her actions. Not unlike Míriel after her return to Númenor. It begs the question to them both if it was all needless, if there really is a greater good in what's unfolding now? At this point in the narrative, the Númenorian intervention that Galadriel pressed for must feel like a Pyrrhic victory with grave consequences and implications for the future of Middle-Earth as well as Númenor. It has caused immense trouble and pain already to many other people that Galadriel gave Sauron a clap on the back and an army. She still has to fully confront herself about that, she's still vulnerable to the darkness inside her, because she's hurting. She has Elrond to help and guard her, but other than that, who's there for her? I mean, in the end she has to accept that it's not her who can slay Sauron, she needs to come to that understanding. It's a battle within herself she hasn't yet had the courage to take up because she still can't face her lingering grief at this point in any other way than turning it into anger.

#galadriel x adar #adar #adar should be celeborn even if he is not #the rings of power #lotr trop #rings of power #lotr rings of power #trop meta #galadriel #adariel

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thewertsearch · 4 months

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Ask Comp 11/06

@ben-guy asked: […] Imagine the Greek god level drama that would have unfolded with those 12 drama machines if they all went God tier. Even if they all entered the human universe without the two teams fighting over who gets to rule it, there would be no ending the divides that would form for any and all reasons, from quadrants to rulership over Kanaya's new trolls. Kinda curious about your takes on all this, even if it will take a while for you to see this :]

That's exactly it. Vriska's assuming that having a more powerful team would be strictly beneficial - which is hilarious, coming from her.

Like - Vriska. What have you done with your God Tier powers, lately?

Did it benefit the team?

Anonymous asked: its really interesting how the first time vriska kills not out of necessity or due to any extenuating circumstances, she almost immediately regrets it

Yup.

I think it's beginning to dawn on Vriska that she has nothing to hide behind this time. She's stopped being forced to kill, and has graduated to choosing it. It's little wonder she's falling apart.

Anonymous asked: for what it's worth, i've always taken vriska's interpretation of sburb at face value. it's a setting, or a stage, moreso than a character or an organism

Sburb certainly feels like a narrative, which is closely tied to its coming-of-age themes. John isn't John in the game, he's a character called the Heir of Breath from Consort mythology, and it's predestined that he'll fulfil this narrative role - or else.

Sburb is a play. And if you mess up your lines, the stage will collapse underneath you.

@manorinthewoods asked: You know, during your original analysis of the Creation Myth reveal, you made a lot of notes about how the Denizen grist caches must have been comically large, or multiplicative, to allow the alchemisation of universes. Clearly there is no need for that, given the Genesis Frog, so… what is it for, do you think? ~LOSS (7/6/24)

This grist is confirmed to be for the Ultimate Alchemy, which I've been assuming is synonymous with the creation of the Genesis Frog. I guess Jade's currently creating the Frog without any Denizen Grist to speak of, but I assume it'll come into play later on.

My best guess? The frog has to literally eat the Denizen Hoards to grow into a full-sized universe.

Anonymous asked: I wanted to stop by and say your liveblogs are super interesting!! Back when I first read homestuck I didn’t really bother with analysis, just kinda screamed inchoherentoy at my friends, so actually seeing the narrative and char arcs broken down like this into understandable chunks of why might it be written this way, what is the char thinking, why are they thinking that, how does that play into what might happen - it’s super cool thank you for all this !! Anonymous asked: finally catched up with your liveblog, i have been a homestuck for like a semester and i am rlly happy to see someone go this in depth on a liveblog about it! Anyways! Whats the character you relate the most to, so far? - bralsra

Thank you very much!

It's funny. I've talked before about how I was never great at writing analytical essays in English class - but I'm essentially doing the same thing here, and I'm having a great time. I guess it's just more fun when it's a science fantasy webcomic and not, like, Nineteen Eighty-Four.

Who do I relate to the most, I wonder? To be honest, it's probably Kanaya, which probably isn't too surprising if you're a regular reader.

I've said things that are 90% similar to the shit she comes out with. She's so great.

