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dangermousie · 3 years

Note

Hello !

I was wondering whether you could rate and tell us of your top 5 favourite webnovels/cnovels of all time ?! (Sorry if this has already been answered lol😅)

Thank you, stay safe and have a nice day🖤

Awww, thank you and that is such a lovely ask!!!

From n1 to n5, here they are (they happen to be all danmei.)

1. The Husky and His White Cat Shizun (2ha) - my n1 forever and ever.

Taxian Jun, the horrific cultivation emperor of the world who razed cities and destroyed sects, is surrounded on his mountain. The righteous sects are terrified to confront him but tired of living, Taxian Jun consumes poison and dies by suicide at the age of 32. And opens his eyes as 16 year old Mo Ran, Mo Ran long before he became Taxian Jun, Mo Ran who is excited at a chance to save the one person he loved and lost. Oh, and to deal with his loathed shizun, the unapproachable and strict Chu Wanning, his past life’s biggest enemy.

I have no idea if it’s objectively the best on this list but it hits every trope I love, its bleak worldview (the world will change only incrementally but that’s enough, average person will not appreciate the sacrifice but it’s still worthwhile, and love is worth everything) mirrors mine, and the sheer complexity of the plot and cascade of plot twists each of which is insane and yet completely logical, is amazing (this is a rare novel where it’s even more fun to reread than read for the first time because you keep seeing all the hints and trail crumbs laid out that you did not see the first time.)

And the characters!!! I mean, this novel has multiple universes/timelines, a side trip to the Underworld AND the demon realm, a plot more twisted than a store’s worth of pretzels and yet the thing that hits me the most are the characters. Mo Ran is my favorite web novel character of all time and I love Chu Wanning so. All the secondary characters are wonderfully written (and some of them made me bawl) and they are all complex. My opinion of all of them changed many times over; the novel doesn’t make it easy to love some of them but then you do and it’s so worthwhile! That slow change is one of the delights of the novel - I started out disliking the unpleasant, superior Chu Wanning and cruel, callow Mo Ran and then I loved them so so hard and cried for them so so hard and was in awe of their heroism and sacrifice and selflessness and capacity to love.

Oh, and the fact that this novel does something almost impossible - it has its protagonist start out as so clearly irredeemable and then slowly and painfully and thoroughly redeems him (without ever letting the reader forget what it is he needs redemption for.)

Also, for a novel that made me cry so hard I felt ill, this book is just so damn funny with the most sarcastic sense of humor imaginable (the serious angst doesn’t even kick in until 90+ chapters!)

Anyway I should stop or I will write a dissertation. But this is the one web novel that I would put in my top 5 not just web novels but any novels in any shape or form. The plentiful trigger warnings are there for a reason so stay away if they are an issue, but if not, if anyone hasn’t read it yet, what are you doing with your life?!

2. Stains of Filth (Yuwu) - another novel by the author of 2ha. Clearly she just pushes all my buttons every time. This one is much shorter and has a plot that is twisty but less twisty than 2ha. Still, all that means is that intensity and the pain are more concentrated.

Aristocratic Mo Xi and former slave Gu Mang were both legendary generals of the empire and lovers. But Gu Mang betrayed the country and switched to the enemy. Now he is back as a peace offering by that country and Mo Xi has to deal with the fact that his feelings are as strong as ever.

This novel!!! So much pain and intensity!!! So many amazing plot twists and supporting characters. The same bleak world view, the same unjust society, the same protagonists doing right things despite the cost. Mo Xi’s intensity and inability to let go (he’s imprinted on Gu Mang and that’s it) is romantic, bone-shakingly intense, and tragic all at once. And oh Gu Mang! So many times I just wanted to reach into the book physically to protect him. The novel deals with unjust societies, memory versus personality, what it’s like to be good in a bad universe etc. And it both made me sob and giggle, repeatedly, and sold me on literally death-defying (but not honor-defying!) love.

Oh, and special shout out to the fact that like 2ha, you may start out hating some characters and end up a rabid fangirl (cough Murong Lian!)

3. Qiang Jin Jiu - a dense political tome that takes a while to get going but then it’s a runaway train.

In a fictional dynasty, Shen Zechuan, the only remaining son of a disgraced aristocratic family and Xiao Chiye, the younger son of a family of generals guarding the border join forces (and then something else) to get power and pull down the dysfunctional system.

This is so elegant and smart (a rare web novel I’d recommend to anyone who just loves solid period fiction) and you probably need a notebook to keep track of the politics and military strategy. These characters are very very smart not just because the author says so.

As to the characters, there is a large cast and I love many of them, but for me the novel is made by Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye. SZC is gorgeous and delicate and icy and can kill you before you have time to blink. Saddled with the sins of the family he had no pleasant interaction with, he claws his way out of hell (seeing the sinkhole he was trapped in, literally as well) to take down those who wronged him but also to amass power so all the tragedy and corruption won’t happen again and the whole rotten system comes crashing down. XCY is a military genius who is trapped as a hostage in the capital because the court doesn’t trust his family. He longs to return to the plains of home and to take his rightful place. The two men start out as bitter enemies, then reluctant and sniping allies, then as friends and eventually as one of the most gorgeous, tender, swoony OTPs.

Anyway this is one is a bona fide masterpiece, equal parts smart and emotionally intense.

4. Wu Chang Jie - are you an emotional vampire? I am and this novel is a banquet.

In a highly fantastical setting, we meet our protagonists - the sunny Xie Bian and the intense and surly Fan Wushe. Xie Bian is a human who assists his master in conveying souls to the underworld and making sure no mishaps happen. Bian is concentrated sunshine in human form and to meet him is to love him. When the novel opens, his drunk master brings back another human to be his shidi and assist with duties - said human is uncommunicative, intense and surly Wushe. Bian is excited to have a shidi but little does he know that a story dealing with the horrors of past lifetime is about to start.

Anyway, why WCJ? So many reasons. It has such a dark bleak worldview - this world is a horrifying system where powerful cannibalize each other’s cores for an impossible chance to ascend, where gods have sealed off their realm and all that’s left is neverending human misery and hell (the only way you’d see a deity is if they’d been sent down to suffer over and over and over), where even reincarnation doesn’t fix things and bad acts are often unpunished. And the novel then asks - is it worth being a good person in such a world? More, is it worth being a good person in such a world when nothing good has ever happened to you and you have been repeatedly betrayed due to your goodness? And the answer, on Bian’s part, is an uncompromising yes.

Ah yes, the other reason to love this novel - the protagonists and their fucked up fucked up relationship. Bian (who was Prince Ziheng in the past life) is so genuinely good. But he is that rare thing - good but not saintly, noble but not cloying. So much of the novel is his getting taken apart over and over and barely able to put himself back together every time but his soul is still as amazing as ever.

And then there is Wushe (who was Prince Zixiao in past life, Ziheng’s not-bio-related brother.) Wushe is not a good person. He is a monster. And he loves Bian/Ziheng more than his life and his soul and the entire world but he’s also the one who hurt him more than anyone else ever could and did it over and over. His love survived a literal century of torture in the worst kind of hell and refused the usual memory loss of new life. But it also humiliated and broke Ziheng down to his constituent parts.

One of the things that is so fascinating to me about this novel is the question of what can be forgiven/what should be forgiven/what kind of expiation is enough/can you ever love someone who you loved so much and then he hurt you so badly and is now repentant? And it never sweeps trauma under the rug or hand waves it away but deals with it head on.

If you want healthy relationships, you should stay far away from this novel but if intense insane ones with a feral barely human one capable of destroying the world leashed by love and guilt to the sane deeply good one is your bag, come right in.

There is also the world building and the fact that yes, the big fall out between Ziheng x Zixiao is based on not knowing all the facts but it’s not “why can’t you talk?! This is dumb!” But is totally in keeping with both events and their characters. It’s reasonable for Ziheng to do what he does and for Zixiao to misunderstand and decide Ziheng is now his biggest enemy (but still one he’s fixated on) and for Ziheng to never be able to clarify.

Anyway, once again this is trigger warning central so please heed those, but if they are no issue, this one is wonderful.

5. OK, this is hard and switches between Sha Po Lang, Heaven Official’s Blessing and The Golden Stage depending on my mood. So what the hell, I am gonna write about all of them.

Sha Po Lang - so smart and so much clever world building. There is enough politicking to satisfy a Qiang Jin Jiu fan, it’s steampunk, and our two protagonists - Gu Yun, the empire’s most powerful general, who’s loyal to the empire despite being badly wronged by it, and Chang Geng, a cursed prince with barbarian blood and horrifying childhood - are wonderful separately and together. This is a huge slow burn but it’s totally worth it! They fall in love with each other’s hearts and brains and ability as much as anything. (Yes, this is the one with the yifu thing. Gu Yun is made Chang Geng’s foster father when he rescues him and brings him back to the capital as a way to keep CG safe in imperial strife. They are 12 and 19 at the time so clearly it’s never a parental relationship.)

Heaven Official’s Blessing (TCGF) - I love it’s sprawling narrative and cast, I love its inventive setting and picaresque story. It’s hilarious and can make me cry. But the novel’s place on this list is due to Xie Lian who is part Kenshin part drama WWX part pure goodness wrapped in heartbreak and trauma wrapped in sunshine.

The Golden Stage - two smart and principled (yes, they both have principles different though they may be) men navigate their arranged marriage, their past friendship and their past break up, become a super couple (one of the healthiest danmei couples I’ve ever read and proves healthy doesn’t have to be boring), save the country and bring down the emperor or two and just generally this is my rainy day book.

I guess I didn’t write as much for the three n5 candidates as I did for 1-4 but my brain is beginning to curdle so...

#cnovel #heaven official's blessing #2ha #yuwu #sha po lang #qiang jin jiu #wu chang jie #the golden stage #tcgf #asks

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probably-haven · 3 years

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Hello!! After seeing what you wrote about xiaoven fics I went to see what things you usually write and omg, your archon Venti headcanons????? I am absolutely in love. So if it isn't annoying, could you talk about xiaoven or Venti or Xiao or whatever ship or character you like? I don't care what you are going to say, I just want to know more about your thoughts ^^

I- is this... bestie, this is essentially a free ramble pass- kerujsgheskdfug. Trust me when I say that in no way is this, and in no way will it ever be annoying in the slightest- i literally- lets just say rambling off thoughts is kind of my specialty, especially when provided a topic to branch off of because otherwise I'm just- really indecisive about it so- iujskdh yeah- 100% definitely down to talk about Venti, Xiao, and/or Xiaoven XD. Also, yes- it may have been awhile since i last posted one(cuz again, indecisive about which direction to take part 5), but the Archon War Era Venti headcanons are still without a doubt my favorite posts I've made. It's just such an interesting topic with such endless potential that so few people actually think about or consider or even realize is there, so i always just get really psyched whenever i see someone interact with them lol.

.... this ended up being a bit of a mess: warning in advance

Anyway! onto the actual content!

- You see the thing about Xiaoven is that there's a lot of different ways that it could end up working out, and just personally my favorite way of portraying Xiaoven in my mind is as an unlabeled relationship because if anyone in genshin would give off that vibe its these two. And a number of other reasons.

- Firstly, I heavily headcanon Venti as being an aroace polyplatonic or perhaps heavily demiromantic. However, regardless of this I just don't think that Venti is really the kind of person to worry about how he should label his feelings, thinking it's silly to try to put them in one box or the other, especially with feelings and emotions being as fluid as they are in general. Plus it fits his whole God of Freedom vibe. I just- dont think he's the biggest fan of labels or social categorization in general.

- And secondly on the hand of Xiao... his defense mechanisms are very much ingrained in his personality. It's probably hard enough for him to not go into fight or flight(the answer is fight) at the slightest affection at first, at the slightest feeling of vulnerability. Even further down the line, with his fierce dedication to Liyue, I cant help but get the vibe that the moment he recognized that he was falling for Venti he would begin avoiding him, not only to avoid distraction from his duty, but to avoid corrupting him or losing him in general like he has with like basically every other person he gets close with(even believing that the cycle had repeated once more when he first heard of Morax's death)... now imagine Venti tryna slap a label on their relationship and tell me Xiao would have a positive reaction.

- The thing with Xiaoven.... honestly, i feel like theres more ways that it can go wrong than it can go right, but if they do manage to make their relationship work out, it's just simply beautiful in all terms of the word.

- Lets talk about killing. - During the Archon War, both were forced to kill a large number of people and gods alike- Venti out of a need to remain alive to protect Mondstadt, it's freedom, and the nameless bard's legacy by extent- and Xiao out of servitude to the god that was once his master

..... actually- break here- ive talked a lot about Venti on this blog but I havent actually spoken about Xiao all that much- so i should probably do that a bit first... do note though that my characterization of Xiao is pretty flexible actually- this is just- the possible characterization of him that i tend to favor as being the most- uh- "realistically complex"

Theres a line I saw this one time in a certain story: "He is a trained weapon. That's what he is, was, and always will be. You cannot change that so stop trying." And i just- think its a really interesting concept- that applies pretty well to Xiao now that i actually think about it. - the concept behind it is this: After spending more than a vast majority of his life killing or otherwise in battle, it's become a part of who he is, a normalcy that after centuries and centuries would be near impossible to get rid of or reverse, and even if it was possible, with his karmic debt constantly eating away at him its unlikely he has enough time left for that to happen. - it sounds like a cruel thing to say about him- but in context it's actually pretty layered and i think about it a lot. It's not as much a "he's a killer lol, that his whole personality" its more of a "The centuries of trauma he experienced have conditioned him into a constantly alert and battle ready mindset while also shaping his dehumanizing inferior-in-worth-but-superior-in-capability view of himself that would have likely been necessary to get through those time, and at this point he's been under that conditioning for long enough that it's essentially ingrained itself in his personality."

- the main idea is- it's a part of who he is, that needs to be accepted as who he is because its not something that he can just up and change. It's not all he is of course but his constant battle mode, as though always waiting to be ambushed or to be granted a new target to eradicate.

a couple character story quotes:

-"His past of service under the evil god had rid Xiao of his innocence and gentleness. All that remained within him was the means to kill and the weight of his sins. The only way he could be of service to mortals was in combat." -"Xiao does not feel any hatred. Having lived for over two thousand years, no single karmic debt constitutes anything more than a fleeting memory. No grudge can last a thousand years; nor is any debt so great that it cannot be paid off in this time. Xiao has spent many long years alone. But his battles have never been in vain." -"where did Xiao have to return to? He was merely leaving the battlefield." -"since Xiao wages a constant war against dark forces powerful enough to devour Liyue in its entirety, any bystanders who witness him in the heat of battle are likely to end up as collateral damage." -"The war he fights can never be won, and will never come to an end." -"Because ultimately, the one with whom Xiao wrestles is himself."

i feel like at some point this very nearly did consume his whole personality, almost turning him into nothing more than a being of slaughter under Morax's control, devoid of any "humanity" at all, consumed and corrupted by his karmic debt like his fellow yakshas before him. - until he experienced a moment of clarity- a song in the wind, the peaceful melody of a dihua flute. - and pulled back from the border of something he wouldnt have been able to return from, there a was a shift in his mind- a concept grown unfamiliar enough with time that it took him a great time to identify what it was; a curiosity. Something that there was no place for on the battlefield, something that by all means should have been completely useless to Xiao, and yet he held onto that curiosity, slowly regaining over time, a sense of who he was and who he could choose to be with each song that the wind chose to carry towards him every once in a blue moon.

and eventually that curiousity turned to longing. Longing "for a day to come when he will wear the mask and dance — not to conquer demons, but to the tune of that flute amid a sea of flowers"

...... uh- heh- if you couldn’t tell already i have a tendency to make my characterizations/analyses of characters more serious that i probably should.

to summarize: Xiao is constantly toeing the line between his ingrained nature and his humanity- almost as though still trying to decide how much of that humanity he deserves to have, how much he is allowed to have, and how much is safe to have.

^looking back after writing this, i think the best way to explain it is that this is the view that i keep in mind/the lense that i tend to most enjoy looking through and refering back to while examining and/or analyzing his character, actions, story, lines, and overall personality.

idk- i kinda got off track but i just think its a really interesting interpretation to think about because it has some really interesting implications ig- it’s not the full extent of how i view him of course, but i kinda got ahead of myself and its long enough as is so ill just elaborate as i go- Lol i actually have in progress playlists for both him and venti and just- vibes- i could ramble about the playlists alone for hours explaining everything... It’s probably a problem- uh- ill keep going now lol.

anyways! stepping off the angst path for a brief break! Brought to you by their lines in the snow: both waiting for it to get thick enough, Venti for the purpose of a snowball fight and Xiao for the purpose of a tasty and nutritious breakfast.

but its actually something of note that Xiao doesnt actually need to eat so anything he does eat is usually out of obligation or enjoyment- so like.... snow.... like i dont blame him, but of all things- an adeptus who refuses to eat basically anything but almond tofu looks at the freezing-cold-floor-water that yeeted itself from above and decided at some point- damn- that seems more edible than basically ever single actually edible thing ever.... im gonna eat it- like- im glad if eating snow makes him happy but- at the same time...

He probably convinces Venti to eat snow too though and Venti wouldnt even resist I mean he’s wind and has probably consumed worse things in his time so- 2 anemo cryptids with glowing tattoos sitting in Dragonspine monching snow in the dead of night is an amusing thought to me.

- kay, now back to more serious-toned thoughts

One of the things about the ship that i really like is the different contradicting parallels between them:

A lot of how i view Xiao’s character is someone formed largely by the things he cant control and who was forced to accept that accepted that and learned to thrive in it as much as he can. Venti on the other hand is surrounded by things he cant control and is ever adapting to control as much as he can while embracing whatever he cant as being part of the unpredictability of the world, seeing beauty in it.

both of them have lost people and do what they do to honor their memory: Xiao continues to do what the Yakshas once did And Venti chooses to do what his friend couldn’t

Xiao’s power coming from himself and Venti’s from others And both seem to appear to use their power for their own gain while truly helping others behind the scenes

both have killed a lot of people during the archon war Xiao views it as another necessary event out of his control and Venti would likely view it as a tragedy he chose to enact himself

and this is where we meet out balance

Xiao- contrary to how i think a lot of people view him as thinking of himself as a monster- seems canonically to have accepted this as part of his duty, as long as those he killed are not mortals. I dont think he enjoys it no- but someone has to do it and he’s just accepted that its a part of his duty Venti on the other hand-

See the beauty of the ship- as someone with an angst-centric mind- is this- these are two of the most traumatized mfers in the game

Xiao is by far the one who needs the most help and who can serve to benefit most from the ship- but he is nowhere near self aware enough to recognize that there’s anything wrong or unhealthy about his mindset in the slightest-

whereas you have the contrast with Venti who sorted through most of his trauma with the nameless bard alone during the archon war and while the result appears more healthy- is still really not- but he’s not self aware of that either because i mean- who’s going to tell him? nobody even knows.

however- venti is aware enough to notice flaws in Xiao’s mindset and “Venti” enough to want to help them through it-

Xiao- while not aware enough to recognize the flaws in Venti’s mindset, can recognize where it contrasts with his own, and is blunt enough to point it out- and then it’s out there to be mulled over-

they’re so similar and yet so different and a feel just conversing between the two of them, being in each others precense, just being exposed to two mindsets that are so very different could do both of them a whole lot of good.

