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2kmps · 2 days

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FATHOMLESS

eldritch detective x reader | 2.1k | mdni

synopsis; everyone claims that the esteemed detective arsené is the best detective in watt city. the problem is that you've never seen him in the precinct before and he has no face.

story warnings; implied dubcon, smoking, drinking, brief mentions of body gore. this is an extremely fictitious take on detective work, y'all. don't take it seriously. a bit trippy in some spots, very nebulous explanation on arsené's existence. not proofread.

a/n: more about arsené at the end. if you enjoyed pls reblog! if enough folks show interest, I'd love to consider a longfic for him!

Everyone at the precinct called him Detective Arsené, but they never said anything about his face.

It was simply that there wasn't one there, not that you were able to discern in any instance you'd seen him wandering the floor. You'd blamed the long hours, the glowing blue screens and useless eye predictions and corporate greed and mixing alcohol with allergy medicine before you finally accepted what you were seeing was real, yet no one else noticed it apart from you.

“What's wrong with his face?” you'd ask anyone with the time to spare to listen.

“Who? Arsené?” they'd laugh, whether in disbelief that you were speaking about Watt City’s genius detective in such a fashion, or that they thought you were the funniest person in the office. “What are you talking about? He's always looked like that! Lay off the booze, yeah?”

Those responses had never been satisfactory enough, going as far to set you ill at ease for the remainder of your shift, sufficiently distracting you from furthering your workload because your mind always came back to the detective and his non-existent face.

“He looks pretty normal to me,” said a senior member in your division, an older man you'd come to know as forthright and virtuous with a history showing that integrity. He had taken eyes off his computer screen, set aside his bifocals and pinched the high-point between his brows. “What's this about, really? I've worked with Arsené for years. You know that. He's been here since before I started. Good guy, hard worker. Drinks too much, though. Just like someone else I know.”

But, this was the first time you’d heard from this man that he had worked with Arsené, let alone acknowledged his existence at all. There was no reason for him to lie; he had spoken without inflection, warily, almost accusatory towards the end when he spoke about the alcohol.

“Detective Arsené? Well, I think he's really handsome. He just has that look about him, y'know?” The next person you questioned was a junior at the precinct, a pretty woman with silky black hair and long, blunt nails she used the tips of to clack away on her keyboard. “I've heard he has a really specific type, though. I've also never seen him take anyone out, or take a partner on cases, now that I think about it. Isn't he just a stand-up guy? I'd say he's the sort to bring home to mom and dad, but I hear he's got a drinking problem. Why do all the hot ones have vices like that?”

She particularly enjoyed her gossip, especially if it involved the detectives at the precinct; you were positive she'd never mentioned Arsené before now. As smart as she was, she didn't look below the surface very often when it came to men, so for her to say nothing at all of the detective’s smooth face was mystifying.

After that, you started paying attention to Arsené in a way you convinced yourself was discreet: Slowly peeking your eyes above your computer screen to observe his movements across the floor. Always in motion, he stalked around the place with undaunted familiarity, maneuvering the razored corners of desks and blockades from doors and walls, and languidly sidestepped the oncoming traffic of bodies in such a way that seemed premeditated. Practiced. Repeated.

This staunch dedication of yours lasted well over a week before anything came of it, and then one morning you found him waiting in your seat, teetering a bloated manila folder on a thigh while bouncing it impatiently. A very real sensation of unease took hold of the back of your neck, like a cold hand stroking lightly at the downy hairs there until they stood straight.

You thought about pretending you hadn't seen him, swiveling around, and leaving in a burst of urgency. It'd be easy to call in to say you had a personal emergency or became suddenly, very viscously ill and wouldn't be able to handle staring at a screen for twelve hours. No one would ask questions because you were exemplary, always on time, and seldom took time off as you couldn't afford to do so.

Arsené’s head slanting sideways and the waxy, flat face pointing directly towards you prevented you from acting on that impulse, however. He gestured you over with a lethargic wave, though the jitteriness in his leg seemed to worsen from impatience into sheer excitability.

“Clocked in early, aren't you? You have quite the habit of doing that, I've noticed.” He greeted, voice simultaneously undefinable and velvety. It wasn't so deep that you felt like it was gravelly or reverberated in the same way a baritone would, but there was a heftiness to it that weighted in your mind, as if it were possible for someone to reach through all your blood, tissue, and bone and press down directly on your brain. “I've seen you come in a few times, hours before anyone else. And you know what I think? I think, ‘That’s the kind of person who keeps a place like this running. That's the kind of person we want here in this precinct. That's the type of person who believes in the work that we do and who I’d want as my partner’.”

As much as you wanted to get away from the horrid sight before you, the no-face and potent voice wriggling around the wrinkles in your brain, you couldn't bring yourself to do so just yet. Not while you had questions you couldn't find answers to, not while you needed to sedate yourself at night because they ruthlessly endangered your dreams and were thieves of peaceful slumber.

“I've never met you before,” you said, giving a cordial handshake when he had offered it to you. The skin of his palm was warm and humanlike, though his grip was all wrong and entirely too firm. You didn't convey this to him, though. “I've seen you around, though. Were you transferred from a different department or precinct? Everyone says you've been around for a long time, but I find it hard to believe I've noticed.”

“Oh? Well, they'd be right.” Arsené said, finally releasing your hand to take up the thick folder. “I've always been there, and I'm always here. Now, that aside, I've cleared it with the Chief and I'd like you to help me on a case that I'm stuck on. If I've read right, you're the most recent person who's looked through everything to update the records, correct?”

“Probably.” You didn't move when he rolled up another chair from a desk nearby. “I'm a Recorder. It's my job to go through files and periodically update them. I'm not qualified to help detectives on their cases, though. You'd need to speak to the Chief about getting an Assistant for that.”

“Ah, didn't you hear me? That's all been handled. Sit down. Sit down.” He waved you close, then took you by the arm to sit you in the chair next to him. “We have a lot to cover. I think we should start from the beginning and work our way through the evidence list, and then the interrogation tapes. After that, it'd be a good idea to revisit the site of the crime. Don't worry about clearances, I've got everything we need.”

It wasn't often that you saw the inside of the precinct after that day as Arsené particularly enjoyed his busywork and bringing you along for it. Most days you simply operated as a Field Recorder by transcribing statements into the handheld device provided by the precinct to maintain a digital trail. The work wasn't especially difficult, but it did take a level of skill and technological literacy to be able to do effectively, more so to be the sort allowed to tail after a detective on his cases and still maintain an overall ninety-eight percent accuracy.

Despite your job dictating it as such, Arsené never allowed you to fade into the background or stand around as a fancy accessory to go with his title. Oftentimes, he utilized you as his sole confidant as he worked through evidence and suspects, waiting in revered silence for you to offer your insight (however weak it actually was), and afterwards only let you bask in a glow of confidence through streams of unending praise.

“Egads! Eureka! Genius! How is it that it never occurred to me that way? Truly, you're spectacular! You're divine! Who knows how long I’d be running around in circles if I didn't have you as my partner.” They were all slightly variating compliments, though essentially all the same at the core and all very untrue.

You'd never forgotten about the things your colleagues had said about him, of his unrivaled prowess and veneration as the best detective Watt City had ever come to witness. He didn't need you. He had never needed you to solve a case, so you had learned to take his praise in the same vein as you did the silky-haired woman’s comments on men: uninspired and shallow.

When your disinterest became palpable, he seemed to only rely on you more as though he couldn't stand to be burdened with the idea of a rift. He had started calling you late at night about cases, going as far to come knocking at your door and walking inside reeking of stale smoke and a haze of booze, neither of which you could comprehend as possible considering he had no face.

“I just don't get it. I just don't get it! Where am I going wrong?!” He said so wretchedly, sides of his head cradled in his hands that were tucked between his legs. “This case, it’s getting to me. It's getting under my skin. I can't figure it out. Have I finally met my match? Have I finally been defeated? You! You’ve got to help me. It can't end like this.”

For all his dramatics, there was something obscenely cruel behind his words. Perhaps he thought you wouldn't have caught onto it because you simply a Field Recorder, just a person at the end of the day.

“Why haven't you mentioned anything about the victim? You're acting like they don't exist, Arsené. Is this about solving the crime so they get justice and the family gets closure, or for your reputation?” you asked.

He immediately stopped complaining and jolted upright, taken by surprise like he had realized this oversight and wasn't sure how to navigate around it. On that glossy slate of a face, one you knew was piercing deep into you despite a lack of hollow sockets and rolling gelatinous orbs within, you could tell he was now thinking of an answer.

“Neither,” was the answer he gave you. “It's neither of those. Come here. Sit down and talk to me for a while. I can't go home like this.”

The pitying part of you usually won in those moments where Arsené presented himself as his weakest. There was a part of you that believed he was taking advantage of your feeble-heart, your kindness, your blind generosity because at his worst, he'd find a way to strip you down and fuck you.

At least, that's what you assumed happened. You never really could remember as the memory was pitch black, his body was unfathomable above yours, but you were sure you felt his cock penetrating you, his hands desperately fondling your flesh and fat like there was too much to touch yet too little time to feel it all. He said things to you inside your head, words that you couldn’t seem to piece together yet ignited the tension between your legs, lit your skin on fire, and delivered lewd, high-pitched sounds to his ears that he reveled in.

He never left you a mess and he never spoke about those times after they happened. Since you were never sure of them yourself, they suffered the same indifference as his praise and the days simply moved onward in a similar way.

“Another case solved!” Arsené cheered, lifting a stout mug in the air for you to reciprocate with the long stem of your wine glass. It was a fragile tinkling sound, a gentle vibration up your fingers and into your wrist as you toasted his success. “I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved partner! If it's you and I, I could do this forever.”