@manorinthewoods asked: I'd like to hear your thoughts on each individual blood caste[…]. ~LOSS (7/6/24)

It's hard to generalize the blood castes, since we've only seen one example of each blood color thus far. Broadly speaking, we're aware that:

Lower bloods have more psychic power.

Higher bloods have more psychic resistance.

Highbloods appear to be physically stronger.

Kanaya's blood color is extremely rare, which implies that, contrary to my expectations, higher blood isn't always rarer than lower blood.

Beyond that, I can't say much more. Based on Karkat's position in the Trollian friend list, he was probably 'supposed' to have green blood, but I don't know if mutating out of the spectrum has actually changed his biology in any way.

He's not psychic, so we can at least assume he doesn't 'count' as being on the bottom of the hemospectrum.

@john-egbert-rose-lalonde asked: the searcherrrrrrrr

"why so discarded" - the drawer

Anonymous asked: Hey, since you like to experiment with stuff, what dl you think would happen if a Tier 2 Sprite prototyped itself into a Tier 1 Sprite?

Great question. I went in-depth into it during a previous ask - although I can imagine it's quite a rare occurrence. How often are two unprototyped Sprites on the same Land?

Anonymous asked: While I think a discord server is a good idea, I think it might be best for everyone if it's one where only you and those helping you with the blog can post anything. That might ruin the community aspect a little, but I feel like it'd be worth it to not get spoiled if you do ever make one. Feel free to completely ignore this- not exactly riveting things I'm sending here.

Right! Quick update on the Discord situation.

Initially, I was going to have Cat help me set it up, but she's been incredibly busy with her thesis lately. Plus, she hasn't really used the platform either, so we had no idea what we were doing. Might need to shelve the Discord server idea until later, or until it becomes necessary.

@krixwell asked: John Egbert when he's told the Earth is done for: John Egbert when his friend is his sister and his dad is his half-brother: John Egbert when he dies ignoble deaths at the hands of manipulators: John Egbert when Fruit Gushers are a Betty Crocker product: MENTAL BREAKDOWN

Dude's got his priorities straight.

@mhafanlol2000 asked: I’m taking an IT course next year, and I want a head start during this summer. Would you know any free beginner’s courses to any languages that would help in that department?

I'll always champion W3Schools as a great first port of call for tech self-learning. All the resources I've found there are well-put together, and let you test your code out in-browser.

As I mentioned to a previous asker, I'd recommend starting with the C language if you're genuinely interested in programming. It's a little harder to use than other, more high-level languages, but it'll teach you more about programming than they will. I'd liken it to learning to drive in manual, rather than automatic. You lose nothing, and acquire skills you wouldn't otherwise know about.

@caliquill submitted:

i'd like to briefly point out this tidbit of the first conversation eridan has with kanaya @krixwell asked: Gamzee to Equius, page 2221: "iF i CoUlD mAkE yOu SmIlE iT'd Be ThE bEsT fUcKiN mIrAcLe I eVeR dId PaRt Of." @dopplesgryndthloggle asked: I'm just gonna put this here: pg 2221 TC: WhAt CaN i Do To MaKe A bRoThEr FuCkIn ShApE hIs ShIt Up? TC: iF i CoUlD mAkE yOu SmIlE iT'd Be ThE bEsT fUcKiN mIrAcLe I eVeR dId PaRt Of. TC: hOnK hOnK hOnK! :o)

...this comic is going to go absolutely wild on a reread, isn't it?

Anonymous asked: oh god no, the clown got you :(

Thanks for the migraine, Gamzee!!

@5am-nztime asked: Insert the one millionth "The Heir of Void, Devoid of Air" joke you've probably gotten. I love dramatic irony

You're actually the only person who sent this one in - and I'm glad you did. It's kind of killing me.

Anonymous asked: a common interpretation is that equius smiles because he knows nepeta might find his body and he doesn't want her to think he died in pain :((

Shit, that's kind of devastating. That said, he had no reason to think Gamzee would leave his body where it was - but that said, he clearly wasn't thinking straight at the time.