GEEE THAT BIT OF RAMBLING HAD LITTLE TO NO DIRECTION AT ALL- LET ME-- LET ME MAKE THIS START MAKING SENSE- WITH... DYNAMICS OR SOMETHING

I don’t think Xiao needs to sleep really- and i dont think that sleeping would do anything except make him uneasy at first- he’d probably just get nightmares after all he’s been through- but with Venti he would soon learn that it doesn’t have to be that way, lulled into the first peaceful sleep he’s had in... as long as he can remember.

anywho back to not making sense cuz im fickle and i think most questions about ships are best displayed through character interactions so like- a possible exchange thats cliche but cliches exist for a reason

Xiao: Why do you try so hard to help me, it isn’t easy. I know that much Venti, with the most adoring expression: Because you’re worth it, obviously Xiao: But surely there are others more deserving of- Venti: No Xiao, everyone is just as deserving as the next person, you included Xiao: Then why me above others? Venti: ehe, cuz ur my warrior of course [O//////O oh shit, hes right] Xiao: My contract is with Morax alone [gay panic but in broody yaksha]

it’s kinda difficult cuz neither of them really address their feelings. I mean Venti does but he does it very indirectly and its rare that he ever does it with like- genuine directness- even spilling his backstory was in the form of a song- and told in the third person- so a lot of their interactions would often have some deeper meaning, especially with Venti being the bard he is.

I come up with a lot of- errant thoughts about Xiaoven- but this is making me realize that a true analysis of their ship is rather difficult because it just encompasses so many dynamics so its hard to settle on just one and not go rambling about who knows what bouncing from one end of the ship to the other- Because you truly can and thats the beauty of it

within one moment you can be having a heartfelt conversation about the archon war the impact of lost friends and times past, and the next moment Venti is trying to forcefeed Xiao an apple while Xiao screams about disrespecting the adepti and its just- so lovely

so while they have picnics with nothing but apples, dandelion wine, and almond tofu they can sit down and talk about the dreams Xiao once devoured, and the dandelion wine and apple cider that the first Ragnvindir invented from the plants that never could have grown in Old Mond. The foods that tasted of familiarity, or of the grilled ticker fish Pervases always used to eat, foods that tasted of friends and frankly family that had since passed, glaze lilies and cecilias and qingxin flowers scattered in the surroundings and woven into Xiao’s neat braids and Venti’s now messy ones, rebraided by the steady and inexperienced hands of one unused to gentle action.

and then of course Venti steals Xiao’s tofu once the mood becomes too grim and replaces it with a bottle of wine that Xiao refers to as “vile poison,” a remark that fatally wounds Venti as he collapses on the floor, proclaiming how he can only be healed by a Yaksha’s kiss. Xiao ignores this of course and simply takes back his tofu with a slight smile on his face, but as Venti persists he soundlessly places a kiss on his own palm before intertwining their fingers and pulling him back up from where he was dramatically sprawled on the floor, grumbling about how such action was “unbecoming of an archon.” A sign of affection only Xiao would ever know about. But Venti is literally wind and I hc his senses work differently anyways so he definitely knows- plus Xiao’s face is red as the blood of his enemies and the way he is pointedly not looking at Venti at all really speaks volumes anyways.

-Venti playing epic battle music whenever Xiao goes into fights in what looks like a ridiculously extra performance to anyone else but is actually doing wonders to keep Xiao’s karma at bay

-Venti preaches the practice of “kissing wounds better” and Xiao is unfamiliar with this medical treatment but views it as unnecessary regardless because adepti have accelerated healing, doesn’t mean he’s going to stop him though.

-Messages whispered on the wind

-Venti’s 1000 year sleep- an accident, not a fun time for the yaksha, and not a fun time for Venti once he woke up. Venti is actually more afraid of restful sleep than Xiao is, hence the sleeping in trees thing, but when Xiao is there, he can sleep restfully with faith that Xiao wont let another millennia slip through his fingertips.

- Xiao tends to make excuses when doing things that aren’t necessary to his duty, like in his birthday voice line “Have this, it’s a butterfly i made from leaves... Okay. Take it. It’s an adepti amulet -- it staves off evil” because at the current point in his progress it helps him to feel like he’s allowed to do these things. Not wanting to put him off from progress, Venti never comments on his excuse but never fails to whisper a quick reminder of how proud he is of how far Xiao had come.

- Xiao’s karma saddens Venti greatly- not only because of how it effects Xiao but also because its a reminder that as much as Venti tries to honor the memory of those he’s killed, there will always be those who resent him for it, and when he took the option of living away from them, he truly can’t blame them. - And when he gets too wrapped up in thoughts, whether around this topic or similar ones or otherwise, eventually, he’ll hear the sound of a flute on the wind. It’s not divine by any means, but as his own wind connects him to the source, he gets the sentiment all the same. “What impact does one individual’s remaining wrath have on the present. You have done much to help the living in the present” the unspoken idea that Xiao has included himself in that statement, because now, with Venti’s help he’s beginning to learn just how to experience living for himself.

- Venti’s form and Xiao’s mask are off limit topics though because if either mentions it the other will counter with the opposite and the mood will turn immediately bitter at the idea that both know that what they’re doing is destructive but neither are willing to change

- Venti who has different tells for negative feelings than most people because as much as he likes to pretend it is- this form isnt his, and Xiao who is able to identify those

- many fanfics and headcanons have Venti recognizing when Xiao is uncomfortable and getting him out of those situations. I see that and I love it but i raise you: - Venti taking Xiao to Mondstadt, careful that he doesn’t get to the point that he’s uncomfortable. And nothing goes wrong exactly, but Xiao notices the the way Venti’s cape is blowing in the wind, the way he’s holding his weight, barely on his feet so much as floating on the wind, connected with the ground only for the sake of appearance, all the while he looks just as happy go lucky as ever. And without a word, he grabs his hand and teleports them both out of Mondstadt. - turns out it was just a slight thing that reminded him of the archon war (cuz i will die on the hill of him having more tragic backstory than just Decarabian), and he of course gives a sincere if not flustered thanks to Xiao, because he’s really not used to people noticing.

- Venti trying to vent sneakily through fictional stories and Xiao is just like “Didn’t that basically happen to you” and Venti is just like “<_< shit”

- Venti once said affectionally that he wished he had met Xiao sooner and Xiao immediately and seriously shot it down by saying “If you had, I would have been forced to kill you” and both of them now stay up at night wondering who would have won that fight, not sure which result would have hurt more. (because honestly I have no idea who would win in that fight and that terrifies me- I like to think it would have been one of those legends that end with “and the fight persists to this day” or something along those lines)

- “How long have you been together?” “Adepti have no need for-” “1000+ years T^T how dare you deny our love” “O///O our...? ...useless”

- its disney- let me explain- i have this- i have this headcanon inspired by watching too many animatics- - so venti has a human form that isnt his- which he would have had to get used to moving in- and he’s a bard- - uh- anyway- as a third degree black belt in mixed martial arts, i can speak as an authority on this(not really an authority since i havent gone since quarantine but lets pretend). We have a thing referred to as the big three(most things do), and those things are martial arts, gymnastics, and dance. The idea is that they reflect really well off of each other and the best in any one category are good in all three. Timing, balance, form, discipline, technique, hand-eye coordination, grace, ease of motion, they all play a part- anyway-

- Venti taking Xiao’s prowess in martial arts and acrobatics and teaching him how to dance, and as someone who’s extremely skilled in the first two, the third comes easy to him, almost naturally. And it’s delicate and beautiful and lovely and it isn’t hurting anyone. And Venti points all these things out and more and despite how much Xiao insists that he feels ridiculous he truly does enjoy it and it goes a long way towards helping him form more healthy views of himself and his worth. - Verr Goldett walked in on him once and made a joke about performing at the inn. unfortunately Venti was there and agreed on Xiao’s behalf before he could protest and- and it wasn’t as bad as Xiao thought it would be... he still wouldn’t do it again though without reason, but with good enough reasoning he could probably be convinced.

- anyways point is he likes dancing to Venti’s songs and i just think that’s really cute - just picture the idea that all the animatics you see actually have the potential to be canon- ugh

- venti tries holding something out of Xiao’s reach since he’s taller and Xiao just fucking teleports

- both need their space but when they dont, all they have to do is speak the other’s name and they’ll be there.

- and because i just had to.... love languages

- lets start with Xiao- i don’t think he’d view acts of service or quailty time as a love language tbh, and he blunt but really bad with words so affirmation is out, leaving gift giving and physical touch. However, he seems to view most material things as meaningless so- - Xiao who’s love language is in his fleeting touches, something he’s only recently grown comfortable with because of Venti, and now is giving back, which he knows he doesn’t have to do, but that he want’s to, though he’ll still continue to make excuses for each one. “you were shivering” “The inn is high up, you could have fallen..... I said what I said, you’d question an adeptus?”

- and as easy as it is to say words of affirmation for Venti- he does that for everyone- i want to say his is actually acts of service - its the acts of service that let him see just how much Xiao has progressed afterall, from teaching him to dance, to playing another song on the flute, to supplying him with the almond tofu he seems to enjoy so much. Every little thing he does helps Xiao to grow and he couldn’t be happier about that.

- of course most of my headcanons for the ship do take place latter into the relationship because- y’know the less serious unhealthy vibes allow for greater range of thought, but i do still love to think about the serious implications so i kinda hopped back and forth. So sorry about how messy it is btw, i kinda- got carried away- it kinda got some kind of structure near the end tho so- maybe it’s okay. anyway- back to... lol something, we’ll see where thought forests lead.

#genshin impact #genshin xiao #genshin venti #xiao #venti #xiaoven #genshin analysis #genshin headcanons #xiaoven headcanons #xiaoven analysis #this is a mess i really shouldnt be putting all these tags but oh well #oh wow the grammar and spelling here is truly repulsive #sorry to all my english teachers i have failed you all

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angstyantoinette · 3 years

Note

Some Yandere Alastor HCs, if you are able?

oh. my. god. absolutely. I’ve literally been waiting for this moment.

Warning: NSFW mentioned.

I DO NOT IN ANY SHAPE OR FORM CONDONE THESE BEHAVIOURS IN REAL LIFE.

(Sorry, but I got way too into this and began writing a full-on oneshot kinda thing. This also took wayyyyy too long to write)

When you first met:

Weakness is an inconceivable fault in Alastor’s mind, it must be used as a gateway for victory, and not for anything else but fear. In all the horrors he has seen and mostly caused, mental or physical weakness is what he uses to rile up his victims, make them think they have a mere chance of survival, while the demon is wrapping his charm and pure agony around their limping body, savouring his victim’s last breaths before they fall still, silent and cold, and he walks off, in search of a new plaything.

He saw that familiar weakness in Charlie, practically being attacked by the sickening scent from the other side of the Pentagram. That Vaggie girl knew far too much for her own good; he heard her dramatically retelling his demonic history in Hell, and he silently chuckled as she shot him venomous glares, to his apparent unacknowledged state.

Pathetic.

And that’s when you walked in. Poor Y/N, making the mistake of coming in that day. It wasn’t as often that you helped out at the hotel, but Vaggie had discreetly called you over in the hopes that you could help plan a movie night or something to cheer everyone up. You showed up with movies, popcorn and a small flask of booze in hopes that you could just forget everything tonight.

You showed up to the hotel with the items, walking in, expecting Charlie to come rushing towards you like she usually did. Instead, you found yourself in a room with a tiny demon cleaning impossibly fast, Angel slurping on a Popsicle being seemingly berated by Vaggie again, and an obviously tipsy cat with wings, who was pouring himself another glass of booze.

You almost didn’t see the red-clad demon, skulking around in the shadows, but a pair of strange eyes caught your attention. They were like radio dials, rich and red. In any other situation you would have investigated it discreetly. But a great evil was radiating from those eyes, of the demonic stranger.

Let’s just say that you didn’t enjoy the vibe that you got from him.

He stared at you for a little while, before shoving out his hand and gracing a huge, cheshire smile across his face; it was unsettling to say the least and thankfully Angel was far more approachable than this deer-like weirdo. However, to be polite, you painfully etched a false smile on your face, aware that it was probably incredibly obvious, and gently shook his hand, desperate to claw your way out of his vice-like grip.

It felt like a million years before this demon ceased his scrutinising and you managed to glide on over to Charlie, and you shoved the red-clad entity out of your mind before beginning to interact with the princess.

Alastor was in shock. Not only did he fail to politely and forcefully introduce himself, he still didn’t catch your name. He had to know. He had to.

You had piqued his interest in mere seconds.

“Charlie, dear, I must leave immediately! Business to attend to, and quite frankly, those low-life scum in the centre have been causing havoc again! Time to return the favour!” A mysterious departure that couldn’t be explained, but it left you and Vaggie more at ease, and you sucked in a breath and continued conversing with everyone. You were just so desperate to forget about him, but even as you drunkenly danced with Angel, debated with Vaggie, and threw yourself onto a spare queen-sized bed in the hotel; the paranoia remained.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Over a period of time, you had become skilled at avoiding this intimidating new demon, who you came to know as Alastor. You made your outright discomfort very, very clear.

You ensured that all tasks required to being completed were paired up with someone else if needed. In your two months’ of acquaintance, you knew that he was to be wary of. You made arrangments to sleep in many floors away from him, many locks sealing your bedroom shut. After moving permanently into Hazbin Hotel, you had thrown yourself into helping Charlie and the others. You owed your afterlife to them all, for being so good to you.

And Alastor just made the cut. If he wasn’t technically your colleague, you would have never even caught a glimpse of his tall figure skulking and prowling the hallways, smile stretched wide as he hunted for his next plaything.

Admittedly, you had been doing a small amount of research. It became a small fascination, but also an intoxicating frustration that you just couldn’t seem to get rid of. But why was “The Radio Demon” here of all places?

You knew his former life. You knew him now. And you had some ideas about what he was capable of.

And the question still lingered; what was his actual purpose?

Demons of such renown didn’t just show up to random hotels to ‘help.’ They tortured, and played with their victims. They never spared anyone. Ever.

But all of a sudden this red-clad fucker waltzes in, claims to be of “assistance” at at an all too coincidental time of when the staff was in great need?

You were sure he was planning something. An event, anything to with a big, fancy ass gesture to grab Hell’s attention.

A divine, heavenly force would be the only thing now to help you.

A real pity you didn’t know it yet.

Or that you never get it.

------------------------------------------------------

Alastor didn’t understand why you riled him up so much.

His attraction to you was intoxicating, and as he lay in his satin crimson sheets, nights after night, he grew to picture you in a rather...lewd fashion. Many a hazed, oddly relaxing day he had taken a seat, Angel slurping a god-forsaken popsicle and you could either be right there or not; it didn’t matter.

He could imagine you moaning as clear as day, begging, just wishing for him to-

A shameless, electrifying sensation would show itself, making him struggle to carry on whatever conversation, or interaction he may have been having, forcing him to ‘suddenly’ disappear.

Just like this time.

As he was walking upstairs-who knows why, he could have just teleported- hopefully scouring the halls for a glimpse of you. He sighed in pleasured frustration as he continued to search for your figure until-

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Really?”

“As if!”

“Stop calling th- SHUT UP!”

Snippets of anger could be heard, from a few doors down, was it? The laundry room it sounded like, the irritating rumble of the washing machine puncturing the former silence he so desperately desired.

Alastor’s grin only ever widened when he saw you angrily tapping your fingers against the top of the counter near the violently vibrating machine, a tic he has come to love and hate just as much as you do.

“Ah, Y/N dear, there you are!”

His eyes flashed with unforgivable greed as you spun around, arms up in the air, as if you were about to attack him. A silent but gradual chuckle shook his body, the thought of you even attempting to defend yourself against him was simply too amusing.

Watching him with a ferocious cautionary gaze, you ceased your finger tapping and pressed a digit to the washing machine’s button softly, ceasing its deep rumbling.

Diving downwards, you opened the door and pulled out your clean clothes, not noticing a pair of predatory eyes mentally undressing you. Of course you could feel his gaze, and that didn’t make it any more comforting that you were literally bent over in front of him.

Alastor was#s all too aroused comfortable by the view in front of him, and he was left disappointed as you bustled out of the room, steaming laundry in your arms, almost running down the hallway.

A clawed hand picked up a pair of warm, lacy underwear.

Clean. Fresh. His.

And you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not his toy, oh no. You were his prize, his consolidation, his REWARD.

He deserved you. It was safe to say you deserved Alastor too.

So, yes, I know this wasn’t the best. But I felt guilty for not finishing it for so long.

what Alastor the red bastard did next is up to you to imagine :3

thank you for putting up with my inconsistency-

#yandere Alastor #yandere #alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #Headcanon

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little-mad · 3 years

Text

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 12

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

Gavin felt completely emotionally drained. Between being insulted by Ashryn and threatened by Rael, all he really wanted to do was crawl into a hole and hide from the world for a little while. There was no part of him that was ready to face the alteon Emperor--to be judged and sentenced. Gavin wasn’t even sure he had the energy to plead his case at this point.

As much as he just wanted to run away, there was no escape for the human. He was trapped on top of a gigantic desk. The massive items nearby almost seemed to taunt him, reminding him of how small and insignificant he was in this dimension. “You’re pathetic,” the quill sitting in its inkwell a few feet away seemed to say. “You’re all alone,” Gavin imagined a massive roll of parchment sneer.

