#deities give me strength -_-

[ur-friendly-nbhd-cardassian]

Seriously, it's not so hard to find a Slavic person to consult when you're coming up with a Slavic character for any media. The number of inacuracies in that is astounding. As if we were an extinct nation and the only information about us was in inelligible scripture experts struggled to translate.

You don't have to pull stuff out of your ass. We are real people and we're not savages, either, we do have internet. Don't you wanna be the cool sort of Westerner, who knows how to present their Slavic character without making them wrong and cringe? Wouldn't it feel nice to know your audience appreciates your efforts instead of thinking you're an idiot?

Don't be an idiot.

[theic-manic]

Today's lesson in deity Apollo prayer boundaries: just hire a lawyer to write your prayers. / s

I've previously covered needing to set limits on times of day for inspiration, not needing to leave work early for self care and more but apparently I need to also specify content because while reading this prayer I resume drawing Hermes concept sketches.

Apollo: "Kinktober but featuring us Gods"

Me, pausing mid-sketch: 😳

Apollo: "You've been wanting to do Kinktober for a few years now and you don't have to do it all in one month, just stretch it out over time to avoid burnout"

Me: "You mean draw it indefinitely..."

Apollo: "I certainly wouldn't complain, also Hermes with overalls but no shirt looks good, I like this sketch"

Me: 😳 😑☺️

[mangywayway]

I have a (probably horrible) day in front of me today but at least I know that when I get back this evening I have almost 2 days of fics to read 😌✨✨

[endof-an-era]

Don't throw stones

from glass houses

And yet

Brick by brick

They throw enough

For me to

build a wall

Do they not see?

The glass shattered

At their feet?

I suppose not

They're too busy

Aiming at me

To worry about

Such trivial things

- I do not bite the hand that feeds me until it slaps me first. Don't ask me of anything if you cannot do it for yourself. I do not follow the blind. I do not speak to the deaf. Advice from you equates to asking money from the poor. There is nothing. I leave with nothing.

[fuiru]

A 44 year old man goes to a K-Pop Concert

I promised you a report on the K-pop concert that I, a 44-year-old accountant, went to a couple of weeks ago with my wife and daughter in Toronto. So here it is.

The band we saw were Ateez. They're my daughter's favourite band and my wife's second favourite. I know most of my mutuals are similarly aged like me and may not be familiar with them so let me give you a brief primer on Ateez.

Imagine the most attractive eight men you can think of, just unfathomably beautiful specimens of aesthetic perfection, and make them sing songs that somehow combine the subjects of 'dancing like nobody is watching' with 'we live in a dystopian hellscape that we must all work together to overthrow'. Give them an ongoing music video story lore that literally nobody - not even the band themselves - understand, so that online discussion of their visual motifs looks more like the fevered rantings of a conspiracy theorist, complete with speculation about alternate realities and time being a Moebius strip. There is also a giant sand timer, for some reason.

That's Ateez. That's what you need to know.

Now, K-pop concerts are very different to the gigs I've been going to for the last 28 (!) years. There's no support act, for a start. Also the band perform for like, three hours, with breaks for costume changes and interpretive dance. Furthermore, hanging above everything is the constant looming threat of mandatory military service.

So this being my first such concert, I wasn't sure what to expect. What happened was difficult to explain, but I will try as I am already six paragraphs into this write-up and I'm too invested to stop now. Here goes:

In his Wicked + Divine comics series, Kieron Gillen places modern pop icons as deities, feeding upon and gaining strength from the worship of their fans at the altar of musical performance. I thought I understood that metaphor. I thought I understood it AS a metaphor. I was wrong, because that night Ateez WERE Gods with a capital G and we were their worshippers, a crowd emanating adoration (in the religious and non-religious senses), bestowing strength upon them and gaining their strength in return.

If that sounds weird, it probably is. But as pointed out above, I have lived over four decades and never yet experienced anything like the overwhelming passion of that crowd, the utter abandon with which they conveyed their love for the band.

"But Fuiru, what of the actual music?" you ask. Thinking back, there was a moment in one of their songs - I can't remember which - where I watched the stage, and the people around me, taking it in, and I thought, "Man, I just love Music". But that doesn't answer your question, sorry.

Ateez's music is bloody great. As a tiresome indie/rock/metal kid I'm resisting the urge to add the usual tiresome indie/rock/metal caveat of "...for pop music" because honestly that does it a disservice. They have some genuinely amazing songs. Halazia is an absolute fucking masterpiece that descends into furious hardcore breakbeat. Bouncy is a big, brash racket that somehow is also a perfect pop song. Utopia, Wonderland, and Guerrilla are similarly superb. The obligatory boy band slow number is represented by Dancing Like Butterfly Wings which will make you cry because you will forever associate it with your twelve year old daughter being pointed to and waved at by her favourite Ateez member (Seonghwa) because of her Seonghwa-branded lightstick.

That might just be me, though.

So in summary: being a 44 year old dad at his first K-pop concert rules and you should endeavour to partake in the experience if the opportunity arises.

Finally, for any Atiny reading this: my bias would be San or Seonghwa but my wife and daughter said they were taken so it’s Mingi. My concert outfit (designed and created by my offspring) reflects this.

[yakutarts]

Nightmare and Dream but feral, non-skeletal body!

For the love of god PLEASE click on the image for better quality + close ups and clothed version under the cut!!

Would you kiss them?

Video process:

I made these using a specific context

A while ages ago I drew and posted a drawing of Nightmare and Dream on their light ball form but with some alterations/personal headcanons.

On the post, I expressed my desire to draw the twins in a universe were Nim didn’t need to give them bodies, and just let them grow naturally. And specifically give them an animalistic appearance, instead of a humanoid one like most artist do.

You can see on the process video that it took me 1000 sketches to make something that looked good and I was happy with, the video is obviously sped up, the total time it took me to make this was 28 hours and 15 minutes.

Now explaining some things:

Why are they so big?

I read on a post made by Joku that Nim, before giving them skeleton bodies, tried to make them human ones, but the pure amount of magic and power the twins had made the human bodies explode or some shit. So she picked skeletons since the magic could flow freely through the bones without being confined by muscle and flesh. That made me think if their power had physical forms, it would be gigantic. So I gave them gigantic forms to better represent their status of strength and power, beings made from raw magic to serve as guardians of all emotions throughout the multiverse, of course I needed to make them big and intimidating!

Why the horns?

Artistic design choice, I gave them little horns and a chubby tail in their light ball form to purposefully make them more animalistic, wanted to keep it while making these. Also just giving them a smooth head with nothing much going on looked weird and boring.

Why the draconian look?

Dragons had been created and depicted as symbols of pure power above humanity and worshipped as deities throughout several cultures around the world, different depictions of dragons has been one of the only things present among almost all cultures, like a default folklore creature. While I tried to incorporate other mythical creatures in the design, the draconic body plan felt more right due to the influence of dragons on human beliefs, and their representation as magical and powerful beings beyond human comprehension. Plus I just really love drawing dragons.

Why the clothing choice? Also why is Dream half naked while Nightmare has everything covered?

While designing the clothes for Nightmare, I used as reference clothing that usually royalty would wear, Nightmare has a really big ego and sees himself as a king, so he uses fancy, expensive clothing and jewelry, adapted and designed for his anatomy. Not practical for battle, but his corruption can go through the fabric without damaging it, and most people and monsters just run when they see him, so he doesn’t worry about it getting dirty or tearing, Nightmare just expects every soul to instantly submit when they see him, so he never worries about getting into a battle and getting dirty he has that big of an ego.

Dream is the opposite, his style of clothing much more practical for running, jumping, flying, fighting and general exercise. He has 4 bags in total, 2 on each side, inside them he keeps several items, be it healing food, magical artifacts, first aid kit, gifts he receives, stuff he buys or random things he finds and wants to take home with him. Dream’s crown is now a colar couldn’t figure out how to make it work with the head shape and horns, his cape is from his official design, but changed to white, was planning to make it yellow but when I looked at it my eyes hurt because there was too much yellow everywhere. I made Dream’s clothes with the intent to match his official design, I didn’t to the same for nightmare because a turtle neck with a hoodie on a dragon would make him more huggable than intimidating. Plus I like to think that the leg warmers was a gift from Blue, and the ring on his horn a gift from Ink. Didn’t add more stuff on him because I couldn’t think of something that would look good and match Dream’s vibe, the rest of his clothes on his official design didn’t translate well here. Oh, while I was drawing this, I drew the colar and the leg warmers first, without the cape, Dream looked like a twink with a pet play kink.

Side note; neither Nightmare or Dream see the use of clothes as a necessity or as decency. For them clothes are nothing but pure decoration and to show off status for Nightmare, they can wear full body suits, partial clothing, just jewelry, or nothing at all, which is what they usually go for when at home, wearing or not wearing stuff doesn’t make that much of a difference to them at all.

Do they act as animals or do they have human intelligence?

Despite me using the word “feral” all the time to describe them, they do not actually act as animals. I’m only using “feral” to describe their body/anatomy, Nightmare and Dream are fully sentient and have human level intelligence/awareness. They are capable of speech and have opposable thumbs on their front paws, they can grab, write, hold… do anything a human can do with their hands with dexterity. But they do have to use only hand one at a time, and balance themselves with the other. To use both hands, they have to be sitting, or be supported by something, they can balance themselves on their wings if they have to.

And now contradicting what I just said, they have some animalistic behaviors. The twins can growl, purr and roar. Despite Nightmare being able to use his tentacles and Dream being able to shoot magic arrows out of his wings, they to also scratch and bite while fighting. Since they are big and heavy, they can easily crush bone under their weight and their bite force is strong enough to split someone in half. If you need a reference, just use Smaug from The Hobbit, he has more or less the balance of animal behavior and human intelligence I’m looking for.

Expanding more on this, the twins stretch just like felines, and often sleep in positions usually cats sleep in (they don’t actually need to sleep but do anyway). Dream likes to go fishing, and by fishing I mean jumping in a lake and chasing the fish underwater. He finds it more fun than sitting around and waiting for the fish to come to you instead.

I guess you count their lack of necessity to wear clothes as animal logic too?

_________________

If you have any more questions about them, I will be happy to answer!

And yes, I do plan on making more drawings of Nightmare and Dream on this form!

Dreamtale belongs to @jokublog

Feral concept/design by @yakutarts (me)

[thevoidstaredback]

It's always graveyards. Why is it always graveyards? They're creepy as hell and, well... that's it. On the bright side, the Protection Spirits watching the gates recognize him and realize the danger he's in. Well, maybe he wasn't in real danger because the Bats and Birds don't really do the whole purposefully harming civilians things, but they are scary as hell! Chasing him down like a bat straight outta hell- obviously he was gonna run! They cornered him! Maybe he'll invest in getting them lessons in how to interact with people in and out of costume?

Honestly, Nightwing, Danny expected better of you. At least Red Hood and Signal know how to treat innocents.

Here's the thing about Protection and Guardian Spirits, though. They don't like intruders. If you're running from something and you don't have time to ask permission to enter, you best say "thank you" and bring them shiny things on your next visit. If you do have time to ask permission, you ask permission. If they think you're a threat or rude, they won't let you enter whatever they're guarding.

"Thank you," Danny said as he slowed to a walk further into the graveyard, the sound of the gates slamming closed behind him confirmation that the Bat and his gaggle wouldn't be following him in.

Wasting no time, Danny pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. It was a handy little thing he'd picked up during his stay in the House of Mysteries. Draw and door, tell it where you wanna go, open it, and go through! Beetlejuice style. Though, unlike what the Handbook for the Recently Deceased says, these doors won't actually open a door to the afterlife. He fixed that tiny glitch a while ago.

Anyway, a quick few chalk lines on the side of a mausoleum later, and Danny was opening a door to Fawcett, Philadelphia. Probably not the best choice, considering that he was trying to stay away from the Justice League, but it's better than Metropolis.

"Whoa." Damn it! He should've stayed home. "What was that, mister?"

Danny made sure the door closed behind him, praying for strength. Why did he feel like several deities were laughing at him? "Hey, kid. Can you, um, maybe not say anything about that?"

The kid, short brown hair and a red jacket stood out the most to Danny for some reason, seemed very amused. "You're gonna have to buy my silence."

Again, Danny let out a quiet, long suffering sigh. "Coffee is so not worth it." Looking at the kid, he said, "Alright, fine. I was getting coffee anyway, I'll buy ya lunch. Know any good places?"

Grinning, the kid cheered, "Hell yeah! Follow me!"

Resigned, Danny followed after the kid, easily keeping pace. About a block later, he figured he should probably get the kid's name. "I'm Danny."

"Billy."

"No last name?"

"Fae rules, dude. What's your excuse?"

He had to give it to him. "Touché."

Another three blocks of walking, Billy finally stopped at a cafe. It was a quaint place with stained white brick and a dark grey roof. There were metal chairs and tables outside the building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The table umbrellas and the awning over the black door were light blue, matching the curtains in the inside.

The inside walls were painted baby blue with a white ceiling and a pinewood floor. The tables and chairs were all stained black with light pink cushions and table cloths. The curtains, as observed before, were all baby blue, tied back with baby pink ribbons. The lights were barely yellow, giving the room a warm feel. The counters were white with black paneling on the outside and white granite as the tops.

"Welcome in," the young man at the register greeted with a smile, "What can I get you two started with today?"

Danny envied the man. He'd obviously not been doing this long enough to gain the veteran's shine to his eye. He turned to look at the menu after telling Billy to get whatever he wanted. A mistake he'll probably pay for. "I'd like a large Red Eye, equal parts coffee and espresso, with cinnamon, honey, chocolate syrup, mint, and vodka, please."

The 'newbie' light in the man's eyes dimmed a little bit. "Um, we don't carry vodka." Glad that's the only thing he's worried about. Priorities.

Danny clicked his tongue. "Oh, well, it was worth a shot. I'd like everything else, though, please. Mix it at your own discretion."

"Alright," he was very valiant to go back to grinning, "Anything else?"

Danny motioned for Billy and the kid stepped up. "Can I get a large mocha, three chocolate chip cookies, and two sandwiches?"

The blond entered the order. "Of course! That'll be $25.37." A quick card swipe from Danny. "Thank you very much, we'll have your order out to you soon!"

The two didn't say a word as they chose a table in the corner. Danny let Billy take the seat that was open to the rest of the cafe so he wouldn't feel cornered. He had a good view of the door, though, so he wasn't complaining.

