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breannasfluff · 8 months

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What if... through time/portal shenanigans, Eldritch!Chain met Wing!Wild for a shift

Traveling through time? Check. Meeting alternate versions of a hero? Also check. Legend sits up in his bedroll and stares at Wild. Or…not-Wild. Not their creepy vibes Wild. No, this one is crouched by the fire, cooking what looks like bugs. Oh, and he’s got wings. Because yeah, that’s how this day is going to go.

Legend points, which is rude, but so is dealing with this so early in the morning. “Who are you?”

Not-Wild looks up and honest-to-Hylia chirps at him. Yeah. No. He’s not dealing with this alone. The vet leans across and whacks at Twilight’s bed roll. “Fix this!”

The rancher blinks slowly, entirely too comfortable. “Mornin’. Cub cookin?”

“He’s weird now. What did you do?”

“Me?” Twilight blinks again and sits up, turning to the fire. “Whadja–oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

They both stare at the not-Wild. The person? Bird? Avian? Ruffles feathers and fluffs his wings up around his ears at their stare.

Twilight cheats and slaps Time awake. “Somthin’s goin on.”

By the time the old man extracts himself from the bedding, everyone else is awake and staring as well. Time manages an impassive face pretty well, but his tells give him away. The vein next to his eye is twitching.

“Good morning.”

Bird boy whistles again and looks at his pan. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Er, right.” Time shares a helpless glance with Twilight. Goddesses, they really make the vet do all the work, don’t they?

“Hey, kid. Where did you come from? Where’s our Wild?”

He cocks his head and flutters his wings. “I’m with you for now, I guess.”

“Who said?”

“Hylia.”

Well, shit. She would inflict some kind of dimensional weirdness on them.

Wild gives the pan a shake and waves Four over. “Here. You can have half,” he stresses.

Four sidles closer, the wariness growing to confusion as, likely, he doesn’t feel the need to run for the hills. Then he glances in the pan. “Are those bugs?”

“Yeah. Got some nice crunchy bees.” The avian pops one in his mouth and crunches and oh–Legend would like his weird Wild back. Sure he eats animals whole but they aren’t…bugs. “I’ve got a nice big spider we can split, want some of the legs?”

Four blanches and skitters away to the other side of the clearing. Insane-Wild turns his attention on Warriors. “Catch!” Then he chucks something that smacks the captain in the face. Warriors shrieks and flails. The thing falls to the ground. Wild chatters in what must be disappointment. “That was good quality meat!”

“You threw it in my face!”

“Yeah?”

“I have meat juice. On my face.”

“...why didn’t you catch it?”

The captain joins Four on the other side of the clearing. Most of the others back up as well.

Twilight makes the next move, coming to stand by Wing Boy. Wild sidles away. Twilight shuffles closer. The champion sidles away again. They continue the weird shuffle all the way around the fire as Wild’s wings get higher and higher. Finally, he gives a strange tsksksks and bites the rancher on the arm.

Now Twilight is yelping and hopping away. “What was that for!”

Wild eyes him, wings ruffled. “Too close. You know better.”

“Nah, I don’t!” He rubs his arm with a truly wounded like. Like a kicked puppy. Fitting, considering his transformation.

Sky steps into the fray, but his eyes are glued to the wings. “Is your nickname still Wild?” he asks, only he’s addressing the wingbone rather than the boy attached to it.

“...yeah.”

“Your wings are beautiful! They remind me of my loftwing.”

Wild loosens slightly, wings drooping. “Yeah, your loftwings are cool.”

The chosen hero, because he has rocks for brains, reaches out and pats some feathers. Wild shrieks and explodes off the ground. His wings kick up clouds of dust and he launches straight up, then flaps into a tree and balances on a branch, hissing down at them. Sky is left blinking in confusion, hand still outstretched.

It takes a good ten minutes for Wild to flutter back down, during which the bugs have been moved out of sight and eggs and potatoes set to cooking in a new pan.

Legend watches from the corner of his eye as Wild paces around the edge of the group, then zeroes in on where he sits with Hyrule. He gives a funny bird call and trots over, shoving his way between them.

“Hey!” Hyrule moves entirely, annoyed at being ousted from his seat. Legend gets a face full of feathers which he doesn’t dare push away.

The avian trills again, wings pulling in tighter.

“Wild,” Legend says, or tries, muffled by feathers. “We don’t know what you want.”

He chatters at them both. “Force of habit.”

“To steal seats?” Hyrule’s prickly, both because he hasn’t had his morning tea, and because his fae sensibilities have been offended.

“Not stealing.” Wild’s attention is caught by the bag at his feet and he dives for it.

“Hands off!” Time jumps for it as well and a wrestling match begins before Wild lets go of the bag. The old man falls back on his butt and masks spill everywhere.

Everyone tenses as the fierce Deity mask lands in the dirt, but the avian ignores it to grab for a cow mask. He holds it up with a grin. “This is my favorite.”

Time is still sputtering and Hyrule grabs some of the masks, passing them over. “You can’t just–take things!”