“Great, I’ve sunk so low I’m starting to imagine inanimate objects talking to me,” Gavin thought bitterly to himself.

Meanwhile, the alteon Emperor loomed over the human like some kind of divine monument. The man almost looked ethereal, as if he walked straight out of a storybook. His skin, which appeared nearly flawless, was of a cool brown color. He shared Rael’s long black hair, but rather than tying it back, the Emperor wore his down, with a few strands done into intricate braids. As seemed to be the case with all alteons, the Emperor’s eyes were of a striking, vibrant color. Those yellow irises were focused in on Gavin, holding him in their intense stare.

In terms of dress, the Emperor certainly looked the part. He wore a jeweled band around his head that appeared to be made of silver--which matched the metal that made up the leaf shaped earring that hung from one of his pointed ears.

With the Emperor sitting at his desk, it was impossible for Gavin to see a majority of the man’s apparel, but what he could see looked incredibly lavish. The tunic was of a deep blue color and was decorated with silver embellishments along the hemlines. No doubt the garment was made of silk or some other similar luxurious fabric.

“We have much to discuss,” the Emperor began as he looked down at Gavin. “But first, I believe introductions are in order.” There was no hostility in the man’s voice. Unlike with Ashryn, Gavin didn’t detect anything disdainful or accustatory in his tone. Instead, the Emperor seemed perfectly calm and polite; he even wanted to engage in civil greetings. “My name is Ailred. I am the son of Lyris, and the Emperor of Iaela,” he announced smoothly, the words clearly ones he had said many times.

Considering both Rael and the Emperor had introduced themselves without surnames, Gavin had to assume alteon’s didn’t utilize them in the same way many human cultures did. The Emperor had presented himself as the son of “Lyris” though, something Rael had not done. Were he in a better mental state, Gavin may have pondered why that might be, but given the circumstances he would just accept it and move on.

It took a long moment of Gavin just standing there frozen, shifting uncomfortably under the Emperor’s silent stare, before he figured out he was expected to say something. “He wants me to introduce myself,” he realized.

How the hell was he supposed to get himself to speak? This was maybe the very first time Gavin had zero desire to say anything. He didn’t trust himself anymore. The last time he’d opened his big mouth, he’d ended up with a giant hand slammed down beside him. Now imagine the consequences that could await him if he said the wrong thing to a damn Emperor.

At the same time, remaining silent was hardly an option either. Refusing to comply with the Emperor’s wishes could just as easily have frightening repercussions. Gavin really and truly was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

After a few seconds of internal panicking and frenzied thinking, Gavin spoke up. “My name is Gavin--uh Gavin Stone,” he managed to spit out. He tried to force himself to maintain eye contact with the Emperor, but every fiber of his being was begging him to look away from that intimidating gaze.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Gavin Stone,” the Emperor replied, giving Gavin a nod of greeting before turning his attention beyond him. “Rael, I trust you encountered no issues in retrieving Mr. Stone?” he inquired, reminding Gavin of the fact that his former captor remained in the room, just a few yards away.

“There was no trouble from the humans, your majesty; however I did run into some brigands in the woods who attempted to abduct the prisoner,” Gavin heard Rael explain from behind him. “The offenders did manage to escape, and for that I offer my sincerest apologies.” God, Rael almost sounded like a different person when he spoke to the Emperor. Not that Gavin had any real grasp on what kind of person Rael was. He’d learned that the hard way.

A frown developed on the Emperor’s face. “You did your duty in protecting the human,” he began. “What I’m more concerned with is the fact that these criminals were bold enough to attempt to interfere with Imperial business.”

“Greed can drive you to do some pretty stupid shit,” Gavin thought to himself bitterly.

After a moment of silent contemplation, the Emperor sighed. “I suppose we’ll need to increase the number of patrols in the surrounding woods,” he concluded. “I’ll also have you meet with Captain Saida later to coordinate a search for these would-be abductors.”

If Kaydin and his female associate were smart, they would already be getting as far away from the palace as possible. Gavin could tell the Emperor was serious about this, so if the two thugs didn’t get some major distance from the scene of the crime, there was probably a high likelihood they’d wind up getting caught.

“Now,” Gavin instantly felt the intensity of the Emperor’s gaze return to him, “you are here because you were caught stealing from an alteon diplomat while they were visiting the human realm, correct?”

Suddenly Gavin felt like he was back in elementary school, being forced to answer questions the principal already knew the answer to. The Emperor already knew what the human in front of him had done, and yet he wanted to see Gavin admit to it himself.

Biting back an exasperated sigh, Gavin gave a nod of confirmation.

“And you understand that because your crime was against an alteon, you were brought here to face judgement?” the Emperor inquired, continuing to watch Gavin with those hypnotizing yellow eyes.

Gavin nodded again. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with giving non-verbal responses forever, but he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. Not only because he didn’t trust himself not to say the wrong thing, but also because he wasn’t sure how he was meant to refer to the Emperor. Rael had called him “your majesty” earlier, but the idea of saying something like that sounded so strange to Gavin.

“I realize as a human you are unfamiliar with alteon customs, so allow me to explain the situation,” the Emperor started. “Typically, when I am called to judge a criminal, it is done as an official trial in which nobles and all involved parties are present.”

Gavin supposed that wasn’t altogether different from the trials back home. Of course, rather than having a jury of his peers, Gavin would be judged by the Emperor and the Emperor alone.

“However,” the giant monarch continued, “because you are human, the circumstances are different. I believe a large-scale event would do more harm than good in the long run,” he explained, folding his hands atop the desk. Gavin tried not to focus on them for long, because he and giant hands really weren’t on good terms.

While he was glad to hear he wouldn’t be subjected to some grandiose trial in which he’d be trapped in a room full of a bunch of alteons staring at him, Gavin wasn’t entirely sure alternatives would bode any better. If the Emperor had no one around to criticize his decision, he could be as cruel as he wanted.

“In the meeting which preceded this one, I discussed with my advisors various potential sentences,” the Emperor went on. “I also requested input from Ashryn, as he has some experience interacting with humans,” he added, looking at Rael when he said it.

Gavin suppressed a scowl. He was sure any input from Ashryn had been exceedingly negative. For whatever reason, the guy had it out for him--or maybe he just had it out for all humans in general for some reason.

“Ashryn’s position on the matter was that you need to be made an example of,” the Emperor stated, quickly erasing any doubt that that asshole had a vendetta against humankind. “His suggestion was that you be made a spectacle of, perhaps by placing you in a cage and displaying you in the front hall for visiting nobles and the like to view.”

An instant feeling of nausea came over Gavin. He felt absolutely sick to his stomach. Ashryn was beyond just a dick, he had to be some sort of sadistic demon. The suggestion that a living, breathing, intelligent creature be caged and put on show like some kind of zoo animal was abhorrent. Gavin could hardly even believe what he was hearing.

“Your majesty, forgive me, but doesn’t that seem a bit excessive?” Gavin heard Rael ask incredulously. What was with that guy? Not ten minutes ago he was yelling at Gavin and standing up for his alteon soldier buddy. Now all of a sudden he supposedly cared about what happened to Gavin? It just didn’t make any sense.

The Emperor gave a small shrug. “I don’t know, some of my advisors seemed to like that idea. They believe that if Gavin Stone isn’t properly made an example of, then more and more humans will think they can get away with crossing alteons.”

What was Gavin supposed to do? Should he try to stand up for himself, to excuse what he’d done? Would it even matter? He had committed the crime, that much was fact. So would any excuses even make a difference? He tried to read the Emperor’s face, to look for some kind of sign that he would be understanding, but the man had an expression that was virtually unreadable. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Of course, of course Ashryn would advocate for some cruel, antiquated punishment for Gavin. It was obvious the guy had some inexplicable resentment towards humans, certainly more than Rael had ever had. He’d been of the opinion that they were inferior, fairly irritating creatures, but never would have gone out of his way to ensure they suffer. Ashryn, on the other hand, seemed eager to see Gavin endure the worst.

And what was worse? The Emperor hadn’t immediately dismissed Ashryn’s suggestion. How could he even consider it? Surely he would never subject even the worst alteon criminal to the humiliation and indignity that would come from being locked in a cage and put on display. Yes Gavin was human, but he was still an intelligent, sentient being. He didn’t deserve to be treated like an attraction.

But what could Rael do? He was in no position to question the Emperor; doing so would be suicide for the reputation he’d worked so hard to achieve. He had to wonder whether the information that Gavin had in fact been hired to steal from the diplomat would impact the Emperor’s decision.

Gavin himself seemed pretty convinced that that bit of information wouldn’t change anything, so it was doubtful that he’d speak up about it. Rael wasn’t convinced. Surely if the Emperor knew Gavin had just been used by somebody else, he would be less harsh with the punishment he issued.

Rael couldn’t speak up about it. He had already taken a great risk with his previous comment. Continuing to speak out of turn in favor of a human criminal could end up reflecting horribly on him. The Emperor may begin to question his loyalty. Rael couldn’t put that all on the line for the sake of a human of all people...right?

The memory of Gavin’s fear-stricken face flashed through Rael’s mind. He cringed internally at the mental image. Gavin had clearly had some level of trust in him, the look of betrayal he’d worn made that much evident. When Rael had used his far greater size and strength to scare the human into submission, he’d shattered any trust that may have developed between them. He had taken the side of Ashryn, someone he hated, rather than risk his status by standing up for Gavin.

Yes, what Rael had done had been the right thing to ensure his reputation remained in good standing. But if it had been the right thing to do, then why did Rael feel so miserable about it?

“If you have something to say on the matter, you have my permission to speak up,” the Emperor told Rael, clearly sensing his hesitation.

“I can’t say anything, I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to risk it for some human!” one part of Rael’s mind insisted, but he was finding that voice was quickly becoming quieter and quieter.

While it was difficult for him to believe he could make such a profound difference, Rael couldn’t help but worry that what he said next could seal Gavin’s fate one way or the other. The Emperor was watching, waiting for a response. Rael had to make up his mind. “Yes, your majesty. I have information concerning Lady Elyth’s stolen ring.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael #jsyk im going to moving to a new apartment in the next couple days #so the next part may take a little bit longer than usual

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sunflowers-and-mooncakes · 3 years

Text

To Dream of an Angel

Part 2 of Dreams of Birds and Angels a series of two one shots written for @pawsitivelymiraculous for the Maribat Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange hosted by @eat0crow!

Ao3

Part 1 can be found here

***

Damian Al Ghul knew only the bare minimum about soulmates. He had been taught by his instructors in the League that they were a phenomenon that no one quite understood. To the members, they were a hindrance and should be terminated promptly. In respect to their targets, they were used as leverage to get information.

After the young boy turned 8 years of age, he dreamt of her. A small girl with wide blue eyes who would draw dresses in bright colors. The next night, his mother would explain in hushed tones what soulmates really meant. A soulmate is someone who is meant to compliment you perfectly, and once you met them you would never want to let them go. She would whisper to him about the man who helped create him, and how desperately she wished he had been the angel meant just for her.

Angel, he thought with a humorless laugh, what a fine name for the soulmate of the Heir to the Demon.

Every night when Damian would close his eyes, he would be greeted with the sight of his blue-eyed Angel. He would watch as she played with her friends. He would laugh in amusement as she spilled flour all over herself while working in a bakery. He would frown when she was pushed around by a blonde-haired bully.

The girl puzzled the young heir greatly. She was a bizarre sort; always smiling even when being knocked around. No matter how much abuse she took from that blonde trollop, his soulmate was always kind to others and give everything she could to help them, all the while asking nothing in return. It frustrated him to see someone so wholly selfless. Didn’t she know that she would be better off trying to profit from her interactions with others?

At the age of 10, Damian’s life rapidly changed. No longer was he revered as the Heir to the League of Assassins. Now, he was in his father’s home, fighting against his father’s wards for attention, and being told to relearn everything he had ever known to be true. It was frustrating, being so out of his element, but the longer he was Damian Wayne instead of Damian Al Ghul. He realized how skewed his world had once been.

While his mother had tried to soulmates explain differently from the Leagues teachings, he had always seen her words as foolish. It seemed futile to him, her longing for something she couldn’t have. However, living in Wayne Manor also allowed the now ex-assassin to see a different side of soulmates. Grayson would often talk about his dreams of his mate Starfire with a dopey grin on his face. Similarly, Drake would mention in passing how his dreams started at an older age due to the elder Superboy having not been created yet.

It was strange, living in a house of people who weren’t constantly ready to fight him. His new siblings were perplexing. Grayson was always trying to rope him into some strange “bonding” activity. With Todd’s return came his aggressive attitude, yet occasional helpfulness. Drake was usually passed out somewhere or so full of caffeine he couldn’t even hold a proper conversation. Cain was the most tolerable, having shared similar experiences and understanding the importance of silence.

The biggest influence on his new lifestyle, however, was Alfred Pennyworth. His dedication and care for the family was to be admired. The Englishmen had a way with words and always knew just what to say to help Damian through his many sour moods. Most importantly, the butler’s selfless love for his charges helped the young Wayne to understand his soulmate’s behaviors.

As his world changed, so did his dreams of her. He would see her take her drawing from paper and bring them to life with fabric. He would look on as she made new friends. As well as enemies. If Damian had been able to, he would have fought that sly fox himself, but the smug smile on his face when Angel put her in her place.

What was most jarring to see, was her fighting villains in a red and black spotted suit. Magic had never been something he took kindly to; it having more than once put his and his family’s lives in danger. After watching countless battles in his visions, and later finding recordings of them online after much research. He could only conclude that the nature of her powers and villains were indeed magic.

It didn’t take Damian long to figure out that his soulmate was the Parisian heroine Ladybug. However, this still did not allow him to meet her. At the very beginning of her tenure, Ladybug and the government of Paris had barred all Justice League access to the city, keeping him from getting there using the cover of Robin.

His next plan was to go to Paris as a civilian. However, he could find no way under his family’s constant hovering to get there. He couldn’t use the private jet without getting caught, and him buying a plane ticket would be immediately suspicious. The last thing he wanted was for his family to find out about his blue-eyed soulmate and get involved. While he had come to care for them more than he ever imagined, in some manners they were simple too overbearing for him to deal with.

So, Damian, rather begrudgingly, chose to let fate take its course. After much thought, he realized that his Angel may not even want to meet him. She had spent the early years of their bond watching him act as a bloodthirsty killer. She was most likely appalled. Who would want a soulmate like him anyway?

Now 18, the black-haired boy spent most of his days the same. He would take Titus for walks in the park, help his father and Drake at Wayne Enterprises, and fight back the crime of Gotham in the dead of night.

Damian was on one such walk when Titus suddenly pulled his leash out of the boy’s grasp. The dog went racing down the path and out of sight with a loud bark.

“Titus!” he called, jogging forward to see the Great Dane stopped in front of a woman who had bent down to pet him.

“I apologize, miss,” he said, coming forward and lowering himself to be at the same level as Titus and her. He put his hand on the dog’s head to pet him as well, bumping the woman’s hand slightly.

“He usually doesn’t go running off towards strangers…” he looked from the dog to the woman and trailed off. His eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat. He tried hard to control his reaction. Now that he was up close, he recognized that face. It was the face of his Angel.

The woman, noticing his change in demeanor, looked up at him. When their eyes met, her expression quickly turned to surprise as well. Looking at her now. the blurry image of her that he had known before began to fill in.

He had always been attracted to his mate. Once he had assumed it was simply because the strange magic of soulmates dictated it so. But now, seeing her face to face, she was more beautiful than he had ever imagined. She had a small button-shaped nose. Her blue-black hair that had once been pulled into cute little pigtails was now in one long braid over her shoulder. What drew his attention most was her big round bluebell eyes that were so kind, yet held mysteries that even he, who had seen much of her life from afar, didn’t have the answers to.

Damian looked down at his dog who seemed quite smug, almost like he knew who he had brought his owner to. It was then that he noticed the marks. On the back of their hands flew a ladybug being followed by a red-breasted robin.

“Miss?” he called, looking back up at her.

“Yes?” she replied. He would never admit it, but his heart melted a bit at the sound of her voice like tinkling bells.

As they made eye contact once again, he made a small gesture towards where their hands sat atop Titus’ head. He swore her eyes couldn’t get any wider as she looked from the marks back up to him. “It appears we are soulmates,” he said plainly as he stood up from the ground, doing his best to appear less shaken than he was. She stood as well. “It appears so,” She gave him a nervous smile and held her hand out to him. “I’m Marinette,”

The boy hesitated for a moment, having a hard time believing the situation he found himself in was real and not a fantasy.

After a moment he took her hand and shook it. “My name is Damian,”

“Well, Damian,” she smiled brightly at him. “would you like to go on a walk and get to know each other?”

He gave her a soft look back. “I certainly would.”

#Maribat #daminette #maridami #soulmarks #soulmate au #soulmate marks #soulmate dreams #Valentine's Day fic exchange #background relationships

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acid-vanir · 3 years

Text

Ok, Theory

Ok so in the webcomic Aurora, the “main” character Kendal is an entirely new uncategoriseable entity, a god’s incarnation that survived the god leaving it and developed its own mind and personality.

Now the god that this happens to is the hero god of the city Vash and, like the Ancient Greek Eros or Nike is named after his domain. So what we know about Vash is that he cut his teeth in this god business by defending his city from and defeating the storm god Tynan, the way he does this is explained here with an in universe telling of the story. What we know is that an alien metal and jewel was worked into an incarnation of Vash at a thematically appropriate moment and became an extremely effective power up, enabling Vash to defeat the hitherto undefeated Tynan.

Now how this works in the world built magic system of Aurora is really interesting. So in Aurora it appears they're are two (or eight depending on how you count it) fundamental substances of magic, the elements and soul energy, now we know where elemental magic comes from as a central piece of lore in the main storyline so far has been about the ancient war between the elementals and a Void Dragon and how the elementals died defeating this Void Dragon and their bodies meshed together supplying the materials as the world, but the elements still count, and can be persuaded to act, as one body essentially unique to the other elements and so because they belonged to a living entity with a soul can exist in two states, the material element and a sort of potential/soul element held in other materials or channeled by mages to enact elemental effects.

