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smikkle-fish · 7 months

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Diseased Equilibrium

AO3 Link

Start from Beginning

It is said that monsters roamed the Earth long before dinosaurs ever did.

Monsters.

How pathetic.

The small ones knew nothing about them. Nothing about him. They had forgotten their place in his kingdom, thinking that they were equals. She told him that the small ones were to be protected. He disagreed. Despite their size, the small ones have damaged his home. Sure, some had good hearts. For example, the small one with glasses that looked at him with respect.

“Goodbye…old friend.”

His small paw had touched his large, scaled snout gently. The old king was not used to such tenderness. He was used to claws slashing into his hide and sharp teeth tearing chunks of his flesh. Not this.

No one saw the giant titan lean into the touch.

A blinding light filled the lizard’s vision. When it faded away, the gentle touch was gone.

The small one was dead.

Godzilla was tired. Dirty water flowed through his gills, something he had gotten used to. The king had many resting places throughout the Earth, but the small ones had destroyed his favorite one. It was necessary at the time. Even so, he was still upset about it.

This was his kingdom, and it was being ruined by the small ones. He was not one to forget nor forgive. Godzilla still remembered the metal object that had brought death to his oceans. Only the small ones could create such a thing. It had killed everything within its radius. Including the Fire Bird’s island. There was a time where the king would have felt sympathy towards the winged titan, but that time has long since passed.

Rodan deserved it.

Simply thinking of the titan angered him. Godzilla snarled to himself and exited his resting chambers. He swam into the open ocean. His long tail propelled him forward. The king’s anger increased as he saw the trash that floated throughout the ocean like it belonged there more than the creatures. It wasn’t that much of a stretch. The garbage of the small ones were quickly replacing the fish at an alarming rate.

A buzzing interrupted his thoughts. It was familiar. It was annoying .

It was the small ones.

This was the group that enjoyed studying him. Godzilla was in no mood to entertain them, so he snapped his jaws at the metal capsule. It quickly sped off into the depths.

Godzilla soon breached the surface of the water. The air was just as dirty as the ocean. He knew the balance of the Earth had been broken by the small ones. It was almost impressive. When the Three Headed Alien awoke, they did not cause nearly as much damage. They were weak. Still, Rodan had sided with them like the coward he was.

His treasonous actions did not go unpunished. Every titan had gone back to hibernation except a select few. That being Godzilla, his queen Mothra, and Rodan. The king would not allow insubordination in his kingdom. Everyone must follow his rule without question. Or else there would be dire consequences.

The king prohibited Rodan from flying.

He knew how important flying was for Rodan. The molten pteranodon was made to fly, it was a part of his very being. Godzilla took away that privilege the moment the battle in Boston was over.

Rodan hadn’t flown in years. If he tried, Godzilla would come by and tear the smaller titan to pieces. After Mothra’s sacrifice in Boston, Godzilla had acquired a strange ability. He could sense where every titan was across the Earth. When the king focused, he could see what a specific titan was doing. He checked every day to see what Rodan was up to.

Kong had formed a shaky truce with Godzilla. Ghidorah was dead. The only threat to Godzilla’s kingdom was Rodan. Loyalty was everything in this world. When it’s broken, it could never be fixed.

The King of the Monsters would make sure his kingdom was secure. He was willing to do anything to ensure that.

No matter the cost.

Once he spotted the outline of Infant Island, his dorsal plates glowed a bright cyan that he knew could be seen by his Queen. The radioactive reptile was furious at the disappearance of Rodan, the fire bird disappearing from his senses entirely. Godzilla had thought that Rodan would never attempt such a thing, especially with the king's threats of death. Despite how much it irked him to say, the pteranadon's actions surprised him. It was unexpected. Usually, any threat that the King of Monsters gave was taken seriously. No titan dared to test their luck against him. Any who tried would meet their agonizing end from his atomic breath. Even Kong had submitted somewhat. The ape was practically an infant compared to the ancient king. Even so, Godzilla begrudgingly agreed to a truce with the young alpha titan. If Kong ever decided to rebel again or attack, it would pose a problem for Godzilla. It was best to have the ape titan as an ally.

While it bothered the atomic lizard to not have Kong fully submit, he knew it was necessary to avoid future problems. That horrid axe that Kong had wielded caused a permanent scar along Godzilla's leg. He was relieved to see the younger drop the infernal weapon. However, Godzilla had a feeling that the little ones had gotten their grubby hands on the weapon. They would never fully understand its significance or strength. As much as the tiny bugs tried, they were not going to become the apex species any time soon. He was sure that the humans would try to create another weapon to defeat him. In all honesty, Godzilla was at his limit with the humans. They were a pain in his hide to deal with. They weren't worth keeping around. Even so, Mothra incessantly begged him to spare them. She saw something in them that Godzilla did not. Perhaps it was their intelligence and ability to create the unimaginable. At this point, Godzilla did not care. The creation of the fake him was the greatest insult the little parasites could give him. After everything he did, they still wanted to exterminate him. To take his place as king. That was unacceptable.

He has kept the Earth balanced for eons, he defeated the pair of pests that were specially designed to kill him, he defeated multiple titans that would have killed millions before they could reach the humans, he eliminated the False King who would have terraformed the Earth and killed all life within it, and he recently destroyed their stupid metal titan that had gone rouge with the help of Kong. He had done so much for them. Yet they still tried to rebel.

Just like Rodan.

Godzilla roared in fury as he breached the waters. He and all other titans had felt the presence of the Three Headed One. The others would be arriving soon after hearing his commands to wake. It was the humans fault for keeping the alien's skull. This is what happens when those parasites mess with things they do not understand.

"Goji."

"Mothra."

His queen was waiting on the beach that surrounded the sacred island. Her body was tense, and her wings glowed a dull red in frustration. Both titans stared at each other without a word. A tension that rarely appeared between the two now suffocated them. Mothra had always told Godzilla to be less harsh on Rodan and more patient towards the humans. He had respected her requests for the most part, and he had done so for centuries. The moth knew that the king had reached a breaking point. She would not be able to convince him to spare the humans anymore.

In silence the two climbed up the tallest mountain that had a lush valley below. The row of mountains acted as a sort of wall for humans. No one besides her Shobijin could enter safely. Though, the twins that had accompanied Mothra for centuries were gone for the most part. The last remnants of her Shobijin were present in the twins that worked for Monarch, the only group of humans that actively helped the titans. She repressed a mournful sigh as they reached the grassy surface. Anguirus was waiting for them with a fearful expression. The spiky titan bowed once he noticed Godzilla behind her. It was a stark contrast to how the pair used to greet each other. Before Godzilla became the king, he was simply a fellow titan. Yes, he was stronger than them, but he used his strength to protect and support. Now, his strength was used to force submission to their fellow kind. In the past, Anguirus and Godzilla would greet each other with a wrestling match. One of them would pounce of the other, and they would playfully tousle until Mothra intervened. At times, Rodan would join in the mock-fight, which created an even bigger headache for the moth. She would do anything to have those times back.

Shaking her head to rid herself of her nostalgic thoughts, she looked at Godzilla directly. He may be angry, but she refused to be intimidated. "I suppose you are aware of what has happened?" Mothra spoke with an even tone. If Godzilla was going to rage, then she would keep her composure no matter what. Anguirus was already beginning to tremble as they waited for Godzilla's response.

A snort left the lizard's nostrils. "I am. It's hard not to be aware when that fucking bird has been on my radar for years." His lips curled in a sneer, revealing his sharp teeth.

"You know that Rodan is-"

"I don't give a shit if Rodan is 'upset' or 'troubled'! He knew what would happen if he disobeyed my direct orders, and he did it anyways!" Godzilla interrupted the winged titan with a roar. Something he had never done before. The titan even mocked her when referring to the many times she had told him to be more sympathetic towards the volcanic titan. His dorsal plates glowed an even brighter blue, an instinctual intimidation display. "Thanks to him, I have to find and kill that faker all over again! If it wasn't for your precious humans, Ghidorah's skull would have never been found! I should have never fucking listened to you!"

"Godzilla, you must understand that-"

"NO. I am not sparing those parasites ever again! I have had enough of their constant destruction and rebellions. Because of them, the Earth is more unbalanced than it has ever been! They're better off dead, and you know that! Stop defending them! They are worth nothing!" As his anger grew, Godzilla's long tail thrashed violently on the ground. The tip nearly hit Anguirus who had started to back away from the arguing pair. Each word that left his mouth shocked Mothra more and more. Her partner had never disregarder her in such a way. It truly showed how far Godzilla had fallen. Said titan was not done yet. "Those humans are dying today, Mothra! I am not gonna be convinced otherwise! And once I find Rodan, I'll kill him and that golden monstrosity! I am done with such insubordination!"

"We shouldn't-"

"Your input won't do anything anymore. The humans and Rodan have gone too far. I'll compromise with you on anything else, but not this. Those parasites have ruined everything! Rodan doesn't fucking listen while the bugs have been ruining MY WORLD! THEY ARE GOING TO FUCKING SUFFER FOR EVERYTHING THEY HAVE-"

"GOJIRA, BE QUIET!" Mothra screeched so loudly an so suddenly that Godzilla's mouth snapped shut. Her grand wings were spread out to make herself bigger while glowing a bright crimson. Her calm composure had finally shattered at the repeated interruptions and disrespect. "I will not be treated like one of your 'subjects' that you can push around with ease. I am your equal, Godzilla. Not your subordinate. Now, you will be quiet as I speak. Am I clear?" The warm voice Mothra was known for was now colder than ice.