"So, how'd you do that?" Billy asked after they'd gotten their orders.

"How'd I do what?" Danny sipped his drink.

"How'd you walk outta that wall? It's solid!"

"Magic."

"I guessed that much."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Will you teach me?"

"No."

"You didn't even think about it!"

"Okay," He paused. "No."

"Not fair." he pouted.

Putting his drink on the table, Danny summed as much fake-it-till-you-make-it energy as he could. "Magic isn't a toy and takes years of practice to get a handle on, not to mention you have to actually have an aptitude for it before you can even try. Besides, I don't know you nearly well enough to trust you with anything else."

Billy finished the cookie he was eating. "I can do it! You just gotta teach me!"

Another sigh that Danny had stopped counting. "Look, you seem like a good kid, but I'm not gonna teach you magic."

"Why not!"

"However," he continued, ignoring the demand, "I'm not gonna leave ya fully defenselessness."

"What do you mean?" Billy backed away slightly, his eyes narrowing as he moved to be able to run quickly.

Another sip. "Based off of the dirt you're covered in, the grease in your hair, and the overall poor condition of your clothes, I'm gonna bet that you're a street kid. So," he pulled a small card from his pocket, very aware that Billy was watching his hand aptly, "I'm going to leave you with this."

Slowly, the brunet took it and turned it over. "What it is?"

The white card had the initials DP in the middle, circled by an Ouroboros. The initials were completely solid, but the snake of the Ouroboros was made up of tiny runes of protection and health and healing and good fortune.

"My calling card. If you're ever in danger, hold that to your chest and ask for help. I'll be there."

Still obviously suspicious, Billy took a moment to scrutinize the card. It was cute to watch the kid act like he knew what he was looking at or for. When he seemed satisfied, he shoved the card into the inner pocket sewn into his jacket. "Thanks."

"No problem, kid," Pulling out his phone, Danny saw the time and stood, "I've gotta go now. I assume I've sufficiently bought your silence on the whole magic thing?"

Billy grinned, "I guess, but you gotta come visit me, okay?"

He chuckled, "Sure thing. See ya."

Part 2 Part 4

(I don't drink coffee, so Idk how that shit works)

Tag list: @zaiothe4th

[shan-helsing]

so so beautiful 🙏🙏

Apollon aesthetic thingy I did a while ago

[kombuuuu]

Somethin’ Soft for someone Tough.

Earth 42!Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“Let me stitch you up, Miles.”

i ❤️ miles and he is so bf uhuh (i’m insane put me in a cell)

also he’s soooooo a simp in this, none of that ihu typa love his mama raised him RIGHT

warnings: injury, stitches, medical practices from someone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, some angst, slightly suggestive at times

I dot NOT speak spanish so if anyone is willing to help with translation for future fics, I would owe my life to you (and give early release? i dunno wtv u want babygirl)

—

Miles didn’t understand your hurt. He didn’t understand why you hated him being the Prowler—, didn’t understand you crying when you found out. Or your shame and disappointment when it came to his..

-Profession.

It confused him, he did this to keep you safe. He’d already lost enough, he can’t lose you. He won’t. You just didn’t get that.

Having you be mad at him, loath him, despise and detest him for being Prowler. It was easier than you dead because he wasn’t.

He would rather you hate him, than only have your memory.

So when he came home to you sleeping in his bed, waiting for him to return to you only two weeks after his initial reveal, he did nothing but lay down next to you and let your hand slowly drag into his. Interlocking your fingers in a twisted pattern of forgiveness and relief.

And he didn’t try to understand why.

—

It was warm this night, the heat of a summers Sun leaving Brooklyn a mucky kind of hot. Sweat dripping down the flesh of those still dwelling outside so late, only taking solace in the rare occasion of a breeze through their clothes.

Which is why you felt ever grateful lying in an air conditioned apartment dawned only in a pair of your lovers boxers and a ribbed white tank top.

It was the pair you bought him a while back when browsing street stalls, decorated with little cats and hearts. You thought they were funny, he was not impressed (but he was happy you were happy).

Miles had been out a lot lately. Assignments, as he called them, had been increasing in frequency as of late. Willing you more and more worried about the boy you loved, he just kept coming home injured.

Which you endearingly (aggressively) scolded him for, tones of care seeping into your monologue of being safer with his job whilst he huffed and puffed begrudgingly.

Assuring you he was nothing but careful,—

“Mami, ¿por qué iba a ser imprudente con mi vida cuando te tengo a ti para volver casa a? Alguien tiene que cuidar de ti.”

"Mami, why would I be reckless with my life when I have you to go home to? Someone has to take care of you."

A bashful murmur of “Just be more careful.” Would only reward you with a hand on your waist and the beginnings of a smile. You sighed out in boredom, draping a hand over your forehead dramatically. Spread out on Miles’ bed awaiting his return that’s seemingly taking years.

A crash outside your (boyfriends’) window alerted you out of your position, the piercing sound of metal scraping against metal grating your ears. Shooting up from your laid position, you messily shuffled off the bed, almost tripping over yourself to get to the figure struggling beyond the glass. A heavy claw dragged the window open with the apparent little strength it had left, heavy breaths and short rumbles of discomfort reaching your ears.

The neon pink of the Prowlers mask greeted you, quickening your aid in slamming open the window and catching Miles’ stumbling body from toppling through.

A husking groan sounded from your sweetheart as the mask slowly peeled back, revealing the trails of blood creeping from a cut in his lip.

“Hey, mami.”

Miles was gorgeous, he was a still picture of a painted deity in living form. The plump of his lips dripping a slow streak of burgundy did nothing to taint the sight of him, you wished it had, maybe you could be madder.

“Miles, what happened?” Your concern had outweighed your admiration, you were now fretting.

“I tripped.”

You scoffed something unbelieving, smiling despite the ache in your chest at the poor sight of him. Your emotionally stumped man.

“C’mon, baby, come inside.” Your right hand caressed the side of his face, left collecting his claw adorned fingers in yours to help him through and into his room.

He squeezed his eyes shut as he stepped over the sill, sucking in a breath and hoping you didn’t catch it.

Glancing up at you from his hunched position, you gaped back at him, unimpressed but worried.

He dropped your hands, the clasps on his gloves clicking, and the metal dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Pushing his arms back and letting his backpack fall too, he cracked his neck and winced again.

You all but pouted at him, reaching for his hurt body in discontent.

He leaned down to put his head on your shoulder, breath tickling your neck as he peppered you with light kisses, nipping your skin in just a graze. He wasn’t one to usually be so affectionate, but his guard always lowers with you, shoulders dropping and pulse quickening.

“No está tan mal, ma.”

"It's not so bad, ma."

His hand lifting from out of yours and onto your waist, circling the exposed skin between his boxers and your shirt.

His boxers,—

—,his hand twitched.

“Not that bad?” Your hushed voice bled of concern. “There’s a gash in your side!”

The simple serenity he had found buried in your neck had been ripped away from him in an instant.

You all but hauled his body to the bed, urging him to sit down against the sheets whilst he sulked grumpily behind you. Pushing against his chest and sitting him down.

You ran to his bathroom, washing your hands thoroughly before opening the cabinet under the sink, reaching back to the first aid kit you had placed here for this exact reason and towel, you rushed back to his room and shut the door behind you. “Amor, It’s just a—“ Cutting himself off, he hissed and cursed some under his breath.

“No digas que es sólo un corte.”

"Don't say it's just a cut."

“Mi sol, I have suffered worse.”

“Let me stitch you up, Miles.”

You turned back, shooting him an exasperated look while you threw the towel. Miles catching it without much effort and putting it under him. Flipping open the latch on the kit you sat yourself next to his bed, knees underneath you and digging harshly into the scuffed wood. You grabbed everything you assume you’d need, setting it on the open lid of the kit and focusing back on Miles.

“You look good like this, mami.”

You choked slightly, glaring up at him.

“Take off your jacket, Morales.”

"Sabes, si querías que me desnudara..."

"You know, if you wanted me to undress..."

“One more word.”

“Understood.”

He groaned as he did. Jacket falling off his shoulders and onto the bed, he pushed it to the floor beside you and spread his knees. You shuffled closer between them, lifting his shirt enough to see the damage on his torso and sighed shakily when figuring he was right.

It was just a graze, but a damn deep one. On the right of his torso, falling just under his ribcage was a thin, deep gash.

“What were you cut with, Papi?”

His stomach clenched as you prodded around, checking the wound for any signs of oncoming infection and signalling for him to take his shirt off.

“A knife, probably.”

Despite the weary of the situation, a smug look adorned his face. You poked his stomach, him wincing.

“Figures.”

You hid your smile.

He slipped his shirt over his head, grimacing at the pull of his wound. You took it from him and set it aside, getting an unopened bottle of water from the kit and pouring it over the cut. The water ran through the blood, trickling down his abs and soaking the waist band of his pants, he tipped his head back, groaning lowly in pain.

“Mami, entiendo que estés enojada, but please be gentle.”

"Mami, I understand that you're angry, but please be gentle."

He gazed down at you lazily, the drawl of his accent coating his voice syrupy in light of his injury. He looked downright sinful, braids draping lazily and shoulders dropped. Leaning back on his palms with his legs spread.

“I am gentle.”

“Sure.”

You focus returned to his wound, grabbing a clean hand towel and patting his cut dry, gently.

The occasional hiss or moan would interrupt you, but other than that Miles stayed relatively quiet. Watching you work as you fixed him.

“There, all done.”

“Not gonna kiss it better?”

You huffed, amused as you started to put everything back where it belonged. You could change the sheets and dispose of the hand-towels tomorrow, right now he just wanted you.

Miles grabbed your waist as you stood, hands slipping behind you to shove you forward into him. He buried his face into your stomach and sighed. You giggled lightly, the lack of a smile on his face tagged with the need for your touch was something no one but you could get used to. Your hand slowly trailed up his bare back, nails scratching lightly at his skin. He shivered, tightening his hold on you further.

“Lay down, baby.”

He whispered your name, “Chiquita, you take such good care of me.”

Humming, you unhooked his arms from you and pushed him to lie back by the tips of your fingers.

“Gon’ spoil you after this.”

You grabbed the towel, surprisingly dry and dropped it to the floor with the other discarded items.

“You already spoil me, Papi.”

Miles kicked off his shoes, sparing you a glance and a hum at the endearment.

“‘S’cause you deserve it.”

He unbuckled his belt, threading it out through the loops and threw it to land somewhere. You dragged the corner of the quilt back up to the both of you, stopping halfway. Miles sighed in annoyance, huffing at his pant button and cursing it as he fumbled to pull his pants down.

You giggled, “Need help, baby?” He scoffed lightheartedly. “I got it.”

“Mhm.” He eventually did get it, pulling his pants off and over his legs, coughing slightly at the wind crushing his cut had caused him.

“C’mere mami.” He grabbed your thighs, dragging you on top of him. “Mm—“ “Shh, it don’t hurt.” You let yourself relax slightly, mostly leaning on your need as not to hurt him.

The stars in his eyes as he looked up at you, he sighed quietly.

“It’s hot baby, we’re gonna get all sweaty.”

“Hopefully.”

“Miles.”

You rolled your eyes in a laugh, hooking your arms around his neck and leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Mm, there. Now you’re all better.”

He rubbed shapes into your thighs, loving the proximity. The way your breaths mingled and skin stuck together.

He thanked the Moon and the Stars for letting him keep you, begged every day to anyone out there that could hear him to tether your souls and kill him have he ever lose you. Would kill a million men to keep you safe, and he’d already had a running start.

He cleansed himself of his sins with your love, showering in the light you provided for him, and watched the blood of any man drip from his fingertips and into the rivers you’d created in his veins. Letting it mix with his own and beat by the tone of his heart. Which only ever raced for you. Only beat for you. He could only live for you, your love and acceptance.

Of which Miles would never understand why you loved him, and he would never try to.

“Much.”

He laid down, you following. Lying your head on his chest and listening to his breathing stutter at the contact.

It was late now, far later than a healthy time to finally sleep. But nothing could break the bubble of ease that now seemed to suffocate him. Lulling him into a slumber with his love against his heart.

—

first fic shoulllllf probably be fluff b4 i angst again

as angst is all i’m good for

i literally don’t know how to write fluff so pray it was good

IF ANY TRANSLATIONS WRONG PLESASSSSSE CORRECT ME

[darklordofthesimp]

Ipseity (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Part of the "Anything" verse, can be read as a standalone.

Summary: When the 141 has to make a choice between saving you or a fellow sniper, you know that your time has come to an end.

A/N: This was meant to be a short filler and now it's like 4.5k long. Hope you're all happy.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Graphic Language | Graphic Violence | Gun Violence | Graphic Description of Injury

The ringing in your ears woke you up. 

It was a high-pitched squeal that scrambled your thoughts and made your head pound. You couldn't think straight, you couldn't get past the overwhelming dizziness whenever you tried to raise your chin.

Blood stung your eyes. Your chest burned. You hadn’t been in this much pain in years, every pinch of your nerves prodded at long-forgotten childhood memories. They were things that had been left behind from before you enlisted, things that no longer mattered. What mattered was that you were tied to a chair and barely breathing. 

You were going to die here. 

And nobody was coming to save you. 

"Oh,” someone crooned from behind your seat. You didn’t have the strength to turn your neck and you thanked whatever cruel deity was listening that you hadn’t flinched. The least you could do was fake some courage for what was to come. 

“Come back for more?” Your mouth was dry, wretchedly so. You wanted to gag and spit, but there was no moisture in your mouth- it was like sandpaper. 

“There’s not much left in you for me to take, Sol,” Valeria said, her fingers trailing the length of your shoulder. Your body shivered beneath her touch as she slowly circled your chair, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“Oh, I’ve always got something left for you, gorgeous,” you chuckled, flashing the drug lord a weak grin. 

She snorted, the harsh light of the overhead lamp illuminating the edges of her features. She was a sharp woman, Valeria, somebody that you secretly admired. Not for her deeds or the atrocities she’d committed, but for her tenacity and her ambition- there was no stopping her. 

“You’ve always been my favourite sniper, you know,” Valeria mused, pulling her hand from your skin to inspect it. Your blood stained her fingers, thick and warm from where it had oozed from your wounds.

“You usually kill your favourite snipers?” You tried to raise your eyebrow but sharp pain ripped through your face, you realized dimly that the skin of your forehead had been split.

“Only when they steal things that belong to me, Luz,” Valeria whispered, pressing her hands against the armrests and leaning in. “Then, I kill them.” 