Now soul energy is something very different and despite the excessive amount of time I've spent explaining the elements, is what we’re focusing on here. Soul energy is what living things are “made of” being literally the material of souls, now I could be wrong but from I can figure out everything alive contains and in someway uses soul energy, and soul energy has a connection with other soul constructs allowing for an in any capacity uniform group of living things to develop a larger social soul that becomes a god. Vash for instance is a city of people and so through the interaction of their soul energy, construction of early incarnations, and people assigning these incarnations personality or motivations became the hero god the city imagined, as the god itself is made up of the whole cities population who once saw incarnation interpreted them a certain way and influenced some of their aspect. Basically, because the god is their domain how they are viewed by the creatures in their domain effects their personality and most comfortable form.

So what does this really have to do with Kendal. Well if Vash’s sword was constructed from an alien metal, a solid substance, which issomething almost impossible to make without an elemental, after Vash worked his soul energy into like soul shaper monks do with human prosthetics, which would more than likely work some of this starmetal soul energy into his own soul lattice. Then its likely that Kendal’s soul is made of what little of soul star metal was in the solid material of the meteor. And it’s not just background lore magic systems backing this up.

In the series of pages telling the mythical story of Vash’s Sword we find out that it’s being told through the framing device of the smith god who forged it, to a similar style god to Vash of the Fire influenced race of Ignans. Now while why they're talking and what this incredibly effective smith who uses the arcs and emotional journeys of the wielders of his weapons in his smithing process is doing with a god of fire and fire people directly related to one of our adventuring party is incredibly plot important and personally intriguing, there is something else I wanted to focus on here.

In these panels Tahraim appears to be talking about Dainix, a character Kendal is currently imprisoned with and who are jelling suspiciously well. Now we can see that Tahraim is using his Xanatos gambit forging technique of social engineering to forge out a weapon and fighter for Caliban (probably to fight the fire demon from Dainix’s backstory (who is probably another elemental emissary for Fire (like two other characters currently being heavily associated star metal soul Kendall (I see you Red, with each subsequent layer of brackets I get closer to the truth, witness as my bracketry grows)))) and describing some of the forging fires he’s using fo this weapon (who is probably Dainix, if not definitely)calls one of them “the divine blade”, referring to Vash’s starmetal sword currently held by Kendal, but the blade its self is isnt world shaking, its been around for millennia and everyone is very familiar with its power and prowess as a sword because Vash is an incredibly well known god. But that’s only as a sword, and we know Kendal is world shaking after his discussion with Ilia here where he is told explicitly that the gods fear what he represents but respect the fact that he is an incredibly powerful being with all the strength and ability of a godly incarnation but with no responsibilities of upholding a domain or the limits of staying within they’re domains range. And so the theoretical soul that is Kendal in this incarnation must be made of whatever remainder of star metal soul is left from the solid star metal in the sword. That had been given the shape and properties of a human/incarnation soul by being weaved into and by Vash and then had the Vash soul ripped apart from they’re shared incarnation leaving the star metal soul to have to develop as its own being in this body

And if all you wanted is proof of this theory you can honestly stop reading here. So far this is dense and a lot and I wanna run through some stuff with this head cannon to nerd out. So if you don't wanna have to read anymore, my argument for this theory is basically through

Kendal being the star metal soul can provide a reason for, guess plot dent instead of plot hole? when Vash takes Kendal to where he is being held by the Collector. The reason this could be a plot dent is that one of the working theories for why Kendal exists can be found in the Sentinels. Essentially building sized stone statues animated by a god semi incarnating in them, its hard to explain so if your interested read here (Also read the comic, it’s really, really good. Like really good. If you get into the extra lore on the website and then scroll through Red’s Aurora Tumblr answers you get to appreciate how truly spectacular her worldbuilding and magic systems are. I mean clearly they’re cohesive and well thought out enough that just off of the magic system you could make a (if I don't say so myself) well reasoned prediction for a major character reveal.) the theory being that because these Sentinels can develop these echoes after being un-possessed by a god over time, the unique way Vash was taken out of his incarnation without dis-corporating it that the body developed a similar echo and is now ambient soul energy drawn into the empty body. However, this wouldn't make sense with Vash taking Kendal to the Collector’s hideaway in his sleep, as if Kendal is made of ambient soul energy he has no actual connection with Vash’s soul and so Vash shouldn't be able to bring him to the crystal he is being held in. But, if Kendal is in fact the star metal soul then he would still have that connection with Vash, as they are the same soul but different parts made of different materials, and so ca operate separately whilst still being so intricately connected.

On one final note, there is one character that already seems to know all this, Tahraim. That Kendal in everyway is the weapon he forged, that they're is a capacity for new elements and therefore different soul energies, that Erin has been possessed by the Void Dragon, and that the Collector has revived life, who has taken Alinua as an emissary, and is using this information not for his own divine or dastardly machinations but on commission. Which is A) a potential threat if Tahraim turns out to be a tad more amoral than he first appears, working as effectively for the next customer instead of esoterically guiding events for the cause of good and B) show cases an incredible mesh of world building and character work with gods being influenced by how their perceived and a god perceived and heralded as an unachievably proficient smith knowing more than any other character or entity we’ve ever seen before and doing exactly what is necessary to forge his commissioned weapons into the most powerful and effective instruments they can be almost only because of how in the magic system some gods are made from ideals and interpretations instead of groups of living things and actually fits the way they are most commonly perceived

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cassianus · 3 years

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The Potential Enigma of Philokalic Spirituality for the Western Mind:

To the Western mind, the starkness of philokalic spirituality with its constant emphasis on watchfulness, and the controlling of thoughts through unceasing prayer may be perplexing. There is in the West an almost inherent suspicion of things, especially spiritual, regarding asceticism involving restriction of thoughts unless such practices are stripped of anything approaching moral judgment or recognition of evil influence. One might, for example, be attracted to and engage in certain practices of meditation if the emphasis is on obtaining peace of mind and obtaining a state of inner calmness. Among those who do have religious and moral sensibilities that allow for such asceticism, the lack of emphasis on imaginative meditation on the life of Christ and his passion still presents something of an enigma. While the Western spiritual tradition does not lack such notions and spiritual writers who emphasize the type of spirituality the desert fathers put forward, the prevailing practice centers on imaginative and affective prayer and discursive mediation. This may make the Evagrian spirituality that prevails in the Philokalia seem obscure and foreign. Kallistos Ware writes: “Even though only a few pages are devoted to the works of Evagrios Pontus himself, the book as a whole makes constant use of his threefold classification of the spiritual way into the active life (praktiki), the contemplation of nature (physiki) and the contemplation of God (theologia). It also repeats in many places Evagrios’s description of prayer as a ‘shedding of thoughts’, a laying aside of images and discursive thinking. ‘When you are praying,‘ says Evagrios, ‘do not shape within yourself any image of the Deity, and do not let your intellect be stamped with the impress of any form; but approach the Immaterial in an immaterial manner, and then you will understand.‘

I mention all of this because it is fundamental to having a clear understanding of prayer and watchfulness as described in the writings of Hesychios that I have been considering in recent posts. With the exception of a few rare instances, the ascetic struggle and the manner of praying that is part of that struggle, notably the practice of the Jesus prayer, the Philokalia presents a Evagrian spirituality that is ‘apophatic‘.

The writers of the Philokalia, Hesychios among them, emphasize the interactions between thoughts, passions and sinful acts. Understanding these interactions and the fathers’ use of such terms is imperative. Before moving on to consider Hesychios’ teaching on controlling thoughts, it may be helpful to briefly consider a few definitions offered by Gregory of Sinai. These few paragraphs give great insight into why the fathers place special emphasize on struggling with distracting thoughts.

Gregory writes:

“Sinful acts provoke passions, the passions provoke distractive thoughts and distractive thoughts, provoke fantasies. The fragmented memory begets a multiplicity of ideas, forgetfulness, causes the fragmentation of the memory, ignorance leads to forgetfulness, and appetites are aroused by misdirected emotions, and misdirected emotions by committing sinful acts. A sinful act is provoked by a mindless desire for evil and a strong attachment to the senses and to sensory things” (Philokalia IV).

The Fathers of the Philokalia taught that sense factors can evoke the passions. The senses are mainly visual, but can be auditory, taste, touch and smell as well. In anticipation of many modern psychologists, the Fathers understood that cognition, memory and emotions scan also be triggered by such cues.

St. Gregory of Sinai again expresses these factors well:

“Distractive thoughts arise and are activated in the soul's intelligent faculty, violent passions in the incensive faculty, the memory of bestial appetites in the desiring faculty, imaginary forms in the mind and ideas in the conceptualizing faculty ... We are provoked to sin by such thoughts; the irruption of evil thoughts is like the current of a river, and when as a result of this we give our assent to sin, our heart is overwhelmed as though by a turbulent flood” (Philokalia IV).

The Fathers understood that the senses are activated by such distractive thoughts and so the battle must be waged there. Thus, St. Gregory continues:

“By the "deep mire" (Ps. 69:2) understand slimy sensual pleasure or the sludge of lechery, or the burden of material things. Weighed down by all this, the impassioned intellect casts itself into the depths of despair ... sin ... is named according to its external manifestation” (Philokalia IV).

Such thoughts and behavior can become deeply entrenched (habitual) and our only overcome by ascetic struggle, humility, prayer and the grace of God. St. Nilus noted, "A practice leads to a habit, and habit takes root like second nature. It is difficult and painful to stir or transform a nature.” Likewise, St. Gregory of Sinai wrote, "The cause and origin of the passions is the misuse of things ... (and) expresses the bias of the will ... " (Philokalia IV).

With these considerations in mind, perhaps we can begin to understand the firmness of Hesychios as discusses the kinds of watchfulness and why he wants us to be particularly attentive to these measures and practice them with diligence. He writes:

“I shall now tell you in plain, straightforward language what I consider to be the types of watchfulness which gradually cleanse the intellect from impassioned thoughts. In these times of spiritual warfare I have no wish to conceal beneath words whatever in this treatise may be of use, especially to more simple people. As St. Paul puts it: ‘Pay attention, my child Timothy, to what you read.’ (1Tim 4:13).

“One type of watchfulness consists in closely scrutinizing every mental image or provocation; for only by means of a mental image can Satan fabricate an evil thought and insinuate this into the intellect in order to lead it astray.”

“A second type of watchfulness consist in freeing the heart from all thoughts, keeping it profoundly silent and still, and in praying.”

“A third type consists in continually and humbling calling upon the Lord Jesus Christ for help.”

“A forth type is always to have the thought of death in one’s mind.”

“These types of watchfulness, my child, act like doorkeepers and bar entry to evil thoughts. Elsewhere, if God gives me words, I shall deal more fully with a further type which, along with others, is also effective: this is to fix one’s gaze on heaven and to pay no attention to anything material.”

“When we have to some extent cut off the causes of the passions, we should devote our time to spiritual contemplation; for if we fail to do this we shall easily revert to the fleshly passions, and so achieve nothing but the complete darkening of our intellect and its reversion to material things” (Philokalia I, pp. 164-165)

The ascetic struggle described here is great and constant, but its goal is not simply self mastery or freedom from thought or sinful passions. There is a radical personal element involved in the discipline, emphasized in the practice of the Jesus prayer which directs our thoughts and our hearts to God. We do not seek to cleanse the heart and the intellect (nous: the eye of the heart) for ourselves but for God. Jesus warns against a failure to keep this in mind as does Hesychios in his final comment.

“When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he says, ‘I will return to my house from which I came.’ And when he comes, he finds it empty, swept, and put in order. Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first. So shall it also be with this wicked generation.” (Matthew 12: 43-45)

If we sweep and clean the house without having Christ coming to dwell in and be Master of that house, more demons will return and we will find ourselves in a worse state than when we began.

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thisnoodlewritesao3 · 3 years

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The Girl Who Radiated The Sun - Part 1 | Sugawara Koushi/Reader

Characters: Sugawara Koushi, Reader (Sunshine), mentioned: Azumane Asahi, Shimizu Kiyoko, Sawamura Daichi. Original Characters: Previous!Reader(Moonlight), Kado, Joji, Etsu

Pairings: Sugawara Koushi/Reader

Warnings: jealousy, drinking (Suga, Reader, and Moonlight are all 22-23), implied/referenced depression

Word Count: 4165

Summary: Working at a café had been your dream come true, so was meeting Sugawara Koushi. Things were so perfect that you didn't notice the tides shifting until it was too late, and the moon had already piqued her way over the horizon.

A/N: This took me far too long to finish, and I am so sorry for that for those of you who have been waiting for this. If you haven't read this series before, then check out the other two parts for Moonlight and the start of her story, as well as Angel too. A big thank you to @pies-writes-and-more and @satan-ruler-of-hells for keeping my head in place while I wrote this. I could not have done this without you my loves.

Previous | Series Masterlist | Next

--------

People have always intrigued you; their stories and the worlds around them that you’d get to glimpse into if you really paid attention (and you paid attention). There wasn’t anything more exciting to you.

That was why you loved your job at a café, you could observe the people around you with such ease. Some you only got to see for that day, some maybe a few more, but others would come weekly - maybe more. You had a few favourite characters in this little story.

The first was a tall, skinny man with brown hair. He always wore a suit and adored a black coffee every day - to go, obviously. Most of the time he was on the phone, grumbling to some poor human about a task they failed to complete, but the few times he wasn’t were more intriguing. He had a very calm air about him then. Very charming (especially when he tried to flirt with you, to no avail). He always tipped 200 Yen, telling you to treat yourself to something nice - you always wanted to pour his coffee over the expensive suit.

Next was the tired mother and her daughter. Every Friday, 3:35 on the dot, that’s when they showed up. The daughter would squish her cheeks together and gasp at the array of cakes before picking a cheesecake. The mother would smile almost sadly before getting herself whichever tea you’d recommend that day - normally a green tea, but you’d change things up sometimes. They were always a relieving sight. You knew the mother was single, listening as the daughter bragged about what she’d be doing with her dad this weekend. You watched the twinkle in her eye dwindle at the mention of her father, but the mother smiled through it all and smiled so sweetly. Such a brave woman.

And finally, one woman who had held your intrigue for the entire two years she’d been coming. Every single Saturday she’d enter, always ordering a tea and daifuku with anko filling. For the first year, she seemed so hopeful as she nervously rubbed her hands together; the few times you’d actually talked to her, she told you about her boyfriend, how she was waiting for him to call. And for a while, he did. Then slowly, she stopped getting that call.

She only ever missed one week - when you asked her about it the next week, tears pricked in her eyes and she broke down. You took her into the back quickly, ushering away the peering eyes of your co-workers so she could feel secure. You learnt her name, but you’d come to call her Moonlight (something about her just reminded you of the moon), and in turn, she’d call you Sunshine (because something about you reminded her of the sun).

You never talked outside of the café, but she seemed to open up just a little more with each passing week, discovering new things about her that you hadn’t expected. Things that exceeded your expectations. Only once did she show up with three small children in tow (Kado, Joji, and Etsu), and it was absolute hell - but the best day you’d ever worked.

Kado and Joji were truly little demons, just turned 5 and already forces to be reckoned with. Etsu was about to be 3, a beauty already. Despite being their sister, Moonlight acted more like a mother. It was almost sad to see.

Moonlight was somehow so open and yet so closed off at the same time; every inch closer you’d step towards her, she was pushing back. Always at arms reach. You could try and slip past her barriers (if you could figure out which ones actually led to her).

One week, you awaited her arrival with bated breath; something in the air today had you more nervous than usual and you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. You’d just gotten back off of your break when she arrived, smiling so beautifully. “Same as usual?” You chirped, already writing down her typical.

“For me, yes,” she chimed. Something about her was glowing more today - subconsciously, your brows twitched upwards, trying to figure it out what she meant. Your confusion seemed to click with her because she elaborated, “oh, I brought someone with me again. He’s just… I don’t know what he’s doing.”

Almost as if on command, the door to the café opened and in walked a man, a cheeky smile plastered on his lips. Something about him made it impossible for you to not look at him; then his eyes landed on her and you knew you never stood a chance. “What’re you ordering, bitch face?” He asked, snorting as she rolled her eyes.

“Make your own decision, Suga tits.” There’s a chemistry between them that you can’t quite figure out; enough space between them to leave it up to the imagination. Either old friends or lovers, now was the task of figuring out which it was? She glanced down at her phone, brows furrowing - he must have seen in the corner of his eyes because he immediately looked worried.

After he figured out his order, they sat down at a table and kept up their light chatter.

You hadn’t expected her to move on so quickly since whatever heartbreak she’d faced just over a year ago, but you were happy for her. With this boy - Suga, you guessed - she was able to open up and smile so freely. There was nothing forcing it.

You were happy for her, you told yourself.

----

The next week, Moonlight returned by herself, holding her hands in front of her and smiling ever so sweetly. “Hey.” You smiled so brightly, and she returned the gesture (you noted the emptiness in her eyes now that Suga wasn’t here). “Your usual?” You asked, and she nodded. “So, where’s that boy you were with?” You hummed, looking up at her.

“Oh, Suga?” She asked, and you could only nod because you didn’t really know who he was. “He’s got some work to do today; tough life being a university student, I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t know.” You laugh. There’s a questioning look in her eyes, but she slowly manages to piece things together and nods.

“Same. I only know what I know because of Suga and-” there’s a moment of hesitation and her expression falls to a sadness you recognise. You know exactly who she is thinking about in that moment and are quick to distract her.

“So is Suga, like, your boyfriend…?” That works and she looks up at you cackling with laughter, her head tossed back as she clutches her stomach. Her laughter is infectious in the nicest way and you giggle with her.

“God, no!” She calls out, brushing away tears that had formed in the corner of her eyes. A mixture of disgust on her face answers your first question, but it raises so many more in its place. Like a ‘one door closes and twelve more open’ sort of situation. Before you had a chance to ask, she had a chance to explain, “he’s just, I guess, my best friend.”

You nodded slowly and she glanced up at you as you mused, “I see.”

The smirk that tugged at her lips spoke a thousand words. “Why? Do you think he’s cute?” She asked, resting her head on her hand. The warmth that spread to your cheeks was a tell tale sign, but you denied it anyway. She only laughed and brushed you off.

You hoped that that would be the end of that conversation. That you wouldn’t have to face up to these feelings any time soon (because they weren’t really feelings). Of course, Moonlight had other plans.

You were cleaning off the table she’d sat at after she left when you noticed a piece of paper on it. All you could think was oh no.