All the anger Godzilla had been feeling vanished. Throughout the centuries of knowing each other, Mothra had never raised her voice in such a way, not even once. She was the level headed of the two. He was a raging storm that only calmed with her light. His vengeful and violent thoughts were starting to fade away as guilt slowly wrapped around his very soul. The betrayed look in his queen's eyes further strengthened the coils of the shame he felt.

Mothra took a deep breath to reorder her thoughts. "I have been by your side since this planet was created. It was never yours to begin with. The Earth does not belong to us, and it never will. We are the protectors. Not the owners. Not the rulers. Not the executioners. We have no right to get rid of what nature has created. Humans are inhabitants of this planet just as much as we are. They have the sharpest minds of any creature I have ever seen. They create things, Goji. Can you think of another animal who can build the things they do? To think that they are parasites is wrong. Yes, they have hurt the Earth. Yes, they have ruined the balance. Yes, they have tried to kill our kind and even you. But they haven't exactly done it on purpose." She had been glancing at the horizon while speaking. Mothra hadn't wanted to look at her long-term partner. When she noticed the lack of response from the lizard, she glanced at him. Godzilla had been struck siIent. He barely breathed as he looked at her with wide eyes.

With a sigh, she continued. "I doubt any human creates something with the sole purpose of hurting nature. They need guidance more than anything else. Our existence has been a horrifying discovery for the humans. They fear things they do not understand. They fear you especially. We can't communicate with them properly in order to show that we aren't their enemies. I have seen many humans show kindness and attempt to learn about our kind. In turn, I have done the same for them. What have you done, Gojira? Have you taken a single moment to try to understand the species that inhabit this realm? There is so much more to them than destruction. I am aware that there are humans who have done horrific deeds. They made a machine to kill you and other titans. They created a bomb that killed all the life on Rodan's island while nearly killing you. Who were the ones that saved you, hm? Who were the ones that sacrificed themselves to pull you from the brink of death? If they hadn't intervened, Ghidorah would have destroyed the world! You cannot say that all humans are parasites when there are so many instances when they are anything but. The ungrateful one is you. You are millions of years old and are antagonizing the species that has existed for less that a fraction of that time!" Her voice raised slightly at the very end. It pained her to have to use such harsh words to the being she had adored for eons.

Godzilla still had yet to utter a sound, so Mothra took it as her chance to speak about the subject that was plaguing her the most. "Over the years, you have antagonized everyone. So much so that I have become your only ally. I do not know what happened to make you start asserting your power over our kind. I slowly saw you become someone so power hungry that you were willing to kill innocent beings who you thought posed a threat. I let my own feelings get in the way of stopping you. I have tried to justify your actions in my head for so long, but I see that I cannot do that anymore. My intentional ignorance only served to help myself, not our people. We have lost so many friends, yet you still try to instill fear on the few titans that remain. They do not respect you, Gojira. You are astonished at Rodan's rebellious nature despite the fact that you have wronged him too many times to count. He is strong willed and will not give in to fear. You should know how reckless he is. I am astonished at how far you have gone to keep him in line. You eliminated the being he treasured the most. After you killed his kind, Rodan had no one to raise him except Quetz...She was powerful and apparently a 'threat' that had to be removed." Mothra spat the last word viscously.

Her wings sagged a little, and Mothra looked away once more. "I have a part in her wrongful death. My lack of action costed her her life. I will regret my cowardice for the rest of my life. Rodan has never looked at me or you the same way ever since...Do you know why Rodan switched sides so easily? Do you? Or do you just think Rodan became a 'traitor' for kicks and giggles?" The once powerful voice Mothra had started to crack. Her next words were spoken in a broken whisper. "He hates us, Goji. He hasn't been treated with an ounce of care of respect in centuries. Ghidorah, as shocking as it may be, saw him as the fierce warrior he was always meant to be. It is obvious why he would choose him over you...Why he would attack me so brutally...Why he has risked execution at your claws just to bring Ghidorah back..." She grew quiet for a long, long time. When Rodan had pinned her during the battle in Boston, she could see the amount of pain and anger Rodan's golden eyes held. It was the first time seeing him since coming out of hibernation, and he was not the same titan she once knew. The impulsive yet caring hatchling she had found one day had turned into a winged beast that only looked at her with pure malice. And she could not bring herself to be upset at Rodan in the least.

Godzilla attempted to speak, but found himself with no words to say. His normal response would have been to lash out and attack. However, this wasn't any other troublesome titan. This was Mothra. His Mothra. She has never sounded so angry, hurt, and disappointed in him before. The silence enveloped them. One now too guilt-ridden to speak while the other was in a state of shock and denial.

It was deadly quiet for what seemed like hours.

The silence was eventually broken by a voice they hadn't heard for over a millennia.

"You must have done something very stupid for my sister to be this upset and for me to be awoken. I wonder what it could be..." Battra spoke with a teasing tone that was underlined with a hidden threat. His dark red eyes narrowed at the silent king. Behind him, the last titans on Earth stood before them; Battra, Scylla, Behemoth, Methuselah, the Queen MUTO, Baragon, and Biollante. None of them were happy. Well...Except for one.

At the sight of the titan he thought he had killed, Godzilla's eyes widened almost comically. A wide smile appeared on a familiar face. One covered with green vines and sharp teeth.

"Hey, big bro! I can't wait to see how you've fucked up!"

This was going to be quite the reunion.

"Hey, Rick?"

"What is it now, Sam?"

"Is it normal for Isla De Mara to suddenly have a radiation spike?"

A pause befell the two scientists. Each had stayed late to try to figure out the disappearance of a dangerous titan and the reappearance of an even more dangerous titan. To say that they were stressed would be an understatement.

"Radiation spike?"

"Yup."

The older scientist took off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. A headache had been forming for the past hour, and the sonographer desperately wanted to sleep. Now, he had to stay up for the rest of the night to look into the anomaly in the supposed inhospitable island. What else could go wrong?

"Also, I just got an alert that Kong is nowhere to be found."

Rick slammed his head on his desk and groaned in despair. His hands grasped at his white hair and pulled.

"Is this a bad time to mention that we're also out of coffee?"

"GODDAMMIT, SAM!"

San nuzzled Rodan's head for the umpteenth time. The three headed alien had yet to leave the pool of titan essence. His brothers had yet to return, but he had at least regained his missing tail and scales. The warmth of the pool and his birdie soothed his aches immensely. Being used to power that machine, unable to die, was the worst experience of his life. It was cold. So, so cold. He never wanted to be cold again.

"When do you think Ichi and Ni will return?" Rodan asked softly. He didn't mind the hydra's incessant need for touch, it was the opposite. After spending centuries hibernating in a volcano and being outcasted before and after said hibernation, it left the volcanic pteranadon feeling a sense of loneliness so strong that it hurt. His species were social creatures. Most titans lived in solitude and didn't form packs or flocks. Rodan had always seeked out the company of others. After his falling out with Godzilla, he never truly regained that sense of companionship again.

It was a large reason why the beaked titan enjoyed being with Ghidorah. Each of his heads had a separate personality. While they shared a body, they did not share a mind. Ni tended to be more aggressive and temperamental. He attacked first and didn't bother with questions ever. His impulsive tendencies led him to gain the most scars. The right head had a cracked horn and split lip. Ni was proud of the scars and bragged to his brothers about being stronger than them. Ichi was the leader of the siblings and acted as the eldest despite the alien hydra being born at the exact same time. Ichi tended to be calmer than his two brothers, but he would not hesitate to yell at them if they were annoying him too much. His patience was limited, but it was still more than what Ni and San were capable of. The middle head had the strongest hatred towards Godzilla for the treatment of his brothers. Ichi was protective of his brothers and did not take kindly to the radioactive lizard ripping off San's head. Speaking of the left head, San was the most curious of the three. He saw Earth as something to explore instead of destroy. He was the most willing to try any of the food Rodan brought. Additionally, he was the most affectionate with Rodan as well as his brothers. San was still capable of being ruthless when he wanted to, however. Out of the three of them, San was actually the most protective of their fierce birdie.

While Rodan had spent only a few days with Ghidorah, he had grown fond of them surprisingly quick. The alien was protective, but they knew that Rodan was powerful in his own right. He had missed them more than he thought he would in recent years. They had met in the past, but it was always during a battle or shortlived. Ghidorah would arrive on Earth, Godzilla would fight him alongside Mothra and any other titan who decided to help. This often included Rodan. The large hydra would retreat to space, come back, and it would repeat for years until Godzilla trapped the trio in ice.

A pleased hum left San's muzzle. "They seem to be more aware now. They'll likely regenerate completely soon." His eyes were closed in bliss. It was rare that the Golden Demise would feel such a thing as exhaustion or sore muscles. San did not enjoy feeling so...weak. He knew they were not supposed to be weak, but San knew better than to lie to himself and his brothers. They had been beaten badly at the claws of the Weak King and his infuriating entourage. The moth was a nuisance that had trapped them and given the stupid lizard immense power when the trio had incinerated her. She had pierced their birdie with a stinger that was filled with venom. Despite the years of battling her and her weak partner, Ghidorah had never noticed such a weapon. It made them unreasonable angry that the infernal insects would do such a thing, so they used their gravity beams to turn her into dust. It revived his well known opponent so much that all of their attacks were for naught. The dumb little creatures that had followed the titans around had also given the brutish king a boost in power. Not only that, but the annoying bugs had created a device that used cheap trickery to distract Ghidorah.

