#heaven sent army

[tenraigun]

Heaven-Sent Army (天来軍)

The largest demon-hunting organization and peacekeeping force in Takamagahara, the Japanese territory within the Spirit World, at five thousand members (give or take). Though initially separate from the Takama government, Heaven-Sent is now effectively the country's military force, though armed conflict between nations is rare in the Spirit World.

The members of Heaven-Sent, known as Tenshi, work to suppress all demon activity in their jurisdiction. They are stationed in all major populated areas, even in the Mortal World where they work undercover. Its members are taught to fight with traditional Japanese martial arts, primarily with weaponry such as swords, bows, spears, and more. That being said, there are a few who don't shy away from more modern hardware. They are also taught to harness their reiryoku to cast magic.

The basic uniform is a white kimono, black hakama, and either geta or waraji. They don't really seem to care about uniform customization as long as you're still easily recognizable as being part of the organization. (also so i can create more interesting character designs)

The majority of Heaven-Sent's members are part of the main ten divisions that specialize in various tasks both in and out of combat. Above them are the Elite Squadrons, which are made up of the very best of the organization. Each of the six elite squads is comprised of up to twenty members who can easily be recognized by their unique uniforms.

The Elite Captain uniform is a black kimono and hakama with a haori matching their squad's assigned color. An insIgnia is also emblazoned on the haori's back to further denote their position. Their lieutenants wear a similar uniform but with no haori. A lieutenant's badge is worn around the arm. Both captains and lieutenants wear a juban that also matches their squad's color. All those under them wear a uniform similar to the standard but with a colored kimono.

To list them all, the six elite squadrons are referred to as Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, and Violet. Their members will surely be mentioned at a later point.

[thehumanwiki]

rating all NuWho finales based entirely on how cool the titles are

because yea

(putting a read more because this will take a while, lol)

Bad Wolf / The Parting of the Ways

5/10. Bad Wolf is a cool name! For cool ppl! It’s the season’s mystery! It slays! But The Parting of the Ways? That could be used for like, half of the finales in this show. That’s a generic name. Not a fan. It even has one more “the” than it ought to. That’s a tryhard name. (Rose and The Doc don’t even part ways for another season! It’s a LIE!)

Army of Ghosts / Doomsday

6/10. Army of Ghosts! That’s freaky! It catches my attention! I’m interested, Mr. Davies, tell me more about that! Doomsday is also a generic name though. Like it could be used anywhere. It gets more points than S1 however because Doomsday is a very cool word and I like it a lot.

Utopia / The Sound of Drums / Last of the Time Lords

8/10. YES. I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THESE TITLES. Utopia? That’s a word that can’t be applied to many other episodes! That’s a memorable word! That’s a fun word! The Sound of Drums? What the hell is so significant about drums?? In a FINALE episode?! There must be something SCANDALOUS about the drums, tell me everything! (And they did! But this isn’t about what happens in the episode this is just how hard the titles fuck.) Last of the Time Lords??? Holy shit! That means we’re delving into that aspect of him specifically, and you can’t duplicate that easily! But more importantly, that sounds cool! Cool names, absolutely W from whoever named RTD’s stuff.

The Stolen Earth / Journey’s End

5.5/10. Same boat as S1, tbh. The Stolen Earth? Excellent, no notes. Journey’s End sounds generic af though. But I gave it a half point lead because Journey’s End has the Vibes more than The Parting of the Ways, lol.

The Pandorica Opens / The Big Bang

8/10. Yea I see the vision Mr. Moffat, I see you. Love what you’ve done with the place btw. Like, neither title is generic! And both are super interesting! Look honestly I forget how to do commentary I’m just one sleep deprived fan who likes Vibes they just slap OK

The Wedding of River Song

9/10. Oh. Oh yes. Oh I am LOVING this. Nothing gets me going like seeing a wedding that is somehow the culmination of a high stakes season. Like, how is there a wedding there?! And. River Song is there? Do you promise? 🥺

The Name of the Doctor / The Day of the Doctor / The Time of the Doctor

6/10. OK I’m honestly not sure which ones are finales or not, but y’know what? The name matching is fun. I like that. That is good. But besides the first one, these are p generic episode names. Sorry.

Dark Water / Death in Heaven

8/10. Dark Water is a p good episode name. It’s not the most interesting, but I like it. BUT ***DEATH IN HEAVEN***?! Now THAT is a finale title! I have never SEEN such a title! THAT is an IMMACULATE title! SPLENDID!

Heaven Sent / Hell Bent

10/10. The matching names? The rhyming? The low-key religious theming? The ominous nature? EXCELLENT. No notes Mr. Moffat. Great vibes.

World Enough and Time / The Doctor Falls

9/10. I would give this striaght up 10/10 if I could figure out what “World Enough and Time” meant. The vibes are perfect but like. What does it mean 😭 And The Doctor Falls??? OH MY ATTENTION HAS BEEN GRABBED BY THE THROAT DO GO ON PLS—

The Battle of Ranskoor av Kolos

4/10. Kolos? What is this, Pokémon XY? Anyways, I feel like this is just dialogue that would be said in passing in a sci-fi novel that everyone forgets. Sorry 😞

Ascension of the Cybermen / The Timeless Children

7/10. Cybermen are OK. It’s a fine title, I have nothing against it. The Timeless Children??? The vibes are just SPLENDID here. Especially because it’s a Bad Wolf situation where it’s like “hey wait a fucking minute I’ve heard that somewhere else—” Good stuff! W for Chris.

Chapter Six: The Vanquishers

6.5/10. Adding chapter to the title does make it automatically cooler, so that’s a bonus half point right there. Otherwise, it’s neat. Like it’s good. The vibes are fine and I like them, but not THAT fine, y’know?

The Legend of Ruby Sunday / Empire of Death

7/10. Look, even if it’s not generic, anything with “death” in the title *feels* generic. The Legend of Ruby Sunday still saves this tho, because I am INTERESTED, girl. TELL ME EVERYTHING

In conclusion, episode titles peaked with Capaldi.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Rats (Pt. 5)

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Summary: Aegon attempts to make peace with Rhaenyra after being forced to usurp her throne. Lucerys’ death complicates things.

18+ ONLY, MDNI. Targcest, smut, angst, violence.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Two days pass before Y/N is called to stand round her mother’s council table and discuss strategy for their return to King’s Landing.

“With Aemond and Helaena gone, they have no dragons. But they do have a formidable land army, it would be my great honor to return on dragon back and present your terms. Once they agree, I will send word here.” Aegon says.

“And if they won’t agree?” Daemon arches a brow.

“How we proceed from there will be left up to the Queen.”

“We’re supposed to trust you?” Daemon sneers, “this is your fault.”

“For the sake of the seven, Daemon.” Y/N throws up a hand, wincing as it pulls the scabbed flesh of her side. “After all he has done for my mother’s cause, can you not afford him the smallest bit of grace?”

“He still breathes our air, does he not?” Daemon drawls, “this is a concession made for you, daughter.”

“I shall go with him to King’s Landing then.” Y/N offers.

“No,” Rhaenyra says, immediately. “You are my heir, the risk is too great.”

“Then we offer our terms by raven,” Y/N insists. “After they agree, our fleet returns together. Aegon swears his allegiance, on bended knee and you ascend the throne as our rightful Queen.”

“Who’s to say Alicent will not ignore the fucking message?”

“Aegon is her King.” Y/N narrows her eyes at Daemon. “One does not ignore letters from their fucking King.”

————————————————————————

“Mother?” Dahlia tugs at her skirts.

Y/N blinks away the fog clouding her mind. “Yes, my love.”

“You look sad, or frightened.”

“Forgive me.” Y/N forces a smile, “I am expecting a message. You know how I dislike waiting.”

Dahlia nods, plopping into her mother’s lap, as her father plays happily with her siblings. “Do you think it has to happen?”

“What, my darling?” Y/N wraps both arms around her.

“That brothers and sisters must fight for the throne?”

“No one is fighting,” Y/N assures her.

“I saw what the bad men did to Aunt Helaena.” Dahlia whispers, “it was because of Uncle Lucerys…when he went to the heavens. Uncle Aemond sent him there, because Luce took his eye.”

“Who told you this?” Y/N demands. “Alicent?”

“Grandmother did not tell me a thing. No one ever does.”

“Because you are a child, and this burden is not a child’s to bear.”

“I hear things,” Dahlia tells her, “and I see them. Though I would rather hear them from you or father. At least you are kind about it.”

“Has someone been unkind to you?”

“Not to me, but to father, in front of me.” Dahlia leans into her mother, “and sometimes to you, in front of me.”

“I apologize, my darling.” Y/N kisses the back of her head, “our family history is…a unique tapestry, by no fault of yours. There are many people we love dearly who’ve been hurt and those who’ve hurt us.”

Dahlia says, “if that is what it means to sit the throne, I do not want to.”

“That is not what it means to sit the throne.” Y/N explains, “your great grandsire, Viserys reigned peacefully, all his years. But I will not force it upon you.”

Dahlia nods.

“You are my daughter first and my heir second. That is how I was raised, equal to my brothers in every way.” Y/N presses on, “I do not believe that brothers and sisters must fight. I think rather, it is a tragedy when they do.”

“So father and grandmother Rhaenyra are not at war?”

Y/N sighs, pointing to Aegon, blowing raspberries on Laenor’s belly. “Does your father appear to be at war?”

“No.” Dahlia shrugs, fighting back a grin.

“We needn’t fret then.”

Aegon the fourth begins to fuss, having been left to his own devices too long.

Dahlia climbs off her mother’s lap, tapping her youngest brother’s nose. “Shh.”

The babe grabs for her finger, holding it tightly in his grasp, as Dahlia coos at him.

————————————————————————-

“Is everything alright, my dearest love?” Aegon asks his wife, when they are finally alone in their quarters. “You were awfully quiet at supper.”

“Do you know what your daughter asked me?” Y/N turns to Aegon, as he strips down to his small clothes, for bed.

“Gods only know,” he laughs, “which daughter was it?”

“Dahlia.”

“Dahlia,” he repeats, fondly. “What did my girl ask you?”

“Whether or not brothers and sisters must fight for the throne.” Y/N informs him, “she also presumed that you’d be going to war against my mother.”

Aegon sighs, “and what did you tell her?”

“No, of course. But she’s overheard a great many things in her life. I’m not sure the simple answer will suffice.”

“The whispers round these halls are insidious.”

“It is every hall,” Y/N shakes her head. “She watched that man hold a knife to Helaena’s throat.”

Aegon abandons his sleep clothes on the chair to comfort his wife.

“I have failed her.” Y/N sprawls out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“You have not.” Aegon climbs in beside her, wrapping her carefully in his arms; mindful of her injury. “You are a wonderful mother, my love.”

“I’m meant to protect her.”

“You did.” Aegon insists, “you protected our children and my sister’s.”

Y/N nods against his chest, “why then do I feel so awful?”

“Awful mothers do not spend their nights lamenting imagined shortcomings.” Aegon presses his lips to the top of her head. “Our children know love and that they are worthy of it. I think it speaks volumes she was comfortable enough to raise this matter with you.”

“Do you truly believe that?” Y/N leans up on her elbow.

“I do.” Aegon meets her eyes.

She leans down, pressing her lips to his, before turning over to make herself comfortable with her back to his chest. “This is the longest we have not lied together, save for the weeks following the births of our babes.”

“I’ve no desire to cause you more pain.” Aegon murmurs, “but if you are feeling up to it…”

“I think it might help me find sleep.”

Aegon wastes no time reaching round her hip, hiking up her nightgown and slipping a hand beneath her small clothes, rubbing slow circles over her pearl until she is wet and wanting. “This is good fortune, you know?”

“Of course,” Y/N laughs, indulgently.

“Laugh all you want.” He groans, low in his throat. Shoving the pesky garment down past her knees and easing his cock into her from behind. “Your cunt has gifted me the greatest winning streak in all the realm.”

“And how is that, my love?” Y/N sighs as his fingers continue dancing along her pearl.

“Four wonderful children and years of happiness. Though I’d like to make it five.”

“Get to work then.” She reaches back, to bury a hand in his hair. “Ow,” she hisses, moving for her bandage, but Aegon’s hand is already there.

“Shhh, shh, shhh.” Aegon hushes her. “Be good for me, darling girl. Be still.”

“I can’t.”

“Try for me.” Aegon breathes, fucking her slow and deep, watching her sweet fingers curl around the pillow instead. “That’s the way,” Aegon praises, “lie there and take me.”

Y/N relaxes into the mattress.

“I love you.” He breathes, against her ear.

“I love you.” Again she begins reaching for him, only to be caught by his hand.

Aegon laces their fingers together. “Whilst your mother is Queen, we will spend many a day lazing about our chambers. Entertaining our children, creating more, watching them grow. We’re going to live happily together, the way we’ve dreamed it.”

————————————————————————-

Before first light they are called to an impromptu meeting of the small council.

“There’s been word from King’s Landing.”

“And?”

“Alicent has agreed to our terms,” Rhaenyra announces. “Her only request is an audience with the acting King and Queen before the declaration of allegiance.”

Aegon’s mouth is agape when Y/N turns to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“This is wonderful news.”

Daemon rolls his eyes.

“Indeed,” Rhaenyra beams at Y/N. “We will fly out within the hour. The four of us,” she motions to her daughter, half brother and husband, in turn.

“Oh happy day,” Daemon grumbles.

“The children will remain here, until the transition of power is complete. Then we return for them on dragon back.”

“Too easy.” Daemon rounds the table to Aegon. “Surely a trap, laid by your bitch mother.”

Y/N slaps her palm against the table, “you may not speak that way of my husband or his house. My daughter has overheard, the servants whisper in the halls.”

“Then see their tongues removed.” Daemon sneers.

“Enough.” Rhaenyra holds up a hand. “We are a family. Aegon is my father’s son, your brother’s child, my daughter’s husband. With grievances of his own, surely; yet here he stands.”

“We’re supposed to forgive all of it? Clouding my brother’s mind with milk of the poppy, usurping your throne, forcing you into such a state of distress that we lost our unborn child?” Daemon shakes his head, “and Lucerys?”

Rhaenyra blanches.

“You are innocent?” Y/N scoffs. “Tell my mother how I came to be here on Dragonstone. Tell her what my little girl saw the men you hired do.”

“I did not order them to harm children!”

“As my husband did not order the murder of my brother.” Y/N says, pointedly.

“We cannot hope for a better future if we cannot be better ourselves.” Aegon looks to his uncle. “I am not asking for forgiveness, nor your kinship. I am asking for peace in the space between us, and I swear to you, it will be a significant amount of space.”

They are dismissed then, to don their riding gear before meeting Rhaenyra and Daemon near the dragon pit.

“Good morrow, my girl.” Y/N greets her dragon, passing a hand over her scales.

Sunfyre butts his nose against Aegon’s chest, smiling as he does.

“Hello, there.” Aegon grins, patting his snout. “We’re off to King’s Landing, shortly.”

Stormborn waits her turn to be greeted by Aegon, enjoying her rider’s affection as she does. When Aegon does come to her, he is met with a content hum.

“There we are, sweetling.” Aegon pets her bowed head.

“Good morrow, Sunfrye.” Y/N steps over to the golden dragon.

He does not sing for her, the way he always does, glaring as he leans into her hand.

“You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” Y/N sighs.

The golden dragon huffs.

Aegon chuckles. “Now, now, Sunfyre. Infuriating as she is, we love her.”

Sunfyre blinks at Y/N, expectantly.

“Forgive me, my friend. I do not intend to take Stormborn from you again. That is why we fly together this day.” Y/N says, leaning her forehead against him.

Sunfyre begins crooning.

They will tell stories someday of a Queen and King Consort, so deeply in love their dragons could not bear to be parted; and how their marriage, born of duty, saved the mighty house Targaryen.

Taglist: @callsignwidow @fallout-girl219 @syraxnyra @vickynephilim @jeondeluxe111 @geeksareunique @arya-brooke @7minutes-tomidnight @ninastyless @aleemendoza2425-blog @livingdead-reilly @whenmypartysover @darlingisntit @nayaniasworld @uniquecroissant @spacexdrago @kaysav608 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @wolflover384 @jaydemon99 @minttea07 @lightdragonrayne @baybaybear1 @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @holymusicalmothman @lxdyred @godofstory @cloud-toast @jankityjankjank @lenadoerrer

[cjlouwho]

Prompt: Everyone knows that Tommy is a pushover for Buck's 🥺 eyes (it's a running joke for the 118/217), but when Tommy gets upset and is very quietly 🥺, Buck is shocked by how completely and utterly insane he goes to make Tommy feel better.

(bonus points if it's a completely dumb reason, like Tommy's run out of ice cream or something and it's just A Bad Day)

A little silly, a little serious, I hope you enjoy!

One of the many things Buck loved about his and Tommy's relationship is that he got to see a side of Tommy that no one else saw. He got to see many sides of Tommy that no one else saw, actually.

