#tmc fanfics

[spookiifi]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Mandela Catalogue (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Archangel Gabriel (The Mandela Catalogue)/Reader Characters: Archangel Gabriel (Mandela Catalogue), Reader Please read the tags! Summary:

It appeared you caught the eye of an alternate. The head of the lot that had a say in everything that existed.

You were the only human he didn’t hate.

Far from it, actually

As soon he found out you were oh so easily corruptible, the game was on.

--

A little Easter special for y’all. Feel free to have a read sinners <3

[pewter-yellows]

waiter! waiter! more media about the self-fulfilling degradation of someone's humanity after finding out they were never human, please!

[wisteria15]

DESPAIRDUO HURT/COMFORT!?!?

Thatcher, stood outside leaning against the cold, rough brick wall of the MCPD. Beside him, Adam sat down idly on the floor, staring up at the bleak, gloomy night sky. It had been tough for both of them after all the shit that went down back at Adam's place. Adam was still scarred, they both knew that. His life had been flipped upside down, the guilt of his past wrongful actions crushed his self-worth, and his new unwelcome body had completely shut him down. He would rarely speak, and his monotone words would only rasp vague responses towards Thatcher's questions.

Thatcher knew how it felt to get his identity snatched away from him, to be replaced and pushed away from his friends. But it wasn't the same for Adam. Adam is the replacement, Adam was the one who pushed his friends away. He had no control over it. It was all wrong, but it was never truly him. Adam was stupid and blind, always under the influence of alternates. Yet over the last three days, Thatcher yearned for Adam to regain his self-worth, to love himself, to see how he's not a sadistic alternate and how he's much more than just a cog in the machine.

The demons belittled him, they mocked his parental care and love for a criminal that was of the same species which had murdered his best friends in cold blood and single-handedly destroyed the population of Mandela County.

Calmly, Thatcher gazed up at the sky, taking comfort from the cigarette that was in between his fingers. There was no sound. No cars, birds or people. no anything that made a place lively. He continued smoking, and the smell of tobacco filled the cold air. It stayed silent for a few minutes.

"Give me one."

"Huh?" He quickly looked down to his left in surprise.

"Please."

"Adam...?" He didn't expect that. At least not so soon. Adam had never outright demanded for something. Especially something like a cigarette. He'd isolated himself and always felt ashamed whenever Thatcher made an attempt to talk to him. As if he himself was nothing but a burden.

This excited Thatcher even more. Although it was a surprising request, it was an opportunity to finally connect with Adam.

"You... You want a cigarette...?"

"Yes." Adam looked up at him. his face was blank and serious as always. Except his eyes had hints of lingering desperation. As if he needed this badly. Thatcher was weak. He couldn't say no, especially to Adam.

"Alright, kid." He reluctantly handed over a cigarette. Despite his eagerness before, he almost regretted saying yes. He knew the dangers of smoking and Adam's body seemed fragile, especially internally. The night when all his bones broke and snapped was burned in his brain. It trapped his mind from sleeping every night, including today. His desperate attempt of setting all of Adam's bones back in place and wrapping it up in very bare cloth only healed him a bit, that was something Thatcher felt slightly felt proud of. Yet, that entire interaction haunted him, every single moment during the day and the night.

"But, why?" He couldn't help himself, if he wanted to understand Adam, he'd need to make the most of every interaction between them.

Curiously, he waited for his answer. The night grew colder and the silence drew out. Adam's blinding white irises stared at him thoughtfully. Awkwardly, Thatcher shifted uncomfortably and his gaze dropped a few times before quickly reciprocating his eye contact. He couldn't mess this up, not now. It was unbearably silent, but he knew he had to stay patient. And so he did.

Finally, Adam blinked out of his trance and looked down.

"I want..." He sighed sadly.

"...to feel... Again." He tensed up and folded in on himself with his long arms wrapped around his legs and his head buried in his naked chest. He shuddered miserably and went stiff. The cigarette was still in his hand, but it was crushed from the pressure of his fingers.

Thatcher's heart sank. He felt so much determination for him. He knew how he felt. For the past 17 years, his only shred of hope was Dave, but nothing felt complete. He never felt whole.

"Oh kid..." He muttered out of sympathy, he reached out for him but immediately retreated his hand. He didn't want to disturb him but he wanted to comfort him so badly.

Instead, he slowly crouched in front of him.

"What do you feel like right now?" He asked gently, keeping his voice low.

"Empty, as if... I'm starving... But not of hunger." He quietly said, still crouched in his stiff, painful position. He never looked up, but Thatcher still tried.

"Y'know, drugs isn't the way to feel better," "and I know it's quite hypocritical of me to say that, but don't take me as an example." His words were gentle and calm. Thatcher shifted into a more comfortable cross-legged position, facing Adam.

"I-I'm not trying to lecture you, kid. But, I... am here for you." Adam's entire body slightly jumped from that in surprise. It was a good sign. Thatcher continued.

"I know that things... Haven't been the best for us, but, I care for you. I... am not scared of you, not at all, kid." Adam shivered and trembled, Thatcher could hear the poor boy catching his breath.

"Stop it." He pleaded, voice breaking. Thatcher reached his hand out, softly patting his hair.

"Listen, you've had your identity ripped apart from you. I know how that feels."

"Shut up."

"And-"

"Shut UP." Adam's voice distorted even more at that last word, breaking and trembling out of anger. Thatcher scooted closer and began to soothingly ruffle his hair. Thatcher continued when he felt Adam relax from it.

