#ty char!!!

[shadowglens]

would like to see the christmas fic 😌🎄

wip title meme

They stumble from the train carriage a few hours later into the pouring rain.

Lilah rushes for the stairs, Alistair hot on her heels and cursing into the soaked darkness. The few lights at the station reflect in the quickly forming puddles in the concrete, their reflections distorted figures of orange and yellow.

A shadow appears at the bottom of the stairs. His blonde hair is plastered to his scalp, shirt ruined, but he is smiling, and Lilah can’t help but do the same.

“Sister,” he shouts, arms hurrying her and Alistair closer until all three of them are huddled under the overhand that leads out into the carpark. Lilah crushed Fenarel against her chest; she feels his hands running back and forward against the dark fabric of her singlet. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Sorry for not bringing the weather with us,” Alistair grumbles, but he’s smiling too.

That draws a laugh out of Fenarel, barely audible over the growing downpour. Lilah’s chest beams at the sight, at the two of them, at their warmth around her.

Eventually they make it to the car, huddled against each other like drowned rats, and Fenarel takes the trip twice as slow as usual with the rain and the never-ending conversation, and Alistair is all-but doubled over in the excuse of a back seat with their bags stuffed in his lap, and Lilah smiles out the window at the familiar roads and houses and smell of the ocean that hangs heavy in the storm-muddled night air. A bolt of lightning cracks in the distance, the horizon illuminated in blinding white light, and she feels herself breathe at the whirlwind familiarity of it all.

[hearteyespierce]

[sojutrait]

week in the life of the most interesting girl in the world

[harbingersecho]

Let us drink till the downfall of heaven Let us drink till the night has transformed into day Let us relish in dreams of forever Let us drink and die and drink again

[petrichorium]

also on my hands and knees dying to know about ur divorce (and perhaps reconciliation maybe…) with sir croc

Firstly I wanna say croc is THE reason for the divorced tier I had everyone in the husband/fiance/bf (and cusp + complicated) tiers I had the list downloaded and then I looked at croc in the husband tier and I was like no. Divorced………

Anyway I think you’re a marriage of convenience at first. Crocodile needs a wife to look more like An Upstanding Citizen Ready To Settle Down for his plans in Alabasta, you need the stability and rapport for your own reasons. A deal was struck (including a nice shiny prenup and an easy way out for both of you), the wedding goes off without a hitch, and now you’re cohabitating.

You’re all but a stranger, truthfully, though he’ll admit you were one of the most beautiful brides he’s seen walking down the aisle. And he finds your presence in his home less distracting than expected—you stay out of his way mostly, though the pair of you eat meals together and sleep in the same bed and you are always expected to be on his arm for formal occasions. You’re more than decent company, slowly warming to him and growing more open; willing to give advice on occasion, even, and it’s good advice he’s prone to heeding.

Which is why he’s blindsided when you drop the papers on his desk. There’s little he can do—they were practically already signed before the wedding, and in the surprise he can’t compose himself enough to think up a proper protest. All he can do is fold his hands together as you turn to leave, clear his throat, and call out, “Might I ask why?”

You shrug. It almost seems sad. “I want something more. You’re a very busy man, I don’t think you can give that to me.”

And those words haunt him, all the more because every trace of you is gone in the span of a few days. He lays in his bed, alone, pondering how much you truly lived in his home and how much he truly had to give you. He thought he made sure you wanted for nothing—but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. And if he’d known you���d be gone in the span of a few years…

In hindsight perhaps he’d been a bit distant. His work took up the vast majority of his time. All those meals were more often than not spent in silence, with Crocodile leaving long before you finished your food; you were often asleep before he came to bed, still slumbering when he woke; he’d arrive to those formal events with you on his arm and part ways almost immediately, drawn to meet with some politician or another and leaving you on your own.

The bed feels empty.

And then he gets a report about Nefertari Vivi. It all goes downhill from there. The empire he spent years building crumbles beneath his feet, toppled by that godforsaken princess and the upstart pirate with a straw hat. And as he’s carted off to Impel Down… he still thinks of you.

It’s perhaps a good thing that you left when you did. In a certain sense it saved you, severing ties with him when you did. But foolishly he wonders about the timing—wonders if it would have happened at all if you’d stayed. Logically he knows the rationale is anything but sound.

Instinctively… whenever he gets out, whatever he intends to do next, he thinks he needs you at his side again.

