#so you can hopefully get a sense of SCALE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yuwuta · 2 days

Note

hi 👋 bsf upstaging bf with choso???

ok i’ve gotten asks for pretty much every other jjk boy on this subject and i want to say something as an overarching theme: all of them ain’t shit. not a single one of them. there’s a scale, some (gojo) are worse than others, but in general, none of them really give a fuck, if that means upstaging, sabotaging, or straight up kicking your boyfriend to the curb so that they can be your boyfriend instead then so be it. but they’re not shit, NONE OF THEM!! but there is a hierarchy and different methods of execution and all that, so here’s where they stand

president and ceo of not being shit: satoru gojo

why would satoru care about your boyfriend? in any and all universes, he is raised in a world where consequences mean nothing to him. so what if he’s a little rude to this guy? so what if he buys you a ridiculously expensive birthday gift that might be seen as romantic? so what if he offers to take you on a vacation that happens to overlap with your boyfriend’s birthday? the worst that will happen to satoru is nothing; the world bends to his whims, never the other way around.

it’s a combination of complete self-confidence + trust in you + getting joy out of bothering people that earns him this number one spot. he’s confident in every sense of the word, so he doesn’t see your boyfriend as a threat. even if satoru didn’t love you romantically, he wouldn’t see a boyfriend as a threat to your friendship either, because he has no doubts in himself—and to the second point, he doesn’t have any in you either: you’ve proven your loyalty to satoru, proven that even when he pisses you off, you still love him, even when you’re dating somebody else, you still make time for him, even when he’s being shitty and stubborn, you don’t kick him to the curb, you just pinch his ear and bring him back down to earth. he’s always chosen you, but you’ve always chosen him, too, so again, what’s to fear when a boyfriend is added to the equation? nothing, because satoru knows this guy can’t earn or replace the loyalty you’ve given him.

and to top it all off, he likes watching your bf grind his teeth. he likes watching this guy have to hold his breath, because what can he say without sounding like an ass—he won’t ask you to tell satoru to fuck off because he hasn’t done anything wrong. treating your best friend to fancy dinners and exotic getaways and designer clothes is just nice when you have money—your bf would be pretty shitty to deny you that. and he’d sound insecure, too. and satoru knows your bf doesn’t have the balls to confront him, and even if he did he’d lose. it’d be embarrassing. so, satoru wins. he always wins. satoru engages in psychological warfare, and he has the physical strength, social power, and financial security to back it up, so he, literally, can never lose. and, sure, having your bf around is annoying, but it’s so much fun to watch other people lose that he lets the guy stick around for a while. you’ll get tired of him and run back to satoru eventually, and he’ll confess this time… hopefully.

vice president: kento nanami

if you expected kento to be lower on this list, think again, because he is just as bad. he’s only second place because he’s not as overt, nor does he wish to actually taunt your boyfriend like satoru would. for kento, you’re just his number one priority. you always have been, ever since you came into his life; it was confusing at first, for him to care so much about you beyond an objective sense of responsibility, but overtime he came to realize that he way he wants to take care of you is different. he doesn’t just want to ensure your comfort and safety physically, he wants to make sure you’re taken care of emotionally, he wants to bear your burdens for you, not just help you through them.

kento is a good friend, a trusted confidant, a reliable person overall, and over the years, he’s inadvertently raised your standards. casual situationships and relationships where you’re not the priority become unappealing when you’ve had someone by your side for so long who’s treated you better than that. if your best friend can buy you flowers, and make reservations at new restaurants, and drive an hour to pick you up in the rain, and cook for you when you’re feeling sick, then why would you tolerate anything less in a romantic partner? these things are the bare minimum to kento, but most other men fall far below average; it’s hard for them to compete where they cannot compare.

so when you do accept a partner, kento is skeptical at best. he knows that what he does for the people in his life isn’t necessarily special, but he doubts that your boyfriend is capable of doing even that—and even if he does meet the standards, he’ll be outclassed anyway. because kento is a good person, but he’ gotten really good at how to be good to you. your boyfriend might get you flowers, but kento already knows your favorites. your boyfriend might send chocolates, but he doesn’t know which ones you’re allergic to, and the brand you prefer; kento does, which is why the ones he bought for you are gone within the week, and the generic box sent over by your boyfriend was re-gifted to satoru. when you voice your doubts about a date your boyfriend mentioned wanting to plan, kento feigns interest, and then innocence when he asks if you’re busy a few days later, if you’d like to help him bake something instead—something he knows you’d much rather do. the short version is—kento knows you, and he uses it to his advantage. he uses the knowledge gained during your friendship to outclass anybody in your dating pool, and he does it so smoothly that it hardly seems intentional or harmful, but it is. which is why he’s just as bad, if not worse, than satoru.

treasurer: megumi fushiguro

there’s actually no au in which megumi isn’t shit because no matter how you square it, he gets it from his daddy. whether he’s raised by just satoru, just toji, or some au where he has them both in his life—the common denominator is that they’re there. if megumi ever did confide in either of them about hating your boyfriend, both satoru and toji would offer the same advice: “can’t you just get rid of him? what’s he got on you?” which is absolutely not how you should parent a child...

megumi might have his doubts about his personality, but he’s never been insecure about his appearance. it’s hard to be when he looks like that, but also when he’s had either toji or satoru (or god forbid, both) in his ear his entire life. he might have some fucked up attachment issues and skepticisms about the general population, but he has a very secure view of himself. so, to start, he’s not impressed by your boyfriend, and is honestly a little offended that you think this guy is objectively more attractive, or that you’re more romantically/sexually attracted to him that you are to megumi—or even, any of your other friends. he’d rather you start dating nobara or yuuji, at least he could live with that because those are pretty people, but your choice in boyfriends… he’s not trying to be mean but you could do better. you’ve done better.

secondly, megumi…. doesn’t care about him. at all. he’s not like satoru in that it brings him happiness to tease your boyfriend, he’s not like kento in that he skews your standards in his favor to nudge your boyfriend out of the picture; megumi literally does not care if this guy lives or dies. your boyfriend could drop dead and megumi would be like damn… that’s crazy… and move on with his life. which is a wild view to have of your best friend’s partner; and it also drives said partner to madness because why the fuck won’t your childhood friend acknowledge his existence?? but again, megumi doesn’t care that his apathy towards your boyfriend bothers him—megumi doesn’t see him, doesn’t know him, doesn’t care to know him, and it drives a wedge in your relationship.

thirdly, megumi is, canonically, a bully to people he doesn’t like. if your boyfriend gets angered enough to the point of confronting megumi, or whining to you, then it’s inconsequential to megumi to hurt him, and he won’t hold back. also on the reverse side, if there was a situation in which your boyfriend was getting hurt or needed help, then megumi is not helping. he’d probably just watch, or join in.

after a while, megumi grows past apathy into exhaustion. he thinks you should do better, he thinks you should know better, he thinks he’s better. and he is. he’ll show you that. (also, he is most likely to try to seduce you into infidelity because he doesn’t care about your boyfriend, so you’re single to him).

first secretary of not giving a fuck: yuuji itadori

jealousy is something that yuuji used to feel guilty about, guilty enough to drive him to confiding in satoru/nanami about his feelings and seeking advice for how to deal with it, because he thought being jealous meant that he was being a bad friend to you. but neither of his mentors are shit, so yuuji learns to adopt the age old mantra: all is far in love and war.

he’s better than satoru in the sense that he doesn’t antagonize your boyfriend, he’s better than kento in the sense that he doesn’t outwardly outclass your boyfriend’s efforts, he’s better than megumi in the sense that he does care about people outside of his immediate circle of friends, and as long as your boyfriend is a human, then yuuji will care about his life; but in all other senses, yuuji is surprisingly neutral, and in some cases, actually worse.

yuuji has two things to his advantage that he absolutely abuses: his likability, and his strength. when it comes to likability, he can just play the friendly, nice guy card. wrapping his arm around your shoulder, twirling you around in a hug, pinching your cheeks, playing with your hair, laying on your lap—he’s just yuuji, he’s just being friendly, he’s just being nice. it’d be pretty shitty of your boyfriend to tell him to be meaner to you, no? ^.^ yuuji is also sneaky with this in that he uses it to say otherwise mean things under the guise of a friendly disguise, and people rarely think otherwise of it. (“it’s fine if you go to the club with us if your bf doesn’t want you to. it’s not like you’re gonna marry him” “are those boxes giving you trouble, man? not surprising, haha!” “you guys didn’t break up yet? aw... i mean... well, no i meant that, but come on, let’s take shots!” all said with a smile that looks like this 😇😇 on his face)

in terms of strength, it’s an unbeatable challenge for your boyfriend—because even if he gets pissed off at yuuji being too close to you, too affectionate with you, too sweet to you, what’s he gonna do? because he certainly can’t beat yuuji in a fight—he couldn’t even beat yuuji in a race, he couldn’t even beat yuuji at mario kart, so there’s nothing for your boyfriend to do but shutup and wallow.

second secretary: yuuta okkotsu

does he need an explanation… does mr. “how rude, this is pure love” need an explanation… does mr. “i will kill itadori yuuji myself” need an explanation… does mr. “i won’t let sensei kill his best friend again, [i’ll do it myself]” need an explanation… hasn’t he already proved himself as the single most loyal and contently insane person on the planet…

once you have yuuta’s loyalty, you have it forever. not even for life, because he’d find a way to transcend space and time to protect you in the next one. even if, for some reason, you didn’t want it anymore, you have it; yuuta’s love is final sale, no exchanges or returns. the only reason he’s not ranked to be worse than megumi or yuuji is because yuuta has one grave disadvantage: he is not normally confrontational, and is the definition of anxious LOL. he’d feel bad if he didn’t make an effort to get to know your boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean he has to like him...

yuuta might know that he has feelings for you, but he’s honestly content with a platonic relationship if that’s how you choose to express it towards him. if you want to be friends, then he’s your friend; your love is that pure and vital to him, that he takes it in whatever form he gets it. he’s desperate for you in a way that has him completely at your whim; he doesn’t need reciprocity to love you, just knowing you, and knowing you accept his love is more than enough. keeping him around as friend, keeping him in your life, keeping him in your mind—that’s all yuuta could truly ever want. so, even when you have a boyfriend, it stings a bit at first, but as long as you still have the same amount of room in your life for yuuta, then he won’t do any harm to this guy.

unless: (a) your boyfriend makes it difficult for yuuta to have access to you, (b) your boyfriend outrightly ticks yuuta off, or (c) the worst option, your boyfriend does something to hurt you or make you sad, then he’s off yuuta’s radar completely. he won’t confront, and he won’t intervene. but if any of those conditions are not met, even for a second, then your boyfriend is as good as gone and there’s little anyone, yourself included, can do to stop him.

honorable board members: choso kamo, toji fushiguro, toge inumaki

everything about choso is on sight. it takes one wrong move, the slightest misstep, even a breath out of place and he will end your relationship and your boyfriend’s life if he has to. choso does not play when it comes to the people he loves, he won’t stand for you being hurt or mistreated in any way. there’s no subtle psychological warfare, there’s no shovel talk, there’s no blame game: choso sees something wrong, and he takes it upon himself to correct it. your partners have one chance to treat you right, or they’ll wish they hadn’t met choso to begin with.

toji doesn’t really chase people, but you have always been the exception. he hates to admit it, but he’ll follow you anywhere you go, not caring for whoever else you decide to bring along. if the journey of your life is a car ride, toji always calls shotgun, and he doesn’t really care who else gets in the backseat, until they ask him to get out of his—then there’s a problem. and he’s never once felt bad about turning some guy into a hitchhiker.

the greater good should be thankful that toge takes a voluntary vow of silence, because if he said even half of the things that were on his mind, the world might, quite literally, be set on fire. toge doesn’t care—not like megumi, him not caring isn’t apathy towards the life or death of other people, he just doesn’t care what reaction his actions pull out of people. you’ve told him it’s annoying when he pinches your cheeks and steals your boba, but that won’t stop him from doing it, esp not when you look so cute when you’re angry. yeah, he knows people get annoyed by his pranks, but that’s whatever. he knows your boyfriend hates when toge’s around you, but he doesn’t care. if it brings toge joy, he’ll do it. honestly, even if it doesn’t bring him joy, he’ll do it because he wants to. he’s not immune to consequences like satoru, he simply doesn’t care about them! he’ll just deal with it, he’s got a high tolerance for it—your boyfriend, however, seems like a weakling, so toge will simply outlast him. he’s outlasted all the others :)

254 notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 8 months

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 2]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick.

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 2

1K notes · View notes

iknityounot · 10 months

Text

Ok, so my last post about the issues of plus sized patterns popped off in a way I did not expect??

I just want to come back and say: making patterns is hard work and especially those who make their patterns free online, it is a LOT of hard work that the designer gets nothing back for. I didn't mean for it to sound like I thought that was an easy thing to do.

But, like a lot of people pointed out in the tags and comments, fashion world has already done the leg work for us. There are size charts and mathematical equations you can do to scale your pieces in such a way that at least matches what you would see in stores. I think, honestly, that this is where the break down is. I think pattern makers take bust/chest measurements, and scale all of their numbers from there, without thinking about their piece as clothing (instead of just a knitting project, if that makes sense).

And I think that's where fat people get left behind. Because our bodies don't scale the way you would scale up a hat or mittens or something. It takes added work and added care to think about fat people and how our bodies look and work (hence why my previous post said "please talk to a fat person"--it's not that we know how to make patterns, but that we can advise what works for our bodies!)

I want to end on a helpful note, if I can:

My favorite pattern maker for plus sized projects is Jacqueline Cieslak!

I have bought a couple of patterns from them, and I have never had the not-for-fat-bodies problems I have had before. They have a handful of different styles, many of which are very customizable. Not to mention that the patterns themselves are VERY thorough. They link to tutorial videos they have made for anything more complicated than a stockinette stitch, and have lots of detailed diagrams showing different measurements for different parts of the project.

Anytime I am making a piece for myself or my other plus sized love ones, I go to Jacqueline first! Hopefully their patterns will help anyone who identified with my previous post find some patterns that work for them!

