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yandere-toons · 5 months

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Matthew Patel

Romantic Headcanons – Yandere

WARNING: violence, death, implied stalking, mentions of religious concepts, toxic mindset.

From the moment you invite Matthew into your life, he will carry that memory to his deathbed. The bond you forged that day is unbreakable and immortal for him: he will go blind to all other reasons for living, consumed with rage at your absence, and ecstatic at any sign of your favour.

Talk of other suitors sends Matthew into a frenzy from which he will not emerge until this obstacle to his happiness is laid low. Dispute over the value of certain traits leaves Matthew resentful—of himself for not being better, of the other person for possessing what he lacks, and of the universe for cursing him with such horrid luck.

When such a person speaks your name, Matthew is driven by his own insecurities to loathe them. The sound of their voice becomes like a cheese grater to his ears, a reminder of how close he is to losing his world for the second time, and from thence into a sound he will fight to the death to silence.

The look of this person, particularly when they light up at the mere mention of you and receive such a look in kind, is a ghastly thing. Matthew's takeaway is one of doubt and bad memories, of all the similarities to Ramona's waning interest that he had been too immature and inattentive to rectify. He vows not to make the same mistake twice.

Seemingly overnight, Matthew transforms from a brooding presence lurking in your shadow to a wellspring of offers to solve even the smallest of issues. He makes a habit of dropping to one knee and delivering a Pagliacci-esque soliloquy about how deep his affection runs, professing that you've become his whole world and that to lose you would leave him with nothing.

Despite your promise not to "betray" him, as Matthew so graciously puts it, he fears it would be a mistake to let his guard down. He believes you were sincere at the time, but Ramona's flippant attitude has left him anxious that you may change your tune and turn your back on him for no apparent reason.

For years, Matthew sought answers as to why she hurt him: on bad days, he blames her for playing with his emotions; on worse days, he blames himself for not trying hard enough to become someone she wanted. Now that he has another shot at human connection, this earth will burn before it slips away from him.

Matthew's actions arise from a peculiar sense of justice: he views himself as retribution sent down upon all those who have wronged you. By daring to replace him, their way of looking after you is inherently and unforgivably flawed. Someone who could, in reality, be quite decent will devolve in his mind into a parasite who takes advantage of you.

Whether they are cruel or kind-hearted, what obsesses Matthew and keeps him stewing for potentially years is the notion that they've robbed him of his one chance at happiness. So long as they keep you company, he sees his future darkening.

What should be a private affair, Matthew turns into a spectacle: he takes to the stage in his most flamboyant attire and declares war, goading his enemy to meet their doom at his hand. Everything, from the venue to the battle itself, is a power play, a performance art in which he displays his prowess for all to admire and envy.

Once he has struck the first blow, there is no version of events where Matthew shows mercy or admits defeat. The harder they fight, the prouder he is to butcher them. Their death will be a triumph, a testament to the fact that he is strong enough to win this war. Anyone who rolls over in the face of his challenge must not be truly committed to you and therefore deserves to feel his wrath for stringing you along.

Coming to over the shiny remains of his enemy, Matthew forgets his rage and revells in the thought of having the sole being who brings him happiness. Ready to pick up where he left off and confident he's earned that right, Matthew throws himself at you and proclaims how thrilled he is to be together again.

Matthew struggles to move beyond the past and to envision a future where he is alone. Having spent much of his life pursuing others, Matthew has no concept of living for himself. He stakes his survival on the volume of applause at the end of every performance, and in the home environment, his tendency to cling to petty recognition has taken root in all interactions.

This emotional hunger reveals itself in the unnecessary extremes to which Matthew proves his devotion, convinced that the obsequious nature of his company and continual sacrifices gives them meaning. He jumps at every opportunity to be near you, no exceptions, afraid that missing even one will be termed neglect and spell the ruin of his life with you.

At his best, Matthew is an unrelenting thespian who serenades you with ballads and calligraphic poetry. But at his worst, he is an unstable and violent creature full of pent-up rage, who conspires with Daemonettes to bind your soul to his, making it virtually impossible to give him up for another.

Do anything you want with my work, but never make me boring!

#Matthew Patel #Scott Pilgrim #Scott Pilgrim vs the World #Scott Pilgrim Takes Off #Imagines #Reader Insert #Yandere #X Reader #Yandere x Reader #Yandere Imagines #Yandere x You #Yandere Headcanons #Gender Neutral Reader #Scott Pilgrim x Reader #Matthew Patel x Reader #Yandere Scott Pilgrim #Yandere Matthew Patel #Yandere Writing #Fanfiction

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burnednotburied · 22 days

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"You're My People"

AO3 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Synopsis: You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.

Tags: slight angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of death and blood; tending to injuries; (mostly) unspoken romantic feelings; reader is a young woman (same age as Abby)

Note: To be absolutely 100% clear, the reader is NOT meant to be Lev or Yara. Reader is a woman (about the same age as Abby) who met Abby on Seattle Day 1 when she was also meeting Lev and Yara. The four of them stuck together. None of this is super relevant for this story. (Just know that Yara was with them, but she was killed just as she was in the game, and Lev is around here somewhere.)

I have a lot of ideas for this character/storyline. It’s likely that I will continue to flesh things out in future fics, so I’ll leave the rest of the story to be explained later.

I put reader in many of the same scenarios as Lev was in the game, sometimes removing Lev altogether for the sake of the story. But reader obviously has a very different type of relationship with Abby than Lev ever would (or should) have.

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“Don’t ever let me see you again.”

That’s what Abby had said to that girl – Ellie – before walking away without so much as a backwards glance.

You had quietly followed Abby out of the theater, because what else could you do, but you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about what you just saw.

Watching Abby incapacitate one man and shoot another in the face without hesitating. Seeing her beat Ellie into the floor while she lay there motionless.

And the other woman. The one who was pregnant…

“Good,” Abby had seethed when Ellie told her. She almost seemed happy about it. Happy to repay the wrong that was done to Mel. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

If you hadn’t called out Abby’s name when you did, dragging her from the haze that was her desire for retribution…

Well, you could guess what would’ve happened.

You were just glad the two of you had decided not to bring Lev with you. That he was somewhere safe.

Neither of you spoke a word as you navigated through the dark streets of Seattle, her leading the way with you following quietly behind, just as you had been doing since you met. Although now you may have allowed for a bit more space between the two of you than you did before, trailing further behind. Lost in thought.

It had been three days since you met, but it felt like so much longer. A nagging voice in your head insisted that you really didn’t know Abby very well, despite how it felt.

She hadn’t given you any reason not to trust her. She had never hurt you. In fact, she had fought so hard to keep you and (more importantly) Lev and Yara safe. She had even turned against her own people, killed her own people, for the sake of protecting you.

No, that wasn’t right.

Those weren’t Abby’s people anymore.

“You’re my people.”

Abby had looked so earnest when she said it back on the Seraphite island just hours before. And you had believed her.

The words left you with a feeling deep in your chest that was hard to describe. You thought it might’ve been… belonging. Something you’d been hoping for but never found. You’d always wanted to truly belong to something.

Or someone.

There hadn’t been any time to dwell on the feelings or what they meant.

And now all you feel is a pit in your stomach.

Why were you so shaken up? This is stupid. You’ve killed before, and you’ve watched Abby kill.

But this felt different. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t necessary. It was dark and angry and honestly terrifying. She was honestly terrifying.

But it was justified, wasn’t it? You could argue that maybe it was necessary.

Ellie had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in her path.

Ellie killed Owen.

You weren’t sure of the exact history between him and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen the look on her face when she found him dead.

Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she’ll even stop now?

You’re just beginning to arrange your fractured, contradicting thoughts in a way that makes sense when Abby comes to a sudden stop in front of you. You would’ve run into her if she hadn’t stretched her hand out behind her in warning.

“We need to stop. Get out of the rain. Regroup.” Her voice is strained.

You hadn’t really even noticed that it started raining again, harder this time, but you can walk in the rain. Lev is alone, waiting for the two of you to return.

You open your mouth to protest, only to shut it again when Abby turns to face you fully. She’s balancing her weight unevenly, heavily favoring her right leg. A significant bloodstain runs all the way down to her left ankle. And her face…

The pregnant girl had come from nowhere, attacking Abby from behind. She managed to slash across Abby’s cheek with a knife before you took her down with an arrow through the shoulder. It had been your only real contribution to the fighting in the theater, but it had been unavoidable. Abby had been in danger.