Carefully, you unfolded the paper, and you were greeted with a little message - obviously from Moonlight. It read:

So, ya like Suga? Perfect, because he told me he thinks you’re cute.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Go get ‘em :D

You hid the squeal of excitement at the words on the paper, but your co-workers would be sure to question why it was suddenly like you were floating for the rest of the day.

----

Had there ever been someone more perfect than Sugawara Koushi? No!

That was what you thought, of course, because Sugawara Koushi was an angel disguised as a devil. Sure, he liked to play little tricks and tease, and sometimes he could get a little too aggressive with his ways of love. But underneath all that was a soft interior that made your heart melt.

Every interaction with him left you on a high - which meant you were like this on, basically, a daily basis. Who knew that just a few months of dating and a month of officially being together could make your world so full of life of joy.

And the best part? He felt the exact same way.

You’d be sure to thank Moonlight for this opportunity to be with him until the day that you’d die. Without her, you never would have gotten this far; you would have passed up the greatest opportunity for love that you’d known. And for what? You didn’t even know.

“You know, I think you’re pretty cool.” You hummed one afternoon, curled up next to him on his couch, the film you’d been watching not long ago forgotten so you could trace the shapes on his face. Something so soft in his features as he looked at you. God, you just wanted to kiss him, and hold him, so much for so long.

“I think I’m pretty cool, too.” He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You only laughed and pushed yourself away from him - a small defiance - but he was quick to grab your wrist and pull you back.

“I guess you’re okay, too.” He planted a soft kiss on your forehead and you rolled your eyes.

That was the thing about Sugawara Koushi: his heart was so open and warm to the world around him. To the people who he held near and dear to him. You just happened to be lucky enough to be one of those people.

“I’m more than okay and you know it.” You said, resting your head against his chest and listening to his even heart rate pick up ever so slightly.

You wouldn’t call it love, not yet, not when it’s still so early into it. But you do know that you both care for each other so deeply, more than anyone will ever care about you, and more than anyone will ever care about him.

For a little while, it feels like the whole world only revolves around the two of you.

So much that you can’t see something rising over the horizon.

----

Of course, good things always seemed to get interrupted for you.

Sugawara was your world, but that was the thing about worlds, they’d normally bring along a little something else with them that you might not notice until it’s too late.

For you, that something would be the very thing that brought you together. Moonlight was great - you knew that - and she had no intentions of ever dating Sugawara - or trying to steal him from you. But when they interacted, you couldn’t help but feel inferior. Like you were the third wheel in their world. Like they had a bond that you could never be a part of.

“Are you sure nothing ever happened between you and her?” You’d tease, trying to keep the air lighthearted as he looked at her with a content sigh - his expression switched to that of disgust, and you knew your fears were unwarranted.

Honestly, you don’t really know what you were expecting, you knew they were close when you started dating him. Yet you couldn’t stop the sickening feeling of jealousy twisting your stomach, making your skin crawl. Those feelings only got worse when they’d laugh together about something that happened so many years ago. Moonlight was snorting, clutching her stomach like her life depended on it.

It only made it harder when she depended on him. You knew why - she just simply didn’t have anyone else other than Suga - and you didn’t mind, not at first, not until he’d answer her calls in the middle of your date and leave you wishing you’d never texted him that evening after Moonlight had given you his number. Wishing you’d never met him. Wishing it was just as easy as giving up.

And the more you looked at her, the more you knew you could never compare. Though she looks slightly older for her age, slightly more tired, the beauty she radiates is far more than you have. Her laugh is so contagious; humour perfectly matching his in every way that yours can’t.

You speculated that it was because they’d been together so long - that thought would be correct - but you couldn’t help it. You wanted to be close to him. You wanted what they had. How were you meant to do that?

And so what if you end up reading more into their relationship than you should, a little jealousy is healthy, right? Watching the way they interact and wishing it was you is normal, right? Begging that she’d find someone more captivating and leave him alone for good isn’t a horrible idea, right? That you’d finally get to have some time with him and not feel alone. God, that would be nice.

You resist the urge to cry as she leans into him while they exchange their laughter; Suga glances at you and you offer him a smile. Sure, it was nice they’d invite you on their weekly excursions (you’d pretend that the fact you got a bi-weekly date didn’t affect you), but you were like an awkward piece to the puzzle. You fit, but something was missing.

Or maybe you didn’t fit as much as you thought you did.

----

So maybe you invited her to a night out, just the two of you.

And maybe you started drinking just a little more than you normally would because you were nervous.

And maybe you ended up getting into an argument with her that went something along the lines of you telling her that you hate her because she is always with Suga. And her telling you… something?

Once again, these were all just maybe’s, you couldn’t remember what happened last night at all. Not with the pounding in your head. You felt light and heavy at the same time, and the water Suga kept offering you wasn’t doing you any good.

He ran his hands through your hair and looked down at you sadly as you mumbled into your pillow.

You really wish you could remember what you’d said last night (at least, not exactly). The only thing you can visibly remember was the sickening look of sorrow in her eyes. A look you recognised from some time after she’d ended things with her ex; had your words really hurt her that much? You doubted it, she was probably just putting on some sort of act to try and make you feel bad. You couldn’t feel bad.

Maybe you should have felt bad because Suga kept looking at his phone with worried eyes. Normally, she would have been messaging him so much, checking up on you and making sure that you hadn’t died in the night. Today: nothing.

You wanted to tell him that she’d message soon, but you weren’t sure. “How are you feeling?” He asks, putting his phone to one side and gently cupping your cheek.

“Like shit.” You mumble, nuzzling closer into his warmth, tossing an arm over his body. Suga lets out a soft chuckle as you smile. “How’s Moonlight?” You ask, but it’s half-hearted and you don’t know why.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” He assures you, but there’s hesitation in his voice and it makes your stomach sink. “Did something happen last night?” You can feel his eyes on you, trying to work out why she wasn’t checking up on you. If only you remembered.

“I don’t know.” You admit even though you are aware of something happening. “I can’t really remember anything.” You say. His face shifts, but he looks away before you can fully understand the expression. God, if only there were an easy answer for everything.

That night you manage to distract him from his sadness with snacks and a movie.

If only snacks and a movie could fix everything.

----

It isn’t until he comes home late from work a week later, crying and completely drenched head to toe that you understand something is not right. Something more not right than what you thought.

He tries to avoid your hugs, but gives in and eventually melts into you. He grips the back of your shirt tightly, like he’d fall apart if he let go. Like he’d fall apart if you let him go.

You choose not to care about the fact his tears are soaking through your shirt, or that he’s created a wet spot on the carpet from his drenched clothes, or the light pain as he holds you closer. Right now, he needs you.

It takes some time, but you manage to get it out of him; he’d gone to visit Moonlight after he’d finished work to try and see what was up with her (because she’d stopped calling and messaging him entirely). Apparently, she hadn’t even let him in the door, refused to talk to him about the problem - because you were the problem - and told him to leave her alone.

Even as he tried to get her to open up and talk about it she just refused. Of course, the conversation lasted longer than he thought, but only because Kado and Joji had forced the man inside. Moonlight tried to tell them no, but they weren’t listening to a thing she said (though that wasn’t exactly a new situation).

You tried not to think about how this was most definitely your fault. The fact that his current problems were because of you.

God, you should have just sucked it up, dealt with it. She made him happy - but not as happy as you - she hadn’t done anything wrong. And yet… you were jealous. Why?

Thinking about it made your head hurt, so you focused on rubbing slow circles on his back, humming a soft tune to try and distract both of you from the thoughts that wracked your brain. Maybe it all hurt more because Suga had always been so much stronger than anyone you’d known, and yet, here he was, broken in your arms.

You helped him strip off his clothes, saying, “you wouldn’t want to catch a cold, would you?” And he agreed, letting you whisk him upstairs, running him a bath. His eyes were dull as he looked to the side, barely keeping up any conversation with you.

It hurt. More than you ever thought it would.

----

You really regretted ever thinking that things would be better if Moonlight wasn’t here. If she’d left your life.

The moment she’d left, she seemed to take a part of Suga with her; sure, he was still Suga, he’d tease and and make fun, and you’d end up in laughing fits, but there was something missing in how he works.

You’d watch his eyes light up when his phone buzzed, only to die immediately.

You winced inside with each night that he’d ask you if you’d heard something, anything, because he was worried.

It was like something inside of Suga was programmed to protect Moonlight, but he would never tell you why. Like it was some sort of trade secret between the two of them. Another thing you’d never get a chance to be a part of.

Things became just a little harder after she’d stopped visiting the café. It was abrupt. After almost four years of knowing each other, it was over. She’d taken herself out of your life as well as Suga’s. Did you even have any right to be upset with her?

No.

Every time you watched him jump at the sound of the door, you knew it was your fault, because the disappointment that would follow was more than enough to break your heart a thousand times over. Maybe even more. Definitely more.

You wished you could make this pain go away, you just didn't know how to. If Moonlight was in the picture, then it might end up destroying your relationship with Suga; but if she wasn’t in the picture, then Suga was… well, he was depressed.

He’d smile at you weakly from his end of the couch before he looked away, eyes void of emotion.

You ran your hands through your hair, sighing to yourself as you poured the coffee for a customer, feigning a smile.

----

You wished things weren’t like this.

You wished feelings weren’t messy.

You wished that you knew how to make things better.

Even when Suga told you he’d be okay, you couldn’t help but not believe him.

You bit back the tears in front of him, gave him the sweet kisses that he needed at the moment; when you were alone, it was a different story. You could only feel guilt.

God, you felt stupid. Time didn’t make things better, they made things so much more worse. A few months had passed since your maybe-argument with Moonlight and nothing had changed (though Suga did cling to you considerably more now).

When you were at work one weekend, Suga had found an old box of memories from his high school years. You returned just in time, catching him holding onto an old picture of the third years from his volleyball club.

“What’s that?” You called out from the door frame. He looked up at you, a little surprised, but his face softened and he motioned for you to join him. You did, not even hesitating.

“I found this box,” you glanced around as he explained, humming a little at the small memories that were spread across the floor, “and this is a picture from our last year in high school.” He passed you the picture.

There were two faces you didn’t recognise (another face you knew to be Azumane Asahi. You’d only met him once or twice, but he was very nice - though rather timid).

One belonged to a girl with black hair and glasses, a small smile on her lips, but her eyes were shining with such joy in this moment.

The other face was a boy. He had short brown hair and the most charming smile you’d ever seen. Stood just a little in front of this boy was Moonlight, looking barely younger than she did now, but her eyes were glowing with so much happiness. Next to her was Suga, so relaxed and awash with content that it was almost strange.

“Is that Moonlight?” You asked, checking your facts.

“Yep,” Suga nodded, looking at her with a sigh.

“I didn’t know she was part of the volleyball team…” you hummed, resting your head on his shoulder.

You can’t see his face, but his tone of voice is enough to tell you what you need to know. “She wasn’t.” A question lingers on the tip of your tongue; you don’t need to ask it, he’s already explaining, “she, um…” he pointed to the boy with the short brown hair. “This is Sawamura Daichi, he was… her boyfriend.”

“Oh…” you were smart enough to fill in some gaps, but Moonlight had never told you what had actually happened between them.

“You know,” Suga sniffed, starting to pack away the things back into the box, “I know things get hard sometimes. And that I’m really close to Moonlight, but I hope you know you never had anything to worry about. I knew that girl for almost six years. I’ve seen her at her worst, never at her best though.” You nod, not really sure how to respond. “Before I met you, we were the only people who really understood each other; I’m in love with you, though.”

You feel your heart warm at the sound of that; yet something in his eyes kept you from feeling so elated.

“You’re my everything, but…” he paused. Of all places to pause, he paused there. And why?

You knew why.

Like how every world needed a sun, Suga needed you. You provided him warmth; helped him to thrive; you brought light into his life that he could never describe. But worlds need more than just a sun to thrive. Worlds need moons to hold back the tides; to light up the darkness; to reflect your love further and deeper.

And right now, your world needed his moon.

--------

General Taglist:

@pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @dekuspet @samkysnks @tobi-momo @kaleidoscopekai @elektrosonix @realcube

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@dekuspet @pies-writes-and-more @satan-ruler-of-hells @realcube @samkysnks

If you want to be added to the taglist, send a DM or an ask :D

#sugawara x reader #hq sugawara #haikyuu sugawara #sugawara koushi #hq fluff #hq angst #thisnoodlewrites #the.girls.touched.by.space #my writing

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spookyceph · 3 years

Text

ShigaDabi Week Day 8 | Free Day!

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Swearing; use of Ouija board

Summary: Way to Confess Your Crush #13: Get a Ouija board to tell them on Halloween.

I Sense a Presence in the Room

“You’re moving it, Twice.”

“No, you’re moving it, Spinner. Demons are moving it, and we’ll all be cursed for messing with this stuff—haven’t you watched any horror movies?”

“Both of you, shut up. You’ll scare the ghosts away before I get to ask them anything.”

“Himiko, honey, I don’t think the ghosts are the ones likely to get spooked in this situation.”

“Why are we using a board with English letters? I mean, I do remember the basics from school, but that was some time ago. Wouldn’t it be easier to play Mr. Kokkuri or something?”

“I can read it.”

“See? Dabi knows English.”

“Yeah, but what if the ghosts don’t?”

Like he was watching a tennis match, Tomura turned his head to and fro, following the bickering as it volleyed around. Just a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined such a scene: his friends gathered on both sides of the hideout’s bar, playing a game better suited to middle school kids. Then again, a few short months ago, he couldn’t have imagined using the words his friends in any sentence.

The game had been Toga’s idea. A fun way to celebrate Halloween, she'd said. Tomura didn’t care about some imported holiday, just as he hadn’t paid any attention to Bon when it came and went a couple months back. But he did enjoy seeing the others participate, learning all the different ways they interacted. So, silent, he watched from the edge of their circle as they finally settled down, cramming their fingertips on the planchette in the middle of the Ouija board Toga had picked up from who-knew-where.

A lack of holiday spirit hadn't been the only reason he'd sat out. The sight of so many hands squeezed into such a small area sent a chill rolling down Tomura’s spine. He wasn’t about to risk Decaying someone over a silly party game.

“Okay…” A quivering note had crept into Spinner’s voice despite his earlier accusations of Twice moving things. “What do we ask first?”

Toga bounced on her heels. “I know, I know! Who am I going to marry?”

A collective groan filled the room. Nevertheless, the heart-shaped plastic pointer gave a jerk, like an eager dog tugging on its leash, and began to slide across the board. Everyone held their breath. Tomura squinted in concentration, sounding out each letter chosen in his head.

D…E…K…U.

“What’d it say? Tell me, tell me, tell me!” Toga demanded the second the planchette stopped.

“Deku,” Tomura answered, wrinkling his nose. Maybe demons were rigging the game.

Toga held a differing opinion. With a squeal, she hugged herself and collapsed into a fit of maniacal giggles.

“Oh? Shigaraki speaks English too?” Even through his ever-present ski mask, Mister looked impressed. “A man of many talents.”

Tomura shrugged. “It can be useful sometimes.” Mostly for online games, but still.

“Hey, it’s spelling something else,” Dabi said.

Instantly righting herself, Toga watched with huge, shiny eyes as a second name emerged.

“Ochako,” announced Dabi, triggering a second giggle explosion. “Congratulations, vampire girl. You’re a bigamist.”

Spinner snorted. “What a load of crap…”

“Let’s ask it what unlucky slob gets stuck with you then, lizard lips.”

Toga was on it like a shark on a baby seal. “Yeah! Spinner next!”

Heedless of stammered protests and long-suffering sighs, the planchette launched into action. Tomura smiled wryly as the next name took shape.

“I knew it.” Dabi clicked his tongue. “Mandalay.”

“Total bullshit.” Spinner’s entire face had flushed deep forest-green, the edges of each scale almost black.

“Don’t get all bent out of shape. Not like you’re the first nerd to be into catgirls.”

“Get fucked, staple-face.”

“Let’s ask the board whether he does. I’ll do it if no one else gets the honor!”

“You’re making me blush, Twice.”

“Dabi’s true love next!” declared Toga, mercifully taking the reins again.

The planchette went to work. Tomura craned forward, curious despite himself.

T…O…

That could be the start of hundreds of names, Japanese or otherwise.

…M…U…

Wait—maybe he was separating the syllables incorrectly?

…R…A.

“Well? Who’s the one destined to tame the Blue Flame?” Mister asked with a laugh.

Not Tomura. It couldn’t be. That was simply impossible. The stupid board had to mean someone else—without kanji there wasn’t any way to tell one name from another if the sounds matched.

Except when he looked up, he caught Dabi staring straight at him.

Dabi, whose blue eyes burned hot and electric as they met his.

Dabi, the only other person in the room who knew English.

Dabi, his true love, according to the board.

In one smooth motion, Tomura pushed away from the bar and spun on his heels. He didn’t look back despite the bewildered and shocked questions the others pelted him with as he marched out of the bar. It was a miracle he didn’t accidentally Decay the door in his haste.

He’d gotten as far as the top step in the upstairs hallway before he heard pursuing bootsteps.

“Hey, wait up.”

Tomura refused to give in to weakness and look over his shoulder. If he hurried, he could make it to his room in time.

“Fucking hell, mophead, come on. Don’t make me run. I’ve got shitty lungs.”

A switch flipped in his brain, killing power to all rational thought. Tomura halted and did a sharp one-eighty. Dabi skidded to a stop just out of reach. A good thing too—there was no telling what might’ve happened if one of Tomura’s hands, fingers hooked into talons, had been able to grab him. Dabi read the other warning signs with a neutral face: tensed shoulders, narrowed red eyes, breath hissing in and out.

Only two words managed to bob to the surface of the stew of rage and humiliation Tomura’s mind was boiling in, but they were enough. “Not. Funny.”

“Who’s laughing, mophead?”

Slowly, the question and its serious tone sank in. Tomura blinked, his roiling emotions thickening into a sludge of confusion. “You…you rigged the game.”

“Guilty. The girls were in on it too. Toga was going to ask fluffy stuff about her crushes anyway, so I only had to bribe her to keep quiet and not gush to anyone else. Magne used her quirk to tug everyone’s hands in the right direction. Her English is even better than mine, as it turns out.”

“You had her spell my name.”

“And the others, yeah.”

“B-but…”

Dabi arched his eyebrows. “But if I wasn’t making fun of you, why would I do such a thing?”

“ Yes.”