#plus sized #knitting #knitting patterns #joy knits #text post #Jacqueline Cieslak #my lord and savior #plus sized knitting #knitting while fat

1K notes · View notes

serenefreakgeekao3 · 1 year

Note

Can we get a Jim Halpert x short!gn!reader who is just enamored with how much Taller Jim is than them. Like sometimes when they’re trying to reach up for something he suddenly just lefts them up so they can grab it, or if someone is bothering them he uses his hight to be intimating, and they just swoon. <3

Summary: Being the shortest person at Dunder Mifflin comes with a lot of problems- one namely being your boss, Michael Scott, who thinks he must be the newest and brightest comedian of their century. Spoiler alert: He’s really not. Warnings: short jokes (beware), A/N: So i’ve been called short maybe once or twice, but to be completely honest I’m literally at the ‘average’ mark on the scale so i’m just here, existing in neither shortness nor tallness. However, i’ve always heard the ‘short jokes’ are unending so I figured I’d base it on that? Sorry i know they’re annoying, but hopefully Jim’s sweetness makes up for it

“Aha! There they are!” Michael calls out just as you enter, and you feel a deep sense of regret begin billowing into your stomach. “Winner of the shortest person award!” Michael’s laughter was boisterous, making you want to cringe away from him and just make it to your desk. Just make it there, at the very least. You did literally just walk into work, you haven’t even set your briefcase down yet. Michael thankfully jumps away from you, approaching accounting. “I’m surprised you’re not starting a real cat fight Angela, with how Y/N over there stole your special office title!”

“My official title is ‘Accountant,’ Michael,” Angela reminds him in a wary voice, huffing her displeasure at being spoken to. Michael just laughs and begins shrugging his shoulder against Angela’s own as if they shared a common joke. Angela just looks on in disgust as Michael continues on.

“Catfight, get it? ‘Cause you’re the cat lady!” Angela only scoffs and Michael continues his boisterous laugh, turning and making his way back to his office.

“Michael, don’t forget,” Pam calls out behind you as you place your bag onto your desk, the solo desk in the Quality Assurance position at Dunder Mifflin. You turn to watch this interaction, Pam looking frustrated as she shakes a wad of papers at the man. “You have that appointment with corporate in-”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t have Pam, god!” Michael pushes the wad of papers away and storms into his office, and you still can’t for the life of you figure out how Michael can switch between emotions so quickly. Your eyes scan the room- mostly the sales department- and wonder about where half of the team had wandered off to. Stanley remained sitting at his desk, but it seemed as if the rest of them had disappeared. You hear a quick ‘Psst!’ and turn to lock eyes with Pam, making your way over at a wave from her.

“Michael came out here before you got here, said something about a massive sale that he needed all of his sales associates to go on.” Pam stage-whispered over to you, and you nod along slowly.

“Ah, that makes sense-”

“So, yeah, that’s where Jim is.”

“Pam-” You start, looking around nervously before skirting around her desk to see her more eye-to-eye without having to stand on your toes. “Shush up! I told you that in confidence!” You watch Pam giggle, placing a hand to her mouth as she does.

“Oh I know,” Pam nods with wide eyes, leaning against her desk faux-casually as she watches you. “Just like Jim told me in confidence that-”

“What’s a couple of short stacks doing back behind this huge desk?” Jim’s voice emanates suddenly from behind you and you jump, turning with wide eyes toward him. He seems to be locking eyes with Pam, who giggles once more with her hand covering her mouth. You couldn’t quite translate Jim’s look to her, but it held some sort of meaning you were sure.

“Oh! Hey Jim! I thought you had that sales thing?” Jim raises an eyebrow toward you, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“I did but then I coughed at Dwight and got out of it. Figured they had enough people as is- but the real question here is: How did you know about the sales call? You weren’t in here when Michael announced it.”

“Watching for me, Jim?” You tease, circling the desk and making your way back to your own. Jim quickly skirted around the desk, following behind you.

“Well, yeah, obviously. You’re so tiny I have to know where you are so I don’t trip over you.” You groan at yet another short joke, rolling your eyes and turning to look at him with an unimpressed look. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Pam told me where you- where all the sales associates went.”

“Asking after me, Y/L/N?” You scoff loudly, turning to lean yourself against your desk, crossing your arms up at Jim.

“Pam volunteered the information, thank you very much.” You look up into Jim’s eyes and can’t help but feel shrouded by his form. He takes another step closer, pushing you over slightly to lean against your desk himself, and hunching toward you whether he realized it or not. He acted as a sort of shield from the rest of the office, which some days you definitely felt like you needed.

“And why would Pam do something like that?” Jim’s voice was quieter like he was accounting for the new distance- or lack thereof. You stare into his hazel eyes, swallowing roughly. You couldn’t help but feel safe in the shield of comfort that he provided.

“Perhaps because half of the room’s occupants were not seated at their usual desks, which is a rather odd occurrence for a day at work.” You turn, grabbing a random handful of papers and tapping them on your desk. “Speaking of, isn’t that something you should be doing?” Jim laughs, pushing himself to stand from your desk before turning and saluting at you, walking backwards back to his own desk.

“Touche, Y/N!”

“Watch where you’re going!” You didn’t mean to sound too worried as you called it out, but Jim just chuckled, shrugging toward you.

“Why? I’m already keeping my eye on one safety hazard.”

“Yes, because I’m so short, ha ha.”

Coffee.

That’s what you needed today was coffee. Perhaps multiple cups to get through this shitshow of a day. After Michael’s brilliant start to the day with the short jokes, it seemed he had retired to his room solely to come up with more jokes to torture you with. You weren’t sure why it was your turn to take all of Michael’s attention, but you were ready to throw in the towel and leave early for the day already. You could just start over tomorrow morning, no harm no foul! Except then Michael would cry because he didn’t think you liked his jokes- which you don’t- and then you’d have to deal with consoling him for a solid hour before he eventually yelled that he didn’t need pity, and you would respond that it’s not pity- which it was- and spend another hour consoling him of that as well. You would know- it’s happened before.

And now you didn’t even have Jim around to curb the jokes or turn them into something that was actually funny. After your play-fight with Jim, he was then swiped away by Stanley- who apparently was the last one of the sales associates left only because he had his own sales call to go on. He had begged Jim to tag along, and of course the man agreed considering how nice he is. What wasn’t nice was leaving you alone with Michael when- well, just ever really. So if you look at it that way, it really all was Jim’s fault. Stupid Jim.

You shook your head, waking yourself from your daydream as you stared at the coffee pot, urging it to brew faster. It was already filled with half a pot, and you knew technically you should wait for the full pot to brew before pouring any but you really needed caffeine in your life immediately. You wandered over to the drainer by the sink to grab a cup, then hesitated as you realized there were no cups laying there. There were no dishes at all, actually, indicating someone actually came in here and took the time to put the dishes away. That’d normally be a good and nice thing, aside from the fact that you were too short to reach the cabinets above the counter where the mugs were all stored. Sighing, you turn to look for the step stool you usually keep around. (Technically it was the office’s step stool, but you were the only one that ever had to use it.)

It wasn’t where you left it, over to the side of the counter and next to the table. Looking around the room, you couldn’t spot it still. You checked the bathroom, thinking maybe it was in there- there had been a time or two it was moved in there either for use or for storage- but you couldn’t find it there either. You didn’t bother to check the other bathroom, just huffing to yourself and placing your hands on your hips. Glaring upward at the cabinets above the sink, you will the doors to open and a cup to float down by itself. Then when that didn’t work, you got to work trying to stand on your toes and reach up. The handle to the door was just out of your reach, but you should be able to swipe it open, maybe-

You startled at a large hand intercepting your own, swiping you out of the way and opening the door. You set yourself off of your tip-toes, flat-footed now only to turn and notice Jim pressing you in close to the kitchen counter as he reaches above you. He pulls down a mug- your favourite mug, no less- and places it on the counter beside you. You were able to turn around in place, but Jim only places his hands on the counter to either side of you, blocking you in.

“You should ask for help next time,” Jim whispers down to you, and looking up into his hazel eyes has your heart doing funny things. Maybe it’s the crush you have, maybe you’ve just developed some sort of heart-stuttering problem that you’d need to get checked out, but with Jim’s proximity, you couldn’t really think straight to debate either at the moment. You bit your lip, glancing at your cup and back up to him before finally finding your voice.

“I had that perfectly fine-”

“You couldn’t even reach the door, Y/L/N.”

“Well, I’ll have you know I was trying to get two cups, so,” You were just about to turn when Jim lifted his gaze finally. You felt like you could finally breathe- for the one whole second it took for Jim to lean forward into your space to reach above your head. He pulled down another mug to set on the counter, and you pull in a deep breath full of his scent that only serves to make you dizzier. You lift your gaze to him again, shaking your head. “No, I just meant-”

“What, three cups?”

“Maybe,” You mumble out, turning to face the kitchen counter again. You reach up to try your own hand- you would not be two-upped by him- and it’s an even worse predicament than before. At least with the door handle you had even a chance, and right now you couldn’t even reach to touch the bottom of the cupboard. Attempting to stretch yourself further, already on your tip-toes, you were just about to give up when you felt two large hands grab right under your armpits. They heave you up, and suddenly you’re at a height that you’d never really seen this room at before. Quickly reaching forward, you take two more mugs into your hands before the hands slowly set you back down on your feet.

‘Holy hells, how strong is he?’ You think to yourself, turning to lift your gaze back up to Jim. He was smiling, likely on the verge of laughter, though he had yet to. You could feel your face heating up and knew that blush was lighting up your face. What were you supposed to do now? Jim just picked you up, how do you move on from that?

“Four cups?” Jim questions you as he reaches forward to one of the new ones you had grabbed, taking it from your hand to turn it over in his own. He probably chose to grab that one as it was the one you had seen him use the most often, you figured it might be his favourite. You hoped so at least, considering he was able to grab your favourite after just one try.

“Three,” You admit quietly, turning to watch the last of the coffee brew into the pot, “I grabbed an extra in case you wanted some.” Jim’s head shot up to look at you, and you tilted your head in confusion at the reaction. His eyes were wide, and if you didn’t know any better you would’ve said a slight blush was lighting up his own cheeks now. But why would offering him a cup of coffee make him embarrassed? “That’s only if you want some, of course.”

“I do!” He insisted, placing the cup down and spinning it slowly with one hand, staring at you the entire time. You got a little squirmy, reaching out to heft the large coffee pot and begin pouring it into your three cups. “Did you-” You glance briefly up at Jim- who was biting his lip by the gods is he trying to kill you?- before looking quickly back at your task so as to not spill any coffee. “Did you know this was my favourite cup?”

“Yeah,” You replied easily, watching his fingers stop spinning the cup right as you answer. “That’s why I grabbed that one.” You motion the pot over to his cup, watching him jump slightly before sliding his cup over toward you. You pour the coffee before replacing the pot back where it goes. You begin the process of adding sugar and creamer to the cups, sighing softly.

“So, why three cups? You being generous to someone else out there?”

“Nope,” You pop your mouth on the word, smirking up toward Jim before resuming your objective. “I just figured that the minimum amount of coffee I need to complete this day would be three cups, so I’m planning accordingly.” You hear Jim chuckle, smiling softly to yourself and beginning to add the sugar and creamer to Jim’s own- less than you like in yours, but that’s how he normally took it.

“Is that right? Did something happen that’s exhausting you today?”

“Just Michael and his dumb short jokes.”

“Ah,” Jim breathes out, leaning his hip against the counter and looking over his shoulder toward Michael’s office. “Did he do the old ‘appreciate the little things’ one?”

“Followed by a big hug, yep,” You sigh, taking one of the cups and scalding your mouth to take a drink of it. “Had to practically push him off of me.”

“And the miniature golf one?”

“‘Do you just call it regular golf?’” You repeat Michael’s joke from earlier, deepening your voice to mock him. Sighing, you take another large gulp and wince at the temperature. Jim reaches forward, seemingly unconsciously, and slowly lowers your cup to the counter, pushing it away from you. You wonder if he realized you were burning your tongue on it.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Sounds like a rough day if he’s going all out.”

“Oh, absolutely. He also tried out a new one! ‘Sometimes when I look at short people, I wonder if they’re able to reach their goals!’” You turn at this, huffing out an aggravated breath. You had meant to tell this one as a joke, but just as it had hit you off guard before, it was hitting you again. You tried to keep from tearing up, but really- who wanted to work as Quality Assurance for a paper company? Obviously, you haven’t been able to reach your goals and Michael just unwittingly mocked you for that.

“Hey, hey,” Jim began, reaching an arm out to place against your upper arm, noticing how fragile you suddenly became. “That was uncalled for,” Jim agreed, stepping closer to you to tower over you once more, “I’m sure Michael didn’t mean for it to be that bad, he’s just trying to think up different short puns.” He patted your arm, squeezing it once before continuing, “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to go to his office to look them up. I bet he didn’t even come up with it on his own.”

You laugh blearily, raising a hand to wipe away a tear that had yet to fall, but almost did. Jim began rubbing your arm up and down, and you lifted your coffee cup once more to take a big gulp. You hear the door to the room open, hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.

“Oh, there you are!” You hold back a groan at the sound of Michael’s voice, closing your eyes to try and rein in your feelings. “Hey, I have a good one! What do you call it when a short person says goodbye?” You can hear Michael’s excitement behind you, and while normally you’d feel bad for ruining that sort of happiness, you just really weren’t in the mood for it right now. “Y/N, hey! What do you call it when you say goodbye!” He taps on your shoulder, and you finally turn to look at him with your eyebrows raised.

“Michael,” Jim tries to inject, raising a hand between the two of you. Michael, too excited to stop, jumps up and down before he finally bursts out laughing, his words jumbled and almost unrecognizable.

“A microwave! Get it! Micro!” He laughs again, and you try to find any semblance of care to keep this job, anything to get you to smile at Michael and move on like you usually do. That’s when Jim steps in front of you, moving closer to Michael. You gulp, his whole body blocking your boss from you, and you slowly realize that Jim was backing Michael up to the wall, towering over him very specifically.

“What about me, Michael?” Jim takes another step forward, Michael stumbling on a backwards step. “Have any tall jokes for me?”

“But, tall jokes-”

“Michael,” Jim’s voice lowered, and while you couldn’t see his face you could almost hear how serious it must’ve looked. Michael scurries out from next to Jim, hurrying over to the door. He clears his throat, throwing an undisguised fearful look toward Jim before straightening his suit coat and turning to leave the room.

There was something about that- maybe Jim using his height for you or even defending you from someone you were obviously having problems with- that made you suck in a breath. You knew you were blushing before, but your face felt like an inferno now. As Jim turns to look at you with an apprehensive look, you didn’t know what your own face was projecting at this point. All you kept thinking was that scene, Jim towering over Michael and chasing him away. Jim and his big body and big hands and-

A hand was being waved in your face and you jumped, widening your eyes further and drawing your gaze upward to meet with Jim. He was smiling, laughing it seemed, and finally crossed his arms. “I seemed to lose you there for a second, you alright?”