Anonymous asked: fun little detail: the ==> leading to equius taking an arrow to the knee is replaced with an arrow, -->

He used to be a Sgrub Player like us :(

Anonymous asked: The idea that he somehow has the freakin' WARHAMMER OF ZILLYHOO in his jokerkind specibus but he STILL only brings out a low-tier pair of juggling clubs is somehow even more intimidating

Where did he even get the thing? When did he get it? Is this from before or after the Pen-Pal got their hands on it?

...if Gamzee is the Pen-Pal, I'm quitting the comic.

@morganwick asked: Well, as long as you don't know for sure whether Nepeta died, you could say… she's both alive and dead until she's observed? @ipunchvampires asked: By cutting away from Nepeta's fate, it's technically ambiguous right now whether she's alive or dead, since we cannot observe her. So you could say that she… heh heh, that she's Sch… she's Schröding…

....oh, god damn it.

Anonymous asked: I feel like there should be an intermission style counter. 4/12 Alien Children Murdered.

If you include Aradia and Vriska, the tally's up to seven. Murderstuck started a long time ago, it seems.

Anonymous asked: i would like to think equius says b100 like how boris johnson says blue in that one interview where he mentions the us brand new BLUE passports or whatever

I also think his voice suits Equius's character fairly well...

Anonymous asked: To be fair on the “overwhelmingly violent purplebloods” angle, Gamzee was stoned out of his mind basically 24/7 until they got to the meteor, so they probably would’ve thought it was a nonissue. […]

I suppose. But if everyone knows purplebloods are habitual murderers, I don't know why you'd ever let one into your friend group. There's always a possibility that one day, his slime delivery will be late, and he'll snap your neck for fun.

@wickedsick asked: You know, this would be the perfect spot for a paradox space intermission. You can read the fluffy comics to wash the taste of blood out of your mouth!

I thought about it - but in the end, I decided to liveblog the Paradox Space comics at the point in the comic where they were released.

Otherwise, Cat'd have to spoiler-check each comic with a fine-toothed comb, and I'd have to delay many of them anyway. Better to get them all out at once.

Anonymous asked: considering that eridan was on feeding duty for gl'bgolyb and had to kill lusii year round under apocaliptic threat im not surprised his response under pressure is to kill something

It really says a lot about the difference between him and Vriska, doesn't it? Vriska's reaction to killing Tavros was a full on existential crisis, but Eridan's first reaction to killing Feferi was to immediately kill again.

@witchoflight asked: hey sally i just wanna remind you of the conversation that dave and gamzee have, specifically about the line: "TC: My mInD'S NoT ThAt sHaRp nOw tHoUgH, iT'S BeEn aGeS SiNcE I HaD A GoOd pIe" gamzee hasn't had access to sopor for WEEKS, not since they entered the game. […]

Was he sober, though? He's still acting stoned, and using his original quirk, so if he did sober up, he must have immediately decided to pretend he didn't, and then arbitrarily reveal himself as sober later on.

To me, it feels like it just took a while for the slime's effects to fully fade. It might genuinely have taken a month for it all to leave his system.

@mimescantscream asked: Now that Gamzee has swiftly become the most important character, any thoughts on his transformation?

It's weirdly drastic, isn't it?

Like, if he was hiding this personality under sedatives this entire time, surely we should have seen some hint of it, in all the time we've known him. We've even been in his head, and he seemed like exactly who he appeared to be.

Was Gamzee unaware of this latent personality? Do we have a Jekyll and Hyde situation on our hands? He does say he's 'both' of his messiahs...

@elkian asked: You've now reached the point where I can (probably) say that the common fandom Exile match for Kanaya is Problem Sleuth, as he has the Vampire schema mode. (Plus a jade-green ultimate attack.)

Oh, I love that for her. We better be seeing Team Sleuth in some form before the end, even if it's just a cameo.