The next time Ghidorah would fight Godzilla, there would not be any cheap tricks that would aid the ugly reptile. No moth and no devices to help the king.

Ghidorah did not enjoy creatures who ruled over others. It was something the weak would do. And Ghidorah hated anything that was weak. The hydra enjoyed fighting, but not if the battle was rigged. While they usually won those unfair battles, it wasn't as fun. Additionally, the hydra had a special hatred for those that took control of the minds of others. While Ghidorah had done that himself, it was done to awaken the many hibernating titans. He didn't really control their every move because he was focused on other things like his birdie and defeating the old lizard. Ghidorah knew what it was like to not be in control of their own body. They knew how it felt to have every muscle move without their consent. The beings responsible are long gone now, but Ghidorah would never forget what they did.

A quiet chirp broke the left head out of his thoughts. Rodan had taken notice to how San had completely zoned out. San chuffed at the smaller titan to reassure him that he was alright. No other creature had ever cared for San accept his brothers. The three had always thought that they only had each other to rely on. This was true for most of their lives until a particular winged beauty came into their lives with a fiery passion.

They would both relish in getting revenge on the ones who wronged them. It would be a fight to remember.

At the thought, San purred and used his head to tuck Rodan close. It could take hours or even days for his brothers to literally come back from the dead. Until they returned, he was content to wait in the warmth of his fire bird.

Patience would be the most lethal weapon they'll need if they were to win.

And they would win.

#godzilla king of the monsters #gojira #mothra #monsterverse #rodan kotm #rodorah #rick stanton #san ghidorah #ichi ghidorah #ni ghidorah #king ghidorah #mothzilla #rodan #anguirus #kotm

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kitsune024 · 6 days

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Danny Phantom & Batman Fanfiction Crossover

Equilibrium by XysidheQueen

Daniel Fenton lost everything, his family, his friends, his home. Daniel Fenton was never strong enough to protect anything that mattered to him.

Daniel Fenton died twice. Once when he was fourteen, and again in a destroyed lab. Phantom died with him.

Reaper rose from the ashes, and now he's trying to find a balance between who he once was, and the monster he's not scared enough of becoming.

Alternately: There's a new mask on Jason's turf, and this one refuses to leave. Will Jason be able to scare him off, or will they enter into a partnership that can either save them both or drag them screaming into the darkness that hides in both their hearts?

Chapters 6/?

#XysidheQueen #ao3 fanfic #dp x dc #jason x danny #dark au #dark danny #danny phantom #jason todd #ghost king danny #but it’s not entirely relevant to the plot #It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better #dark fic #canon divergent au #dp fic

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musicalhell · 2 days

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Persephone's Gambit Extra: Christine's Tarot Readings

So while I'm getting the next chapters in order I want to take a minute to go a little more in depth on the Tarot spreads in Chapter Three, because a) I thought and re-thought about them a lot and I want to show my work and b) it gives me a chance to show off my Universal Monsters Tarot deck which I frankly adore.

(Note: As with other themed decks, the UM puts a spin on the standard suits. The correlations are Candles=Wands, Crypts=Cups, Claws=Swords and Castles=Coins/Pentacles.)

So, this chapter features two spreads. The first one is a three card spread Christine remembers Meg giving her shortly before Erik entered her life. This type of spread can have a lot of different interpretations based on the question and intent, but probably the most common (and the one used here) is past-present-future:

Meg jokes about Christine living in a dream world, because all three of these cards have something to do with fantasies, illusion, and the unreal.

The Seven of Cups represents fantasies and wishful thinking. It presents possibilities (too many of them, sometimes) but warns that the subject may be so wrapped up in what might be that they're not dealing with things practically. Christine's father built her castles in the air, but left her with no real ground to stand on when he was gone.

As in other areas, The Moon in Tarot has a wide range of symbolism attached to it, but most often it is taken to represent illusion, fear, and feelings which have been repressed or hidden. Now alone, Christine is lost and directionless. She cannot see a way forward without her father, and in the face of the unknown retreats to the comfort of her own inner world. Which is a problem, because ahead of her lies...

The Magician, Reversed. The Magician represents human knowledge, skill, and craft--the ability to understand the world and shape it to our will. When a card is reversed in Tarot, it indicates the values represented are either absent or being used for unhelpful or malevolent purposes. A reversed Magician represents deception, manipulation, and hidden agendas. Christine is being warned of someone, someone who is not all he appears to be and whose seemingly benevolent actions conceal darker motives...

Then during Alice's salon, Christine receives another reading, this one a five-card spread:

As in the three card, the cards in the middle of the cross represent past, present, and future:

The Two of Wands is about choices and forks in the road. Christine was offered a choice: marriage to Erik or death to Raoul? But she turned it into a different kind of choice--accept the situation forced upon her, or forge her own path. In doing the latter, she's set the fates of herself and those around her in a new direction.

The Two of Coins represents balance, but a precarious balance requiring significant effort to maintain. With two suitors, a budding career, and her own quest for self-knowledge all in play, Christine has found a momentary equilibrium in her life, but this state of affairs cannot last forever.

Judgement is the penultimate card of the Major Arcana. It is a final reckoning, the last necessary step on the journey between who we are and who we are becoming. For Christine, this card serves as both warning and encouragement. The decision she deferred in the past is still before her, but so is the understanding that will allow her to make that decision with confidence.

The upper card in the cross represents things unknown or unacknowledged by the subject. In this spread it's the Five of Wands, the card of competition and the fight for supremacy. Erik and Raoul may have called a reluctant truce, but they each remain determined to be the victor in the battle for Christine's heart. The UM deck symbolizes this contentious state with Phantom's falling chandelier, but the conflict the card represents is not always destructive. Sometimes it's a necessary struggle that leads to greater understanding.

The last card is the inherent potential in the situation: given what the previous cards have shown, what is the possible outcome? The Sun, with its emphasis on joy, freedom, and truth, suggests that it will be a good one...eventually.

#phantom of the opera #persephone's gambit #tarot #ramblings

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onedaughterofman · 2 years

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Evil (Papa Emeritus III x g/n reader)

Summary: You wander off inside a new church, admiring the architecture. The head of the Clergy himself welcomes you in. (And, oh no, he's hot and evil)

Tags: Rated T, discussions of Satanism, flirting, a bit of cursing, Terzo making a few sexual innuendos. Terzo being Terzo.

"The name is Baphomet, often associated with the figure of the Sabbatic Goat. It represents the equilibrium of opposites, as you can see."

Maybe entering this place uninvited was a bad idea. The voice comes from behind your back, loud and velvety over the silence of the chapel. You turn around in a swift movement, hand darting out to your chest in a feeble attempt to calm your racing heart.

Under the faint, yellowish lights, it's hard to completely distinguish the features of your companion. As he walks closer, it becomes clear he’s wearing a religious attire, with long black robes and intricate golden embroidery. On his head, rests a tall mitre with a cross.

Not any cross. An inverted one. Is he... a priest? Or a Bishop?

The man comes to a stop right next to you, mismatched eyes focused on the statue ahead. The paint on his face is dark, causing his factions to look sharper, a bit gaunt.

Without waiting for an answer, the priest continues."It's half-human and half-animal, both male and female, and also both good and evil. A bit like humankind," he states, pupils moving to the side to glance at you.

There’s a glint there, deep in his gaze, that makes you feel like he’s seeing right into the depths of your soul, at the core of your sins. It makes the blood freeze in your veins, but it also makes your stomach and face burn.

"According to the work of Crowley, Baphomet is the hieroglyph of arcane perfection“.

The sole of his shoes makes a loud noise over the silence of the chapel as he moves a few steps to the side. The priest points at another intricate artwork displayed right next to the statue, making the leather of his glove creak. "That's King Belial, a demon mentioned quite a few times in the Old and New Testament. To us, he symbolizes independence, self-sufficiency and personal accomplishments."

A demon and a horned deity. You’re not inside a regular church, that was obvious since the beginning. Maybe that’s just your luck, wandering around an unknown place, meeting a strange man who, as polite as he might be, makes you want to run away.

If it’s his clothes, his voice, his piercing stare or the energy he exudates, you don’t know it. Yet, one thing is clear: he has woken up a primal part of your brain, a restless chant that tells you to be aware, to keep your distance.

Much like a predator stalking a prey, the man takes careful steps as he walks closer to you. The long robes make it look like he’s floating, almost like a ghost. He stops at the edge of what you’d call a safe distance, extending a gloved hand in your direction.

The leather is warm to the touch when you take it, hesitating. It almost feels like his fingers will wrap around your wrist and pull hard, engulfing you like a bad omen. He doesn’t. Instead, the priest’s head bows down, lips pressing briefly over your skin.

His name is Papa Emeritus III, he says, and he’s the head of the church of Satan. Nodding, you introduce yourself. The way his lips stretch in a tight smile and his fingers press harder on your hand makes your mouth close shut. You’ve read about demons and witches in old, fantasy books, and now some of those words come back to haunt you.

According to those stories, revealing a true name was dangerous. It gives the other person power over yourself, control on your life. All living things have true names that open a door to their true nature, and right now you’re not sure if Emeritus III is his name or just how he calls himself.

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. Those are just old stories, myths. As much as this whole experience feels like a feverish dream, this is the real world.

There are no monsters here, only humans.

When you focus back on reality, the warmth of his fingers is still on yours. He hasn’t let you go. “So, tell me. Is it an habit of yours to wander inside unknown places all alone?” Papa asks, as his other hand comes to rest on top of your skin, giving it a few pats.

