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sickuma · 2 years ago

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ORPHIC — A Simon Riley fic.

❱ This is a longer version of the au I posted on tiktok ^^ I do apologize for the repetitive use of some words. I'm working on expanding my vocabulary! Your kind word means a lot to me, especially the readers on tiktok, you guys mean a lot to me ! ꜝ？This fic may contain heavy topics such as death, depression and melt-downs, if any of those are not to your liking. Please do so exit the fic. Angst warning!

the fic is unedited, grammatical/spelling errors may be found!

➴ SYNOPSIS — On a particular mission, you and your lover finds each other fatally injured. With a promise to meet each other again on your next life, you held each other as the explosion erupted. Only for him to wake up the next day, without you.

part 2 (●'◡'●) | masterlist

ORPHIC — (n.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding.

"[name]?!"

He frantically called, dropping the weapons he held to take a good look at your figure who collapsed on the floor.

The mission had been awfully longer than they anticipated, by the time the third hour arrived, you and Ghost already had fatal wounds.

He hardly swallowed, feeling his throat dry.

He would rarely call you by your actual name. Ghost always abide by the rules, lover or not, he called you by your callsign through the battles you fought with together,

This one, however, happens to be an exception.

Your panting chest, bloody body, and exhausted expressions stated so.

He knew, you knew.

He was only grateful you were with him.

The physical pain had caught up to him, he sat beside you. Taking your dainty form close to his, holding you close to him. You could hear his heartbeat,

They were oddly calm.

"Lieutenant—"

"Simon. It's your Simon."

He mumbled, taking your hands in his. Clasping them together gently,

You gasped for air, though in his arms it felt as if you could still conquer ten groups of syndicate. He held you so gently, so protectively. You swallowed,

"Simon?"

"mm?"

"I hope I loved you enough in this lifetime."

You could hear his breathy chuckle, the rasp in his voice another proof of his exhaustion.

"You're rushing, doll, we are still at the part where we reminisce about the memories yea?"

You smiled at his words, disregarding the growing pain on your abdomen. You noticed his own body, the scars and blood covered your lovers figure, You knew it was inevitable.

Without mentioning anything about your wilting bodies, you smiled up at him.

"We haven't lived enough yet." You spoke.

"Indeed,"

"We'll just have to meet in our next one and make the most of what we missed in this one."

Your smile grew, "I didn't know you believed in reincarnation, Si."

"For you, I will. This life failed us," He spoke with weak determination, "This isn't our end, [name].

I'll find you just as I did before."

With one final kiss, he held your body tighter to his. Covering your ears as protection for the upcoming explosion, as he whispered sweet nothings,

"If I'm as grumpy in our next life, Please find it in you to be as patient as you are to me in this one. I love you, [name], see you there alright?"

It wasn't long until a blinding explosion defeaned both of your ears, the noise was much bearable for you as he covered your ears tightly. Pressing your body close to his, Well it is the last thing he did, love you and hold you til you both accepted the inevitable fate you've been bestowed.

At his very last moments, he held you tight.

﹑

"I'll find you in our next life."

﹑

"See you there, alright?"

﹑

"Love me just as much as you did on this one."

﹑

Soon after the final explosion, Price made sure to clear the place. The eerie silence of Ghost's nonexistent callouts haunted him, along with the walkie he found which belonged to you.

He knew there was one answer, but he had a tiny speck of hope. You and Ghost never failed them, it was this life that had failed you countless times.

"Captain, it's been hours, it's just—let's try to be realistic. There's no way Lieutenant would be so quiet unless he—"

"Have trust in them. They're both strong."

As the two discussed whatever conclusions were the most possible, Gaz had found himself in a particularly secluded room. It was wrecked, obvious that the explosion did not spare it,

"Cap.. captain, you might want to see this."

With hitched breaths, the three of them stared at what the room unfolds.

His arms wrapped around you protectively, dried blood covered the two of you as you held each other. The sight pinched the soldiers heart, how could such a tragic sight depict so much love?

The two of you laid, almost showing no signs of life. Price had to drop his equipment, staring at the sight and taking in the vulnerability and acceptance you both showed,

"They held each other." Soap mumbled,

"Tightly." Gaz whispered, staring at the grip your cold hands had on ghosts arms that wrapped around you lovingly.

Price found himself approaching the two, with a heavy heart. He checked for a sign of life—anything—holding your pulse first,

Nothing.

"They're gone."

He whispered, the silence of the room almost suffocating the room. None of them had yet broken down, though they felt as if their knees would give out. Price reached for Ghost's after checking yours,

Eyes widening as he frantically double checked Ghost,

"There's—He's still breathing."

﹑

By the time evac had arrived, Price had known it was far too late to save both. He knew this was now their reality. As he sat outside the room where Ghost lay unconscious, completely unaware of the world he’ll wake up to, unaware that he’d live to see that his lover is now gone.

Price felt his stiff heart ache as the thought of them accepting the inevitable death whilst in the arms of each other. How could the two of you receive such a cruel end? Not only were you separated, you had passed thinking you remained in the arms of your love,

He also knew you would hold no grudge if you find out that Ghost had survived the tragic explosion, Price could imagine the gentle smile on your lips while saying ‘I know he will, he’s always been tough.��

He closed his eyes shut, holding his head as he rested his arms on his weak knees, “how the hell am i supposed to tell him.” standing up to return to his station, looking at the window to see Ghost’s resting figure.

As days went by, Price had to argue with people to push further the funeral. It can’t happen yet, not without ghost. He knew he could only delay it for a few more days. He had faith in his comrade, but at the same time that hope easily withers as days pass them by like a blur.

“Captain if we don’t proceed with the funeral, [name]’s body, it’ll—”

“We have to wait for him.” he interjected sternly, glaring at the soldier, “we have to.”

He knew his logic had given out in favour of his emotions, he can't bring himself to betray simon. Not when he's already been through so much, he'd already lost the person he cared for the most, He just can't do this to him.

“Captain the body, they're doing everything they can to help preserve [name]. But if this keeps on, the body will decay completely! Do you think the lieutenant would be delighted to see the person he loves rotting? He wouldn't—I'm sorry captain. This needs to be done, with or without him.”

Price grimaced, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he closed his eyes shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before nodding with a heavy heart.

“Very well.”

“Proceed with the funeral.”

﹑

“Si, have I told you how much I love your eyes?”

“‘Mm? Yeah, all the time, doll.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. You loved the way his eyes squint whenever he’d smile, even the slightest smile he shows, you loved it every single time.

“I love looking at them, they look really pretty.”

“You think so?” He asks, caressing your face.

“I know so. I want them to be the last things I admire before I pass away.”

His eyes weakly fluttered open, his breaths shallow but much more stable than before. He’d woken up certain that he’ll turn to see your peaceful face, away from the wars, away from the scars of the battles you both conquered, he knew and was certain he’ll turn to his side to see you peacefully resting with him after the turmoil you've both overcome, as proven of the light that blinded him when his eyes fluttered open,

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he sat up with a relieved sigh. Turning to his side, prepared to caress your soft skin.

His breath hitched.

You weren't there.

You weren't anywhere near his proximity. Where are you? He finds himself sitting on an empty hospital bed with nothing but his dumbfounded state. He looked around, observing the place with a tired frown. He felt rage. Why is a dextrose connected to him? That was where your hand rested before the explosion killed the both of you,

..right?

“[name]?”

He whispered, standing up, ignoring the piercing pain he felt all over his body. Pulling the dextrose and removing it from his arm roughly,

Why is he breathing? Why is he alive?

“Hell, what is this?”

No. no no no no no no no.

He stormed out of the room, uncaring about the strange looks thrown towards him as he opened each and every room of the hospital. Panic surging through his body, he won't accept it, he won't. You've gotta be inside one of these god forsaken rooms,

Shocked screams and gasps were heard by every door he opened, abruptly interrupting the patients as he searched for those particular eyes. That particular person he needs. He was determined. In one of these rooms, you would be laying down on the bed, resting, waiting for him.

If he’d survived, you surely did, too.

He won't live otherwise, not without you. And so he continued barging inside rooms, panting and grumbling to himself everytime a different pair of eyes looks at him in terror, they weren't your eyes, you wouldn't have looked at him with a petrified expression, you would look at him with a smile,

Like you always do.

You open your arms and wait for him to close the distance and embrace you, pressing your bodies tightly against each other like he did the night of the explosion.

“Lieutenant!”

Price’s voice rang through the silent hallways, with workers of the hospital frantically following the two of them, “what are you doing simon—”

“Where are they?”

“Where is [name]?!”

He angrily snapped, voice strained with venom as he started to feel himself fall into a hysteria.

“Where’s my [name], john?” he repeats, this time weaker. Desperate for answers, desperate for your whereabouts, desperate for you.

“Simon, let's calm down. Let's go back to the room and talk.” Price tried to calm him, slowly making his way towards his friend, aiming to take him back and avoid him from causing another scene.

“No.” he shakes his head in disbelief, tears brimming on the verge of falling, “tell me where they are.”

Price felt his heart sunk, he'd never seen the hard-headed ghost look so vulnerable and desperate. “Simon, come on let's go.”

“Price. Where's my [name]?”

﹑

“They're gone.”

Price had managed to pull the hysteric Simon back into his room and sat him down on the bed despite his protest and cries. The sight crushed price’s heart,

“No.” ghost protests, “they're most certainly not.”

Price looked down, sitting himself down as well. Unable to take the lump suffocating on his throat. Ghost’s voice destroyed him, and he bet it would crush your soul to see your lover ask so desperately for you.

“When evac came, [name]’s already dead. It was too late, Simon, I'm sorry.”

“Then why!?”

Price looked up at Simon's sudden question, “why the hell did you think i wished to live if it was too late for [name]?!”

“Why did you have to save me, price?” he weakly stood up, looking down at price as tears fell down his eyes. They were tears of rage and grief—tears that he had rarely shown anyone but you.

“Saving me knowing I'll wake up without my [name], what did you— what did the lot of you think? Now tell me,

Tell me what ill do, tell me price, what the fuck should i do?”

He cried, weeping his unfeeling heart out. He can't feel anything, none worth mentioning—the hurt of losing you plagued his heart,

“I can't, price, I can't do this.”

“Send me out there, make me fight those syndicates, have me tortured for months but not this—not this, i beg you. Don't make me live without [name]. Don't do this to me.”

Price felt his own tears pool his eyes, he couldn't take it. Not when Ghost stared at him with contempt and helplessness.

“Take me back to [name].”

“Please.”

Without you, there was nothing else left for him. Without you, he wouldn't wake up looking forward to meeting those eyes that once looked at him with adoration. Without you, he wouldn't feel that extraordinary love you had saved only for him. Without you, he won't feel. Without you, he is nothing at all.

