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narcjsistx · 2 months

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Hiii😋. I had this small idea of maybe an insecure Izana x gf reader. Maybe he is doubting her love all not knowing she is extremely touchstarved and would practically do anything for him. He is her first boyfriend and all and she aint gonna let him go by the long run. Already has a life planned with him in head.

Got inspired by a tiktok audio 😭. Heres a little scenario..

Izana: Tries to break up with her because thinks she deserves someone better.

Everyone pauses as he says the words.

Y/n: Pauses midway as she was about to drag him out for their date. She looks at him wide eyed, her smile faltered a bit before returning back. What?...

Izana: You and me are over!

Y/n: Izana, did i do something wrong....?

Izana: I dont want to be with you anymore. You and me are over!

Y/n: ...You and me will never be over!!. Pulls out a gun and points it at him.

Tenjiku just watching it happen. Izana just stares bamboozled.

Y/n: You hear me. you my man!! And till death do us part. Looks at him now frowning , the soft aura around her gone.

Izana: We aren't even married- Yet

Y/n: You my what !!?. She interrupted him and points gun at him.

Izana: Im your man...

Y/n: Until when!!?

Izana: Till death do us part...whispers quietly.

Y/n: Puts the gun away and gentle cuddly aura comes back. Izana lets go on our date now. And Reminder, im never letting you go, i love you and i dont plan on stopping.

Izana just trying to process what happened.

GUYS HELP, out of curiosity I started wind breaker (tokyo revengers always superior without a doubt) and I strangely liked it to the point of developing a small obsession for Suo... I was even thinking of opening requests to the anime characters too. Anyway, thanks for the request!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

— Where do you think you're going?

Izana sat on the park bench, hands in his jacket pockets as he stared hard at the ground beneath him. The sun was setting, turning the sky orange and pink. The autumn leaves fluttered lightly around him, and the noise of the city in the distance was muffled by the soft rustle of dry leaves under his feet. Despite the beauty of the moment, his heart was heavy, gripped by thoughts that he couldn't shake. He had always had a strong personality since he was a child, however, lately he had been feeling a little weak. This annoyed him

He was 18, but he felt like a scared child faced with something too big for him. He had spent the last few weeks reflecting on his relationship with Y/n, a girl of only 16 who seemed to have everything under control when it came to the two of them. She was confident, determined, and loved him with a passion he couldn't quite understand. When he first met her, he was struck by her energy and infectious laugh. She was like a ray of sunshine in his life, a light that illuminated every dark corner of his heart. But the more time passed, the more Izana felt overwhelmed by that feeling. He couldn't shake the idea that, sooner or later, he would get tired of her, that their story would end in an emotional catastrophe

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't immediately notice Y/n approaching. She walked as light as a ghost, her footsteps almost imperceptible on the gravel path. When she finally saw him, sitting there, still as a statue, her heart filled with joy. It must be said that the girl also had a rather particular behavior: she had just come out of a toxic relationship when she met Izana, and the more the two became fond of each other, the more her crush turned into an suffocating obsession

"Izana!" she called softly, sitting next to him. He felt a slight shiver run down his spine at the sound of her voice. She was so sweet, so confident. How could she be so sure of them when he constantly felt on the edge of a precipice?. Y/n watched him carefully, immediately sensing that something was wrong. She had learned to read every little nuance of his expressions, every little change in his tone of voice. She loved him so much that every turmoil he had became hers too

"Everything is fine?" she asked, moving closer to him and intertwining her fingers with his. Izana looked down at their joined hands: hers were larger, robust, while her fingers were thin and delicate "Are you already thinking about our future children? One will be called Yukiko, I warn you" says the girl giggling, resting her head on her boyfriend's shoulder "Yeah, everything's fine" he lied, knowing she wouldn't believe it for a second

“Izana, you don't have to lie to me” Y/n said, her tone firmer "If there's anything bothering you, you can tell me. We're a team, remember?". A team. Those words hit Izana like a punch in the stomach. She saw him as part of a team, as half of a whole. But he felt alone, as if he couldn't bear the weight of that relationship alone

“Y/n, I... I don't know how to tell you” he began searching for the right words. But how could he tell her that he was scared of what he felt? That he feared he wasn't enough, that he couldn't keep the promises she expected? Damn, for 18 years he had never had any character problems, he had even killed someone as a child! Why had he become a fucking wimp with this girl?

She looked at him with eyes full of concern, but also of unconditional love "Izana, whatever it is, we can face it together" she told him, squeezing his hand even tighter "I love you, and nothing will change that". Those words pierced his heart, she said them so easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. But for him, love was something complex, a labyrinth in which he was lost right now. Izana felt the lump in her throat tighten even more. How could she be so sure? How could she love him so much, when he couldn't even love himself enough?

Y/n occupied his every thought, every breath, and he didn't know if the feeling was a blessing or a curse. Despite his doubts, he couldn't say no to her. She was his weakness and he hated himself for it. Izana felt her body tense for a moment, but then his arms automatically moved to hold her close. It was a familiar gesture, one he had done a thousand times before, but this time it was a little bit different. Y/n was completely obsessed with him, she loved him with an intensity that scared him. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw a normal boy, full of flaws, and he couldn't understand how he could be the object of so much love from that pretty, and a few bratty, girl

Izana took her hands, noticing how cold and shaking they were "I... I don't know how to tell you, but I've been having a lot of doubts about us lately." Y/n stared at him, panic starting to rise within her "D-doubts? What kind of doubts?" her heart tightened in her chest, the fear she had always tried to stifle now making its way inside her “I'm not sure I'm the right person for you" Izana said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I don't know if I can be what you need, and I'm afraid I'll end up hurting you” Izana's words hit Y/n like a slap in the face, she felt the world collapsing around her and damned jealousy was eating her mercilessly "Izana, what are you saying?" she asked, desperately trying to hold back tears “I love you! Don't you understand? There's no one I want more than you. No one!”

Y/n clung to him, hands gripping his jacket as if it was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality “You will never disappoint me, Izana. Don't you understand that all I want is you?” Izana felt her heart break when she saw how desperate she was. His fear of hurting her was materializing right before his eyes "Y/n, I don't want to make you suffer" he said, his voice cracking with emotion "But I can't continue like this. I can't live with the constant fear that one day I'll hurt you"

Y/n shook her head, tears starting to fall down her cheeks "Izana, please don't do this. I'll be better, I won't ask you for anything anymore. Just stay with me!" the boy lowered his gaze "I... I need time" he said finally, withdrawing slightly from his embrace "I don't know what to do, but I can't give you false hopes". Y/n looked at him, heartbroken. Every word that came out of his mouth was like a stab. "Time? Izana, I don't need time, I need you! And you, damn it, you need me!" the girl shouts with a strength dictated only by jealousy and pure obsession

Izana no longer knew how to react, he turned around, unable to bear the weight of his gaze "Maybe you should go..." he advised, but the grip on his jacket only became stronger "I won't leave until you tell me that you love me and I'm everything for you! Do you really want to see Kakucho again or should I make him disappear for blackmail?" says the girl. Izana knew very well that she wasn't joking, she was capable of doing it and even doing worse, killing him if necessary

"Stop being a brat" says the boy trying to take her hands off his jacket, but the girl's well-groomed hands end up on his cheeks, forcing him to look her straight in the eyes "Izana, don't say these things... spouses they always have to give their best for each other, you know? I know you know, you're just confused, love" says the girl obsessively. The main problem is that Izana's weakness was precisely seeing her in these conditions, otherwise he would have already taken her off in a short time

"I hate you" the boy says, sighing, and then puts his hands on the girl's hips. Y/n relaxes her nerves, smiling at the boy "Say what I told you to say" she says loosening her grip on his face "I love you and you are everything for me" says the boy, wondering if his words are 100% sincere

The girl breaks away from him, gently resting her head on his chest. She was enormously satisfied with having made him the victim, she loved seeing him so weak for her "I love you and it will always be like this" the girl says, and Izana just runs a hand up and down her back to reassure her

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elsecrytt · 18 days

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okay NEW curse technique concept: love conquers all!

your technique straight up alters reality. it will heal you or others, kill or harm people in any specific way, you can travel quickly, produce objects/food/etc. out of nowhere, whatever you want.

however. you can only do it if you genuinely believe it will make your loved one happy. otherwise you are just a regular person.

if you're not in love with someone, you're an ordinary person.

thankfully (?) you're a bleeding heart romantic and you fall in love pretty often! you might be shallow at first but your desire to pursue a relationship and get to know your crush is 100% sincere!

for added comic effect, you do not know what curses are and are unaware of your cursed technique. you just know that you're super capable whenever you're doing it ~for love~

unfortunately, when you fell in love with satoru gojo, he pretty much immediately shot you down.

commitment issues, sorcerer problems, yada yada. he could tell that you were genuine with your feelings, too, and satoru does do hookups but he's not a total asshole.

satoru being LITERALLY the luckiest person ever - six eyes, limitless, ridiculously tall and beautiful, talented students and powerful allies - and he's handed an instant win ticket to life in the form of your undying love and devotion and he just tosses it out LMAOOO.

so you go through your heartbreak phase, grieve for a while, and of course eventually get back on the market.

and you find him! the kindest, most considerate, respectful man alive.

he's a bit of a workaholic, but he's unbelievably polite and sincere, and every bit of understanding you show him is repaid tenfold.

seriously. he was late for a date once because of work, texting ahead twenty minutes and apologizing profusely, showing up with flowers and a thousand "I'm so sorry, my superior at work was a bit unreasonable - he works hard, too, though. I'll plan better in advance!"

when you smile and hug him and accept his apologies easily, you can see him holding back tears, a giant load releases his shoulders.

the more you learn about his work, though, the more you realize it's his only flaw. it's not even his fault!

his superior is just this giant asshole. "he works very hard, he's excellent at his job" your fucking ASS, why should your man have to put in constant overtime to drive his ass around?

apparently he had to drive three hours to pick up some sweets. kikufuku, of all things, from this one specialty store in another prefecture, just for his stupid coworker -

it pisses you off!

so when ichiji arrives for your date one day, nervous, with his unreasonable coworker in tow - well, you're shocked to see that you recognize him.

satoru, of course, immediately gloats that he recognizes ichiji's precious girlfriend - she even asked him out, once, before!

internally, he supposes it's kind of nice that you found someone better suited for commitment. although ichiji really doesn't deserve someone as good-looking as you -

SLAP!

he stares, dumbfounded, his cheek red and stinging. something strange curling in his chest at your vicious glare.

"You're Ichiji's shitty coworker?" You growl, "I'm glad you turned me down. Don't ever bully my man again, or you're dead meat."

holy shit, satoru thinks to himself as you snarl at him, ichiji panicking, trying to hold you back.

dead meat. holy shit, he actually believes you.

obviously from there the plan would be enemies to lovers, with the requisite comedy and pining on gojo's part about having let you go the first time.

you have a very strict policy of never EVER pursuing someone who turns you down (you don't know this, but it's actually a condition of your cursed technique). but satoru will find out - that doesn't stop him from pursuing you.

unfortunately, you're also unbelievably prideful, and still very in love with ichiji (who himself is struggling with a sense of inferiority which will eventually tank your relationship).

so gojo gets his ass beat on multiple occasions,,, watching in awe as you do thinks even he can't, and doubly flabbergasted when you insist you're not doing anything particularly weird.

you punch through his infinity? "are you telling me you think you're a wizard with an invisible force field around yourself? seriously?" cursed spirits? "is this a cult?? ichiji is your coworker in a CULT?" his hollow purple doesn't leave a scratch "i mean, was it supposed to?"

god i'm just feeling the comedy these days. i need to make fun of these silly little guys in this silly little manga, i love them so much

#elsey rambles #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #kiyotaka ijichi #ichiji x reader #elsey is once again obsessed with unrequited love #love unrequited love that swaps around #love me some pining #some days i'll torment you guys with even more of it

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xcherryerim · 6 months

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What You Deserve

Vanessa Shelly x gn!reader

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | 18+ ONLY

Warning: this so short that it’s literally oral sex (to vanessa) , reader is into Vanessa AND Mike. More plot than porn tbh sorryyyy

So, I had this idea FOR A WHILE before i even started writing and i was waiting for someone to ask me to write for vanessa but no one did ☹️ so I wrote it anyways. It’s not my best writing that is because I wrote it in one go to get it out of the way bc i’m overwhelmed with other ideas and requests for jhutch characters. I might re write this in the future we’ll see.

Summary: Engaged in a situationship with Mike, you can’t help but let your insecurity drive you the conclusion that Mike and Vanessa are into each other, that’s until Vanessa proves you wrong.

“Let’s go!” You excitedly cheer as you win the bowling game, only to realize that Mike, your not-so-boyfriend, was too caught up staring at Vanessa to notice that he even lost.

You tell yourself that you’re not allowed to be jealous, since Mike is technically not your boyfriend. Despite the lack of official labels, you and Mike act as if you’re a couple without one. However, there’s no denying that something is going on between Mike and Vanessa, and you don’t particularly like it.

“Oh, good job!” Vanessa said to you, with a cheerful smile on her face that she would manage to fake, just to hide the bitter truth. She was likely looking you up and down, trying to find an advantage to exploit, so she could feel superior to you.

You could instantly tell that her attitude wasn't genuine, so all you could manage was a quick "thanks."

“Actually…” Vanessa said, turning towards Mike, the person she was more interested in, “Why don’t you get a reward for the winner?”

“Huh, yeah, alright,” Mike responded, before walking off and leaving you alone with Vanessa.