You swirled the liquid inside; a light and dry, raspberry and vaguely earthy smell wafted up your nostrils before you tasted it and let your cheeks pucker. As you drank, you watched as Arsené lifted the stout towards the expanse of taut, clear skin that should've been his face, and saw liquid inside empty into nowhere.

a/n; so, some folks might remember arsené from my last blog, but back then he was just a concept. I haven't really started a deep dive into this character just yet, but the story ideas I have for him currently are pretty fucking wild and trippy.

"eldritch" isn't quite an applicable term for what he is, but it's the closest thing I can compare him to without giving everything away.

what does he actually look like? no one really knows. I didn't touch on it here in this fic, but typically, mc wouldn't know how to describe his appearance at all aside from having "no face". they can get glimpses of his skintone or hair, but immediately forget what those features of him when they look away. he's quite, literally, unfathomable lmao.

is he good or bad? that depends on the situation and context. the technical answer is that he is moralless in the sense that they have no reason to exist for him. he is above them, and below them. he is motivated by things he wants and acts on it whether that's "good" or "bad" on an alignment chart, he'd probably fall chaotic neutral, but not really evil.

does he love the mc? oh, yeah, he does.

anyway, yeah. he's a pretty fun concept to explore and I'd love to explore him more. let me know your thoughts!!

#monster x human #monster fucker #monster romance #monster story #monster #monster x y/n #darkfic #dark romance #eldritch #eldrich horror #eldritch monster #original fic #original writing #oc x y/n #oc x you #oc x reader #2k writes

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yazthebookish · 3 days

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"If Azriel wants a mate then why is he pursuing a mated female."

He gave you the answer:

"The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another." He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

Let's start by a scenario where you [the reader] is desperately and hopelessly in love with someone whether they're mated or not, would the mating bond make a difference for you?

If you answer yes, then you admit that a mated pairing are unlike any other because they're connected on a soul level and that's why it would make a difference to you.

If you answer no, then the mating bond wouldn't be an important condition for you because you can love the person with or without a bond. The mating bond wouldn't be at the forefront when someone asks you to explain why you would pursue or want someone.

Now back to Azriel, why does it matter if Elain wasn't his mate? Would that make his "feelings" for her less meaningful?

If he is very confident Elain has no interest in Lucien, then why is he upset about her being mated to someone else?

"But he could be her second mate or true mate"

As of canon, there was no mention of multiple mates and it's been proven more than once that Elain and Lucien's bond is legit (they're a unique case because all other mated pairings knew about the bond when they were already in love). You have to twist the context to make it seem suspicious or out of the norm—and the only thing that is out of the norm here is unlike the other mated couples, they're the first one we see that aren't in love "yet".

So excluding the theory that he is Elain's true mate or that he is her second mate, doesn't his confession to Rhys prove that he is desperate for a bond.

He used Feysand and Nessian as an example because the equation in his head is not making sense with him being excluded from also getting an Archeron sister as a mate. To him, 3 brothers + 3 sisters makes sense but was that even a condition for either Rhys or Cassian to fall in love with either sisters? No.

And you know what are the two biggest red flags here:

1. He immediately questions the Cauldron not giving him a mate, or more specifically, the Cauldron gifting his brothers two Archeron sisters but the third wasn't his.

2. Does Elain want a mating bond with him, or anything to do with a bond at all? Based on what we've seen... no.

So the first point shows you that it wasn't his attraction or feelings for Elain that Azriel expressed or could've said things that came off more romantic like "I want her" "I've grown fond of her" "I feel good with her"—because I promise you he didn't need to do a whole love confession to Rhys to convince him and Rhys would've had a very different reaction than what we have seen.

But what we got was Azriel questioning the Cauldron and be visibly upset about not getting an Archeron sister—that what probably ticked off Rhys.

OR we, as the readers, were in his head so he didn't need to vocalize his feelings to Rhys (since the argument is often about he doesn't open up), we could've just read his thoughts

He is putting what he wants at the forefront without considering whether Elain wants a mating bond or not.

And then you have the final nail in the coffin:

Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to.

Is this what it all boiled down to? Fantasies?

Where in his entire conversation with Rhys did the topic center on what Elain wanted or needed?

"Oh but Azriel did say she has no interest in Lucien and is making it clear to Rhys"

Sorry but that's Elain's piece to say and no where were we given any hint that Elain asked or opened up to Azriel about this. He is yet doing something that everyone else does for Elain: speak for her and assume what she needs.

Though I completely disagree with the idea that Azriel is a fuck boy. He isn't but this is a male that carries a lot of conflicted feelings and thoughts within him—his actions and words can be questionable but it doesn't mark him as someone who is a player. He is just hitting rock bottom.

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gardenschedule · 3 days

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Paul enabling John

In contrast to Paul wrangling John

“Later on, when I was sent downstairs to adjust a microphone, I heard them chatting excitedly about the upcoming appearance [the Royal Variety Performance]. They were over the moon about it, even though it was obvious that they didn’t care for upper-class people in general. Ever cheeky, John whispered to Paul at one point that he was going to ask the toffs in the audience to rattle their jewelry instead of applauding. Paul’s reply was a taunting “I dare ya!” That was the kind of relationship they had: John was the bad boy, the rebel, and Paul—who of course wouldn’t dream of saying that himself—was the instigator, the one needling him on to doing outrageous things.”

Geoff Emerick, Here, There and Everywhere: My Life Recording the Music of The Beatles

This angelic quality [of Paul’s face] was not necessarily always reflected in Paul’s behaviour. Hoffman noted that though in terms of verbal wit he could give as good as he got, Paul’s replies lacked the caustic edge of John’s words: “There was never really any bitterness in Paul.” Yet it seemed to the photographer that the vicious vitriol John would pour on often undeserving victims was quite evidently to Paul’s pleasure. “In a way Paul wallowed in it, because John always played up to his requirements. It’s a useful thing to have somebody like that, who’s capable of putting down people you don’t like.”

Dezo Hoffman, photographer

To John’s further delight, he discovered that Paul was corruptible. In no time, he groomed his young cohort to shoplift cigarettes and candy, as well as stimulating in him an appetite for pranks. On one occasion that still resonates for those involved, the Quarry Men went to a party in Ford, a village on the outskirts of Liverpool, out past the Aintree Racecourse. “John and Paul were inseparable that night, like Siamese twins,” says Charles Roberts, who met them en route on the upper deck of a cherry red Ripple bus. “It was like the rest of us didn’t exist.” They spent most of the evening talking, conducting a whispery summit in one corner, Roberts recalls. And it wasn’t just music on their agenda, but mischief. “In the middle of the party they went out, ostensibly looking for a cigarette machine, and appeared some time later carrying a cocky-watchman’s lamp.* The next morning, when it was time to leave, we couldn’t get out of the house because [they] had put cement stolen from the roadworks into the mortise lock so the front door wouldn’t open. And we had to escape through a window.”

The Beatles The Biography (Spitz, Bob)

Graham led us around the corner, where the Fab Four were hanging with their dates at a private table in the back of the room. Well, actually it was the Fab Three—George Harrison was not in attendance. […] The deal was, Lennon was actually under the table taking Polaroid pictures up the skirts of his female companions while Paul lent a hand. Ringo laughed at everything, and Paul’s then girlfriend, Jane Asher, was doing her best to drag him out of there. Dressed in Carnaby Street’s finest, the Beatles were dimly lit, and a halo of light illuminating their mop-top hairdos added just the right ambiance to make this already bizarre scene even more surreal. Paul was ducking under the table himself now, helping his business partner illuminate the proceedings with his disposable lighter, and Jane was searching the booth for her coat as we approached them, with Graham in the lead. “I’ll be leaving now, Paul,” Jane said through clenched teeth as she pushed her way out of the booth and stood there, staring him down.

Howard Kaylan of the Turtles, in his autobiography Shell Shocked

Several times I saw him whispering to Paul and George, and then he’d wave his hands about and act like a spastic—a cruel but very funny routine he did frequently in the studio. I guessed he was saying to them, “Watch this.” Clearly they were taking great delight in the knowledge that they could manipulate the audience any way they wanted to.'

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

George and Paul appear to have been slightly jealous of Stu and his influence with John, not that outsiders could see how much John admired Stu. John picked on Stu all the time and hurt him when he could. Paul, following John's lead, also began to pick on Stu, even though he was interested in art and, like John, was getting from Stu a lot of new ideas and fashions.

The Beatles (Updated Edition) (Hunter Davies)

"I remember I had a girlfriend called Celia. I must have been 16 or 17, about the same age as her...we went out one evening and for some reason John tagged along, I can't remember why it was. I think he'd thought I was going to see him, I thought I'd cancelled it and he showed up at my house. But he was a mate, and he came on a date with this Celia girl, and at the end of the date she said, 'Why did you bring that dreadful guy?' And of course I said, 'Well, he's all right really.' And I think, in many ways, I always found myself doing that. It was always, 'Well, I know he was rude; it was funny, though, wasn't it?'"

Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

Thereafter, it was John and Paul who brought in all the new material; they assigned each musician his part, chose the songs, sequenced the sets—they literally dictated how rehearsals went down. “The rest of us hadn’t a clue as far as arrangements went,” Hanton says slowly. “And they seemed to have everything right there, at their fingertips, which was all right by me, because their ideas were good and I enjoyed playing with them.” But the two could be unforgiving and relentless. “Say the wrong thing, contradict them, and you were frozen out. A look would pass between them, and afterwards it was as if you didn’t exist.”

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

“Lennon had attitude, and, taking his lead from Lennon, McCartney could be similar. At times, they reminded me of those well-to-do Chicago lads Leopold and Loeb, who killed someone because they felt superior to him. Lennon and McCartney were ‘superior human beings’.”

Bob Wooler in Mark Lewisohn’s Tune In

"When John did 'How Do You Sleep?' I didn't want to get into a slinging match. Part of it was cowardice. John was a great wit, and I didn't want to go fencing with the rapier champion of East Cheam-- But it meant that I had to take shit--It meant that I had to take lines like 'All you ever did was Yesterday.' I always find myself wanting to excuse John's behavior, just because I loved him. It's like a child, sure he was a naughty child, but don't you call my child naughty. Even if it's me he's shitting on, don't you call him naughty. That's how I felt about this and still do. I don't have a grudge whatsoever against John. I think he knew exactly what he was doing, and, because we had been so intimate, he knew what would hurt me and used it to great effect. I thought, 'Keep your head down and time will tell,' and it did because in the 'Imagine' film (Imagine John Lennon, documentary), he says it was really all about himself."