Nothing but a breathing piece of sorrow revived to a body which was once happy with you.

Without you he's simply nothing.

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cappulcino · 6 months ago

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Seven Days Til Fall (Part 4)

Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6 – Part 7

Read on AO3

Words: 4,646

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Angel!Reader

Summary: You're an angel sent on a divine mission to retrieve a powerful relic that has been stolen from Heaven. The orders are clear: gain an audience with the Devil, make deals with them if necessary, anything to return that object to the Silver City. But Hell is not quite what you expected, and neither is Lucifer.

Trigger warnings: Minor character death (new souls in Heaven).

The fourth morning in the Silver City began with the usual routine –prayers, the harmonious hum of celestial voices, and the ever-present glow of the Divine Light.

As you made your way from the Cathedral to the Pearly Gates, the Archangel Michael called out your name and landed a respectful distance away from you.

"Your Grace," you said with a mixture of respect and unease. "Peace be upon You."

"Yes, yes…"

Angels of the Highest Orders were not obligated to greet those they considered beneath them, so he didn't.

"I shall find peace when the Cup of Eternal Grace is back where it belongs. How are you finding Hell? Are you faring well in your mission?"

What were you even supposed to say to that? That nothing down there was like you had been taught? That the Lightbringer was actually a fair ruler, and sometimes even a decent person? Of course not.

"Hell is, uh… Well, Hell. Very, very oppressive. Still, the mission is progressing nicely and is quite… enlightening. It sure is more complex than I had expected, but–"

"Complexity is to be expected when dealing with Lucifer and their infernal legions," Michael cut off, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at your hesitation.

You paused, realising just how much you disliked the way Archangels constantly talked down to you as if you knew nothing of the world. Composing yourself so he wouldn't suspect anything of the doubt that was taking seed in you, you flashed him a brief smile.

"Naturally. But we are fairly confident that the lead we're currently following is–"

"'We'?"

You gulped and mentally scolded yourself. You couldn't let Michael know you saw Lucifer as an ally or partner of some sort in your quest.

"I… merely meant that the Morningstar has been very cooperative. With their help, I'm getting closer to finding the chalice. I think it is being or has been traded at the Obsidian Bazaar. But it moves with the Shadows and–"

Michael interrupted you once more.

"You may want to speak to Arakiel, I believe they are back from earthly duty. They might know what demon the humans traded with. And if that fails, you have my blessing to consult the Library."

For goodness' sake, how long had Arakiel been back? You would think somebody out here could have given you that vital information…

"A-Alright. Thank You, Your Grace."

"Needless to say, I ask of you to be extremely careful. Despite my sibling's many names, they only bring darkness. Do not lose yourself to it… or to them. Failure is not an option."

"Yes. I mean, no. No, it isn't. But I won't fail." You were trying to sound confident despite the knot in your chest.

"See that you don't, indeed," the Archangel replied calmly though you noticed his voice carried an underlying warning.

His large wings flapped, lifting him off the floor, and you bowed your head in reverence, thinking the interaction and the awkwardness that came with it were finally over.

But, maintaining himself above you, Michael spoke again.

"If you succeed, I will personally ensure that your efforts are recognised. Perhaps a promotion is in order. But if you falter…"

The implication sent a chill down your spine and you felt your feathers stick up. But before you could say anything –and what was there more to add anyway?–, Michael was already gone.

You let out a shaky breath and set off again. However, as you did, another voice hailed your name. Raphael.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?" You gestured vaguely as you tried to answer, but the Archangel gave you no time to explain. "Your mission will have to wait. We have over a thousand souls incoming."

And so you hurried to the usual meeting place, quickly joined by Camael and Muriel.

"What is it this time?" You asked your friend.

"I don't know, ask the Virtues. Earthquake, I think."

"I don't understand why they ask us to help, though", Muriel added. "Why don't they ask another rank to supervise the operations?"

She was right. Lower Angels and Principalities were more than capable of handling themselves. But if they absolutely needed to be watched by members of the Middle Orders, why did the Archangels not ask the Powers? Better yet, the Virtues. It was their fault if there had indeed been an earthquake after all.

So here you were, working relentlessly to welcome and comfort the newly arrived souls when you suddenly felt something tug your garments. You looked down. A tiny human.

"Are you an– an angel?" he asked in a reedy voice.

"I am."

"A real one?"

You nodded and crouched down to his level.

"A real one. You're in Heaven, sweetheart."

He stuck his thumb in his mouth, looking all around him, evidently lost and scared.

"What's your name?"

"Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah. That's a very pretty name."

"Where's my mummy?"

"Uh…" You took a look around to see if there was any mortal woman who looked like this child. "I don't know, little one. What's your mother's name?"

"Mummy."

"Right."

You sighed heavily. You felt sorry for this young boy, deeply. But you just didn't have time for this and, frankly, God's whims were starting to test your patience.

Muriel passed by then, and you grabbed her arm.

"Hey. This is Jeremiah. Do you know if his mother is here somewhere?"

Muriel, in charge of the Silver City's administration, checked a list that had been handed to her.

"Uh… Jeremiah… Here he is. Jeremiah Dupree. No, I'm sorry, we don't have any other members of his family for now. But it says here his mother prayed to God and His son to save him, so that's why we took him in."

You blinked and shook your head in disbelief.

"That's… That's not… what she meant…"

"No?"

"No."

At that moment, Jeremiah started crying, and you picked him up, trying to soothe him.

"Why is he crying?"

"He's scared, he wants his mother."

Muriel truly didn't seem to understand.

"But he's in Heaven, he should be happy. In fact, you should be happy, too. Why aren't you happy?"

"Muriel. Here we have a deceased toddler, alone and terrified, and there is a mortal woman down on Earth who has just lost her child. How is that a good thing?"

Muriel frowned.

"I don't know, maybe God wanted to test that woman. You know how much humans love their offspring, it's the best way to test them."

"Oh, for Heaven's–" You shoved the crying child in her arms. "Take him. I have to go, I'm terribly sorry. Peace be upon you."

"Angels are fickle creatures, are they not?"

"Your opinion has not been requested, Mazikeen. We are certain Our guest will return."

In Hell, Lucifer was pacing in their throne room, unease etched on their face, much unlike their usually composed demeanour. You were late. Angels were never late.

What was going on? Had something happened to you? Or worse, had they said something yesterday that had driven you away?

They sat down on their throne and replayed the events of the previous day and your last supper together over and over in their mind, trying to pinpoint any moment where they might have gone too far. But no matter how much they searched, they couldn't find a reason. You had seemed to enjoy your time together –there had been laughter, even a few real smiles. So where were you?

Lucifer was well aware you wouldn't return to their domain once you had completed your mission, and that thought alone left a surprising and unwanted hollowness in their chest. But the breadcrumbs you would need to follow to get to them were still numerous and scattered all around Hell; your mission was far from over. So, again, where the h–

"Apologies, Your Majesty," you called out panting as you stepped into the throne room, your wings ruffled from your rapid descent.

"We suppose there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for your delay," Lucifer said with a half-questioning tone, hands tightly clasped on their lap.

"There is. I was–"

"Then there is no need to apologise, dear. We were just curious about your absence."

You blinked, trying to make sense of those words. You weren't sure what Lucifer was feeling right now –you never were–, but it certainly didn't look like mere curiosity.

"'Curious'? Is that Your way of saying 'worried'?"

Lucifer's eyes snapped at you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher, but they kept their tone calm and polite.

"We will simply say that your presence has become… expected."

"Well, I am very sorry."

Your voice was soft and your words genuine, but Lucifer brushed them away with a dismissive hand gesture which, thankfully, seemed to bear no hard feelings.

"Now. Follow Us. We have an idea where the Obsidian Bazaar might be this morning."

They stood up, and that was only then that you realised how different their robes were from those they usually wore –much more refined, much more revealing, too. Your breath hitched and, for some reason, your heart missed a beat.

"Well?"

Only when Lucifer spoke did you realise you were no longer looking at them in the eye like you were supposed to.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty."

Lucifer merely hummed in response and started heading to the terrace from which you guessed they wanted to take flight.

"Actually–"

You extended an arm that you thought would only catch the Lightbringer's attention but ended up brushing their wrist with your fingertips. Your eyes widened and so did Lucifer's for an instant, so you backed off, waiting to be scolded.

When the scolding never came and you were met with Lucifer's full focus instead, you spoke again, relieved.

"Actually… I think the Cup can wait."

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.

"Can it now?"

It could. Your mind was elsewhere because of what had happened in Heaven this morning and in this Godforsaken land yesterday and the days before that.

"I fear I'm not in the best disposition to pursue my mission at the moment."

"And why would that be?"

You sighed, looking up at the Morningstar with a defeated expression. You weren't sure how to say this, but you suspected they already knew what was ailing you anyway –they had been hinting at it for three days. So maybe there was no need.

And indeed, with the slightest smirk on their lips, Lucifer said, "You have questions." You simply nodded. "Mmh. We thought as much. After all, doubt has been making its way into your heart since you first came down here, has it not? It was only a matter of time before you felt the need to have all your questions answered once and for all."

Noticing that Lucifer had said that doubt was not entering your mind, but your heart, you gulped.

"I… suppose so."

"Very well, then. Come with Us."

"Where?" you asked as they started walking towards a hallway you had not yet taken.

Lucifer stopped and briefly glanced at Mazikeen, who was standing in a dark corner of the room, ready to protect her ruler, as usual.

When they spoke, their voice was as bitter as their facial expression, and you wondered why.

"Away from… prying eyes."

After a series of shadowed corridors and labyrinthine turns, you were now approaching a small metallic door forged with Hellfire. You had yet to see what was hidden behind it, but the surrounding air already seemed warmer –not because it was hot, but because it was safe–, and your nose picked up a faint, familiar fragrance, definitely celestial.

"After you," Lucifer offered surprisingly after opening the door.

You hesitated a brief instant, debating whether you should keep following etiquette and decline entering first, but quickly gave in and marched through the door.

The place Lucifer had taken you to seemed to be a small, secluded courtyard –the very heart of their palace, in fact. You first noticed how bright the orange sky above your head was. But then it was another vision altogether that caught your eye.

The whole space was littered with ancient fragments of the Silver City. Marble statues, once regal and proud, lay cracked and forgotten, wings chipped and faces eroded with time, some even standing half-buried in the black ash.

You looked around and also found portions of walls that you knew had once reflected the Divine Light, still carved with barely discernible scenes of celestial harmony: angels in flight, the hosts of Heaven gathered in worship, and at the centre of it all, the brightest among them, Samael –though their figure seemed to have suffered most.

