home to some epic games (oc writing when I’m a brave enough boy to share it) | 18+ !!! | star | you can find art of the characters i’m writing about on my art blog @wolvesbaned
fans of my ocs rejoice for cringe fanfic and art i'll never render be upon ye. sketchy illustrations included <3
al/lupa pt ???
---
Lupa marches after Al into the empty, massive carriage of the bridge. The night is heavy with cloud, the cold wind claws through fabric and skin both, and tiny stinging droplets of mist spray sideways against Lupa’s cheeks. The mist and moonlit fog make Al a blurry, determined arrow through the streams of vapor. They stop a decent way in and Al drops her crossed arms over the railing. The wind buffets her words far apart when she turns to speak.
"No, I can’t let you follow me. Not again. Not after what happened."
"Al, there’s no way in hell we’re letting you do this alone!” Lupa’s cheeks are flushed raw. With her camouflage of bruises and bandages, half-shifted and barefoot, she figures she must look ridiculous; she could care less.
On the other hand, as far away as she stands and wearing a top of only gauze and angel glue, Al radiates a soothing, magnetic warmth. The imprint of her wings’ markings pulse gold over her back, self-healing.
"Yes the hell there is. Are you hearing me?" Her words snap Lupa back to attention. "You got hurt because of me. I’m doing this by myself."
Lupa snorts. "Whoa, so we’re just uninvited to saving the world from a crazed god? And you somehow have the final say on this? Look at that—you haven’t changed a bit. You’re just as fucking precious about your moral high ground as always."
"It ain’t about that."
"Yes it is." Lupa growls, and continues, "You always have to be the one that takes it that far. You always have to be the hero. Shit, if I hadn’t stopped you just then, you would’ve died a third time! Do you know how insane that is? Al, look at me."
"What?" Al grits her teeth. Lupa knows she’s supposed to care about what she’s saying, and she does, but her words come out petulant and bitter.
"I’m asking you—do you know what it would mean if you died again. No do-overs, no "divine intervention", definitely none of God’s favor. You’ve run out of chances, and where does that leave us, huh? Where does that leave me, Al?"
Al holds her hands over her neck, and stares into the ocean below them. Her brows furrow and her lips scrunch and her words come out with barely yoked patience.
"Lupa…look. I was so close. So close, and without me having to worry about y’all—and without you pulling that dumbass stunt—I could’ve probably gotten him to give in. And I wish you’d just given me the chance to finish it, because now we don’t know where he went, and we have to start all over."
"Giving you that chance would mean you’d be dead for good."
Al groans. "Or he would!"
"Or you both would."
"So what. Because Auris dies for good. I’m one person, Lupa, and there’s nearly six billion more out there."
"Isn’t that worth it?"
"I know my answer. It sounds like a self crucifixion." The bitterness seeps back in, then. "We’ve been with you every step of the way. And now, suddenly, we’re just another one in six billion?"
"No!" And Al snaps now, finally raising her voice, enough for it to crack, "No, you four are everything to me. And I almost saw what it was like to lose you, and I can’t cope with that. I can’t worry about you and Auris at the same time. So I gotta do this alone."
She throws her hands out to the horizon. "Who do you think I’m really doing this for?"
"Bullshit.” Lupa says. “You…you have at least two other friends. And—and if the world explodes there can’t be anymore Star Trek either."
"Lupa—"
"And you care too much about every stupid person that exists anyways, Doc, you just said so, so don’t pull the best friend discount on us either. I know you. I know who you are. You’d save the world if it was just you and some dipshit you didn’t know from Adam, and you’re the only one of us nice enough to do that. So that’s why we’re going. We want to make sure you’re the one who makes it there."
A long pause, and then, finally, a sigh.
"Lord, you make it so hard to think sometimes. I hate when you do this."
"Do what? Make sense? Care about you? You’re a real nut, you know that, right?"
Al stares at Lupa with a gaze so layered it makes her take a step back. It almost reads as pity, or maybe an apology. The angel leans closer to her, tilts her head.
"You’re bleeding again."
"Aw, shit—" Lupa brings her fingers up to her lips and finds the gash opened and trickling warm. "I thought you patched me up."
"My magic gets weaker the closer I am to him. He drained me a lot." She fishes a band-aid out from her pocket. "Stay still."
Lupa winces when Al’s thumb brushes at her chin, smearing the red away from the wound. "Ouch. Ouch."
"Sorry." Al mutters, absently. Lupa cranes her head back, let’s her eyes roll.
"You know I always hated doctors, right?"
"I know you hate me right now."
The sting of antiseptic—and the comment—hurt more than the wound does.
"Al, I didn’t mean that. And I don’t."