So when the break-out happens, and Crocodile is given a freedom he’d nearly given up on, the first thing he does is begin to track you down.

It takes more than he thought it would. His web of informants isn’t half of what it once was, and his name no longer pulls as much weight, forced to remain in the shadows as he now is. You, meanwhile, catch onto the mystery person trying to keep tabs on you far too quickly for his liking—flighty thing, never quite setting down roots, quick to flee at the first sign of danger. A trait that has only seemed to worsen in his absence, it seems.

But it’s only a matter of time. He’s Sir Crocodile after all, back from banishment to the depths of the ocean, sure to see the sun again. His men close in on you within a year as he builds up his numbers again, but Crocodile ensures he’s the first to make contact.

He intends to show you immediately how things will be different this time.

You’ve made temporary home on a quaint little island, sharing a house with a little old granny who lets him in eagerly when he presents a bouquet and says it’s for you. There he waits, served tea and biscuits that he doesn’t taste.

And then the door opens. You pause when you see him, eyes wide—donning a breezy sundress you’d never have worn for him in Alabasta, your hair wind-tousled so unlike the meticulous updos he always saw you in, with a basket of produce under arm—and the sight of you has his chest unwinding. It’s like he can breathe again.

Not that he had any intentions to before, but the smell of your familiar perfume steels his resolve to never let you disappear again.

[zacksnydered]

HENRY CAVILL as GERALT OF RIVIA Netflix’s The Witcher ‧ Unbound

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

[chocostrwberry]

So time to ask about my side-character favs. Clearly Chloé is still richie-brat, but we have Queen Bee. So What flavor of her do we have? Also, how is my best doggo Sabrina doing?

ALR SO-

Chloe does start off as a Richie-brat, but overtime she becomes more sympathetic. There are multiple examples in the AU where she shows she has a heart;

She saves Sabrina during an akuma attack in her hotel

She’s consistently there for Adrien and does things in his best interests

She recognizes Marinette’s kindness

She semi-comforts Marinette ONCE after a Luka misunderstanding

She compliments and tries to calm an akumatized Sabrina

Backs Marinette in her accusations and suspicions against Lila

Acknowledged Marinette’s talents in fashion design

She actively tries to change her behavior towards others after being given the bee miraculous

And more!!

Once Marinette and Adrien start dating, they become official “frenemies”! Marinette doesn’t ever really get over Chloe’s ego, and Chloe still thinks that Adrien can do better but is willing to respect his wishes if it means he’ll be happy.

Queen Bee isn’t permanent in my AU, but she’s very dramatic and showy, like she’ll do flips in the air like an aerial dancer for the news cameras, strike poses and does lots of things for attention. She loves the spotlight so Ladybug is a bit salty when she is getting all the attention.

It’s not like she’s a bad partner, but her ego does get in the way of actually taking down the akuma, and she doesn’t take orders very well, especially if it doesn’t end in her being the one to save the day.

AND FOR SABRINA:

Sabrina does have a mean girl streak, like Chloe. She’ll aid her in her bullying and use her phone to cyberbully. She is the top ballerina at a prestigious dance school as well. So even though she’s much quieter than Chloe, the girls in her class know her to be perfect but condescending. She is also compliant/encouraged Chloe in her bullying and bad behavior (doing her bidding, offering ways on how to bully, etc.) and definitely entices gossip and drama for her own amusement, or for Chloe’s benefit. But she also has a heart too;

she cares about Chloe deeply, is always there for her when no one else is, and

is able to interpret Chloe’s emotions to other people when Chloe can’t do it accurately herself

Didn’t run away from an akumatized Chloe and instead insisted on helping her

Skipped school to stay with Chloe after a traumatizing birthday party

Recognizes when things REALLY goes too far and feel guilty about it, maybe even apologizing in her own stuck-up way.

Sabrina is aware that she doesn’t have a good relationship with her mom (Only Adrien knows the terrible details), but she’s Chloe’s best friend for a reason.

[arcanegifs]

before i go to sleep please be reminded that i am only one person behind this blog and arcanescreencaps. i am also a human being with feelings too. i know my sideblog isn't perfect either, but i try. this is a fan-run blog, and i do this for free, for the love of the show. so all i ask is to please be nice under tags/reblogs/comments! thank you :)))

[hinamie]

crying @ my first vs most recent megu these r not the same person heLP

[instarsandcrime]

Pride Is A Fickle Thing

Well...at least it's not just Lu/ci/fer this time?

