#instead of angels they celestial angels

[eepsy]

I lost will to finish this 😞

Oh well 😞

[fel-fisk]

Onyx, former demon/current celestial & the magical shadow blade he inhabits

(some art i did for tokens in my CoS game :>)b tryna share more of the misc. art i do for my dnd games)

[journey-to-the-attic]

In the office building au, would Solomon also be a demon? Or would he still be just a sorcerer going about this day wondering how this one business got haunted?

Also just picturing Luke as an intern at Celestial Law going to drop off court documents or something, seeing IK flatten her hand to open a door from the inside because they needed a broom but didn’t have a key to the janitors closet. Just. Turn around, they can get those documents tomorrow, maybe. It could be an email.

ooo okay, so either:

1. solomon's a higher-up demon who's basically like a supervisor, who's sort of taken ik under his wing - and she gets away with constantly wandering off to the human world because he has a soft spot for her

2. OR solomon is a non-magic regular guy - just a guy with a degree in biochem, who's taken up investigative journalism and was looking into to diavolo's dad's prior to his death. he's been convinced of and determined to expose his cult stuff for years, and now that diavolo's taken over the company he's turned his attention to him instead

i think i like journalist-solomon best, tbh the main reason i have demon-boss-solomon in my head is just because i think it'd be cute if he referred to ik as his protege, even though she doesn't really put enough malice into her mischief to earn the title of "hell's littlest grand duke"

journalist solomon has like. looney-tunes level antics going on with ik, who he's CONVINCED is an evil spirit, but ik just constantly manages to evade his tests for demonic entities (sometimes because they just don't work anyway)

he tries to call question to the fact that there's a mysterious disappearing-reappearing child skulking around the office building, and diavolo says on an impulse "oh that's just my daughter" and it makes the public love him. young handsome businessman working hard to reinstate and repair his corrupt father's business, and he's a single dad? he's practically an idol now. this frustrates solomon to no end

also luke with the gag that he is the only character (who doesn't know ik's true nature) who ever witnesses her self-inflicted cartoon violence, but solomon doesn't ever get to use this as evidence because luke just thinks she's Like That somehow

[sharkiegorath]

i need to rewatch the entirety of Good Omens S1 to confirm it but. did. did Crowley have unique time control powers and we just collectively never talked about it and never examined the potential implications

[zevlors-tail]

Supposed to be sleeping and have work in like 3 hours but anyway here's what Michael's sword looks like in my OC Muse's story:

Also here's what Luke's sword would look like if I ever decide to give him one later on after he grows up and takes over the CR:

Picrew

[hauntedhappenings]

sometimes I forget that my sister is quite literally a writer. a songwriter, sure, but that's still a type of writer??

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Words to use instead of beautiful?

Alluring - having a strongly attractive or enticing quality

Angelic - resembling, or suggestive of, an angel (as in purity, holiness, innocence, or beauty)

Appealing - having appeal; pleasing

Attractive - arousing interest or pleasure

Beguiling - agreeably or charmingly attractive or pleasing

Bewitching - powerfully or seductively attractive or charming

Captivating - charmingly or irresistibly appealing

Celestial - eminently pleasing; delightful, heavenly

Charismatic - a person who possesses special traits that attract, inspire, or fascinate other people; a person possessing charisma

Charming - extremely pleasing or delightful

Cute - attractive or pretty especially in a childish, youthful, or delicate way

Dapper - neat and trim in appearance; very spruce and stylish

Dazzling - brilliantly or showily bright, colorful, or impressive

Debonair - suave, urbane; lighthearted, nonchalant

Divine - supremely good; godlike

Elegant - of a high grade or quality; splendid

Enchanting - powerfully pleasing, appealing, or delightful

Enticing - arousing strong attraction or interest

Entrancing - capable of attracting and holding interest; charming

Exquisite - pleasing through beauty, fitness, or perfection; one who is overly fastidious in dress or ornament

Fine - worthy of or eliciting admiration

Gorgeous - splendidly or showily brilliant or magnificent

Graceful - pleasing or attractive in line, proportion, or movement

Handsome - having a pleasing and usually impressive or dignified appearance

Heavenly - suggesting the blessed state of heaven; beatific; delightful

Immaculate - having or containing no flaw or error; pure

Lovesome - winsome, lovely; affectionate, amorous

Pretty - having conventionally accepted elements of beauty

Pulchritudinous - physical comeliness

Radiant - marked by or expressive of love, confidence, or happiness

Ravishing - unusually attractive, pleasing, or striking

Refined - free from impurities; fastidious, cultivated

Resplendent - attractive and impressive through being richly colorful or sumptuous

Seductive - having alluring or tempting qualities

Striking - attracting attention or notice through unusual or conspicuous qualities

Stunning - strikingly impressive especially in beauty or excellence

Sublime - tending to inspire awe usually because of elevated quality (as of beauty, nobility, or grandeur) or transcendent excellence

Sultry - exciting or capable of exciting strong sexual desire

Voguish - fashionable, smart; suddenly or temporarily popular

Winsome - generally pleasing and engaging often because of a childlike charm and innocence

If this helps/inspires your writing in any way, please tag me, or leave a link in the replies. I would love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[watevermelon]

A Beautiful Cage | Sunday x Reader

✧ Summary: You woke up in this beautiful dream, memories lost with a handsome man claiming to be your husband.

➳ Spoilers for the 2.2 Penacony update! ➳ Warnings: Dark!Sunday x Amnesiac Reader; Yandere writing liberties :) ➳ Navigation

“My beautiful Sparrow, welcome back.”

You stared at the man, blinking twice without words as his affection for you shined like the halo upon his head. The grip he had on your hand fell with each beat of your prolonged silence, a new sort of desperation growing at the corners of his lips. Your heart broke at the sight, despite not even knowing his name.

“I’m sorry. Do I… know you?” You asked back, sitting up in the bed and only now noticing your surroundings.

The sterile smell and beeping monitors confirmed the worst. Beside you sat someone whom you felt an inexplicable connection to, a pull in your heart that stirred up warning bells, yet their face brought no specific memories.

Everything about him exuded importance, from the fine fabric and intricate details of his clothes to the matching halo and ethereal wings. He almost looked like an angel, a being of celestial grace and authority.

The man in question grimaced, but continued. “My name is Sunday. Do you remember my face?”

Sunday, like the last day of the week.

The day of rest.

“I’m sorry, no.” Your forehead creased in strain, as if the physical action could bring it all back. A worse revelation crossed your mind, “I don’t even remember my own name.”

“Then I will help you remember, my dear Sparrow.” He spoke gently, repeating the term of endearment as he lifted your hand to his lips. A silent warning bell in your subconscious screamed at you to pull away, but you ignored it to instead stare into his handsome, golden eyes.

“Please, stop me if this becomes overwhelming for you.” Sunday warned before explaining further, “You are my wife. And because of my position in this world, you are often put in danger. And unfortunately, I was not able to protect you from an attack.”

You stayed silent as Sunday continued on, describing in small detail the life you shared together. 

Your name and the world you chose to stay in, Penacony.

A dreamlike world where many partied their days away, celebrities and the affluent from around the universe sharing in one lavish adventure.

And Sunday, the head of the Oak family.

You could hardly believe his words, a world where people were able to freely pursue their dreams. 

The hesitation must have been seen on your face, since the kind stranger had countered with a simple phrase. “Let me show you.”

Gold lined the streets as far as the eye could see, casting a radiant glow across the entire cityscape. Fantastical roads floated in the sky above, while buildings were illuminated in a dazzling golden radiance.

Golden Hour, the name for the area, was aptly so. 

You stared dumbly in different directions, taking in the fantastical view and the lively bustle of people moving from store to store. Street performers graced nearly every corner, their music blending into a harmonious soundtrack that filled the vibrant, diverse heart of the city.

Sunday lifted an open palm towards you, the corners of his lips curling into a soft smile as if inviting your touch. As you placed your hand over his, you felt the gentle pressure of his grip matching your own tenderness. His hand felt cold and unfamiliar, but you brushed aside the discomfort, chalking it up to your amnesia.

“It’s Mr. Sunday!” A child yelled in excitement, jumping up and down as his company of other children turned at his words.

Suddenly there was a crowd of children, all surrounding your supposed husband and asking for his autograph. A weight on your heart felt lighter, seeing strangers confirm the words of the one person who was influencing your entire outlook on your new life. 

Sunday was essentially a stranger, but now the only person you could rely on.

You needed truths and as the crowd grew larger, you could confirm that this man was honest in his words earlier.

“Are you alright, Miss?” One of the children turned and asked you.

Another joined in on the conversation, “Mr. Sunday said you were hurt! Are you okay?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for asking.” You kept your response kind, but short.