While everyone got a piece of calm, cool, and collected Thomas Kinard, Buck got all that and everything in between.

He saw him on his best days, his worst days, goofy days, sick days, horny days, tired days, all the days! He often thought of making a list of all the things people would be surprised to know about Tommy. He'd never share it, of course, but it'd be nice for him to have.

Like, how Tommy was ticklish only on his right side. And when he got tickled, he didn't do his normal laugh. Instead it was a high pitched giggle with a snort.

Or, how Tommy was super proud of the fact he knew every single word to We Didn't Start the Fire and he felt the need to sing it at the top of his lungs at least once a week.

How he loved human connection, but hated being touched by strangers. He'd hug a friend all night long if you needed it, but if he didn't know you please keep your hands to yourself.

How he liked tomatoes on cold sandwiches, but never on toasted ones.

How he loved when Buck would sit on the countertop and kiss him because it made him feel smaller, and he loved feeling small and protected in Evan's arms.

How his voice got deeper during sex. Whether he was inside Buck or Buck was inside him, his voice would always get all gravely and deep in a way that sent shivers down Buck's spine.

Maybe one of the biggest ones was how Tommy was not always the stoic, perfectly poised man as he presented himself to the world.

Tommy could get emotional. Emotional in a way that was usually reserved for movies written by men about women during their period.

Buck was thrown off by it the first time it happened. He almost thought it was a joke, until he saw the tears in Tommy's eyes as he mourned the fact he was out of whipped cream.

Then it was just heartbreaking.

It didn't happen often. A series of bad events throughout the day would build up in his body and brain until the smallest inconvenience caused him to fall apart.

They'd talked about it before. Tommy had grown up having to hold in his thoughts and feelings. They'd build and build until he'd do something erratic or harmful. Then he joined the army, and those emotions would build up the same way. Being in the army itself was a bit erratic and harmful, so he didn't have the best coping skills.

It wasn't until he started therapy, and his therapist helped him realize that he needed to let himself feel whatever he was feeling that he slowly and gradually became better at opening up.

However, there were still days where he felt the need to let everything build. Build and build until he burst. Except, now days, instead of becoming erratic or harmful, his eyes would well up and his lip would come out in a pout, and Buck would feel the need to move heaven and earth to make it all better.

Buck knew something was off as soon as he got home from work. Tommy was already there in the garage, half bent over his truck as he worked on the engine.

Buck let out a whistle. “What a view,” he teased.

Tommy glanced back at him, gave him a half smile before focusing back on his truck. “Hey, Baby. I ordered dinner. Should be in before it gets here.”

To anyone else, that might seem like a regular conversation. To Buck, it was the exact opposite. Normal Tommy would make some teasing comment right back, letting Buck know what he was seeing was just a preview of what was to come.

This... This was the start of an emotional night.

*****

Dinner was fairly quiet, with Buck leading most of the conversation. He knew not to ask questions yet. If he did it too soon, Tommy would completely shut down and it would take even longer to get any information out of him. As much as Buck hated it, this had to play out a certain way.

Luckily, he was fluent in Tommy.

It was a little after dinner, once Buck had settled in the living room, that it began.

“Evan?” Tommy called out from the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“Is... Did you put my ice cream in a different spot?”

“No, it's-” Buck froze, thinking back to two nights ago. Jee had come over and wanted a treat. She ended up eating the last of Tommy's favorite birthday cake ice cream. He knew that, on a regular day, Tommy wouldn't care that it was gone.

He also knew today wasn't a regular day.

“I think it's all gone, Babe,” he said cautiously as he got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen.

“Oh. Okay.”

He wasn't angry. He never got angry over little things like that.

He was sad. Resigned to the fact he would not be getting any of his favorite ice cream tonight.

Buck often felt like it'd be a lot easier if he just got angry.

He made it into the kitchen just as Tommy closed the freezer door. His face downcast, he glanced up at Buck through his eyelashes, eyes wide and wet. His bottom lip jutted out ever so slightly before he turned away from Buck and headed for the pantry.

“I'll have cookies instead,” he said with a sniff.

Buck got out his phone and pressed a few buttons before stuffing it back into his pocket and walking over to Tommy.

“Honey, why don't we just go sit down for a minute?”

“I just...” His shoulders sagged. “I really don't want cookies.”

Gently, Buck placed his hands on Tommy's back, nudging him until he could lead him toward the living room. “Why don't we go sit on the couch, okay?”

Tommy simply nodded, but Buck could see him lift a hand to his face and wipe a tear off his cheek.

The thing was, Buck knew he could be a handful sometimes. He was bratty, pouty, stubborn, and jealous. And Tommy accepted all of that. Not just accepted it, loved it. He loved every part of Buck, even the parts Buck didn't love himself.

Buck also knew Tommy would do anything for him. Would drop whatever he was doing and run to Buck's side the second he got a call. Would wait on him hand and foot. He spoiled Buck rotten, and everyone knew it.

There weren't as many opportunities for Buck to reciprocate that level of love and support. But when these days came along, that what's Buck's time to shine. He hated to see Tommy like this, but loved that he could be there for him. Loved that he could help him through it. So that's what he did.

They got situated, Buck leaning against the arm rest with his legs sprawled out on the couch. He pulled Tommy down so his back rested against Buck's chest. Buck wrapped his arms around him, hands meeting just over his heart. Tommy's hands drifted up and latched onto Buck's, holding tight.

“Why don't you tell me about work?” Buck asked, pressing a kiss to the top of Tommy's head. Things had been fine before they left for work the previous morning, so something had to have happened during their shift.

“I only had two calls.”

“And?”

“And the first one was a drunk driver. It was noon, Evan. Noon.”

“Casualties?”

Tommy shook his head. “No, but a young girl got hit. Spinal injury. She probably won't walk again.”

Now Buck had a starting point.

“After that?”

Tommy's body tensed so Buck squeezed him tighter. “The new probie, Jenkins, did something stupid and pissed me off.”

“What'd he do?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“If it pissed you off, it matters.”

“He's one of those religious types that carries pamphlets in their pockets,” Tommy explained. “I guess he overheard me talking about you- about us- a few weeks ago so he gifted me a pamphlet today.”

Buck knew where this was going. “You're kidding me?”

“I wish. It was some Adam and Eve crap, not even original. It reminded me of my dad. He... He used to say things like that. Anyway, I threw the pamphlet away without reading it.”

“Good for you.”

Tommy shifted slightly, tangling his and Buck's legs together. “The only thing that kept running through my mind was how we watched a little girl's life change forever, she will never walk again, and all Jenkins was thinking about was turning me straight.”

Buck brought a hand to Tommy's hair, carefully running his fingers through it. “I'm sorry, Tommy.”

“My aunt texted me too. Wanted me to come to the next family reunion.”

“Are you gonna go?”

“I told her I'd have a plus one and she... she said she doesn't wanna hear my dad complain for an entire weekend. I was quickly uninvited.”

Buck took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I- If you wanna go-”

“There's not a single part of me that wants to be there, especially without you. I'm good.”

“If you're sure.”

“I'm sure.”

“What about your truck?” Buck asked. “You were working on it when I got home.”

“Oh. That.” Tommy rolled his eyes. “That was the icing on the cake. Engine light came on in the middle of my drive home. I think I fixed the problem for now, but I'm gonna need a new engine soon. Everything just fell apart today, Evan, I- sorry.”

“You don't need to be sorry.” Just then the doorbell rang and Buck gave Tommy a pat on the shoulder. “You do need to get the door though. It's for you.”

Tommy sat up, eyebrows furrowing at Buck before he got up and headed for the door.

About thirty seconds later, he was back with a paper bag in hand. His eyes were soft and tear-filled, but not with sadness this time. “You ordered my ice cream?”

Buck nodded, giving him a smile. “Of course I did.”

Tommy set the bag down and walked over to Buck, kneeling beside the couch and resting his head on Evan's lap. He wrapped his arms around Evan's waist the best he could, his face pressed against Evan's stomach. “I love you so much.”

After a few seconds, Buck stroked his thumb over Tommy's cheek. “Come here,” he said softly, pulling him up for a chaste kiss. “I love you too.”

[t0rturedangel]

How about the Hazbin hotel gang with seraphim child reader who just somehow appeared after ep 8

╭ . . . 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 ੭

𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 ⿻  𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦??

⌦ 𝒲𝒜𝑅𝒩𝐼𝒩𝒢𝒮 ﹕angel dust - swearing, just him being him. Alastor - ill intent, possible swearing. Mentions of killing, mentions of blood. Nifty - she tries to kill you, dw you dont die. this too me so long im gonna cry

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ okay, firstly just know that the crew goes fucking crazy- I mean they just fought an entire army of exorcist angels and killed Adam, the first man Adam!! So they all think that you're sort of there to try and punish them all for it, so they all get ready to attack (even though you're LITERALLY a child, children are wild though)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ that's until Charlie, bless her heart, recognizes you (and depending on if you tried to defend her in court just like Emily) and rushes up to you, holding her arms out happily- thats until Angel Dust surprisingly tries to stop her

"It's you!" Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in a pleasant surprise, you were the third and youngest seraphim and much like your older sister Emily felt the need to defend Charlie and her idea of redemption- the thought of allowing those who suffered to see the error of their ways and correct them and then given their reward of eternal peace sounded brilliant, much like Emily you were horrified to learn of the exterminations. You were the first one to openly agree to what Charlie had said despite Adam's comments and facial expressions, you also helped Emily in trying to make the court see what was wrong with this method, unfortunately your plans did not work, though Charlie remembered your efforts and clearly she enjoys your presence. At the glee in her tone, you smiled and stepped forward, wanting to give a hug to the princess of hell though paused in confusion when someone looking oddly like a spider stopped her.

"Woah there toots!" the spider called out to his friend, grabbing her arm to halt her movement- Angel dust was staring both you and Charlie down- a look of uncertainty and distrust painted all over his face "Why ya going to rando angels? what if they were sent down here to finish the job for Adam?", Angel did have a point- you appeared put of no where and was just standing outside the hotel? pretty suspicious.. though Charlie is quick to cool things down "Oh no no no! They're alright, they're a friend! They mean no harm at all- in fact [name] was one of the angels who supported my idea!" she turned to you joyfully, smiling from ear to ear "We can trust them!" ... "okay but how did they end up here? in uh hell?" Husk piped up, his voice full of boredom- or annoyance (you can never really tell with husk, what an odd man) "Oh I fell! ... or rather- I threw myself out of heaven" you happily answered the question, giving everyone a quick second to process what the actual fuck you just said.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ thats how you joined the hotel! Pretty nice innit??

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Charlie adores you! you're such a sweet little thing, you're a sweetie and are just so kind to everyone!! (at least that's what she likes to think)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she thinks of you as a little small sibling!, after all you're the youngest of the team and act just like her, plus she always wanted a little sibling so you're perfect!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ any ideas she thinks of or any redemption exorcises she runs them by you- to see if they can be more or less effective to get her friends into heaven

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Since Charlie could only stay in heaven for so long, she loves to ask you about heaven and how it was like- always being so invested in your stories, she honestly cannot get enough of them!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ also, Charlie is... painfully aware that she can never get into heaven, ever. Afterall, she's not only a hell-born but also literally the heir to the throne of hell so yeah there is no chance for her redemption, something she cannot handle- she cries knowing this but now that she has you- someone who ran from heaven, actively choosing to leave and come here gives her comfort. Now she'll never be alone, she has you and you have her!

𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ At first, Lucifer was startled and untrusting of you- you're a seraphim, someone that was just like him and could possibly actually take him down despite you being an actual child.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ over time, the king of hell did grow warmer to you, after all he sees a bit of himself in you. Both ex-angels, both hate heaven.... it's like you're his second little one!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Sometimes, when lucifer isnt busy with his actual child, he hangout with you- entertaining you with his magic while you return the favor with little stories and things, sometimes you even create little gifts like flowers for him.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Lucifer vows to keep you safe, even though you can easily take down hundreds of sinners and even overlords, it's paternal instincts what can i say?

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ this man totally makes you ducks- he has enough experience in making ducks so you know own a few dozen in your hotel room- how lovely!!

𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ oh this man, this radio demon. He's out for your soul, absolutely hell-driven to get it, and it's all for power (who could have guessed)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He doesnt like kids, in fact he can confirm that he absolutely HATES children though he will act all kind and lovely to you- remember though it's all an act! don't fall for it, he just wants your soul (if he gets your soul, your angelic soul? fuck- he'll be even more powerful than before, having an angel's soul would make him practically invincible!)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ This guy, funny fella really. HE CANNOT BUGGER OFF. Whenever you need help with anything he's the first to appear and offer a helping hand- and then in return as a favor back asks for a deal- is he serious? (yes. he always is)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Alastor though also, much like everyone else becomes a a bit soft for you- occasionally creating those little weird shadow creatures to play with you, since everyone around you are adults and are busy it's a way of keeping you entertained when they're busy

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He, also, understands that you are more powerful than him- and knows that if he gets on your nerves enough he'll probably become dust.

𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐘

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ at first, Nifty only had one goal: to kill you (hey don't blame her! Charlie told her to stab and she's still under that impression)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ good for you though!! coz you fly up right as she even tries to stab her dagger through your chest- Charlie and Vaggie immediately grabbing nifty to stop her from moving and killing you.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ after the whole misunderstanding, Nifty actually enjoys begin with you! you're clean, and help kill bugs (well really it's you pointing the bugs out to Nifty and her killing them)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ You're, unsurprisingly, taller than Nif so she likes to climb up on you and sit on your shoulders or stand on your back while holding onto your shoulders. She finds you the most comfortable to climb- plus she can hide in your wings and be used as a secret weapon.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she adores playing with roaches with you- while you are grossed out by it slightly, you still play to entertain Nifty (then after you sanitize your whole body about ten times)

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel tends to avoid you, not out of hate or spite or anything- it's just.... well he is aware of how he is and well he doesnt want to ruin you in the sense of his dirty talk and swearing.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ though occasionally he finds himself stuck looking after you, which is.... fun.... no i mean really its fun as fuck!!! Angel makes all sorts of jokes, offers you alcohol (you did almost take it if it werent for husk and practically everyone else to all collectively pry the bottle of vodka out of your hands)

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ angel dust also teaches you some very creative swear words! so now, whenever you feel like talking you run around screaming weird insults at people, Alastor has heard you shout "EAT ASS AND DIE HORSE FACE FUCK BITCH!!" a few times to random sinners

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ The... star, is actually proud of teaching you those words- hey if you wanna stay in hell you gotta act like it!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ hides you away from Val- though somehow you still find out about him, and when you learnt how he treated your spider-friend.. uhm, the studio was in smithereens and val was close to death- now permanently loosing his right arm (just his right arm for now)

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐊

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ to you, Husk is like the weird- drunk uncle who just got out of prison. Though, he's the cool drunk uncle.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk doesnt really speak to you, which is brilliant coz you dont really speak- so the two of you communicate through looks and gestures, leaving everyone in the hotel watching you two 'talk' very confused.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ never gives you alcohol, no matter how much you ask with 'cherries on top' and if he does catch you with any intoxicating drinks he snatches them off of you- scolds you a bit then drinks the beverage himself.... hypocrite

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Husk helps you avoid Alastor, he doesnt want to see you being under his clutches, you dont deserve that you're just a kid.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ He also teaches you how to do magic tricks just incase you ever want to become a magician... and sometimes he teaches you how to play card games- or how to gamble

𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐄

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ In all honestly, Vaggie is very much threatened by you- because like, do i even need to say it?? YOU'RE A SERAPHIM !!!!!

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Buttt as long as Charlie is okay with you and you don't pull any stunts to try and sabotage the team you're alright! Just dont try anything.... please

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ she accidently treats you like a soldier sometimes- a habit from her exorcist days, speaking of you could immediately tell she was one of those angels and while you did not like her at first you grew to like her- viewing her as a second older sister

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ you and Vaggie sometimes sit and remember old times in heaven- and you'd ask about the exterminations, though quickly stopped after noting her discomfort.

⿻ㅤㅤᱺ Vaggies also likes to try and swap weapons with you- to see if she and you can handle other weapons (unsurprisingly you both adapt quite quickly)

[kwilquib]

Promised 9

chapter - 0

Fromis_9 x Male reader

Word Count: 4.5k+

Chapters: One | Two

a/n: This is just set up of the story, no smut in this chapter. but this chapter is important, for the story.

The classroom buzzed with the faint whispers of students exchanging notes and furtive glances at their phones. You sat slouched at the back, staring blankly at your open notebook, the pages still pristine except for a single doodle in the corner: a coffee cup. You idly tapped your pen against the desk, your thoughts drifting far from the lecture.

“Mr. Kang Junho!”

The sharp voice of your Professor Min snapped You back to reality. The room fell silent, and all eyes turned toward you. You straightened, blinking rapidly as the professor leveled a stern gaze at you from the podium.