@onetrickponi had some great prompts to offer and, since she said she might be writing them, I decided to change up a certain one a little so it turned out the same but also different! Can be read as Ra//dio//App//le or just platonic fluff! Enjoy! ❤️

Prompt: Lu/ci/fer heals A/la/stor, though it takes a great deal of expended effort on his part and it turns out both of them hate looking weak in front of other people.

---

"Hp'shhzzzt!" A sharp, staticky sneeze slipped through a crack in the shadows.

Alastor wheezed as he grabbed yet another handkerchief from his collection, attempting in vain to blow away the clinging itch that stuck to him for the entire meeting. But he couldn't help it. Every single twitch of the finger, every flick of the ear, every time he even bothered to move his holy wound its poison would snake through his ribs and up to his aching head. And when it did the reaction got worse. And when the reaction got worse he couldn't help but...c-couldn't...help but…but snehhh--

"Et'chhht! TSH'ZZZZHHEW! Nnghh..." The overlord muttered out a string of curses as another wave of pain shot through him, grasping a pillar before he could double over and collapse.

“Oof, ouch! That one sounded rough." An irritatingly cheery voice chirped from nowhere in particular.

"Oh do be qui-quieehhh...Heh! Heh’eshhh't! Het'chhhzzz't!" Pressing a well-used cloth up to reddened nostrils, Alastor hurriedly straightened himself, discreetly rubbing the swarm of feathers he felt as far back as it could go.

"Bless y-- er, no, wait. That's not appropriate for someone like you, is it?" And with a golden puff of smoke he finally appeared. The six winged thorn in his side. “Fuck off? Damn you? Curse you, maybe? Mmmn no, I think you’ve already got that handled.”

"Lucifer." Alastor's ear flicked in annoyance, "What can I do for you m-my unh-huhh-holy fellow? Off t-to find some...s-some...snff! Suhh-someone to pestehhhHET'ZSCHHHH! Ghhh..."

The fallen angel winced as shrill feedback pierced the air. "Lookin' a bit sneezy there, bud. I guess even the most powerful overlords catch colds. Just goes to show that somewhere deep, deep, deeeeep down, you still have a mortal soul."

The Radio Demon chuckled, smile splitting despite the feverish beads of sweat that rolled down his neck. "On the contrary! Why, I'm the guardian angel of the Hazbin Hotel! I'm sure Charlie would agree."

Lucifer twisted the cane in his palms. “Ohoh! That definitely sounds like my little girl!”

"Agreed! She is truly a marvel. Exiling all doubts with a cheerful smile!"

"And when the hotel gets big enough, who knows? Maybe she won’t even need you anymore! She can take your place all on her own-- without the tacky bellhop suit, of course."

"Hah! Radio never truly goes out of style. Unlike...u-unlike the...the..."

"Speechless already?"

"A trifuhhh…huh! T-trifling matter, My Liege. I'm simply allergihhh...allergic to...to your bullshhHHT’SHHHhhoo...Huh'zschhh!"

"Impressive comeback. You should really--"

"'Hup’KZSSHHHT! HT'SHHH'OOooo...guhh…snff!" Worry bloomed on Lucifer’s face when his rival flashed a sliver of a wince. And as quick as it grew, Alastor rushed to crush the blossom with the wave of a hand. “Such compassion! I was wonderihh…wondering when the sin of pride would lower himself to such a weak emotion–”

“Let me see it.” 

“Pardon?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His patient opened his mouth, “Nope, wait, don’t answer that. Just let me see the wound.”

“Hah! How absurd! Me? Get hurt?” The Radio Demon’s voice crackled with laughter, an unseen audience following suit. “Has our poor king gone senile in his old age?”

“I–! You–!” Lucifer took a deep breath, wisps of smoke billowing from his nose. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

“Okay.”

Despite his eternal grin, Alastor’s feverish eyes blinked back confusion. “...O. Okay?”

“Okay.” The king deadpanned, hopping back a few steps. “You like making deals, right?”

“I do have other hobbies, you know.”

“Nice. I don’t care. Walk to me without sneezing once. I know you can hide the pain, but if you think holy poison will just go away, then you must either be the most stubborn man in the nine rings, or the biggest dumbass.” He paused. “Or both. If you lose, I heal you and you never have to think about Adam and his gaudy lute axe again. If you win, let’s just say that in a few more days, no one in Hell will hear another broadcast from The Radio Demon again.”