“Yeah- yes, I’m fine.” You could hear the breathless tone to your voice and cursed inwardly, turning to quickly grab your cup of coffee and drain the rest of what was in the cup. Jim raised his eyebrows at this, laughing again as you place your mug into the sink and grab the second one.

“No, but really, are you okay? Michael has some pretty shitty timing.” Timing, right. You were talking to him about something. What were you talking about? You met Jim’s gaze again and took another drink, hoping to buy time. He only laughs, reaching for his own cup and mirroring you, taking his own sip. His eyes dart briefly down to his cup before raising back to you, something in him softening at the taste.

“I’m fine. Really. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Of course,” Jim answers right away, smiling and holding his mug close to his chest. “If only I had been here the rest of the day, I would’ve been able to help out before it got too bad.”

“You know,” You were surprised you finally were able to find your voice, taking another drink from your coffee just to keep him in suspense. “I’m now wondering if he ran to his office to start looking up tall jokes now.” Jim groaned playfully, rolling his eyes and leaning a hip against the counter. “‘How’s the weather up there?’ And whatnot, you know?”

“Oh, I know, “ Jim insists, causing you to bubble up with laughter once more. “I think his most recent one was, ‘What’s the difference between a clown and a tall person?’” You raise your eyebrows, taking a drink from your coffee. He smirks, continuing on, “Their shoe store.” You huff a smile laugh, shaking your head.

“That’s horrible.”

“I didn’t mind it that much,” Jim replies with a shrug, watching your face. You wonder why you’re being scrutinized so closely, until he finishes his sentence, “I mean, you know what they say about big feet.” You choke on your coffee, turning and coughing away from Jim. Your eyes were wide, running that sentence through your head. You could swear that you’ve never blushed this often in your entire life, and yet your face heats up once more to its familiar warmth and you aren’t sure what you’re supposed to do with your hands. Placing your now empty second mug into the sink, you take hold of your last one and fake salute toward Jim.

“Alright! And with that, I am off!” You hear Jim laughing loudly behind you, shaking your head and pressing the back of your hand to your cheek. You turn and call back into the room, “To do work! Like we’re supposed to be doing!” The door closes on Jim’s laughter, and you hurry to make it back to your desk. No one seems bothered by your commotion aside from Pam, who just looks at you with a smile and a head tilt. You just shake your head in response, finding refuge at your desk.

“So, drinks tonight?”

“Yeah, drinks sound great!”

“Are we going to-”

“Of course!”

“Hey, Y/N!” You turn your head at your name, eyeing the group of coworkers congregating at the glass doors as they all take turns putting on their jackets. It was Phyllis who called your name, and you tried to turn your brain back on enough to pay attention. After all, work is over now, you shouldn’t need to use your brain anymore. That just sounded exhausting.

“Yeah?”

“Are you coming?” At that you tilt your head, and Phyllis smiles at you kindly, “Everyone is going out for drinks.”

“Oh,” You consider it, looking at the group of them before nodding, your smile growing. “Sure! That sounds fun!”

“Nope!” You jump at the loud sound of Michael’s voice, turning to look at him with wide eyes. He approaches you and hunches down to look you in the eye- completely unnecessarily. “You can’t come!” He stands again, holding a hand above your head, “You must be this tall to ride this ride! Sorry, gotta be this tall to have a drink with the lads!” He laughs loudly, turning to usher everyone out of the building. You stand there gaping, then turn to look at Phyllis, who in turn looked horrified.

“Oh, Y/N, that was-” She huffs, “You’re still allowed to come you know.”

“No, that’s okay Phyllis,” You began, sighing and glaring at the back of Michael’s head. “I don’t think I’d have much fun with him around anyway.”

“Well, since you’re free,” You startle again, huffing when you turn around and come face-to-face with Jim. Well, face-to-chest, but you’re not here to make fun of your own height.

“Jim! You scared me.” You playfully glare at him, finishing up packing up your desk. Phyllis, unnoticed, smiled at the two of you before leaving.

“As I was saying,” Jim continues, circling around to stand right next to you. You raise your eyes to him once more, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. When he takes your hand, your eyebrow immediately falls, and you drop your gaze to look at the sight of his fingers mixing with yours. “Since you’re free tonight, maybe we could go get a drink ourselves?” You raise your surprised gaze to Jim, unsure what to say as he finally continues in a lowered and deeper voice, “Just us?”

“Jim,” You begin, his name more of an exhale than really spoken, “What are you- like a date?”

“I know our size difference is so vast,” Jim playfully insists, pulling your hand twice with his own before tangling your fingers together, “But somehow I think we can push past it.”

“So, a-”

“Yes, a date,” Jim clears up with a laugh, reaching his other hand to place against your cheek. “I promise I won’t take you to a giant’s bar.” You laugh, shaking your head.

“I better be able to fit on the stools.” His smile widens, using your hands to pull you in closer.

“Is that a-”

“That’s a yes, yeah,” You agreed easily, attempting to stand on your toes to reach up toward him. Luckily, at the same moment, Jim leaned down and your lips finally met. Jim’s hand slides from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you in closer and you couldn’t help but melt against him. When your kiss finally breaks and he straightens back up, you pout up at him. He chuckles, shaking his head with a soft look.

“A kiss like that and all I get is a pout? I must be off my game.” You laugh, playfully hitting his chest before huffing.

“Not that, the kiss was amazing. It’s just,” You playfully glare up at him, taking hold of his tie, “You’re too tall. I can’t just surprise you with a kiss, you have to lean all the way down here just for it to happen!” Jim laughs, sliding his head from the back of your head down to your back while you spoke and pulling you in closer.

“Well, that just sounds like quitters talk.”

“You’re on then, Halpert.” So, maybe today wasn’t the worst day.

#jim halpert x reader #jim halpert x you #jim halpert #the office #fanfiction #gender neutral reader #short reader #michael scott #pam beesly

1K notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 3 months

Text

Chapter One: The Awakening

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.2)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: Surrounded by darkness- you rest waiting for a hand to pull out out of its depths. From your last breaths, much time has passed and perspectives have changed. Even if you were to return, would people even want you to?

Warnings: 4662 words, mentions of violence and mental health, possible gore and death.

A/N: Still getting into characterization of these characters, apologies if things appear slightly off for one reason or another :)

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

Hushed voices swirled around the darkness, you did not know if your eyes were open or closed within this space nor did you know if these sounds were from a distant memory or present- wherever that would be when you awakened… when you hopefully awakened.

You could not panic in this space, you could not hear yourself breathe in the stale air. Its coolness flooded your lungs as a shock of your heart echoed with its beat when a hand appeared in front of you, gloved in white. You hovered your own above the outstretched palm, you could not understand a word they spoke as their fingers flickered in the depths.

You placed your hand cautiously into their own, one finger at a time before the gloved hand latched on with a vicious grip. Their hand shook as your atmosphere started to rain golden coins in the shadows. You felt another hand being brought to your neck, forcing you to look upwards to the thousands of coins falling around you, clashing like swords against one another yet falling endlessly. They did not echo, only chime as the voice began to hum, their grip loosened as a coin was headed straight between your eyes- it was all you could focus on.

You breathe heavily as you thrash out of their grip, they allow you to easily as their hands blend back into the black depths once more. You look back up now, the coin is only seconds away, growing in scale- encompassing every part of your mind as you try and leave. You are desperate for escape, you imagine yourself running in the void, you plead into the space before being overwhelmed with the sense of falling.

Your eyes open up to the familiar red skies, you look around hopelessly for the golden circle about to seal your fate but only smog filled clouds drift-by peacefully. Looking around Hell once more has you crying out in happiness before being overcome with disbelief. How were you back? Why were you so happy to be back?- Blue skies were only so far away and yet the tearfilled eyes and fluttering ends to your smile could only mean one thing, whatever- whoever had allowed you a second chance had somehow known that above all else, you wished to be back here with the people you loved.

But those thoughts were of secondary matter as you looked around the forested area, the area silent beside the trees drifting by in the growlingly harsh winds coming from the east. You struggle to stand, roots encompass your form as you wiggle out from underneath them. The wood groans from your struggle as you summon your claws forward, slicing through the material with ease. You lean against the tree’s trunk for support, your legs wobbling like a sailor returning home from the sea.

Your neck cracks as you let out a yelp from the static pain, rushing to massage the muscle as you take your first steps forward. You shiver from the breeze, gripping your white military jacket closer to your form as you follow the sun forwards and out of the woods. Your eyes go wide when the first semblance of neon lights gleam brightly in your face- showcasing crude language as a scantily dressed demon shoves you aside and into the road with a laugh. A car swerves around your form as you curse out- matching the signs choice in language as said car drives itself into a building just down the road and a fire warms your backside.

Various demons and creatures alike watch as you stumble through the cityscape and decide to take a moment in a nearby alleyway. Various rats greet you with their sharp yellow teeth before scurrying back off into the sewers below. You choke back the smell of utter shit wafting up through the drains as you process your surroundings. Time had definitely passed from when you first entered the void and you were clueless as to when you had ended up in.

You hear as hundreds of footsteps walk past your position as you try and pick up on their conversations, “mickeys got a special at the club tonight- always a good show that rat is.” “Rozrid overdosed an hour back, that fucker took the last of my stash.” “some princess they are, little bitch has worse vocals than that guy I fucked yesterday. All that preaching and hopeful shite- someone ought to teach her a lesson.”

Princess… The word echoes through your mind, tracing through every bit of your memory. PRINCESS! You shriek into the alleyway before rushing out and back onto the crowded streets. You feel each stain of dried blood on the sidewalks as you run towards what you hope to be downtown- you need to get into the inner circle. You needed to see if your work had paid off as that one passerby stated for yourself, you do not feel the tears drip down your cheeks as you throw each person aside in your path of havoc. A sign pointed towards a railway station as you dashed to the sounds of the steam engine screaming out. The train is about to leave as you leap onto the back cart door and fumble your way inside.

The sole of your left boot is now completely missing as a leftover fork stabs into your skin. Various suits and gowns stare at you in disbelief. A few rise to a fight, thinking you to be a demon playing a dangerous game with their hearts as others join your tears in joy. You shake off their stare, picking up a knife before ushering it to enlarge. The spear now being tipped down an aggressive tophat's Adam's apple before you throw them out the window, their comedic scream echoing against the side of the tunnel before a splat of their corpse as the train runs over their corpse. A woman stands, her parasol being flaunted like a foil moves sharply to stab you, sidestepping it and crashing into a table, you rip the cloth from its surface, casting it in flames before throwing it to her skin that melts with agony.

You continue walking forwards before looking over your shoulder to address the crowd, “will there be anyone else wanting to play with the Right-Hand?” Silence is their answer as you hum out in approval, unlocking the next door and entering the subsequent cart. You look into the various suites before finding an empty one at the end of the cart. The door slips open with a wave of your power before locking behind yourself. Leaning against the door, your heart pounds heavily in your skull as an overpowering of new information brings on yet another headache.

You wish nothing more to be back in the void now while staring into your appearance through the black mirror. Your reflection is only dim- perhaps the mirror is mocking your lack of looks currently as you run a hand through the top of your hair, cringing at the dried-blood clumps that stop your fingers from progressing any further.

Turning back around you enter the small bathroom, turning the skin on as you pick through your locks before having to cut various lumps out that are not worth the pain. The towel you use to whip your face turns from white to brown as you summon a fire in your palm to eliminate the cloth's existence. You wash your fingernails clean and extend your claws outward, picking out the flesh clumps and bark from underneath, humming to yourself while sitting on the toilet seat.

The train rocks sharply, making a harsh turn in a split moment as your face meets the corner of the sink and your right eye swells, almost closing. Cursing into the small bathroom, you strip yourself of your coat and clothing before soaking them in a freshly filled skin. You enter the bedroom space in the meanwhile, still humming a classic tune of your time while looking for supplies to fix your boots. The dresser houses the original room's occupants gear as you smirk at their taste in undergarments- how scandalous they appear in contemporary times it appears.

You stumble across a sewing kit just under the lacy garments as you throw your shoes off and get to work, a knock at the door startles your moment of peace as you curse out before snapping your fingers, the shadows of your usual magic flicker, as an ash like substance falls to the floor. You try a few more times as the door handle jiggles before a do not disturb sign now sings into place on the external door handle and you await for the sounds of the cleaning cart to carry past.

Shaking your hand, your powers still need time to awake to full use and by the grumble of your stomach, they would not be healing anytime soon. You deeply missed the palace’s food in a time like this, fresh and otherworldly fruits summoned by the King just for you. Your favorite dish? Finely prepared by lunchtime with strict preparation orders, and what of dinner? Why- you always share that time in the gardens with the royal couple- chatting happily amongst one another. A bittersweet smile finds a home against your features as you continue connecting the leather back to the sole before putting the boot up to your face, admiring your handiwork and settling your foot back into its reassuring squeeze.

Looking out the window as the sun kisses your features, you watch as thousands of buildings pass-you-by, blurring together with the speed. An announcement chimes through the stereo as you lean against the headboard, eyes closing to the gentle rocks of the cabin. “May I have your attention passengers, this train will be making all stops to the inner circle over the next two days. Tomorrow morning we will dismount for a refueling before continuing- have a pleasant afternoon passengers,” the announcer flashes before the line goes silent once more.

Next to the radio sits a box with various coloured buttons on its surface. You pick up the strange object with curiosity, never had you seen such technology so openly available. The palace always believed in the traditional forms of accounting, books, records, and maps- how your heart ached to be inside your office one more, to complete your studies and report back to the court the morning after. You did not know if any of the servants or council members would remember you now nor if the royals even did. Shaking your head, too much time has passed- I would only be causing a disturbance to the new routines enforced, you think to yourself before snapping your clothes dry and pressing them against your form and snuggling underneath the covers. The weird box would have to await for another day.

Your mission objective was to find the princess, see that you could retire that past-self, the one known to be dead- better dead. You shake in your sleep as you find yourself back to that announcement day. The joyous laughter erupting from the back of your throat at the feeling of the demon lord gasping for air, pushing up against your shadows as they tighten, the blood of the fallen soaking through every garment you wore as the sky rained arrows and spears alike. The silver glowing eerily a sea of blood encompassed the field. But just as your grip lessens, you feel that nauseous feeling overcoming your laughter, that blade cutting through your skin, slicing your core ever-so elegantly as you reeling in pain as you kick widely, mouth gasping, hands praying to the red skies you created.