“So,” Vanessa said, as she leaned in close to you while still staying just out of reach. “You and Mike are together or something?”

You tried to stay composed and avoid stuttering, even though you knew that she could likely see right through your lie. “I—we—“

“Friends with benefits?” Vanessa asked with a mocking tone, daring you to say otherwise, as she smirked at you.

“You’re better than some situationship,” Vanessa stated, this time with a surprisingly genuine tone. It seemed to leave you speechless for a moment before you struggled to conjure up a response.

So?” you asked, “We’re grown adults. I don’t need your permission to be with whoever I want.”

“Come on,” Vanessa said as she moved forward, pressing her body against yours, taking your breath away. “You need someone mature, someone that takes you seriously.” she continued, smirking at you, obviously knowing how the conversation was making you feel.

“You need someone to please you, to make you happy. I doubt you’re getting any of that.” Vanessa finished, clearly playing into your insecurities, but in a strangely flirty way.

As she stood back from you, looking directly into your eyes, her words weighed heavily upon you. Venessa’s words were both provocative and challenging, yet they aroused an unexpected curiosity inside you. Your heart raced as you considered her proposition, unsure how to respond. She looked pleased with her effect on you, sensing that she had gotten under your skin.

“Maybe I don’t need anyone,” you retorted, trying to maintain control over your emotions and hide your vulnerability. But even as you spoke, you couldn't help feeling intrigued by the idea she presented. Could there be more to you both than just this casual interaction? Was she genuinely interested, or was she simply toying with you?

Vanessa smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Well," she drawled, "I think we both know that's not entirely true." She took a step closer, her scent enveloping you, and whispered, "But you can keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night." With that, she turned around and sashayed away, leaving you standing there in confusion and desire.

“I know you’re doing this because you want Mike for yourself!”

Vanessa stopped mid-step, turning around slowly, her hips swaying seductively. She raised an eyebrow at you, tilting her head slightly. "Oh really?" she asked playfully. "And what makes you so sure about that?"

“Oh please! Do you think I don’t notice how Mike gets around you? I know you guys had something in the past!”

"Isn't it fascinating how people jump to conclusions?" Vanessa retorted, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Just because Mike likes me doesn't mean I like him back.” She crossed her arms over her chest, a challenge evident in her gaze.

"You're projecting your insecurities onto me," she added, taking another step near you. "Admit it, you're jealous. You're afraid I'll take what's 'yours.' But, is Mike truly what you want?”

Pausing for a moment, she stared intently into your eyes, her gaze intense and unwavering. "Mike may be your safety net, but what happens when you want something more?"

“So? Why do you care anyway?” You responded in anger to her treatment.

“You still don’t get it huh?” Vanessa let out a soft chuckle, her laughter ringing in the air like a bell tolling a warning. Her eyes narrowed, her expression growing more serious. "I care because it's obvious you're not happy. I care because I see potential in you, potential you waste on mediocrity." She shook her head, her disapproval clear.

"It's not my business, but if you ever decide to stop hiding behind that safety net and spread your wings, remember - I'm here, waiting." With that, she spun around and strode away, leaving you alone with her words, echoing in your mind. Despite the anger, her words left you pondering. Were you truly settling for less? Could there be something more out there?

“Vanessa wait,” You held onto her wrist. “What do you mean you’re here for me?”

“I think you know what I mean,” Vanessa said with a sly smile, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. "I've made my intentions pretty clear, haven't I?" She took a step closer, her confidence radiating like heat waves.

“I uh, I thought you liked Mike not me,” You responded.

Vanessa chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I never said that," she countered, her lips curving into a wicked grin. She leaned in until her lips were mere inches from your ear. "Besides, Mike is not for you. He's far too predictable, too safe. And trust me, you deserve more."

You couldn’t deny the truth; you were in love with Mike, but it didn’t seem like he was reciprocating your feelings. Now Vanessa was here, and seemingly begging you to be with her, all while exuding a dominating aura.

“And you’re what I deserve?” you teased back, letting yourself be overwhelmed by her presence, yet trying to keep your cool and appear playful.

Vanessa's lips curved into a smirk, amusement sparkling in her eyes. "No, I'm not what you deserve," she said, her voice velvety smooth. "But I'm certainly what you need."

“I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

"That's a bold claim," you replied, trying to maintain your composure amidst the storm of emotions brewing inside you. "But what do you get out of it?"

“A taste of you,” Vanessa replied, making you struggle to suppress your blushing as you felt her hot breath against your neck. “Would you let me?”

You swallowed hard, feeling her warm breath tickling your skin. A tangle of excitement and fear twisted in your stomach. "Are you sure?" you asked hesitantly, your heart pounding loudly in your ears.

"Positive," she replied, her voice firm yet inviting. "But bear in mind, there's no going back after this."

You took a deep breath, steeling your resolve. "Okay," you said, your voice barely audible. "Let me taste you too."

With surprising strength, Vanessa pulled you forcefully into the darkened maintenance room, slamming the door shut behind them before pushing you against the wall. Her body pressed against yours, pinning you in place as she devoured your mouth hungrily, tongue wrestling with yours in a fierce dance. Her hands roamed freely downwards, skimming over your abdomen before reaching for your belt buckle.

Meanwhile, your own hands fumbled clumsily at her zipper, determined to reciprocate her advances. Finally, both of you met in the middle, both sets of buttons and clasps coming undone simultaneously. Her panties slipped down her thighs, exposing her wetness to your hungry eyes.

Without breaking the lip lock, Vanessa broke free long enough to whisper, "Do you like what you see?"

“God, you’re so hot.” You said, falling to your knees without a thought.

Vanessa's eyes widened in surprise as you sank to your knees, but she quickly recovered, her grin growing wider. "Good," she hissed, her breath ragged. “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

She stepped back, giving you room to worship her. Your hands trembled slightly as they ran over her silken skin, tracing the curve of her hips, and the dip of her waist. You paused at the evidence of her arousal, drawing in a sharp breath. Your fingers parted her folds slowly, revealing the slick wetness that awaited you. Taking a deep breath, you dove in, your tongue flicking out to taste her sweetness.

She moaned softly, her fingers twisting in your hair, urging you on. "Faster, harder," she urged, her voice hoarse. "Make me come on your tongue, baby."

As you obeyed, licking and sucking at her tender flesh, you couldn't help but wonder - was this worth the risk? Was it worth losing everything else for her taste? Oh, but the way she moaned your name was making you dizzy by her siren voice.

As you continued to please her, Vanessa's moans grew louder, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Her hips rocked against your face, grinding herself against your mouth. "More, baby," she panted between gasps. "Give me more."

You did as she commanded, thrusting your tongue deeper into her core, exploring every crevice of her most intimate parts. Each sound of approval spurred you on, fueling your desire. Your hands cupped her full breasts, kneading and squeezing them roughly, eliciting another moan from her lips.

The rhythm of your tongue matched the pace of your thrusts, creating a synchronized symphony of lustful sounds. Suddenly, her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her muscles tensing up. "Ah! Yes! Oh god, yes!" she cried out, her voice strained with ecstasy.

Finally spent, she collapsed against the wall, panting heavily. "That was... incredible," Vanessa managed to utter between gasps. "Now it's your turn."

Before you had the chance to properly stand up, the noise of the entrance door opening froze you in horror. Slowly turning around you see Mike, standing right there in the doorway.

“Is this where I'm supposed to say ‘How could you?’” Mike replied, catching the two of you standing in what was an obvious compromising position.

“And what I'm supposed to say, ‘it’s not what it looks like?’” you also replied, still trying not to let your embarrassment get the best of you, as you were caught red-handed.

#Not the detention reference #vanessa shelly #vanessa x reader #fnaf vanessa #vanessa afton #vanessa shelly smut #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly x you #mike schmidt #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x you #vanessa shelly x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

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purplesoulcollection · 7 days

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Unnatural Love

Part 3 Synopsis : Name has being transmigrated into the world of I'm Not That Kind Of Talent without ever reading the novel. She's not being reincarnated as a human but as a devil as well. Hi There! I want to let you know that this fanfiction story isn't solely my creation. I borrowed the concept from @quqiwo2. I haven't actually read the novel either, just some spoiler to the end.

I hope you'll excuse my spelling and grammar mistake, because English not my first language.

"Adele, starting today you are assigned to be a servant of Mr Demon. Get to work today!" said the Head Servant of this demon palace.

He was an older man who seemed to have a lot of experience in workforce personalization.

"You mean I work for Mr Demon? Isn't there Mr. Ed, the deputy troop commander, ready to help him?" My curiosity getting better than me.

Wasn't he already has a deputy who ready to help him, why should me too?

"Adele, you have been given a name by Mr Demon, repay him for your beautiful name." This butler seems to be saying that I don't deserve this beautiful name given to me.

Because lowly background...

And that makes me really annoyed with him.

But in the end I could only agree with the butler's words, having no choice but to swallow my resentment.

Then I was curious, why did I become his servant Mr Demon. It's true that I was given a name after the first time they met and Mr Demon greeted me when we met a few more times.

But I don't think there's anything strange about it.

Did my job change like this because of a request from Mr Demon or was this actually a ploy by the demon king.

If it was the latter, I would most likely be used as a pawn as a spy.

Because after all Mr Demon still a human. Unless he completely sides with the devil.

I'm not stupid enough to don't know that he still holds on to his human side too.

The proof is that he just kept to himself in his room, not too involved with the zero troops he led due to illness.

Whatever the demon king's cunning plans, I will not remain silent if I am used as his temporary pawn. I still have my brain to think logically to subjugate him.

But for the time being I will remain obediently a virtuous servant.

"Mr Demon, I'm Adele. I brought your breakfast." I knocked his room door, letting him know that I'm here.

"Come in!" Although be muted, his voices are still heard from outside.

Then I went in and put the food Mr Demon on the table available in his room. Not letting my eyes wander to him when he wears his shirt on top of his turtleneck.

And Mr Demon who was already wearing formal clothes, finally sat down in his chair to eat his food.

I watched him eat until he finished before I finally started to tell him,

"Mr Demon, starting today I am assigned to be your servant."

Mr Demon was surprised. He seemed to choke on his own saliva before he finally drank the water.

"You?! I thought you were just delivering food as usual."

Indeed, before today I was assigned several times to deliver food Mr Demon too. We were quite friendly in chatting about things unrelated to our status and differences.

Honestly, talking to Mr Demon made me feel again what it feels to be a human again in the midst of interactions with demons that are very annoying and discouraging for me.

Here's my relationship with the demons is not healthy for my own body and soul. I always have to be hit by anger, belittled, blows, sarcasm, death threats. I'm tired to always nonchalant about that fact.

I always have to be patient so that there is no reason for me to just die.

So talking to him really made me think that he is more friendly than the rumors that say he will kill you if you bother him even the slightest bit.

The real demon isn't any better than the rumored Demon.

To answer the question Mr Demon earlier...

"I thought so too, but I only received orders from my superiors. So I don't know the reason. "

Then he fell silent with his face wrinkled and his red eyes turned into those of a scary predator. That looks is really scary though.

But from my experience, Mr Demon will only stare intently. didn't actually try to attack me.

When I first saw those eyes I was scared to death, but now I'm used to it.

'As long as I've done nothing wrong, why should I be afraid?'

So I remained calm even though I was being stared at like that.

But the effects of being stared at for a long time like that are also dangerous, so let's shift the focus...

"After eating, do you want to visit Troop 0? Troop 0 has been waiting for your presence among them for a long time."

"Team 0..." As usual, Mr Demon always reluctant to discuss his own troops. If someone really used their brain, they will know it.

"Mr Ed has also been waiting for your arrival for a long time."

"Mr. Ed?! Why do you call him so polite. Is he not being nice to you?"

Is Mr Demon is the actual crazy? Even if he's not like the strong one in Devil's troop, he's still be one of the strongest devil in this devil palace.

"You keep joking, Mr Demon. Mr. Ed also really hates lowly devils like me. Besides, Mr. Ed is good with you because he is loyal and admires you. There's no way I could get the same treatment as Mr Demon."

"Are you... are you still experiencing hate treatment like this all the time?" His face looks not very good one. He looks very annoyed but still care for me... and that's makes me give a sorrowful smile.

"There won't be any significant changes, Mr Demon. But if I could hide behind a name Mr Demon maybe I could even scare them." I joked around to Mr Demon.

I need to change the sad topic, maybe he'll say no and i move on.

"Do it!" a spontaneous voice Mr Demon making me open my eyes to stare Mr Demon that had been speaking nonsense.

"I was just joking, Mr Demon. Please don't take my joke seriously." I tried to persuade him Mr Demon he just shook his head.

"You have to fight, Adele. Even if you consider yourself a worthless devil, you still have to fight for yourself." His face shows the fighting spirit that i should have, but i lacked that spirit.

'Maybe i don't really cut out with this world.'

"But, aren't you injured because of the effects of fighting a hero. If I involve you who are still sick in my problem..."

"I'll take care of it in time."

My mouth opened with reflexes, I found my savior in the midst of the complexity of this devil's world...

So I leaned a little closer and smiled broadly at Mr Demon and said "You said that yourself, I would like to thank you first, Mr Demon. For the inconvenience i'll brought"

I was busy thinking about the best way to use a name of Mr. Demon to get revenge on my bully until I didn't see his red face while looking at me.

To Be Continued

#fanfic #x reader #manhwa #manhwa x reader #intkot #deon hart #deon hart x reader #fem reader #reader insert #i'm not that kind of talent

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comfortless · 7 months

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He definitely has a complex about being considered middle aged. Me personally, I see him as one of those guys that tell you they're a couple of years younger than they actually are, in the beginning, cause be feels too old for someone younger and (in his mind) 'cooler' than him.