A suffocating silence fell over the two, with only the small ambience of old timey cigarette advertisements and Ella Fitzgerald to keep them company. Until finally obsidian claws drummed against the tip of a microphone.

 “...Fine.” Alastor said simply.

“Fine.” Lucifer spat back.

“A simple task, really.”

“Then stop stalling and do it, coward.” Satan flashed his pearly fangs.

A scarlet eye twitched. His opponent took a tentative step forward and the itch followed suit, fighting the urge to rub a knuckle against it.

“Having trouble there?”

“I can assure you I'm per…p-perfectly fihh-fide.” Another step. The growing tickle burned from the bridge to the tip.

“Fihhh-fidt as a fidd-fiddle.”

Almost halfway. Hold it in, hold it in.

“I'b dot as weak as y-yuhhh…you thidk…”

Through irritated tears, slit pupils studied him closely. “Uh-huh. Still don’t believe you.”

Temper beginning to flare as badly as his wound, the overlord opened his mouth to retort. But his voice was completely stolen as the itch teased the rim of his nostrils. It built and built until–

Oh, fuck it.

“Heh'SHHHHZT! Ihh-hih-Hp'SCHHH! ‘TSCHHHH'hhooo…nhhh…” The ground beneath him whirled and tilted like a merry-go-round and he was falling, falling, falling– only to be caught and dragged off the ride with unnervingly gentle hands.

“I've got you.” Lucifer muttered.

“What’s goi’g od? Why are you doi’g this?” The Radio Demon demanded as he was lifted, a body barely up to his chest not acknowledging his weight.

“Because lucky for you, I used to be a saint.” Wait…when did they get to his bathroom? When was he suddenly draped against the wall?

“You hate me." For some reason Alastor couldn’t control his shaking voice, losing the strength to fight. He sounded so disgustingly fragile. He hated it. He hated this. He hated. He. Hated.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, shut up and let me save you already!” Lucifer swore, clicking the locks in place with the snap of his fingers. Alastor flinched when freezing hands pressed against a soaked through dress shirt and– oh.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, no shit!” A pure light became a ripple. Then a swirl. Then a bubble. It filled every space imaginable, bathing the pair in its warm blanket. Faintly, Alastor tasted a hint of jambalaya on his tongue. And like a needle and thread to a spilled over poppet, The wound began to close.

Unfortunately, despite the subsiding agony, the holy light that caught his patient's eye did not agree with him. Wait. If angelic power hurt a demon, why was he being healed with–

“H-hhh!” Alastor’s breath hitched.

“Seriously? Now? I’m trying to work here.” Lucifer growled, almost fumbling the surgery when his concentration nearly broke. Through the haze, the overlord could glimpse familiar beads of sweat that trickled down the side of the fallen angel’s neck. 

“H-hhh…c-cad’t…h-hhhhelp it…” Between hiccuping breaths and stuttering speech, somewhere along the way a finger was pressed underneath his fluttering nostrils.

“I swear to my fucking Father.” Lucifer huffed out, blinking blearily as he continued his surgery one-handed. And before the wound closed, Alastor couldn’t help but dread at the way Lucifer’s eyelids drooped further and further, teetering between exhaustion and pain.

With two hands the healing process would have taken two minutes.

With one it took two hours. Or at least, the amount of hands was Lucifer’s excuse.

Alastor would have been more impressed if not for the fact that he was not impressed, because it was a ridiculous emotion to have for Lucifer of all beings. So instead, the next day, he chose to focus on what couldn’t heal right away.

“Het’schhzz!” Alastor pitched into his handkerchief, and Charlie quickly caught his breakfast plate before she could drop it.

“Bless you!” She breathed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Well. At least it wasn’t every five seconds.

“Thank you, my dear. Ironic as it may be.” Alastor chuckled, moving to pick up his utensils. He scanned the dining table to take in the morning rush. Angel Dust was gabbing away next to Husker, silently snatching food off his plate with his lower pair of arms. Vaggie was taking a sharpening stone to her spear between bites of food, softening when her princess veered the corner to give a quick peck on the lips. Sir Pentious was waving his spindly hands about, excitedly explaining the inner workings of his ‘flying machine’ to Niffty, who was absolutely more interested in the bug crawling on his top hat.