You hear as they laugh in your face before the world goes back. You are drifting through a dreamless state, your breaths echo evenly in the empty space before that white-gloved hand emerges once more, extending itself outwards to you. Learning back the hand only follows you with ease, floating just over your own, just asking to touch your own once more. You shake your head, pleading to awaken, hoping that the awakening you had earlier was not just the continuation of this nightmare on the other side…

You gasp yourself awake, the sweat dripping down your back as you throw off the covers. You feel from your feet all the way up to your head- you were still yourself. Looking up into the back mirror just in front of you, your face glows with newfound life as you gasp in surprise. Not a single cut, scrape, or bruise littered against your complexion. You shiver in confusion, reaching to grab your tailored coat from the nearby armchair.

Looking out the train window, the modernized outlines of a large city bustle on the horizon. You squint your eyes, trying to pick up on the sign just in the distance, in a fit of barely-visible text you make out the words, Welcome to the Pride Ring: Pentagram City 50 lives away.

But just before you can jump up and celebrate to your adventures start, the radio by your bedside table crackles violently as the various nods fly off and post holes in the walls. Maroon waves flood from the speaker- only growing with sound as a shadow creeps out from between the emerging cracks as the device shatters into two and out pops what you could assume to be the radio demon himself.

His yellow teeth make you cringe as they point nearest to your cheeks as he lends forward and takes in your appearance. The colour of their sharp points reminds you of those coins that plague your sleep as a red-leather hand extends its way towards your own. Without even moving he picks your hand, giving it a quick three shakes before dropping it swiftly and leaning against his cane.

“Why hello, deer! Someone has decided to awaken from their… beauty sleep it seems,” the overlord teases as their voice crackles slightly at the end. You only roll your eyes as the air comes to a halt in the room as a screech can be heard as their nails dig into a nearby wall.

“Now you see- I am at a crossroads dear-General. On one hand I could return you to the King- maybe a bit roughed up- a good spar we could have here- just outstanding work you made of that couple earlier- BRAVO!” a series of cheers and claps emerge into the space that have you rolling your shoulders back and twisting your fingers, preparing for an attack.

“But- I see that you are eager to draw blood, I do adore that quality of yours- just like old times no?- A scrape here, a scar there- all in good fun, but nevertheless where would the fun be in those few moments of thanks, a favour to be paid in future then I would be ushered back out?” He tisks while twirling his microphone, dispatching his nails from the wall as he passes up and down the small hallway, “I think I will go with the second decision- yes. You will join me to Hazbin Hotel-”

“And why in the every-living fuck would I do that radio-tower?” you question back, summoning a small portal behind yourself to gather a specialmade weapon, it cries for blood in its long rest as you hold it back in wait- watching as the deer-man’s head cracks at a ninety-degree angle. Eyes swirling with malice before cocking his head back with uproarious laughter, small music notes appear like pollen in the air around his head- swirling like a hurricane before he gathers himself once more, bending forward to stare deeply into your eyes.

“You would because you wish to see the Princess of Hell- do you not? I heard your sleep filled murmurs through the wire- you have nothing to hide~” he sings songs before extending his hand once more as a portal opens behind himself, a grand foyer stills in the background as smaller figures look through from the otherside curiously.

Your eyes flash before and behind him as you debate your options, to stab or not to stab? “What is in it for you, Alastor?” you question, raising a brow alongside your blade- purposely not cutting into his skin yet applying enough pressure to feel as he glumps from underneath the angelic blade.

“What is not in it for me- deer? I get to watch the father of hell himself one day realise you had returned and in doing so, decided to stay with me instead of reporting back to him for whatever little reasons your mind comes up with,” he adds with an erie-cherrie tone that has you cringing up your spine before motioning him through the portal with a tilt of your blade. His hands go up as an even wider smile coats his features, he turns around- coat tails flapping with the actions as he allows you to enter first, closing the doorway behind you both.

You look around the Hazbin Hotel with great interest before a dull ring echoes in your head, you feel yourself falling backwards and against a sofa. The blush yet stained fabric groans over your collapse as you lean forward, clasping your head in your hands- a silent scream escapes between your lips as you become trapped in a distant memory, locked in earlier times.

Queen Lilith stood beside you as she walked alongside your dedicated steps, you were monitoring the perimeter of the palace walls as she got you caught up on the various court meetings you missed that afternoon and the new idea she had, “There must be another way, Lucifer believes otherwise yet the killings- they cannot go on forever as they are merely a plaster to a larger crack in the system of death. There must be some way to get those who have fallen off the beaten path back on track- returned to heaven's pearly gates…”

The Queen continues to describe her idea to you as your attention becomes divided, half-listening to her latest idea while also looking into the surrounding forest for a potential attack that you scouted while in town earlier. A group of thugs at the tavern were plotting to overthrow the couple- you would not allow that to happen of course.

A few finger emergence in the blink of an eye as Lilith goes through shock- so lost in your soothing presence and her ideas that she stumbles back as you shove her aside, summoning your armour as you jump upwards- casting your sword through their bodies in a line before dropping to your knees in front of the King who had just arrived. You slam your helmet off, awaiting for the next orders, only squeaking your eyes open to watch as Lilith slaughters the rest with a mere click of her fingers.

“Now back to where we were, what do you think of it dearest friend? Do you believe it to be possible- probable even?” Lilith asks while cleaning her nails as Lucifer checks his wife over from the attack. You rest against the ground still, holding your helmet between your hands, “Possible is never the question- my Queen. You are only the most powerful beings in Hell- there is little not possible yet probable is at a minimum. Heaven is dead ears to any semblance of change…” you scoff while rolling your shoulders back, “...trust me in saying that- they will never listen- not even to the truth, as I am sure you both already know.”

A silence overtakes the woods as the smell of rotting corpses as you try your best to keep dinner town. The King raises his hand, motioning you to stand yet just as you begin, he takes your hand in his own- helping you up the rest of the way before offering an arm to his Queen as you follow in their shadows.

When you emerge back in the hotel, you are still at the dozen or so pairs of eyes staring at you- analyzing your every move. You feel a static presence behind your neck, your hairs raise- it could only be Alastor. “Now, esteemed guests of the hotel and royalty alike,” your breath hitches as you look over each person of the crowd- eyes going wide when red eyes and golden hair grace your vision. “May we please extend our warmest welcomes to the oldest soul in the room, the confidant, historian and general of the seven rings of hell.”

“Alastor,” You growl out with utmost annoyance, watching as horror takes over the supposed Princesses face before you even got to make a personal introduction. You soon realise your position as eons of service create your actions as you fall onto your knees before the royal, offering your hands as you state, “It is with great honour I get to be in your presence, Princess of Hell. It fills me with utmost pride and sincerity when stating that the sacrifices I have made have amounted to your life- my only plea would be to have met you sooner. Seen you grow by your parents' side but know that I am now your blade, an extension of mind and keeper of souls for as long as you see fit.”

Charlie stands before you in shock, looking to Vaggie for assistance who’s sole attention is staring at the blade on your back- wondering if this was really you or someone imposing to attack. Angel Dust stands to the side, leaning against the bar while whispering over to Husk, “So… who is this person?” their hands wave over to your general direction as they sip down the rest of their glass. Husk rolls his shoulders and shakes his head, “Are you deaf- or just plain stupid? Did you not hear Alastor's speech?- they are practically the Right-Hand to all of Hell and should be dead.”

“Dead?” the spider questions back, “they sure look alive to me- more than alive, think they would fuck me?” Husk chokes on his drink and does not even bother to answer the question, only watching as Angel Dust walks his way over to stand beside Charlie and takes a closer look.

Charlie appears to snap back to reality, her cheerie personality falling instantly as she takes a deep breath, “If you are really who you say you are- prove it to me and then we can talk more.” You only nod once, starting to prepare yourself for a summon as Vaggie snaps her eyes away, looking towards her girlfriend with concern, “Everything alright?- I’ve never seen you like this before, is there something I should know? What did they do to you?”

“More like all the things I wouldn’t care if they did to me,” Angel Dust comments as Vaggie flips him a quick finger in return. “You will find out just as I do,” Charlie states in a cold tone, she could not believe the person who helped to create everything she made this hotel to combat against, made her parents split, and the person she ever-so desperately wanted a chance to meet as a child- studying their craft, could quite possibly be before herself.

You stand as everyone besides Alastor takes a step back, the Radio Demon leans forward with utmost intrigue pursuing his actions as you float slightly off the ground. You take the finest sliver of your blessing from the royal couple, a golden strand weaving its way around your fingers like a snake in grass that makes your shadows cower away. You toy with the snake, keeping careful track of its power while trying not to ring the bell on its collar, alerting the owner.

When you fall back to the floor, your shadowed face returns to your face as you breathe heavily from the amount of control you had to bring forth. “Does my father know you are here?” Charlie questions with a tilt to her head.

“No, Princess. And I would like to try and keep it that way. I understand the damage I left from my untimely… passing. I do not wish to stir the pot more if I were to announce my return- shaking the foundations so to speak,” you reply with your head bowed, a silent golden tear falls down your cheek that you don’t bother to notice for it was the aftermath of using such magic.

“How are you still alive?” Vaggie questions straight away afterwards while doing her best to stare into your eyes. “I have few theories but I have yet to find truth in any of them,” you state, falling back onto your court speech as you become bombarded with questions circling around you.

“Do you want to fuck after this?” Angel Dust questions as you glare deeply at them, “I do not have time to waste on such matters.” You can hear a crackle in the air, Alastor appears to be covering up an actual laugh.

“How did you get that blade?” Husk questions while cleaning the bartop, you twist your head over to the voices direction, “It was a birthday gift from the Queen.” You watch as his hand stops its circling with the rag, head slowly tilting upwards as furrowed eyebrows question your statement, “I assure you, before my death we were all in each others good graces- more so even…” you trail off with a twinge of a smile that has Charlies heart breaking for a third time that day.

Your head snaps back over as Charlie clears her throat, your attention now solemnly on her. “Why would you create an extermination day if you were so against violence?” This question catches you off-guard. Your job came with violence as it did brains and empathy- how would she have known beyond the personality you created to the public… NO- no, no, no they could not have.

“I read your journals, your books, listened to my fathers countless stories- you were a breathing legend- a myth of high regard and yet when my father read your eulogy at the royal funeral. He announced to everyone of your kindness often forgotten and all the little things in life that everyone takes for granted now. Yet YOU hid it, my FATHER hid it alongside my MOTHER! Your vile creation- why?” The Princess comes clean as Vaggie stills beside her, Charlie falls into her arms as she hiccups with tears.

You hand twitches, wanting to bring Charlie into a hug, to listen to her worries, her ideas and history just as you did for her mother. “I am sorry,” you start off my saying, “And that will never be enough- I never expect it to be. I spoke out to Heaven, I followed your mother’s wishes- you may not know this Princess but you echo her past beyond measure. I watched as your fathers power flickered underneath their spears at God's hand and against the destruction of many. I take the blame for the creation of the extermination day. I pleaded at the Gates before falling back to Hell. It was the best choice we hand for a future for someone like you to rise again”

Charlie nods once before turning around and walking towards her room with Vaggie for support. Angel Dust lets out a low whistle before murmuring something about needing another drink, a few shots were already prepared at the bar- courtesy of Husk. Alastor comes around the couch and stands in front of you, “Now that was a wonderful display! The drama, the passion, the SPECTACLE! Oh, what a show, deer. Now I think it is time for some rest, there is an open room right beside my own if you need anything at all- I am your new first call after all,” the demon overlord says with excitement, clapping his hands together before opening a portal to one of the upper floors.

To be continued.

╰┈➤ A/N: hope you all enjoyed reading this next part! Thank you all so much for support on the prologue!!

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @tati-the-fangirl @randomgurl2326 @22carolina08

#luficer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #simp-ly #simp-ly-writes

211 notes · View notes

lovingmattysposts · 2 months

Text

You don't know me 28

P1 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13 P14 P15 P16 P17 P18 P19 P20 P21 P22 P23 P24 P25 P26 P27 P28 P29 P30 P31

pairing: y/n and chris sturniolo

summary: you and chris came from two different sides of the spectrum when it came to the social scale. You had the perfect life, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect parents, but when you start to peal back that layers things got messy. Your life was set and stone, your future was set and stone. That was until he comes and changes everything.

warnings: suggestive, mentions of sex, mentions of cheating, family drama, panic attack (mellow nothing major)

I pushed open the door to the coffee shop before I saw my dad in one of the corner tables. I smiled and his eyes shot over to mine. A smile came to his face before he stood up from his seat.

I moved on my feet until I reached him.

"Hi" His voice sang before his arms came around me. I hugged him back and let go of a breath. He let me go and moved his hands down my shoulders.

"You came" He smiled as he looked down hopefully at me. I nodded, letting out a breath. "Yeah sorry. I was just going to make sure Chris got on the plane okay before I came. I would have texted but--" I paused.

But I don't even have your number.

He shook his head. "No you're completely fine. Please sit" He motioned to the chair. I smiled before I sat down and he came along with me.

We had agreed that every Friday we were going to try and see each other. I still hadn't told my mom I was seeing him. I didn't know how. How do I even bring that up? She had to expect that I wanted to meet my dad.

"How are you feeling about that? Are you doing okay?" He asked as we settled into our seats. I glanced up at him from the mention on how I was feeling about Chris flying to Boston. I swallowed.

"A little nervous" I mumbled. He nodded as he picked up the coffee mug placed in front of him. "Nate is a little nervous about it too" James said looking at me. I just looked at him. "He didn't tell me that, but I can tell from the way he talks about it. He doesn't want Chris to leave either" He said. I nodded and clasped my hands together.

"I can understand that. Him and Chris are close" I said. James nodded before smiling. "He protective over his things. I used to think Nate had a crush on Chris before you told me you were seeing him, then it made sense why Nate was acting weird" James chuckled, making me smile and shake my head.

"Nate is very protective over his things" I agreed, looking down. James sighed and set down his cup. Silence came between us, and I felt guilty about this all over again.

Wondering if he was hiding the fact that he was seeing me from Nate, the fact that I'm hiding this from my mother's knowledge. I swallowed.

"Can I get you something to drink sweetie?" The waitress's voice rang. I looked up, almost happy she interrupted my thoughts. I smiled up at her and nodded. "Just coffee, black please" I replied. Her eyebrows raised.

"No sugar or cream?" She asked. I shook my head. She nodded before walking away. I looked up at James. He smiled. "I'm impressed. But you're too young to be drinking cofffee" He shook his head jokingly. I rolled my eyes.