@krixwell asked: I think you're blaming the wrong chat program. Trollian is an advanced alien chat program powered by futuristic sci-fan shenanigans, with features specifically designed to allow the user to choose the timeframe at which they try to contact someone. Pesterchum, not so much. Pesterchum if anything is retro, with only the most barebones of 1-on-1 chat features, a status setting that barely changes anything unless you're rancorous, and a block feature that seemingly fails to recognize incoming Trollian connections from the same user at different times (possibly Trollian's fault). Even setting aside the frogskin barrier, it's a wonder the two programs can communicate at all. So when someone uses Pesterchum to contact a Trollian user whose timeline is entirely separate from their own, with no interface to pick a timeframe on, how exactly is either program supposed to know when to contact them?

I guess most of our nonlinear conversations have been Trollian-to-Pesterchum.

Karkat has tied himself into knots over memos, but that is admittedly a slightly different use case.

And can I just say, I love the concept of a 'frogskin barrier'. These two parties have been beaming messages from frog-to-frog this entire time, and the walls between their dimensions are literally made of skin.

@captorations asked: consider: this means that the sbahj joke that following kanaya's death was actually foreshadowing given the comic it's from

I can't fucking believe this.

Anonymous asked: tbh i'll never get over how the presumable FIRST THING kanaya did upon coming back to life was just. to wade through the horn pile to drink blood from a corpse.

Vriska's getting a little competition for Troll Of All Time!

@morganwick asked: I mean, technically Jade was already in the Fruity Rumpus Asshole Factory, it was just with two Karkats and Dave only made a brief appearance.

16-player fruity rumpus argument or we riot

Anonymous asked: do you think you'll liveblog tsg if you read it?

I wasn't planning on it, but if there's a lot of demand, I'll definitely think about it. If I was to liveblog any fanfic, it'd probably be that one, since it's a proper 'event fanfiction' from the author of TLT.

Anonymous asked: re: the ultimate riddle: karkat actually already explained it on page 1903. basically its just some more timeloop/alpha timeline predestination stuff

The sense I got was that there was a section of the conversation that we missed.

On Skaia, John begins a conversation with an early version of Karkat about the Ultimate Riddle, but the camera moves away before they really get into it. Then, on the Veil, an early Karkat shows up to continue a point he was making about the Riddle, implying that there's a section of this conversation that was deliberately obfuscated.

I initially thought that the Riddle was the mystery of Sburb itself - ie, what the point of the game is. I still think that's probably pretty close, but I do wish we got this full conversation, just in case.

Anonymous asked: “Scratch positioned [Vriska] as someone who will perpetuate a monumental, large-scale mistake, and I don't think there's anything she could do on the Veil that fits the bill.” When John was about to prototype jades sprite with a broken doll, Vriska made him fall asleep, and Becquerel jumped in the sprite instead, leading to Jack Noir becoming an unbeatable boss and destroying the trolls session. I think that could be the perpetuation of a large scale mistake.

Possibly. But as violent as Jack is, I don't think he's a huge threat to the rest of the multiverse.

He takes hours to rampage through a session, but there are presumably trillions of sessions out there in the multiverse. From a top-level perspective, he's not doing meaningful damage, and it's certainly within Vriska's comprehension.

I actually think Vriska's going to do something much worse than make Jack. If she contributes to the creation of Lord English, for example, she might be breaking something that can't be repaired.

Anonymous asked: Honestly its a little sad though right? That the troll kids are snapping and dying? Like yeah they were raised on a violent murder planet but also, they're all still 13 years old and have been without their means of Sleeping Naturally for a while (the sopor slime is how trolls usually get sleep) not being an apologist or anything but the murders could've been prevented with healthy moraillegences and good nights sleep.

Oh, it's horrific, that should go without saying. If the trolls had got some decent shuteye, it'd have kept them stable for at least slightly longer.

#asks #full liveblog #act 5.2

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googleitlol · 3 days

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Two questions! Well, one’s more like a prompt/scenario, but I’m still saying it!

