#infernal family au

[adrielrook]

AndVic sketches cause they live in my head rent free and always come back 💌

[wizisbored]

No upper limit you say…?

🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁🎁

woe 20 wips upon ye

And besides, there’s no evidence she owns a dragon herself, so if she did try anything some sparking and flapping should be enough to freak her out. Lydia watches as she turns to her head to the side, and then another figure appears at the window. And again, they observe. Just a thoroughly normal pair of humans, as far as Lydia can tell. Her attention is wandering away again before long.

///

A stick shifts, sending up a spray of sparks as it collapses. How long does it take plants to grow those sticks, she wonders? It’s gotta be a long time. A whole long time growing and one night in flames.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” the boss offers.

“Yeah. Pretty.”

///

Lydia tilts her head back, doing her best to take advantage of the little gap between the fabric and her nose, but it’s not much more than a sliver of light. The demon nudges her elbow, prompting her to stand. She gladly hauls herself back onto her feet.

Being led blind is still terrifying. She tries to move carefully, in no way trusting the demons’ lead, but that just gets her hit.

///

She charges at the dog, who evades her with an infuriating air of joyful whimsy, tail wagging as he bounces away.

“You can’t run forever! I swear, if you’ve made a hole in that mitten I’ll make a new one out of your ears!”

He stops and bows at her again, and when she attempts to snatch the mitten from him he scrambles backwards. Not to be deterred though she lunges after him and grabs at him again, and this time snags the thumb.

///

“Well, it is at two-thirty at night, and this is why. There’s some valuable cultural knowledge for you. Now can you put me down, please?”

Dangling from his claws, lacking that fancy dress, the kit looks even smaller and more childlike than she did in daylight. “You’ve got a whole lot of attitude for such a tiny kitten,” he informs her.

///

 a moment they just sit side by side on the edge of the bed, and then Lydia lays back with a sigh.

“It all just really sucks, doesn’t it?” she mumbles.

“A bit, yeah,” Skye agrees.

///

“We should have known, really,” Beetlejuice says as he paces the room. “With a name like Beetlejuice. Should have expected it was me.”

“Your name is Beetlejuice because you’re shit at pronouncing stars,” Lydia can’t help but remind him.“Yeah, but like- what if it was fate, or something?"

///

It takes some persuasion for her limbs to unfold themselves out of her hiding place, but it’s never felt so good to stretch her wings. With shaking fingers she strips off her sodden outer layers, wrings them out as best she can, and stuffs them back into her bag. Maybe they’re ruined, but maybe they’ll dry out and be fine. The blanket, though, she decides to abandon. It’s filthy, and as much as she tries to squeeze out the rainwater it’s still far heavier than it used to be.

///

“Oh, no way. ‘Cause I feel like, if I start claiming things, it stops being real street art in some way? Like, I know some people would just hate it ‘cause they hate me but there’s also quite a few people who would say ‘oh this vandalism is okay because it’s by Nimona, I like this vandalism,’ and that’s just gonna cheapen it. Like, claiming it cheapens it because it gives it a defence. Takes some of the bite off it, you know?”

///

“Chuck, I’ve got her covered. She’ll be fine.”

“I’m just concerned about her sense of balance. I know she’s been getting better, but if she falls-”

“I’m not gonna let her get hurt.”

///

Thrown in along with him are the three possessions of his that are apparently worth taking; an old hat, an old pulling harness, and the old back-bracing corset that goes with it.

“I was right about hauling something, then?”

“Less yapping,” the guard grumbles, taking his seat beside the driver.

“Aw, but it’s gonna be a long ride, maybe, I dunno. You don’t have time for a little chat?”

///

Lydia only just hears the sound of the car pulling into the driveway. She shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. There’s a long five minutes of nothing loud enough to hear through her headphones, and then just as expected there’s a curt rapping on the door.

“Lydia? It’s your dad, can you open the door please?”

She turns the music up.

///

Delia gives Jane a tentative pat on the shoulder, and then goes to continue on past her. The ghost makes no attempt to move out of the way. And knowing by now that it’s rude to just walk right through a ghost, Delia finds herself awkwardly sidling around the girl on the stairs. Jane watches her with no discernable expression. And then she continues carefully making her way up, one step at a time.

///

He smiles, quickly taking the mat across from her so he can extend a hand to shake. “It’s great to meet you, Nimona.”

Nimona doesn’t move her crossed arms. She watches as his expression falters slightly, and then he pulls his hand back. The matron doesn’t comment this time, but she does send Nimona an incredibly unimpressed look.

///

She stiffens when he worms his hands under her arms, but doesn’t protest as he picks her up, letting him hold her at his side, supported with an extra arm. Exhaustion wins out over pride, and her head rests against his shoulder. He wordlessly carries her to the kitchen. They remain just as wordless as he opens the fridge and gets to making something or other. Lydia doesn’t register what it is.

///

Nimona plants her hand on the glass, hauling herself to her feet. Her legs don’t hold her up the way she means them to. They’re supposed to be sturdy. Sure, she’s bouncy and fidgety but just try to push her over when she’s not having it and she’s like a rock. She made herself sturdy.

///

“Can we leave him in the car?” Lydia asks as they step out onto the street. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Otho makes a face like she’d just asked if she could toss a sewer rat onto his backseat. “He is not staying unsupervised in the Prius.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you could hear him.”

///

“Oh, that’s great to hear! To tell you the truth, we had a bit of a scrapbooking phase a few years ago. Most of those had just been gathering dust up here since then.”

Lydia glances around the cluttered attic again. “So is that a trend, or-?”

///

He doesn’t believe that for a second, of course, but if this book is really as useful as Beetlejuice claims it to be then he can’t afford to turn it down. He loves Lydia in a way he’s woefully unequipped to describe, but that doesn’t make him in any way prepared to raise a medium.

“Well, thank you then, in that case.”

“Anytime, Chucky. You know who to call.”

And with that, Charles is alone in his office again.

///

But still, the conversation quickly melts into Adult Small Talk, and Lydia inevitably finds her attention drawn back to Nimona. She’s bouncing her leg, looking about as bored with all this as Lydia is. They catch eyes, and Nimona sticks her tongue out. Lydia scrunches her nose in response. Nimona escalates by sticking two fingers in her mouth to stretch her lips.

[vagabond-umlaut]

For Love's Sake Only... Or Is It?

Acrid yet honeyed, vexing yet pleasing, tangled yet unravelled— love is an entity you've never quite anticipated in your life, nor have you ever fervently wished for it.

The same way you never saw yourself betrothed to someone you never met. Someone with odd whims and fancies you find yourself playing along with— not for the man himself but for the security he guarantees for your family and future.

Very much the same way you never saw yourself grow ruffled by someone you met, purely by and in an accident. Someone with eyes burning the infernal fires and hands forging nothing but doom— fires and doom meant for nothing if not for you.

Yes, you. You with a brain saddled by promises, a heart mangled by tempests, bones too brittle to bear the brunt of them all— and, most importantly, a soul stopping at nothing for its fulfilment, come hell or high water.

Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader; Victorian AU; Epistolary. Fluff, Angst, Drama & Romance; Arranged Marriage; Marriage of Convenience; Love at First Sight; Slow Burn; Letters; Secret Identity; Sukuna is his own warning here; And so are you; Everyone else is dragged into this mess by no decision of theirs; Not-Really-Sucrose-Guardian Sukuna; It's more of a Symbiotic Relationship between you two; You: the pretty algae x 'Kuna: the not-so-pretty fungi.