Sunday weaved his way through the short crowd, back to your side. "Please excuse us as we must depart promptly. My sincere apologies, but my dear wife has endured considerable challenges."

“Awww, he loves you!” A squeal broke out from the back, making you unconsciously blush.

Sunday simply smiled, before waving goodbye and leading you on your way.

Sunday resided in a grand estate, passing libraries adorning the walls as he guided you to your shared bedroom. You admired the opulent furniture, once again accented with gold. As Sunday removed his outer layers, you seized the opportunity to survey the room. Framed pictures — your wedding, a festival, and one with a third person who looked much like Sunday —moments that, regrettably, eluded your recognition.

Your husband emerged from the other room silently, regarding you with that same small smile as he drew closer.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember.” You spoke first, genuinely frustrated that your memories were taken from you. “It’s alright.” He reassured you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Can I try something to help you?”

You nodded in quiet affirmation, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips as Sunday leaned closer. His breath mingled with yours, warm and comforting, as he pressed a soft kiss against the tip of your nose before gently lowering his lips to meet yours. The kiss was tender, like the flutter of a butterfly's wings, delicate and fleeting, as if both of you were hesitant to disrupt the tranquility of the moment.

But as the warmth of the embrace enveloped you, a surge of emotion ignited within, fueling the kiss with a newfound intensity. Your lips moved in perfect harmony, a dance of passion and longing, as Sunday's hand found its way to the back of your neck, his touch both gentle and possessive. With each brush of his lips against yours, the world around you faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of you locked in a timeless embrace.

But it was not enough.

“I love you, my Sparrow.” He murmured against your lips. “Whatever you come to need, I will provide it. Lest it be my time, my affection, or even if you perhaps… need space.”

A pang of bittersweet ache tugged at your heart as you processed those last words. It was undeniable how much Sunday loved you, his actions speaking volumes and allowing you the space and freedom if that was what you wanted. It was a sacrifice born out of love, a silent vow to stand by your side no matter the outcome, even as your heart yearned for the completeness that only the restoration of your memories could bring.

But a life without him… did not feel right?

“No, please. I want you by my side.” 

It was a small concession, but the radiant smile that blossomed across Sunday's face filled even you with an infectious joy. He leaned in, pressing a series of gentle kisses along the side of your cheek, each one eliciting a soft laugh from your lips as you savored the delightful sensation. In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the warmth of his affection, all worries and uncertainties melted away, leaving behind only the sweet embrace of shared laughter and unspoken love.

You snuggled into his arms at night, the sensation unfamiliar but not unwelcome. As you closed your eyes and drifted into slumber, a relentless melody began to crescendo, growing louder and more insistent until it engulfed your consciousness, becoming the sole sound echoing through the corridors of your dreams.

A woman's voice, light and airy, infused with hope, danced through the recesses of your mind, casting a shimmering veil over your thoughts.

Who was that woman?

And why was she the only memory your mind could recall?

You devoured every book available on Penacony and its rich history, spending countless days ensconced within the walls of your private library. Sunday had even offered recommendations, guiding you towards enlightening reads detailing the intricate tapestry of the Oak family and the other prominent families that shaped the fabric of Penacony's past.

A dream, tantalizing in its promise, offering individuals the chance to manifest and fulfill their deepest desires, but with a caveat—access granted solely through the family's invitation.

But there was nothing of note regarding your situation.

Instead, you found yourself falling into rhythm into Sunday’s life.

You slotted into his life easily, either accompanying Sunday for work or even venturing out on your own. Some days, you would visit his office as he tirelessly worked and meticulously planned for the upcoming Charmony festival. Or, on easier days, strolled through the familiar streets of Penacony as he encouraged you to immerse yourself in the surroundings in hopes of triggering memories.

In each interaction, it was evident the deep love and devotion Sunday held for his people and his beloved city of Penacony. He listened attentively to even the most mundane complaints from others, offering genuine empathy and understanding. His concern and unwavering commitment to his people were palpable, leaving a heartwarming impression on all who encountered him.

It seemed like he was perfect in every way possible.

Life with Sunday was sweet, easy even.

And yet, there was an insistent hammering in your heart, a relentless pulse that sent waves of unease through your entire being.

Every night without fail, you continued to hear that insistent melody, a haunting refrain that seemed to echo from the depths of your past. You couldn't fathom why your mind clung to this particular fragment of memory and it nearly drove you to anger. You had lived an entire life, rich with experiences and emotions, yet it was a single song that your memory chose to preserve. Why not Sunday, or the life you had shared together? 

What was the importance of this song?

You found yourself unconsciously humming along to this song even as you traversed Penacony. It was another day with Sunday off attending to business, leaving you to your own devices. You appreciated his willingness to let you explore Penacony independently; it allowed you to experience the city's vibrancy through your own eyes, unfiltered by anyone’s perceptions and unburdened by expectations. The freedom to form your own impressions was a gift, even as the familiar tune haunted your every step.

How could you possibly be suspicious of your husband when he was giving you all this freedom?

Your eyes swept appreciatively across the cityscape until they paused in one direction. You halted immediately, a small tendril of suspicion blossoming into body-wide panic as you recognized the woman standing before you.

In your heart of hearts, you remembered her name.

Robin.

Instantly, an unrelenting pain seared through your brain, but you resisted the urge to duck down, clutching your head as you stared at the woman. She locked eyes with you, surprise flashing across her face before she began running in your direction.

“Robin?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but the woman wrapped her arms around your middle.

Her hug felt deeply familiar, like the comforting embrace of home after a long, perilous journey. It was as if her arms wrapped not just around your body, but around your weary soul, offering solace and a sense of belonging that you had desperately missed.

You continued. “Robin, I… Lost all my memories. You are the only person I’ve recognized so far.”

Robin's face contorted in pain, worry deepening with every word you spoke. She looked you over, inspecting every inch to ensure you were unhurt. Satisfied, she hugged you again tightly before gently patting your heart.

“Robin?” You asked again, but the woman only looked at you and tilted her head in question.

“Are you… unable to speak?”

Yes.

She nodded her head, making you take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. “Is it because of me?”

No.

“I… We should tell Sunday!” You attempted to look for a solution, but she frowned and kept nodding her head no. “Does he already know?

Yes.

“... Will you come back home with me? I don’t remember you fully, but in my heart it feels like I’ve missed you.”

She nodded eagerly, making you a bit more suspicious of her intentions.

You walked side-by-side, making your way back to your shared abode with Sunday, enveloped in a familiar atmosphere. In the absence of her voice, you took it upon yourself to fill the air with conversation, enough for the both of you. You recounted how you had awoken without a single memory, with Sunday faithfully by your side. You described his love and devotion, his unwavering care for your every need.

This felt familiar, being with Robin. However, why now? 

Why hadn’t she visited you before?

A part of your mind stuttered, hesitating to confide in Robin about the ominous feeling gnawing at your heart regarding everything that was happening. What if she took her brother's side? Perhaps it was wiser to keep silent, hesitant to disclose your apprehensions, especially considering the possibility that she might be collaborating with him.

You walked into the foyer with Robin and she led you further into the home, into a library with a large desk that had a model of all of Golden Hour.

It was evident that she was on a mission, striding purposefully forward without the slightest hint of hesitation as she surveyed the towering bookcases that lined the walls of the library. Sensing her focused energy, you allowed her to proceed in silence, observing her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Recognition flashed behind her eyes and she grabbed something resting on the shelf, a rectangular object, before quickly thrusting it at you.

“What do you want me to do with this?” You asked with confusion, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Silent yet urgent, she swiftly took charge and reached to open the flap of your jacket, deftly slipping the object into the pocket before pressing a single pointer finger against her lips, signaling for you to maintain absolute silence.

You shook your head in confusion, near begging for more information. “Silent from who?”

From Sunday?

Or from someone else in Penacony?

But a now familiar voice was heard at the door frame.

“My dear sister, I didn’t know you’d be visiting our home today. Not that I’m not grateful, but I would have stayed home to greet you upon your arrival.” Sunday greeted you both with his customary kind smile, a warm familiarity washing over you. He approached, embracing his sister first in a lingering hug before turning to your side, where he offered you a greeting kiss on the forehead.

“My offer to stay in this home still stands, dear sister.”

Their relationship appeared to be fine, even close. Perhaps Robin hadn’t intended to keep the matter silent from Sunday? However, as Robin bid you both goodbye and you found yourselves alone, you made the conscious decision to remain quiet about the object, keeping it tucked away in your pocket like a silent reminder.

The following day, you ventured out of the mansion and found yourself in a cafe. Uncertain about the object nestled in your pocket, you hesitated to even retrieve it, opting instead to keep your hand inside, fingers lightly brushing against its surface as you inspected it solely through touch.