Bird boy blinks back, the picture of innocence. On the other side of the clearing, Twilight sulks. Warriors considers his scarf with misery; must have gotten meat juice on it. Sky’s wariness fades into resignation and he sits next to Four, who’s still a little peaky.

This Wild inspires no strange feelings, but the absence of them is…disconcerting. It’s like a small piece of Legend’s awareness is missing; like he grew an inch without realizing.

Wind, who was out collecting wood after his watch enters the clearing with a cheery smile. “Good morning! What did I miss?”

The champion perks up and taps his slate, pulling out a crab and tossing it at the sailor. The crab is, unfortunately, still alive. And angry at being thrown before breakfast–or to be breakfast. The crab attaches itself to Wind with vengeance.

Wind starts screaming.

Legend closes his eyes to the chaos. Hylia, please give them their old Wild back. Nothing is worth this much chaos in the morning.

#what if breverse #absolute chaos #lu wing bois #eldritch wild #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu wild #lu time #lu sky #lu legend #lu twilight #lu hyrule #lu four #lu wind #my writing #breannasfluff #so much for drabble length #i'll probably pop this on ao3 at some point too in Downy Feathers #asks

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do-not-lick-the-walls · 4 months

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a devil put aside | chapter one - when it all goes to hell

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif from this lovely set by wearecrowley)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: six thousand years after the war, you crash-land in hell's accounting department. someone unexpected comes to your rescue.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader in later chapters, no use of y/n)

warnings: graphic depictions of injury, near-death experience, themes/ideas of death & dying, religious themes & trauma, strong language, vaguely sexual undertones to some of this lol

------

Your wings drag useless through the air as you plummet down, down, down like a falling star. All the eyes inside of you have gone dark; you're seeing only through your corporal ones, staring between your smoking feathers at the mass of sky that heaven dissapeared into. You're both weightless and heavy at once; the drop lifts behind your hips, pushes on your shoulders, tugs at your fractured wingbones. It's a long way down, and you're going down backwards.

As you fall, you realize that you've never really been afraid before. Not like this. You've never had the cause to be. Even back in the war, fear couldn't take you, for you had trust that She would shield you. And you were powerful, beautiful, six-winged and twelve-eyed in your true state of being, bright enough to blind, holy and free and clairvoyant.

And now you've lost it all.

This isn't anybody's fault but your own. Michael may have been the one to break your wings, and Gabriel may have thrown you over the edge, but it was you who lit this match and set yourself on fire. You and your pride.

As the sky goes dark and the air grows hot, there's nothing left to do but wait for impact.

It's not an easy landing.

You crash hard through what must be the roof of hell, then hit the ground a second after. You go tumbling, knocking into and through unidentified obstacles with enough momentum to push them over or send them flying. The unmistakable sound of scattering printer paper takes over as you bowl straight through what feels like a stack of it, before bouncing against something metal and being thrown off-course, only to hit something else and shoot off in another direction.

Eventually, you roll to a stop, banged-up and unable to tell right from left or wrong.

A sob chokes from your throat. Whether it's born of relief, or grief, or pain, you don't know. Your brain spins inside your head, and something---no, many somethings---are shouting, hissing, chattering. Wherever you've landed, you're not alone.

You lie wrecked in a pile of fiberglass, copy paper and sin, bathed in dingy florescent light and the remaining embers on your mangled wings. An oppressive green tint hangs over the world. Filing cabinets lay toppled like Babel, and the hole you smashed in the ceiling stares down in judgement.

With a struggle, you pull yourself into sitting up. Even through the blur, you can tell the room is trashed, and get the impression it was so even before you made an entrance. Paper stacks cover half the floor, water damage crawls along the walls, the air reeks of sulfur and oil and cigarettes. Despite never having eaten, you feel the urge to retch.

You tried to prepare yourself on the way down. You tried to come to an acceptance. But now that you're looking at what you'll become, every peace you've made with this situation goes up in flames.

You're surrounded. By uncanny, fucked-up mirrors of the ethereal, as if somebody cut out an angel and they crawled in to fill the empty space left behind. Animalistic traits wind through some of their bodies---horns, tails, claws. One hisses at you with a long, forked tongue, another bares several rows of jagged teeth. They're speaking, but whatever they're saying, you can't hear it over the ringing in your ears---when did your ears start ringing?---and the tangle of voices and growls and snarls all fighting to be the loudest.

Desperate for space, you scramble backwards, ignoring how a white-hot jolt goes shooting down your wings as they drag awkwardly across the concrete. The demons are starting to crowd around you fully now, melting from individuals into more of a living mass that edges you back while it closes in. Then you're up against the wall, and there's nowhere else to go. Something wet runs down your face. You can't breathe---since when do you even need to breathe?---and there's nowhere to go, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. This is how you die, and it is your fault. Your fault, your fault. You squeeze shut the eyes you have left, curl inward, and brace.

"STOOOOOOOOOP."

It stops.

Everything goes quiet. The room holds its breath as you let yours out. For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged sighs, and your heart---you don't normally have a heart either, why do you have a heart?---thumping in your ears. After a few seconds, you risk looking. Everyone's turned in the direction of the voice.