Chapters:

1: The Contract To Compromise

2: TBD

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Existing taglist: @yuujispinkhair, @poe-daydreams, @guccirosegold, @heresan, @pupkashi, @javarium, @dellalyra, @manjibunny, @avatarofstars, @konigbabe, @tender-rosiey ❤️❤️

Divider by @benkeibear. Header from Pinterest. I don't own the characters used here.

masterlist

[aziraphales-library]

Hii!! I want to thank you guys for recommending and going thru the work to "provide"?

Anyways thank you so so much for helping

Do you have any fics about Crowley getting a dangerous job or smth (like a spy or bodyguard etc)?

I would amuch do appreciate it if Aziraphale could be in it too someway. Also I don't really mind if it's a human pov or not.

Sorry for such a long message, bye bye! <3

Hello! Here are some fics in which Crowley has a dangerous job...

fell in love with the fire long ago by midnightdragons (T)

The EMT was a handsome older bloke, with soft, curly blonde-white hair and warm blue eyes that were soft and crinkled at the edges. His cheeks were round and flushed with red, and he looked rather frazzled, but in a way that somehow looked so utterly gorgeous. White gloves were pulled tightly over his hands, contrasting the dark color of his uniform, and spectacles balanced on his nose, slightly fogged from the smoke nearby, though they were, for the most part, out of range from the smoldering church. “Hi.” Crowley, who was caked in grime and smoke and debris and who was wearing a dirty, unwashed firefighter’s suit and who was barely able to speak in a voice louder than a raspy, hoarse croak, thought that perhaps he had died and gone to Heaven. Would’ve believed it, too, with this angel before him, if the adrenaline wasn’t starting to wear off, giving way to dull, throbbing pain in his skull. “M’Crowley,” he introduced himself, rather stupidly. “Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley is a firefighter; Aziraphale is an EMT. A First Responders Human AU one-shot of their 'first' (whumpy but fluffy) meeting, inspired by artwork (link in A/N & artwork included)!

A Walk on the Wild Side by Sani86 (M)

Crowley has been working as a game ranger at Engadini Game Reserve for... well, more years than he cares to count. A new manager threatens to upset everything with his plans to turn Engadini into a prime eco-tourism destination. But the new chef he appointed for the lodge might just make it all worth while. Meanwhile, Aziraphale - the new chef in question - can't stop staring at the lanky red-headed game ranger who moves like a snake. Unfortunately, romantic entanglements of any kind are strictly against the rules, and could cost them both their jobs. How long can they fight the undeniable attraction between them?

This Way For Up by brutumfulmen (M)

Called onto the scene of a cave exploration accident, Crowley struggles against increasingly grim odds to save a young scout trapped deep underground. All while keeping everyone, from a nervous troop leader to Crowley himself, calm in the meantime.

For His Eyes Only by AFrenchFanWriter (M)

Anthony J. Crowley has been an MI6 spy for 10 years, completing successful mission after successful mission under the guidance of his quartermaster, Aziraphale Fell. But this life is starting to take its toll on him as he is getting older; and when, one day, his past comes back to haunt him, Crowley realizes that it might be time for him to hang up his gun and face all the things he has left unaddressed… (Yep, it is basically a James Bond/Q AU!)

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard. Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved. But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

The False and the Fair by Princip1914 (E)

Growing up in the shadow of West Virginia’s Eden Mountain, Aziraphale Wright always expected to work for the family coal mining company. Anthony Crowley, the son of a down-and-out miner, was going to become a pilot and leave town forever. Now, thirty years later, neither of their lives have gone as planned, and an unexpected inheritance brings them back into one another’s orbit. Aziraphale hopes that they can move beyond their shared past, and a high school arrangement that ended in disaster, but he has secrets of his own that threaten their fragile reconnection…

- Mod D

[olrinarts]

Ref Sheet and Background: Narinder

long post ahoy! (i'm serious. do not click that read more unless you wanna scroll for a while, it's even longer than Esriaal's)

A note about AUs: All of my AUs can be considered to be within the same ‘universe-cloud’, for lack of a better word ('multiverse' has frustrating associations, alas. curse you mcu, lmao.) That doesn’t make them directly linked or in any way affect another AU, unless explicitly said to (see: constancy must transpose and chimes of bone in the at the root series.) Otherwise, each is a standalone AU, either diverging directly from the Base Lamb and Base Narinder’s story, or in some way reflecting/echoing it (see: ashes ashes, the yuri rock god AU.) Any completely unrelated AU to this universe-cloud will have it mentioned that it’s not connected.

Name/Titles: The One Who Waits, the One Below, Narinder Base Age: 86 (age he was Crowned, equivalent to around mid-30s developmentally) Gender: He/him Race: Cat, infernal

Background:

Narinder was born as the middle son of a common infernal cat, which were once as plentiful as their cousin race, the black cats. His family were farmers in a time when the Crowns were a relatively new development, a century or two after the first god was crowned. He was about as unremarkable a cat as can be imagined at the time, and could have been anyone. That was why both the Crown of Death and the kernel of what was someday meant to be the Crown of Life chose him: neither had any use for someone special and remarkable, who’d always be apart from the people around them by nature. If he was to be remarkable, it would be by what he accomplished.

A Crown can’t sit on two heads, of course, and normally a head can’t really wear two Crowns. As the Ivory Crown wasn’t crafted, but needed to be ‘grown’ due to being the Crown of Life, both the Red and Ivory Crown were able to coexist. Ivory was essentially slumbering in the unaware Narinder’s soul until its time came to wake up. He was chosen young, not even past his first century – infernal cats lived just as long as black cats, who can live over a millennia or more if they’re smart about it, though they reach adulthood at the same age as other cats (think Forneus still being around a thousand years after Narinder was cast down.) The Crowns made their choice in one of Narinder’s family fields, having sat down from harvesting rye with his scythe to rest beneath the shade of a beech tree. About as humble a beginning for a god as imaginable.

Narinder didn’t aspire to humility, however, let alone as the god of Death, so he built his cult quickly. It was a pretty compelling message, altogether – if everything ends in death, you might as well worship what’s coming, and having the favour of the god of death meant an easier passage through the river of souls to the afterlife. He was already beginning to chafe against the idea of the One Who Waits and the inherent stagnation, however, as well as other limitations. He particularly disliked how souls sacrificed to other gods didn’t come to him in death, as well as other practices that cut lives short needlessly, such as child sacrifice. He was fine with sacrifice in general, that was just how things worked, but there had to be some guardrails, because it was starting to damage mortal trust in all of the Crowned Gods’ care and guidance.

Despite common assumptions in the many millennia to come, it wasn’t War who first raised their hand against another god – it was Narinder, thoroughly pissed off about another god using mass sacrifices to taunt him with the souls that were stolen from him. After that god fell to his scythe, it became clear that the time of peaceful coexistence among the Crowned Gods was growing strained, to put it mildly.

That was when the god of Knowledge went to him, proposing an alliance: Narinder would join their pantheon as their brother, and the souls sacrificed in Shamura and Kallamar’s names would pass into his hands, same as the sacrifices in his own name. He was more than fine with that, feeling a kinship with both Shamura and Kallamar, and so their combined pantheon grew stronger, gaining first Heket and eventually Leshy, who was the last god to ever be crowned. War was eventually inevitable, becoming one of Shamura’s domains when they took on the role of general in a war of gods, and when the dust settled, only the five Bishops remained in the lands. They divided the lands between themselves, with one land to four of the Bishops and unconditional welcome for Narinder in each (as Death ‘belongs’ everywhere), and for a very long time, the Bishops remained at peace.

