#the viridian dream

[leahfrog]

My new fantasy novel, The Viridian Dream, releases March 5th. I'm excited to share it with you! It has autistic dragons, reversed gender roles, and Nova's biceps.

The series will be released on https://www.leahfrog.com in weekly chapter installments and is entirely free to read! All chapters come with artwork by either myself or Aiole Sauce.

First chapter preview available on my patreon, and concept art is up for view on our discord server.

[prismstonearchives]

せいしゅんスクールビリジアン - Adolescence School Viridian Coord

[wordofthewolf]

Viridian Dreams - A Wizard of Oz Story

Dorothy Gale had been caught in the tornado and she could have sworn she had flown through the air. Something had hit her head and when she had looked out of the window of their small farmhouse, she could have sworn she had seen terrible visions. She had then felt weightless as the house had started to fall. Dorothy grabbed her dog, Toto, and hugged him tight. Then there was a horrific crashing…

[shouyuus]

colorimetery

kuroo; 1,843 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", abuse of extended metaphors, none of this makes sense, kenma is the most in-touch person in this entire fic and that should tell you something, awk!kuroo, whipped!kuroo

summary: in which kuroo is down bad for you and nothing much else happens

a/n: @seiwas this is for u! u asked for kuroo and i humbly deliver :) hope u liked it bby; fun fact, a lot of these colors are pulled from the gamblin oil paints website bc i love their paints and also i love the thought that a lot of pigments were poisonous way back when and ppl were just... casually poisoning themselves while making their art; there's a metaphor in there somewhere... but i'll leave that up to interpretation lol

─── 鉄朗 THERE ARE COLORS he doesn’t know the names for, just like there are birds who will sing songs that no human will ever understand, but somewhere between the viridian of a sun-lit forest and the minor trill of a mockingbird’s call, he finds the shape of you.

and he doesn’t remember exactly when he’d started feeling like this, only that he’d woken up one day to a pastel sky, heard the tell-tale blip of a message from you, and felt his entire body flush vermillion, hard enough to poison.

c’mon, bedhead. time for school.

he grins down at the message, his lips pulling wide, his fingers still blunted by his honeyed dreams (how many of you? don’t ask him — he’s long since lost count) as he types out a reply.

be there in three.

he stumbles out of bed in the raw sienna sunrise, pulling on his uniform pants, shoving the hems of his un-ironed white shirt into the waistband before dashing out the door. he finds you haloed in liquid gold, standing on his doorstep, flicking through your phone before you notice him and your face breaks into an earth-rending smile.

kuroo feels dizzy, punchdrunk, a sake-shot of fire sizzling down his front till it pools in the base of his belly as he pulls on his shoes and tries to hide behind a well-timed cough.

“c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he brushes passed you, but not before reaching out to ruffle at your hair, savoring in the midnight-soft of your tresses as it slips through his fingers.

you bicker the entire way to school, picking up kenma somewhere along the way. he casts you both a tired, reproachful look before slouching off ahead of you, content to resume whatever game he’s currently hyperfixating on while you and kuroo snipe at each other a few steps behind him.

“you could just ask her out,” kenma says during free period, his eyes never leaving his phone screen as he mashes at the attack button, watching the health bar of the boss monster dwindle even as kuroo makes an indignant sort of choking noise.

“w-what? she’s just — she’s just a friend.”

but at the scathing look kenma darts his way, kuroo finally relents.

“i — we’ve been friends for so long i just… i don’t wanna fuck it up, y’know?” he cards a hand through his already mussed up hair, eliciting a string of giggles from a cluster of girls sitting behind them, heads bent in towards one another, their long hair swishing like willow branches in a mid-autumn breeze; but neither of them take notice.

kenma heaves a world-weary sigh, grimacing as a large WIN!! image flashes across the face of his phone and he slumps back to frown at kuroo.

“i feel like you’ve built up enough affection points to unlock whatever good ending she’s got for you by now, so,” he pins kuroo with a pointed look, “i don’t think she’s gonna say no.”

kuroo can only blink, his mind churning around this strange yet apt analogy.

“aw man, you’re the best, y’know that?” he laughs, reaching over to catch kenma in a headlock, digging his knuckles into the crown of kenma’s head even as he struggles fruitlessly to get free.

it is in the cadium orange glow of sunset, after your art class and his volleyball practice, that kuroo finally works up the courage —

“hey uh — can i ask you something?”

you hike an eyebrow, a dangerous grin sharpening the shape of your lips.

“didn’t you just?”

kuroo lets out a frustrated sigh, “fuck you, you know what i meant.”

you laugh, the timber of it ringing through him like church bells on a sunday morning, and suddenly, he wonders if this feeling might be what inspired the ancients to worship at the feet of so much divinity — just this, the giddiness and anticipation, the knowledge and uncertainty. this, the insurmountable weight of something (call it love or infatuation, he doesn’t care) pressing down on his chest hard enough to rob him of every last breath.

he think that perhaps this is all anyone’s ever needed to start believing in magic.

“okay, okay,” you say, stifling a grin behind pink-pursed lips, “what did you wanna ask?”

“go out with me,” kuroo blurts out, well before he can stop himself. and he almost wants to sink into the earth with the way his entire body goes hot, the aftermath of a tectonic shift, the pluming heat of a volcanic hiccup.

you stare up at him, your expression curiously blank as he watches you, desperate for any sign of your answer, the most minuscule tells of how you might be feeling.

finally, you cock your head and ask, “was… there a question in there somewhere?”

kuroo almost swears*. almost*.

“fuck — fine! i meant — will you —”

“yes.”

“— it’s just i’ve — wait, what?” kuroo freezes, staring down at you with slack-jawed disbelief, blinking as if he doesn’t quite understand what you’re saying.

you allow yourself a smile, and kuroo feels his insides melt to something very much like molten marshmallows.

you let out a sigh that sounds remarkably like kenma’s — exasperated and amused in equal measure — before glancing back up at him with a bashful smile.

internally, kuroo wonders if this is what being “k.o-ed” feels like and he resolves to be just a bit more merciful to all of videogame opponents.

“i said yes, you big volleyball-obsessed oaf —”

“oh,” kuroo says, still not quite sure what he’s supposed to do from here.

you roll your eyes and turn back towards the sidewalk, taking a few steps before twisting your head to look at him.

“aren’t you gonna walk me home?”

kuroo nearly trips in his eagerness to level himself with you, but once he does, he straightens his shoulders and puffs out his chest.

“so —” he says, in a stab at his usual carefree bravado, “do i get to call you my girlfriend now?”

you shrug, “sure, if you want to.”

kuroo deflates ever so slightly, “what? you don’t want me to?”

you slant him a look that makes his knees turn to jelly.

“yeah, i do. but that won’t matter if you don’t, right?”

“i — i do!”

“so then…”

you turn your back on him again, though he’s sure this time he catches it — the dash of sweet magenta, swept across your lips like a kiss, or a promise.

or, the thought licks up the back of his throat, tantalizing — the promise of a kiss.

“oi.” he jogs to catch up with you, reaching out to sling an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in to press his lips into the thick of your hair, breathing you in, losing himself in the familiar smell of your shampoo — green tea and apples, or something of the sort.

you laugh, and he basks in the sound.

by the time he walks you home, the street is gilded in goldenrod yellow, your shadows stretching long beneath you, the slant-wise light painting everything in an ethereal glow.

“well,” kuroo says, shoving his hands into his pockets, if only to keep them from fidgeting, because guys like him don’t get nervous. at least, not like this.

“well,” you echo, letting your voice linger over the ‘l’, letting it twist around your tongue, the sound lulling at the top of your palette till kuroo feels his stomach catch.

“see you tomorrow?” he asks, cursing himself internally for sounding so uncertain. since when has he been so uncertain?

your lips twist into a tease, just a fish-tail flicker, and kuroo knows he’s done for.

“do you wanna stay for dinner?” you ask, just as he opens his mouth.

“unless you don’t —” his voice jerks into an abortive breath.

somewhere behind him, a raven fluffs out it’s feathers on the low-cut wall that separates your house from the rest of the street. a single black feathers flutters to the ground, dark as an oil spill.

“unless i don’t what?” you ask.

kuroo swallows around his thundering heartbeat, feeling the last dregs of sunlight seep from the far horizon.

“i was gonna say… unless you — you didn’t wanna say goodbye,” he admits, his eyes flicking away from your face if only to give himself a momentary reprieve from the intensity of your gaze.

you purse your lips, shrugging up a shoulder, a single lock of hair slipping from its place behind your ear.

“i never do. c’mon — or else they’ll start eating without us.”

kuroo is speechless as he watches you make your way up the shallow steps to your door, glancing over your shoulder towards him. he doesn’t know how many times he’s stayed over for dinner, how many times he’d lingered in the perfumed warmth of your room while you showered, flipping absently through the latest volume of jump, how many times you’d fallen asleep with your damp hair slowly soaking into his school uniform.

he couldn’t count them all if he wanted to. and he doesn’t really want to.

he takes a breath and takes the front path two steps at a time, leaping up the staircase with a smirk as he skims his palm along the top of your head. you make a sound like an annoyed hamster and kuroo allows himself a laugh that bubbles up and up and up till it’s spilling over, till he pushes open your front door and is greeted with the familiar sandalwood radiance of your front hallway, the light pooling around his ankles as he toes off his shoes.

“hey,” you say, and he turns around, only to find you leaning up on tip toe to brush your lips against his.

he freezes, but you’re pulling back already, shrugging off your coat, shouldering off your school bag and shouting down the hallway to ask what’s for dinner, and to say that kuroo’s here.

kuroo finds himself caught in the sharp cerulean blue of your laughter like the rain-washed sky, the smoke-ridden darkness in the shades of your eyes, he turns to see you blushing, even as you motion for him to follow you into the dining room. he does, only tripping over himself once (though he’s been feeling wobbly since this afternoon, when he’d resolved to ask you out in the first place).

and he tells himself that, yes, there will always be colors he doesn’t know the names of, bird songs he will never be able to understand. but colors, he can learn. and as for the birds — well, he figures that they’re all probably singing about falling in love anyway.

TAGLIST: @yaoduriaa @ominouslywritinginmyhead @naomihatake @cheesypuffkins87 @crispynutella @dira333 @stunies @phroggii @fennecnco @encrytpta @simpingdailyforthem @ryescapades -- join the taglist!

[sarahscribbles]

fluff is everything, therefore:

I've been entertaining this idea for a very long time. Loki is a heavily touch deprived boy who needs all the affection in the world.

Now I desperately need a small drabble, doesn't even have to be long, of reader just...taking care of him. Calling him "angel" and watching him lose his MIND because no one's ever called him that before?? Reader making him food and looking after him when he's sick and just.....a small drabble. A cute little thing of just....Loki being loved

Because we all know the man needs it.

Anyway, mwah, hope this helps the writing juices flow :)

I hope this is what you had in mind, my darling! I know it's not the best!

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐒𝐢𝐜𝐤

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The dull clink of ceramic on wood makes you wince and freeze almost comically in place by the side of the bed. Barely daring to breathe, your worried eyes snap towards the god currently buried between tousled viridian bedsheets.

He doesn’t stir. 

You release a slow, quiet breath, relieved that Loki is still sleeping so soundly, despite his earlier protestations that he was completely fine. He’s far from fine, that you’re certain of. You’ve watched how the summer cold he’s come down with has chipped away at him over the past few days, zapping his energy quicker and more thoroughly than he’ll ever admit. He refuses to let that mask of invincibility slip for even a second.

“Gods don’t get sick, darling,” he had said, though you could see the sluggishness that had crept into his usual elegant movements, along with the deep weariness that had settled in his eyes.

One hour later you found him sleeping like the dead. 

He looks so utterly at peace that your heart swells with love for him, and with the familiar realisation that he’s yours. This beautiful man who has survived tortures your mind can’t even conceive of is yours. It’s something that almost has you weep. Out of all the people on this planet - of all the beings in the entire cosmos - it’s you that gets to love him, and you’ll never take that for granted.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes off him as he sleeps. Still a villain to most of the world, yet he’s curled on his side in your bed with tousled hair and pink stained cheeks. You can see the bedsheets shifting with the steady rise and fall of his chest, as well as the way his arm is stretched out towards your side of the bed, as though, even lost to his dreams, his body still searches for yours. 

The man is your entire heart and more, and it’s moments like these you wish you could bottle. 

Your hand floats to his face before you can help yourself. It’s warmer than usual and still smooth beneath your gentle touch that pushes a stray curl back behind his ear. You swear you hear his breathing shift, almost like he knows you’re there. 

You never tire of this - watching him sleep. To have him sleep so soundly in your presence, to have him know with such unwavering certainty that you wouldn’t dream of hurting him, feels like a blessing from the gods.

He trusts you - completely and wholeheartedly - and it’s one of the greatest gifts he could ever give you. 

His hair is silken beneath your touch and errant strands wrap loosely around your fingers as you bend down to kiss his temple. It’s barely more than a butterfly kiss, but you can’t help but let your lips linger briefly against his skin. You only wish it was enough to free him from the clutches of his cold. 

The backs of your fingers brush softly over his cheek and you make to leave and let him rest, but you’ve barely pulled away when he grabs your wrist in a loose grip. 

“Stay,” Loki says, his voice groggy and congested. “Please.” 

His eyes are flickering open, but it’s clear that he’s still wading through sleep. He looks so vulnerable and exhausted and sick that suddenly any plans you had for the rest of the day are unimportant. You can’t deny this man anything. 

Easily, you climb into the bed beside him, resting your back against the headboard and opening your arms to him. “Come here, my love,” you tell him gently. 

He wastes no time in shifting beneath the sheets until his legs are tangled with yours and his head is resting heavily on your stomach. He grips you like he’s been starved of your touch, like you’re the one thing tying him to Earth. You can feel the unspoken plea in the way he’s holding you, the “please don’t leave me” that’s burning into your skin. 