"You've been wronged, Adam, by THEM. You're also a victim, no matter what you think."

"NO! I am THEM. I wronged OTHERS." He sobbed, his head finally turned up at Thatcher. Half his face was still covered by his lanky legs but his eyes and nose bridge was visible.

He could do this, he was finally making progress. His heart ached for the poor, weeping alternate in front of him.

"Adam..." He slowly moved his hand down to wipe his tears. Adam flinched suddenly, his eyes widened in shocked.

"Lieutenant, why?" He asked shakily.

"Why are you doing this... For ME?" He still cried continuously

"Because you deserve it, kid. No one deserves to go through what you're living right now. You have regrets, I know. So do I, but you can resolve them. I know you can." Now Adam was fully facing him, his entire body was relaxed and Thatcher continued to rub his face gently.

"You are so much more than what those alternates say you are. You... are much more human than me." "I-I have ruined lives myself," He thought of Ruth. He thought of the Heathcliffs. He thought of every single phone call that he never went and helped.

Adam stared at him in awe. The tears stopped.

"And I will NOT fail you too, kid." He declared confidently. His heart pounded hard and he locked eyes with Adam, his gaze never wavered.

For a moment, it was silent. Thatcher slowly put his hand down next to him. His pulse raced quicker, had he made a mistake?

Suddenly, Adam lunged at him, all muscles tense. Thatcher gasped and froze, his heart skipped a beat. Why? He's different, he's not a normal alternate!

Unexpectedly, Thatcher felt two boney, long arms wrapped around his torso and his vision was blocked by a flat, thin-skinned chest. He felt a surprisingly light weight on his legs.

"Kid...?"

"Thank you...So much, lieutenant..." Adam mumbled, if it weren't for how close they were he probably wouldn't have heard it. Thatcher's heart bloomed inside, and he gladly hugged him, feeling his cold, almost-watery back and his slightly protruding spine.

Adam eased up in his arms, carefully resting his pointy chin on top of Thatcher's head. Thatcher exhaled in relief and enjoyed the heartfelt moment.

The night continued its gloom above their heads but they weren't afraid, not anymore. Thatcher reflected back on the nightmarish encounter back at Adam's home. Ever since that, he felt even more despair whirling in his heart. But now, he felt like his youthful self back in the 1990s, full of hope and determination.

Everything had changed again, but not for the worst. Now, Thatcher finally had a goal, to not fail his kid and to protect him forever in this merciless world. He'd no idea where these overprotective, parental feelings came from, but, he knew he always wanted a kid.

Adam's grip tightened on him and his breathing became even. Thatcher smiled genuinely and reached his arm out full-length to pat Adam's head.

"Come on, kid," He softly whispered. "Time for bed."

[weird-addiction]

God is Cruel to you, Not Me.

Pairing: House of the Dragon x Male!Targaryen!Reader x Mandela Catalogue Alt Gabriel

Genre: Crossover Angst

Warnings: self-hate, self-harming, guilt, mentions of childbirth death, masochistic tendencies, forcing religion onto someone, manipulation, happy ending for reader but everyone else suffers.

A/n: Final Repost of this. This is official post of this fic. @kawaiiskeletoneggsnerd

Westeros is known for having the religion of the Faith of the Seven, the Valyrians such as the Targaryens and Velaryons. They had the Valyrian gods of old to watch over them, it was always said the Targaryens were closer to gods than to men, they say that because of their dragons.

What if, it was not the dragons that made them closer to god, what if nothing made them closer to the gods.

Well. Except for one.

Y/n Targaryen.

He was known as the younger brother of Rhaenyra Targaryen, when he was born he took the life of both his mother Queen Aemma and his older twin Baelon Targaryen. When he was old enough to understand it, he began to blame himself for killing his mother as he made his way into the world.

The other thing about Y/n is that he was a dreamer, but not just any dreamer. His dreams were not of the future or about the present, it was about something completely different. The first one started at the age of seven, it was a dream of him standing in front of a tree. In front of the tree was a red apple, it was tempting to take a bite out of it. There was a faint voice pulling him ever so slightly forward, but he woke up before he could do anything.

Then the dreams would continue every night, every time he went into the dream he would walk a step forward, inching towards the apple.

Y/n would go to talk to his father about such dreams, Viserys did not fully understand his dreams as they were not the usual dreams of Targaryens that himself has experienced. During the days in the Red Keep, he would hear voices pulling him to places, sometimes he passed out and awake in his room with him on the floor.

He would pick the dagger his uncle Daemon had gifted him during his seventh name day, then begin to make marks on his arms just to relieve the pain he felt building up.

The scars would burn at first, but then he realized he liked the burns.

This was the way he grew up, soon it felt like normal, during nights sometimes he would wake up and see a tall figure at the foot of his bed. The figure was almost as tall as his room, it wore a white robe and had curly blonde hair. Sometimes, he could have sworn he saw wings.

Rhaenyra offered to take him to the sept to pray as to maybe to take his mind off things, but once Y/n even put one foot inside the sept he felt dizzy, like something was restraining him from going inside. He pushed back the feeling and continued in anyway.

“Even though our family worships the Valyrian gods, in Westeros we still have the Faith of the Seven. We should have both as we now live on these lands.” Rhaenyra said.