Nothing about it seemed special, just a rectangular object shrouded in mystery.

Dumbfounded, you exited the cafe, pondering the possibility of researching the object. Was there a library somewhere in Penacony that might hold more information? A tendril of apprehension tightened in your heart as you recalled that the only library you had encountered thus far was the one within your own home.

“Ah, his little songbird.” A voice, unfamiliar, broke you out of your reverie.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” You asked back genuinely.

“Perhaps in another lifetime.” The woman continued, looking you up and down with a smirk on her face.

She was beautiful, even enough to make you feel self conscious. The woman stood tall with porcelain skin contrasting the lavender hues that cascaded down her back. Her gaze nearly matched her hair, a captivating blend of colors with red striking you like the flames of a hypnotic fire.

“My name is Black Swan.” She stated simply, inspecting your eyes as if to see if there was any recognition behind them.

But instead, you blinked twice, uncertainty clouding your thoughts as you awaited her next words, unsure of where she was leading the conversation.

“That’s unfortunate.” She commented on your eyes, once vibrant when she last saw you. “But I believe you have a souvenir of mine.”

Your hand clenched around the rectangular object, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. The thought of broaching the subject with Sunday seemed fraught with risk. Why would you entertain the idea of confiding in a stranger?

“I know you don’t trust me. But would it help if I told you a fellow songbird and I gave it to you?”

Robin.

You paused, looking left and right before stepping closer. 

“Hold on.” She spoke softly, her words accompanied by a gentle hand on your wrist, guiding you away from the bustling streets of Golden Hour. Through winding paths and intricate puzzles, she led you, each twist and turn revealing new secrets and hidden passages.

“It isn’t safe here either, but at least now we’re away from the eyes of the bloodhounds.”

Huh?

Though you couldn’t quite comprehend it, with each passing moment in the company of this stranger, you found yourself inexplicably at ease. There was a sense of trust that seemed to grow between you, as if she were a steadfast ally in this labyrinthine journey. You held up the rectangular object in your palms, and she made no move to take it from your grasp, respecting your agency and the significance of the item to you.

She put her hand over the object, “This is an empty light cone. Light cones hold memories, moments in time that were long forgotten even by the user.”

Your eyes shot up in interest, but you did not interrupt her.

“Tell me, do you enjoy this dream?” She asked, seemingly out of nowhere. “Be honest with me, songbird.”

You paused, given the first true opportunity to speak your mind. “I enjoy being here, but something doesn't feel complete.”

“Have you noticed something strange since you first awoke here?”

“Like what? 

“Remember. A major flaw in the story you have experienced.”

Your frustration grew, “I can only recall the last few weeks, I can’t go back any further.”

Black Swan fixed her gaze upon you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unwavering intensity as she spoke. “Think back to what you know. Where did you start this story?”

“I was in a hospital, here in Penacony.”

In response, she arched a single eyebrow, a silent indication that there was more to your statement than met the eye.

“And a death in Penacony means what?” She asked slowly.

You strained to recall the answer to that question, your mind rifling through the wealth of knowledge gleaned from the books you had devoured upon awakening. In this dream realm, death held no sway, its specter banished from the bounds of this surreal reality. Your heart quickened with anticipation as the answer began to crystallize in your mind.

“It means returning back to reality.”

If your injuries were indeed severe enough to land you in a hospital bed, on the edge of your life and stripped of your memories, why hadn't you simply returned to reality?

Or rather, why hadn’t Sunday brought you back to reality?

“Wake up, songbird. Break free from this eternal dream.”

Your consciousness plunged beneath the surface instantly, submerged in the depths of an endless ocean. With each stroke, you struggled against the weight of the water, yearning for the surface just out of reach. Yet, propelled by an unseen force, your mind surged forward, propelled by the current of your subconscious.

.

.

.

You coughed up air, gasping for breath as you struggled to fill your lungs, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty washing over you in waves. 

Where the hell were you?

You found yourself seated in a pool of water within the confines of a colossal oyster, a fleeting memory flickering in your mind—a recollection of this being the entrance to the Dreamscape.

You were back in reality.

The room was tastefully decorated, with screens displaying a serene beachside view and lush green plants adorning the corners. A cozy fireplace added warmth and ambiance to one wall. It became evident that this was your personal space, as stacks of books adorned every available surface.

As you meticulously combed through the books, your fingers trembled with anticipation, a sense of dread beginning to gnaw at the edges of your consciousness. Each page turned revealed nothing but mundane details, no hint of Sunday's potential duplicity. Yet, the oppressive silence of the room seemed to press in on you, suffocating and thick with apprehension.

Nobody should have knowledge of your clandestine presence, save for Black Swan, yet the hollow echo of a knock shattered the stillness, reverberating through the room like a harbinger of doom. Each rap upon the door sent shivers racing down your spine, your heartbeat thundering like a drumbeat of impending dread.

Was it Sunday?

Was he going to force you back into the Dreamscape?

Hesitation rooted you on the spot, hand trembling as it hovered over the doorknob. Fear coiled in your chest like a venomous serpent, paralyzing your every movement. But the relentless knocking persisted, growing louder and more insistent with each passing second, until it felt as though the very walls themselves were closing in.

“Sparrow, are you alright?”

Sunday.

And yet he sounded… concerned?

His genuinely distressed tone had a disarming effect, causing your guard to falter. With a hesitant hand, you reached for the doorknob, feeling it's cool metal beneath your fingertips. 

Even with your slow movements, Sunday hadn’t rushed to open the rest of the door. His voice was gentle, “My love, were you attacked again?”

What?

Did you awaken here the last time you were attacked?

You met Sunday's gaze, but the expression etched upon his face was unlike anything you had ever seen. His eyes, typically ablaze with a golden warmth, now held a chilling intensity, their once vibrant hue dimmed to a somber shade. In their depths, a glimmer of suspicion flickered, casting an ominous pall over his countenance. His stare bore into you with a laser-like focus, each line etched upon his features to show the gravity of his scrutiny. 

“No… I was with…”

Your mind stuttered once more, faltering in its attempt to grasp onto the memory of the woman you had just encountered. The image of her beautiful lavender hair and the melodic cadence of her voice began to fade, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. It was as if the memories were elusive phantoms, slipping away from your grasp, leaving behind only fragments of a conversation and a sense of disorientation in their wake.

Sunday remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he observed your inner turmoil with a focused intensity. In a fleeting instant, the tension dissolved from his features, replaced by a tender expression as he lifted a hand to caress your cheek. Leaning in, he gently pressed his forehead against yours, a silent gesture of reassurance.

“Let me take care of you, Songbird.”

“Where… Where are we going?”

“Let’s forgo the Dreamscape tonight. The dinner menu in the lounge sounded particularly appetizing.”

As your mind grappled with the swirling chaos of conflicting memories, one thought remained steadfast: the yearning to return to reality and leave the Dreamscape. Yet, Sunday stood before you, extending an invitation to remain in reality with him. His gentle encouragement, coupled with the suggestion of sharing a meal together, created a tug-of-war within your soul - if he was truly suspicious, wouldn’t he want to return to the Dream?

“Something wrong, my dear?” Sunday asked, his trademark gentle smile once again gracing his features.

A pang of guilt gnawed at a corner of your mind, for you had harbored suspicions of Sunday throughout your time in the Dreamscape. Yet, here he stood, seemingly without fault, extending an open invitation to spend time with him outside the confines of the dream.

“No, let’s.. Let’s get dinner.” You spoke softly, slipping your hand into his and surprising him with your initiative, taking the lead for once.

“Of course, my love.”

You traversed the halls in silence, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts as you pondered the origins of your suspicion towards Sunday. He had been your rock, your unwavering support, proving his loyalty and love over the years of your marriage. It was probably the amnesia that made you wary, but you felt somewhat guilty that you held suspicions over the one person who may not have deserved it. 

Lost in contemplation, you scarcely noticed the world around you until you chanced upon a young boy, his striking white hair and azure garments catching your attention in the otherwise familiar surroundings.

“Welcome back to the Reverie! If you need any assistance, feel free to let me know.” He greeted you by name, making you smile at his sunny disposition. 

“Thank you, we’re headed down to the VIP lounge now for dinner.” Sunday responded, pausing to reply to the bellboy.

“I’m sorry, I had an accident and I don’t remember your name. Can you tell me yours?”

“No problem, my name is Misha.”

.

.

.

“A pleasure to meet you Misha.” You replied before waving goodbye, smiling as you went with Sunday by your side.