You hope he knows that wild horses couldn’t drag you away from him. 

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you stretch down to kiss the top of his head and intertwine your fingers with his. His hand locks around yours greedily, as though he can’t get enough of your touch. 

It’s fine with you, though, because you can never get enough of him. 

You begin to stroke his hair, so softly that you’re barely even touching him, but you can still hear his soft sigh of contentment. “Feeling better?” you ask softly, running your thumb along his knuckles. 

“No,” he croaks, attempting to twist himself tighter around you. “I fear this may be something worse than one of your silly Midgardian maladies.” 

You can’t help but smile. Your drama queen of a god is still in there.  “Hmm, I think you might be right. I should probably let Tony know I’ll be out for the next few days to take care of you. I can’t risk my beautiful boy succumbing to a dangerous alien bug.” 

Loki doesn’t move, but you can almost feel the smile that mirrors your own growing across his face. “You can’t,” he murmurs, his voice slightly muffled by how far he’s nuzzled into your stomach. 

He lapses into silence and you take the opportunity to pull him closer. He’s solid in your arms - solid and alive and everything you never knew you were looking for. He’s your sun and your moon and all your stars, and you can’t imagine your life without him. 

Wordlessly, you stretch to place another kiss to his head, not missing how he hums at your touch. “I adore you, you beautiful man. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

He pulls your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles in reply. It’s so soft and so innocent that you’re struck again by how you would burn down worlds for him. 

Not five minutes later, his breathing turns even and heavy. He’s fast asleep, head still resting on your stomach and hand still gripping yours.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Hello! Recently read your latest Rin piece and fell in love with your writing style :)

If you’re up for it, could I request childhood friends with Hiori? Sorry it’s a little vague, but I love the direction you’ve taken other pieces and wanted to leave the details up to you! My only suggestion on a detail would be maybe sprinkling in some light angst about his parents/backstory.

Thank you for considering!

── WHITE BUTTERFLY

Synopsis: You spend the years of your youth with Yo Hiori, in a field that’s almost lonely as the two of you.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Hiori x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 6.7k

Content Warnings: childhood friends, hiori is vaguely suicidal and also vaguely homicidal, uhh i feel like i know nothing about him as a character so popping that sexy little ooc warning in there jic, open ending, lots of #nature, almost the entire story takes place in a field so idk, hiori is like. madly in love w reader but he’s nonchalant abt it

A/N: thank you so much anon that means a lot!! cherry tree rin and y/n are so silly (<- affectionate) i’m glad you enjoyed that fic 💖 one thing about me i love a good childhood friends to lovers trope especially with angst…hiori is another character i haven’t written a ton for so i hope i interpreted him correctly and that you like what i decided to do with your prompt!! ty for requesting 🫶🏻

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

The field across from your house was melancholic and desolate, an acre or so of rolling green that bled into trees at the edges. Although by all rights it should’ve been considered a picturesque place, no amount of beauty could take away from the abandoned atmosphere which had long ago settled over the land.

According to your parents, there had been plans for a grand mansion to be built in that location, but before drafts for its construction could be drawn up, the owner had died. The son who had inherited it had no use for the plot, but neither could he be brought to sell the place of his father’s dreams, so the land had sat empty and unused for years upon years. 

People thought the area was cursed, and the general consensus was that it ought to be avoided, but your parents did not believe in things like curses and bad luck and whatnot, so they told you it was fine if you wanted to play there. You were a lonely child, prone to wandering off on your own anyways, and you supposed they must’ve reasoned to themselves that it’d be easier if you were close enough that you could run home should something happen. 

You would sit in the middle of the field, far from any prying eyes, and you’d admire the blooming plants beneath your feet. It was not just grass — there were a million and one varieties of things growing in that wild place, and you would run your fingers along their leaves, doing your best not to frighten the animals and insects which called that field their home.

They grew accustomed to you with time, and instead of shying away, they invited you into their own world. The squirrels and chipmunks would dash out from their trees to scuttle around your feet and splayed hands, while the dormice would peek out of their burrows without fear, nibbling on whatever seeds they had gathered before settling in for the day. The larks would warble to you, and if you were in a particularly cheery mood, you’d whistle back to them, trying to imitate their melodies but always falling a little short.

The third time you went to the field, you found that someone had arrived before you. For a moment, you thought that he must be a ghost, for he stood in such stark contrast to everything you had come to know that there was no other reasonable explanation for it. He was spindly and pale like a skeleton, and his shaggy hair and eyes were the color of winter, such an unnatural shade compared to the viridian he was surrounded by.

You were contemplating running away when he turned around, his eyes widening when he saw you. In his hands was a soccer ball, and resting on the soccer ball was a large white butterfly, its lazily flapping wings shimmering like a whisper in the sunlight.

You were both silent for a moment, a soft breeze rustling through the field and sounding like a song that urged you towards him despite your misgivings. Tentatively, he held the ball out towards you, but the motion startled the butterfly, which abruptly took to the air, fluttering away before either of you could react.

“Who are you?” you said.

“Yo Hiori,” he said. “Who are you?”

“Y/N L/N,” you said. “I live in the house across the street.”

“We’re neighbors, then,” he said. “My house is a few doors down from yours. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” you said. “Do you?”

He shook his head ruefully. “This is the first time. My parents think I’m practicing soccer right now.”

“You shouldn’t do that here,” you said, frowning at the thought of him kicking up dirt and slamming a ball around carelessly through your sanctuary. “Go somewhere else if you want to play something so reckless.”

“I don’t,” he said. You furrowed your brow. “Don’t want to practice soccer, I mean.”

“I see,” you said. “Well, this is a good place to run to if that’s the case. No one will come looking for you here.”

“Is that the truth?” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” you said. “Everyone thinks it’s cursed, but in truth, I think that that just means it’s blessed.”

“Ah,” Hiori said. “But do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” you said.

“If I keep coming here,” he said. “When I want to run away.”

“It doesn’t belong to me. I suppose you could say I belong to it, but that’s neither here nor there. No, I can’t stop you, so why would I mind?” you said.

“Are you some sort of woodland fairy?” he said. You laughed aloud.

“I wish. Are you a ghost?” you said. He shook his head.

“Nope,” he said.

“Then I guess our claims to this place are equal,” you said. “Anyways, as long as you don’t disturb it too much, I won’t be angry. I’ll do the same for you, don’t worry.”

“I don’t care what you do to it,” he said. “I just want to go somewhere that’s quiet and I can be left alone.”

This much you could understand, and you thought that perhaps Hiori would grow to be an exception to your loneliness, or an addition to it. Not a cure, because that did not exist, but a person who could relish in his own solitude and share in that inexplicable sensation which was your greatest joy.

You never saw him anywhere but in that field. You weren’t sure if he even existed outside of its context, or if he was like the dormice and the larks, a skittish creature who made his home in those grassy divots and only appeared to greet you before running back off to hide once you were gone.

At first, he was even more reserved than the animals had been. Neither of you spoke, but somehow, it happened that you were always in the same place at the same time, and eventually, little by little, the two of you became dependent on one another’s presence. Your life before meeting Hiori was pale and lifeless in comparison to your life after, and the first time you both spoke as friends instead of strangers, you thought to yourself that you could never go back to the way you had previously been.

No longer did you whistle at birds and play with squirrels; instead, you sat across from Hiori and listened to him explain things like soccer and video games. You were not particularly interested in either of these subjects, but as long as it was Hiori, you didn’t mind hearing about them. It was the cadence of his voice you were concerned with, the rise and fall of his words, the soft inflections of each syllable. 

You had never had a friend before. It was a personal choice rather than a failing; every person who tried to engage with you was met with the same disdain, for you found no appeal in any such clumsy attempts at camaraderie. In your childish mind, friendship ought to be hard-won and delicately kept, and so it remained that of all the people in the world, Hiori was the only one whose honest company you could prefer.

He was a forlorn and low-spirited boy, the winter to your bursting summer, but his coldness was the inviting sort, like a dusting of snow on a cluster of berries or frost on a forgotten bird’s nest. It did not ward you away but drew you in, your breath fogging in the air as you lay beside him and listened to him ramble on and on about whatever topics struck his fancy.

Sometimes he was prone to muteness, and on those occasions you took it upon yourself to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling him along behind you and naming every plant and tree and flower you passed by, greeting the tittering chipmunks and the cooing larks and the peeping rabbits. He would not say anything, but you knew he was listening, for he would smile slightly whenever you pointed at something he found particularly pleasing.

Every day, he would bring the soccer ball with him. He refused to put it down, but neither did he play with it or even acknowledge its existence; you sensed it vexed him, that it was the source or a symptom of the gloomy undercurrent which ran through his life, but he could not let it go, just like he could never truly be happy in any way that lasted.

“Y/N,” he said once, when you and he were lying on your backs in the grass and watching the clouds drift by. “If you could be any other creature, what would you be?”

“I don’t know,” you said, considering the question seriously. “Maybe a songbird. What about you?”

“I’d be one of those,” he said, pointing at a butterfly floating past. It was a common variety, nondescript and plain and white, but somehow made more beautiful by the ubiquity of its kind.

“Why?” you said.

“I’d live a short but carefree life, and then I would die before anyone could demand anything from me,” he said, smiling slightly and closing his eyes. “Plus, if I could be something as small and pretty as a butterfly in our meadow, then I would be able to spend my entire existence resting on your finger.”

Your meadow. You weren’t sure when it had gone from being a place you visited to a place you owned, but yes, the shift had definitely occurred. You and Hiori loved it, and so it was yours by that right alone. You reached out your hand, setting it on his heart and then closing your own eyes in a mirror of his position.

“I wouldn’t prefer that,” you said. Something cool and soft curled over your fingers; you knew without looking that it was Hiori’s own hand, which would always come to rest against yours like a magnet.

“Hm,” he said.

“I’d get used to you being there,” you explained. “And then one day you’d vanish and I’d be alone again.”

“Would you miss me?” he said.

“Very much,” you said. 

“Nobody else would,” he admitted, though he still spoke in an even monotone. “I’d be replaced quickly. Someone just as talented or even better would take my place, and then it’d be like I was never there in the first place.”

“I’d miss you,” you insisted. “I don’t care about talent. You’re someone who’s irreplaceable to me.”

“I see,” he said. “Then I guess, if not a butterfly, I would also want to be a songbird. Like you.”

“We could fly around the world together,” you said. 

“Yes,” he said. “The countries I’ve seen in my video games…we could go to them. If we were birds, we could.”

“Maybe we still can,” you said.

“We can’t,” he said. “My parents would never let me.”

“What about when we’re adults? They can’t tell you what to do then, so we can leave them behind and travel wherever we want,” you said.

“It’s a nice dream,” he said.

“Hold onto it,” you said. “That’s the only way it can ever come true.”

“Okay,” he said. “I will.”

Even as you and Hiori became older and made friends outside of one another, there was a sort of solace which only he could provide you and which in turn only you could provide him, so neither of you ever outgrew that field. The moment you got home from school, you’d drop your bag on the counter and run there as fast as you could, hoping to see him before he had to leave for soccer practice. And every time, without fail, he’d be there, waiting where he always was, his small smile widening when he saw you racing towards him.

The contents of your conversations changed, moving from games and plants to complaining about schoolwork and updating one another about your respective social lives and dramas — he went to a private academy for soccer, while you attended the public school that most kids your age went to — but the familiarity never diminished. If anything, it only increased, as any inhibitions you had had in your youths gradually fell away.

“Hiori! You’ll never believe it,” you said, moving his abandoned soccer ball aside and sitting across from him. He did not look up from the pieces of grass he was braiding together, but he nodded to indicate he was listening. “Remember those two guys I was telling you about?”

“The ones who had a crush on the same girl?” he said.

“Yup, those two,” you said. “They finally got into a fistfight over her! It was crazy.”

“Who won?” he said.

“The principal, because he broke up the brawl and suspended them both,” you said. “Thereby ruining their brief romance-novel-moment entirely.”

“That’s a pity,” he said with a snort. “I can’t imagine what possessed them to do something as stupid as beating each other up on school grounds.”

“Love makes people crazy,” you said dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and collapsing backwards into the dirt. “You’ll understand when you feel it yourself, silly Hiori.”

“Huh?” he said.

“I mean, one day, you’ll fall madly in love with someone, and then you’ll be inclined to beat another person up for them,” you said.

“What if I already have?” he said. You shot up with a gasp.

“And you didn’t tell me? Who is it? Who, who? You can’t hide stuff like that!” you said.

“It was only a hypothetical,” he said. “There isn’t anyone. What about you? Are you madly in love with someone?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I am, but at the moment, I don’t find myself able to even tolerate any of the boys I go to school with! They’re all disgusting, immature, and insensitive. Just looking at them is enough to make me gag, so forget about falling in love!” you said.

“That sucks,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll be single forever,” you said. “I’ll live alone, with pets and a porch swing and a backyard just like this field, somewhere faraway where no one can find me.”

“What about me?” he said, taking your wrist and tying the braided grass around it like a bracelet.

“Well, I’ll tell you where I am, of course,” you said. “You’re the only one I would want as a visitor.”

“I’ll come every day,” he said.

“At that point, you might as well just live there with me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “It’d save you the time spent traveling back and forth.”

“Would you like me to?” he said. “I thought the point was for you to be alone.”

“If it’s you, then it wouldn’t be so bad,” you said. “Being with you is even better than being alone.”

The sun hit Hiori at the exact moment that he grinned at you, and in the back of your mind, where things were understood but not known, you recognized that of all the beings in that lovely place, he was far and away the loveliest.

A distant and rumbling thunder portended a storm on the day you learned who Hiori really was. He never went to the field if it was raining — there was no excuse for him to escape his home, and so, though you did not much mind the weather, you tended to keep to your room on those days as well. Today, though, the rain was still only a blot on the horizon, which meant you would have a precious few minutes with him before it began to pour and you had to leave again.