Overall a peaceful morning. Too peaceful. It unsettled him that there was one piece missing–

Ah. Out of the corner of his eye a small, white rat slowly crawled across the carpet. One with chubby, cherub cheeks. Fur mussed. Bags under its button eyes. A golden flush dotting his face, glowing like a firefly. And then suddenly everything clicked.

The lack of a wound or poison, but still feeling a fading tickle. The shared symptoms between them. Lucifer hadn’t just been exhausted that night. He hadn’t just healed him. Oh no, the bastard just had to take the holy poison for himself knowing that a half-holy body would survive. Though it was obvious he was equally– oh, what was that saying Rosie was kind enough to teach him– ‘going through it’. The fact that he would even risk inhaling a drop for someone he hated so much…

Hm.

Well, Alastor decided to himself, It would be remiss of him to not repay the favor. So with all the mercy of a heartless overlord, he kicked the stupid rat as far as it could go. With a startled squeak and a puff of smoke, the King of Hell tumbled across the floor. The dining room went silent for a moment, all eyes on the sudden appearance of Lucifer Morningstar lying on his back– disheveled, dazed, and stone still.

“Oh my gosh, dad!” Charlie yelped as her father pushed himself upright– moving stiffly, Alastor noted. “I didn’t see you come in…to…” As she helped him stand, her voice trailed off. “Are you okay?”

“I second that, fer the record.” Angel Dust waved a fork nonchalantly in the air, “Kingy’s always an early riser. What gives?”

“Worrywarts, aren’t they?” Lucifer jolted as Alastor popped up beside him with a screeching static, suddenly inches apart. His smirk widened as he tilted his head with a little, high pitched ‘hm!’ “I must say, I can’t help but feel the same. Your regal features look a bit. Oh, what’s the word?” He motions to his own face with a dramatic flourish. “Off-color.”

Lucifer’s glare broke when he put a hand up to his cheek. Then another, eyes growing wide as teacup saucers. It didn’t help when embarrassment overtook his feverish blush, brightening with the panic. “H-hah!” He chuckled nervously, summoning his top hat to tug the brim over his face. “W-wouldja look at that? Guess I fell asleep at the ol’ workshop again and I ran my power a little too– …t-too hot…” He sniffed sharply, rubbing at his nose.

“How uncouth.” Alastor circled the man like a ravenous beast. “Quite unlike yourself to be in such a state. Maybe you should be a little more honest. I can even give you a push.”

“Wh-whhhat are you–”

With a single poke of his cane Lucifer stumbled, grimacing in pain. And it only took one poke for that short-lived charade to fall apart.

“H-hehhh! No, ndo dabbit keeb idt togehh…together…”

“Your Majesty? Are you…?” Vaggie sat straighter, brow furrowed.

“Oof! That don’t look right.” Angel winced.

“Mhm.” Husk hummed into his mug of whisky.

“Oh my. The ultimate bad boy needs to be cleaned!” Niffty gasped.

“Poor thing.” Sir Pentious’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Dad?” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. Then jumped back with a squeak as the single touch sparked the powder keg.

“Hit’schh!” Lucifer bent at the waist, merciless fit wracking an already exhausted body. “It’schh! It’shieww! Hit’SCHIEW! Hnt’SHIEW! HET’SCHH! ‘TSHH! TCHH! Hit’SCHH’HIEW! H-hihhh…hih! Hih– HITSCHHHH’HIEW!”

The room went silent. Angel Dust whistled lowly.

“My goodness, bless you!” Alastor gaped, every movement an exaggerated performance.

“Y-you did thahhh– thadt od purpose you sohd of ahhh– hah-HATSCHHHHIEW!” The fallen king pitched forward again. When he finally surfaced he was staggering, holding his aching head. “S’rry…’bout thadt.”

Before Charlie could run to catch him Alastor tutted, summoning his shadow to steady his rival, bending its lanky limb over his forehead. “My my, you sound awful! Simply dreadful! Overworked, perhaps? Or…oh, it couldn’t be! Is the King of Hell ill?”

“Oh shudt up Alasdtor– snff! I’b dot sigk! Idt’s jus’dt–”

“Allergies?” Husk deadpanned, expression completely unimpressed.

“Allergies!” Lucifer blurted, “Nodthin’ do worry your head over. So ihhh–...hih! hit’TSCHIU! HET’CHHHIEWW! Nghh, jus’dt ledt be–”

Charlie’s grip tightened, other hand reaching for a napkin. “Don’t run! Please?”