“We didn’t do it,” you met her gaze evenly, the false claim falling easily from your lips. 

“You’d die a liar to protect your friends,” she nodded thoughtfully. “It’s unfortunate that they have chosen not to give you the same courtesy.” 

You frowned, taken aback by the statement. You suspected that the 141 wouldn’t be there in time, you’d come to terms with the fact that your journey might end here. But, the way she’d said it… it was as if you were missing something. 

Valeria’s brows raised, eyes wide as she mocked your surprise with a gasp. “Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it earlier.” 

“Mention what?” You ground out through your teeth. 

The drug lord huffed a laugh, pushing off from your seat and standing upright. Sweat began to form in a thin sheen across your skin, anxiety running rampant through your system. 

What did she mean? 

Valeria’s eyes hardened as she tutted under her breath, pulling the blade on her thigh from its sheath. When her attention turned back to you, the malice in her gaze made your spine straighten. 

“What you stole from me,” she began, pointing the knife towards your face, “got someone very close to me killed.” 

You swallowed thickly, your throat like gravel and your tongue like concrete. 

The woman was seething now, the cool facade that she’d worn had melted into pure vitriol and hatred. It was an expression you’d never seen on her but on so many others throughout the years, it was the stare of someone who blamed you for their loss. 

“So, as penance,” Valeria pressed the tip of the blade to rest against your chest, “your Task Force will have to lose one of their own- even after they bring me the information.” 

“What-” 

“We have the other sniper,” the drug lord shrugged. “The little broken one.” 

Your heart stalled in your chest, fear dousing your body like a bucket of ice water. Blood rushed through your ears, loud and roaring and all-consuming with the sound. You couldn’t think straight, the image of your colleague being tortured flashed across your vision like a spotlight. 

“Birdy.” You whispered the name but it sounded like a plea rather than a statement. Valeria must have heard the begging in your voice because she only smiled. 

“Birdy,” she confirmed, with a smug tilt of her head. 

God, please no. 

“Let them go!” You lurched against your restraints. 

The latina's eyes were like stone, hard and unyielding. She was in pain, she was hurting and now it was her chance to hurt you all for what you’d done.

“I will,” she nodded her head soothingly, fingers coming to trace your trembling jaw. You snatched your face from her touch and she raised a brow. When she leaned back with a sigh, you knew what was coming. 

Valeria struck you hard. 

The wounds on your face screamed and it felt like someone was making you gargle molten lava. Your eyes watered but you made no sound, you gave her nothing to indicate that she’d hurt you. 

“The 141 will bring me what they stole,” Valeria sucked in a breath, watching you from beneath her lashes. “But they can only save one of you.” 

Your eyes widened. 

They can only save one of you. 

You knew then that you were going to die here. 

“What’s the matter, pequeño sol?” Valeria spoke with a mocking lilt. Your body trembled. “You don’t think they will come for you?” 

“No.” 

The word was soft and broken and you wondered if the drug lord had even heard it. The way that her smile wavered implied that she did. 

“No,” she nodded, standing straight. “Neither do I.”

If you hadn’t been so shattered, you would have seen the glimmer of pity pass over her features. 

You took in a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself, "will you keep your word?"

"What?" 

"Will you keep your word?" You repeated firmly. No one was stupid enough to trust the word of a drug lord but right there and then you would take it as law. If you were going to die you needed to know that Birdy would be safe. 

Your eyes bore into hers. Valeria swallowed and you could see her hesitation, the desire to spit on the dying flame in your chest and put it out. 

Instead, the woman only nodded. 

"I will." 

Instantly, you relaxed in your seat and leaned your head back with a sigh. You closed your eyes, fighting the tears that had gathered along your lashes. 

This was it. 

This was the end of it. 

You weren't stupid enough to expect anyone to come save you, not when Birdy's life hung in the balance. There was never a doubt about who was more valued on the team, despite your skills you'd never be able to contend with Birdy's spot on the team. 

It wasn't about who was better, it was about who was loved. 

And nobody in the 141 loved you more than they loved Birdy. 

No one. 

Your lips trembled and you fury rose like a volcanic eruption from within your chest. You would not die crying. You would not die without dignity. 

"I'll be leaving to retrieve my package," Valeria sighed, sheathing her knife. "Once the handover is made, my men will put you down."

You grinned.

"After all we've been through," you feigned hurt. "I thought you'd want to do the honors, gorgeous." 

But Valeria didn't bite. She didn't laugh nor did she retaliate, the woman only watched you with an unreadable expression. 

"We are the same, me and you, Sunshine." The drug lord stood tall, "Deberías haber sido valorado. Morir con orgullo."

You blinked dumbly.  "I don't know what the fuck you said but I'm going to assume you think I'm hot and that you regret not sleeping with me before I die." 

Valeria rolled her eyes and turned away. 

"You act tough, Sol. Don't die thinking this is anything but a betrayal."

Betrayal. 

You offered nothing but a snort, laughing the chill of her words off your spine.

The woman left the room and immediately the silence was overwhelming. There was no one to lie to now, no one to throw your facade at. You found yourself almost asking her to stay as she closed the door behind her, biting your tongue to reserve your dignity. But, you didn't want to be alone, not when the end was approaching so quickly.

 Though, you guess you'd done this to yourself. 

Always good, but never enough. König was your best friend, but you knew he'd leave you in a heartbeat to save the sniper he truly loved- you couldn't ask any differently from him. 

After all, if it had been between him and Ghost, you were sure you'd make the same decision. 

A pathetic tragedy in itself considering the feeling wasn't mutual.

Simon Riley loved Birdy, just as the rest of them did.

You would never compare, you'd never come close, not with your ambitious demeanor- not with your shitty attitude. You'd never allowed yourself to view them as family and when they'd tried to include you, you hadn't let them in. 

If your own family had wronged you, your own flesh and blood, what would the 141 do any differently?

By the looks of the situation: nothing. 

No one was coming to save you. 

The burning beneath your lids became so aggressive you wanted to tear the skin from your face. You wanted to gouge out your eyes, just so that the only thing dripping would be blood- not tears. 

Never tears. 

You were not Birdy, you did not cry. 

You were not Birdy. 

You'd never be Birdy. 

The pressure in your chest grew and swelled and suffocated, extinguishing the fire you'd kept burning for years. Through everything, you'd held strong. Through hellfire and brimstone, you'd crawled your way across death and misfortune to emerge from the ashes stronger. 

You did not break. Not until now. 

A scream ripped from your chest, unrecognizable. It wasn't you who wailed, it was the child inside who mourned their life. It was the adult who'd never been loved the way they'd prayed for in the dead of the night.

Never enough.

Never enough for König, the man who always found himself by Birdy's side, chasing for the crumbs of their attention.

Never enough for Simon Riley, who'd taken your heart and crushed it every time he watched you with distaste- with disappointment.   

You were never the priority. 

Never his priority. 

You'd never be anything to Ghost, not the way Birdy was.

But you were not Birdy and you'd not die wishing that you were. 

You pulled at your restraints, thrashing in your chair with renewed energy. While you knew it was unlikely you'd escape, at least you'd be put down fighting. 

"Hey!" One of Valeria's henchmen shouted. 

You struggled harder, the skin of your wrists ripping from beneath the ties. Fresh blood trailed down your fingers and you smeared it wherever you could reach, wetting the braided rope until it was slick with crimson rage.

Your heart jumped as your hands slipped through the restraints, the gory lubrication helping you pull your crumpled fingers free. 

"Stop!" The cool metal of a barrel pressed against your forehead, putting an instant halt on your plans. 

You glared up at the man before you, his eyes were hard but his hand trembled, the weapon jittering against your skull. 

"I will fucking paint this room with your brains," he hissed, the cigarette in his mouth jolting with each word. "Try me, I dare you." 

"If the 141 comes with the package and I'm dead, Valeria will butcher your entire family, cabrón." You were careful as you spoke, enunciating each word as clearly as you could muster. 

The butt of his weapon struck your cheek hard enough to send stars skittering across your vision. 

"I speak," the man hissed, "not you."

"I'm trying to warn you-" 

He hit you again, this time harder. You felt your teeth dislodge from in your mouth and panic gripped your heart as they slid down your throat. 

"I said don't speak!" He shouted, the words warbled as your vision spun. Your head lolled to the side, gagging as you choked on your own bones. Bile speared through your chest as a combination of blood and stomach acid hit the floor weakly. Your teeth clattered across the ground, like dice rolling across the board. 

"Ricky!" The man called over his shoulder. "Alguna palabra sobre el paquete?

"Aún nada, hermano."

"Mierda! ¿Por qué tarda tanto?"

The conversation fell on deaf ears as you fought to keep yourself conscious. Your hands were freed but now the element of surprise was lost and there was a barrel pressed against your face. 

"I should kill you right now," the man spat in English. "You fucking murdered my brothers like a coward."

"They should learn to duck," you shrugged weakly. 

This time when he hit you, it threw your seat backward. You hadn't been able to move your hands in time before the weight of your body and the steel spines of the chair slammed against your forearms. 

A sickening crunch reverberated through the room, echoing like the toll of a church bell and while that was loud, your scream was deafening. 

"Let's be honest with ourselves, Sunshine," the man laughed, watching you as you writhed and sobbed. "Nobody is coming to save you." 

He cocked the weapon slowly, leaning down to press the barrel against your forehead once again. You couldn't even keep your eyes open as you struggled for breath, choking on your own spit and blood as you shrieked. You wanted to watch him, you wanted to go down with defiance- but fear gripped your throat so tightly you were choking on it.

You weren't going to die fighting. 

You were going to die suffering. 

When the gunshot came, your body recoiled so hard that your head smashed the concrete beneath you. In that horrible moment of silence that followed, you wondered if there was no peace even in death. Agony ripped through your nervous system, every inch of your body screamed for relief. 

If this was death, then you were in hell. 

"Think again, cunt."

The distinct cockney accent had your spine straightening and your eyes snapping open. 

The gun clattered beside your head, unfired. 

You weren't dead. 

"Sunshine!"

You were being saved. 

"Talk to me, Sunshine!" 

The voice was so far away, he was too far away, he wasn't going to make it. You weren't going to make it. The man on the floor next to you must have sat back up because you could feel his hands gripping your shoulders, the gun rattling in your ears. 

Fingers gripped your face, jostling you from your semi-conscious state. Your vision was blurred by your own blood and tears, the figure before you a mess of shadows. You screamed, trying to pull your broken arms from beneath the chair to defend yourself until help got to you. 

Searing hot pain ran up the lengths of your arms and stabbed into your neck. You gagged, a low bellow wrenching from your throat as you heaved. 

"Stop! Stop! Don't move!" 

"Get away from me!" You wailed, voice shrill and unhinged. You tugged again and this time his hands came down on your shoulders. 

"SUNSHINE!"

The roar of your name made your entire body freeze, clutching you by the throat with the desperation behind the callsign. You closed your eyes, a whimper falling from your lips to taint your dignity. 

"Jesus." He sounded like Ghost. It couldn't have been him but, God, you wished it was. "Come on, Sweetheart. Look at me." 

"I can't see," you wept. 

His thumbs swept over your face, gloves wiping the blood from where it had settled on your lids and lashes. You tried again, blinking the crimson liquid from your eyes as best you could. You imagined that you looked a sight, the whites of your eyes a deep red, stained with evidence of your injuries. Finally, your vision settled. 

Simon stared back at you, eyes wide. 

You gasped. 

"Simon?" You slurred, his name broken on your lips. 

"Yeah, Sunshine. S'me." He murmured distractedly. His fingers were twitching on your neck, scanning the rest of your body for injuries.

Your heart was beating against your ribs, sudden anxiety flooding your being.  If he was here it meant that they'd brought the package to you rather than to Birdy. 

That meant… 

"No, no, no," you whispered as the Lieutenant lifted the chair with one hand, pulling your broken hands from behind your back. "No, no, Simon, what're you doing here?" 

Ghost recoiled slightly, a frown overtaking his features. "The fuck do you mean?" 

"Birdy," you rasped, a sob building in your chest. "You need to get Birdy. What about Birdy?" 

"Birdy's-" 

You fought to stand up, pushing him out of the way as you stumbled to your feet. Your body swayed side to side as your vision swam, but you weren't going down- not again. 

"Need a gat. Need Birdy- we can't lose Birdy. Everybody needs Birdy-" 

"Sunshine." 

"I can't lose Birdy!" You snapped, reeling on your superior with a broken gaze. 

For a moment, he stood frozen, speechless. You'd never recover if they killed the other sniper, no one would. Everyone would blame you, it'd be your fault.

"König's got Birdy," Ghost said slowly, straightening to stand to his full height. "I've got you, Sunshine."

You gawked at him as though you hadn't understood a single word he'd said. Realistically, you truly hadn't. They'd come for you, knowing that it would put everyone at risk. 

Simon had come for you, leaving Birdy to a man that he hated with every ounce of his being. 

Simon had come for you, not Birdy. 

"You're here?" You whispered and although it sounded fucking stupid, Ghost only nodded. He knew what you were really asking. 

"Of course," he said. "Of course, I am."

"You came for me?" Your voice broke.

The soldier shuffled on his feet, shaking his head as though he thought it was obvious. 

"I'd follow you anywhere. We both know it," he huffed, that dark gaze pinning your soul to your chest. 

You rocked forward at the words, knees buckling from beneath you. Simon shot forward instantly, his arms looping around your waist and hauling you upward. His hand came to grip your chin, fingers slapping your cheek lightly as your eyes rolled backward. 

"Come on, Sweetheart. Stay with it, it's nothin',"  he growled, jostling your body to keep you conscious. Your head fell forward to rest against his shoulder, ears ringing and your mind shattered. "Sunshine, stay awake for me."

You couldn't any longer, you couldn't listen to him. He should have been used to it by now, you'd always been the troublesome one for him. Never directly disobeying him but never doing it the way he asked, always driving him bat-shit fucking crazy- always under his skin. 

But, if Simon couldn't save you, you'd die happy knowing that he'd even tried. 

You'd die happy knowing that somebody loved you. 

—

When you thought of dying, you always had such a visceral image of what would happen. You'd be the last one on your line, and the rest of your unit would be shot down; you'd make a stand on a hill and wipe out the enemy until you were out of ammo. Then, you would fight until you were overwhelmed. 

That was the death you'd imagined. 

Not abandoned and left alone in a warehouse in a sick game of "pick the sniper you like more." 