You caught sight of an inscription in an extremely ancient angelic language. You couldn't read all of it –partly because it was hardly visible beneath layers of grime and dust, but also because the celestial dialect had changed much since the War, and, just like the demons of Hell, you had been made to forget your mother tongue.

Still, you managed to read, "I am Samael, firstborn of the Most High. In my Father's glory I did rise, to bring Light where there was none."

"This is where We fell."

Lucifer's voice pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around to watch them walk over to a stone bench, intricately decorated with scenes of stars and Creation.

"Oh."

Lucifer delicately patted the space beside them.

"Sit." When you hesitated –you couldn't possibly forget every protocol–, they rolled their eyes and insisted. "Please."

That one word was enough, and you promptly sat next to them.

The silence that followed was heavy and seemed to stretch infinitely. You kept looking around, and you found this place felt more like a tomb rather than a royal courtyard, a place of pain and pure solitude, visited only by the one who remembered its true significance.

"Do You, uh…" You cleared your throat, unsure about how to proceed. "Do You come here often?"

"At least once a century." So, often, by your immortal standards. "To remember."

"Is it not painful?"

"Of course it is. But We have learnt to live with the pain. It is part of this place, part of Us."

You remained silent for a moment, lost in thought, not noticing the way Lucifer was looking at you, patiently waiting for you to express whatever it was you were feeling, ready to welcome it all.

"There has been an earthquake this morning –hence my delay. And there was this little boy, crying for his mother. Every other angel around me was unfazed. And I suppose… I realised just how deeply mistaken I was. I mean, I used to think Heaven was so… perfect, that there was no place for suffering, for…"

Hearing your voice trail off, Lucifer proposed, "For doubt? Questions, uncertainties? How do you wish to call it?"

"Torment," you replied resolutely. "That's how it feels."

There was yet another moment of silence before Lucifer's soft voice broke it. "You remind Us of who We once were, you know."

"Do You realise how backhanded Your compliment is?" You mumbled.

"But you still see it as a compliment."

You lifted your head then and finally noticed the look on Lucifer's face –understanding and… fond. That look made your heart flutter and when it became too hard to sustain, you turned back to the celestial ruins before you.

"Is that why You left Heaven then?" You asked eventually.

"We most certainly did not 'leave' and you know that. We were vanquished in the Great War, and God found Us to be evil so He cast Us out. Took Us by our winged back, raised Us over His head and flung Us down to Hell."

For a second, you considered saying something along the lines of "You brought this on Yourself," but you knew you would only be regurgitating what Heaven had forced you to believe and you didn't want to do that any more, especially not when Lucifer was opening up to you. You didn't want to be mean.

Goodness… You didn't want to be mean to the Devil.

"They sang as We fell, you know." Lucifer let their words linger a moment and then repeated in a whisper, "They sang…"

You looked down and noticed how tight their fists were, proof of a wound still fresh despite the billions of years that had passed since the Great War.

"When We woke up here, Our wings like leather and Our body burnt, We swore to destroy anybody who would humiliate Us again."

"Is that why You said You would destroy the King of the Dreaming?" You inquired, remembering what Azazel had said yesterday. "Did he humiliate You?"

"In a way."

"How so?"

Lucifer took a moment to compose themself and try not to let their anger speak.

"Morpheus came to Us in search of his helm that had been stolen from him. One of Our demons had it –very much like that chalice you are looking for, in fact. But while Heaven made a deal with Us for the artefact, Dream decided to challenge Us to the Oldest Game."

"And won, I presume?"

Lucifer nodded.

"Our last move was anti-life. Do you know what can survive anti-life?"

You furrowed your eyebrow in deep thinking, trying to come up with the right answer. What could possibly defeat that? Less than a week ago you would have probably tried "faith". But now you knew faith could be lost, especially in the face of death. So you gave up.

"Hope," Lucifer simply stated.

"Hope…" That answer made sense. And yet… "But is there truly hope in Hell?"

"Of course there is. You have seen many Damned in the past few days. Surely by now, you must have realised that hope is what keeps them dreaming of escape, of salvation. That is how Morpheus humiliated Us, by reminding Us that part of the power Hell holds resides in the idea that those imprisoned here still dream of Heaven."

"I know that," you replied in a soft tone. "But I meant… for the Fallen Ones. For You."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Lucifer's mouth. They liked that you seemed to care so much about them and their feelings, and when they spoke again, you could swear their voice had never sounded so sweet.

"We, too, are prisoners of Hell. We are not that different from the Damned."

"So You still have hope."

"Sometimes."

"When?"

"Hope… can be found in the most trivial things. A melody, sung one last time by a damned soul before it loses its sanity. A fleeting memory, a whisper of what it felt like to be free. Unexpected turns of events. Something or… someone daring to defy Our expectations."

Right now you weren't sure whether Lucifer was speaking for all the denizens of Hell or solely for themself, but you saw a flicker in their eyes, a vulnerability that wasn't there before that made you opt for the latter.

Their eyes were raking your body with surprising tenderness as they went on.

"Someone… who can make Us believe, if only for a short instant, that there could be more to Our existence than this throne and crown of flame."

With that, you were now certain they were talking about themself, and you weren't sure what to make of it. Your thoughts were a mess, especially considering your proximity to the Lightbringer and how they were looking at you.

Worse, they were now dismissing protocol and boundaries altogether, letting their hand slowly come up to your wings, and you let them, convinced their touch wouldn't affect you.

But the wings were the most sensitive body part of any winged being –touching them was deemed far more intimate than touching a cheek like Lucifer had done to you yesterday. As such, it was extremely difficult to control them, particularly when not focused on that task. You definitely weren't.

Lucifer’s fingers hovered over the feathers of your wings, as though testing the limits between boldness and restraint. But then, with deliberate care, their hand settled into your soft plumage, trailing slowly down the length of one of your feathers as if memorising every delicate ridge and curve.

The effect was immediate. A shiver raced down your spine and rippled violently through your wings. It wasn't just the physical sensation, though that was overwhelming enough. It was the way their touch seemed to stir something inside you, an ache, a longing you couldn't quite understand.

You blushed awkwardly while your reaction made Lucifer smile and they continued.

"Someone… who stands before Us and looks at Us without fear or hatred." Their eyes went up and met yours then. "Do you fear Us, little dove?"

"N-No," you said in an unstable but honest tone. "Nor do I hate You. In fact… sometimes when I look at You, I still see an angel."

That made Lucifer chuckle softly.

"Do you realise how backhanded your compliment is?"

You smiled, seeing how easy it had been for the Morningstar to throw your own words back at you. But then, the smiles and laughter faded, and you noticed that so had the respectful distance between you two.

Lucifer's eyes, usually so sharp, were now half-lidded and fixated on your lips. The realisation made your pulse quicken, everything was so overwhelming.

But one glance at your eyes, one second during which Lucifer paused to silently ask for your consent, was all it took to break the charm. Had the ruler of Hell simply taken what they wanted as was their wont, perhaps you would have given it to them. But now the sudden awareness of what you were about to do made you remember how wrong and blasphemous it would be, and you pulled back.

"I… I can't."

Lucifer slowly closed their mouth –pinched their lips until they turned white would be more accurate– and looked away.

"But like We always say, hope is the cruellest of emotions." They stood up then and started heading towards the door. "Well then. Your time for questions is up. We should go back to–"

But Lucifer didn't have time to finish because, behind them, too caught up in the panic that this whole interaction had sparked in you, you had just flown away.

Crying. That's what you had been doing all afternoon, huddled up in the most solitary chapel in the whole heavenly kingdom. Crying, crying, and crying some more.

Eventually, the tears dried up, leaving an aching emptiness behind them. You dabbed at your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, taking slow breaths in a pathetic attempt to regain a semblance of composure.

Your feelings were too strong, too hard to understand, and you felt the urge to flee from them and to immerse yourself in something else to drown out what hurt inside. Prayer hadn't worked, obviously, so now you resorted to work, deciding to follow Michael's advice –browse the celestial Library, seek answers, and stay out of the darkness.

"Peace be upon you. Which works will you need to consult today?" Raziel, Keeper of Secrets and All Magic inquired as you entered the building.

"Peace be upon You. The forbidden section, please." You tried to sound confident despite the hours spent weeping.

"Ha. Funny," the Archangel retorted without looking up from his register.

"I'm afraid this is most serious. I have been tasked with retrieving the Cup of Eternal Grace from Hell. I need to learn about that place, the demons, the Shadows... Everything."

"Do you have clearance?"

"From Michael, yes." Raziel's eyes narrowed so you gave him a little push. "You can ask him. Ask Uriel, too. The whole Council knows about my mission."

Mentioning the name of the Archangel of Wisdom and Truth as well as Michael's was enough for Raziel.

"If the Divine Council can vouch for you…" he mumbled as he sat up to go unlock the forbidden section. "I don't know why they would ask you of all angels but… Must be part of His Plan."

"Yes. His Great, blasted Plan," you retorted in an inaudible whisper.

No Divine Light reached that section of the Library and you were forced to navigate the narrow corridors guided only by a weak candlelight and your halo. The scent of old parchment reached your nostrils as you scanned the scrolls and leather-bound volumes for anything related to the demons or the Shadows.

Suddenly, your fingers traced over a particularly worn volume tucked away in a corner. It was bound in dark, weathered leather, and had no visible title.

Being fully aware that you shouldn't probably do this, that your inquisitive nature had already played tricks on you, you briefly checked your surroundings and picked the book.

It was in the same archaic celestial language you had read this morning on the ruins in Lucifer's private courtyard, but it didn't take much to understand that this was a diary that dated back to years mortal beings didn't even have numbers for, before the War.

Quickly, led solely by your thirst for knowledge –true knowledge–, you flipped the dusty pages in search of mentions of the only thing that seemed to truly matter right now.

And then you found it, that cursed name. Samael.

You read fast, focusing only on the words you remembered or that hadn't truly changed in the evolution of the angelic speech. And what you saw on those pages made your eyes widen in horror.

"Samael's absolute terror… prayers… forgiveness… Father spat out the Poison from His mouth… feathers ripped… In the wake of their Fall, we sang… exultation, celebrating the expulsion of the Rebellious Child. The heavens rejoiced… I won…"

Suddenly, a voice spoke behind you.

"Curiosity. A dangerous thing, isn't it?"

Startled, you almost dropped the diary.

"Gabriel. Your Grace. I, uh–"

"You know, this is exactly how it started for them. Lucifer, I mean."

"I simply… I just…" Tired of trying to find excuses and explanations, you gave up and instead, asked, "Your Grace, why did God let this happen?"

Gabriel snorted inelegantly.