"I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. It’s like I’m taking you all to your graves." Al mumbles. "I wish you could just let me go, Lupa. Let me do this alone.”
She tends to her, but her voice falters to shambles and Lupa can feel her fingers tremble over her jaw. She reaches up to stop her working hand from applying more pressure and stares until Al stares back.
"I’m sorry." And Lupa feels the heat of a stupid confession storm up her throat and temples, steamroll out her mouth before she can stop it. "But if I had to fight him every day for the rest of my life to stop him from hurting you, I would. I would rip into him with my bare hands if I needed to. And if that means I hate you, then I hate you more than anyone else in the whole fucking world right now. I swear it."
And she realizes she’s crying hot and terrible and stupid tears. Al is looking at her like her heart’s been broken into a million pieces. Her thumb still lingers on the corner of her mouth, then, and as if remembering it’s there, she pulls Lupa’s face to hers and kisses her, and for a second every single combative word she very truly planned on saying disappears.
It’s a short kiss—blink, and you miss it, really. Lupa barely lets herself fall into the weight of it, finds the warmth and softness leave her mouth far too soon for her taste. Before she can even close her eyes fully, Al’s leaning back.
"Wait—" Lupa breathes, searches the space between them to find purchase again, but Al’s hand lifts her chin up and tilts it to the side. Lupa doesn’t dignify her with the whine gritting between her teeth. Al’s mouth is smeared now with Lupa’s blood. The gash near the werewolf’s lip is healed—she knows, because Al’s tracing her fingers over it, and it’s smooth. The touch makes her head swim.
"You did not just kiss me to heal a stupid cut."
"Maybe." Al’s eyes flick to hers, and Lupa scowls at the amusement in them.
"Don’t mess with me like that." And she sees a flash of anxiety in the angel’s eyes. "Please, Al. There’s already so much going on as it is."
“Sometimes I wonder how they screwed your head on when you were born.”
"Excuse me?"
"Of course I didn’t kiss you to heal the cut." Al crosses her arms and huffs, "I didn’t…know I could do that." The genuine embarrassment in her expression breaks Lupa down like sugar cubes into hot coffee, and all the pent-up, angry fear melts into a laugh.
"You’re serious?"
"...Yes."
"Alma, wait,—“ Lupa wheezes, light from the stupid giddy prank of it all. "C’mere. Stop looking like a kicked puppy."
Al bows her head and Lupa picks it back up with her hands, and for the first time in a long minute, she smiles wide. “I’m not that mad at you, you know that?”
A moment, and then. "I do. I think."
"Well, I’m not."
Al winces.
"I’m sorry." She says. "I know you don’t hate me. That was a dumb thing to say."
And Lupa realizes suddenly that Al is tired, not only physically, not just from sharp words and tempers, but with an exhaustion in the blood and bones and soul. A burden that makes itself visible only in its weight, the way it hammers cracks of stress into its carriers, in how all the shiny bits that live in the angel seem dull, now.
“Don’t worry, it’s not even the dumbest thing you’ve said today today.” She finds herself cajoling now, soft like one is with fragile things. "No, that was when you really thought I wasn’t going to follow you wherever you go."
"I can’t hear you." Al tries to muffle her face into Lupa’s shoulder, but Lupa butts her head to Al’s and holds her gaze.
"Hell or heaven, baby. You can’t get rid of me that easy," she grins, "and you should know better."
For a moment it’s just the sea below then and the throb of the city in the distance and the wind cutting between their faces. Al’s breath rattles, and she lets her eyes close tight. "I’m scared."
"I know."
"Not of Auris."
"No, I know that too."
"Don’t promise me shit, Lupa. Don’t you promise me you’ll be okay. Don’t be stupid. Just stay alive."
"Okay."
"No, don’t promise me."
Lupa laughs, and says, "Yes ma’am."
Al glares at her with a fake annoyance and a very real love and pinpricks of golden tears at the corners of her eyes. She sniffs, and hiccups, in a small voice, "Sorry I kissed you."
The werewolf remembers, and blushes to her ears. "Oh. Right. Well, payback, or whatever. I kissed you last time."
"And it can’t happen again, right?"
"We also said that last time."
"Hm."
"Yeah."
"Maybe if you don’t die."
"I can’t promise you shit, remember?" Al gives her a look, but Lupa continues, merry now. "It’s in God’s hands now, Jinkies."
"I bet you feel real Catholic right about now."
"I think every saint is super jealous of my exact situation."