Barry Miles, Many Years From Now, 1997

#the beatles #paul mccartney #john lennon #mclennon #mean girls

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vasyandii · 2 days

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I'm kicking my feet I love your oc Vernon! Let me pry though: have Vernon and AM ever kissed, or will they ever kiss? Also does AM enjoy the sensation of Vernon close to him or when she touches him, like in your art of her using him as an AC LOL

AAAAH Howdy howdy!! I'm so glad you like Vernon as I've worked real hard on her! Thank you so much for the ask! 💞💞 I will be answering these in reverse order!

VernonAM 🏺🖥️

Does AM enjoy the sensation of Vernon close to him/when she touches him?

I like to believe AM's come a long way with being touched. When he first transferred his consciousness over to his body, it was sensory overload. The WORST kind.

Everything was too loud, too quiet, he could smell EVERYTHING, everything was too hot, too cold, not hot enough, his mouth felt dry even with the saliva he had, how much it hurt feeling the air in his lungs, HE COULD FEEL HIS EYEBALLS IN HIS SKULL. It was like being born, it was awful. Like Nietzsche said; "To live is to suffer."

Vernon sat him down, trying to calm him since this is technically the first "human" she's seen after 109 years.

AM could feel every fold of his clothing rubbing against his skin, every microscopic fibre stabbing his skin. The residual warmth from Vernon touching him to sit him down so he wouldn't collapse caused AM to start screaming, sobbing.

Because he had no mouth (roll credits) prior to this, he didn't know how to use it to form words. He couldn't articulate what was wrong in his fit of screaming and tears.

And so his body went limp not 10 minutes after. He got out of there, telling Vernon that it's the closest thing he could compare to the torture he put on the other five. Vernon had to convince him to come back again or she'd tear the damn body apart and eat it.

It took months, baby steps of getting him adjusted in being a man. They spent weeks on smell, touch, and heat before they would even consider movement. It was tough on Vernon's end, smart as she is, she's a terrible teacher, asking AM to leave her alone for a few hours or days, lashing out when he's in such a vulnerable state.

But Vernon persisted, and finally AM got to hold her comfortably. Fast forward to now, AM has grown quite fond of the sensation of touch and touching things just for the sake of it. They could be sitting and he'd have it so their shoulders are touching.

AM is fond of Vernon's touch, that's the only time she's gentle (despite her words) with anything that might have the possibility of breaking. He enjoys her softness and warmth; How protective she is of him. AM can't articulate genuine care since his hatred for humanity is still there, but he's grateful, even despite his taunts.

Have AM and Vernon ever kissed? Will they ever kiss?

They kiss often, those two degenerates. It almost makes me jealous how often they kiss (D1 hater over here).

Vernon's technically kissed him before, just to get him comfortable, but it's never on the lips or near his face, usually his wrists and knuckles. Exposure therapy along with affection, basically. He didn't try to kiss her back until he was fully prepared to.

After fully adjusting to his new body, AM was finally able to kiss Vernon. He wasn't very good at it his first attempt. It was more similar to AM headbutting Vernon than an actual kiss.

Having a body gave way to a new emotion; embarrassment. Since he's now technically on the same level as her (in height as well, he's a lil dude) he was embarrassed that his first attempt didn't go as planned. When he didn't have a body, there was nothing to be judged, but now he does.

After brushing it off as him being curious and just feeling like headbutting her, AM didn't attempt to kiss her on the lips until he was sure he was ready.

Their proper first kiss was quite nice.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading my mad man words! I tend to ramble a ton, so if there's anything you'd like for me to clarify, feel free to tell me!

#VernonAM #Ihnmaims #am ihnmaims #vernon ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #vernon i have no mouth and i must scream #am i have no mouth and i must scream #allied mastercomputer #veomany vernon inthalangsy #art #digital art #artwork #original character #ihnmaims oc #oc x canon #oc x cc #fanart

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moonyasnow · 1 day

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Hi, there! :D

I saw that request are open so I have a VERY angst request.

Type: Headcanons (Romantic and a lot of angst)

Reader: Fem or neutral (I leave it to your liking)

Scenary: How about a prefect who loves sing and has a beautiful voice but due to a magical accident (indirectly being said boy's fault) them/she ends up losing her/they voice forever. The reader tries to appear normal but deep down she/them is depressed by the situation even if she/them will never hate said boy

with Deuce, Ace, Sebek and Jack (or other characters you want)

If my request does not convince you, you can discard it without problems, but if not, take your time and without pressure, thank you. I'm loving your TWST fics and as someone who has a lot of ideas for angst fuel (I'll probably make some angsty requests here) >:D (Spoiler I have one in mind with Ortho) (and maybe I'll make fan arts) see ya :D

Sudden Silence.

PROMPT : Their singer S/O loses their voice due in part to them

CONTENT : pre-established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, Reader loses their voice, lots of guilt and shame, self-esteem issues too bc why not, hopeful endings at least!

CHARACTERS : Ace, Deuce, Jack, Sebek

- { Crash— B O O M ! } -

An explosion resounded from the cauldron next to where you and Grim worked— the one you had seen your boyfriend and his lab-partner standing over.

Someone called your name, told you to watch out. But it was too late. The greyish-canary-yellow smoke and liquid of whatever potion they had failed to make splattered on your skin and clogged your airways from your nose and open mouth...

Your voice was never the same after that.

Ace

Ace Trappola was good at lying. Exceptionally good at lying, even. So you'd witnessed firsthand several times, including the first time you met. And those used to dealing in falsehoods will always be the most adept at spotting them in others.

…Yeah you really weren't fooling him.

You had been singing your entire life. It wasn't something you'd ever really thought much about; it was just something you did. When you were young people had said that you had music in your blood— and you wholeheartedly agreed. Whenever a song you knew came on the radio you HAD to sing it, no matter what anyone else in the car thought. You ALWAYS volunteered for karaoke whenever it was an option. Were you a bit of a diva? Maybe just a little bit— but you couldn't help it! You just loved music and singing too much to ever keep it to yourself.

Ace often teased you about your need to be in the spotlight when you sang, loving how huffy you got and how you pouted, or he said that your choice of song was lame— but he never stopped you. He did actually like it, because you singing meant you were happy, after all. But Ace's gotta Ace, and the one and only Ace Trappola couldn't just let people think he was some mushy sap who loved the sound of his lover's voice, now could he?

But still, he'd often jokingly make fun of you, daring you to sing the most embarrassing song you could think of from your homeworld, or just starting a Twisted Wonderland song whose lyrics he knew would make you red in the face from embarrassment just to watch you sing to the very last note despite it. He loved that stubborn side of yours, partly because of how much fun it was to tease you with it. You were…kinda cute when you pouted. …Ok, really cute.

The accident left you with a sore throat for weeks. Your speaking voice returned to normal, but your singing voice…just didn't. You never sang anymore. Didn't even try. He felt a little…scared, to ask you about it.

He missed hearing you sing. Not because of your singing itself, but because it'd become to him the theme music of your happiness. Not having an easy way to know if you were happy or not bothered him more than he thought it would. But what bothered him most was that you didn't even get mad at him! Sure, he was used to covering up his own sadness with a bad joke when he didn't want anyone to know he was down, but seeing you try to do the same just…just no. It felt all kinds of wrong!

You lost your voice because he decided it'd be more fun to goof off and goad his lab-partner on than pay attention to the potion they were supposed to be making, even after Crewel said to be extra cautious making that particular potion. And you didn't even yell at him. Not even a little bit! Not even a pout, or refusing to speak to him in particular for a week or more. That's what he thought he kinda deserved for what happened. That's what he wished you'd do!

Anything was better than…than this!

But he knew you, and he knew calling more attention to it would probably just make you feel even worse. So, like the sleight-of-hand master he was(not really but let him dream won't you?) he drew your attention away from it. He practically dragged you away from moping alone in your room to force you to watch him at Basketball practice, and during the dreaded music lessons he even willingly embarrassed himself by playing the violin so badly it made you burst out laughing and making fun of him when he so much as tried to screech out a single note. Then he dished it out twice as bad when it was your turn to fail at it.

You punched his shoulder. Hard. And pouted at him like you always did. It felt…good, to have something normal.

But he still couldn't shake those feelings of guilt whenever he heard you start to tap along to the rhythm of a song you had playing in your head. It just reminded him every time if the way you used to hum the melodies. He felt like such an ass every time. You'd have to talk about it some day...but for now things would stay in this forced equilibrium.

Until you felt ready.

And until that day, whenever it would be, he'd keep distracting you at all hours of the day, taking your thoughts away from it. You could say it was his way of trying to make it up to you.

…Even though he knew he'd taken too much from you for the guilt to ever really leave him.

But this wasn't about him.

Deuce

Deuce Spade, the former delinquent, aspiring honor student and— despite his best efforts— someone who acted without thinking, knew what it was like to lose your way. It could be said his entire adolescence had been a long period of him continuously losing his way. So much that it, in a sense, became his way? But not a good way. It all caught up with him and smacked him in the face when he'd heard how sad it made his mom, how much it made her worry and even blame herself.

When he got into Night Raven College, he couldn't believe his luck. It was, to him, a second chance. A place he could go where no one knew of him or his past mistakes, where he could create a new identity for himself and become someone better. That was also where he met you. And also developed a big crush on you. You seemed his polar opposite: calm, thoughtful, polite and reserved. A lot of things he wished he was more of. Yet you didn't judge him at all for that delinquent side of him that seemed to rear its ugly head whenever he got too worked up. You even appreciated it when it compelled him to try to protect you and his friends. It made him feel like that was something he really could learn to leave in the past one day…or maybe even learn to repurpose for better things. He gushed about you to his mom over the phone so much that she figured out his feelings for you faster than he himself did. And when he finally did, she was also the one to encourage him to try asking you out.

