#there's just something about feather patterns that is so dear to me

[bolithesenate]

mikkians my beloveds.

i've decided to from now on treat their head tendrils as feather crests

[okay-babe]

Saw your Alastor request game and HAD to give it a try

A wholesome “ZIP ME”. Alastor helping with getting ready for the day or assist and just shows appreciation 🥰🥰🥰🥰

In love with you for requesting this prompt because I am in such a fluff writing mood rn <3

(Also for my anons who also requested this prompt, I still plan to write something for those as well, so they should be out before too long!)

Morning Routine

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, extreme levels of fluff, domestic bliss, soft alastor

Throughout your life (and death) you had woken up to many a nice view, from the rivers and lush wetlands of Louisiana to the sight of the city hundreds of feet below you.

And yet, none compared to the view of your beloved when he was half-ready for his day, which was typically the stage at which he woke you from your always deep and well needed slumber.

And today was no different.

Alastor hummed a distantly familiar tune from behind your still sleeping form as he slid in beside you on the bed you shared, body resting atop the covers as he leaned forward to press a kiss behind your ear. In response, you shifted slightly, nose scrunching the smallest bit as your lover's breaths tickled the soft flesh he had so very recently offered his affections to.

Alastor chuckled slightly under his breath at the sight, raising a gloved hand up to the exposed portion of your upper arm to run a feather-light touch down its length, immediately causing you to shiver.

After a few more moments of tickling breaths and nearly fleeting touches, your breathing pattern shifted slightly, eyes blinking open and squinting at the sudden invasion of light that was always there to greet you each morning.

Groaning softly, you were quick to close your eyelids once more, brow furrowed with displeasure at your wakefulness as the Radio Demon laughed beside you.

"Why good morning, dearest, how lovely to see you!"

He teased exuberantly as you huffed in reply, just barely opening your eyes enough to make it obvious that you were glaring at him before closing them once more to yawn.

"Ah ah ah,"

Your lover tutted from beside you, his grin wide and immensely amused as he continued,

"I'm afraid the time for rest is over, my dear. No more exhaustion allowed."

You scoffed in response, only just barely fighting off the urge to flip him off as you sat up slightly, tugging your knees toward your chest and blinking your blurred vision away to the sound of barely moving water and a whispered breeze that always seemed to flow through the far less inhabitable side of the room you and your husband slept in.

Satisfied with your vague efforts to get up for the day, Alastor hummed in contentment, standing just as he always did after waking you so he could continue his typical routine, allowing your hungry eyes to follow him eagerly.

It was like this every morning, and you'd be a fool to believe he didn't know and find some semblance of amusement within it, but even still you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You gained far too much enjoyment from watching your love's lithe and nimble fingers do up the buttons of his shirt and tie the fabric of his bow tie to feel any shame over it.

Or, at least, enough shame to make you stop.

You continued your enraptured staring for several more minutes, eyes trained heavily on the view of the overlord rolling up his sleeves and sliding his belt through the loops of his dress slacks as if he were a modern art exhibit designed to utterly enthrall you.

Your gawking continued all the way up until Alastor turned back toward where you were sitting upon the bed, his head tilted slightly in mock curiosity as he began to approach you once more, donning all but his coat, a sight which made you blush in spite of yourself.

Sure, you had known the demon for an extremely long time and had seen him in far more compromising and promiscuous positions and outfits than this, but still. There was just something about the sight of him, dress shirt sleeves rolled up over his elbows and svelte torso and legs so clearly in view, that made your heart rate quicken inside your chest.

"You're going to be late, you know."

Alastor all but crooned suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie with a few quick blinks and an awkward clear of your throat.

"Huh?"

You asked, sitting up slightly further as your lover began to leisurely unfold the clothing he'd laid out for you at the foot of the bed earlier that morning, no doubt all too aware of how slow you were prone to waking up and hoping to save some time.

The overlord chuckled, a subtle shake of his head highlighting his amusement as he looked in your direction once more, red eyes lingering in a manner that reminded you of just how tremendously the being standing at the end of the bed adored you.

He regarded you with a gentle and exasperated fondness as he replied,

"The reopening is today, dear heart."

He purred, grin as wide as ever as he approached further, extending his hand outward and helping to maneuver you so your legs were hanging off the side of the bed, ignoring the sudden panic in your expression brought on by his words and quickly silencing it before it could be vocalized with a quick press of his lips to yours.

He pulled away slowly afterward, index finger curling beneath your chin and lifting it to ensure you were looking him in the eye,

"And whatever would we do without our darling front desk receptionist there to woo our guests on sight?"

His tone was teasing now, lilting and oh-so amused as he took both of your hands in his and slowly pulled you upward and onto your feet, humming that same distantly familiar tune from earlier all the while.

"Not to worry though."

Alastor continued with a mocking tap of his index finger against the tip of your nose,

"With my help you'll be up and ready with time to spare."

He winked at that, instantly causing you to roll your eyes before knowingly bringing your arms up above your head, causing your love's grin to widen further at your immediate understanding of what was to come.

"Well look at you!"

He cried with feigned surprise and delight as he grasped gently at the hem of your sleep shirt, tugging it upward and over your head with a flourish before he knelt down before you and pulled your underwear downward just the same, his eyes never once leaving yours as he did so.

"You're becoming a regular pro at this, darling."

You scoffed a bit at that, though your lack of exasperation was made clear by the lifted corners of your mouth, never quite able to lay flat with your Alastor around.

Humming a different tune now, the sinner reached behind you on the bed to grasp at a new pair of undergarments for you, holding them open to make them easy to step into before pulling them up and rising with them, laying the fabric flat upon your hips before moving to help you with your bra.

Far too used to this process by now, you simply sighed and let your lover do as he would, your still tired body leaning into his every touch as he ran skilled fingertips up and down your spine and pressed them dexterously into the tense muscles of your shoulders until he felt you were sufficiently relaxed beneath his hands.

Once that was finished, he was quick to have you sit upon the bed, long fingers grabbing at your stockings and garters and bunching them up expertly before sliding them onto your feet and up your soft legs and thighs with ease, though he was notably slower with this task than he'd been with the previous two, taking his time to admire you and allowing his hands to feel your skin before covering it with the fabric in his grasp.

When he was finally satisfied with the state of your stockings, Alastor leaned back slightly, taking in the sight of you with a pleased smile and an ever adoring look in his eye before he placed twin kisses against the skin just above where your garters held your stockings into place, as if in farewell.

It was then and only then, with his desires to admire you satisfied (at least in part) that your beloved grabbed your work attire from the bed. It was something he had chosen for you himself when considering the concept of uniforms, a sweet yet professional looking black dress that you knew from having tried it on a few days prior fit you perfectly, (no doubt because your lover had long since memorized your measurements and given them to the tailor himself).

Pooling the rich fabric at your feet, Alastor looked up at you expectantly, and immediately, you stepped into the middle of it, allowing him to once more pull another garment up your body, rising with it as he had previously with your underwear until your arms were in the sleeves and all there was left to do was zip up the back.

Feeling the cool breeze upon your spine, you shivered slightly, the difference in temperatures striking.

"Al,"

You murmured, adjusting your hair to ensure it wouldn't get in the way of what came next,

"Would you mind?"

Immediately, the overlord was nodding in almost enthusiastic agreement, motioning for you to turn around for him to provide access to the still unzipped portion of your dress.

"Why of course not, dear heart. Let me see."

Blushing at the nickname in spite of it having seen years of persistent use, you did as you were told, turning 180 degrees until you were facing away from your lover, back bared to him so his deft fingers could easily find the gold trimmed zipper there.

Grasping onto the metal between his thumb and forefinger, the demon slowly began to tug it upward with a notable level of patience, his opposite hand moving to your shoulder to push at some of the fabric there until he'd created a patch of bare flesh to press a few soft kisses to, his teeth nipping at you ever so gently from time to time just to make you jump in surprise at the unexpected sensation.

This continued for a few quiet and very much appreciated moments until finally, the overlord moved away with a dramatized sigh, pulling the black fabric of your sleeve back over your shoulder before he finished zipping your dress up the rest of the way.

Hearing your darling take a step back from where he'd been standing just behind you, you were quick to turn around to face him, your smile growing brighter when you saw the immediate fondness and adoration in his eyes, that thinly veiled softness he reserved solely for you so very apparent that it made your heart lurch happily inside of your chest.

"What do you think, Al, am I presentable?"

You asked lightheartedly, giving him a slow spin as if wanting to make sure he saw every possible angle.

Alastor all but scoffed in response, though his eyes betrayed his affections far too obviously, making it easy to tell just how much he was enjoying your slightly slower morning together.

"Don't be silly darling, you're always the belle of the ball."

He teased, reaching out to take one of your hands in his eyes as he spoke, using it to tug you closer until you were nearly chest to chest with him, eyes widened in surprise.

The next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, warm, loving, and slow, before he finally pulled away with a sigh, expression contented and smile exceedingly genuine.

"Come on then, dear."

He said after a moment of silence, stepping away once more to guide you toward the bathroom attached to the room the two of you slept in,

"Let's finish getting you ready before Charlotte sends poor Vagatha after us for being so late."

[pinksobg]

Message from someone that loves you 💌

so good to be back! I was doing some exams and recovering myself. 🌷 happy leo season for you all and happy birthday to me yay ☺🍵 I hope you guys enjoy this pick a card and that you all are doing good! <3

Pile 1 - Hello, hello cinnamon roll! Pile one! Yes, yes. Ok! Could it be a child? Definitely someone younger than you. Or a childhood friend for some people in this pile. Ok! It could also be a friend from adolescence. Ok, that person. I keep thinking "soul level." Ok! It could be that you have healed your inner children together! How cute! Someone with a good sense of humor, cheerful, and upbeat.

Message: Don’t let anyone tell you what to do. I don’t like seeing you feeling down or being bossed around. What I mean is that I want to see you show your braver and more authentic side to the world more often. But, haha, yeah, maybe the world isn’t ready. My dear, I don’t know if you care much about your appearance, but you attract more attention than you think! You are much more beautiful than you realize! Much more. 💌 I will protect you, I will protect your heart, just as you did with my inner child’s heart, haha. Don’t look at me like that! I’ve grown up a lot already, haha! I learned from you and see you as a role model. It’s true, you inspire me. Even from afar or without words. Watching you chase your dreams is amazing! It’s what I want to see the most! Yay! 💌 I’ll send you a song.

songs: blessed-cursed - enhypen; birds of a feather - billie eilish; say you won't let go - james arthur.

___________________

Pile 2 - Hello pile 2! My melody! Ah! How sweet! It could be a romantic interest or someone who has a crush on you! How cute! Really, you give this person butterflies in their stomach or speed up their heart. It could also be a confirmation if you’re feeling discomfort in your lower back, because I started noticing that while writing the beginning of your pile, and I wasn’t feeling it before. Anyway, let’s go to your message?

Message: Hi! You don’t leave my mind and can sometimes make me a bit confused. Well, yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about you, but my ability with words isn’t as good or as voracious as my thoughts. In my thoughts, everything seems to work out perfectly, thank you, but I wonder if you feel the same. I’m at a loss for words to describe or express what I feel inside. 💌 Your scent is wonderful and your hair is beautiful! Something about you makes me admire you so much, and I’m looking to meet people like you now. Thank you for helping me notice certain patterns in my life. Now I just want people in my life who make me feel good, just like you do. You are someone who makes others feel heard, and that’s great! I want to be like that too. 💌 See you again! <3 💌🌷

songs: fate - g-idle; stereo hearts - gym class heroes ft adam levine; don't you worry Child.

___________________

Pile 3 - Hello, hello pile 3! Hello Kitty pile! It seems to be an old friend, someone whose connection reminds you of human warmth or maybe summer. Predominantly feminine energy. Ok! Let’s go to your message?

Message: Hi, dear! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, you seem a bit tired? If you feel guilty for resting or wanting to rest, please don’t feel guilty. If you’re choosing between two paths, let me tell you a story to try to help you! Sometimes we’re like ducks swimming in a familiar lake, but sometimes we have to move and migrate to another place because of the temperature. So, don’t feel guilty for choosing what’s best for you now, my dear. 💌 Look, I have to tell you that I’m very proud of you! I’ve always believed in you, and your potential never ceases to amaze me, you know? 💌 Shine brightly as always, you’re my rock star!

songs: bring me to life - evanescence; ophelia - the lumineers; sweet juice - purple kiss; midas touch - kiss of life.