"What is the meaning of all this noizzze?"

The demons shuffle, mumble, and avoid eye contact in an obvious attempt to dodge the speaker's wrath. In another world, it might've been funny. You suddenly remember yourself and a few other angels doing something very similar once, Before the Beginning, when Gabriel caught you playing with stars instead of working.

Then the sea parts, and leaves you before your rescuer. Your eyes land first upon their shoes, then scan upward over the rest of them. They're dressed better than the others: sharp lapels adorned with pins, ribbons at their throat, red sash hanging like a warning sign across their chest. Everything about them radiates command. Authority. They are unmistakably in charge.

You know who this is.

Half of you knows to shrink away. The other half wants to reach out and touch.

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, Prince of Hell, and Grand Duke Below fixes their gaze upon you. There is nothing left to protect you. Not your wings, not your miracles, not your mind. On desperate instinct, you start to pray, then realize it's futile. God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could. You are alone in the belly of this whale.

"Oh."

Beelzebub moves in a manner unlike the other demons. Less hurried. Their gait is smooth, deliberate as they cross the space between you, free of any unpredictable motions and with an unsettling kind of calm. They crouch to your level in that same careful way, and your eyes meet theirs through the hair that's fallen over your face. A gentle buzz fills your ears.

"Well, what have we got here?" They muse, cocking their head to the side. "C'mon, love. Talk to me."

Their voice contains the same authority as before, but it's softened around the edges, taken on a tone that's not unkind.

This is a trap.

The crowd is starting to push in again. There's a curiosity about them, a hunger, like they can't wait to rip out your throat and see what's inside. You can practically feel their mouths watering.

Beelzebub registers this as well, and must not like it any more than you do, because they whip back over their shoulder, and shout "Everyone, back up! Yes, ALL of you lot! Go on, BACK."

This is met with obedience from the lesser demons, and, although the yelling makes you flinch, you're grateful for it. If you're to be torn to shreds by the Prince of Hell, at least you'll have some breathing room while it happens.

Beelzebub reaches out a hand, wrapped in a netted glove that ends before the knuckles. Up close, it's construction is almost like that of spiderwebs. Long fingers lead to nails unexpectedly well-kept, unlike your own bitten-down ones. And, odd enough, their skin looks soft. Then you realize that this is probably not the time to notice things about their hand, considering it's about to clamp around your neck and squeeze the life from you.

It doesn't.

No suddenly-appearing claws wrap around your throat. Or gouge out your remaining eyes, or dig into your throbbing wings. They don't rip you apart.

They brush the hair away from your face.

"Let me see you, sweet."

Beelzebub is gentle as they urge your chin up. Careful, touch almost like that of a doctor with a patient, or a lover with their beloved. The ghost of a buzzzzz presses into your skin where their fingers nest beneath your jaw.

You shiver.

As they take in your face, their expression shifts many times over, though you can't place the emotions, then settles into a soft frown. Their thumb drags along your cheekbone, wipes away the wetness beneath your eye. The taste of smoke sits heavy on your tongue.

"Be not afraid, angel."

They say it like they're making a decision.

"C'mon. I'll fix you up."

In that smooth, slow manner, they rise and offer their hands. Their upturned palms aren't a command, exactly, but they're something close to it. The voice in your head continues to shout that this is a trap as you slide your hands into theirs, but there's no other option, here. Not really.

They grip you tight around the wrists and pull. Your wings cry out in protest of the movement, stabbing, as you fall upward into their chest with a gasp. The world is swimmingspinninglooping, and now you're the one gripping tight to them while you stumble and blink like a newborn foal.

"Go on, hold on to me. There we go." They anchor you upright. Something hot and wet drips onto the back of your knee, and after a moment, you realize that it's all over your back, too. It's soaking into your clothes, and now that you're standing, dripping onto the floor. Smears of red around where you just sat---and the heart that's been put inside your chest---tell you exactly what it is.

Once you're stable enough, Beelzebub maneuvers your arm over their shoulders, and wraps one of theirs around your waist. Every accidental touch to a wing doubles the ache pounding through your broken bones, leaving behind a trail of whimpers and pained hisses that spill from your lips like prayers. Beneath your fingers, the fabric of their blazer is soft and thick, not so different to that of your own jacket; save for the color, and the way that yours is steadily growing wetter down the back.

After a deep, shaking breath and an attempt to swallow the taste of iron, you nod. They look back at the crowd of still-curious demons.

"What are you looking at? Back to work, all of you!"

The demons pretend to go back to work as Beelzebub helps you through the room. "Right. Stay close," they mumble, as if you weren't already wrapped to their side and relying on them to keep you from eating concrete. But still, you lean in a little further. There's strength there, you find, far more strength than their frame would suggest by it's lean build and delicate features. They're Prince of Hell, of course they're strong, your brain helpfully supplies. Are you an idiot?

Yes, say your wings, dragging lifeless behind you. Yes, you very much are.

Beelzebub keeps you on your feet as you stumble through the doorway and into the crowded throats of Hell.