Do you have any plans on getting back to your “The Memory of You” fanfic in the future? Because I’m a certified Macaque wimp (right there with Wukong) and I’m dying to know everything that happened between him and Lian!😭

And second:

I just got myself Black Myth Wukong brainrot and I randomly thought of a situation where Dove would wake up from a nightmare about Wukong’s death, and she instinctively places a hand over the Destined One’s heart to hear it beating because of his resemblance and everything. And the Destined One just helps hold her hand to his chest and resting his own hand over hers until she calms down🥲💘💞

1) Omg tbh I didn't realise ppl were still reading that one! I'm focusing on PoM rn so I don't think I'll be getting to it anytime soon unfortunately. I do wanna continue it tho, and rewrite some stuff too! My google doc is so big for TMoY that if you wanted, I could totally answer some asks about it. Since I'm focusing on Dove and Wukong rn, I wouldn't mind sharing some secrets about Lian and Macaque's past (I will yap so much abt them, I love Lian she's my sweetheart).

I also took a break from writing that fic because, uhhhhh… I had only seen part of season 4 when I started writing the backstory for Lian, did some research into chinese mythology and legends I could pull from… then after posting a bunch of chapters, I watched the rest and realised I accidentally made her backstory/creation extremely similar to someone else (if you're caught up on the show, you'll know who I'm talking about). They both involve, uh… similar people?? So I got spooked and decided to wait a bit to see if that character's backstory would be like what I'd written for Lian and… it's starts out very similar 💀

But honestly, I think I'm gonna keep it the same cuz I love Lian, and I love the story I've made for her and Macaque. So if you've got any questions abt them, I'd be happy to answer until I shift my focus back onto TMoY.

2) Oh, and… my god. I love this idea of yours. That dream. Hoo boy, that dream. I love it when people understand the sort of angst I wanna put Dove under. Running to her love, knowing what's about to happen but too far to stop it. Maybe if he saw her, if he knew she was coming, maybe he'd still be there. But no matter how much her throat scratches as she screams, no sound is made. No matter how fast she runs, how far she pushes herself, nothing changes.

The Destined One frowns, he's seen her like this on so many nights. There's something that's plaguing her… he just doesn't know what. She shuts him down at any and all moments he has to inquire about her night-terrors. Still, he's found a subtle way to help in the best way he can. After one night where she reached out for him and he let her hand press against his chest, he noticed how she calmed a bit.

That becomes their nightly ritual. Whenever he notices how she starts to mumble in her sleep, shout and cry, he'll cuddle up next to her and hold her in his arms. He'll keep her head pressed against his chest so she can hear his heart– that always calms her down. As long as she has something, her hand or even an ear pressed to his heart, she'll calm down. Maybe the first few nights he started doing this, she'd cuddle up to him a bit. He'd be awkward about it at first, but eventually grow used to it. After a while, he'd find that he actually really enjoys spending those nights with Dove in his arms.

#black myth wukong #sun wukong x reader #macaque x oc #lego monkie kid #the memory of you #peace of mind #pom #little dove asks

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staytinyville · 1 year

Text

The Thoughts of a Lover

↣ Summary: You meet your soulmates at one of their concerts. From there you guys decide to wait for their tour to finish before meeting up with each other to start the rest of your lives together. However, that didn’t stop you from doing things while overseas.

↣ Characters/Pairing: Yunho x Mingi x reader

↣ Genre: Mature/Smut (MDNI)

↣ AU/Trope info: Soulmate!au (You can see/hear your soulmate’s thoughts)

↣ Word Count: 5.8k

↣ Warnings: dom!Yunho, sub!Mingi, phone sex, mxm, oral (m receiving), threesome,

↣ A/N: BETA READER @mariana-mmtz Honestly I didn't know I had this in me. I was heckin proud. I was kicking my feet and giggling the whole time. This is my first post to the networks I've joined and I'm so happy about it!

At a certain age–usually around puberty–people get what is known as The Thoughts of a Lover in their head. It’s a terrible name really, but it’s what philosophers from Roman time decided to call it. Those Romans were clearly very passionate people.

It was meant to signify that somewhere in the world someone was connected to your spiritual essence. It was the will of the universe, knowing exactly what it was doing when it created humans. They knew their creations needed to be procreated somehow, so what better way to do that than by making a destined person for you personally.