"Why does God do anything?"

"Precisely."

"It's not for us to know, you're thinking too much."

"But… I mean, Lucifer… They were His favourite child."

"And now they're not," the Archangel said as if it meant nothing. "Lucifer defied the Almighty. Children who misbehave get punished."

"B-But this was… brutal, sheer savagery. You sang! They were terrified, and you sang!"

"Of course we sang. We had won. Duh." And there was Gabriel's belittling tone again. "You were there. You sang, too."

"No!"

The two of you froze in that instant, both realising you had just admitted something you definitely shouldn't.

"Oh, dear," Gabriel said after a few seconds. "It seems you've let something slip there."

"I, uh… I didn't mean–"

The Archangel raised his hand to stop you.

"No need to explain. I think I understood perfectly." You swallowed dryly. "To seek a bit of knowledge is fine. But remember curiosity could be your undoing."

"Are You threatening me, Your Grace?"

"No. Merely… advising. Now, I'm sure you're very sorry about everything you did, so I'm just going to…" Gabriel closed the distance between you two and grabbed the diary from your trembling hands. "And, well, may God give you pardon and all that, and I absolve you blah blah blah, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. There we go. Good Dominion."

With that pseudo-absolution done, he gave you two small, very condescending pats on the cheek –the same Lucifer had caressed yesterday– and a fake smile, and then left you there, in the cold dimly lit, and unbearably silent Library.

For the first time in your entire eternal life, you wanted to scream.

And there was evening, and there was morning –the fourth day.

#reblog appreciated #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #the sandman #the sandman fandom #the sandman fanfiction #gwendoline christie #gwendoline christie fandom #cappulcino writes

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kfaem · 10 months ago

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Happy Birthday

Pairing: Zayne x MC (Luna Do)

warnings: written on mobile, suggestive, fluff, an intoxicated mc, fem!mc, so very unedited

everyone in this fic are over the legal age and are both consenting adults

summary: zayne suprises his loving girlfriend with a dinner and a promise for more on her birthday

guess who’s 19 fuckers!!! i apologize for disappearing again lol. ive been tired. anyway have a self indulgent zayne x mc fic that im writing on my phone tired and maybe a bit inebriated. also am not doing anything bad underage, im canadian lol.

Luna sighed, stretching and letting out a way-too-loud groan when her body crunched. She hung up her bag, kicked off her shoes, and lazily hung up her jacket. So tired from a long day of work and socializing, she hadn’t realized there was a wonderful scent that filled her and her boyfriend’s apartment.

“I’m home!” Luna called out, Zayne made a sound of acknowledgment from what sounded like the kitchen. “What’s up?” she found her way to him, eyes growing wide as she realized he made every one of her favourite dishes. “What is all this for?”

He turned his head to her for a moment, eyebrow quirked up. “It seems a certain someone has forgotten what day it is.”

“Mm, it’s not our anniversary, so I guess I did forget.”

His lip twitched up as he turned off the burner, taking the last pot off of the stove before mixing the noodles and sauce together. “Did you really manage to forget your birthday?”

She blinked, eyes shooting over to the calendar on the fridge. Indeed, circled with a bright red sharpie, was her birthday. Preceding it was a bunch of red X marks. “Shit, how’d I manage that?”

“I suppose I should book you in for an appointment with the psychologist if you’re already forgetting something so important.” Luna rolled her eyes, swatting at his arm. “Though now is not the time to worry about such things, I can only assume that you haven’t eaten today.”

And he was absolutely right about that. Luna’s stomach rumbled at his teasing, his rich man laugh made her blush. “Well, I shouldn’t keep the birthday girl waiting, should I?”

Conversing over wine and dinner, the night carried on. Time passed so quickly that neither of them had realized just how many times they filled their cups.

Luna looked at Zayne with a certain glint in her eye, the shimmer casting a smirk on his face as he understood what she was wanting. “Is everything alright, my love?” Zayne’s voice lowered, the reddish hue on her cheeks deepened.

“Hm, I can’t help but think there’s something missing, what’s a birthday without the gift?” she stood from her chain, sauntering over to him. Zayne pushed his chair out a bit, welcoming her onto his lap.

“Ms. Do, I’m not entirely certain what you’re trying to imply here.” She straddled him, his hands landing on her hips. “I might need some… instruction.” He finished with a pause, Adam’s apple bobbing as her eyes flicked over his face.

Luna leaned in, placing a tantalizing kiss of the edge of his lips. “I have the day off tomorrow, if you understand what I mean.”

“Shit.” He groaned. Zayne closed the gap between them, pulling her into a searing hot kiss. “You’ll be the death of me.” Zayne whispered into her ear. Leaving a gentle peck where his words left.

“Til death do us part, and then beyond.” She responded absently. “This… is the best birthday present.”

He smiled, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Would you like to take this to the bedroom?”

#love and deepspace zayne #lads zayne #lnds zayne #love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne love and deepspace

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presumenothing · 1 year ago

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random novel excerpts #5, because ofc i had to pull up my favourite wanmian bit upon seeing @difeisheng's post (this is book 2 ch 7, for those keeping score):

Qiao Wanmian did not answer. A long while later, she asked, softly: "Do you hate me?"

"I did, once." With a faint smile, he said: "There were a few years when I hated everyone."

She nodded, slowly; that she understood…

Only to hear him then say: "But now all I fear is that Xiao Zijin and Qiao Wanmian cannot stay together always, til death do you part."

She listened, the moment hanging still; nodding, again, before suddenly shaking her head: "You are not Xiangyi."

Li Lianhua smiled, so very light: "Indeed…"

Lifting her head, she looked dazedly at him, and said softly: "Xiangyi never forgave anyone."

Li Lianhua nodded. "Nor did he ever tend the garden."

The hint of a smile touched Qiao Wanmian's lips at last. "He never wore shabby clothes."

Li Lianhua smiled. "He almost never did sleep."

She exhaled a light sigh, tear tracks still damp on her face. "He always had unending matters to tend to, almost never slept, always had some enemy or other, excelled at spending money, was always ordering people around, sending them here and there and everywhere… but always managed to make a spectacular affair of it."

Li Lianhua sighed, and said almost to himself: "And here I am terribly broke, wanting nothing so much as a quiet place to sleep in, and without much enemies to name, either. Oh, yes – the two pots of rhododendrons in my room are in full bloom, it's quite the lively sight, do you want to see it?"

Qiao Wanmian was still smiling, faintly; in this moment it was as if her heart had woken to something open and bright, and those events of old that had weighed on her for ten years, those things she never could let go – all of it dissipated in this one moment. The man that stood before her was an old companion, a friend; even a maestro in his own way. "I'd like a look."

Li Lianhua straightened out his sleeves, and said apologetically: "Give me a moment."

Qiao Wanmian dried her tears on a sleeve, brushed the dust off herself, and abruptly felt her earlier self to be quite laughable. Seeing Li Lianhua hurry around the building to the dustpans with a wicker basket on his back, she couldn't help finding it funny – couldn't help but wonder: if Fu Hengyang came to know that Li Xiangyi had spent an entire afternoon tidying up the candles that he'd painstakingly arranged to proclaim the resurrection of Sigu Sect, what would he possibly think? But then she saw Li Lianhua waving her over before she could get any further, and so she followed.

On stepping into Li Lianhua's room, she looked at those two potted 'rhododendrons' for quite a while. Both pots boasted fresh yellow flowers, open in full and rich splendour; they had indeed been well and meticulously cared for, and were growing with much vigour.

But now Qiao Wanmian couldn't help but ask, after an age of staring: "These are rhododendrons?"

Li Lianhua paused, baffled, in his tracks. "Fang Duobing said they were… I dug them up from the foot of the mountain, there's a big patch blooming there."

Qiao Wanmian coughed faintly, and said with infinitely kind patience: "These are daylilies, the farmers plant them for… for… anyway, you'd better return them soon as you can."

"Ah." Li Lianhua stared at the 'rhododendrons' he'd been tending to for the better half of a month, and said with an air of apology: "I should've known rhododendrons don't bloom this large…"

Qiao Wanmian truly could not hold back any longer, and laughed aloud. Looking at those two pots of 'rhododendrons', their gazes met over smiles.

Outside, not too far away, a person stood atop the trees, and watched the two from a distance. That person wore golden-edged robes of purple, a figure regal and well-built; he would have been of handsome strength, save for the extreme paleness of his face as he stared dazedly at the pair in the room, unknown thoughts crossing his mind.

In the room, Li Lianhua looked at the daylilies he'd so diligently planted, and suddenly asked with great seriousness: "If the daylilies are already blooming, that means the weather is about to turn chill – are the winters cold up on this mountain?"

Qiao Wanmian paused in surprise. "Cold? Here?"

Li Lianhua nodded with great haste. "Does it snow?"

She gave an answering nod. "It snows."

He cringed faintly. "I don't like the cold."

She smiled. "Xiangyi never feared the cold."

Li Lianhua sighed. "I don't just fear the cold – I fear death, too."

#mysterious lotus casebook #莲花楼 #li lianhua #li xiangyi #qiao wanmian #mine #long post #li lianhua voice MY CABBAGES–

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 1 year ago

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Did someone say Helnik coded songs by indie artists who deserve more attention? Probably not but I’m gonna give you some anyway

See the Kanej version here :)

Witchcraft by Vian Izak - “Those fingers in my hair, that slight come hither stare, that strips my conscience bare it’s witchcraft” “it’s witchcraft, wicked witchcraft, and although I know it’s strictly taboo when you arouse the need in me my heart says “yes indeed” in me, proceed with what you’re leading me to”

Fair by The Amazing Devil aka THE helnik song argue with the wall- “she promises to fight them all, when it all becomes too much, and he, he curses at the world for leaving him behind he’s falling out of touch and she is stronger, than he’s ever been he knows” “she’ll turn to him and say “it’s not fair, it’s not fair how much I love you. It’s not fair, ‘cause you make me laugh when I’m actually really fucking cross at you for something” and he’ll say “oh how, oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am, with everything you do I’ll spend my days so close to you”” “he says “I know exactly what I want and it’s this life that we’ve created inundated with the fated thought of you and if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all like petals in a storm, ‘cause darling I was born to press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light was fading””

Allies of Enemies by The Crane Wives - “Remember when I could tell you not to smile when you were mad? And you would always crack and we’d both be laughing in the end. Now you’re not so quick to forget. Are we allies or enemies? This will be the death of me” “all is fair in love and war but I can’t fight with you anymore, this will be the death of me”

Immortal by Reinaeiry - “Sometimes when I look in the mirror I still see your face resting on my shoulder, and my heart beats so fast that I start to feel alive again” “and I’ll always find you again and again and I’ll love every version of you and you’re never truly gone as long as a part of you in me lives on”

Till Forever Falls Apart by Ashe, FINNEAS - “Out on our own, dreaming in a world that we both know is out of our control, but if shit hits the fan we’re not alone” “and if the sky falls from Heaven above just know I had the best time falling into love, we’ve been living on a fault line and for a while you were all mine, I’ve spent a lifetime giving you my heart I swear that I’ll be yours forever til forever fall apart”

I might add more if I think of them, but for now this is the list and please feel free to add more!