[deadbeat-motel]

ᕼᑌᔕK ᗩᑎᗪ ᑎIᖴᖴTY ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

Deadbeat father with his baby-leashed daughter.

I believe these are the last of the designs that will try to follow the original design as best as it can because looking at my sketches right now, Alastor, Cherri Bomb, and Pentious (and Crymini) goes a different direction than their counterparts.

You know how this works, thoughts below:

My issues with their Original designs:

Niffty:

Man, I only have two things to critique about this one since she's also a solid design:

What is the purpose of the scarf? It comes out of nowhere for the design, what is the connection/purpose of having it? Genuinely asking since it does bother me a bit.

She barely is a bug, there is no feature in the design that gives us any idea that she might be a bug (Or even an alien since apparently Cyclops are just a normal sinner type in this hell). Looking at the Wiki, I think the only reason for the alien aspect is that it came from a song? Either way, she doesn't showcase any of either in her design.

Husk:

GOD THE WINGS. DEAR GOD THE WINGS. IT'S SO UGLY AND CLUTTERED AND THE PATTERNS BARELY MAKE ANY SENSE. It's so awful ewwww. Every scene that didn't have them closed looked extremely rushed and ugly. It could've benefitted from just copying how actual feathered wing patterns naturally are.

His eyebrows are not a problem for me (It's my favourite part of him) but the unnecessary two black stripes are.

He's probably supposed to be a tuxedo cat, but he legitamately looks like the cat in the hat with his entire face being white.

The thought process for these two:

Niffty:

Personally was not into the whole Cyclops thing, especially when there are no hellborns (that I can recall at least) in Helluva Boss that posess a singular eye. She's got 2 eyes now because.... reasons.

The mismatched eyes was my solution to removing the Cyclops sinners of this world. Plus it's a neat little character detail that her insecurity of some kind of eye defect manifests as this odd eye shape.

Her hair is a bit neater because as much as I enjoyed how her original hair looks, It's kind of silly to think a person who's obsessed with cleanliness would have such an unkempt haircut? (Specifically talking about that scene kid-esque bangs she has.)

While I kept the maid aspect with her clothes, I made it a lot more flowery so that it reads more like a child's outfit mimicing a maid's.

I gave her one fucked up antennae since in the rewrite ill be doing, she's very easily lost and thus became homeless, drifting to any place that would allow her to stay for a little while long until they kick her out.

Bug wings and the spurs on her arms and legs are just to sell the bug aspect a bit more.

Hopefully, it was clear enough. But her arms are made of two arms conjoined together to create a singular arm.

Admittedly, I did not choose a specific bug for Niffty. Insects are not something I'm interested in and I got lazy with this aspect.

Husk:

MADE HIM A LOT FATTER AHAHAHAHHA. Husk feels like he could've ended up as a bara if Vivzie's twinkif-y ray didn't hit him.

Specific fluff areas as well as a red mustache make him look older and do more to make you understand he's much more aged than the rest of the cast.

Genuinely enjoyed the hair that they gave Husk in his flashback, it looked handsome on him. Why Vivzie didn't put that in his actual redesign is beyond me, but here it is on him now

Since his wings barely play any role in the story, I shrunk it and de-cluttered the poor thing.

The red suspenders are there to simply put a pop of color on his already muted colors.

Despite the running joke that Vivzie's characters all have a bowtie, kept it on Husk since I think it would be cute that he probably keeps it on because Niffty made it herself for him.

This is just personal, but I wanted to give him an actual cat's pattern because I saw Husk from the headcanon voices video and thought that he was a sloth for some reason.

[thekeeperof-thefandoms]

Hello, oh my, damn... so english isn't my first language and i wasn't sure how to phrase it better so don't worry, i totally understand being uncomfortable and I'm sorry 😅

I did enjoy your version very much and i also think that you should definitely go for a crow reader cause that is such a cute idea!

- accidentally proposing anon

No problem! And since you're interested here's some very quick ideas I had about crow reader before I go to work today!

Alastor

Nothing phases this man anymore. Niffty literally gifted him a crown of dead roaches. So when you flutter excitedly and present him with a string of shiny can tabs, you've been collecting he accepts it graciously.

"You're quite right dear, these are incredibly colorful. Yes, very shiny are you sure you don't want to keep this? Oh! You made it for me? Well, aren't you just precious."

He makes it into a necklace or even something to decorate his horns.

Vox

Valentino likes light, you like shiny things, both of you tend to like being around screens and bright colors.

Except you don't just like screens, it's anything colorful or shiny. Actually sometimes it's not even that, its just random odds and ends that caught your attention for some reason. He gets it sometimes, textures, patterns, things like that.

But you have everything from soda can tabs to random buttons to rocks of various shapes, sizes, and colors. You have different sticks and pieces of wood you found that for some reason you then had to have. Pieces of mismatched jewelry. It's cute but it also clutters up space and he eventually designates one room for your stuff and tells you to keep it condensed. You do, and swear it's organized, but it's all just a jumbled mess to him.

He's in his lair, observing all the many different cameras, looking for some wannabe actress who owed him money, when you bounce in, barely stifling excited squaking. He sighs fondly and turns to you, knowing he's not going to be able to concentrate until he sees what you want to show him.

It's a collection of your molted feathers, the best ones, sleek and iridescent, bound together with some colorful twine you found and attached to it is a miniature glass jar filled with colorful, shiny bits of plastic, metal, and rock, and corked shut and sealed with hot glue.

It makes a nice rattle sound when he shakes it and the feathers are nice to pet and run his fingers over and..."Did you make me a fidget toy? From....random stuff you found? That's, that's actually really cute, thanks Doll."

He downplays how much he uses it, but it's literally on his key ring, so you know it goes everywhere with him and if during long meetings his staff are subjected to the consistent background noise of little shiny bits rattling around in a jar, then that's their problem.

Lucifer

As you may have noticed Lucifer also tends to collect things he has no need for. But he might need it one day! Between the two of you it does get to be a bit of a problem, so you both agree to sort through and condense your piles.

It takes days cuz you guys keep stopping to show each other cool stuff you guys have. Then, several more days just to get through his numerous rubber ducks. Eventually it's down to a single room where your collections have merged. Each item carefully chosen and presented to one another like expensive jewelry or other such luxurious things. But it's a cool rock you found, a giant bronze spring, a box full of candy wrappers with clever sayings, and a scrapbook with various brightly colored pieces of cardboard from snacks, toys, shoes, literally anything, that caught your eye.

It's anyone's guess on who adds what, but you do both have to agree on it before it's added so you don't hoard things again.

That's the end, but maybe I'll go back and add Adam and some of the other characters later. I just wanted to get my initial ideas down before work.

[revrover]

The Stranger - Pt. 3

Part One  |  Part Two

Pairing: Namor x Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Language, Violence, Depictions of drowning, Fluff

Summary: Delivered to safety following the battle on the beach, you are left reeling as you grapple with nightmares and questions about an uncertain future. But as you come to know more about the Talokanil people and grow closer to their king, Namor is faced with a question of his own -- what does he do with this stranger from the surface?

A/N: It’s heeeeeere!! As always, thank you so much for your patience, for being here, and for reading! And a BIG thank you just for taking the time to engage with and be a part of this story. You all have been so encouraging to me as new writer, and I love being able to create something around characters that so many hold so dear. Comments and reblogs make my heart happy, so please show some love, share the joy, and be kind!

***I do not give permission to copy, plagiarize, or repost my work as your own in any form!

Bullets fly as bodies hit the ground in front of you. There on the open beach, spears soar high above your head. Your gaze is drawn to the heavens as a chopper falls from the night sky. It crashes onto the shore below, an intense heat flashing against you as you shield your face from the explosion.

Suddenly, the sounds of dying men and burning metal fade as you lower your hand. You look down to find yourself waist-deep in a raging sea, the battle on the sand becoming a distant memory as waves beat harshly against you, unrelenting and unforgiving. A deafening melody accompanies each swell of the tide. It consumes your mind with pain and serenity as you are pulled further out into the ocean’s depths, following its call. The chorus grows louder as the water rises to your chest, building with intensity. Then, suddenly, all is quiet.

And there he is.

Hovering just above the water’s surface, his winged ankles carry him effortlessly. His reflection glistens perfectly against the water, now calm and smooth as glass. Illuminated by the full moon behind him, his body is covered in beautiful armor made of gold, jade, and other metals. A finely crafted serpent headpiece with bright feathers crowns his head, resting just above his brow.

Namor.

Wordlessly, Namor stretches out his hand, beckoning you to come to him. You reach out as if your very being is at his command. But, before you can grasp hold of him, the chorus of voices returns with a vengeance. A violent tide drags you under, swallowing you beneath the waves. Further and further down you are pulled as darkness surrounds you. Looking up toward the fading light, Namor’s silhouette above the surface dissolves from view. Your lungs burn as you begin to drown.

You jolt awake, your body shooting up in a cold sweat.

Chest heaving, your mind desperately claws its way back to reality. You quickly scan your surroundings, clinging to any detail that will anchor your consciousness and keep you from slipping back into that nightmare.

Gripping the stone surface beneath you, you take in every porous curve your fingertips graze over. Looking upward at the high rocky ceiling, you study the patterns of limestone stalactites that hang like icicles. Droplets of water run down a few of them, their melodious drips echoing in small pools below, falling like a gentle, rhythmic rain.

This is the place Namor had spoken of the last time you saw him. The one where he promised you would be safe. And for good reason — here in this cavern, you were well below the ocean’s surface and out of range of any agents who might come searching for you.

By your best guess, you figure you have been down here about two days. It’s hard to be sure without the reference to natural light. The cavern itself is beautiful, though. Illuminated by pockets of glow worms that drape down from the ceiling, their soft luminescence casts gorgeous green and blue hues across each surface their light touches.

As your heart rate begins to even out, you continue to survey the cave. You look over at your belongings, bag laying on the ground, clothes hanging on a line to dry. Your heart drops a bit when you see your little leather-bound book, its pages separated and spread out across the rocks. Ink bleeding. Pages ruined. You had made your best attempt to salvage what you could. Perhaps if you had asked Namora how the two of you would be traveling to this safe haven, you wouldn’t have brought a damn book with you.

The dissonance of the Talokan melody still rings in the back of your mind. You cradle your head between your knees, rubbing your temples with your thumbs when you hear light footsteps approach.

Looking up, you find a familiar face entering the cavern. No longer geared up for battle, Namora dawns a lovely dress that gathers over one shoulder and flows down to the floor. It moves like waves with each step she takes toward you. Instead of a spear in her hand, she now carries a small tray with a medley of food.

“Eat," Namora says, placing the tray on a small end table beside you. She then moves gracefully over to your draped belongings, removing them one by one from the line and folding them into a neat pile.

“Can I ask you a question?” You inquire as you begin to nibble on a piece of food.

Namora shoots a skeptical look over her shoulder but says nothing, so you ask anyway.

“Have you always been a warrior?”

Unresponsive, she keeps her attention on one of your shirts which she has just pulled from the line, tucking it into itself and placing it with the others.

“It's just, I mean the way you fought those agents on the beach, you are — you are very good at, you know—” you should have given more thought to what you were going to say before opening your mouth because as you reach the end of your sentence all that comes out is, “—killing people."

Nice.

You cringe at your comment. It hangs in the air, practically mocking you.

“I’m just saying," you add, trying to recover, "you obviously know what you’re doing. It was impressive. Me on the other hand…” Your voice trails as you raise your bandaged hand, recalling how your first instinct in a fight was to block a fucking knife with your open palm. Next to Namora, your combat skills pale by comparison.

Halting her task, Namora finally turns to face you in one calculated motion. She stares for a moment then her eyes quickly dart toward the side entrance of the cavern where she had come through only minutes ago. The entryway is empty. When her eyes settle back on you, there is resolve in them.

“Up.” She says, walking toward you with purpose.

“What?” You reply in a tone that matches the confused look on your face.

“Up.”

