#listen this isn't meant to be good this is meant to get the gunk out of my brain. maybe if it read it again i'd have something good to writ

[theconstantine-moved]

what: headcanons for what: the devil devil knocked once | fic idea fando.m: d.are.de.vil c.omic who: matt, claudia (oc), elek.tra notes: for the new run of d.d, idk how i feel about it, but i am laughing at the idea of my oc claudia being like ?? but anywho, these are just rambly thoughts. before the actual 1st c*mic. -_- idk been too tired to write but i felt a need to headcanon thoughts. lol i just thought why not?

though cloud's father was not catholic before he passed, and she followed the same path as him; and later no path at all. claudia's adoptive mother is catholic and i can see cloud knowing a thing or two about catholicism because i see cloud's parents giving the dardashti children freedom to choose. so cloud knows of things, just not all things.

but anyways, cloud finds out matt's a priest through her investigating skills - cause she's a nosy ass, that's her biggest skill - after being left by matt and el.

and she's just like 👀being nosy about where they could be cause she's pretty sure they're dead but wants to make sure. but with them, it makes no sense for them to be dead after what happened, so she's like no...i'm searching. and when she finds matt as a priest, it's like haha YEAH. but what the FUCK.

she visits matt - her under an alias - so he doesn't question it. just takes the sweets she donates to the kids. she's super curious about his memory stuff, especially since she has her own memory shit to work through, but hers is less magic and more science.

but she doesn't press it, because she sees elektra through a window and she takes that as a sign to leave AND fast. seeing as she doesn't want to piss her off.

she meets up with elektra and is like "hello, you..." and elektra is like "you need to let him be" and cloud's like "you need to ...both wake up." and just basically gets a knife close to her neck and she leaves them both alone for a little while.

until, well....she doesn't....lmfao....

because she's so fucking annoying

probably should write it because it'd make more sense written but i haven't written these fools in a while. and writing priest!matt would feel like a challenge dfljlsfl but hmmmm

[witheringdove]

wondering how you ask for help when you hate yourself through and through. its not even, bad per say, i can live day by day but i don't like who i am or what i do or what i say or anything, really. other people need help more than me. there are people who sh. who want to die. i cant lie and say the thoughts dont plague me like a goddamn shadow, but ive always been too chickenshit to try.

funnily enough, i was not feeling great the other day and sat in the shower to cry. pathetic, i know. i felt like shit doing it. there's a steaknife that rests on the rim of the bathtub. the tip was chipped off somehow. the serrated edge was particularly useful for dragging hair from the drain. i left it there because it was too filthy to bring back into the kitchen. contaminated by the gunk between the curled fibers of my own hair.

i held it. while the water ran down by back. tears stinging in the crook of my eyes. my wrists are pale, unblemished. suited for a life where i wasn't made to suffer physically. privileged, soft hands.

the teeth of the knife rested on my wrists before i could catch up with reality.

did you know I work with knives? i cook often. i butcher meat, slice vegetables and sharpen my knives with incredible care. of course, sometimes i accidentally get cut. it's only natural.

this is to say,

i know how easy it could have been

the teeth are meant to chew through flesh. the ridges make for an efficient way to slice through tough, raw pieces of steak.

you have to saw back and forth. dont put your weight behind the knife, let the blade do the work. that's what it was made to do.

the teeth pressed on the skin.

...

of course i was too chickenshit to do anything.

heart in my throat, i was terrified. it almost felt like i wasnt the one doing this. that someone elses soft, pallid hands were wrapped around the black hilt. that i was a victim in all this; that i wasn't the one to blame.

then i dried myself.

ate dinner.

went to bed.

because nothing happened. hovering at the edge of cliff without leaping off of it hardly counts as death by falling, doesnt it?

still.

it haunts me.

i know i hate myself. i live with that knowledge in my chest. i swallow it everytime im sat down and my family looks at me with pity in their eyes-- my eyes. i know i should say something. see someone.

but the thing about this -- this weight -- is that its never serious enough to waste everyone's time. it'll sit on my shoulders until i can no longer bear it, then i break, fall down, but it clings to my skin, it sits in my chest, it stares at me through the mirror, it never leaves me. but still, ive never officially done anything.