…But you also ended up inadvertently reminding him of what was so troublesome about it, why he wanted to change it in the first place.

You had always been praised for your singing voice. To the point it was your biggest point of pride— something you took good care of and refined to the exception of almost everything else in your life. Back home your shelves were lined with awards from song competitions and walls with posters for all the different concerts you'd sung in, musicals you'd participated in. 'You have a bright future with music' a teacher had once told you. Those words had engraved themselves into your heart. Not having any idea what the future might hold and how you'd get a job felt less scary when you knew you had your voice to rely on. Being transported to a new world, forced to make a new life from scratch, was difficult. But at least your voice meant you had some kind of potential future career. You could ask Vil to introduce you to someone in the industry, or work for Azul at his lounge.

But you lost it. Because of him. Because he had gotten worked up over a comment Ace made and, as Deuce went to grab his collar, had accidentally knocked over something on the table next to their cauldron, causing it to break against the edge and spill way more than the recipe required into the mixture. The

It wasn't that your singing voice had become gravelly. No. It had disappeared completely. When you opened your mouth to sing, your vocal chords moved, but pure silence followed. Not even your breath was heard.

When your singing voice 'died', all your future plans, ambitions, confidence and sense of self died with it. You had never realized before just how much your voice was a part of your identity— how large of a part of your vision of 'you' that it made up. But now, having realized that the thing which, in your mind, made you 'you' was just...gone...

You didn't know how to handle it.

You became quiet. Barely even spoke. Retreated into yourself. It made him so, so, incredibly worried. He knew it was his fault. That you didn't shake your head when he said as much, a stabbing pain to his gut, only confirmed it for him. He blamed himself. How could he not? In his mind, if only he hadn't taken Ace's words— whom he knew was always just joking and teasing, trying to get a rise out of him— so seriously and entered 'delinquent mode' again and knocked that vial over, none of this would have happened. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to call his mom for advice, like always…but this time he just couldn't. It was too personal. So he waited. He didn't know what else to do but just wait. He wanted to speak to you, too…but he didn't know what to say. So he joined you in your silence, spending as much time next to you as he could, texting rather than talking, even when you were seated right next to each other.

But the worst part was when he'd come to Ramshackle and hear you, who didn't know he was there, clear your throat, obviously to try to sing. Only to be met with silence. Even the creaking of the old wood or the tweeting of nearby birds faded to nothing when you tried. All he could think in those moments was of how badly he'd screwed up.

…Weeks later, you finally spoke again.

"It's...not coming back, is it?" He could tell it was rhetorical. He felt tears mist his eyes and the same guilt stab his heart. He tried to speak. But before he could you turned to him, face for once no longer hidden behind your hair, your eyes already beginning to overflow with tears.

'Oh' he realized. You weren't upset at him. Or at least, not anymore. He didn't know what he could ever do to make up for what happened. But maybe looking at it that way— like something he did wrong— was just making it worse. The more important thing was him being there for you, not beating himself up over something that already happened, that he couldn't change.

Neither of you said anything else; he hugged you close, and you buried your face in his shoulder and you both just cried. His crying was quiet. Yours was wailing, loud enough all of Ramshackle must have heard. But you needed it. To let out your voice in anguish; to use it one last time.

His life trajectory had changed out of guilt. Yours due to something out of your hands. Yet the result remained the same: two people who lost their way, in one way or another, who now had to pick up the pieces and grow past it. When you came back out of your self-imposed, mute isolation, you felt like a different person, the world seemed a different color. It was...scary. Like the sky and horizon had collapsed and revealed a world outside of a box you'd lived in. A world vanished to reveal another. But when you trembled, Deuce was there to take your hand, even though his was trembling just as much. It made the task seem less insurmountable.

Because now you were growing up together.

Jack

Jack Howl knew devotion to an activity well; he had a reason for his training of his body, that which he devoted himself to. And it was no different for you.

You had always filtered your life through music. Music had always been there for you; a sound to use to plug up the thoughts you didn't want to deal with, thoughts that whispered to you that bad things were going to happen. When you couldn't find the words to describe your feelings, you had always been able to find a song that got those same feelings through, and got used to expressing your thoughts through song rather than speech. You had never been very good at speaking. Your vocal chords always seemed to seize up when you even thought of trying. Your life happened entire confined within your head. But singing, you became someone else. Someone with the confidence to speak into being the things within you which had previously been confined to that space.

You didn't merely partake in the act of singing; you were song. From the tips of your lashes to your very core of your bones. While you didn't often sing in front of others, more due to feeling too awkward to start singing out of nowhere for seemingly no reason, Ramshackle was never silent so long as you were there. A second that music was not flowing either through your ears or from your lips was a second not spent living.

He had only ever seen you at your quiet moments, never even having heard your voice before. So he was shocked to see you alone up on stage at a small talent show some of the students had set up. He'd attended because Epel had been forced by Vil to take part. He was surprised, then, when you came onto the stage and began to sing with an incredible passion he never would've imagined someone as shy as you would have.

It…made his heart beat a little louder, seeing you so confidence for once, so clearly in your element. It made him start to look at you in a way he hadn't before, his tail wagging more than usual whenever he saw you. He told you once that you had the talent to make singing your profession one day, and he genuinely believed that.

Then came the accident.

You weren't even together yet when the accident happened. But as one of your closest friends, he noticed the shift in you instantly. Whenever he came to visit Ramshackle, it was dead quiet. You hadn't even put on any music in the background; his hearing was good enough that his ears would've picked up it if you did.

When the Song and Dance Competition, SDC, came to Night Raven College, his chest never stopped hurting through the whole multiple-day event. He felt so restless...he wanted to run to where you were, to comfort you somehow, and he hated that he was too busy helping to build stages and move heavy equipment or shop stands all day to be able to. His ears were laid flat against his head all day, and all through the event. He couldn't even focus on any of the performances.

After it was over, he rushed to Epel to ask where you were, only to find out you'd left as soon as you cast your vote. When he came in through the door and entered the living room where you sat on the creaking couch, you smiled and waved at him the same way you always did.

He knew how much your singing meant to you. There was no way you'd get over it that quickly, right? He knew he couldn't if he somehow became unable to train, or take care of his cacti. And when he looked closer, he saw that your brows were slightly furrowed, eyes more pink than usual at the corners. It broke his heart to think of you crying all on your own. It hurt even more to know it was because of him. But he didn't know what to do to fix it. So he went with his gut, and came closer to hug you.

…And like an idiot, he blurted out how much he liked you. He wanted to kick himself. But you signed that you liked him too, thankfully.

Then Port Fest came around. He felt guilty for you needing to hear all the music in the air and not being able to participate since you couldn't play an instrument. But he didn't want to treat you like glass; he knew you were stronger than that. So he felt caught in a state of limbo, not knowing what to do.

But...something happened which neither of you had expected.

You were put on Saxophone along with Floyd, and while you seemed apprehensive at first, when you started playing, you eventually had a blast!

Later on you ended up playing a short solo of what you'd learned for him; a 'private concert', you'd signed to him. And for a moment, he recognized that fire light up within you again. He laughed.

Not even losing your voice would stop you from pursuing music.

Sebek

Sebek Ziegvolt knew what it was like to feel inadequate, for his efforts to be called 'too much'. He once heard it said that he 'puts in a lot of effort to accomplish barely anything at all'. Yet all it did was push him to push himself even more. For how could he just let such comments stand, debasing his reputation as a knight of Malleus Draconia? It could not stand! Hence why he continued to push himself harder and harder in all he did.

It was that same mantra that lead to the accident. He and Ace had been partnered for Alchemy that day, as Professor Crewel had wished to keep Ace Trappola away from his habitual other half, Deuce Spade. As such, he was paired with Sebek for this class of Freshman Alchemy. In retrospect, Sebek would curse this decision for years to come…

Ace, not wanting to do the work himself, had goaded Sebek into doing his share of the work as well in brewing the voice-changing potion designated as that class' assignment. The attack on his pride left him trying to overcompensate and complete the assignment in half the usual time, to prove himself far more skilled at potion-making than a mere, lazy human!

But then the potion exploded. And you were caught in the crossfire.

While he hadn't admitted it, your soft singing voice had always soothed him— almost like a lullaby. Anyone who payed enough attention would have noticed his voice was always a few decibels quieter after he heard you sing. And you sang often, repeating the lyrics to some Earth song on your way to class by his side, even humming quietly to yourself as you worked. It was the gentle, ambient noise that your presence by his side brought. A sound he'd found himself growing enamoured with.

Your voice enthralled him, capturing his attention fully. Yet it was not purely due to your voice. It was the look of serenity on your face. The way the world around you seemed to stop and hold its breath each time you sang. Your voice was breathtaking, yes, but the pure passion, the sheer joy and bliss your voice carried with each note, no matter the tone or subject material of the song, that truly enraptured him.

Despite his duties, and claiming he only did so on request of Lilia for him to 'get cultured', he never missed any of your shows at the Mostro Lounge. He said it almost seemed disrespectful for the Lounge's business to go up so much whenever you sang on its stage, not realizing the feelings of bitterness in his chest were not at you being disrespected, but jealousy at so many others recognizing your charm. Deep within him— past the already buried desire to want to be by your side, not as a friend, but a lover— he doubted that you would ever look upon him as he did you: with pure adoration.

Yet he was proved wrong. After a show, he had shown up with a small bouquet of flowers— hand-picked, he had made sure to emphasize— to congratulate you for a good performance. He recalls telling you that the performance was…lovely…s-so much so that— while he of course would never speak on his Lord's behalf!— he believed his Young Master might even enjoy it, were he to attend one of your concerts. His face had become redder by the second of him speaking, too caught up in his rambling speech to notice you coming close, until you had cupped his cheeks and silenced him with a kiss. He'd dropped the flowers on the floor.