"They'll fully recover physically," someone sighed from above your head. "Mentally, though…" 

"They'll be right," Simon finished. 

"That's what they said about Birdy," the doctor muttered. "We all know how that ended." 

"Doc-" 

"Saint."

Simon cleared his throat. 

"Saint," the callsign foreign on his tongue, "Sunshine's not Birdy."

To hear it from Simon Riley himself was all the validation you needed. 

You stirred in the bed and immediately all conversation fell quiet, the both of them waiting for you to fully awaken. 

You knew you were in the hospital before your eyes opened. You recognised the doctor who was talking, a medic who had yelled at you often for ‘being reckless.’ The smell of antiseptic was near seared into your memory and the sound of the monitor beeping was too familiar. 

However, the room was brighter than you’d anticipated and you cringed into your pillow with a moan. The overhead light stung your eyes, searing your retinas and making it near impossible for you to think. 

“Get the lights,” Saint ordered, realizing what the issue was. 

The room fell dim, enough for you to finally pry your lids open and have a look around. Your jaw felt heavy like there was cotton in your mouth. As you probed with your tongue, you realised with a pitted stomach that there actually was something stuffed between your teeth. 

You moaned, reaching upward to pull it out. 

It was as though you’d set off a bomb with the movement. Both Simon and Saint immediately shot forward, hands on your arms to rest them by your side gently. They stood on either side of your bed, like two sentries, one dark and one light. 

“Gonna need you to just relax a second for me, spitfire,” Saint chuckled. 

You huffed, fighting the urge to gag on the material in your mouth. Your tongue ran over it, moving to dislodge it from where it had been wedged between your teeth. 

“Now,” the doctor leaned over to adjust your drip. “Do you remember your name and what happened?” 

Rather than respond, you opted to slowly let the gauze fall out of your mouth and onto your chest. Saint watched you with a deadpan expression as you fought with your facial injuries to perform this feat. 

At the end of it, you offered a weak smile. 

A long moment of silence ensued before the doctor sighed, staring at the lumps of bloody fabric sitting on the gown. 

“I’m gonna go grab some shit,” they said. “Maybe a fuckin’ whiskey.” 

They disappeared from the room swiftly, leaving you alone with the Grim Reaper himself. With a harsh sigh through his nose, the Lieutenant reached over and scooped up the gauze, dropping them into the bin. 

“You couldn’t just answer the question?” He muttered, moving to crouch by your head. He wore only his balaclava, his hoodie down for once. 

“Not with that in my mouth,” you rasped, words thick and sickly. 

Simon snorted softly but he said nothing, opting to watch you instead. His gaze ran from your hair to your neck, over and over as if he were committing you to memory. His expression was gentle but there was something hidden that made you think that, at that moment, he was extremely vulnerable. 

Anything you said from this point on would determine the relationship between you both. You remembered what he’d confessed when he found you beaten and bloody on the floor. It was clear as day and imprinted on your brain as though it had been branded on the inside of your skull. 

“I would follow you anywhere. We both know it.” 

You’d both reached the point of no return, no more smoke and mirrors, no more half-truths. Neither of you could get away with hiding your feelings behind hatred anymore. 

Not after he’d chosen you. 

“You came for me,” you whispered. A statement, not a question this time.

“Of course,” he said again, just as he had before. 

You hadn’t realised you were crying until his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from your cheeks ever so gently. As much as you hated it, as much as you wanted to stop, you couldn’t hold them back. 

The relief was palpable, the understanding that you were valued was freeing. 

Simon Riley knew the kind of person you were, right at your very core, and he still chose to love you. He still chose to hold your hand and dry your tears with nothing but pure reverence in his gaze. 

You realized then and there, that you were valued.

You were enough.

[thewitchblue]

You're a deity who is placed in a random universe on a random planet. Bored, you began to meddle in the lives of the heroes. You gave them their sidekicks, which your brother didn't like and killed one of them as a warning to stop. You didn't, in fact, stop, and your brother was punished to be thrown in another world as a human. You were allowed to resurrect little Jason despite the devastation you knew it would cause.

After a long time of boredom, you've joined the Justice League as a tagalong with your true identity hidden. The Justice League considers you a grenade amongst loaded guns, but you were just on the planet as divine punishment for winning a godly game of Uno against your family. You were simply having your fun until the losers cool down and bring you back.

They have not cooled down in over sixty years. You knew they were petty, but damn. Nobody has calmed down? Not even your sweet little sister? Sure, you crushed them at Uno, but why do they still care? Is something wrong in the celestial realm?

You sighed as you tapped your comms to answer the ringing. Superman needs help, and you were the only one stronger than him in terms of powers. You agreed to come help and flew out your door towards the threat.

"You'll have to stay out of my way and do damage control while I take out Darkseid. Get everyone to safety before helping."

Clark was on it while you arrived. You looked at Darkseid with a frown,

"You should really leave this world alone. You're never going to conquer it as long as the Justice League is here."

Darkseid sneered back,

"Well they aren't here. You are. Superman left you all by yourself."

You gave a displeased hum before flying to face him,

"I told him to leave. This is a fight between gods, don't you think?"

That seemed to unsettle Darkseid. He's heard about your hero name, but he hasn't faced another god.

"I'm the creator of magic and one of the protectors of humanity."

You looked almost bored. Nobody is getting to the humanity you helped create. You'd give your eternal life protecting the earth. Darkseid looked uncertain in continuing this battle now. Someone without fear is someone unconquerable.

"As I am the creator of magic, I am also the taker of magic. You are now as useful as a mortal. Can you fight as a mortal?"

Your smile was intimidating and your expression dark. Darkseid expected his usual fight with Superman, and he was close to winning, only to find out he had a grenade hidden in his suit.

You tend to keep to yourself the best you can, often staying to the side and helping Batman with cases or aiding in combat without your magic.

Darkseid was beginning to feel weak now. His strength and magic were being taken from him, sapped away like it never existed. He fell to his knees with a gasp.

You tilted your head as you approached his collapsed body. Well, that was underwhelming.

"Look at you. You're a joke without your magic. I'm unravelling you like a ball of yarn."

Superman floated above you both. He watched with wary eyes, as he lands at your side. Just like that? You have him on his knees without a single fight?

"You fight like a coward."

Darkseid said, but you only gave him a hum of acknowledgement. Clark didn't know how to feel about this uncomfortable knowledge.

"I'm just gloating before I remove you from existence. Any last words?"

Clark looked at you with wide eyes and horror on his face. He said,

"You can't kill him! He's a god!"

You grimaced. You didn't like removing a divine being, but this being will not be missed. You already had a being of evil in your family, so he won't be missed in the scheme of the universe. You flatly replied,

"Call me a god-killer then."

You hated the taste of his magic. You love chaos, but this is just vile. You'd be embarrassed to call him a being of divine magic. Nonetheless, you executed your justice happily.

"You were an embarrassment to the divine realm."

Clark looked nervous about letting you kill Darkseid, but he allowed it. He watched with morbid curiosity as Darkseid withered into nothingness and the very last atom was removed from existence. Clark asked,

"Will he come back?"

You shook your head. Never again will he return.

"My powers hold all things involving magic. Darkseid is a divine magical being that I could unravel without consequences. My brother could easily replace him, minus the conquests. He's content to be the king of Apokolips and I won a game of Sorry (the board game) so he won't extend farther."

Clark frowned. You did not leave your spot on earth, but yet you won a board game? What happened? As if you understood his questions, you explained,

"I can be at multiple places at the same time. I'm here, but I'm also helping with a monsoon in India and having a discussion with the government in Poland."

Clark understood and said,

"Thanks for the help. I didn't know you were a goddess."

You sighed softly. This was your most dreaded conversation. You wielded your intelligence more than your magic, which Batman respects deeply. You were the one helping him on tough cases and helping with his children, who are also the brains of their groups.

"I didn't want anyone to know. It would make you think about me differently."

Clark chuckled and shook his head. He had a knowing gleam in his eyes as he asked,

"Me or Batman?"

He had a teasing smile on his face. He knew you had a crush on Batman. You blushed and looked away. Batman was your guilty crush. Someone you found unobtainable but couldn't help but love. He was so charming when you got close to him, and it left you dizzy every time he gave you a smile. He was so private that even a small smile was worth gold, but he gave you a genuine smile, carefree and charming.

"Oh, hush. I can't let him think I'm omnipotent when I'm not. I aid him with my brain alone, not cheating by splitting myself."

Clark smiles fondly at you. He's going to make you both a couple. The whole League sees it but for some reason, you two can't see it.

"Make sure to invite me to the wedding."

He said with a wink before flying off the help with reconstructing the damage Darkseid did before you handled it.

"We're not going to get married!"

You screamed after him. However, now you were anxious about what Clark will do. You bit your lip nervously.

You found out the hard way that Clark is a romantic and he kept pushing Batman with everything he could think of. He even roped in his children to push him towards starting a relationship.

You were rolling with it, not necessarily reaching out, but also not pulling away. All of the children (except Jason) were pushing and pushing, even Wonder Woman, and both of the Green heroes (Green Arrow and Green Lantern) were in on it.

You were too shy to ask Bruce out, and Bruce was scared of inviting someone into his life. He was afraid to show his dark side and reveal himself. Sure, you are the best coworker he's even had, and you do make him feel human while he's Batman, but what if it fails? Relationships are always rocky with him; granted, you are a saint and the most understanding person on the planet. Part of him wanted to selfishly keep you to himself, but he needed a push to give in. He'll need you to ask him first.

You sighed as Nightwing physically pushed you into Batman with a thumbs up. He quickly scrambled away before you could hit him.

You looked at Bruce for a long moment. He was frozen with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. He was still steadying you when you gave him a thoughtful expression.

"What's wrong?"

He asked nervously. He was about to let you go, but you stopped him. You eyed him a moment longer before kissing him. You didn't want to think about this any longer. You couldn't stand the constant pestering when you had feelings for him. You took the risk for them both.

He stiffened in your arms but eventually relaxed into the kiss and tentatively pulled you closer. He was overthinking everything the entire time, but this is him as Batman, not playboy Bruce Wayne. He feels vulnerable in a way he hadn't expected. Even with Selina Kyle, he never felt so raw and vulnerable.

You wrapped your arms around his neck loosely while his arms wrapped around your waist much more confidently now. Your embrace made him relax fully.

Your kiss was gentle and sweet. It felt like you were waiting for him to run away. To hide like a scared child.

He did not run. He pulled away from the kisses, but not the embrace. He kept you in his arms, even when you both rolled your eyes when everybody cheered. Clark said,

"I better be at your wedding, Bruce."

You laughed, and Bruce tried not to. You buried your face in his chest with a smile.

"Let's date before getting married."

He said calmly. You gave him another quick kiss. You told him sternly,

"We're dating now. I don't care if it's our hero selves or our civilian selves or even both."

He gave you a smile and it was the most beautiful smile you've seen.

You love Bruce with your entire immortal heart.

[maybefae]

Messages From Your Guides

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Tips!

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: Queen of Wands (Justice and Nine of Wands), The Sun (Four of Wands), Six of Pentacles (Six of Swords), Seven of Cups (Two of Cups)

Bottom of the Deck: Two of Swords, Strength, The High Priestess, Ace of Swords

This guide can be a more motherly figure or a very ancient deity that appears more feminine. It almost has a “Crone” energy.

It’s okay to be happy after you have had to put walls up against a certain person, people, or your family. It’s okay that you are happier after establishing boundaries, my love. Compared to what they have done to you, no matter how minimal it could seem, your act of standing your ground and standing up for yourself is justified. It’s okay to be happy. The scales of justice have tipped in your favor. You’ve always questioned why you had to suffer, that the ones who have wronged you seem to always be able to get away with things. But now that you get to be happy once, you feel guilty when you should feel like the weight is lifted off your chest. The shackles they had put on you, the thoughts they put in your head to make you stay small, are a far greater harm than you standing up for yourself.

It’s okay to walk away. You may regret staying as long as you did, taking care of people wishing to receive it back but never getting it in return. But don’t. Your heart and your love is a great power. It is something that makes you strong. You loved yourself enough to finally walk away. And there will be another that shares the love you have, all you had to do is walk away from the people who didn’t. 

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: King of Pentacles, Seven of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, Five of Pentacles, Three of Swords, Ten of Wands, Six of Cups, Eight of Wands 

Bottom of the Deck: The Hanged Man 

This is a very masculine feeling guide. “Great Oak” energy, strong and warm. This could honestly resonate with people who picked pile 2 from my recent week ahead reading. This is a very father-like energy, built like a brick house and someone who does everything with love. A full heart and very, very protective. You could have seen him as a kid? Maybe in a dream or you actually saw his spirit. He could come around as a certain animal you see whenever you are going through something, or it’s like you are the only one that sees this animal and no one else sees them around. He gives off the energy of a bear, coyote, fox, tortoise. Orange daylilies. 

This guide isn’t really one for words but for actions, so I will do my best to describe what he’s showing and making me feel. He didn’t like that he had to keep his hands out of a situation that left you defeated and heartbroken, because his instinct is to keep you behind him and deal with your problems so you can keep living your life with as much peace and happiness as possible. However, he is showing me that he was told not to intervene. 

But just know, he walks beside you on your new journey. He is very adamant on making me tell you that he’s extremely proud and you’re doing a great job. He just nodded and gave a few claps. Don’t let the fire in your heart die and keep your “childlike wonder.” “Everything you thought as a child is true…you are just looking in the wrong places/looking too hard.” The journey ahead is great and filled with merriment despite the lack of coins in your pocket. There will be another great shift that will happen in your favor but keep on trucking. All that work will pay off and you have friends to enjoy the journey with. 

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: Seven of Wands, Ten of Pentacles, The Spirit Plane, Ace of Pentacles, King of Pentacles

Before I pull any cards, you have a guide or guides that come off as very ambiguous. They come off as very angelic or air/light fae, sylphs. I just see light creatures/beings and hear giggling. They are very lovely and they can be tricksters, but don’t cause much harm. They are light-hearted and like to keep the energy of fun around. Now I see them dancing with each other. I also see an expanse of field.

Another note: Since you probably believe in them if you picked this pile, I have a gnome friend who also wants to say something. 

I just have the top row of cards out and they all want to talk. They already have a flurry of messages. They want to say that, yes, you did see/hear from them and you aren’t crazy despite what others have said. They see you as one of them and as a good friend. You probably don’t feel human most days and become very confused/distressed from the way life is in this realm. You operate more in their realm of living. They are also telling you that you are far more rich because of that. 