“Care to join us in this riveting discussion, or are you busy solving life’s great mysteries back there?” Professor Min’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“Uh, no, sir. I mean, yes, I’m listening,” You stammered, scratching the back of your neck. A few chuckles rippled through the classroom.

Satisfied, the professor adjusted his glasses and continued, pacing slowly across the front of the room. “As I was saying, today’s topic is about myths and their reflection of humanity. Take, for instance, the legend of the Promised Nine.”

The room quieted, the students now leaning in slightly. Professor Min always had a way of making even the dullest of topics sound compelling.

“Long ago, during a time when humanity was steeped in chaos, war, and unrelenting greed, there was a king—a wise man, yet weary of the barbarism that plagued his people. No matter how many treaties he signed or how many battles he fought, peace was fleeting. He despaired, knowing that humanity’s greatest enemy was not the sword but the emotions that drove men to wield it: pride, envy, wrath, greed, gluttony, sloth, lust, apathy, deceit…”

Junho’s attention perked up. There was something strangely familiar about the words, though you couldn’t place why.

“So the king, in his desperation, climbed the tallest mountain in the land to plead with the deity who ruled the heavens. He begged for salvation, not for himself, but for humanity. The deity listened, moved by the king’s earnestness. But salvation comes with a cost.”

Professor Min paused dramatically, glancing at his captivated audience. “A promise was made—a sacred pact between the king and the deity. Aid would be sent to humanity, not as armies or riches, but as nine beings, each representing the most volatile of human emotions. Their purpose? To keep the balance of these forces, preventing anyone from consuming the world.”

He walked over to the whiteboard and wrote the words The Promised Nine in bold letters.

“But there was a catch,” he continued. “The deity warned the king that these emotions, though tempered, could never truly be eradicated. The Promised Nine would struggle with the very forces they were meant to contain. And should even one of them fall to the temptation of their burden…”

Professor Min trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room.

“What would happen?” a student near the front blurted, unable to resist.

“Should one of the Nine succumb, their emotion would consume them entirely, turning them into a force of destruction. And that destruction could spread unchecked, tipping the scales and plunging the world into chaos once more. To prevent this, the Deity decreed that the Nine would be connected to a chosen mortal—an anchor. This anchor would serve as their confidant, grounding them when the weight of their burden became too great to bear.”

He turned back to the whiteboard, writing in large, bold letters: The Promised Nine.

“The anchor is as important as the Nine themselves,” he said. “Without them, the balance could not be maintained. The king agreed to the Diety’s terms, knowing full well the cost. And thus, the Promised Nine came into being.”

Professor Min stepped back from the board, his expression somber. “But the Diety’s warning still lingers in the echoes of time: no balance lasts forever. The story of the Promised Nine reminds us that humanity’s greatest strength—and its greatest threat—lies within ourselves.”

The shrill ring of the bell echoed through the room, breaking the spell. Students began packing their bags, the hum of chatter returning.

“Read chapters six through eight for next week!” Professor Min called over the noise.

You gathered your things slowly, the tale still turning over in your mind. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and made your way to the door, you muttered to yourself, “Promised Nine, huh? Sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.”

—

You exit the lecture hall, slipping into the stream of students flowing out into the bustling campus courtyard. The sun dips low in the sky, casting long shadows and a warm orange glow over everything. You glance at your watch—just enough time to get to your part-time job.

The café isn’t far, a cozy little spot just outside the university gates. Its charming wooden sign, Golden Brew, sways slightly in the breeze. The place is always busy, a favorite among students and faculty alike. But there’s one reason it stands out from the dozens of other coffee shops around: its owner, Gyuri.

You push through the door, greeted by the familiar hum of chatter, clinking cups, and the hiss of the espresso machine. The café smells like roasted beans and freshly baked pastries—a comforting combination that feels like a second home.

“Junho, you’re late!”

The voice is soft yet commanding, and you immediately straighten, turning to the counter. There she is—Gyuri, the radiant owner of Golden Brew. Her beauty is the kind that leaves people momentarily breathless. stood effortlessly graceful in her casual white t-shirt and mint-green cap, her gentle features framed by stray strands of hair and a gaze as warm as the morning sun

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gyuri,” you stammer, bowing slightly as you head toward the staff room to put your bag away.

“It’s fine, just don’t make a habit of it, okay?” she replies, her voice as warm as the golden light streaming through the café windows.

“Yes, of course!” you reply quickly, though you can’t shake the sense of unease you always feel around her.

It’s not fear, exactly. Gyuri is unfailingly warm and generous. She treats her staff like family, remembers the names of regulars, and always has a smile for everyone who walks through the door. Still, you find yourself hyper-aware of her moods, as though disappointing her might lead to something far worse than a lecture.

When you emerge from the staff room in your apron, Gyuri is already behind the counter, expertly steaming milk for a cappuccino. “Can you handle table seven’s order? They’ve been waiting a bit.”

You grab the tray, carefully balancing two lattes and a slice of cheesecake, weaving your way through the maze of tables. It’s almost automatic at this point—sidestepping bags, dodging half-turned chairs—but when you reach the corner table, you stop.

She’s there.

Seoyeon.

She’s a regular, not a student or faculty, just... always here. You’ve seen her enough times to notice the details: the dark circles under her eyes, natural and striking, framing her otherwise delicate features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you—her sleepy, almost lazy demeanor masks something deeper.

She’s hunched over her laptop, typing slowly, as if testing each word before committing to it. The oversized navy shirt drapes over her frame, and her hair carelessly tied, some falls messily around her face. You set the tray down gently, not wanting to disturb whatever she’s working on.

“Thanks,” she mutters without looking up, her voice soft, almost as if she’s halfway to falling asleep.

You nod, even though she doesn’t see it, and glance at her screen. It’s filled with text—lines upon lines of words you can’t make sense of from this angle. Stories, maybe? Essays? You don’t know, and it’s not your place to ask.

As you turn to leave, she stretches, her movements slow and languid, like she has all the time in the world. For a moment, you wonder what keeps her coming back here, day after day, to sit in that same spot, typing away.

But you shake the thought off. You’ve got other tables to serve.

.You make your way back behind the counter, tray in hand. It’s a small relief to retreat to this spot, even if only for a few moments. Manning the cashier is easier—less weaving between tables, fewer chances to trip or spill something. The register beeps softly as you organize receipts and prepare for the next wave of customers.

The door opens, and the atmosphere in the café shifts. It’s subtle, like a faint breeze stirring through a room, but you notice it immediately. Heads turn—students and faculty alike—and conversations falter as if someone hit pause.

You glance up and freeze.

Jiheon.

Her name is spoken in hushed tones across campus, her presence both admired and untouchable. She moves with an effortless grace that feels out of place in the mundane setting of the café, her bright smile commanding attention without even trying. But it’s her eyes that hold you—the way they curve into crescent moons with a hint of something sharper, more mischievous, just beneath the surface.

To your utter disbelief, she walks directly to the counter. Your counter.

“Hi there,” she says, her voice smooth and casual, like she’s greeting an old friend. Her gaze locks onto yours, and her smile widens slightly. “You’re Junho, right?”

You blink, caught so off guard that you almost drop the pen in your hand. “Uh… yeah?” Your answer comes out as more of a question than a confirmation.

Her smile grows, as if your awkwardness amuses her. “Thought so. I’m Jiheon.” She leans in just slightly, resting one hand on the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your wariness kicks in. Jiheon—the Jiheon—is talking to you? Asking for your name? It feels like the kind of thing that only happens to other people. Your eyes flick briefly to Gyuri at the other end of the counter. She’s busy steaming milk, not even sparing a glance in Jiheon’s direction.

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, your voice steadier this time, though your thoughts are racing. “Uh, caramel macchiato?” You blurt the question out more out of instinct than anything else.

Her laugh is light, lilting, but there’s something playful in it, like she’s already decided you’re her new source of entertainment. “Hmm. Good guess,” she teases, tapping a finger against the counter. “Sure, I’ll have that. But I’m impressed you remembered. I didn’t think I was that predictable.”

You feel your face heat up, fumbling to punch her order into the register. “It’s not that, I just—uh—” You stop, realizing anything you say will just dig you deeper.

She watches you, clearly enjoying the way you stumble over your words. “Relax, Junho,” she says, her tone soft but undeniably amused. “I’m just messing with you.”

Handing her the receipt, you attempt a smile. “Coming right up.”

Instead of moving to find a seat, she lingers by the counter, her eyes drifting lazily around the café before landing back on you. “Nice place. Gyuri’s done a great job here, hasn’t she?”

Your gaze flicks to Gyuri again. Still busy. Still not looking this way. “Yeah, she has,” you reply, keeping your voice neutral.

Jiheon tilts her head, her smile still firmly in place. “You two seem close,” she muses, her tone light but probing. “Gyuri’s lucky to have someone like you helping her out.”

The way she says it makes you feel like she’s toying with you, testing your reaction. “I just do what I can,” you say cautiously.

Her eyes light up, as if you’ve said something particularly amusing. “I bet you do.” She straightens up and takes a step back. “Well, Junho, it’s been… enlightening.” Her smile takes on an almost cat-like quality. “Thanks for the drink. I’ll be around.”

As she walks away to find a seat, the tension in your shoulders eases, but her presence lingers like a shadow. You glance at Gyuri one last time, hoping for some kind of reaction, but she’s focused on the drinks in front of her, her usual calm smile in place.

And yet, for just a moment, you swear there’s something almost knowing in the way she glances at Jiheon’s retreating figure..

—

The bell above the door jingles as the last customer leaves, and you let out a long breath, leaning against the counter. The café feels different now—quiet, peaceful, but heavy with the lingering scent of coffee and pastries. It’s nighttime, and the warm glow of the overhead lights gives the empty space a cozy but slightly eerie feel.

“Good job today, Junho,” Gyuri says, flashing you one of her signature warm smiles as she locks the cash register.

“Thanks, Ms. Gyuri,” you reply, your voice softer than usual in the now-empty café.

After finishing up your closing duties—wiping down tables, stacking chairs, and sweeping the floors—you grab your jacket and step out into the cool night air. The streets are quieter now, with only a few scattered groups of students heading home. You adjust your backpack, your thoughts already drifting toward the comfort of your cramped boarding room.

As you turn a corner, someone bumps into you.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumble automatically, stepping back.

The girl doesn’t even glance up, her eyes glued to her phone. She’s wearing what looks like an e-sport jersey jacket, its bold colors contrasting with the dark street. Her brown hair catches the ambient glow of the streetlights, faintly shining as she moves past you. For a brief moment, her face is illuminated, and it’s enough to leave an impression.

She’s stunning.

Before you can fully process it, your impulse kicks in. You take a step forward, clearing your throat. “Hey, uh, I’m Junho...”

But she doesn’t respond. Her focus remains solely on the screen of her phone, and she keeps walking, oblivious to your presence.

You stand there for a second, feeling a bit foolish, then shake your head. The image of her lingers in your mind as she disappears into the night, leaving you with nothing but the quiet hum of the street.

When you finally reach your room, you fumble with your keys and push the door open. It’s as small and cramped as ever, but it’s yours. You toss your jacket onto the single chair by the desk, only to realize something’s missing. Your bag. You groan, running a hand through your hair. You must’ve left it at the café in your rush to leave. There’s no helping it—you’ll have to go back.

The walk feels longer this time, the quiet streets amplifying the sound of your footsteps. As you get closer, a strange unease settles in your chest. The air feels heavier, the streetlights casting elongated shadows that seem to move just out of sync with your steps. Your skin prickles, as if something unseen is watching.

When you reach the café, you notice something strange. Cars are parked outside. Not just any cars—luxury vehicles, sleek and expensive, the kind you’d expect to see in a high-end district, not outside a cozy student café. Their polished exteriors gleam under the soft glow of the streetlights, each one a testament to sophistication and taste.

Your gaze drifts across the lineup, catching details that feel oddly personal. A jet-black SUV, imposing and understated. A sapphire blue Porsche, sharp and vibrant, eerily luring you in. Your eyes stop briefly on a compact car that feels out of place among the giants—a Mini Cooper. Its emerald green paint shimmers, the kind of green that feels rich and alive, paired with racing stripes that speak of personality rather than pure extravagance. It’s less ostentatious but undeniably stylish, a subtle standout among its peers.

As you approach, an inexplicable resistance builds inside you, like a pressure against your chest. Your feet feel heavier, your thoughts fuzzier, and for a brief moment, you consider turning around. The café seems distant, almost unreal, like it’s shifting away even as you step closer. But you shake it off, forcing yourself forward.

You head to the backdoor, fishing out the spare key Gyuri gave you for emergencies. Pushing it open, you step into the staff area and spot your bag right where you left it. Relieved, you sling it over your shoulder and turn to leave.

That’s when you hear it.

The faint jingle of the front doorbell breaks the silence, followed by muffled voices.

You freeze. The café should be empty, but there’s a light seeping through the crack of the door leading to the main lobby. Slowly, you step closer, curiosity outweighing caution.

Peeking through the door, you see her.

She steps inside like she owns the air she breathes, her presence commanding yet effortless. Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back, perfectly straight, with sharp bangs framing her face. Under the glow of the café lights, her striking blue eyes seem almost unnatural, as if they were cut from the sky itself.

For a moment, her gaze sweeps the café, and then it lands directly on you.

Your heart skips a beat. You’re sure you’ve been caught—your face heats up, and you’re ready to stammer some excuse about being here after hours. But her expression doesn’t shift.

Her lips curl into a smile, slow and deliberate, as if she’s been waiting for this very moment. It’s the kind of smile that feels personal, like it holds a secret meant only for you.

But then, as quickly as her eyes found yours, they slid away.

It’s deliberate—you’re certain of that. She must have seen you. And yet, she acts as if you’re invisible, as if your presence is of no consequence. She turns, her hair sweeping behind her like a silk curtain, and addresses the others in the room.

From your hidden vantage point, you take in the scene.

The café, which should have been empty, is instead alive with movement. A group of women fills the space, each one radiating an aura of distinct confidence and beauty. They aren’t just sitting or lounging; they seem to command the room, transforming it into something that feels foreign, almost sacred.

“Chaeyoung,” one of the women calls out, her tone both teasing and sharp, “you’re late.”

Your eyes dart to the source of the voice, and your breath catches—it’s her. The same woman you bumped into earlier, the one engrossed in her phone. She’s still wearing that e-sport jersey jacket, looking as effortlessly confident as she had before.

“And Nagyung? You’re not late?” Chaeyoung fires back, her tone teasing, her smile sharper now.

The casual banter between them feels like watching something private, yet you can’t look away.

Your gaze shifts to the rest of the table. The initial shock of seeing Chaeyoung fades as you take in the others, each of them equally striking in their presence. You almost stumble backward when you spot familiar faces.

Gyuri, whose warmth you’ve come to rely on, sits with an unfamiliar coolness about her. Her brow is furrowed, a faint trace of annoyance crossing her usually gentle features. It sharpens her striking appearance, making her seem like someone you’ve never truly known. There's a tension in her posture that makes you feel like you're seeing a side of her that’s been hidden until now.

Seoyeon leans lazily toward the women beside her, her relaxed posture contrasting the air of composure around the table.

The woman Seoyeon is leaning into feels strangely familiar, as if you should recognize her. She matches the others in beauty, her jet-black hair framing a delicate face. A soft smile plays at her lips, radiating warmth and charm. With luminous skin and deep, expressive eyes, she exudes an effortless elegance that captivates without even trying.

And as if that weren’t enough to leave you reeling, on the other side of the table, you recognize Lee Saerom.

The Saerom. The top celebrity, known for her flawless visuals and commanding performances.

Sitting next to her is Song Hayoung, the famous songwriter and soloist whose music dominates every chart. 

They’re casually leaning into the conversation, as though their combined fame and aura aren’t enough to make this room the most exclusive place in the city.

“Is Jiwon not here yet?” Chaeyoung asks as she slips into a seat, her voice nonchalant, but her eyes scanning the room with interest.

The front doorbell jingles, and the door swings open.

“I’m here!!” a bright, piercing voice calls out.

Your head swivels toward the source, and there she is. Jiwon, bounding through the entrance like a whirlwind of energy, her grin lighting up the room before her words even have a chance.

“Jisun, did you bring food?” Jiwon’s question comes rapid-fire, her tone playful but undeniably demanding.

The woman Seoyeon was leaning into rose. She moves with calm precision, her composure stark against Jiwon’s lively presence.

"Of course, I brought food. Wouldn’t want you to starve." Jisun says, her voice soft but firm, as she produces a stack of containers seemingly out of nowhere. She places them on the table, the gesture practiced, as though she had been anticipating the request long before it was asked.

It hits you then. Roh Jisun. The world-famous chef. Known for her culinary brilliance and beauty. You've seen her multiple times before in magazines, tv, or online articles. You can hardly believe she's here, so close, exuding an effortless elegance.