Perhaps you were wrong to be suspicious of Sunday. But no matter, you had an entire lifetime to make it up to your darling husband. He had been so kind to you these last few weeks, you resolved to make amends and shower your darling husband with the love and trust he deserved. Recollections of his tender gestures flooded your mind—the soft kisses, the gentle caresses—that had brought warmth and comfort to your heart over the past weeks. With a smile playing at your lips, you embraced the idea of spending a lifetime cherishing him.

You leaned up on your toes, gently kissing the side of his cheek as you walked through the halls.

Perhaps things were as they should be.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Despite what Robin claimed, Sunday loved you, truly.

Even when you threatened to leave his side for good.

When Robin returned back from her journey on death’s door, Sunday had not simply presented the idea of keeping her here on Penacony.

He enforced it.

In the tender heart of Sunday resided his beloved sister, a cherished soul intertwined with his very essence—his own lifeblood. Why, then, would he ever allow her to return to the perilous realms from whence she came? 

Society was too cold, too dangerous. 

Robin vocalized her discontent, lamenting the confines of the gilded cage that Penacony had become for her. Yet it was a cage adorned not with mere bars but with the allure of gold and the promise of boundless dreams. She could do anything, be anything. In fact, she was already a renowned celebrity who had the love of her last remaining family member. 

Why return to danger when here she prospered?

“It is still a cage.” She would counter, frustration dripping from her words.

And how much more did it break his heart when you took her side?

“Sunday, my love.” As if any endearments would affix his shattered heart. “Robin has a message that she must continue spreading. Keeping her confined here, what about the people she needs to reach?”

No.

He refused to accept their words.

Sunday’s sacrifices were grains of sand slipping through an hourglass, bearing the weight of his every aspiration, relinquished one by one until they formed a towering edifice, precarious yet resolute. At its peak stood the pinnacle of his being — his own life — offered willingly to maintain this dreamlike world even until the very last breath of eternity.

How much more was he willing to give-up?

Or rather, what was he allowed to be selfish for?

His dear sister.

And certainly, you.

As the Stellaron continued to leak Asdana’s memoria into the material world, Sunday felt his final dreams come to fruition. The Dreamscape was blending with reality, making even reality itself an illusion. 

He told himself repeatedly that this was for the good of humanity, a paradise where every individual was able to indulge in their delightful dreams and live their own personal happily ever after.

And what of yours?

Sunday granted you the freedom to roam Penacony at will, affording you the opportunity to reach for the stars even in his physical absence. But your frustration mounted, you knew he was watching from a distance anyway, a million eyes at his beck and call in this so-called Dream. You continued to voice your discontent, arguing that freedom within the confines of a cage was not truly freedom.

Why did you insist on leaving this eternal dream?

Would you leave his side and return to being an abandoned orphan, tossed aside somewhere in the old Penacony?

No, he would not allow it.

Even if he had to rewrite your memories along the way.

[lxkeee]

HEAVEN AND BACK!

—CHAPTER THREE

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Alastor's Mom! Angel! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Romance, love at first sight.

Warnings: none.

Notes: sorry it took awhile, I got lazy lmfao. Also, I listened to caramelldansen when writing this.

CH. ONE | CH. TWO | CH. FOUR | NAV.

It has been a few days since Alastor's mother decided to stay at the hotel, the woman fits right in perfectly with the sinners in the hotel.

Almost.

The angelic woman couldn't get a chance to get to know better hell's very own King, Lucifer.

As Alastor always tries to come in between her and the man.

Is this what Adam called "Cock blocking?" She heard the man say that before and before Adam could explain it to her, Emily explained that it's something where 'You try to talk to someone but somehow there's something or someone stopping you from doing so?' that's what the girl said but did also tell her to not use that term.

How strange.

She sighs, running a hand through her [h/c] locks, careful not to accidentally scratch her own deer antlers. The woman is currently in her 'demon' form, large deer like antlers that are on top of her head, she made sure not to wear bright colors and instead chose to wear something on the darker shades of red, her wings are hidden while her halo was transformed into a golden necklace that hung around her neck.

She rests a leg on top of her other leg as she sits on one of the many cushioned chairs of the hotel, she looks down from the second floor balcony, getting a good view of the hotel's lobby.

“Pray tell, what really brings you here in hell oh dear mother of mine?” Alastor asked beside her, standing beside the seat she sat on, his hand holding his cane-like microphone, he looked at his mother with a grin, though, a confused look in his eyes. He knows his mother, he got his personality from her after all.

Like mother, like son.

[Y/n] giggled, “Overseeing this hotel's progress, isn't that an enough reason to be here?” she answers, eyes closed with a gentle smile on her face. Her eyes opened to see her son's disbelief smile.

Alastor tilted his head slightly, grin widening, “I doubt that is the reason, I was so sure that the celestial realm denied Charlie's plans so,” he says, pausing a bit as he hummed to himself as if he was thinking, “—I was rather surprised that heaven decided to change their minds.” he says with a smirk.

He knows she's hiding something.

[Y/n] can't help but let the sides of her lips twitch upwards to a slight smirk. Clever boy. She thought to herself.

With a defeated sigh, she chuckled after, “There is a reason but heaven cannot disclose that yet. That is the only thing I can tell you.” she explained before raising an eyebrow at him, “Is that an enough reason?”

Alastor tilted his head slightly, his smile widened, humming as he thought to himself, “Hmm... I supposed that is an enough reason and I should stop bothering my mother about it.” he says with a smirk.

[Y/n] playfully rolls her eyes at her son, eyes fixated down below to the lobby of the hotel, [e/c] eyes focused on a certain blond fallen angel who's currently drinking a glass of wine at the bar area.

“Enough of that, I would like to ask you why do you keep on trying to stop me from interacting with him?” She asked, head turning away from the scene below and once more looked at Alastor whose smile had slightly lowered in annoyance, a small scoff leaving past his lips.

“Do I really need to give you a reason, dear mother of mine?” Alastor asked, tilting his head, his voice sounding almost a grimace thinking about the shorter man making moves on her.

[Y/n] just raises her eyebrow at him, a small hum escaping her lips, “Please do.”

Alastor hums, dark red eyes looking down on the folks currently in the lobby, “He's a man, mother. In fact, he's the king of hell. I don't trust him.” he grumbles, the smile on his face is gone and is now replaced with a small frown.

[Y/n]'s face softened, she knows her son's disapproval in men, especially if said men have an interest in her. Her last marriage was a failure and filled with pain and Alastor was by her side through it all.

She can understand why he hesitates, why he tries to put distance between her and the men that come to her life.

"Alastor, sweetheart. Don't worry about me,” She says softly, a small gentle smile on her face. Her eyes closing and opening as she glanced at the people down below, her smile widened as she saw sinners mingled with one another.

She's glad. She's glad that there are souls who are willing to try and earn redemption.

And she's here to guide them.

Alastor looked at his mother, his usual grin now back on his face.

“Besides, the man seems nice. It must be lonely being the first fallen angel.” she says softly, she can't imagine the pain Lucifer must've dealt with. She read about him when she was in heaven, she was curious about the first fallen angel and the heavenly libraries were filled with eons and eons of information and she read everything she can about him. Sera even warned her in case she turns to heresy and Sera made sure to remind her to keep her loyalty to heaven and avoid getting influenced by him.

Alastor hums, “I suppose,” he says with a small nod before giving his mother a side eye, “Though, I don't think I'll be comfortable with the possibility of calling him...” he paused and gave a small gag, “—father.” he says with disgust.

[Y/n] chuckles, “Me? Marrying the king of hell? What an ambitious dream would that be.” she says with a small laugh, flicking her hand sassily.

“I just want to be his friend, the man seems like he hasn't formed any meaningful relationships during his life.” she says with a small giggle and Alastor had to fight back from laughing, “Indeed, he has not.” he agrees with a small chuckle.

“Don't be mean, I didn't raise you like that.” [Y/n] chuckles, elbowing her son on his side which made Alastor let a small grunt before pouting at her, “Apologies.” he says, tone clearly not genuine which [Y/n] can clearly tell.

She sighs exasperatedly.

Alastor chuckles his eyes closing before opening once more to look at his beloved mother, “Oh and another thing,” he spoke, [Y/n] looked at him a quirked eyebrow, a small hum escaping her lips, “Hmm?”

“I would like to express my gratitude in what you have down to the hotel's garden, you've brought life to this godforsaken place. I am sure these sinners haven't seen any kind of greenery ever since they have died.” Alastor grins, his eyes darkened from amusement over the misery of these loathsome sinners.

[Y/n] chuckles, though, questioning where she went wrong in raising him.

“It was nothing, I thought the hotel needed a little green that's all! All of these reds are hurting my eyes.” she says glancing at Alastor with a judgemental look in her eyes.

Alastor just rolls his eyes at her which earned him another harsh elbow to the sides.