You do as you are told, hastily pushing yourself to your feet. Namora steps in close and then taps your elbows.

“Up.” She orders a third time, only now she seems to be referring specifically to your arms. You follow her instruction, raising them awkwardly out in front of your body. You can almost hear the sigh of hopelessness when Namora, her brow furrowed, grabs your arms and positions each one in a fighting stance. Slipping a hand up to your left wrist, she grips it firmly while tapping your exposed forearm with the palm of her other hand.

“Shield.” She says with emphasis. Her eyebrows raise, looking for any indication that you comprehend what she is trying to explain. When you nod, Namora moves her hand from your wrist up to your fingers, balling them into a fist and tucking your thumb on the outside.

“Weapon.”

Namora then steps back from you, putting her own arms up to mirror your stance.

“Shield, weapon,” she repeats, patting her forearm and waving her closed fist.

“Shield, weapon,” you echo back to her, nodding your head again as you begin to understand more fully.

Just as she begins to step back toward you, a deep voice calls from behind.

“Namora.”

You both look up to see the large man who wears the hammerhead skull standing in the entry of the cavern. Attuma is his name, as you have come to learn. Namora straightens her posture as she turns to face him, her hands behind her back as she squares her shoulders in a commanding stance.

Attuma saunters a few more feet into the cavern, then speaks to her in their native tongue, a language still unfamiliar to you. The two of them converse back and forth for a few moments. You may not know what they are saying, but you can tell they disagree about something — whether with each other or someone else, you are not sure.

Namora swiftly turns back to you, her face serious again and her brows pinched together.

Fighting lessons must be over.

“Come,” she says.

Without any further instruction, she pivots back toward Attuma, who also turns to leave. You quickly grab your belongings which Namora had folded for you, stuffing them into your bag. You sling it around your shoulder as you exit the cavern.

Following the two generals into a tunneled hallway, you find yourself moving through a network of caves, each tunnel connecting to a series of other openings and pools. Soon, Attuma splits off into one of these open caverns, nodding to Namora as he does so. Your eyes trail him as he joins with more Talokan warriors, and just as you stare at them, they stare at you.

You continue walking behind Namora past them, their whispers reverberating through the tunnels.

“When was the last time someone… not Talokanil came here?” You ask. In typical Namora fashion, she remains silent and unresponsive to your question.

“Sorry,” you say apologetically, “back there it just seemed like they hadn’t seen someone new in a while.”

The two of you walk, furthering yourself from the turnoff where Attuma parted ways. Cautiously, you step around the uneven surfaces of the rocky ground. You can feel yourself being led deeper into the maze of caverns. If Namora decided to up and ditch you right now, you are certain you would be lost in this labyrinth forever.

“You are the first,” Namora says rather abruptly, catching you off guard. Not only does her response come well after your question was asked, but it is also the most she has ever said to you at one given time.

“The first?” You ask, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“To come here,” Namora answers. “The first surface dweller to receive Talokan’s aid. The first the king has ever…” she pauses a moment, searching for the right word, “tolerated.”

The influx of her voice is not lost on you.

“And you don’t approve?”

“It is not my place to approve, " Namora clarifies as she leads you around a bend and past several open pools of water. "I am… concerned. When it comes to you, I fear he is blind.”

Silence befalls you both again as you enter another cavern, this one much larger and more spacious than any others you have seen. Within it are several large pools, glistening with light reflected from more glow worms above. Their tendrils hang from the high vaulted ceiling like sparkling chandeliers.

In the center of it all stands a large hut enclosed by beautifully woven fabrics. You follow Namora shoulder to shoulder up the stone-carved steps to it until you nearly reach the side.

“We’re here,” Namora says, coming to a dead stop. She then takes a step back from you.

Still unsure of where “here” is exactly, you glance over your shoulder, looking to her for further instruction or explanation. But Namora gives you nothing. The moment you begin to take a step backward as well, her hand shoots out, holding the back of your shoulder in position with a firm grip.

Ah. Don't move. Got it.

Subconsciously you begin to hold your breath, bracing yourself for the unknown.

Then, there he is.

From around the corner of the hut comes Namor. Immediately you are taken aback by his appearance. Up to this point, you have only seen him suited for battle. Now he stands before you dawning a beautifully woven cape plated with gold and draped across his broad shoulders. His hair is slicked back and his arms are adorned with various metal cuffs. Truly a wardrobe fit for a king.

A single nod of his head and Namora is dismissed. You hear her small footsteps fade as she leaves the two of you alone.

“How is your hand?”

Namor’s question snaps you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you raise your hand, glancing at the worn bandage. "It’s fine, thank you.”

Staring at the gauze, you can almost hear the lullaby Namor hummed as he gently tended to your wounded palm the night of the battle. Something flutters inside you as you touch the corner of the fabric. Realizing your mind has drifted again, you bring yourself back to reality by following up with your own question.

"Are we in..." you stop to rephrase, shifting your weight from side to side as you look around the cavern, “Is this… Talokan?"

If it is, it's very different from what you pictured.

Your question brings a smile to Namor’s face.

"No," he answers with a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Talokan is far beyond this place. I assure you, your body would not survive the journey to its depths. But these caverns are safe, I promise you.”

Namor then shifts the topic of conversation.

“I am told some of your belongings were ruined on your traveling here, including your book. I apologize. I had hoped to make up for it.”

With one arm, Namor ushers you around the corner to the entrance of his quarters, inviting you inside.

Intrigued and eager to see what awaits, you accept his invitation. As you enter, you find yourself in a study of sorts. Lit by several lanterns, the room is warm and bright. Within it sits a small table, a prominent desk full of scrolls and artifacts, and a cozy hammock hung in the corner. But what catches your eye most of all are the walls.

All around you hang gorgeous tapestry walls with breathtaking murals that stretch from floor to ceiling.

“Did you do all of these?” You ask in disbelief as you move to one at the far end of the room. Your eyes widen as you gaze in admiration at the beautiful artistry.

“Yes,” Namor answers humbly, following behind you. “I think you will find a more accurate depiction of my history here.”

“I don’t know,” you say with playful skepticism in your voice as you inspect the artwork closer, “always be weary of your authors, right?” You smirk as you shift your glance sideways to Namor, echoing his words back to him in jest. His face is serious at first but quickly turns to amusement.

“You remembered,” he says nodding his head, an impressed grin now stretching at the corners of his mouth, “that is good.”

You return your attention to the paintings. What a gift it is to be standing here in front of them. Full of stories, full of history. And to be accompanied by the man who created them himself — who lived them himself. It is all a far cry from the vague glyphs you tried so hard to decipher in your book.

"They're amazing." You say in awe, following along the panels as you trace the line work delicately with your fingertip.

Immersed in the murals, you are too busy to notice Namor's softening gaze as he watches you study his work so intently. Here you are, an outsider who he has welcomed into his space. It is not like him to be so open, especially not with a stranger from the surface — never someone from the surface — yet, something about you causes a stirring inside of him. Perhaps it is your enthusiasm and wonders for his culture or your refreshing dose of humanity towards his people that compels his desire to be close to you.

As you follow the artwork from panel to panel across the walls, you arrive at a scene that suddenly makes you freeze. Your wrist snaps your finger back as if repelled by the paint itself. In front of you is a large image of Namor dawning a serpent headpiece as he hovers above the water. You are immediately back in your nightmare, your mind flashing to Namor’s outstretched hand then the darkness that closes in around you as you start to drown. You can almost feel the fire in your lungs as they grow desperate for air.

“What troubles you?” Namor asks with genuine traces of concern in his voice. Your sudden silence has not gone unnoticed. He moves to stand shoulder to shoulder with you now, looking up to analyze the same part of the mural.

"Nothing," you lie, shaking your head while your hand drops to your side. You withdraw from the painting, taking a few steps back from it and Namor.

“Your people," you say to change the subject, pointing your thumb to the rest of the artwork in the room, "they honor you. It's admirable, what you've done for them. To keep them safe all this time."

“But?” He senses there is more on your mind.

You stare at him, then turn your focus back to the tapestries surrounding you. Scanning them from wall to wall, you notice a pattern in the stories shown.

“It’s just,” you begin with uncertainty in your voice “for someone who has spent his whole life bringing peace to his people, I wonder how much of it you have experienced for yourself?”

Namor is quiet for a moment.

"And why do you wonder this?" He finally replies, turning to face you fully.

“I guess I look at these and I’m curious… how? How can you do that without completely breaking under the weight of it all? Even with—” you begin gesturing to his body and suddenly become desperate to come up with the right words in time, “superhuman strength.” Thank god.

“Hmmm,” Namor exhales, thoughtfully nodding as his gaze drops to the floor. He folds his arms over his chest, the golden band around his exposed bicep reflecting the light that softly glows from a nearby lantern. Taking a few steps toward you, he lifts his eyes to yours.

“It is true,” he says, “the burden I carry for the sake of my people does not always permit me the personal luxury of peace. It… can be difficult.” His tone shifts from diplomatic to vulnerable. “And who is to say I have not broken under it? It is that brokenness that has made me the leader I am.”

Turning his head toward the mural, he looks at it carefully before speaking again. His chiseled jawline accentuates the exposed veins protruding from his neck.

"To your question,” he continues, “I believe how is never as important as why. Why would someone fight to bring others peace when they themselves cannot have it?” Namor takes another step closer and lifts his hand to your chin, delicately angling your face upward toward his own. "Because we sacrifice to protect what we love.”

His eyes search yours earnestly. After a moment, Namor quickly drops his hand from your chin and you watch as he moves towards his desk, shuffling a few scrolls around before looking back up at you again.  

“I love my people,” he says, planting his hand firmly on the desk, “and I have seen evil, what it is capable of. I watch as the rest of the world grows desperate in their greed and ambition, their desire for power. They are becoming more dangerous by the day."

"You mean — surface dwellers?" You ask.

Namor raises his brow at you knowingly.

"Yes,” he answers cooly.

"I'm a surface dweller. Am I...dangerous?"

Namor sighs with a small smile.

“Yes. Though not in the way you may think.”

He moves from out behind his desk and back over in your direction.

“Now I have a question for you,” he says in a low voice, approaching you with a dark look looming over his face. “Please consider your answer carefully.”

The silence is intense. Your heart feels like it is going to jump out of your throat as you anticipate what damning question the king of Talokan has in store for you.

Namor’s expression changes on a dime, and he suddenly asks in a lighthearted tone,

“Are you up for a swim?”

—

You follow Namor out of his quarters and into the large open cavern. As you pass by several beautiful pools of water, you are enchanted by how the light dances across the rich tones of Namor's skin. The same light casts dazzling hues of aquamarine and cerulean across the surface of the pools, reflected onto the rocks surrounding them.

Namor approaches one of the bigger pools and removes the cape from his shoulder, exposing his bare chest underneath. Here is the Namor you recognize - prominent necklace, bare chest,  emerald green shorts. Before dropping his cape to the ground, however, he pulls out a Talokan mask from the fabric like the ones Namora and the other warriors wear.

“Take a deep breath,” Namor says as he turns to you. He pushes your hair back from your cheek delicately as he applies the apparatus to your face. Doing as you are told, you inhale deeply as the mask fastens over your nose and mouth.

“Stay close,” he instructs. You nod, and Namor steps to the edge of the closest pool. He looks back at you with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, with all the strength and grace of a god, he dives perfectly into the water and disappears under the surface.

You step closer to the pool. The faint rhythm of droplets falling from the ceiling rings throughout the cavern. You glance behind you toward the entrance, but there isn't a soul in sight. Namora’s words echo through your mind.

When it comes to you, he is blind.

You dive in, following Namor.

Once in the water, you quickly orient yourself. Looking around, you see the outline of Namor, his silhouette waiting for you in the distance. As you swim closer, he gestures for you to follow him. You kick your feet to propel yourself further downward, ears popping as you equalize to the increasing pressure.

You swim until you are clear of the caves. Though your muscles ache, there is something serene about being beneath the water; the quiet, the weightlessness, everything drifting harmoniously in rhythm with the current. For the first time since you can remember, your mind feels still. Free from the chaos. Somehow, the vast open sea does not frighten you with its deep blue void as it did in your dream. Not even a little. Instead, you feel a calmness in your soul as you lose track of time entirely, trailing Namor as you move through the ocean’s depths.