"I'm 18, I just turned 18-"

"Three weeks ago"

I looked up at him. His smiled flattened and he swallowed looking back down at the table. I played with the bracelets against my wrists. My eyes traced over to the third seat placed next to us.

"Is there someone joining us?" I joked. He opened his mouth to speak before the bells of the coffee shops jingled and I turned my head and so did James. Nate walked through the door and looked around before his eyes landed on mine.

His face hardened before he glanced over to his father. I looked at James who started to stand up, throwing his napkin on the table.

"I'm sorry just--" James said looking at me and then to Nate. The bells jingled again and I turned to see Nate now exiting the coffee shop. James let out a breath before starting to walk towards the door.

"Give me one moment" He said quickly before he walked towards the door pulling it open. I swallowed and slumped back in my seat. I didn't appreciate the fact that he had set us both up, but he was trying at least. It was more than my parents ever did.

I swallowed the nerves beading in my throat and turned and looked out the glass windows seeing Nate and James talking. Well Nate was yelling, James was talking. Nate shook his head and yelled something I couldn't hear from here, on the other side of the window. James's face hardened as he spoke calmly to Nate.

Nate shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. James spoke some more and stared angrily at his son before pointing towards the door of the coffee shop. I turned away.

I hated the way this made me feel. Unwelcome, unwanted.

"Here you go" The chippy voice of the waitress brought me out of my thoughts as she set down the coffee mug. I smiled fakely at her before I heard the bells chime again. I turned my head before seeing James walk in and a very unhappy Nate sulking behind him as they made their way to the table.

James smiled down at me and Nate moved around him and sat in the chair next to mine, while James sat down across from me.

"My apologizes for him" James looked at his son. Nate turned his head and looked out the window. "No it's okay, I just wasn't expecting...any more company" I breathed looking at Nate. Nate glared at me.

"Yeah me either" Nate said blankly. I swallowed and looked down at my lap. This got awkward and hurtful fast.

"How's school going Y/n? You graduate next year" James smiled, attempting to shift past the awkward tension. I lifted my head. "Fine" I smiled at him. "My grades are okay, they've been better. I've just had a lot....going on" I mumbled shaking my head.

Nate scoffed next to me. James snapped his head to him. Nate rolled his eyes. I cleared my throat. "How's hockey going?" I breathed turning to Nate. He looked up at me from his fixated gaze on the table.

An olive branch, maybe that's all he needed.

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you even know anything about hockey?" He scoffed staring at me. I opened my mouth and blinked.

I knew a lot about hockey, it's all Max talked about.

"Yes" I stated looking at him. He leaned up in his seat. "Oh yeah. I forgot that your boyfriend, that you consistently fucked the same time as Chris, was on the team" He snapped staring at me.

My face turned blood red.

"Nathan Doe" James's voice snapped.

The waitress came back up.

"Are you guys ready to order?" She smiled brightly down at us. I felt like I was going to throw up. I slumped in my seat and buried my head in the menu. How does someone disappear? Because I've never wanted to do anything more.

Nate flicked the menu open and scanned it. "I'll have the waffles with extra whip cream" He stated as if he didn't just tell my father that I had sex with two people at the same time. It wasn't even true.

James's glare didn't lighten as Nate set down the menu and smiled at me. I let out a breath. I could feel the redness on my neck. The waitress looked over at me.

"I-I have to use the restroom" I snapped the menu down and scrambled from my seat and darted towards the bathroom. I closed the door and leaned against the wall, pressing my hands over my face trying to breathe.

I can't do this.

Just catch your breathe. I leaned over the sink. I was going to puke. I looked up. "You're fine. You're fine" I whispered shaking my head. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Distraction.

Chris

I let go of a breathe before swiping it open and pressing it to my ear. "Hey" He said through the phone. "Hi" I breathed.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately. I swallowed and closed my eyes. "Nothing i'm fine" I lied shaking my head. Silence for a second. "You're either panicking or you just found a new love for cardio" He stated blankly. I sighed and leaned over.

"I'm at brunch with James and he sprung Nate's presence on me" I swallowed. Chris sighed over the phone. "Are you okay?" He asked softly. I closed my eyes and swallowed.

"As well as you can imagine" I breathed. "Just breathe okay? You're not hiding in the bathroom are you?" He asked. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "No of course not" I lied.

"Y/n"

"Maybe?" I whispered. "Y/n, go back out there" He said. I sighed. "I can't. He hates me" I felt a lump in my throat. "He doesn't hate you. He's hurt. There's a difference between hurt and hate" He stated. I swallowed. "Doesn't seem like much of a difference" I whispered.

I heard cars flying by on the other end of the phone. "Listen--I have to go, I just stepped outside of the airport. Can I call you later tonight?" He asked softly. I licked my lips.

"Yeah. Did they flight go okay? Everything go good?" Another round of panic hit me. "The guy next to me ate 3 bags of Cheetos the entire flight, so now I have Cheeto dust all over me. Other than that everything's okay" He chuckled. I smiled and nodded.

"Good" I breathed. "Okay--I see my dad. I gotta go. I love you"

"I love you" I whispered.

"I'll call you tonight"

The line went dead.

I looked in the mirror. You can do this. Don't let him know he got to you. Walk back out there with confidence. I turned and pressed my shaky hand against the door handle. I don't have confidence.

I pushed the door back open before walking back over to the table. I sighed as I sat back into my seat, feeling James's eyes on me. Nate stared down at his lap. I placed my napkin back over my lap.

"Sorry, Chris called. He just landed" I said. That was actually true, whether they believed that or not. James nodded. Nate didn't say anything.

"I just ordered you some pancakes. I didn't know what you wanted" James breathed. I smiled. "You can't go wrong with pancakes" I smiled. He nodded and smiled. "You can't" He chuckled.

The rest of the brunch, James spoke. He asked me some questions, I asked him some. Basic small talk, like what do you plan to do after college? What do you want to be? What's your favorite place you've visited?

Nate chimned in some, but mostly said nothing. I guess he was taking ‘If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all' to heart. James's phone rang and he looked down at it before looking up at me.

"Excuse me, I have to take this" He said to be before he looked over at Nate. Nate looked up at him slightly and then looked out the window. I nodded and he stood up and picked up the phone.

I moved my fork around on my plate as silence came between us.

"I'm....sorry" he almost winced. I looked up at him. He looked down at the table. "I probably shouldn't have said that" He mumbled. My fork stilled. I let go of a breath and placed my fork down.

"It's okay" I whispered. He looked up at me. "I get it. He was your dad for 17 years, he's been mined since Monday" I breathed smiling. Nate smiled quickly before it dropped. I swallowed.

"But you can't hate me for wanting to know him. He's my father" I said glancing at him. He pursed his lips and looked away. "I don't" He said shaking his head.

"My dad and Chris have been through enough in their life, they don't need to get hurt anymore" He said blankly. I swallowed. "You act like I'm a wrecking ball Nate" I said shaking my head.

"I wouldn't put it past you" He breathed looking at me. I looked down.

"You hurt Chris"

"I fixed it" I snapped. “By skin of your teeth" He said staring at me. I sighed sitting up. "I get it you don't think I'm enough, but based off Chris's opinion of me....that doesn't alter your opinion whatsoever? Do you think Chris is an idiot?" I asked a little more harsh than I intended.

"Love is blinding" He said looking at me. I turned my gaze away from him. Fuck the olive branch. I was done trying. I just wanted this brunch to be over.

"Oh this is rich"

My eyes snapped up before I felt chills come over me. My gaze was on the ground, but I saw his shoes. I saw Nate shift up next to me. Reluctantly I lifted my gaze.

Max stared down at me. I glanced over seeing a blonde to his left. He stared down at me with an amused smirk. I glanced out the window seeing James speaking on the phone.

If he came back and heard whatever Max was about to say to me, he would probably forget about whatever relationship he wanted to build with me. He would look at me how the world did. Like a rich spoiled brat, or even worse a skank.

My hands shook.

"Already moved on from one low life to another I see?" He motioned to Nate. I glanced over at Nate who was looking at Max. I swallowed my nerves and the gag in my throat from the accusation of being on a date with my brother.

"Peyton" I stated looking at the blonde. I recognized her. She was on the cheer team. Had the amount of brains as she did a personality.

"Y/n" She crossed her arms over her chest. I rolled my eyes. I see why Max took a sudden interest. Max looked from Peyton and to me. "So not only are you a cheater, you're whoring around" He chuckled looking over at Nate.

My face turned red and I looked over at James. Still on the phone. I looked up at Max and opened my mouth to say something. "I-"

"Haven't seen you on the rink in a while Hastings. Didn't think you'd be drinking the pain away of being dumped instead of trying to get ahead for the upcoming season. Don't wanna be rusty before coach picks captain’s do you?" Nate said making me look over at him.

Max's jaw hardened as he looked down at him.

"Or are you too busy roofing girls to be worrying about any of that?" Nate tilted his head. Peyton looked up at Max with a suprised expression, dropping her arms. Max glared at him hard.

"If you think Coach is going to pick a junior over a senior for captains next year, you're full of it" He snapped. Nate sat up in his chair. "You sure thought so, when he didn't pick you as a junior, you cried like a baby in the locker room" Nate chuckled. I bit back a smile and looked at the table.

"You're wasting your time on her, she puts out like once a month--If you're lucky" Max snapped. Nate just stared at him.

"Can I help you son?" A hand came over Max's shoulder, hard. James glared at him. Max looked up at him, dipping his shoulder slightly. The air was thick.

"We were just--leaving" Max ripped his shoulder out of his grip. James's jaw tighetened. "Best get out of here. Table's full" He stated his eyes bearing into his. Max didn't say anything as he grabbed Peyton's arm and they left the store.

James's gaze didn't leave him until he was out of sight. He looked down at me and I swallowed. A smile came to his face and his angry demeanor was gone as if it never existed.

"Where were we?" He smiled sitting back down.

"You didn't have to do that" I mumbled looking over at Nate as James was at the register, paying. Nate didn't look over at me. "Max is a dick, he deserved it" He stated blankly. I just stared at him.

"Just so you know, I'm not proud of what happened. But I never slept with Max when I was seeing Chris. There wasn't ever an overlap with that....stuff" I whispered. Nate didn't react to my words instead he walked forward and stood next to his dad.

I swallowed. Another olive branch broken.

"I'll walk you home. Nate, would you like to come?" James said as he turned to me. "No. I've got homework" He mumbled pushing past us without another word. James sighed as we watched him push out of the coffee shop.

James looked down at me as I stared at the door. "Come on" He said placing his hand on my back as we walked out of the store and down the street. It was silent between us. I didn't know what he was thinking.

He barley knew anything about me, and what he did know was concerning. My worst moments. In the few days we've interacted, I've told him that I cheated on my former boyfriend--bad person or not I still cheated, he know's i've jumped from boy to boy. And the things he's heard....

Oh yeah. I forgot that your boyfriend that you consistently fucked the same time as Chris, was on the team.

You're wasting your time on her, she puts out like once a month--If you're lucky

Chills came over my arms. My father probably thinks I'm a whore. Great. And I'm sure the things Nate's told him haven't been any prettier than that.

"Are you cold? Do you want my coat?" His voice rang out my thoughts. I looked up at him, scared he could read my mind. I shook my head. "No--" I rubbed the goosebumps away. "I'm fine" I whispered looking down.

A few seconds later, I felt him pull his coat around my shoulders. I smiled from the warmth and looked up at him. He smiled as we walked.

I paused for a second and he looked back at me.

"I'm not a bad person, I promise" I swallowed. He just looked at me. "I've made some mistakes I'm not proud of b-but I promise I'm not what everyone makes me out to be. I've done my fair share of wrongs but-but--" My eyes watered. I just wanted him to see me. For who I was. Not what everyone told him I was. I just wanted him to see me.

"Hey, Hey" He breathed as he stepped forward and his arms came around me, comfortably. I sighed as I felt a tear roll down my face. I wanted someone else, who wasn't Chris, to see me as a person too. Nothing mattered to me more than winning over my dad.

"I don't think you're a bad person" He breathed above me. I sighed as I pressed my head into his chest. He pulled me back. "Sweetheart" He breathed I looked up at him.

"I can tell when someone is a bad person. It's a gift and a curse, especially when you want someone to be good and they’re not. You're not one of those people" He shook his head as his hands came under my eyes.

"You have a good heart. You haven't had the most fair circumstances. The people you grew up with, the people you've....let into your life" He breathed. I sighed. "I can't blame you for the way you play the cards you've been dealt" He shook his head.

"The fact that you're giving me a real shot to be in your life....I can't ever repay that" He shook his head. I swallowed.

"Nate, he'll come around---and Hastings..." He swallowed. "I went to school with his father, they are exactly the same" He shook his head. I sighed, dropping my shoulders.

"Yeah" I whispered. He tilted his head into my view. "And Chris is one of the most judgmental kids I've seen Nate hang out with" He chuckled. I smiled. "If you won him over, I have no doubt in my mind about you. And from the fact that you came from me....I think that makes you pretty cool" He smiled.

I sighed and rushed forwards and hugged him tightly. He stilled from my sudden embrace, before his arms came around me.

"Thanks Dad" I whispered. His breathing stilled, before I felt him release it and he hugged me tighter.

#matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo

346 notes · View notes

tocomplainfriend · 4 months

Text

Some random complaining!

Hazbin Hotel totally got cut off- I mean Viv probably wanted at least 3-4 season or something, but they just gave her 2. Cause the Angels already starting the genocide is so early. Which what does that mean for season 2 if this is just season 1?

I really thought it all would've started after the events of the pilot. So we just got Alastor, Nifty, and Husk. And then getting Sir pentious in the hotel, and going through some time before the extermination.

I think we are going to get normal "get to know the characters" episodes, but then scaling to the extermination date. (which I thought it was held by the end of the year). No clue of what's after that... really.

The "we will show a heaven a fight" shows me that the idea of redemption of sinners is left behind really fast. Which I found interesting, so that sucks.

Oh, look is her!

Also, I really thought they would do a small thing about the swearing. Look... I swear a shit ton! But Viv can not write all her characters like that. She said, "I write the characters how I talk"- that is not good because all characters talk the same and all force of swearing in the series disappears. The fact that Alastor doesn't swear is good, cause it gives him more character. I really hope that Charlie doesn't swear half as much, it would fit her character more. The daughter of Lucifer, that's the one out because she is nicer. But has casual to little swearing is outstanding. (It would be more special if multiple of the sins in HB weren't sweethearts). Husk swearing a lot makes sense old man, alcoholic, gambling addict from the '70s. Hopefully Nifty doesn't, She is from the 1950s when swearing was less frequent, and used specific words too-which I hope the language of the year is they are from-in the same way they are with Alastor. In the idea of Nifty being a maid during her life, you would guess she would swear less than other characters.