The longer it went on - the longer Narinder was locked as the One Who Waits - the more restless he became. Shamura, who he was closest to, pitied him for it. They were concerned about allowing the restlessness to continue to grow unchecked, unsure what a Crowned God rejecting his domain’s nature might do to the faith, and so they encouraged him to pursue knowledge, distracting his restlessness with curiosity. That was their first mistake, for all that they were Knowledge from the start:‌ they assumed his curiosity would distract from his appetite for change, that it was the lesser drive between curiosity and restlessness. They were wrong.

The more Narinder sought to know, the closer he became in nature to the mortals, to the Narinder he’d been when he was Crowned; to learn is to change. He grew to sympathise with the natural mortal instinct to fear the inevitable, the cage of death that no one could escape, including Death himself. It grew from sympathy to kinship as time passed – not in the same way the Bishops were kin, but in the sense of a leader rather than a ruler. Part of the group, not apart from it.

Finally, the idea that was to be his downfall occurred to him: if the mortal souls were his in death, then weren’t their souls his while they still lived? And if they were his, living and dead, then wasn’t it his decision whether they died at all – or even had to stay dead?

He was so proud when he first succeeded at resurrecting a mortal that the first person he told was Shamura, because of course it was. They were the one who’d let him grow in the first place, and for the first time since almost the beginning, he felt like he could breathe.

Shamura panicked. Internally, where he couldn’t see it, but they knew they were looking at something that was going to overturn all of their careful plans and comfortable position as the leader of the Bishops, and so they began to put new plans in motion.

Narinder’s growing discontent over the millennia had soured his relationships with his siblings, growing even further apart as he grew closer to the mortals. Other than Shamura, he was mainly friendly with Leshy, but Leshy had no patience or interest in schemes other than the chaos it could cause. Kallamar had long been terrified of him, of the power of Death in the hands of a god growing more bitter by the century. And Narinder and Heket had never gotten along all that well – a mutual dislike born from natures that were entirely too similar.

Hoping to buy themselves time, the other Bishops began to keep souls from him, unmaking them for extra power instead of letting them pass on, especially as Narinder’s new gospel began to spread. By the time he realised this and confronted his siblings, enraged by the betrayal of the ancient deal, Shamura was ready. They gave him one chance to forsake the heresy he’d been preaching, and the Bishops would return to the deal. He rejected the offer, far too angry to even consider it, and if he had, he would have rejected it anyway. They were the ones who’d betrayed him first.

When he refused to forsake his new power, Shamura and the other Bishops cast him Below in chains. Shamura was the only one who knew that it would take Godly matter to chain Death, so they chose to allow him to maim the other Bishops and themself as they do in canon, ensuring the others would only blame him for what had happened. As he was cast down, Shamura cast down the two kittens that would grow to be Aym and Baal with him as well.

What followed was a thousand years of plotting and planning, taking vessel after vessel, because the Bishops foolishly thought he had no power over Death in chains, and no longer unmade the souls they sacrificed in their own names (doing so grants more power, but it’s also much more taxing and fairly gruesome, so it damages their faith base.) Some vessels worked better than others, but Narinder was the One Who Waits, and that had guaranteed his patience could be both furious and eternal at the same time. He would be free, no matter how long it took, no matter how many tries. There would come a day where he finally had the soul he needed, and he wouldn’t find them by doing nothing. So long as he had the Red Crown, he was still Death, and he wasn’t helpless.

Eventually, a prophecy was made:‌ that from the sheep led to slaughter would rise a sacrificial lamb who would be his liberator. He’d been patient, and this was his reward. It took another few decades, which itself inspired a slow, simmering anger over the fate of the sheep; even nearly a thousand years of bitterness and plans for revenge hadn’t withered that old Narinder, and he could only grit his teeth as his siblings committed a genocide that grew crueller by the year. The idea that an entire race was doomed just to spite him was infuriating. It was an unfated prophecy – whoever was the last sheep standing would be his – and so he couldn’t even know what soul he should plan for. This is where the diverging AUs begin.

It did ultimately come to pass, the Sacrificial Lamb’s soul landing in his hands, and he knew the brave little thing had defied his siblings’ hunters for over a decade since the last other sheep died. When he put them back into a living body, things didn’t connect quite right in their head, but they still looked up at him with such fearlessness that all of his anger and hope turned to sentiment. (Diverging AU: untitled politific, where they don’t lose their memory, though he’s not aware of that.)

Instead of just commanding them, he made it an offer (not one they could refuse, but still, even phrasing it differently is a hell of a concession from a god.) He chose to tell them of the sacrifice at the end, again from that sense of sentiment, but mostly because he could tell they weren’t just going to agree to be his vessel, they were doing it wholeheartedly.

From there the events of the game progressed, over the span of around one hundred and twenty years. He saw them as often as possible, after a death or a crusade, and kept them Below to spend time with them for as long as was feasible. As the decades wore on, he grew increasingly unhappy at the knowledge that he was going to be the one to unmake them, and told himself it was just a mild regret over it all, because acknowledging how much he’d come to dread his own freedom was more dangerous than just about any other possible reaction.

One of two things then happens, after the demise of Shamura: either the Lamb fights Narinder and wins (primary AU: ‘constancy must transpose’, resulting in Narinder with the Ivory Crown) or the sacrifice is successfully carried out (diverging AU: ‘chimes of bone’, where Narinder keeps the Red Crown.)

‘Base’ Narinder The above is almost always true in its entirety from fic to fic, though weight might be given to some events over others, or his emotional responses might be different and explored from there. Exceptions are made for reflection AUs (such as ashes ashes, which takes place in a world where the Bishops were never crowned in the first place.) If a reflection AU is different enough, such as a different world setting entirely, then specific things are adjusted or find equivalents, but there’s always strong parallels, and the basic facts of Narinder’s identity are unchanged.

There’s no story to go along with the Base Narinder after the end game on purpose. The closest to a ‘base’ canon for him is the world of the comic fittings, as that one is largely nondescript about the actual way Narinder and the Lamb/Esriaal came to be in the position of Narinder as a more-or-less mortal as part of the cult and Esriaal as the Red Crown’s bearer. It focusses almost exclusively on the culture of the sheep (and some of Narinder’s base backstory, as well.)

[lansplaining]

I’ve decided to consolidate my brainrot

SO YOU’VE BEEN TADPOLED au

characters are chosen not so much for personality matches as for who would best pick their plot threads

Wei Wuxian is of course a necromancer wizard who needs to snack on magic artefacts because of a teeeeeny little mistake that wasn’t even his fault really!! except all the ways it was! I’m sure he won’t be tempted by either self immolation or the chance to grab the power to reunite with his family.

Jin Guangyao is a trickery cleric of Shar, who comes to learn that the Father Superior is in fact his real dad, holding his Selûnite priestess mother captive.

Jiang Cheng is of course a disgraced scion of Baldur’s Gate, who soul his soul to a devil to protect the city but can’t tell anyone about it, and definitely isn’t still desperate for his dad’s approval.

Lan Wangji is a devoted Githyanki fighter whose faith in his whole world is shaken when he discovers that the power behind Jin Guangyao’s mysterious artefact is none other than his own mother, imprisoned by his father. He decides to work together with his uncle to free her and overthrow his father. Incidentally, he was in Hell looking for…

Lan Xichen, kidnapped during a mission gone wrong and sold to the archdevil Zariel. Being in Avernus corrupted his powers so now he is a wild magic barbarian with an infernal engine for a heart. Also Zariel turned him into a tiefling idk.

ok here’s the ones I’ll get in trouble for

Xiao Xingchen is a vampire spawn who has spent 200 years being tormented by the vampire Xue Yang, who forces him to seduce and kill innocents. Maybe if he gained infernal power, he could silence this hunger and begin to atone for his wrongs…?