So then…

When the accident, a failure of his own creation, had robbed you of that joy of yours, he felt so incredibly guilty, and ashamed! You, his beloved, had lost the one thing you loved so much, all due to his mistake. The sheer weight of that guilt, of having cost you your greatest passion in life, threatened to drag him under.

So instead of stewing in those feelings, he acted.

He tried to search through the library top to bottom, asked both Lilia and Crewel for advice on how he might possibly reverse the effects. He even got desperate enough to seed aid from his Young Master. He trembled as he did— what right did he, a mere knight…no, not even a proper knight yet, have to beg a boon from his Lord Malleus? But since it was for you, to restore that smile to your face once more, he felt compelled to.

He cried as he made his request for aid in his search of a cure, overwhelmed with his conflicting interests of wishing to help his beloved and of wishing not to burden his Lord. His cheeks reddened in shame, thick tears rolling over his cheeks, when Malleus agreed to try to help you.

You tried to tell him that him going so far out of his way to find a cure to your predicament wasn't necessary, but no matter how you explained that there are worse things, he refused to budge. It was a matter of pride now, too. He would prove to you that he had the ability to right this wrong; that he was a worthy partner to you, that he could restore to you the thing you lost. Not out of a desire for praise or gratitude this time, but because he knew he alone had to take responsibility for the accident.

The way you shone when you sang, the pure bliss the act seemed to spark in you…he couldn't live with himself if it meant he'd taken that away from you forever.

And you knew how he felt. You knew how important it was to him to be able to be of help to you in what he, not incorrectly, considered your time of need. Losing your voice was…indescribably painful. As though a flame in your soul had been snuffed out like a candle in the wind. Yet you had tried to act as though it didn't truly bother you as much as it did. You still had other avenues of music you could pursue, after all, such as learning to play an instrument…

Yet, though you doubted it was that he saw through that ruse of yours rather than that he felt compelled to right what he saw as a wrong he had committed, the dedication to restore your singing voice…it made you able to cling onto a shred of hope that you might see it returned one day. It reminded you once more of why you fell for him in the first place.

But above all else…he just longed to see the smile you always wore when singing, the smile that without fail made his heart skip a beat, grace your face once more.

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

Writing this got me genuinely emotional— my singing is actually one of the things I'm the most proud of in myself and I love singing so much— imagining this scenario happening to myself made me so sad ; ; But in a good way!

Some didn't turn out as angsty as the prompt described: I can do angst just fine, but if there's not a happy ending, or at least the potential of things becoming better in the future, I just start crying too much

Also didn't keep the 'tries to appear normal' part for all of them since it seems like I'm just incapable of writing the exact same Reader for every single character for a scenario haha ;^^ I think more 'what would be the most interesting way to spin this scenario and how does the Reader need to react to make it so' And I decided to go with a gender neutral Reader just to make it more inclusive to everyone

Sorry for Jack's part being a bit rushed in places— I'm kinda worn out from the school year haha My perfectionism keeps telling me it's not good enough for my standards because I know I could do better if I just had more energy, but that just how it be sometimes; better I learn to take the L than never finish this, at least!

But I really hope you like what I did with the prompt!

Also a head's up that, since June is gonna be really busy for me, I'm probably not gonna be able to write much at all until at least the start of July; hence why I've closed writing requests until then.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #ace trappola #ace twst #ace twisted wonderland #ace trapolla x reader #deuce spade #deuce twst #twisted wonderland deuce #deuce x reader #jack howl #twst jack #jack howl x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #twisted wonderland sebek #sebek x reader #Moony's Writing

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anxresi · 2 days

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I Beg To Differ.

Okay, now just because I'm about to embark on an epic rant does NOT mean I think anything bad about you as a person, OP. It's just on this one teensie-weensie most minor of points, I happen to think you're 100% wrong. Just thought I'd clarify that, so no offense intended. Anyway, on with the show...

Nah, they did us SO dirty with Chloe. I hear your above argument a lot, and it WOULD be a fair point… if it wasn't for the fact that there are SO many clear signs this wasn't what was intended from the beginning that it makes your reasoning completely null and void. Chloe's 'arc' was the most blatant case of in-show character assassination I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing, and I'm about to explain why. Read on! (If you want to, that is.... no pressure).

They strung us along for at least three seasons with various hints about her 'traumatic past', her problems with her often absent mother (which Marinette didn't help by encouraging them to bond because 'they're both such awful people'), showed her genuinely apologizing to her victims, protecting Sabrina from akumatization and having times when she treated her as a real friend, sacrificing herself to save the day occasionally, hugging Miss Bustier in a moment of genuine emotion, telling Ladybug how 'useless' she felt in a teary rooftop encounter, saving lives both as a superhero and a civilian (check back if you don't believe me), giving Adrien a moving speech on his phone about how 'she'd always be there for him', sharing a really close bond with her father, telling her butler Jean it was time she started doing things for herself, loving Mr Cuddly, adoring Pollen… I could go on. Not the best person in the world, true.... but a promising start. Green shoots, and all that. Her name literally means that.

S4 simply forgot any of this happened, and literally pushed her burgeoning development off a cliff with Sisyphu's boulder tied to it's big toe. There was NO build-up, NO foreshadowing, NO precedent for Chloe suddenly becoming a one-dimensional total-sociopath irredeemable-monster AT ALL, they simply made her that way on a whim. They had her start acting like a complete psycho for the evilz, made her the most stupid person in the show BY FAR, severed ALL of her few close relationships, wrote AN ENTIRE FLASHBACK EPISODE in incrimate her newfound nastiness even more and 'punished' her by sending her off exiled on a plane in tears with her abusive mother to… what else? Get abused, of course. GREAT MESSAGE TO ALL THE VULNERABLE TEENAGE GIRLS OUT THERE. (I won't even get into how utterly useless and blandly boring her 'replacement' of a plot device Mary S... oops, I mean Zoe is).

And we're supposed to believe the former corrupt mayor Andre, the terrorist Gabriel Agreste and Thomas Astruc (you know him) are the GOOD guys here? Well, I'd like to tell you what I'd like to do to them… but for fear of censorship, I'd better withhold that particular information for now.

The upshot of it is… if Chloe had been bad from the beginning and terrible at the end, I'd have accepted it. Heck, if her so-called damnation arc was even halfway well written and gave us an accurate and compelling look at the moral descent a person who's capable of redemption could take to the light but ultimately chose to stay on the Dark Side, this would've been highly disappointing to me but fine from a storytelling perspective.

But they didn't give us anything like that, did they? It was just… 'pretend the last three seasons never happened, develop amnesia, hit yourself repeatedly on the head with a shovel… we don't care. Just accept this is the NEW Chloe without question despite past evidence, because you won't be getting any answers. Now let's go back to what we're REALLY here for… Marichat, Ladynoire, Adrinette and that other stupid ship name. SWOON!'

Thanks, but no thanks. Did I ever tell you how much I HATE this stupid show? Apologies if I didn't make that clear enough.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #ladybug #chloe bourgeois #ml salt #zag #ml #disney #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 hours

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Fury for the Living (1) | Yandere Ghost Detective

Cypher is a prodigy detective

Officially on the police force now he’s been a raging force for unraveling piles of cold cases across the country

He was truly a talented man

Alas aspiring detectives and veterans in the field can only speculate what gives him such amazing insight in every case

They’d never guess what the ace up his sleeve is

One of the sole factors other than his prodigious charm that made him the amazing detective he was

He could see ghosts

Apparitions, yokais, curses—you name it

Thanks to their undead input Cypher’s been able to piece together a case with nothing but a single clue

It’s his thing

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t exactly moved by justice

Or that he often hated that he had to speak with ghosts often

There was nowhere he could really go that didn’t have ghosts and the undead chatting and whining in his ear

Except for one place

An abandoned and rotted mansion in a restricted area in the forest

Or it was

Until he found you

“Hm, I didn’t know anyone was still coming here.”

He outwardly groaned, facepalming as he prepared for your desperate plea to be help with their ‘unfinished business’

But you didn’t

You smiled at him before skipping back up the stairs and through the wall

For a while, he’s just glad you didn’t bother him longer going back to reading his book

But then he’s pulling at his hair as the feeling he’s been ignoring hits him full force

“So what happened to you?”

“Huh?”

“Tch, look I’ve been comin’ here every day and you never say a word. I’m tired of you being polite. Just tell me already.”

“I…actually don’t know…”

“What.”

“I just remember waking up and being….free. I don’t remember much else.”

It isn’t odd that the undead don’t remember

But not caring about it is another

For once he’s intrigued, so after a while he pries a first name out of you

Then he begins his search

Finding all the records about your life or death is completely scrubbed

“I don’t know that’s awfully weird ain't it?”

Similar to him, the prodigy police chief has no idea as well

Thus a weird bud of excitement blooms

“I’m going to solve your case!”

“Uh okay, if that makes you happy.”

So he visits so much more often

Having to talk to you about your past

A past you don’t remember

So he elects to bring whatever he thinks might interest you

Along with taking note of what’s in the dilapidated manor

Rotten books, old gaming systems, some form of music, paints and pens

He gets to know you pretty well

“I think Cypher if I were alive again, I’d love to spend time with you.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah, you’re a real good friend.”

You have no idea what you do to him

He thought this newfound investigation would consume his mind like all good detectives had

But instead, he was thinking of you

Standing and walking beside him like you weren’t a ghost

Cutely tilting your head when he makes a joke you don’t understand

It sends blood rushing in places it hadn’t when he found out you could touch him

Casually tapping on his exposed shoulder to reveal a secret passageway

He used to complain to himself about how far he’d have to walk to get to his little place of paradise

But now he was complaining when the station was calling him in

“Hey (Y/n)...have you ever tried leaving the manor?”

“Mmm no.”

“Why not?”

“Never a reason to.”

“Then let’s try something new.”