Quite literally in his element, you watch in awe as Namor swims so effortlessly. To him, it must be as easy as breathing. He looks more relaxed than you have seen him. Perhaps even enjoying himself?

You continue to swim, the water getting lighter as the visibility becomes clearer. A school of fish rushes past, their scales glimmering with each flick of a fin or contour of their bodies. Countless numbers weave around you in sync as if part of the same carefully choreographed ballet. You can’t help but smile as you watch them move so freely, and Namor can't help but smile as he watches you.

Suddenly the fish rapidly disperse and within seconds a huge mass flashes past you with incredible speed and agility. Your eyes widen and adrenaline rushes through you as you witness a killer whale chase the school, its size completely dwarfing your mere human frame. Involuntarily, you begin hyperventilating as you watch the giant creature swim off into the distance. When you feel a touch against your arm, you turn to find Namor next to you. His hand rises and falls in front of his torso, gesturing for you to take deep breaths. In, out. In, out.

The two of you remain suspended in the endless ocean blue as you your breath slows and your muscles recover. Namor looks upward, and as you savor the moment of rest you follow his gaze. You can tell by the light above that you are getting close to the surface, which must mean you are nearing your destination. When he nods, you know it is time to move. Slowly the two of you start your ascent and the ocean becomes warmer as you gradually near the top.

When you arise from the water, the sound of the rushing wind, the rolling waves, and birds flying overhead rush into your ears. Less than a hundred meters from you stretches a beautiful coastline covered in soft white sand and lined by rich green foliage.

You make your way towards it. Soon you are walking knee-deep in the waves, the tide splashing against the back of your legs as you near the shore. Removing the mask from your face, the sweet breeze of the island races by, rustling your wet hair and filling your nostrils with the earthy aroma of some nearby palm trees.

Namor has already reached the sand. He stands tall, water still running down his body. Staring out at the horizon, he runs his hand over his face and pushes his hair back, inadvertently flexing his bicep as he does so. The sun slowly begins its descent toward the Earth, its warm rays casting brilliant tones of red and orange across Namor’s exposed skin. It contrasts the deep blues and greens that illuminated him in the caverns, and at this point, you are confident he looks devastatingly beautiful in any light.

As you reach the shore, you take your place next to him and stare out at the skyline.

“Hard to beat a view like that,” you say breathlessly.

“My mother would always describe to me the beauty of the setting sun,” Namor responds. “I have no love for the surface world, but from time to time I visit this island. See what she saw.”

“Is this—?” You begin to ask.

“Where she is buried.” Namor answers before you finish your question. His eyes drop as he reflects, “I am not sure what I expected to see the day I came to lay her body to rest. I suppose the beauty of an island she spoke of so fondly. Instead, I found my brothers and sisters enslaved by men who took life without a second thought.” His jaw clenches as he recalls the bitter memory. “But I saw to it the favor was returned.”

His meaning is clear. You are not sure which makes you more nervous — the calm and cool way he says it, or the menacing smile that accompanies his statement. Either way, his smile disappears as quickly as it comes. You have seen Namor’s ferocity firsthand and know what he is capable of, especially when it comes to protecting his people. A nervous feeling grows in the pit of your stomach as you begin questioning his purpose in bringing you here.

You consider the facts:

You are a surface dweller.

He did call you dangerous.

Oh shit.

Anxiously you glance at him, then redirect your gaze back to the horizon to maintain your composure. The soft waves break along the shore, racing up to your ankles. As the sand beneath your feet gets pulled out by the tide, you wish with all your might you could be pulled away with it. Instead, you sink deeper into the ground, more immovable than before.

“Are you going to kill me?” The words come out blunter than you intend, but you stand by them despite the quiver in your voice.

The question pulls Namor out of his thoughts as he turns to you, eyebrows raised. He studies your face carefully before answering.

“I probably should," he says. There is no malice in his words, only honesty. “The knowledge you have of me and my people... it puts me in a difficult position.” His eyes are solemn. "But I have lived a long time, and in that time I have witnessed many in their final moments before death when one truly reveals themself. That night on the beach, in what you believed were your final moments, you kept your word to me and my people. You said nothing to those men, even with your life on the line. There is no truer test of loyalty.”

Without a word, he reaches his hand out for the mask you still carry. You cautiously hand it over.

"There is a village eastward,” Namor continues, “you will find everything you need there, and the means to leave this place."

You feel his palm slip under your fingers to receive the mask. He takes a deep breath, then purses his lips in the direction behind you.

“Or, just up the way beyond those trees is a house. It is not much, but comfortable. It is yours to use... if you wish. You would be safe here.”

The offer catches you off guard.

“I… I don't understand." You mutter in slight confusion.

With a deep inhale, Namor squints back at the setting sun to collect his thoughts. Then, taking another step closer, he eliminates virtually any remaining space between you. His eyes are deep and mesmerizing as ever. Your heart races from his sudden proximity and you find yourself holding your breath as you wait for him to speak again. He peers down at you, so impossibly close that you can sense the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"You are no enemy of mine," he says with authority, "and no prisoner of Talokan. You have my trust. And because of that trust, I will not order you to stay." Namor then drops the mask into the sand like it is worthless and gently slides his hands underneath your jawline, cradling your face in both of his palms. “But I am asking you to.”

You are speechless. The way he is holding your gaze, the tenderness of his thumb brushing against the apple of your cheek, the fluttering of his lashes as his eyes flick down to your mouth.

"Stay," Namor says fervently in one final clarifying word. It is not a command, but an invitation. Perhaps even a plea. But most importantly, it is a choice. Your choice.

His eyes quickly dart back up to yours as he awaits an answer, but even Namor is not strong enough to keep his attention from dropping back down to your lips. He is clearly focused on more than just the words he hopes to hear come out of them.

In an overwhelming wave of boldness, you allow instinct to take over. No lives at stake, no siren’s song  — it is only the burning desire within your very soul for him that compels you. You close your eyes and melt into Namor’s touch, pressing your lips to his.

The moment you do so, it is as if a surge of energy courses through your veins, electrifying your entire body. Namor immediately welcomes your advance, molding his lips to your own. The smooth piece of jade that pierces his septum presses cooly above your lip, contrasting the heat of his skin to ignite your senses. As he slides a hand around to the back of your neck, his fingers curl into your hair to bring you in even closer.

A small moan escapes you as the tip of his tongue traces along your bottom lip. You can feel his smile against your mouth, then a tug at the same lip with his teeth. Another invitation, to which you gladly accept. You part your mouth open to let Namor inside. Both of your tongues dance together as your kisses become deeper and more indulgent.

Consumed by his taste and his touch, you slide your hands up his bare chest, desperate for more of him. Without missing a beat, Namor responds by running his arms down your body and hoisting you up off the sand with ease. You wrap your legs around him tightly and take full advantage of this new, higher angle. Moving your mouth in tandem with his, you savor the richness of his lips and entangling your fingers in his dark locks of hair. 

The two of you ebb and flow just like the rolling ocean waves, losing yourselves in each other. It’s not until you feel a faint burning in your lungs that you face the harsh reality of having to break away for air. Everything inside you fights it. If Namor were the sea, you would gladly let yourself drown in this moment.

But Namor, also sensing your need for oxygen, begins to slow down. He lowers you gently to the ground, though he is careful not to let you slip too far away from him. The two of you breathe heavily as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. Namor gives you another passionate kiss, this one slow and deep. His lips then move to the corner of your mouth and trail up to your ear, the heat of his breath spreading like wildfire across your skin. You can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Holding you close, Namor leans his forehead against your temple and presses his lips against your ear.

“Please," he whispers. "Stay with me.”

--------

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[why-not-a-tickle-blog]

Dwindling Creativity

Thomas groaned, putting his head in his hands. He’d been brainstorming and writing and editing and erasing and rewriting and researching and writing again.

“I feel like I’ve used up all the creativity I have,” Thomas grumbled, shoving aside his laptop.

This pause, reluctant as it was, was instigated by Janus. Patton took over from there, leading Thomas to flop on the couch with reruns of the Office to give his mind a chance to rest.

- - -

Roman did not stop working when Thomas did. This was Important to Thomas, and Roman had to get it right.

Thomas’s statement about using up his creativity was very nearly correct. As they had worked, Roman had dwindled away gradually, until now the quill he was holding was nearly as tall as he was. He had to hold it in a two-handed grip, kneeling on the parchment and balancing the unwieldy feather against his shoulder. At least he had a magic quill that didn’t run out of ink, so he didn’t have to keep getting up and down to re-dip it.

He ignored the click as the door to his room opened, but moments later the quill was snatched out of his grasp.

“Hey! Give that back, you- you ruffian!”

Deceit raised an eyebrow. “Ruffian? I would’ve expected a more… creative insult.”

Roman glared at him, more tired and grumpy than truly angry. “Well—! Well…” his mind went blank.

Deceit let him flounder for a retort, twirling the quill in his gloved fingers.

All at once, his inability to come up with a properly applicable insult, a good rhyme, even a solid sentence, slammed into Roman. He crumpled onto the desk. “Just leave me alone, I’m useless.”

Deceit sat down in Roman’s chair. Roman wasn’t looking at him, and was surprised to be lifted by the back of his shirt. He let out a squeak, then decided he was too tired to flail or protest, and merely went limp.

“Useless?” Deceit drawled, his voice dripping with something like sympathy. Knowing him though, it could well be anything, or nothing. “My dear prince, you and I both know that’s far from the truth.”

He draped Roman over his other hand, resting on the table. Roman was laying on his stomach, across Deceit’s palm, his arms flopped over his pointer finger.

“I am useless.” Roman asserted. “I can’t even make a song. I’m supposed to be great at songs!”

Deceit stroked the feather over Roman’s back, the smooth, gentle pressure a pleasant sensation. “Or perhaps, you’re holding yourself to too high a standard considering the circumstances.”

Roman’s muscles loosened further as the feather continued stroking over his shirt. “It’s for Thomas’s mother’s birthday, if I can’t make something perfect for this, when else could it matter?”

“I’m sure you will make something perfect,” Deceit replied. “But it may take more time. Time which we have, the birthday is in three weeks.”

Roman dropped his head onto Deceit’s glove. It was cool, rather than warm as he might have expected a hand to be. The feather traced patterns over his shirt, almost like a back rub, melting away his protests.

“You need rest now. Distraction, to get your mind off of the song and give you time to return to your full strength.”

As Deceit said the word Distraction, the edge of the feather brushed over a small strip on skin on Roman’s side, where his shirt had ridden up. Tingles spread from that spot, making him shiver. It felt nice, nearly tickly.

Roman shifted to dispel the tingles, inconspicuously doing so in a way that made his shirt ride up slightly higher.

For a few moments, Deceit must not have noticed, still stroking the feather over his shirt, but then the tip of the feather was drawn across his lower back, crossing from his shirt to his bare skin. Roman muffled a small giggle, enjoying as tingly sensations ran over him again.

Deceit was saying something else, but Roman was becoming lost in the moment, relishing the soft, gentle strokes and the occasional sparks of tickles.

At some point, he had relaxed so thoroughly as to forget he was hiding his giggles, and let one fully slip out.

“Oh, so I have a ticklish little prince?” Deceit said fondly, smiling down at him with a glint in his eyes.

Roman’s first impulse was to protest, especially as Deceit was sure to grow condescendingly teasing, but his enjoyment of his situation battled that impulse, leaving him speechless and blushing.

His internal battle was interrupted by the feather slipping up the back of his shirt, wiggling over his whole back. Roman fell into giggles, kicking his feet gently. The stiff quill feather wasn’t the most effective tool for causing tickles at his current size, but his embarrassment had made him more sensitive than usual.

“Awwww,” Deceit cooed. “Enjoying yourself?”

Roman didn’t respond other than to blush a bit pinker, though he made no move to block the feather.

Deceit twirled the feather. The strange sensation of the spinning feather under his shirt startled a laugh out of Roman.