“Hey, Hiori,” you said. In an uncharacteristic move, he wasn’t holding onto the soccer ball; instead, it was on the ground, his foot resting atop it, his head bowed towards it and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He glanced up at you, and you were surprised to see that there was a dead, hollow quality to his eyes, which, though always placid and still, were never this shade of dark and dreary. “Is everything okay?”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?” he said.

“No,” you said immediately, taken aback. “Have you?”

“No,” he said. “Yes. I’m not sure. I don’t want to do it, but somehow, I want my parents to die.”

Another crack of thunder. You approached Hiori slowly, like he was a deer that would leap away the instant you were close enough to touch him. But he was not a deer, and he stayed preternaturally immobile, his harsh panting the only signal that he was a person and not a statue.

“Do you mean that?” you said when you were near enough to him that you could’ve embraced him if you wanted. “Is that really how you feel, Hiori?”

“Yes,” he said vehemently. “Yes, I mean it more than anything. Everything would be better if they would just die and leave me alone.”

He drew his leg back and slammed it into the ball. It streaked through the field, leaving a muddy rut in its wake, tearing up the grass and the flowers before crashing into a tree with a groan. You stared at the path of devastation it had wrought, wondering how such an innocent object could create such havoc, how such a simple act could have such irreversible consequences.

“That’s what soccer is,” he said when he had caught his breath and noticed your silence. “A tiring game you play to ruin yourself.”

“I thought you liked playing soccer,” you said. “You always told me how good you were at it.”

“Just because I’m good at it doesn’t mean I like it,” he said. “I hate it almost as much as I hate the people that make me play it.”

“Then why do you keep going?” you said. “Why don’t you quit?”

“Because I have to,” he said. “My parents gave birth to me so that I could play soccer and be the best at it. That’s the only role I know how to conform to, so how can I do anything but accept it?”

You wrapped one arm and then the other around his torso, leaning your temple against the dip of his collarbone, turning your back to the blight he had caused and holding onto him as lightning split the sky.

“Don’t ruin yourself,” you said. “Don’t betray who you are because other people tell you to. If you don’t want to play soccer, then don’t. Quit and leave it behind. Maybe everyone else will mock you, but would it be enough if I didn’t? If I alone swore not to think any less of you, then would you be able to do it?”

“No,” he said. Something dripped onto your head, and you thought it had started raining early until you realized that Hiori’s voice was catching on nothing, his heart beating as fast as a mouse’s. “No, it wouldn’t be enough. I have to play soccer.”

“Why?” you said.

“My parents,” he said. “If I don’t play soccer — no, if I’m not good at soccer, they’ll divorce. They’ll divorce and it’ll be my fault, so I have to keep doing it, because no matter how much I hate them, I can’t be — I can’t be the reason that they — that anything bad happens to them.”

The droplets came in quicker succession, but with a final clap of thunder, the sky opened to let the rain out, blurring the line between his tears and the natural precipitation which would’ve occurred whether or not you were there.

You didn’t know what to say to him, so you opted to say nothing, pressing into him for as long as you could before you both had to go, leaving one another behind as you were always forced to. Now, though, there was a proof of your existence in the shape of that ugly gash that his soccer ball had torn into the field, an alteration which was directly a consequence of your actions. In a season or two, it would be grown over, but for the time being, it cheered you to think that the world could no longer avoid acknowledging you, acknowledging that you and Hiori were real, that you were alive and belonged.

In your second year of high school, a boy in your class came up to you, stopped you in the hallway in front of everyone and thrust a bouquet of supermarket flowers into your hands. He asked you to read the attached card, and you obliged, though you had a feeling you already knew what it said.

As you had predicted, it was an invitation to have lunch with him sometime. His cheeks were red and his smile was wide as he waited for you to say yes, but all you could think of when you looked at him was Hiori. How would he feel about this turn of events? Would he be amused or jealous or unfazed entirely? Would it even matter to him? Why were you thinking of him at a time like this?

No, that last question was one you knew the answer to already. The reason why you were thinking of Hiori was the same reason you still went to that field to see him, even though you were far too old to play with mice and birds and clovers now. It was the same reason that you recoiled from any other boy who tried to talk to you — because they were not him, they could never be him. It was because — it was because —

Much to the consternation of the audience you had unwillingly gathered, you handed the card and flowers back to the boy, shaking your head as politely as you could. There was a demand for an explanation on the tip of his tongue, but you left before he could make it. The explanation was not one you wanted to share, so you covered your ears with your hands to drown out the insults he shouted after you and strode away before he could say anything worse.

Hiori was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, so it was no surprise that he was waiting for you where he always was. Today, though, you did not bother with formalities or welcomes or lighthearted questions. You paid no mind to his antsy demeanor, instead catching his hands between your own and squeezing them.

“Y/N—”

“Hiori—”

You both called out each other’s names at the same time, with the same urgency, though there was a layer of despair when he said Y/N, just as there was pleading infused into the way you murmured Hiori.

“You first,” he said, though he looked over your shoulder, staring towards the road instead of at you. “Quickly.”

“Okay,” you said. “A boy asked me out.”

“Oh,” he said, and when his gaze slid onto you, you noticed that for the first time, there was something flaring to life in the blank depths of his irises, a veritable maelstrom of unreadable emotions twisting together and blending into something entirely other than the stillness you had come to expect from him. “What did you say?”

“I refused,” you said. “I couldn’t date him, not in good conscience. Not when I like — not when there’s someone else.”

“Someone else?” he said. “Y/N, please hurry.”

“What’s the matter?” you said, letting go of his hands so that you could instead hold his face. “Hiori, what’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you in trouble with your soccer team? Is that stupid crow boy causing you problems?”

“What? No, no, Karasu’s not done anything worse than usual. It’s my parents, I think they’re growing suspicious of me, I’m afraid they’ll—”

“It’s you,” you said, cutting him short, his haste rubbing off on you. You weren’t sure whether it was his anxiety or your own or some sort of divine premonition, but you suddenly felt an impending doom, as if you had to speak at that exact instant or give up the chance to ever say it again. “Hiori, you’re the reason I said no. It’s because I like you.”

Hiori, who had carved his way into your heart on the very first day you met, who was fond of butterflies and songbirds, who was bashful like winter and gentle like dusk. How could you help it? Of course you liked him. That boy who had reached into the lonely chasm of your soul and ripped it out, turned it into something lighter and warmer and whole…how could you help falling for him?

“Me?” he said in disbelief. “But—”

“So this is where you go, Yo,” a stern voice said. Hiori inhaled sharply, and then he yanked away from you, shoving you behind him, though it was far too late. You knew who had finally found the two of you, and furthermore, there was no way she hadn’t seen you. “This doesn’t look like practicing soccer. How much time have you been wasting in this dump, with this fool of a girl?”

You peered around Hiori’s back, holding onto the hem of his shirt. Fear constricted your throat when you saw a woman who bore an uncanny resemblance to him standing before you, her hands on her hips, a dour expression on her face. Whatever had been sparkling in Hiori at your confession had abruptly disappeared, replaced by an even more severe version of himself.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “We just met recently.”

“Not a big deal? Think about how much better at soccer you would be if you actually spent this time practicing instead of messing around! A few minutes every day is the difference between starting for a team and being a substitute, because a few minutes every day turns to hours every week, which turns into days lost every month! You should be ashamed of yourself,” his mother said, marching over and grabbing him by the collar, wrenching him away from you. “From now on, I’ll be supervising your additional practice time. As for you, young lady…don’t even think of coming near him again. He doesn’t need distractions like you getting in the way of his ultimate goal.”

“His ultimate goal?” you said, your audacity surprising even yourself. Without Hiori’s shadow to hide you, you were entirely naked and exposed, but somehow, you found the strength in you to speak up. “What, of being the world’s best soccer player? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe he doesn’t want that anymore, if he ever did?”

His mother scowled at you. “You are a poison of the worst sort, if you have him doubting what he’s been aiming for since he was young. Stay away from my son. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

She dragged Hiori away before either of you could manage so much as a goodbye. It was the first time since you had met him that you found yourself alone in that field, which suddenly felt so vast that you finally understood why people thought it to be cursed. It had to be, because why else would it have given you Hiori and then taken him away with such a swiftness that it left you reeling?

For a week, you continued to go to the field, just in case he would magically be there, but it was a foregone conclusion that he would not be. Still, you waited, and though the larks sang their songs and the dormice chittered at you sweetly, nothing could set your spirits right when Hiori remained missing.

On the eighth day you spent without him, you didn’t even bother with the field. Instead, you knocked on every door of every house in your small neighborhood, continuing on until the one who answered was the same woman who had stolen Hiori from you. 

She remembered you, her expression turning sour at your appearance, like you had shoved a lemon into her mouth. Shockingly, though, she did not slam the door in your face. She only cleared her throat before speaking in the most abrasive voice you had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

“What is it?” she said.

“Hiori — Yo, is he around? I just want to see him one last time. I’ll leave him alone after that if you refuse to budge, but at least let me say goodbye. I won’t ever distract him again if you give me that chance,” you said. 

“If I gave you even the slightest leeway, you’d pounce upon it, won’t you? I’m not so daft. I’m sure that, if I let you in now, you’d never leave. In the end, though, it’s irrelevant. Yo’s gone,” she said.

“Gone?” you said. “What do you mean?”

“He’s participating in a soccer training camp called Blue Lock,” his mother said. “The way they raise their players is what his father and I been trying to impress upon him from the start, so we’re glad he made the choice himself to go. Now, he can focus on his own self-improvement instead of brief dalliances that would never last.”

Hiori was gone. There was a deep ache in you, and those words were its source, yet nonetheless, for him, you could only muster up pride. He had finally done it. He had flown somewhere free of the burdens his parents placed on him; to be sure, it was defined by the soccer he despised, but nonetheless he had made the decision to do it on his own. It belonged to him, and he had spent so long without anything to his name but a deserted green that you laughed as you sobbed, leaving him behind for good.

A long time passed before you saw him again, though you watched all of his matches on TV. He had become someone different and yet still familiar while in the Blue Lock program — he was sharper now, sharper and quicker, his eyes constantly burning in the same way they had on the day he had left you. Most notably, you thought that that childish love for soccer which he had had and then lost had blossomed again, now into a stable, unshakeable passion which no one, not even his parents, could take from him.

You had probably also changed, though of course it was harder to recognize it in yourself than in another person. But you were not so sparing with your offers of friendship anymore, and neither were you harsh to every boy who approached you. With Hiori gone, the only reservations you had were feeble and pointless, so you stopped saying no quite as often.

Nothing ever came of these school-type romances. Inevitably, you’d walk home and your eyes would stray to the spot where you had spent so much of your childhood with Hiori, whereupon you would pull out your phone and send a formulaic apology message. Sorry, but it’s not working. There’s nothing wrong with you, but I don’t think we’re a good match for each other. Thanks for taking me out. I really appreciate it.

The longer it became, the less frequently you thought about him. He turned into a memory, fuzzy around the edges with nostalgia and tinged with gold. He was someone you claimed to know around those with a more vested interest in soccer, but deep inside, you had accepted that your path had diverged from his a long time ago. You and Hiori weren’t meant to sit beside one another for eternity; he had been there when you needed him, but it was time for you to stand on your own, as he was clearly doing all of the way over in Blue Lock.

“I can’t believe you’ve finally graduated high school!” your mother said, sniffing as she took a million photos of you standing awkwardly, your diploma in your hands, your gown hanging loosely on your body and the pins holding up your cap jabbing into your scalp. “We’re so proud of you, dear.”

“Next stop, Tokyo!” your father said, swiping at the tears which rolled shamelessly down his cheeks.

You had been accepted into the University of Tokyo, and at the end of the summer, you would move into your own apartment, leagues away from everything you had known for your entire life. It was exciting, but it was also terrifying, because the thought of being all alone in the bustling metropolis still made you break into a cold sweat.

Now that you had officially graduated, it all seemed so much more real. Going to Tokyo, attending university, getting a job and supporting yourself…these were not dreams of a distant future but immediate and pressing concerns that weighed on you.

Once you became a university student and then an adult proper, you visited home less and less. You hardly had the time, and anyways there wasn’t much to do in that town, so instead your parents would take trips up to visit you when they missed you terribly — which was often. They would update you on the happenings of your neighbors, and you would take them to your favorite restaurants and attractions, like they were foreign tourists coming to the country for the first time. 

“You know, they finally finished construction on that plot across from our house,” your mother said to you on one such visit, taking a sip of bubble tea to punctuate the outrageous statement. There were streaks of gray in her hair now, and far more lines on her face than there had been when you were younger, but she wore the signs of age with grace and dignity, so that they were weapons instead of faults. 

“You never told me someone bought it,” you said. So that was that, then; the last remnants of your tender friendship with a boy you had not spoken to in years was all but destroyed now. It belonged to another person, who would make their own memories on the land, and the thought of two other people standing where you and Hiori once had caused a lump to arise in your throat. It was as much grief for the idyllic days of your childhood as it was for your former best friend. Both were lost to you now, and both you mourned in equal measure, though you knew no amount of crying would ever bring them back.

Perhaps there had been a window of time in which you might’ve been able to reconnect with Hiori, but the idea hadn’t crossed your mind until it was far too late, and you supposed it must’ve been the same for him. Or maybe he had, upon joining Blue Lock and becoming an international celebrity, forgotten about you entirely. It was a possibility, and no matter how much it stung, it was one you did not resent him for.

“Yes, it was a while ago. Apparently, he lived in the area when he was younger, but he left to pursue some athletic career? Anyways, now that he’s rich, he wanted to invest in some property close to home, so as soon as the previous owner died, he swooped in and bought the entire field up. You know, considering how much money he has, the house is downright quaint in its design,” your mother said, shaking her head. She had a penchant for gossip, and you could not count on two hands the amount of days you both had spent giggling with each other about silly, inconsequential matters. This, though, crossed the line — it wasn’t dumb gossip but legitimate news.