Every person talks and swears differently individually. So I hope not all characters over swear.

Look at Nifty! (you can do small jokes like this without swearing or heavy sexual garbage all the time)

These guys here looked a bit weird.

Also, I supposed Vaggie is still from 2014 and El Salvador, right? Like she died went to heaven, became a fallen angel... right? Am I wrong about that? Genuine question!

Also, I wonder what they will do with Sir Pentious? Velvette is not anywhere on the trailer, I think. I'm sure Baxter doesn't exist lmao. I really wonder how they will balance things with personal things for each character-at the same time of the angel's attack.

Are they full front fight the angels? Where are this guy's machines?

Someone wanted a bunch of Broadway voices, and was so ready to throw old VA's out, damn.

Are they going to have time to explore how characters died, what let them be in hell even? Gonna do a post about that and heaven stuff later on!

#vivziepop critique #vivziepop critical #helluva boss critique #helluva boss criticism #helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique

189 notes · View notes

mcytblrsexymen · 1 year

Note

This may be. Slightly dumb. But this poll tournament has genuinely got me to internalize what people mean when they say my vote matters in IRL elections. Like I got it before but I GET it now that I can see the number and the effects (and the fraud- /j) on a smaller and much less serious scale. So uh, thank you? Yea I'll call this a good thing so Thanks lmao.

okay so the fraud is (hopefully) irrelevant to your irl elections (although i'll note from the demographics poll that, interestingly, it seems like the people who did fraud were in the ABSOLUTE MINORITY, even after we'd basically said 'yeah it's allowed' - imagine how much less likely people would be to do it if they would be arrested for it!).

however that being said. i'm so glad that the amount that single votes matter here helped you internalize it for larger elections! sometimes, smaller numbers can help big ones our brain comprehends poorly make more sense! and yes! your vote does matter!

#alastair-1205 #ask

575 notes · View notes

qoeww · 2 years

Note

hi hi ! its me again hehe , i was wondering if u could do a prompt , “wait a minute .. are you jealous ?” i saw this prompt on Pinterest ! i was wondering if u could do donnie x fem!reader or gn i dont rlly mind — with donnie getting jealous of his brothers bc reader is getting somewhat close 2 them ?? hopefully it makes sense — thank u thank u !!

WAIT A MINUTE... ARE YOU JEALOUS?

Warning: Nothing

Character: Donnie

Author Note: I'm sorry I waited you so much honeypie, I just lost my drafts for two time 😀 hope you like it (Btw I really like your positive theme<333)

You pushed Donnie's robotic shell with the tip of your foot, he always hated when you act like this but this time he deserves it.

"You gave me a promise D and you are breaking it again-"

"Y/N you really don't understand the situation, it will change the world!"

You laughed through your nose and made your arms scorch. "Yeah, really D? The last time you said that, whole house was flooded with sewage, but I have to admit, the expression on your face was funny." He dropped the wires in his hand and turned to you. "First of all, how dare you? Second, scientists can make mistakes, maybe you should read the news I send you."

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Ok, ok sorry. So dear scientist Donnie, would you please put aside your world-changing invention and go out with me?"

"Give me a hour babe."

You gave up, this boy will not leave this machine until it is done. "Let's postpone it to another day, I'm leaving." You could hear his murmur before the door closes to your face.

You looked nervously at your reflection in the door, sometimes the purple turtle was irresistible.

"Hey, are you ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, just... Why are you here again?"

With a relaxed smile on his face, Leo grabbed your shoulder and pulled you close to him. "Eh, don't get hung up on small details. Why don't you come and watch my perfect new moves?"

"OH YES! FINALLY FINISHED, Y/N LOOK AT THIS!" When he turned his back, only your gym bag and jacket, which you threw on the floor when you came in, were there. Did you leave? He left his room to look for you, and when he found you, he could get help from you to color scale his invention.

Your laughing sound was coming from Mikey's room. He peered through the ajar door, Mikey and you lying on a sheet that had been laid on the floor. There were colorful nail polishes on the sheet, you looked like you were spending quality time with Mikey.

"Eh, sometimes they need time too." He wanted to pull you out of Mikey's room but you needed your limits too. Being a good boyfriend is hard, Maybe he'll come a little later. Splinter was standing in front of him when he turned to leave.

"AH, ah hey dad what are you doing here?" Donnie pushed Splinter by his shoulders, As far from the door as possible, it wouldn't be nice to be caught red-handed.

"I was gonna ask..." Donnie waited for his father as he broke into a cold sweat. If one of his siblings heard about it, he would be a laughing stock at home.

"Can you...Hmm, fix the kitchen drawers? The opening sounds are very squeaky, it's gotten worse since the last time blue one fixed it"

He looked at the door for the last time and nodded.

He loved your laugh, really. But now it makes him so angry.

He was working nonstop to drown out your and Raph's laughter with the sound of the drill in his hand. While he was remodeling the kitchen (if he started something, it must be perfect), you and Raph invaded the kitchen to make a cake.

Your eyes met for a moment, you gave him a small smile, and you went back to the dough in your hand.

He checked all the drawers another five times, waiting for a reaction from you. But you were focused on the dough in your hand, unaware of the purple turtle whose gaze could pierce your shoulder.

OK, OK THAT WAS ENOUGH HE UNDERSTAND WHERE HE DID WRONG-

You didn't expect it to rain, you were staying here with the brothers tonight. You walked out of the room with a comfortable T-shirt on and stretched. The clock on the wall was showing 3 a.m.. Your eyes are dazzled by the light you opened, who made the lights so bright?

You grabbed the pitcher on the counter and poured it into the glass. With every sip you drank, you came to yourself, as if the light was not so bright anymore.

"Oh, Donnald? Bad dream?"

He avoided his eyes from meeting you. You could hear something muttering but you didn't understand.

"Wha?"

"Why don't you sleep with me?"

"What."

"No, no- I... Offf... I mean you are sleeping at Raph's room- Ok that wasn't that hard in my head."

You watched him rubbing his eyelids. All the stones were slowly falling into place, his side gaze today, the purple bandana peeking through the door.

"WAIT, WAIT, wait, wait a minute... Are you... Jealous?"

His arms quickly crossed as eyes widened. "NO, NO I'M NOT-" Your laugh closed all his objections, oh my, who can now "the bad boy" can get jealous too?

"YOU ARE JE-"

"YES, yes I am. Now shut up." He pressed his hand to his lips and silenced you, your body was stuck between the bench and the turtle. "I can act like a complete dum dum sometimes, soooo.. Do you accept my apology?"

You nodded slowly, he took his hands from your lips and placed it on your chin.

He made you forgive himself.

Btw if you didn't read wait a min like this go and spend more time at internet

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #rottmnt #donatello x reader #donnie x reader

1K notes · View notes

roses-dreams-andthorns · 1 year

Note

Hope this is the request? Just joined Tumblr a week or two ago so I’m a bit new.

Can I request a F (female) reader x Twisted Wonderland housewardens but the reader has butterfly wings? And the butterfly wing colors are similar to the dorm colors?

So that when(or if) the dorm leaders ever ask to touch her wings, the feeling of the scales (I watched a butterfly and flower documentary, YES, the wings are made of “scales”) surprises them because reader’s wings aren’t as weak as an actual butterfly’s?

Hopefully that made sense. Anyway, I hope you have a lovely day!

This is infact the request, my friend! and Welcome to Tumblr! Trey really likes your idea! Butterfly Reader!! (Kinda reminds me of Aponia from honkai lol-)

F!Reader with Butterfly wings!

Riddle

He is quite mesmerized by your wings, they have such a beautiful, bright, luminescent red, they sparkle and shine in the sunlight as if they were made of stained glass, their movements are elegent as well, wether you're using them to fly, just standing idle, or walking, your wings seem to always be moving or fluttering... He wonders what they feel like... are they soft? rough? what kind of texture do they have? are they sensitive? He must learn more.

"Reader... Could I touch your wings?" Riddle asks suddenly, in the middle of your study session.

"Hm? My wings? Why do you ask?" You ask back, what made him so curious, you wonder...

"Well... I just haven't seen anything like them before! I would... like to learn more about wings like this, so... I thought asking you would help..." He answered, his face filled with blush from embarassment, you giggle slightly at him.

"Well then, in that case, go ahead. They aren't very sensitive, so don't worry about that." You say, as you extend your wings for him, you can feel him gently put a gloveless hand on them, feeling their scaly, tough texture, he examined them as if they were an artifact as a museum. "They're beautiful, aren't they?" you ask him, he replies with a content hum, as he touches the scales with the utmost care. Most butterflies he had seen have fragile wings, but yours are tough. it amazes him how unique you are.

Leona

He'd most likely not care about them that much, all he really cares about is laying on your lap and falling asleep... Although... Curiousity does kill the cat, so he eventually gives in and starts thinking things like, "How do herbivores wings work?" or "Are the wings soft enough to sleep comfortably on?"

Of course, he can't just ask you, that would be to embarassing for him... so instead he tends to examine them from afar. He's noticed that your wings have a bright luminescent orange color, and are quite big in size, he can slightly see the rough, scaly texture through the sunlight that reflects off of them, they're also very lively, moving softly in the wind or fluttering through the air... at the end of the day, all the questions are answered, "No, they are not soft enough to sleep on" and "They work like regular butterfly wings, nothing special" and thats all... until he wants to get a closer look, so he gives in and demands asks to touch them.

"Oi, herbivore, let me see your wings." he demands asks.

"My wings? Uhhm... okay?" you comply, extending your wings, he touches them and examines them, while you stare at him confused. He feels the rough, scaly texture against his finger, and the strength of your wings was more than average for a butterfly... these things could knock someone out if you wanted them to.

"Are you really that curious about my wings, Leona-senpai?" you ask, he lets out a grunt and just keeps examining them, he win't admit... but he quite likes them.

Azul

Ah, yes... the beautiful butterfly of Night Raven... your name runs through the school like running water following a strong current. He's quite intrested in them, and has even thought about making a contract with you so he can take them for himself borrow them. he knows from the times he has seen you, that your wings are a beautiful violet with black viens, like a monarch butterfly... but make it purple. He sometimes has the twins report your daily life to him.

"Greetings, Reader!" He greets as he approaches behind you, he usual smug expression.

"Hm? Oh... Azul... hello." You greet him back, "What brings you here?" you ask him.

"Well, I was quite curious about your wing like apphendanges, would you be so kind as to indulge me in some information?" He asks formally, with his smug smile.

"Well... you can touch them... if that helps." you offer, as you extend your large wings.

"Are you sure? I would not wish to harm them..." he sighs.

"They're not sensitive, and they're quite strong, so... go ahead." you smile, he takes off one of his gloves and gently touches one of them, feeling the scaly texture and toughness.

"They are quite mesmerizing..." He mutters, touching them gently. He seemed completely entranced by them, the way they glitter and shine... He is at a loss for words at their beauty.

Kalim

He thinks they're so pretty!! The deep red color, the black veins and edges, how sparkly they are... he loves it all! He asks to touch them often, because he thinks they're just so cool!

"Readerrrr! Can I touch your wings again?" He asks you, a big smile on his face as he ran in to hug you.

"Hehehe! But of course you can! here!" you smile as you extend your wings for him, he traces his finger along all the veins carefully, feeling the scaly, tough texture of your wings, he admires the beautiful red in which they are... The boy finds them so pretty, he'll never leave you alone about it.

Vil

Such beauty... he has never seen anything like it! the way they sparkle... their beautiful purple color... it mesmerizes him everytime you walk in the room. He helps you put together matching outfits and makeup looks to go with your wings, sparkly purple dress, purple eyeshadow, purple nails... he goes all out with it when you let him. He finds the scaly texture quite... rough... He knows its natural for butterfly wings to have such a texture, but he just doesn't really like the feeling of them... I feel he'd like smoother textures rather than rough scaly ones (same) so he doesn't touch them often, but he enjoys admiring them like an art piece at a museum.

"Which dress would you like to try today, dear? This one without the straps, or this one with the flowing sleeves?"

"I quite like the one with the flowing sleeves! I feel like it would match the wings more!"

"Good choice, darling! Now... for that makeup for yours... let's get you all dolled up!"

Idia

Woahhh! You're like one of those anime characters!

He likes the wings a lot! He might try to convince you to cosplay some of his favorite characters if they have wings, he also likes the pretty bright cyan color they have... so shiny and pretty... matches the dorm too!

He has a slight tendancy to fall asleep in your wings. Despite the scaly texture, they're super warm when wrapped around him like a blanket, making it all the more comfortable.

"...why are your wings so scaly yet so warm and comfy...?"

"I suppose thats just how they work, hehe..."

"I'm making you my new blanket..."

Malleus

Beautiful wings in which suit the face of his beautiful child of ma... wait... child of butterfly? But nicknames aside, he adores your wings, they make you unique, their color is such a beautoful green... the texture of beautiful scales... he adores them. He knows his way in wing care, being a dragon, so he helps you take care of your wings, meaning he touches them.

"Child of Butterfly... come closer, allow ne to apply this cream to your wings, it will help moisturize the scales!"

"Will it really?"

"but of course, being one with wings myself, I would know, my dear child of butterfly"

(sorry if this kinda sucks, Trey's just getting out of writers block and their break so...)

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #azul ashengrotto x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #kalim al asim x reader #kalim al asim #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit

496 notes · View notes

imtotallyokandnormal · 1 month

Text

》☆MY CREEPYPASTA AU LORE!!!☆《

Howdy! So I mentioned that I was making my own creepypasta au, and I wanna share the lore I have so far! This post will be a collection of a few things I've thought of, I'll try organizing it as best as I can! :>

(Hopefully this isn't too similar to anyone else's au, if it is then it wasn't intentional!)

》☆The Operator☆《

Ok let's start off with the tall guy. Slenderman is still a very big part of my au, but it's primarily referred to as The Operator or The Boss (and is referred to with he/him or it/its pronouns by the creeps, it doesn't care about what pronouns are used though). It is less of a physical entity and more of something that infects your mind like a parasite. However, it can manifest a physical body and interact with the world around it, though it takes effort to do so. Nobody knows its motive or origins, just that it appeared one day and decided not to ever leave.