The King of Hell froze. He couldn’t help it. He was completely powerless when it came to his little girl. His flush started to hem the edges of silverware and dusted the windows, and he decided to look anywhere but at Charlie, distracting himself with a mucky nose blow into the makeshift tissue.

“I…I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I feel a bit dizzy, anyway.” He chuckled, trying to pretend like every word didn’t painfully scrape at his chest. But Charlie smiled brightly, and she guided him to a chair Vaggie had already pulled out for him. Stepping back to wave her hands. Go on!

Lucifer blinked back shock when the room watched, silent with bated breath. “Oh– snff! Oh, well. Um. It’s not an emergency but. But I may be thirsty–”

Zipping back and forth, Niffty slid a cup of water by his side.

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Lucifer smiled bashfully. 

The silenced thickened, group looking on expectantly. 

“...More?!”

“More.” Charlie nodded, crossing her arms. Awestruck, the hermit crumbled as his closest residents and friends fussed and fretted. All the while Alastor sat comfortably in his chair and sipped his tea, humming to the tune of a new morning.

The perfectly chaotic puzzle was complete. Just the way he liked it.

[lavender-0-menace]

it’s always “oh we need more complex female characters!” okay?? y’all couldn’t handle any of the atla women without immediately reducing them to a one note stereotype

[kithtaehyung]

I heard you are up for character ask? Can I ask about Minted Yoongi?

If yes then I wanna know what were you (Yoongi) thinking when y/n went inside elevator to leave you ? And what will you do if y/n tries to leave you again ?

Yoongi (reads): If she didn't go for it at least once, I would've been shocked. (looks up) Anyone that wouldn't try is a big tell.

Yoongi (pauses): We'll see what happens now.

[yuttikkele]

please tell me more about gen z lotf au 🙏🙏

OFCCC!! i wrote a lot more about this than i thought i could, and i feel like i could keep going but i do wish to go to sleep! ty for the ask! (there was also an anon ask with this question, idk if it was you, but i'm just gonna answer this one lol)

the choir boys all know each other irl (obvi they still have choir together). everyone lives roughly in the same vicinity, but no one knows that.

they all met online during the pandemic. possibly through video games, twitter, or tiktok

how did this ragtag group of people all become friends? idk fortnite probably

i don't know much about fortnite, but it seems like it would start some friendships and/or rivalries. maybe minecraft or roblox too.

how they met and became friends is hazy, like how the beta kids became friends in homestuck. point is: they're all friends. pretty much.

some boys are closer friends than others, but they're all mutuals. they're all in like the same community. what community? that is a good question i should probably think of an answer

piggy uses the nickname people bullied him with as his online name. he gets cyberbullied and has ended up on many a cringe account, but it doesn't really bother him anymore. he likes to spread information, but he was a little self-righteous about it before he quit twitter. now he argues with people on instagram. piggy's also a redditor.

ralph usually just watches other people's content, but sometimes he'll post something and it'll get pretty popular because he's ralph and being well-liked is an innate part of his character. ralph does prefer to go out and do stuff than being online all the time.

simon is chronically online. being shy, he gravitated towards the internet. he's definitely a fandom girlie and has a tumblr (hi tumblr). he spreads positivity on the internet all the time. he's one of the good ones fr. i do hc simon as a Christian, so he does spread the Word a lot as an lgbtq affirming Christian dude

jack doesn't spend too much time on the internet. he also isn't allowed a lot of these medias by his parents, so that may have something to do with it. he does get upset when his posts don't get as many likes as ralph's

roger ragebaits and leaves hate comments all the time, but he has moments where he's nice. maurice memer obviously. sam and eric are the voros twins. i don't have too many thoughts about these guys just yet

they voice chat and sometimes video call

meeting each other irl for the first time led to the utter disgust at ralph's blindness in the fashion department

ok onto them reading lord of the flies cause i think this is such a funny concept

they all miraculously start reading lord of the flies as a class assignment at the same time

they all tell each other this and they're all like "loooool that's crazy we're all reading the same book at the same time"

i saw someone on my last post ab this say exactly what im about to say. it is truly the only way to go with this.

everyone's all "oh haha ralph's got the name of the first character AND he's blonde!" "piggy has the same name as peter's online name! haha how sill-" "WHY IS MY FULL LEGAL NAME IN THIS BOOK???"

the last person is jack btw if you couldn't tell

the exact names and character descriptions matching up a little too well with the boys startles them, but they still joke about it A LOT.

i mean, think about it, if you were forced to read this book in class and you find out you and your friends are basically the main characters, you would NOT stop cracking jokes about it.