“Because I think you’re interesting and smart and hot in a gangly, goth sort of way. I like you is what I mean.”

Tomura opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. So, he closed it with a click of teeth. Then he tried again. Same results.

With a sardonic smile skewing his lips, Dabi shook his head. “I’ve been dropping hints for months, but they flew over your head every time. So, when Toga suggested the stupid Ouija board game, I figured I might as well literally spell it out for you. Speaking of dropping hints, Spinner wasn’t embarrassed about the catgirl thing. He was pissed because your name didn’t pop up. Just thought I should mention it, in the spirit of fair competition.”

Though Tomura glanced all around the hallway, there was neither a convenient couch to faint on nor a hole to crawl into. So, he settled for the next best option: directness.

“I…don’t know what to say.”

Dabi’s smile softened as he shrugged. “You don’t have to say anything right now. When you’re ready, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever. I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”

He turned to go, but some unknown impulse spurred Tomura into grabbing his wrist, two fingers safely tucked away. Both red and blue eyes widened in identical degrees of astonishment.

“Uh…” Tomura scrambled for a reasonable follow-up. “Do you want to, um, talk about it?”

The way Dabi’s staples followed the curves of his smile did warm, strange, fluttery things to Tomura’s insides. “About which part? Telling me to fuck off or being my one true love?”

“I-I-I—”

“Relax, mophead. I’m just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Oh.” Tomura looked at Dabi’s hand, which had moved to link fingers with two of his and certainly felt serious. “Does that mean—”

“Yeah, let’s talk. Up on the roof fine? Kurogiri hates it when I smoke inside.”

“Sure. Okay.” He definitely wasn’t the former, but something in the back of his mind assured him the latter would stick eventually.

Warm fingers on a scarred hand gave his a squeeze. “After you.”

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lux-i-fer · 4 years

Note

If Chloe and the rest of the main human cast (including Cain and Eve) were to get angel wings and powers what do you think they’d look like?

[ask cont.] Oh and Maze for wings/power too

This got a lot bigger than it was supposed to oops.

Chloe:

For Chloe I chose to give her Hen Harrier hawk wings. I think they're such beautiful birds and they possess such a quiet type of power and grace that I think suits Chloe very well.

As for her power, I chose to give her the power of seeing through illusions and solving puzzles. As we're well aware, Chloe is super preceptive. I can see her using her power to look past the fronts people put on and peer into their soul. I can see her being an astute observer, but not necessarily acting on her power. I can see her simply glimpsing a person's true demeanor without fanfare. Almost as a double check of their personality.

Dan:

Oh Dan. We've had our ups and downs 😉 but for our favorite douche I chose to give him raven's wings. One of Dan's characteristics is how well he seems to blend into the background. At face value, it's easy to brush Dan off; however, in reality he isn't all the meets the eye. Dan may be thickheaded at times and an occasional dick, but he tends to have this sixth sense when it comes to all things esoteric and supernatural.

Similar to how sunlight reveals the true colors of a raven's wing, Dan has more layers than we may notice. One of those layers being his knack for attracting supernatural entities and having interesting effects on their objects (looking at you Azrael's blade). Because of these things I gave Dan the power of a heightened sense of the supernatural. Someone who can peer beyond the vale of glamours and celestial physics. Think of it as the True Sight for all supernatural creatures. What this power would entail is being able to sense any and all supernatural creature within a certain radius. Dan could be able to determine the type of creature and how powerful they are using an energy 'footprint' system similar to how auras function.

Ella:

I chose blue jay wings for our dear Ella. To me they just scream utter joy and pressistence. I like their delicate yet strong shape and relatively petite size.

For her power I chose to stay in line with canon. Ella sees/interacts with ghosts (real ones this time!) and untethered souls. I can see her and Rae Rae acting in tandem with each other to help get souls where they need to go. Obviously not every soul collection goes as planned and I can see times where they just slip past Azrael's grasp. When that happens it's up to Ella to round them up. Said ghosts would be able to talk to Ella and she, in turn, could help them cross over to the next plane of existence. Of course this wouldn't be the only use for her power, but it's just an example of something I could see her doing.

Trixie:

I admit this one makes the least sense. I chose barn owl wings for Trixie. They have a softness and a playfulness to them that just remind me of her.

As for her power, I decided Trixie would have a perfect sense of direction. I can see her being a stellar tracker and discovering things that were otherwise lost to humanity. Trixie is a naturally curious girl and wise beyond her years so it felt fitting that she got both a mature and engaging power. I really wanted to give her something practical and something that would potentially help her pursue a tangental interest. (Perhaps animal tracking?)

Eve:

I struggled with Eve. I knew I wanted to give her red wings but I was weary to give her something as common as cardinal wings. I almost chose red macaw wings; however, I ultimately decided that these suited her best instead. Cardinal wings are elegant and subdued, something I think suits Eve well. They're flashy but have just enough black in them to warn off any shallow, unsavory fellows.

Eve's power is the ability to set things free. I think it would be similar to Lucifer's desire but it would have a more wild and raw effect. I have a feeling it would drive people to the brink of madness until they finally 'free' themselves in the way that Eve or their own subconscious sees fit. Eve understands and values the power of freedom, yet I could see her using her power carelessly at times, if only because she's a tad naive. She's a free spirit but doesn't always acknowledge that others might not be.

Maze:

Maze was difficult, I won't lie. I'm not even sure if I'm 100% satisfied with my choice but here I am presenting it anyways. I see Maze as having waxwing wings. I wanted something unique, yet dangerous for our favorite demon. Waxwings are very beautiful birds, but there's something about the gray in their wings that suggests there's more to them than their cheerful orange bodies would prefer to say. These are not large wings, but I almost find more power in them than a bird of prey's. There is strength in hiding in plain sight and Maze knows this better than anyone.

I chose to give Maze the 'sharpshooter' power. What this means is that every blow/attack she makes will land on her opponent. Maze values her fighting abilities and I imagine she'd preen if she knew she could hit a target no matter the circumstance.

Cain:

On the flip side, Cain was a surprisingly easy choice. I chose to give him Cinereous vulture wings. I really wanted to give Cain broad, long wings. I think the boxy shape and almost hunched appearance reflects Cain's stone cold features and the general unsettled feeling you get when you look at him. Don't think it was an accident that I chose to make him a vulture, either lol.

Much like Cain's personality, I made his power a bit more sinister than the others. Cain has the ability to possess other people, including other celestial beings. I thought angelic possession was a good power for Cain because of its literal interpretation of manipulation. Cain is a manipulator and what better way to manipulate someone than to control them yourself without them even realizing it? Now surly I think people would realize that they've been possessed but I can see Cain devising a way around that 😉. For someone who desires control above all else, I think this power suits Cain well.

#lucifer on netflix #lucifer #lucifer morningstar #ask #anon

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Note

Can you write a short dark fic for the pairing Joey x Henry, where after Henry threatens to leave the studio, Joey snaps and kidnaps Henry and turns Henry into a perfect Boris or Bendy so that Henry would never leave his side, please?

Summary: Joey Drew couldn't ever take 'No' for an answer, much less when it came from the object of his ill-fated obcession.

---

[[MORE]]

When brought into the world children were never inherently cruel. They were curious and blunt, which often resulted in uncomfortable situations for those they interacted with, but overall younglings were empathetic at heart until reshaped and redefined into something otherwise.

The world was a terrible influence after all, and it could marr even the purest of things.

There were exceptions to this rule however…

Joey Drew had certainly been a curious kid. Unabashedly blunt too, with how often his innocent words cut deep into both his parents and peers.

But not once did he empathise enough with others to be considered a kind child.

If anything, most others his age had steered clear from his company, finding the mellow kid with the great big toothy smile to be unsettling on an instinctive level. Children were, after all, capable of sensing evil. Even in its stages of infancy.

So imagine everyone's surprise (Joey's included) when Henry Stein decided to befriend the town's most infamous little black sheep.

Kind bleeding heart that he was, Henry had thought it unfair that others would judge another as strongly as they judged Joey, so he'd taken it upon himself to make the kid next door's life a little less lonesome.

Give him what he surely needed: A good and caring friend.

Needless to say, he regretted that decision more than anything in the world...

It hadn't always been so bad. Once Joey had actually been a friend to him, and cared enough to look after Henry when he'd most needed.

Now however? Now Henry could barely recognize the monster behind that unnerving grin...

The burning selfish desires in those sapphire blues, hidden behind an half-lidded expression that was reserved to feign a serene and caring persona…

As charming and handsome as Joey looked (because he'd always been unnaturally pretty, even when going through the awkward stages of puberty), Henry couldn't help find his apathetic and selfish nature abominably hideous.

Especially now as he brought him the results of yet another failed experiment.

"I'm getting closer dear friend." He held the snapping, snarling little beast at arm's length, this failed mockery of Edgar barely looking like the adorable cartoon spider he was meant to be. "Soon I'll be able to make you perfect, and then we'll be back together as the dynamic duo we always were..."

Henry shuddered at the thought, tightly curling in on himself as he watched Joey end the poor creature's miserable existence. His bowl where his meals were served clattering loudly, as the inky heart of the slain critter was tossed onto it with precision. A mimicry of flesh thumping against the metal with a wet splat.

He fought back the urge to cry as he felt his mouth water.

"Eat up my loyal wolf… We can't be wasteful." Joey's cruel smile almost ruined his appetite. Almost. "Don't worry, this wasn't anyone you knew…"

With that said, Joey left him to greedily consume the offering.

Looking in the bowl's reflective surface once he'd licked it clean, Henry found that he could barely recognize himself anymore.

His stretched out face progressively becoming less and less humanoid as he was fed the experimental failures of Joey's horrid machine, and his pale hair having long since turned black and begun to spread.

He looked like what one would envision Boris the Wolf to look like in some lovecraftian fever dream. Dressed in ill-fitting ripped clothing, and barely able to balance a pair of cracked glasses on the bridge of his elongated nose.

An inhuman beast that fed off of the misfortune of others, losing his humanity as time passed on by.

He wondered if he'd forget himself eventually. If he'd forget that the devil in disguise that was Joey Drew was to blame for his malformations.

If one day he'd actually grow to love his captor in the same manner that Stolkholm syndrome victims tended to do, once brainwashed into submission by their abusers?

Another shudder forced a garbled whimper out of his deformed face.

To whatever god that could hear his broken pleas, he sure hoped not.

Henry didn't want to give Joey what he wanted.

Not when that monster of a man had taken him away from his family to keep as some sort of freak show pet.

Playing some sick version of house with the "puppy" he sustained on a cannibalistic diet. Disgusting.

Curling up, Henry cried himself to sleep. Thinking of his wife and children.

Missing them terribly while locked up in the bowels of Joey's demented studio.

The Ink Demon wasn't bad company, Henry had found. It seemed to understand his pain on a level no other creature did, offering him what little compassion it could whenever Joey dropped by with more "food".

It feared and loathed that devil of a man just as much as Henry did, and it knew to be kind despite never once being treated with the same sort of respect.

The one positive of this odd kinship between the two, was that Joey seemed pleased by them forming the sort of bond Bendy and Boris had. Thus never getting in between their interactions.

"One day soon, it'll all be just as I envisioned." He'd purr as he pinned the bound inky wolf to the ground, touching Henry in a way that made him want to gag, and rip the rat bastard's throat out with his horrific set of doggish teeth. "Just a little more and you'll be perfect."

He didn't want to be perfect.

All Henry wanted was to kill Joey Drew and go home.

"But first, I have a surprise for you." A surprise that came right after this twisted display of "affection". This gross invasion of the abominable wolf's personal bubble.

Joey presented him with an absolutely Perfect Boris.

Overalls, pie cut eyes, soft velvety fuzz and all… no signs of dripping or asymmetrical proportions.

The terror in those eyes however… it was all too human.

"I told you I'd find a way to reach perfection. Once I've finished tweaking the process you'll be just as perfect as him… Maybe more." Joey purred. "I miss your voice after all, dearest friend. Until then I give you this fearful pup to do with as you wish."

Upon his tormentor's departure, the cartoon wolf scrambled away from Henry. Shaking like a leaf and whining pitifully.

A child, Joey had converted a child…

Hell hath no fury like the righteous rage of a scorned father.

That bastard would pay for all he'd done!

But first, the large and deformed beast that was Henry Stein carefully scooted over to the shaking Boris clone and comforted him as best he could.

He'd protect this poor pup, no matter what.

The Ink Demon seemed to be in favour of extending that same grace, although it did still go for the kill when the less than agreeable ink monsters came around looking for trouble.

Buddy's transformation had certainly enraged him when Joey presented the poor boy to him. Sammy's and Norman's fates however were the last straw to break the camel's back.

Most of the people that worked at the studio were strangers to Henry, but the young musician and the oddball projectionist had been friends to him.

With every stranger's heart he consumed, the large beast of a wolf grew more and more restless. The revulsion he felt when looking upon Joey growing into an all consuming desire to violently murder his captor.

When a faceless ink creature wearing only suspenders and a Bendy mask came in one day to bring him his meal however…

"My lord wishes me to feed you, oh Great Lupine... Abyssal Hunger of the Ink's Abyss…" The body shape wasn't one he recognized. The slight arch to the creature's legs a bit strange to look at, and the four fingered hands an indication that something strange had definitely come to pass in this poor madman's transition into his current state. But that voice…

"Shhh...Shhaaammiieeee…?" His voice had returned as a dissonant mess, one that was not fit for a gross mockery of a muzzle like his own.

"Is… Is that my name, oh Hungry One?" There was both fear and hope in his voice. That in itself made something twinge painfully in Henry's chest. "I… Yes, yes that is my name isn't it? Sammy… I… oh thank you kindly, Benevolent Wolf. Please, feast upon your meal. I have worked hard to acquire it in the name of our Lord, your most wonderous companion."

What had Joey done to Sammy Lawrence, the proud music director that had more than half the mind this mindless drone had? Good heavens, what had he done that completely broke the poor kid?!

Rather than voice his horror, Henry did as he was told. After all the more he ate, the more his gluttonous appetite grew… as did this horrid body he was stuck with.

Abyssal hunger indeed…

He forgot what shame tasted like, but not mercy.

As selfish as it may be, he did request one thing.

"It is as you wish, oh Hungry One… I shall protect all pups that enter my lair." The Prophet bowed once, twice and then trice as he took Buddy by the hand. "Another horror skulks in the darkness, wearing an Angel's face. She hunts wolves, for fun. I shall show them your mercy."

He trusted that Sammy would keep his word. He was as stubborn as they could get, after all, and did not back off from a challenge very easily.

Henry would miss Buddy's company though.

That particular encounter was bad on a moral level, but it did turn out alright in the end. When the Projectionist was presented to him as a play thing however, Henry had begun to crack. No one deserves such a horrible fate as to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Norman had once carried a world of unimaginable knowledge on his back.

Now he only had the painful weight of a projector on his neck, and the volatile temper of a mindless beast.

The deformed wolf had done his best to gain the creature's trust, but it feared being attacked far too much to let a nearly 20 foot inky monstrosity near itself.

Self preservation hadn't completely left the Projectionist it seemed.

He'd let it go, hoping doing so would be a sign of good will on its own.

And then when he'd been once again left alone, Henry continued to stew in his anger. Talked himself into showing a rarer more violent side on Joey's next visit.

Even tried to fight back against him the next when he tried to touch him.

This was a losing battle however… After all, Joey Drew couldn't ever take 'No' for an answer, much less when it came from the object of his ill-fated obsessions.

Henry Stein just so happened to be his biggest obsession. Even as this horrifically imperfect monster that only an equally horrific demon could ever hope to understand.

#eps writes:#bendy and the ink machine #batim #henry stein #joey drew

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMMA! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF DMITRI.

Admin Cas: There’s something so tragic about Dmitri that I love: everything about him is a contradiction. Yet, for all his love and light, he’s also really quite terrifying, and the way you balanced both of those aspects of their character was truly breathtaking, Emma. I thought your reflections on the idea of Dmitri as a sort of wingless angel was especially impressive. In spite of all the things that make them angelic, they can never truly be one with God’s angels. That, after all, is what sets him apart from their brethren; where they are ruination, he is its saving grace. I put this golden prince in your hands without fear that you’ll do wonderful things with him, and I can’t wait to see the directions you’ll go together! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Emma.

Age | 21+.

Personal Pronouns | She/Her.

Activity Level | I’m able to get a reply or two out at least once daily; depending on length, it could potentially be more or less than.

Timezone | Eastern.

Triggers | REMOVED.

How did you find the group? | LSRPG tag.

Current/Past RP Accounts | I delete my character accounts to create a blank blog for my next character account. I save snippets of threads I adore, so I’m so sorry. RIP - xoxo

IN CHARACTER

there is a swelling storm and i'm caught up in the middle of it all and it takes control of the person that i thought i was the boy i used to know.

CHARACTER

Dmitri , the Horsemen of Conquest

DRAW TO CHARACTER

I’ve never been the type to write a sample for a character before fleshing out the other bits first, but Dmitri’s voice whispered, begging to be explored as soon as I read their biography. The first sample you’ll read below was the initial picture I painted and kept throughout this application because Dmitri resembled that of a poor Icarus, who simply overindulged in something not meant for him to enjoy.

I imagined Dmitri in the seconds after creation gasping at the sights of Heaven, reaching back for white wings — only to be met by their bareback. Shoulders aching for the flight of angels, the purity evident in their veins to be his own, God’s presence given at a moments notice.

Yes — I very clearly drew these small, delicate details from a few lines, but Cas wrote this character in such a way I felt the weight of Dmitri’s needs as if they were my own to be met. The biography held me captive to do whatever would be in my ability to give this character justice for what they were never gifted. I still get butterflies reading over the biography and couldn’t stop what followed.

This application is my confession of love for Dmitri, and I would even offer to say this could be read as a fever dream because isn’t that what God would want? His beloved, lastly mad Horsemen to be written in a state of complete and total euphoria for conquest and recklessness… but more importantly, I hope to show how beautifully flawed this character is to desire to be loved by a dead God, and the journey I would take them on to realize their purpose was never tied to God’s needs.

FUTURE PLOTS

SUMMARY: I’ve written these in a format of progression based on what I think could occur first in-game based off of current connections, and Dmitri’s direct link of being a Horsemen, making it far more likely to push said plot first. Each builds upon the other in a sense of a video game character skill branching system. As in, I’ve written some answers or may propose them in a way, which would directly change a plot below it. Hope this helps explain the mess which is about to occur below!