“Can we finally get started? I still have to clean up after all of you,” Gyuri complained, her annoyance clear.

Now that the group had gathered, all eyes shifted to Saerom, who was waiting for their attention.

“Our youngest is losing control,” Saerom began.

“We all constantly are,” Nagyung shrugged off the concern.

“This isn't the same, you know that,” Saerom replied firmly.

“Don’t try to ignore these meetings, Nagyung. I’m losing millions just being here,” Jiwon said, flaunting her wealth.

“Must be nice having all those millions,” Hayoung remarked. While her gaze focuses on the only fork on the table, in the hands of Chaeyoung.

“You’re a millionaire too. Why are you eyeing my money?” Jiwon shot back defensively.

“Ahem!… Losing control?” Gyuri steered the conversation back on track.

Saerom, now commanding their full attention, spoke with purpose.

“We need to consider finally finding an anchor.”

“Then we’ll get an anchor. Meeting is done,” Soyeon said with a yawn, stretching.

Charyoung, still twirling the fork between her fingers, smirked. “Do we have to? I’ve been liking her attitude recently.”

“It’s time,” Saerom replied, her tone serious. “We can’t risk it. If deceit consumes her…”

“It will consume all of us,” Gyuri finished, her voice dark.

You stay frozen, trying to make sense of the conversation. Consume? Anchor? Deceit? The weight of their words sinks in, and though you know you should leave, something keeps you rooted to the spot. The truth behind their cryptic conversation is just out of reach.

Then, without warning, a soft voice whispered near your ear.

“Curiosity can be dangerous, you know.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, spinning around to find Jiheon standing inches away, her signature eye-smile curved upward in amusement. You’re certain she wasn’t there a second ago. How could she have gotten so close without making a sound?

“Wha—how—?” you stammer, instinctively taking a step back, only to hear the door creak open behind you.

Seoyeon, now fully awake, leans forward slightly, her drowsy facade giving way to genuine surprise. “How did he get here?” she asks, her voice carrying a rare edge of curiosity. Her eyes scan you, but it’s not just scrutiny—it’s disbelief, almost as if you’re some kind of anomaly.

“Who’s this?” Nagyung asks, clearly not remembering you.

“Junho,” Gyuri says softly, her voice now laced with concern and confusion. “How are you here?” Her warm demeanor has returned that almost makes you feel safe. Almost.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation, but Jiheon, ever calm, steps forward, her gaze fixed on you as if she’s reading your very thoughts.

“He overheard,” Jiheon says simply, her tone neither accusatory nor dismissive.

“Clearly” Jiwon crosses her arms, her lively energy dampened by suspicion. “Why did you let him through?”

Jiheon doesn’t answer. Instead, she steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between the two of you. Her eyes glint with an eerie amusement, her head tilting slightly as she examines you like a puzzle she’s just begun to piece together.

“Regardless of how,” Saerom says, her voice cutting through the murmurs and drawing every gaze. She rises slowly, her commanding presence quieting the room once more. “What matters is why. What did he hear?”

“I didn’t mean to listen!” you blurt out, your voice shaky as you raise your hands in defense. “I—I just came back for my bag, and then I heard voices, and—”

“And stopped to eavesdrop,” Chaeyoung interrupts, her voice playful but her eyes uncomfortably sharp.

“No! I mean—yes, but not like that!” you stammer, feeling the weight of their collective stares crushing you. “It’s not what you think! I swear I won’t tell anyone!”

Gyuri sighs, stepping closer. “Junho, you don’t understand. This... what you’ve heard... it’s not something you can just walk away from.”

“I don’t know how you got through the mist ” Jisun adds, her tone firm but not unkind. “But this isn’t something just anyone can know.”

“Maybe,” Chaeyoung says, her lips curving into a sly smile, “he’s not ‘just anyone.’”

“Enough.” Saerom’s single word silences the room, her authority undeniable. Her eyes pierce through you, weighing your very existence. “What’s done is done. The question now is what we do with him.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. “Wait!” you cry, your voice desperate. “I swear I won’t say anything! I don’t even understand what I heard! Just let me go, and I’ll forget everything!”

“That’s not how this works,”  Hayoung says from across the room, her voice carrying an edge as she’s now holding the fork she was eyeing earlier.

Jiheon smirks, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she takes another step closer. “Oh, Junho,” she purrs, her voice dripping with playful malice. “It’s not your fault, really. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She tilts her head, her smile widening. “But... well, it’s a little late for regrets, don’t you think?”

Her hand lifts, faint cyan light dancing at her fingertips, and you can’t tear your eyes away. The glow reflects in her eyes, making her look ethereal and otherworldly.

“Jiheon, stop!” Saerom’s voice cuts through, but Jiheon doesn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” Jiheon says lightly, her tone almost soothing as she looks at you. “I’m just helping him... rest a little.”

“Jiheon!” Saerom’s command comes sharper this time, but it’s already too late.

Jiheon’s fingers flick, the cyan light tracing an elegant pattern in the air. “Just a little nap,” she whispers, her voice lilting and playful.

The moment the light touches you, an overwhelming drowsiness washes over your body. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision darken, and Jiheon’s playful smile is the last thing you see as the world fades to black.

a/n: Before you move one the next chapter, can you guess who's who, with their pairing emotion?

(Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, Sloth, Deceit, and Apathy)

Next ->

[deadghosy]

can i have a headcanon for lucifer morningstar with elder sister! reader? I am just in desperate need for family stuff. Like elder sister! reader is nto weak and as powerful as lucifer (maybe a tiny bit stronger since th eboth of them are archangel).

Like elder sister!reader decided to follow her younger brother lucifer to hell by becoming a fallen angel too because she is very worried for him. (even knowing the punishment are brutal and harsh but she does not care) I would love if you make the dynamic between the two where reader is the more sterner, fiercer and scary one (like maybe she used to be a commander of an angel army before) and then lucifer is just a little guy who loves ducks (he can beat ass too lol) thanks for reading and i will appreciate a lot if you start writing my ideas! take care!

ELDER SISTER! READER X PLATONIC HAZBIN HOTEL

Prompt: You are the elder sister of Lucifer Morningstar who couldn’t help but fall down for your young brother.

Warning:: Episode 8 mentions

Your brother, Lucifer Morningstar fell because of his “differences” being called a “trouble maker.” And simply having different ideas. You were different from your former younger brother as you were stern and serious at all times. But when Lucifer went to court and got sent to his own creation. Your eyes widen with fear and shocked.

You didn’t want to question things at the moment. But as hours, days, weeks, months, and then a few years pass. You couldn’t help but had enough as you started to question Sera and her rules. You didn’t believe in this type of punishment your younger brother had. But you guessed it was enough to the point you fell too.

YEARS LATER

You live with Lucifer as he was happy to see you were alive and well. Immediately when you came by his palace with your wings spout out that looked like his. He was ecstatic. He jumped into your arms with silly smile. He always loved being in your arms as he was scared how you would think of him when he fell. But you?! He was confused.

He asked you as you told him what happened and Lucifer felt his heart melt seeing his older sister care for him that much. And he started to cry while you sigh with a smile not surprised at this. You gave him a napkin which he gladly took letting you in his home which is now your home.

After he calmed down he told you how he has a daughter but an ex wife. You raised a brow as he explains his relationship with Lilith. You guess it must brought him to depression as his eye were having bags. So you cheered him up with a few fireworks which made his eyes light up as if he was a child again.

You became the 2nd ruler of hell as you were the commander back in heaven. But not any more.

Lucifer tried to tell you how he tried to give “his” people freedom and they ruined it, but you didn’t care as you put a hand out signaling him to stop. Lucifer listened looking down.

“I do not care. They shall not use freedom this way. But don’t worry young brother.” You patted his shoulder. “I won’t be harsh.”

And indeed you weren’t harsh but you were strict around some of pentagram city. Sinners understand the assignment immediately and there were less crimes around.

HEADCANNONS:

You know that meme where a person and standing there calmly and the other person is going crazy and bouncing around?

Yeah that’s you and Lucifer…cause he was being hyper fixated about his ducks to you as you just stood there and smile softly.

That soft mother like smile of yours made Lucifer feel like home as he explains more to you.

Hell, when he would miss you he would make a small opera where you had joined him in hell and how you would fix him dinner or breakfast when he came home. Just like a normal human family.

If you were getting messed with, Lucifer is full on demon mode as you held him back by his white coat with a sigh. He knows you can protect yourself but damn. He sure can throw a mean punch at assholes.

You guys do hobbies together, like he would make ducks and you would do [hobby]. It was always a calm day

I headcannon Lucifer to follow behind you like a lost duckling while you walk around the palace doing your job. You’re taller than him obviously cause you are powerful. It’s an adorable sight though.

When Charlie heard that she had an aunt, and you were in hell too! She was amazed with stars in her eyes as she wanted to meet you immediately.

And so you did. You showed up at the hotel with an angelic smile as Alastor narrowed his eyes at you but still kept a smile. You hug Charlie as she hugged you back while jumping. Charlie starts to rant about her dreams and it made you realized how much she is Lucifer’s daughter as you smile down at her.

But then she tells you how the angels are going to attack the hotel and that made you sigh as you held a dark gaze.

You have just met your niece and no one shall harm her and her dreams.

It was basically giving, “I have just met Charlie and I would kill someone for her!”😭

So when the battle started unnoticed by you. Lucifer notified you about what’s happening as your eyes widen quickly with a flash. A red mist makes Lucifer coughs covering his nose. He had forgotten how quick you were at times.

As you fly down with heavy wings, Adam and lute over a force field. You let out a breath happy to see that the hotel was fine. Until Adam broke it as your eyes widen. You swoop in killing the Exorcists left and right.

As you kill Lucifer pops up seeing Adam tormenting his daughter, bringing out his protectiveness. He saved Charlie only for Adam to get up and berate them. You fly down gracefully holding a cold look.

“Woah, didn’t know sweet tits had fallen like her loser bro-”

Before he could say anything, a heavenly glowing light beams through him as Adam gasps on the floor holding his chest. Everything went silent as people were shocked at the one shot.

“That’s my sister, AND your aunt!” Lucifer says elbowing Charlie gently with a smug smile as Charlie is jaw dropped at how you can one shot someone.

Hopefully you liked it <33

[ozzgin]

What does Daos, the Romanian werewolf boy look like? What is his personality like? What was his childhood like and what made him want to be a warrior? Did his parents do some witchcraft or offerings to the gods to have a son so big and unnaturally strong? Why was he betrayed by his own people? May we get a story of how was like in battle before he became a werewolf? Love your OC!

Yandere!Werewolf Headcanons

I’m so glad the wolf boy is liked! I genuinely didn’t expect much when I wrote the story, but he’s definitely grown on me as I researched and expanded his lore. Here’s a little doodle of how I imagined him, plus a little background. I couldn’t think of any particular war story, but I came up with a funny reasoning for it instead.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, character info

Background. Daos came from a family of tarabostes, or cavalry nobles. While Dacian society was divided into priests, nobles and peasants, all of them were trained for battle. "A hand above the weapon, and another holding the plough" is how they were described. Much of their culture revolved around war. Thus, even as a child, Daos spent most of his time sparring. He'd always had a sturdy build: he was taller that most of his peers, could work for hours without breaks, and his wounds were quick to heal. He was sent to serve in the army before he even reached his teenage years.

Was there witchcraft involved? Not at all. Everyone seemed to agree, however, that such strength and tenacity were not a mere coincidence. Clearly this boy had been sent by Zalmoxis himself, perhaps as a reward for their relentless pursue for victory. Daos carried the flag of the wolf-headed dragon through countless battles.

Why was he the one to be sacrificed? Well, because he was the chosen one, naturally. What better messenger for the Heavens than the godsent gift itself? Daos absolutely despised his reputation as a blessing from above.

With you. In his human form, he is quiet and reserved. You suspect the blinding aggression of his werewolf self is reminiscent of days long gone. The fearless warrior who lived for bloodshed has fallen into slumber, only awakening under the guide of a full moon. You can only imagine what kind of battlegrounds required such boundless violence, as he speaks little of his barbaric past.

Maybe it’s too painful to remember, you assumed.

“Before I died, you mean?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, looking up from his book. “I didn’t think you’d be curious about it.”

“I didn’t want to intrude, and you never mention it”, you explain sheepishly.

“That’s…” he purses his lips, visibly uncomfortable. “I just assumed you’d find it boring. I’m an old man. I didn’t want to saddle you with embarrassing war stories.”

You watch as a deep blush spreads across his face.

“Oh my God”, you remark, baffled by the realization. “Is that why you never…you’re terrible at this.”

He gently pats his lap.

“Come here. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

[Main Story] | [More Monsters]

[tapakah0]

Okay! I don't know where you got the idea from and my best guess is that your brain is connected to mine via bluetooth but.

Me and Hoddie have a royal au and your animation made me think of it again.

Nothing crazy special, but...ah...I should probably give a little context yeah...hmm.

Uh, okay. There's a kingdom. whose king and queen have died, leaving behind several possible heirs who are not their direct children. Right now, the king's first general is sitting on the throne, because the power of the army is, you know, a pretty powerful argument in a fight for the throne, right? This creepy regent is Cass. And Cass came to power thanks to Hoddie, who's basically the king's heir too, but she's pretty distant and her chances of the throne are quite slim. This has made her a professional rat and back stabber. The whole palace is busy weaving intrigue and destroying each other in a competition for power. Contests in cunning and sneakiness. A maximally intellectually uncomfortable environment in general.

Until Hoddie finds the true heiress. The king's blood daughter, to whom the throne should rightfully belong.

Problem? The problem is that the heiress needs to be two years older to be old enough to rule. And Hoddie and Cass' goal is to make sure she lives to that age in an environment where every other person wants to frame or kill her.

That heiress is you, Tap. But we couldn't think of what you'd look like in this au ahaha.

MHHMMM I SEE ONCE IN A WHILE BRAIN BLUETOOTH IS A GOOD THING you left me a window for my part and I grabbed this opportunity with sharp teeth Since there was no mention of my part, I have the audacity to add my own version. Did I understand correctly that my existence as an heiress was not known? It would be strange if the king was not looking for me, if I was the only heir (by blood), which means they were hoping for a new child, or already had plans for an indirect heir, or wanted to hide me. What other power is there, besides the king and the army, that holds the common people? Church. The king could have sent me to be trained as a priestess in order to gain support from them (either I was not considered worthy of receiving the throne in the future, which is why they preferred to hide me, or the king so badly needed their support that he was ready to sacrifice his only blood daughter) . Thus, from a young age, the beauty of a non-existent world somewhere beyond the heavens was drummed into my head and, in general, “God speaks all our actions.” I have an inconspicuous appearance, a position above a simple servant, but such priests are usually considered to be the daughters of high nobles, but not the king himself, which is why not everyone could know who I really was. Thus, they forgot about my existence ~ After the death of the king and all the heirs, the church quickly realized what to do next, and crushed me to itself, hiding me from the world until I reached the age of succession to the throne. (But children could take the throne under a regent. Could Hoodi become my regent as one of the older contenders for the throne?) So, back to the turmoil. Hoodie found me at church. Since childhood, my worldview could have changed greatly under the influence of the church, so, well, you will have to hammer a lot into my head, in addition to the throne’s education (You know... it's bit complicated to make a human sona not as a stupid little ball XDD... it literally can't get a shape at this point... maybe you will place a real bunny as the new king? It will be eating cabbage 24/7 and everyone will be happy)

[smilesatdawnmain]

Taken Reverse Au (Wukong's Rage)

Since I’m taking my sweet time to get to this Moment in Taken- here, you can have an example for Taken Reverse~

——

There had been a split in the mountain. 

A split that had twisted the land and left it in shambles, spurred by the rage on a single individual. 

“Dad-” MK choked, struggling to keep his arm around his Father’s bicep, his feet digging into the floor below. He was dragged, leaning back a tad in hopes to give some leverage to stopping his father. “Dad, wait!” 

The King would hear no protest. Not when he knew. Not when he NOW knew. 

A confirmation with the Diyu, an admission from the man he considered his Brother, and he now knew. 

He did not have one son, but two. 

Twins. 

One of his cubs was at his side, feebly trying to stop him as he stormed into the sewers of Megopolis, his eyes a burning red. His cub. To know that there had been another this whole time, and held in the hands of- of Spiders. 

His eyes were aglow as he entered the sewers, the stench of decay and waste assaulting his nostrils. But the King paid it no mind. His focus was singular, his rage all-consuming.

"Dad, please!" MK pleaded again, his voice echoing off the damp walls. "You're not thinking straight!"

The King’s steps formed small cracks with each step. Not thinking straight? He’d never seen clearer in his life! MK’s brother—his twin—had been kept from them. From him! By those... those arachnids! By the damned Spider Queen!