Lucifer was admiring the lush garden of the hotel's backyard, he has never seen such greenery before—he did but it was eons ago when he was still divine, but it was eons ago and has already forgotten what it looked like—a large willow tree at the side just by the door to the hotel, the once dried up fountain at the center is now back and running, multiple plants surrounded the area and grass, good heavens, he doesn't remember when was the last time he touched grass.

He doesn't know when was the last time you touched grass, dear reader. Go out sometimes, it'll be good for you.

What was he thinking again? Ah, grass.

‘I broke the fourth wall? You're just seeing things, sweetheart.’ he thought in amusement, eyes staring off somewhere as if looking at something... Or someone.

He just chuckled in amusement before walking towards one of the bushes of roses, the heels of his shoes clicked against the pebbled pathway and he stopped in front of a bush of white roses, the fragrance of the flower immediately filling his nose.

It's been so long. He forgot what roses smell like.

Lucifer's eyes sparkled in awe, his wine red like eyes filled with wonder, his right gloved hand gently caressing the petal of a white rose, feeling its softness—just one of the few species of flowers that bloomed in hell for the first time.

“Do you like it?” a feminine voice spoke out—a voice familiar to Lucifer, a voice belonging to a certain radio demon's mother, the silkiness of her voice—it made Lucifer shudder, “I thought the garden looked bare, I thought some greenery would fix it.” [Y/n] chuckles softly.

Lucifer turns around and sees [Y/n] standing behind him, her hands behind her back. The red knee length dress hugged her curves perfectly—it stole Lucifer's breath away, she's gorgeous.

He chuckles, placing his right hand back to his cane, “Indeed, it has been quite long since I've seen such beautiful flowers.” he says, his voice filled with longing and a hint of sadness that [Y/n] didn't fail to notice but decided not to point it out, “They are lovely, I am grateful for being presented with another opportunity to see such beautiful flowers.” he spoke softly, irises glancing at the flowers briefly before looking back at the taller woman.

[Y/n] chuckles softly, “It's a pleasure,” she says with a small smile, taking slow steps as she walked by his side.

“It was fun growing them and an honor to give the princess of hell her own garden of flowers.” she says with a slight chuckle.

“And with that, I am forever grateful.” Lucifer says with a small smile, eyes shining briefly and for once, it's not dull.

[Y/n] was glad to see the shine on his beautiful eyes, and also seeing a genuine smile on the man's face.

After all, you're never fully dressed without a smile.

“You are most absolutely welcome, sweetheart.” she says with a grin, amusement dancing in her eyes as the rosy spots on the man's cheeks seem to redden even more.

“Ex-excuse m-me?!” he stammers, the endearment catching him off guard, it has been quite some time since someone called him something so... Affectionate.

[Y/n] tilted her head slightly, a feigned confusion on her face. Who knew the king of hell is quite easy to tease?

“Hmm? Is something the matter?” she asked softly, a hint of playfulness in her voice, “Is the nickname not to your liking? Would you prefer darling instead?” she asked teasingly.

Lucifer has never been more flustered in his entire existence.

“Are you normally this mischievous?” he asked, his hand covering his face while his other hand gripped into his cane.

“Usually I'm more.” she answered honestly with mischief on her lips.

“Of course, you're the mother of a certain radio demon.” he said with an exaggerated sigh making [Y/n] chuckle.

“Speaking of him, where is he? He usually stays by your side.” he deadpans, his hand that was covering his face lowered back to hold his cane, he's been wanting to interact with this woman properly ever since he met her but that damn radio demon kept her away.

[Y/n] hums, “I am not entirely sure, I'm sure he is somewhere around the hotel.” she says with a hum in her voice, glancing at the side to see a certain demonic shadow quickly leaving.

This damn brat, she'll teach him a lesson later.

Lucifer just hums, thank Satan. He can't stand that demon and his annoying grin.

Finally recomposing himself, he grins at her.

“Well then, I hope everyone in the hotel is treating you well? I haven't gotten the chance to ask you as a certain someone kept getting in the way.” he says with a small smile but his voice strained a little when he mentioned a certain someone.

[Y/n] hums softly, leaning down slightly to reach the rose bush, her hand gently caressing the petal of a white rose, “Everyone has been nice so far, I'm glad you asked.” she says cheerfully.

“I'm glad.” he says with grin.

“I am glad too.” she said softly with a grin.

Maybe, hell isn't too bad.

Both of them thought at the same time.

© LXKE 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own.

TAGLIST:

@adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @yukichan67 @apple-pop @akiralovespenguins @storydays @kaurochika @amphiroxx @lil-writer-523 @punching-pentagrams @moonlovers34 @h3110kitty0 @bethleeham @hcneyiced @ashleygryffindor @ghostdoodlen @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @cupidsgift @shilladodo

[leidensygdom]

Meet Ataraxia, the Artifice of Stagnation! After much wrestling with the design I've got something that works for her!

Ataraxia is, essentially, the real BBEG of the campaign we were in. An ancient supercomputer with the power to challenge gods, powered by masses of undead celestial creatures, fused into a mass she deemed more suitable for her purpose. She was created and used, theoretically, in order to protect humanity from vengeful gods. Her purpose was to ensure their safety. However, Ataraxia's idea of safety got very out of hand, and she tried to get full control over every single mortal, considering their free will a bit too risky for their own well-being.

Her body is meant to evoke both, some eldritch horror and the good ol' biblically accurate angel stuff. I went for a more organic look on her mecha parts, almost like the parts of an insect or even spiky conches, as if they were grown from the celestials' remains instead of being simple forged metal. I hope y'all enjoy it, mecha body horror isn't exactly my focus, but I love her all the same- (also, Urion/The Onirist is there, held gently like hamburger : ) )

[jojos-bizarre-imagines]

thinking about simeon again.. he is so much more complex and tragic and interesting than the sweet innocent uwu angel that some of the fandom portrays him as

simeon writing tsl to cope with the terrible things he’s seen about the future and can’t tell anyone

simeon obeying the celestial realm only out of fear and obligation, not because he has any real faith in what it stands for

simeon, who would do anything for the brothers, but who will never be considered a core member of the family because he was too afraid to rebel with them

simeon, who would sooner blame himself for the brothers’ rebellion than the system they were all trapped in (as if him simply talking to lucifer the day before the war would have eased the resentment that had been building up inside him for a long time before that), who would rather feel guilty than accept the alternative, that there was nothing he could have done to save them

simeon’s initial dislike of diavolo because he still holds onto the hope that things could change, which simeon dismisses as naive, and probably also because he’s a repackaged version of celestial realm leadership: never lies but doesn’t say the whole truth, friendly and arguably well-intentioned but more manipulative and controlling than he wants people to think

simeon purposefully being as indirect of a teacher as possible to luke because he can’t directly badmouth the celestial realm but wants luke to learn to think for himself instead of absorbing an ideology and never questioning it until he realizes too late how much harm it’s done to himself and others

simeon’s quiet defiance of the celestial realm, more of a resignation than a rebellion because he knows firsthand from watching the brothers the futility of trying to fight an entity like that

simeon accepting his punishment so casually since he’s seen it coming for a long time and has grown numb to the anxiety it gives him (and maybe, he thinks, it’s even what’s best for him, because part of him still wants to believe the celestial realm has good intentions)

human simeon trying to convince himself that he’s better off this way, that he’s free from the celestial realm’s control now, but still feeling deep down that this is actually more isolating and a worse punishment than becoming a demon because most of his loved ones live in the devildom, not the human world

human simeon hiding his depression because he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially luke. simeon hiding his humanity because he’s not ready to see himself differently and doesn’t want other people to perceive him differently either, trying to fake it til he makes it by wearing different clothes but not feeling like himself in them

human simeon silently wishing mc would spend more time with him because this transition is scary—how does mc live like this? why did they seem to just abandon him after he confessed that he was a human? do they really accept him like this or are they just saying that?

i imagine human simeon having a private breakdown over something minor like not being able to open a jar of spaghetti sauce, because if he was already weak as an angel, he’s even more so now. his whole life he was told his sole purpose is to help others, and now he can’t even help himself

simeon knowing the whole time that he was going to lose his wings someday but still not being ready for it when it happened

[chocsra]

✧ "Salvation; Devotion"

16! stormbringer! Chuuya x fem! reader

✧ summary: being targeted by paul verlaine after being chuuyas friend, though when he comes to talk to you with a european detective, it seems to be more than friendship. ✧ content: small oneshot, fluff, angst (kinda), adam + angsty teenagers ✧ w/c: 1.4k

Chuuya - meaning "loyalty, devotion"

Nakahara - meaning "central plain"

His devotion was not only his strongest attribute, but his most tender weakness.