He’s ecstatic when you can follow him into his car and eventually his apartment

But then he’s reminded of all the annoying nuisances that he was trying to avoid

“Hey everyone! Cypher’s all pooped out maybe we can give him a break?”

As if you were an exorcist all those ghosts seemed to understand

Letting you organize them in the room over while Cypher locks himself into the bedroom

“You’re….amazing.”

“Oh thank you? I think you’re amazing too Cypher.”

“I don’t think you understand (Y/n)...I desperately want to marry you.”

“But Cypher you know I’m dead, right?”

“I can easily change that to be with you.”

“Cypher don’t!”

Now he’s got to fight himself about solving this case

If he gets to the bottom of your death, he’d lose you

So he might stall a bit

At least until he finds a small bit of evidence pointing to your death from a murder

“You were…murdered?!”

“Was I? That sucks.”

You’re right it sucks

And now Cypher’s motivated with one thing

Revenge

How dare some dirtbag kill you before he got to meet you?!

Put you in any amount of pain when you so easily are the light of his?!

He vows that whosever is the cause of your death will pay greatly

And he’s willing to put everything on the line to solve your case

I think I smell a series coming out of this 🖤🖤🖤🖤

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere male x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere ghost detective #yandere ghost detective x reader #yandere original characters #yandere x ghost reader

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mxtantrights · 23 hours

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no ordinary human

a/n: okay so after this, will be a final part. I didn't have any idea y'all would like it this much but thank you so much for the notes and the comments! fair warning since it's gonna end soon, buckle up because I wanna give you some angst. I hope you enjoy!

The wind feels good against your skin. You hadn't been able to just sit down and relax for a while now. And by a while you mean three years. That's how long you've been here for.

Three years of living in another place and longing for home.

Three years of several unanswered questions.

You lean your head back and close your eyes, holding your arms out. Work had been busy these past few weeks. And you haven't taken any time for yourself in between that and trying your best to understand your place here.

You don't notice that someone is behind you until they finally speak up.

"I hope you don't think you can fly."

You don't jump at the sound of another voice though. No, because you're technically still living in a nightmare. Not a lot can scare you anymore.

You turn around and find the source of the voice.

"Amren, I don't think I can fly." you answer.

"Good, because I have a question for you."

"Go ahead."

"Which one will you choose?" she asks.

You clear your throat. You know exactly what she's talking about. Or, you know who she's talking about. You've had this dilemma for more than a year now.

When Eris visited you for the second time, it was a few months after he first met you. He apologized and told you that he was trying his best to help you. You took it at face value and accepted it.

But you didn't, well you couldn't, forget that feeling deep inside of you. That he was lying but you still trusted him. Even though you didn't know him.

It's not until the third visit that you inquire a bit more about him. He seemed surprise that someone would ask about him. That someone would have questions for him.

He seemed to answer truthfully and politely. And he even ask your some questions of his own. Not that many, and they were merely basic ones.

But after that third visit he seemed to visit more often. Even if it was a quick drop in to ask how you were doing. He showed up almost every Seven days to see you. Even though he had not progress on getting you back home.

The two of you fell into a routine. Sometimes he'd bring little trinkets. Other times he'd teach you something about the current world you're living in.

It was something delicate between the two of you. You'd be a bit mad to say that you didn't find him attractive when you first met him. But that feeling only grew the more you spent time with him. He was infectious.

Sometimes he would smile and you would think that he never done it before. That he's not used to it, but he does so indoor presence which makes you feel special.

"Well, who says I even have to make a choice? Maybe none of them think of me that way. After all I'm just an ordinary human." you say.

Amren scoffs, "No you're not an ordinary human. And these aren't normal circumstances."

"Even if I agreed with you, for a moment, they were my friends first. I wouldn't want to ruin that."

"Azriel liked you from the moment he saw you, he just didn't want to say anything."

That stuns you. Amren takes in the look on your face and you try your best to reign it in. But you can't and she can't help but to laugh at you.

"Oh between the little things he does and how he speaks to you, you didn't put it together?" she asks you.

For three years Azriel has been a sort of unspoken calm in your world. From the moment you met him and he helped to get you out of Beron's hold. Of course you didn't trust him, or any of them, for the first four months.

But at some point you did. And it wasn't because of some nice gesture or fancy gift, though they did all try those routes. Azriel was the only one to realize what you needed without asking. Space.

It wasn't until one night you woke up from the worst nightmare you ever had since arriving in their world, that he denied you your space. You were clawing at your skin and screaming in your sleep.

He had jumped in, waited for you to wake up and calmed you down from there. You never had a nightmare after that.

Azriel worked his way into your life unconsciously. Whenever Amren couldn't train you, he would. And he wouldn't hold back either. No matter how many times you told him that you were still human.

Somewhere along the lines you became friends. He'd hangout with you once or twice a week, work schedule permitting. And he would invite you to family dinners sometimes.

When you decided to move out and get a place on your own he was the first one to support you and help you find a place. He helped you move and even offered to stay a couple of nights with you if you wanted another soul in the house to talk to.

He visited the most out of everyone. Always dropping by, always around to talk.

Azriel and you didn't get too deep. You didn't have to, really. It was like the two of you understood each other. The gaps of silence between the two of you were never awkward, they were welcomed.

"Why wouldn't you tell me this before?!" you ask incredulously.

Amren rolls her eyes, "You're not a child. Neither are they. And anyways there are other circumstances that you don't know about."

"What other circumstances are there? "

Amren sighs.

"I really think you should talk to the two of them about this." she answers.

"You brought it up!" you say.

"I know, because it was pestering me. But now I realized I opened a box that wasn't mine." she replies.

"Are they here?" you ask.

She nods her head, "Yes. In the ballroom talking to each other. Which is a sight in itself."

You clear your throat, trying to muster the courage needed for what is bound to come next. And you walk out of the terrace. You bid Amren a goodbye as you step inside.

Almost as if they're waiting for you, the both of them stand by the front door. They turn to face you when you enter the room. You try to not let the nerves over take you as you walk over to them.

Once you're in their vicinity, you speak. Or you're going to, but they both beat you to it.

"We need to speak to you." they say a the same time.

Eris opens the front door and beckons your forward. You say nothing as you walk through the door. As you walk and walk down the long hallway to your old room, you can hear their footsteps behind you.

It takes a few more moments before all three of you are in a room. You take a seat on the bed and look at the both of them before you. The both of them look like they are trying to figure out who is going to speak first.

The shadowinger crosses his arms over his chest.

"I do have to confess something to you." Azriel says.

Your eyes go wide. You wonder if he was okay with just confessing his feelings in front of Eris. Surely he knows that you and Eris are tiptoeing a not so friendly line too.

"The reason why I come around more than the others, it's because your'e different. I haven't met anyone like you and the feelings I have for you are not what I'm used to." he continues.

You nod along, "You have feelings for me?"

"Yes. That's what I'm saying." he agrees.

Your eyes flutter over to Eris, who doesn't look shocked at all. You're a bit confused.

"And you?" you ask him.

He smirks, "I have feelings for you too. A bit different than what he feels, some might say stronger-"

Azriel nudges Eris. The red head lets out a breath.

"But I haven't been forthcoming to you, since we've met." he says.

"about your feelings?" you ask.

"We didn't meet for the first time in this room. We met earlier, when you first got here." Eris answers your question.

You stand from your seat.

"You met me when I got taken?"

"No, after. When you ended up in the autumn court. I took you in." Eris confesses.

"No you didn't, I would remember-" you cut yourself off.

You remember having that conversation with him a while ago. How he has certain powers. Mind tricks. All certain things he can do to person's mind. Especially to a human mind, untrained and fragile.

"You knew your father had me and you did nothing?" you whisper, mostly to yourself.

Eris steps forward but you hold out your hand. The flash of hurt that crosses his face is palpable. You don't like seeing him hurt but after hearing what he just said, and all that comes with it, you can't find it in yourself to stop it.

"I couldn't go against him, I told you that I have plans to remove him." he tries to explain.

You nod sourly, "And why let a silly human girl get in the way of those plans."

"I don't think that." Eris tries to correct you.

But you can't get another question out of your head. You look at Azriel and he's looking at your already. Face stoic. No emotion behind his eyes. He just confessed to having feelings for you but he looks so different right now.

"You knew." you say to him.

He nods once, "I did."

"And you said nothing."

"It wasn't my place-" he starts.

"Oh my god! I can't believe this, I just fell for it. I actually fell for two people who lied to my face every single day. Since I landed here I've been a pawn and I still am."

"You're not-" Eris starts.

"I am! I still am. Why did you even tell me any of this tonight?" you ask out of breath.

Eris looks over at Azriel. The shadowsinger uncrosses his arms from his chest. They both look at you then.

"We think there is a way to send you home."

#acotar x reader #acotar imagine #acotar #azriel iamgine #azriel x reader #Eris imagine #Eris x reader

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harocat · 2 days

Text

One thing that really bugs me is how over and over I see all these blanket posts about what 'fandom is supposed to be', and they always have so many notes and like... fandom is not supposed to be anything? I'd argue it's supposed to be fun, but beyond that, there's never been a set 'thing' fandom is supposed to be. So you always have people arguing that their approach to fandom is the one true way, and that fandom used to be like this (as a fandom old I can confirm this is 95% of the time not true), and it's almost always just what their personal preference as an approach is.

A small example; people in fandom did not 'not used to care whether their ship was canon or not'. Large swathes of fandom have always cared about that, because people have always shipped in different ways and for different reasons. For some fans what is in the text is most important, and they enjoy this!!

People did not used to just ignore it if you had different character and ship preferences. There were entire communities decided to defending characters that got a lot of hate. I'm sure we all know about the anti character communities and sites too.

Antis are also nothing new. While I do agree there has been a big uptick in moralizing shipping preferences in recent years, I remember having the most vanilla ass ships in the world repeatedly called 'abusive'. I ran a community for the most canon, most 'wholesome' pairing you can imagine in the early 2000s, and I got doxed for it. Fandom has always been like this!! The moralizing is worse, but it is not new.