The Operator communicates with the proxies through hallucinations, mostly auditory and visual ones but sometimes it uses a proxy's other senses to get a specific message across. This means the hallucinations can range from small annoyances (like making you see and hear faint static in the middle of doing something, or making you see him standing in the corner) to large horrible experiences (like making you live in an actual nightmare and overloading/depriving your senses). These larger-scale hallucinations are usually only done in The Manor because The Operator uses its abilities best in an environment it fully controls. However, this doesn't mean it's impossible for The Operator to give someone those hallucinations on earth, it just takes more effort. It can also implant words and phrases into a proxy's mind as a message ("bring Toby, foyer" or "get back downstairs"). These aren't usually accompanied by a voice or have fully visual appearances, they just form as thoughts in someone's head. However, if a proxy seems to respond better to these messages with different sensory cues then The Operator will use them.

The Operator seems far less critical with children or beings that are similar to children. This includes Ben and Sally, since they died at young ages. With older teenagers and adults, it treats them more harshly. Then again, this depends on how well they listen to The Operator, naturally ones who listen better are given more privileges.

》☆The Manor☆《

The creeps live in a manor in the woods, however it is less of an actual landmark on earth and more of a liminal-space or dream-like reality outside of earth. I don't wanna get too detailed about this because i feel like the mystery is more appealing, but I'll explain the basics. So The Operator can alter reality for one or multiple people, mentally and/or physically. It can seemingly create places that are outside the limits of earth, and somehow trap them inside of them. The Manor is a place it created where it can better manage and control its proxies. It is unknown how many worlds it created, or how they exactly work.

The entirety of the world The Operator made is called The Manor by the proxies. This is because the manor itself is the only structure in the world, the rest of it consisting of an endless expanse of forest and fog.

The inside of the building has practically endless amounts of rooms and doesn't always have a consistent floor plan. Some rooms are kept in the same places most of the time, like the foyer and the stairwell leading to the second floor, but other rooms sometimes inexplicably change places. Some proxies decided to make things easier by marking the door to any room that changes places more than once (by, for example, labeling a bathroom "downstairs shitter" by carving it into the door). Going through some doors can lead to new unfamiliar rooms, sometimes to the interior of entirely different buildings. It can be easy to get lost, but The Operator will know where any lost proxies are and can bring them back anytime. Sometimes though, it lets them stay lost and freaked out for a while.

Time doesn't visibly pass in The Manor, as there is no visible rise or fall of any sun and there's absolutely no night. However, the creeps can still tell time throught the clocks on things like phones and watches.

》☆The Proxies☆《

All creeps are referred to as proxies, as they are basically extentions of The Operator. However, some proxies (cough cough Jeff cough) don't like to listen to The Operator, and therefore aren't as trusted to do certain tasks. But then again, this means he is trapped with more mental anguish due to The Operator's mind-fuckery.

Some proxies primarily live inside The Manor while others are allowed to live outside of it on earth. If a proxy does well and meets The Operator's standards, they're allowed to live in their own place on earth. They can have a regular job and live almost a completely normal life, with social connections and interactions with things they miss about their old life. However, they're expected to drop anything and everything if The Operator says so, even if it means losing whatever they've gained in the process. Other proxies (cough cough JEFF- cough wheeze) are kept in The Manor because The Operator thinks they'll try to escape the range of its influence. To be fair, they probably would. New proxies are also kept in The Manor until they learn how to acclimate to their new life and not try to run away.

The Operator is referred to as Slenderman or Slendy by the proxies as an informal title, usually meant as a jab at The Operator for how it usually manifests as a tall skinny white guy in a suit for indiscernible reasons.

A lot of the proxies are human, but there are also proxies that don't seem to entirely come from earth. At least, they aren't as bound to earth constraints as human proxies are. One example would be Laughing Jack, who has abilities like stretching and bending and changing size to impossible proportions that humans can't replicate. There's also Ben and Sally, being ghosts, and EJ being a demonic creature. Nobody knows exactly where the nonhuman proxies came from or formed, and they'll usually answer in vague responses if you ask.

Here's info on some of the proxies!! Feel free to send an ask if you wanna know more! :>

49 notes · View notes

mygoo · 1 year

Text

I'm going to outlive my son. It's the saddest realization for any parent, but it's one I can't deny anymore. See, my son is fat. No really, faaaaaat. Take whatever you're thinking in your head and double it, heck triple it even and you're probably still thinking too small.

His mother and I tried for years to get him active, to get him interested in the outdoors, sports, heck any physical activity, but the only physical activity he cared about were ones that ended in food.

We tried at first to guide him into making better decisions. Surely as he matured he'd realize that all the food and all the weight wasn't worth it, but the gentle treatment didn't work. We never wanted to be strict parents, but we decided that drastic measures had to be taken when he reached his teens with his weight still climbing. We rid the house of anything unhealthy and kept an eye on his eating like a hawk and he finally started dropping weight to our slight comfort.

Looking back now I see how short-sighted we were. It's one thing to control your kid, but he won't be a kid forever. At some point he's going to need independence, a job, a car, all the facets of a normal adult life and hopefully someone to share it with. Out on his own he could eat as much as he wanted, when he wanted, especially once we found out his first job was not what he originally told us, but a job at one of the local fast food joints.

Slowly at first, but surely his weight started creeping up again. He'd bounce around between jobs depending on what cuisine he was especially feeling and how long they'd keep him on before realizing how much he was literally eating into their profits. We'd failed. Just like his youth anything he did was motivated by food. We were all out of ideas. Time passed by in this stalemate, the only needle moving faster being the one on our bathroom scale.

We had thought about kicking him out, but at this point I don't think he could even live on his own. He had every weight-related medical condition in the book, every one a missed wake up call to turn back. Things that people in their 50s would start worrying about, not someone less than half their age.

Getting on disability took away the last reason for him to ever get off his copious ass, so it's no surprise that his mobility vaporized shortly thereafter. Some days I wonder if he'll see 30. It'll surely be a miracle of medical science if he does.

I couldn't tell if it was a blessing or a curse the day I found his online persona, through the further I looked, the more I gravitated towards the latter. It finally made everything make quasi-sense, a reason for the way he lived his life, if you can even call it that, but it did so in such a disgusting, heartbreaking way. He catalogues his gains to a sadistic audience hungry to watch him blow up. He talks about how much he loves his weight, shockingly especially its side-effects, reveling in being out of breath simply from rolling over in bed. The post where he declared himself immobile is proudly pinned to the top of his page, racking up comments of support and congratulations from the people feeding into his addiction, both figuratively and literally with constant food deliveries I had long-assumed he had ordered for himself. It's all so fucking disgusting, and it's something I will never tell my wife, something I will take to my grave long after his.

As far as I'm concerned, he's already gone. He was lost 100s of pounds ago. There's no son in that void of a room, just a mound of flesh, endlessly growing until the day it doesn't. Goodbye, son. I hope you really love all your flab like you say you do, because it's all you got, and there's a ton of it.

#wg #wg stories #wg story #dark #Immobile #father/son

608 notes · View notes

fantasyfantasygames · 2 months

Text

Scramble World

Scramble World, Jenny J. Jensson, 2011

Scramble World is an extremely badly named RPG with a fairly generic premise and fantastic execution.

The titular world is one of those weird mixed-up dimensions where dozens of different worlds have crashed into each other for unknown reasons. You play characters from different RPGs, teaming up to prevent catastrophes or at least be there to help afterward.

The setting is like Torg, but without our world as the base and without the cosms having well-defined boundaries. It's like Rifts but again without our world as the base, and with all the most flavor-packed parts of each worldbook crammed into an area the size of Pennsylvania. And with less racism. It's a world whose major powers did not evolve in each others' presence, so their mutual existence explicitly does not need to make sense. Scramble World is in constant catastrophe and will be until the sky stops being red and worldbergs stop crashing through the bleed.

Remember We Were The First, where the alien species were all randomized in ways that made sense together? Well, here your character sheet is randomized. I don't mean that you roll for your stats, no, I mean you roll to see which stats you get. You get pieces of the character sheet, suggested locations to place them (you can change those), and half-pages of rules that connect to them.

One character might end up with a standard-six-stats block that goes 3-18, an extensive skill list, and a set of emotional attributes that trigger XP conditions. Someone else might have the same stats but they go -2 to +4, a set of Apocalypse World style moves, some Merits and Flaws, and a Vancian spell system if you choose to pursue it. It's an amazing setup. It was clearly well-tested: there was a character generator online to speed things up for you, using the same mechanics as the random roll tables, and I've never seen it come up with a non-viable combination.

Because there are so many options, some of them boil down to the same thing under the hood. For instance, everyone ends up rolling for (or otherwise generating) a Likert-scale success measure and comparing with each other to see what the actual winner gets. Each character sheet fragment has only half a page to get in, explain things, and get out, so a lot of things have to do double duty. Kudos to Jenny for keeping this as small as possible, even if "as possible" does a lot of lifting in that sentence.

There are lots of "world fragments" described in the book. Out of 304 pages (in 6x9 / A5 format), they take up about 200. Each one is roughly 5 pages, with one piece of art, descriptions of their leaders and common people, a few key landmarks, and a "heroes from here are like X" section. A corebook overflow supplement ("World Omelette") adds another 20 pages of rule fragments and 60 pages of world fragments. They range from "pastiche" to "homage", but none of them feel like "ripoff".

The art is taken from a dozen different types of action-oriented RPG stock art, thrown together with slashes or tears or glitches between them. I'd like to see a version that showcases a small number of artists rather than just stock art, but it's used very well for what it is.

I've already spent a lot of words on Scramble World, so I'll stop here, but hopefully you can tell that I really enjoyed it. Highly recommended.

* For those of you who are less mathy, 1d100 has a max of 100, a minimum of 1, and an average of 50.5. All numbers are equally likely. 1d10 x 1d10 has a max of 100, a minimum of 1, but an average of 30.25. Not only is the average 20 points lower, but it's also more closely concentrated. Less than 5% of the results are 60 or above. 🌈The More You Know!⭐️

#ttrpg #imaginary #indie ttrpg #rpg #review #we heard you like randomizers #so we put some randomizers in your randomizers #so you can roll while you roll

41 notes · View notes

tallerthantale · 4 months

Text

What Does Aziraphale Actually Believe, Part 1: What Does it Mean to Believe Something?

To a large portion of the fandom, there has been a struggle to process many of the things Aziraphale has said and done. We look for ways to make sense of how he acts, and get frustrated by how the things he says contradict themselves. For someone with a background in cognitive psychology, the self contradictory nature of Aziraphale is not particularly surprising.

This is the first of a series of ten posts. Most posts will be going through the events of the story in chorological order. This first post is extra long and entirely psychology foundation, but I would strongly recommend reading through it, and if you can find the time after, I'd really recommend going through the links as well.

We are going for a bit of an adventure through about 3k words on the nature of consciousness, optical illusions, the dress, memory, false memories, unconscious bias, autism, trauma, cognitive dissonance, confirmation bias, conspiracy theorists, propaganda, and deradicalisation.

This is from the perspective of cognitive psychology not clinical, it will not improve your mental health, and it has the potential to induce an existential crisis or several but it is worth it. Knowing how our minds work has a lot of utility beyond understanding Aziraphale, though making sense of him is hopefully a fun motivation.

Because I really am this much of a pedant, I’m going to quickly address the elephant in the room: Aziraphale does not have a human brain. However, since his behaviour lines up with real life human behaviour I’m going to approach this as if his mind essentially runs the way a human brain would run a mind, because that is how the story is written.

What is Consciousness?

Most of what our minds perceive, judge, interpret, think, remember, feel, ect… occurs in a mental space we have no perception of, often called the subconscious. Most people will have heard the term before, but I think most people misunderstand the scale of it and the power of it. The ongoing questions about consciousness vs. subconciousness aren’t in the form of ‘is the subconscious really a thing?’ No, the modern question is to what extent is consciousness really a thing?

Consciousness is an experience. What we think of as ourselves, the ‘central executive,’ the entity that we perceive ourselves to be, is a conglomeration of memories, thoughts, judgements, perceptions, and feelings that the rest of our mind produces for us to have at that moment in time. Much of it is approximately real, much of it is wholly fabricated to suit the moment. This is because there are major gaps in how much we can realistically perceive, understand, and remember at any particular point. It would be outrageously burdensome to actually process and load all the information for real, so our minds make up short hands and approximations for expediency, and feed that to us in a manner we experience as if it was directly perceived reality. That's a lot to throw at you, so I'm going to break it down.

Perception is an Assumption

To help get across how blended the construct of our experience is, let's consider the visual field. That is the representation of what we are seeing, or what we experience ourselves as seeing. Only a very small area in the centre of our vision is able to sense detail. The rest is only sensing vague cues of large scale changes. But we don’t perceive it that way, because we remember the detail that was there the last time the centre of our vision passed over that space, and our minds guess what details were probably there if we haven’t looked for a while. When something changes in an area we are constructing from memory and inference, we don't notice. The parts of our visual field that we are seeing in real time, and the parts that our mind constructs based on what it assumes is probably there are in no way distinct within our conscious experience, and that lets us navigate the world much more smoothly. The vast majority of what we visually perceive is constructed from memories and guesses. If those constructions weren’t incorporated into our vision, we would be massively visually impaired.

Even for things we are seeing with detailed vision, we rely heavily on contextual cues that make assumptions we don’t realise we are making. (If you only follow one link in this post, follow that one, it's a 43 second video.) Consider that objects that are a solid colour are not a solid colour in terms of the wavelengths bouncing off of them, as they get hit by light sources and have highlights and shadows. The distinction between seeing blue because that is the wavelength that hit the retina, and seeing blue because the greyish blend that hit the retina was coming from a sunny patch, and you can infer that the object was blue from the context, is seamless. Unless the context is missing, and that grey might actually be a white object in a shadow. Then it might be all seamlessly white in the visual field, just as if it was white light entering the retina. And that's how millions of people saw a blue and black dress, millions of people saw a white and gold dress, but very few people saw a grey and brown dress. Yes, the actual dress was blue, but my point is that the pixels weren’t. Bluish grey light hit all our retinas, but half of the viewers had a dark blue object appear in their visual field and half had a white one appear.

It is important to keep in mind that the vast majority of the time these context cues, assumptions, inferences, ect… put together a construct that works really well. The amount of resources required to keep our minds running is enormous and the size of our heads is a serious safety issue for people giving birth, even with all the energy saving assumptions and shortcuts. Given how much of our experience of reality is effectively an educated guess, we really are getting it right most of the time. Our minds are really good at what they do, these processes exist because it is adaptive to have them. Try to remember that, because it is going to be hard to hold on to that perspective as I move on from sensation and perception.