Y/n stayed silent before speaking, thinking over what he was going to say. “Are there…any other religions in Westeros?” His voice was soft as he turned to his sister.

“Not that I know of.” Rhaenyra then got into a prayer position, she gestured to Y/n to follow her actions.

She then began to pray under her breath, closing her eyes as she spoke to herself. Y/n also tried, but inside his head was something different, a different prayer was said.

‘Say it.’

“My lord, bless for all as I shall never stray. For my blood should be my own, no other gods shall see me bleed.” The words fell out of his lips so easily, he had no control of what he was even saying. And before he knew it, he was done.

And that is how many years passed, the years passed before his own eyes like a blur of colors. The prayer he continued to say over and over again every single night, the tragedies that befall on others, the drama within his family never got to him. It seemed like everyone else around him was miserable, it was he was the only one that was not punished by the gods.

On Driftmark, they were there to attend the funeral of Lady Laena Velayron. He stood next to his sister and his nephews, he kind of felt bored but he gave his best stance regardless. After the speech Vaemond gave, Y/n went over to his uncle Daemon.

“Uncle.” He said.

“Nephew.” Daemon replied back.

“I’m terribly sorry for your loss, I’m sure she was a good wife.”

A smile ghosted Daemon’s lips. “The gods can be cruel, especially to your father.”

Y/n wanted to laugh at that, he pushed back the feeling of it back down. “Yes, they have. Same with my sister. And even you, uncle.”

Daemon had confusion on his mind. “And you?” He asked his nephew.

“Not that I could think of. Nothing has been bad for me in recent years.” Y/n dipped his head slightly, looking out to the ocean.

“Nothing good ever comes to us Targaryens. Every time a Targaryen is born they say the gods flip a coin. If they flipped to the good side, the bad will still be present regardless.” Daemon downed his wine from his goblet in one go.

“What if the gods are just not cruel to me?” Y/n asked with curiosity, his eyes watched the tides below.

“Why don’t you ask your cunt of a step-mother? I am sure that she knows about the ‘higher authority’. Faith and all that.” Daemon lets out a smile, in which Y/n returns to him.

“I doubt she can help me.”

—---------

He went to bed early that night, having the same dream again but this time he was right in front of the apple.

Y/n picked it up without much of another thought, then he took a bite out of it. There was a tree that was planted in front of him, and behind it, a boney pale hand reached out to him, telling him to take its hand.

His body moved on his own as he took it, then everything faded to black.

Y/n felt someone shaking him awake, it was a guard telling him something had happened. He got dressed quickly and went downstairs. Turns out his half-brother Aemond had his eye taken out.

Once he saw how Aemond was sitting in a chair getting stitches, he wanted to care but he just really could not feel any empathy for him. Once again, such events passed with flying colors as before he realized he was already back home in King’s Landing.

His sister, Rhaenyra has distanced herself and has decided to move to Dragonstone. Y/n stayed as in King’s Landing.

Time passed quickly, and soon six years went by and his sister was back to defend Luke’s claim to Driftmark. He avoided the whole thing that was happening in the throne room, he wandered off to the sept again to pray.

Y/n did not know how much time had passed, but Alicent, his step mother, had come to see him in the sept.

“I did not know you came into the sept, I always thought you and Rhaenyra worshipped the Valyrian gods.” Alicent said, walking in while her arms held each other.

“I do not know anything about the Valyrian gods of old, nor do I know anything of the Faith of the Seven. I have never even once looked at the Seven-pointed-star.” He continued to stay in the prayer position of being on his knees.

“Then why do you come into the sept, there is no reason for you to pray to.”

Y/n stood up, his eyes held a dark glint in them. “There is someone else I pray to.”

“Y/n.” He heard being called, looking over to see his sister at the arched doorway of the sept. “Nyra..” He called his sister’s nickname as she walked over.

“I knew I would find you here, though you have told me you don’t know the faith. We worship the Valyrian gods, you know that. It is our heritage.” Rhaenyra held his shoulders in a comforting manner.

“If Y/n is a prince of the Iron Throne, it is best for him to know the religion of Westeros after all.” Alicent spoke as she watched the sister and brother standing by each other.

Rhaenyra gave Alicent a harsh stare. “My brother is of Targaryen descent, from the times of Old Valyria. He should know the Valyrian gods.”

Silence ensued as the two women stared at each other. It was the prince that stood between that broke the silence.

“Then, I guess I failed as a Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at him in confusion. “What do you mean brother?”

Y/n walked over to where the candles casted shadows onto the walls, standing in the said shadows as he clasped his hands together in a prayer position. “But now, I belong to him.” The shadows behind him begin to shift and turn into something else.

The figure the shadows shifted into was tall, the silhouette on the walls, soon three pairs of what seemed to be feathered wings sprouted from its back. The face soon had shadows cleared to show eyes and a mouth. The eyes of the shadow were stretched and the mouth was also very wide, the arch of the smile went from eye to eye.

The queen and the princess both could do nothing as they saw the shadow. The lighting soon returned to normal as Y/n turned to leave.

Over the next couple of weeks Alicent avoided her stepson like the plague, she could not get that image of them in the sept out of her mind. Everytime during meal time she prayed to the seven for their guidance and their blessing to set Y/n free of it. One night at supper, he heard her praying and leaned over to say something to her.

“You think the gods have been cruel to me?” He asked Alicent with a smile, the queen looked at him with confusion.

“Think again.” He drinks the wine from his goblet. “The gods have been cruel to you, not me.”