Now she’s standing in front of you, soaked from head to toe, from the rain and with blood, and you have no idea how much of that blood is hers, but there are definitely some significant injuries that need to be tended to.

Abby takes in your silence and your wide-eyed stare for a moment before shifting a little in place and clearing her throat. “Um… we can try in there. Yeah? The houses here should all be deserted.” She gestures weakly to the building closest to you.

You finally find your voice. “Yes, yeah. Let’s—let’s go in there.”

You pull your gaze away from Abby’s and walk past her, toward the small house, pulling your bow from where it rests over your shoulder and notching an arrow in the string. It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve walked all this way without your weapon drawn while Abby was injured and unarmed. For a moment, you’re glad that the Wolves and the Seraphites are too distracted fighting each other elsewhere to be roaming around in this area. Or else you and Abby would probably have been killed by now, both of you practically stumbling through the streets like a couple of vulnerable, mindless children.

You shake your head, silently scolding yourself and promising to be more alert, starting right now with sweeping the house.

The front door is mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approach carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that poses a threat. Abby follows behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg and holding up a small flashlight taken from the aquarium.

“Come on. You need to sit down,” you say over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. For a moment, it looks like she might argue with you, maybe insist that she make sure the building’s clear first, but she seems to decide against it, giving you a quick nod of her head in response.

With your bow still drawn, you lead the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room is filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.

You point to it. “Sit,” you tell Abby. The fact that she listens and moves toward the couch without protest, albeit very slowly, is further proof of the extent of her injuries and her level of exhaustion. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

Abby lets out a scoff, immediately followed by a second, more pained noise. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to.” An attempt at a joke, made through gritted teeth. You give her a hesitant, worried look, long enough that she forces a small smile and attempts to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”

She’s lying and you know that, but you don’t have much of a choice. You turn to go quickly search the house.

The second floor is clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummage through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty coat closets in hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.

You find nothing there and move on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room is even more ransacked than the rest of the house, and still, you don’t find what you’re looking for.

“Ugh,” you loudly groan, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asks from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It makes you smile until you remember that this is no time to be smiling.

“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”

“Who needs medical supplies?” she asks, trying her hand at a second joke. This time you let yourself smile for just a second.

“You do, Abby,” you say, “You need medical supplies. Urgently.” You’re still staring up like the answer will be written up there if you just look hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling catches your eye. If you’re not mistaken, it looks like the corner of a first aid kit.

It’s too high for you to reach standing, and there’s nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops are broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets is rickety and unstable at best.

You’re grumbling under your breath about damn high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reenter the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still on the floor. Both of her hands are hovering over the gash in her thigh, like she’s not sure if she should touch it or not, her face tense and focused. She’s in pain.

You pull your eyes away and look for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slight wobbly small metal table.

“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, honey?” Abby asks, glancing at you in her periphery. She’s joking again, and you know that, but you can’t help the warmth that pools in your cheeks at her use of the affectionate pet-name.

“I--“ You clear your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”

“Aww, you can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asks, amused. She turns her attention from her leg to watch as you drag the table out of the room. It squeaks along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.

The fact that she’s being playful with you starts to ease your lingering panic about her many ailments. If she’s cracking jokes, she can’t be that close to dying, right?

“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply, and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you say, your own teeth gritted now. The table is much heavier than you anticipated. “And, for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”

“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here, casually bleeding out.”

“Well, I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you manage to get the table where you want it.

You carefully step up on the table, hoping that some sadistic asshole didn’t throw an empty first aid kit all the way up there just to waste the time and energy of some poor, desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)

After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grab the handle. The kit is full.

“Yes!” you shout, nearly stumbling off the table in your excitement.

Abby can tease you all she wants and try to make light of the situation, but she can’t hide the look of relief that washes over her features when she sees what you’re carrying.

And, if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to mask the way her eyes go wide and her cheek – the one that’s not covered in blood – gets visibly pink when you get on your knees in front of her. “Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”

You raise your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insist. “Just bring your leg over here.” She concedes, avoiding eye contact as you help her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot is back on the floor, practically between your knees.

There’s already a tear in her pant leg where the gash is. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opt to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear.

But you have a bad habit of occasionally thinking about something and then doing it, forgetting the often necessary in-between step of alerting the people around you to what you’re going to do first. You take the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tear, successfully making a hole large enough for you to properly clean and dress the wound.

The sound Abby makes when you do this surprises you. It’s almost sounds like a whimper—a noise that you don’t think you’ve ever heard her make before. There’s a twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby, which you choose to ignore in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.

She’s quiet as you get to work cleaning the gash. Wincing slightly but remaining still.

The cut is deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.

Abby brings her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tense, muscles engaged. You have to tear your eyes away. Focus. You look back down at her thigh.

As you work, a strand of your hair falls from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brush it back behind your ear. You feel yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.

When the last stitch is done and you’ve carefully wrapped the wound, you feel Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.

“Come up here,” she says, her voice low. You stand, bringing the first aid kit with you, and feel the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sit on the couch, facing her, closer than is probably necessary. Before either one of you says anything else, you begin gently wiping away the blood surrounding the cut on her cheek, cleaning around the wound.

It's clear to you now that her wounds weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With her leg sown up, her face was the only other thing that required your attention. Most everything else was superficial and would heal on its own. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seems that much less of that blood had come from her than you had anticipated anyway.

“I can do that,” Abby says in a whisper, watching your face as you carefully and meticulously clean hers.

“I know,” you reply, just as quiet. “I want to.”

A few moments go by in silence until Abby once again breaks it.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” she begins, quickly adding, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes are downcast. You know it’s weighing on her. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing you two have only just started to build. Call it trust or friendship or maybe something else entirely.

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” Abby nods, but you know it doesn’t do much to assuage her worries.

You still don’t understand what happened back in the theater. Or why it happened. Part of you wants to ask for the history now. How she knows Ellie. Why she wants Abby dead.

Maybe in time she will tell you, but you’ve already decided to trust her. To lean into whatever this thing between you is, and whatever it might become.

So instead, you ask another question that’s been in the back of your mind.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” You pull your hand away from her face, finished cleaning the cut there. It may form a scar, but it doesn’t seem deep enough to warrant stitches. (And you’re not brave enough to try, on her lovely face so close to her eye.)

Abby smiles softly, leaning forward just a bit to bring your faces closer together. “You’re going to have to be more specific, honey.”

That pet-name again. It makes your head spin. Makes you want to close the already shrinking distance between you and press your lips to hers. But you don’t do that. Instead, you explain, “On the island. When you said that… I’m your people.” You pause, hesitating over the last few words.

Abby stops for a moment, almost looking confused, and you start to spiral internally. You realize that it was probably just something she said in the heat of the moment. To calm you down and get you to keep moving, towards safety. You wish you could take your question back, retract your stupid words. Swallow them up and hide them inside you, along with your ever-growing feelings.

Abby finally answers. “Yeah. Of course I meant it. You’re my people.”

“Yeah?” You break out into a grin.

She nods, smiling and sincere. “Yeah.”

It’s that one, small word that makes you close the distance between you. Not to kiss her, but to gently rest your forehead against hers. Abby seems stunned, like maybe she was expecting the other thing, or hoping for it, but she recovers quickly, closing her eyes and maintaining the physical contact. You close your eyes too.

“You’re my people too, Abigail Anderson.” You can feel her laugh quietly and open your eyes, pulling away just enough to see her face again. “So… where do we go from here?”

“Santa Barbara, California,” she says. You remember overhearing part of a conversation about that between Abby and Owen yesterday. You figured that’s where she would be heading; you had just hoped to be given the chance to tag along. But you guess you didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

So you nod your head thoughtfully. “Sounds good… Sunny.”

“Hmm, yeah. That’s what I hear.” You’re both smiling. Happy, strangely enough, given the circumstances.

“Abby…”

“Hmmm?”

“We are going back to get Lev before we leave though, right?”

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Note: If you read all of that, THANK YOU! This is the first fanfic I’ve written—and the first time I’ve written at all in a long time—so this is me dipping my toes in the water.

It definitely ended up being a lot longer and a lot less spicy than I anticipated, but I wrote what came naturally. I hope to continue this storyline, likely backtracking to when Abby and reader met, so we’ll be seeing more of these two. We’ll get to the fun stuff eventually!

#abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic #abby anderson angst

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darkwolf989 · 15 days

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Okay so I saw your val and child fic and i got inspired to req as well😭 Lucifer x eldest!daughter!reader, what if luci and Lilith had like, a child before they fell. THIS IS PLATONIC OKAY almost forgot to mention. So like reader is like an angel (maybe with unique wings like luci?) and is more than tens of thousands years old cause she was born before they fell, and she can't go to hell or have any contact with her parents because heaven is worried that she'll fall too, so she's very protected by the angels. It'll add more to the angst if reader isn't even aware that she's the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith! Better, she didn't even know they existed at all because the angels tried their best to keep her away from everything about hell. I hc that Lucifer went to heaven to like, talk w sera to let charlie have a meeting about the extermination yeah!! So on his way, he caught a glimpse of reader gifting a basket full of pastries or idks to Sera in her office. After tens of thousands of years apart, what will he do? He can't fuck this up since of he makes sera angry, then charlie won't have a meeting at all!

Ask and you shall receive! I don't have a ton of experience writing Lucifer, but take a peek- feedback is always appreciated! Thank you so much for your request!

She looked just like her.

Blonde hair. Wings that mimicked his own, at least, how they looked in his glory days. Prior to his fall. Her eyes sparkled with the goodness only heaven could create. Ironic, really, if he was being fully honest with himself.

It was only a glimpse, a glance as she handed off a basket to one of the other angels. Sera’s secretary, maybe. Or one of the lower officers in her command. Honest Lucifer couldn’t care less who she was handing it to if it wasn’t him. After all, that was his daughter.

Every part of him yearned to stand up, to blow these pretentious angels out of the way and to embrace what was rightfully his. To end the pain of a loss he had kept a secret from everyone around him for eons.

But by the way she acted, he doubted she had any idea who he was. It had, after all, been ages since he had last seen her sweet face, bubbling and bright. Heard her soft giggles, her coos as he rocked her to sleep at night. Ages since the high seraphs of heaven ripped her from his arms as they cast him and Lilith to Earth, as punishment for their so called egregious errors.

Twenty nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty six years to be exact. Not that he was counting.

He tried to shake her from his mind. He had another daughter to focus on, after all. One bore after he and his wife fell, crashing into the underground world- a punishment for an external sin.

At first, Lilith had cried. Dark echoing sobs that resulted in the creation of the sins of hell. Each of them one of the actions of heaven that led her to the loss of her daughter. Heaven’s pride, lust, greed, gluttony, wrath and sloth, all became embodiments of the third most powerful beings in hell. It took eons before the discussion of another child could even be considered.

Ironic, he pointed out, that the crimes of heaven became reality in hell. But she didn’t care. He supposed in her mind, bringing to life heaven’s dark side was a sort of retribution.

It was eons, eons before they decided to try again.

That brought him here, to this moment, as he sat in front of Sera as casually as he could. She didn’t need to know he recognized his own daughter. Honestly, dangling her in front of him like that. How dare she? He should strike her now, his hands could leave burning marks of darkness across her face, a permanent scar was the very least she deserved for shattering his family.

But he had another child to consider.

You should be grateful, the commander taunted as he ripped his daughter from his arms. At least now she has a chance at happiness, a chance to avoid eternal damnation and punishment. Why are you not more grateful?

Lucifer’s infant screamed in one of his oversized hands, and with the other pushed him down into the pits of hell alongside Lilith. Their punishment for daring to create something without the permission of a higher being.

“She desires a meeting? With us?” Sera wondered aloud. “Whatever about?”

Lucifer snapped his attention back to the issue at hand. His other daughter, one created many, many years after the loss of their firstborn, needed him. Play it cool, Lucifer, he thought to himself. Charlie needed him. He casually looked at his fingertips and then glanced up at her.

“I don’t know. Something about sinners and heaven. Honestly, Sera. What harm could come from a little….post extermination meeting? After all, wouldn’t you enjoy the chance to meet my daughter? You might notice a few connections that could help keep heaven safe.”

If Sera understood his insinuations, she didn’t let on.

“Very well then, if you feel her knowledge will bring value to heaven. After all, the sanctity of our home is of utmost importance.”

Sanctimonious bitch, Lucifer thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his eldest, his reader laughing at a joke another angel told.

In all the time that had passed, that ringing laugh never changed.

“We have a deal then. Tomorrow, noon. And let Peter know, I don’t want my daughter treated as poorly as I was.” He stood up and turned to walk towards the door.

“She’s doing well, you know. Reader. She’s safe and happy in the hands of parents who truly love her.” Sera’s voice came softly from behind.

Every part of him yearned to turn around, to rip her heart out of her chest and stomp on it the way she had done to him all those years ago. To scream, to gouge her eyes out- the worst circle of hell didn’t hold enough punishment for what this bitch deserved. What heaven deserved for tearing a family apart.

But he had another child to think about.

So instead he swallowed back his feelings and silently walked out the door as he chose to respond in the best way he knew how. He pushed open the outside door and lost in his mind, he tripped down the first step.

A soft hand caught him from behind, preventing his fall.

“I’m so sorry Mister, are you okay?” A familiar voice asked, worry evident.

A cold feeling settled in his gut. No, fate couldn’t be so cruel.

“Ahaha, yeah, just clumsy, you know? Thanks for the catch!” He replied as calmly as he could. He adjusted his tie, willing himself to not turn around. To not face one of the biggest sources of heartbreak a parent could imagine.

He began to walk down the street, back towards the gates of heaven. Back towards the portal that would inevitably open up and toss him down into the pits of hell, where he could again safely hide in the sanctity of his office, again lose himself in yet another fruitless hobby as he tried desperately to forget the night that tore his family apart.

“Dad! Over here!” Her voice sang out.

Involuntarily, he turned around. Dad? Did she recognize him? Was it possible? For just a moment, his heart soared. Dad is right here, reader.

The words caught in his throat as he watched her embrace another man, another angel. One he knew well. Every inch of him flared up with rage. Bad enough that heaven took her away but to give her to him? Of all angels?

And they said hell was cruel.

It took every ounce of self control to turn away from the scene. To once again bury the emotion deep within himself. To process the pain of yet another loss.

After all, he had another daughter to think about.

#valentino x reader #the vees #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar

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deathbyexhile · 8 months

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Retribution. ( prologue ) — jackson rippner x reader

Summary: Jackson Rippner is back from his failed mission and no one is happy about it. Pairing: Jackson Rippner x Reader Content: Light smut, just a little tease. More to come later Word Count: 701

The first words Jackson Rippner hears when he wakes up are, “You’re lucky that you looked so pathetic in that hospital bed.” You’re standing over him, holding the supplies to change his bandages. After the failed assassination attempt, the rest of the crew wanted to leave Jackson behind and let homeland security deal with him. He wouldn’t snitch, we’d be able to get to him if he did.

Jackson looks up at you, his eyes are trying to adjust to the darkness of the cargo ship cabin you’re currently in. “The others wanted to leave you behind,” You cup his cheek and rub your thumb against his grown-out stubble. “But when I saw you there, hooked up to the machine, recovering from a vocal cord surgery that they only gave you so that they could question you and have you testify. I just felt such pity.” You pull your hand away, “You looked like a wounded little animal.”

Ever the fighter, Jackson tried to move, but both hands were cuffed to the bed. He tried to talk but it came out scratchy and unintelligible. “I wouldn’t talk if were you.” You roll my eyes, life just couldn’t keep him down. “When I working as your nurse at the hospital, they said you’d need to rest your vocal cords for a week. You’ve got a few more days to go.” His eyes go wide with anger and you laugh. Normally, an angry Jackson would be something to worry about, but right now he was like a neutered dog in a cone. Just wondering what the hell was going on and where his balls were. “That right there might just kill you.” He had always been a talker. Even getting stabbed in the throat by Lisa didn’t stop him.

While you clean his other wounds from the fight, you catch him up on what’s happened since he passed out on the floor of the Reisert house. “Clearly you and the plan to assassinate Keefe failed. Really it was doomed from the start if you ask me. A rocket launcher? I would have just gone with poison or a car accident, but you boys just had to go big.” You laugh again and look over at him. He’s got that usual displeased look about him. His head titled down, slightly furrowed brow, and pouty lips. “And I told you that Lisa wouldn’t be a good target. You told you she’d fight back, but no…you followed her for weeks.” Mocking his deep voice, “I know her. She’s a naive girl who drinks Seabreezes and calls her dad every day.” He pouts even more. “But she stabbed you and now your face is all over the news.”