Times changed, of course, people didn’t feel the need to fall in love with their destined person much. They realized that while there would always be someone there who was like their other half, people knew that they had free will. It wasn’t common though, to go about without finding your destined soulmate. The universe knew what it was doing every time it pulled apart a soul to place down on Earth.

Sometimes though, the universe would pull it apart more than once.

The myth goes; the creators pull apart a soul to create two and then toss them into a bucket. Another creator then grabs one and throws it down to earth. Every few years or so, there can be a creator who forgets they had already split a soul apart and ends up doing it again. Thus creating more than one soulmate.

Multiple soulmates were rare, but not unheard of. The most a soul was considered to be pulled apart was 4 times with a total of 5 soulmates. And that was at millennia ago. Now, at most, someone had four soulmates.

You had considered yourself special when you had turned 14 and suddenly heard not one but two voices in your head. Their random thoughts often surprised you but still somehow brought a smile to your face to know they were real and out there for you to find.

You were the kind of person who believed in destiny and staying with your soulmate. It was a bit intimidating to know that you had two–worry frequently creeped into your head when you thought about how you could possibly manage the two, but if their souls were just a separation from yours, you knew they too were meant to be together.

The day you met your own soulmates was the day you went to their concert. You attended their soundcheck and tried to get them to notice you from the floor. The universe, however, only allowed certain thoughts that didn’t involve speaking to them directly to pass through the bond. So you had to speak as though you weren’t actually talking to them.

Yunho had been the one to spot you first after you had started to think about rock, paper, scissors and play it out with him. They were overjoyed at the discovery, getting you to meet them at their hotel, where you spent the night with them.

It hadn’t been that long ago, only four months having passed since then. It gave you time to get your life together for when the boys would come back. There was a lot of texting and calling over the phone, which left you happy enough. All three of you would always express how much you miss each other, but it wouldn’t be long before you saw them again.

You had been going over some assignments, Yunho on the phone telling you all about their concert of the night. You would laugh at the things he would tell you, enjoying his voice over the speakerphone. As you began to type out some response to an email, one of the boy’s thoughts drifted over to your head.

I wonder if her thighs are soft. They felt soft last time. Mingi’s voice resounded.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked over at your phone. “Where’s Mingi?” You asked Yunho.

“He’s in the shower.” The man answered you.

You hummed to yourself, looking over at your computer screen.

I want to be smothered in them. Really I do. His thoughts once again penetrated your mind.

You shut your laptop closed, picking up your phone and moving from the computer. You felt a shiver go down your spine as dirty images seemed to pop up in your head. Your eyes went wide, making quick work to reach your bedroom and lay down.

“Angel, are you okay?” Yunho asked, shuffling around in the hotel room.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” You told him, sitting on your bed.

“Mingi!” You heard Yunho shout. “Hurry up.”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw them too.” The man sighed over the phone.

An unbearing heat crept over your body, your muscles twitching at the revelation Yunho had just told you. Of course, he had heard Mingi too.

“It’s nothing I’m not used to.” You told him quietly.

Yunho snorted. “I’m realizing how terrible that must have been. We’re so sorry you had to witness those things.” He laughed.

“I mean, I had needs too. You weren’t the only one I would assume.” You giggled.

“You are in fact right. Choi Minho? I see.” Yunho laughed out loud.

“Yunho!” Your face turned hot.

You fell back onto your bed, phone pressed to your ear. As you heard Mingi step out of the shower and get scolded by Yunho, the only thing that was brought to your mind was the amount of times you would scold yourself for thinking filthy things, knowing your soulmates were probably seeing them as well.

Was Mingi really thinking about me that way? You asked yourself.

You subconsciously began to rub at your thighs, lightly skimming your fingers over the tops of them and up to your hips. The shirt you wore to bed raised up with your hands, allowing the air in the room to cool your skin.

They are in fact soft. Thank you for noticing. You giggled in your head.

Just as your fingers were about to slip under your panties to touch your hip bone, Yunho called out for you over the phone.

“Angel?” He spoke quietly.

“Yes?” You spoke quickly, dropping your hand from your hips and sitting up.

“Everything okay over there?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yes. I’m fine.” You moved along the bed, wanting to get comfortable.