Y/n did not speak to her for the rest of the night, but Alicent on the other hand was even more scared than she had ever been in her life now. Is what he said true? Were the gods just cruel to her?

Y/n went on with his days as usual, until one day he saw someone new in court. A new man in court that somehow worked his way up in his father’s small council, when Y/n saw him for the first time he felt a sense of familiarity.

The male looked ethereal, like a true god that has fallen from the stars. He was tall, easily at least 6ft, blonde curly hair that shaped his face and fell around his neck and shoulders like a curtain, he had ocean blue eyes that seemed to pull him in.

The man looked too familiar to a certain someone from his dreams, the one whom he took the hand of years ago, the same hand that came from behind the tree, the one where the apple fell from. Y/n felt drawn to him at first glance, he saw the man during a small council meeting, when the council was done Y/n left fast.

Once he got back to his room, his face felt like it was burning. Deciding to get some fresh air he walked to the garden, but on the way he bumped into someone. Surprise, surprise it was the same lord that he was trying to get away from. Now that he thought about it, the lord in front of him looked too perfect, it was unnatural in a way, it was not human.

“My prince, I’m so sorry. I did not see you.” The unnamed lord held his hand out for the prince to take.

Deja Vu hit Y/n like a storm, the same hand, from the same dream, now he was sure something was wrong. He took the hand getting himself up to his feet again. “It is alright, I was just going for a walk.”

“Oh? May I join you?” The older one asked. “Of course.” Y/n could only accept the offer as he walked towards the garden again, this time with someone behind him.

Once they made it to the garden, Y/n wandered mindlessly. Until he decided to sit on one of the turf benches, the unnamed lord followed him and sat next to him.

“I have not introduced myself. I am Lord Gabriel of House Seraphthrone.” Gabriel said with a smile.

“House Seraphthrone? I have not heard of this house before? Where does it reside?” Y/n’s curiosity has now peaked.

“My house resides on the edge between the Riverlands where the Tullys are, and the north where the Starks live. But also somewhat close to where House Arryn resides.” Gabriel’s smile did not leave his face.

“Huh. I would like to see it sometime.”

They continued to talk as he escorted Y/n back to his room, but when they got there, Gabriel was hesitant to leave.

“What is it? Something wrong lord Gabriel?”

“Nothing. Just…this..” Gabriel’s hand went to the underside of Y/n’s chin, making him look at him.

“You really are beautiful..” Was all the lord said before he turned on his heels and left.

Y/n was left stunned with that, retreating back into his room and left to contemplate what in the seven hells he just went through. That was not the last time he would see Gabriel.

Throughout the next weeks and even months, Gabriel would continue to be in his company. At times, the lord would even bring the prince gifts and even new sets of robes and clothes for his wardrobe. Soon, the robes he wore of his own house were not only black and red, but also with the white robes from house Seraphthrone.

When the days went by, Y/n would continue to pray not knowing the god he prayed to was the one that hung around him all day. Slowly but surely, Y/n had begun to fall in love with the lord, and Gabriel knew this well.

Gabriel had deceived everyone within court, hell, even everyone in Westeros. No one said a single thing as his house had risen through many other houses, along with him working his way up in the King’s court. He deceived everyone’s weak minds, including the sweet prince that was so naive to pray to him when he whispered it into his ear for the first time.

But soon, he had to come clean about who he was. And when did, it was a reaction he did not expect. Y/n was practically overjoyed and hugged him tight.

“You’re the god I have been praying to? Then I guess I am one lucky dragon am I not?” Y/n said with a smile on his face.

On the inside, Gabriel now knew he had someone that could do his bidding no matter what, which means he could destroy House Targaryen from the inside. Little by little, Y/n did what was asked of him, slowly tearing the family more apart. It got to the point where he started to realize it, but what could he do now, nothing. He kind of liked it anyway.

When the blacks and the greens were very clearly divided, Y/n was on his sister’s side of course, but he also wished he was not part of this.

“Then you know what to do.” Was the only words Gabriel had said to him before leaving his chambers.

Taking heavy breaths as Y/n grabbed the dagger that sat on his nightstand, unsheathing the blade and gripping it within his hands. The dagger then went through his stomach, it was less pain than he thought it would be. And to mark the final blow, he slit his own throat.

Letting go of the weapon and as it dropped to the floor his eyes rolled to the back of his head, also falling to the floor as his blood pooled around him and under him. Taking one last breath as he closed his eyes. Gabriel then came into the room seeing the prince dead in his own blood, putting his cold hand on Y/n’s forehead as he muttered a spell. The ‘angel’ then disappeared into white mist, as the only thing left in the room was Y/n’s body that was slowly going cold and the weapon of his suicide.

Hours later, Rhaenyra went to check up on her brother only to let out a blood curdling scream. Guards and Daemon soon flocked to her side seeing the prince’s dead body, Daemon took his wife away as the guards took care of the body.

Daemon thought the greens had done it, well others say there was a traitor in the guards, very few said it was suicide. Deep down, Rhaenyra knew it was most likely suicide, no murderer would leave behind their weapon, and the dagger that they found next to him was one of the prince’s own.

The dance of the dragons would start, Rhaenyra would avenge both her son Lucerys and her brother. A son for a son, a brother for a brother.

Y/n’s spirit has been guided to a different realm, to a place that looked like heaven and paradise, but just slightly darker. This. Was Gabriel’s realm.