Even when there’s no poison in his voice, you still struggle to find the right words. “I’m sorry. I thought this was… another type of church. I’ll leave.”

“Oh, no. No need to do so. You see, we’re welcoming towards new visitors, as rare as they might be,” he assures, giving a last squeeze before letting go. “I’ll be happy to guide you into the dark.”

The more time you spend inside this chapel, the smaller the place feels and the bigger his presence. It’s not a surprise he’s the head of this… Cult? Religion? Church?

It doesn’t matter. “I should leave,” you insist, and there’s some reluctance in his face.

“Should, or want?” Papa asks. “Because, as I said, I don’t mind giving a short tour. We have some nice artwork laying around. My eldest brother picked most of them himself and he can talk for hours about it. I’m not necessarily the most educated on this matter, but don’t worry. I promise to leave you satisfied and even yearning for more.”

Never before had a priest winked at you. Maybe it’s the surprise, or the heat that rushes to your cheeks, but something makes your head move on its own and you’re nodding.

Papa Emeritus III fulfills his words, guiding you around the chapel and talking about the numerous artworks displayed on the walls and colored windows. It’s interesting, weird in a way that makes you feel at the edge of your seat.

The more this man talks, the easier it is to believe his words. He’s a preacher, a charming presence that every church should have, a charlatan.

He’s… evil, most definitely. Not in an ugly, awful type you mostly see in movies or in the news. He’s evil in a beautiful way that causes your bones and stomach to vibrate. Papa is seizing you by the guts, filling you with dread and adoration with every small glance, with every little touch of his fingers on your lower back.

If the devil is real, then this man is the closest thing earth has. This... antipope is not a demon that will rip your soul right out of your body. No, instead he'll trick you out of it, he'll sweet talk and charm you to forfeit it voluntarily, as if it was an honor to be the chosen one to do so.

“I can’t believe I never knew this place exists,” you say, finally, when he finishes the tour. The silence is deep, making you miss the sound of his voice, yearn for it.

Papa nods slowly. “Truth is, most people wish for this place not to exist, but I try not to think too much about what those motherfuckers say.”

The surprise of hearing him curse must have been obvious in your face, because he laughs softly before leaning closer. It’s almost as if he wants to tell you a secret, to whisper in your ear something that’s only for the two of you.

"Well, you'll have to excuse me. I'm a little bit foul-mouthed, you see. I say a lot of dirty words all the time,“ Papa begins. ”I tend to say fuck a lot, because it's something that comes naturally to me. An innate talent."

The innuendo hits you right on the face, along with the glint of his mismatched eyes. He walks you to the door, hand lingering over your back without fully making contact.

Papa leaves with a promise to show you “way more interesting” parts of the Ministry if you choose to return, of enlightening you during a deep, heated up, educational “heart to heart” conversation.

You don’t know much about religion, especially about his religion, but one thing is for sure. The devil is stronger than a man. It’s not your fault if you want to come back to him.

PD: Alexa play "Doin' time" by Lana del Rey, please. He's evil, I'm telling you.

Thanks for reading! Ask box is open <3

#ghost band fanfic #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #ghost band #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #the band ghost #my writing #my fics #terzo emeritus

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balanceoflightanddark · 2 years

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Kuvira and Bryke's Problem with Moral Ambiguity

I will be honest with you...I really like Kuvira.

She is probably one of my favorite characters from Legend of Korra. I like her design. I like a lot of the ideas behind her. And I think Zelda Williams did a great job with the character. So I can understand why Bryke wanted to do something different with her and try to redeem her.

Here's the problem. I love Kuvira...but she's also indicative of one of the show's biggest problems. Mainly the inability to commit to a morally ambiguous conflict.

Again, the whole point of Kuvira's character was that she wasn't a wholly irredeemable monster. That her methods, while heavy handed, weren't entirely in the wrong and her heart was in the right place. And we do see evidence of that early on with her forces giving relief to billages, stamping out bandits, and outing corrupt officials. Heavy handed and early warning signs sure, but nothing too over the top.

Then they made her into a power hungry dictator.

Yeah. Kind of hard to sell her as sympathetic when she takes imagery from real life oppressive and fascist political parties and governments.

Sad thing is, Kuvira here is not the exception to this. Throughout The Legend of Korra, we are presented with many antagonistic groups that are responding to some injustice or moral qualm which doesn't paint the current status quo the heroes are defending in a good light. Non-bender discrimination led to Amon and the Equalists. Unalaq was a response to mankind losing touch with the Spirit World. The Red Lotus were spurned by corruption in high places. And Kuvira was restoring order to a broken Earth Kingdom full of anarchy. It's clear that Bryke intended for all of these groups and characters to have some kind of point to generate moral ambiguity. Asking whether or not Korra and Co were truly in the right.

Yet when it came time to deliver, the antagonists were almost always portrayed as being in the wrong and often were portrayed in a way that makes it difficult for the audience to truly sympathize with them. The Equalists and the Red Lotus become terrorists. Amon is a bender with flimsy reasonings. Unalaq literally fuses with the Avatar equivalent of Satan. And again, Kuvira becomes a dictator. While their points are given some credence, the characters themselves always become a final boss for the heroes to triumphantly defeat. Which...muddies the message since it becomes difficult to see the villains' argument when they're treated the way they are.

Now admittedly, it is difficult to write a character like this. Balancing out the character's reasonable and sympathetic traits with the need to be an opposing force to the protagonists who audiences are normally predisposed to root for. So the question remains: how do you go about finding this equilibrium?

While I'm not a professional writer, I can think of at least two good methods. The first is allowing the antagonist to do genuinely good things that seems at odds with their position. This could include a concern for civilians or their comrades, limiting their violence, or throwing themselves in the line of danger for the sake of others. Kuvira does demonstrate this a few times with sending relief to civilians who need it or choosing to face down the Avatar herself rather than ordering her men to do it.

The second is actually giving a concrete reason for why the antagonist is escalating things. Maybe the situation is just that bad where the antagonist feels the need to escalate or is a response to something that the heroes did. Perhaps the antagonist's grievances are legitimate and they have a solid reason to fight. Again, this is explored with Prince Wu's incompetence and the attempted assassination on Kuvira's life by Suyin. While her methods are heavy handed, you could see why she may need to employ them.

The foundations for a solid character are there. If they expanded on that, we could've had a fairly compelling conflict where neither side is entirely in the right nor are they in the wrong.

And then they introduced re-education camps and had Kuvira invent the Avatar equivalent of an atomic bomb.

Uh...hate to be that guy, but why the hell is Kuvira sympathetic again? Especially when other villains who did far less evil get crapped on while she gets a redemption arc in the comics?

glares at what they did with Azula

...I'm sorry but no. Korra wouldn't have ever turned out to be a fascist And trying to say the villain can be redeemed because they're like the hero raises so many flags for the franchise as a whole that I'm surprised they didn't do the same with Ozai. What? He's who Zuko would've ended up as if he went too far.

I get what they were getting at with Kuvira. I really do. And with better writing, maybe she could've been that character I mentioned. The groundworks are all there. But the problem they ran in was consistency and commitment. They failed to keep her sympathy and anti-villain status consistent by making her too horrible to properly feel for. And they never actually committed to fostering this morally ambiguous conflict.

Trust me, I'm not knocking against Kuvira and her fans. I'm really not. I understand the appeal. I even think a lot of her fans have better interpretations and ideas than Bryke (trust me, Kuvira has some pretty good fanfics out there). But if they wanted to redeem who we saw in the series, we needed more than a single comic trilogy. Especially when other characters don't even get a chance at that.

#kuvira #lok critical #lok salt #i guess #kuvira meta #anti bryke #anti lok comics

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jedimaesteryoda · 10 months

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I like the contrast of Falconia and Elfhelm, two paradises in Berserk.

Falconia is a large urban metropolis of inhuman scale ruled under the Godhand Griffith and Queen Charlotte while Elfhelhm is small rural village under the Fairy Storm Queen and Archmage Gedfring.

Falconia is made up of giant stone edifices while the buildings of Elfhelm are woven from tree branches and other natural materials incorporated into trees. The massive spirit tree that separates the Astral and Material planes rests in the center of Elfhelm while the World Tree formed from a slain Ganeshka, merging the Astral and Physical planes, forms the center of Falconia.

The differences between the two locations are war and peace. War is the state of Falconia with Griffith waging war against the magical creatures of the Astral World while the human community on Elfhelm lives in peace alongside the many astral creatures. The inhabitants of Elfhelm live in isolation and peace and while they have a field of scarecrows armed with scythes, enchanted pumpkin monsters and giant wicker man, it is purely defensive in nature with the village being a school for young sorcerers to learn magic. It is also where Casca is taken to be healed. By contrast, in Falconia Griffith’s foreign policy is one of invasion and conquest, and it is where Apostles learn to improve their fighting skills by battling monsters in the Pandemonium. The last detail shows the dark heart that exists at the center of Griffith’s vision.

The mission of the sorcerers of Elfhelm is “to safeguard the land and maintain equilibrium between our realm and the Astral World” while Griffith’s mission is to undo all that.

Elfhelm is clearly inspired by Avalon of Arthurian legend, an island of witches ruled by a fae sorcereress and healing while Falconia is inspired by Pandemonium, the capital of Hell in Paradise Lost with it’s inhuman scale, temple-like structure, pilasters and Doric pillars led by a king of demons. The essence of Elfhelm is cooperation and coexistence making it a paradise while the essence of Falconia is domination making it a dystopia under the guise of paradise.