I feel like joining the army at such a young age must've made him feel like an adult way too soon, and maybe back then he must've felt superior like 'All the people my age only care about love and having fun, I'm way too mature for those silly things'. (Could be a copping mechanism to deal with the fact that he wasn't getting love anyway, and wasn't included in all the fun his peers were having. Rejecting those things altogether are a way to take back control and make himself feel better, he's too busy becoming a real man anyway). But now that he's older he does feel like he missed out on things, and regrets not being a silly teenager when it was acceptable and expected at that age.

He makes me think of that one Yves Olade quote that goes like "I thought so many things & never said a single one aloud. I choked on such longing I couldn’t spit out. Yes, desire is so different when God bore you hungry. I could have devoured anything and still have been starving." When you get no love from your parents is one thing (still hurts) but when you get cast out in other social circles also, it makes you feel bitter like nothing else on this earth. It creates this feeling that you're the one that it's being inadequate for even daring to want connections to other people and you begin to resent people and yourself for wanting to be around them. There's this shame that settles on top of your chest when you want love but you feel like that's the cause of all your suffering in the first place, like you're doing it to yourself. This reminds me of another quote : "in front of my mother and my sisters, i pretend love is cheap and vulgar. i act like it's a sin- i pretend that love is for women on a dark path. but at night i dream of a love so heavy it makes my spine throb- i dream up a lover who makes love like he is separating salt from water." (Salma Deera, "salt"). I feel like this might apply to younger Konig, when convinced himself that love is for weak man to protect his poor heart. But now that he's older and has the money, the position and the body of a real man he needs to get a taste (just a small one, just once) of what he had missed out on in his youth. He finally feels deserving enough to attempt to have real intimacy with someone, not just quick hookups that leave him more hungry.

FEEL FREE TO NOT ANSWER THIS I'm just in a silly mood and had to psychoanalyse my babygirl real quick. Also, sorry for my English =))

how could i possibly just leave this in my inbox, anon?! this is all so correct…

thank god he wears that hood, because even on the field the sun isn’t hitting him too much - (he thinks) he can pass for early thirties. not that any lady who takes an interest in him is really considering his age much anyway, it’s always the shy “how tall did you say you were, again?”s or “what is your real name?”s that are telltale signs of interest. they ogle his build, the accomplishments he will prattle on about given the chance, the haunted look in his eyes and the strange lilt to his voice, the scars and lines only make him look cooler. if only that wasn’t such a rare treat.

he’s just in his head about things always. he missed out on the sweet, awkward dates: the mutual rush of adrenaline from holding someone’s hand for the first time, sneaky pecks in the schoolyard, passing notes and calling throughout the night. he never got to experience having his parents drop him off at the theater to take some girl from class out or… hell, even getting to go with a friend who wasn’t gossiping behind his back. König’s never gotten to live like any other, normal person, he’s been denied that since being birthed into a world that did not want him as much as he did not want it.

so, of course he’s bitter. he’s horribly bitter even now when things have finally started to fall into place for him. he’s got a stature even Adonis would be nervous around, a savings account so stocked he isn’t even sure what to do with the money, an impressive title, his own place, a car, and some of the soldiers even consider him a friend. he gets invited out every now and then, doesn’t mind downing jäger and listening to his men talk about their current affairs: what women they’re seeing, or how their children are, where they plan to go on leave. he takes to living vicariously through them. he even finds it fit to lie, pulls up a picture of some random woman every now and then to boast about how he made her come undone on his bed last leave with a stupid laugh. the truth is that no, last leave he bought a nice fleshlight, took a thirteen hour depression nap, maybe went on a long hike and had a film marathon on his own.

having a woman show him any interest immediately activates some self-destructive behavior: he’ll hound her (screw double texting, it’s moreso in the dozens. little “miss you”s and stupid accusations he immediately wishes he hadn’t sent), either withdraw into himself if he even feels slightly abandoned or become even more intense and clingy. no one’s ever loved him, not properly, so how is he supposed to know how? if his own parents hated him, then who is going to have the patience and understanding to teach him? his approaches are almost childish, the way he goes from boyish and giddy to closed off and pitiful. /: and the self-loathing only amplifies during these times, because my god he should be more disciplined than this by now. all that being said, i do think he would settle and be as well-behaved as a neglected bull could be if he feels his affection is being reciprocated. he just needs time (and a good therapist).

squealing at the poetry and how much thought you’ve put into this message. <3

Yves Olade is sooo good to quote from for him! i think that “You can have my heart if you have the stomach to take it. Kiss me hard enough to invert me.” suits him just as well, especially when it comes to the trepidation and fear amidst the sparks of him finally, truly having someone be selfless and loving with him.

König in love is a very special topic to me!! there are so many different ways this rabid dog could take to handling it and by and by he always seems to choose the most aggressive / uncanny approach, held back by a leash that no one’s ever thought to untie, constantly growling and leaping at anything that gets too close just to simmer down to whimpering and begging the second he’s pet just once!!

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jewish-vents · 2 months

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I'M TIRED. NONE OF THIS IS NORMAL!!!!!!!!

To white supremacists I deserve to die because I am brown and a Jew.

To leftists, to minorities, I deserve to die because I am a potential threat - a secret Zionist.

Can I live?????????

I know gentiles have never cared for us, it's been bothering me my whole life. I never felt safe, comfortable, happy or accepted in spaces that are supposed to be meant for me as a queer, disabled brown woman. Why? Because I'm Jewish and our existences have long been forgotten and ignored by marginalized groups. And the few times we were remembered there was always confusion. No one knows what we are (hence the whole "you were oppressed for your religion" thing that many believe). We're immediately seen as a threat but nazis hate us and goyim need to be morally superior and better than nazis which is the ultimate evil to them so that means they can't just outright hate us. They need to make as many loopholes as they can to hate us.

For the first time ever im seeing gentiles read books written by jews as in theyre seeking out these books with jewish authors. Why? Because they need to tokenize them as they write about how zionism is the root of all evil alongside racism and everything else. Where is this energy and passion when its time to care about our history our culture? All of it is going to self hating anti zionist jews who write about how we jews are the new nazis.

And as other minorities I am so ashamed. As a queer woman Im watching people who cant give up chick fil a and kept saying well im gay so i can eat it boycott mcdonalds. PLEASE CARE ABOUT WHATS GOING ON IN YOUR COUNTRY TOO. IN YOUR BACKYARD. PLEASE. DONT IGNORE PROBLEMS BECAUSE YOU THINK THEYRE SMALL AND LESS IMPORTANT THAN A GENOCIDE. Also the superiority complex of those boycotting is so strange. The way that they all talk its almost like the genocide is the only issue with these big corps. They rely on cheap labour from the global south. Why didnt you boycott for that too? Do you really force yourself to care about only the worst things in the world? Are you seriously incapable of caring about everyone?

#jewish vents #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism

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farfromstrange · 8 months

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Do No Harm

CHAPTER SEVEN: Downward Spiral

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: After agreeing to go on a date with Matt, you start realizing the weight of your decision, and your thoughts begin spiraling. In a moment of need, you turn to the only close friend you have in Hell's Kitchen, hoping she can pull you away from the edge of the very steep cliff your trauma is trying to throw you into.

Warnings for this chapter: ANGST (the caps feel appropriate here), mentions of domestic violence, suicidal thoughts, allusions to a suicide attempt, allusions to sexual assault, mentions of being taken advantage of by a superior, (I guess you could say) mentions of hypersexuality, self-loathing, PTSD, some foreshadowing, mental breakdown, alcohol, Season 1 related plot (spoilers)

Word Count: 6.4k

A/n: Surprise! I'm posting early because I'm going to see my family this weekend, and after I had an epiphany at two in the morning and spent 3 days writing this, I got it done, and I'm actually quite proud of this (or maybe it's the caffeine). Anyway, heed the warnings because the topics of conversation in this are pretty dark. That's why I highlighted the angst. And if you haven't watched past episode 1 of Season 1, this might spoil some things for you. (Also, I have no idea how this turned into a beast with a word count over 6k. Sorry in advance.)

Read Chapter 7: Downward Spiral here on AO3

You don’t know what came over you.

You typed in Matt’s number in a moment of weakness, and once you heard his voice through the line, you gave up on being careful. You gave up on denying yourself what you’re so desperately craving, and you abandoned all rational thought.

For him.

You promised not to get attached to someone ever again—let alone a man. You started a new life in Hell’s Kitchen to find your way back to normalcy. You took all the necessary precautions, and even though you look back at the shreds of your old life every day, you are never going back.

Two years. That is the longest you have managed to stay in one place ever since you left California. But you still haven’t found your way back into the real world.

You have been guarding yourself, afraid of having your heart broken, afraid of losing this chance at a new life, and afraid of the man who ruined you.

Every time you close your eyes, you see his face. You hear his voice in the back of your mind. He’s everywhere, even when you don’t want him to be.

It’s easier to put a wall between yourself and everyone else. A wall no one can break through, not even yourself. You trapped your soul for the sole purpose of keeping yourself alive after you made the hardest decision of your life. When you ran, you believed your life was over, but you have always been too much of a coward to end your misery. God knows you’ve tried, but even a trained doctor can’t fully understand death, and some things just don’t work out the way we want them to.

Drunken one-night stands can’t possibly compare to a meaningful emotional connection, but they satisfy the need for physical intimacy. At least for a little while. It killed you; slowly, almost pathetically, but sleeping with strangers in dirty motel rooms did a better job than you ever could.

For the longest time, you used sex as a coping mechanism. You let strange men use you because that is the only way you know how to be with someone else. You let them hurt you to feel something, anything because pain is better than feeling nothing at all. But when you finally got settled in Hell’s Kitchen, thanks to Claire, you stopped.

You locked up your heart and threw away the key. You started to shield your body the same way you have shielded your soul. You retreated into a shell of restlessness and constant fear of every little sliver of hope you feel being taken away from you.

You have nowhere else to run, which is why keeping a low profile is so important to you, but after two years, don’t you deserve to finally live?

We don’t exist to just survive; we exist to live the life we were given. You are Olivia Clarke now, not the broken girl you left behind, but every time you think about it, his voice returns and backs you into a corner that you can’t escape from.

Every time you see the scars on your body, all you want to do is rip the skin off your bones and feed it to the dogs.

The men you slept with while you were running from your past saw you as a mere object, and you are used to being seen that way, but it was isolating nonetheless. They didn’t care about your scars, they only cared about what you could give them. They treated you like he did without lifting a finger.

Even though you don’t do that anymore, it still weighs heavy on your wounded soul.

Matt treats you like a person. He can’t physically see, but he still sees you. He sees you in a way no one has ever seen you before. And he is gentle, and patient, and—

You scream into your pillow. Your nose still hurts, but it is nothing compared to how fast your heart is beating.

To you, Matt is perfect. You know that no one can be perfect, and you should be careful, but he makes you feel things you have long denied yourself. He makes you feel wanted. Desired. Like you can be yourself around him and still be worthy of his attention. Like you matter. And he has a certain way of being around you that makes you feel protected, almost.

You don’t need protection. You have made it this far without a bodyguard by your side. You know how to fight your own battles better than most, but you can’t deny that you wouldn’t mind being saved by him.

You wouldn’t mind those hands he always wraps around his cane to wrap around you instead. He can’t see your scars, but he can feel them, and as terrifying as that thought sounds, it also excites you.

You’re treading dangerous territory, but God, he won’t leave you alone, not even when you’re trying to sleep. He could offer you a sense of normal that you have long missed. He could teach you how to be a person again. And maybe, just maybe, you could let yourself be cared for by him.

You roll back onto your back when you need to breathe, one of your hairs getting stuck to your lip. You let out an annoyed huff. There won’t be much sleeping tonight, you’re sure. Not when you keep thinking about tomorrow.

“You’re not fifteen anymore,” you mutter to yourself. “What is wrong with you? God!”

It’s almost too surreal to believe that this magnetic force of a man managed to retrieve some of your long-lost hope, and he only had to call you beautiful once for you to be completely smitten.

When he allowed you to take care of his injuries on the first day you met, you didn’t think a person could be this guarded yet so vulnerable at the same time. He’s breaking under an invisible weight that must have been on his shoulders for years, maybe even decades. You’re painfully aware of other people’s feelings, and it wasn’t hard to tell that Matt carries a lot of unresolved pain with him. Always. He reminds you so much of yourself, it’s like staring into a mirror. Two broken halves of a whole.

Your thoughts won’t stand still, no matter how hard you try. You’re stuck inside an invisible hourglass. Not even heaven knows what will happen once time runs out. You don’t understand why you’re overthinking this while, at the same time, knowing exactly why. And you hate it.

There is a part of you that you can never get back. A little girl who grew up too fast. A girl who didn’t know any better. A broken teenager who wanted nothing more than to escape and live a better life than her parents could ever give her, and when she did manage to escape one hell, she found herself in a new quarter of purgatory built just for you.

You used to think that maybe you just bring the worst out in people, but after seeing the worst of humanity outside of your broken relationships, too, you’re not so sure about that anymore.

The fact that you don’t understand why you can’t stop your usually so intelligent brain from spinning out of control makes you want to claw at the walls of your apartment that threaten to cave in on you.

Part of you wants nothing more than to run and never look back, but you can’t run forever. This time, you wouldn’t be running from the Devil; you would be running from a fear of your own feelings. Human feelings. Feelings that have a high likelihood of recurring, and then you will have to run again.