It allowed him to see what was going on below in Westeros, he watched the war rage on in rather amusement. He became a lover to the god he worshipped.

How sad. That everyone else had a bad ending, he had a good one.

God was indeed cruel, but not to him.

[stillarat]

Hold Me Here

Alt Gabriel x GN! Reader Word count: 420

Warnings: Panic attacks, body horror if you squint

Synopsis: The feeling of eyes lurking over their shoulder has been following them for weeks, though tonight it seems more comforting than usual.

Dragging their feet past the door they slung their bag into the wall underneath the coat rack. The knot in their throat grew tight as they trudged to the bedroom. Hands clenched into fist as their nails dug into skin.

They collapsed onto their bed with a heavy sigh and tears keen to spill past their eyes as they pulled themself onto their comforter. Their own choked sobs filled the room as they wept, the deafening silence of the apartment only further assured them how alone they were. Their eyes grew raw as they continued on the cycle of stifling and wiping tears, over, and over, and over it was isolated, infinite, and a true exercise in futility.

Evening began to set in when sun shone through their aged blinds, backlit as a long shadow slowly engulfed their own. The light from the windows flickered out like a lamp as with a shuddery breath they craned their head upward.

There he stood like a luxurious statue, belonging in some eccentric philanthropist’s garden, or a grand church courtyard. Yet here he stood, eyes blank without meaning, and an expression like stone. He towered past the door frame, their breath hitched in their throat as he gilded forward neck bending back to fit past the walkway. 

“What has done you so wrong myne love?” His voice crackled like static through the air.

“Who- What are you?”

“Nevermind such things, why do you weep?”

“What are you going to do to me?”

“Hush now– do you truly believe me to be a danger to you? How insulting,”

They crawled farthing back onto their bed, as he kneeled by the foot of the thing. Their eyes darted back and forth, from the open door and back to his eyes. He leaned his forearms onto their bed, his gaze grew soft and sympathetic.

Pulling himself up on the bed, he crawled toward them, resting his head by their feet.

“Oh lovely, whatever shall I do with you?” He said grabbing onto their leg pulling them closer.

They faltered at his touch, a comfort they hadn't felt in so long, the comfort a friend– a lover. But with what, what was this adoring angelic being before them? He filled their heart with such dread, but his touch too consoling to resist, and at a time like this no less– what were they to do but give in?

“Just this once, this once…” They whispered to themself, collapsing back onto their pillows.

“Yes my lovely, nothing bad,”

[izel-scribbles]

May we get the the villain monologue please 🥺

since you asked so nicely, of course you may, dear anon <3

fair warning, this has been festering in my notes app for months now lol. no guarantees on quality

The fallen angel paces the lectern. His white robe is muddy at the hem, stained with blood from the cultists. 

"You know, I used be God's right hand man."

His tone is casual, conversational. Completely wrong for the subject. 

"He would ask for my advice in everything. I was the one who suggested that humans should have eyes, to behold the beautiful world." He sighs with the memory of an old friend. 

"The Christians say that God created humans in His image. They're wrong. God's grandeur is beyond words."

You nod breathlessly. 

"We created the Earth together. But He never trusted me to create humans with Him. Sure, I could give him ideas every now and then, but I was never allowed the joy of creation of such a complex, marvelous being."

"I invented the first disease. I wanted to see if God's creations were truly as clever as He'd claimed. And a clever lot you were." 

Lucifer's eyes slide to you, the soulless gray-blue reflected in the storm clouds outside. 

"God was angry with me. I had gone against His will, but that freedom is something I seek to this day. I also made some of the animals that you humans hate. My personal favorite was the rat. Intelligent, wily, resourceful. 

"That was when I created the first alternate. I was trying to improve God's original design of humans, but there was something I didn't get quite right. In any case, I placed my alternate on Noah's ark. That was the real reason for the floods.  God had intended to exterminate my alternates."

Lucifer laughs mirthlessly. 

"His plans didn't work.

After that incident, I was cast down from Heaven. Like nothing more than a tool, old and worn and useless." The last few words are filled with such fury, and resentment, and pain. 

"God replaced me with another angel. The same angel whose face I take now."

Gabriel- Lucifer - gazes at you, his wicked smile not yet stretching into the alternate form.

"But... Why are you telling me all this?" You ask, baffled and still processing. 

"Because, my dove, you puzzle me. Why do you seek out my alternates? Why do you not cower with the fear of your brethren? It's been a long time since I've had a proper riddle to solve." 

"Oh." You're not quite sure how to respond. 

"So, tell me. What is it about you that attracts my creations? Why do they allow you to get so close?"

You think for a moment, looking away from his cold, piercing stare. You fiddle with your hands. There's blood crusted beneath your fingernails, a fact that doesn't bother you as much as it should,, considering it's not your own. 

---

it's pretty short, ik, sorry to disappoint

this was supposed to be part of a long-suffering wip: self-destructive artist reader who is obsessed with capturing the likeness of alternates x gabriel. it kind of got shifted to the back burner due to my very obvious tma and malevolent hyperfixations lol

i'll probably work on it more and try to get at least one chapter published :)

[1-800-moondust]

Cesar Torres x GN! Reader (Platonic Headcanons)

Requested by: @laturacai

Cesar is definitely a momma's boy and it's understandable since his mom is so nice.