Nie Huaisang is a lore bard with some… memory issues. He comes to learn that he is Bhaalspawn, and used to be heir to the Cult of Bhaal until his older brother, in a fit of their hereditary murderous rage, decided he was an unfit heir and attacked and left him for dead.

[mjrtaurus]

A new nickname for Dragon has been drifting around following the Egghead Incident: the Father of Devils.

With the reports that Strawhat Luffy has assassinated Vegapunk and rallied the giants of Elbaf under his banner, the world is viewing him less as an infamous pirate and more of this terrifying mythical figure. A voracious force of nature who terrorizes the seas, laughing maniacally all the while as he schemes mass destruction with the Demon Child Nico Robin hunting the Pineglyphs on his behalf.

His brother, the Flame Emperor, has spilled the blood of one of the founding families of the World Government. He's stirring more kingdoms into rebellion than ever before, poisoning the minds of the people at a rate faster than even the Insurgent Serpent with both of his heads speaking together ever could.

There are even rumors that at least two, potentially even four, of Vegapunk's most recent creations, the weapons of Justice, have been seen in the vicinity of Dragon. One of them is thought to be possessed by the ghost of the Tyrant King Kuma (urban legends about robots possessed by the souls of the dead also seem to be on the rise post-Egghead).

What horrors has Monkey D. Dragon, that whirlwind of evil, unleashed upon these rising seas?

Dragon doesn’t like using fear tactics. Never had, not even during his hot-blooded and furious days with the Freedom Fighters. Fear did terrible, sometimes irreparable, things to the mind.

It was a tool used by those in power who were losing their grip on it day by day. With the rising number of recruits and refugees headed their way, it was clear that this was the case.

Sabo brings him the latest newspaper, damn near crying with laughter. The current infernal imagery has been a riot with the commanders.

‘THE KING OF HELL COURTS THE WORLD! THE FLAME EMPEROR THE FALSE SUN AND THE DEVIL CHILD OF OHARA BORN OF HELLFIRE? WHO ELSE WILL RISE FROM THIS UNHOLY UNION?’

Cut to Dragon sipping his third cup of coffee thoughtfully before asking:

“Do they really think I get around that much?”

Edit: so my friend @krzdragon has a mini au/headcanon about the WG using infernal terminology with the RA by naming its commanders after the seven deadly sins, which would be highly relevant to this discussion.

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

hiii, I was wondering if you could write something with Enoch? Maybe angst to fluff? If not that’s okie!! I hope you’re well <3

Twines Of Fire Ignite Us. Lover, Our Love’s Immortal

Pairing: Enoch O’Connor x fem!reader.

Summary: Your mates heart belongs to her… right?

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Use of Y/n. Soulmate!au. Reader has the ability to see souls and entwine them in harmful ways, this has nothing to do with soulmates. Ankh: Ancient Egyptian symbol representing internal life (according to google); also a subtle representation of Enoch’s peculiarity. Twine of Fire: A symbol representing a subtle indication of the readers infernal rage and peculiarity.

Format: Drabble.

Word Count: 1.1k.

Note: I hope you’re well too, lovely!

| mother m-list

The ankh branding your wrist burns when he looks at her.

You’ve scratched it red raw under your scrutiny and marred it with the lashes of your jealousy over the months. Your family would have forever become victims to a social massacre if anyone ever caught glimpse of the monstrosity it had become; you count yourself lucky to be in a loop, where the day resets and things don’t matter.

Her red hair flows down her back in a river of ocherous that catches the sunlight just right and your eyes are drawn to his, watching her as though she’d made the world good again.

All of you screams he’s yours. That your souls are tied eternally. That his mark is embedded in your very skin; that yours is embedded in his.

You turn away.

Out of sight, out of mind.

••

They sit together at supper, as it’s always been. His seat is closer to hers than you’d be comfortable with but your opinion in the matter runs naught.

Your seat is opposite to his, directly facing everything they do. So much for out of sight.

Enoch’s as stoned faced as ever to her bright eyes and it’s not something that should strike envy green through you but it paints there anyway.

Olive will forever be the soothe after his burn, a soft to his unsated harshness. You will always be the gasoline to the bitter fire roaring in him. You will always be an angry soul, charged with bonfires of stubbornness.

He reaches for the bread roll too far for her to get herself and places it on the edge of her plate without her asking. The cuff of his shirt shifts and reveals the violet flamed twine bracketing his skin, unique and bold as the glow orbing in your abdomen. It disappears under his sleeve as quick as it peeked.

You don’t lose track of their interaction, storing it in the mental box of all the reasons it’ll always be Enoch and Olive and never Enoch and Y/n. They knew each other senseless.

Your mark twinges.

••

It’s been four weeks when he approaches you.

The days in the loop blend into a flurry indecipherable, slowing them and flying them through somehow at once. You’ve taken to tracking the days on an old calendar kept in the children’s home since you joined Loop Peregrine, a tally mark on each day despite the dates not matching up.

You’ve been here for two months now. You’ve talked to Enoch twice.

Three if you count now.

He can’t feel the spidery tingle beneath his skin that you can in his presence, the one that webs you to him in more ways than it should. Girls have always been more sensitive to soulmate related symptoms, blessed (cursed) with more instinctual insight.

You hate the way his soul flares an iridescent outline of blue hues around you, serving another reminder he’ll never be yours that only you can see. Another taunt from fates cruel truths.

The curve of his accent is something you didn’t realise you missed until he opened his mouth. “You're awful at being discreet, you know that?”

“Sorry?” It’s the most you can force yourself to say.

Enoch approaches at a different angle. “You stare. Why?”

Faking nonchalance, you shrug. “I don't stare.”

It only takes a raise of a brow to crumble a large enough portion of your facade. Stone faced or not, you would always be able to read him like a book split open — perks of peculiarities.

“You do.” He bites. “And not just at anything, at anytime. Always at me, always with Olive. Is there an issue you have with us?”

The question hits too close to home. Your reaction spiels out of you quicker than you can cage it, curling at your lip and snarling out of you. “Is there an issue I have with my mate breathing down the neck of another woman? No, of course not, O’Connor. Who could ever find an issue with that?”

Enoch’s face drops.

Realisation hits you like a freight train. You feel the colour drain from you, leaving you unsteady where you stand.

“You’re not my mate.” He strains. “You can’t be. I would’ve known, I would've known from the second I saw you.” There’s a desperation caving his expression, a plea to his eyes that pierces you.

A part of you aches at that, the part that understands lost time and blind eyes, the part that pieces together that you’ve deceived him but it’s overridden by stubborn fear. A mate so infatuated with another he couldn’t see the signs isn’t a mate that could ever love you whole.

“Well, you didn’t.” You can’t stop the bite of your voice.

He pauses, staring into you. It’s the longest interaction you’ve had with him and it sets you alight in all the wrong ways. Despair replaces desperation, written in the way he stumbles a step back from you.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me? Am I not good enough for the almighty hollow survivor?” You watch a bridled rage harden him.

You and him are one split in two, anger lies in the cores of all you are and seeps its way into everything. Now is no exception.

You can’t help but scoff. “I’m not the one in love with someone else.”

Enoch sneers. “Who’s in love with someone else?”

“Are you joking?” A sick lick of humour curls at you. “You can’t be that much of an asshole that you’d lead Olive on.”

“Olive?” Your fingers twitch to gnaw at the ankh, raging infernal at the thought of him thinking of her. The disconcertment in his eyes stops you.

You look at him, really look at him. Really listen to him, really think things through.

“Me and Olive are nothing that you think we are.”

The brief touches that seemed so intimate, the knowing what the other wanted before they had the chance to say, all the time spent together, day in and day out.

“When you’re stuck living the copy of the day before you learn to know who you’re stuck with.”