They just wanna tell you that you aren’t crazy, they keep repeating that. Your view of the world is most likely correct. Nothing makes sense, what you believe should be makes sense though. And there is also a warning here that all beings of this category aren’t happy. In fact, they are actually really angry. “Something’s coming.” They won’t expand on that but they want you to know. You will be protected from your guides! And it will seemingly feel like everyone around you is effected but you. And throughout your life, you may have felt very lucky because things may have felt like were dropped in your lap or life has been pretty easy and it’s because of them. They don’t know if they want thanks or not, but they will take your gratitude in the form of gifts/offerings!

Decks Used: Ophida Rosa Tarot by Leila and Olive, The Dungeons and Dragons Tarot Deck by Adam Lee and Fred Gissubel, Cosma Visions Oracle by James R. Eads

Dividers: @inklore

[heilos]

Living Harmony AU relevant character sheets/info: Harmony aka the "Tree of Harmony" Shadow Lock Somnambula Starswirl the Bearded Stygian might be my favorite of the Pillars of Equestria and it's always made me sad that he wasn't used more in the show. So I decided to team up with my new friend Orin who's taken the time to make a bunch of amazing Pillar redesigns (same person I made this Starswirl animation rig for as a gift) that i'll be incorporating into my future animation project. The Pillars are very important characters to Harmony's story so I wanna do them justice. Listed below is some context for these sketches provided by my friend Orin and some written bits from myself. This is a Stygian who's been separated from the Pony of Shadows for some time, but is now dealing with the consequences of dark magic. I've had so much fun throwing ideas back and forth for this AU and I can't wait to share more in the near future.

Unicorn from a small sea side village in ancient times

Dedicated scholar and battle strategist

Special talent is writing. An incredible wordsmith in his own right

Wrote a very popular autobiography about his time possessed by the Pony of Shadows called “Me and My Shadow” (his third novel)

Name means "dark and gloomy" and also relates to the river and deity "Styx" of Greek mythology

Brought the Pillars of Equestria together in a bid to save his home town from the Sirens (the Dazzlings)

Wanted to become a hero in his own right even though he tried to convince himself otherwise

Lacks the physical strength and magical prowess of his fellow Pillars. Compared to any other run of the mill unicorn, however, Stygian is actually decently above average in terms of magical ability, though he downplays himself significantly

Ousted from the group after a misunderstanding involving him taking the other pillar’s relics to make copies of them so he too could be a hero and join them as an equal. His friends thought he was out to steal their power instead

Becomes bitter and seeks revenge afterwards when discovering the Well of Shade, which leads to the Pony of Shadows claiming him as its vessel

Banished along with the pillars to “limbo” for 1000 years through a powerful spell conceived by Starswirl and planned out by the rest of the pillars

Is freed from the Pony of Shadows' influence in modern Equestria thanks to the Mane 6 and the pillars with Twilight and Starlight being the main catalyst in helping Stygian where Starswirl had failed before

While no longer claimed by the Pony of Shadows, the consequences of using such powerful dark magic as well as being possessed by a being of pure shadow left its mark on him

Has dark magic scarring visible on his body. His eyes, inner mouth, teeth and magic color are permanently altered in appearance. It gives him a rather unsettling aura, much to his displeasure

The Pony of Shadows mark is not so easily purged, even with the combined strength of the past and present Elements of Harmony. A fragment of the shadow lives on in Stygian, inextricably bound to him, but small enough that it can no longer influence him.

Has abilities superficially similar to King Sombra's, albeit on a much smaller scale, and needs extensive practice before he can comfortably wield this new strength.

Luna becomes Stygian's second mentor, after Starswirl, to help him gain control over his new abilities. Her direct experience using dark magic to become Nightmare Moon makes her an effective teacher

As Stygian exerts better control over the shadow fragment, he eventually gains the ability to "Shadow Walk" or travel between shadows. This temporary form makes him look eerily similar to the Pony of Shadows. Pretty spooky

Can tell when the Pony of Shadows is close in proximity due to the shadow fragment, like a magic tracker

Stygian is a lucid dreamer. He appreciates dreams a lot more now that he’s sleeping on a proper schedule. Once in a while he’ll meet up with Princess Luna in the dream realm when they can’t find spare time in the waking world, outside of mentoring sessions, to enjoy each other's company as friends

Stygian redesign by Orin331

[lucysarah-c]

Fifteen, what an age to be alive. Dad!Levi

Summary: Steal your father's car! What could go wrong? Author note: Since the Marley world seemed to be around the 30s-40s, I’ll set this idea in a world that looks like the mid-50s. This is POST WAR. Warnings: Cursing 'cause Levi, obv. And slightly mention of a group taking advantage of a girl, nothing really happens and there's no graphic description at all. Word count: 3.9k Pairing: Dad! Levi x Mom! Reader

His hands gripped the big round wheel of the car as his eyes scanned the dark night with a nervous smile, quickly turning into clenched teeth. His attention shifted to the passenger seat, soft as if it was a scene from one of the horror pictures he saw at the drive-in.

A light blond girl lay unconscious, her head resting against the door, appearing lifeless. She wore a typical sleeveless red button-up shirt and very short white shorts, with white socks crumpled down to double-coloured loafers. Her hair was still in a ponytail, exposing her face completely. It was August, plain summer break, and he knew that most of his classmates wore shorts or even swimsuits at the pool or beach. But somehow, her exposure made him blush and feel ashamed, as if even staring felt wrong.

Turning to the back seat of the car, he picked up his letterman jacket and placed it on top of her, covering her as much as possible. It looked big on her, and somehow, Adrien blessed every deity mentioned; he probably was inheriting his father’s uncle’s height and not his father's, a fact becoming rather obvious every day, as he was only 15 and already almost 1.80m.

“Calm down, Adie… you got this,” he whispered to himself, “I’ve no idea what I'm going to do but I got it.”

How did he get into this situation? It was supposed to be a silly night out; one of his friends invited him to a party of the seniors who were graduating from high school that year. What was the issue if he was just a freshman? Fifteen, eighteen, it’s the same! Plus, it was some party at some old forgotten building, half destroyed during the rumbling around ten years ago, in the middle of nowhere. Nothing wrong with that.

Yes, perhaps he stole his father’s keys and car. Yes, perhaps he lied about sleeping in his room. Yes, maybe he stole a bit (a lot) of money from his parents. “I mean… deep down, it’s my father’s fault for not allowing me to come legally,” Adrien argued with his own reflection in the car's mirror.

But everything went downhill when he saw a group of guys dragging a girl who was clearly not feeling well and decided to step in. Now, here he was, the party had turned into a mess as the fight happened, he got kicked out with an unconscious girl, and who knew what they had given her. He hit his forehead against the wheel as time slipped through his fingers; he was supposed to be back home already.

“Fucking shit! Who told me to step in!” he cursed under his breath. Deep down, he knew stepping up for what he had been told was horrendously wrong, knowing he had the strength to fight those assholes back. ‘The curse of being a fucking Ackerman, man,’ he thought.

He had done the right thing, at least one right thing during the entire night, but now he had to face the consequences. Muffled cries mixed with distressed groans filled the car, “My father is going to kill me!”

His forehead kept hitting the wheel repeatedly as if that would knock some common sense into him or perhaps give him a concussion and fake that he had been kidnapped or something. Surrounded by trees in a dead-end road, it wasn’t even paved. Only the footprints of multiple cars to follow back to civilization. The distressed teen didn’t even know where he was; his older friend had guided him there and left with his girlfriend at some point of the party.

Slowly raising his head up again to admire the endless kilometres of dim nothing, contemplating his options, seizing his courage. “Come on, Adie. Be a man, be a man!”

The trees’ branches creaked in the middle of the night, the car slightly swayed under the strong summer wind. “I want my mommy,” he muttered.

Hand on the wheel and turning on the car, one step at a time, he took a deep breath and then decided to go out on the road again. Forgotten somewhere, his father’s car’s papers and driver's license. In them it read “Levi Ackerman.”

Each branch from the forest that scraped the car was a personal pain, praying to any god's existence that it didn’t scratch it. Of course, his father had filled up the tank, obviously he had. Levi was like that, always cautious. Adrien did a personal wish his father had a map stored in the glove compartment, but obviously, he didn’t. After all, Levi knew the streets of the city like the back of his hand. He drove a lot, especially since his legs weren’t what they used to be anymore. Perhaps he didn’t need any support for walking any longer, but walking long distances wasn’t in Levi’s plans anymore.

“Perhaps I can… drive to the hospital, leave her, and like run away,” he contemplated, before groaning loudly, “No, I can’t do that. God, I’m dead.”

‘I could have walked away, but no, Mr. Adrien Ackerman has to be a hero. Mr. Ackerman has to do the right thing.’

Adrien had driven twice in his life; this one was the second. The first was a few years ago when his father sat him down on his lap and let him do it for a little bit. He was happy he hadn’t encountered much traffic and only had to drive ahead because he wasn’t completely sure yet what the third pedal was for.

“I got it, do not worry,” he said, trying to sound reassuring to the unmoving girl on his right. Adrien’s grey eyes checked on her from time to time, but she seemed deeply asleep, or so he hoped. “I’ll get to the hospital in no time, and you’ll be alright,” he promised.

His smile created a couple of dimples on each side of his face, but it quickly faded as fear kicked in. “And if you’re not alright, do not worry. I’ll throw myself off a bridge, and we can be not alright together,” he kept joking as if, by some miracle, the girl would reply.

He didn’t even know her name, and somehow, that made him feel even guiltier. As civilization began to appear and the sky began to lighten up, he lost hope of not dying at the hands of his own progenitor, but he was also hopeful that at least he was getting somewhere without crashing. The sun hadn’t shown up yet, but the deep blue of the sky had a particular glow to it that made it imminent.

The streets were deserted, and rightfully so; it was the middle of the night on a Monday. Adrien tried to park the car as best as he could, finally reaching the only hospital he somehow remembered the route to. Rushing to the other door, he carefully picked her up.

When he crossed the doors of the main hospital, which was almost empty at those hours, the doctors on duty quickly took her in, some searching for identifications inside her clothes. The police officer at the front gates forbade him from leaving the place.

“Alright, please hand me your ID,” the front gate secretary asked after informing him that the girl was out of danger, but she would have to stay for monitoring. Adrien’s suspicious silence made the woman raise her eyes from the form she was filling out to look at him. “You know that carrying IDs is obligatory, right?”

“Yes, madam…” He felt his palm sweating as he feared being taken to the police station.

“How old are you?”

Her voice sounded calm but tired as she quickly understood the issue, “… eighteen.”

With a loud sigh, she took off her cat-eye red glasses and then slowly blinked back at him. “Look kid, I’ve been on night watch for three days straight. I’ve no energy to deal with this.”

Adrien’s eyes remained glued to the floor, feeling small despite his stature. “… fifteen,” he admitted reluctantly.

Her unpleasant groans echoed in the empty walls that reeked of disinfectant. He slowly turned to the gates, and the security guys began to chuckle as they drank coffee. Feeling the need to clarify, he said, “I swear it wasn’t me who hurt her.”

“Kid, people who drug girls don’t carry them to hospitals,” she replied disinterestedly, pouring the information into the typewriter, the typing echoing in the place. Finally, she picked up a post-it with a pencil and raised it to the top of the reception table. “Your parents' contact number, please.”

Her eyes quickly moved to him and then back to her writing as he hesitated to fill out the paper. “You know I’ve done nothing; can’t I just go?” Adrien insisted, trying to escape the situation.

“Kid, you’re breaking national curfew and walking around without identification. A responsible adult must come and sign for you to leave; otherwise, you’ll live here until you turn 18.”

“Could you at least wait until 9 am to call my mother’s work number?” He smiled awkwardly, trying to find a way to avoid his father’s rage. The secretary looked up at the clock; it wasn’t even 5 am and then back to him, deadly. Unpleasant complaining groans echoed as he reluctantly wrote his house’s telephone number. “Sorry.”

Sat down at one of those uncomfortable waiting room’s seats with a latte and chocolate donut he brought at the cafeteria, he waited as someone waits to be hanged. The doctors and nurses moved here and there attending to the few people that came in with emergencies. Until the secretary walked by and said, “Your father picked up the phone; he said that getting the car and coming this way.”

Adrien’s grey eyes quickly turned in fear to check out of the window, grimacing uneasily as he admired the family's car parked outside. “Great…”

The longer it took, the more Adrien knew he was in trouble. Pressing his eyes closed and clenching his jaw, as if he could already feel the kick in his ass. Despite the nerves, his head bobbed forward as he fell asleep, and the tug of falling forward snapped him back awake. At some point, he rested his head on the joined seat and fell asleep, mouth open.

The front gates snapping open woke him up, and he wished to make himself smaller so he could hide behind the back of the seats. But as he turned backwards, Levi was at the front desk talking to the secretary and security guards. His dark hair was a mess, and it seemed like he had just put on some shoes and a shirt because he still had the pyjama pants on. Outside, the cap that his father had probably been forced to take there.

As the secretary picked up the forms for him to fill, his father quickly raised his grey eyes to shoot him across the room the deadliest glance he had yet to witness. ‘Goodbye everybody, it was nice knowing you.’

Avoiding facing death, Adrien remained seated, giving his back, but he quickly heard the footsteps of his father, characterized by the slight hobble he had after the war. With his presence looming, he looked down at Adrien, who slowly raised his attention up.

Smiling innocently, “Hi, dad.”

Levi didn’t smile back; quite the opposite, he frowned even more and extended his right hand that was missing two fingers. “My fucking keys.”

The teen searched for them inside his jeans and quietly handed them over with puppy eyes. Levi snapped them, but his hand didn’t withdraw. “And my damn money.” Repeating the same action but with the bills, Levi grabbed them and began to count. “And the rest?”

Adrien mumbled some incoherent groans as he refused to make eye contact. “Tch,” Levi clicked his tongue and gripped his shirt neck, raising him from his seat, pushing him to the exit. “Get in the fucking car.”

The walk of shame only accentuated as his father's angry tone didn’t match the polite one he used to greet the secretary and guards on his way out. He cowered in the passenger seat, trying to make himself a tiny ball as Levi slammed the door shut. Loud sighs that didn’t withdraw the deep frown before he turned on the car again.

“You’re so fucking wrong if you think I’ll stand this type of behaviour; I'm telling you,” Levi spat the words as he drove back home. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

“Adrien!” Levi insisted as the kid didn’t even reply, looking to his right as he waited at a red light. “You don’t want to talk? Fine, fucking ungrateful brat. You know how fucking worried your mother was when we received a call from the shitty hospital? Eh?”