“Athletic career? Do you…do you happen to remember what sport?” you said. 

“No idea,” your mother said. “Why?”

“Was it soccer?” you said. She choked on a pearl of boba. Absently, you leaned over and slapped her on the back to help dislodge it. She coughed and dabbed at her face with a napkin before nodding.

“Ah, yes, that sounds familiar!” she said. “I think that might be it.”

“I’m going to take the next few days off and visit you guys,” you said. It was a spur of the moment decision, but you could afford it, and something told you that what you would find would be far more valuable than another day at your boring, if not well-paying, job.

“Really? That’s wonderful! You’ll love how things have changed. The place has really come to life in the past couple of years,” she said.

The train ride home from Tokyo was just over two hours, and it ran through a familiar countryside, which you watched for the entire journey, smiling slightly whenever you rushed by a landmark you recognized. By the end, however, it seemed every sight was a landmark of some sort — not the nationally important ones, but the type that was personally significant. The many little places you had visited when you were young…even now, you recollected them with startling clarity.

Your father was delighted that you had returned home with your mother, and the whole house smelled like his cooking when you walked in through the front door. He must’ve begun preparing as soon as you had mentioned that you were coming back for a bit, and the grumble of your stomach warned you that you would regret it if you did not hold off on your investigation until after dinner.

You sat in the same chair you had once sat in and ate the same food you had once eaten. It was your favorite as a little girl, and your father served it to you personally, his lower lip trembling as he ladled two portions onto your plate instead of one. Hardly even a month had passed since he had seen you last, but he had always been an emotional man, bawling like a child at every reunion and separation alike.

The sun was setting when you excused yourself, placing your dishes in the sink and ducking outside under the pretense of needing a walk to digest your food. Well, it was only half a pretense — your father truly had fed you until you thought your stomach might split open, as was characteristic of his affection. You really did need to walk around so that your insides could settle, but more importantly than that, you wanted to confirm the theory which had been brewing in your mind since your mother had brought it up.

As she had said, there was a brand new house across from yours. It was nothing like the grand mansion that the original owner must’ve intended to sit on the land; it had a winsome yet unassuming charm to it, and it only took up about half of the field, while the rest of it had been left entirely alone, still green and wild like you recalled it to be. You were sure that if you looked close enough, you would find the dormice and the squirrels and the chipmunks and the larks exactly where you had left them as well, but you did not have the time nor the patience for that at present.

When you climbed the porch steps, you noticed that to the left of the door was a cushioned swing, atop which a tortoiseshell cat was dozing. At the sound of your footsteps, she opened one champagne-colored eye, but she did not seem to regard you as worthy of her attention, for she promptly closed it and returned to her rest.

Your fingers hesitated on the doorbell, resting on the button, too scared to press down. You didn’t know what you had to be afraid of, but for some reason, you were nervous, a pit forming in your stomach as you deliberated over what to do. Before you could make up your mind, the cat meowed at someone in greeting, jumping off of the swing with a light thud.

Spinning around, you saw that the owner of the house was standing at the bottom of the steps, the cat rubbing against his legs as he beamed up at you. Any lingering doubts of yours dissipated into nothingness at the instant you once again made eye contact with Yo Hiori; like a reflex, the corners of your mouth curved upwards in a fond greeting.

Like always, in his hands was a soccer ball, though more prominent than the ball itself was the butterfly which lay on it in repose. Its white wings were thin and quivering, but curiously, when Hiori held the ball out to you, it did not fly off, instead remaining stationary, waiting for you to reach out and take it.

[duckie-darling]

Worth the Effort

Lucifer x gn! sinner reader (may skew more f! reader in later chapters)

Chapter 1: Slow burn, Fluff (for now), post season 1, 4.5k words.

1 of (at least) 5 chapters

Inspired by the very specific intersection of Luci hyperfixation and youtube hoof care videos and relating way too hard to this silly, sad little man.

Summary: During the upswings of depression, the King of Hell's love language is breakfast and over the top circus puns. But on the downswings, he needs help remembering that he matters, too.

It was hard to identify the smell wafting through your hotel room, beckoning you away from your dreams and out from under the covers. The streets of hell were often smoky with the faint burning smell of dumpster fires or smoldering brimstone. But this was a little different. Almost pleasant. Almost comforting.

You rolled over to your other side, trying to will yourself back to sleep. It was too early to deal with a fire in the hotel. Surely if it were serious there’d be screaming, right? And besides, if it was anything besides the viridian hell-fires hungry for the flesh of sinners, then it would be fine. It wouldn’t actually hurt the sinners in the hotel, just the hotel itself. Right?

But after a few minutes of trying and failing to fall back into slumber, your growling stomach convinced you that it’s not likely to happen. You reluctantly kicked the blankets down off of your body and laid there, soaking in the comfort for a moment longer.

You hadn’t been a guest at the princess of Hell’s hotel that long. Long enough to fall into somewhat of a routine, but not long enough for the absolute decadence of the plush pillow and feather-soft sheets to have worn off. Not long enough for the quiet and solitude of a room all to yourself to stop being exquisite. Not long enough to forget what it was like to be out on those streets, a hapless sinner trying to dodge knives and bullets and bad deals. No, the privilege of this room and this place hadn’t worn off yet, so you chose to soak in a few more seconds with your head on a pillow behind a securely locked door.

Although, your stomach disagreed.

Finally giving in to its demands, you reluctantly shuffled to your feet and flicked on the bedside lamp with a yawn, limply rubbing sleep from your eyes. The smell had turned from something your brain detected as burning into instead something sweet, slightly smoky, and inviting. Someone was probably making themselves breakfast, and according to your stomach, you should follow suit.

You had come here with only the clothes on your back and whatever of your belongings weren’t pinched by pickpockets. So at least the added step of having to change out of pajamas wasn’t keeping you from breakfast! Turns out there’s a bright side to having not a single possession to your name.

But you still felt the need to make yourself look like you hadn’t just rolled out of bed before facing the world outside that door. The princess didn’t really seem like the kind to kick someone out for messy appearances, but you couldn’t afford to take any chances.

So your stomach continued to murmur as you trudged to the bathroom. You combed your fingers through your bedhead, detangling just enough to be presentable, and gargled with tap water in a weak attempt to stave off morning breath. You also checked your face for dirt and ensured the clothes you slept in weren’t twisted around during sleep. The face staring back at you in the mirror wasn’t exactly your best - but it was presentable.

Stepping out into the hallway, you were pleased to find you were alone, at least for now. While the enticing smell was definitely stronger out here, it didn’t seem like enough to awaken any other hotel residents. As you slowly walked down to the main floor, the sizzling and chopping noises cutting through the silence made it apparent that someone was in there cooking up a storm.

Plenty of people in hell were night owls or just slept most of the day, but very few of them would wake up this early in the morning to cook a proper breakfast for themselves, whistling cheerily. If there was some kind of visitor coming this morning, maybe it would be better to stay out of there - lie low, maybe see if that bartender (Husker was his name, you think?) had any cocktail peanuts to nibble on until the place cleared out. You cautiously stuck your head around the corner to glimpse the source of all the activity.

In no way did you expect that all the activity you heard from this room was coming from just one person.

He stood in front of the stove, whistling a jaunty little tune as he held a skillet in his right hand. He skillfully jerked the skillet, flipping a perfectly browned pancake into the air, which then did an acrobatic little flip before plopping back into the pan. His left hand was whisking some sort of concoction in a red bowl, which itself was being cradled in the air by a swirling golden light. On the counter off to his right, yet another swathe of golden magic was wrapped around a chef’s knife, rapidly julienning potatoes into perfect little matchsticks.

He let go of the whisk, grabbing instead, straight from the air above his head, a black spatula. The utensil was decorated with a shiny red apple at the handle. That, it turns out, was your first clue, but when he twirled quickly in place before coming to face you, you were suddenly certain exactly who it was you had just been caught spying on.

Lucifer - fallen angel, ruler of demons, King of hell - stood before you. 

Making pancakes. 

In an apron. 

Patterned with rubber ducks.

“Goooood morning!” he chirped, eyes brightening as he flipped the pancake again into the air, angling it to land gracefully on a platter that was already piled with its siblings. “Oh, haha, you’re a new face! Well you’re in luck, because early risers get served first~!”

You blinked rapidly in surprise.

“Take a seat!” He snapped his fingers and one of the stools at the kitchen’s island pulled itself away from the counter as an invitation. There was a slight swirling sparkle of golden magic in the air above the surface, and a cascade of plates and silverware arranged themselves into a perfect place setting. The napkin was folded in the shape of a perfect origami swan (or duck?) in the middle of the plate.

“Are you thirsty?” He was talking too fast for you to move or even respond. “Apple? Orange? Pomegranate? Pick your poison!” Each word was punctuated by the fruit in question appearing in his hands, which he almost immediately started to casually juggle. Even just the fragrance of those fruits - a rare, almost unheard of delicacy in hell - made your mouth threaten to water.

He paused a moment, giving you just enough time to inhale in the hopes of replying before he interrupted.  “Oh, but not REAL poison, heh!” his voice cracked and he looked slightly bashful over the misstep, finally breaking the constant excited chattering and replacing it with a slightly awkward silence.

“I-.....” You suddenly realized that somewhere in all that you had been given a command by the king of Hell, so you promptly sat on the stool that had been pulled out for you. “O-orange…?”

The awkward smile turned less awkward, and his face lit up again. “Comin’ right up!” His 3 makeshift juggling balls quickly turned into four, five, eight, twelve. After a moment of showboating while he juggled them with ease, each orange in turn magically hovered over top of your glass, squeezed itself dry, and then helpfully launched itself into the garbage can.

He dusted his hands off on his apron and gave a brief bow, seemingly ending his performance. Then his eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance, stopping your heart until you realized he was staring at your glass. He snapped his fingers, adding both a silly straw and a ruby red paper umbrella. “That’s more like it.” He then spun on his heel, resuming his whistling as well as his work.

You sipped the juice. It was delicious.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the man before you. He gave off the least intimidating presence you could imagine, and yet he was almost definitely the most powerful person between the two of you. No, realistically he was the most powerful person in the realm. Just thinking of the broadcast footage from the final extermination convinced you that much was true. 

And sure, you had expected his once-in-a-while presence when taking up a room in the hotel. Rumor was he stayed in one of the corner suites, though you had never encountered his presence since you had gotten here. But this…this was not what you had expected. 

You swallowed hard, again struggling to find your words. Words that wouldn’t risk insulting him and lead to you having your soul tormented more viciously than ever before, or your organs squeezed as dry as those oranges. But you were thankfully saved from having to say anything when the door swung open with another visitor.

“AuuuuuUUUGUH,” Angel Dust groaned, slipping onto another of the stools and planting a bottle of vodka onto the counter, followed shortly by his face. “Boy am I glad yer here today, pops. Ya don’t even wanna know about the fuckin’ night I had. Val had me upside down blowin’ so many dicks I couldn’ get the blood rushin’ anywhere but my head.” He seemed too exhausted to even pounce on the easy “head” double entendre. “Think ya can just make me the usual?”

Lucifer made a flourish with one hand, and more ingredients landed on the counter in another golden swirl. “Buttered biscuit, over hard eggs, absolu-HOOTly no bacon, shredded potato, lots of cheese. Coming right up!” He rolled up his sleeves and started shredding potatoes for the order that he apparently knew by heart.

You cleared your throat for a moment, finally managing to speak again. “Is this….a regular thing?” 

Angel picked his head up, hair fluff falling over his face as he took a quick swig from the bottle. “Yeah, every once in a while.”

“That is-....that is, very kind of you, your Highness,” you muttered, addressing Lucifer this time.

The man in question paused from his nimble knifework to shrug and glance back at you. “Just Lucifer, actually!”

"But-", you stuttered, shifting in your seat. Was this a trick? “But you're the king and-”

"That I am!" He stood a little straighter, and from what little of his face you could see, his teeth shone through a smirk. “But to my darling Char-char’s official guests, I’ve decided to forgo those titles.”

He turned back to his slicing. “No matter how debauched, debased or demented! Whether pickpocket, peddler, porn star or poisoner. To all of the sorry sinners who haunt these halls, I am just Lucifer.” He stiffened a little, and then chuckled out a nervous laugh as his voice cracked. “I’m sure you’re just fi-iNe, though!”

The king glanced back at you, noting the nervous (or maybe confused?) energy. “But…you ca-can call me whatever you want! Whatever, uh, makes you more comfortable! Anything is fine exce-”

“So you’ll let me call you ‘Daddy’ now~~~~~?” Angel Dust interrupted.

“Except that,” Lucifer sighed. He was now tossing the shredded potatoes into a sizzling hot pan, and then grabbing his apple-handled spatula again, twirling it between his fingers like a baton. At some point in the rotation, it turned from spatula to whisk. He dipped it into a bowl full of egg yolks, beating them together with a practiced hand (and, apparently, wrist muscles of steel). The cheery whistling started again, and he tapped his foot gently to the tune. It was only now that you noticed he was standing on a stool in front of the stove.

He next grabbed a salt shaker, and you flinched a little as he tossed it into the air, doing a full 180-degree turn before catching it again and using it to salt the egg mixture.

“I gave you that bottle thinking you’d at least save a glass for me, Legs,” Husk growled slightly. He had apparently slunk in while-...while your attention was elsewhere. 

It wasn’t your fault, though. It was sort of mesmerizing. Like watching a master at work - you just didn’t expect that work would be breakfast sandwiches. And he seemed to take genuine joy in the art. The corners of his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled, and his forked tongue stuck out slightly when he seemed to be focused on flipping the egg just right. The blush-pink circles on his cheeks did cause his expression to always seem slightly-...well, cherubic. The genuine excitement made his smile so bright you almost had to avert your gaze. “Morningstar” really was a fitting name.