i dont know. i just... dont know.

sometimes it feels like im trapped. because i cant say this to anyone i know in real life. forget my family, my friends -- either they dont believe me or try to get me to see someone who'll only tell me that its not that serious, because in truth, it probably isn't. and then ill just be complaining. then ill drive people away because i cant see myself in a good light. if i try something, then ill only make them worry. ill cause them undue stress and hate myself even more.

there have been times my cover has slipped -- once, maybe twice. someone i love will stop me and ask if im okay. how do i tell them i hate myself? how do i voice any of this? how do i break my trust with them, stress them out, make them worried or worse, make them doubt me? i always answer in the same way because it just too much. i always freeze up. i always deny. i always run from it. i cant... its like i cant admit it outloud. i just write in these stupid fucking posts because there's no where else for these thoughts to go. no one to listen. no one to give a shit.

its the loneliest i ever feel.

this, and when i sit at the floor of my bathtub, curtain of hot water falling over me, knife in hand.

[honeydewmuses-a]

@not-bcring said: Kazuichi is still getting used to having so much food around. It’s ridiculous how well-stocked the island is. The supermarket, the hotel, the restaurant— Everywhere he looks, there’s an abundance of exotic and local treats to try. Almost makes a guy forget what it’s like to gnaw on a piece of jerky because you want to make it last longer… Almost. It’s this instinctive gratitude that causes Kazuichi to look dumbfounded as some of his peers toss leftovers into the trash, having piled their plates high with too much for them to handle. But what really knocks him back is overhearing one mention how they hated that ‘gross gunk’ they decided to try, sliding it into the garbage after a taste without a second thought. ❝ Damn… If I tried to pull something like that, my dad would beat the crap outta me. ❞ Not that his dad is even here, but he still finds himself following certain rules as if being watched. Kazuichi comments with wide-eyed awe at such flippant behavior, not paying much attention to who’s around to hear him. It’s not like it matters. People either don’t listen to what he’s saying— unless he’s purposely pestering them —or they laugh off whatever comment he makes, whether or not he meant for it to be funny. Shrugging, he adds in an unconcerned tone, already moving past the throwaway comment, same as always, ❝ It’d serve me right for being picky. ❞ — ( *shoves a lad who mentions stuff like that and then expects to just Move On* you know Why )

Gundham is not making a point of listening to Kazuichi. In fact, he's not really listening to anyone, but the noise of the restaurant overwhelms him if he doesn't focus on picking out individual words through the chatter. Yet another reason he prefers the company of animals. Even their noise is far less a blur of sound and stress than that of a group of humans.

Regardless, he has to eat, so he sits and listens to whatever he can process. And there's Kazuichi's voice, so casually mentioning the reprehensible actions of his father, actions that stir up unpleasant memories deep in Gundham's core.

"If you bring another fucking animal into this house I'm gonna get the gun instead of a cardboard box, d'you hear?"

"Fuckin' hell, Gundham, next time I catch you slouching at church I'm gonna beat your scrawny ass all the way to Hell."

"I never asked for kids, babe! And I especially never asked for a creepy little moron who isn't good for anything but sitting in the backyard watching the fucking chipmunks get it on! Either he's a sociopath or he's a pervert, and I don't fuckin' want him!"

Gundham still remembers what it feels like to be yelled at, to be hit, to be treated like the accursed being he is, but he can hardly blame his father. No, that man was a demon, doing what demons do best: spreading Hell on Earth. And Gundham is his progeny, bred to do harm, untouchable and unlovable. But Kazuichi... as annoying and strange as he may be, Gundham never anticipated him being the offspring of a demon as well.

He walks briskly over, setting his hand firmly down on Kazuichi's shoulder.

"Greetings, mortal.

"It is just as I suspected.... I can touch you without poison flooding your veins. Indeed, you are made in Hell's own image, and curses are set in your very bones.

"I knew not of your lineage until I heard you speak just now of your father. Though he was surely not so magnificent a demon as mine, I understand that he was a wretched and sinful creature. Am I incorrect? Or shall we begin the trials and rituals necessary to welcome you to the Tanaka empire?"