Fanfic has never just meant to be an exploration of what canon did wrong, or even what canon left out. These are two common approaches, but just as often it boils down to 'idk I want more with these characters' or even 'this is a love letter to canon.' There's a mindset that fanfic is meant as a fuck you to canon, and sometimes sure, it is. But that's only one approach, and many, many fans approach it differently.

Also, since very early on, kids have been in fandom. If it 'used to be an adults only space', it was only at the very beginning. This isn't me berating people who want adults only spaces in fandom, by the way, or telling people they need to make things kid friendly (you absolutely do not). It's just saying that kids are not interlopers. They are meant to be here as well, and they should be treated kindly when and if we do need to interact with them.

I think most of what I mentioned in this post is good. I think it's great that there are fans who care about what ship is canon, as well as those who don't. I think it's great that people approach fic with totally different mindsets and goals. I think it's great that for some people, fandom is a place to explore fetishes, and for some it isn't (this isn't inherently moralizing either, some people just have other interests in fandom, or they're ace/aro/etc. and it affects their preferences). I think it's great the kids and teenagers find joy in fandom. Obviously I do not think the ship wars and doxxing are great.

I just don't like when people say 'fandom is supposed to be' or 'fandom used to be' because as always, your experiences are not and never will be universal.

#fandom #yes i know some aces and aros love the smuttiest of smut but some don't #it just depends!!

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gilverrwrites · 3 days

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Can you write some more Captain boomerang, fluff head cannons I loved your last one, and really would love some more 🥺🥺🥺

Abso-friggin-loutly! Fluffy/domestic HCs P2 [P1 Here]

CWs: Jealousy, guilt tripping. None graphic mentions of unrination. Rating: General

On days off from work (I use the term work, lightly) he is such a lazy git. He’s lounging on your couch in nothing but his undies and socks, both of which are ridden with holes and thoroughly stained ‘but they’re still good tho, here, have a whiff of that’ drinking beer and watching mindless action films or guilty pleasure sit-coms.

If you join him, he will happily spend the whole day there, unmoving until one of you has to eat or pee.

I hope you like physical touch because he will not keep his hand off you the whole time either. Playing with your hair, stroking your skin, sneakily trying to tickle you in order to force you into a more provocative position.

He also loves to be touched in return. Likes it when you trace your fingers over his tattoos, play with his hair. Scratch his scalp and he’ll start twitching his leg like a dog when you hit just the right spot.

Use a pen to play dot-to-dot with his freckles and he’ll get the result tattooed permanently.

Absolutely hates doing chores, and will try just about any underhanded tactic to get out of them.

Oh sorry, love, I forgot. I know you did ‘em yesterday, and the day before that, but I swear if you do them tonight we can do that thing you like. But you’re just soooo much better at it than I am, I always do it wrong.

No weaponised incompetence, I swear down if he fucks it up, it's because he genuinely is that dumb/has never been shown how to do it.

Claims to be outdoorsy, but if you ever take him camping or hiking he will complain the whole time that his feet hurt (because he’s wearing inappropriate footwear) and there’s dirt on his (already filthy) coat.

He would never admit it but he’s more reliant on his creature comforts than he lets on.

Does, however, genuinely enjoy playing sports together, mainly footie or frisbee boomerangs.

Can say some pretty nasty stuff during an argument. He will almost instantly regret it but is too stubborn to be the first one to apologise. Instead, he’ll do everything but say sorry until you say it first or you come to an unspoken agreement that you’ve both moved past it.

I did the dishes, an’ I went down to that food place you like and bought back dinner. Come on babe, don’t be like that, you can’t stay mad at this face, I know ya’ can’t.

Is very much the petty jealous type, doesn’t mind you having friends/being close with people, but takes it as a personal insult when you compliment them.

Funniest person you know, I thought I was the funniest bloke you know, remember that time I made you laugh so hard your drink came out of yer nose?

I’ve got a shirt like that, you never say I look good in it. Yes, I did, I said… Oh, well I don’t remember that.

But when the shoe is on the other foot, he’s such a hypocrite, he loves it when you get jealous. Especially if he’s still stinging from his own envy, he will actively try to make you jealous.

Loves kissing you, all the time. Got his arms wrapped around you while you’re trying to get stuff done, planting kisses up and down your neck, on any piece of skin he can reach.

You’re not allowed to go to a different room without giving him a quick kiss before you go. Even if he isn’t in either of the rooms.

Oi, I’ve got a bone to pick with you, you left the bedroom to get a drink and you didn’t kiss me on your way. You weren’t in the bedroom or the kitchen. Yeah, and?

He’ll take whatever kisses he can get but his favourite are the sloppy ones, tongue halfway down your throat, saliva leaking, noisy kisses.

Brags about you constantly. Every criminal, law enforcement officer, cashier, random lady at the bus stop way more about you than they ever should. Stories are often accompanied by many candid photos of you, photos you would cringe to see if he ever revealed them to you. Man wonders why he’s so easy to find by the law, when everyone from here to Sydney knows what you look like, what you do for a living, your favourite places to eat etc.

He also keeps polaroid pictures of you, they’re always either loose in his pockets (cause he never carries a wallet) or pinned to the wall of whatever prison cell he’s locked up in. Many of which he’s drawn on. Some doodles are pornographic but most hearts, stars, halos, and speech bubbles with illegible writing that’s supposed to say things like ‘I love you Digger’ or ‘Miss you every day’.

He doesn’t really know how to convey it but he really does cherish you.

#gilverrwrites #headcanons #captain boomerang #captain boomerang x reader #george digger harkness #digger harkness #george digger harkness x reader #digger harkness x reader #scheduled post

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rey-jake-therapist · 21 hours

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Warning: this post contains spoilers from the comics The Sandman. I don't know why I bother because these books were written 30 years ago and Google will tell you how it ends in a second, but oh, well, I feel like being nice today.

So many people call Morpheus' death a suicide... And argue that the show should change it, that it should be framed more as an unavoidable sacrifice... Or even "better", changed so it becomes a happy ending.

And good news people! I won't argue with you on that. I'm just posting because I'm wondering: can it be really called a *suicide*? Is it even a death?

Okay, I hear you growl from here. Yeah, I know. Morpheus pretty much dies, he takes his sister's hand and disappears, yada yada. It is a death. Sort of. But then, the Endless are just not... They're not people. They can never die like we die, because they are concepts that wil keep existing as long as there will be living beings who will believe in the existence of these concepts.

So when I see the ending of The Sandman denounced as some sort of glorification of suicide as "the only way out" I humbly wonder if it's not a bit of simplification of what the story has to say, you know? And before my post is taken as a judgement over Sandman fans who feel this way: it's NOT. I actually understand this point of view for the reason that I used to feel that way too. I was terribly tempted by suicide when I was younger, and like an old bad habit it keeps coming back and forth when I'm at lowest; for this reason TKO made me uncomfortable first, and my guts also told me that the show had to, not necessarily change the ending, but at least make Morpheus' death look less like a suicide.

But then I re-read TKO, and I read meta. Doing both made me realize that by sympathizing with Morpheus as if he was a human being, I had forgotten something ESSENTIAL about him: he's not human. And he's not only Morpheus: he's Dream of the Endless before being Morpheus. Morpheus is a persona, more than a person. Therefore I think that his "death" is interpreted wayyyyy to literally by the fandom. Just like the fact that he's "replaced" by Daniel is often interpreted as something negative that implies that Morpheus was not good enough, while I'm convinced it was not at all the intent that Neil Gaiman had in mind.

There's something very important that Dream says at some point: it's that one has to change or die. Morpheus couldn't change, so from his point of view, he had to die. But as I said earlier, Dream as a concept can't die! Of course, he could have chosen like Destruction to abandon his functions, but it's a decision that Morpheus should have taken, and we know he was too binded by the rules and responsibilities to take this decisions. He would have never done that because it was against his nature. Which meant, Dream had to change of persona. Morpheus would die, but Dream would change. And what better to serve humanity, than a being who was as much a human as he was a dream?

We tend to consider Daniel as an entity totally separated from Morpheus, but 1) Daniel was conceived in the Dreaming, making him a part of Morpheus (it's not to be cruel that Morpheus told Lyta her baby was a part of the Dreaming, and that in consequence he would come to take him. He was just stating a fact: everything created in the Dreaming belongs to the Dreaming/him). 2) when Daniel becomes Dream, he doesn't just get a job: all that Morpheus used to be, his family, his memories.... He gets them too.

In conclusion, for me, interpreting Morpheus' death as a suicide is too literal. I think that it's rather a very poetic story that translates the changes that we must all go through at some point in our life, even if it's painful. We, like Dream, must sometimes change our point of view on life, otherwise we will miss what's really important. Sometimes, the change is so big and scary it can feel like a death; the death of what we used to be, the death of childhood, the death of our youth, etc... But it's only a feeling, because like Dream, what we go through is necessary a transformation. We, too, must change.... Or die.

I said in a previous thread that contrary to what is often believed, Morpheus trading his place with Daniel is not a 180° change for Dream: he's the result of a change that started occurring a long time ago. His hair is white because his point of view is new, untainted. He's Dream of the Endless starting anew, but with Morpheus' experience to guide him.

Maybe it's why Morpheus is turned into a star after his death? Is he a guiding star for Daniel!Dream?

Sorry of there's a lot of typos, I may come back to it later for edits but I don't have time now.... I just wanted to say at the end that in my humble opinion, the comics don't spread a bad message that should be changed for the show, because "just kill yourself if you're unhappy" has never been the message of The Sandman. I think however it should be made less confusing than it is for the average viewer, especially since Morpheus!Dream often looks more like a cute blue eyed teenager than like an ethereal immortal being. It's hard to forget he's not "just some lil' guy", so of course his upcoming death will be even harder to stomach...