Of course she knew! She must have! Nezha had-

God’s, his brother had confessed when Wukong pressed about it. In tears and on his knees he bowed before him, face against the ground. He admitted to his crimes.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry..!”

Wukong thought he was joking- a cruel and unfunny hole, until Nezha whimpered “There is a reason your son is always getting sick with no cause or explanation.”

It was twisted.

It was unlike Nezha.

Stealing his own child with the intent to kill, but being unable to go through with it, leaving him to the care of humans. That alone was enough to make Wukong’s legs tremble and his stomach lurch. It hurt.

Gods it hurt!

He did not kill Nezha where he stood. Somehow he stilled his hand. Somehow he stepped back, less he scream or cry, or do both.

But he couldn’t linger there another moment longer. Such feelings he would have to deal with later. He had to focus on what was infront of him.

His second child.

Nezha had lost track of the child, he explained. The glamor he had put on the cub to keep him safe in disguise had broken- and the child was lost to his senses until years later, when he emerged as the right hand of the Spider Queen.

Seeing how she was using his energies to power her army- he knew he had to take action. Knew it wouldn’t be long before Heaven realized too and would get to the cub long before Wukong could.

Spider Queen.

She had been using him. Manipulating him to steal for her. Do wrong for her. He had rushed home to let his Mate know, but Mihou was out at the time. He sent a clone to fetch his mate, but had found MK instead.

His Son was clutching the very enblem of the woman who had stolen from them.

When he demanded why MK had such a thing, he explained about his friend.

Xiaozhizhu.

That was the child’s name. Little Spider.

MK had seemed unaware, only stilling when his Father’s expression grew darker. The grounds around them shook from his unkempt rage- cracking until it spit right below their feet. Wukong had never had to reel in such rage in his life, and had ultimately failed to keep it in check before he was charging to the City, MK hot on his tail in a panicked confusion.

Terrified that somehow Xiaozhizhu had angered his Father to the point he was heading right there. “Dad-! He isn’t a bad person, I promise!” No, not at all! He was going down the wrong path, yes, but he could turn around! He was sweet and smart! Fun!

Lonely…

MK had been so close lately to convincing XiaoXiao to even join him on some heroing. To give it a try and see that there was so much good he could do with his powers! He had even been getting along better with Red Son and Mei- Who had agreed to try due to their friendship with MK.

MK also had been working on getting Xiaoxiao to visit the mountain soon- to see some Monkey heritage. Since the guy had never really even talked to other demon monkey’s before, MK had hoped this could help him reconnect with his roots- whatever those were.

The King's pace quickened, his footsteps echoing louder through the dank tunnels. MK stumbled, nearly losing his grip on his father's arm.

"Dad, please listen! Xiaoxiao isn't—" he paled as the tunnels began to change, shifting from sewers systems to a metal lined opened cave system. The Spider Queen’s domain. Spiders, small and creepy were scurrying off the walls at the sight of the two Monkeys.

MK shrieked, clinging to his Father now to keep pace with him. He hated Spiders!

The King's nostrils flared as the scent grew stronger. His eyes darted around, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of his lost son. It stunk of the Spider Queen in here.

"Show yourselves!" he growled, his voice reverberating off the metal walls. The King pressed on, his feet leaving scorched imprints on the floor. From the shadows, alarmed at the intruder, large Spider demons were dropping to the floor, their eyes gleaming green.

Despite their barred fangs and sharpened claws, their hands trembled. Never had they expected for the Monkey King himself to wander in unannounced. His eyes flared at the sight of them, a few recoiling. One, who MK recognized aa the Huntsman, growled back.

"You dare trespass in our domain, Monkey King?" the Huntsman snarled, his eight eyes narrowing. "Leave now, or face the consequences!"

The King's response was a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of the lair. Several of the spider demons scurried back, the Huntsman even stumbling. His eyes were wide, petrified.

MK's eyes darted between his father and the spiders, his heart racing. "Dad, please-“ he tried to smile, struggling, “We can talk about this.”

But the King was beyond reason. With a flick of his wrist, a gust of wind was surging through the area, his eyes golden and gleaming. The spider demons recoiled further, their bravado crumbling in the face of the Monkey King's unbridled fury.

"Where is he…?" The King's words were slow, deliberate, each syllable dripping with barely contained rage.

The Huntsman, despite his fear, stood his ground. "We don't know what you're talking about, Monkey King. Whoever you seek is not here—"

"LIAR!" The Monkey King's roar shook the cavern, causing loose rocks to rain down from above. MK ducked his head, leaning against his Father to avoid such things. The King’s tail easily lifted above his child’s skull, blocking any debris from grazing him. MK had never-

He was wheezing, staring at the chaos in quiet shock. He had read the books, heard the stories, but his Dad was- he was the Monkey King yes, but perhaps it was only know that he truly realize- He was the Monkey King.

The Huntsman was scurrying back, “I-I swear, I don’t-” he felt his life flashing before his eyes when the King stepped closer. A shadow over his expression, looking more beast then man or monkey. MK had let go of his arm then, standing limply behind him.

There was no strength in his fingers against such- such power.

As the Monkey King advanced, the air crackled with energy. The metal walls began to warp and bend under the pressure of his power. The spider demons cowered, their legs trembling beneath them.

"Dad..." MK's voice was barely a whisper, lost in the cacophony of his father's rage.

Suddenly, a new voice cut through the chaos. "What's going on here?"

All eyes turned to the source, many relieved to see their glorious Queen. Her hair was down, dressed in the comfortability of a silken robe.

“Our Queen!” the spiders chorused, rushing to hide behind her. She gave them a small frown, wishing her minions were just a tad more useful.

The Spider Queen's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene before her. The Monkey King, radiating power and fury, his son cowering behind him, and her minions trembling in fear. She straightened her posture, chin held high as she addressed the intruder.

"Well well well. Sun Wukong in the flesh," she said, her voice cool and collected. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this... unexpected visit?"

The Monkey King's eyes flashed dangerously. "You know why I'm here," he said coldly, taking a step towards her. The metal floor beneath his feet groaned.

The Spider Queen's lips curled into a smirk, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She batted her eyes lashes with the ease of someone who had nothing to fear. "I'm afraid I don't, dear Monkey King. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"My son," Wukong snarled, his voice reverberating through the cavern. "The child you stole from me. Where is he?"

For a moment, surprise flickered across the Spider Queen's face, quickly replaced by a mask of indifference. "Your son? I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. The only monkey child I know of that is yours is the one cowering behind you right now.” she gestured a finger to him. MK flinched at her gesture, his stomach dropping. His mind was reeling.

Son?

What was his Father talking about? The Spider Queen's words hung in the air, heavy with implications. MK's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of information. His father's rage, the mention of a stolen child, and now this denial from the Spider Queen—it was all too much to process.

"Don't play games with me, Princess," Wukong growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I am all for a good game, as you know, but this is not one of those times.” she walked around him, her steps measured, “The only child here that I could think of- is my own. MY little prince,” she touched her chest, a tad possessive in her tone.

The Monkey King's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "Your prince?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "You dare claim him as your own?"

The Spider Queen's smirk only widened. "Of course I do. He IS mine. I raised him, nurtured him, named him. He is mine in every way that matters."

MK's eyes widened. Xiaoxiao-?

No… No wait wait, that didn’t make sense. What were these two talking about. Xiaozhizhu was a monkey yes but he- he wasn’t…

He was the spitting image of his Baba.

His eyes, his smile-

MK felt sick suddenly, teetering to keep upright.

Xiaoxiao was his other half. Why was that? Why did he have this connection to a Monkey he had no blood relation to? Unless… there was a relation?

The Monkey King's fury reached a fever pitch. The metal walls of the cavern began to groan and buckle under the pressure of his power. "You lie!" he roared, his voice shaking the very foundations of the lair. "He is my son, my blood! You had no right to take him!"

The Spider Queen's composure faltered for a moment, her eyes darting to the trembling walls. She took a step back, her voice losing some of its earlier confidence. "I... I didn't take anyone, Monkey King. The child came to me, lost and alone.” a fire sparked in her eyes. Of course, when the glamor had been removed from his neck to reveal his true self- it took only a single examination of his soul by a trusted Doctor to trace the power back to one “Liu’er Mihou”.

The mate of Sun Wukong, the Monkey King. It took very little to piece it together. Though, even after all these years, the Spider Queen had yet to understand why things were this way.

Why the child was abandoned.

Why the King would toss away his heir.

When she realized he had another, one far more powerful and physically capable then Xiaozhizhu, she could only assume they kept the strong and tossed away the weak. A weak link she would gladly take as her own for future profit.

Only now did she consider something else far beyond her control had occurred during this all. A third party at work. Not that it mattered.

The Monkey King's eyes flashed with a mixture of pain and rage. "Lost and alone?" he snarled, his voice cracking slightly. "Because he was taken from us!"

MK's head was spinning. The implications of what he was hearing were staggering. Xiaoxiao... his friend, the boy he'd been trying so hard to steer towards a better path... was his brother? His twin?

The Spider Queen's eyes narrowed, "Taken? I was under the impression he was... discarded." She sneered.

Wukong lunged for her. She quickly ducked to the right, grimacing as he tore the wall behind her asunder.

The Spider Queen's words held in the air, heavy and poisonous. MK felt his breath catch in his throat, his eyes darting between his father and the arachnid monarch.

"Discarded?" Wukong's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried more venom than any shout. "You dare suggest I would abandon my own child?!"

The Spider Queen's eyes narrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Then explain, Monkey King, why your son was alone, lost, and without any trace of your protection when I found him." she stood, tossing her hair over her shoulder. ‘I am the one who nursed him to health when he fell ill. I am the one who he clung to when he took his first steps. That child knows nothing but these walls.” she gave a little tilt of her head. "I am his everything.” she held her arms out. “And you? You are nothing to that boy. And sugar~” she smirked, “He’s been quite useful.”

The Monkey King's fury reached a new height, his golden eyes blazing with an otherworldly light. The very air around him crackled with energy, causing the spider demons to cower further back.

"You..." Wukong's voice crackling with venom. "You took advantage of my son's vulnerability. You twisted him, used him for your own gain. You KNEW he was mine and you used that!"

The Spider Queen's smirk sharpened. "I gave him purpose, direction. Something you clearly failed to do."

“Watch your words!” he stepped closer.

“Or what?” she challenged. “You don’t seem to get it, do you? Do you?” she sneered. That child was her little Prince, her greatest thief, and her greatest assets for more than one reason.

To him, the “Monkey King’ was a stranger. Anything he even dared to do- it would not be met with understanding like one of his own kin.

And she was going to use this kid for every drop he was worth. His essence already powered so much of her machines. Even if he lacked in the power his Father had, it was more than enough.

He was so similar to his Baba after all.

Blindly loyal. And horribly naive.

A silly boy… but still her’s. And she wasn’t just hanging him over.

The Monkey King's eyes flashed dangerously, his fists clenched at his sides. "You underestimate the bond between father and son," he growled. "No matter what lies you've fed him, blood calls to blood. He will know me."

The Spider Queen laughed, a cold, mocking sound that echoed through the cavern. "Oh, you poor, deluded monkey. Do you really think he'll welcome you with open arms? No~ He’s Mine now.” she spat at his feet, “And you are never getting him back.”

The Monkey King's rage exploded. With a primal roar, he lunged at the Spider Queen, his fist connecting with the metal wall where her head had been a split second before. The impact sent shockwaves through the entire lair, causing chunks of debris to rain down from above.

She grunted, spinning to the side and zipping into the air using a web. As the area delved in chaos, MK screamed.

"Dad, stop! Please!" He cried out, his voice barely audible over the chaos. This wasn’t the way to do this!! But his father was beyond reason, consumed by a fury unlike anything MK had ever witnessed.

Wukong was right on her heels. The Spider Queen's eyes widened in alarm as she realized the true extent of the Monkey King's power. She swung frantically from web to web, barely staying ahead of his furious attacks. The lair shook violently with each missed blow, metal twisting and crumpling like paper.

"Where is he?!" Wukong roared, his voice echoing through the caverns. "Tell me where my son is!"

MK watched in horror as his father tore through the lair, leaving destruction in his wake. The spider demons scattered in panic, fleeing deeper into the tunnels.

There were sparks of gold- the King moving faster then most eyes could follow. In an eruption of sparks he and the Queen were slamming against the ground, his hand wrapped around her throat.

The Spider Queen gasped for air, her eyes wide with genuine fear as the Monkey King's grip tightened around her throat. The metal floor beneath them buckled and warped, creating a crater around their impact point.

"I'll ask you one last time," Wukong growled, his voice low and dangerous, his other hand reeled back to deliver a final blow, "Where. Is. My. Son?"

The Queen clawed at his hand, her voice barely a whisper. "I... don't... know..." That wasn’t a lie. He was out at the moment. The child had been disappearing on a whim more and more- of course at the most inopportune times.

“Not good enough!” The King- The Monster, tightened his grip, feeling bones threatening to give way below him.

He would have crushed her throat had it not been for a piercing shriek behind him. His boy, MK, was pleading, "Dad, stop!" MK screamed, his voice cracking with desperation. "You're going to kill her!"

The Monkey King froze, his fist mere inches from the Spider Queen's face. For a moment, the only sound in the cavern was the Queen's ragged breathing and the distant echo of falling debris.

Slowly, Wukong turned his head to look at his son. MK stood there, tears streaming down his face, his body trembling. "Please, Dad," he whispered, "This isn't you. This isn't right." he couldn’t recognize this man in front of him. Where was his Father at? Where had his hero gone? Who was this that he was looking in the eye right now?

The Monkey King's eyes flickered, a hint of recognition breaking through the haze of rage. His grip on the Spider Queen's throat loosened slightly, but he didn't release her entirely.

"Xiaotian..." he breathed, his voice hoarse and unfamiliar.

MK took a tentative step forward, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "Dad, I know you're hurting. I know you're angry. But this... this isn't the way." He swallowed hard, fighting back more tears. "What would Baba say if he saw you like this?"

What would Mihou say?

Would he be right here with him, ready to end this woman’s life, or would he be uncaring for such poultry demons? Would his entire focus be on just finding their lost child- while avoiding traumatizing their little star?

The Monkey King's grip loosened further, his eyes losing some of their dangerous glow. The mention of his mate seemed to pierce through the fog of rage, bringing him back to himself. He looked down at the Spider Queen, still gasping for air beneath him, then back at MK's tear-streaked face.

"Xiaotian," Wukong said again, his voice softer now, tinted with regret. Opening his mouth to say more, a strange sensation came to his hand- a sharp sucking sensation, loosening his grip to the Spider Queen.

He whipped back to her, finding her form dropping into the very ground below. His eyes were wide, knowing such a trick anywhere. How could he not?

The shadows….

Was his Moon here? Had his clone found Mihou and drawn his mate here?

It was enough questions for him to hesitate long enough for the portal to close and the Queen to be gone from his judgement.

The shadows yes… but something was different about. Frowning and confused, he heard MK

“Xiaoxiao-” he was choking.

Wukong turned sharply back to his son, but the boy was not looking at him anymore. His tear stained face was angled at the side tunnel, wide.

Wukong followed MK's gaze to the side tunnel, his heart skipping a beat. There, partially hidden in the shadows, stood a young monkey demon. His fur was a rich light golden color, his eyes a familiar shade of amber. He was thin and wiry, dressed in dark clothes that blended with the shadows. A small spider emblem glinted on his chest.

By the gods, he was beautiful. His face was Mihou’s in every way- his eyes, his eyes brows, that little dimple on his cheek- the mark on his face.

This was him.

This was his boy.

The Child’s eyes were wide, his extended hand lowering a tad to show it had been him who has summoned the shadow just now, whisking away the Queen- his Mother, to safety.As he took in the scene before him - the destroyed lair, destroyed home, the cowering spider demons, and the imposing figure of the Monkey King- he inhaled sharply.

"Xiaoxiao," MK whispered, taking a hesitant step towards his friend - his brother.

The Monkey King's breath caught in his throat. Time seemed to stand still as he gazed upon the son. Emotions warred within him - joy, sorrow, regret, and a fierce, protective love that threatened to overwhelm him.

Then the cub spoke it was a sharp hissing sound that made him jolt, “What have you done?”

The Monkey King's heart clenched at the accusation in his son's voice. He took a tentative step forward, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture. "It’s you-," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

The child’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and confusion flashing across his face. He took a step back, his tail wrapping protectively around his leg. "Stay back!" Xiaozhizhu hissed, his voice trembling. He raised his hands defensively, dark energy swirling around his fingertips. His home- everything was destroyed…

His eyes kept flickering to MK. Why was he here?? Why was he just standing there and letting this happen?

The Monkey King's face fell, pain etching deep lines around his eyes. His ears flattened, the mighty King from a moment ago falling into a small and delicate whimper. “I-It’s- it’s hard to explain but-” he looked this boy up and down. His lower lip was trembling. This was his baby.