You can’t run from reality forever. It’s a different reality now, but it’s a better reality. That is a rational thought, but being rational currently has no place in your mind, so you’re spiraling, and all because a nice guy asked you out for coffee.

You find yourself in a cab a few minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and an oversized shirt, with an untouched bottle of wine in your bag. Your worn-down sneakers are not the appropriate footwear for today’s weather, but you couldn’t be bothered to pick another pair.

You’re aware that it’s late and maybe you should have texted, but you’re already here, and Claire told you that you could always come to her, even if it happens to be the middle of the night. If the rule still stands after she suddenly decided to stay at your co-worker’s place without a proper explanation, you’re not quite sure though.

You knock. At first, no response. You knock again. The floorboards creak on the other side of the door.

“Claire, it’s Liv,” you call out.

You can hear the exact moment the person inside the apartment starts to panic. The floorboards creak again, more frequent this time, and it sounds almost as if Claire is turning the room upside down. You raise your eyebrows.

Before you can knock again, the lock finally clicks, and she opens the door. She’s more of a mess than you are, and that is put lightly.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Claire greets you. “What are you doing here?”

You blink a few times. “Hello to you too?”

She sighs. “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night.”

“I can see that,” you answer. “Are you alright?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” She looks you up and down. “What happened to your nose?”

“It’s a long story.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Can I, uh, come in?”

She hesitates before stepping aside to let you in. “Sure.”

You take a quick look around the apartment. Nothing seems out of place. A bowl of cat food stands in the corner by the kitchen. The window in the living room is open, but it seems intentional.

The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air. You’re not sure if your nose is betraying you as you breathe in, but the smell is familiar. Bandages, disinfectant, and salve. You don’t want to question it, but you can’t help it.

“Did you hurt yourself?” you ask.

Claire blows her nose behind you. If you didn’t know better, you would think she was actually sick. She shakes her head upon hearing your question, but there is a faint blush on her cheeks.

“What makes you think that?” she retorts.

“Oh, no particular reason. It just smells very… hospital-y. That’s why I asked.”

“I, uh, I had to put a bandage on my leg earlier ‘cause this stupid cat decided to scratch me after peeing everywhere.” She sniffs. “Had to clean the wound, that thing—“ she nods toward the cat sitting in the cat tree, “and then the apartment. Maybe that’s why.”

You follow her gaze toward the little furball resting on his cat tree. You approach him, but Claire seems less pleased at the prospect.

“Be careful. He’s pissed.”

“At you,” you correct her. “Also, you’re having an allergic reaction, and—if he really, honest-to-God scratched you—very probably an infection. Why are you even staying here?”

Your voice rises in pitch when you reach the sleeping cat. “Hello, you.” You stroke his fur. He only opens one eye to sniff you, but once he recognizes you, he starts purring. For a moment, you forget the reason why you even came here.

Claire exhales loudly. She scratches her neck, her skin threatening to break out into hives. “It’s a long story,” she says.

You glare at her over your shoulder, your hand still stroking up and down the cat’s back as he settles back into a deep sleep. “I’m worried about you."

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.”

“You called out of work and told Shelly you were sick.” You straighten up and turn back to face her. “You’re not sick, Claire.”

She sniffs as if to prove her point.

“Your immune system is overreacting by producing Immunoglobulin E. The antibodies are traveling to the cells responsible for releasing chemicals into your body, causing you to get a stuffy nose and break out into hives. You’re not sick. You’re allergic to cats and sharing an apartment with one. There’s a big difference,” you state. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but you have to admit that, from where I’m standing, your behavior looks a little suspicious.”

“I’m going through some shit, alright?” she says. “And it’s a lot easier to deal with them here than back at my place. That’s why I called in sick.”

You don’t know what to make of her answer. It’s vague. You don’t like vague answers because they often indicate a bigger problem. It is one thing for you to deal with your demons on your own and refuse to talk about it with your best friend; it’s another thing entirely to keep a dangerous truth from the person you’re closest with, one that could potentially lead to worse consequences. If Claire were a naturally secretive person, maybe you would understand, but she isn’t like that. She isn’t you.

She’s the only person who knows your entire story. She saved your life. You can’t imagine her keeping secrets from you that might end up hurting her.

You dare to ask, “Are you in danger?”

She shakes her head a little too fast. “I’m fine, Liv. Really.”

“I’m sorry, but I have a hard time believing that.”

“It’s…personal.”

“Personal? Oh, my. Are you sleeping with Luke again?”

Claire stammers. The look on her face suggests that she didn’t expect you to jump to that conclusion. “What? How did you even–”

“Are you?” you repeat your question.

The last time she slept with Luke Cage, she lied to you about it. She knew you would worry. It’s only natural for you to come to that conclusion now. Except that Luke is in prison, serving his sentence, and it doesn’t make sense.

“How would I sleep with an incarcerated man?” Claire deadpans.

“I’m sure you have your ways,” you say.

“You’re grasping at straws.”

“That’s… true, but it’s coming from a place of love.”

She responds with a sigh. “I don’t wanna fight.”

You join in. You exhale, slowly lowering yourself down on the couch. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Just tell me you’re okay, please.”

She offers you a gentle smile. “I’m okay,” she says.

“Thank you.”

You choose to believe her. For the time being, at least.

The silence tugs at your brain cells. You obsessed over Claire’s situation because you didn’t want to face your own, but now that your thoughts have regained the freedom to roam and cause irreversible destruction, you start spiraling again.

You reach into your bag.

“You brought wine,” Claire points out.

“Yep,” you say. The bottle weighs heavily in your hand.

“You need a glass?”

You unscrew the top. “No.”

She doesn’t listen. Claire makes her way into the kitchen, reaching for the wine glasses in the cupboard. “Does this have anything to do with why your nose is all blue and swollen?”

You shake your head at her question. “That was a patient I tried to sedate. No, I, uh… I have a date,” your voice falls flat.

The wine glasses move back into the cupboard. Claire turns around, her eyebrows moving up to her hairline. “Come again?”

“I have a date.”

Saying it out loud makes it real. Something so surreal cannot be real, but it is. You have a date with Matt Murdock. Your heart begins racing again, and you feel the same desperate urge to scream into the nearest pillow again.

You take a sip of wine straight from the bottle. You have a date with a nice man who, for the first time in two years, made you see some resemblance of light at the end of this endless tunnel of despair, and the thought alone is terrifying. Because how are you supposed to live after just existing for the longest time? After you dedicated your life to the act of survival?

Claire steps out of the kitchen and in front of you. “Liv, that’s… that’s amazing!” she says. She sounds like a proud mother. Maybe she is.

You want to shake your head, but you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than put the bottle back against your lips and take another sip. The alcohol burns down your esophagus into your stomach, spreading a warm feeling through your fragile body, and into your broken soul.

“Or not,” she corrects herself upon seeing the expression you’re carrying. Your eyes are empty. “I’m confused,” She pauses, “Are we not happy about the fact that you’ve finally got a date after two years of being miserable?”

If she puts it like that, you feel even more miserable. Another sip of wine finds its way down your throat.

“Okay, maybe you should put the bottle down. I’m sorry if I said something wrong–”

“It’s not you, it’s me.” You put the bottle down.

Claire sits down next to you, but you get up before she can take your hand and look at you with that caring look she always gives you when she’s worried. You’re not even mad that she played your concerns down when you expressed them and now she is expressing concerns about you; you’re mad at yourself.

She watches you. “You have a date. That’s a good thing. It means you allowed yourself to finally say yes to someone interested in you, right?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You’re pacing over the creaky floorboards. “The last time I went on a date with someone was after my intern year.”

Her gaze softens. “You told me that,” she murmurs.

“He took me to a restaurant,” you tell her. Your lip quivers as you speak, and your nails dig into your palms until they draw blood. You can barely feel it. His face is right in front of you. “It was a nice restaurant. He paid for me, even offered me his jacket while we were walking home. It was the best date I ever had. And then he kissed me on the doorstep before wishing me a good night.”

“I know. You told me all of that before. But you couldn’t have known that he would turn out to be who he turned out to be. He was your boss. He had no right—”

“That is precisely the problem, Claire!” your voice breaks. “The guy I met, he’s… his name is Matthew. He’s… he is so nice to me. He cares. He treats me like a human being. He… he’s respectful. He called me beautiful. I don’t even know how he knows that. He just… he was so nice to me, and I feel so comfortable around him. I haven’t felt this comfortable around a man in so long. I… I wanted to go out with him. I flirted with him, for fuck’s sake! And when I’m with him, I finally feel wanted again.”

“But you know who else was nice to me when I first met him?” you say. “Who was respectful? Who said I was the only real thing in this world, the only important thing in his life, and that he loved me? You know who made me feel safe and wanted, and who said he cared about me? John said that I was the most beautiful woman on this planet, and I fell for it because he was nice to me. He–”

“But that guy isn’t John,” Claire cuts you off. She raises her voice only slightly—only enough to make you stop and stare at her, tears streaming down your cheeks. You’re miserable. You’re a mess. It is truly embarrassing. But she doesn’t look at you any differently.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you snap back.

“Liv–”

“Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I’m 32, and I can’t sleep without a nightlight most nights because I wake up in a cold sweat. I can’t drop a glass without going into shock. I can’t look in the mirror without feeling his hands on me. Without feeling disgusting and worthless, and…” You can feel the shiver traveling up your spine from the thought alone. “I can’t exist without feeling like he should have killed me when he got the chance.”

“Liv, I know you’re upset, but please, don’t say that,” Claire says, her voice gentle yet assertive.

“Why? It’s true. I wish he would’ve killed me. He took four years of my life that I can never get back. At least if he’d killed me I wouldn’t have to suffer now.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want you saying things like that.”

“You don’t get it,” you say. “Every time I look in the mirror, I want to vomit because I see what he made of me. I can’t even meet a nice guy and allow myself to like him without seeing his face and hearing his stupid voice in my ear, telling me—telling me that no one will ever love me, that he tainted me, and that I will never be free of him because I can’t exist without him.” You break into a sob.

“And he was right, you know,” you cry. “I ran from him. I made the hardest decision of my life after years of living in his shadow, and I almost died. Because of him, I can’t trust a kind and respectful man who treats me like a person to actually be kind, and I recoil at the thought of someone being gentle with me. Something is seriously broken inside of me, Claire. Very, very broken.”

Claire opens her mouth, but all she can do is bear your tirade. She knows that if she speaks now, you will find another reason to shut her down. This is your pain talking. It’s a powerful avalanche set out to cause destruction on a global scale.

“With Matt, I—” you exhale. “I was myself around him for the first time since I ran away, and he didn’t shy away. I had hope, Claire. I felt like I could finally step into normal life again after settling down here, and I thought I’d have a chance,” you say. “But I just have to close my eyes, and John is right there to ruin everything for me. He is always right there, and I can’t fucking escape him. That’s the problem. That’s why I can’t be happy about this date because I’m fucking terrified. I can’t go through this again. I—I can’t give myself to someone again because there is hardly anything left of me. He took everything, including my ability to love another man ever again, and that thought is fucking with my head.”

You fall silent. The tears continue running down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands. Your knees are so weak. You don’t have it in you to hold yourself up any longer. You drop to the carpet, crying into your hands, but you don’t sob. You stay silent because your pain is so great, you don’t know whether to scream or shut down, so you scream internally and shut down from the world around you because you can’t face it. You can’t face Claire.

The couch creaks. Her feet brush against the carpet. “He abused you,” her voice borders above a whisper.

She kneels beside you, her hand reaching out—but not touching you. She knows what lines to cross and which to better leave untouched.

“What he did to you wasn’t your fault. He’s a cruel man with cruel intentions.” When you don’t shy away from her proximity, she finally places her hand on your shoulder. “You did the impossible. You survived. You’re here now because you chose to save yourself, and that is so admirable,” she says. “It’s been two years. You’re safe here, you’re not alone anymore, and I know it hurts and it is terrifying, but it’s a good sign that you want to feel more of what this guy made you feel.”

“But I can’t,” you choke out.

“I know, and I wish I could help you, but I’m not a professional. The truth is, John may have made you feel like there is nothing left of you, but you’re not Olivia Clarke. You’re still you. You’re still…” Claire takes a deep breath before she utters your name. Your real name. The one you were given when you were born.

The mention of your name makes you shiver. “She’s gone,” you say. “He killed her, but he left her body alive.”

“She’s not gone, she’s just buried very fucking deep. I mean, you said it yourself. You could be yourself around this other guy, and he took you for who you are. That isn’t Olivia, that’s you. And it’s such a good sign that you want to go out with him. That you like him. John hurt you, but he didn’t break you beyond repair. Please, you have to remember that.”

Your tears slowly subside. Her words finally manage to reach your rebelling mind through your ears. Even though everything feels like it has been wrapped in cotton, she manages to get through to you like no one else. It was a subconscious decision to come to her, but perhaps your soul knew something that you didn’t, and you can’t say that opening up didn’t help.

The mess slowly subsides. Left behind is nothing but hot air, and the words Claire decided to share with you.

You look up to meet her eyes. She smiles down at you. “I just… I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whisper.

“That’s why I think you should go on that date,” she tells you.

“Yeah, but who wants to sign up for a mess like me?”

“Seems like he does. And if he’s a good guy, he’ll like you regardless of your mess.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

She shrugs. “I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pretend it never happened. And you can’t give John the satisfaction of putting your life on hold because of him. That’s just giving him what he wants.”

“I don’t want to give him what he wants,” you’re quick to answer.

Claire hands you a tissue, and you take it gratefully, wiping your runny nose and the salty tears stuck to your dry skin.