#grishaverse #six of crows #crooked kingdom #leigh bardugo #nina zenik #matthias helvar #inej ghafa #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #helnik supremacy #helnik #helnik my darling #helnik owns my heart #helnik songs #indie music #indie artist #helnik my beloved

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nevermorgue · 7 months ago

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Nevermore Character Song Matchup #1

"It Should've Been Me" R.I.P ft. SOLARIA for Ada Spoilers for Ada's lore and in general Nevermore plot points. I'm going to go through the lyrics and talk about how they relate to her!

Not too loud Not too quiet Don’t be proud

Don’t be shy It’s rude to stare Oh, do I dare?

(Ada wants to be seen a certain way. More elegant and refined than she is, to the point where she wants to hang around certain people to look better herself. She doesn't seem entirely self aware, given her history with Prospero + her nature to be a bit overbearing, but she knows that she wants to be perceived as a lady, and that she needs to look and act a certain way to achieve this.)

Keep it bold Don’t be timid Not too slow

Make it quick It’s so unfair I’m almost there (Leaning into more headcanon territory here. Perhaps she has felt the need to stick out, needing to be over the top and the center of attention to avoid being sidelined. She is desperate to be seen the way she believes Annabel Lee is, and was probably bitter in life that she was stuck as a housemaid rather than being waited on. "I'm almost there" could also refer to her affair in life. She was so close to getting her happy ending the life she knew she was made for.)

Lost in a fantasy My very own pandora’s box Swarmed by my jealousy I hope that it doesn’t show

Ire dipped in flattery Nobody’s been as close as me I spilled my guts And all for what? (The fantasy being her love for Prospero. Her pandora's box referring to her outburst and spectre manifestation. Her jealousy of Annabel Lee's "perfection". Spilling her guts is especially evil, considering that she quite literally did in death. She died at the hands of the man she loved, and she was "so close" to becoming a true lady.)

It should’ve been me you should have picked me from the start And after everything I’ve done for you You don’t think it’s bizarre?

It should’ve been me Where do you think I got my spark? I chiseled down my personality 'Til it's a work of art (This could refer to either her frustration with Prospero OR her affair partner. The man that murdered her indeed, did not pick her. He chose everything else over their affair. Ada feels betrayed and hurt that the man she thought was in love with her was so quick to get rid of her. Imagine all of the things she did for his sake, only to die. Her pining was probably similar to how she treated Prospero pre Monty era, and he was most likely sick of it. And while she does not entirely change who she is like Will does, I believe her actions can be influenced easily as we see with Montresor. Will wants to be useful in general, and Ada wants to be what the person she loves wants her to be. She will be mean spirited and a bit crueler if that is what Montresor wants. Notice how she isn't as worried about 'being a lady' once she stops fawning over Prospero.)

There you are Can’t they see it? I’m in awe

Could it be? It’s rude to stare Yes, I’m aware! (Very Ada @ Prospero. The last part just in general reminds me of her brash nature, being naturally outspoken and not afraid to do as she pleases like I am getting Ada during ring the bell vibes here)

What a sight Nearly perfect You alright?

Does it hurt? I will be there You know I care! (The sight could be either herself or who she's affectionate for. Quite literally how she was viewing herself during Ring the Bell once she was in that gown. Second part could be her fawning over Montresor's injuries. I feel the need to point out 'You know I care' in particular. She is rather affectionate with her words, perhaps she feels like she isn't enough, so she has to overstate her feelings to make up for it.)

Caught in my fantasies Don’t look inside pandora’s box Push down the jealousy No, nobody needs to know (Back to her first manifestation. 'Caught in her fantasies' being rejected in front of everyone. The pandora's box here being the 'hideous display' Annabel Lee claims says she is showing them all. Her jealousy once again referring to Annabel Lee.)

Please don’t think less of me! I’m but a lonely soul, you see Oh, what a shame I’ve gone insane (How she felt, weeping and alone after she drops her spectre form.)

It should’ve been me I oughta be there by your side Just think of all the possibilities that we could bring to life

It should’ve been me I think I need you to survive So now it’s your responsibility to make me stay alive (Once again, this could be either to Prospero or her affair partner. She is desperate to be loved, desperate for that warmth and attention. She wishes she could be someone's first choice. And when she finally does get this (With Montresor) she is completely attached, feeling as if she cannot live without him. Extreme attachment despite the short amount of time, as she is in fact that desperate and tired of being nobody's choice.)

Trapped in this travesty You’ve opened up pandora’s box Struck by reality It’s time to wrap up the show

Yes, it is how it seems I’m full of animosity And here I am Where do you stand? (The show can be referring to her entire crush on Prospero. Perhaps deep down she knew it would never happen, but the feelings it brought her made her feel good. She wanted to hang onto them for as long as she could. "It's time to wrap up the show" could be when she is finally harshly rejected, the denial finally fading away as she accepts that it was all her fantasy. And she was quite literally filled with animosity after that rejection.)

It could’ve been me Although I’m better than the rest My polarizing rationality just couldn’t pass the test (Ada WANTS to be better than the rest. I think she acts like she is, but deep deep down knows that is not the case. 'Polarizing rationality" = Black and white thinking. I think Ada definitely could be perceived as having this sort of mindset. 'If this person doesn't love me, I am worthless' type deal.)

It could’ve been me But I’m unsure of my intent Surely my fragile hospitality would shatter from the stress! (I'm sure in that moment between Prospero's rejection and Montresor stepping in, she was confused and vulnerable. Second guessing her intentions, second guessing everything she felt up until that point as she sits there, unloved and nothing. The last line reminds me of her acting more 'posh' than she really is. Like 'Oh surely a lady like me would blah blah!' type vibe. She considers herself a lady, and a woman such as herself could not handle such a stressful situation! Ohoho, ara! You get it?)

It shouldn’t be me And here I thought I was above But now it’s clear to me you saw that I’m unworthy of your love (Of course, she realizes this but not in the same way of this song. Rather than her putting herself down and claiming Prospero is not good enough for her, she thinks she was too good for him. Well, she only thinks this later on as Montresor continues to dig his claws in.)

It shouldn’t be me And I’m okay with that because I truly only want the best for you And I am not the one (Again, nah. Maybe in another world where they're all alive and getting through this relationship nightmare in a normal setting, but Ada does not get along with Prospero now, and I doubt she would 'want the best' for the affair partner if she were forced to watch him and his actual lover live on happily ever after. But it would be bittersweet if Ada actually did mature from this and treat Prospero kindly. Would it hurt more?)

It couldn’t be me It should’ve been me (It could've never been her. Should it have been? She was never an option for either of them; never anyone's first choice. At least, not until Montresor came along. But this song is a lament of her past feelings for the most part, so pretend she is reminiscing on what could've been; in life and death.) This was a very fun song to do. I connect this song to Ada (and Will on a lesser degree) to a heavy extent. I would love to hear thoughts, and maybe other people will do this to songs too...mayhaps

#i mainly listen to vocaloid but i promise i have human vocalist songs in mind for more of these #nevermore webtoon #nevermore webcomic #nevermore annabel lee #annabel lee nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #ada nevermore #nevermore ada #prospero nevermore #nevermore prospero #montresor nevermore #nevermore montresor #nevermore will #will nevermore #song analysis

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doodlesdreaming · 2 years ago

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Ok now I gotta send this one, because your wedding ask from someone else got me thinking about this one, hehe.

We all know the story of how Thor's hammer got stolen and he had to dress up as Freya in a wedding dress to get his weapon back. Leading to hilarious shenanigans where Thor almost gives himself away, and Loki makes sure to cover his ass constantly. Ending in the giant who stole the hammer getting killed once Thor gets his hammer back.

Which of the three brothers has their weapon stolen, who is made to dress up, and who gets the Loki position in this story? We all know this had to have happened at least once. Fury probably gets Freya's position in this story. Being told some schmuck demon or other wants her as a bride, to which she vehemently declines and nearly beats the crap outta whoever asked. Freya did indeed beat up Loki for a bit just for asking. However this turns out, I'm expecting pure hilarity.

Hands down, it's Chaoseater that gets stolen. And by some headstrong demon, who only wants the best of the best(in their opinion). They're willing to make a trade of course, one treasure for another. A sword in exchange for the last female nephilim in existence, as they're bride.

Fury is all too ready to smite the creature down for purely suggesting the idea of marriage, but to her, and everybody's surprise, Death agrees to the trade and makes preparations with the demon. Naturally, his siblings want answers, and to tear open his head to see if his brain has gone missing. But the eldest leads them away and into a huddle to discuss his plan. Slowly, the faces of the three turn from angry frowns to wicked smirks.

Fast forward towards the actual wedding ritual(we are talking about demons here). Fury comes in, wearing a rather revealing get-up with her face covered by a veil, and Strife and War walking beside her. The demon in question, looking very proud with Chaoseater in hand, surrounded by an army of their followers, is more than eager to be one with their new bride. The demon priest recites the ritual rights, blah blah blah, now they may kiss the bride.

The demon takes her by the hand and lifts her veil, only to be staring at a white bone mask that somehow looks incredibly p*ssed off. The last thing he hears, was his "bride," whispering, "Til death do us part," as they are gutted by twin scythes. War, taking back Chaoseater from the corpse, jumps into a fray of angry demons along with Strife, and slay everything in sight. The priest, Fury in disguise, laughs at the sight as she turns to her brother in admiration,

"You were right, Death. This turned out to be very entertaining indeed."

"The entertainment has only just begun, Fury. Shall we then?" Death, still in the dress, offers his arm to walk Fury down the aisle and into the heat of battle, "Let us make sure Hell itself learns to not trifle with the Horsemen."

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #darksiders genesis #darksiders strife #darksiders death #darksiders war #darksiders fury #dorks of the apocalypse #headcanons #ask stuff #wedding stuff #thanks for the ask!

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itsnotmandatorybee · 2 months ago

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December 31, 2024

Tuesday

8:39 PM

If there are few things I need to say before the year ends, this will be it.