Lucifer floated over a plate onto the counter, and Angel Dust tore into his greasy sandwich.

“Hm-...could I have-...pancakes?” you spoke up, finally brave enough.

Lucifer turned to you with wide eyes and a dopey little grin. “Well that is actually my specialty! What shape?” 

“R-...round?”

His face dropped in disappointment, scrunching up his nose a little. “That’s way too easy. How about a-”

“Duck?” Husk guessed with a smirk.

“...turtle. I was going to say turtle, BUT a duck is also an excellent idea. Do you want a duck? Please, say you want a duck?” he turned his eyes to you, almost pleading.

And how could you say no? “I-...yes, sure. Duck pancakes. Duck-cakes?”

“HA!” he let out an enthusiastic laugh. “Duck-cakes! DUCK-CAKES! That’s great. HahA!” 

He made your order with expected enthusiasm, and when the plate slid across to you on the counter, the top pancake was decorated with an orange-wedge beak and blueberry eyes. Taking a bite, it was expectedly delicious, the perfect balance of crispness and fluffiness. You couldn’t help letting out a little sigh of delight.

“Heeheh! It’s the shape that makes it more delicious,” Lucifer snickered with another toothy grin. “Don’t you think?”

“It m-must be. But I think the chef also had a lot to do with it.”

That got him to beam even more, but you didn’t get to bask in the glow of that expression for long before his gaze snapped up to the next visitor.

“Char-char~!” he exclaimed, and 3 pairs of wings burst out of his back, allowing him to cartwheel through the air to land gracefully next to his daughter. “Do you want pancakes, honey? Duck-cakes, DUCK-CAKES! How have I never thought of that?” His hands flailed out above his head in excitement.

“I’m pretty sure you have, Dad,” Charlie offered with a smile as she sat down, Vaggie taking the seat beside her.

“Oh.” His jazz hands fell and his face scrunched up in thought, trying to remember whatever time she must be referring to. “Well, anyway, what’s your order this morning, Char-char?” He poofed himself back over to his post at the stove, already preparing to start on his next order.

The rest of the morning went on similarly to that. Hotel guests (and crew) slowly filtered in, each seeming to know exactly what they wanted for their breakfast order.

The diminutive hotel maid, Niffty chortled and wheezed her way into the kitchen, skittering up to Lucifer and holding a plastic dog bowl above her head. “In this, please....hehe... ”

Lucifer glanced down at her from his spot on the stool, frowning skeptically. “...really?” His eyebrow arched gracefully, again forcing you to turn your eyes away from the way the light caught his pale, unexpectedly beautiful face.

“yES, hehe,” Niffty chuckled.

“Uh, okay," Lucifer said with a sigh and another shrug, “you-... oddly endearing little gremlin.”

The comfortable chatter in the kitchen started putting you a bit more at ease, and it was easy to stay seated right where you were as the morning waned. You sipped your orange juice as your eyes wandered around the room, observing the conversations without having the need to participate. 

Angel leaned an elbow on the counter, and his cheek on his palm, shaking the last bits of Beelzejuice into his own flute of freshly-squeezed orange juice. Charlie's face spread into a dopey grin as she sipped her mug of hot chocolate, and then began rambling to Vaggie about how she ‘never knew humans had invented something so delicious, so splendid, so warm and comforting!’ You also tried not to look too hard at Nifty, eviscerating her cockroach-shaped pancakes into a gruesome mush as strawberry syrup splashed out of the dog bowl. At least she seemed...happy?

But your eyes again found it difficult not to linger on the chef de cuisine. He was still standing on his stool, seemingly for a better vantage point to observe the results of his handiwork. His posture was perfectly poised, back straight and facial expression reserved as he sipped apple juice from a silly straw, but you managed to catch the smile. 

Not the paparazzi smile, the one he probably puts on for the public, the people who want something from him. But a genuine one, tilting up the corners of his mouth and arching his eyebrows with some sort of fondness for the sinners surrounding him (and surrounded you all were, because quite a few other residents had filtered in throughout the morning). 

He clearly seemed to be happy to do anything to please his daughter, but you also caught a sense of satisfaction when Husk, reaching past Angel, slid another pancake onto his place with a 'gimme one of those!' It was a struggle, but you caught his subtle grin when Vaggie, flushing as she took a bite from her girlfriend's fork, licked her lips so as not to waste a drop of syrup.

Not that it was a surprise for the literal sin of pride to get an ego boost from people enjoying his handiwork. But it was a softness you can’t say that you expected.

Lucifer’s eyes caught yours, and he tilted his head curiously, lips still clamped around the silly straw. You unfortunately could not control your expression, your eyes widening as you glanced away.

But it was too late, and you heard a little pop! of golden magic at the same time the stool next to yours was no longer occupied.

“So who are you, again?” his question was punctuated by loud straw slurping as he drained the last of his apple juice. “Oh, right! You’re new here. Right? That’s why I don’t remember you.”

You cleared your throat a little and turned to face him. “Y-yeah, pretty new. Got here a few weeks ago…”

He set the cup down with the tiniest hint of a frown on his face. “Ah. Well, it’s, heh, a big place, and I just can’t keep up with all the sinners Charlie brings in because-.....well, you know, because I’m usually in the suite doing-...very important paperwork and-”

“I, um-” you interrupted him, almost regretting it until you saw the relief on his face when he no longer had to keep talking, “It’s ok. I mean-! I mean, I’m not offended. It is a big place and-...I-I should say it’s an honor that you and Charlie are taking someone like me in and-”

“Oh, that was aaaaall Charlie! I don’t want a thing to do with managing the sinners,” he glanced over at his daughter with a gentle smile, full of pride.

“Oh…I’m sorry, should I-”

“Oh gee whiz!” he exclaimed, turning back to you with a frown. “No, that’s no slight meant to you, I just-” his delicate hands went to cover his face. “Obviously I’m no good at talking to humans any more. Or, I guess I never really was!” he chuckled in exasperation.

“A-as long as you don’t want me gone…then it’s alright,” you smiled, nervously but sincerely trying to reassure the Devil.

His hands left his face and he let out a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s try this again.” He turned to you with a smile, leaning his cheek on his hand and his elbow on the counter. He had managed to calm the nerves in his voice, and instead in a smooth tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, said, “So what brings you here?”

With that particular choice of words, the graceful way he crossed his legs and bobbed his foot, the inquisitive arch to his eyebrow and the frankly embarrassing way you’d been eating up the view all morning, it was hard not to imagine it as a pick-up line, and instead as the invitation for small talk that it really was.

“Well-...I-...before this, I was sort of just doing odd jobs that I could bear to stomach. Trying to get by without-...you know…doing something really terrible. The place is honestly a miracle, because it’s-...tough out there. I’m sure you know that.” You managed to make eye contact for a moment, and you were met with an expression of genuine interest, and a twinge of guilt.

“But-...if you mean Hell in general? I really wish I knew!” you admitted, glancing away again and turning to stir the bare ice cubes around in your otherwise empty glass. “I thought I was a good person. I mean, I’m sure I lied occasionally. Had a mean thought every once in a while. Didn’t always do my best or give everything my all. But, I really thought I would-...well, I didn’t think I would end up here.”

“HhhOOO boy do I know how that feels.” He inhaled deeply, then let out a sigh. “But-...ok. Listen,” his voice lowered, leaning in closer and giving you a whiff of what must have been apple-scented cologne. “I’ve tried to tell Charlie this, but the rules for that kind of stuff ma-ake no sense. It’s not even worth trying to figure out a ‘why.’” 

He sat up, glancing over at his daughter, then back at you. “You came here for help, anyway. That’s...that’s good enough.” He paused for a moment, staring at his own fingers drumming against the counter as he seemingly became lost in thought.

Would it be a mercy to break him away from his thoughts? Maybe.

“Can I- ….can I ask a question, actually?”

He blinked rapidly, looking around as if trying to remember where he was. "Can you-....oh, but I believe you already did just by asking me that~” he snickered, as his brain caught up enough for a witty retort.

“Okay, fine,” you couldn’t help but chuckle. “Can I ask you a question besides the one I'm asking you now? "

“Hmmmm, I'll allow it! I am a gracious king after all.”

“While you were cooking...you just, you know, created those ingredients. Poofed them into existence. Why go through the trouble of cooking it? Why not just-....summon up a finished product?”

Lucifer straightened up again, and the trademark toothy grin spread across his face. “Well, it would be wa-HAY less fun to do it that way. If I did that, I’d make them, but I wouldn't really make them.”

After you tilted your head in momentary confusion, he continued, “Isn't it more fun to-....to make something by hand? To bust out the elbow grease? To feel like you sculpted something bit by bit?” There began a rising excitement in his voice, and you could see the slightest flutter of the wings laying flatly against his back. “To look at a pile of bits and pieces, and create magic instead of relying on it? Sure, I could make anything anyone wanted.”

He shrugged, and seemingly just to prove it, twirled his finger and created a 3D ferris wheel pancake sculpture, complete with carts full of maple syrup.

“But-...you know-...when people bother to take that first bite-...it feels better when I actually tried. It may not be as easy as this,” he rested his chin in his hands, watching the flapjack wheel rotate. “But to truly enjoy creating something, you have to put in the effort…”

“That’s-...that’s quite a sweet sentiment coming from-...sorry, please don’t take offense, but the literal devil. From the Bible.”

He chuckled, again almost forcing you to look away from the brightness of his expression as your heart fluttered. “Yeah, well! You know what they say. Don’t judge a duck by its feather.”

And you couldn’t help but chuckle in return, “I d-don’t think that’s how the expression goes! But may-ha-ha! M-maybe it should~?” 

“Uh, wait is that not how it goes? Hold on- I could have sworn-” he rambled, as something about his expression kept you snickering. It was the lightest you’d felt in days, maybe even since you’d arrived in hell. A conversation with the actual devil had you tittering like a schoolgirl with a crush.

When you caught your breath from laughter and opened your eyes, you could swear his gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, though it could easily have been your imagination. His sharp smile widened, and he leaned in just a little closer. “Well, however you say it’s supposed to go, doesn’t it roll off the tongue a little better? Doesn’t the image it conjures of a flappy little bird-o sound so-ho-ho much cuter~? And make you want to not judge his wittle feathers?”

You smiled again, picking up on the apparent fact that the duck obsession was more than just a pancake thing. “Okay, yes. Maybe the people-...up there on Earth will realize not to ‘judge ducks by their feathers’ either. Things can change...sometimes,” you shrugged.

He settled that dazzling smile into a gentler one, still looking at your face and making your heart flutter against your will. He then seemed to suddenly be aware of his unconscious gawking, and looked away, clearing his throat.

“Y-yeah-" he stammered, “...I guess sometimes they do.”

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

How would Vikings react to Ivar being remembered?

summary: it's in the title :)

notes: no warnings except for maybe mentions of death

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @leithdragon @demon-of-the-ancient-world @alicedopey, @ivarlover @batmandallyboy @akayxo09 @vrtualfairy @esme-viridian (hmu to be added/removed!)

masterlist | based on this request

Ragnar

Pretends he always knew (eugh he’s such a bitch ong)

Nooo I would never set my son out in the wild… meeee? No wayyy…

He takes credit for it for his ‘great parenting’ and ‘legend genetics’

If Ivar had any legend genetics, they came from aslaug

Aslaug

Proudest mom out there, acts like a soccer/pta mom when she hears

Aslaug actually always knew

She quotes her prophetic dreams from like, 853 AD?

“I knew since I was five years old.” (truth)

Lagertha

Okay? Who cares? What about Bjorn?

Totally not pissed that he may be more famous than she is (lie)

Defo sulks about it to torvi and then kills someone important to expand her own legacy

She’s in the fame biz

Bjorn

Bro throws a toddler tantrum

He will literally stomp the ground

“That’s not fair, I discovered the Mediterranean!!” (he says that in the stupid tone he gets in the later seasons)

So so bitter about it (he deserves that)

Ubbe

Ubbe’s smoking weed in America with Floki

He does not care

“That’s just bad taste from people from the future. Me personally? I’d admire the person who found a continent. Idk, that’s just me though.”

Gets over it the fastest

Literally just thinks that it’s so dumb of modern people bc Ivar is a silly little guy with anger issues

Hvitserk

Similar reaction to Ubbe, except he doesn’t have to get over anything

Just kinda shrugs, he’s too busy worrying about his own legacy

What’s he in the history books for? His cuisine skills?

Yeah, bro’s kinda busy managing his own shit and trying to stay alive

Sigurd

Don’t tell him

For your own safety

Will kill you and then himself

Ivar

Don’t tell him either

Never lets anyone hear the end of it

So so so annoying for a silly little guy

He just loves and hates himself so much that, at the same time, he so needs to hear this and also never, ever hear this ever at all

Floki

Floki is the same as Aslaug, he KNEW

Also, he takes credit for raising ivar and being a father figure (fair enough)

He’s a teeny tiny bit sad that ivar was friends (in a weird homosexual way) with Alfred though (kind of, and this only applies if we’re talking about tv show Vikings)

Honestly, Floki would be such a good source to add to the material we have of ivar

Ecbert

So mad he didn’t have a bigger impact on ivar

Also so mad that all the kids around him have such big legacies (Alfred, ivar) but not him??

He wants to get mentioned!! Footnotes aren’t enough!! He needs to be the main character, always.

Gets sad drunk over it way too long

[mademoiselle-swan]

So I made this list of alternative aliases for MHA characters and which fic they come from because of a post on reddit and I spent like 8h on it so I’ve decided to share it. Adhd hyper fixations amiright?