Upon hearing the word news, Jackson’s eyes go wide, like he suddenly remembered he’s a wanted man. “Don’t worry. We’re on some old cargo ship heading far away from the United States. When things cool down we’ll get you a new identity and bring you back.” Not to Miami or Texas, but there were other states. He couldn’t be trusted to talk to any hostages. “You’ll be relegated to research and planning with me.” He moved his mouth to talk but then remembered he couldn’t. “Yes even with all your looks and charm, you’ll be stuck behind the scenes with me.” He hated not being the center of attention. Jackson Rippner needed to be the one calling the shots.

When you're finished changing his bandages, you say, “Just one more question, Jack. Did you fuck her?” His blue eyes had that wild look in them. Strapped the bed, bandages around his neck and chest, stubble now a week grown out, he looked like a madman. A smile, delighting in his frustration. “No, but you wanted to fuck her, right? Was your cock the reason we failed?” you reach down and stroke him through his pants. His eyes roll back and he lets out a scratchy pathic groan.

When he opens his eyes, You're on the other side of the room. You knock on a heavy metal door, it swings open and Jackson can see two armed guards. You look back at him and say, “You owe me big time.”

#cillian murphy smut #jackson rippner #jackson rippner x reader #jackson rippner smut #cillian murphy x reader

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thoughtfullyrainynightmare · 5 months

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To spoil you, Fuegoleon 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 12, 15, 17, 18, 20, 23 and 25 for the ask game (sorry, I went a bit overboard^^')

FUE FUE FUE FUE

(7,8,23 and 25 have already been answered ^^)

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

That he builds people up! He's the definition of a good man in my books, and one with true strength which comes from lifting other up, rather than push them down. If I could be half the woman he is a man, I'd be happy.

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

I find these very difficult for some reason, but ... hmmm... actually, I wonder how he'd fit into FMA. I imagine he might get well along with Alexader Armstrong, and would find a talking point about strong older sisters.

9. Could you be roommates with this character?

...Maybe? I find having roommates a bit awkward, and it's different from moving together with someone that you are attracted to. I feel like this might get messy, unless we'd both either develop feelings for each other, or not. I could probably be roommates with him, but I also think that it could get messy. I just prefer either living alone, or then with a partner.

12. What’s a headcanon you have for this character?

I headcanon that sometimes, not often, but sometimes, when he is at his lowest, late at night, he ponders about getting back at William. He thinks about what it'd be like, to get some retribution, a sense of justice, even if he'd have to grant it to himself. At the end of the thought, he always concludes it not to be worth it. But the thought lingers. And it occurs to him, from time to time. He deems himself human for having such thoughts, but he also deems himself sensible enough to keep it as just a thought. Even if there might be some that couldn't blame him, if he did.

15. What’s your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn’t matter if it’s canon or not.)

Can... can I say my own? Because I am VERY biased towards it, because it brings me joy. As in, I will support anyone who wants to make an OC ship with him too, but my self-indulgent content is in Fue/Oc content. If not with an OC, then... hmm... Hmm... Maybe... uhh.... Fragil? She's a hard worker and cares about the people around her, but also has a gentle side to her.

17. What’s a ship for this character you don’t hate but it’s not your favorite that you’re fine with?

I once saw someone in passing shipping him with Charlotte? So, perhaps that one? I'm indifferent towards it, so I can't say that I hate it, but it's not my favourite. And I'm fine with it.

18. How about a relationship they have in canon with another character that you admire?

I adore his relationship with Mereo. I think that these two have such admiration and respect for one and another, even if Mereo doesn't say it out loud. She's a woman of action, and struggles to give verbal affirmations, but the things that she does say, like "there are people who'd never let me forget it if I was defeated", or along those lines, show that she is thinking about her family, her little brothers and the CLK. She feels that she needs to protect them, but also that she needs to drive them to be strong enough to fend for themselves, if all hell breaks loose. And Fuegoleon, who is very verbal about his admiration for his aneue, clearly adores her. He looks up to her. And to him, Mereo will always be the brilliant older sister, who seems to understand what to do intuitively, whereas he has had to study for it. I just love these two. They have such amazing dynamic, and they fuel each other up, despite the bickering. And the bickering is there, because... they're siblings, and only 2 years apart. Of course they bicker.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn’t matter?

Hmm... I think that him and Randal could actually be really good friends. As in, sure, they've worked together for many years, and judging from the way they interact, I think it'd be safe to say that they are on some level of friendship. But I also think that one of @/cradestoryteller 's fics (if my memory serves me correctly) in her series "100 ways to say 'I love you'", I saw some of that friendship and it really made sense to me. I chose to take the "I love you" as a platonic one, because I believe that it's okay to A. say "I love you" platonically to one's friends (at least in English, because different languages have different connotations when it comes to the word 'love') and B. it's always okay to show that you care about your friends. They're both calm, reasonable and responsible gentlemen, who care for others, so I think that they have a lot in common. They also take time to asses a situation without charging head on. But I feel like Randal might make more jokes. That's not to say that he would be making too many, but relatively more than Fue. So, there'd be a kind of a difference as well. So, I think that Randal is a high contender as Fue's best friend.

#black clover #fuegoleon vermillion #ask game #lovely mutuals

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witchfall · 1 year

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what you hear is not silence

[Fallen Hero series. Set post-Retribution. A hypothesis about the Ranch ending...particularly regarding two rangers and their budding Shared Interest.]

[Chargestep + Chargeflystep. A negotiation of what that means. 1718 words.]

[or read on ao3.]

“You’re doing good work, Daniel.”

Ricardo means it, in the momentary leaning on a comrade while covered in blood kind of way, and Daniel, thankfully, takes it that way. “Thank you. I hope so.”

They’re both too tired to play games right now. Both too keyed up, on the edge, despite the easy, distracted smile that graces Daniel’s face after being near River for two minutes, if that.

“Is she doing okay?” Ricardo asks. Because — he’s not so prideful he can’t admit it while at the depths of his exhaustion, at the very least — Daniel can get River to talk about the things she fastidiously hides from them both. She thinks she does a good job of it, too, hiding things from them, which would be funny if it wasn’t so…not.

Ricardo just knows better than to chase those dogs, anymore. Not if he wants to keep her close.

Daniel’s expression flickers from passive happiness to mild distress. “I would say try to drive slower but…” He slips into an anxious laugh. “You shouldn’t. We should just get her there as fast as we can.”

Ricardo nods, taking a pull from his water bottle. He hasn’t let himself sit with the revelations about The Farm. He can’t. If he does, he’s not sure how the rage will come out — just that it will be ugly.

Seven years he thought she was dead and gone, but it had somehow been worse than that.

“Ricardo…”

Right. Here it comes. Another long-needed confession in a night of them. Ricardo focuses on screwing the cap back on.

“You know we…she is…I’m…” A frustrated huff of breath, and then: “We sort of went on a pre-date the other day and we kissed and I really, really don’t want to roll up to your mother’s house without us…acknowledging…that.”

Do you have any idea how absolutely terrifying it is to be in love with you?

He knows it wasn’t a lie. The cold mortification in her eyes was real. The fury, the frustration, haloed by that golden string that keeps bringing them together. Keeps her together.

“I told her we would talk about it with you together,” Daniel continues, voice fast, hand running through his mussed hair, “but she’s so…so scared. She almost…this was…”

His eyes squeeze shut.

“I know,” Ricardo says. “And I had a feeling.”

Another bubble of nervous laughter. “Yeah, I imagine you do.”

“You aren’t exactly subtle, you know?” But the smile is warmer than even Ricardo expects. “It’s nice to see her smile like that. And you,” he tacks on, but he finds he means that, too.

Daniel smiles back — he’s good at that — but it fades quickly into something shadowed by moonlight. “She loves you. I think you should know that, if you don’t.”

A flash of something there. Uncertainty. He can see it in the way Daniel’s mouth turns downward, the way he looks elsewhere. Because while the history between River and Ricardo is sometimes as frustrating as a brick wall, it also binds them like chainlinks — and Daniel isn’t part of that. Doesn’t have something that sturdy. He just has hope. Just has throwing himself into the sky, believing it can work.