“It seems I’ve found quite a good distraction, haven’t I?” Deceit said smugly. “Take all your thoughts away and leave only giggles~”

Roman rolled over, trapping the feather underneath his back as he giggled. Deceit easily pulled it free and teased it over Roman’s front. Here his shirt was better covering him, but the feather coming at him, fluttering at his sides or his stomach or neck, and constantly changing spots had him caught in giggles. He batted at the feather playfully when it came within reach of his hands. Indeed, all his previous difficult thoughts had fled.

���A happy little darling,” Deceit murmured, his voice overwhelmingly fond.

Roman was sure his face was still pink, but he was losing the embarrassment, caught up in the fun and the non-judgemental affection. He shucked his shirt off, clicking his fingers to change the quill in Deceit’s hand to a longer feather with droopy, dangly vanes.

Deceit shook the feather over Roman, the little tips flickering over his skin. Roman curled up into a giggly ball, rolling back and forth in Deceit’s hand. So many little tickly points all over him. It was like being out in a summer rain, if every drop left tingles in its wake.

Roman soaked in the attention, the sensations, the love. His body filled with warmth and joy, releasing the excess with every laugh. His giggles were infectious, and Deceit chuckled at the adorable sight in his hand.

When Roman got breathless, he grabbed at the trailing ends of the feather to stop them. Deceit obligingly switched tactics to long slow strokes of the feather up and down over Roman. It was hardly tickly at all, returning to a relaxing massage-like experience, but Roman couldn’t seem to fully stop the remaining giggles.

Slowly, gradually, he melted into Deceit’s palm. After such a height of joy, tiredness draped over him like a blanket. His eyes slipped closed, and the giggles came further and further apart.

Roman didn’t notice the ever so gradual shift of the feather into a miniature fringed blanket. He barely noticed when it stopped moving and instead tucked around him. And by the time Deceit gently transferred him into his bed he was sound asleep.

[vilhelios]

— ; OH, HOW THE MIGHTY FALL (IN LOVE)

to the very depths of hell, i will tumble down with you // alt title: help! the demon i summoned is a cutie... STARRING: demon!kaeya x reader GENRE: fluff, slight horror, hurt/comfort, demon!au CW: written in all lowercase + small text, not beta read! slight body horror (eye imagery), blood & injury, slight religious themes

i.

pavo ocellus.

a million and more eyes emerge from the darkness, akin to the fake ones that adorn the blue and green feathers of male peacocks. they all blink, sometimes in unison, sometimes in a haphazard pattern. you stare at them all, and they stare back - some squint, some glare, some are glassy and seem to see nothing. it doesn't matter. they all see right through you.

i want to make a pact with you.

somehow. somehow, you've gotten the words out. there is something about this space, now, that weighs onto your bones - an oppressive force that wishes for nothing more but to grind your flesh and sinew to pulp and feast upon your soul. a heartbeat thrums loud in your ears and you know it to be yours, fluttering with fear. even this beating heart knows that this is a mistake. it is too late now.

those thousand eyes inspect you, then four more, blue irises and slit pupils and all, and they all peer into your soul. this is no prideful bird, you gulp, but a serpent. you have summoned a snake, and it will see through you. it will coil around the things you hold dear, choking them out of life. it will find the cracks you thought you’ve hid safely away and unravel each and every one.

it will eat you alive.

but first, it laughs. a chilling thing that rumbles in the ribs of the body it has claimed as its own. and then, it speaks. the words fall from its lips like a gavel to hardwood, ushering in your death sentence.

then it's a deal.

· · ·

ii.

it has begun calling itself kaeya alberich.

to blend in, you assume, because you know you too would raise an eyebrow if a stranger introduced themselves with a name as outlandish as pavo ocellus. when you had confronted him about it, he had smirked - an easy, crooked thing, canines in full display - and said; well, isn't it much less of a mouthful?

so you let him have this moment of self indulgence, warily settling into this masquerade. it is a pretty name, at least: kaeya alberich. the syllables roll from your tongue and you watch a smile creep onto his lips - it doesn’t reach his eyes. he whispers, later in the day: if you ever need me at your side, you know which name i answer to.

in your time of need, whisper only his true name and he will come running.

.

it can take on multiple forms.

it seems to favor just one, though. one with sun-kissed skin and soft, dark hair and a singular, piercing blue eye. his horns have shrunk away, though if he fiddles with his curls enough you can spot the shrunken, pointy stubs peeking out from his scalp. cruel claws have been whittled down to form deft, slender fingers and gloved palms. there is a coldness in each knuckle, you notice, on the rare occasion where he’d twine his hand with yours in an act that you could only hope feigned affection. those hands are not soft and warm, calloused and cold, but you suppose there is comfort in that too.

you remind yourself that it is not a home that you will find there, but a bastion.

an eyepatch lies atop where his right eye would be. in a fragile moment, something you’re scared to call weakness, he allows you to peel away the cloth. his fingers gingerly guide your own to unravel this one part of himself, and beneath are the eyes that peer into your very soul. you find yourself staring back at them, just as you had the legion all those months ago, and you think it is your imagination when he shrinks away. perhaps he cannot tailor it, or maybe he simply chooses not to, but the cluster of eyes that sprout from that hidden socket remain as they do in his true form.

( he sneers, then, venom pooling in his words, though not meant for you; aren’t i quite the sight? )

it is the eyes that remind you that he is merely masquerading as human.

.

it is… insufferable.

but you knew that already.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, demon of secrets. whatever he wishes for you to believe, serpent or peacock or hound, he is insufferable. having to deal with him for a year was by far your greatest feat - as miserable as that may sound - and you do not think you look forward to more of them with him.

the mere thought of him elicits a sigh, an annoyed furrow of your eyebrows, a faint sting in your hands. you find yourself staring at the mark on your palm most days, tracing over its inky lines on others - an eye with a cross for a pupil. it is nothing short of a dreadful reminder: you are bound to him for as long as your soul may toil in the cold depths of hell.

( you ignore the little voice that whispers: maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. )

· · ·

iii.

another case file.

when you had offered to help out with jean’s workload, you didn’t expect there to be as much as there was. you think you’ve seen enough profiles and paperwork to last your fickle lifetime, though you suppose it wasn’t as boring as it would have been - what with all the supernatural involvement, and all that.

slumping in your seat with an exhale, you find yourself going over this week’s bounties. a little girl that had somehow bound herself to an angel - and began calling him her older brother, to his confusion - and a particularly irritating demon that had begun infesting a nearby bank. engrossed in your growing mountain of paperwork, you don’t notice the knock at your door, or the way kaeya slithers in, or how he watches you with an amused glint in his eye.

“as much as i love getting my beauty sleep,” he starts, and his voice is like thunder in a silent field, leaving you jolting up in your seat, “it’s not very nice of you to keep me in the dark, hmm?”

you cock your head to the side, a little more than confused, and kaeya, observant as he is, catches it right away. with a sigh, and a gentle flick of his beloved crystal earring; “you haven’t exactly discussed why you summoned me.”

“oh, i didn’t tell you?”

“unless my memory fails me, no.”

“have i told you what i do for a living?” you start, nodding at the file splayed open on your desk before looking back at kaeya, staring into his one cerulean eye. just in case, he could always just peer into your soul and get the answer himself.

“you’re part of the ordo favonia, correct?” you nod, watching the demon hum - not unlike considering his playing cards. “i must say, you continue to surprise me.”

“sooner or later, i’m going to be assigned jobs that i probably can’t get done without you.” you could already think of a number of things, from gathering secrets - his specialty, probably - to actual combat. “so even if my boss didn’t like it very much, i made a pact with you.”

he stands there for a while, suddenly finding interest in his hands, before breaking the silence; “what an odd solution.” and for a second, you wonder if he’s concerned - maybe even a little - but he looks back at you with an expression you can’t quite read.

“i suppose it’s nothing i can’t handle though, eh boss?”

· · ·

iv.

kaeya alberich, pavo ocellus, bleeds red.

albeit darker than yours, it is red that stains his skin. maroon stains the skin on your fingers and palms and seeps into the cotton balls and bandages that pool at the bottom of the nearby trash can. you whisper soft apologies against his skin at his every wince, but you continue pressing the cloth onto and around the nasty gash just below his ribcage. it is, thankfully, not as bad as it looks.

when you hear him hiss, your gaze snaps upwards to meet his. kaeya doesn’t bother putting on a brave face now, but he gives you one of his small smiles. you are acutely aware of the way his hold on your arm tightens.

i’ll be fine. he murmurs, brows furrowed, and thank you, by the way.

there is a horrid thing that wells up within you when you see him like this. it is the pit that forms in your gut, the heaviness that collects in your eyes, the quiver of your lips. you think it’s guilt, or pity, something in between, or none of those things at all. you had said it yourself: sooner or later, this would become a daily occurrence - there are some duties you were given that only kaeya could handle. it’s why you summoned him in the first place: your soul for a vassal. and he is nothing short of the vassal you’ve been looking for; your loyal, cunning kaeya.

as you wrap clean bandages around his figure, it is realization that creeps up on you. a sinking feeling, a rock that falls into the pit that has manifested in your very soul. a slow and ebbing revelation;

you’re terrified for him.

· · ·

v.

you feel it, then, his heartbeat.

the rational part of your mind scolds you, a parent to a child; of course he has a heartbeat. it’s not special, not in the slightest. all demons have heartbeats, angels and gods too, perhaps. it doesn’t change the fact that these hearts could very well be rotten things, beating for all the wrong reasons.

and you think this is it; you’ve finally launched yourself off the deep end and into the abyss, to have associated a pulse and a heartbeat to goodness. and yet, when you place your hand on his chest and feel the gentle thrum beneath his skin, you cannot help but be entranced. his heart beats.

“you feel it, don’t you?”

you nod, only half registering his words. at that, the demon laughs, a rumbling in his chest that conceals his heartbeat for a moment. when you shift to cup his cheek, kaeya leans into the touch with a purr - like a housecat, you think - and the cluster of eyes he had hidden away glint when they catch the moonbeams just right.

“you really are something, aren’t you?” he starts, voice silk and words honey, and you think you hear an inkling of a chuckle in the back of his throat. “to think it’d be you.”

“what do you mean?”

there’s a sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, a grin splayed across his face - a real one, that has your heart stuttering. the warmth of his skin leaves that of your palm, and you blink when he presses a kiss to your temple. it’s simple and sweet - the very antithesis of the kaeya that you've gotten to know, all confounding and sly - and when your brain processes it a bit more, you think you’ve gotten a fever, a warmth humming under the skin of your cheeks.

“well love, if you must know." he says, voice teasing yet soft and comforting in your ears. "it's not everyday that this heart beats for someone."

a/n: first post of the year (?) and first genshin post! spooky little thing to celebrate halloween!!! i'm sorry it's been so long, but i can't promise it'll be any different... i also can't promise a lot of tot content just because i haven't played in a while... but anyway, this is a little kaeya fic that's been rotting in my head and in my docs to celebrate the many things that have happened since i made this account! one day mihoyo will give me my demon!kaeya skin (because they love him so much...) but i will be content with haitham, wrio, and kaeya's thief fit. i hope you enjoyed this lil fic—demon!kaeya is one of my favourite concepts <3 !!!

art in header is “Sisters of Clouds” (1994), Adriana Diaz

[darkhymns-fic]

Overtime

On his day off, Husk gets a visit from Alastor. It's routine.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Husk/Alastor Rating: M Word Count: 1640 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Warning for suggestive situations here and some dubious consent. Just a short fic inspired by this art from @star-junk. It just really made me want to write something with it, so I hope it's okay!

--

It’s the creak of the bed that finally wakes Husk up. Wide-eyed. Fur standing on end. Vulnerable.

Maybe he should be surprised, but he's not at all. All he can think about is how damn tired he is. He’d already had to deal with errands and stocking up the bar, the crates full of bourbon and absinthe wrecking his back as he carried them. He’d had to deal with multiple grabby hands from the same eight-eyed customer, who whined about not getting his attention. And as well, any weird new activity Charlie was cooking up for the hotel residents, and pulling him into it. Not like Husk’s seeking redemption. He isn’t foolish enough to believe it could ever be for him.

There’s a small dip from behind him, on his bed. Another creak. It’s dark, but Husk doesn’t really need to see. The soft shine of red tells him everything he needs to know.

Another of his boss’s little visits.