While I'm still thinking for a reason why I accidentally broke my aunt's classic cup, I might end up forgetting about it in the next couple of days—or never—as to this moment that I'm writing and thinking of excuses, I started to analyse that this already happened—the darkness inside this room while there are explosives and horns of laughter as the New Year's Eve approach. Not to mention that I should celebrate.

This time, I'll break the pattern, or I might lose my track—again.

Since I don't have a heart to sum-up everything, I'll just drop what I have written a few days ago when I still had the energy to do it. If you'll going to ask me if I'm alright now, well, yes—I'm storing my energy for later. It's never too late to laugh and take a bite.

Cheers.

-----

December 22, 2024

Sunday

1:28 AM

To make things clear and easier for me, I'm writing this stuff not because I am puzzled about the things that happened a couple of weeks ago. I am writing as an excuse to leave the remaining plans at the back of my head as ideas. I should label them as "Things I Initially Planned, I Almost Did, but It's My Angel that Pulls the Trigger Button Not to Do It." Yes—it's quite a long title to describe everyday's situation that is not applicable to a rollercoaster, wheels, Earth, or jeepney. I read and heard so much about how their lives were comparable to those of turles, rats, aspins, and rabbits—indeed, we're animals more than the animals we called animals. Then there was a little punk who can't annotate his writings 'til the moment that he can't digest what he's saying, but he's doing it—it's me—and though as if I'm talking like I am the main character, well, who am I supposed to talk about when I casually mention my wearabouts instead of getting a random checklist to ask some of the simple yet gruesome questions that a normal person like you can lie but I won't 'cause we're not the same? Yes, brutally honest to poke the left side of my brain. I guess it's a tradition for me to write a few days before the year ends, but let's make a stupid twist a pathetic writer can do:

1. How are you doing?

This is a toxic gas I swear I don't want to smell, but the truth lies behind the mask I'm wearing due to the fact I am not going to take it off, not even forever: I AM NOT OKAY. Imagine that waking up every day is a struggle; I need to wait for at least an hour for me to get off my bed and start my business. I am not excited anymore, especially to those repetitive, cliché punchers that I keep rolling in, not to mention the bloopers or behind-the-scenes that no longer make my left pang hanging. It's been hard to try to laugh outside when it's my insides that I need to pay attention to. It's harder for me not to write the good things and bad things that are happening to me as I want to skip this year in my timeline, yet I don't have a choice but to keep moving or else I won't be able to see what would be my #SpotifyWrapped or I'll say I'm stupid not to drawback with others' plans, and I'm involved to be in their sentiments as a part of a whole. It's the hardest to imagine of someone saying "It'll be so much fun if you attended this ****" or "You missed to see this ****" as if I really care—maybe I care, but not the Bern, the real Bern when no one's watching. Long story short, I AM NOT OKAY is simply a nudge to sum-up what occasionally happened this year. From January when I was clinically diagnosed with my dad's cause of death, skipping a concert since I, no, my body chose to stay in a nearby hospital last April, all the way up to the dramas I had with my family until at this very moment that I am silently facing even though I have no face to make myself involved in my member's problems. Jesus.

2. What's the lesson 2024 brought you?

This is an easier one to answer: STOP. Simply saying to give no energy to someone who can't. STOP in terms of not disappointing myself since if I expect, I need to be responsible to turn it into reality. I somehow managed to write this before, I remember, that making myself stop thinking or stop saying at all to save what all real Bern's gotta save. I'm typically the one who says that I don't want to antagonize the people I cut my strings off, yet the tone of voice is coming from my solar plexus, as if I'm in a bid just to find out that it's not worth the price to win. It's because the failure of not getting involved as a negotiator is sometimes what can save me the most. Yes, I allowed myself to write in Filipino palabok format, and I'll not STOP doing it so because I realized that there's always a story to tell even if I am not talking anymore to the people I'm sharing my thoughts with before.

To STOP is to constantly live a life without dealing with negative forces that pull your trigger. To STOP is to lead the freedom rule across the border and be carefree not to be affected by a camaraderie you've chosen to chop with a symbolic, sympathetic knife. To STOP is to simply say that you accepted to grow while saying "thank you" for allowing it to happen even if it sometimes hurt. To STOP is to get your burdens flushed out to navigate your truck, fastening your seatbelt to continue and move on.

It's the simple mantra of saying STOP had ruled my 2024, and though this is the worst year I've ever encountered so far, I'm still somehow blessed, as I'm proud to say that some of the thorns in my throat are gone. And while there are potential thorns to accidentally swallow after eating the fish caught in the middle of the ocean, millennials termed as years of "existential crisis," I'll keep the hook on my string soaked underwater. I experienced how my boat washed out by a storm and almost got killed by a shark I thought it's a dolphin 'cause I have no glasses on; who am I not to learn how to try and fail again? Before going on a next adventure, I'll keep STOP as a lesson that it's not the pause button that makes life interesting. It's somehow the four-sided square that says, "Hey, it's over. I hope you're happy now.”

3. What are you thinking of getting plans for 2025?

I must say “Death By A Thousand Cuts" by Taylor Swift is a song I stopped to play even though I play it the most because it's too good to be true. When I asked the traffic lights if it'll be alright, they said “I don't know." So do I.

(Kidding aside, of course I have.)

While travelling, I noticed how the light turned red and it stopped the motorcycle I had with a punctual driver as we passed a place of my past I stamped as ”Balete Drive." I just then realised that the traffic lights don't know what to say at all because it's the colors of red, yellow, and green that I need to pay attention to, alongside the other systems on the crust of that road. I genuinely smiled even if I'm scared, yet I am mesmerized not to miss the exciting part of seeing the countdown facing Earth's night sky in DS-Digital font. I just felt like not asking what-ifs for split seconds, for I had this intuition that it's a mess of hanging around with my past by simply fixing it by applying such time I have at the present 'cause it won't make a huge difference. My decision is somehow wrong and somehow right, as it puts me into the realization that I don't need to hurt myself, yet I don't need to be a monster of my own just because I was surrounded and raised by monsters in fancy costumes. While I am trying to enlighten people, yet they think I'm baffling, I have no choice but to slip a note and just call the day a day—it'll be alright. I'm not Superman or a hero in a comic strip with a belt placed outside of what's supposed to be an undergarment, but it's a part of a costume, so our imagination will try to make it work anyway.

4. Any other thoughts before jet lag?

Simply put ”Good Luck, Babe” by Chappell Roan on repeat:

”You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.“

Happy Holidays!

#happynewyear

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aureatchi · 8 months ago

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ᡴꪫ aka reverie’s history lessons for ‘til death do us part we do art !! any lore/historical info i want to share for anyone who is interested. <3

⟢ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. SUMMARIES. SERIES PLAYLIST.

+ any asks concerning the series = # ꫂ ၴႅၴ ‘TDWDA .ᐟ

i have like 10+ tabs open every single time i’m writing for this series for research, so this is mostly me to refer back to but i thought i’d just share some of the things i’ve learned that i incorporated into the story! (she just loves history lol.) excuse typos; not proofread.

includes my intentional historical inaccuracies, inspo, & easter eggs ;) also, prev. chapters may be updated too towards the end, to reveal other facts that would’ve spoiled the ending.

i. SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS

ART HISTORY REFS MENTIONED: stanza della segnatura (rooms in the pope’s palace raphael painted), the sistine chapel, nicknames (da vinci- renaissance man; michelangelo- il divino) madonna del granduca (raphael), statue of david, tragedy of the tomb (michelangelo)

INFO INSPO :

TAILORS would actually incorporate a person’s personality & family style into the clothes that they made. i found that really cool—everything was more custom!

speaking about clothes—dazai mentioning that fyodor was probably irritated because the pope forced him into a suit? fyodor keeping the same outfit…up until he turned into bram, and also, michelangelo was the same way. he dressed like a peasant, not bothering to go above that.

LA VOLTA (literally "to turn") really was the most controversial dance during the renaissance era! previously, men & women would touch palms at most; this dance changed that. there were disputes from the church, dance defenders arguing it wasn't good for health (because of the fast pace and turns), etc. anyway, dazai's entire scene is actually inspired from elizabeth (1998; i never watched the movie, but i came across it while researching the dance)—the scene where queen elizabeth dances w/ sir robert. i also think this was a nice touch because the scene in the movie was inspired by a painting of just that. (coining the dance being described as “scandalous”.)

THE “TRAGEDY OF THE TOMB” was a real thing! michelangelo indeed was assigned to create pope julius ii’s tomb, but they kept disagreeing so much until the designs for it dwindled down extremely, compared to what it was originally. michelangelo then abandoned the commission, calling it the tragedy of the tomb, and proceeded to leave rome entirely. the project was handed to other artists after.

HISTORICAL INACCURACIES :

FYODOR & DAZAI WEARING SUITS. i’m sorry, i just think the renaissance/medieval doublets are soo ugly imo :’) + wtv they call those puffy trousers…i haven’t even looked up the term to call them LOL. “suit” is a broad term in general so you can still definitely imagine it as them in a historically-accurate outfit if you’d wish !! (but in my mind, they’re wearing suits as if they were princes from a completely different timeline shh)

EASTER EGGS :

the lady with dark curls in a deep red dress who briefly danced with dazai? she’s none other than red (redamantiya) :) thank u darling for watching me struggle & panic while writing this installment + helping me a bit out with osamu + the playlist.

the big three !! dazai and fyodor being love interests ofc, so i had to make ranpo reader’s right-hand man. ;)

to be continued…

reblogging the chapters are cherished; they are what support me the most <3. ﾉ dividers + support banner by cafekitsune. header graphic mine; DO NOT save.

last updated: 7/12/24.

#৻ꪆ 𓂃 ‘til death we do art #comment on the main masterlist to join the tagslist. <3 #bsd manga spoilers btw

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xxventiswindblumexx · 2 years ago

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Made a gift for my great friend @hitomisuzuya ! I got a bit creative with the story! I hope you like it 😊💜

⚡︎Til Death Due Us Part⚡︎

-Fatui Yandere!Scaramouche x female reader!

⚠Warnings⚠:Yandere themes, angst, mention of death, Dottore is mentioned, manhandling, Electroplay.

Song suggestion for the story!

-Lightning struck harshly as the snow outside became a full blown snowstorm in the span of a single second. The sky lit up with an electrical flash and loud boom that made the ground beneath him tremble violently enough to make the hairs on his arms stand on end and make him for once frightened by the sudden storm before gaining his composer once more.