Ricardo tilts his head and stares at the asphalt. “I—”

“She needs you. I mean it.”

He turns to meet Daniel’s gaze, surprised by the intensity of the unnecessary rejoinder. He does mean it, in perhaps the most unselfish-selfish way possible. He knows River loves Ricardo. That it may define her in that thorny, bone-deep way, like it has come to define Ricardo, too. But Daniel also knows that this is what heroes do, making sure their happiness comes last, and he won’t be anything less.

Fucking hell is it like looking into a funhouse mirror, sometimes.

“I could never walk away from her,” Ricardo says. This fucking day. It’s entirely the truth, too painfully bare. “But she doesn’t let many people in. You know that.” He thinks about it for a long moment. “She’s lost enough in her life. We’d be real idiots if we tried to…I don’t know…fight dramatically in the street over it.”

His eyes widen. “So you aren’t…”

And this time Ricardo laughs for real. “No, you’re stuck with me. We’re dealing with this. Somehow.”

Daniel’s smile is…

Well, it’s not innocent, he can say that for certain. There’s a knowing there that’s…

Hmm.

“I’ll pretend to be surprised when we talk,” Ricardo says, “if she doesn’t figure out you spilled the beans before then.”

Daniel laughs. He laughs in the face of that danger. He laughs in a way that makes the situation feel fizzy and bright and not cold and dangerous and yawning like a chasm. He gives a small salute, pulls his goggles back on over his face, and spirals away into the sky like that’s a normal thing that humans do.

It’s not like Ricardo doesn’t get it.

---

Once River is all wrapped up in Mama’s loving care, Ricardo excuses himself to the bathroom to stand there and…consider the situation.

He stares at himself in the mirror. At the bags under his eyes and the lines in his face and the grays along his temple.

Of course he was confused about it. The Daniel and River situation. He kept it compressed in a ball, just beneath his ribs — a painful little burr of things he had been pointedly not thinking about. He was focused on keeping her alive, on protecting her from herself; on how determined the universe seemed to be to tear her from him, to turn her into smoke and bone and blood, over and over and over…

At least he revived her this time.

But now it is unspooling and he needs to wrangle it together before he can face her again.

He can’t stop thinking of her bursting into tears the minute Mama greeted her with wide open arms. Too many things make sense now. Of course she would…of course, if you’ve never…

No. Still too raw.

Much easier to think about how Mama noticed immediately that he and Daniel both — for the same split second — became helpless, useless boys waving their arms around trying to figure out how to banish River’s tears from existence before they remembered their professional faces. Which means they’ll have to talk about it. Potentially in front of Mama.

River is going to be so pissed.

But damn, he’ll take it. He really will. If you had told him two years ago that River would be back in his life—

No, honestly, it just stops there. He wouldn’t have cared what the cost was. And if the “cost” is “you will have to make a very interesting arrangement with the new guy on the team who makes you think a little too much” then that’s nothing. That’s less than nothing. He will pay it. So fucking gladly. Just watch.

Even if the cost becomes something sharper, harsher. Even if the cost is “she prefers him over you because he isn’t the past” or “she trusts him because she can read his mind and she’ll never see yours and it will never be the same to just say what you really think.” Even if the cost is a little pin needle like “she frankly finds Daniel handsomer than you.” Really. He’ll live.

Isn’t that what love is about?

She said it first.

---

Ricardo leans into the door frame. "Daniel couldn't stay because he has to go kick up dust over the trail, in case you were wondering."

River pointedly picks at invisible dirt on her blanket. “I wasn’t.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

Instead of the usual exasperation, she regards him with empty…nothing. An absolute resistance to showing anything at all. Unfortunately for River, that tells Ricardo everything.

"So he talked to you?" she asks.

Is she more scared of this than…the rest of it? Maybe it’s easier to be scared of this. Ricardo covers the ache with a shrug. “Talked to me about what?”

Her expression turns brittle and strange, eyes darting to the quilt. And then she says: “I’m sorry.”

Stunned, his “Why?” comes out sharper than he expects.

“For, I don’t know, everything about it?” Her eyes are shining again, glaring and furious. Someone staring down the car coming right at them, like that might make a difference. “Not telling you first, not talking…about it all, about…I don’t even get it…”

He sees it, suddenly. Clarity. This is what she meant. Lashing out. She can’t twist herself into a perfect shape in prediction of what he’ll say and how he’ll react. She just has to be herself. And damn if that isn’t painful.

Damn if he doesn’t understand.

“You? Not knowing something?” He kneels down by her bedside and reaches for her hands and takes them harshly in his own before she can draw back. “Too many pain killers for you, I think, if you’re admitting that.”

She doesn’t pull away. Even though she says, “Dick.”

“Got it in one.”

Her frown wobbles. He watches textures of words rise to her lips and die before she lets them out. Trying so hard to exert control over a situation that is defined by the complete loss of it.

“Nothing has to change,” he says. “Nothing at all. I didn’t lie to you. And I don’t think you lied to me.”

A shadow passes through her face — the same one that comes around whenever she mentions how complicated her life has become in the wake of her not-death. He still hasn’t puzzled it out.

And then, a commendable recovery: “If you hold it over my head I will kick you in the balls.”

“With what legs?”

Her hands flap angrily in his grip, like that might banish him from existence.

“You looooove me,” he croons at her, darting just out of reach right as her hands shake free. All to watch the orange creep into her face, to watch her eyes glow with some semblance of life and fury and, he would like to think, happiness — though he hasn’t yet seen the proof. That’s fine. He’ll find it.

“Idiot.”

“And I love you.”

“Get out of here before I yell for your mom.”

#fhr #fhr ortega #fhr herald #chargestep #chargeflystep #ricardo ortega #river basri #daniel sullivan #writing practice that got out of hand as usual but that means it may not be super polished sorry #otp: evencharge #ot3: evening sky

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italiangothicwriteblr · 9 months

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a prompt for you: a character learns something new, and it may not be something they want to learn

Happy Tiny Scene Sunday!

Hey! Thanks for the prompt!!

TW for death mentions

The first time, Enrico ascribed the behavior to paranoia.

There had been a fight. Words were exchanged, Feronia swung first, Nova hit back. No one was mortally wounded, only some stung pride. The king of thing that was gossip for a few hours before being forgotten.

But while Martino sewed her wounds, Nova was panicking about retribution.

Enrico tried to reassure her gently. He had gotten into a number of fights when he was her age, most of which he started. In his defense, Giacomo Gallo had a knack for earning himself a smack in the face. After a while, people mostly rolled their eyes when it happened, told him he should calm down, but he never got in real trouble. And he had been far more disliked.

It did briefly cross his mind that he had never been put in handcuffs, especially not ones that left angry red sores on his wrists.

The second time, he thought she was exaggerating.

They were just joking around. Talking secret tactics with Adrasteia led to discussion of what worked in the past. And talk of the past led to good-natured (he thought) ribbing about his war days.

“Imagine if I did that!” Nova laughed, leaning over to Adrasteia. “I’m pretty sure they just burn you at the stake right there, no trial!”

Nova must have meant that in the wake of Orsina’s betrayal, the king’s heir would be much more harshly watched, Enrico reasoned. Still, he couldn’t imagine even the worst offense getting such a harsh sentence.

—

The third time, he started to wonder.

He would happily admit to fighting against it when Nic had shown up with their old enemy, insisting on sanctuary. He felt like the only one with any common sense, arguing about taking in the only person more at fault for the war than him.

But he relented. Of course he did. If only for the chance to have some leverage over his old enemy.

They were sitting around after a run in with some of Nero’s faction when he heard it.

“I learned my lesson from last time,” Nova was saying, “I didn’t get into a fight with them. Those cuffs hurt.”

“Oh, absolutely. Just count yourself lucky you didn’t get the collar.” Giacomo said, with a relaxed air that didn’t seem to match his statement. “I got dragged into plenty of fights when I was your age.”

That’s what you got for teaming up with a madman, Enrico thought with a snicker. Though he was amazed that a king would punish his own second in command so harshly.

“Wasn’t there another purge right before the war?” Adrasteia asked from Giacomo’s other side.

“Yep. That’s what I grew up in. The Imperatrice at the time was…let’s just say, if you had lived under her you would understand why a country might want anything else.”