Husk’s not alert enough to decide what to do. His limbs still feel heavy and his mouth is all dry from drinking himself to sleep. The weight keeps moving around on top of him, softly treading, like an animal through the brush. What makes it all the more eerie though is that he can’t even hear the shadow over him breathe.

That’s when he feels the hand on his wing. 

He grits his teeth, then shivers. His throat rumbles with a sound he could barely restrain, still moving out of the shades of sleep. 

Husk realizes too late that he’s not wearing anything. He always goes to bed bare, his own fur a bitch to deal with.

Finally, a voice.

“Dear Husker,” Alastor whispers, leaning down just a bit. The filter over his voice seems to dial all the way down to low. “You sleep so deeply. And it’s already past noon.” He tsks. “Such a layabout.”

Husk softly groans, all as Alastor keeps his hand in that same place. “Well, I was sleeping fine before you fucking showed up. And what do you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He doesn’t need to look to know how deep Alastor’s smile is, how it cuts into his face until it’s all he is.

Before Husk can even ask what’s the goddamn occasion now, the hand on his wing shifts. A thumb rubs against his feathers, the palm edging across the bend of his wing. The upper feathers are shorter, but they’re also sensitive. He’d give his own bottle of whiskey away if it meant he’d just have less of these stupid fucking soft spots of his, where any stimulation at all just did something to him.

And Alastor knows just where such spots were. Just right there, at the wing’s curve, where the feathers softened, where the red edges into the black. The wings had always been such a cruel joke, with its alternating patterns that resembled some cheap roulette wheel. It was always the one game it had been impossible for him to cheat at.

Alastor’s fingers curl into his wing, the thumb continuing to rub patterns, as if he’s memorizing every soft thread that makes up Husk’s body.

“Come on, why are you–” Husk cuts himself off, his body still struggling with the depth of his fatigue. Infuriating that this is all it takes for Alastor to get such reactions from him, and that he knows just when to do it.

But, despite it all, Husk finally gets his body to half-turn instead of just stretching like some depraved animal. His room is still covered in shadows, with only barely muted hallway light coming from the doorway crack. 

None of that matters. He can still easily make out Alastor’s face, his smile like a crescent moon shining over dark woods. Red swam over both, its color searing into him. He’s still fully dressed, unlike Husk. As if he had just left a social meeting, and then went to his pet for a little play.

“Are you sure you weren’t just waiting for me?” the demon above him asks with a low laugh. “You reacted just so quickly, even for you.”

Now he’s actively trying to piss Husk off, but then there’s another touch. This time, right at the inside of his right thigh. Husk shivers again, and this time, he can’t help but arch his back, just slightly.

Alastor’s expression doesn’t change, even as his fingers part through the fur, trailing through white and black. Even as his other hand keeps weaving a soft language into Husk’s feathers. He plays his body like an instrument, fingers tapping along invisible keys that make the one beneath him sing in a melody so few others would ever hear.

And Alastor is certainly enjoying the show before him.

It’s hard to escape. It’s hard to want to escape.

But he manages to speak, even when he’s lost to the soft touches, to the way they grip and hold. They don’t let go. The fingers are greedy, and Husk is all too familiar with greed and its call.

“It’s my day off, boss…”

Even an ironclad soul like his deserves a little mercy.

Alastor leans down, never letting his fingers rest. They change course, maybe even change tempo, but the insistent petting and stroking is still enough to make Husk into a useless pile of limbs and heat. “Then perhaps you should work a little bit of overtime for me.”

The fact that he’s trying to crack a fucking joke with me now.

Husk flinches, one eye shutting as another wave of warmth rolls over him. Hard enough to sleep with his wings that keep getting in the way, that he could never hug to his body tight enough so that they just disappear. Because not even just Alastor, but everyone loves to grab them. It’s too much. He hates it. He hates how his body just betrays him like this.

“You don’t pay me enough for this shit,” he shoots out. He manages to keep his voice steady, his tone deep, at least for that. He glares up at Alastor, letting the red light leak into his eyes. It always burns when he does so, looking directly at the Radio Demon. 

It’s like looking at his forthcoming death.

Alastor notices. So, he shuts his eyes. And then, he lets a hand rush up Husk’s thigh, then up his chest, until they reach his chin. He leans further down, and down. And down.

Until the tips of their noses brush against the other. Until Husk can finally hear the soft breathing from Alastor, can feel it against his fur.

“Then how about I give you a goodnight kiss in exchange?” he asks, finally opening his eyes. The glee in them is almost manic. “For always putting up with me.”

All these stupid games Alastor loves to play.

The fingers grip his chin, while the others over his wing continue their dance. “After all, I know that’s what you like.” Then, a wink, almost coy in its motion. “You’ve always been such a romantic.”

It’s stupid how Husk’s breath hitches at the thought, even when a nightmare looms over his bed, because that’s what Alastor is. The Radio Demon is every awful, heartstopping sound in the dark. He is every fleeting shadow that you see out of the corner of your eyes. He is every ancient folktale that elders warn their children about, of the monster that takes those lost souls who live on the fringes. And he eats, and eats, and eats.

But like any shapeshifting monster, Alastor can look as pleasant as he wants. And right now, his voice is soft, and his hands still play Husk for every note he can find.

Husk opens his mouth, trying to breathe. He lets his tongue run over Alastor’s thumb, which presses just against his bottom lip. Everyone does play with his wings, but only Alastor knows just how to use them to full effect.

“Deal,” he says. It’s barely audible, like the last breath of a dying man. But Alastor understands. He always does.

The kiss is different from the touches. Alastor is a hungry demon, and he shows it through his mouth the most. Lips press down deeply over Husk’s own, and sharp teeth clash. It’s hard and biting. The kiss stings Husk’s tongue, overwhelms his mouth. It’s like being force fed poison all the while.

But the poison is spiked, because kissing Alastor is always so, so addictive. Husk leans his head up, drinks from it as much as he can. He feels the hand wander down his feathers, move between them and pull gently. Because he likes the texture, Alastor once said to Husk. It calms him. It’s pleasing.

Sometimes, he even takes a feather for himself, using it as a quill. And Husk has to see it in the boss’s room sometimes, a piece of himself that is being used, again, and again, and again–

Husk’s wings move to stretch and wrap around Alastor, like a shroud made with red and black, studded with stars and symbols. He brings the nightmare closer. It’s only half against his will.

Maybe one day, he can make them both disappear.

“More,” he groans out, staring into the red, like falling into a sky at dusk. “If you’re gonna make me work like this.”

The shadows don’t hide for him. They grow into shapes that stretch from Alastor’s head, that cover up the walls into pitch black. He doesn’t care, feeling the promise of that kiss again as a tongue presses against his lips.

“Oh, Husker. With me, you never have to work a day in your life.”

He’s too lost to get angry at the comment.

Alastor wears Husk’s wings proudly around his shoulders as he steals him away once again.

[sleepingdeath-light]

my darling ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (03/02/22)

word count ; 924

content ; praise kink, body worship, suggestive material (foreplay but no sex)

fandom ; black butler

pairing ; joker x female reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

‘I must be the luckiest lass in Britain,’ you cooed, allowing your fingertips to trace the length of his features, ‘to have such a beautiful husband.’

‘Well, love,’ he began, never one to just accept a compliment, ‘I’d have to disagree. Ya aren’t lucky to be stuck with something like me — a circus clown with blood on ‘is hands — but I’m surely the luckiest man alive to have landed a beauty like you…’

That made you frown slightly and you sat up straight, hips straddling his own as you spoke to refute him. Your touch gentle as ever as you caressed and adored every feature you mentioned, not stopping until he was red in the face and at a loss for words.

‘Now, my dear, ya may not be able to see it from your angle. But let’s try and see it from mine, yeah?’ You tilted your head playfully and he rolled his eyes in return, nonetheless letting you do what you wanted.

‘Your hair is the most stunning shade of red,’ you breathed, carding your fingers gently through his fringe and delicately working out each knot that you caught against, ‘the same colour that defines the start of the prettiest summer mornings and that ends the most exciting summer evenings. The sun could learn a thing or two about red from you, I reckon.’

Then you moved lower, pressing a brief kiss to each of his eyelids. ‘Purple is my favourite colour ‘cos of you, y’know? Those twin beauts in there are the talk of every town we visit and I’ve had to fight of a good few ladies who were talking a bit too fondly about ‘em. Called ‘em amethysts — but I can positively say that those gemstones can’t possibly shine anywhere near as bright as your eyes can, so they can’t even hope to hold a candle to you.’

Next you traced the smattering of freckles that were dotted about his nose and cheeks, grinning widely at the way his skin warmed under your feather light touch. ‘And don’t even get me started on these pretty little things; dotted on the white of your cheeks like stars in the sky. Could map out a new set of constellations on ‘em, finding the patterns and that, since that’s what you do with natural beauty. ‘Least that’s what rich folk say.’

Noticing him about to protest, you quickly ducked down and pressed a brief yet passionate kiss against his lips. Pulling back a hair’s breadth to whisper your next piece of praise.

‘And these pretty, soft lips of yours are the best. They turn into the most handsome smiles and fit just perfect on your face — and don’t get me started on how good they feel on my body, cos then we’d be here for a week.’

After that you paused for just a moment before you reached up and interlocked your fingers with those of his prosthetic. Not missing the way his eyes teared up when he looked over and saw it, as you continued, shuffling down just so as you brought your lips to the underside of his jaw.

‘You’re a beautiful, amazing man, even if you can’t see it yet. I don’t care if it takes you one year or a hundred to realise how wonderful you are, I’ll stick with you through it all. But tonight, please just let me show you how much I love you,’

And the shaky smile and nod he gave was all the response you needed to go ahead and start worshipping him.

To work your way down his body with soft kisses and softer touches until he, even if just for a moment, saw himself through your eyes. You started with his throat, licking and kissing your way down over his Adam’s apple and pressing a particularly wet kiss to his pulse point and smiling against his pale skin when you felt it jump beneath your lips. Then you moved down to his chest, paying equal attention to both sides as you alternated between the two — using your hand to play and roll and lightly pinch at one nipple whilst taking the other one into your mouth to lick and suck and gently bite before switching over to ensure that both got the same amount of attention. Finally was his soft stomach, which you delighted in kissing along and feeling it jump and tense with every breath and caught giggle whenever you’d brush up against a particularly ticklish spot.

Though when you reached the start of his happy trail, you paused. Feeling his hard cock straining against your chest as you rested between his legs, and oh so tempted to swallow him whole, but still taking that moment to stop and look up at him: taking in his hooded and dilated eyes, admiring the mess that his hair had become, drawing your gaze to his perfectly parted lips as he whimpered and gasped and panted under your attentions. Then you reached up and took his hands, one by one, to your lips and pressed a passionate kiss against each palm — first his flesh hand and then his prosthetic — before smiling up at him and speaking.

‘I love you so much,’

And whilst he didn’t need to say it (you could tell from his smile and his watery eyes), your husband still reached out and pulled you up into a kiss as he repeated his response over and over again against your grinning lips.

‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’

[owlhead650]

Could I ask for something of choice for Ace, if you’d like?

Thank you for the ask, yes you can have more Ace content. I've written a short story that's 505 words in length about Ace and Ciel Featherstone. Check it out below.

Ace tied their hair into a ponytail and tied their hoodless collar cloak around their neck. Ace was sitting in front of a linea unica mirror and preparing for another long day of performing magic tricks. Their makeup had already been done, all that’s left is to put on their dark fancy clothes. The checker pattern, the playing card symbols, purple, blue, grey, black. It gave Ace an aesthetic that was both mysterious yet approachable.

Just as they had secured the headband for their tiny tophat the door opened behind them. “Ace dear? There you are!” It was their cousin Ciel.

“Ah, little Starlet. Have you come hoping to sneak a peek at the magician’s secrets?~” Ace liked putting some unnecessary flair into their words. It helped with readying themself for the audience.

“No, Ace. I missed the better half of your first week just because of some league business. I’m sorry.” Ciel wore a feather in her short navy coloured hair. She is the circus aerial dancer and as such her dress had to be light and sleeveless to maximise mobility. Ace wouldn’t mind wearing that kind of dress sometimes, only they’d rather not copy her.