-Izuku-

• Mastermind (Villain, Mastermind: Strategist for Hire, Myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown, ao3)

• Cheat Code (Cheat Code : Support Strategist, Myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown, ao3)

• Viridian (Vigilante, Viridian: The Green Guide, Myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown, ao3)

• Datastream (Intel Hero, Datastream, TarynMcT, ao3)

• Screech (Vigilante and hero, Screech, TarynMcT, ao3)

• Black Rabbit (Vigilante, Black Rabbit, TheFoggyLondonView, ao3)

• Kitsune (Vigilante, from the fic Quirked, armoryofstars, ao3)

• Defiant (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Bunny (Villain?, The Villain’s Barista, Cherraim, ao3)

• Rabbit (When Predators Become Prey, mynameisalexanderhamilton, ao3)

• Null (Villain, The Constellation, Mademoiselle_Swan, ao3, my fic :D)

• Nobody (Blogger/accidental cult leader/hero, In Which Midoriya Confuses A Lot of People, Starts A Manhunt, and Becomes A Hero, legal_kidnapping, ao3)

• Anyone (Vigilante, Anyone, Gentrychild, ao3)

• Moros (Vigilante, The Future That Never Was, spookyserpent, ao3)

• Aion (Analyst, from the fic sic semper tyranis, Xaidyl)

• Secret (Vigilante, Square One, BrittySauce and Tycke, ao3)

• Captain Kamino (Hero, Kamino’s Ward, tunafishprincess, ao3)

• Revite (Vigilante, Licensed Villain, Deadmat, ao3)

• Grey Hat (Vigilante, The grey areas in between series, ezrawrites, ao3)

• Prometheus (Vigilante, The Fall of Prometheus, Gucci_Eye_Bags and BitchImTired, ao3)

• Dekiru (Hero, In Which 15 Years Make A Difference, RJKazooku, ao3)

• Shadow (Villain, Shadows of Redemption, LilianaFi)

• Coward (Coward: The Chaos Vigilante, I_rick_rolled_my_ankle_help, ao3)

• Utsuro (Villain; all dreams must come to an end (ashes to ashes, dust to dust); Bruja_ofthe_Midwest (Watashi_wa_Okami))

• Genie (Vigilante, Dreamverse, Kocineczka, ao3)

• Versatile (Hero, Apex Predator, ao3)

• Void (Hero, the grey ares in between series, ao3)

• One for All (Hero, Walk the Wire, Auto_Alchemechanicist, ao3)

• Erebus (Hero, forever fallen, RWBYsnow & Snowycat collab, ao3)

-Shoto Todoroki-

• Amplitude (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Frostfire (Hero, When Predators Become Prey, mynameisalexanderhamilton, ao3) & (Hero, Datastream, TarynMcT, ao3) & (Hero, Apex Predator, ao3) & (Hero, forever fallen, RWBYsnow & Snowycat collab, ao3)

• Freezerburn (Villain, Mastermind: Strategist for Hire, Myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown, ao3)

• Duality (Villain, The Constellation, Mademoiselle_Swan, ao3) & (Hero, In Which 15 Years Make A Difference, RJKazooku, ao3)

•Celsius (Hero, For Our Sakes, ao3)

-Shinsou Hitoshi-

• Psyren (Hero, Datastream, TarynMcT, ao3)

• Hijack (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Silence (Vigilante, Square One, BrittySauce and Tycke, ao3)

• Brainwash (Villain, Everything We Take For Granted, ao3)

• Siren (Hero, In Which 15 Years Make A Difference, RJKazooku, ao3) & (Hero, forever fallen, RWBYsnow & Snowycat collab, ao3)

• Persona (Hero, For Our Sake, ao3)

• Pressurise (Hero, the grey areas in between, ao3)

-Eraserhead | Aizawa Shouta-

• Deadvoid (Villain, The Constellation, Mademoiselle_Swan, ao3)

• Soldier (Vigilante, Square One, BrittySauce and Tycke, ao3)

• Apex (Hero, Across Realities, writers_writers, ao3)

• Null (Vigilante, For Our Sakes, ao3)

-Present Mic-

• Soundwave (Villain, This Will Be The Day, RWBYsnow, ao3)

• Deafnote (Villain, The Constellation, Mademoiselle_Swan, ao3)

-Kaminari Denki-

• Volt (Villain, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Raijin (Hero, forever fallen, RWBYsnow & Snowycat collab, ao3)

-Hatsume Mei-

• Alchemist (Support engineer, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Prodigy (Fake Villain, When Predators Become Prey, mynameisalexanderhamilton)

-Himiko Toga-

• Carmilla (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Pretender (Villain, The Constellation, Mademoiselle_Swan, ao3)

-Uraraka Ochako-

•Singularity (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Bubble (Hero; Stop That Flame, Hide That Power, LoveMe_Please, ao3)

-Bakugou Katsuki-

• Dynamight

• Dynamite (Hero, Everything We Take For Granted, ao3)

• Ground Zero (Hero, forever fallen, RWBYsnow & Snowycat collab, ao3)

-Kyoka Jiro-

• Earworm (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

-Ashido Mina-

•Pinky (Hero; Stop That Flame, Hide That Power, LoveMe_Please, ao3) & (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

-Kirishima Eijirou-

• Gargoyle (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

-Eri-

• Recovery Girl (Hero, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

-Midoriya Hisashi-

• Dragon (Villain, Mastermind: Strategist for Hire, Myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown, ao3)

• Black Dragon (Villain, Black Rabbit, TheFoggyLondonView, ao3)

-Dabi | Todoroki Touya-

• Pyro (Hero, A Wild Touya Has Been Spotted in His Unnatural Habitat, Grinch1234, ao3)

• Null (Vigilante, Time Travel - Where I Adopt a Bunch of Brats, ILoveMyths2003, ao3)

• Arch-Arsonist (Villain, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond, ao3)

• Blueflame (Vigilante, Who's really a hero nowadays ?, koko_koneyko, ao3)

• Blaze (Hero, Time Travel - Where I Adopt a Bunch of Brats, ILoveMyths2003, ao3)

• Azure (Hero, Green Bean Protection Squad : Part One, resistantborg, ao3)

-Shigaraki Tomura-

• Midas (Hero, Time Travel - Where I Adopt a Bunch of Brats, ILoveMyths2003, ao3)

• Dust (Hero, who am i? (who are you?), aglowSycophant)

• Limitless (Hero, all dreams must come to an end (ashes to ashes, dust to dust); Bruja_ofthe_Midwest (Watashi_wa_Okami))

-Muscular-

• The Beast (Villain, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond)

• Carnage (Villain, Dead on Arrival, Mirrond)

[klutzyroses]

IkeVamp HCs: SO sleeptalking

How do they react to their s/o sleeptalking about them?

Suitors: Napoleon, Isaac, Dazai, Drake

Napoleon

On the very...very unlikely chance that he is awake when she is not, the heavy sleeper would already be very far from coherent to be fully aware of his surroundings for a bit.

But as they say...there is a first time for everything.

It was because of the sound of her voice pulling him out of an uncharacteristically light sleep. He glances to her, despite his drowsiness to check on her.

"Nunuche?"

Though his viridian eyes were on her, it took a minute for his mind to register that she is still asleep. And talking...?

He woke a bit more, under the impression she was having a nightmare.

People talked when they were having night terrors, right?

"Na...poleon..."

He frowned slightly, him? Was she dreaming of him? Curiosity tugged at him, soon replaced with affection at her next words.

"Napoleon, you're so...cool..."

A slight smirk crosses his lips as he shook his head fondly, glad that he woke up now to witness this cuteness.

He could tease her the following day. Or not. Let's see how he feels.

Isaac

Isaac doesn't have much experience with sleep talkers, apart from being told that he tends to act a bit rashly when he himself is very sleepy...though he blamed his fever at the time for his strange behaviour that one time.

He wasn't expecting that one night, when he was tinkering away at his desk while Y/N slept on his bed, for her to start mumbling. He turns away from his desk to face her, assuming she had woken up and was addressing him.

"Yes, Y/N, are you aw-"

He trailed off when he realized she indeed was still asleep, but muttering in her sleep.

"Isaac...."

He perked up, blinking multiple times in surprise.

"...Me?"

He murmured to himself and, unable to stop his curiosity, he got up and walked over to the bed, careful not to wake her and sat by her sleeping form curled up on the bed.

"Isaac...I've brought your sandwich...make sure...to eat it, please...made it with...love..."

If an apple could see him it would envy his red cheeks. Y/N...

He won't bring it up to her, but he will definitely eat the food she brings him with a lot more appreciation. She did make it with love, after all.

Dazai

The writer doesn't have a set time for when he sleeps, if at all. He just does it when the moment comes to him.

Sometimes his thoughts keep him wide awake, even when he does want to sleep.

Such was the case one night, while his beloved slept away on her futon. Absorbed in his melancholic pondering, he gazed out the window, alert only to the steady breathing of the woman he loves.

Well that is, until she called for him. Well he thought so until he noted she wasn't awake in the slightest.

"Dazai..."

"Hm? Yes, Y/N-san?"

When he knelt by the futon to observe her face, she seemed as content as could be as he waited to see if she would continue.

"L...love you...Shuji."

With those words, his eyes widened before closing again as an affectionate smile crossed his face, his chest warming with the sentiment.

The following morning when she wakes, he leans in close to her ear and whispers in it.

"I love you too, my beloved one.~"

In response to that, the drowsy young lady seemed confused but glad as she gives him a lovely, flushed smile.

Drake

Being the sleeper he was, one wouldn't expect him to be awake while his lover slept. But it happens more often than not that he tends to wake before she does.

Sometimes, he just liked watching her cute face as she slumbered, her pouty lips slightly parted and her lashes brushing her soft cheeks. She was a picture of sleeping bliss, truly, and the sailor could skip on a few more minutes of sleep if he can see her look so sweet like that.

One particular night however, as she slept in his arms, the pirate heard something other than her gentle breathing. It was slightly muffled so he looked down to find that the source was his fawn.

"Drake..."

She mumbled adorably before giggling ever so softly in response to whatever he- or rather, "dream" him was doing. Curious, he watched her to see if she will say anything else, which she does.

"Drake, that tickles! Hihi.."

He bit down on his lower lip, stifling his chuckles. She was so cute.

One can be sure that he will tease her the following morning, curious as to what she was dreaming.

"Sounds like you were having a fun dream, little fawn. Mind telling me about it?"

His aquamarine eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief as his lips curve into an easy smile when Y/N blushes a very pretty pink.

🌸

[valentine-cafe]

One rhubarb and strawberry crumble please!

A relatively SFW ask for Talisen and his husband (I forgot his name, but he’s the overpowered mage!) with AFAB reader!

I can imagine the poor thing having some insecurities about herself. Whether it’s physical insecurities, mental insecurities about not being normal, or just not feeling good emotionally, and Talisen just picks her up, sings her worries away, and just smothers her in affections.

The same goes for the mage, he just holds her in his arms and kisses away all her insecurities and worries about being normal, and just good wholesome stuff in general!

^^

˖⁺. “ into your arms . . . ” : 

﹙ corrupt god husbands x fem reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 164 talisen & alessio x fem reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ talisen: snake god  ˖ siren character ˖ alessio:  sorcerer ˖ god character ﹚

you express your insecurities to them and they try their hardest to show you that your mind is wrong 

﹙ cws ﹚: none ! pure fluff ��| wc : 0.2k

﹙ receipts ﹚: really hope that this is to your liking! these two can be so soft 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

the husbands’ hearts ached when they found out that you are an insecure person. you - a being of such beauty, of such grace. a being that has touched their souls and brought happiness back into their lives as they drone out amongst the emerald woods and the large expanse of lake lands. awaiting for the sun to warm them once more. yet here you were, bringing so much light to their lives. . . but your heart feels hollow.

they do their utmost hardest to assure you of otherwise. to show you that you are beautiful - inside and out. even if you are having a good day. they make it a goal to simply make you remember your worth each and every day. so that they may combat the insecurities when they do arise.

talisen always scoops you up into his arms when he finds you seated by the dining set with that solemn look on your face that he knows all-too-well. bundles you up in the outer layer of his hanfu and sings soft melodies to you as he presses kisses all over your face. hushes you cries as you weep into his chest. he always makes sure to carry you off to the kitchen, seat you upon the counter and bake whatever your heart desires.

alessio feels himself die a thousand deaths when he hears the patters of your feet down in the catacombs he works within. when he turns just in time to see your teary eyes. your arms weakly hugging around yourself as you try so hard to explain yourself to him. but he needn’t no explanation nor excuse. he takes you into his arms almost immediately. assuring you with gentle words as he dances you around his green candle-lit catacomb. so that you might feel special, as you are.

when you are asleep, alessio also makes sure to venture into your dreams and keep away all bad ones. standing there in a meadow, dancing you around or simply sitting atop a hill to watch the streams down below while talking about anything and everything you might want to. sometimes talisen joins these dreams - so that he might spend time with the both of you. simply doing whatever you wish of them. enjoying the company of each other.

talisen writes the most divine of poetry of you. turning each and every aspect of you into ink and song. ensuring that he reads them to you, so that you might understand even a fraction of how they view you. yet it is difficult to measure your worth in lines and ink alone. which the snake god has expressed to you time and time again.

if you need to take your mind off of the swirls of voices and anxieties. sometimes you will lay with your head on alessio’s chest while his clawed fingers spin viridian spells into small illustrations. animals and flowers of your liking. sometimes telling a story through it. anything to keep your mind off of the blaring thoughts.

they love you so dearly. and they will do whatever it takes to brush your insecurities away. to make you aware of your worth. to love you as deserve and comfort you when necessary.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

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[leahfrog]

What would you do if you had to hurt the little human who wants to be your friend?

My first book, The Viridian Dream releases July 30th in both eBook and paperback formats! Both will be available on Amazon, and eBook is already available for preorder. You can preview the book at http://leahfrog.com :)

The artwork in the paperback is all grayscale and lower quality due to print limitations. The artwork in the eBook is the same as it is on the website, sans being glazed.

Please help me spread the word! Thank you!