Whenever you come over to his house, his mom immediately rushes over to you and hugs you before asking if you’re hungry

I could see Cesar being a pretty popular guy so he gets invited to a lot of parties

But he’d rather hang out with you and Mark

Cesar is a extrovert so he’s constantly asking you and Mark to come and hang out with him

Whether it be at the mall, eating at a nearby restaurant, or having a sleepover at his or Mark’s place

I could see Cesar being really bad at all video games except for Mario Kart and he abuses it

Either way he’s just happy to hang out with his friends :)

Y’all could be stuck in a room with no windows or doors and he would still have a good time as long as he got to do it with y'all

Once the alternates come along he doesn’t really react much

Like yeah it's weird, but what’s the possibility of something happening to y’all?

Though he’s concerned about his mom since she seemed very scared by all the events going on recently

During one of Mark’s sleepovers, Cesar and you were play Mario Kart and he was kicking your ass

Mark watched the two of y’all play as he stuffed popcorn into his mouth and laughed whenever one of y’all got hit by something

That was until Mark’s home phone went off cutting off y’alls laughter

Mark just rolled his eyes and got up to answer it

Just a few moments later Mark rushed back in and handed the phone over to Cesar

And just like that, Cesar was quickly packing up and wishing you two goodbye

You escorted him outside as he got inside his car

You offered to come with him as moral support since he said that his mom had called him all shaken up

But Cesar refused, telling you that he'll tell you all about it in the morning once he got back home

He gave you a hug and a small uncertain smile

He never came back

Alt! Cesar

The banging was constant and ear shatteringly loud

It begged and cried for you to let it in claiming that it was Cesar

But you knew better, the thing outside your door was nothing but a cheap imitation of your best friend

For the first day all he did was slam on your door and scream for you to let him in

On the second day it begged and constantly knocked on the door

With the final day the only thing you could hear was his wailing and scratching

Despite it being a mimic you started to feel bad since it sounded like it was having a mental break down or something

You couldn’t take it any longer and opened the door seeing ‘Cesar’ curled up on the floor

But once it seemed to notice that the door was open, it quickly jumped up and hugged you tightly

It took you a few minutes for you to pry the alternate off of you

After a hour of interrogation you learned that the alternate had wanted to learn about you since it had learned that you were friends with the person he was imitating

You agreed to take him in as long as he protected you from other alternates in the area

Cesar quickly took the offer and adapted

He was ‘strange’ to say the least since he wasn’t human and didn’t understand social cues very well

You told him stories about the wild hijinks you, Mark, and Cesar had gotten up to when he was alive

Cesar seemed enthralled with the stories you would tell him and would look at you with wonder every time you told him one

He asked tons of questions about anything and everything

Birds? Windmills? Books? What the hell are those?

He’s excited to see the world and all the new wonderful things in it

And he’s happy to experience it with you

Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun with this one hence why it's a little long. But an extra thanks to @laturacai for requesting it in the first place!

[call-me-dalton420]

IF THERE IS ANYONE OUT THERE WHO LIKES THE MEDORAN CHRONICLES PLEASE COME BE MY BESTIE. Also does anyone have good fics bc this is like the smallest ive ever been in?

[fizzzyz]

Day 1, 4:12 am

I woke up to rumbling from inside the house. I didn’t think much of it until I came to my senses. The loud yet low sound seemed to stop when I sat up in my bed, like as if it had heard or seen me. I wasn’t sure what it was at first. But it terrified me. I was too scared to open the door and see. Sitting on my bed, I waited for something to happen, but it was all quiet. The silence was deafening. It filled my ears with a ringing echo. Like as if the world had completely stopped, and there was no such thing as sound.

5:29 am

I tried to return to my sleep, but it was pointless. My eyes were wide open, and I peered at the door every waking moment. The sight of it burnt into my eyes, and I could still see it when I shut them. I flinched a bit when I could hear something scratch against the wall behind me. I was petrified. Something was out there. Luring outside my room. I didn’t know what to do.

7:47 am

There are scratching on the walls. It’s trying to get in. Whatever, or whoever it is. My skin is as cold as winter, yet sweat still runs from my face. I don’t know what’s happening.

9:33 am

There is knocking on the door. And it is strungling to get in as the lock on the door resists it. I can hear Cesar’s voice outside, desperately trying to make me let it in. It’s not him. It can’t be. I don’t want to know.

Day 2, 11:54 pm

It won’t stop. It will never stop. No matter how much I pray, it will never go away. A voice I once found trust and devotion in, now only fills my soul with terror. I feel like I’m losing my grip on reality.

Day 3, 1:06 am

Everything hurts. But I cannot care about how starved and dehydrated I am. My sight is glued stuck to the door. There are scratching inside the walls. Voices outside my room. And knocking on the door. Please make it stop already. If there is a god out there. Make it stop. Please.

5:21 am

I do not know what to believe in anymore. I’ve lost all of my faith. I keep dialing 911. Yet no one has come to help me. I don’t want to know. I do not want to open the door. I don’t want to see what’s on the other side, but it has been days.

6:59 am

I’m trembling in fear. The voices are getting louder and more demanding. I can’t take this anymore. God won’t answer my prayers. And society won’t answer my call for help.

9:42 pm

I tried one last time. But they won’t come. It’s hopeless. No one is coming to help me. No one. I can still hear the distorted voice of my friend outside my door. I can’t stand another second of this. I have completely lost myself. My eyes are wide open.

Who have I been praying to this whole time?