"'ugly without silliness.' wow jack, william golding really DID put you in his story!"

they do start to get a little more freaked out when, yk, stuff starts going down in the book and they have to analyze it.

piggy's eventually like "OK we, or at least i, have got to figure this out." and he goes and does some research.

aaaaand that is all i can tell you for now :))

i do headcanon a lot of the boys as queer, but my hcs of them as gen z-ers do differ a little from my hcs of them as gen silencers.

piggy is a strict ally, his aunt is an ally, allies all around, until he realizes he is not so straight as he seems and is not really just an ally. bisexual

ralph knows nothing about the sexuality and gender biz he just does what feels right. he's pretty much demisexual/romantic tho.

simon is a gay dude. he is gnc and on the trans spectrum somewhere

jack is the only one using queer slurs, everyone gets onto him for it. he's gay, but he doesn't know it/won't accept it (because everyone in his life is HOMOPHOBIC!!!). when he does finally accept it, he is still using those slurs as slurs he is not reclaiming them.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

guys i tied up my (very platonic) friend today for funsies because i've been experimenting with my own little rope designs and GOD it was hot i'm having a proper crisis

[petrichorium]

pluvi begging you to expand on gojo not wanting what happened to his mother to happen to you 🙏

warnings: it’s all a dream so nothing is real aside from the flashback stuff but pregnancy as horror, (sewing) needles, implied gore/eye trauma, implied child harm, gojo is messed up yo!!! and its bc of his mama!!!

he dreams about her.

it’s an odd thing, really. gojo isn’t much of a dreamer—not much of a sleeper, all things considered, but it’s difficult not to give in when you drag him to bed and curl up in his arms. the soft rise and fall of your chest, the steady thump of your heart, the sound of your breath; it soothes him into slumber.

and he dreams about her. she was always young. he’s older now than she ever got to be. frail, thin; borderline skeletal, robes hanging from her body like webbing. she sits in a chair facing a window, swathed in moonlight, the silver of her embroidery needle glinting with each stab. her face is veiled. her stomach is swollen with child.

she doesn’t turn to him, but she beckons without noise. his feet take him easily to her, and he kneels at her side as she sets aside the embroidery hoop to let him place his head on her knees.

her hand is cold as it threads through his hair. it’s gentle, at first. then harsher a moment later. she grips firm, tugs him up by those electric white threads, stares down at him through all that elaborate lace.

he imagines she’s weeping beneath it. his mother never wept before him, but she was pretty in the aftermath, eyes puffy and pink and shining. they were a cold kind of loving when they regarded him. she must have been beautiful once, elegant and lithe and willowy, cruel like the heartless sea and sharp like a brilliant diamond, but whatever was there is long gone. he thinks all sons must empty their mothers, bleed them dry from within, because his was always a shell.

she trails her hand down the side of his face, and he turns into the palm and closes his eyes, and she is silent as she sets down her embroidery to lift her veil. she is silent and hollow and eidolic as her fingers brush down his jaw and tilt his head up to look at her.

but it’s your face that he sees when he opens his eyes.

it’s your hand against his cheek, your eyes pink and puffy and pretty, your stomach bulging by his own doing. it’s your fingers that pluck up the needle, still attached to a thread of brilliant cerulean, and raise it to his eye.

his mother never was able to pierce him with that needle. she stopped herself, each and every time, dropping it and tugging him close in shame. she never doted, never was kind, but she never did manage to harm him.

you do. he lets you. it’s only fair. whatever thing is in your stomach can’t be human—whether god or demon what does it matter, at the end of the day—and didn’t he put it in you himself? if his mother never got the satisfaction of spilling his blood, shouldn’t you?

but he wakes just as the tip pierces his iris, and you hold him in your lap, eyes wide with concern and not puffy from weeping, and you hold no child within you. your hands thread through his hair and they’re warm, your lips plush when you bend to press a kiss to his brow.

he turns inward to press his face into your (empty, blissfully vacant) abdomen. the wetness he leaves there, falling from his so very coveted eyes, is colorless.

he thinks it ought to be brilliant crimson.