[arandomcranberry]

Hot take but I actually don't mind the bnha ending. Obviously it's not perfect, but nothing is and that's what fanfiction is for. I'm mostly talking about the post timeskip part of the ending, since the long drawn out battle stuff is what bored me from the series in the first place.

More thoughts and spoilers under the cut:

So I've seen people upset about Izuku losing one for all, but him being quirkless again brings it all full circle and makes sure the whole one-for-all/all-for-one thing is actually done with. Since it's hard for quirkless people to be heros in quirked society, especially with his messed up arms, he becomes a teacher to he can still help and inspire the next generation. The part where he tells the circle hair kid that he CAN be a hero, even with a weak or nonexistent quirk, is him learning from his past and doing better than his predecessors by inspiring the next generation (instead of crushing their dreams...All Might better be glad midoriya didnt go villain...). Plus, at the end, it's implied that he gets to become an active hero again with the use of support gear, so he eventually gets to directly help people in the field as well as indirectly in class. I know a lot of people were hoping for ships and pairings to become canon, but honestly I don't care about that. There's so much discourse in the mha fandom already about that, and this way people can still ship who they like or whatever.

Anyways, I prefer Clouds fics and a couple of others to the main series anyway (mostly because they're shorter and get to the point a little faster) so take my thoughts with a grain of salt lol.

(Just gonna advertise some of my fave bnha fics lol)

Clouds fics:

Cheat Code: Support Strategist

Deku? I think he's some pro...

Mastermind: Strategist for Hire

Viridian: The Green Guide

Shadows: The Horror Movie Heroes

Other fics:

Yesterday Upon the Stair/Deku Sees Dead People

Residual Hope (haven't caught up with this one in a bit)

The Capture Scarf Caper (sigh, hasn't been updated since 2021)

Hero Class Civil Warfare

Regenerate, Fate

[macabrecabra]

The other half of the End of the Line Pokemon AU are the characters who live in Viridian Village who end up getting involved in the plot!

Given Hauts is currently lying low in Viridian Village and working as a bartender at the Sweet Berry Tavern, these are co-workers as well as the silly anthropologist that he's dating c:

Frieda is the protagonist who's love of studying the mortal gods and her inability to become a raichu causes her some unwanted gang attention.

Read more below to learn more about each one! <3

FRIEDA OLIVINE (Pikachu)

One of the two main characters, Frieda grew up always fascinated by the mortal gods and was raised in a very religious household dedicated to deep respect of the ancient mortal gods. This would lead her to become an archeologist and anthropologist, exploring and looking to unlock the secrets of the mortal gods and their connections to pokemon and the "lost gods". She is currently working on her doctorate, hoping to become a pokemon professor!

On one of her outings into Viridian to study, she found Hauts near death and got him back to the village for medical treatment and the two became close friends, then started to date. Frieda is a rare pikachu that cannot evolve into a Raichu, even when exposed to the lighting stone at the Surge Shrine in Vermillion City. To the very religious, this means she has been blessed by the greatest of mortal gods, Ketchem, with a higher calling. She just finds it sort of demoralizing.... Design Notes: Wanted bright colors to make her clearly seem energetic and upbeat in nature, the sort of character that loves to talk and probably not stop. Her being a pikachu and gangs wanting to capture her is a joke on Team rocket wanting to capture pikachu... it is genetic. CHLO WEEDYEL (Oddish)

Chlo is one of Frieda's best friends and the two talk a lot when Frieda is hanging around the tavern. Chlo is an upbeat, laid-back sort that enjoys her work serving and also tending to the garden of the tavern. Her dream is to make it big as a writer and artist and be able to move to the city to work on big shows and movies as she wants to put the country life behind her and be the first of her family to be a city girl.

Loves punk music and aesthetics, but is a bit shy about going full into it and keeps saying she'll get there if she ever get to her Gloom phase in life. For now, she's happy with where she is and shares a passion about ancient mythology with Frieda that they can go on for hours. She also DMs Caves & Dragon Types games with friends. Design Notes: I had an oddish on my team I adored named Weed and Chlo gives homage to that little guy <3 Felt a more subdued design with some punk elements to show where she wants to go was nice and leaves more to let her design grow in the story!

OLIMERANIUSCHU "OLI" QUASHIRE (Wooper)

Oli has lived in Viridian Village all her life with her very large family and they have been their generations fishing and just living a slow pace life and Oli is no different. She is happy where she is and not about to back down from trouble that comes to ruin the peace, that's for sure. She does most of the fishing for the tavern and is good friends with Chlo and Frieda, joining their weekly Caves & Dragon Types game. She is also a town gossip and always looking for the newest rumor and drama to hear about. Absolutely addicted to tabloids when she gets her little hands on them. She is one of the only water-types that hangs out with Frieda (other than the "weird fish kid" *affectionate) due to her type making lightning a little less concerning. She loves to go ramble out in the woods and is a bit hesitant about the idea of going to the city, but promised Chlo if she went, she would go with her and try her luck there.

Design Notes: I LOVE WOOPER. OF COURSE a character is going to be made based off Wooper! <3 I just felt lazy and overalls was just the look for this character and it took a long while to get the face and eyes just right <3

SANDZABAR SLASH (Sandslash)

A newer person in town, they moved in from the Pewter area to the north after the destructive earthquake hit the area and caused huge damage. They needed a new lease on life and have a job at the inn and are a bit shy about serving, but still getting their feet under them. They are easily impressed though by the wild stories Oli and Frieda will tell about things but finds others, like Hauts, to be a bit scary and intimidating. They are really afraid of doing a bad job and thrive on praise.

They have become fast friends of Oli, Chlo, and Frieda and likes to watch them play their weekly game, preferring to make cookies or tea for the game than participate as they don't feel they are very creative and too shy. However when push comes to shove, they can be a fearsome individual, all bristled up to try and intimidate.

Design Note: I always keep a sandslash on my team if I can, I just like this little pokemon so much! Decided I had to add sandslash to the roster and work with making this pokemon more animal than humanoid to show how different designs can look across the board <3

VERN (Weedle)

Nothing much is known about Vern. He is a pokemon of few words if any at all, and just minds his own business, cooking and cleaning up in the kitchen of the Sweet Berry Tavern. Rumors are he was a champion bug fighter. Others say he was part of some mafia. Still others say he is a secret agent. To most in Viridian Village, he's just Vern, the cook, who watches things go by and never bothers anyone about anything, but seems to have a sixth sense for when trouble is near. He never bothered to evolve, preferring to live his long life as a weedle.

Design Note: I just wanted a bit fry cook weedle in my story and no one could stop me. Also wanted to show evolution is NOT tied to maturity or age, but rather to just increases in power/prestige. Evolved pokemon/rarer pokemons tend to be treated with more respect and higher class than those who are lower or common.

[sol-consort]

I ended up having a dream about the Toxic Boyfriend Drell and it ended up with me recklessly* going on a longhaul space job with my best Turian friend as a way to fully detox and get space away from him and ofc I end up dating Turian guy and even end up adopting a turian kid we rescue on the long haul flight. Like deadass me and the Turian guy (whose name was Aclia Domititus) raised this kid from like 6-8 year oldish to 15-16ish all with entolling him in school with packed lunches, helping him with friends, full on domestic nuclear family stuff in this dream before we eventually get back to the Citadel and Drell boyfriend shows up again to corner me in a space superdrug or boots whatever and then my alarm went off

So uh, thanks for the sweet dreams!?

Thank the dream department in your brain for me for coming up with a great second chapter to the story and making my life much easier.

Toxic drell ex pt.2

Part One

Dark content: unhealthy relationship, stalking, addiction, revenge, threats, being held down.

-

You didn't think you'd ever gaze into those dark eyes again, your reflection crystal clear inside the abyss that haunted countless nightmares in years past.

It was only supposed to be a 10-minute run to the markets in the Citadel. You sneaked out of bed early for this, pausing at the bedroom door to steal one last glance at your sleeping husband, Alicia, the turian who sneaked his way into your heart after a decade spent together in the same small ship, going through dangerous spacehaul jobs.

The faint sound of his soft purring as his arm reaches out to your side of the bed, only finding the pillow you've strategically left there, and curling his much larger frame around it, burying his face into it, the remains of your scent lulling him back to sleep.

You were just missing the final ingredient, and objectively, the most important ingredient, to start working on the cake before your child wakes up, you know how embarrassed teens get at the mention of their birthday.

Just as you left the store, at the end of the street, you saw a very familiar looking silhouette.

A drell.

Your sky came crashing down in an instant.

It was him, there was no mistaking it. This specific dark hue of viridian green, the markings atop his temple resembling a crescent moon missing its matching pair.

Black sclera omitting the opaque yellow of his irises, you couldn't tell if he was looking at you or not.

You can't panic.

You need to move, just turn around and go back into the store.

So why won't your legs move? Why in this crucial moment is your body betraying you?

He didn't see you, he couldn't recognise you, you changed, you definitely changed so much in appearance; it's been a decade.

You signed up for that spacehaul job in a moment of desperation, as withdrawal wrangled your lungs, a need to escape him once and for all. You left your phone behind, your clothes, your apartment fully intact. You didn't take a single thing with you on that spaceship partially in fear of any remaining traces of venom... and because of the grim memorise and associations each object held.

His steps slow down, hand hesitantly lifting to reach out. Lips moving as if to speak, you couldn't hear from far away.

He couldn't believe his own eyes, a turmoil of emotions and memories flooding in.

Your heart sank in.

He began moving again, hurried steps.

The adrenaline shot through you like a bullet.

Fight or flight kicking in full force as you ran faster than you've ever run in your life. Vision barely registering where you're going, from one alleyway to another, the need to hide and escape gnawed at your core, for being in the open main street felt like a death sentence.

Eventually, you found yourself in at the front door of your apartment. You wouldn't know how to map the roads you took that led you to get here. You don't remember any of the street sign names you passed by.

But you hear the sound of plates clinking inside, water running, the grumbling of a turian teenager who's doing the dishes. Aclia's light-hearted voice as he replies with a one-liner pun.

Oh, you're finally home.

Your body deflates like a balloon, a deep breath in, followed by a slow exhale as you regain awareness of your surroundings.

Multiple thoughts come to your mind

One, if you don't go lay down in the next five minutes you'll surely faint.

Two, wow the walls of your apartment are really thin.

Three, you're definitely not going to acknowledge what the fuck just happened and whom you came across, just get inside, lay down, have some food and immediately propose the subject of renting a different apartment.

You look down at yourself, your fist still clutching the grocery bag. Bruised knuckles and trembling fingers. A bottle of cake-toppings sprinkles inside, a small label on it spelling "Dexter Safe!"

Things are fine. Things are going to be okay.

You're safe.

You'll go inside, and they would be none the wiser.

One last time, take a deep breath in.

You close your eyes, the air fills your lungs,

And slowly breathe it out.

The air refuses to leave.

Something cold is touching your face.

He's too slow to catch your arms before they move to clutch at the hand covering your mouth. Your nails can't penetrate scales no matter how much you dig into it and attempt to claw it off.

"Stop struggling." he hisses against your ear, the same raspy voice, the sudden jolt in your body at hearing it after so many years.

The insatiable craving you've buried 6 foot down, clawing its way out of the grave.

You didn't meet his eyes. You couldn't stomach it. Even as you felt a wet droplet after another falling against your shoulder, his tears seeping into the fabric of your clothes.

A tremble to his vocal cords, "I just... want to talk"

Your body is screaming at you to close the distance and press back against his chest—"Why won't you look at me?!" his other clinging to front of your shirt, desperately searching for a specific tell-sign in your heartbeat, something all humans lack—to open your mouth and take his fingers inside like you did so many times before, do you remember how sweet they tasted?

You cannot. You have a son.

You can't.

He's crying, you're the one being muffled like a frenzied varen, and he's the one crying.

Your lips part on their own under his hand—"how could you leave? How could you disappear like that?" he speaks, breaking down, you forcefully tore part of his soul, the agonising pain, the numbing loneliness, the things he went through just to heal and then you have the audacity to show up in front of him out of the blue and attempt to flee? To slip through his fingers again? are so heartless as to—you attempt to close them to no avail. Your brain is locking you out of your body functions, the humiliating feeling of helplessness only serving to further increase the hunger you feel for power, for a purpose, for a single taste of his skin.

Aclia.

The nights he held you close as withdrawal churned your insides, forgiving your outbursts, meeting your harshness with kindness.

You won't.

You refuse.

Overpowering these urges at the last second, you're reduced to your innermost animalistic instincts. You bite down with all of your force.

Your nails might not be sharp enough, but your teeth are.

His hand is yanked away. The scales are decimated, plucked from the root and torn to shreds, the red flesh exposed from below, the shape of your teeth forming a bloody mark.

Your knees cave in, slamming onto the door with your upper body, sliding to the ground.

You bit him.

You bit him.

And now you're left with a mouthful of his blood.

Throughout all of your time spent with him in the past, all the drell venom you've consumed was filtered, the processed kind mixed with his body fluids. Sweat, saliva, cum, it didn't make a difference, it all tasted like nectar.

You've gone from nearly a decade of sobriety to a mouthful of pure concentrated drell venom.

The door opens, your ever so loving husband coming to investigate the loud thud he heard.

Still kneeling on the ground, your vision blurs. The urge to swallow is too overwhelming. You dig your fingers in between your lips to force your jaw open. Red liquid with swirling neon green stripes comes pouring out, staining the floor, seeping under the shoes of your husband standing at the open door.

...

..

-

The white lights are blinding, your eyes flutter to adjust. The faint buzzing of electronics in the air, the strong smell of... floor cleaner detergent. Sterile dry air fill the room.

A hospital.

Outside, you glimpse the back of your husband, talking to an asari in a white medical coat. On the waiting bench on the opposite wall, lays a large sleeping figure, curled in on himself, hugging your jacket, the very same one you forgot to put on from the hanger by the front door this morning.