Contact of any means is rare in heaven; being supported like this is already the closest you've been to another in centuries. Having to push through hell's living river of bodies is near enough to suffocate. Demons run hot, and soon, sweat begins to drip from you alongside the blood. You can't tell what's worse-- the shooting pain when the crowd jostles your wings, or the sheer discomfort from the heat and the stick and the smell. The loss of your inner eyes has left your vision at the mercy of lighting, like everyone else's. You weren't built to see in the dark, and the hallway lights are so dingy you're not sure they do anything at all. There are no windows here, just flickering overheads that buzz along with the flies.

So you focus on your feet. Partly to watch your step, partly because you can't take the way the demons keep leering at you. The laces of your oxfords have come untied and one of your spats is missing, probably lost in the fall, while the other one's twisted strangely around your ankle and coming undone. Beneath the green overhang, your pretty, cream stockings look diseased. Your heels less click than clomp as you stumble endlessly forward.

"Hold your head up," Beelzebub's voice slips into your ear, barely more than a whisper. "They can smell fear. Don't give it to them."

You don't know why, but you obey. Maybe there's comfort in a task, or maybe you're longing for approval. Maybe, deep down, you've got something to prove. Whyever you do it, you wipe your eyes, pick up your head, and stare back at those who stare upon you.

For the first time in six thousand years, you glare.

"Good," Beelzebub praises, in a way that makes something pleasant roll down your back. "Very good, angel."

They don't seem to mind the weight you've pushed onto them; you're hanging off their shoulders like they're the edge of the world. And, at this point, they might as well be. Your dead wings are getting heavier with each step, your throat's gone raw from heavy breaths, your newly-beating heart's still going wild. Every inhale has got you sucking down the cigarette smoke---or probably something worse---that lingers in the air. Every exhale trembles. Waves start taking over, make you dizzy on your feet. You're coming up on the end of your rope.

"Just a little further, next door on the left. Almost there."

You clench your teeth. Dontgiveittothemdontgiveittothemdontgiveittothem.

"Josh, get that door for me---out of the way, idiots!" Beelzebub pushes past a small crowd, positioning so as to keep you shielded from any more touch. Up ahead, somebody ('Josh'?) swings open a panel in the wall. They all but carry you the last few paces---you're falling apart at the seams, white-knuckling their shoulder as they help you duck through the doorway.

"If any of you so much as think about coming in, you'll be spending the next century without a tongue."

The door slams closed, leaves you in the pitch-black.

You slip from Beelzebub's grip.

And you're back where you started. Crumpled to the floor, dripping in your own sin. Snapped in half and deserving of it. You bury your face in your hands. It's all too much--- the falling, the crowds, the pain, it's so much. You don't have enough space in your head for it, you're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. You're going to crack open. The tears are spilling hard now, pooling on your face then running between your fingers. Your trembling breaths match time with the throbbing in your bones.

God can't hear you, and she wouldn't listen if she could.

"I know, angel," Beelzebub's voice rings soft beside you. Something brushes against your head, begins to card through your hair, and, after a moment, you realize it's them. The Prince of Hell is sitting next to you in the darkness, running their fingers through your hair.

And you let them. You let them whisper nothings while you cry, you let them push their hand through your hair, because it feels good. Because it feels good, and you're dying, and you can't make yourself shove them away like you should. You don't have it in you.

"Let there be light," they whisper.

The room takes on a gentler shade of black-tinged-green, just enough to allow sight. For you, at least. You have a feeling they could already see you through the dark.

"Alright, I'm gonna fix you up now, and I'm gonna be honest, it won't feel great. Hey, look at me," a hand wraps around your cheek, guides you face-to-face. They don't look very much like the Lord of Hell right now, you think, with their soft eyes and long lashes, and their thumb brushing away your tears. Their slow, calculated mannerisms are dropping into something less regulated, though still careful.

"I'm gonna need you to trust me, angel. I know that's a hard ask, if I were you right now, I sure as heaven wouldn't trust myself. But if you go thrashing about when I start, it's gonna make things a lot harder for both of us. I need you to trust me here, and stay still. Can you do that?"

You manage a nod.

"Good, now lie down for me."

It's entirely irrational. Borderline suicidal, this situation; to let yourself be locked in the dark with Hell's Prince, to freely bare your wounds to them. But it's not like you've got anything left to lose. You're dying as it is.

As they help lie you down on your stomach, half of your heart is able to trust them. And right now, in the dim, in the warm, on the concrete, half is enough.

"This is going to hurt, angel, so brace yourself. Alright, three, two, one..."

Their hand presses into your back, and you cry out as the dull, shining throb of brokenness contorts into something alive. You forget your one job. The instinct to struggle, to writhe against the ungodly sensation takes over your body. Beneath your skin, your wingbones are realigning and sewing themselves back together, sliding through limp, wet muscle and burned flesh to get to their places. You push into the ground, bite down on nothing, make desperate, useless movements with no object as you succumb to throes of agonized frenzy.