You knew a boy. He was young and short, but fiery and strong. He was mysterious, born with unknown origins, and walked the wrong path, that's why he's not only humanity's most destructive weapon but a lowly, pitiful, criminal.

It was something you weren't, though you didn't mind much.

But under the guise of celestial imperfections, Chuuya was a constellation falling into place. He was beautiful. Sunkissed with the kind of foreign beauty you’d see in actors that would play some sort of prince. Your first examination of him was his wealthy and neatly ironed clothing—the kind of blazers and shoes that you’d find in a modelling campaign. Even the accented cuffs of his clothing were underlined with emerald or other precious stones. Then, his silky russet hair, one thrown into a low ponytail—the hairstyle itself still retained a strong masculinity despite the length. Or maybe that came from the musky cologne he constantly wore. A hint of cigarettes, strawberries and that strong scent of virile.

The soft glow from his copper locks then shifted to the fitted collar around his neck—an odd fashion choice, but it really accentuated the ivory of his skin. Soft, sun-kissed skin that’d make its way to his face. A beautiful face, really. Delicate and angelic features with a permanent scowl tugging on his lips—soft pink lips. Chuuya's eyes reflected a fine smoky quartz. His cheeks and nose kissed with a few scattered freckles.

You wondered why a boy so sublime had the status of an onerous beast. Even he took the words that held the weight of a blade and cut himself until he was reduced to the slit of a knife.

You met that same boy, a masterpiece ripped at every edge, not in the dangers of the mafia, but where a silver line stretches to the sea. Where the sun meets the sky, where the light shines.

But even then, you treated him differently. You didn't treat him like he was something fragile. Neither did you treat him like the monstrosity he was sought out to be. You didn't worship him, nor did you greatly depend on him. Instead, you found his humanity and treated him as such. Once a stranger, then a friend, then..

Nevermind.

"Chuuya?!"

You heard the calamity of each step he took to reach you, the boy stopping to pant. "[Y/N].. we need to talk." next to the redhead, was a tall European man with short brown hair, he didn't look tired at all compared to Chuuya. "Greetings, my name is Adam Frankenstein." You cocked a brow at his monotonous voice, the way his mouth moved didn't seem in sync with his words either. "You're rather special, Master Chuuya spent almost 7 hours looking for yo-" Adam explained briefly, causing the redhead to grimace and cut him off, "Shut it, will ya?!"

...

You heaved a bothersome sigh, elbows planted on a cafe table as the two men sat in front of you. "So.. why do you need me, Chuuya?" you question, fiddling with your fingers, "And who's he?.." your gaze uplifts to the brunette foreigner, which the man carefully takes a pack of gum and begins to unfold it, popping a piece in his mouth, before swallowing it. Your eyebrows furrow in a moment of youthful distaste.

Chuuya clutches the cup of tea between his gloved fingers and murmurs something intangible, "Adam's a detective from Europole, investigating Verlaine. He wants to know more about him, which is why he's been following me around.." he finally explains, taking a calculated and almost frustrated sip of his tea.

"Verlaine. Who's Verlaine?" You ask momentarily, causing the redhead to part his lips to answer, but you quickly halt as the detective swallows another piece of gum down his throat. "And why is he chewing gum like that?"

"That's what I'm sayin'!" the teenager half-seriously slams the cup of tea on the table, "He swallows it like a nutjob. You need help, tin man." Chuuya scoffs, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat almost nervously.

"You need help. You spent 6 hours and 47 minutes looking for h-" the brunette explains with a hint of sass in his voice, the redhead's eyes widening in shock, "I said shut up!"

You shuffle in your seat awkwardly as the two men argue. Scratching the back of your neck before Chuuya finally settles down, patting down the cashmere of his suit.

"So here's the thing about Verlaine.. he's this batshit crazy assassin, and uh.. here's the real kicker.." the mafioso mutters, fiddling with his gloved fingers uneasily. "You're gonna be the bait."

Your jaw immediately drops, a hand clasping over your chest in the offence. "Excuse me?! For what?.. to get killed?!" Chuuya looks distressed at your response, seeking Adam's gaze for at least a little help in his later response.

"Your safety is ensured. We just need to lure Verlaine out, so Master Chuuya can eliminate him." the detective explains rather calmly, fishing for something in the pocket of his suit before handing a chocolate bar to you. "Here, sugar helps with stress." the redhead smiles awkwardly at Adam's response, giving a nervous thumbs up.

You snatch the chocolate bar with a bit of attitude, eyes narrowing to Chuuya as the boy inhales sharply, "I thought I wouldn't get involved in your mafia affairs, now I have to die?" you ask with furrowed brows, anger cracking in your voice. Causing the teenager to gulp in slight fear, a rare sight to Adam, as he's never sensed fear from Master Chuuya. Especially to a young girl like you.

"Well, you won't die... More like, almost die." The detective explains, hoping he'd ease your nerves at least a bit. "Doesn't matter! M'not doing it!" You shout in vexation, hopping up from your seat as you pick up your school bag. "Plus, I couldn't if I wanted to, anyway," you murmur,

"Wait.. why?" Chuuya asks with conviction.

your gaze adverts to the different sights in the area: the park bench, passersby, and the cafe's menu. Anything but Chuuya's confused face.

"Uhm.. I have a project that's due tomorrow, and I didn't start yet."

"You can't be serious!"

The teenager runs up to you in frustration, you clutch your bag as you turn to him. "Oh, but I am!" you remark, walking faster as the brunette detective catches up. "I'm very serious! After all, this is a serious project!"

The redhead pants and wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead, "You're really gonna prioritise a school project over your own life?!" he cries out, still trying to catch up to you.

"Anything is better than being bait for the Port Mafia!" You yell out, settling your argument atop a bridge, ignoring how the sun was starting to set in an arrangement of oranges and pinks. "Shit- Don't say that so loud!"

"I'd rather finish a school project than become bait for the Port Mafia!!"

You repeat again, louder this time. Chuuya pinches his nose bridge in frustration, tilting his head up towards the setting sun. And upon you halting your swift steps, the redhead finally catches up to you, and to your surprise, he grabs your hand to spin you around.

"Look, I had a shitty week too!" the boy lets go of your hand, making you huff a little bit. But instead of letting you go, he cups both of your cheeks and pulls you close, his gaze never averting from yours. "People that mattered to me died, so many of them," the teenager explains, a melancholic glint lingering in his pretty eyes, you could see it all from the close proximity of his face. "and I'd do anything for you to not be one of those people."

You gulp hard as your eyes scan over the glass of his eyes, the once stormy grey now welling holding back tears.

Silence.

Adam clears his throat, standing beside you and the mafioso awkwardly, "Apologies for interrupting. But this whole exchange is very childish. Master Chuuya, don't you think there are better words to articulate your romantic feelings towards [Y/N]?.. Perhaps after this all over, you can solve this by getting into a relationship-" you and the boy both retort at the detective in unison:

"Shut up, Adam!"

...

"Okay, I'll help you." you frown with conviction, "You owe me a school project, though."

The redhead presses two fingers to his glabella, "I'll send someone to complete it for you."

✧ chocsra™

taglist for those who interacted in this post:

@loserzai @juice1231 @silverbladexyz @soleelia @cherylpoptarts @jackiepackiee @sapphire-tears013 @sstarshroom @n0thum4ny @roujira

[nocreativityfornames]

Everything we know about Michael so far, lore wise.

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR ALL SEASONS

➤ He's an high-ranking angel from the Celestial Realm, more specifically a Seraph. (nb: 18-2 and nb card: Luke - "I can do it too!")