[missr3n3]

mandela catalogue enjoyers, pls reblog and put in the tags/reply with ur absolute favorite, underrated AU of the series!

[spookiifi]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Mandela Catalogue (Web Series) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Cartoon Gabriel (The Mandela Catalogue)/Reader Characters: Cartoon Gabriel (The Mandela Catalogue), Archangel Gabriel (Mandela Catalogue), Reader Additional Tags: Blood and Gore, Heavy Angst, Violence, Character Death, Alternate Universe, Religious Content, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat Summary:

In another universe, the real Gabriel escapes his tomb midway during Mandela’s take over. He’s reunited with the reader but at a cost

A certain archangel hears about it, and is not willing to let him get away with it.

Beware dear reader, for this story is not for the faint hearted.

--

I’m posting this exclusively on ao3 because I don’t want Tumblr nuking my account for dead dove content. Feel free to scream at me through replies/comments/reblogs

[treatsf]

I went on my ao3 to check something and I saw there was stuff in my inbox and

IM SORRY MY FANS. IM SORRY MY FANS MORE CONTENT IS COMING SOON!!!! YOU WILL BE FED I SWEARRR!!!!!! /j

[wisteria15]

DESPAIRDUO ANGST!? #1

Thatcher should've expected this, especially from an alternate. Still, his mind was conflicted with mixed thoughts, confusion and fear. He stumbled backwards clumsily; his heart pounded heavier each second. His only support was the cold, cracked wall behind him. He could hear the pleads and apologies directed towards him but his eyes watered at the sight of the alternate whose face formed a triggering memory.

It was Adam. Or, was Adam. His once short, curly hair was longer, straighter and blond with brown roots and his paper-white skin had turned caucasion. His unhuman, misshaped eyes which once had black scleras and shining, white irises had changed into a naturally downturned shape with regular scleras and soft green irises. the alternate's voice had deepened drastically and continued his panicked apologies to Thatcher. Still, Thatcher couldn't process the boy's words of remorse when all he could hear was his own voice mimicked back to him. Adam was still unnaturally tall and skinny, but his entire face had changed. Leaving an uncanny mockery of Thatcher's own appearance staring back at him. Everything of Adam was gone.

It was just like the Night in September, back in 1992.

[neonnoir-ao3]

Helloooooo Tumblr!

After a long break from Ao3, I've returned with a vengeance!

Here's some of my newest works:

Sympathy for the Devil

Ship(s): Archangel Gabriel (The Mandela Catalogue)/Reader

Vibes: self-aware horror movie character, autistic-to-autistic conversation, a healthy dose of pop culture references mixed in with the nightmare hellscape of TMC

The Shrine of Your Lies

(spinoff of the Priest!Gabriel AU from Oh, Father by oneonedatrain8)

Ship(s): Archangel Gabriel (The Mandela Catalogue)/Reader

Vibes: hurt no comfort, emotional manipulation aftermath, angst, Hozier playing in an empty church during a thunderstorm type-beat, (it'll become hurt/comfort later)

Tales from 666 Magnolia Street

Ship(s): Archangel Gabriel/The Intruder (Six) (Stanley)

Vibes: slice-of-life, wholesome, heartfelt, Adam gets a new lease on life because in this universe he has two loving dads, also Gabriel is genderfluid here

[clean-bubbles-aka-bubbles]

Incinerate Manipulation

In the meantime, Cesar let out a calm sigh as he put down the red telephone back into his spot. He hummed softly as he took off his black tuxedo, revealing a white, buttoned t-shirt, before he started washing the sleeves of the black tuxedo.

"Hmm?" He raised an eyebrow, seeing that blood was being cleaned off as it cascaded down into the drain with water. He stared at it with cold, stoic eyes before his calm face turned into a sharp smirk.

"Hehehe." He laughed darkly, black substance cascading down his face as he wiped them away, his dark brown-colored eyes flickering to cold black.

"Hehehe... she's really a fool." He chuckled to himself darkly, washing off the blood from his palms that transitioned into black, discolored claws.

*HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!*

Suddenly, a TV in his room hissed loudly, its screen flickering to static before it showed a white void with a hooded silhouette standing there.

"Yo, Perpetrator." He waved from the television. "I take it that your little manipulation went well with that new girl in Mandela County?" He addressed the special Alternate who was washing his black tuxedo.

Cesar's smirk widened at the sight of the hooded figure on the TV screen, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Oh, it went swimmingly," he replied, his voice oozing with false charm."Little Ms. Clean Bubbles fell for it. Hook, line, and sinker. She's a gullible little thing, isn't she? Humans are so sensitive and fragile~."

The hooded figure chuckled darkly, the sound echoing eerily through the room.

"Good. We need her out of the picture if we're going to proceed with our boss’s plans." His voice was a low rasp, tinged with a hint of excitement. "‘Gabriel’ has been… furious over the past 15 years since his minions kept getting killed off by… you-know-who."

“Lucifer?” The Perpetrator almost forgot that his boss was under the guise of Archangel Gabriel. “Ah, yes, that Celestial Artisan has been killing off Alternates for humanity. We have little success about 98.9% of the time when it comes to killing humans. So we’re usually the ones that have to do the job—not that I don’t mind it though.” He spat with disdain at the mention of what Intruder was talking about. “It’s been a big thorn on our side; no matter how many times we pick it, it only seems to dig deeper into the wound.”