"Fuck, angel, stay still--"

You're pinned down by another hand on the small of your back, jerking you partly out of your craze. You gasp, whimper, dig your nails into your palms, will yourself to staystillstaystillstaystill while your bones snap into place. Your chest heaves against the ground.

Slowly, slowly, it ends. Relief takes over. Beelzebub lets you go with a sigh, and you echo it. Your wings are bloody and sore, but you can move them again, the cuts are closed, and you're finally in enough control to put them away.

You are exhausted. You are alive.

You breathe.

Whether angels can actually die, at least, by means other than hellfire, nobody's ever told you. You've never really thought about it before, and you sure as hell don't know now. To just have come so close, to be so certain that you're not going to make it, and then to be forcibly put back together and come out living... it's not the kind of thing that gives you any answers.

Beelzebub flops to the ground beside you, panting, and you're struck with the fact of what they've done for you. Somebody meant to be nothing but evil given form, and yet, they're the one who pulled you from the rubble. Who dragged you somewhere safe, who just held you down and mended your wings. Who saved you, their hereditary enemy of six thousand years.

"...Why?"

They don't answer.

You're not sure what happens now. Maybe you've fallen into a trap after all. You don't really want to find out, but you suppose you'll have to. And soon. But, until then, you're content to lie here on the floor.

A heaviness flutters over you, and sleep comes for the first time.

#good omens fanfiction #beelzebub x reader #good omens #good omens beelzebub x reader #x reader #beelzebub good omens #good omens demons #beelzebub #beelzebub/reader #fic #im proud of this ngl #good omens x reader

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witchthewriter · 1 year

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𝑫𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒐𝒏 𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

The mount of Baela Targaryen, daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon. Moondancer was a slender pale green she-dragon with pearl horns, crest and wingbones. During the Dance of the Dragons, she wasn’t big enough to ride, much like Rhaena’s dragon, Morning.

Both Morning and Moondancer came from the clutch of eggs from Rhaenyra’s dragon, Syrax. The twin sister’s stepmother and heir to the throne, treated them with love and grace.

Moondancer’s appearance can be described as both a mix of lizard and traditional. It was well known that Moondancer was stealthy, quick and nimble. With time, she could have become as battle-fierce as Caraxes.

*Spoiler’s beyond this point*

In the books, it was Baela and Moondancer who killed Aegon II’s dragon Sunfyre. They were in airborne battle, and Moondancer gave the killing blow. While plummeting to the ground, with Sunfyre still in her clutches, Aegon jumped from Sunfyre while Baela held on. Moondancer’s carcass was devoured by Sunfyre, however, Sunfyre succumbed to his wounds in the oncoming months.

During the battle, Baela and Aegon both survived. Baela had been badly burnt from the battle, but untied herself from Moondancer and crawled away as Moondancer thrashed back and forth until death.

3D art credit gif credit: @targaryensource.

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twoiafart · 1 year

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MOONDANCER ATTACKS SUNFYRE Artwork by Magali Villeneuve

Moondancer was a young dragon, pale green, with horns and crest and wingbones of pearl. Aside from her great wings, she was no larger than a warhorse, and weighed less. She was very quick, however, and Sunfyre, though much larger, still struggled with a malformed wing and had taken fresh wounds from Grey Ghost.

#asoiaf art #moondancer #sunfyre #magali villeneuve

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kh4osinkarnate · 8 days

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Ever feel like you are a mix of different things? Like a whole other creature you can’t pin down?

Cus I feel so many phantom limbs/feelings such as

-Feathered wings from my back/wingbones

-a long but fluffy and thick tail from my tailbone like a jaguar

-Sharp teeth/canines like some sort of predator animal

-talons/claws (unsure which they are) on all my toes and fingers

-Feline ears on the top of my head, more specifically close to a house cat’s or a lynx.

-fluffy fur on my arms, collarbone, and neck.

-the occasional inverted legs like a satyr but really strong like a kangaroo

I have no clue what this all could be other than some form of gryphon, but having a beak or a bird-like head just doesn’t feel like me.

These are also just my phantom feelings, not to mention the various animalistic instincts I feel such as:

-the need to purr.

-the desire to growl

-the urge to make a deep, almost but not quite barking noise at anything that shows some form of appearing to call to me in certain ways that I can’t put into words

-the urge to sleep a ton even when i sleep enough.

-the desire to rip my teeth into any form of meat I eat.

-and various feline behaviors

If anyone can help, PLEASE list suggestions in the comments. I’m so lost as to what I could be. Therian? Otherkin? Alterhuman? I genuinely can’t pin it down.

#therian #otherkin #alterhuman #please help #help #new theriotype? or is it a mythical creature? no fucking clue.#mythical beings #I have no fucking clue

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whbfan · 1 month

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The Two Stars That Fell From the Sky | Part 2/6

Lucifer’s pupils which were so big that they almost filled his eyes surveyed the boy’s features.

Lucifer: …..?

Lucifer stared at the boy’s face in his field of vision for a moment in a daze, and then realized that the boy in his field of vision was looking down at him, close enough for their noses to touch.

The tip of Lucifer’s nose caught a whiff of the boy’s healthy, fresh body odor, and the scent of blood and medicine mixed with it made him instinctively tense.