It was a dark night indeed, this night would be the birth of someone special, you see Scaramouche had always been such a lonely man, he's never had a relationship, however he fell in love with a woman from a local village. He's watched over her for so long, gifting her things no one else could, making sure she was safe. But one day while he was on orders her village was slaughtered, he should've known it would happen, you can't trust others to do a job for you, he didn't realize what went wrong until he returned to see her lifeless body, Scaramouche felt empty inside again. She's always believed that Scaramouche has always loved her, and that he will continue to do so even beyond her death but that wasn't enough, he couldn't stand being immortal so he decided upon himself to bring her to Dottore, carrying her lifeless body with defeat written in his eyes. Of course Dottore was very curious and interested in this, to have this little puppet return to him asking for help, how could he turn them away? After a few days of preparation Dottore told him she wanted the girl to be brought back as an immortal with him, to be connected. It would definitely be a new experiment as he's never resurrected someone yet, however it wasn't beyond this doctors capabilities.

That brings us to that day, the day he waited to bring such a delicate life back, to defy the Archons. Scaramouche stood outside the operation room pacing back and fourth as the Doctor operated. After hours of excruciating waiting, the loud thunder and the harsh winds he would see the doors open, inside was the woman he loved, her breathing returned, her color returning as well as her eyes fluttering open, the first person she sees was her darling Scaramouche, the man who was always there, up until the end. As their gaze met, they were filled with relief and tears of joy rolled down their cheeks. The Doctors words of assurance about how she should be just like him, he would notice on her neck as well as his would hold the same Electro mark, branding them together.

Since that day she's been by his side like such a good little housewife, and now with her awake once more, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A tear ran down his face as he held her, gently stroking her cheek before kissing it tenderly. He'd do anything to protect his perfect love, nothing in this world could harm her now, not the Archons, not the abyss and definitely not any unknown entity that had taken her life before.

Today was like any other, she often came with him on his missions, staying by his side as he commanded his subordinates, making plans and further more. However it wouldn't be a peaceful day, an older male came up to her while he was distracted yelling at an Agent for being reckless, the male exclaimed that he was her old lover, back at the now ruined village, yelling how Scaramouche was the one who ordered it's destruction. That's when he turned to see this man holding her and scaring her, she luckily couldn't remember him, he made sure most of her memories from her past was erased other then himself. Scaramouche growled at the sight of a disgusting human before violently striking the male down with his bare hands, he was going to kill anyone who harmed her and no one would be able to stop him or his beloved. When the male was defeated Scaramouche turned around looking back at his precious angel, he immediately yelled at his subordinates to dispose of the body as his arm wrapped around her waist to hold her close. He never would've thought someone would survive the attack, he did plan it but didn't plan on his pathetic excuse of subordinates to kill her too, they suffered greatly by his hands before meeting their Archon.

He kept her close for the rest of the day, he had anger flowing through him, it can be easily seen by the bright glow of Electro in his indigo eyes and the sparks of Electro radiating off his finger tips. It would be later that night once he finally gets her to his tent does he release this anger.

She's so sweet and naive, not realizing why he was so rough, his calloused hands pushing her against his make shift bed angerly "How dare such a lowly disgusting human try touching you, my precious angel?" Her response was to simply kiss him passionately, he took this chance to deepen the kiss, biting her lower lip teasingly as hands pulled her clothing off harshly. Groping, feeling and grinding against her. He was so needy for her, letting our low groans as he felt her dampen his shorts with her arousal, her exotic moans only adding fuel to the fire. Once she was completely naked she began to pull on his clothing as well, just as needy as he was. This only seemed to encourage him as he pushed his boxers down and entered her in one smooth move. His thrusts were firm and forceful, causing her to moan loudly before wrapping her legs around his waist. They've been intimate before but this time was different, he wanted to mark her whole body, not only in hickeys but also with a child. He wasn't sure if she could fall pregnant to him but he wanted to try, either way fucking his cum back into her was a thought that served to boost his harsh thrusts, letting our low growls and groans as his fingers gripped her hips tightly.

"You're being such a good cum slut for me, taking me so well-" Groaning as he felt her walls tightly slightly against him as she was nearing her climax.

"Don't you fucking dare cum without me whore" he spat out as his hips slam against her roughly as her eyes glowed brightly with pleasure. His finger tips sent small shocks of electro into her heightening her pleasure, her legs shaking as her body shook

"Please let me cum Scara! I-I can't hold it any longer! " She begged as her nails scratch dark lines against his his pace quickened as she started to lose control. She cried loudly with joy as her body convulsed from her orgasms, he grunted in approval as he slammed into her again, harder this time. He grabbed her breasts harshly pulling at her nipples, his hips slamming hard into hers as her legs wrapped tighter around his waist. His lips latched onto her neck as he continued to pump into her, she was moaning and crying his name uncontrollably, her body arching up to meet every thrust he gives her. As he pulls out of her he starts pounding into her roughly as her mouth moves towards his neck as well, sucking on his skin.

His hips shudder as he felt his electro flow through her causing both of them to cum together, she screamed in ecstasy as he released in her, keeping himself inside, he couldn't let go yet, he loved the feeling of her warmth on him. He held her close as she would fall asleep on his chest.

He will make sure she is safe, to be his and only his. She's every thing to him, he would do anything to protect her, his sweet dove and love.

#scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #yandere scaramouche #fatui scaramouche #Spotify

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hankwritten · 2 years ago

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they say, “no one’s going to save you, better make it on your own”

Day 4: TIL’ DEATH DO US PART (Bomb Voyage) warning for mentions of hate crimes

Tavish is dying.

He is lying in the alley behind the bar, and the blood is coming out of him too fast to even make a proper metaphor about it. There’s the sound of feet running, and of violence, but he doesn’t absorb it with all the pain in his abdomen.

Just as the encroaching dark is about to overtake him, a different and altogether sudden pain stabs him. His last thought before blackness is that he swears someone just pinched him on the neck.

***

He wakes in an apartment he doesn’t recognize.

“Ach…Jesus I feel terrible,” he says, trying to prop himself up on an elbow.

“I should think so. You’ve just been dead.”

There’s someone else with him. He whips his attention to the left, giving himself a headache in the process but now aware of the sharply dressed man in the corner of the room. Tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t even begin to cover it—the man is ungodly attractive, and familiar to boot.

Shit, Tavish really isn’t in a place to be ruminating on random men. Not when he still feels like he’s about to empty the contents of his stomach.

“Dead?” he asks. “What the bloody hell do you mean I’ve been dead?”

“Technically you still are, though more of the undead variety. I apologize, you were bleeding out, and it was either this or…let nature take its course. I made a snap decision.”

He’s holding his cigarette awkwardly, and Tavish has the strangest intuition that this man really doesn’t apologize lightly. Underneath the stiff formality, he does seem genuinely sorry.

“Though,” he goes on, “if you truly rather I hadn’t, a stake through the heart is still an option.”

“I…know you.”

“Somewhat.”

“A bunch of men tried to shank us?”

“Indeed.”

“Why can’t I remember anything else from last night?”

He shrugs. “Trauma related memory suppression, the copious alcohol you’d consumed beforehand; take your pick. Not to mention a recent Turning has its own host of symptoms.”

It’s all starting to come together. Tavish’s hand fumbles up to his neck, where a locus of pain that has been thrumming since his arrival at consciousness now makes itself unignorable. He lurches to his feet, finding the apartment’s bathroom quickly and slumping in front of the mirror.

His skin has taken on a grayish pallor. There’s a rip in his shirt, and his flitting memories from last night inform him that he was very much stabbed, but the skin underneath the tear is smooth and unscarred. What is not unscarred is the mark on his throat; two pinpricks of inky blackness, raised where he runs his fingers over them. The veins around them are pulsating with ichor, radiating out into his body.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers. “You turned me into a bloody vampire.”

“As I said,” the man agrees. The note of defensiveness is back.

Tavish turns on him. “How do we know each other?”

Clearly, the stranger has not been looking forward to this conversation.

“We met last night at the bar,” he begins.

Tavish remembers. Vaguely. Seeing him across it, paying for a few drinks…

“Then we went out back to…further our acquaintanceship.”

Thinking that the stranger was maddeningly good looking, that he’d let himself slip just this once. Tasting the other man’s gin on the insides of his mouth.

Tavish groans. “Fuck. No wonder they tried to kill us.”

The stranger flinches.

“This,” Tavish stammers. “This can’t be happening. I need to go home, I need to-”

“You absolutely cannot go home,” the vampire cuts him off.

Vampire. So many things make sense now. The fact that while he was exploring the other man with his tongue he swore he felt unnaturally sharp canines.

“Why not?” Tavish huffs.

“Do you have anyone at home? Or any friends that would come to check on you?”

“I live with me mum, aye.”

“And when you lose control of yourself, as all young Turned eventually do—when you cave to base cravings, is your mother strong enough to hold you off? Would she be able to kill you before you killed her? That is the best case scenario, the one where you don’t have the blood of those you love most on your hands.”

Another memory, of when the group of men attacked. After Tavish had taken the first hit, he’d been able to see the fallout, of the vampire fighting back. Was able to get a front row seat to the sheer speed at which he tore through the humans, splattering viscera on the wall as he went. Tavish imagines himself like that. Imagines his poor, fragile mother hounded by a nightmare version of himself.

He shudders.

“You see,” the vampire goes on. “Anyway, I must be heading off.”

“Wait,” Tavish sputters. “What? Why?”

“It is…inappropriate for a young Turned and their Originator to be around each other during this delicate transitional process. I’ve found it breeds feelings of resentment. Call me up in a decade or so, and I’m sure we’ll be able to form a much healthier bond.”

“But…”

The vampire swings on his coat.

“There’s blood bags in the fridge. I recommend staying out of polite society for the next two to three weeks, until the worst of your bloodlust has worn off. Keep the apartment if you like. I have plenty. Adios.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

Tavish spends the next several hours walking the apartment: agonizing over calling his mother, agonizing over his fate, trying to ignore a deep hunger that seems to be building inside him. He wouldn’t go blood crazy. He wouldn’t.

Would he? It’s not like he’s been good at mastering his drinking habits the past thirty-five years of his life.

He sighs, and puts the phone back on the receiver for the fifth time. He paces. He tries to eat one of the bags in the fridge and gets it all over his shirt and the intoxicating smell makes him black out for half an hour. Maybe it’s good he’s staying inside.

But as the night comes in and Tavish finds himself sitting on the toilet seat concentrating really hard about turning into a bat, he admits he can’t do this on his own. What right does that bastard have to turn him into a vampire and then just run? Tavish should confront him, make him help him through all this. At the very least squeeze him for more instructions than just “eat my fridge full of blood.”

The only lead Tavish has is the bar they met at, so he scoops the apartment keys off the hook by the door and heads out into the city.

He really hopes the vampire hasn’t skipped town already. As Tavish orders a drink, he wonders how he’s going to find him. Maybe this place was a vampire hotspot all along, and Tavish just didn’t realize? If there were more vamps around, someone might know his mystery man, and be able to point him in the right direction. He’d been scouting this place before, evaluating individuals on completely different criteria, but if it’d accidently lead him to a vampire once maybe it’d happen again?