“The drive-in the other day, the supposed hang out at your friend’s house that you were never fucking there, and now this. Are you fucking proud?” the ex-captain of the scouts kept going as his eyes were glued to the road despite only one of them working anymore. “You’re grounded, you’re so fucking grounded that I’ll fucking die, and you’ll have to get a damn Ouija board to contact me to see if you can go out to buy groceries.”

The teen just silently rolled his eyes as the long list of unhappiness of his father about his behaviour couldn’t care less. “Don’t you dare to roll your eyes on me, brat. You heard me? Drop that fucking attitude.” Somehow his father always seemed to have eyes everywhere. “Happy now? You ruined your entire summer break; beg all you want later on. You’re not leaving the house.”

“As if you’d let me go out anyway,” Adrien murmured mockingly under his breath.

“What?” Levi demanded. “If you’re going to have the guts to steal MY car, MY money, and break MY orders, then grow the guts to speak the fuck up.”

“That you never let me go anywhere!” Adrien shouted back angrily.

“For what? To go to this damn party in the middle of nowhere to hang out with fucking rapists and get

shit-faced?” Levi argued back. “You think I was born yesterday? I know exactly which places I don’t want you to get involved with. You think you’ve everything figured out, but that’s not it, Adrien! You’re 14! Fourteen!”

“I’m fifteen!”

“You turned fifteen two weeks ago, for fuck’s sake!” Levi shouted, slightly turning to his right before focusing back on the road. “I’m telling you, better fix your attitude or this is not going to end well. You may be getting big and feel cocky, but you won’t play smart-ass with me. You can grow up to be as tall as the fucking Colossal Titan, and yet you would do whatever the fuck I tell you!”

“I did the right thing! I stood up for her; I’m not stupid enough to do whatever my classmates do. Why can’t you see that?!” Adrien complained as they reached the front of the house, and Levi stopped the car.

“’Cause you were stupid enough to steal my car even when you don’t know how to fucking drive!” Levi complained as he got out of the car, walking to the front door. He kept going with the lecture but lower as he didn’t want to wake up the neighbours. “You don’t like it? Choose another father in your next life; in this one, it’s me, and I’m not going to let my teenage kid not give a fuck about the decisions I take. I’ve gone through too much shit for a fucking brat to tell me what I believe is the best for them.”

They both walked in, and Levi locked the door behind them. The room was still dim for the early hours, and their dog greeted them enthusiastically. The keys dropping at the front plate echoed loudly, and the tuxedo cat of the family finally appeared to rub himself against the legs of the teen, who quietly picked him up. Y/N quickly rushed to check on her kid.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they hurt you somewhere?” She seemed clearly agitated, and Adrien remained with his eyes glued to the floor.

“No, mom,” he murmured, downcast. “I’m fine.”

“Oi, to your damn room,” Levi quickly ordered. “and clean it up; I won’t say it again.”

The kid left, cursing under his breath as he went upstairs and slammed the front door shut.

“What happened?” she asked Levi, who was preparing himself a tea to calm down, enveloping herself in a negligee.

“What happened? That kid is driving me nuts, that’s what's happening,”

Y/N sighed loudly, positioning herself behind her husband and running her hands through his arms, seeking to provide some comfort. She then switched to hugging him from behind. “He’s going through a phase… his new classmates are mostly kids who survived the rumbling, and some of them aren’t the best influence. He just wants to fit in, you know how important that is at his age.”

“Tch,” Levi kept facing the countertop, murmuring as the anger didn’t quickly wash away. But eventually, he closed his eyes and sighed loudly as the adrenaline slowed down. “The audacity of that kid, where the hell does he get it?”

Y/N couldn't help but chuckle against his back, “MH, I wonder,” she said sarcastically. “If they were still around, perhaps we could have asked some senior MPs… perhaps they could enlighten us on how you were as a teen,”

“I wasn’t like that,” Levi softly replied, almost ashamed of the point out.

“No haha you were worse,” Y/N was entertained as she kissed his shoulder blades tenderly. “Or do I have to remind you how you made me sneak out to meet you after curfew?”

“That’s different…”

Forcing him to turn around to place a kiss on his scar as she caressed his face softly, “He’s your kid,” she murmured against his lips. “He hates to be told what to do and has the strength to know he can get out of almost any situation. Asking him to be submissive is like asking him not to be an Ackerman; he got it in his genes,”

Levi just groaned, accepting the caress, her loving his face as if he was brand new and the residues of the war had never happened.

Days passed by, and while the mood in the house was slowly returning to calmness, the punishment still stood, and Adrien was reading in his bedroom, suffering the heat of summer without being able to go out with his friends. He couldn’t even play his record player because if in normal cases his father tolerated him to play his favourite bands loudly, now he was almost cursed to quietness. Levi didn’t seem to be very fond of Rock; perhaps Paradise music was too behind, and the period of adaptation was lacking. It sounded like loud noise to him.

A quiet knock at the front door was heard, mostly because the dog that was resting beside him in his bed raised hastily and rushed downstairs. The noise was almost imperceptible as his father was vacuuming the living room’s carpet while his mother prepared dinner. Adrien was about to raise himself from his bed and open the door himself, but the overwhelmingly loud noise of the vacuum stopped, so he guessed his father was on it.

Levi opened the front door without checking; he had faced so many adversities in life that he hardly doubted that anyone who rang his bell at 6 pm on a Thursday in their quiet family neighbourhood was a threat. “Yes?” he crossed his arms as he admired the young girl at the front gates. She was wearing the usual outfit of the time, white and brown loafers, crumpled low white socks, an inflated pastel yellow skirt that was tightly around her waist with a white blouse. The matching light cardigan was hanging from her shoulders, but she didn’t seem to put it on, another thing that Levi thought was some stupid new fashion trend from teens. That and his son’s imperious necessity to fold the sleeves of his t-shirts. High ponytail and blushed cheeks.

“Good evening, Mr. Ackerman,” The girl greeted him with kindness and politeness.

“Hello,” Levi replied, almost uninterested, his usual unfriendly nature not withdrawn even after years of not being on service.

“I was wondering if Adrien is at home,” she asked, and Levi wished he could roll his eyes at how almost immediately the girl blushed at the mention of his son’s name. “I’m the girl from the other night; I wanted to thank him…” seeing Levi’s slight frown at the memory of that early morning, she nervously added, “And you, of course, for what he did for me,” The young girl handed a package that was easily deduced to be a cake.

“He’s grounded,” Levi quickly replied. “And you don’t need to thank him; he did the only right thing to do. I don’t raise abusers,”

“Oh…” the disappointment in her voice was palpable, “Well, but please at least take the cake? For all the inconvenience,”

“No, kid, it’s alright-”

“Hi, sweetie! Adrien will be down in a minute!” Y/N popped behind Levi, slightly pushing him to the side and smiling softly at the girl. “Do you want to wait inside?”

Levi looked at his wife, confused and slightly offended by how quickly she overstepped him in the conversation.

“Ah, no, it’s alright; I don’t want to be a bother-”

Adrien appeared behind his parents, wondering what the whole issue was, and his mother quickly pushed him forward. “There he is!” She added while tugging Levi back inside. “Let’s give him some space,” she whispered to her husband, who was refusing to move.

“Oi,” Levi complained as he was forced back inside.

Both parents faking to be doing something in the living room to not be seen; Levi wasn’t spying, but his wife was. “She’s so cute,” she whispered, “and she’s crushing so much on him.”

Levi clicked his tongue, “He’s tall. All girls of that age crush on tall boys,” he argued back.

Y/N chuckled and turned to look at him, “talking from experience?”

“Ha ha,” Levi faked a sarcastic laugh. “He’s supposed to be grounded,”

“Shh, I can’t hear!” She hushed him back and then moved slightly as Levi joined her next to the window.

“Great,” Levi said annoyed, “she’s fucking bonnie,”

Confusion was written all over his wife's face as she grimaced dazed and raised an eyebrow, silently asking how those words could be said with such disappointment.

“Now I won’t only have to buy him all those stupid vinyl records, textbooks, and uniforms for the school team, but I’ll also have to start buying condoms; there goes my fucking salary,”

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[sagesskies]

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴇɪᴛʏ

✒ ᴄᴜᴘɪᴅ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜᴏᴛ

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ: ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ꜱᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ (ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀ ꜱᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ʙᴏᴡʟ), ᴍᴀᴊᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴜʜ. ʀᴀᴄɪꜱᴍ (ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢᴏᴅ ʟᴏᴏᴋꜱ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟꜱ!), ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ɢᴏʀᴇ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴡᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, Qʜᴇᴛᴏʜʀ ᴊᴜᴍᴘꜱᴄᴀʀᴇ, [ɴᴀᴍᴇ] ɪꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ, ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ!

Yandere Love Deity whose temple you grew up in; Intricate paintings and marble sculptures depicting their ethereal figure surrounding you as the years pass and you go from being one of the children raised within the temple’s immaculate halls, to the most devoted priest serving Luvarin. 

You firmly believe that love goes beyond just romance, the love between two partners in union, but extends to a love that matters just as much; the love between family, between friends, or even the simple love for your neighbour. It shows in how you preach, emphasising the importance of that connection and teaching the children that just as they should pursue the kind of love depicted in the sacred partnerships of the Gods, they should search for the love between two great friends, like that of the Merciful One and his sibling Qhetohr. 

Yandere Love Deity who hears your name in only a few months after your induction into priesthood. But really, they took notice of your presence before that. It was hard not to. Not when your offerings were always of the highest quality: Intricate carvings of sparrows, wines brewed with the strawberries grown in the temple, and not to mention the hymns you sang and wrote for them which were always a delight to listen to. 

But what really drew them to your offerings was not merely the quality, no, no, they had no shortage of extravagant offerings from their wealthy followers. It was the fact that you had taken the time to create them yourself. Now, handcrafted gifts weren’t uncommon either, but really it was the dedication. To truly devote yourself to creating such impeccable displays of faith… why, it was enough to make their heart flutter. And that was no small feat. Luvarin decides that it’s high time that they reward you. 

It’s small at first. Little things that build progressively till you realise that life has been treating you suspiciously too well recently. Your recently published text debating the moral lesson one should take from the fall of the house of Arus has taken off to unforeseen heights. You’ve been promoted in the temple. You managed to avoid getting hit by a vase dropped right on top of you, unintentionally of course, because it somehow, miraculously, got blown away by the wind. 

Yandere Love Deity, who is of course, the one responsible for it all. It’s almost like you know that, because your prayers become more intimate and personal. Truly grateful for everything Luvarin is doing for you– Well you don’t exactly address it to Luvarin, you’re praying to the Gods in general, but still. They’re the reason why you’re so lucky in the first place, and hearing you passionately thanking them so genuinely, is enough to have them giggle and kick their feet with absolute delight. 

‘O Children of Kases, hear my call, I offer you my deepest gratitude, for the countless blessings you bestow upon my path, For the love that surrounds me, both seen and unseen, for the beauty of the world and the kindness of hearts.

Thank you for the lessons, both gentle and harsh, that shape me, mold me, and help me grow. For the strength to overcome challenges, And the wisdom to see the truth within. 

In the quiet whisper of the leaves, In the gentle glow of the moon, I feel your essence, ever near, Guiding me, loving me, holding me….’

Laying in the fluffy, warm, and comfortable surface of their bed, Luvarin sighs. Truly, they were amazing. They’re aware that your prayer is not just for them, but for all their siblings as well, but sheesh, who were they kidding? Of course, this prayer was meant for them! Who else has been aiding you so much? Giving you such powerful blessings and bountiful gifts, their merciful brother had competition!

Luvarin sits up, and summons their scrying bowl. It was a new one that they haven’t used yet, it was a gift from you, one of your beautiful wood carvings. 

They don’t usually like using wood in their equipment, it was for commoner mortals. But this bowl was of a perfect shape, the width was of their exact preference, it wasn’t flimsy and easily scratched or damaged, and it was designed with carved drawings of myths that centred around Luvarin themself. 

Seriously, how lucky could they be, to have a follower as devoted and as considerate with his offerings as you are. Compared to the rough and unpolished quality of the mere commoners and the superficial and needlessly gaudy level the nobles reached, yours were a breath of fresh air in how much care was placed into them. 

Thinking about it is enough for Luvarin's already present smile to widen further.

Luvarin waves their hand in a delicate flourish, and the bowl fills itself with a clear, mystical water, the surface shimmering with images of the activity below the heavens. They press one tawny finger, and it pauses. 

Their brow furrows in concentration, Luvarin purses their lip, and close their eyes as they search for your presence. 

“Aha!” There you are darling.

Luvarin's eyes open, gleaming purple, and they clap their hands with delight as the water morphs to show them the familiar sight of your room in the temple. The bed on the right, blanket strewn haphazardly on the soft mattress. Your desk is on the left covered in the drafts for your latest text. Then there's you, on your knees in front of the window, hands held in prayerful position, head bowed submissively and your eyes closed in concentration. The moonlight pouring in and shining down on you.

Despite being one of Kases’ powerful children, a literal god, Luvarin was a mere afterthought to the mortals. Unlike mighty Uren, or their fearsome twin Qhetohr, why should one concern themself with the deity of Love for anything more than matters of romance? They were a joke in the Heavens, mortals literally painted them as a cherub with a pathetically small bow and a heart tipped arrow. 

Not to mention that a lot of their priests were nothing better than scammers who tricked desperate and lonely people and naive mortals who believed that serving in Luvarin's temple could give them luck in their love life. 

But, then there was you. [Name]. Sweet, genuine [Name]. 

Luvarin traces their finger around your face, enjoying each and every detail. Sometimes, when they watch you, from the scrying bowl or in the form of a sparrow, they have the desire to just reach out and touch you. To truly feel the warmth that you radiated. To know that you're real, and not just something that their mind has come up with. 

A wisp blows in. Luvarin clicks their tongue, less than pleased about the interruption. They snatch it out of the air, it wiggles and tries to escape from their grasp, but eventually it tires. 

“Speak,” Luvarin drawls, tapping on their leg impatiently. 

Wisps, little creatures born from the mist of the Jaurdenia River and used by Luvarin and their siblings as messengers. Round, bouncy, balls of wind that glowed far too brightly for Luvarin's keen eyes. They were cute and Luvarin loved to throw them around their palace and watch them zip and crash into the walls, but right now it was [Name] time, and [Name] time was as sacred to them as the annual Luvercalia ritual. 