18+ ONLY but here is some more siren + werewolf knight writing for anyone who wants to read. may delete later idk. it is absolutely nsfw so don't uh. read this at your job or anything. also warnings for brief cannibalism
18+ ONLY but here is some more siren + werewolf knight writing for anyone who wants to read. may delete later idk. it is absolutely nsfw so don't uh. read this at your job or anything. also warnings for brief cannibalism
for a limited time only, you are all welcome to go (and even comment) on my silly google doc that hosts some nsfw siren/werewolf writing (feat. Tigris and Beauwolf from my little werewolf-knight story). will be deleting this later probably for limited reach okay bye <3
for a limited time only, you are all welcome to go (and even comment) on my silly google doc that hosts some nsfw siren/werewolf writing (feat. Tigris and Beauwolf from my little werewolf-knight story). will be deleting this later probably for limited reach okay bye <3
fans of my ocs rejoice for cringe fanfic and art i'll never render be upon ye. sketchy illustrations included <3
al/lupa pt ???
---
Lupa marches after Al on an empty bridge. The night’s cold, and cloudy, and Al is stopping at the railing with her arms crossed, and the wind buffets her words far apart when she speaks.
"No, I can’t let you follow me. Not again. Not after what happened."
"Al, there’s no way in hell we’re letting you do this alone." Lupa’s cheeks are flushed raw. With her camouflage of bruises and bandages, half-shifted and barefoot, she figures she must look ridiculous; she could care less.
On the other hand, as far away as she stands and wearing a top of only gauze and angel glue, Al radiates a soothing, magnetic warmth. The imprint of her wings markings pulse gold over her back—self-healing.
"Yes the hell there is. Are you hearing me?" Her words snap Lupa back to attention. "You got hurt because of me. I’m doing this by myself."
Lupa snorts. "Whoa, so we’re just uninvited to saving the world from a crazed god? And you somehow have the final say on this? Look at that—you haven’t changed a bit. You’re just as fucking precious about your moral high ground as always."
"It ain’t about that."
"Yes it is." Lupa growls, and continues, "You always have to be the one that takes it that far. You always have to be the hero. Hell, if I hadn’t stopped you just then, you would’ve died a third time! Do you know how insane that is? Al, look at me."
"What?" Al grits her teeth. Lupa knows she’s supposed to care about what she’s saying, and she does, but her words come out petulant and bitter.
"I’m asking you—do you know what it would mean if you died again. No do-overs, no "divine intervention", definitely none of god’s favor. You’ve run out of chances, and where does that leave us, huh? Where does that leave me Al?"
Al holds her hands over her neck, and stares into the ocean below them. Her brows furrow and her lips scrunch and her words come out with barely yoked patience.
"Lupa…look. I was so close. So close, and without me having to worry about y’all—and without you pulling that dumbass stunt—I could’ve probably gotten him to give in. And I wish you’d just given me the chance to finish it, because now we don’t know where he went, and we have to start all over."
"Giving you that chance would mean you’d be dead for good."
Al groans. "Or he would!"
"Or you both would."
"So what. Because Auris dies for good. I’m one person, Lupa, and there’s nearly six billion more out there."
"Isn’t that worth it?"
"I know my answer. It sounds like a self crucifixion." The bitterness seeps back in, then. "We’ve been with you every step of the way. And now, suddenly, we’re just another one in six billion?"
"No!" And Al snaps now, finally raising her voice, enough for it to crack, "No, you four are everything to me. And I almost saw what it was like to lose you, and I can’t cope with that. I can’t worry about you and Auris at the same time. So I gotta do this alone."
She throws her hands out to the horizon. "Who do you think I’m really doing this for?"
"Bullshit.” Lupa says. “You have at least two other friends. And—and if the world explodes there can’t be anymore Star Trek either."
"Lupa—"
"And you care too much about every stupid person that exists anyways, Doc, you just said so, so don’t pull the best friend discount on us either. I know you. I know who you are. You’d save the world if it was just you and some dipshit you didn’t know from Adam, and you’re the only one of us nice enough to do that. So that’s why we’re going. We want to make sure you’re the one who makes it there."
A long pause, and then, finally, a sigh.
"Lord, you make it so hard to think sometimes. I hate when you do this."
"Do what? Make sense? Care about you? You’re a real fucking nutcase, you know that, right?"
Al stares at Lupa with a gaze so incomprehensible it makes her take a step back. It almost reads as pity, or maybe an apology. The angel leans closer to her, tilts her head.
"You’re bleeding again."
"Aw, shit—" Lupa brings her fingers up to her lips and finds the gash opened and trickling warm. "I thought you patched me up."
"My magic gets weaker the closer I am to him. He drained me a lot." She fishes a band-aid out from her pocket. "Stay still."
Lupa winces when Al’s thumb brushes at her chin, smearing the red away from the wound. "Ouch. Ouch."
"Sorry." Al mutters, absently. Lupa cranes her head back, let’s her eyes roll.
"You know I always hated doctors, right?"
"I know you hate me right now."