His knees were buckling.

Gods- what was he- he doing? How did he look to his child right now?

MK was blubbering, his eyes wide with panic as he felt the sharp sensations from his other half. The pain, the fear- the accusational anger that was growing, “X-Xiaoxiao wait, please. Let me explain,” he stammered, rushing to take his hand.

Xiaozhizhu flinched away from MK's outstretched hand, his eyes narrowing. MK made a sharp whimpering sound, his quivering at how sharp that denial felt to his chest. "Explain? Explain what? Why you're here with... with him?" He gestured sharply at the Monkey King, his voice rising. "Why my home is in ruins?"

The Monkey King took another hesitant step forward, his voice soft and pleading. "Please, son. I know this must be confusing, but if you'll just listen—"

"What did you just call me?!" Xiaozhizhu snapped, dark energy crackling around his hands. “I ain’t no “SON” of yours??”

Wukong opened and closed his mouth, speechless. “I…” he choked. He didn’t know how to explain. He didn’t know where to start. He felt such fear but such- he was dazed. This boy was as beautiful as MK was. With them standing side by side he could see it- same nose. Same way they carried themselves.

"Xiaoxiao, please," MK pleaded, his voice cracking. "I know this looks bad, but you have to listen. He's... he's our father."

Xiaozhizhu's eyes widened, then narrowed dangerously. "What are you talking about? I don't have a father. I have a mother, and you—" he glared at the Monkey King, "—just tried to kill her!" if he hadn’t come when he had she might have been- He couldn’t bare to think it. She wasn’t exactly Mom of the year, but she was still his Mom. He would have nothing without her.

The Monkey King flinched as if struck. "No, that's not... I didn't mean to..." he trailed off.

Xiaozhizhu's eyes flashed with anger. "You didn't mean to?! Look around you!" He gestured wildly at the destruction surrounding them. "You tore apart my home! You attacked my family!"

The Monkey King took a shaky step forward, his hands outstretched pleadingly. "Please, you have to understand. We're your-“ his voice was small, “- family. You were taken from us when you were just a baby. I am your Father,” the words came out groggy and pained. He put his hand to his chest, eyes so wide and pooling with guilt and joy.

Xiaozhizhu shook his head vehemently, backing away. What the FUCK where these people on right now? When MK tried to grab his hand again he slashed at him. “Don’t touch me!!”

MK recoiled, Xiaozhizhu flinching to realize he had almost struck him. His other half…

N-No he didn’t want that but-

This was too much. They weren’t making sense. His emotions- and then MK’s- it was jumbled. It was overflowing and making it hard to breathe. He wanted it to stop.

It was suffocating!

“Stop talking-” he wanted to cover his ears.

"Xiaoxiao, please!" MK cried out, his voice desperate. "I know this is a lot, but it's true. We're brothers - twins!"

Xiaozhizhu's eyes darted between MK and the Monkey King, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. This couldn't be happening. It had to be some kind of trick, some elaborate scheme. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "No, you're lying.” his hands shot up to his ears, his chest heaving with panicked breaths. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of nightmare.

The Monkey King took another step forward, his eyes brimming with tears. "Son, please. I know this is hard to believe, but—"

"I said STOP!" Xiaozhizhu screamed, dark energy exploding outward from his body. The force of it sent MK and the Monkey King stumbling backward, debris swirling around them.

Xiaozhizhu's eyes glowed with an eerie purple light, his fur standing on end. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I want no part of it!" His voice echoed. He hand lashed out, and the two were sent skidding a few more feet. MK clawed at the floor to keep himself rooted there.

The Monkey King's eyes widened in a mixture of awe and concern. His son's power was raw, untamed, and tinged with something dark. It reminded him painfully of his own rages from centuries past. He had Mihou’s energy, his shadows…

“I-I’m sorry-” he stammered. Gods. Centuries past? No… no he was still making those mistakes here and now.

Chunks of metal and rock lifted from the ground, orbiting him like a chaotic asteroid field. His eyes, now glowing an intense purple, fixed on the Monkey King. "You destroyed everything," he snarled, his voice distorted and echoing. “You’ll pay for this, Monkey King.” his firey gaze locked on MK. Hurt and rage swirling together. “Monkey Kid,”

He was stepping back, to the shadows behind him. MK yelped and pleaded, rushing to stop him from leaving. “No no, Xiaozhizhu-!”

The shadows swirled around Xiaozhizhu, enveloping him in darkness. MK lunged forward, his hand outstretched, but he was too late. His fingers grasped at empty air as his brother vanished into the void.

"No!" MK cried, falling to his knees. He pounded his fists against the ground, tears streaming down his face. "Xiaoxiao, come back!"

The Monkey King stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the spot where his long-lost son had disappeared. The weight of what had just transpired crashed down upon him.

MK was sobbing, grasping at the empty wall. His sobs echoed through the destroyed lair, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his forehead against the cold metal. The Monkey King stood motionless behind him, his face a mask of shock and grief. He fell to his knees, cursing himself

What had he done..?

Suddenly, the shadows on the wall began to ripple and shift. MK's head snapped up, his tear-filled eyes widening with hope. "Xiaoxiao?" he whispered.

A figure emerged from the darkness then, but it wasn't Xiaozhizhu. Instead, a tall, slender monkey demon stepped out, smelling of sweet plums and home. The Six Eared Macaque.

MK openly wailed at the sight of him, rushing to toss himself into his Baba’s arms. “Baba…!” At once Macaque was drawn to the sounds of his baby’s tears, his arms wrapping around MK. He soothed the child against him.

“I’m here, Moon Drop.” He did not know what had transpired as his Son melted against his arms and openly cried, but he was here now. It had been… quite the trip here after Wukong’s clone arrived. Speaking things that couldn’t possibly be true.

Yet here he stood, in the Spider Queen’s domain, with nothing but a sobbing child, the ruins of a lair, and his husband flat on his knees, looking like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. No spiders in sight. No Queen snickering.

And no lost child…

“…I got here too late, it seems,” he whispered quietly. So he held MK instead, focusing on him to fix one little piece at a time.

————

BOOM

Take this! This is just- it was in my brain and I needed an outlet! I got no clue where this au is going but for those who are curious, 🧐 I gift it to you.

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[deservedgrace]

one of the cult scholars i listen to said "most children are not being raised to die" months ago and i still think "being raised to die" sums up growing up in fundamentalist christianity so well.

my friends and i didn't know if we would grow up to be adults. we would have conversations about wanting the chance to be an adult and knew we were """selfish""" for wanting to live if it wasn't in god's plan. we were raised to believe that we would either be killed for being a christian (in the us no less) or that jesus was coming soon (rapture/end times theology). we knew it was "sinful" to want something outside of god's plan but we couldn't help ourselves.

we were members of the lord's army. we were to obey orders and lay down our life if necessary. "this life is just a test" they'd say. "our real life is our eternal life with the lord." none of this is real, it's just a test. if you pass, you get into heaven. if you fail, you're sent to eternal damnation and hellfire. this is an open book test, we've been given all the answers already. if you fail, it's your own fault.

being raised to die means that your future doesn't matter. jesus is coming soon. jesus is what matters. "set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. for you died, and your life is hidden with christ in god."

i've been out for years. i'm in my late 20's. i still don't know how to set my mind on earthly things. i still struggle to believe i have a future.

[novaursa]

Legacy (daybreak)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: There is one more chapter left after this, where everything will be concluded.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (for blood, gore, violence and death)

- Previous part: the last enemy

- Next chapter: shadow of war

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The world was burning.

And yet, the cold only grew stronger.

The battle raged, an ocean of bodies moving, clashing, and falling, the steel of men barely holding against the endless tide of the dead. Viserion’s wings strained against the weight of the sky, her armor battered, her flames a relentless answer to the creeping dark. You fought, you burned, and still, it was not enough.

In the chaos below, Tywin’s forces waged a desperate war, their banners flickering like dying embers in a storm. Every strike, every kill, meant nothing—for every wight that fell, three more took its place. Their jaws snapped, their fingers clawed, their empty blue eyes never wavering.

And then, a new sound pierced the night.

The horns.

They came like the rolling of thunder. A deep, resounding echo that sent a ripple through both the living and the dead.

Tywin turned, his golden lion helm smeared with blackened blood, his sword glistening under the dim torchlight as he cut another wight down. He heard it before he saw them.

And then—the cavalry crested the hill.

A wall of green and gold, the banners of Highgarden snapping against the wind, the Tyrell rose standing tall and defiant. At their head, golden lions rode beside them, banners of the Crownlands trailing in their wake.

Lady Olenna had stayed true to her word.

And now, as the Tyrell forces crashed into the battlefield, swords and lances striking through the dead like a storm of vengeance, it was clear that they had come to honor that oath.

But even despite this, even with this new, unexpected surge of aid, the dead were relentless.

“TO THE GATES! HOLD THE LINE!” Tywin roared, his voice carrying over the sound of screaming and steel, his horse rearing beneath him as his sword clashed against the decaying flesh of another wight.

He saw Beric struggling beside him, his flaming sword cutting through the air, the light it cast almost swallowed by the darkness that surrounded them. The Brotherhood Without Banners fought with fire and fury, but even they knew—this was a losing war.

“We cannot hold forever!” one of Tywin’s knights shouted, struggling against a wight that had latched onto him. The thing’s fingers dug into his armor, its jaw snapping at his throat.

Tywin swung his sword without hesitation, cutting the creature down before turning his gaze back to the sky.

And there—above them, the war still raged in the heavens.

You and the Night King were still locked in battle, your dragon and his locked in a death spiral, their roars shaking the very ground beneath them.

You felt the frost creeping in, the air around you thick with an unnatural cold that even Viserion’s fire could not burn away.

You knew it.

You could feel it.

This was not a war of armies, of swords and men. This was a war of gods.

A war of the living and the dead.

And in the end—only one would stand.

But first, you had to survive.

“HOLD THE GATES! PROTECT THE ROCK!” Tywin’s command rang through the battlefield once more, his grip tightening around his sword as he cut down another wight.

And he pressed forward, Beric beside him, cutting a path through the dead, pushing closer—closer—to the fight that only you could win.

The world was a blur of ice, wind, and flame.

Viserion’s roar was a sound of pain and fury, as her wings fought against the air, desperate to keep aloft. But the Night King and his beast were relentless—they circled like vultures, pressing harder and harder, forcing you into a losing battle.

You barely had a moment to breathe before the Night King struck again.

His icy spear whistled through the air, missing by a fraction, but the force of its passage sent a shockwave through the sky, disorienting Viserion. The she-dragon staggered mid-flight, her wings folding for the briefest moment, and then—

The fall began.

Your stomach lurched as the sky spun around you. Wind tore at your hair, frost clung to your lashes, the world tilting violently as Viserion’s great form plummeted downward. You felt your body slam against the saddle, the leather straps biting into your arms, but it wasn’t enough to keep you steady. The pain in your abdomen flared—a sharp, stabbing sensation that momentarily stole your breath.

The child.

The thought flashed through your mind, urgent and unrelenting, but there was no time to process it.

The ground was rushing up to meet you.

Viserion let out a bone-shaking screech, her wings desperately flaring at the last second to slow their descent, but it wasn’t enough to stop the impact entirely.

The force of the landing rippled through the earth, sending a wave of debris and snow outward like an explosion. The shockwave of it cracked the ice, sent the bodies of wights tumbling backward, but they were undeterred.

They came.

Like a tidal wave of decay, they surged toward you, endless and without hesitation.

You gasped for breath, your hands trembling as you fumbled with the saddle’s bindings. Your muscles ached, your body screaming from the impact, but none of that mattered. Viserion needed you, your childen needed you, and Tywin—

No.

You had no time for fear.

Viserion was already pushing herself up, her eyes ablaze with fury, her flames already burning the closest of the dead. A dozen of them turned to ash in an instant, but more came, and more, and more—a ceaseless tide, unending and unstoppable.

You forced yourself free of the saddle, hitting the frozen earth with a stumble, every part of you burning from the pain. You could feel the damp warmth seeping beneath your armor, but you didn’t have time to check if it was your blood or something worse.

A wight lurched toward you, mouth gaping open, its frozen fingers already reaching—

You swung your sword before you could think, the Valyrian steel cutting through it like parchment, sending its head rolling across the snow. The moment the blade struck, a ripple of energy vibrated through the air, an unnatural shriek piercing through the wind. The sword—it had some power over them.

Good.

Because you needed every advantage you could get.

Another came. Then another.

Viserion roared beside you, her tail sweeping through the crowd, crushing the bodies of the dead like brittle twigs. But there were too many.

Even with her fire, even with your blade, they would overwhelm you.

You gritted your teeth, bracing yourself, already prepared to die before you let them take you, before you let them touch your unborn child—

And then—

Fire.

Not blue. Not cold.

But red, molten, blazing.

The world erupted in heat, the bodies of the dead igniting like dry tinder, their shrieks almost human in their agony. A wall of flame seared through the battlefield, a raging inferno tearing through the endless ranks of wights—

And above, a monstrous black shape cut through the sky.

Drogon.

And then another.

Rhaegal.

You barely had time to process what was happening before a second roar split the heavens, and a figure in black and red armor descended from the skies—

Daenerys Targaryen.

Her white-gold hair was wild in the wind, her eyes locked onto yours as Drogon dove toward the Night King, his flames bursting forth in a torrent of destruction.

"Sister!"

Her voice barely reached you through the chaos, but you heard it.

And for the first time in this war, you had something you never expected to have again.

Hope.

Tywin Lannister had seen war. He had fought, bled, and won battles where other men had faltered. He had crushed rebellions, toppled kingdoms, and ensured House Lannister’s rule through sheer will and calculation. He had always believed that war was fought with discipline, strategy, and an iron hand—that men won battles, not beasts.

And yet, this was not war.

This was something else.

The air stank of burning flesh and death, a suffocating mix of frost and flame. The screams of the dying and the shrieks of the dead melded together into an eerie, unholy symphony. The battlefield had become a nightmare, a frozen graveyard where men fought against something they could not understand, something they were never meant to fight.

And through it all, Tywin saw her.

He saw Viserion fall, saw his wife and her dragon collide with the frozen earth, saw the wights swarm toward her like locusts, their rotting hands reaching, grasping, hungry.

His body moved before his mind could catch up.

"To me!" he roared, the command cutting through the chaos like a whip. His men, battered and bloodied, rallied around him, forming a wedge as they pushed toward her.

Toward his wife.

His fingers tightened around his sword, its blade already slick with the black ichor of the dead. He cut down one wight, then another, his strokes precise and unforgiving, his footfalls sure despite the slick blood coating the ground.

They were coming for her.

And he would not allow it.

"Push forward!" Beric bellowed at his side, cutting through another wight with the force of a man who refused to die here. "We break through, or we die trying!"

Tywin said nothing—his fury was his only response.

The dead crashed against them like a relentless tide, but Tywin pressed onward, cutting, slashing, hacking through flesh and bone, his armor splattered with the filth of the creatures he cut down. A wight lunged for him—he turned, driving his blade through its skull with a vicious twist.

And then he saw it—

Flame.

Not Viserion's.

Not blue.

But deep red and gold—a torrent of dragonfire sweeping through the ranks of the dead, incinerating them in an instant.

And above—

A black beast with outstretched wings, its roar shaking the heavens, its fire consuming everything in its path.

And atop it—

A Targaryen.

Daenerys.

For a split second, Tywin almost faltered.

Almost.

But then, the battle pulled him back.

He moved faster, stronger, driven by the singular thought that she was still down there.

And he would not lose her.

Jon Snow saw her fall.

And for a moment, the world froze around him.

It was as though everything else vanished—the sounds of battle, the cries of his men, the weight of the cold.

All he could see was her dragon plummeting, her body strapped to the saddle, the force of impact sending ice and snow flying into the air.

For the first time in a long, long time, he felt like that boy again—the one who had grown up beneath her watchful gaze, the one who had always found solace in her presence, the one who had once clung to her when the world felt too cruel.

He thought he had lost her once.

He would not lose her again.

"With me!" he barked, shoving his way through the battlefield, Longclaw singing through the dark, severing limbs, splitting skulls. Wights pushed against him from all sides, but he did not stop. He could not stop.

"Jon!" Davos shouted somewhere behind him. "We can't—"

"I have to!" Jon snarled, rage and desperation merging into one.

The wights came faster, more frenzied. A massive creature—pale, skeletal, its limbs elongated and grotesque—lurched toward him, its jagged fingers reaching for his throat.

Jon dodged left, ducked under its swing, and drove Longclaw through its chest. The blade burned white-hot, the creature shrieked, its body collapsing into blackened ash.

And still—there were more.

He could see Viserion fighting, the she-dragon's golden armor glinting through the fire and the frost, her flames turning the night into day.

And he saw her.