You’d never thought about it past your mark and his, past soulmates. You’d never had to, flitting between lives and loops too often to make connections.

“But me and Olive are friends. We’ve never been more than that and we never would be more than that.”

You almost feel stupid for making assumptions but the image they create is too entwined for you to have seen through.

“I didn’t want to intrude.” It’s your way of offering an apology.

Enoch pursues his lips. “We’re mates.” Cold fingers circle your wrist, pressed light against his symbol. He doesn’t look away as you shiver and gasp. You watch the navy of his soul quiver. “You could never intrude.”

You take his words for what they are, an acceptance of peace.

~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

I do not give permission for my works to be translated or reposted on this site or otherwise!

[ravenmoodle]

what is COINING CROWS ?

- Coining Crows (comic) -

A Short prequel of KEEPING CROWS about the world building and how the ‘Keepers’ became what they are in the current story. It’s kind of generic fantasy with a lot of flavor to the worldbuilding.- Many of the characters in this story interact with or effect the other stories through the main trilogy.

Currently I've only got the first Chapter of their written story drawn out, but everything is written as well as Chapter 2 being thumb nailed- i plan to do more work on it once i'm able to spend more time doing art (I have a day job- sadly). If you want to see more of them, and help me make more chapters of the story, you can always support me on Ratreon. otherwise, i'll post doodles and lore of them here and there. finishing their whole comic is a big of a backburner project.

Important faces:

Mr Crow- The protagonist of this story- a one eyed himbo witch. Davis Marshal- a tidy Infernal Demon who doesn't like YOU Noxis- silent, but kind shadow elemental. Maddie Gold- Aggressive cat woman who WILL fight you Jett Wild- Pathetic wet cat husband.. he's skittish. Mantle and Cole- The original Keepers..... X- Monster Hunter who is rather insistent on her job. Jasper- greedy shit who loves to bother (Belongs to @chuubifrog)

Info- Comic Breakdown/lore/QnA - (animation) Main five refs - (updated Davis/Crow) - Cursed Soul types - Safe Cities - Girls line up - (full trilogy) The Web (tm) - Family Tree -

Other art- Davis 'human form' - (also Here) Mantle's 'human form' - Laundry DayVIS - Character art - (main supporting four) Lil animation ft. Crow - OOOLD Davis doodles - Davis'.. 'family' - ultiimate Crows cast semi final - (final) Mantle Doods- (More doodles) Missing home- Davis' fuck ass horns-

Memes- HighSchool AU Mr.Crow - Dead Davis - Making friends - outfit meme - Who's your fave?? - Live Davis reaction - Cool Rocks - OLD trick or treat! - 'doing something stupid' -

[adrielrook]

Demon tail secret 🤫

And after all these years I’m still into this trope thing *cries*

[valiantstarlights]

[The Proposal AU]

Inspired by: @voukkake 's art, and what @valeriianz wrote.

I have totally forgotten that I said Betty White's character should be played by Destiny. 😂 And while I changed my mind about the blanket just now, I'm still pushing for him to do the forest ritual scene. 💃 Anyway, here's my contribution to the dreamling The Proposal AU. 🖤

"Hey, are you both decent?" Johanna, Hob's younger sister, calls out as she raps a quick knock on the door of Hob's bedroom.

Hob, currently lounging on the bed and reading a novel, rolls his eyes and says, "Dream has never been decent once in his entire life, but I suppose we're both fully clothed at the moment."

Dream, who is getting some editing work done at Hob's desk, glares at him from the corner of his eye.

Hob beams at him as the door opens and Jo enters with one hand covering her eyes, while the other held out a wrapped package for either of them to take. "Just delivering this," she says. "Gran said it came in the mail this morning."

"It's already open," Hob notes, putting his book down as he moves to take it from her. "Who is it from?"

"Oh, uh, the entire Endless family? There are a lot of signatures on the letter."

Dream notices an envelope peeking out of the package, and it, too, has been opened. He stands quickly and slaps Hob's hand away before grabbing the letter himself.

"Well, okay, that's all," Jo says mysteriously as she turns back towards the door, trying to navigate her way out of Hob's room with one hand still placed firmly over her eyes. "I'm gonna go and find my noise-cancelling headphones and some duct tape. Just give me like a ten minute headstart, okay? Please? For my sanity?"

"I have literally no idea what's going on," Hob says to the room at large: to Dream, who is reading the letter accompanying the package with a furious look on his face, and to Jo, who is using her other arm like a blind man's cane as she exits the room.

"You'll know soon, Hobsie!" Jo calls out as she crosses the threshold, and immediately slams the door shut. Hob then hears her tearing down the corridor to her room like the hounds of hell are chasing her. "Remember: ten minutes!" she yells out. "Not one second earlier!"

Helpless, Hob turns to his boss. Fake fiancee. Whatever. "Wanna clue me in on why my sister is acting weirder than usual?"

In response, Dream holds up a hand, nonverbally telling him to wait until he finishes reading the letter. A few seconds later, he scoffs in disgust and throws the letter towards Hob, who scrambles to catch it.

"The last paragraph," Dream spits, tone utterly disgusted, then stalks back towards the desk. When he starts typing again, it sounded like he was manifesting for his fingers to turn into hammers so he could destroy the keyboard. "And once you're done reading, burn both the letter and that..infernal package, will you?"

Hob, mystified at what the fuck is actually going on, turns the paper over to read the last paragraph.

'We are sending this letter with The Babymaker, which, if you have already forgotten--like you have forgotten all about our entire family's existence for the past few years--is the Endless family blanket that has been passed down through the generations, in the hopes that you and your fiancee will be blessed with many children.'

Hob chokes on his spit as he reaches the end of the paragraph. "What the fuck?"

"Precisely," Dream says bitterly. "No doubt my parents and a couple of my siblings find this entire situation amusing."

"Okay, first of all," Hob says, very gingerly setting both the package and the letter with the envelope at the farthest corner of the room from the two of them, being very careful not to touch the blanket's fabric, "Who the fuck names their blanket The Babymaker? And second of all, of all the heirlooms to pass down to your children, it has to be the blanket that each and every ancestor used when they fucked? Really?"

"Now you understand why I do not interact with most of my family members," Dream says. "This is not the first time they have gone to great lengths to humiliate me, although sending the blanket to potentially humiliate me in the eyes of my soon-to-be in-laws stink of desperation."

The more Hob learns about Dream's biological family, the more he wants to punch them in the face. No wonder Dream acts like he's under attack all the time. Heck, if Hob grew up in a home where he was treated like shit, he wouldn't emerge prickly and wary. He'd be a full-blown bastard who punches first and talks it out never.

"We could send them a letter back," Hob offers, a little cheekily to infuse some humor in the situation. Dream is clenching his jaw so hard, and a small, miniscule, microscopic part of Hob wants to run his thumb gently over where the muscles are bunched up. Dream was having a pretty okay day before all this. Like, sure, he was muttering that the writer whose work he's currently editing is an idiot, but that's his usual thing. And Hob likes listening to him rant and read ridiculous passages from the manuscript.

(He'd never admit that, of course, but...he's come to like it. He sometimes even looks forward to it.)

"And what shall we say, hm?" Dream challenges, hostility stiffening his shoulders. "That we are grateful for their gift and we are keen to invite them to our wedding? Because this entire thing might be a sham, but I would rather eat hot coals than have either of my parents walk me down the aisle, or my twin siblings be part of the wedding party."

Hob gives in to the temptation and walks towards his desk. He ignores the way Dream sits up even straighter, like he's ready to get into a physical fight, and gently runs his thumb over Dream's jaw.