#berserk #griffith #elfhelm #falconia #guts berserk

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usagimen · 2 months

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𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄: 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐎 𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 (𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐛)

From the broken heart of a young woman, the Kobayashi Clan clawed their way to power. She would never be immortalized by name but a legendary technique that bestowed upon them the ability to capture their prey with ease. Women who were consorts, maids, trusted ladies in waiting, they have worn each face && armed themselves to protect what they hold dear. Monsters, cursed && abhorred but the only who would bring equilibrium in a world that found itself in a constant sway of power. Their decade-long feud with those of the Zen’in clan declares, should any man with the shadows in their blood seek their ire; he would fall into madness. Some speculate that their blood is thick with that of Yokai residuals, but the truth has never been found. Miyako Odori is their famed technique, born of the wilting dreams that many hold knowing that to become a blade of the Kobayashi was to give with nothing in return. The technique runs on illusionary tactics, stealing the face of those around them, women who have mastered this skill are considered ‘invisible or no face’. In the current time, the Kobayashi Clan is a beacon of iron will holding their strong hold on Gion with their infamous okiya. Those who wish to penetrate their sanctum learn quickly; all that is beauty is rot, nothing is ever as it seems.

#CLAN LORE TAG.#––– ❛ headcanons 【 shoganai 】#endless edits.#// lays down gives a little history / info / ect #// it's so funny the kobayashi's are terrified of the gojo clan that they refuse to speak with the house #// but they actively antagonize the zenins constantly in a grab of weapons for their own cache #// anyway culling game sayuri is a 'no face' which is the highest honor #// although she openly admits it doesn't feel like it

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atthebell · 6 months

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atthebell mcyt fics masterpost

QSMP:

la crianza: Drabbles/character studies on QSMP & egg parenthood. Complete, oneshot.

confiança: Forever reassures Cellbit that despite the Federation pulling the wool over his eyes, he'll figure it all out in the end. Soft late night insaneduo! Complete, oneshot.

not quite but we're almost there: Roier decides to give Cellbit a much-needed distraction, in the form of theft and flirtation, and they go on what is definitely not a date. Not yet. Complete, oneshot.

promise me you'll try: Roier hasn’t been sleeping, worry and fatigue etched into the lines of his face. Cellbit is running himself ragged trying to find any information. They talk about it. Complete, oneshot.

take a breath: insaneduo fluff, werewolf forever. Complete, oneshot.

so bad all my bones shake: spiderbit host a halloween party! Complete, oneshot.

lovely maze you've got there. would be a pleasure to be chased through it: cellbit chases pac around the halloween maze and then they make out. Complete, oneshot.

won't you lover chase me down: cellbit enjoys the way roier goes after him during purgatory-- the way he focuses on spilling his husband's blood, delights in the violence. Complete, oneshot.

sitting here won't make this any easier: insaneduo post-happy pills arc talk about punishment and guilt. Complete, oneshot.

Series:

a heart's a heavy burden: Crimeboys Howl's Moving Castle AU, with plenty of domestic fluff, soft magic, and shenanigans. lots of clingyduo and bedrockbros as well. WIP, 8/?? chapters, on indefinite hiatus (unlikely to be finished).

monster for monster: Tntduo Fae!Quackity/Vampire!Wilbur AU, idiots in love (and competition). 3 chapters.

sink your teeth in (and never let go): Feral vampire baby Tommy gets adopted by fantasy creatures SBI; fluff and shenanigans ensue. Unfinished, 2 chapters.

for i to you, and you to me: Wilbur-centric Fae!Tommy crimeboys. Wilbur is a lonely bard who travels from town to town without a home; Tommy is a gremlin in the woods looking for a new older brother. lots of fluff. Unfinished, 1 chapter.

Oneshots:

soak you to the bone: Bedrockbros hybrid fluff (Techno pulls Tommy out of a wet dumpster & brings him home), SBI fluff as well. Complete, oneshot.

stardust in your eyes: Tinarose Among Us AU for the Tinarose Spin the Wheel event! ft. Imposter!Tina & minor Karlnapity. Complete, oneshot.

under the marble and the snow: O!Crimeboys fluff, holiday exchange fic. Complete, oneshot.

except you, you can stay: Bedrockbros/SBI fluffy hurt/comfort hybrid AU. Complete, oneshot.

to cure it of sorrow would destroy it: my (semi) in-canon dsmp fics (these are not connected unless otherwise noted)

nothing has changed: Wilbur-centric, angsty. Wilbur realizes that he and Ghostbur aren't so separate after all. Complete, oneshot.

a gentle hand: Tinarose, domestic fluff. Post- Hannah's wings being destroyed, she stays with Tina and feels, for once, at home. Complete, oneshot.

equilibrium: Tommy thinks about all the types of justice other server members believe in, and his own. Complete, oneshot.

there is a crack in everything (that's how the light gets in): Wilbur is the son of Death. Most people (one in particular) don't piece that together (aka dark(ish) Wilbur kills Dream with Death powers). Complete, oneshot.

epistolary: Wilbur writes a letter to Tommy from Utah. Complete, oneshot.

early l'manberg shifter au drabble: Short drabble about early L'manberg and Tommy's doubts. Shifter AU. Complete, oneshot.

set free from narrow places: Same canon as epistolary; Wilbur writes Tommy a letter during passover and reminisces on past years. Complete, oneshot.

give and take: Emeraldsduo domestic fluff ft. wing grooming and forcing each other to rest, damn it. Complete, oneshot.

once upon a time you asked to stay the night (and now i'm saying yes): Soft tntduo fluff, in which they act like fools, eat dinner together, and reminisce. Complete, oneshot.

#bell.txt #bell fics masterpost #my fics #ahahb #monster4monster #okay now this is on this blog now YIPPEEE #bell fics

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snejkha · 1 month

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Another girly for the fake Dating sim/

Here's Yuzu a chill druid who loves naps and nice smelling flowers/

Also heres a size reference for all the girlies so far/

#my dumb art #my ocs #Yuzu the centaur #fake dating sim #Monster hearts equilibrium

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gaychaoswizard · 6 months

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The Nature Of Shadow

Shadow magic is a strange thing. It is the very binding of the universe it flows through everything yet it is barely understood by most of society. Shadow magic interacts with the other schools of magic in distinct and powerful ways.

FIRE

When enhanced with shadow fire burns with unnatural intensity, burning even the most "fire proof" of materials to complete ash. When this shadow fire scorches an enemy little will remain but cinders. Even dousing it with water will do little to quench the eternal pyre. It seeks naught but to destroy everything in its wake.

ICE

The cold embrace of shadow only serves to make winters chill even greater. The ice will rob everything around it of warmth turning once vibrant forests and greenery into frozen wastelands. The once gentle snowfall would turn into a violent blizzard creating ice so tall it blocks out the sun. For a spell caster to inflict this dark chill on someone would freeze their entire body, turning them into a pure statue of ice frozen in time robbed of warmth robbed of life. There is no going back from that even the suns heat would be powerless against such a permafrost.

STORM

The field of storm covers such a large area. From gales that could topple over the mightiest buildings, floods that leave entire towns and cities nothing but a memory beneath the waves, and bolts of lighting vaporizing all in its path. When touched by shadow a storm turns into a violent hurricane, capable of leveling entire worlds sinking everything beneath the crashing waves dragging all to a watery end. Bolts of lightning striking down every living thing as if from the wrath of an angry god.

LIFE

Life magic in tradition is a school of healing. Calling whimsicle creatures like fairies and seraphs, however life isn't all about flowers and sunshine. There is a savage side to life, a brutal side. Wild animals tearing each other apart, plants that feast on flesh. Shadow twists life into beasts and monsters of primal power. Creating claws that rend flesh from bone, plants that consume and dissolve prey whole. A power to remind all that no matter how strong you claim, we are all powerless against nature.

DEATH

Death comes for all things, no matter how much you run and hide it will win against us all in the end. But under the influence of shadow this natural cycle of nature gets twisted. Shadowy death robbing everything around it of life, plants wither, flesh decays and rots leaving nothing but bones behind. Your soul captured by this vile necromancer ready to be perverted for whatever desire they have. Death comes for everything but with shadow death wont be the end.

MYTH

The mind and imagination are powerful tools. Fantasy and imagination are at the heart of myth making the fantastical and impossible real. Though contemporary myth is largely gained from folklore and such there is a wide untapped field ready for discovery. Shadow twists these thoughts and fantasies, distorting them into vile creatures that inspire fear and madness in all those who are unfortunate enough to gaze into them. There are dark corners of the mind that shouldn't be unlocked.

BALANCE

Balance is all about harmony finding equilibrium between forces. Under the touch of shadow balance becomes about domination. Creating order by force and stamping out all that is out of place. It rigs the battle in their favor turning everything on its head to get what it wants. All will fall in line to the shadows will eventually.

#Wizard101 #wizard101 headcannon #my first official headcannons

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slipping-is-doing-things · 1 month

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Behold! My version of Gaster

I finally written it all out because I can't draw but certainly can write myself into an hole. Haveing been in the fandom for more than six years I supposed it was finally time I share my version of Gaster.

Word count : 3.7k

Warnings : Self destructive behavior, self harm, depression, implied dissociation, smoking

Fandom : Undertale

Please feel free to draw him, I would cry if anyone would

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General

Gaster's name is actually Wingdings Aster rather than Wingdings Gaster. He never had the heart to correct the king and queen about how his name is actually pronounced.

Gaster isn't related to Sans and Papyrus, he is friends with Sans and resultingly Papyrus.

Wingding's has a sweet tooth though he doesn't openly admit such things. At the same time he'll never turn down sweets.