Enrico knew that, of course. He had known Marinella well, and while she was a brilliant woman, no one wept when Leonidas took her place on the throne.

“She and her court loved any excuse to bring out the tantalum. That’s how I met Basilio, actually, he got me out of it once! Anyway, I didn’t get the collar until a while later, when Basilio dragged me to Vinoseta with him for some negotiation. I got into a fight with one of the royal delegates, he threw a punch, and I couldn’t use magic for a week.”

Shit. Enrico remembered that trip. As often happened when they were in the same room, he and Giacomo had a screaming match. The other man said something particularly enraging and Enrico slapped him. They fought for a minute, they were pulled apart, and that was the end of it.

He stopped thinking about it before he could make the connection, between that memory and Nova’s constant reluctance to fight back against people like Feronia or Nero.

—

Despite that, it kept nagging at him until the fourth time.

Had he been the problem all those years? Was he no better than Feronia, using his influence against someone who couldn’t fight back?

Nova was in the middle of asking Livia and Adrasteia to go interrogate a Southern spy, which struck him as a bit odd. That was typically something she reveled in doing herself.

"I can't," she explained once they had left, "if I get anything out of them, they'll just accuse me of enchantment."

She laughed, but it was a more an annoyed chuckle.

“Would that hold up in court?” Enrico asked, confused.

Nova looked at him as if he had grown two heads.

“That’s what everyone does. Just say “bewitched” and get exonerated. You’ve never done it? No offense.”

“I knew people said it sometimes, but to this scale?”

“It’s what you’re expected to do, almost. You could have made your life a lot easier after the war, I’m surprised no one suggested it to you. You had a scapegoat and everything!”

Looking up from his conversation with Adrasteia, Giacomo gave them a mock salute.

“Even if they don’t say it, people will assume it if they hear you were there.” Giacomo said to Nova. “Trust me on this one, there’s only so attempted tantalum poisonings a person can survive.”

He and Nova laughed like they were sharing a private joke.

Suddenly, Enrico’s thoughts turned to a memory he had repressed.

No. No. No.

Soon after the war, a few of the dukes and counts had come to him, asking if they could have royal permission to punish those responsible. Enrico had smiled and agreed, just happy that they blamed someone other than him. He gave them his blessing to do whatever they wanted to the other side.

He didn’t know they were doing this.

Hundreds of memories were being reevaluated. For years he had sparred with an enemy, thinking himself the underdog, when he had every advantage. And he made use of them, without even thinking about it.

Everything he watched Nova suffer, all the times he had watched Adrasteia clean her wounds or reassured her after a nasty comment: This was happening behind the scenes of each of his battles with Giacomo. And Nova had a big group for support—all Giacomo had in terms of friendship was Basilio.

No wonder he hated Enrico so much.

No one seemed to notice him scurrying off, and going to the one person who could give him clarity.

“Hey.” he rapped on Martino’s door. “I have a question.”

Martino gave him a look which he had learned meant to continue.

“You were there, do you think…was I the problem? I never thought about it, but when me and Giacomo would fight…”

“You always started it.” Martino interrupted. “No sorcerer with a brain starts a physical fight, especially not with the king’s friend. But when you would beat the crap out of him, he hit back. I’ll never forget the week they brought out the collar.”

Enrico really didn’t want to know what the collar was

#ch: enrico accursio #ch: giacomo gallo #ch: novellia de rege

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jabbage · 2 months

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#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

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clansnaphance · 2 months

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For lore asks!

Do any of the Blackblades have an immutable code of honor? something that even a grand offer of coin couldn't make them betray? Have any of them ever taken a fee for something that they simply couldn't follow through on?

If Ashen were to be restored to divinity tomorrow, would he be forgiving of former followers who weren't responsible for his loss, or vengeful over the experience of being forgotten and abandoned to the sands of time?

Ayy thank you for these great questions! I'll put most of it under the cut.

Code of honor

The Blackblades have an unwritten and immutable code of honor! Here are some of the rules:

If another Blackblade is facing danger from either city/desert creatures or a vengeful employer, you’re honor-bound to aid them. You only cut your losses and run if those in danger aren’t a Blackblade. Employers may get themselves eaten by eldritch abominations or old gods but friends cutthroat mercenaries do not let friends cutthroat mercenaries perish to scary creatures.

You may accept a job that pits you against another Blackblade, but in the event of physical conflict, you will not maim them or deliver lethal blows. Direct assassination contracts or the like are off-limits.

No touching eldritch artifacts. The employer will always show up in person or provide a team that handles this stuff.

No contract that demands you spend more than a day in the eldritch city is worth it. Remember what happened to Thorn, Whisper and Hemlock.

It is also a quiet agreement that if Thorn, Whisper and Hemlock warp more than they already have, the rest will put them out of their misery.

Anything the Order of the Sacred Tomb (Lazarus, Jarah, Ishmerai) guards in their underground catacombs is off-limits, no matter the price.

You always alert others to the presence of lawmen or those who bring their own protection, you cannot be bribed into silence.

Fee for something they could not follow through on:

Occasionally they do that! Two examples:

Yerah was hired by a stupidly rich Pearlcatcher from Mirrorlight Promenade to retrieve an artifact from the eldritch city. She took payment up front and promptly pretended she died (got Sahar to write back to her employer and attached a bloodied tuft of her mane). Never set a foot in the city, which is the only way to handle those kinds of risky jobs.

Caillan, Andrus and Sarik accepted a job to escort an archaeology team to a promising Second Age site, and to protect the camp and supplies for the duration of the excavation. On day two, their stirrings awoke Mirage, an old goddess who “died” when the seas retreated—this was roughly when Ashen was in his prime. Mirage was not happy about being woken. The gang fled, most of the archaeologists made it out, but their supplies weren’t so lucky. The archaeologists wanted a refund, and instead of providing that, the gang ran for the hills and lay low for a while.

Ashen’s restoration to divinity:

At first, Ashen entertained thoughts of retribution. To him, even those who had nothing to do with the betrayal were guilty by association because they left him just the same. If they returned to him when he was weak, he’d forgive them, they’d seen the errors of their ways.

But the years passed and no one came. The fires of vengeance burned out just like his own, and a deep, aching loneliness took their place. This is where he is now, alone and forgotten. If he was restored to his former glory and his people returned, he’d forgive them. Out of fear of being abandoned again, he may just end up a bit too forgiving.

#flight rising #feraleir #ringleaderising #m'lore-day #fr clan lore #dust to dust lore #these were really great asks #thank you so much for sending these #and also great intiative #the pictures look aligned in my post and are shown one by one on my dash sigh #ask

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hotdoghottakes · 2 years

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Alright, so back when Elsewhere and Elsewhen first came out, I posted a theory, "Owl House Theory #2" for those curious, about the true owner of the "Philip's diary" and the original creator of the door. Now that the season's over, I'm back to reestablish this theory of mine as well as a rather sad hot take.

Case in point: If Philip was the original creator of the door, why didn't he just go home? Now obviously, the first answer to come to mind is: genocide of witch-kind. He wants to "destroy the witches before they bring harm to humanity". In the interim of bringing this desire to fruition, maybe he lost the door. But then the question is: why not make a new one since he has done so before?

He's been the emperor of the Isles for fifty years, is he had the means to recreate the portal door, he could have done so already. He could have scoured the island for Titan's blood in the interim, but only did so in the episode Eclipse Lake. Belos himself said that Eda wasn't even on his radar until Luz showed up through the door in the season 1 finale. Whatever knowledge Belos has in recreating the door is from his memories of the diary. But Here's the thing about the door's recreation:

He wasn't the only one working on it. In Hollow Mind, Hunter said he helped rebuild it.

Now is this just Belos having his subordinate do the grunt work? Sure, but Hunter helping to rebuild it ties into my theory, which is that Philip's brother (who will henceforth be known as Caleb since it's established) was the one to create the portal door and the original owner of the Diary.

Now this is just an observation, Hunter being the grimwalker clone of Caleb, working on the portal door. I'll make another post about that later, but what I want to ultimately point out with this theory is the idea behind Caleb creating the door. For more proof behind my theory, please see "Owl House Theory #2" on my blog.

Now, as mentioned throughout the season on numerous occasions, Philip had troubles finding the glyphs from the island, while Luz, noticeably, did not. He hated the people, detested the magic all around him (despite being a hypocrite and using glyphs on his own body, consuming magic to make himself both long-lived and powerful), and wanted to return home. Caleb, meanwhile, looked to have been happy. He found love, he was interested in the Isles, he had a palisman.