Immediately, as soon as Hob's thumb makes contact with Dream's jaw, Dream's eyelashes flutter, and his brows furrow. He looks utterly confused. Was he expecting Hob to hurt him? Hob grits his own teeth at that, but takes care not to let the sudden flare of anger show on his face.

When Dream looks up to meet Hob's gaze, Hob could still see the guarded way he holds himself, but there's also yearning in the line of his neck. Hob rubs his jaw again, and does not remove his hand from where it cups Dream's face. He could feel Dream lean infinitesimally closer, and he wordlessly lets him, continuing to run his thumb back and forth in a comforting gesture.

"Disclaimer," Hob says softly, at the sudden hush of the room. "What I'm gonna say next is a joke at your family's expense, so please don't commit violence against my person."

Dream's eyes actually sparkle at that, and the corner of his lips lifts the tiniest amount. "Go on, then," he says. "I welcome jokes at my family's expense. I will even give you bonus points if you make fun of my parents and my twin siblings."

Well. Alright then.

"I was thinking," Hob says slowly, "maybe we should write back and say we didn't need the blanket at all, since I totally got you pregnant weeks ago when we fucked at your place, just after you gave the most romantic proposal ever. The doctor said we're having twins, and since I'm a total simp for you, I will allow you to commit all sorts of crimes, including not letting our children meet your parents and your twin siblings, and burning the Endless family's precious blanket heirloom at the very first opportunity."

"You would dare invite the wrath of the entire Endless family, both the living and the dead, just to please my arsonist tendencies?" Dream asks, but his eyes are crinkled in laughter, and he's actually smiling.

"Yeah," Hob says, suddenly feeling a strange, tender sensation in his chest. Dream absolutely looks breathtaking when he smiles. "Absolutely."

"Then come," Dream says, and stands. Hob watches him pick up the package holding The Babymaker, as well as the envelope and letter that Hob had set aside. "We still have an hour before dinner, and I would rather not sleep in the same room as this wretched thing."

Fuck, Hob thinks inanely, mind still replaying how Dream's smile widened as Hob talked shit about his family. They were really gonna burn The Endless family's highly inappropriate and very disgusting heirloom.

"Hob," Dream says, now on the threshold of Hob's room. One eyebrow was raised in a manner that should definitely not make Hob's nether regions interested. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," Hob says quickly, and rushes to Dream's side. He feels like he's gonna trip at any moment. "It could prove cathartic for you," he says, a little stupidly. He has to say something so he doesn't think about Dream's smile and his imperiously raised eyebrow. "And symbolic. Like watching bad memories burn and be reduced to nothing."

Dream hums and takes Hob's arm as they walk down the stairs to go outside. It's a bit chilly out, but not too much. Apparently, it's more important to Dream that they burn the damn thing than pause for a second to don a jacket. "Reword that, and I'll allow you to use it in your novel."

"Great," Hob squeaks out at Dream's fond tone. "Definitely will remember that one."

He has already forgotten what he just said, his entire being focused on Dream's warm hand on his arm, and the scent of his own shampoo.

"I will remember for you," Dream assures him. "Eidetic memory, remember?"

Hob was about to say that that is something he will definitely not be forgetting any time soon, except it was at that moment that they hear Jo holler all the way from her room, "Finally found my noise-cancelling headphones! The two of you can fuck now!"

Their eyes meet, and there is a moment of silence, before Dream lets out the most frightening laugh Hob has ever heard, except all he feels is giddy and fond and slightly off balance, like something huge just happened, and his entire world has been changed irrevocably.

[anamelessfool]

A Naming (part 4 of 5)

Rated Teen, Papa Emeritus II’s Son and Family

Tags: Halloween Hijinks, Eldest Kid anxiety, Suburban Dad Secondo, Disabled Secondo, Post-Retirement Life, Magic Rituals, My AU with Secondo being Papa from 2001-2008

CW: Underage Drinking, Strong Language

Secondo arrives in the hearse from the family’s memorial home.

Dedicated to @kissingghouls thanks for cheering me on you’re my little Hell Pumpkin 🎃 I;m on AO3 same name with all my other fics but this site gets mad at me when I post links. Check out #anamelessfool Halloween tag for prev chapters, comments include prev chapters and start link. #anamelessfool Halloween start is the beginning of this fic.

At first, Paul’s fear from the rocks’ continued harassment was overshadowed by the slow march of his father over to the picnic spot. The man was in no hurry as he picked his way over the unsteady ground, the crutch that supported his withered leg feeling for solid spots as he approached.

“Just…wait,” said Paul. “It’s my dad.”

“Mr. Leider—?” The corpse-grinder. The man with dead folks on ice. The retired rockstar Hell Priest of Satan. Paul’s dad.

Paul’s friends froze in place, now ignoring the small rocks bouncing off their heads as Secondo approached with the Eye uncovered and shining silver-white. The light from the hearse headlights reflected off his bare scalp and down the side of his carved head. To anyone outside his own progeny the man was a terrifying pillar of relentless severity, but small tells hinted to Paul that a river of stress was flooding its banks. For one, he did not bother to conceal his monstrous Eye. And two, he was chewing on a toothpick. Paul knew they were going to be rescued, but he had no idea the cost.

Secondo reached into his jacket and pulled out a lighter, igniting the flame. His whole face curled into a deep sneer, a wrathful expression moments before a bite. He opened his mouth, teeth glinting, brows intensely furrowed, Infernal Eye blazing.

And then he gave a shout. Except it didn't sound like a true shout. Paul heard the first rough syllable, then his hearing blanked out despite feeling the roar. It was loud, menacing, but not in the air. Instead it tugged at his mind. At once his father’s mouth closed as his face relaxed back into its usual sternness.

And the tension in the atmosphere was gone.

“It's rebuked,” said Secondo, reaching once more into his jacket. He replaced his older toothpick with a new one at the corner of his mouth. “It's surprised I'm here.”

Paul found his voice and exchanged tense glances with his friends. “What…was…”

“Look,” said Secondo.

The rocks started up again but this time slowly, avoiding the teens as they stood rooted to the floor. Watching them materialize and then fall as if puppeted by invisible strings was more terrifying than the random drop above their heads. Paul hadn't conjured up the rocks. Something was responding, actively tormenting the kids with careful gestures.

“What is it….doing?” Paul asked.

“Trying to impress me.” But Secondo's stony face looked far from impressed. Secondo stood beside his son and Paul avoided his eyes while feeling the stares from the other kids burn across his back.

“How did you…even know?” But Paul didn't need to really ask.

Secondo dropped an item in Paul’s hand, shocking him with the temperature. It was a small vial of fluid, inexplicably frozen solid. “Now what page did you use.”

Paul hastily leafed through the journal and brought the circle up to his father's eyes. Secondo studied it for a few moments, expressionless. “Money attraction?”

So completely the wrong one. “Uh…it rained coins for a few minutes, you know,” Paul joked nervously. Behind them another shower of gravel scattered on the floor right in front of Tiff's face and she let out a scream.

“Tell your friends the screaming makes it worse,” explained the old magician.

“Yeah but I'm sorry please help us please! Dad!”

“I can't. It's tied to you.” Secondo leaned down and positioned his expression closer to Paul’s own. “You called it. It wants you.”

“But what do I…what do I do….”

“I could frighten it away again but it would come back. It would follow all your friends home and be bolder without me watching.” A muscle tensed in Secondo's jaw. “No. No you have to be the one to exorcise it. Now. While it's young.”

Whatever controlled the rocks now changed its tactics. The gravel materialized, floated down to a foot above the ground and then slammed hard onto the concrete, bouncing in all directions. The amount of control it had over matter was astounding. Not to mention the chokehold it had over Paul and his friends. “Everyone stay calm,” said Paul, and in other circumstances the kids would start arguing with him. Instead they clumped together struggling not to cry.