Her words stir something within you; even though you don’t want her to be right, she is. Matt may not deserve a mess like you, but if he’s truly a good guy, it can’t hurt to see if it would work between you. And when your past comes out eventually, there is a chance that he won’t abandon you. A slight chance, but a chance nonetheless. That’s a positive outlook you still have to learn how to adapt.

“C’mon.” Claire helps you off the floor and onto the couch.

You reach for the bottle of wine instantly, but she takes it away from you. She screws the top back on and places it aside, far out of your desperate reach.

“This is not the answer,” she says, “talking is.”

“Can’t we talk and have wine?” you counter.

“Not when you’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown.”

You sniff, wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks with the tissue.

“We need to take care of you, and alcohol won’t fix your problems.”

Once again, she isn’t wrong. You let out a defeated sigh before dropping your head in her lap.

A long time ago, you used to be an affectionate person. The fear of being hurt again, of someone raising their hand against you, took that away from you. With Claire though, it’s different. You know she won’t hurt you. She’s not that kind of person, and you can say that with complete certainty.

Claire Temple is not a violent human being, except for when the people she loves are in danger, but only then.

She gently brushes the hair out of your face and crumbles it into a messy bun at the back of your head. She wipes at your nose and the last of your tears before they can dry out your skin more than it already is. The past couple of days have taken an emotional and physical toll on you.

You wince slightly when you notice how sore your nose is. It isn’t broken, but you still got hit. You’re not quite healed yet. A shiver rolls down your spine.

Shaking her head, Claire gently removes her hand. “You always get yourself in trouble when I’m not around,” she mutters.

You scoff softly. “Maybe that’s a sign.”

“A sign for you to be more careful, yeah,” she says.

“Now, where would be the fun in that?” You try to joke, but your voice falls flat with the weight of your exhaustion.

Claire offers you a chuckle, but it’s more of a pity laugh than anything else.

You sigh. You know that you’re not an example when it comes to the significance of making the right decisions. Not at all.

“Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” you ask her then, breaking the silence between you in two.

She leans back against the cushions. “Once or twice.”

“Not nearly enough then.”

“I don’t know about that. I mean, if you hadn’t come into Metro General with your hand in a man’s chest cavity, I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to help you. You chose to stay.”

“Well, I had my hand on his vena cava, so, letting go would have been unfortunate for the poor guy.”

“That’s true.”

“But if you hadn’t disobeyed protocol, risking your job by putting your trust in me, I wouldn’t have had a reason to stay.”

Claire looks down at you, and you meet her eyes. “That sounded a lot like a love confession,” she nudges you.

You roll your eyes playfully. “You wish.”

“Hey, I’d understand it if you were in love with me. I’m hot.”

She never fails to make you laugh, even when you feel like a truck has rolled you over and broken every bone in your body. That is one of the many qualities you value about her. She’s a good person with a good heart, and she is the kind of person you could trust with your life and she would always make sure that you come out on the other side unharmed, mentally and physically.

If she hadn’t taken you under her wing, you’re not sure where you would be, but it surely wouldn’t be where you are now.

When your laughter quiets down, you nod. “I can’t argue with that. You are hot. If you weren’t my friend,” you say, “I’d ask you out.”

“And if I were into women, I’d say yes,” she says.

“I appreciate that.”

“Speaking of dates though–” She stops when you sigh a little too loudly. Claire shoots you a stern glare before she continues, “Promise me you won’t cancel.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement. She wants you to mean it. You won’t lie; canceling your plans with Matt did cross your mind, but after Claire worked her magic on you, you can see a little clearer. The fog that kept your mind clouded has started to lift slowly but steadily. You’re no longer spiraling as fast as you have before.

If you could wash your hands and wash him off of you, it wouldn’t be as much of a problem as it is, but you’ve tried. You have tried washing all memory of him off of your body, out of your mind, but he’s a resilient son of a bitch. John will always try to drive a wedge between you and a normal, happy life, the question is just if you will allow him to do so without even being near you, or if you will finally allow yourself to crawl out of the dark hole he tossed you into.

You can’t do it alone, and asking for help is terrifying. You have spent the past two years trying to push through. Unfortunately, your healthy coping mechanisms won’t work forever.

You sigh again, a little quieter. “I won’t cancel,” you tell her, your voice barely above a whisper, yet still so very certain. As certain as you can be, anyway.

“Thank you.” Claire reaches for the wine bottle next to the couch. “You deserve to be happy.”

“Hm,” you can only murmur.

“What?”

“What are you doing with the bottle?” you ask.

“Drinking,” she says.

“Now I feel betrayed.”

“You should celebrate the fact that you found a Matt, or whatever his name is, and not another Mike.”

You promptly sit up. “Hold up. Pause. Rewind. Mike, like your ex?”

Claire takes a sip of the bottle. A storm rages behind her hazel eyes. You have never seen her that conflicted before.

“Is he the personal reason why you’re subjecting yourself to a constant allergic reaction by staying here?” you ask.

The pieces slowly start falling into place. She nods. “Not Mike Mike, but yeah. It’s always the Mike’s.”

Your jaw drops. “I feel like you skipped some chapters there. You met a guy and you didn’t tell me? What–”

“He met me,” she corrects you. “I didn’t tell you because we’re not a thing. Let’s just say there’s a reason his name is Mike. That’s why I’m here.”

Claire takes another sip. You watch her closely, trying to catch her in a lie, but it seems like she’s telling the truth—or a version of the actual truth, but that still makes it true. She’s giving you as much as she can after you cried your eyes out to her.

You clear your throat, lowering your voice. “But you’re not in danger?” you ask to clarify.

She shakes her head. “I just have shitty taste in men, even if it's platonic, apparently. It’s like… I’m trying to exist, and then I find a stray cat in a dumpster, but the stray cat has been stabbed and needs medical attention.”

“But you’re allergic to cats and you’re not a vet?” you try to make sense of her analogy.

When she lets out a sigh and nods, you figure you came as close as possible. It still doesn’t make sense to you, but when does anything? At least when it comes to romance and people’s love lives.

You decide to push a little more, “Did you actually find an injured guy in a dumpster?”

She shakes her head. The reaction comes a little fast, but you don’t question it. “No, that–that was just an analogy,” Claire says.

“And Mike is the stray cat in that analogy? But not your Mike, another Mike?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude, you’re frying my brain cells.”

“The single one you still have, or did you buy new ones?”

You try not to laugh, trying to look like you are genuinely offended, but your lips still curl up into a smile. “Shut up,” you mutter. You reach for the bottle, against better judgment, and take a sip.

Claire shakes her head. “What I’m trying to tell you is that, if he’s a good guy, you can’t let him slip away. You can’t let a good thing slip away and possibly end up with a–a Mike kinda guy for the rest of your life.”

“I know.” You look down at your hands, your broken fingernails, and sore knuckles from the constant scrubbing. “I just wish I could understand what he’s doing to me without questioning my entire existence.”

“Some people are just that enigmatic,” and she sounds as if she knows exactly what she’s talking about.

You wonder about Mike. Not her ex-boyfriend but the one she mentioned. He sounds like he has no sense of self-preservation, and he may not even be a good influence. He reminds you of yourself, and that’s creepy—you don’t even know him.

And then there is Matt, who is also so eerily similar to you, but in different ways. It’s more of an emotional connection. His heart is in the right place. And unlike the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he doesn’t have a savior complex.

Why did he even come to your mind? His existence should not be playing into the equation. You brush the picture of his chiseled chest in that tight shirt away, or the way he looked even more dangerous with that smirk below the the mask.

You hand the wine bottle back to Claire. If you don’t cut yourself off now, you will melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

Your focus should be on Matt and Matt alone. You have to try. Claire was right. You can’t sacrifice your happiness because you’re scared—you can’t give the man who dedicated his life to breaking you and your confidence down the satisfaction of cowering in fear every time a man shows an interest in you. A good man. A man who could make you happier than he ever had.

You won’t run this time. You will face the situation head-on. You owe that much to the little girl who dreamed of a life beyond the hell she grew up in, the same girl who was obsessed with finding her soulmate and still believed in true love. Above everyone, you owe it to yourself. No one else matters quite as much as you do.

And for the sake of seeing what could be instead of wondering what could have been, you have to try.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @danzer8705 @kakamixo @littlehappyperson @atemydadforbreakfast @stevenknightmarc @zheezs14 @shouldbestudying41 @kiwwia-wiwwia

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #reader insert #charlie cox #doctor!reader #do no harm

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 9 months

Text

Persephone's Devotee (Hello, Mr. Monster AU, I)

Master List

Summary: In the age of Spiritualists and magicians, wyrds winds in different ways to link Dream of the Endless and Aisling Hunt. AU of Hello, Mr. Monster beginning in the 1920s. (Alternatively titled 'We All Hate Roderick Burgess')

Warnings: Implied child abuse/neglect, child left to travel solo, manipulating children for profit (non-sexual trafficking)

A/N: Your bird just got diagnosed with a life changing chronic condition (in addition to being put back on depression meds). We'll see how this post does. Have four chapters planned. The last scene is based on personal experiences with heat exhaustion/borderline heat stroke.

Dream’s tools brought many things to Fawney Rig. Wealth and prestige. Admiration, gifts, and influence. Nearly everything the magus wanted and only a fraction of what he thought he deserved. Roderick’s dreams of power and riches drew another tool to his hand, or perhaps Destiny drew the magus to her. The girl who saw strange things in the dark and found answers to strange riddles in her cards. But her wyrd would always draw her to old house and its shrouded dungeon, in any world or time. All because of what the Burgesses kept there.

In the eight years since the fateful evening he summoned and caught one of the Endless, Roderick had become a man much desired. He found himself with an invitation to Lord and Lady Werthrope’s party, a guest of honor at a soiree at their country estate. They promised a night of occult mysteries and foreign prizes. Bits of people and places from across the empire and beyond. Mummies from Egypt and fragments of Greek antiquities to gasp and shriek over with glasses of champagne and brandy.

Roderick carried himself as Lord Werthrope’s equal, and at least for that night, surrounded by ancient mysteries of all kinds, he was seen as such. He was an expert, a guide, someone to hold in reverence rather than an oddity to gawk over. He told them with his bearing, his dignity, and the ruby he wore on a golden chain around his neck. His wishes became dreams and so became real. He stood like a stronger god beside the broken figure of Apollo and scoffed at the mistranslations of texts he’d only ever read secondhand.

Beside the wonders kept under guard at home, what were these paltry things? He could have any of them he desired, and he’d already claimed better.

His sense of superiority carried him through the party’s early hours, moving from acrobats in elaborate costumes, to fire eaters, to ghost stories and flights of fancy spun by swindlers far below his consideration. He had an answer or alternative for everything. And then he met the girl.

She sat at a bare table with no long cloth to hide rolling ankles, clever fishing lines, or knocking accomplices. Only a candle and a deck of cards separated her from the guests, and she’d drawn quite a queue. Her feet didn’t even reach the floor, swinging idly between the legs of the chair as she read the cards of a distraught-looking dandy.

Taking his arm, Lady Werthrope said, “This one you really must see, Magus. She’s made quite the splash in New York and London.”

The Magus offered a tolerant smile. “And what is the trick? Does she blow out the candle? Bend spoons?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” The lady practically vibrated, eager to impress as she led them to the table, scattering the line. “She sees things, and she reads fortunes like no one I’ve ever seen, and I’ve had more than a few pet psychics in my time. This one’s a bit of a sad story.”

The magus clenched his jaw until the muscle in his cheek twitched. He could make whatever sob story the girl shilled much worse. Of all the frauds and liars who feigned knowledge of the occult, Roderick Burgess hated mediums and ghost whisperers the most. The tantalizing promise of connection with Randal – always waved in his face, always ultimately denied – it clawed open the rotting wound in his heart, and he let the poison drip back on any fools who tried his patience.

Let this one try to pull the wool over his eyes, and he’d unmask her in front of this glittering audience. She’d be a penniless sad story when he was through.

“Those people,” the lady said, nodding to a couple flanking the child, “are just the adoptive parents. Saw her family murdered, poor thing. They say that’s what cracked her open to the other world.”

“Do they indeed.” He kept his smile, showing his teeth as his grip flexed over the cane in his free hand. “Then I look forward to her performance.”

The Magus and the lady sat across from the faux family, and the girl looked at them. The people who weren’t her parents did not manage her well, Burgess couldn’t help noting. They’d painted her up with rogue and kohl that made her look even more like a child playing grownup games, and the feather in her headband hung limp and lifeless. She barely managed to grimace through a smile, and she spoke with all the enthusiasm of a student reporting on Ovid to the class.

“What are you asking?” A child’s voice really shouldn’t be so dull. Now that he was nearer, the Magus couldn’t help wondering if she was even younger than he’d first assumed. Not even ten, he thought, and already so exhausted.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He kept his guard, but curiosity stirred beneath. She was no great performer.

Lady Werthrope leaned forward, eager to take the first reading as the girl shuffled her cards. They were nearly too big for her to manage, but in this at least she clearly had much practice. Her handling of the tarot was the most natural element of her demeanor he’d yet to see.

The lady talked about her dog Moxy, a cocker spaniel much loved and terribly spoiled. It was getting on in years, and, well, ought she prepare for anything dreadful? Only, her friend had just lost her terrier, and she couldn’t chase it from her thoughts…

The cards appeared on the table. One by one. The Six of Cups. The Two of Swords. And, lastly, the Nine of Swords reversed.

“Moxy is well-loved.” The child pointed to the first card. “That’s the foundation. But she’s getting older, and she may go blind eventually. She’s accepted it, though, and you will, too.” She smiled a little, hesitantly, like a pet used to getting kicked when she barked at company. The Magus noted how her gaze flicked to her pseudo-father.