So why would he create the door?

Maybe because he knew his brother wanted to go home? So, he and his wife/girlfriend/significant other could go back and forth between the human realm and the Boiling Isles as well? Eda found the door in the ruins behind her family's home, and since it's been theorized that Caleb married a Clawthorne ancestor and had a child, these ruins were probably where they lived.

You may be wondering: Where's the sad hot take? Well, here it is. If my theory proves true, and Caleb did in fact create the portal door, then Philip not only destroyed the bonds of brotherhood, but also any chance thereafter of going back home.

Because Caleb had already created the portal before he died.

Any knowledge of its whereabouts were likely lost in the carnage of his brother's rage and wife's retribution. If Philip had never tried to kill Caleb, and succeeded, he could have gone home.

And maybe he would never have turned into the monster he eventually became.

#the owl house #toh #toh season 2 #the owl house season 2 #philip wittebane #emperor belos #caleb wittebane #wittebro #hunter toh #the broken bonds of brotherhood #tragedy #clawthorne #the owl house theories #toh theories #owl house theories #the owl house spoilers #toh spoilers

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llycaons · 6 months

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ep49 (1/3): a shocking numbers of fans watched this scene where jgy cried a lot and fully swallowed his excuses. guys. guys.

oh wwx is annoyed as hell that jgy is dodging responsibility for everything he's done when he, wwx, never once denied his actions and bore the full weight of them and then some

more evidence for my 'jgy actively encourages lxc's crush even though he has no intention of ever reciprocating because it grants him power over him' hc!!!!!

oh jeex lxc looks like shit. I mean I guess he's had a rough couple of days. look at those eyes bags

lxc: I'm not your sworn brother anymore. jgy (realizing he's losing his grip on lxc): NOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭

okay to be fair I'm sure there is some genuine grief for losing the friendship and camaraderie of the one person who has always vouched for him, saved his life, supported him, etc. lxc was a wonderful friend and a powerful, steadfast ally. wasted on jgy!

you can practically see the forehead vein popping here. I don't think an lxc who fully understands jgy would ever love him. if xiyao is happening in some fic, either jgy is lying or someone's being mischaracterized. not that social factors didn't play a role in the things jgy did, but if you ignore his sadistic and vengeful nature, his willingness to murder innocent people, his unrepentant manipulation and deceptive nature, you're losing a lot of his character. for him to be someone who doesn't hurt others, he'd have to be someone guaranteed safety and respect and a position from birth. but that's so antithetical to his role in canon it wouldn't be the same person anyway

huh. why hasn't jgy tried to harras lwj more? I guess he got what he wanted and beyond lwj sealing himself, there's not much a reaction jgy can provoke

WELL. pretty clear choices here. jgy you could have packed up and fled the country before trying to kill a bunch of people and kidnapping children

lxc: why were you so cruel and murderous??? dude?? jgy: I HAD NO CHOICE BRO 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 you believe me right??? would it help if I did this 😭😭😭😭

compared to wwx's impassioned, rational, fair defenses of himself and the people he was trying to protect, this is so pathetic. wwx never denied what he did, never dodged responsibility. when he said he had no other choices, it was in defense of innocent people at risk of political persecution and mass murder, not in defense of killing people to maintain his own position, he apologized for the death of jxz and suffered his own death in retribution for even the best things he did

YOU COULD HAVE LEFT!!!! or idk, face up to the consequences of your actions

I am so so sorry to bring the marvel 'cinematic' universe into our beautiful liveblog today but this shot just screamed "Tony, you CHOSE to do that' to me

of course he ~nobly~ doesn't deny it ONCE IT'S ALREADY COME TO LIGHT. but he denied up until the breaking point because he's a slippery eel and it's impossible to get him to face any consequences for his actions!!! if I was lxc I would be exasperated to death too

NEAT FRAMING

ohhh this flashback is so skin-crawling. I really love how deathly pale the robes and jgy's face are. the red of the wedding robes and the decorations are so ominous and omnipresent, like something horrifying about to happen, like something inescapable. the music really adds to the eeriness of the scene

it always hurt so bad that qs was so excited for her wedding night. she was happy! she liked jgy a lot and always respected him and his mother! she was a good and kind and innocent person and she had no IDEA god I feel sick I hate him so much

jgy really never spared a single thought to qs's well-being. it was all about him, and his horror, and his choices, and his position, and the injustices enacted on him. self-centered to the very end. of course he didn't think he had a choice. he would never choose against his own self-interest no matter how many people he hurt. god, qin su should have lived. her suicide was such bullshit

oh my god SUCH bullshit. 'uwu but I worked so hard!' okay yeah I get it's a precarious political situation and the issue isn't even your fault but DUDE. you're placing your own power and ambition higher in importance than this woman's entire life. and you MUST have known you would have murdered any child you two had.

pretty sucky situation all around. shocking idea though. YOU COULD HAVE TOLD QIN SU

jgy truly goes through life as if it was a me-or-them battle for survival in every single situation. in his mind, whoever bore the burden here would be the one destroyed, and he never would choose his own destruction. and it does make sense based on his environment and upbringing. god, he's such a good villain. none of this at all excuses his actions ofc, but it's an extremely compelling and powerful motivator for a villain hell-bent on surviving, viewing every situation as battle to the death, and fully buying into being viewed as the victim of every scenario

another contrast to wwx! wwx hates being seen as someone who was hurt. he dislikes being viewed as weak or vulnerable in any way by his enemies (and often his allies), and the way he wins battle and arguments is though either his power or his own honesty. for someone who omits key information and lowkey manipulates many of his loved ones, his straightforward arguments are more often than not the complete truth

in case we needed a reminder of his active sadism at work. who gaf about his dad but those poor women were treated as murder weapons and then mass murdered themselves

oh I do not like this slap scene, and I'm glad lxc is horrified by it as well. the exposure of jgy's crimes has never retroactively justified the classism and oppression he fought against, nor does it grant permission to his social superiors to treat him like they're inherently better than him, such as with this slap

#cql re-rewatch #not to brag but this one is juicy

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silentsockfeet · 1 year

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tlou hbo s1 ep4 thoughts (w/ spoilers)

we got the fuckin joke book!!!!!!

AND THE TRUCK SCENE!! THE BEST SCENE OF THE GAME

joel knowing the answer to ellie’s pun is so fuckin great idk that got a kick out of me

also loved ellie flopping around in her sleeping back lol just a little worm

the intro scene with the hunters was really good, i like the changes they made. the fact that the person ellie shoots is really young makes the consequences of it feel a bit more impactful. also the fact that as soon as ellie walks away the kid’s begging gets more intense, like he KNOWS ellie is the last bit of humanity holding joel back from killing him immediately.

the fact that ellie didn’t kill him immediately and has to hear him beg for his life is,, heavy, obviously. i liked the inclusion of it because it really hammers home the consequences of her actions and of violence as a whole, way more than the game did. if he was just shot straight dead there’s a bit of a disconnect you could make, like a switch being thrown. but this way, the kid is begging for his life, and it really shows the gravity of the situation, really throws into perspective exactly what you are now taking away from this person. and then to further it more, the fact that his last words were him begging for his mom also adds the layer of showing what you’re taking away from someone else as well. that was someone’s son, who is now never coming home. just a really solid shift from the game imo

unrelated but i’m so pissed that joel didn’t grab his backpack or any of the supplies from the truck. there was so much stuff there!!!

one of the criticisms i heard from reviewers who got to watch the season early is that it does feel a little rushed compared to the game, and i think this ep is where i’m really starting to feel it too. we go from them crashing the truck to joel immediately trusting ellie with the gun, and in the game you have to go through like at least three major fights to get to that point. i get that filler isn’t always great but in instances like these i feel like it would’ve been necessary to have maybe a fight scene or two thrown in, to show how tough it is for joel to go at it alone and have ellie sit on the sidelines. it would’ve made the scene more impactful because you know what he’s gaining by trusting ellie like that but you also get the hindsight of like here’s what he had to go through first to get to that point of trust.