Gaster's an boss monster. His level of violence sits at five, very close to six from the war, he was only a late teenager (16) when the monsters were sealed underground. His LV is only that high from needing to defend himself.

Dings has had mental health issues since the war, depression and anxiety hung around long term which greatly affected his self worth.

His right eyesocket has always been deformed in a permanent halfmoon. Due to the deformity his sight out of that eyesocket don't work properly, once the crack forms in that eyesocket he loses full sight out of it. Due to what caused the one crack his equilibrium is distorted though most wouldn't notice this.

Before the CORE accident

He used to paint frequently but he slowly stopped doing so. He lost enjoyment in the activity years ago but never could bring himself to get rid of his equipment to paint.

The cracks on his face were not always there and rather born from a mix of stress and a repercussion of a failed experiment. His hands were his own doing as well but that isn't to be spoken about. Visually his hands even with being healed have permanent cracks that break off from the holes in them, they don't fully go through the bone but can be felt and seen.

His smoking habits were born rather innocently at first, he simply wanted to understand why cigarettes were labeled as addictive for humans. Turns out skeletons can become addicted to nicotine much like humans. (Or at least for Gaster)

Post CORE incident

After haveing been in the dark for an intangible amount of time he's grown an intense fear of the dark, artificial or otherwise.

Under stress his full body becomes more melted in an similar manner an wax figure melts under heat. Stressors can be from outside forces or lack of sleep.

Due to the incident his magic isn't what it used to be. His magic being rather erratic even by his standards, he only has the use of one set of extra he can depend on while useing more then one set can become risky.

With his major fear of the dark his sleep schedule is ruined. The doctor sleeping during the day while staying awake at night to make sure this tangible reality doesn't disappear around him.

Detailed appearance

Before his fall Gaster was an skeleton fully. Sadly he had the same deformities his mother had in her own bones. Due to this his appearance is as such before he gained the cracks. Sadly I don't have any commissioned artwork of him without any cracks.

After the incident the Royal scientist takes on a more heavily melted appearance. His upper and lower arms missing with his hands intact, the rest of his body having a more pure black appearance than don't show any shadows cast onto it. His physical bone structure ends at the spine vertebrae L3 with the black goop that's replaced his legs starting at L3 almost L2 visually. The image provided shows both an idea of his stable and unstable appearances.

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Music playlist

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Artwork credits

Puzzle kick - Unknown, I couldn't find the artist with this artwork posted. If anyone knows the true artist, most likely under new handle, please let me know.

Unknown - due to this being a commission I got done on Amino I sadly lost the handle of the very kind individual who drew this for me I sadly can't share who did this. If the original artist sees this please let me know so I can give you the credit you deserve.

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#tw self destructive behavior #tw self harn #tw depressing stuff #undertale #Gaster #wd gaster #Wingdings Gaster #long post #Slipping's writings

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shynmighty · 1 year

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23 carrying the other one in their arms for your choice!

So... This one started out as a different prompt but turned into this a bit by accident! And given my choice... I will almost always choose Aeseca/Rass. 😅

Anyway, this is for these prompts, and I hope you all enjoy it!!!

23: Carrying the Other One in their Arms Pairing: Aeseca Silverblade/Rass Ordo

“I liked these boots.”

With effort, Aeseca yanked her foot out of the thick muck, very nearly causing one well-liked boot to fly off. Hutta, she was quickly learning, was not for the faint of heart.

And while they were slowed down in this swamp, their target was getting away with valuable intelligence on the Hidden Chain. Aeseca took a deep breath to maintain her equilibrium, and immediately wished she hadn’t when she was met with the stench drifting in the fetid air.

At her side, her companion was having less trouble with the terrain. His difficulty seemed to lie in keeping his expression neutral. He was not entirely successful; a laugh was almost certainly trapped behind the tight line of his lips.

“It’s not funny, Rass,” Aeseca said. The statement was punctuated by the sound of her other foot squelching into the deep, brown sludge, this time making it nearly to her knee.

“I didn’t say anything,” Rass replied, managing to mask the defensiveness in his tone, but not the crooked smile on his face.

Aeseca frowned, turning away from Rass to try and strategize her next steps through the quagmire. He was already difficult enough to look at without the added embarrassment of her predicament.

It wasn’t his fault, but it felt like it was. Ever since they met, she had been at war with herself over her feelings toward him, and that felt like a very long time now. Blaming him was much easier than accepting the fact that she may not be a model Jedi after all.

Even now, however, she found herself trying to look at him from the corner of her eye. Her heart somersaulted with even the briefest glance at his handsome features.

“Stupidly handsome,” Aeseca muttered before she could catch herself.

“What?” Luckily, it seemed Rass had not heard.

“This mud!” Aeseca said, perhaps a little louder than necessary, “This mud is stupid!”

With the final syllable, Aeseca yanked her other foot too forcefully. It came free of her boot altogether, and she only managed not to topple over at the very last second. This left her balancing awkwardly on one leg, arms spread as she dipped gracelessly from side to side trying to stay upright.

“Need some help?” Rass was losing the battle with his laughter. His crooked smile transformed into a full grin.

Aeseca ignored him, closing her eyes and picturing the peaceful training grounds of her youth, where she had learned certain techniques to balance herself, both physically and within the Force. She briefly considered levitating a tree branch closer to smack him, then decided that would be childish. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself on her leg. After a moment, she opened her eyes again and regarded Rass.

“I have conditions,” she said.

“This I have to hear,” Rass repositioned himself so that he was facing her.

“No laughing, teasing, or otherwise ridiculing me over this for the rest of your natural life.”

“You have my word.”

“What, really?” Aeseca cocked an eyebrow up at him, nearly losing her balance again. “You’re not going to give me a hard time?”

Rass shook his head solemnly, although the perpetual twinkle in his eye was still maddeningly present. “I’m not a monster, Aeseca. Can I please help you out before you fall in the mud?”

Aeseca nodded, hoping she at least looked more dignified than she felt. What she did not expect was Rass’ arm gently but firmly wrapping around her waist, pulling her upright so his other arm could reach behind her knees. Her own arms quickly found their way around his neck as he lifted her.

Her breath hitched as he cradled her gently to his chest and started to walk to a mossy outcropping at the edge of the swamp, not too far away. His face, although looking in the direction he was moving, was closer than Aeseca had ever gotten for any prolonged period. The stubble lining his jaw was slightly more pronounced. His brown eyes were somehow even brighter up close. He smelled faintly like beskar and something she could not quite place but reminded her of the sunlit grass on Tython. The strength of his arms around her seemed to be the only tether she felt to reality.

“I’m sorry, Rass,” she said, hoping to cut the tension, “our target probably got away by now.”

“The day is young, we’ll find him,” Rass replied, sparing a small smile down at her that would have weakened her knees if she’d been standing upright.

“That’s remarkably optimistic of you,” Aeseca told him.

“Mandalorian, remember? This isn’t my first manhunt,” Rass laughed, “I bet I even have time to go back for those boots you like so much.”

“My…” Aeseca trailed off, lifting one ankle, and realizing that her second boot had been left behind when Rass picked her up. “Oh.”

Rass refrained from testing the boundaries of his promise any further. They reached the outcropping and with surprising gentleness, Rass set Aeseca down. She bit her lip, hoping it would dull the disappointment of him withdrawing while simultaneously wishing he would come closer again.

“Be right back,” he said. Then he turned and strode back into the swamp. A moment later, he victoriously held up Aeseca’s boots, one in each hand. At least, Aeseca hoped they were her boots. They were so caked with mud it was difficult to tell anymore.

“Thanks,” she said as he returned, handing her the boots somewhat sheepishly.

“Not a problem,” he replied, “for what it’s worth, I think they look great like that.”

Aeseca laughed, glancing from her ruined boots back up to Rass, who was already watching her with his usual smirk. She could not deny one pesky truth: Being secretly in love with him was getting more difficult by the day.

#swtor #swtor oc #swtor fanfiction #rass ordo #shy's oc #shynmighty writes #ask shy

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punchdrunkdoc · 1 year

Text

Chapter 1

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3

Masterlist

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PART 1

CHAPTER 1

At the last moment, the landing turned into a forward roll.

Coming to his feet on the barren rooftop, Matt rubbed at the faint ache in his left knee. It had been niggling at him all night - for the last couple of nights, if he was honest - and he didn't think a harsh, two-footed touchdown after that jump from the other building would have done it any favours.

So he'd softened the impact. Tucked his body, and allowed his momentum to carry him forward in a roll across the hard, damp concrete.

He was learning to accommodate for the toll the years of parkour, jiu jitsu and general wear and tear had taken on his joints.

It was ironic. Now that his mind and soul were relatively at peace with what he did when he put on this suit, it was his body that was turning on him.

He'd spent so long wrestling with his conscience over this double life - the morality of it; the legality of it; the secrets he had to tell; the brushes with darkness when he gave into his rage. But he was finally at a place of equilibrium, and his last encounter with Wilson Fisk had helped get him there.

Because he’d left him alive.

At the height of his rage, and in a state of complete frustration and disillusionment...he hadn't killed Fisk. He had tip-toed up to the edge of his moral red line, but he hadn't crossed it.

Though calling it a line was a massive understatement. It wasn't just some mark in the sand. It was a cliff. A jagged rock face overhanging a dark, turbulent sea. He'd peered over that cliff, stared down into the pitch-black roiling waves below and had contemplated jumping. He had convinced himself that the means justified the ends, and that he could handle the fall.