“Name. Contain. Release,” continued Secondo. “That’s how it’s done. However you want to do it.”

Paul screwed up his eyes tight and realized he wasn’t breathing. He let out the air in his lungs in one slow sigh, feeling the tide of emotions in their spin cycle. He had to pull them apart, give them a name like his father taught him to do. As always he imagined himself picking them up like small animals, pressing his hand down on their heads as he sorted. Fear, shame, confusion. Humiliation.

And there was something else, just outside his perception. Something there, a buzzing energy concentrated in the far left corner of the picnic area. It wriggled as much as his own fear, pulsing with an independent excitement. Is this what Secondo meant? Is this what he had to name?

“I…I feel something but I don’t know what to do,” Paul whispered.

Secondo’s voice was a low murmur right by his ear. “Continue on. Things called to you have a name. It’s there.”

It wasn’t human, so it made sense for the thing to not have a human name. It had to be something strange. Paul reached out with his mind, his hand following in the direction he felt the roiling presence. The space had a temperature now, ice cold, and the entity rustled and grew in excitement, all at once stamping a phrase directly into Paul’s brain.

Paul opened his eyes, pulled out his chalk and wrote what came to mind on the concrete.

XIRRZARCHEMENT

“Contain,” Paul said. He drew a circle around it. “Release…” He looked up, the kids around him still mesmerized with what he was doing. They were too terrified to comment or judge or joke or smile. Every few seconds a rock would fall beside one of them; a reminder of their paranormal harassment. Paul pointed at a corner of the awning, ordering, ”Bring that trash can over here.”

One of the boys finally budged, carrying the metal can over to Paul’s work on the floor. As Paul expected the can was left out in the rain from the previous day and so had a good two inches of sludgy water at the bottom. He knew enough about Secondo’s work that destruction was a part of it. Destruction by the elements: fire, water, earth, air. The thing enjoyed rocks so earth was out of the question. Fire…he had no idea how to destroy it with fire. Fire was Secondo’s primary way to destroy ritual things: fold it up in a piece of paper, burn it on the family grill. No grill here. And waiting for air to gently blow something away was not fast enough. But water…

Paul dumped the water across the encircled chalk name, scraping his foot to scrub out the words with force.

There was nothing but silence once again. That buzzing, that cold form beside him was gone.

“Well done,” said Secondo gently.

There were a few silent minutes where they waited for the rocks to return, but the air was still again. Tiff and Dana finally peeled themselves from each other, tears drying on their faces. The boys began to wake up from their terrified stupor to secretly glare at Paul, as if he hadn’t just saved them from something beyond all of their understanding.

“But…my car…” Dave started up his whining again now that he felt safe from unexplainable paranormal forces.

“Act of God,” Secondo replied. “And you all had better sober up before I drop you off at your houses. Come now.” He didn’t wait for them to take a hint. He turned and walked back to the parking lot knowing full well all of them would follow along. And they did, cautiously wandering across the grass to arrive at the hearse.

Secondo swung open the back door, and the pristine white curtains adorning the window drifted softly into place. “Truck can't fit all of you,” stated Secondo. “Now get in.” Nobody moved. Secondo blinked. “It's empty. Get in. I'm taking you all home.”

The kids exchanged nervous looks then clambered into the back, huddling amongst themselves like refugees. Secondo put a hand across his son’s shoulder. “No. You're in the front. With me.”

“Right,” muttered Paul. And he’d be the one to get out of the car and open the hatch for each and every one of his friends, half-staring into their face as they would exit. Paul slid into the passenger seat and crank-rolled the window down. They would be driving the ancient hearse at an agonizing twenty-five miles per hour, stopping for too long at every stop sign.

The driver door opened and Secondo steeled himself to get into the car. Paul didn’t want to watch his father lower himself gingerly into the driver’s seat and prop his crutch beside him. Secondo landed on his seat and squeezed his hands on the steering wheel, his eyes closed, breath coming out in a rattling exhalation. He recomposed himself for a minute, then slammed the door. The engine coughed to life. The bench seat of the converted Buick felt massive, his father nearly a football field away on the other side of the car quietly enduring pain just so he could pick up Paul and his delinquent friends after a night of conjuring demons from stolen materials. Secondo never said a word, but Paul felt its weight. The shame was ready to drown him.

Secondo shifted to look in his side mirror. “Paul, we clear?” Was all he said. The hearse had a massive blind spot, and the rod in his back kept his neck from turning as well as it used to. Despite Paul’s lying, his transgressions and the risks he took tonight Secondo depended on him. Trusted him. Whatever paternal discussion on moral failings would be had later, tabled because his father needed him for something larger right now. Paul stuck his head out his window, finding his voice again.

“Yeah, you can go.”

Like it? Reblog it thank youuu

[quitealotofsodapop]

Nezha in the Century Egg au;

Almost forgot our perfect lotus boy!

In the Century Stone egg au; Wukong entrusts Nezha with waking him up/taking a peak at the cave every so often, but he doesn't let him in on *why* Wukong is "meditating" for 500 years. Wukong fears Nezha pulling a DBK-level move and he can't risk it .

Nezha agrees, but obviously he's pulling double duty as is with guarding the Map to the Samadhi Fire, so he sometimes forgets what he was meant to do. He sometimes runs into Princess Iron Fan when he visits Flower Fruit Mountain, and depite being former comrades, he feels no hate towards her. Nezha understands that Wukong is one of the few connections that PIF has left in the Mortal Plane, and thinks it's perfectly reasonable for her to be on standby until the monkey wakes up from his deep sleep.

Then one day, as Nezha is *actually* meditating; he's flipping through some requests/prayers to him when he gets a very unusual prayer from FFM;

Ao Yi, hands clasped and crying: "Nezha, Patron God of Children - please ensure my little Mei is found safe and well!"

Nezha: "What the- dragons don't pray to me..."

And they don't. After the incident with Ao Bing, dragons as a whole would rather due than be caught praying to the Lotus Prince. Even to request the safety of their children.

Feeling very sus, Nezha flies down to ask the dragon parents whats up - especially since PIF told him that very few souls are able to even reach the Monkey King's island without permission.

The two dragons are completely distressed, explaining that they were relaxing on a camping trip and that their toddler-aged pup had wandered off into the jungle after what looked to be a supernatural flame.

Nezha manages to brush off the weirdness of his "clients" being dragons enough to zero in on where the little pup had run off too- and she's in Brother Wukong's cave!

Nezha zips towards Water Curtain Cave with the dragon couple at his heels. He bursts through the waterfall only to see the dirty dragon pup digging around in the soil with.... Wukong's Pilgrim brothers?

And whats that statue of a monkey doing here??

PIF: "Oh, Nezha. Glad you're here. Hold him for me please.* PIF: *hands Nezha toddler Red Son* Nezha: "EH!?" The Monkey *statue*: *starts cracking like an egg* Nezha: "?!?!?"

Its a very odd family reunion.

The lotus prince has to be filled in on some details once Wukong wakes up, and he will have things to say about Wukong burying himself for 500 years to have a baby. And he's seconds away from throttling the monkey when he hears that the process is potientially lethal no matter the immortality.

He accidentally sorta joins the Noodle Shop gang's found family? Mostly cus Tang mentioned that the Lotus Prince died as a child, and the rest got super protective of him.

The real confusion for the Lotus Prince comes about when he's called to act as baliff at the trial of Sun Wukong vs the Heavenly and Infernal Court!? What?! How did this happen- "Oh hi Macaque."