Lady Werthrope clucked and reached over to squeeze the child’s hand. “You’re very honest. And very sweet. Now, won’t you show the Magus what you can do?”

Obediently, she gathered the cards and folded the deck, shuffling them with the fresh energy of her next customer. “What do you want to know?”

Roderick considered. It was a little below him to ask anything specific of a child spiritualist, and he still meant to test her. Hate stirred the old thorn in his heart, and although she didn’t speak with ghosts to earn her bread, he didn’t need to justify himself.

“I’ll leave the question to you.” He squinted in a way that may seem affectionate, but it was only sharp, a predator focusing on little fawn to see how quickly it might run. “What do you see?”

She flinched, lifting her eyes from the cards to meet his in a fleeting, startled glance. Like he’d come near to guessing something she didn’t say out loud. But then she bent over the deck, back to her work as the woman behind her set a hand on her shoulder.

“Be good, Aisling,” the adoptive mother said. “Show the Magus your skills. Don’t embarrass us.”

The child rolled her lip between her teeth, sorting the task quickly. One card. Two cards. Three cards. Tap, tap, tap on the bare table. The Magician’s face glowed in the candle light, and Roderick blinked. A good tarot reader must have good luck in order to draw the appropriate cards – or a marked deck. But he’d watched those little hands like a hawk, and he’d seen nothing. It wasn’t definitive proof by any means, but Roderick Burgess knew himself to be cleverer than a child.

Pointing to the first card, the Magician, the girl said, “You’re the Magus. The Magician is your creation of yourself.” The second card was the Nine of Cups. “Your cups all overflow, and you enjoy the plenty you already have.” And then there was the Ace of Pentacles. Roderick wondered for a moment if she’d laid the cards out of the intended order, but she simply said, “There is new wealth coming. You’ve just found something that will bring you more good fortune. The benefits will grow in the months and years to come.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.” He looked for cracks, and there were many. Fatigue clouded her eyes and weighted the end of every sentence. Not a sign of a lie, though. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy for the audience.

He turned the interaction over in his mind through the rest of the night, wearing away the questions and presumptions like the rough edges of a stone, and by the later hours, he thought he might hold a jewel.

The adoptive parents made themselves easy to find. They hadn’t left the table. Neither had the girl. The lord and lady hired them to entertain, and they stayed at their posts. They’d gathered refreshments, but no cup or plate sat on the table, and he wondered if they had any idea children needed things like water after a long night of speaking with strangers.

Really. The scheme was too transparent. The only lies hid in any manner of affection the parents pretended for the child they claimed.

The Magus marched up to the table, rapping the top with his cane to seize the drowsy girl’s attention. She blinked, started licking her dry lips, caught herself, and pinched her mouth closed with her teeth.

“Aisling, wasn’t it?” He nodded to her, encouraging her to echo the motion. “I would like a word with you. No cards. No reading. Just a conversation. Alone.”

The father stepped forward, ready to defend his meal ticket. “Sir, I’m afraid we can’t just –”

“The girl and I will sit here, at this table,” he tapped it again to make his point, “and you will both stand over there.” The cane swung to point towards the bar, which was well within sight but well out of earshot.

When the man moved to protest again, Roderick pulled out his wallet, and the father’s mouth snapped shut. A few pounds bought the adults’ willing compliance, and they went off in search of drinks with barely a backwards glance. Roderick settled into the seat he claimed earlier, watching the girl squirm. Her hands fluttered restlessly between her lap and the table, clearly used to the cards, uneasy without the form and ritual of a reading to guide the conversation.

That was well enough. Roderick had his own plans.

He signaled one of the roving staff, and as the waiter approached, he ordered, “A lemonade for the young lady.”

With a bow, the server hurried off, and the Magus smiled, lips closed, tilting his head as his legs crossed under the table. He was not a client. He was an adult who noticed, who might be moved to care, and in the few hours of their acquaintance, he was already offering more than anyone else.

“So, you see things?”

Her eyes snapped from him to the people who managed her. Then back again, and down to her lap.

“I’m not supposed to upset people.” She picked at the fringe on the garish frock she wore – entirely unsuited to her age and clearly uncomfortable. “It upsets Mr. and Mrs. Foster when I see things. Or when I talk about them.”

The Magus nodded, unsurprised. He wondered if the people who adopted her even realized her talents were genuine when they snatched her up. They had too many connections and too much showmanship to be anything other than experienced con artists. This little Aisling must be very sensitive, and the truly sensitive didn’t see strictly good, kind, or encouraging things. How she must terrify the fools.

The server returned with a cut crystal glass rattling with ice. The girl thanked the server, then thanked her benefactor, and wrapped her hands around the condensation-slicked sides. She sipped carefully, and Roderick could see the tension ease from her posture as she drank. Desperate as she was, she didn’t gulp, and with clear regret, she set the drink on the table still two-thirds full. But she kept her hands on the glass, lest some waiter assume she was finished and spirit it away.

“I won’t be upset, and I’d like to believe you.” Angling his head down to peer at her meaningfully, employing a look he’d once used when his son misbehaved, he asked, “What have you seen tonight that would upset people?”

The girl looked around, shifting so her chair creaked. This time, it wasn’t her adoptive parents she feared. Any ears may be a threat. When she leaned in, the Magus copied her, silently assuring her the secret would be safe with him.

“There’s a guest who’s not a guest, and he isn’t a man, either.”

The Magus hummed. “Say I believe you. Could you prove it?”

Seduced into the invitation of an adult confidant, and revived by the lemonade, she rushed to answer. She wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be believed and heard. The Magus was listening, and he was beginning to believe as well.

“The man paid the footman with holly leaves,” she hissed in a loud whisper. “The footman folded them like bank notes, and the spines stabbed his palms, but he didn’t notice. Look for the one with blood on his gloves.”

“And the man who isn’t a man?”

Shrinking back, the girl shook her head until the headband went crooked. Her hand pressed over her heart, rubbing hard circles as her face creased.

“He’d know I saw him,” she said. “I don’t let them know I see them anymore.”

Now there was a tale and no mistake. A child with enough power to annoy things beyond the veil – one that survived an encounter – was rare indeed.

“What happened?” He lent his tone a shade of concern. Facts, he found, traveled swiftest to a sympathetic ear, and he needed to know everything. Curiosity was growing into practical fervor as the first dreams of a plan grew into place. “Are you ill?”

She crumbled just a little bit more, folding into herself to protect the place she rubbed from some invisible threat. “Sometimes I see things that don’t want to be seen. One of them – hurt me. There’s no scar, but it hurt me, and now it aches.”

The Magus donned a solemn expression, though he felt a thrill at the prospect sitting before him. The little girl had unusual skills, and though she wasn’t handled well by the adults governing her, they must still turn a pretty penny showing her in salons and private homes. He’d confirm what she’d said, of course, validate her little proof, but she was either a better liar than he’d ever met or she was childishly honest. He knew where he’d put his money.

Where he might very well invest it, actually.

He didn’t say goodbye, only nodding as he rose and went in search of the servant with bloody gloves.

Of course, he found him. When he demanded to see what the footman had in his pockets, the boy paled, stammering excuses, only to pull out a handful of forest detritus. As the young man fell into a whirl of confusion and disappointment, the Magus truly smiled. The first real smile since Lady Werthrope brought him to the child’s table.

He must have a proper conversation with the girl’s current guardians.

Aisling clung to her bag, drowning in the heat as the train pulled away from the Wych Cross platform. Men and women fanned themselves with hats and newspapers, desperate for a breeze in the dead summer stillness. Ladies shed their gloves. Men loosened their ties. Propriety mattered less when the air was trying to suffocate them, a crushing, inescapable oven scalding the usually damp countryside.

A miserable day to travel.

Sweat dripped down her back, soaking the neck of her dress, gluing her hair to her skin. But she didn’t have a free hand to stir a breeze. Her bag was too heavy, full of everything she would need in her new home, or at least everything the Fosters thought they couldn’t sell for a profit. Mrs. Foster took her to the train station and dropped her at the door.

“Here’s your ticket. You’re heading to Wych Cross, and then to Fawney Rig. Don’t forget, and don’t miss your train,” she’d said. Then she climbed back into the cab beside Mr. Foster and disappeared into the flow of London traffic.

They’d sold her on to someone else, and now they were free of her.

She peered around the station, but it was really just a platform. In London, there were helpful adults in uniforms and suits who pointed out the right train and the right stairs to reach it. Nothing here told her how to find Fawney Rig, though, and the only adult in a uniform seemed to be the man in the ticket booth.

She’d find her way. She wasn’t a baby after all. She was eight. And she could read very well, and no one was coming to help her, so she better figure it out.

She stood in line for the ticket man’s attention. Surely, he could give her directions. The Magus was rich, and a little famous, she thought, so his neighbors must know where he lived. If the man in the booth didn’t know, she’d keep asking until she found someone who did. While she waited her turn, she set down her suitcase and sat on it, taking deep breaths that tasted like salt. It could be worse. What if it rained instead? Well. Actually. Rain sounded very nice.

Soon enough, she took her place in front of the booth, and the man frowned under his mustache like she’d arrived with a bill or a letter from someone nasty. She smiled prettily, the way the Fosters told her to, and tried to make herself look like less of a problem as she clutched her case again.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but do you know the way to Fawney Rig?”

He physically recoiled, and his frown hooked deeper with glowering doubt as he scanned her. “Fawney Rig? That devil worshiper’s house? Why do you want to know?”

“I’ve been sent to live there, sir. I’m expected, but I don’t think they’ve sent anyone for me.” Manners made things easier with adults. Good manners and clear words – the fewer the better.

But the man wasn’t swayed. He looked thunderous. Like she’d broken something valuable and ought to pay for it with a lashing.

“Do you have money for a cab?”

The Fosters didn’t own her anymore, and they’d given her nothing but cards, and costumes, and a hairbrush. All the cash stayed warm and safe in their pockets.

“No, sir.”

“Then walk down the main road. Go east from the village, and keep going until there are no more houses you can see from the street. There’ll be a path on the left with a big iron gate. Follow that and you’ll find your devil worshipers.” He waved her off like he’d slap her if not for the glass. “Next!”

Manners got her what she needed, at least. “Thank you.”

The other adults all moved aside as she trundled through with her case. It made it easier to avoid clipping ankles and shins with her luggage, but she wondered if they hated her the way the ticket man hated her – because of Fawney Rig – or if she simply smelled after the long, stuffy ride in third class. Not that adults needed an excuse to dislike her. The nice ones called her uncanny and gifted. The mean ones called her a witch, and a bastard devil-spawn, and other names a mother should wash out of their mouths with soap.

She wasn’t sure which ones were telling the truth.

She knew the way forward, though. To Fawney Rig. That was good, even if the other adults didn’t think so. The Magus may not be a nice person, she hadn’t known him long enough for the usual adult lies to wear thin enough to see through, but he was smarter than the Fosters, and he’d given her a lemonade, so maybe she wouldn’t be as hungry or thirsty under his guardianship. She’d still have to work. Adults only wanted her if they thought she could give them something. But everything was more bearable with a good dinner and cold drinks.

She hoped he’d give her another cold drink, even water with some ice, when she reached his home. The train ride left her terribly thirsty.

Leaving the shaded platform, she bowed away from the sun’s violent touch and started on her journey. The village only kept a cobbled road in the center of town. It led up to the train station, linking it to a clutch of shops and offices. A parish church sat a little way back from the road, separated from the secular world by a field of tidy tombstones in heat-bleached grass. People noticed her. They looked. They whispered to each other. But no one waved or offered a hand. Gossip didn’t move fast enough to beat her here from the train, and she wondered how people could tell she was odd. Society had so many rules beyond manners, but no one would tell her what they were, and she never guessed right.

By the time the cobblestones ended, she was struggling to hold onto her suitcase. The handle kept trying to slip from her fingers, even when she held it with both hands, and she had to work harder and harder to keep it out of the dirt. If she knew anything about the world, it was that good children didn’t drag their luggage, and bad things happened to those that did. She’d travelled enough to learn, and she wanted to make a good impression on her new keeper and his household.

The road outside of town went a very, very long way. The ticket seller’s instructions made each step sound the same length: go through town, pass the houses, go down the long drive past the gates. Her imagination had lied to her, though. Every time she thought she’d passed the last house, there came another. Each handed her down the chain of cottage gardens and small homes full of families who pretended not to see. They all knew she’d done something, like she had a brand on her forehead, and she wasn’t allowed to stop. She didn’t try to.

Everything looked sickly yellow in the midday glare. Dust hung in the air, stirred by passing cars, lingering without a breath of wind to dispel the choking clouds. Everything looked flat and dead, so much so she almost missed the gate. Another leg of her trek done. Still too far to go, and the private road leading to the Magus’ home was longer than it had any right to be.

She didn’t feel well. The trees gave her a little protection, but her stomach and lungs felt hard, strained, the way her arms ached with carrying her suitcase. Only they were parts that shouldn’t feel that way, and she thought maybe she should sit down.

But she was almost there.

Even if she walked slowly, and her feet didn’t land quite where she told them to.

She just wouldn’t think about those things. Complaining was just making excuses, and she was expected.

The house appeared out of nowhere, or she was too dizzy to see it through the leaves before the last turn in the drive. It loomed, a very final-looking destination, and her suitcase escaped her grasp. The case was slippery, and her fingers didn’t curl the way they should. She bent to pick it up, and when she straightened, the whole world spun.