The wisp squirms a bit, their golden centre glowing darker in concentration, before relaxing as the honey-like smoke pours out of it. The whispers of their merciful brother carried by the fumes, “Luvarin, please do know that I will be visiting you soon to discuss some matters.” 

Luvarin groans, frustration rolling off of them in waves. They loved their merciful brother. Really who didn't? But they'd much rather get back to watching you from the scrying bowl and listening to you sing their praises. 

However deep down Luvarin knows that if they were to not show up, then he would worry and tell Qhetohr to check on them, and then Qhetohr would find about you and then– 

To the deepest pits of Demorta, why are they dreading the mere idea of Qhetohr discovering you? Their beautiful, precious, fragile mortal. Oh, it's precisely because of that. You're mortal, you're fragile, and Qhetohr would delight in absolutely tearing you to shreds if they found out you're the reason why Luvarin stood up their merciful brother. 

Luvarin gnashed their teeth, their hand squeezed the wisp so tightly in their stress, they're snapped out of their furious thoughts by a sharp pop and the cool mist that seeps through their closed fist; the remains of the unfortunate wisp. 

Fine. Fine! If that is what must be done to keep you a secret, safe from Qhetohr’s blade. Then they'll do it. 

Luvarin waves away the scrying bowl, and with a flourish of their hand, a regal purple chlamys settles over their shoulders and they rub at the cool, golden brooch holding it in place. 

Their steps echo through the lavish, empty halls of their palace. A bird flies through the nearby garden, sunlight seeping in through the gaps between the chiselled pillar, and the smell of rain-soaked leaves pervades the air. Last night they forgot to renew the barriers that prevented the rain from getting in. Usually they would just flick their wrist to get the job done, but they were watching you work away at your latest text on Uren's Rebellion. 

Luvarin halts as a realisation dawns on them. When did they start to care for you? If they paused and took a look at the situation, it was strange. It shouldn’t even be possible. 

Them, a Love God. Twin to Destruction and Insanity themself. One of Kases’ powerful children. A literal living legend, responsible for the Fall of the House of Arus. And here they are, pouring their time and attention into a simple priest, their very own servant, and practically mooning over him instead of doing literally anything else. 

Before they can ponder further on this topic, a familiar figure enters their view. He waves, and flashes them a smile that Qhetohr would kill to keep for themself. Luvarin beams, pretty portrait perfect smile reserved for greeting guests and people they would rather not deal with at the current moment. 

They’ll deal with you later. They have all the time in the world, after all. 

Yandere Love Deity who starts to fall in love with you. They would like to say that it’s a slow and gradual process. But honestly, it’s not. It’s humiliating how quickly it all happens. One day they’re watching you writing your newest text, one moment you’re pondering your next sentence, then your eyes light up with a brilliant idea and Luvarin can’t help but genuinely smile, because they’re happy for you, for your breakthrough, because it’s something that you wanted, and what you want they want you to get and when that thought pops into their head that’s when they realise what the burning flame in their heart actually is.��

Yandere Love Deity who has had mortal lovers. They were all the same; Bold, filthy little creatures full of hubris that thought they could surpass the children of Kases. Luvarin’s infatuation with them never lasted long, they weren't meant to. They were all only mortal after all. And they completely expect the same to be true with you. Yes, they know what they’re feeling is love, but really what is the difference between loving something and desiring it?

So they descend to earth in human form, ready to charm you, have a bit of fun, and then leave like it’s nothing. It should be easy, right? 

Yandere Love Deity who disguises themself as a wandering traveller, settling into the town for a short while. After all, Luvercalia is coming soon, what traveler wouldn't want to take this opportunity to partake in the festival right in the town that Luvarin had once used as their base of operations during the rebellion? Mortals were weird, but they get it. To witness the sacred ritual dedicated to Luvarin take place on the very soil their holy blood was once spilled on, any god worshipping mortal worth their salt would not hesitate to take this opportunity. They are simply as one would say, blending in with the locals. 

Yandere Love Deity whose first meeting with you is not like what they imagined at first. They imagined that they'd charm you first, then they would sweep you off of your feet and seduce you into breaking your vow of chastity, pardon you from whatever punishment they dished out nowadays and then leave. 

Yandere Love Deity who barely even  gets to say since you're running through the town, making preparations for the upcoming Luvercalia festival and the ritual. Instead of a proper introduction where the two of you exchange pleasantries and get to know each other, all you get to say is: “Ah, hello traveler. Please, make yourself welcome here.” Before being pulled away to select a sparrow to sacrifice for the ritual.

But then they manage to catch you in your downtime, and you look at them for a moment as if you're trying to figure out where you've seen them before, and then you snap your fingers and you smile, your eyes creasing and wrinkling a bit at the edges and you apologize for not getting to introduce yourself properly earlier, but you remember them. You remember them even if they were probably nothing more than just one nameless face in your hectic day, and that… for some reason the mere fact that they were still important enough for you to remember amidst everything else that was going on, it just… 

Yandere Love Deity who isn’t prepared for how you make them feel. Holy.. the way you have their heart racing has them thinking you are the one who’s the god of love here, and they’re the one who should be worshipping you and singing your praises. Just seeing your smile has them weak in the knees. It shouldn’t be possible, you’re just some mortal destined to die out and fade away while they are a literal God, who has seen kingdoms and empires fall and rise in what to you is centuries, but to them is merely a small drop of water in the vast ocean of their existence. 

Yandere Love Deity, who still thinks that they can get out of this. Just like their destructive twin, they’re as stubborn as a mule. An immovable object that refuses to budge no matter how hard you push them. 

Yandere Love Deity who changes their mind so quickly it’s embarrassing. They try to distance themselves from you and pull themself out of whatever hold you have on them, but each and every attempt is foiled, not even on purpose, by you. You and your natural charms that has them caught, hook line and sinker. How can they not fall deeper in their love for you when you make it so easy to just descend deeper? 

Yandere Love Deity who continues to interact with you in mortal form. Slowly they become as much of a daily fixture in your life as you are in theirs, and they can't be more pleased about it. However their joy is short-lived when their greatest fear comes true; Qhetohr finds out. 

Cruel, wicked Qhetohr. Obsidian eyes curling with a malicious delight as they remind Luvarin that though beings such as them, deities, will continue to exist even when they will be forgotten and turn from reality to mere myth, that you will return to the dust and dirt that Uren used to mould your kind into shape.

Yandere Love Deity who comes to the realisation that a life without you is no life at all. And so they waste no time in ordering the clouds to part, for the sun to shine down right in front of you, and then descend down to you in their godly form, their entrance announced by pale rose petals gently floating down from the heavens.

Yandere Love Deity who does everything properly. They had a ring forged by Ularus, encrusted with small, absolutely dazzling rubies. They've wrapped it in a pure white cloth, with sparrows and roses embroidered into it. 

They get down on one knee and unveil the ring, and say those four famous words. 

“Will you marry me?”

Your eyes are wide and your mouth is gaping. Clearly you're shocked. They understand. You've just learned that sly, mischievous Erasmus is the very God you worship, serve, and mention in each prayer— and now they're proposing to you! It would be mind blowing for any mortal. 

But they let you calm down and process everything, they're patient like that, and they wait with bated breath and an eager grin for your response and the words that leave your lips are–

“I– Forgive me, Lord,” You take a shaky step back, your eyes dart around– People are staring– you purse your lips, “But I cannot accept your proposal. You're a god and I'm a mortal and it just– It won't work!”

“[Name], darling, please,” Luvarin laughs, clearly you're not thinking straight, still in shock they suppose, “In all the years that I have walked this earth, I have had many, and I am not joking when I say many, lovers. And many were just like you my love: Mortal. With crimson blood running through their veins and fragile bodies doomed to age.” 

They stand up and reach for your hand. You flinch and try to pull away, and even if their heart twinges, they soften their smile– Remember Luvarin, mortals are sensitive creatures. Be patient– and grip it tighter. 

You wince and they swear they can feel a phantom around their own hand in response.

Luvarin slips the ring on your finger. They wrap an arm around your waist, they ignore how you whimper and the fear in your eyes, and they bring you closer. 

“But you… darling, you are special. Compared to all those shallow creatures, your soul is vast, as wide as the earth, and the only one able to captivate me in the way that only you are uniquely capable of.”

“None of them can compare to you. Nobody can,” Luvarin can feel you shaking as they press a kiss to your temple, “And that is why I want– no need to marry you. I need you in my life [Name], and it's because you're mortal that we need to get married as soon as possible.”

You push them away, and this time they let you just so they can see the look on your face. 

Your brows are knit, and your lip is stiff. They've never seen this expression on you before. But they've seen it on Uren. On their merciful brother. On countless other gods and mortals through the ages. 

It was an expression that told Luvarin that they were about to hear something they didn't want to hear. 

Yandere Love Deity who thinks that you made an attempt to be gentle in your rejection, at least at first. But then it was their persistence that got to you. 

They saw glimpses of it in their time masquerading as a mortal. Your anger. It simmered underneath your skin and has been burning since you were young and pure. 

Their merciful brother told them, he knew you before when you barely reached their mortal form's waist, that you came from a pagan land. A land that was ransacked and pillaged and absorbed into Uren’s ruling. You came in, resentful and bitter with no desire to listen and obey to the people who killed your family. 

They know that you don't like the gods. Even now that you're a priest. But they thought that they were an exception, you got to know them as not a god after all, as Erasmus and not as Luvarin. 

Yandere Love Deity who is met with your frigid glare and… Gods, they can't bring themselves to remember the words you wielded like sharp blades. All they remember you telling them before they allow themselves to be swept away by the wind is that they should find another god to marry instead

Yandere Love Deity who weeps with such force that the skies turn grey, the oceans crash and churn, and the wind blows so violently it's nearly enough to have you whisked away from the earth's surface. It's enough to draw the attention of Qhetohr who cackles at the sight of Luvarin’s tear-stricken face. 

“I told you so!” Qhetohr’s obsidian eyes flash menacingly, “Mortals are fools. Arrogant, bumbling, fools. You could promise him the world and he would still turn up his nose at the thought of spending an eternity with you.” 

Luvarin clicks their tongue and avoids Qhetohr’s gaze, they wipe away their tears before facing their twin with a burning glare, its force lessened with the redness of their eyes, “Are you done?” 

Qhetohr snickers, they plop down on the kline beside Luvarin and hook an arm around their shoulders, ignoring their protests as they bring them closer, “Don’t be like that. After all,” Qhetohr smirks, “I’m here to help you.” 

Yandere Love Deity whose love for you turns bitter, it’s still there but it’s tinged with resentment, and Qhetohr only fans the flames higher till Luvarin doesn't think twice before saying yes to whatever Qhetohr has cooked up for you.

Yandere Love Deity who continues to watch you, watching as you experience misfortune. It starts with you injuring yourself more frequently. You struggle to think of what else to write in your latest text. The roses you've been growing in the temples wilt. If your public rejection of them wasn't enough already, this was enough to convince the town you're bad news. The temple's head priestess who once told you she understood why you refused Luvarin now glares at you coldly as she hands you your things and tells you you are no longer welcome within their walls.

Then it intensifies, your bad luck bleeding out into your surroundings. The food in the stores turn foul and rot. The animals start dying, flies surrounding their corpses and crows picking away at the meat. The village falls to unidentifiable sickness that the physicians and priests are not able to cure. It all comes to a head when the waters become infected and run black. 

Who else could be responsible other than the ex-priest who rejected his own god? 

They scream at you, they curse you out as your ‘brothers and sisters’ hold you down with flinty stares on top of the stone table. Your bare skin pressing on the cold surface. They stripped you down to your loincloth and doused you in the freezing waters of the Yulerine River all in preparation for this moment.  

One acolytes light the candles at the feet of the altar, and another one pours wine into a bowl and sets it in front of the statue of Luvarin behind you. A priestess lights the incense sticks and the air is filled with the scent of smoke tinged with roses.

The head priestess holds a hand up and closes it, the crowd goes quiet. You can see them, their purple eyes framed by their golden locks, royal and cold, narrowing with what you can only describe as a sadistic glee.

“We stand here today,” The head priestess bellows, “To witness the execution of a traitor to the temple, to our patron and god: Lord Luvarin.”

“Sister, please–”

“He has offended our Lord!” Her voice drowns out your pitiful voice, “And by his death, we shall rectify his foolish mistake. We shall offer his life as an offering to our Lord and beg for their forgiveness by giving them the man who has refused their love that which he does not deserve to have!”

You search the masses for somebody, anybody who can see past this farce and save you. But amidst the mass of people who you have grown up with, who you have helped, who you have supported through the hardest of times only to find aggression and rage that should not be directed at you. 

The head priestess starts to chant the prayers for ritual. The damn Luvercalia ritual. You want to laugh. You spent weeks planning everything meticulously down to the tiniest detail, and you don't even get to see the fruit of your labour because now instead of the sparrow you picked out from the town's aviary, the adorable little bird you've spent so much time grooming and preparing for this exact moment, you are now lying here, being rushed through the sacrifice preparations that should've been done over the course of two weeks. 

You want to laugh, and so you do because now that you're going to die you don't have to care about maintaining appearances. 

One of the acolytes holding you down, a teen boy with freckles and mousy hair named Kreo, glares at you, “Shut your mouth, swine.” 

You only laugh harder, because this little boy is trying to act tough when you've already seen him bawl his eyes out when he broke an ankle trying to save a cat from a tree. 

A balled up piece of cloth is shoved into your mouth and you choke on your own spit and gag as it touches the entrance of your throat.

Usually you love it when it rains, but when it starts to fall in slow drops, building up till eventually you're shivering from the rain, you want to cry because when you died, you at least wished for golden haired Ebris to grant you the mercy of letting the sun shine down on you in your final moments.

As the head priestess starts reciting the prayers, and the men and women who you grew up with in the temple anoint with you oils and salts for the sacrifice, you search for them in the sea of faces and you find them easily. Their lips spread into a devious grin, teeth shining from beneath their hood, and they mouth to you: This is your fault.

“This is your fault!” A grieving father screamed at you as he held his dying daughter. 

“This is your fault,” Your friend hissed at you from between her teeth when the cows on her family's farm began to drop like flies. 

“This is your fault,” The head priestess spoke with a measured tone when you were removed from the temple and your position as priest, “And that is why you are no longer welcome here.” 