You stare at your son through the glass. It feels like it was yesterday when he still had all of his feathers. The adorable tuff of feathers on his head brushed against your shoulder whenever he came to sit beside you while you were piloting the ship.

A sudden and powerful overdose like that should've killed you, it would've ended any other human in your position.

Yet, you're still alive.

..

....

..... You wonder what happened of him.

Part of you doesn't care.

There are cameras outside your apartment. Surely he won't try to pin this on you by claiming you attacked and bit him. Let his plausibly deniability intercede for him now.

There's a digital clock at the corner of the heart monitor screen. You feel relieved as you realise there's still plenty of time before midnight.

Aclia will need to rush to a bakery to get a suitable cake—preferably a turian owned bakery; you lost your trust in the human ones after that one time they served your son what they calimed to be "a dextro safe ice cream cone" that hospitalised him for weeks.

Blow some balloons, get some candles, and it will be a nice modest celebration. You still want him to have a birthday party, after all.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

★彡 devoted little lamb!

synopsis: to worship was your purpose and it only made sense that this extends to the most beloved of priests.

contains: afab/fem reader, sacrilege, blood sacrifice, power imbalance, reader is a virgin, f.receiving oral, and fingering.

a/n: this is a full 3k words of blasphemy. please enjoy cuz i sure did!! ꒰(͏ˊ•ꈊ•ˋ)꒱

father Alhaitham was something of a miracle worker for you. with any troubles you could trust he’d dispel them with so much as a goblet to your lips and a prayer unspoken. such power, to anyone outside the church, should warrant fear. it should warrant caution and even a call to the matra. even in a world of elements, gods, and visions he was unnatural and worthy of bone trembling terror. you should find your skin prickling with fear upon the favour he bestowed to you yet, so much as a single raised hair was never felt. much like any other that attends his sermons, you revere father Alhaitham; he comes only second to your beloved god. blessed by the archon of wisdom herself, father Alhaithams knowledge knows no bounds. through his eyes you’re sure you could see the innermost workings of anything those viridian hues laid upon. he is positively worth all of the commotion the people, yourself included, give to him.

with slender fingers, he shuts the heavy text he’s surely already memorized. with every sermon you feel as though you see a new and more impressive side of father Alhaitham. no doubt, his mind and body are akin to the most divine of pastries; smooth layers to which only the most delicate and sharpest of knives could split open to admire the inner beauty. only metaphorically, of course, would you dream of splicing him so carefully. his voice reverberates over the room. honey smooth and laced with dominance came all his words; almost practiced, though, you knew he wouldn’t need it. what is practicing worth to a man who already has it all? his light bow and gesture for the acolyte to trail him had your guts in knots. a man as self assured as himself would make a lovely god, you think.

the cool tones, ones that nearly matched his eyes, of many stained glass windows shimmered down his form much like stars opening at his wake. you wouldn’t have been entirely surprised if the sky had opened up to gift him his own ever present galaxy. royal blue, gold, and jade painted over his already handsome features to create something you would have painted had you had the time. his skin and hair nearly glittered with how delicately the light graced him as though he was only porcelain, a vessel handcrafted by Buer for her most perfect messiah. one she’d fill with riches and a soul of the most lovely. his shoes made a soft ‘clack’ with each step he took across the hand tiled floor. you heard rumours that each one had been individually blessed by father Al-haitham but you wouldn’t dare bring such a ridiculous statement to his attention; you only desire to keep his favour. after every sermon you’d wait for the majority of the congregation to dispel before leading yourself to his office, your own personal taste of heaven.

the hallways are linear. to get from point ‘A’ to point ‘B’ was a task even a freshly born puppy could do so the first few times you got lost, father Alhaitham reprimanded you with a firm hand on your shoulder. he wasn’t truly mad but you felt something you’d never felt before when he mumbled about how, ‘you’re such a silly one. a lost little lamb, hm? no matter, you’re here now.’ with a voice that reached your stomach it was no wonder how he’d managed to wrap you around his finger. with gentle knuckles, you knocked against the bright wood door. the man in question opened the door as if he’s been waiting on the other side for your arrival; due to routine, he had been.

“you’re here. come now, today will be a bit… different from our usual sessions. i’m afraid i have concerns about your… state,” such words he’d never spoken to you before. with knitted eyebrows he re-closed the door before giving you a once over, right hand under his chin. the room was already dim due to the window facing away from the sun but with his presence seeming as though it loomed alongside your demise, it felt even darker. he stepped towards his desk which had already been covered in a number of tools you’d seen before; a rosary, a glass of holy water, a golden goblet of dandelion wine, and bread. yet, one was unfamiliar to you; what looked to be a freshly polished silver knife, a cross engraved in the handle. father Alhaitham glanced over his wares before letting out a long sigh and nodding to himself as if receiving his own approval. maybe after this you’d be on the end of this nod rather than a collection of objects. he spoke without turning to look at you, “i sense what can only be described as sin bubbling up within you,” he shook his head with clear upset, “this cannot go unattended. you are one of my, and our gods, most wonderful treasures. please, allow me to purify you.” had you not been so trusting of him you’d have thought your god was an afterthought in his actions but fear flourished faster than you could think. with trembling legs and tears beading in the corners of your eyes, you begged. you begged for him to make you clean once more, for whatever this sin was to no longer afflict you, for father Alhaitham to praise you once more. those with sharp minds would decode your words accurately; you were begging for his love, not your gods. he swivelled and his gaze found you once more, “righteous as always. forgive me, but i require you to remove all your clothing. on our beloved god, i will not look for the sake of your modesty. instead, i will busy myself with the final preparations for our ceremony.”

he rolled up his sleeves to reveal the pearly skin of his forearms. on other occasions perhaps you’d stop to admire the display of skin but you were given a task, to strip. your shaky fingers began removing your clothing and folding it nearly on a small side table located in the corner of the room as he prepared the stone altar against the window with a combination of holy water, myrrh, sweetgrass, and sage. father Alhaitham took his time delicately preparing the surface, hands lovingly applying the mix and massaging it into every crevice with a level of sensuality that had you averting your eyes. with all clothing shed, you modestly covered your most intimate parts while mentally steeling yourself for his eyes to land on you. when he turned, if he had any feelings about the view of your body in its most natural state, his expression did not waver from one of concern. before ridding his hands of all residue, he gestured to the stone alter, “please, lay down.”

cold, damp, and unpleasant were all words you could attribute to the experience of your bare skin atop the surface. your nose wrinkled a slight bit and you tried to find comfort in knowing it would heat up through your body and that this is all for your own good. after this, you’d be clean of sin once more. father Alhaitham returned to your side, rosary in hand. nimble fingers gently guided your shaky ones to hold it the way you had many times before when praying at his side. typically, you found that he had no patience for any nervousness but it today, for you, he made no comment or move to chide you. though you were lying down, soon bread was placed against your palate by his own hand. he gently drew it back to caress your cheek with what could only be described as the most tender of care. with such worry directed to you by father Alhaitham, you could nearly cry; it’s a blessing in its own right. the goblet soon followed, wine pouring into your mouth and the slightest bit down the corner and across your cheek. this time, no hand came to remove it though his eyes followed its path down your neck. he swallowed harshly and paused in his movements momentarily before turning back to take up the knife. if you were nervous before, you were terrified now.

“relax. i promise i would never do anything to you that wasn’t required, especially if it involves pain,” he almost looked as if your pain would be his own and perhaps it was. you didn’t dwell on this thought for it was a selfish one. the pain of any loyal worshipper of the same god would be his own, you are no special exception. “for this portion, i will draw gently upon your form. along each arm and leg, from the bottom of your ribs to your navel, and across each breast. this knife is sharp so it will take no more effort than the weight of the handle. i urge you to refrain from moving.” you sucked in air in tandem with him as the blade first came to your sternum. his words were most certainly truthful, expected of a priest, as he added no extra pressure when gently dragging it lower. the first thing you registered was just how cold the tip of the knife is, the second was the sharp pain. your slight wince didn’t go unnoticed as father Alhaitham mumbled an apology. he raised the knife from your flesh when it came to the end of his mental line. the blades edge took on a dark sheen of your blood that he looked over. his most beautiful eyes inspected the silver before dropping to where the knife had cut; he hummed in satisfaction before bringing it to just below your left hip, the next place he’d cut. father Alhaitham took to softly singing a hymn you were familiar with, seemingly to comfort you as the blade came across all your limbs in the following moments. it rose up to your chest where he gulped. no longer could he ignore just how bare your are under him and just how dollish your eyes were as they fluttered, glazed over in both pain and fear. while his right hand placed the knife appropriately, his left came to cup your cheek. with his thumb soothing across your flesh, you barely noticed how he cleanly cut atop each of your breasts. you were simply too caught up in the delightful feeling of his skin against your as you lay exposed to his lowered gaze. had you not been so assured in the professional nature of this encounter, you would have noticed the increasing thickness in the air that could only be attributed to the intimacy and the arousal you had not noticed pooling between your folds; father Alhaitham did.

he stood up straight and drew away from you to admire the work he had done. your form under the soft light of the window and painted in your own blood, the most lovely of sacrifices. the goblet was in his hand once more as he brought it to collect the blood dripping down your waist and sides, mixing with the remnants of wine previously drank. the metal was wonderfully blunt compared to the blade that had just split your flesh open. with what he gathered, father Alhaitham dipped his thumb in to draw the horizontal and vertical lines to complete a cross on all seven of the cuts he had made; one for each element of Teyvet. he was more than satisfied with his work, if the soft smile gracing his features was anything to go by.

“my dearest little lamb, it pleases me greatly how well you’ve done for me here but,” he seemed to be conflicted by his next words, “would you allow me to indulge myself in you?” the meaning of his words was lost on you but how could you ever decline him? how could you ever decline the one that has given you purpose, light, and salvation should you ever need it? you nodded and half expected him to request your words as he always does but, today only a movement was enough for him. “please, continue holding the rosary as you are.” strong hands pulled you down the stone by your knees until you rested with your lower legs dangling off the edge which elicited a sigh from your most beloved priest; your pliancy always did please him. with hands still on you, he gently parted your legs as he kneeled between them before speaking in a tone lower than you had heard before, “consider this my own kind of worship.”

your face was certainly flushed already but it heated up tenfold as his tongue made its way through your soft folds and you could hear him sigh as your grip on the rosary became tighter. he used the tip to gently poke through and play softly with your virgin entrance, one hand coming up to push the lips of your pussy open much like a flower blooming. your hips jerked slightly as his nose came in contact with a spot you weren’t familiar with but that felt so very good. a whimper left your throat as a moan left his, the vibrations travelling through your cunt and causing a whole new gush of slick to leave your pussy. eagerly, father Alhaitham lapped it up before bringing his lips to your clit. he planted a couple soft kisses to your pretty and glistening nub before wrapping his lips around it and suckling oh so perfectly. he knew you were a virgin but didn’t expect you to come undone on his face with only a slight suck to your cute little clit. a sudden and loud whine left your mouth as your back arched to push your pussy further against his face. the feeling of an orgasm was entirely new to you but you were already addicted to the intense pleasure brought by your priest. he leaned back slightly, panting and in reasonable amounts of shock from such a sudden reaction. with your wetness still on his face, he mumbled to himself, “apologies but i suspect i’ll have to worship for awhile longer.”

you didn’t even have time to come down from your first high before his face was settled into the heat of your core once again. a small sob left your throat upon the contact but you couldn’t help the way your hips bucked up to meet his mouth. father Alhaitham, as always, knew exactly what you wanted and needed. his tongue worked wonders as it gently fucked into your hole, where his cock would rest at a letter date, and his fingers moved to gently flick at your clit. he buried his face impossible closer to you only to inhale the scent your pussy let off, one he could spend the rest of his days smelling like some sort of inhalant drug. his mouth and fingers swapped places so he could lathe over your clit and provide teasing nips to the sensitive bundle. with one gently finger, he circled your hole to gather more wetness before slowly plunging into you. as if an apology for the sting, he kissed at your clit endlessly before twisting his finger to provide the perfect angle he needed. with your utmost comfort in mind, father Alhaitham waited until your sobs subsided before fucking you gently with the single finger. he curled it slightly and made sure to push up against where he knew would have you writhing on the alter as he nipped once more at your clit to keep you grounded in the reality of his face between your legs.

for a man with, what you assumed, no prior experience he sure knew how to fuck you without his dick. all his concentration was solely on how much he was falling in love with your pretty pussy and how much he wanted to die buried between your thighs. gods be damned, you were his new religion and your moans his scripture. he was pulling orgasm after orgasm from you, rutting against the side of the alter. his cock rubbed harshly against the stone through his pants and while he mourned for the warmth you’d most certainly provide, he’s nothing if not patience. you, his most devoted lamb, were to be rewarded with all his mouth can give. your grip on the rosary became tight enough that it broke, beads falling down to the floor. you’d have been appalled at how careless your treatment of such a sacred object was had you not been so caught up in the pleasure bestowed to you. with eyes rolling back into your head and a particularly high moan, you drenched his face. father Alhaitham would take it as his new holy water, siphoned directly from his own personal fountain of youth and most importantly, from his lover. he panted much as you did as well but this task was far from over for him. how could he end things here when he craved so much more? when your pretty hole was fluttering so enticingly and when his cock was so very close from emptying his balls inside his pants? only a fool would hold back now, he thought as his mouth placed open kisses and bites to your thighs for slight mercy to your already abused cunt. a dreamy sigh left his watering mouth, you really do smell delightful. he spat onto your pussy in a rather debauched fashion before drawing his tongue up from the cleft of your ass to the top of your cunt. with eyes finally drawing back up and across your form, he mentally sent a genuine prayer to your shared god. one so filthy he’d most certainly be sent straight to hell upon death but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; hell could be delightful as long as you’re there with him. his eyes dropped back to your pussy.

“c’mon little one, a bit more for me. you truly are my favourite.”