She stood very still until it stopped, and she found herself shivering as she approached the front door. Very strange. Was she afraid? No. That didn’t sound right. She felt terrible, too terrible to worry, and none of it made sense.

But she’d nearly made it. She had made it. Almost.

Knocking summoned a young man, and the door creaked open as he glanced down with a quizzical expression. “Hello? Can I help you?”

She tried holding her suitcase with just one hand, but it slipped away again, barely missing her foot. Maybe a handshake was a bad idea. The stranger hadn’t held his hand out for a shake, after all. She was just confused. He might not want to touch her. And she must look a picture after her walk.

She should’ve done something differently. If she were smarter, or taller, or…

“I’m Aisling Hunt, sir. The Magus sent for me.”

“Oh.” The young man’s eyes popped wider, and she wondered if he was younger than she thought at first. Stepping back, he pulled open the door to usher her inside. “I’m sorry. I’d heard someone was coming, but I’d thought you’d be… well, older. And I’m just Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex. I’m Aisling.”

He nodded and plucked her bag from where she’d dropped it. “Yes. You said. Are you feeling alright?”

She didn’t know. And grownups didn’t really like it when she was unwell anyway. Before she could come up with a suitable lie that would get her what she needed without stepping on any toes, a familiar face appeared at the end of the hall.

“Ah! You made it.” Out of formal dress, the Magus still brimmed with authority. Aisling had met many adults who wore costumes and pretended to be something they weren’t, but the Magus seemed like he’d somehow stitched his chosen persona into his skin. “Welcome to Fawney Rig.”

She wobbled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Magus,” he corrected.

“Thank you, Magus, sir.”

At last, what he was seeing overshadowed his enthusiasm, and the old man frowned. “Did you walk here? From the station?”

“Yes, Magus.”

“The Fosters didn’t even give you money for a fucking cab?”

“Just the train ticket, sir. Magus.”

She blinked, and the whole room turned blue, like peering at the world through stained glass. It looked so pretty she didn’t realize the Magus was asking her another question until his hand settled on her shoulder.

His voice came from far away. “Can you hear me?”

Yes, she wanted to say. Yes, Magus, I walked, and I found Fawney Rig all on my own, and I’m not useless, please don’t throw me away yet.

But everything looked cool, and blue, and lovely. She was floating in it. Floating and so awfully heavy at the same time. The color slipped in with her breath, eroding her control until it slipped from her grasp like the suitcase had.

The world went dark, and she didn’t see, hear, or say anything more.

And deep below, in the belly of the house, Dream of the Endless waited in his cage, as senseless to the world above as she.

#morpheus x reader #fic: persephone's devotee #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x oc #fic: hello mr. monster

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kingxgarm · 4 months

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A very special birthday

An OG Eclipse oneshot, for his birthday

"Today... why did it have to be today!?" Eclipse mumbled to himself as he walked to the center of the forest. His magic coursing through him. He was going to need it.

It was the day when the connection would be strongest. Where he could have the clearest communication. He really needed to talk to him…

After finally making his way to the perfect spot, the strongest spot, he stopped and dropped to his knees. Eclipse put his hands to the ground, directing his magic beneath the earth, beneath this plane of existence.

“Hear me, spirits. I wish to call upon one of you. I have experience with death herself. I am worthy of you. Come to me. I call to you, Eclipse.” Eclipse bent down to a bowing position. It would help draw him out.

A flash of light appeared as the ground began to glow. A chuckle could be heard in his own voice, but he knew it wasn't coming from himself.

“Well, well, well… I've never had anyone bow to me before. I have to say… I’m flattered you bothered.” Looking up only slightly but still appearing as low as possible, he saw what looked to be Sun’s feet, but… very different. Glowing. A bright gold. Too bright, in his opinion.

“Get up, let's get this over with.” Eclipse got up as quick as possible. He stared down at the original Eclipse. He was the same height as Sun, which was jarring.

It was very strange for the original, high, and mighty Eclipse to be… shorter. There was one major difference setting them apart, proving that the spirit before him was superior. He was very bright. Blinding almost. His golden skin glistened. His electric blue eyes felt like daggers they way they pierced Eclipse with his stare.

“Not even going to wish me a happy birthday? You should know I expect cake and party hats.” The spirit chuckled. For some reason, his carefree nature scared Eclipse. Maybe it was just the concept of standing in front of the original… The one who began and ruined his life…

“You don't talk much, do you?” The spirit cocked his head.

“No, I… just…”

“Intimidated?” The spirit smiled evily.

“No. I'm just thinking… I really needed to talk to you.” Eclipse's rays flared. Drawing back into his head before shooting out and reflecting downwards. He often got upset that he couldn't control his rays, but his emotions could.

“You have my full attention, copy.” The name cut deep for Eclipse coming from the original, but he already knew it was true.

“I want to know… everything. You're the Eclipse I have the most fragmented memories of. I want the full story. From very beginning to the end.” Eclipse's rays changed direction again. Embarrassed, he decided to ignore it from then on.

“That's quite an ask. Does this have something to do with… Lunar?” The spirit stopped smiling, but from his tone, you'd think he was.

“He's not the main reason, but I do think I deserve to know. It would make me a better copy, and that's all I want from you.” It sounded pathetic, but all Eclipses have experience with being pathetic. This one would understand.

“Really, now? I've been watching you Eclipse, and I have to say… At first, I was deeply disappointed… but now-” Eclipse interrupted the spirit.

“You're angry… I know I'm not like you at all… but-”

“Ha! You really think you know me better than I do? You really ARE trying to copy!” The spirit laughed a deep, bellowing laugh.

Eclipse sighed. This wasn't going anywhere.

“No. Now I feel… almost jealous, if I'm being honest.” Eclipse looked down at the spirit. Jealous?

“You are giving yourself the chance that I threw away, that I never really had. You have the opportunity at something greater. I don't really care if what you do next is evil or in Sun and Moon’s best interest. You're better than them. You're an Eclipse. You're better than everyone.”

It wasn't what Eclipse was expecting to hear, but… it did help. To hear the original Eclipse, the best Eclipse, say all this. It was… different.

“Now I wish I brought you a cake.” Eclipse smiled. “If you follow me back to the pizzaplex, I'll get you one.”

“I might take you up on that offer. We can walk and talk about… whatever you want, I guess.” The spirit shrugged but smiled back at Eclipse.

“Ok.” Eclipse began to walk away, but the spirit didn't follow.

#king's fics #tsams eclipse #sams eclipse #happy birthday og eclipse #and also a very special happy birthday to our headmates Halo and Callisto #you guys are amazing #tsams #sams #sun and moon show #the sun and moon show #tsams fic #sams fic #art is also by me if you couldn't tell #its og with some cake #i think he'd like some #king's art

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nightfallgame · 6 months

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SHORT — Hisa Igarashi (02)

Originally Written: 07-05-21

Prompt: A/b/o Au featuring Omega!Hisa, Alpha!Reader, and a whole lot of jealousy. Plus Hisa being an awful brat. What else do you expect?

Hisa is an Omega. He’s aware of that much. Of course, he’s pure enough that he never suffers through the undesirable cycles that come with one’s dynamic, nor does he live with the unnecessary instincts of it.

Unlike Kegare, he’s above such things. The defiled one could never measure up. In fact, there are surely very few people in the world who can reach Hisa’s standard of purity and superiority. For as long as he can remember, he’s known— and been told— how much better he is.

And normally, Hisa doesn’t get attached. Guests come and go from the shrine often. He greets them all politely and attends their visits, but never thinks twice about the common folk he interacts with as part of his job and lifestyle. None of them are worthy of his attention, after all. Or more accurately, they weren’t. Not until a certain Alpha began to come by.

You’re a frequent visitor. Your sister died in an unfortunate accident. You visited, at first, because of that. By now, Hisa thinks there’s more to it.

But... you smell good. Your presence is strangely assuring. Hisa has never been one to care much for dynamic or the nearness of an Alpha, but when it’s you, he finds himself more eager than ever before. Something about you draws him in. Perhaps you’re a pure person as well. He doesn’t know enough to say for sure, and yet, your bright smile and kind words make it seem true. If you are, you don’t seem to be aware of it.

Hisa sticks close to you. When you’re there, now, he trails after you, even to the extent of neglecting his other duties. He wants to spend time with you, no matter how strange the behavior is compared to his usual self.

You always smile at him. You’ve patted his head a couple of times. He’s tiny next to you, and for some reason, that makes Hisa feel safe. When you’re nearby, he feels calmer. He rarely bothers to snap at Kegare or remind those who disrespect him of his status as one above them.

When you visit this time, Hisa is fully expecting to be as close to you as ever. But when you walk through the shrine’s gate...

There’s someone by your side. An Omega, just like him.

Hisa’s breath catches in his chest. He doesn’t know why, but the sight of it sends a quick shock of something hot and vicious through him. Looking at the other Omega, with his sweet eyes and pleasant smile, his body even smaller and slighter than Hisa’s own, that hot feeling surges and crests like a wave. Hisa growls low and under his breath. He doesn’t like this.

You speak to him just as always. The Omega beside you greets Hisa pleasantly. He returns it, but his tone is far more clipped. Looking down his nose at the Omega, Hisa analyzes his everything. Anything about him that could have been what drew you in. Whatever it was that caused this.

He doesn’t know why he’s so desperate to know what you favor.

“Who’s this?” Hisa asks. He gives the Omega a glance that (most likely) clearly highlights his displeasure. It doesn’t seem to do anything.

“My friend.” You’re lying. You have to be. He doesn’t believe it.

“I see.”

From there, the visit goes mostly the same as it always does. Hisa follows you and the Omega, growing more and more agitated as time goes by. You don’t seem to notice— or at the very least, you don’t care.

The longer he watches you laugh along with the sweet, cheerful Omega, the deeper Hisa’s frustration begins to run. He wants to chase the other boy off. He wants that Omega to leave and never come back, and for you to stay with him and never leave. A strange, hot, dizzy feeling is settling somewhere in his head and in his belly, and Hisa can’t place what it is. He’s never felt anything like it before. What could be happening to him?

Hisa bites back his jealousy until he can get you alone. That other Omega, impure, doesn’t deserve you. That much he knows for sure.

“Could you come with me?” Hisa asks, trying to sound pleasant.

You follow him. Hisa takes you to one of the back rooms of the shrine, where no one will hear your conversation. You ask why. He has no answer. He doesn’t know why he wants to be alone with you so badly right now.

“That person...” he starts.

“Are you jealous?” You cut him off. Hisa twitches at the true words.

“Why would you assume that? I’m simply concerned for you. You’re making a poor choice, associating with an Omega like that. If you can’t tell, he’s impure. Not like me. You shouldn’t waste your time,” he huffs. But as Hisa speaks, he sees your expression shift to something far less contented.

“Hisa, that’s rude. You shouldn’t talk about my friend like that. We’re not together, and even if we were, I can be with anyone I want. Don’t be a jerk.” You turn to leave without looking back. Hisa’s panic spikes.

“Wait!” he calls. He grabs your arm with his little hand.

You look back at him, unamused. Hisa’s stomach twists. He doesn’t like that look. You’re displeased with him, and that shouldn’t matter, but all his stupid, traitorous brain can think is that he needs to fix it right now.

But he doesn’t know what to say. Not at all. Hisa hesitates. He stares at you desperately, internally praying that you’ll stay. He doesn’t want you to go back to that person. He needs you right here. If you look at another Omega, it means he’s not good enough, and that would be more than he could take. You’d be wrong, you’d have to be, but— You have to see him.

Tears spill over from his eyes before he knows what’s happening. A frustrated, hiccuping sob crawls its way up from his throat.

“Don’t go,” Hisa whispers. “I’m better, I promise.”

#Hisa Igarashi #The Sanctuary of Loss #Short #Reader #ABO Au

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horizon-verizon · 3 months

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Been observing a rather strange phenomenon within fandom reactions regarding HotD and the criticisms pertaining to Ryan and Sara's writing.

The Black faction is dissatisfied because of issues such as the writers' lack of adherence to canon, distortion of character, sidelining/erasure of PoC actors

The Green faction is upset because the show didn't validate the elaborate headcanons they had constructed about the Greens: about Aegon and Aemond's brotherly love and loyalty, about Alicole's selfless courtly love, about Aemond being a caring and dutiful son. And many of these are not just unsupported by canon but outright rejected.

Book Aemond didn't care to rescue his mother and sister who were trapped in King's Landing. He even remarked that Aegon's crown looked better on him. Criston Cole was always an opportunist with a bitter obsessive hatred for Rhaenyra. He joined Alicent for no reason save for his own gain.

It seems like some people are still unable to wrap their heads around the simple fact that the Greens are the villainous antagonists of the Dance.

Ryan Condal has uttered a lot of bullshit but saying that the book was biased in favour of the Greens isn't one of them. This show went out of its way to bend canon and water down the Greens' villainy, at the expense of the quality of the script I would add. But there is only so much the Condal and Hess can do, biased that they are, without completely changing the entire plot they have to adapt.

Wrote about Aemond, Alicent & Helaena HERE. And in the line of the book where Alicent employs Criston, it is immediately described after Criston is responding to Rhaenyra's rejection and killing a man in rage during a melee/vis-a-vis spectacle. Definitely an opportunist.

This show went out of its way to bend canon and water down the Greens' villainy, at the expense of the quality of the script I would add. But there is only so much the Condal and Hess can do, biased that they are, without completely changing the entire plot they have to adapt.