???: Huh—! You can’t strain your body yet! Every single bone in your body is broken…!

As the boy gasped and shimmed back, Lucifer slid his gaze down to look at his body.

His body was full of splits, bandages, and medicine. He didn’t need to ask who did it.

Lucifer: Get lost… Don’t bother.

The cold voice was lifeless, like someone who had just crawled out of the netherworld, but strangely sensual.

Having lost the will to live, he found everything cumbersome, The boy’s efforts were admirable, but he didn’t want to say or think of anything.

???: ………!!!

The boy’s eyes sparkled and a rosy glow appeared on his handsome cheeks at Lucifer’s cold words.

???: Your voice…!! It’s so cool….!!!

Lucifer: ……….

When the boy made a fuss and shouted, the staff tied to his back tinkled frantically.

Lucifer frowned. He was languid and weary, and the presence of the boy beside him was too much.

But it wasn’t hard dismissing the boy. All he had to do was tell him ‘the truth’.

???: Aren’t you thirsty? Shall I give you something to drink? Oh, you should loosen your body and—

Lucifer: Everything you’ve done is for naught. As long as I’m in Hell, my wounds won’t heal.

???: Eek— why?!

Lucifer: Because I’m an angel.

It was ridiculous to say that when he had neither wings nor halos, but now that he had said it was useless, he hoped the young creature beside him would go away.

???: Yes, I know.

Said the boy, then ran off with the tinkling of bells, and soon returned with the same sound.

White large feathers that were still bloodstained were still in his hands.

???: I’m sorry… Some of it came off while I treated you. You have gotten better in other places, but this wound won’t heal so I can’t stop the bleeding…

Moreover, the boy looked tearful like it made him upset.

???: You’re saying it’s slow to heal in Hell because you’re an angel, right? That’s a shame… I hope you get better soon.

When the boy sighed, the staff on his back seemed to tinkle in agreement.

Lucifer: (That’s…)

Lucifer stared at the round gem at the end of the boy’s staff.

Looking back at Lucifer who was quietly staring in his direction, the boy gave a stare and hastily brought a wet towel.

???: It’s time to wipe your body. It’s gonna hurt a little when it touches your wounds since you’re awake, but endure…

Lucifer: You’re a pain. Get lost.

Lucifer glared at the boy, his large pupils filled with hostility.

It would have made perfect sense if he replied with ‘That bed you’re lying in, those sheets you’re under—they’re all mine!’

???: Mmm. I was going to go out tomorrow to get food!

The boy didn’t succumb to Lucifer’s cold treatment and answered with a bright smile as cool as a dawn breeze.

???: It’s going to take some time since I’m getting food for two people, so I might not come home today.

The boy spoke with a shadowless face, not the least bit disgruntled.

???: I’ll be back tomorrow! Sleep some more!

After the boy left there was a sound of the front doors closing beyond the closed bedroom.

Lucifer finally close his eyes slowly in the silence.

Then, the scene he last saw before losing consciousness filled his view as though it had been waiting for him.

—

Lucifer: Our Father, who art in Heaven…

Crunch…!!

Lucifer’s sharp nails dug into the flesh and muscle of his back.

Lucifer: Hallowed be thy name…

Crack…!!

Lucifer’s bloody hand pulled out one of his wing bones and crushed it.

Lucifer: Thy kingdom come…

Riiip…!!

There was a bizarre sound as the tendons attached to the broken wingbone snapped, and finally a piece of wing attached to one shoulder detached completely from the body and fell away.

When one of Lucifer’s twelve great wings fell away, the light began to disappear from his body.

He that hath no wings, shall not be able to set foot in Heaven.

Even so, Lucifer didn’t stop praying or harming himself.

Lucifer: Forgive us our sins…

Lucifer: And lead us not into temptation…

Lucifer: But deliver us from evil…

As the prayer continued, his wings fell to the ground.

The fallen wings sank as they hit the ground, passing right through the ground, as if to show that they didn’t belong in Heaven.

Lucifer: For thine is the kingdom,

Lucifer: The power and the glory,

Lucifer: For ever and ever…!!!

As Lucifer finished praying and ripped his last wing off…

Flash—!

The area which had always been daylight thanks to Lucifer’s halo was suddenly plunged into darkness.

The moment his last, twelfth wing fell from him, Lucifer felt the terrifying sensation he had never felt before, if his halo disappearing.

With that, his body began to sink.

That was how Lucifer fell.

Leaving behind his brothers reaching out desperately as he receded—leaving behind the distraught Seraphim.

—

The figures and voices of the weeping and raging Seraphim followed like a never-ending whirling dervish.

At some point, Lucifer was once again trapped in a world of darkness and unconsciousness.

Unconscious for the past week, he had to endure the pain over and over again in an unconscious state with no concept of time.

But he suddenly regained consciousness,

Lick–

Lucifer: ……….!

With a familiar warmth.

It was the same then. It was this warmth that woke him up after endlessly being resented by the Seraphim.

When Lucifer opened his eyes with a start, the boy’s face that was much too close again filled his entire view.