“We beg to differ.” Mingi’s voice was heard over the phone, closer to the speaker.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He told you.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Finish what?”

“Angel, we saw everything.” Yunho laughed. He took a deep breath, speaking closer to the phone in a breathless whisper. “What else you want to think about? We want to see more.”

Your breath got caught in your throat, huffing out air, which made the boys sigh as they heard you. You sighed deeply, suddenly thinking about how the boys might be waiting for your response on the other end. Their excited wide eyes, mouth hung open at the imagines you could be sending them.

You took one glance at your phone before quickly taking off your shirt. You had always enjoyed the feeling of something brushing along your skin. So your soft fingers drifting over your torso and legs only made you think about all the things that you wanted the boys to see.

You thought about their own hands drifting along your skin. Yunho’s hands softly glide over your rib cage and past the slope of your breasts–skipping over your nipples. His nails would lightly scratch you, causing shivers to wrack through your body. His touch would burn trails as he went along, leaving your skin cold the more he traveled further down your body.

Mingi would use his entire palm, giving a message of sorts. He would allow his palm to grip over your neck, not knowing how to be light with his touches. His warm hand would allow itself to settle over one of your breasts, rolling your nipple over between his fingers. He would be mesmerized by it, mouth wide open as he thought about taking it into his mouth.

“Please let me.” You opened your eyes at Mingi’s whimper.

You gasped, having forgotten they were on the phone listening in. Your hand had drifted down to feel rub at your hips, the band snapping back as you pulled your hand out.

“Mingi?” You questioned, pulling the phone closer.

“Please. Can I suck on your tits?” He moaned out, huffing into the mic of the phone.

“Mingi.” Yunho whined, shuffling on the other side. “Come here.”

You could only think about the older boy pulling Mingi into his arms, softly rubbing at his back to calm him down.

“Please, Mingi.” You huffed.

You closed your eyes when all of a sudden the image of Mingi’s hot mouth on your breast filled your head. The boy was suckling softly, allowing his mouth to fill with your skin. One of his hands would squeeze at it, messaging. He moved it towards the valley between them, gripping onto the other one. Your back arched, blissful sighs slipping past your mouth.

Your fingers moved in between your thighs, finally slipping further down. You dug your fingers further, knees jerking when they felt the warm, wet skin. You withered on the bed, a moan slipping out and into the phone at your side.

“Angel,” Yunho breathed out. “Are you touching yourself?” He asked you quietly.

You could hear Mingi’s whimpers on the other end, wondering what it was they were doing.

“Angel, I’m speaking to you.” Yunho growled quietly.

Mingi’s cry made you flinch, but you answered Yunho anyway. “Yes.” You whispered.

“I would hope so.” He chuckled. “Keep going. Mingi wants more.”

“What about you?” You asked quietly.

“You think I’m not enjoying myself? I have to keep my pretty babies happy first.”

Your breath got caught in your throat from the way he was speaking. It was clear he was someone who took charge of things. He knew how to talk to people and get them to do what he wanted. And if you weren’t about to listen, you would force yourself to.

Your head began to come up with scenarios where you were at Yunho’s mercy, Mingi going along with it all. He would move to the end of the bed, kneeled between your legs as Mingi kept your breasts in his mouth but turned, so he could watch Yunho.

The image was wiped out as Yunho’s thoughts quickly overpowered your own. You moaned out loudly when Yunho was suddenly leaned down between your thighs, face pressed tightly to your core. His large hands held your hips down tightly, keeping you from moving too much. You could only imagine what his tongue must have felt like in real life.

Your hips bucked up as your fingers moved faster. You withered on the bed, clenching the muscles in your thighs as you panted over the image. Mingi cried out again, hearing your whimpered moan.

“Yunho.” He cried out, rutting his hips into the older man’s hand.

You whined along with him, wanting to know what it was they were up to. “Please, tell me what you’re doing.”

Instead, you only got an image. Mingi was sprawled out on top of Yunho, while the older bot moved his hand up and down on Mingi’s shaft. Mingi was a moaning mess, allowing himself to submit to Yunho’s grasps. He kept rutting his hips up and down, cheek pressed to Yunho’s chest.