His judgment pulls him to a lone, lanky man leaned at one of the standing tables. Tavish can’t tell why; intuition maybe. A gut feeling. But something pulls him towards the man with the five o’clock shadow and the glasses hiding his eyes.

“Er…” Tavish begins. “I’m looking for someone. You wouldn’t happen to know a man wearing a suit, comes by here every now and again, would you?”

Jesus this is terrible. He’s been less awkward when he’s scouted a man for a hookup.

Sunglasses doesn’t react though, just raises an eyebrow.

Tavish goes on, “Tall, slicked back hair, good cheekbones.” Cautiously, he adds, “He’s er…of the supernatural variety.”

Sunglasses snorts.

“Got some balls on you for going out and saying it, but yeah, I know ‘im.”

“Oh good, good. So you’re er…” Tavish gestures an around motion. “Part of the club then? How do you know him? Do you know his name? Did he, you know,” Tavish mimes biting, “you too?”

“No,” Sunglasses says slowly, evaluating Tavish hesitantly. “That’s…not how we know each other.”

Even behind the glasses, it seems like his eyes flick to Tavish’s neck.

The stranger continues, “He goes by Marcel, at least ‘round here he does. My name’s Mick.” Mick puts out a hand.

“Tavish.” Tavish shakes it.

“I may know where our mutual friend has gone, if you don’t mind a bit of a walk.”

“Of course not,” Tavish says, relief in his voice. “Anything just to get a bit of help around here. I’m new at this you know.”

“New?” Mick asks lazily.

They’re already making short time toward the door, Mick moving as soon as Tavish agreed. Within a few seconds they’re outside, and though objectively Tavish knows it’s a chilly night he just can’t quite feel it.

“New new,” he says. “As in just last night.”

“Mm. That have anything to do with those bodies that were found in the alley?”

Tavish winces. “Right. Those. I assume word got around?”

“Nah, night really. Got cleaned up pretty quickly, but I have my own channels for hearing about suspicious activity.”

“It wasn’t what you think! That lot were trying to kill us, and Marcel…he well, saved me.”

Mick hesitates. They’ve stopped in a part of the city Tavish doesn’t recognize—Mick was right, wherever they’re going it really is a walk. Would be damn nice if Tavish could figure out the bat trick.

“Saved you?” Mick raises his brow.

“Aye. I was still human, remember?”

It takes a moment. So long that Tavish is about to ask if they’re still going to see Marcel when Mick says, “Right,” and keeps walking.

They really have been going for a while now, and Tavish’s nerves have gotten the better of him, leading him to blabber on randomly but Mick doesn’t acknowledge anything’s amiss. There’s hardly any people about now, and Tavish really should have asked where they were going-

A blur shoots out of the dark.

Tavish flinches, searching desperately for his new vampiric reaction speed that doesn’t seem to be there, and pathetically puts his arms in front of his face. But it’s Mick who’s struck down by the sudden figure. The man goes sprawling further into the alleyway, and the person in front of Tavish has his back to him with one arm thrown protectively his way.

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Marcel hisses at the prone form.

“I wasn’t going to hurt your baby bat,” Mick scoffs. After being hurled twenty feet across the ground, he’s struggling to an upright state. “He was just bait.”

Tavish looks between the two. “Ach, I guess it was bad to assume all vamps got along…”

“Vamp?” Marcel glances at him, his fangs bared. “That man is not a vampire. That is a hunter. Be glad he didn’t gut you as soon as he found out what you were.”

“Relax Spook.”

Mick is on his feet now. Tavish thinks he should have realized it sooner: the supernatural speed of a vampire isn’t there in the way he adjusts himself, or how he responded when Marcel appeared. Also, there’s definitely something that looks like stakes strapped to the inside of his vest.

Still, his posture isn’t threatening. “I’m not here to gut him, and I probably won’t gut you either.”

“Probably?” Marcel raises an eyebrow.

“Nah. Was just making sure you had a soft spot after all these years. Seems like you do.”

Marcel grits his teeth. “The real reason, bushman.”

Mick laughs.

“He vouched for your character.”

Marcel glances back at him. If there were blood still moving through Tavish’s veins, he’s sure he would have blushed.

“The Administrator wants you gone,” Mick admits. “Thought I might at least have a chat with you again before picking up the contract.”

“How touching. But now that we have established that we are still no threat to one another, we can go back to our peaceful arrangement of staying a continent apart at all times, no?”

“Works for me. But,” he glances at Tavish, “try to take better care of your people, Spook. Can’t just keep cutting and running every time.”

Marcel says nothing as the hunter makes it his intent to be swallowed by the city.

“…Thanks for that,” Tavish says.

“You apparently were not in any danger.”

“Well, thanks for that and. You know. My life, earlier.”

“…I regret taking the choice out of your hands. I couldn’t exactly ask for your permission.”

“I know. And it’s not a great situation, but I am glad I’m alive. Just wish you wouldn’t’ve have disappeared on me.”

“Really?” Marcel asks. “Most people I know…would rather I was gone.”

“I don’t,” Tavish says, taking his hand. “I need to work through this either way, and it’ll be easier with your help. Come back with me?”

Slowly, like a startled cat that’s been too long on the street, Marcel says, “Very well.”

#demospy #bomb voyage #tf2 fanfiction #dnadvalentines2023

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evolutionsvoid · 2 years ago

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You could definitely see where the old stories came from, and how this species ingrained itself in local folklore. Running as fast as the wind, with the cacophonous rattling as it zeroed in on prey. With a thunderous crack, that whip would be wrapped tight around its prey and the hunt would be over. There was no hope for any jackrabbit once they were lassoed, as they would be yanked off their feet and dragged along the arid landscape. To be battered and dragged across the rocks and dust was certainly a terrible way to go, but you would quickly change your mind once you saw that Roperite head towards its favorite thorn patch. Death by a thousand cuts, while the hunter comes out with hardly a scratch on them. Truly they were a legend of the Old West, but eventually the old must give way to the new, and the Roperite faced the ironic fate of being forcibly dragged into a brand new world. The dusty landscape went through a whole lot of changes over the decades, and the Roperites soon found their favorite raceways being carved up and settled. The long stretches of rock and thorns were being cleared away, making room for housing and tourist destinations. The spiny brambles they once barreled through were turning into vineyards, their prey no longer being shredded by spikes but splattered in useless grape juice. It didn't take long for them to be turned into pests, trampling farmland and lassoing pets. This new classification caused bitterness in many hearts, as the older locals viewed the removal of this species as the killing of the land's spirit. The Roperite was a species from a wilder age, often fantasized running along with the ol' cowboys and cattle drives. Every bit of them brought memories of the Old West, and there were plenty not willing to part with it. Unfortunately, nostalgia does not make expensive wine, though some do argue that such feelings indeed ferment into something bitter and intoxicating. Owners of the vineyards made good money and paid good money, so their opinions were bought better seats when they were shipped to the governor's desk. The Roperite wound up on the pest control list, now running with a target on their back the second they started prematurely stomping the grapes. However, not all was lost. While they were no longer welcome near the homes and fields of man, special preserves were setup just for them, protecting the last few remnants of the Roperite homeland. There they could run free, often to the delight of wildlife photographers and tourists. This is where the Roperite can still be found, or at least it should be. Establishing the special wildlife preserves was meant to excuse the eradication of more local Roperite populations. Since there were healthy populations over there, no one should raise of fuss when a couple were knocked off near town. Indeed a fuss was still made, but this particular mess was getting both sides riled up. Those on the side of the Roperite were furious to see such majestic creatures cut down, and demanded that the species as a whole be put on a protection list. Those that wished these beasts long gone were now squabbling that such eradication efforts weren't happening fast enough. Turned out, the creatures known to overtake roadrunners and jackrabbits were a lot harder to hunt then previously thought. Sure, people succeeded in taking down a handful of them from time to time, but their numbers and speed made such efforts negligible. Killing just one would cause the whole group of them to scatter, turning into a blur that wouldn't slow down til they were four counties away. Large scale efforts were almost impossible, as a single shot would cause them to vanish and traps did little to slow them. Eventually, the attempts became so many that the Roperites learned the signs and sounds of wildlife control, and were gone long before the hunters got within shooting range. It seemed that the spirit of the Old West refused to be forgotten. While some would take this as a sign to leave these bounding beasts alone, unfortunately, things have gone too far to turn back. After failing to cull them normally, an effort was made to disrupt their habitat and force them to leave. The bramble patches and thorny chaparral were cut down and removed, with the hopes that the loss of their favorite hunting and nesting spots would change their minds. During the first few months, the effects could be plainly seen. The Roperites struggled with their hunts and wandered aimlessly. It would only be a matter of time before they vanished into the wilds in search of better habitat or perished. In the end, the Roperites took none of these options. The clever creatures that once figured out the tells of a hunter now turned their brains onto this matter. With no thorny brush to help kill their prey, what else could they do? Their answer wound up being the bane of every truck driver in the state. The rough asphalt of the roads provided some real grit to wear down prey, choosing death by road rash instead of shredding. Roperites would lasso prey then drag them down the side of the highway, often banging them off signs and posts as they sprinted along. Road crews despised the damage and drivers were furious at the wrecks, as collisions with Roperites began to rise. After numerous of these beasts were splattered alongside their prey, people hoped that their clever ways would teach them to abandon this type of hunting. Indeed, the Roperites learned a lesson. The wrong one.

They saw what became of those who stepped in front of a charging truck, and it got them thinking. Why drag your prey all across kingdom come, when these strange shiny beasts will do it for free? And so became the age of Roperites whipping random animals into oncoming traffic, a time many folk pray ends soon. No longer do you just have to worry about a rabbit or raccoon scampering across the highway, as you now need to check if one is being launched straight at your windshield. And since the cars do such a good job mangling and tearing up prey like their beloved thorny chaparral, the Roperites have moved onto larger prey. Deer have recently been added to the menu, as they are lassoed by the neck then sent tumbling into the nearest set of truck tires. Rumors have even begun to spread that hitchhikers also joined that list, grabbed by the ankles and pulled right into traffic. With this new behavior, many more folk have joined the side of eradication, demanding that this nuisance be dealt with once and for all. With the score being 0-2 though, there is doubt if any real progress will be made. Oh well, at least they make a great football mascot. Sacromento Roperites for life! GO ROPERS! -------------------------------------------------------- Hey, here is another fearsome critter for ya'll! My treat!

#fearsome critters #roperite #road runner #monster #creature #art #drawing

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