Lucifer: (…Again.)

???: Oh! You’re up! Good timing. I cooked rice porridge so eat it while it’s hot—

Clang—!!

When the friendly boy came with a bowl of porridge on a tray, Lucifer swatted it away with his arm.

The flying tray smashed into the stone wall, and the house shook slightly.

The bowl shattered, grazing the body of the young creature in front of him, creating a gash and splattering the steaming remains of the porridge across his face.

Lucifer: I told you not to bother.

???: How can you move like that when you’re hurt!!

The boy yelped, cutting off Lucifer’s growl. Clink, clink!! The bells jingled. It was a sound that somehow made him feel better.

???: The bones in your arms haven’t mended yet!!

The boy seemed to have no learning ability, as he approached Lucifer like he forgot that he had refused his favor yesterday and had just thrown his porridge bowl.

The boy gently touched the loose splinted arm with a worried look on his face.

The bell jingled once, followed by a bright flash of light from the orb at the end of the boy’s staff.

The light flowed down the boy’s fingertips to sink into Lucifer’s arm.

The red, swollen flesh settled, the broken bones healed, and the arm that had been splinted straightened.

???: Huh….? Huhhh….?! The bones… mended…?!

The boy looked confused although he was the one who did it, and rejoiced.

???: Huh? It feels like the orb is brighter…

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at the boy holding his staff with one hand and studying the orb at its tip.

Lucifer: …A dragon who doesn’t know how to use a magic pearl. It’s proof he’s alive.

When Lucifer muttered and strained his better arm to raise his upper body, the boy who had been studying the orb with a frown, lifted his head and met Lucifer’s gaze with gleaming eyes.

Lucifer thought the boy would make another fuss and say ‘Do you remember me?!’, but he smiled with the most mature look in his eyes that Lucifer had seen so far.

???: Yes, I wanted to thank you… and I was surprised when you fell here.

Lucifer looked at the vertically slit pupils staring back at him and remembered the first time he had seen them.

—

The war between Heaven and the Dragons.

It was more ambush and invasion or slaughter and carnage than war.

In the hands of the angel who tore through the dimension, the little dragon was held hostage by his throat, and all the dragons died before the angel without protest.

A single dragon was the size of a mountain, so when the majority of the dragons became composes and piled up, it became a giant mountain range of corpses.

And at the end of that mountain range, the last of the dragons stood before him, bloodied but undiminished in spirit, as he stared at Michael and his legion.

The dragon’s eyes were deeper than the others, and its scales were wrinkled with age.

Elder Dragon: From an interdimensional being… I have heard of you… Of brothers with the same father… Of angels slaying devils in the same world with your own hands…

The old dragon coughed blood. The blood dyed the dragon’s white beard. There were already more than a thousand spears of light in his stomach.

Michael was glaring at him squarely with both eyes.

#the two stars that fell from the sky #note: some dialogues were fixed or changed to be more accurate #whb #what in hell is bad #whb gamigin #whb lucifer #whb spoilers #whb event #what in ‘hell’ is bad

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cat-astro-pick · 2 months

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟑

𝑀𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝐸𝑧𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚! 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟎

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟏

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅, 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝟎𝟐

The hangover was pretty bad, considering it was wine. Maybe it was fault of the emotion, or maybe it was the fact that I drank too much too fast. The phone in my hand was looking very ominous. I plugged the dead phone into the charger and went out to the veranda. I decided to light a cigarette. I lit up and tossed the lighter aside. The scent of cocoa and vanilla wafted through my nostrils, but what filled my mouth was a bitter, unpleasant cloud of smoke. Even as I smoked, I wasn't looking at the cityscape, which was neither colorful nor peaceful as usual, with graffiti sometimes filling the alleyways. My eyes and attention were focused on my phone, which I wondered how I had managed to bring home in one piece. The ash of cigarette fell out and landed on my slipper. A cold sweat soaked my back with relief that I was out of immediate danger. But it wasn't a comfort that would end in relief. Misfortune doesn't need a long prelude. And the hot cigarette ash that accidentally landed on the end of my soft slipper was a small, insignificant prelude to the beginning of my misery.

[Ezreal : Are you serious?]

[Ezreal : I'm a little...I mean, surprised.]

[Ezreal: Anyway, goodnight, you're very drunk.]

What have I done, what have I done. My heart was beating fast and my blood seemed to be running cold. Ironically, my whole body was gradually getting colder, sweat trickling down my wingbones. I moved my trembling index finger to lift the messenger up. But all I saw was gray bubbles. Before I could deduce anything more, I hit call logs and saw the name Ezreal at the top. I swallowed a curse word and spat it back out.

"Holy shit!"

I don't remember. That made it worse. By the time I could pretend it didn't happen, Ezreal had already replied. It was weird to ask him what I said, but it was also weird to ask him what I said. How do I say, ‘Knock knock, Ez, I was so drunk I can't remember what I said last night, what did I say that surprised you so much?’ No! No way! I'd rather play Russian roulette with a shotgun. If I'm going to do that old-fashioned line, I'm going to do it in a theatrical tone, and that doesn't fit the shitty image I've built up by now! I laughed, hanging on the porch railing like a crazy woman. I was freaking out. I'd rather fall like this, but the railing was sturdy as shit. I didn't move until just before my sociable neighbor from LA came out onto the porch.