➤ His love for sweets is the reason Luke took interest in baking. (swd: 5-12 and 23-5)

➤ He and Lucifer were equals in the Celestial Realm and no other angel shared the same status as them. Simeon referred to them back then as "the two great leaders of the Celestial Realm's legion of angels." (swd: 23-7) But currently Michael carries that position alone. (swd: 23-5)

➤ He was supposed to meet MC when they visited the Celestial Realm with Solomon but couldn't because a secret spring suddenly started drying and Michael had to go there to investigate the situation. (swd: 23-7)

➤ He used to be Mammon's mentor and tried his best to train the white-haired brother while in charge of him but wasn't able to figure out how to handle him and eventually went to Lucifer asking for help. And since Lucifer was somehow able to get Mammon to listen to him, he ended up taking over Michael's role and became his mentor instead. (swd: 27-19)

➤ He was originally the one in possession of the Ring of Wisdom but gave the ring to Solomon at a time when the human was feeling "lost" and Michael wanted to help him. (swd: 29-5)

➤ During MC's 2° stay in the Devildom when Diavolo was keeping secret from everyone that their powers had become a threat to the three realms, Michael sent the prince a message through Simeon, warning him that if whatever he was keeping a secret affected the Celestial Realm, angels wouldn't hesitate to intervene. (swd: 31-16 Hard Mode)

➤ He's the one who found the Ring of Light, counterpart to the Ring of Wisdom that Lucifer had lost during the Great Celestial War (swd: 37-9), and quickly noticed it was missing when Simeon stole it to give it to MC ( since it was the only other way to control their powers ), shooting the other angel a text stating that they needed to have a "good, long talk" and that he wanted to see him as soon as possible. (swd chat: M, "untitled")

➤ When MC was given the Ring of Light and fell unconscious because of it, Michael appeared to speak with them. And during their talk, the seraph told MC that he had pictured them to be truly wicked person due to being so well-liked by the brothers, but that he had been proven wrong after meeting them. (swd: 38-17)

➤ In that same conversation, Michael confessed to being jealous of MC. He told them: "I must admit that I'm jealous of you, MC. I wish I could have been more like you. Because I loved Lucifer and his brothers, and I lost them. Perhaps things could have been different..." (swd: 38-17)

➤ When asked, Satan explained to MC that Michael was the opposite of Lucifer appearance-wise but that they felt like twins at the same time. And when Mammon brought up Michael's adoration for Lucifer, Satan chimed in saying that in his opinion the reason Michael liked Lucifer so much was because he was the embodiment of everything he wanted to be but couldn't. (swd: 43-19)

➤ He would be the one having meetings with Diavolo when the prince took over the kingdom if he hadn't thrown the responsibility onto Lucifer in the last minute, making Michael in a way the stepping stone that led Lucifer to question his faith and start having doubts about God and the Celestial Realm in general. (swd: 44-15)

➤ When MC ended up in the past Celestial Realm through a dream Solomon sent them to accidentally by feeding them his food, Michael was the one to bring them back home. The angel told MC that they and the brothers would likely forget what happened in the dream but that it would still have an effect on all of them and he would keep an eye on them to make sure that said effect didn't have negative consequences in the future. (swd: 44-18)

➤ Luke told MC that he often found Michael in the hall where the brothers' portraits used to hang staring at the empty space, lost in thought. According to the small angel, Michael to this day still deeply misses the brothers and has regrets about the war. (swd: 49-15)

➤ He was the one to cast out the brothers from the Celestial Realm and send them to the Devildom. (swd: 50-7)

➤ According to Mammon, Michael and Simeon must've pulled some strings behind the scenes to get Luke to participate in the exchange program and be able to visit the Human World with Simeon because, with his low ranking, he'd never be the one chosen for those sorts of things and the Avatar of Greed is convinced that they're doing this because they want Luke to experience life outside the Celestial Realm, see that there's more out there than heaven, and stop thinking that angels are perfect beings who can do no wrong. (swd: 50-10)

➤ He's knowledgeable on constellations and likes them so much he had Raphael rebuilt a whole room so Human World constellations could be seen even from the Celestial Realm. (swd: 52-7) He also taught Mammon about them when he was still in his care, and later on taught Luke as well. (swd: 50-12)

➤ It was actually he who went into the Devildom and told the brothers that they had been forgiven by God and had to choose between staying in the demonic kingdom ( and making an enemy out of heaven ) or coming back to the Celestial Realm and leaving Satan behind. And in a conversation with Raphael, Michael said the reason for his disguise was that he was worried about what could happen if he showed up as himself. But Raphael quickly rebutted that by saying that the true reason Michael didn't go as himself was because he wouldn't know how to act around the brothers. (nb: 20-14 Hard Mode)

➤ Still disguised as Raphael before going back to the Celestial Realm, Michael told Luke that he wasn't surprised that the brothers didn't accept his offer to go back to heaven and actually knew that would be the outcome of it. He was also surprised not too long after when Luke, not knowing it wasn't Raphael who he was talking to, pointed out that Michael seemed sad and lonely whenever he was staring at the wall where the brothers' portraits used to be. Michael's exact response to the younger angel's words was: "...I didn't realize that's what people thought.” (nb: 20-A)

➤ When asked by Raphael if he planned to attend RAD in the future, Michael avoided giving an direct answer and left. (nb: 20-14 Hard Mode)

[titania-sleeps]

Coup De Grâce (Angel!Yandere x Nun!Reader) Your POV

i'm like a boomer with tumblr um anyway

this is the continuation of this post

edit: if you want to see this from his pov, click here

warning: nsfw, dom reader (implied afab), dacryphilia, implied somnophilia (but it's like,,, not real cause you're awake), minors DNI pls

The curtains parts, moonlight trickling through the cracks. You lay in your bed, breathing steadily. Your eyes are closed. Not a single eyelash moved.

You hear a familiar shuffling next to you. A soft thump echoes as your favorite angel finds his spot next to you, as he does every night. A little more shuffling and you feel a prod near your thighs and a trembling exhale.

You remain silent. It wouldn't be fun if you immediately revealed that you knew of his nightly routine. His surprised face will be well worth the wait.

Your angel clutches your hand, his body shifting closer to you. He gasps; you feel his cock sliding against your ass clumsily. He moves languidly, cautiously, as though he is afraid you will wake up. You stifle a chuckle. How cute of him.

He moans softly into your ear, his hand tightening around your hand. His fingers slip through yours as he shudders from the stimulation. His hips stutter against you shyly, though his tiny gasps and breathy moans betray his desire to do more.

You couldn't take it much longer and open your eyes, swiftly flipping him to his back.

He first blinks in confusion, staring at you with doe-like eyes. Then heat creeps up his face and overtakes it in a blossoming pink. Finally, he stutters out, "Y-You can see me?"

Without responding, you lean down and lick his lips, silently asking for permission. He responds promptly by opening his mouth, allowing you to slip inside and envelop your tongue around his. He moans into the kiss, a wanton sound parting from his devoured lips.

You break free and straddle his hips, pushing your hair back to get a better look at him. His blonde curls frame his face and his plump lips are agape as he stares at you.

"What's your name?" you ask, grasping his fingers and playing with them.

"Mikhael," he replies, his soft eyelashes fluttering back. "How... can you see me?"

"Perhaps we're meant to be," you say lazily, leaning down to give him another peck. He blushes at your comment or perhaps your kiss; you think both.

He whines when you pull away again, his hands reaching out and wrapping themselves around your neck. He pulls you in for another kiss and you relent, noting how he seems to enjoy when you twist your tongue around his.

Your free hand travels down to his exposed cock, fingers trailing around his head. You feel his hips buck and you hear his groan; motivated, you grab him from the shaft and stroke slowly.

"Mikhael, why do you follow me?" you ask when you break away again, ignoring his needy whine. Your grip tightens on his cock.

"Love... you..." he mumbles quietly.

You squeeze harder.

"I love you!" He gasps, his back arching. Your hand quickens its pace and you grin. When you look into his gaze, lust and adoration reflect back.

"I've never had a celestial suitor before," you muse.

He doesn't respond, instead reducing to a whimpering mess. His cock is angrily red, matching the hue of his face. His chest heaves as he closes his eyes, drops of tears falling from the corner of his eyes.

You lick his tears, savoring the taste of what could very well be holy water. He shakily breaks into a smile, knowing that you are now enamored with him.

"I want to... finish..." he whispers. His cock throbs in your hand, hot and desperate.

You laugh airily. It would surely be fun to make him beg, but his teary eyes compel sympathy. If he's as attached to you as he says, then you know that you will have more chances to play around with him in the future.

"Guess you're my guardian angel now," you say, your pace increasing. Mikhael moans, his body shuddering as his hips lift. His cock shivers in your hand as it spews out cum. Minutes later and he is still cumming; he mutters incoherent noises. You think that you hear him begging for you to kiss him somewhere in there.

As he comes down from his high, you peck his nose gently. His eyelids move slowly, staring at you with a foreign affection. He smiles at you like, well, an angel.

"I'm your guardian angel..." he repeats, humming softly to himself. The grin on his face lights an emotion in you that you didn't know that you had. He huddles close to you, wanting more of your presence.

Maybe having your ability wasn't such a bad thing after all.

tell me if you want this from his pov and/or you want him to seduce you (another drabble i have hidden somewhere perhaps)

-> masterlist

[chiyuuchu]

Monoma’s Undeniable Crush <3 (30th July 2024)

Neito Monoma x Reader

Prompt! Monoma Neito mistakes his obvious crush on Class 1-A’s angel as hatred.

Class 1-B was in the midst of their training session when Class 1-A arrived for a joint exercise. Monoma, ever the outspoken rival, couldn’t help but notice the new addition to Class 1-A: Y/N. She was a quiet girl with a serene presence, her gentle smile and ethereal aura catching everyone’s attention.

Monoma scoffed as he watched her. “Who does she think she is, just standing there all serene and perfect? What’s with that angelic demeanor?”