“Indeed.”Intruder nodded in agreement. “And what of Mark and Cesar?” he asked, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think they suspect anything?”

The Perpetrator shrugged, his blackened claws flexing as he considered the question. “Mark is resilient, but he’s not immune to the same tactics that broke Clean Bubbles. He’ll be easier to deal with now that she is out of the picture. Isolated and vulnerable, he’ll fall into my trap soon enough.”

He grinned darkly. “As for Cesar, thanks to me, he’s already a goner with his mother. I’m surprised the Celestial Artisan didn’t intervene this time. But no matter, Cesar won’t be a bother anymore~”

The Intruder’s hooded silhouette nodded in approval. “Good. Good… We can’t afford any mistakes. The plan must proceed without a hitch to finally rid ourselves of the Celestial Artisan’s interference.” He hummed before silence befallen them. “…Speaking about that girl, Clean Bubbles—aside from her weird name and appearance—do you feel that there’s something different about her?”

“Hm? Why is that?” The special Alternate, under the guise of Cesar, asked.

“I… Well—we—Alternates and other humans, had never seen her before.” He shrugged. “She’s not well-known around the county, but it’s like she appeared out of thin air, just like the Celestial Artisan did. No Alternate has been able to track or find Clean Bubbles’s existence just at the same time the Celestial Artisan came by.”

The Perpetrator furrowed his brow, his claws tapping thoughtfully against the sink as he processed the Intruder's words. "Interesting observation," he mused, his voice low and contemplative. "It's true, Clean Bubbles seems to have appeared out of nowhere, without any trace of her existence prior to her arrival in Mandela County. It's almost as if she's... an anomaly."

The Intruder nodded slowly, his hooded silhouette swaying slightly as if lost in thought. "An anomaly indeed," he echoed, his voice heavy with intrigue. "But where did she come from? And why now, of all times? Something about her doesn't quite add up, something... off."

The Perpetrator's eyes gleamed with a dark light, his smirk widening into a malicious grin. "Perhaps she's a pawn in a larger game," he suggested, his voice dripping with sinister amusement. "Or perhaps... she's the key to defeating the Celestial Artisan."

"You really think that a mere human like her can be someone so... holy divine?" The Intruder's hooded silhouette seemed to lean closer to the screen, his voice barely above a whisper with a tinge of confusion. "She's just a mere mortal--not to mention human. No one can have power like the Celestial Artisan. Only that being can defeat Alternates, although I'm not entirely sure if it can defeat our boss."

"I highly doubt that, considering that Lucifer IS the god of hell." The Alternate, under the guise of Cesar, rolled his eyes. "The Celestial Artisan is just only a mere so-called 'God's Gift' and 'humanity's hope,' not a divine being."

"You think so?" Intruder raised an eyebrow. "We haven't confronted the Celestial Artisan before, but it seriously influences everyone and the Alternates. It's powerful enough to be on equal par on our level."

"But not Lucifer." He cut the hooded Alternate off. “He would’ve mentioned it to us sooner unless the Celestial Artisan is actually a scared entity that could do very little and make progress to stop us from killing humanity~.”

"You really think that a mere human like her can be someone so... holy divine?" Intruder raised an eyebrow at the implication.

“But that wouldn’t make sense. Mortal humans—they can’t obtain power—in a literal sense!”

“Well, perhaps not in the traditional sense,” the Perpetrator mused, his voice laced with intrigue. “But what if Clean Bubbles possesses something beyond mortal understanding? What if she holds the key to unlocking powers even the Celestial Artisan cannot comprehend?”

Intruder leaned back, his hooded silhouette swaying with the motion. “You’re suggesting that she’s some sort of... vessel? A conduit for powers beyond mortal ken?”

The Perpetrator nodded, his grin widening into a sinister smirk.

“Precisely. And if that’s the case, she could finally be the linchpin in our plans to rid ourselves of the Celestial Artisan’s interference.”

Intruder fell silent, his hooded figure seemingly lost in thought. “It’s an intriguing theory,” he conceded, his voice low and contemplative. “But how do we confirm it? How do we know if Clean Bubbles truly possesses these... extraordinary abilities?”

A wicked glint sparked in the Perpetrator’s eyes as he leaned closer to the screen.

“We test her,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “We push her to her limits, see what she’s capable of. And if she proves to be the key, we’ve been searching for...” He trailed off, a dark chuckle bubbling up from deep within his chest.

“Then we’ll finally have the means to overthrow the Celestial Artisan once and for all,” the Intruder finished, his voice tinged with excitement. “But we must proceed with caution. Clean Bubbles may be more than she appears, and underestimating her could be a fatal mistake.”

The Perpetrator nodded in agreement, his smirk morphing into a cold, calculating grin.

“Oh, I have no intention of underestimating her,” he replied, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. “In fact, I look forward to seeing just how far she’ll go to protect her precious little world.”

With a final, wicked chuckle, the hooded figure on the screen disappeared into static, leaving the Perpetrator alone in his dimly lit room. But the anticipation in the air was palpable. A sense of excitement mingled with malice as he contemplated the role Clean Bubbles would play in their grand scheme.

A twisted smile curved his lips as he turned to the red telephone on the table. He murmured, his voice a sinister whisper lost in the shadows.

“Let the games begin,”

[izel-scribbles]

i just found a villain monologue for alternate gabriel buried in the cesspools of my notes app and. i might publish just that alone without the rest of the fic. it was that good