FUTURE OF THE HORSEMEN

what happens to those who were meant to end a world already destroyed?

Their purpose set forth to them by God has come to no fruition as the world destroyed itself, at least in a way. Each Horsemen dealing with their new identity as a mercenary in their own way, but I can only speak from the perspective of Dmitri. When it comes to them, the Horsemen are family. They came from the same Gos as them, shaped from different moments but important just the same. Their future as a whole could be explored by each Horsemen’s motivation. For Dmitri, the idea of leaving them to go elsewhere seems far-fetched at first; a type of daydream when the cleanup after a job is too heavy to stay focused on. If given a bigger glimpse at something else, something Dmitri could find himself desiring to do, I imagine the Horsemen could find a strain.

FUTURE OF THE HEALING

what is the purpose of being one of healing if you watched the wounds be inflicted?

Building upon a strain forming within the Horsemen, Dmitri would first need to experience something so terrifyingly out of character for them to do, which could trigger a wave of events to follow. The concept of using their healing ability seems to be the “fun” direction as this golden boy not being able to save someone caught in the crossfires would be an angst ridden thread to experience. I want to shape his tenderness in a way to correlate with his healing. Dmitri’s process of healing someone is something I haven’t ventured much into yet — but I imagine the sight of it to be something beautiful, almost too beautiful to fully understand what you’re looking at. This light bringer among those who only bring darkness is the difference enough to push the first plot and this one forward.

FUTURE OF THE LOVED AND WORSHIPPED

what does one do with love and praise when all they expected was hate?

Imagine the first time someone witnessed Dmitri healing a mortal. Who was it? What occurred? No one who lives now among the mortals knows, yet their growing affection towards him makes me feel as if he’s gotten his own personal tale passed between them. Here in this new found love among men, I think Dmitri sees what he’s always wanted out of life, rather existence. It’ll be such a wild ride of secret trips to different parts of the world to see if he finds this love and praise everywhere. He’d be drunk over this, but there also comes the dark side of being given something kept from you for so long. Yes, I would love for this beautiful, precious Horsemen to ride happily off into the sunset… but there’s definitely some trauma left from God. Here within this, I find Dmitri’s breaking point could take place and all of the above could shatter.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | yes — given a month’s notice and option to decline? i feel as if the answer would be different depending on how they were to die and character development, if this makes sense.

IN DEPTH

but there is a lightin the dark, and i feel its warmth

in my hands and my heart why can't i hold on?

CHARACTER MOTIVATION

It’s unknown at first- their motivation. Perhaps, God always intended the existence of those who were meant to cause the end of the world to possess no motivation. Life to them, the Horsemen, was simply a story already written down in the stars, yet Dmitri walked out into the New World with the story finished and no part to play in it. Purgatory had warped their glowing essence, satisfying God’s need to prevent prayers said to Conquest over the God of Creation.

Yet motivations can still be rather fickle when they were never intended for you. Dmitri’s creation came from the infinite love God felt for man, yet they were never meant to have this (this being love) as their backbone. No, they were to indulge their fellow Horsemens’ wrath by mending the blows they were destined to cause. Their gift, their healing, their voice. All things given by God to serve a purpose not their own. Somewhere between all of the havoc and chaos of this world, there had to come a time where Dmitri sought to figure it out.

Their motivation laid rotting within the crevices of darkness and filth they called home all these centuries. Purgatory did it’s job more so than God could have ever intended because Dmitri struggled with purpose outside of God’s. Sunshine filled his veins in a way the darkness fed off of and merely left the Horsemen of Conquest bare. So walking out of, rather escaping from, Purgatory to Dmitri awakened this desire for answers. With the death of God, Dmitri discovered their rebirth into something rather ungodly as he wanted to become everything God never intended on him to be: loved.

From this death, Dmitri has discovered a solace with mortals he’d never found with the fellow Horsemen as there’s something to be said in regards to being made last. He didn’t resemble the others completely as he felt a mirror to man more so than his Horsemen. I imagine actions and motivation for him to be teetering currently as his own questions in the regards of ‘what’s next?’ as having a calling as a mercenary never sat well with him. He wants to be loved in a way God had left unspoken between them over the possibility of competition.

SUMMARY: Throughout interactions and inner thoughts expressed throughout this roleplay, I would love to dive into the future plots tying into Dmitri’s motivations above with the balance of being deemed as loved or worshipped. Dmitri needs to be loved, yet I think if it ever rocked towards him being worshipped, it’d be a nice little shift of what truly motivates him. Overall, I find my motivating factor to be Dmitri’s voice and relationships with the Horsemen due to my overall understanding of how much he truly values them. Yes, he’s always wanted more for himself, but there’s always going to be the glimpses of why he is among their ranks. He isn’t pure as the angels or as mischievous as the demons, but I find Dmitri’s complexities something of value as a character in a world without restraints.

IN-CHARACTER PARA SAMPLES

i. DREAMS AND THE HEREAFTER

‘Icarus, my son — your wings are too brittle for the warmth of light. Now, I shall watch you burn with the rest.’ Or was the name spoken across the lips of God dmitri? Did he curve the appetite of man’s undeserving love of their creator by existing? Were his screams - for more - not enough to make the tear from God’s eye a regret?

‘But father, I shall fly with you. We can escape together. No mortal shall ever have to look upon our faces again. We can finally be--’ Scorned brow silenced all of his pleas, bringing the truth to the forefront. Dmitri dreamed before the tear was ever caught and molded into the literal form of his being. They knew of themself from the perspective of God’s eye and convinced themself of something which wasn’t there. ‘Am I never to be free of this burden then? Am I to suffer?’

They painted a world where they crawled from the depths of Purgatory, where their strength came from the purity of man, where God Himself welcomed Dmitri back into Heaven as if he’d never gone. In this recurring dream, God would realize the mistake to tuck away his most prized creation.

The final Horsemen did not deserve the caverns of impermeable darkness Purgatory supplied them because somewhere in the infinite of his existence, he truly believed himself to bare wings.

‘Suffer? Suffer! You are the brilliance of life; my creation. Do you wish to know what I plan to do with you? Follow me, Conquest. Your domain awaits.’

Their eyes open with horror, memories of a man - rather a god who loved him less. A god who created him by mistake. An outstretched arm from active slumber finds its way back onto their chest, an unsteady rise and fall of breaths lost. His own torment from sleep a self-given punishment as he allowed himself to fall into the corners of his own mind. The hidden doors which locked memories long forgotten as he believed himself to be more than he was.

God regretted shedding a tear for out came the brightest of shadows, the technicolor snake of dispute in the form of a golden angel. They were truly no closer than their brethren to bearing wings, but if one deserved them, Dmitri would declare themself so.

Instead of wings, however, cascading down their back, you would find a seeping hole of nothing; a hollowed out mine of what could have become of them. It is the wickedness they hide beneath enchanting smiles, minor suggestions, and lack of resolve which will keep their back bare. Denial being a sort of game which they’ve mastered over the years.

Once, one might have spotted the prospect of gold, sinless existence within them, but they were not created like the other angels, the other horsemen, the other fallen. They were made as the result of emotion, and one knew what followed closely with emotions — mistakes or rather the sins of man.

They were the rotten cavities created over years of divulging in sweets, buried in the crevices of newborn teeth who hadn’t the taste of sugar.

And in their devastation, Dmitri destined themself to find the answers which God withheld from them.

ii. DENIAL IN THE FORM OF SINFUL BEAUTY

“You’re late — again.” A simple nod towards either Nerissa or Viktoria felt enough to find his place among his family, his fellow Horsemen.

One thumb found its way to his temple before releasing a heavy sigh. “Dreams haunt me recently.

“You mean nightmares.” Nerissa could never resist correcting him over something so miniscule as words, yet this simple exchange caused a growing irritation to sprout wings and turn into complete rage.

His temples tensed, nostrils flared with fingernails already cutting at the skin of his palm. “You honestly think I’m mortal enough to switch the meaning of two words, War?” Tongue pressed against the back of their teeth, Dmitri allowed their body to sink into their assigned chair, of sorts. Each had a place within the others home as if each home belonged to all four of them collectively.

“Someone woke up feeling out of place again.” Always Ryuk with a quick word before letting the storm brew on.

“It’s the dreams — I wake up in horror over...” Their eyes, washed in an array of gold, scanned the softness of their palms, the lack of scars on their flesh, the harrowing displacement of havoc in their words, and the deficiency of darkness their fellow Horsemen possessed. “...for it is the dream I can never grasp.”

With the unblemished palm, he wiped away at both of their eyes, trying to remove the hints of sleep behind them. More importantly, he wanted more than anything to remove any attempt of truth being proven by Nerissa’s words.

Harsh snarled laughter came from the corner of their domain, mocking their spiral for something less than what it was. To Dmitri, they saw these dreams as something more of an awakening, uncovering their last moments with God.

“What is the point of man if not to suffer, dear Dmitri?”

“But I am no man!” Fists shattered the monotony of the discussion, calling in the last ounce of sanity any of them could take as they stood from the table. “I am no god.” The once golden irises, which mirrored the glory of the sun’s warmth, now mimicked the lava spewing from a devastating volcano. “I am Conquest, and I shall suffer no more!”

Here in the brilliant, pure light of their anger, their risen voice, the very might of their denial gave birth to something else.

A soft chuckle from the other side of the room destroyed any build up between the others as Viktoria waltzed over to them.

“He’s not wrong… None of us are man, so none of us shall suffer.” Viktoria’s hand draped over theirs with a tenderness they’d only felt from the mortals, but it was enough to show Dmitri the horsemen had the ability to give him what he wanted.

#accepted #accepted: dmitri

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ask-sakky-bear · 4 years

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Journal Entry #2: Ghosts

The second installment for my podcast idea - this is a much longer read!

Also, I don’t recall if I mentioned this in my first post about it, but this is set in a Naruto Alternate Universe - modern setting, no ninjas, but supernatural things exist. That sort of things.

[Sooo, I lied, it’s 4:39 in the morning and I can’t sleep, so might as well do something useful. Without further ado:

Date: July 15th..er, 16th, 2015

Time: now 4:40 am

Subject: Ghosts.

I figured the best way to approach this was to start with the subject I know most about. Or, have had the most experience with, at least. I guess we should start with what a ghost actually is.

According to a quick internet search, a ghost, as it is commonly thought of has...surprisingly many definitions. That definition seems to include the concept of a disembodied spirit. Merriam-Webster, the world’s leading authority on all things needing to be defined, lists seven definitions for the noun “ghost” - only four of them I believe are actually relevant to this discussion:

The seat of life or intelligence - the soul;

Spirit or demon;

A disembodied soul: especially, the soul of a dead person believed to be an inhabitant of the “unseen world”, who appears to the living in bodily likeness; and

A faint, shadowy trace

Now, I also looked at a few other online and physical definitions, so no one can accuse me of not being thorough here, and they all say much the same thing. The soul of a dead person, a disembodied spirit, a “vague, shadowy, or evanescent form”, a spirit that haunts the living, etc, etc. So, everyone seems to agree with what they think a ghost is. They’re mostly right. Let’s unpack good ol’ MW’s definitions, first, to get a better picture of what a ghost is.

A soul.

...

Okay, to be completely honest with you, I really don’t want to unpack that one. There’s a lot of religious implications, philosophical debates, and shaky science wrapped up in that one word to include in this one entry. I might make a different entry in regards to that later, but for the sake of expediency and to stave off the migraine it’ll give me, I’ll just state this: One could consider the soul to be our consciousness, that...something, which makes us who we are individually. I think this is the simplest way to describe what I’ve encountered with ghosts. Anyway, I'm going to leave this bit for now and come back to it, as I believe it is important for our definition.

Second definition: I’m going to go ahead and explicitly state this on record that ghosts, spirits, and demons are not the same thing. Some might try to argue that a ghost is a type of spirit, but let me tell you, in my experience, they are very different entities and will get offended if you insist otherwise.

You do not want to offend a spirit.

Trust me.

I’ll make further entries to explain myself later, but for now, that’s all I have to say. Back to the subject.

I believe the third definition is important to look at in defining ghosts, because it is the closest to the truth. Particularly in the aspects of “disembodied” and “unseen”.

Typically, a ghost does not have a physical body. This may confuse some people, if you take into account how many ghosts are able to interact with the physical world. I guess what I mean to say is that the body and ghost are generally two separate things, as a ghost can exist in cases where a body does not, be it cremated, or in various stages of decay. (Note: attention should be drawn to some instances where this is not the case; see for instance the entry on ju-on. End note). I am not quite sure what mechanism allows ghosts to physically affect the world around them, but perhaps future entries and study will shed some light.

I particularly believe that the lack of a physical body is what makes ghosts “unseen”. The limits of human physicality make it so that anything nonphysical is almost impossible to perceive. I say almost, because there have been several individuals I have met who exhibit the unnatural ability to see ghosts - myself included. So, to summarize here two aspects of ghosts that are important in its definition: a ghost is typically some disembodied entity that is unseen by most, but has the ability to affect the physical world.

Definition number four, and honestly, the most accurate depiction of a ghost: “A shadowy trace”. At the heart of it, a ghost is really just that. A trace. Or, to give a better word for it, an imprint.

This is where I want to bring back in the early definition of a soul. Throughout our lives, we exist and experience the world. Our experiences shape who we are, how we think, and how we experience our experiences. I can’t say what exactly a “soul” as a single entity is or what happens to it after we kick the bucket, but I do know that occasionally a soul doesn’t disappear from this world. Like I said earlier: it makes an imprint.

How is an imprint made, you might wonder? Well, that’s where the whole thing with experiences comes into play. If you’ve lived a decently normal life and die without complaint, you don’t typically make a substantial imprint. Sure, I’ve come across the odd imprint of love for a place or person, but it’s usually not something pleasant that causes a ghost to form. Think murders, rights left unperformed, hating one's circumstances in life, that sort of thing.

As you can imagine, this tends to cause a lot of problems for the living. Oh sure, you usually come across the haunted house or temple, where you may get a whiff of cigar smoke or hear disembodied laughter in the room over. Those hauntings are pretty easy to get rid of - either you learn to ignore them or just have your local priest come round and say a few blessings. But sometimes, people die violently and suddenly and the emotions they feel at death are enough to make a stronger imprint.

Those are your more..cookie cutter hauntings. And usually where I, or you know, an actual exorcist comes in.

Like I mentioned before, I have no idea what allows these stronger imprints to actually interact with the living, but they can, and usually it’s not very pleasant.

I guess I should talk about how ghosts typically interact with the living, while I’m thinking about it. That’s a little tough to explain, from my experience. Actually, that’s a good way to explain it - an experience.

Most people think that ghosts talk to people like how I’m talking right now. You know, straight, linear conversations. But that’s not the case. See, a ghost is just a memory the person leaves behind, hence an imprint, yadda yadda. Our only way to interact with them is to experience them. This usually takes the form of memories cropping up in dreams, unexplained scents/sounds, or a physical manifestation of the life or death of that individual. Above all, there’s the emotions that caused the ghost to manifest. Those are typically the worst, since they tend to cause personality shifts, paranoia, and the like.

Umm, maybe if I explain it like this, it’ll make a little more sense:

About 3 or 4 months ago, (Redacted) and I - sorry, my partner and I, came across a haunting. It was your typical set up - a family of four moves into a new house for surprisingly cheap and everything seems to be going okay. The neighbors are nice enough but a bit dodgy and uncomfortable with the house, like they know something unpleasant about it, but you write it off cuz this is a new leaf for you guys.

Anyway, things are going fine for the first few weeks, when the weird things start happening. Footsteps from the second floor when no one’s there, feeling like something is in the room with you, an odd whiff of cologne that doesn’t belong to the husband, that sort of thing. They do the normal thing, find out that there had been a death in the house years prior and get a monk to come say a few blessings. Life goes on. Only, things start to get worse.

The most notable change was with the family’s youngest, a boy around 12. He was described to us as your typical introverted boy, shy but sweet and considerate. It’s usually like this, for some reason. Perhaps it’s the tendency to be on your own that draws ghosts to you like flies. Or maybe it’s something in your makeup that allows you to see ghosts and that in itself makes you introverted. I dunno. In any case, there’s a big enough shift in the kid’s personality to warrant alarm. The part that alarmed the mother the most, however, was the sudden...marks that showed up on the boy. Bruises that had no explanation and, the worst part, circular burns popping up in places under sleeves and pant legs.

At first, the husband was suspected. Pretty logical conclusion, really, given all the signs. A husband in a stressful job, the boy suddenly becoming withdrawn, flinching from sudden contact, drawing images of a “monster” that supposedly came in at night to hurt him. Most of the child psychologists came to the same conclusion. A case would have been made, I think, if it wasn’t for two unexplained facts: first, the boy mentioned that there was an older figure who tried to protect him, though his older sister claimed she had no knowledge of anything bad happening, and second, the boy kept insisting that it wasn’t his father hurting him.

Most officers kept trying to explain these things away, but thankfully, the mother was introduced to me before any real litigation could happen and I was able to help. I do, however, want to take a moment to make something clear. I do not want to undermine the importance of social workers and the severity of child abuse. Not every instance of child abuse turns out to be a haunting, and I find these usually tend to be isolated incidents. The conclusions of the officers and social workers would have been correct in any other circumstance. The only reason litigation was withheld in this instance was because of the testimony of the young boy and my ability to sense the ghost in question.

Ah, crap, this is starting to get away from me. Um, alright. Long story short, there was in fact a ghost haunting the house, but only one, and that particular ghost was not the one harming the small boy, not intentionally at least. What had happened, apparently, was that the death in question had happened roughly ten years prior - a 15 year old boy was found hanging in his upstairs room. Ruled a suicide. The autopsy revealed what looked to be signs of abuse, but because the boy's father was some high ranking public figure, it was ruled as self harm in court. There was a lot of back and forth, but eventually, the father managed to get off on some minor charge. He paid a fine, got put on some watch list, was supposed to serve community service but got out of that, too. The suicide ruling stayed in place, however, and for the neighbors, that was the case.

Plot twist: that was absolutely not the case. Unsurprisingly, if I’m honest.