The sting of antiseptic—and the comment—hurt more than the wound does.
"Al, I didn’t mean that. And I don’t."
"I don’t understand why you wouldn’t. It’s like I’m taking you all to your graves." Al mumbles. "I wish you could just let me go, Lupa. Let me do this alone.”
She tends to her, but her voice falters to shambles and Lupa can feel her fingers tremble over her jaw. She reaches up to stop her working hand from applying more pressure and stares until Al stares back.
"I’m sorry." And Lupa feels the heat of a stupid confession storm up her throat and temples, steamroll out her mouth before she can stop it. "But if I had to fight him every day for the rest of my life to stop him from hurting you, I would. I would rip into him with my bare hands if I needed to. And if that means I hate you, then I hate you more than anyone else in the whole fucking world right now. I swear it."
And she realizes she’s crying hot and terrible and stupid tears. Al is looking at her like her heart’s been broken into a million pieces. Her thumb still lingers on the corner of her mouth, then, and as if remembering it’s there, she pulls Lupa’s face to hers and kisses her, and for a second every single combative word she very truly planned on saying disappears.
It’s a short kiss—blink, and you miss it, really. Lupa barely lets herself fall into the weight of it, finds the warmth and softness leave her mouth far too soon for her taste. Before she can even close her eyes fully, Al’s leaning back.
"Wait—" Lupa breathes, searches the space between them to find purchase again, but Al’s hand lifts her chin up and tilts it to the side. Lupa doesn’t dignify her with the whine gritting between her teeth. Al’s mouth is smeared now with Lupa’s blood. The gash near the werewolf’s lip is healed—she knows, because Al’s tracing her fingers over it, and it’s smooth. The touch makes her head swim.
"You did not just kiss me to heal a stupid cut."
"Maybe." Al’s eyes flick to hers, and Lupa scowls at the amusement in them.
"Don’t mess with me like that." And she sees a flash of anxiety in the angel’s eyes. "Please, Al. There’s already so much going on as it is."
“Sometimes I wonder how they screwed your head on when you were born.”
"Excuse me?"
"Of course I didn’t kiss you to heal the cut." Al crosses her arms and huffs, "I didn’t…know I could do that." The genuine embarrassment in her expression breaks Lupa down like sugar into coffee, and all the pent-up, angry fear melts into a laugh.
"You’re serious?"
"...Yes."
"Alma, wait,—“ Lupa wheezes, light from the stupid giddy prank of it all. "C’mere. Stop looking like a kicked dog."
Al bows her head and Lupa picks it back up with her hands, and for the first time in a long minute, she smiles wide. “I’m not that mad at you, you know that?”
A moment, and then. "I do. I think."
"Well, I’m not."
Al winces.
"I’m sorry." She says. "I know you don’t hate me. That was a dumb thing to say."
And Lupa realizes suddenly that Al is tired, not only physically, not just from sharp words and tempers, but with an exhaustion in the blood and bones and soul. A burden that makes itself visible only in its weight, and the way it draws cracks of stress into its carriers, in how all the shiny bits that lived in the angel seemed dull, now.
“Don’t worry, it’s not even the dumbest thing you’ve said today today.” She finds herself cajoling now, soft like one is with fragile things. "No, that was when you really thought I wasn’t going to follow you wherever you go."
"I can’t hear you." Al tries to muffle her face into Lupa’s shoulder, but Lupa butts her head to Al’s and holds her gaze.
"Hell or heaven, baby. You can’t get rid of me that easy," she grins, "and you should know better."
For a moment it’s just the sea below then and the throb of the city in the distance and the wind cutting between their faces. Al’s breath rattles, and she lets her eyes close tight. "I’m scared."
"I know."
"Not of Auris."
"No, I know that too."
"Don’t promise me shit, Lupa. Don’t you promise me you’ll be okay. Don’t be stupid. Just stay alive."
"Okay."
"No, don’t promise me."
Lupa laughs, and says, "Yes ma’am."
Al glares at her with a fake annoyance and a very real love and pinpricks of golden tears at the corners of her eyes. She sniffs, and hiccups, in a small voice, "Sorry I kissed you."
The werewolf remembers, and blushes to her ears. "Oh. Right. Well, payback, or whatever. I kissed you last time."
"And it can’t happen again, right?"
"We also said that last time."
"Hm."
"Yeah."
"Maybe if you don’t die."
"I can’t promise you shit, remember?" Al gives her a look, but Lupa continues, merry now. "It’s in God’s hands now, Jinkies."
"I bet you feel real Catholic right about now."
"I think every saint is super jealous of my exact situation."
currently fascinated with my tortured werewolf knight, and her completely unhealthy religious-obsessive relationships with love and sin 💜 finally. a meow meow for me. more under the line
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