You moaned out again, finally reaching where you needed the most attention. You could feel the wetness that was slowly seeping out, rubbing it around to add more slick to your clit.

You flinched, whimpering from the stimulation.

“Doll, please. I want more.” Mingi huffed.

“You heard him, Angel.” Yunho chuckled, squeezing at the man’s base.

You allowed yourself to fall prey to the thoughts of being filled by them. The moment you allowed your fingers to slip into your hole, was the moment you started to think about Yunho pounding into you.

He had taken your ankles in his hands, holding your legs up as his mouth hung open from the feeling of your walls tightening around him. Mingi was holding your face as his lips moved over yours, fingers pressing into your neck. You had your hand wrapped around him, giving him pumps every once in a while.

Mingi suddenly let out a loud moan when your thoughts came into his head. Yunho laughed, rutting his hips into Mingi’s torso that was covering him. At the man’s movements, Mingi was quick to move down and place Yunho’s tip into his mouth. This caused the man to grunt.

“Angel, you're so good.” Yunho huffed, patting Mingi’s head as he spoke to you over the phone. “You’re such a good boy.” He turned to Mingi, dragging his fingers through the boy's hair.

Yunho allowed the image to be engraved into his head, giving you a sneak peek at what was going on. Mingi had his nose pressed to Yunho’s hips, cheeks hollowed out. His head bobbed up and down, hands jerking off the parts that were out of his mouth.

You cried out, causing Yunho to laugh. “Be a good girl, keep sending us your dirty thoughts.”

With the image of Mingi over Yunho’s cock, you began to think about how they could do that with you there. Your first deduction would be you on top of Mingi, moving your hips up and down along his shaft, causing him to whine out from the pressure. He would be loud, or at least try to be.

Yunho was over him, rutting his hips into the boy’s mouth. He would have Mingi’s head hanging off the edge of the bed, enjoying the view of you swiveling your hips. As Yunho would hold back, he moans and grunts, his hand reaching over to your clit, moving his fingers quickly.

You cried out, head falling back as your nails scraped against Mingi’s chest. With Yunho’s fingers stimulating you and Mingi’s cock hitting that perfect spot every time, you found yourself quickly reaching the point of no return.

Just as the “you” in your vision reached her climax, you cried out into the phone, legs tightening up from the stimulation. Yunho let out a loud groan, shoving his hips deeper into Mingi’s mouth from hearing you climax.

“Come here, sweet boy.” He quickly pulled Mingi up to his knees, leaning down to suck Mingi off.

The boy was already overstimulated, so it didn’t take long for him to cum with a cry. You moaned loudly along with him, whining at the sound that came from his throat. Yunho swiped his tongue along his lip, licking up the mess. As he leaned back into the pillow, Mingi was quick to take Yunho again, wanting him to reach his orgasm as well.

Yunho didn’t hold back this time, using Mingi’s mouth as he pleased. He held the boy’s head down, trying to reach his high, just as you and Mingi had. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when a new image turned up.

Both you and Mingi leaned over his cock, tongues swiping over the length of it. You both looked up at him with glossy eyes, waiting for him to cum. It was when he saw you both open your mouths that his eyes closed and he shoved Mingi’s head down.

His loud moan made you twitch from over stimulation, having continued touching yourself until you knew they both had come. You clenched your legs, fingers keeping still inside yourself. You could feel the throb going through your cunt, which only made you hum at the sensation.

“Angel, are you okay?” Yunho asked you from the phone.

“Is Mingi okay?” You asked back.

Yunho looked down at the boy who had licked his lips cleaned as he had, slumped over to the side as he cuddled into Yunho. The older man laughed lightly, rubbing fingers through Mingi’s hair.

“He’s perfect.” He told you.

“Then I’m perfect, too.” You lazily smiled.

“A month until we go home.” Yunho told you.

Your eyes were drifting shut, as your body tried to come down from the high you had experienced. “I can’t wait to see you.” You softly told him.

“We can’t either.”

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