I drew the curtains and opened the window. After securing the window, I sat down on the couch, breathing in the cold, nostril-stinging air. I didn't want to think about anything, so I filed away whatever came to hand. It was better to avoid than to organize my thoughts. I admit I'm an idiot, but today was the first time I realized I was brave enough to be drunk and rambling. I ran a comb through my disheveled hair and pulled on my hoodie. I had a bunch of songs to work on, but I couldn't do it today, and I didn't even want to touch my phone. I knew if I went into Messenger again, I'd see that damn message in front of my eyes. I covered my face with my hat and put my hand on the doorknob of my front door. I put my weight on my hand, pressed down on the handle, and pushed the door open. My strength was fading. I've never been perfect, but I didn't expect to be this broken. I can't run anymore. Riding the bus is exhausting. I made my way to the workshop, finishing a cigarette as I passed through narrow alleys. Normally, I would have arrived promptly, but today I didn't get to the door until late afternoon.

"..."

I didn't want to face it. What was behind it, if you ask me, was a bunch of stuff. A few coworkers, a ramshackle recording studio booth, and a bunch of expensive equipment for production. My coworkers don't know anything. But I wasn't good enough at acting like I had nothing going on. I wasn't good enough. Being good was a privilege reserved for those who could afford it. It was better to be gentle with myself than to crave a privilege I couldn't earn. Have to do it even if I don't want to. Have to face it even if I don't want to. So...

I opened the door, my appearance was the same as usual, but no one gave me the usual stare. All three pairs of eyes in the chairs turned to me at the same time, looking out of place, nervously. I managed to maintain my normal voice and tone of voice, but their cold, piercing eyes stopped me from trying to act normal.

"...What are you looking at?"

"Your friend was looking for you."

"Friend? Who..."

I trailed off and shut my mouth. Soon, the normally blunt girl shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. She sounded completely disinterested, but like out of consideration for me, her head turned away from my expression and toward the monitor.

"…Ezreal."

"…Then, I'll call him later."

"He has been waiting for hours, and he's gone. Is it better to see him n-"

"No. Not now. Let's stop talking nonsense and finish the work. Sorry for late."

I sat down in my chair and got ready to work. I put my phone on silent and flipped it over so I couldn't see the screen. Everyone seemed to be noticing my mood, and one of them seemed disgruntled with me, though I knew it wasn't because of my tardiness. I cringed unnecessarily at that puzzled look, the one that seemed to want to say something but didn't. Da pulled his hat deeper into his face. Da pulled his hat deeper and moved his mouse. He punched in a few codes and checked the song on his headset. Over and over again, I listened to the crackling, loud music coming out of the headset, even though it should be jammed. As if there was no other way out.

I wanted to disappear. My coworkers were overly concerned with Ezreal. In fact, I couldn't even tell what they were talking about while I was gone. I kept thinking about the conversations they must have had, even though Ezreal wasn't exactly a lightweight. What if Ezreal had told me everything? I would be humiliated for sins I don't even remember. The conclusion, then, was simple: I would be shamed for sins I don't remember. It was enough that I didn't speak up first. I ignored everything about Ezreal. Avoidance might be a better word. For the first few days, I was met with a mixture of concern, annoyance, and frustration from my coworkers. Toward the end, I started getting calls from Heartsteel guys who weren't even my coworkers.

[Crazy: Hey. What the hell did you say to that idiot that made him so angry?]

[Crazy: Dude, you read it, you read it, why aren't you replying?]

I slowly stroked my dry lips with my index finger. I bit my lip in frustration and made a noise, then bit it off, losing control of the force, and blood trickled down my lip. It tasted salty on the tip of my tongue, and I could smell old metal. I bit my lip and nibbled at the pulsing flesh to draw out more blood. When the blood stopped flowing, I folded my finger and brought it to my lips. There was no more blood. I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes in discomfort, hoping to get some sleep. I hadn't slept well in days, having been churning out scales like a factory. In my sleep, my head, which hadn't been secured, dropped downward as if in a seizure. An empty can of Zero Sugar Monster crashed to the floor, after proding the back of my head. My eyes opened of their own accord with a clear sound, like a thin hammer hitting a thin stone. I pressed my thumbs firmly against the dark circles under my eyes. I sat up and tried to get a drink of water to steady myself. I'm pretty sure I had water in a mug tucked away in the corner, but when I reached out, only I can touch was a plastic water bottle, not a mug. A thicker, well-shaped hand crumpled the water bottle slightly, as if to hold back emotions.

"...Ezreal?"

"It's been a while."

"We need to talk."

Fuck...

Lord. Why have you put me through this?

#ezreal #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel x reader #heartsteel #lol #lol heartsteel #league of legends #league of legends x reader #lol x reader #ezreal x reader #lol fanfic #x reader #heart steel

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