The real story, I was able to find out, was that the father had strangled his son in a drunken rage and then set the body to avoid guilt. While he was still incarcerated, he got away with murder, basically. From what I could tell, the teenager had been subjected to heavy abuse for most of his life, never really speaking up but also not being noticed, even though it was relatively obvious from the outside. His last moments...the boy really just wanted someone to notice what was happening, really. To notice and to hold his father accountable. I know this because I got to relive his last moments.

That’s what I’m trying to get at when I say you “experience” a ghost. I didn’t sit down and have a conversation with the ghost, asking for his backstory. I literally experienced it. I felt his memories as if they were my own, the pain and suffering that stood out to him the most, and of course, his final moments. That’s probably the scariest part about ghosts, if I’m honest. When you experience them, you often find yourself subjected to their final moments. Most people don’t survive them, actually. It’s hard to explain, actually, but sometimes when a ghost is formed, they pull in a manifestation of whatever killed them or caused their deaths. That’s what happened in this case - the boy’s father was such a huge part of the abuse and neglect in his life that the imprint included that terrible memory of his father, even though his father wasn’t actually dead.

Well, it’s not like I have any other evidence to support what I’m saying. All I have is my word. That’s unfortunately the case with a lot of supernatural entities, sadly. You can’t really prove they exist unless you experience or meet them, so a lot of my work is carried out in secret. Or just because someone knows me and nothing else was working and...well, you get the idea.

Anyway, this is starting to get away from me again. And it’s really late. Early. Whatever, I’m tired in any case. This is probably not making any sense at this point. Then again, these are really just for me, so I guess it’s okay that they don’t make that much sense to anyone else. So let’s wrap this up; to summarize:

A “ghost” can be constituted as simply the imprint of a soul; the ghost is usually the imprint of a deceased individual, a memory so to speak that is formed by some fiercely felt emotion that occurred at death. They lack a physical body, which makes them generally “unseen” by most individuals, however, there are some that are able to see/interact more effectively with ghosts.

How physical interaction is achieved and why some individuals are more susceptible to ghost encounters are questions I hope to answer in the future. My current theory is that in the “experiencing” of a ghost, the trauma is somehow transferred to the living individual - it is perhaps the strength of the negative emotion that has some affect on the living world. In any case, experiencing a ghost can range from something small and innocuous, such as disembodied sounds, smells, or emotions, to...fatal encounters...

Hopefully, recounting my previous missions that have involved ghosts will be more enlightening.

That’s really all I have on the subject at the moment, between my scattered notes, personal anecdotes, and...admittedly sparse book research. In the future, I’ll try to find better ways to actually test my theories and collect physical evidence of the things I come across. Definitely categorize the types of ghosts. I would also like to be able to incorporate anatomical drawings of some of the things I deal with, though many of the spirits tend to be...secretive. Well, that can wait for future entries. In the meantime, I’ll try to dig up actual physical books on these subjects. That is, if I can dig them up at all...]

#writing #my writing #podcast #naruto #naruto au #writing au

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pretty-thoughts-and-a-pen · 4 years

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The One They Feared (4)

Tagging: @quirkykayleetam , @noturaverageamoeba (proud of this one!)

CW: Captivity, manhandling, malnourishment (mentioned), dehumanization, blood, fantasy whump, monster whump.

That day, they must’ve decided Jacques was as good as dead.

From the moment he had opened his eyes, presumably in the morning, the atmosphere had changed, and not for the better. A blanket of silence was draped around him, broken only by footsteps that sometimes thundered up and down the corridor outside his cell. Fast, urgent and never close enough to his door to open it. Jacques shifted as much as he could within his bonds and nervously chewed his bottom lip. Too odd. No one had come to check on the prisoner, or gawk, or beat him bloody. Or, in most cases, subject him to the torture of their magic out of a sick sense of righteousness, or worse, for fun.

Just the fact that they had let him wake up naturally was too suspicious.

Occasionally, he would hear screams, too far away and muffled to make out any words from. The disarrayed footsteps were gradually falling into rhythms, the sounds of entire groups marching and chattering amongst themselves could be heard, from beyond the door, and beyond the walls on all four sides. Jacques was immobile and sitting in the middle of a hurricane of bustle, just barely muffled enough by the cold walls that kept him company. A trapped bird, with no idea when the cage door would open.

And then it did.

As much as Jacques had dreaded having to be alone and ignorant of what was going on, he would’ve preferred that feeling to the ice cold fear that stabbed through his chest when he saw Frederick. The Sorcerer coming to visit was too unexpected. Normally, he rarely ever made an appearance, and when he did it was only with the intention of hurting him – giving him “what he deserved” – and always with Azure alongside. Now he came alone, and the state he was in was unlike any Jacques had seen him in before.

Too unexpected, and the unexpected was never welcome.

Hair mussed, as if he had constantly run his hands through it, and clothes ruffled from being put on too hastily. Sweat soaked through the fabric, and droplets of it dripped from his brow down his face and neck. He panted heavily, his chest heaving and hands shaking, and worst of all, his eyes held a wild light that spoke a thousand emotions – most prominently, panic.

For only a split second, he looked at Jacques from the doorway with a frozen stare. Jacques met him head on, his eyes hardened, though his body still trembled. Frederick ran his hand through his hair once more, seemingly contemplating the worse out of an array of options. Finally, he stepped forward, quick and urgent, and grabbed Jacques’s arm in a bruising grip. His other hand rummaged through his coat pocket and produced a key.

Jacques gritted his teeth and tried to keep his eyes from screwing shut. He needed to see what was happening. Frederick wouldn’t free him, he would be the last person on earth to do so. But, unlike Azure, he would never face Jacques head on and not cuffed. From the beginning it had been clear, Frederick’s motivation was not pure sadism or alleviating boredom. He acted out of fear. The aim was to subjugate the threat he saw in Jacques.

So why...?

“Up.” Frederick’s voice was strained, his dry throat making his voice scratch. Jacques felt the fingers gripping his arm come alive with tingles, before a shock coursed through his body and made him cry out. His exhausted form convulsed, cuts formed on his skin from rubbing against the stone wall and floor. In that limp moment, Frederick hauled him onto his feet. Try as he might, Jacques just didn’t have the ability to stand straight, and he was left leaning against Frederick, shivering and cursing himself ten times over for his weakness.

Frederick’s breathing was still erratic, something Jacques couldn’t help but note. His former teacher had never gotten so worked up, even when he was afraid, he at the very least kept control of his physical reactions. The man clasped Jacques’s wrists, tightly in one hand, and began leading him away. For a long time, all Jacques had wished for was to step out of the room, to turn his back on those cold walls and never enter again. The door, so close and yet so far, had been the single most beautiful destination he could think of reaching; its threshold, the one place he wanted to rest his feet, and from there just keep going, going and going forward.

Now that he was stepping over it, all he heard was echoing alarm bells in his mind.

“W-why...” Jacques didn’t know how to end the sentence, neither was he sure he would get an answer. But one thing he wouldn’t do was trust the Sorcerers’ intentions. Mercy? Goodwill for him? The thoughts were enough to make him scoff. Those people had nothing but contempt in their corrupted hearts, nothing but hate for whom they called...a monster.

Frederick didn’t speak until they reached the end of the corridor. He didn’t speak as he fumbled with the lock on the door. Jacques was ready to shout it out louder with his next breath, he needed to know what was going to happen to him. But Frederick eventually did answer.

What he said made Jacques wish for the blissful ignorance he had previously dreaded.

“Demon's gotten over the border,” Frederick gritted out as he threw open the door, the sound gaining the attention of anyone who happened to be running by, “and we're letting you kill it with that unholy power of yours. Aren’t you lucky...”

If he said anything else, Jacques didn’t hear it. His brain seemed to have shut down, for a moment he was lost, adrift, feeling submerged in the panic inside his own mind. Fighting the monsters, the demons that inhabited the bordering forest had been his goal. It was what he had trained for, so he could protect the ones he loved. But now, he had been made incapable. Too weak, too broken down, too fragile. They couldn’t imagine that he could survive a fight against a demonic creature. They couldn’t. The probably didn’t. Azure was too smart, then again, he was just as callous, and probably waiting to see Jacques torn apart in a last stand, used only as a pawn for the Legion’s success until the very end.

The sunlight he had yearned for before, was much colder on his stretched skin than he remembered. Beside him, Frederick chuckled humourlessly.

“Help from a monster,” he mused to himself, and Jacques couldn’t find the strength to correct him. “But I suppose...

...you have to fight fire with fire.”

***

“Tch, what a shame.” Tugged out into the open, surrounded by Sorcerers and apprentices and some of the common people brought here for safety, Jacques’s chin was gripped in the vice that was Azure’s hand. The Sorcerer forced him to look right in his eyes as he spoke. Somehow, through the grave stare of the man, a hint of amusement at Jacques’s predicament burst through.

“I always did think you were something special.” His face was close now, and his voice low, so the next words reached Jacques’s ears only. “Try not to die before dealing some damage, you have to prove yourself useful for something.

But in the end, every monster has to be put down.

You, or them.”

***

It was the first time since his capture that Jacques’s leather gloves were off.

He had been left, somewhere near the very Eastern border of town, alone. Impossible. It was impossible, and cruel, and utterly ridiculous that the one thing he had wished for, to be outside his cell, was turning into a nightmare. Freedom should’ve been sweet. Though, could this be counted as freedom? He had been dropped off at the mouth of the lion’s cave, not to let him walk his own path, but to face the beast that no one else dared face.

As soon as the Sorcerers escorting him had removed the chains, they had rushed away and back to the institute as fast as they could. All sorts of magic were used, just to put distance between themselves and Jacques. The injustice of it all made Jacques’s heart ache. For he would never, ever, dream of using his power on another person. He remembered the moment his ability had surfaced for the first time. He had smiled, almost screamed with joy, at the thought of seeing the fruit of his training.

He had grinned and laughed.

While his classmate had been crushed by the invisible force he wielded, and had crumpled to the floor, her face tight with horror and yet incapable of making a sound, her form dissolved from the magic and her soul ripped out of her body.

Jacques’s chest was tight with the need to shed tears, to scream, and to run out of this fenced in clearing he was stood in, waiting to unleash the abominable power he had dedicated his life to training for, and the same one that had ruined him.

He couldn’t bring himself to wield it. The thought repulsed him, struck his heart cold with fear, and brought to mind the one word he refused to identify with.

Monst-

The first sign was the grass trembling. The ground shook; neither the rocks and dirt, nor the trees were spared from the waves of magic emanating through the air, and then, right in front of Jacques, a clawed hand pushed out of the dirt, stretching for the sky.

His eyes locked onto claws as sharp as daggers, and he was paralyzed. This was never how a new Sorcerer’s first interaction with such danger was meant to go.

An arm, a torso, and then a head followed. The creature’s skin looked charred, stretched painfully thin over the hideous shape of its skeleton. The protruding spikes made ten times more eerie, by the fact that they looked like jutting out bones, piercing its sides, its arms, its legs and neck. Two hollow eye sockets fixed onto him, and when a snarl left its mouth, the scratched layer pulled over its teeth lifted up to reveal two rows pointed fangs, all crooked, stuck in a jaw that was mottled with veins.

Jacques couldn’t breathe. How was he to defend? Attack? How could he channel magic? Every part of his training evaporated from his mind, all he could remember were the promises his teachers had made in the initial days, of always having their students’ backs and gently easing them into the battle they had chosen. Not before they were ready. That’s what Frederick and Azure and all the rest had promised.

As Jacques scrambled away, shrieking when the creature’s arm lashed out and sank its claws into his leg, he was reminded of how utterly alone and outmatched he was. Because of them – the ones who couldn’t keep a promise.

He was dragged back and sobs escaped him freely. His body was too battered, too malnourished to put up a fight, and when the second arm grabbed him, claws sank into his side and back with no resistance. Only tortured screams coming from Jacques as he was lifted up. He pushed at the arms, kicked his dangling legs as much as he could, but there was only so much he could do with no weapon.

...except one.

Jacques almost gave up. Almost. He didn’t even know if he was capable of conjuring his ability anymore, if he had the strength, or if Soul Manipulation would even work on a creature he was willing to bet, did not have one to manipulate. He almost gave in, when his attempt to call forth his power only made his fingers shiver slightly. That was it. And the creature was starting back for the forest now, with Jacques limp and defenceless in its claws. He came so close to giving up. Almost, almost...

Except he knew, he didn’t deserve to die like this.

And he realised, he would never hand over victory to the Legion so easily.

And he thought he saw a face, far away in the distance, peering out of the window of a safe house. A terrified expression, a hand covering the mouth, tears streaking down the cheeks, and on seeing it he felt a jolt of recognition hit him like a brick.

The surge of energy that travelled straight to his hands was enough.

Not alone and not abandoned, Jacques was truly powerful. By sheer willpower, he commanded the creature’s life force to fold in, drain its body and implode in its chest, taking its form with it. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and soon the creature’s snarls turned to agonized groans. Its monstrous head flew back, it stumbled as well, and when the arms holding Jacques went boneless and dropped him to the ground, the air became clear and the sunlight warm again. Relief, power, and the sheer focus gained by channelling magic went straight to Jacques’s head. He was lying in a pool of his blood, open wounds tearing away at his torso and leg, not even letting him stand on his two feet, and all he could think about was the effect of Soul Manipulation, unfolding before him, crushing his enemy.

Its scream was chilling. The already distorted body contorted further, ashen skin falling off its limbs like charred snowflakes. Jacques felt, intuitively somehow, the concentration of its soul into the centre of its chest. Whether or not its life force could be considered a soul, as humans’ were, he wasn’t sure. Neither did he much care. His powers were working, and that was all that mattered.

When it collapsed, Jacques knew its extremities were as good as dead weight. To finish the job, he simply curled his hands into fists, in front of his chest. Why, or how, he knew to do it, escaped his mind. All he wanted was this thing gone; all he wanted was to feel safe for two seconds in a world that seemed bent on preventing exactly that.

Its life force snuffed out. The creature that was to be the end of Jacques, was now nothing more than a heap of coal black flakes, spikes, fangs, and claws, slumped on the ground that was supposed to be soaked in Jacques’s blood.

Not that it wasn’t.

Jacques slumped. Red soaked his clothes, dripped down his legs, and covered his hands which he stared at. From his position on the ground, he could only focus on taking deep breaths and staring in disbelief at the demon he had slayed. He had never allowed himself to imagine he could do it; he had no idea what to expect next. Was anyone coming for him? Did the Sorcerers have a plan set in case he survived? He wished he wasn’t thinking about this in what could be his last moments. If he was to survive, he did not want it to be only so he could go back to his prison, to beg for mercy from captors who didn’t even have kindness to spare for those they truly hated.

The wind was settling down around him now. He thought he heard noises – shouting, footsteps. He wanted to block them out, and if he’d had any energy he would’ve covered his ears, and made them hear his own shouts. Instead, he lay immobile, lying in the middle of the hurricane of his fears, not even muffled by any comfort that could keep him company.

The shouting was distant, only this time it didn’t come closer. Eventually, it faded out, until the sound of one pair of footsteps running towards him was all that could be heard. Jacques’s head was turned the other way, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his arm braced to bear a bruising grip.

Someone collapsed heavily next to him, and a hand gingerly cradled his neck.

Then, he had to turn and look. Initially, only sharp rays from the sun entered his eyes, making him squint at the darkened figure that knelt beside him. His aching head was pulled into the man’s lap, and as Jacques blinked the sun spots away, a single tear dripped onto his cheek. And this time, not from his own eyes.

A face came into view. Short blonde hair framing an angular face, with lines of tears falling down the smooth cheeks. The same one he had seen in the window, the one whose mere sight had helped him turn the tide. And then, Jacques finally saw two sparkling blue eyes staring at him.

The sunlight regained all the warmth he had remembered it to have.

“Jacques...”

It was the voice of his childhood best friend, the man who had stood beside him always, helped his family with his ailing mother, and supported him in fulfilling his dreams. William's voice swept over him and reminded him of exactly what he fought for, and would continue to fight for. The safety of his family, his friends back home, and of course, his best friend who had raced into the clearing, almost as soon as the threat was down, just to help him. The people in the safe house with him had shouted after him, trying to warn him of the danger, perhaps even not to assume that the guy who had slayed the monster wasn’t one himself. He had come anyway. With bundles of cloth that he was now wrapping firmly around Jacques’s body and limbs, trying to mitigate the blood flow.

“Will...”

Jacques had missed him the whole time he had been in training.

Soft words of reassaunce spilled out his lips as Will worked, he choked on sobs as he told Jacques how much he had missed him, how worried and scared he had been. Eventually, Will put one arm around his shoulders, the other under his legs, and went to lift him. “We need to get you some help.” He grimaced at Jacques’s groans, and straightened slowly and carefully.

Jacques couldn’t find his voice, until he was in a bridal carry with Will's strong arms wrapped around him. Then he had to speak up. “D-Don’t try to help me, Will. They...” he took in pained breaths and wished he didn’t have to see the horror painting his friend's face, “...they don’t want me healed. I don’t want...you to get hurt...”

His head collapsed onto Will's shoulder. Already, the taller man was walking as fast as he could back towards town. “The Legion,” he hesitantly started, “they’ve said a lot about the resurgence of an evil power, how they’ve trapped the user. They said...he’s a monster.” With every word the discomfort between them grew, but Will seemed determined to speak his mind. His jaw was set, his eyes fixed in the distance. “They revealed your name, your power, everything. I- I was so worried for you. But I know you.” He leaned his head onto Jacques’s hair, and for once, the pain in Jacques’s own head dulled. “And I know you could never be what they said you were.

You’re not a monster.”

Jacques could’ve cried. He wanted to freeze this moment and replay it over and over. The worst thing that could happen right now was time passing, leading to Will getting him to a hospital, and eventually, the Legion finding him again. The Sorcerers controlled the town, everyone trusted them and everyone did what the asked. They had to. Jacques would be handed back, he knew it, and the thought of being ripped away from Will again seemed too much to bear.

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” he mumbled into the fabric against his cheek. He didn’t know when he would feel it again, when the cool breeze would sweep past him again, or when his skin would bask in sunlight again. He could only make the most of this moment.

He could only enjoy every second before he was brought back to the hate, cruelty, and contempt at home. Already, it could be seen on the faces of the common people who scurried away and hid as they approached.

#writing #mywriting #whump #fantasy whump #captivity #magic #fantasy #comfort #wow i write comfort?

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