The head priestess lifts her head from her prayer, and she spreads her arms wide, “Let the ritual begin!”

The people cheer as your eyes widen and you struggle against the hands holding you down. You try to find somebody with even a hint of pity in their face, but all you see is disgust and resentment.

Despite your struggle and the clear panic and fear in your eyes, an acolyte holds out a wooden box decorated with intricate carvings of flora and sparrows, too pretty to be holding the deadly sharp blade forged from Ofriedian metal that you had personally shined and sharpened to perfection. 

The head priestess plucks it out daintily, holding it with reverence. She weighs it in her hand, before gripping the hilt and pressing it against your bare skin. 

She leans down into your ear, you can barely hear her voice amidst the raucous noise of the eagerly awaiting villagers, “You have cursed us all with your actions,” Her breath that smells like citrus and ice fans against your sweaty face, “But today… today you can repent [Name]. What we are doing may seem wicked and cruel, but I assure you. This is for the greater good. By your death the village will be saved and our Lord Luvarin will forgive you.”

“You will thank me for this. You will thank us all.” 

The head priestess rises from where she bent down, and then she lifts the blade and presses it back down on the area of your upper abdomen, the cold blade digs into your skin, and the blood starts to seep out. 

At first as the knife pierces your skin, the pain is equivalent to an ant bite, if the ant's mandibles were aflame. Then she drags it across his skin like she's making one long stroke with a paintbrush, and a guttural scream is wrenched from your throat but is muffled by the gag and drowned out by the people's cheers.

–

Luvarin felt suffocated within the large mass of people, mortals. Sweaty, ailment stricken mortals burning with rage and righteous fury. Despite how sickening this was, they had to be here. 

They meet your gaze that is resentful and full of fear at the same time, and despite the tension between you two their heart flutters and their face breaks into a lovesick smile. Though it quickly morphs into a frown when you turn away. 

People keep jostling them and the mortal woman with grey streaks in her blonde hair is speaking, but the only thing that Luvarin cares about right now is you. 

You who have the kindest eyes they've ever seen. You who held them in your arms when on the nights they'd visit and pretend to be cold. You who despite your past continued to respect the gods and adhere to the strict rules that came with being a priest. 

Then they remember Qhetohr's words. And Luvarin remembers your other side.

Your other side. The you who looked at the ring, their genuine feelings, and listened to their heartfelt confession, who they allowed to see their vulnerabilities. The you who chose to turn your back to them just like he did all those years ago. 

Luvarin's hands clenched into fists, and their immaculate nails dug into their divine skin. They can hear you laughing from the altar, and that is enough to fan the flames of anger higher. Their skin breaks and golden ichor drips to the earth. 

Eventually your laughter is cut short when you are gagged, and somehow that only infuriates them even further. Emotions they can't understand are brewing inside of them, and it reflects in how the earth responds to them; the sky darkens, and the sound of distant thunder approaches. 

Rain starts to pour from the sky, and they can hear some of the mortals around them start murmuring about how Luvarin must be watching them. Yes, they're watching alright.

Luvarin flinches when you look at them again, they hope you don't notice. Looking at your eyes again, the fear seems to have only increased, and the anger is slowly being replaced by… regret. They smirk, and slowly it turns into a grin. 

Their lips move quicker than their brain, “Yes. This is your fault. Regret it. Regret it and wish that you had just come to me instead.”

They can see that as the rain runs down your face, so do tears. Tears that despite whatever they may want right now, they feel the need to wipe away with gentle kisses.

No! They curse in their head, You can't be thinking this again. Remember what Qhetohr told you. 

You could give him the world and he still wouldn't choose you. 

Before Luvarin knows it, the woman with greying hair lifts her arms to the sky and exclaims, “Let the ritual begin!”

Despite Luvarin's superior senses already being overrun by the harsh sound of ecstatic cheers, they can still hear your pitiful whimpering, like you're a wounded animal. 

The woman is handed an Ofriedian dagger and then–

Thunder strikes the same time you scream. 

Luvarin can't look away. It's like cold hands are digging into the sides of their head and are forcing them to witness consequences of their action.

The Luvercalia ritual traditionally has them cutting open the stomach of a fattened sparrow, removing the organs, and then cleaning it with purified water and then filling it with herbs before wrapping it with a rope soaked in purified oil and tied to a stick before it is lit on fire. 

You kick and fight, tears streaming down your face, indistinguishable from the rain. The woman cuts your stomach open, stopping when the blade reaches the beginning of your loincloth. Blood starts to seep from the wound, the flow intensifying when two acolytes dig their hands in your wound, ignoring your thrashing, and pull the wound open wider. Luvarin feels as if their own stomach is being ripped open as they continue to watch this.

The woman's face is calm and serene, but her eyes have a satisfied gleam as she rolls up the sleeves of her pristine white robes. She reaches a hand in and starts to pull out your organs. The way she goes about can only be described as methodical. First she cuts out the liver, then the gallbladder. She's unbothered by the crimson that begins to stain her skin and bleed into her soul that no amount of prayers or bathing would remove. Hair falls in front of her face as she is pulling out the stomach and a priestess immediately steps in to tuck it behind her ears. 

Luvarin has seen no small amount of blood in their lifetime, before they were an adorable cherub, they were a war hero who walked a road soaked in gore and ichor but this… They… They can't bear the sight of your violent but ultimately futile attempts to break free that only grow weaker as the light begins… Oh gods. 

Luvarin shoves a hand over their mouth and pushes their way out of the crowd, ignoring the protests of those pulled out of the trance the ritual placed on them. 

They barely step foot out before their immortal body is no longer able to hold any of it in. 

As they heave, they try to grasp your heartbeat and stabilise it. You don't deserve this. They made a mistake, but they could still fix this. But just as they're trying to anchor you in the land of the living, something else, a deity or something of equal power, is dragging you to Demorta. 

No, they weren't going to let you leave them, you were going to stay with them and they were going to fight harder than before, and this time they won't accept any rejection you may have ready for them. 

However maybe it was the vomiting, or the opposing force was simply that powerful. Whatever it was, when they whip their head around as soon as they can no longer hear your already fading heartbeat, they use their enhanced eyesight and you– You've stopped moving. The blood is slowly pouring down the altar, moving slowly, oozing even. 

They are already cleaning the now hollowed out stomach of your body and reciting the blessings to purify the herbs. Rosemary. Basil. Sage. Lavender. Thyme.

Luvarin is still as they watch the woman, hands cleaned but forever dirtied with your innocence, place the herbs inside, and then sew up your chest before closing your eyes. 

She claps her hands, and they tie you to a large wooden pillar with the rope. They recognize the wood, they– they can see the little carving you etched into its surface when the two of you visited the grove. 

You smiled as you sheathed the dagger back on the strap in your leg, satisfied with your work.

The first letter of both of your names with a + sign in between the two of them. 

“Some of my finest work yet,” You chuckled, but the look in your eyes tells them it's more than just a joke. 

They brush their hand against the letters, and they smile. It's not perfect, but it's.. it's human. 

“Do you like it?”

“I… I love it.” 

The woman recites prayers before your body as an acolyte waves a golden thurible around your body, letting the smoke curl itself around your corpse and purifying the body these so called holy servants of theirs have sullied with their cruel, filthy hands. 

A man, the village chief, steps forward with a burning torch that struggles to remain lit against the rain that has only grown stronger. He turns to the woman, “Priestess, are you sure that this will work? The rain–”

“The fact that it is still lit is a sign Xander,” She nods toward the unlit pyre, “Please, get on with  it.” 

He nods, and lights the pyre. It is weak, sputtering, and despite the muttered prayers of the temple’s servants and the mortals watching, the flames die out. Killed by the rain. 

“Priestess…” The village chief starts, but the priestess raises a hand. 

“This is… It is an issue with [Name],” She looks to the sky, “Luvarin may not want anything to do with him anymore.” 

Those words cause something to snap inside of them, and as if in response lightning strikes the pyre. The priestess gasps, the village chief falls on his ass, and the people are struck with fear. However the lightning does not set the body aflame, instead the fire lights the earth and it spreads faster than the rain can extinguish it. It bites at the feet of the acolytes trying to put it out and burns them with all the strength of Luvarin's rage.

What happens next is a blur. 

Qhetohr's told them about this before. When your body becomes nothing more than an extension of your weapon and it's like you're not in control of it. 

Everything you do in this state is controlled by instinct alone. 

When they wake up, one of Luvarin's hands is caked in blood and bits of flesh are stuck beneath the nails. They are standing over that woman's corpse and her neck has been punctured with holes that could have only been made by their hand.

Her body is floating, half submerged, and they are knee deep in water. The rain has stopped, and they're no longer wearing their robes. They see that it's wrapped around the village chief's neck like a noose. The village in the distance has been ruined by the flood, and there are more bodies floating around them. 

The only thing unaffected? Your body. The grey clouds have parted and there's a beam of sunlight shining down on you. Your eyes are closed, your head is slumped, and your wet hair sticks to your face. 

You're still beautiful, even as your skin begins to grow pale with death. 

Luvarin sees the Ofriedian knife, they pick it up and sever the ropes. They catch your body when it falls, they drop the blade, and they wrap both arms around you. 

They inhale whatever remains of your scent that hasn't been washed away by the rain and the ointments. 

Luvarin frowns when they feel the unfamiliar sensation of tears stinging the corners of their eyes. They burrow their nose in the crook of your neck and mumble into your skin, “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen.” Their voice is like a sputtering torch about to succumb to the harsh rain. 

If they strain their ears and focus on the wind, they swear they can hear you. 

They can hear your voice, but they don't know what you're saying. 

“I'm sorry,” Luvarin croaks once more, “I didn't want to hurt you. I never did. I just wanted you to notice me. Not Erasmus. Not Luvarin the Deity of Love. Just me.” 

“A- And I couldn't take it when you said no. I need you in my life [Name], and I still do. But I'm not so selfish tha- that I'd do something stupid. It was Qhetohr,” They can't stop their voice from quavering, “Qhetohr made me do this, s- so if you're gonna be mad at anybody just be mad at them okay?” 

Your silence is deafening but they press on, “I'll do anything,” They look up to the sky, as if begging for any of their siblings to help them. Dignity be damned, “I'll do anything.” 

But nobody answers. Not Qhetohr. Not their merciful brother. Not Uren. The only response is the quiet, occasionally interrupted by the sound of rain dripping from nearby leaves. 

Yandere Love Deity who fixes your body. They place back your organs, mend your skin, and make everything normal again. Or as normal as it can be now that there's a gaping hole left in their existence.

Yandere Love Deity who keeps your body in a coffin they make from their own hands. You have made them countless gifts, but their favourites were always the adorable wood carvings that they can tell you poured more time and effort into than they would ever deserve. 

It is imperfect and made of mistakes, but it is sturdy, and it is genuine. Ularus volunteers to help, he insisted, but a flinty glance is enough to discourage him from continuing further. They need to do this. This is the least they can do for you after all you've done for them. 

Yandere Love Deity who is visited by their merciful brother the day that they lay your body to rest in the coffin. 

“He was always such a bold child.” 

“[Name]?”

“Oh, of course! He may not seem like it now, but well, you remember what I told you.”

“Who else would, if not us? We're the only ones who know now. We're the only ones who will ever remember him.”

“He loved you.” 

“He loved Erasmus.”

“Are you not also Erasmus?” 

“Dear brother, no. Erasmus is the mysterious charming mortal. I am Luvarin, to him I am nothing more than the master he hates– hated and would have never had to serve if he had the choice.” 

“He loved you Luvarin. He was simply confused. He can respect the gods but that does not mean he likes them, and well– to love the god he detests the most is not the easiest thing to come to terms with.” 

“What are you trying to say here?” 

“I'm saying that the two of you could have worked if there was simply time, time that you no longer have.”

“...” “My condolences to you, Luvarin. He was a good man.”

☏ - ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇᴍᴀɪʟ: ᴍʀ. ꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴘᴇɴ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ.

[gatotricolor]

ladynoir but it's an alternative universe

chat noir design based on themossycauldron's interpretation.

no full latex outfit they need to be in more comfortable clothes.

ladybug is called scaralady here.

the wings on the back can help her plane when she jumps.

chat's has like smudge black makeup above the eyes like pattinson's batman because he's cool like that.

chat noir vision and hearing is better, he can also see in the dark.

the miracle's help adrien's disabilities to not affect him as how it would affect him normally, but still it's more complicated for him than the others, they support him.

because of their powers and motives related to each god, chat's bad luck makes him have to be more mindful of his action, while scaralady have to follow her instincts, if they try to fight that, it worse.

related to that, at the beggining they didn't really got along because their powers clashed A LOT, this petty rivalry was how they usually interacted on their daily basis until the akumas started to show.

ADDING TO THAT, they started as heroes before the akumas showed up, the deities told the miracle's guardian that they could sense that both moth and peacock miracles were being manipulated by someone who wasn't it chosen holder, so the master with the request of both plagg and tikki, had to give to each of them their respective miracles and start to train them properly before the akumas and amoks started to show up. they usually would help catching shitty people on the streets, assisting civilians with accidents and emergencies, and just acting as vigilantes (bc before akumas, the authorities really didn't like them).

scaralady was very suspicious of chat, because she had her own prejudices in that such power as destruction in any hands would be dangerous, but the guardian and just interacting with him daily, made her change her opinion and understand that they both needed each other to balance their powers.

chat actually never had genuine bad thoughts about scaralady, just that she was sometimes too serious and a party pooper in his own teen eyes.

after monarch started to terrorize the city, they made their dumb rivalry aside and started to seriously work together as partners, but they still teases eachother a little bit.

they're also eachother probably one of the closest bonds they ever had, interpret that at your own will lol.

both of them have to develop their powers with time, like for example: scaralady's creation power starts as random objects (like in canon) but further the stories progresses, she can create anything (usually she just follows her instincts and heart). in chat's case, at the start he can destroy small to mid objects, developing to having the ability to destroy living things (which, he doesn't really like the idea to have to do it, but if it happens he knows he would have to step up) for example if a meteor goes straight to earth extinction style, if his level is developed enough, he can destroy with a tip of his fingers.

when the team start to grow (not as big as in canon pls just the big 5 plus ryuko, viperion and someone else 😳) both of them take a leadership role, not just scaralady.

they're being trained not just related to their powers, but also to have enough mental strength to not fall under monarch's control.

each holder has to be trained like that, but both of them was a priority for the guardian as they're the most powerful and dangerous ones if it's in wrong hands.