She was off the saddle now, her sword cutting through the dead, her body half-shrouded in smoke and blood.

She was alive.

But she was not safe.

Not yet.

Jon tried to move faster, but the dead were unrelenting, and then—

A new shadow covered the battlefield.

A blackened beast with glowing, ice-blue eyes.

The Night King’s dragon.

The coldness of its wings sent a wave of frost through the battlefield, freezing men where they stood, their bodies turning to shattered ice upon impact.

Jon barely had time to react before Daenerys arrived—

Drogon descended from the sky, fire surging from his maw, his golden-red flames clashing against the Night King’s freezing storm.

A battle of flame and frost erupted above, the two dragons locked in a war as ancient as time itself.

And somewhere beneath them, Jon kept fighting.

Because she was still out there.

And he would not stop until he reached her.

The cold was no longer something external—it had seeped into your bones, into your very core, an unrelenting chill that gnawed at you like the fangs of the dead.

Viserion’s agonized shriek split the sky, but you barely heard it over the roaring in your ears, over the wheezing gasps forcing their way through your throat as you swung your sword again and again, the Valyrian steel carving through rotting flesh, severing limbs, cutting down anything that moved.

But they kept coming.

The wights pushed forward, an endless tide of death, clawing, gnashing, snarling.

Your strength was failing.

A shadow loomed—a wight taller than the rest, its skin gray-blue, its lips peeled back in a permanent snarl. Its fingers were long, its nails blackened and jagged, razor-sharp.

It lunged.

You raised the sword, but too late.

The dagger plunged into your side, just beneath your ribs—a sharp, white-hot agony piercing through your flesh, sliding deep, deep, deep—

Your lungs seized.

A wretched, choking sound left your lips as the pain spread outward, as if ice itself was being poured into your chest.

Viserion’s shriek became a sound of pure, primal terror.

The dragon raged, fire and fury, her tail sweeping through the horde, her claws tearing through flesh and bone. The dead were thrown from you, scattered like broken dolls, but the damage was already done.

You staggered, a hand pressing against your wound, feeling the warmth of your own blood seeping between your fingers. Each breath burned, each movement sent agony lancing through your chest.

Another wight lunged—you hacked it down, but your grip on the sword was weak, the strength in your arms waning.

More were coming.

The world was spinning.

Your vision blurred, the battlefield warping into indistinct shapes—fire and ice, black and gold, death and war, everything blending together in a violent, chaotic haze.

And then—

Somewhere in the distance, a voice—low, commanding, desperate.

A voice you knew.

A voice that once ruled kingdoms, crushed enemies, and shaped the fate of Westeros.

"Get to her!"

Tywin.

He had seen.

Through the chaos, through the storm of fire and death, he had seen you fall.

And now—he was coming.

But too late.

The dead were already upon you again.

You tried to lift your sword, but your arm felt so heavy, your breath so thin, the blood so warm against the ice-cold armor clinging to your skin.

The edges of your vision darkened.

Your knees buckled.

And then—

The world tilted.

You fell.

The sky above blurred—the roaring flames, the glowing blue eyes, the glint of Viserion’s armor—everything spun, twisted, faded.

And in the distance—

Tywin Lannister, golden and bloodstained, cutting his way toward you, his face a mask of something you had never seen before.

Something that almost looked like fear.

The battlefield was a nightmare of frost and fire, but Tywin Lannister had never felt the cold until now.

His sword was slick with blood, his breath ragged, his armor battered and dented, but none of it mattered. Not now.

All he could see—all he could hear—was you.

You lay crumpled in the snow, your form barely distinguishable among the bodies of the dead. Viserion loomed behind you, snarling, fire dripping from her fanged maw, but even the great dragon seemed hesitant—as if sensing the battle had already taken its toll.

Tywin cut down the last wight in his path, not even flinching when its severed head landed at his feet. His hands ached, his muscles burned, but he refused to stop. Not now.

A ghoul lunged from the side, its frostbitten fingers clawed and blackened—but before it could reach him, Beric’s flaming sword carved through its spine, sending its body crumbling into ash.

“Go!” Beric barked, shoving another wight off his own blade. “Go to her! We will hold them!”

Tywin did not hesitate.

The moment Beric and his men formed a wall around him, he ran.

He was a man of measured steps, of calculated movements, but now—he ran.

Each second felt like an eternity, his heart pounding against his ribs, his breath short, his mind drowning in one singular thought:

Get to you. Get to you. Get to you.

You were barely moving, your body shuddering with each breath, your hand trembling against your wound.

A shadow loomed behind you.

Tywin’s rage burned hotter than dragonfire.

The last of the wights—a monstrous thing with sunken eyes and a gaping mouth, its fingers like frozen knives—was reaching for you, skeletal hands outstretched, the cold mist of its breath curling through the air.

A mistake.

Tywin did not slow, did not hesitate.

With a roar that shook the air, he drove his sword through the creature’s throat, the force of the blow sending them both to the ground.

Pain exploded through his side—the wight had managed to rake its claws against his ribs before its body finally gave out.

Tywin gritted his teeth against the pain, barely registering the blood that now seeped through his armor, staining the golden lion embossed on his breastplate.

He turned, his gaze snapping back to you.

You were still struggling to breathe, your lips parted in ragged gasps, blood staining the snow beneath you. Your hand was still clamped over the wound in your side, but your strength was failing.

For a moment—just a moment—Tywin Lannister forgot there was a battle at all.

The chaos around him blurred—the sounds of clashing steel, of roaring dragons, of men screaming as the dead cut them down—all of it faded.

There was only you.

He took a step forward—then another.

And then—something shifted.

The battlefield grew still.

The shrieks of the dead turned to silence.

And then—as if commanded by some unseen force—they began to retreat.

Tywin’s breath hitched.

All around him, the creatures were pulling away, stumbling back like shadows fleeing from fire. Their eerie, soulless eyes still glowed in the darkness, but they no longer attacked.

One by one, they turned.

And then, as swiftly as they had come—they were gone.

The silence that followed was deafening.

For the first time since this battle began, the sky above was not filled with the endless wails of the dead.

The battlefield was littered with corpses—bodies frozen mid-struggle, the remains of fallen men tangled with those of the creatures who had cut them down.

But Tywin didn’t care about any of them.

His legs nearly buckled as he rushed forward, finally reaching your side.

He dropped to his knees, his bloodied hand reaching out, his palm hovering over your cheek, your throat, your chest— anywhere to feel if you were still breathing.

You were.

Barely.

Your lashes fluttered, your gaze glassy, your breaths shallow—but you were still here.

For how long—Tywin did not know.

And for the first time in his entire life, Tywin Lannister did not know what to do.

Daenerys gripped Drogon’s saddle tightly, her silver hair whipping wildly in the wind, her breath misting in the bitter cold as the great black dragon twisted through the sky. Below her, the battlefield burned and froze in equal measure, the land torn apart by the war between the living and the dead.

The Night King was relentless.

His ice dragon was a beast of death, wreathed in frost and darkness, his hollow blue eyes unfeeling as he spewed forth his unnatural breath.

Drogon barely evaded the onslaught.

The frozen flames grazed the edge of his wing, and a sound of pain rumbled from the great dragon’s throat.

“Burn him!” Daenerys commanded, her voice cutting through the storm.

Drogon roared in defiance, his body coiling mid-air before he released a torrent of flame hotter than any forge.

The golden-red inferno engulfed the Night King and his dragon.

For a heartbeat—just a heartbeat—she thought it was over.

But then—he emerged.

Unscathed.

Untouched.

The fire parted around him, as if bending to his will, his expression as calm and unmoved as ever.

“No...” Daenerys whispered, her heart hammering in her chest.

Drogon snarled, beating his wings harder, preparing another blast—

But something changed.

The air itself shifted.

The raging snowstorm began to thin.

The howling winds began to quiet.

The endless black sky—the eternal night that had swallowed the sun for years—began to waver.

Daenerys’s breath hitched.

She looked down.

The battle was still raging below, but something was wrong.

The dead had been winning.

Their numbers were endless. The living were breaking, their forces crumbling beneath the ceaseless tide.

And yet—they stopped.

As if some unseen command had been given, the wights paused mid-attack.

Even those locked in combat froze in place, their milky eyes lifting as if awaiting further instruction.

And then—they turned.

They began to retreat.

Daenerys’s stomach twisted.

“What is this?” she hissed.

It was then she saw him.

The Night King.

He was watching her.

From across the battlefield, astride his monstrous ice dragon, he met her gaze—and for the first time, he smiled.

A slow, knowing, mocking smile.

A cold chill ran down Daenerys’s spine.

And then—he turned as well.

Without warning, he and his dragon rose higher into the sky, their wings beating the air with unnatural grace, their forms slipping into the mist.

The storm followed him.

The swirling blizzard, the veil of endless night, the crushing cold—it all moved with him.

The battlefield, once entombed in unnatural darkness, was suddenly revealed under a sickly gray sky.

The dead were still there, still dangerous, but they were no longer the storm.

They had been abandoned.

“No!”

Daenerys urged Drogon forward, the great beast thrusting into the air, his massive wings carrying them after the retreating figure.

Rhaegal followed close behind, his emerald scales flashing as he roared in pursuit.

The Night King and his mount were vanishing into the horizon, swallowed by the veil of retreating shadows.

Daenerys pushed Drogon harder, willing him to close the distance.

But then—they were gone.

Like ghosts into the mist, the Night King had vanished.

Daenerys hovered mid-air, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, her mind reeling.

The dead had been winning.

Why retreat?

Why now?

The battle was still raging below, but the master of this army—he had left.

Something was very, very wrong.

The world was quiet.

The clash of steel, the roars of dragons, the screams of dying men—all of it had faded into a distant echo, drowned beneath the steady, shallow gasps of the woman in his arms.

Tywin Lannister had never felt so powerless.

Kneeling in the bloodied snow, his fingers trembled as they held onto you, his strength failing him as his own wound sapped his life away. He couldn’t stop the bleeding. He couldn’t stop the shaking. He couldn’t stop the inevitability of this moment.

Your breath hitched, a weak, gasping sound escaping your lips as your body spasmed in his arms.

Tywin’s grip tightened.

“Breathe.” His voice, once so unyielding, now broke under the weight of fear. “You need to breathe.”

But you were struggling.

Your fingers clawed weakly at his cloak, your nails scraping against the golden lion embroidered into the fabric, as if trying to anchor yourself to him—to this world.

“Not fair,” you murmured hoarsely, your voice barely audible. Your lips were so pale, your skin so cold.

Tywin swallowed, his throat tight and raw. He could feel his body weakening, his own blood seeping into the frozen ground beneath him, but he refused to falter. Not now. Not yet.

“No, it’s not,” he admitted, his voice breaking for the first time in years. His green eyes burned as he stared down at you, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. “We deserved more time.”

The words felt hollow.

Because he knew—you both knew—that no matter how much time the gods had given, it would never have been enough.

You choked, your body convulsing again, your breathing growing more labored with each passing second.

Tywin’s heart hammered painfully. He wanted to do something—anything. But there was nothing left to do.

“I don’t—” You gasped, your fingers clutching his tunic desperately as your vision blurred. “I don’t want to go.”

Tywin’s breath hitched.

He didn’t know how to fix this.

You were dying in his arms, and all of his power, all of his wealth, all of his cunning—none of it mattered.

You shuddered violently, your body wracked with another wave of pain, and then—

Your hand trembled as it moved.

Slowly, painfully, you guided his hand to your abdomen.

Tywin’s breath stilled.

His palm pressed lightly against the slight curve of your belly, where his child grew inside you.

His chest tightened.

The world around him blurred, his mind unable to comprehend—unable to accept—what was happening.

“You—” His voice faltered, raw emotion bleeding through the words.

You offered him a small, weak smile, your fingers barely curling over his wrist.

His gaze snapped up to Viserion.

The she-dragon was watching, her eyes gleaming with something ancient and knowing. Her great wings were tucked close, her cream scales glistening under the dim glow of the dying torches.

And then—she nodded.

Tywin’s throat closed.

There was no time.

A shadow moved in the distance.

He turned his head, his vision blurring with exhaustion as he saw the approaching figures—Jon Snow and his men.

Jon’s expression shifted immediately as his grey eyes fell upon you, his face paling as he realized what was happening.

He wasn’t fast enough.

None of them were.

Because in the next breath—

Viserion opened her maw.

And golden fire engulfed the world.

The fire burned bright and unrelenting, consuming everything—flesh, steel, and soul alike.

Jon Snow stood motionless, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps as the flames raged before him. The morning sun had begun to rise, its first light blending into the inferno, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked battlefield.

Tywin Lannister and the woman who raised him—his mother in all but blood—were gone.

Burned together, as one.

Jon’s knees nearly buckled beneath him, his body wracked with exhaustion, his mind reeling from what he had just witnessed. It felt impossible, unreal, as if the gods had played some cruel trick upon them all.

But the proof was there—the fire, the ash, the silence that followed.

He had fought in countless battles. He had seen men gutted, torn apart, turned into something monstrous—but nothing, nothing had prepared him for this.

"Jon."

A voice—soft, weary—called his name.

Davos.

The old knight placed a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, as if he knew that Jon was about to break.

And he was.

Because this wasn’t just a loss—it was a theft.

The last piece of warmth in his life was ripped away from him before he could even say goodbye.

Before he could tell her that he still needed her.

His throat burned. His chest ached.

And then, he heard it—

"Something is not right."

Beric Dondarrion’s voice cut through the haze, clear with unease. He turned to Thoros, his one good eye narrowing, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

Thoros of Myr did not answer immediately. He stood with his gaze fixed upon the horizon, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

And then—

A thunder of hooves.

Kevan Lannister rode toward them, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pulled his horse to a halt. His men—wounded, exhausted, bloodied—followed behind him.

"Lord Kevan—?" Davos began, but the Lannister lord cut him off.

His voice shook.

"There’s been an incident."

Jon turned, something cold settling in his gut.

Kevan looked as if he was struggling to form the words, his usual composure shattered beneath the weight of what he had to say.

"Maelor is gone."

The words hit like a blade to the chest.

Jon’s heart stopped.

"What?" Thoros whispered, stepping forward, his face paling.

"Barristan…" Kevan swallowed, his jaw clenching. "Barristan died protecting Damon."

A heavy silence fell over them.

Beric turned to Kevan, his voice grim. "And the boy?"

Kevan’s gaze flickered to the ground, but he nodded. "Damon is alive."

Thoros closed his eyes as if piecing something together. When he finally spoke, his words sent a chill through them all.

"They have what they came for."

Jon felt his blood turn to ice.

Thoros looked to the fire, his expression dark. "The Others didn’t come to conquer Westeros. Not yet." His hands clenched into fists. "They came for Maelor."

The realization settled over them like a storm.

The Long Night had ended—but only because the dead had what they wanted.

Jon felt his hands shaking.

The price they paid—his mother, Tywin, Barristan, thousands of men, thousands of lives—and yet it wasn’t over.

Not truly.

The war was not won.

It had only just begun.

But Jon couldn’t think about that yet.

His knees finally gave out, and he collapsed beside the fire, his hands digging into the frozen earth as the weight of his grief crushed him.

Davos knelt beside him, silent but steady, offering a presence that Jon could barely register.

Behind them, the surviving Northerners and Westermen stood in grim silence.

Tormund muttered something under his breath. Others turned their faces away, unable to look at the flames any longer.

But Jon—he couldn't look away.

The fire had consumed the only mother he ever knew.

And the sun had finally risen.

[lonelychicago]

no but i can't stop about eddie finding queering the map and being overwhelmed by the amount of stories that resonate with him.

it starts with buck, because of course it does.

buck comes into the station one day, rambling about this site he found online. he's still figuring out bisexuality for himself and has been going down a rabbit hole ever since, reading endless articles and reddit stories and experiences told from so many people.

and something about it, about this particular site, catches eddie's attention. he really can't stop thinking about it, wondering if people from el paso would have any of those pins. if anyone from the place he grew up in, was raised in, ever felt like him.

he can't stop wondering if maybe he was never as alone as he thought he was.

when he gets home, he decides to look for himself— it takes him a while. there's too many black pins and he doesn't quite know how to navigate the huge map on his screen. it takes him a few minutes to get the hang of it.

but when he does— oh, when he does.

right there in el paso, people from the same streets he once rode his bike in, are sharing his experiences. fellow soldiers in the same base eddie trained at.

eddie reads these sacred, secret little messages and feels his heart expand more and more with every each one of them.

some of them makes him laugh and chuckle, teary eyed but amused, like "even the army has gays," and "from one gay cowboy to another."

others, nake him falter. make his bretah hitch inside his chest. make something beautiful and fragile and orecious uncurl from the deepest depths of his soul. make him feel seen in a way he isn't sure he's quite ready to.

messages like— "you're not the only one," and "you'll be okay." "the heaven the people from this town speak of, is not a heaven i wanna be sent to." "i should've told him when i had the chance." "stuck in a warzone, thinking about how i wasted so much time and now i might not make it home to him."

messages that hit a little too close to home. from soldiers still in the closet, struggling to accept themselves and living a lie.

messages from dumb teenagers, scared of the future— just like eddie had been once.

messages from people braver than he ever could be, sharing the stories of how they came out to their families and moved across the country to be able to live their truest selves.

eddie spends hours and hours just reading post after post, goingbthrough as many lins as he can and drinking them in as a dying, thirsting man in the middle of the driest desert. he reads until the light from the comouter makes his head hurt and his eyes burn everytime he blinks.

at the end, before closing the tab, he decides to put on his own note.