But he'd been kidding himself.

He never would have survived the landing. He would have been consumed by those waves, forever struggling to catch his breath as he was battered by the churning mass of his guilt.

His friends knew that. Father Lantom knew it. Even Fisk knew it - he'd goaded him on towards the end, as he'd knelt bloody and defiant on the floor of his penthouse. Fisk had wanted to bring him down to his level, to corrupt him completely in one last act of vengeful cruelty.

But it hadn't worked.

And now Matt knew, deep within his heart, that he wasn't capable of taking another person's life. If he couldn't kill Fisk - the monster who had tormented his city and murdered with impunity and threatened his friends - then he couldn't kill anyone.

The knowledge was liberating, in a way.

Of course, the devil still resided in his soul; the beast that was formed of rage, that craved violence with a gnawing intensity, still lurked within him. But it was not a murderous beast. Embracing that side of himself would not lead to the ultimate corruption of his soul. Which meant Matt was now free to don his devilish persona. He didn’t have to sublimate it. He didn’t have to lock away his urges and impulses just like he'd once locked away his suit.

And he didn’t have to let it define him either. After surviving the building collapse, he’d indulged that baser aspect of soul, becoming nothing more than the devil, misguided in the belief that it was his only way to succeed in his mission.

But he’d been wrong. He’d been left lonely and unfulfilled...and ultimately ineffective.

He needed a balance between the two. Between Matt Murdock and the Devil.

And it felt like he was finally finding it.

Which is why it was so annoying that his body was starting to let him down.

He sighed and brushed the moisture from his suit. A warm summer shower had drenched the city - and him - earlier that night. Between the damp, the ache in his knee, and the long day he'd spent in the office before heading out to patrol, he was wiped. He just wanted to get back to his apartment, dry off, then sleep for roughly a million years.

Though he'd settle for a solid fours hours these days. Despite the hard-won acceptance of his fate and his nature, and despite being in a good place with work and his friends...he wasn't sleeping well.

It was like his subconscious and his body were tag-teaming it in their quest to thwart his newly-found peace.

He jogged across the rooftop - avoiding the puddles on the ground - and leapt over the narrow alleyway to reach the building on the other side.

Just one more to go...

Before the thought had finished forming, he came to an abrupt stop and crouched down behind the brick parapet.

There was someone on his rooftop.

He eased away from the edge and sank into the shadows, observing the stranger. The unique way he ‘saw’ the world - the sensorial information that painted the landscape in flames - gave him the impression of long hair that swirled in the breeze, and a tall, lithe figure wrapped in a thick cardigan.

It was a woman.

She faced away from him, her gaze locked on the jagged outlines of high rises apartments, water towers and construction sites that made up Hell's Kitchen. Then she tipped her head back and stared at the vast sky above.

He echoed her movement, tilting his sightless eyes upwards, wondering what she could see. The pinprick lights of a million stars? Or just a blanket of rain-swollen grey clouds. His senses could never perceive the detail of the sky, and it was one of the things he missed the most.

After a few still moments of contemplation, she eventually moved. She wrapped her cardigan tightly around her slim frame, and ducked through the roof access door.

As he landed on the now deserted rooftop, the wind brought him the remnants of her soft sigh and the scent of her skin.

She tasted of strawberries and sea salt.

———

Matt woke the next morning with traces of ripe sweetness and ocean spray on his tongue.

The intriguing combination lingered, even after brushing his teeth and downing his morning cup of coffee. He thought he was imagining the way the molecules seemed to hang in the air around him as he dressed for work, engulfing him in a potent haze.

It felt like his brain’s way of reminding him he hadn’t been with a woman in a while.

But as he opened his apartment door to leave, he realised the haunting scent was no trick of his celibate mind - it was stronger out in the hallway. He froze on the doorstep, head tilted, lips parted, trying to pinpoint the source. It wasn’t surprising that the woman from the rooftop would live in this building.

It was a slight surprise that she lived directly opposite him.

Apartment 6B.

But it was unmistakable. The air around that door was thick with salt and sweetness, and he could sense more beyond. There was also a trail in the corridor, and Matt followed it to the elevator, closing his eyes as the doors shut and enclosed him in with the ghost of her.

Trapped in the confined space, he sifted through the more subtle notes that made up her fragrance. The strawberries and sea salt was a perfume, a clean, organic one, devoid of the harsh chemicals that usually turned Matt off. But beneath that, he could detect…her. Her natural scent.

And it was just as intoxicating.

To most people, beauty was a function of colour and shape.

The curve of a smile, the arch of a cheekbone, the angle of a jaw.

Red hair, blond, brunette.

Blue eyes, hazel or green.

Those details were lost to Matt. He could perceive so much with his heightened senses, but subtleties like that were lost in a world formed of fire.

Instead, to him, beauty began with scent and taste.

And this woman - whoever she was - was beautiful.

The doors opened on the ground floor and he reluctantly exited and walked away from the concentrated dose of her.

But luckily the trail continued.

She had walked this route just a couple of hours before him. Had paused in front of the bulletin board on the wall. Smoothed the curled edge of the flyer advertising yoga classes. She’d ran her fingers over the embossed ‘6B’ that signified her mailbox. Then she’d pushed open the main door and jogged down the steps. And…disappeared.

Matt paused on the streets, a still figure amidst the bustle of the foot traffic as the denizens of Hell’s Kitchen walked to work. He only got one disgruntled “Hey-!“ from a passerby, before they saw his cane and dark glasses and cut off the rest of their rant. He ignored it all, concentrating on the clues the sidewalk was offering. He smelled motor oil. The earthiness of leather. An exhaust - but not from a large engine…

A motorbike.

She’d driven away on a motorbike.

Satisfied that he’d solved that little mystery - and added more pieces to the mental picture he was building of his new neighbour - Matt headed off to his office.

———

If scent was the spark of his attraction…sound was the catalyst for his curiosity.

He first heard her that night.

He’d returned home late in the evening, after celebrating a win with Foggy and Karen. Today had been the culmination of weeks of hard work, the day they’d faced off against a platoon of expensive, high-powered lawyers in arbitration. Their client had come to them with a wrongful dismissal claim against one of the leading investment firms in the city, and they'd managed to clear his name and win him a large compensation package.

A very large compensation package.

Yeah, today had been a good day for Nelson, Murdock and Page. Their little firm was slowly re-building the reputation that Matt had tarnished. They were starting to provide a real service to the community. Fighting for the underdogs. Battling greed and corruption with integrity.

They were seen as the place to come, when hope seemed lost.

It was everything he’d always dreamed of.

And every day that he entered the office, passing the plaque that signalled their commitment to each other, Matt felt grateful to his friends that they’d agreed to give him another chance.

They were - each of them - a little less idealistic. A little more jaded. Scarred by the trials of the past few years. But they were together.

And that was enough for Matt.

He’d learned the hard way that he couldn’t save this city - protect the people who gave it life - as Daredevil alone. He also needed to be out in the light, fighting with the law as his weapon, and not just his fists. He needed to seek justice within the confines of system, just as much as he delivered it out on the streets when it failed.

And he needed his friends.

He needed people around him who could talk him off the edge when he became too obsessed. Who could give him the insight and perspective he sometimes lacked. Who cared if something happened to him. And who understood his need to be both the vigilante and the lawyer.

Tonight the three of them had celebrated their victory over a round of beers at Josie’s, just like old times. But unlike old times, when Matt had gotten up to leave, he hadn’t needed to resort to lies or excuses. Foggy and Karen knew where he was going and what he would be doing. They’d simply asked him to be safe, and waved as he’d walked away.

As he travelled in the elevator to his floor, Matt marvelled at how lucky he’d gotten....and wondered if he would ever deserve his good fortune.

His mind occupied by those thoughts, he almost forgot about his new neighbour. The mystery woman.

Almost.

But that scent was hard to ignore. It swirled around him as he exited the elevator and headed down the narrow corridor to his apartment. It grew stronger and stronger, as he approached his door, gentle tendrils of it wrapping around him, welcoming him home.

Beckoning him closer.

This time, when he paused on the threshold of his apartment to savour the undiluted scent, he picked up something new.

A sound.

Footsteps.

Her footsteps.

She was home. Just a few feet away.

The temptation to eavesdrop was one he usually tried to avoid. His abilities were intrusive, he knew that. The things he could detect were….private. Intimate. Mood, emotions, hormones…arousal. Things that he had no right to, could be accessed with little effort on his part. So he reigned in those urges out of respect.

But he was only human.

He couldn’t resist a taste - metaphorically speaking - of this woman. So he cocked his head, closed his eyes…and listened.

This first thing he heard was the steady, slow strum of her heartbeat.

The low resting heart-rate told him she was in good shape - more pieces to the puzzle - and that she was relaxed. At peace.

Footsteps again - muffled on the hardwood floors. She was wearing thick socks. She wasn’t cold, so she must like the feel of the fabric.

A click, and a song filled the air. Slightly tinny - from laptop speakers rather than a stereo.

He heard a rustle as she got comfortable on her couch, ready to enjoy the music. It was a fast, thumping tune from an indie band he remembered hearing in bars in college…but it soon cut off with another click.

Now Elvis was singing about hound dogs.

Another click.

A wordless techno beat.

Another click.

A boyband from the 90s.

Click.

A rapper, spitting out lyrics at double pace.

Click.

A synth-heavy song from the 80s.

Click.

She cycled through songs, sometimes barely allowing a few bars to play before skipping to the next. Between each click he could hear the scribble of a pen against paper, and he could hear her heart rate notching up by degrees and the cadence of her breathing falter.