#The sandman #The sandman meta #The sandman Daniel #dream of the endless #The sandman bookclub #Is it suicide or transformation?#Or a bit of both #Change or die #The kindly ones #The sandman comics #The sandman Netflix #Tom sturridge #Neil Gaiman #Tw suicide

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theladyragnell · 23 hours

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☕️ Leverage / Leverage: Redemption!

I feel like my adoration of Leverage is well-documented, so let's talk a bit about Redemption!

A lot of people have said that it's not as good as original Leverage, and I don't dispute that! Original Leverage was lightning in a bottle, the product of certain times and circumstances, and because it wasn't owned by Amazon, it had license to be a bit more pointed at times. I think in all of our minds, from the way the original show ended, what we wanted was Leverage: Black Book, where more and more crews signed on and they dealt with bigger problems, all of which is implied to be going on in the background but which doesn't get the focus in Leverage: Redemption.

But I think a lot of things are going on here that make people like it less, and I think some of them are really interesting!

So to start: there's no Nate (which, to be clear, is a good thing, given why the character was eliminated). And Nate was very much The Main Character. He had a team, but Nate got season arcs and the last word, he was the heist leader, and his abrasiveness and cynicism made for really specific character dynamics. They replaced him with Harry, a completely different character, which was wise, and Harry's first season arc in particular was a really cool one for the show to do, but he sort of moved the Shenanigans Window (like the Overton Window but for Shenanigans) in a totally different direction to Nate. So just by virtue of that, we've got a different show. (And actually a thing I really like about Redemption is that the first season was Harry's arc about his redemption and the second season is Sophie's. I'm really interested to see who comes up next, and it's going to be Very chewy when we get to Eliot.)

While we talk casting changes, we all of course miss more regular appearances from Aldis Hodge desperately. Brianna is great and I adore her, but also she's very much like Hardison as he was in the early days of the show, the youngest and most naive on the crew and often in need of protection, so it feels like the hacker hasn't matured at all when the rest of the team is in a totally different stage of career and character development.

And then there's the central problem, which is that things have gotten so much worse in the decade between the end of Leverage and the start of Leverage: Redemption. Everything sucks so much, corporations have incredible amounts of power, it's all So Bad, but Leverage is dealing with the same size of story. It's implied that Hardison isn't, and he's the window into the world's bigger problems, but again, he's a small part of the show due to actor constraints. So while the show has gotten a little sillier under Harry's influence (and quite possibly under the influence of the writer's room, they are choosing what to write for Harry, after all), the real-world stakes of the stories have gotten significantly more real to all of us, and it can be jarring!

There are other problems, things that don't quite fit characterizations, but I think the biggest problem is that Leverage: Redemption got pulled a little lighter by team dynamics when the world we live in got pulled a lot darker by Everything, so it's no longer really on the cutting edge and pushing the envelope the way it was a decade ago, and never will be because Amazon owns it.

And that sucks! I'd love to see a Leverage that went deeper and didn't have the corporate shine on it! But I think I'm also more forgiving of it than a lot of passionate Original Leverage fans.

#anonymous #answered asks

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briarbabyxo · 12 hours

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A port mafia Cinderella.

pairings : PmZai x Reader. (dazai pov)

⚠︎︎: arranged marriages mentioned, dark-ish themes?,

♺: Reblog,Request and repeat!

Dazai always detested parties. No surprise that Mori always made him attend, however. The port mafia was a very high class organization with many social ties everywhere - for example the high minister of japan himself came to this particular party tonight, some important businessmen or politicians came every time they were held. Most of the time they sought out financial opportunities or some other kind of way they could benefit from the dark underbelly of Yokohama…

No, that wasn’t what Dazai hated - really. He more or less expected and embraced that particular factor of the usual social gatherings. But what he hated was when they would try to forcibly wed themselves into the port mafias social radar. Often times gatherings like the very one he was distancing himself from found a way to call a very sudden engagement, most of the time Mori himself would make the approval. What he said goes, he was the boss after all. Nobody was allowed to argue with him without expecting some sort or repercussions. Another very small portion of the time was just for a scandal. Very rare and very far between but he had seen maybe one or two of them.

There had always been pressure for the mafia executives to be married, not a huge one but enough to cause discomfort. The reality was that the port mafia itself was a complex dance, you wanted power? Marry into it or struggle with a low chance of survival. Dazai got lucky in the sense that he had a secret that him and Mori shared, it was like he took a shortcut. Others however were not so fortunate.

dazai sighed, murmuring something to himself about the stuffiness of the room … he was usually a very extroverted person but he barely knew these people - they acted so sweet as if they wanted to use him, wring him dry and air him out for the world to see - sure, some of the politicians and business leaders brought their children and most of them were his age or around that, heck! He could’ve said some of them were pretty good looking … but they all felt wrong, like he couldn’t trust them no matter how hard he would try. Like no matter how much time he would spend it would always end up with him bleeding out.

it would always end painfully.

He wished Chuuya were here - sure, he was the worst best friend in the world but he was his best friend in the world, his dog even. They were loyal to one another - they trusted one another. Trust was a thing that was hard to come by and rarely given out. Money buys a lot of things - but he knew that it would never buy trust. He wished that Oda where here, the only man to make him change. Maybe he could spread a bit of ‘change’ on how to make this party more sufferable - or at least Ango even! He was stranded.

Suddenly the doors opened again - nobody else really noticed it because they were caught up in la-la land … but he did, he hopped it was someone he could actually stand. But he prayed it wasn’t akutagawa. Dazai already had enough of his failure for one day.

It was a girl, a pretty girl at that. She looked a tad nervous surrounded by everything, he couldn’t blame her. He pitied her - she dressed and seemed like she belonged yet something or another was out of place. One thing that caught his high were her heels, god they looked uncomfortable. I mean, they were glass! Just pure fucking glass. If she took one clumsy step or twisted her ankle the shards would be everywhere. It was entirely unethical, yet he found them pretty. They were a stupid idea - yet a pretty one indeed.

She looked a bit excited too when he got a better look at her, actually. She was breathtaking in her dress, usually he avoided seeing people in that way just because of how dangerous attachment was, Ane-San proved that herself. But the girl was a pitiful sight! He couldn’t let her flail around like a fish out of water - no matter how cruel he was, he was also starving in sheer boredom.

“Excuse me miss? You seem a bit … uhm .. lost, would you care for a drink?” He asked, a little bow to tie the bow of the illusion of a perfect gentleman. The girl turned around and he got a close up of her face, if he thought she looked nice from behind she was gorgeous up front. her eyes were like diamonds and her lips looked so … soft. He got a strange feeling looking at her, he couldn’t explain it. It was like his heart already knew her - like it craved for her.

The feeling was raw. It felt uncomfortable but a good kind of uncomfortable - like he would imagine getting smothered in a warm blanket of joy and misery would feel. He was being idiotic! He barely knew this poor girl - yet he found himself pressing a kiss onto the back of her hand more quickly than he wanted to admit.

“M-my name is (name) - pleasure to meet your acquaintance, if you don’t mind me asking - what’s your name?”

dazai pulled his mouth away, a smile clawing its way upwards to his lips - it was a crooked little grin. It was genuine though - unlike the other people you would find here.

“Dazai, Osamu Dazai - you probably know me by a few of my titles however, but we don’t have to get into that now that you know my name, doll.”

He didn’t want you to get scared of him or make a judgement of him so easily - for now he was Dazai and not the demon prodigy, Not the youngest port mafia executive. It was weird pretending to be your equal.

“Oh - Okay, it’s lovely to meet you, Dazai.”

The girl chuckled - god, he loved when she said his name. Without contempt or malice. It had some kind of loving undertone when you said it … Maybe it was courtesy but he caught himself hoping it was more.

He read somewhere in a book the main character said something along the lines of,

“Falling in love with her was as easy as falling down a rabbit hole - the hard part was not falling in love. It was like climbing upwards out of a cliff with two broken arms.”

He never did understand how true those words were until now. He never did find himself believing in fairytales but he has always believed in common sense. ‘Come on! He just found out the girls name! He hardly knew her, yet he found himself believing in happy ever afters and a light at the end of the tunnel. And to put his symptoms into perspective - his palms were sweaty, knees weak and arms are heavy.

He never wanted to be head over heels for anyone. He knew life was unfair and he never believed in karma - but now he was counting everything he did to deserve this, deserve her.

“mm … there should be a slow dance soon if you would like to join me for that - if you would like something to drink as well we have some wine and maybe a bit of champagne if I look hard enough.”

dazai said, hoping she would say yes. His world felt so dull. the life around him was always contrived, unempathetic, and cruel. So he became all of those things - hardening himself. Yet, this girl was so kind it made him think that maybe there was a tad more kindness than met the eye. Or met his eye, at least.

“I would love that,Dazai.”

The girl giggled - she seemed so excited to dance with him and drink with him, and just as promised the music from the violins filled the room with their song. Dazai was true to his words, it was slow but it wasn’t boring. He would twirl her around and then when the music stopped … he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned in for a kiss.

It was a soft kiss but it got the message across perfectly fine, and when he pulled away the girl got on her tippy toes to give him another kiss - her fingers finding their way into his hair and his own around her waist.

He was about to ask for her number or something to get closer to her again - maybe to go to her house as his shipping container was a bit crowded and the air a bit stale …

When the clock chimed.

It chimed a total of twelve times, as most of the port mafias social gatherings ran through to the dark hours of the night - the girl however seemed a tad distraught by the sound.

“I….i-im sorry - it was nice meeting you Dazai but I have to go, maybe in another world ..”

no .. no .. no, you were literally slipping through his fingers as you spoke - running away with your glass heels tap-tap-tapping on the marbled ground as the candle light from the chandelier illuminated your dress, as you left the port mafia building he ran after you. He ran and ran until he lost you …

Only leaving a single glass heel.

#This is from my old account @briarscastle #Dazai x reader #dazai osamu #dazai bsd #bungo stray dogs #Osamu dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bsd #Dazai Osamu x reader #osamu Dazai #Spotify

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