📍not sure if I'll ever be ready to say it out loud, but I love him. i'm too late. I've lost my chance. this changes nothing, my heart is still in his hands.

he clicks on add and feels the tiniest amount of weight lifting from his shoulders.

[leighsartworks216]

All This And Heaven Too

Demon!Sylus x gn!Angel!Reader

Based on this post

Title from "All This And Heaven Too" by Florence and the Machine

This fic possessed me and would not let me go until I wrote it tonight (which is bad cuz I'm sick). Very very very vague spoilers for the end of Sylus's story

Also I'm not religious and I do not smoke but the vibes, y'all, I simply had to (I looked up a wikihow for smoking)

Warnings: heavy angst, angels + demons au, major character death, unhappy ending, hurt no comfort, blood, injury, crying, kissing, drugs + smoking, underage smoking, pet names, religious imagery + symbolism, swearing

Word Count: 2,557

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You sigh as you feel the oh so familiar sensation of a cigarette being shoved into your halo’s golden glow. There’s an inhale behind you, and the sensation is gone. Sure enough, when you turn around, the demon stands proudly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Thanks, angel,” the demon, Sylus, purrs. The smoke blows into your face and you fan it away with your hand. He chuckles. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Well, it’s only been 3 centuries. How much was I supposed to change in that time?”

He studies you lazily, tilting his head and taking another drag. He settles down on a low stone wall, worn on the edges and covered in old paint. “Not interested in small talk today, angel?”

You cross your arms defensively over your chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you this on-edge around him. “I don’t know how you can think about anything else.” You look at the people passing by.

Teens in helmets and knee pads rolling past on boards or skates, others with no protective gear at all trying to pull off complicated flips and tricks. A couple sat under a curved wall, passing a blunt back and forth. Sylus had teased you relentlessly the first time he came across you in a place like this. Watching all these young souls take up vices so early in their lives, put their bodies on the line and break bones for a bit of fun. You didn’t notice the drugs and alcohol as much nowadays. You just saw the smiles.

“All of this will be gone in just a few days… Doesn’t that…” You glance at him. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

A kid walks up to Sylus, gesturing with his messily rolled up joint for a light. Sylus presses the end of his cigarette to the end without a word. The revolting stench of marijuana filled the air as the kid walked away. “Why should it?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘Heavens above, it’s a terrible tragedy! The horror of it all!’”

“I could smite you right now. One less demon for Hell’s army would be no loss to us.”

“But it would be to you.” He sighs, scanning the skatepark. A melancholy settles in his expression. “I suppose I will miss it. Humans know the best ways to have a good time.”

You hum. “I did always enjoy their weddings.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of lust, greed, and pride.”

“I know.”

You glance at the spot beside him. He holds the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes off his leather jacket and lays it across the stone. You perch primly on it with a nod of thanks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. You stare at it with a grimace.

“This could be your last chance to try it,” he cajoles. “I promise you won’t get sent to Hell for a little thing like this.”

You glance at his face. Piercing red eyes stare at you, but you know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Not anymore, anyway.

You begin to reach for it but he pulls it just out of your reach. He holds the butt end to your lips, but you look at him with that sweet little look of innocence, utterly helpless.

“Shall I demonstrate first?” He puts it between his lips, the corners curled up into a devilish grin. The ashes on the end trail a little further down the paper as he inhales the tobacco smoke. He takes it out of his mouth, pauses for a second, and blows it out, away from your face this time. He holds it back to your lips. “Don’t do too much. I want this to be a good experience for you.”

“Your temptations are hardly enticing,” you scold, but there’s no venom behind it. You carefully put your lips around the filter, where his were just seconds ago, and suck in. You can’t help watching his face as you do, searching for instructions through his expressions. He nods just slightly and you pull away, holding it in for a moment like he did, and exhaling.

He brings it back to his lips. “Well?”

You scowl as you try to get the taste out of your mouth. “How do you like that?”

“Oh, angel. People don’t like the taste - not really, anyway. It’s the chemicals that trick you into thinking you need it, pulling you to it over and over again.” He leans in. His eyes gleam. “Addiction.”

“Hmph. Should I try to find something pure for you to try now?”

He shakes his head. “I already know what the holy experience is like. I’m just fine not going back to it for a second.”

A drugged-up teenager with no protective gear goes down the old wooden half-pipe. It’s been in disrepair for years. The local governments don’t care at all about trying to keep anything here in good upkeep; they haven’t for decades. His wheel catches on a broken board and sends him flying. His body scrapes against splinters and bent nails, tearing at his clothing and flesh. To add insult to injury, his skateboard goes up the other side and comes right down on his head. You can tell even from a distance that he’s broken something. He lays there for a while, groaning.

Sylus isn’t surprised when an ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, despite nobody having called for their services.

“Do you know where you’ll be stationed?” you ask. You try to seem cool-headed about the thought of going into war, but there’s a waver in your voice that he catches as easily as recognizing a lie.

“Linkon City. On the frontlines.” He passes the nearly-gone cigarette back over when he sees your hands fidget restlessly with the hem of his jacket. “What about you?”

You take it from him with inexperienced fingers, but you don’t cough this time either as you take a slightly deeper draw from it. He could almost say he’s proud, if he ignored the omen of a smoking angel.

“The same for me.”

He takes the spent cigarette from you and puts it out against a spray painted yellow smile. “So I’ll see you there, then.”

You watch the ambulance pull away with the kid on a stretcher in the back.

Sylus stands up. It’s only when he gestures to his jacket that you follow, stepping away so he can retrieve it and put it on. It’s a hot summer day, but even dressed in all black and leather, he says it’s too cold. If Hell wins… you wonder if you’ll understand what he means, then.

“If we fight each other-”

“Why do you sound so upset about it, angel?”

You take a deep breath. Your golden eyes, blessed by the light of God, stare at him with a deep seriousness. “If we fight each other, we can’t hold back. You know that, right?”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“I… I won’t hold back.”

He nods.

“Not even for you.”

He nods again. “I know, angel.”

You nod, settling that promise into your brain. Your frown hasn’t faltered at all.

“For what it’s worth…” Red eyes look at you with no waver in confidence, but that melancholy hasn’t faded yet. “Of all the angels I could have had the displeasure of knowing, I’m glad it was you.”

-

The city was a husk of its former self. Where once people walked to and fro, going to work or the movies or the arcade, demons and angels fought in a holy war. It was chaos at every turn. Armies donned in white and black, fighting tooth and nail to win.

You had your orders. They were easy to follow: kill any demon in sight. You prayed for God to end this war before it could begin. You prayed for the final days leading up to it for this to never come to pass. You prayed until someone ripped your hands apart and shoved a sword into them.

If your body functioned like a normal human’s, you would have been panting, gasping for air as you stole through a wrecked lobby and into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Your body would have ached from exhaustion, and you think a normal human would have fallen unconscious by now.

Your body does not function that way.

Your breaths are even as you turn in a slow circle, watching for any intruders. The fight rages on mere feet away, but in here you can almost forget.

A tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches overhand a small, tiered garden. Flowers decorate the wooden boxes, spilling out over the sides from care and dedication. You gently lift one of the hanging blossoms and bend down to smell it.

Something sharp touches your neck.

You’re frozen in place. Caught off guard, staring at the flower, memorizing it so that when the killing blow comes, it is the last thing you see. The last meaningful reminder of the humans’ blessed existence.

“Hello, angel.”

You turn your head so sharply you almost cut yourself on his blade. Relief and dread swell in you all at once, a miasma of discontent. Sylus grins at you as relaxed as ever and lowers the black sword to his side.

A hollow breeze swishes his hair across his forehead. The longer strands catch in his eye, but he doesn’t brush them away. The horns on his head are sharper, crueller than usual; as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.

The golden glow of your halo highlights the planes of his face.

“Don’t hold back, remember?” he says. “Don’t lose that conviction on me now.”

Your hand shakes as you tighten your grip on your sword. You raise it in front of you. The sharpened point raised to the heavens, a symbol of your devotion. You swallow. “I won’t.”

He mirrors your position, the end of his sword aimed for the hells below. His hands are steady. He nods. That damned grin widens on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, angel.”

Sylus attacks first. He has to. You’re paralyzed, unable to make the first offensive move. You defend instead, blocking and parrying his every move. The tree stands watch. A silent aegis to your battle.

He cuts your right cheek, and you jump away to collect yourself. The pain feels too real. How is this the natural end of the world? How can your God sit idly by and witness you crossing blades with the one creature across the Heavens, Hells and Earth whom you called friend? What merciful God would want this?

Blood drips slowly down your jaw from the small wound. Sylus paces around you like a wolf hunting wounded prey. You know he will destroy you.

You take a breath and raise your sword again. Your hand does not shake.

You strike first, reigniting the fight he lit.

It’s grueling. Neither of you dares to give in now. Hesitating would be to die. And not only did neither of you want to die, neither of you wanted to kill the other. It’s a battle built to be a stalemate. A war never meant to be won.

At least, you wish it was.

Both hands grab the hilt of your sword, holding it steady. Sylus grabs the blade.

He chuckles. It’s weak. Strained. His eyes match the blood pouring from his chest as he looks up at you. He falls to his knees. You follow.

“Well done, angel.” He wheezes, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he hunches over your blade. The sides dig into his hand, slicing his palm and fingers. “You… You won.”

All at once, the reality of the situation hits you.

“No…” You support your sword with one hand as you scramble on your knees to be closer. You grab his shoulder, sitting him up so you can see where you’ve impaled him. You let go of the sword to rest both hands on his chest on either side of the wound. “No, no, no, no, don’t- You can’t-”

Golden light shines in your hands, but black and red tendrils block your healing. You try harder, until the light blinds you, but the demonic powers within him refuse to relent. Sylus watches you with soft eyes and a grin.

“Angel,” he mumbles. You grunt in frustration as you press harder against the wound. His hand slides off the blade and covers yours. You’re panting from exertion as you finally meet his eyes. “I think… I think I wanna try somethin’ holy now… You got anything in mind?”

The glow fades. The darkness fades. You cradle the back of his head with a blood-soaked hand. It stains his hair. Your other hand grips his like a lifeline, squeezing blood from the cuts there. He doesn’t stop you.

“Something holy?” You search his face, wracking your brain for any ideas. “Okay… Okay, I can do that.”

You begin stroking his hair tenderly, scratching at his scalp, scraping sweat, blood and oil under your nails. He sighs, head resting heavily into your care. His eyes are half closed. He forces them to stay open.

You scoot yourself closer, until your knees are touching his. You lift his head up and bring your lips to his forehead. This close, you listen to every breath he takes. Every rasp and groan he exhales. You pull away reluctantly, ducking your head down so your forehead rests over your lingering kiss.

“How’s-” You clear your throat after your voice cracks. “How’s that?”

“Isn’t kissing… a sin…?”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not.”

He hums quietly. “You ever… kiss anyone… angel?”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head again. “No, I haven’t.”

“Shall I… demonstrate…?”

“I’d like that.”

He abandons his sword on the ground beside him. It clatters against the carefully laid brick of the courtyard. His hand is agonizingly slow to find your cheek. His palm is cold. His thumb strokes the cut he gave you.

“C’mere… angel.”

You follow his weak guidance as he tilts your chin, pulling your lips to his. His lips barely move. You press against them a little harder.

His hand slips from your cheek, knuckles scraping over the bricks and jostling his sword. You pull away.

His eyes are hollow. Red irises staring into nothingness.

“Sylus…?” His head lolls in your hand when you try to adjust. “Sylus, please-” Your eyes fill with water. “Please, it’s not funny. I don’t need your tricks right now. Please-”

You let go of his wounded hand to hold his face with both hands. Blood from your touch stains his cheeks. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.

“Please, I- I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you…”

He doesn’t respond.

You press your forehead to his again, leaning over his body as gravity stakes its claim on him. Your tears land on his face, falling down his cheekbones and jaw as if he was the one crying, not you.

“Please… Please…” You kiss his cold lips. “Please…”

Nobody hears your prayers.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

[halfway-house-in-hell]

vaggie valtiel redesign!!

(two alternate versions of her angelic weapon)

+ramblings under cut

-valtiel is a fallen angel who fell from heaven around the 1950s. she was heaven-born and enlisted in the angelic "army" (the one that mainly focuses in killing demons) and was an active member she failed to kill a demon she had been assigned, resulting in the death of an angel, and she was kicked out and stripped of her angelic status(including wings and also eye i guess) (i dont really have too specific of a reason why she was kicked out might change it later but all that matters is she was forcibly exiled to hell).

-she managed to sneak an angelic weapon with her to hell before she was exiled (maybw there was a trial which gave her time to prepare?? im still figuring this shit out)

-initially she was extremely distrustful of the demons, and lied about being a sinner sent to hell as she did not want to attract attention to herself (being a fallen angel in hell will guarantee you a reputation) but she began to open up when she met charlie.

-she is very closed off and a very stubborn person. after falling from heaven she took an oath to become a pacifist, something she will inevitably have to break.

-her loyalty lies first and foremost in the hotel. despite being rejected by heaven she still believes that it is a better fate and that charlie's plan is ultimately helpful

-charlie is the only person she can really open up to. they just click. when they met valtiel was hostile towards charlie, but her optimism made valtiel realise that demons weren't inherently evil and gave her hope for the future

-charlie does not know valtiel is a fallen angel

-valtiel does not plan to tell her

-charlie finds out anyways

-it starts with valtiels spear that she is forced to use to protect charlie (maybe its like,, demons often try and kidnap or harm charlie as they wish to threaten lucifer/lilith and she is an easy target)

-"hey where did you get that angelic weapon v"

-"dont worry abt it kitten"

-"ok❤️ yay❤️ wanna cover it over so it doesnt draw attention to you"

-i dont know exactly how charlie finds out valtiel is a fallen angel but i will have it soon

-if im pretending this is an animated show jtst like the real version then comedy would come from how edgy valtiel is all of the time deviantart oc ass girl (affectionate)

-her design went through the most changes since i drew it up originally she had white shorts and no red ribbons (i had to add the red from her canon design back in bc the purple was too much. v*vsiepop redesign improved by adding the red back in ..... truly shocking)

- i really hope this is all readable

[cntloup]

dammit i can't stay away😩🤦‍♀️

part 2

he's been a regular in the local cafe where you work.

it's been about two years since he moved into town.

he mostly keeps to himself, highly secretive and avoids small talk like the plague.

you thought you had to torture him to even get his first name out of him.

"come on! at least tell me your name!" you asked, curiosity bubbling up inside you.

"simon." he muttered under his breath.

"there we go! that wasn't so hard now, was it simon?!" you said with a light chuckle, receiving a low scoff in turn.

he didn't even tell you he's in the military. you figured it out by the dog tags dangling around his neck, occasionally peeking through his shirt.

(not that you were staring at his chest👀💀)

and you brought it up once, "you in the military?" you asked with curiosity, thinking to yourself that you have finally found a subject he's interested in.

"yeah." he replied in a flat tone and took a sip of his bourbon. maybe you thought wrong.

"so? what's it like?" you coaxed him into a conversation only for him to pull away even further, only giving one-word answers.

"brutal." he responded in his usual monotone voice.

you notice the thoughtful look etched on his face, "that bad? how do you cope?" you asked to further the conversation.

also actually curious since you've known some distant relatives who were in the army and didn't take it well.

"you learn to live with it." he said and that was the end of that conversation.

though, you pat yourself on the back for this new achievement. that was the longest conversation you've had!

he occasionally makes snarky remarks about annoying customers or the game playing on the tv which make you chuckle.

his humor is dark and deadpan which adds to the already bleak and cold aura he carries.

sometimes he keeps you company at the backdoor where you take your smoke breaks.

he lights the cigarette and takes a drag as you stare longingly, gods he's so handsome!

he holds the cig to your lips and you come back to reality before he realizes you've zoned out.

you spend some time together like this, in a peaceful silence, with no expectations, just enjoying each other's presence.

hours turn into days, days turn into months as the fondness in your heart grows and grows...

until one day you conjure up the courage to finally ask him out.

seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours and there's no sign of him.

that's odd...

he must have been sent on a deployment, you think.

so you decide to keep your heart concealed for a little bit longer... or even longer...