What was she doing?

And why was it distressing her?

Click.

The soulful, raw voice of Nina Simone filtered through the door.

Her heart-rate plateaued.

Her breathing evened out…

And she let the song play in full.

———

He heard her voice a few days later.

He was in the shower washing off the sweat and grime from the night before, moving gingerly in the small space to avoid aggravating his broken rib. He’d run across a group of baseball-bat wielding maniacs on a destruction spree. They'd been terrorising the patrons of a bar by the docks, smashing up the joint, picking fights, and barring anyone from leaving. Matt had broken up the melee but had taken a bat to the chest in the process - the lucky swing managing to do damage despite his armour.

He ducked his head, hand cradling the bruised area over his chest, and planned out his day. Foggy would be arriving soon; they were meeting here while the new office was being painted, and would strategise their new case before heading off to a plea hearing for one of their other clients. Then Matt planned to speak to a couple of his contacts at the police department and Metro General, to see if there was a new drug circulating the city. Those thugs from last night had smelled…wrong. A harsh, caustic scent had seeped from their pores, and combined with their erratic behaviour and the way they'd fought him, it felt very much like a drug high.

Just not one he was familiar with.

It was gearing up to be a busy day…but he couldn’t seem to find the energy to move. The warm pressure of the water sluicing over his shoulders was easing the knots in his muscles. Soothing his battered skin. The steam-filled bathroom was quiet and peaceful and he just wanted to stay in here forever.

But then he heard the elevator ping, and the familiar rhythm of his best friend’s gait as he exited the car.

Foggy was early.

Or Matt had stayed in the shower longer than he’d thought.

He shut off the water and tasted the air as he reached for his towel. He could smell coffee, cinnamon and sugar - two espressos, and baked goods from the diner down the street.

Foggy had brought breakfast.

The paper cups rubbed against the cardboard carrier, and the bag holding the pastries rustled as Foggy walked down the corridor. Then his footsteps faltered, and he came to a stop a few feet from Matt’s front door. Matt cocked his head, listening intently as dried himself off. He could hear Foggy’s heart racing, and he picked up an inaudible gulp as he swallowed nervously. Then his voice echoed in the hallway, his wide smile curving the syllables in a distinctive way. “You’re not Fran.”

Matt froze, barely noticing the jolt of pain that accompanied the tensing of his muscles. The smile, the gulp, the thundering pulse, they were all signs he was familiar with after fifteen years of friendship…

Foggy was talking to a beautiful woman.

His beautiful woman.

Matt shook his head at that thought as he quickly finished drying off. She wasn’t his woman. Just a woman that he was currently…curious about.

He continued getting dressed, one ear on the conversation happening outside his apartment door, intrigued to finally hear from his neighbour. She wasn't the friendliest person he’d ever come across; she never had visitors, never took any calls, and when she encountered the other residents in the hallways of the building, she never said a word. The other day, Mrs Schneider, the hunched-over octogenarian who lived in 2C, had dropped her purse on the street outside the building, and his mystery neighbour had just stood by and watched as another resident came running over to pick it up.

It would be interesting to see if Foggy's unique charm could thaw her out a bit.

“Not unless you are Fran and you’ve discovered the fountain of youth,” Foggy joked.

A pause. And then he heard it. Her voice. “No, I’m not Fran. She moved out.”

Warmer than he expected, from someone so cold and closed off.

Softer too.

A light and clear tone, that sparked a sudden desire in Matt to close his eyes and surround himself with the sound, the same way he wanted to bask in her scent.

She was like a balm to all his senses.

“Well, then welcome to the building,” Foggy replied. “I’m Foggy. Foggy Nelson - one third of Nelson, Murdock and Page - the most prestigious law firm on West 49th street.”

“Foggy?”

“Technically Franklin, but everyone calls me Foggy.”

“It’s a…nickname?”

Matt finished buttoning his shirt, his mouth curving slightly at the bafflement in her voice. In her defence, ‘Foggy’ was a strange name.

“Yep. Everyone should have a nickname. Where’s the fun in only having one name? You don't have one?”

“No. I’ve never had a nickname.”

He slipped his belt through the loops of his pants and fastened the buckle.

“So what do people call you?”

He grabbed his glasses and headed for the front door.

“Calina.”

Calina.

It suited her. Her scent. Her voice. It was just as beautiful as the elements that formed her.

It was just a shame those elements didn't seem to match her personality.

Foggy echoed his thoughts. “Wow, that’s a beautiful name.”

“Um, thank you.”

“Beautiful…but its three syllables long. Ca-li-na. Any name over two syllables has to have a nickname - its the law. And as a lawyer, I should know-”

Matt pulled open the door, startling his friend.

But not the woman standing in front of him. Her heartbeat never skipped a beat, as if she knew he was about to appear.

Ignoring Foggy, Matt stared at her, finally getting the chance to observe her up close. He took in her height - only a few inches shorter than him - and they way she stood, with her shoulders back and her spine straight.

Like a dancer

Or a soldier at ease.

“Ah, Matthew is here,” Foggy announced. “Time to get to work. See you around, Ca-li-na.”

“Goodbye.”

Foggy pushed past him into the apartment, his elbow inadvertently knocking against his latest injury. A tiny huff of air escaped Matt’s lips at the pain, but he never took his gaze of the woman in front of him.

He sensed the movement as she tilt her head. And furrowed her brow. “Are you alrigh-”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Matt said quickly, interrupting her. There was something unexpectedly…observant…about her. Her eyes roamed over his face, his shoulders, the front of his chest, before dropping to his left side where the broken rib throbbed with a dull ache.

People reacted to his blindness in different ways. Some overcompensated - staring him straight in the eyes, or where they guessed his eyes were behind his dark glasses. Others became nervous, uncertain. Their eyes would flit about, unsure where to look.

Not her.

Her gaze was intent. Evaluating. She took in his lack of sight and moved on, as if it was just one piece of information to catalogue.

It was a little disconcerting.

He tried to disarm her curiosity with a smile. “Or rather, it was nice that you met Foggy. My name is-”

“Matthew.”

“Yeah. Well, Matt,” he corrected, with another smile.

“Another nickname,” she replied, almost to herself.

It was Matt’s turn to frown at her. Calina wasn’t a common name, and her strange reaction to a couple of nicknames suggested that maybe she was a foreigner. But there wasn’t a hint of an accent in her voice…

What was her story…?

He stood there, trying to figure her out for a beat longer - and she appeared content to do the same to him.

But the moment was soon broken by Foggy’s yell from the kitchen. “Matt, coffee’s getting cold. Come on!”

“I’d better go,” Matt said softly, taking a step back.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry. Goodbye.”

She spun on her heel and took off down towards the elevator, slipping her arms into the backpack she carried. She left behind the blend of berries, salt and leather that he was fast becoming addicted to.

As well as a million questions.

All of which distilled into one core mystery:

Who was she?

———

“No,” Foggy said firmly, pushing the coffee cup to the edge of the kitchen counter.

Matt swiped up the drink and took a sip, savouring the bitter hit of caffeine after his late night. “What do you mean ‘No’.”

Foggy pointed to the hallway. “6B. Not-Fran. The hot new neighbour. Just…no, Matt.”

“She’s hot?” Matt asked innocently.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “You know she is. She is one of the most stunning women I’ve seen in real life, so there’s no way your ‘beautiful woman radar’ isn’t pinging like crazy.”

Matt hid his smile. Because Foggy wasn’t wrong. Her scent, her voice…they were pushing all his buttons. But Foggy didn't need to worry this time. He wasn’t looking to get involved with his new neighbour. Or with anyone, really. He was simply curious about the woman with the beguiling scent. He wanted to complete the picture of her in his mind. Fill in her outline with shade.

Render her in technicolour.

Then he could stop wondering about her so much.

“Describe her to me.”

Foggy groaned. “What part of N-O don’t you understand?”

“Come on, buddy. Indulge a blind man’s curiosity. What’s she like?”

“Fine,” Foggy sighed. “She’s…she’s like Bambi.”

“Bambi?” Matt asked sceptically.

“Big doe eyes, long limbs. And she has this innocent, baffled look on her face.”

Matt frowned. That didn’t fit with the cold, uncaring woman he'd observed over the last few days. Or with the sharp-eyed gaze she’d fixed him with just now.

He tried again. “In non-Disney character terms, Foggy?”

“I can only think in terms of Disney characters right now, because she’s young, Matt. Hence the ‘no’ that I keep repeating, and you keep ignoring.”

“How young?” Matt asked.

“I don't know,” Foggy replied. “Fresh out of college maybe?”

Matt’s frown deepened. Again, Foggy’s description jarred with his impression of her. To him, she’d seemed…confident. Savvy. Not some naive youth.

He wasn’t usually so off base when he assessed someone with his senses.

“She could just look young for her age…”

“Aw shit, you do like her.” Foggy sat up straight and leaned forward, pointing the remnants of his cinnamon roll at him. “Remember Mel from freshman year at Columbia? And that creep boyfriend of hers - the one in his late 20s? How gross we thought that was? That'll be you, Matt, if you go after her. You'll be the creepy gross guy. Do you want to be the creepy gross guy?”

“No, of course not,” Matt said. “I swear, Foggy, I’m not interested in her.”

“Good,” his friend replied around a mouthful of pastry. “Keep it that way.”

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CHAPTER 2

Taglist: @hollandorks

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

#Daredevil #Daredevil fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #daredevil x original female character #matt murdock x oc #tabula rasa #myfic #post season 3

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