This wasn't elaborated on. Why is there "only so much they can do" and how does this undisclosed information/explanation show that they couldn't have adapted the original story's most criritcal FACTS as they were the best they could instead of going into a totally different direction, even oppositional. Esp to go so far as to try to equalize Rhaenyra and Aegon. As political leaders, social and individuals, with is to undermining the misogyny that Westeros/many Targs practiced, which enabled the fall off of the dragons and magical imbalance of the world?

Many changes have been done that didn't need to be there but were there for a particular "moral" reason of preventing the violence we're going to witness. That's a whole other conversation, point is that this is a clear CHANGE and many projects have been able to display competiting medieval entities w/o caricaturizing them.

Like yes, the Dance was people concerned with political power and thus it seems that it was a petty dispute...but the commentary is that what makes this dispute petty is that they really could've let Rhaenyra reign (who committed no great wrong against vulnerable individuals nor smallfolk, and esp not the way Aegon had before the war), but the greens didn't and their supporters didn't because BOTH they thought they deserved that power and that men should maintain exclusive rights and access to women's bodies and general/more political authority through the transfer of power that is male primogeniture. That status as the "world's" leaders. As if Rhaenyra's reign would have totally upended patriarchy in an instant or end male privilege , but bc it would at least set up a change towards women having more power even if it would take YEARS, they responded violently. For the HotD team not to really internalize that and not see the value in several things they have outright changed to make some faux, pretentious claim of moral superiority when they try to be "neutral" is to actually be against the story's point in the first place. It's affected how Daemon treats Laena, it's affected how Daemyra operate around each other, how Rhaenys was written the way she was, how both Rhaenyra and Alicent were and basically every female character.

That is not them having "difficulties" with adapting but trying to make said story "appealable" to audiences who really don't know much about ASoIAF.

#asoiaf asks to me #hotd fandom #fandom commentary #black stans #green stans #aemond targaryen #aemond's characterization #book vs tv comparison #character comparison #asoiaf #hotd critical #hotd comment #hotd

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randomnameless · 30 days

Note

Not to bring irl shit but when you consider that there are people who believe in their own moral superiority, that everything should burn to the ground, people should die for their cause and those they don't like deserve to die for justice, it makes sense why there would be Agarthan stans despite how comically evil they are in the games. Not saying it's good (it's not), but it's the same sort of edgelord doomer nihilist mentality. Or maybe I'm thinking way too hard about this and they just support them because their waifu is working with them and they can't be bad if she's "purely good" despite their actions in game saying otherwise.

Uh...

I guess everyone knows there are people who are pos around, but what became more and more annoying with the years is how some of those beliefs have been romanticed for X and Y reason (marketing purposes because earl grey sells) and if you add to that the performative era - where being a fan of a character means you have to endorse everything this character says or does, we end up with some mess.

And I think while the devoted fans we all know and love have their part of responsability in this - as you say - supporting characters no matter what to the point of swallowing their nauseabond rhetoric because waifu allies with them before backstabbing them offscreen...

I still believe content creators are sort of also to blame with this, see the earlier earl grey marketing reasons.

IIRC, in the Marvel movies the purple guy who erases half of the universe is/was/got a cup bcs sad uwus he's ready to sacrifice his daughter for the greater good?

Cry me a fucking river !

What about the rest of the world who was zapped due to his whims? Why should I care about the feefees of someone who slaughters billions and not the feelings of the ones slaughtered?

Take Kishimoto : trying too hard to make people sympathise with his anti-heroes ultimately means that their victims have no voice to any chapter, Ramen Guy will never be able to express anger (if he wasn't dead when Konoha was flattened) at Nagato turning his daughter in a pancake, or Sakura will never weep for her parents, etc etc... but we get a long FB about Nagato's sad backstory with, what can be summed up as "the world fucked me over so I'll fuck over the world and you can't stop that unless you decide to fuck me over too" without anyone telling him that his reasoning is puerile and quite frankly stupid.

Madara being very sad not being elected big boss so he takes out his salt by launching repeated attacks at the village and its inhabitants? "Who cares, he was very sad (tm) when Hashirama decided to kill him to protect the village, what a hypocrite !!!"

The less is said about AoT, the better we all are lol, but in honor of MHA ending I'll just say that... I fucking loved the panels at the end (or last chapters?) where randoms civilians are shitting on Shigaraki, even if the panel with the old lady who blames herself for not helping him back then or taking his hand was hilarious, considering that in his FB, he said he would have killed her too "oh poor him if only i died for his sake he might not have grown up as a vilain" come on that's too much earl grey i'm out of this.

As for FE Fodlan, given how earl grey was used to sell and advertise the game, I guess you can't talk to Garcias or Nathalies and ask what they're thinking about the war that is razing their homes because someone wants to unify the world and is willing to sacrifice them to do so, or hell, we can't even listen to Merlinus voice his thoughts about the strange plague in Remire and how horrible it is, to Amy wonder why the fuck her parents transformed in demonic beasts and tried to kill her.

So when even content creators believe that their vilains have to get a pass regardless of the amount of shit they pulled off - I can't exclusively blame devoted fans for going very very far with their takes to support the bae.

Special mention to Miura (rip) who never lost an occasion to portray Griffith as manipulative and conniving, and yet some people really believed (and some still do?) he did nothing wrong...

#anon #replies #maybe it's because i'm older now lol #fandom woes #once upon a time I loved earl grey stories and all with 'depth'#but when you later realise that depth is a puddle it's just...#'both sides though one person slaughters people who want to invade his lands and kill his people'#'while the other starts a continental war using her people as fodder to unify the world to her image and vision'#uwu two sides of the same coin uwu #damn now that I think about that coin argument #I remember I have an ask decomposing in the ask box lol about this #For once I'm always for more headcanons to explore characters and their motives or not #but arguing that a stale piece of bread is tasty? Nope #flavor it with headcanons!

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celtrist · 2 months

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Hot Take, I don't think some people take some things into consideration for redesigns.

Don't get me wrong, some people just do them for fun and there's a lot of REALLY cool ones out there, some I kind of prefer to the official designs to some degree. And I don't think it's a matter of people NOT doing research on the characters as that's absolutely false. But people just kind of neglect/forget/or don't realize some facts about the characters for one reason or another. A lot of designs don't even work great when you put it in the context that the characters would be animated. This doesn't mean redesigns people have done are lazy or anything, you can see a lot of care put into a lot of them.

I plan on doing a sort of "Batman Animated series next season" sort of redesign at some point, and by no means should MY takes and ideas be meant as superior to others. I also wouldn't say some of the critiques given about the official designs are unwarranted, but I think they DO get dogpiled on more than deserved (I mean, a lot of people do LIKE the designs, so they can't be that awful). Below are some things I think people forget or don't understand (again, this is not anything that should be taken as the bible, just my own thoughts about stuff and elements of characters people don't seem to take into consideration a lot):

Lucifer and Satan aren't the same person, so it makes sense Charlie isn't a goat. According to Viv, no part of her design was based on it, and it would be strange for her to look like the love child between Lucifer and Satin if she were. Though totally understand why people do it, goat Charlie IS adorable and also, where the heck does the hooves come from???

Many of the characters don't live in their time period, especially Vox and Angel Dust. I'll be a bit fair on this one, with characters being from different times, it would be visually more interesting to see those styles clash. But some characters, like Vox especially, wouldn't work with that as they WANT to live in the modern day. Vox's WHOLE THING is about staying with the times, so of course he's not looking like he's from the 50s. I've seen some redesigns revert the man to his box head, and that totally misses the point of his character and how he's opposing Alastor's want to stay with the past. I do think it wouldn't hurt to have some illusions about their time periods, though (whether through their clothes or the rooms they occupy).

Alastor is a cannibal, so it wouldn't make sense for his teeth to be so dull. Maybe they could've sharpened his canines with blunt teeth for the rest, but I think he isn't meant to be an approachable figure or anything, and the sharp teeth read as "dangerous". Also, if the canines are only sharp with the rest blunt, the toothy smile feels a little less iconic. To be fair though, a lot of characters have the sharp-tooth smile and the same smarmy face. I just think it makes more sense for his character with what he eats and the in-universe intimidation he's going for him to have full-on shark teeth. Just anything but only the blunt teeth smile, even if it works better with his smile mantra and is arguably creepier (and give his grin a more distinct feature from literally everyone else in the show.

I think the idea people have for Alastor’s colors being black and white or sepia-focused is both a good idea and a silly idea. On one hand, having his colors be like that out of a photograph would be neat and help aid in the idea of Alastor's ideals with the past always being superior to the future. He would literally look like he's stuck in the past. HOWEVER, there is a slight problem with these ideas. The issue with the black and white scheme is that he'd look like an old cartoon character rather than a man from a photograph. This would be a bit odd of a choice considering he's not associated with TV in general. Sepia is a bit better of a direction, but also a bit odd when you consider Alastor is not the only demon to hold the past on a pedestal. So why would he have the sepia scheme while others like Rosie do not? Again, bit of a double-edged sword. There's also the fact that Alastor is focused on AUDIO mediums, never visuals. So to have his scheme focus in visual mediums like being out of a photograph or old TV would be a bit odd. It would be more accurate to argue that he should look more like the invisible man with maybe only a radio head or something if you wanna make the argument about his colors not reading 1920s.

Making Alastor a full deer anthro, while cool and makes sense in theory, loses a bit of thought when there's a BUNCH of other anthro characters. Don't get me wrong, I think people often come up with some cool designs and, to be honest, look more deer like than Alastor's canon design (like seriously, those ears are not deer ears at all). However, it loses something when anthro sinners are quite common in Hell (Husker, Crymini, literally any crowd shot you see probably has an anthro character in there). So, while this might read as a bit of a personal take, Alastor being a straight up mix (dare I say a Kemnomimi) between a human and deer feels like it reads a bit better into how he died. That being, he was a man mistaken as a deer. So him being very humanoid but having the attributes that may have made the hunter think he was a deer with his silhouette and surroundings, come off as a bit stronger and better related to his death. Again, I don't think I'd call this out if it weren't for the fact we see so many anthro demons and really no kemnomimi-esc demons. Because of that, Alastor being a mix of human and animal comes off as more unique and stronger than if you made him a flat-out demon.

Alastor doesn't show his hooves because he's a gentleman! While I think they could get away with giving Charlie some open-toed shoes, Alastor is a man who wants to be fully dressed, so to have him lack shoes to show off his hooves doesn't really make sense for him. He's actually fully dressed up, no part of him showing skin aside from his head! His hands could be a bit of an argument on that, but they have been described as gloves while official merch would seem to contradict this. My fun theory is that they're gloves, but they look exactly the same as his actual hands. To follow up on the clothing thing, Alastor would never willingly show something like a tail if he has one. I am of the "he does have one" group, but I think it would make sense for him to try to hide any features that would put him as a prey animal. The following are a bit more in designs speculation territory, so take with a grain of salt:

This is a bit of a side thing and could totally be wrong, but I've seen mention that all residents in the pride ring wear/have some color of red on them. I'm not sure how true it is (I mean, when you look at all the characters seen there is some form of red on them even if it's just by eyes). This would honestly be a neat "cartoony logic you just don't question" in theory if it wasn't for the fact only the pride ring residents have this going on. If it is true, they need to have that color thing happen with other rings (so hellhounds have yellow on them, lust have purple, so on and so forth). It would be neat as then we could see where different demons come from just by their color scheme, however, that's not the case. The idea of everyone in the pride ring HAVING a bizarre dress code requiring them to wear red is more distracting and less "just accept the cartoon logic" when they're the only ring that does it. Also, I still agree that characters do not need to be drenched in color if it is a requirement in their design. Again, this is all to say this idea is true, which I cannot verify other than all the demons we see in the pride ring do seem to have some form of red on them.

Red sclera and white-ish irises might help to indicate some demons as hellborn. So this could kinda be seen as a weak argument, but I just thought it was strange how the only other times we've seen this eye trait is with hellborns: Hellhounds, Lucifer, and Charlie. And I think it would make more sense for that to be the case rather than Carmilla and her daughters happen to have fallen into Hell together. I mean it's not IMPOSSIBLE, but meh. Also, would add a bit more interest to Velvette if it was revealed she was hellborn. Thought it was a bit odd for other characters like Vox and Valentino to have confirmed death years but Velvette never got one officially (as far as I'm aware). It also would just be a nice design element that actually sort of means something (that being if you have those eyes, you're more than likely a hellborn). Especially when you take into account characters like Crymini where, if it weren't for that eye-color scheme, you would think she was a normal Hellhound.

This one is 100% headcanon territory, but I'm sharing it again because that's the power I wield. To keep it short, Alastor has high respect for women and tends to prefer their company, so maybe out of that respect/his mother possibly having it, he got himself a bob cut as that was popular with women in the 20s. The hair gets a lot of flack for understandable reasons, but I thought it'd be a bit more fun to give him a reason for having it and I also just don't think it's as bad as everyone makes it out to be. Here's the post getting a bit more into it, but pretty much the same is said just detailed.

Finally, as I've said earlier, these characters need to be animated. And most redesigns don't take that into consideration. To be fair, a lot of people also acknowledge they don't for the designs, which totally valid. It's already tricky to design characters, so to make sure they'd be animatable would be even MORE of a pain.

Again, this is just some small tidbits and by no means is this an attack on anyone or anything, just some of my thoughts and things I think people don't think about when making changes. By no means is canon perfect, I don't even think canon takes some of these considerations in to be quite honest with you and I don't think the designs are made as thoughtfully as the redesigns, but I don't really care for the "my designs are better" mantra.

All in all, just some of my thoughts on things. Lemme know if there's anything you disagree with or have your own ideas people seem to forget/not notice!

#celtrist #cel rambles #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin redesign #hellaverse

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