Kendo, sitting next to him, raised an eyebrow. “You seem unusually interested in Y/N.”

“Please,” Monoma retorted, “I just don’t get why she’s so revered. She doesn’t even stand out.”

Y/N had a quirk called Celestial Harmony: She could create glowing, angelic wings that emanate a soothing light, which could heal minor injuries and calm aggressive emotions. During the joint class activity, Monoma watched as she used her quirk to heal a fellow student. The elegant and calming way she used her power irked him further.

“Why is she always so calm and collected?” Monoma grumbled to his friends. “And why does everyone act like she’s some kind of saint?”

His classmates exchanged glances but remained silent, unsure how to address Monoma’s increasingly intense reactions.

One day, Monoma overheard a conversation between two of his classmates discussing Y/N’s quirk and how it had helped them. They marveled at how her presence seemed to bring a sense of peace and comfort.

“She’s just a classmate,” Monoma snapped. “There’s nothing special about her.”

Yet, when he saw Y/N using her quirk to help others, her aura of kindness and the soothing light she emitted began to cut through his façade. He found himself feeling inexplicably annoyed and intrigued at the same time.

During the next joint training exercise, Monoma and Y/N were paired together. Despite his initial reluctance, Monoma found himself observing her closely. As she used her wings to assist their team and soothe the group’s nerves, he was struck by the gentle and genuine nature of her abilities.

“Why do I keep finding myself so irritated by her?” Monoma muttered to himself. “It’s not like I care about her opinion.”

Yet, there was something about her demeanor that unsettled him. He couldn’t ignore the way his heart raced whenever she was near.

Monoma’s frustration reached a peak during a class meeting where everyone discussed their favorite moments from the recent joint exercise. Y/N’s name came up frequently, and Monoma couldn’t contain his irritation.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with her?” he snapped. “She’s not even that impressive.”

Kendo, sensing his frustration, decided to address it directly. “Monoma, you seem really worked up about Y/N. Maybe there’s more to it than you realize.”

Monoma’s face reddened, and he quickly changed the subject, but Kendo’s words lingered in his mind.

Later that day, the tension in Class 1-B was palpable as Monoma and his classmates engaged in a heated discussion. The topic of the day was the recent inter-class competition, and Monoma, ever the competitive spirit, had taken it upon himself to criticize Class 1-A's latest achievements.

“You know,” Monoma began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I really don’t get why Class 1-A is so praised. It’s not like they have anyone impressive there—except for maybe Y/N. I mean, if you really think about it, she's just—”

As Monoma spoke, his eyes briefly met Y/N’s, who was sitting across from him, and he faltered. The words he had intended to use for criticism instead turned into a series of stuttering compliments.

“—Just, really… I mean, she’s always so—so stunning and incredibly talented. It’s so annoying! It’s like, no matter what she does, she just shines, you know? And her kindness—oh, it’s practically unbearable. She’s got this—this aura that makes everyone else look dull by comparison. It’s infuriating how perfect she is!”

Monoma’s face turned a bright shade of red as he realized what had just come out of his mouth. The classroom erupted into laughter, and his classmates exchanged amused glances.

Kaminari snickered, “Nice try, Monoma. You almost made it sound like you’re a fan of hers or something.”

Yaomomo, always quick with a quip, added, “Yeah, I didn’t know you had it in you to compliment anyone, let alone Y/N.”

Monoma’s usual confident demeanor had evaporated, leaving him flustered and unable to form coherent sentences. He fumbled with his words as he tried to recover from the unexpected praise he had just given.

“I—I didn’t mean to—uh, I mean, it’s just that—ugh, forget it!” Monoma stammered, his cheeks flushed.

Y/N, sitting quietly and trying to hide her smile, looked over at Monoma with an amused expression. “Thanks for the compliments, Monoma. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Monoma’s eyes widened in shock, and he struggled to regain his composure. “I—I didn’t mean it like that. I was just—just—”

The class continued to giggle at Monoma’s embarrassment, finding his blunder both amusing and endearing. Monoma sighed in defeat, realizing that his attempt at an insult had backfired spectacularly.

As the laughter died down, Monoma tried to steer the conversation back on track, but the class’s teasing and the memory of his unintended compliment lingered in the air, leaving him red-faced and awkwardly stumbling over his words for the rest of the day.

After weeks of internal struggle, Monoma started to notice his own reactions towards Y/N. He found himself following her around more, involuntarily catching himself watching her from afar. His disdain had turned into a fascination he couldn’t quite understand.

One afternoon, as he sat alone in a quiet corner of the school, he overheard Y/N and some of her friends talking about their recent activities. Her voice was soft, and her words were filled with kindness and genuine interest in others.

“It’s just...why does she make me feel this way?” Monoma pondered aloud. “I thought I hated her, but...”

His feelings of frustration were now replaced by a confusing mix of admiration and something deeper.

It was during a particularly intense training session that Monoma’s emotions reached a boiling point. After a grueling exercise, Y/N approached him to offer encouragement, her warm presence and kind words surprising him.

“Hey, you did well today,” she said softly. “Keep pushing yourself.”

Monoma was taken aback by her unexpected kindness. He found himself unable to respond, caught between his usual bravado and a newfound vulnerability.

“I—! Why you! You need to stop charming people around you and stop walking the earth like you’re a flowery goddess or something!” Before she could even reply he was already bolting away.

Later that day, he confided in Kendo, who listened patiently. “I don’t get it. I used to think I hated her, but now...”

Kendo smiled knowingly. “It sounds like you’ve got a crush on her.”

Monoma’s eyes widened in disbelief. “A crush? On Y/N?”

Kendo nodded. “It happens. Sometimes what we think is hatred is just our way of dealing with feelings we don’t understand.”

Monoma’s feelings for Y/N became increasingly undeniable. He began to appreciate her for who she was, rather than just a rival. His interactions with her became less confrontational and more genuine. He found himself looking forward to their encounters, cherishing the moments they shared.

One day, after a particularly insightful conversation with Y/N, Monoma took a deep breath and admitted to himself that his feelings had evolved beyond mere rivalry.

“Maybe Kendo was right,” he mused. “I think I actually like her. A lot.”

As Monoma’s demeanor towards Y/N softened, his classmates began to notice the change. They observed how he interacted with her with a newfound respect and occasional shyness.

Kendo remarked to the others, “Looks like Monoma finally figured it out. He’s really come around.”

Setsuna added with a chuckle, “It’s kind of sweet, actually. Who would have thought Monoma would end up being so... infatuated?”

The rest of Class 1-B watched with a mix of amusement and approval as Monoma navigated his feelings for Y/N. Despite his initial resentment, it was clear to everyone that he had developed a genuine admiration for her.

And as Monoma continued to grapple with his feelings, he found himself learning more about himself than he ever anticipated—discovering that even the fiercest rivals could find themselves captivated by someone who seemed to challenge their very essence.

The afternoon sun bathed U.A. in a warm glow as students finished their classes for the day. Y/N was chatting with a few friends near the school gates, laughing and enjoying the casual end-of-day banter. Monoma, who had been watching from a distance, suddenly strode up to her with a determined expression on his face.

Without a word, Monoma pulled a bouquet of vibrant, mixed flowers from behind his back. He thrust them into Y/N's arms, their colorful petals spilling out, and then turned on his heel and walked away briskly.

Y/N blinked in surprise, staring at the bouquet in her arms. She looked up to see Monoma walking away, his shoulders tense and his pace hurried. The gesture was so abrupt and unexpected that she couldn’t help but laugh softly to herself.

Her friends looked at her, puzzled and amused. "Uh, did Monoma just give you flowers?" Kaminari asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Seems like it,” Y/N replied, still holding the bouquet, her eyes following Monoma’s retreating figure. “That was…random.”

Uraraka giggled, “Looks like someone’s been feeling a bit more affectionate lately. Maybe he’s trying to make up for something.”

“Or maybe he just wanted to get a reaction out of you,” Sero added with a smirk.

Y/N, still holding the flowers, shrugged. “Either way, it’s a nice surprise.”

As she admired the bouquet, Monoma's friends watched him from a distance. Monoma, now out of sight, leaned against a wall, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction. He couldn’t believe he had just done that so impulsively.

“Did you see that?” Kendo asked, her eyes wide. “Monoma actually gave her flowers and walked away like that was completely normal.”

“Yeah,” TetsuTetsu said with a chuckle, “he definitely has a way of making things awkwardly charming.”

As Y/N rejoined her friends, they continued to tease her about the unexpected gesture. The flowers in her arms felt like a sweet reminder of Monoma's unpredictable behavior, and she couldn’t help but smile at the thought of his peculiar yet endearing way of showing affection.