Working Memory

Our conscious experience is constructed for everything. Our thoughts, opinions, memories, that we have ‘with awareness’ is limited to what is, in that moment, loaded into a conceptual mental workspace called working memory, that can typically load about 7 things at a time. We can bring things from the larger library of remembered things into working memory by asking the part of our minds outside of our conscious awareness to give us the thing, and most of the time it will. But recall doesn’t always work. If the parts of our mind outside of awareness don't feed a thing into working memory, we can’t experience it, and they can feed something into our working memory if we want it there or not. The edges of what we think because it represents a coherent well considered world view consistent with our principles and values, and what we think because our minds fed it to us out of expediency or habit are just as seamless as the construct of our visual field.

Things that do enter into our awareness are often altered by the time they get there by influences that are not reported to our conscious experience. Most of the shifts are within the category of cognitive bias, and are not considered to be pathological, because allistic people have most of them to a substantial degree as a default.

There is a long list of identified types of cognitive bias. Learning about cognitive biases doesn't stop people from having them, because it isn't the conscious mind that has the bias. The information we perceive as the raw facts has already been edited by the bias before it is loaded into our working memory awareness.

We often give ourselves the impression that when our thoughts, opinions, and ideas are moved out of working memory, they are preserved for us in an archived state, and returned to our consciousness later as we left them. There is no basis for that. Memories are incomplete, fade over time, and are reconstructed to appear whole through inference the same as our visual field every time we recall them. Each recall reworks them a bit more, and with the right sort of nudge, they can be substantially altered.

Autistic people are resistant to cognitive bias, but not immune. In the field of psychology that resistance is often referred to as autistic people having a 'failure to engage top-down processing' which makes me roll my eyes into my skull, because that is essentially saying 'a failure to be cognitively biased.' The irony of that is not the whole picture though.

Just like how optical illusions happen due to the fact that the visual field is constructed mostly out of really good guesses because we can't process the full information in real time, cognitive biases exist because of the shortcuts we take that make quick thinking possible. Autistic people think more accurately, but we do it by processing a mountain of information exhaustively, and that doesn't happen in a timely fashion. When I say exhaustively I mean it in every sense of the word, and we can't turn it off for expediency even if we wanted to. There are life situations where that really is disabling, particularly when we are exposed to mass sensory information.

So far we have been talking about non pathological biases, errors, and limitations. Pathology is not required for us to end up with a heavily distorted picture of reality, and when mental illness is involved it is exaggerating the downsides of cognitive mechanisms that are present in everyone generally. These are differences of degree, not of kind. Predictable patterns of biased perception and thinking associated with symptoms of mental illness are referred to as cognitive distortions.

As much as our minds can feed us altered things to believe for expediency, they can withhold others. If it isn’t helpful to have this particular belief right now, or this particular value in this situation, our minds can fail to load it into our awareness at all, particularly if it goes against an active self-schema, (interpretation of the self.) The various ways this can happen are referred to as motivated forgetting by the more clinical style psychologists. For the purposes of understanding Aziraphale, I’m mostly talking about relatively short term motivated forgetting, conveniently not recalling a particular fact at a particular moment.

More deeply repressed memories that get wholly buried for years can be a thing…. But… The validity of long term motivated forgetting should not be taken as an endorsement of the practices that purport to retrieve those memories. Those practices can make you remember more things, but those things are unlikely to be true. Just as there is no dividing line between what we see in our visual field because light hit our retina and what we see in our visual field because it was there last we checked, there is no neurological difference between a real memory and a false one. That means if you use hypnotherapy to ‘recover’ memories of a trauma that didn’t actually happen A) there is no way to separate the false memories out later B) you have given that person trauma that is just as real as if those things had actually happened.

If we have features of ourselves that we aren’t at peace with, the mind can refuse to allow knowledge of that into conscious awareness. If what was expedient to believe now isn't expedient any more, the new iteration of the mind doesn’t need to load the memory of the old beliefs existing. If a previous experience conflicts with our current experience, the memory of the previous experience can be altered such that consciousness preserves the perception of continuity. (Link is a short video, waaatch iitttttt.)

Cognitive Dissonance

Technically 'cognitive dissonance' refers to the discomfort of perceiving yourself to believe contradictory things, or perceiving yourself to be acting in a way that contradicts a belief. Generally people bring up the term to describe the behaviour and thought patterns people engage in to avoid that feeling. To put it simply, people reconcile behaving in a way that is inconsistent with their beliefs by changing their understanding of the world to suit their behaviour more readily than they change their behaviour to align with their beliefs, and people will creatively reinterpret information to prevent their beliefs from contradicting their sense of self. The Wikipedia page has many examples establishing these patterns. I want to emphasise a point here that is often overlooked; these are the entirely typical behaviours of mentally healthy people. Cognitive dissonance and the associated behaviours are not a pathology.

The deeper explanation of why these patterns occur is hard to swallow. ‘What we believe’ isn’t a real thing in the first place, at least not in the way we like to imagine. Just like consciousness, it is a temporary constructed experience. It would more accurately be described as what we are currently telling ourselves we believe. (But what about confirmation bias? Doesn't that mean people are rigid in their beliefs? Oddly, no. Hold that thought, I'll get back to it later.)

The phenomenon of our beliefs changing to accommodate our behaviour is described as ‘belief follows action.’ In the world of psychology, thinking a thought counts as an action. We act, and then afterwards construct an experience of having decided to act, along with the supposed basis. Our conscious experience represents the order the other way around, even in controlled settings where we can measure the actual order electrically. We do what we do, observe what we are going to do, or think a thought about a situation, then form an idea of what we believe in order to make sense of it after, and then construct a memory of ourselves having had the belief first. The actual reasons for our behaviour are not directly observable to us, and are more the realm of behaviourism than cognition.

What we have in our memory is a library of things we hypothetically can recall, can think, can know, that our minds draw from in order to put together a temporary construct of 'what I believe' that best suits explaining our actions to ourselves at that time, with little regard to if that explanation is accurate. That gets loaded into working memory, and we experience it as our worldview. Since cognitive dissonance is a feeling produced by having an experience of contradictory ideas and actions in our conscious awareness, and resolving cognitive dissonance is about eliminating that experience, often the easiest way to resolve cognitive dissonance is to simply not load a belief while a contradictory belief or action is occurring.

Nothing stops us from storing massively self contradictory beliefs in the library. It's fine as long as they aren't both bumping around our working memory space at the same time. Working memory capacity is generally only about seven things, so avoiding loading the contradictions simultaneously is actually pretty easy if none of them contradict our sense of self. When we load an opinion, we don't need to also load the basis for the opinion. So if someone believes in abolishing all taxes because no government organisation can ever be trusted, and also believes we should hero worship the police, because they say they serve and protect, they can load "abolish taxes" and "hero worship the police" simultaneously without having an experience of cognitive dissonance.

Do they really believe no government organisation can ever be trusted? They believe it when they need to rationalise hating taxes to themself, or hating a particular organisation. It's an option that can get retrieved from the library, and when it's in working memory it is everything we imagine a belief to be. When it isn't in working memory, it functionally doesn't exist to the conscious mind.

It's fun to take these shots at conservative politics, and there are reasons conservative politics is full of obvious examples, but I'm going to emphasise; beliefs functionally not existing if they aren't in our awareness is not a pathology. This is the normal behaviour of a typically functioning healthy human mind. Mental illness does not equal when people's minds do things we don't like, no matter how good our reasons are for not liking them.

Confirmation Bias, Conspiracies, and Cults

The fact that the library can contain contradictory things, and our minds can pick and choose in motivated ways what gets represented in consciousness when, doesn't mean the options are limitless. We usually need some degree of justification to put something into the 'things I can believe' library, though when it comes to miscellaneous factual information 'I heard some one say it' is enough of a justification an alarmingly large amount of the time.

Confirmation bias is the tendency to retain beliefs in the face of contradictory information. People often describe it as people being impervious to having their beliefs changed. I think people describe it that way because they aren't on board with belief follows action yet. If you want to change what someone believes, motivate them to change their behaviour first. Belief will follow action. It's not that we haven't studied it, it's that we don't like it.

We want the solution to be that we change people's minds with evidence. It doesn't work, because giving them the evidence, even if they fully absorb it, just gives them options for potential beliefs, and it won't go into their 'what I believe' construct without an incentive, especially if their social context incentivises against it.

Confirmation bias can prevent us from tossing out beliefs prematurely. If we see something that looks like it disobeys physics, we might look for magnets or wires before we decide gravity is fake. That is an adaptive feature, but like most adaptive features, it has limits and it has downsides. The biggest limitation is that it doesn't do a whole lot to stop us from adding new optional beliefs to our collection. The biggest downside is that the power of confirmation bias relates to how much the belief has to do with your sense of self, and nothing to do with how well supported it is by evidence.

When we are talking about intrenched political beliefs, or other ideas that heavily relate to our sense of self and community, things get relatively fixed as to our broad conclusions. However, our broad conclusions are only a small portion of what we believe. When people think about a person prone to extreme confirmation bias, they often imagine it being a matter of rigid inflexible thinking. But it isn't. Coming up with new reasons to discount seemingly contradictory evidence, reinterpreting older evidence, finding new ways to reach the same conclusion based on a new set of facts, ect..., is all very creative and fluid. Conspiracy theorists are known for this. What makes the conclusions different to the supporting evidence it that our conclusions are tied to or actions and our sense of self. For a conspiracy theorist, maintaining the gist of the conclusion preserves their identity and their place in the community. Everything else is changeable.

Remember, belief follows action. If we participate in an opinionated community, we will believe what makes that make sense. If our survival depends on continuing to be involved in a social circle, we will believe what makes that make sense. Deradicalisation (from hate groups) and deprogramming often requires providing people a whole reboot of their life while they are still in the very early stages of working on themselves. No matter what new information you expose them to, even if they absorb it into the library of things they can believe, as long as their life is dependent on the communities that radicalised them (to hate) their minds will be highly incentivised to keep rolling back to forming 'what I believe' constructs that validate those connections. Not because they consciously decide it's better, because the part of their mind outside of their awareness that constructs what they believe doesn't include all the options. Most of the time it only includes the SAFE options. Being willing to help get people out by offering community support BEFORE they have reworked themselves is the only way to make deradicalisation happen at scale.

Propagandist news uses the Firehose of Falsehood because most people are relatively limited in what rationalising beliefs they can spontaneously generate for themselves. A network spewing dozens of self contradictory reasons to keep your political affiliation provides viewers an array of optional opinions to keep in the library. It doesn't matter that they can't be true at the same time, as long as they aren't in working memory at the same time. The more options you have of what 'what I believe' can be, the more tools you have to rationalise staying on the team, and staying in the community.

Individual Differences and Differing Individuals

For most of us, our behaviour is pretty consistent, what we are willing to believe is moderately narrow, and therefore our constructs of ‘what I believe’ can get remade as more or less the same thing over and over. However, if you have a mind that can believe quite a lot of different things, is prone to whimsical behaviour, and / or spent formative years needing to act a certain way to survive, it can learn to produce quite a lot of very different constructs of ‘what I believe’ in order to rationalise a wide range of behaviour.

While extensive and empirical cognitive psychology underpins how it is conceptually possible for people like that to exist, the actual patterns of rotating belief systems and what causes certain people to have them more than others is a topic that it is hard to look at empirically. There are logistical issues when it comes to measuring beliefs that flip in and out of conscious awareness based on context even with participants who would enthusiastically and honestly participate, and in many cases these patterns show up in people who would never willingly subject themselves to treatment or evaluation, which would make it impossible to have decent data on them even if we had a good way to measure it.

Because of that, much of the discussion of these patterns falls into the realm of psychoanalysis, which is a mixed bag of philosophy that sometimes likes to represent itself as a science, and has a lot of problematic history. Having spent a lot of time around survivors of severe childhood trauma and being one myself, I do think modern psychoanalysis gets some things right. However, I do want to be transparent about the fact when I talk about what causes some people to be particularly susceptible to unstable beliefs, rationalisations, and motivated forgetting, and when I discuss how that plays out, we are leaving the realm of science and entering the realm of ‘this is what some people are like according to the people who have thought about it a lot.’

For most people our sense of self identity will contain the generated constructs of what we believe toward a relatively fixed-ish core set of very similar ‘what I believe’ options, though fixed core beliefs cause problems of their own. For people with certain trauma responses, the sense of self can be the source of tremendous instability. If the sense of self is fragile, threatened, terrorised, split, ect… the mind can get pretty cavalier about changing out beliefs, memories, and opinions to protect itself, and even switch out the sense of self. We can end up having wildly different self-schema in different circumstances. This self can't cope with this situation? New self.

The library of 'things I can believe' can contain things that would cause cognitive dissonance if paired with one self-schema, but works fine with this other one. An extreme form of this can present as dissociative identity disorder, however that is very rare and not what I am getting at. Most of the time differing self-schema or self-states aren't that partitioned, and share access to most memories.

With an unstable sense of self, ‘what I believe’ can end up being a tool on a Swiss army knife of possible belief systems that get taken out as needed, all while the conscious experience of the central executive maintains a seamless perception of a coherent and stable worldview. When people are like this, it is far more noticeable from the outside than it is from the inside, and that is by design. Having awareness of how unstable your own beliefs are wouldn’t be expedient, it would be cognitively dissonant, so you don’t know about it.

This pattern is a big part of what is going on with Aziraphale. There is a very broad set of things he can believe, but it’s down to the individual situation if he believes a specific one at a particular time. He won’t see it as him picking and choosing his beliefs, whatever he believes in that scene looks to him like the only thing he would ever believe, no matter the fact that he will believe something else the next day. There are also certain things outside of his awareness that he knows but won’t perceive, because they are dangerous to his sense of self, but those things can still impact his behaviour.

Thank you for reading though! The future posts will be a lot more to do with the story, and probably about half the length each.

Post 1/10

End Note: This post is the most likely of the set to be revised in some way. That is because the concepts I’m seeking to get across here are very hard to digest even for people within the field of psychology. Finding ways to more effectively communicate these aspects of how our minds work is a bit of a passion project for me, so if you see areas that are confusing, bits you want more elaboration on, questions that are unaddressed, ect…, please let me know. I am very interested in working out more methods of getting these ideas across.

If you are interested in reading further into the subject outside of my internet ramblings, Wikipedia pages, and think piece articles, I would recommend getting ahold of a cognitive psychology textbook as a place to start, the internet has ways.

#good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens meta #what does aziraphale actually believe

45 notes · View notes