“Don’t be sorry at all, I’ve had a great time. Your Ringmaster has been very welcoming. And Terra was there too.”

“Oh right, I suppose you and Terra have some shared history. I hope that doesn't make things awkward.” Ciel knew that Terra’s eccentric behaviour was a lot to deal with. She would most often be exasperated, exhausted or enamoured by it, sometimes all three in that order.

“If anything our dark ‘shared history’ makes things easier. Terra actually gave me a genuine apology for putting me out of commission that time. When she’s loud and disruptive I can deal with it because I know mostly what to expect. Also according to the Ringmaster about 40% of resignees at the circus cite Terra as a chief reason for why they left. How does she keep her job?” Ace tried to ask the question in a way that sounded more humorous than demeaning, instead their tone found a middle ground between the two.

“Well the kids love her and the parents hate her. Terra’s unique flavour of chaos adds a thrill to Agate Circus that has become a core part of its reputation.” Ciel explained. “Alistasia couldn’t possibly fire her, begrudgingly we’ve acknowledged her as indispensable.” 

“I see. That’s practically the same reason she wasn’t kicked out of Team Meteor. Maybe my new job isn’t that different to the previous one after all.”

“Well there’s much less terrorism involved when you work for the Circus.”

“Maybe, but isn’t cornering the market with overpriced food just a different kind of terrorism?” They were only ninety five percent joking. Ace forgot to pack their own lunch one day and had to pay a ridiculous price for some crappy fast food.

“Well you’ve got me there. Ready for our show?” Ciel asked.

“I am! Your new fool has prepared all their tools.”

______________________________________________________________

So what did you think? Just now I came up with the headcannon that Ace joined Agate Circus after the events of Reborn's postgame. When everything is said and done Ace needs employment. Team Meteor isn't paying them anymore. The next best option for them is to put their magician skills to use at Agate and reconnect with their cousin Ciel now that they don't need to commit themselves to the Alcantra dynasty.

[roguelov]

There's a lot here so filth warning for use of restraints, sex toys, hand job, blowjob, anal play, overstimulation, squirting, and my favorite part... Dom Reader 🤭

Morpheus would try to do everything possible to fill out his partner's sexual needs, even if they haven't said it out loud. He can be very enthusiastic about it and sometimes get in over his head, not thinking about the possibilities of his partner's fantasies, only the fact that he wants them happy and satisfied.

So one day in The Dreaming, he leads you both to your shared chambers when the mood is right. He hopes more than anything that you'll voice your hidden wants to him.

However, the - what feels like - hours of kissing and slow grinding against each other makes him impatient. He's eager! The Dream Lord releases your lip from between his teeth, quickly soothing the indent that has formed with his tongue, before speaking.

"I can feel you hesitating, My Love," his voice is gentle as he cages your head between his arms. Morpheus' sparkling eyes have dimmed considerably compared to a few moments ago, ready to cease his actions at your word. "Am I going too fast?"

You part your lips only for nothing to come out. This is something you've never thought of having a conversation on. The evidence being how much you've both spoken about your enjoyment before, during and after the multiple days and nights pleasuring each other, bringing the other towards equally shared bliss. So why bring up something that could potentially throw a wrench into that ectasy?

"It's just... I..." You trail off with your gaze switching between his twinkling irises. You take a deep breath and release it slowly. "I want to have sex with you, don't get me wrong," your genuine smile eases his mind only slightly. There are still questions swimming around in his head. But instead of bombarding you with his anxieties, he encourages you to continue with a small tilt of his head.

"I don't want to scare you with what I want to do."

Your words give him pause. You? Scare him? After your years of being together, bearing your souls, and promising to stay by the other's side?

"Oh, Dear Heart," he drops his head to place a reassuring kiss to your lips. "Please, quell those thoughts." Another kiss. "I will always speak on what I do and do not enjoy just as you have." He leans down for another, this one much slower than the last. "We will figure this out as we always have." You smile, this time bringing down Morpheus' head to peck his lips.

"Would it be easier if I let your fantasies run rampant within our chambers?" His proposal has your eyes growing wide with alarm but he can see the underlying arousal burning within you. He can see the confidence in you grow exponentially and it ignites his own passion. Your ideas ready to be fulfilled. Your lips form a line of determination and you give a decisive nod.

Golden specks skate over the two of you, the walls also trickling sand and the world becoming dark for but a mere moment as the environment reshapes itself.

Suddenly, you are catching yourself on your and Morpheus' bed. One knee on the edge of the comforter and hands landing shoulder width in front of you. As you try to even your breath from the startling shift of gravity, you lift your head and oh what a sight there is to behold.

The bedroom is dark save for the perimeter of the bed being illuminated by candles. In front of you, tied to the headboard in black silk, is the love of your life. His wrists are bound together and his ankles are encased in a similarly colored set of padded cuffs to keep his legs open. His legs in question, are hugged inside of satin stockings all the way up to his thighs. The patterns mimic floral and feather-like details swirling into one another.

Forcing your eyes away from the fabric and between his covered legs is another task that feels like it takes years. Tucked and properly lubricated inside of Morpheus' ass is an above average size anal plug. If you didn't gulp at the sight of it, you probably wouldn't have noticed the buzzing coming from said object.

A half bitten groan tears your gaze away. Morpheus' head is thrown back as he grinds down on the toy, almost teasing you, tempting you to come closer. So you do, crawling on all fours up the bed and over the Endless' body like a feline about to strike. The Dream Lord is already teary eyed, not unlike other times you two are in the throes of passion.

"Thi- ahhh - is most unexpected, My Love," Morpheus stutters as he forces his watery gaze to meet your more stunned expression. His face is flushed, hair even wilder than usual, and slight smirk present. He gives a shudder and he's once again moving the plug inside of him against the bed with an open mouth that turns into a grin as your eyes darken. "But not unwelcome."

Your hand rises to gently land on Morpheus' sweat covered chest. He releases a breathy moan at the contact and tries to move as far as his restraints will allow him so he can be closer. This truly was everything you hoped and dreamed for. The love of your life powerless under your touch, ready to accept anything from you, eager to please and receive what you deemed him worthy of. Your worries from earlier disintegrate as your hand trails down past the curls of hair wetted by precum.

"I love you so much," are the only words you can muster before you dive for his lips, your hand simultaneously wrapping around his leaking cock. He keens and hungrily kisses back as you jerk him off. He's so into this. Committed to the role that he is allowing to play out from your deepest kept secrets. Not able to do anything but receive and let go. It's almost mind numbing for both of you.

The pitch of his muffled moans go up a fraction but just enough for you to know the orgasm about to rip through him. And oh it does. His back arches so beautifully and his legs have wound themself around you at some point. The flame from the candles grow as Morpheus reaches his first high of the night, kiss swollen lips forming a perfect 'o', dark eyebrows bunched up, limbs shaking, body on fire.

You don't stop there. Not after the second orgasm you give him where you remove the plug from his hole to instead press it to his already hardening cock so your index and middle finger can explore the newly vacant area. Not after the third orgasm you give him which closely follows the last, this one with the anal plug buzzing against his perineum and the warmth of your mouth engulfing his cock. And definitely not after the fourth orgasm where you hold his tongue and lips hostage with your own and don't even fully insert the vibrating plug before brushing against something so deep inside of him that he cums immediately.

Your own clothes feel too tight, a pool between your legs having formed long ago from witnessing Morpheus in the lingerie. You look and feel like you're panting more than him, which is true.

"One more? Please? I promise this will be the last one. I can see you becoming exhausted," you speak into his ear after several breaths, your eyes half lidded and searching his sweaty face. He turns his head, mind half melting, meeting your lips once again in a slow and all consuming kiss before answering your request with a challenge.

"I'll take anything you give me."

It's instantaneous, the overwhelming pleasure from his other releases combined with the new spot inside of him that you now zero in on with the cum covered plug. He somehow reigns in his control of the blazing candles, making sure not to burn down your surroundings. Morpheus' cock pulses after one thrust of the plug harder and faster than the rest and he's stumbling off the edge once more, face of pure ecstasy and moaning you name with unfiltered adoration and devotion.

His release is thinner and more transparent, spilling up and off the sides of his lithe figure. The aftershocks in his body seem never ending as he descends into his body one final time. His eyes peek through his long lashes and his restraints fade away.

Morpheus beckons you to lay besides him with a single hand lifting off the bed. You join him under the covers that clean themselves and wrap yourself around his warm frame, happy about the outcome of the conversation you have been dreading for so long. He's dried and cleaned himself off with nothing but a thought and his face finds its way in your neck. He huffs a laugh as his lips graze your skin,

"We should do this again."

I CAME BACK TO THIS AMAZING SHIT HOLY FUCK!!!

THE CARE? THE LOVE? THE SPICINESS? LINGERIE? THE ‘I’ll take anything you give me’??? IM IN LOVE WITH ALL OF THIS!!! I LITERALLY HAVE NO WORDS

[littledollll]

I wanted to request a Lucienne fic where she's had a particularly hard week and the reader decides to drag her off for a surprise date night. Just Lucienne getting spoiled for once with fluff and if you're down, some smut pls? Thanks a lot, love your stuff

A day off

Lucienne x reader

A/n: babes I tried smut, I rly did, I had a draft and idea for it and everything but honestly my brain just doesn’t want it. I’m open to doing part 2s or making other similar fics with smut in the future but for now I can’t for some reason, and I still wanted to post this fluffy thing, hope that’s okay!

No warnings

“Hi loveee” a smile could be heard in your voice as you came up behind Lucienne, wrapping your arms around her torso while she was stacking books on the shelves.

She let out a sigh, leaning her head back slightly against your shoulder before she composed herself and got back to work. “thank you for visiting, darling.”

“Mhm! So.. word is Lord Morpheus is back from his little trip to God-knows-where.” She looked at you. “Go on.” You nuzzled into her neck, giving her a feather light kiss before continuing. “I may have requested that you have at least a day off since you took over while he was away.”

“Did you really word it that way or are you just trying to give me a heart attack.” You gave her a smile then completely ignored her questions, so that was a yes.

“Anyways! He complied, so I’m here to drag you away into the lands of relaxation and “me time”. And by “me time” I mean actually me time because I have never been so neglected!” Your tone was sarcastic, truly you just wanted her to have a day to let go and to worry so much.

“Oh dear I guess I should go with you then, no?” She put the book she was holding back on the cart and took your hand in hers, letting you drag her away to wherever you had planned.

In a little corner of fiddlers green, next to the running river and hidden behind trees you had set up a picnic. “This is certainly not something I expected.” Lucienne said once it came into view. You scoffed playfully and sat down, patting the space next to you.

“Did you expect me to take you to your room and put you to sleep? How boring is that! If you’re going to nap it should be here anyways, next to the sound of the river and birds.” You always did have a soft spot for nature, you loved everything to do with plants and animals.

“Yes, actually yes I did. But I was wrong to assume you’d be so “boring” this is lovely darling, thank you.” Came her reply as she sat down next to you, you gave her a sweet kiss and moved yourself to sit closer.

_______

The two of you stayed there well into the night, you had snacks and walks, talked about the little things and stories of what went on during the days, then sat in silence and appreciated the noise around you, truly enjoyed eachothers presence after so long.

Usually in the dreaming there was no need for a day and night cicle, but fiddlers green was unique, the beautiful field had a new life at night, the animals in the river seemed neon, the flowers and fruit glowed. It was, quite literally, something straight out of a dream.

You laid your head on Lucienne’s lap as you looked up at the stars. “Is everything here- on purpose?” Lucienne only asked what you meant with a hum. “Does he make and place ever individual fish and star? What about their swimming patterns, is it a routine?”

Lucienne smiled at your curiosity before answering. “Some things yes, each fish is made and placed but much like the dreams they have their own free will to act how they please in this case, swim how they want.” You shifted on her lap, moving to sit instead.

“Thank you for dragging me away.” she said, arms hugging around your waist. “Thank you for letting me, finally!” you placed a gentle kiss between her brows. “I do quite like my job.” You hummed, you knew that, of course. Most of your time was spent in the library with her. “You still deserve days like this.”