and i also think they really could’ve spared a few moments to go more into what exactly happened at this QZ. it’s another point where the game is able to excel where the show can’t: you had little expository moments of ellie and joel discovering that fedra was overthrown by people who weren’t happy with how it was being run, as well as the little moments of reflection where you think about the fact that the people who rebelled are now the people terrorizing the city. even if it’s a little minor, i feel like it’s something that’s necessary to include, at least for the fact that it reveals another facet of ellie’s naivety. she’s only ever known a QZ that was still up and running, plus she was raised in a military orphanage, so her not knowing the ways in which fedra was failing was a moment for joel to teach her how the world works and for her to become even more exposed to the true reality of violence and desperation that is their world. idk i just think they could’ve spared an extra five minutes or something where they stumble upon a hanged soldier or something and have that conversation.

which then brings me to my thoughts on kathleen. so in the game there was a note you find in pittsburgh that talks about a mom who decides to join the rebellion against fedra because they killed her son, and i remember before the show there were theories going around thinking that would be kathleen’s storyline

i bring this up bc the storyline they’ve showed for her so far just feels a bit shallow to me? like she’s in all this just to get retribution on the people who turned her brother in, not even the ones who killed him, and it just doesn’t feel very strong. like okay i guess maybe if their goal is to show the steps of how the group that overthrew fedra has now descended into anarchy then it could mayyybe work? like showing how they’re all a bit paranoid and have started turning on each other now? but if that was the case it did not feel emphasize well enough

add this to the fact that kathleen is the leader of the militia group and tracking henry down seems to be their many priority,,, it just doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. all of that manpower and they’re using it to find a twenty something year old man and his kid brother? like at least in the game you could argue that the hunters’ goal was to just terrorize outsiders and steal all their supplies, but this group is organized and driven, and using that drive to go on a single-minded manhunt feels a bit shallow

and second off it seems like they’re trying to show how close knit everyone is - all the older people knew each other before the outbreak, and likely watched all the younger folks grow up. everyone knew who henry was by his first name alone, which means they were close enough to know who he was as a person. and yet all of them are 100% on board with tracking him and his kid brother down just because they did what they had to to survive? i don’t know, it just does not feel the most well thought out to me

but i will say “have i satisfied the necessary conditions for you to talk” is a very raw line lmfao

joel trying so hard to be vulnerable with ellie and show he’s there for her is. so funny. and so heartbreaking in a way lol. he’s so out of practice and still mourning sarah and the moments he was robbed of, but he’s trying so so hard now even if it hurts

immediately followed by the cute father/daughter bonding moment of showing your kid how to shoot a gun!!

ellie laughing at joel trying to tug the gun out of her hand is just like so surreal to me i guess like that’s their world that’s the moments they bond over it’s just a little bizarre

crunch crunch crunch

bringing the old film major out in me to analyze this ep again but i love the visual storytelling of like showing that shot of sam’s drawings of superheroes and then connecting that later on to the shot of sam with the mask drawn around his eyes, it’s a really cool way of getting the people who haven’t seen the game to instantly realize who these people are

overall definitely weakest ep of the show so far for me, i really feel like they could’ve benefited from like ten more minutes of exposition on fedra and what exactly happened at this QZ. would’ve helped to fill the holes in kathleen’s story and emphasize joel and ellie’s growing relationship more imo

#this doesn't even touch my thoughts on ellie's line 'that wasn't my first time' because i have PLENTY #i'm mad at civ for planting certain seeds in my brain about that and now i'm not gonna sleep tonight #tlou hbo #tlou spoilers #my posts #tlou hbo notes #tlou 1x04

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decoysouled · 7 months

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prompts for workaholic characters // accepting. @galactia // "no matter how hard you work, it won't bring them back." (for Kaveh, from Alhaitham)

THERE IS A MYRIAD OF BLUEPRINTS SPREAD ACROSS KAVEH'S DESK — it is a sign of days of work with little rest, as is evidenced by how some have splotches of ink & lines that are not quite as crisp as his work usually has. Later, he will take the time to redraw them, but today, he simply leaves them be, imperfect blueprints that would not see the light of day until they were pieced back together neatly in such a way that no one would ever know the messy versions had ever existed.

As with all of his rules, Alhaitham is the one exception, the witness to his frenzied sleepless nights in the haze of inspiration & one too many deadlines coming up. It is a fact Kaveh does not mind some days & detests on others — the other has seen the darkest recesses of his self-destruction & the anguish that has threatened to consume him for so long it has become part of him; like a parasitic presence in his brain, like a virus in his DNA.

( the sort of which he is almost afraid to part with. )

Perhaps he has stretched Alhaitham's patience thin ( he seems to be very good at that, these days ) or there is some sort of genuine concern in those words rather than a simple annoyance for the lack of quiet that his working must bring to their shared home — or maybe it is because he hasn't kept up with the housework in his artistic daze. Whatever the reason for those words may be, there is something within him that finds them irrevocably cruel.

They have fought before, many a time, but only once can Kaveh remember words that cut so deep that Alhaitham may as well have plunged a sword into his chest & called it mercy — that day many years ago, the argument that had lead their paths to diverge for so long that Kaveh had worried he had destroyed their friendship for the rest of eternity.

( he still regrets what he said that day. he wonders if alhaitham does, too. )

Yet these words are no personal attack on the ideals that have been ingrained into his heart since he was merely a child, ignorant of the ways of the world & the grief of losing a parent — no, they seem almost worried, if he were to make the assumption that Alhaitham was disquieted by his antics at any point, considering how he seemed apathetic at best some days. Kaveh knows, at least, that what seems like apathy on the surface is nothing of the sort.

( it would be easier if it was. )

Alhaitham is right, in a way — working himself half to death, as the scribe liked to put it, would not resurrect the dead ( his father who was only gone because of his encouragement, a soul he cannot put to rest ) nor would it bring their mother back to Sumeru, or into his life at all. She had moved on long ago & had a life to worry about that did not concern nor involve Kaveh, something he had encouraged if only because she deserved to be happy after the tragedy he had caused & the agony that had befallen her in her grief.

( yet it was kaveh who could not move on. the creator of his anguish from the very start, delivering retribution upon himself as if he deserves nothing else. it was he who would ruin all things kind & good someday, no matter how he tried to pretend otherwise & fix all he had destroyed in his life. )

❝If there's a chance it will, then at least I can try.❞ He replies, a little more snappishly than he would have liked — it can more aptly be described as defensiveness, the sort of which curls its tendrils around him whenever he feels his beliefs have come under fire by his roommate, as if his words would shatter any semblance of truth that Kaveh had gained throughout his life. ❝But that isn't why I've been working so much as of late.❞

If he felt less vulnerable in this moment ( exhaustion having crept into every crevice of his body, fully on display ) then perhaps he might have been kinder in his response & described to Alhaitham all the work he had to do & the deadlines he had to meet; the crushing weight of too many revisions & the loss of his artistic vision through the wishes of clients who asked him to change far too many things until his work became bland & unrecognisable. Simply another building in a sea of such things.

But today, Kaveh does not explain a thing. Today, he does not look up from his work to gaze at whatever expression the other holds on his face, if only out of fear he might see the same scathing look from many years ago that had been burned into his memory on a night he wishes he could forget.

❝If this is about the housework, I'll get to it soon, Alhaitham. Let me finish up this blueprint first & then I'll make sure the house is nice & tidy.❞ Or as tidy as it would be with the various books strewn throughout it — sometimes, Kaveh swore he didn't neaten them up on purpose, but he has no proof of that. ❝Also, if you wanted me to take care of things, then just say so, instead of...❞ Insulting him? No, that likely wasn't the intention. He can't describe, really, the way those words make him feel.

( the way they cause grief to come back to the forefront of his mind. )

❝Besides, if you really want to focus on which of us has the most problems... Have you even bothered reorganising those books of yours? If those shelves are even dustier than the last time I saw them, I'll make sure you don't even think about leaving them to collect any again.❞ Perhaps it is a welcome distraction, this familiar bickering & the routine between them. It is a small thing to say, the sort of which he has said time & time again.

There is something in him that loosens just a bit at changing the topic. He wonders how long it will take for it to start suffocating him again.

#002. ❝transmissions: down with the fallen.❞ — answered #& fandom — genshin impact #124. ❝build it up in a technicolour dream.❞ — kaveh #125. ❝we weren’t just born to fade.❞ — V1 ( main )#galactia #addressed to — alhaitham (galactia)#( kaveh's tried & true message: think about it & then deflect )

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