Nezha is trusted as a high-ranking officer to keep the Six Eared Macaque detained for the trial. Nezha wonders why Macaque is pretending to be held by the ropes/handcuffs.

Nezha delivers a pretty solid testimony/character witness for Wukong, as I do believe he defended Wukong while in the presence of a Boddisattva in Jttw, and he pretty much considers the monkey a brother figure.

Nezha is one of the gods to glance over at Wukong when the Monkey King started shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His godly powers told him *something* was happening, but being a mental teenager, Nezha couldn't think what.

Then the Monkey King goes into labor in the middle of the Heavenly Court while pleading for the soul of his mate.

Nezha naturally freaks the frick out.

[bardic-tales]

I’ve finally got Lucien's character page filed out on here. For reference, all my FF 7 OCs can be found at the FF 7 Muses Hub.

faceclaim: Timothée Chalamet

Warnings: AU: Canon divergent. Abandonment, abuse (emotional, physical), alienation, creation via forbidden magic, cloning, complex family dynamics, conception struggles, conflict with parental expectations, creator deity, death and destruction, experimentation (genetic), forced isolation, genetic manipulation, internal conflict, manipulation, obsessive love, PTSD, religious themes, reproductive trauma, self-worth struggles, spiritual conflict, violence, war, and warfare.

Lucien (Moore)

Lucien was created a millennium after the Omniverse's rebirth as the heir to both Bianca Moore and Sephiroth's legacy. Bianca, unable to conceive due to Shinra's experiments, used forbidden magic to create Lucien and his twin sister, Aurora, combining celestial, infernal, and Jenova’s alien DNA. Raised in isolation in the abandoned town within the Ethereal Nexus, Lucien’s upbringing focused on honing his intellect and leadership, influenced by both Bianca’s nurturing and Sephiroth’s harsh training in warfare and strategy. His heritage shaped his abilities, as his parents instilled in him a sense of purpose, with Bianca’s love ensuring his commitment to their family's dark legacy. Lucien’s deep attachment to his mother, Bianca, was evident throughout his upbringing—he was a self-proclaimed "momma’s boy," finding comfort and security in her presence above all else. This devotion mirrored the obsessive bond Sephiroth had with Jenova, as Lucien saw Bianca as both a source of love and the guiding force behind his destiny.

As Lucien grew, he faced internal conflict due to his cautious nature, which clashed with the decisive, aggressive tendencies his parents expected. While Sephiroth pushed for swift action, Lucien’s tendency to weigh risks created tension, especially in battle. Despite this, his bond with Bianca remained central to his development, with her constant guidance ensuring his loyalty to their cause. Lucien’s strategic mind and patience earned him respect, and by the age of 18, he began to solidify his position in the Celestial Realm, using his unique blend of celestial and infernal powers to rebuild and assert his dominance after the destruction of the Celestial Realm and Omniverse that was orchestrated by Bianca millennium before.

By the time Lucien reached 25, he had fully established himself as the Creator deity of the Celestial Realm, moving beyond his parents' legacy of destruction. His leadership was rooted in balance, diplomacy, and foresight, using his power to reshape the realm into one that reflected his ideals. Despite his successes, Lucien continued to struggle with the influence of his father, Sephiroth, and his own internal conflict between his celestial nature and the infernal and alien forces within him. As Lucien matured, he came to realize that his unique path as a creator, one focused on balance rather than conquest, could be just as powerful as the destructive legacy his parents had sought.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @prehistoric-creatures

@seastarblue

[kawaiichibiart]

PRSK Unit Shuffle AU

I finally decided on names and Untitled songs for all the groups in this AU :D

Note: Some of the Untitled songs may change as I develop the AU. I will let you know of any changes (:

INFERNAL: Akito, Saki, Shiho, Honami

Untitled: Voices

Wilted Memories: Kanade, Minori, Ena, Haruka

Untitled: If

Golden Hour: An, Emu, Nene, Tsukasa

Untitled: Machi

Nocturne Symphonies: Airi, Mafuyu, Mizuki, Toya

Untitled: Saisei/Reborn

Metamorphosis: Rui, Kohane, Shizuku, Ichika

Untitled: Made to Order

(let it be known, had it not been for you know what, I would have made their Untitled What Sort of Ending Are You Looking For or however the english name went)

Our Found Family: BONUS GROUP- Tenma Family (Tsukasa, Saki, Toya, Kanade, Kohane, Minori)

Untitled (Unofficial (by that, I mean as a group, they don't have one, they use Tsukasa's seeing as he and Mafuyu still have their individual SEKAIs)): 88☆彡

[the-kr8tor]

Hehe :) was feeling evil (tw death? Yea)

Survivor Hobie x survivor reader in a post apocalyptic world (zombies/clickers: tlou based)

As you walk through the warmth of the quiet woods, mosquitoes bite at you relentlessly and your partner. Your s u r v i v a l partner and nothing more. Hobie and you found each other in a desolate city. Your car was out of gas, his legs were tired. After a lot of heavy doubting you came to warm up around one another, he protected you, you protected him. You both saw the other through injury in just about a few months of vagabonding. The both of you never truly belong anywhere as you dredge through the woods and cities carefully.

He'd be lying if he said you didn't make a good travel partner though, you're smart enough to not just eat whatever and you can defend yourself a good bit. You however are getting annoyed and curious, he keeps writing in a small notebook he carries around and always at the most random times yet he refuses to let you see as he always throws in some type of fantastical excuse.

And there you are at the end of the world, in the underground of the city. As you walk through the sewer system because the grounds up has been infested with too many clickers you hear some down in this infernal trap. There is no way back. You both look at each other and he grabs your hand in his tightly, giving your hand a few squeezes. You're doomed. Or at least you think so. Hobie doesn't make it out but he was able to take them out at least for you. You'll make it out and you'll be safe, he knows that. You'll find someone again. He clutches your hand to his heart as he stares at you, he never imagined he'd meet his end in a sewer yet there was the cruel part of him that thought he deserved it just like everything in his childhood. Before he can continue on with his last thoughts about his own doom he feels tears come down on his face like rain, he blinks half lazily as he looks up at you. His eyes recognize your tender face, the one he's come to take a liking to. With spare energy he cups your cheek and beckons you down, kissing your cheek with a weak smile.

It's his last before he fades, but you have other plans. You didn't want him to think his affection was a one way road, you kiss him through the tears and he feels his pain alleviate as he bleeds out. His eyes grow hazy and blank before he finally leaves you alone, again. You take your time to mourn and scrounge up his body to make sure you keep every item of his in your memory. You know you don't have much time and yet out of dedication and affection for him you drag his lifeless body out of there. His blood trails as his heavy body rests on your back.

You make it outside in a forest and put yourself to work, working will alleviate the pain. Or make you forget it if not just a bit. You rest his body in the soil, where it belongs, amongst nature and not in a filthy underground system. You believe t h i s is less than he deserves. An actual burial with family and friends alike is what he should've gotten. You try and tell yourself one person here will at least mourn the memory of him as you sit down on-top of the soil he's under.

You bring out his notebook, you miss him terribly. You yearn and you mourn truly. As you open the notebook you see a few drawings of plants, he probably had it for a long time since it's almost full but a few pages towards the end were still blank. As it goes on you see small drawings of you appear. Your food tastes noted down, small poems etched into the pages which your tears can only soil. Small confessions of love and of his affection for you. The last thing you read breaks your heart: "Signed, your Hobie, now and later when we make it out."

-🪦

The second I read that it's a zombie au i already had tears in my eyes 🥲

Bro this legit made me cry 😭 r giving him a proper resting place, them kissing for the first and last time, r seeing the contents of his notebook 😭 brb I need to bash my head against the wall to stop crying