“I’m lucky I have you to remind me then.” Lucienne hummed, resting her head on your shoulder and letting her eyes fall shut. “Oh very lucky! I’ll even fight lord Morpheus for more days off.” She let out a playful scoff, making you giggle.

“I’m kidding! You and your undying loyalty.” She delivered a quick kiss to your shoulder and looked back at you. “I hold an even stronger one for you, my darling.”

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Becoming the Nightingale (Work in Progress Fanfic) Some Spoilers for Season 2 of Good Omens

Summary: Aziraphale found himself backed into a proverbial corner. They found out about the kiss, how close the two had been for centuries, and now he was being told

Either you Fall to join your hellish pet, or you forget Crowley ever existed all memories wiped and gone

.

It was a blur of events that lead to this point him standing in front of the Metatron similar to how he had done to Gabriel, only standing next to a hole that had screeching coming from it that made goosebumps appear on his arms, a wafting smell of Sulphur

"Now Aziraphale, you have two options. You are stripped of your title and cast down or you give up Crowley and lose your memories of him forever,"

Aziraphale stood there carefully fixing his jacket,

"And this is a new coat, oh dear," he sighed with a touch of sass before looking at the other"I choose to Fall,"

The man seemed to be shocked at the Angels choice Muriel and Uriel did not seem like they were at all, Metatron watched as Aziraphale to his amazement simply stepped back spreading his wings and fell with the utmost grace he had ever seen an angel Fall with,

For the angel he felt searing amounts of pain leaving him gasping tears streamed down as only one thought entered his mind please

Crowley I know I did you wrong catch me you beautiful wily serpent

Crowley felt it, something monumental was happening and suddenly it was like he knew An Angel was falling he made himself appear near the spot they would land but whom he saw made his blood if possible run ice cold

Aziraphale

He ran diving not caring catching his angel just barely wrapping his arms around as they tumbled into the ground

"Oh Angel what happened what did you do,"

The other only could pant, trying to catch his breath Crowley studied the other his wings strange enough were brown, his once platinum blonde locks were still blonde but in a sandy way there were feathers poking out in between the strands also brown in color of what he could see of the others face he spotted feathers in patches

"I fell," he finally responded

"Well that much I can tell-"

A finger held up silenced him,

"I fell for you, " the newest demon turned around his eyes had even changed but to the most stunning Hazel Crowley had ever seen that is until his front was grabbed and he was pulled into a searing kiss in between however the serpent heard "Im so sorry" muttered repeatedly

It clicked however why this patterning seemed familiar and it made Crowley murmur

"Your alright Nightingale, I got you,"

However they'd find out later God and her ever ineffable ways had intervened Aziraphale had not in fact been turned into a Demon, but a Guardian Angel. A being never seen before a being who had the free will of Humanity yet the powers of Heaven and yet also somehow Hell

They would only discover this when nobody came for the former principality and a mysterious letter arrived explaining why, Crowley was even named as one of these beings in the note

God had given the pair Them. Their own team a new place for those who didn't quite fit in that wished to mingle and cross lines amongst the mortals. To do just acts whether they be good or bad

Gabriel causing a man to be hit by a car whom had tried forcing himself on Beelzebub for example was neither Bad nor Good as the man had been harassing zem and several other women. So one could say Gabriel just acted as the instant Karma he had accumulated.

And Beelezebub causing the injuries to end his life quickly Gabriel had no say after all it was also Karma. Zey had dealt with his abuses that night despite Gabriels attempts to kindly make the man stop. Beelezebub was a former Demon they were quick to temper, thus is the choice of freewill.

Free will lead to the current moment where Crowley and Aziraphale lazed about in the Bookshop, both of them sharing lazy kisses in between page turns,

[chim-aera]

divine rage

gods, it's always the gods, them and their shining helms of sunlight and symphonies, all their glory, all their splendor.

but it's bloody, all of it, marred by echoed screams, by silent pleas for mercy. nails raking down flesh, jaws agape crying torment to the heavens.

why did we ever choose to worship them?

blasphemy? oh I'm good at that.

sometimes I like to pretend my very existence is blasphemous. all gunsmoke mixed with gardenias. something saccharine yet sickening.

but the gods, what am I to even say about it? there's a rot, for someone everlasting, the undying ones have a festering madness.

call me Arachne, let me scream my truth as they drag me under, thrashing and clawing I will tip back my head and laugh like a Fury herself all marred maws and ink stained talons.

there is so much injustice, truly. I could name some.

Daphne, ran on fleet footed legs, swift, and seeking, no, no, no. she fled, past trees, past orchards.

Mother saved her, but was that fate, to eternally be held without movement, bark and branches instead of flesh and bone, is that truly a fate one wishes for?

it's a mercy though, yes. it was kinder then the fate she'd have met at the greedy hands of that glorious, grinning god. but still, why couldn't she have just been free?

Callisto, Io, Ganymede, Europa, Persephone, Leda, Creusa, Danaë. and many, many more. victims. all of them.

I cannot tell their stories, I cannot hear their truths from their very own lips but I can fasten my own from thread and threats, and my own bitter vengeful verbosity.

divine?

what's divine about it?

I feel so much, I am used to nothing, nothing at all.

why am I weeping for beings who may have never existed?

but the gods. oh, the gods, lately I have found far less comfort in them.

It is harder to offer prayer and penance when every story and myth is riddled with grasping, groping hands, and lecherous lustful violence.

what if were to rescind my worships?

would you strike me down where I stand?

I'm so tired but I have this fury, like a mouth full of blood stained bile, I want to bite I want to claw I want to flee.

I want to protect.

I have never been good at self preservation, but I hold empathy in my hand like a wounded, bloody dove, feathers ripped and withered, but still there.

ever persisting.

the humans looked to the heavens in hopes for guidance, for solace, we named the stars and saw patterns within them so we felt less alone. we are lonely, we are searching.

why are we here?

Is it some divine joke?

I fall from the hands of some sick bastard of a god but are my gods any better?

I feel like I'm falling, but not like Icarus, there is no sunlight, no warmth, no golden ichor staining my feathers, the wax burns and I choke on it, I choke on my screams, I choke on my savagery and my pain, and it kills me over and over and over.

oh Echidna, what fate awaits monsters like me?

but then again are we really the monsters when beasts hold thrones and shining goblets.

mortals. that's what we are.

it's cruel, irony really, generally translating to ones who die.

how fitting!

how lovely, how quaint.

oh I believe I must sound so bitter but trust me dear I am.

I am.

even Asceplius son of the golden god, his fate was brutal, met with a swift death for interrupting the order of the ichor-veined ones.

for bringing shades back to life, for saving others.

how horrible a crime.

of course he is fit to die!

humans have no place among your golden chambers!

Elysium is also a lie if it is but a forgotten fate of meandering in meadows with no recollection of who you once were, no love, no memories.

I will shun your asphodel, pitch the blossoms at Charon's feet, I will flee from those meadows you cannot take me.

you cannot touch me.

I will wither and shrink and fold into myself until I have become immortal in my own suffering my madness with make me mythical

no.

I am rambling but I could not care less.

for something that is a god, you can change fate, you can bend rules.

you are immortal, if you have so much power what are you fucking doing with it?

oh I am so, so angry.

for all of them, let me be their rage, their fury

in temples. in fields. in cages. swans with beaks like blades digging into flesh.

a bull's hoof clamped against your chest bruising your ribcage, holding you down.

a lyre and a bow and a god who never tires racing behind you like a hound on the hunt.

gods. kings. men.

It is all the same, the same fucking story, over and over.

a cruel conundrum, an pattern of suffering and greed.

I'm so sick of it!

is there no safety in the ones who are meant to keep us safe?

are there no sanctums, no heroes, no deities, that protect us anymore, did they even ever?

why must I worship, why must I watch my tongue, why must I give respect to beings I cannot even see?

I am here, and breathing, I have lived through every twist and turn, every wound, every arrow life has shot at me!

where is my divinity? where is my justice? Themis, where is my reward? or my judgment?

but call me Atalanta because I will throw back my head as my hands shift to paws, as tawny fur sets in across my pallid skin, I will throw open my jaws, gleaming and sharp toothed and I will bark out a laugh to the heavens.

you cannot judge me.

I judged myself, and at the end of things, I did it well.

but gods.

perhaps I will even cease from saying it.

the word holy sits in my mouth like rancid rot, I am no Demeter, but I will spit it out to the earth, and chase my own silvery sunset.

away.

away from hands that grasp, from arrows, and storms, and crashing tides.

I find no glory in gods.

perhaps I am just getting older, jaded, harsh.

but for once, I see understanding in the mortals, the nymphs, the naiads.

I find a strange sympathy.

I understand. but for now, I'll sit here, seething, simmering in my own fury.

perhaps that makes me a heretic, but something about this feels righteous, perhaps one day, my damnation will be my own divinity. but now, I will hold this divine rage in my palms, and I will protect, I will persist.

I am.

[atamascolily]

princess tutu re-watch, episode 18

oh hey, it's the forest from the opening credits!

and we open with Fakir having a real KNIGHTmare, so to speak

Fakir: My subconscious can go shove it.

meanwhile, Ahiru, Pike, and Lilie are all excited about Fakir's return to school but for wildly different reasons

they are interrupted by a group of avant-garde theater kids practicing mime, one of whom (who identifies as "Shrimp") instantly pegs Ahiru as "duck".

[I am impressed by how long those two girls can hold her up in mid-air, that's quite a feat of strength]

They want Mytho to dance in one of their performance, but Ahiru correctly believes this to be a bad idea and so volunteers Fakir instead

this is Fakir's CALLING, by the way, I've been saying this for a while now, but is he grateful for the opportunity? Of course not.

Neko-sensei is unexpectedly helpful, calling into question whether there is truly such a thing as "impure" love, name-dropped Odile (the Black Swan, aka the inspiration for Rue) as an example

Fakir: This script hits a little too close to home. A ghost knight? And what happened to the ending? There's a pattern emerging and I don't like it… So, uh, where did it come from?

Drama Club: No idea! We just found it one day and figured we'd put on a show! And the fact that there's an actual ghost knight running around means more publicity! What can possibly go wrong?

Fakir touches original copy and has instant war flashbacks.

Fakir: Okay, I'll do it… but I sure hope this doesn't awaken anything in me!

Drosselmeyer: Hey, Ahiru, what about those heart shards? You had ONE job…

oh THAT's why Mytho was so dismissive about Rue's chances of capturing a heart… because the Raven's whole schtick is built on the premise that no one will ever love her but the two of them (and you can only capture someone's heart if they love you enough to surrender it willingly).

cut to a stellar sequence of Fakir practicing his role for the play, A++ use of animation budget

Drama Club: This is great! It's like he was BORN to play this role or something!

Fakir finishes his routine and is disappointed to discover Ahiru ran out halfway through to run errands, lololol

The Drama Club asks him to join them permanently and Fakir should totally say yes, but instead he's having PTSD and walks out and everybody chalks it up to him being a broody Byronic hero-type.

Mytho: I love your hair, Rue. It's just like feathers, which are objectively best, and like crows, which are better.

Rue: you need to work on your pick-up lines, dear.

The two of them decide to enlist the ghost knight to fuck with Fakir.

Fakir (walking through fog just like his dream): I HAVE A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS. To the stables! *horse neighing*

Ahiru: Wait, how did I end up in this creepy forest?

Fakir: HI-YO SILVER, AWAYYYYYY!

Turns out the Headless Horseman ghost knight has a heart shard, and Fakir's plan is to fight to the death and have Tutu deal with the aftermath. Ahiru is less than thrilled with this and jumps into the battle instead, forcing Fakir to tackle her to safety.

Tutu wins by her signature finishing move: a hug.

The ghost vanishes, Mytho gets his sense of Pride back, and Tutu collapses, and returns to duck form, leaving Fakir to cradle her in his arms and cry.

meanwhile, a hooded figure steals the original copy of the script out of the storage cupboard in the drama club room and walks off

Drosselmeyer: Oh shit this is bad, and I don't have anyone I can bully into fixing this! If only my puppets didn't sacrifice themselves… It's so hard to get good help these days… nobody wants to work anymore... blah blah blah...

the episode ends before the performance, so we don't get to see what happens there, but I still think Fakir should join the drama club. It would be so good for him!!!