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yandere-genji · 7 months

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💟—Desperate—💟

part one

nsfw

TW: noncon, dubcon, abuse, yandere

contains: kidnapping, blood, injuries, fingering, human pet, humiliation

reader is gender neutral

It’s cold. Colder than the gray cement floor. Colder still than Ramattra’s metal plating and what scarce heat reflected from its surface.

Outside, in some distant world, the sun warmed all it touched. But that was stolen from you. He tossed into this barren room, only being taken out to “play”. An activity that involved anything but fun for you. Ramattra’s idea of play meant whatever satisfied his sadistic flavor of the week, any enjoyment you might derive being nothing short of error.

You had stopped trying to count the minutes, lost track of the days without the sun. Wherever your family way, you only prayed that they escaped the clutches of his forces, found refuge in some other city. It was the only hope you had, however foolish. There was no energy left in you to contemplate whether death was a worse fate than being reduced to whatever you had been made to be.

A streak of white light swallowed the room. Repulsed, you shielded yourself, chains shuffling as you moved. Two voices spoke, Rammatra’s robotic hum and another you can scarcely recognize.

“My,” an omnic voice chided, “What a mess you’ve made. A remarkable visage spoiled by your folly.”

“Shut up and take your reward,” Rammatra spoke, turning away. You adjusted to the light and recognized the other voice as soon as you matched its face. The other omnic that found you that day. The day you were kidnapped. Sleek as you remembered him, in polished steel and a well-tailored suit.

“Not so fast,” his gaze fixed on you, but not in address, “I have something more in mind.”

“I said,” you flinched as his voice darkened, a sound you had heard at your most vulnerable, “Take your reward. Before I stop feeling so generous.”

“Have some sense. You’ve no mastery in handling delicate things, and what a precious creature you’ve caught. You’d be a fool to let this one go to waste,” he walked towards your withered body.

“What harm is there to wasting it?”

You couldn’t help the desperate sobs that erupted through your slitted eyes, praying someone could save you from this hell. Almost as if to answer you, the other omnic bent on his knee and raised to hand to cup your cheek.

“Don’t fret, dear. I have ways to make your master soften. Just follow my lead, won’t you?”

You kept your gaze low and nodded shallowly.

“No doubt you’ve fallen for their charms - if your frequent visits to your quarters are any accurate measure. You don’t mean such harsh words.”

“Please,” he scoffed, “I am not nearly as weak as you. Humans bring me no pleasure.”

“And yet,” the omnic hummed, “You keep them displayed like this. What a sight, indeed. Turn over, pet, let me see what your master has done to you.”

Despite your shame, you fulfilled his command, lifting your head and displaying your back to the two omnics. You hear gears turn in an amused purr as his hands examined your recently used body.

“I want no part in this, Maximilien. I had no intent to lead you here, but you have earned it. So do as you please and then take your leave.”

The smaller omnic - Maximilien - continued to lap around you. He leaning down and whispered in your ear, “Let me show you how much more skilled I am than your little master.”

You knit your brows tight enough to make your head ache and your stomach tensed. You had endured too many nights at Rammatra’s mercy, so much trauma that left you bloody and sore. Hours each day spent on your back, poked and squeezed until his marks colored your flesh a deep purple. A toy to spend his idle time when he needed to relieve himself. And now he was giving you to his friend.

He seemed already fascinated by the bruises on your body. You can imagine why - the smooth tips of his fingers grazing your tender skin, only to stab at your your nerves just to hear you scream. If he was anything like Ramattra, maybe. What other tortures men like them enjoy, you didn’t want to think about. You would be witness to them soon enough.

A large, unmistakable clawed hand grabbed your arm and pulled you away.

“A dangerous taunt from such a small creature,” how surprising it was to hear someone with such a passion for his own people to spit an insult with the same venom you had heard in your own little town.

“What keen ears you have, dear brother,” Maximilien hummed, “I had hoped you’d have other matters to attend to. Surely more important than this pet of yours.”

He pulled you closer with a strength you feared might severe your arm right then and there. And yet you leaned into him, somehow finding some comfort in his protection. Even if it wasn’t as intended for you as you would’ve liked to think.

Faint light shone white on Maximilien’s polished loafers, rolling like a pebble with each step he took. Ramattra released you, his shadow shrouding you in darkness. The smaller omnic kneeled, sharp eyes on yours. They burned like flames sunken in his face and fueled your fear.

But his touch was gentle, delicate fingers grazing your skin. Your breath jumped, skin rose in bumps as his fingers tips traced your shape. He cupped your chin and lowered his gaze. Your chest tightened, metal digit resting on your lip. He pushed further and your body responded before you could choke on the moans that left from your lips. His blazing eyes soften.

“Beautiful.”

Ramattra’s hand cupped underneath your chin, lifting your head high and you met the gaze of the same stoic face you learned to fear. He reveled in contorting your body in awkward positions. Maximilien tutted in disapproval, “Why don’t we show your master what a lovely pet you can be?”

Your eyes were wet and you fluttered away heavy tears. He must’ve taken that as a sign of approval, running a hand over you back as he returned to examine between your legs. Rammatra knelt. All the hours spent at his disposal kept you alert in his presence, like the primal instinct of prey when being stalked by predator. All too exposed to the two of them, you yelped when you felt Maximilien’s noticeably smaller hand creep up the length of your thigh.

“Don’t be afraid, dear one,” he cooed, “You’ll be getting very comfortable with me very soon.”

You hushed the urge to cry, swallowing a hiccup, and let him continue massaging your inner thigh, touching closer and close to your most sensitive appendage. His hand cupped the swell of your ass, kneading soft moans out of you. The motions teased you most sensitive parts and numbed your mind at the pleasure. He laughed and shook the meat of your thighs in small, rapid movements that sent vibrated the fat of your lower body. You arched your back, missing the pressure between your legs and Maximilien met your plea with a finger lightly dipping into you but not enough to satisfy.

“So good for me, such a good toy you are.”

You turned frantic at the praise, like a starved man at a feast, moaning and presenting your aching body to him. Eager for his touch. He laughed again. Music, ecstasy. You could beg if you knew the words.

His fingers sunk into you, reliving the pain from more uninvited encounters. But the entry was much more bearable when his fingers expertly indulged that spot between your legs. You could find sweet pleasure past all the pain. And you let yourself go, moaning salaciously as your mind went blank with desire. Maximilien played you like a puppet, curling his finger inside you and hitting spots so precisely you become putty in his hands.

“More,” Ramattra’s deep voice killed you moans and stiffened your body.

“Not yet,” Maximilien focused, no longer playful, “This is a careful process.”

Maximilien’s nimble touch was forced out of you, leaving you exposed as your sensitive body met with Ramattra’s own, sharp and cold. Not at all the comfort you had just known. His large hands dragged you by your thigh and sat you on his knee.

“What do you think you’re doing, you damned brute?” you never thought Maximilien could be angry before this moment.

“You’ve had your fun,” the tips of two metal digits threaten to tear you open, rimming you.

“Gentle!”

“I’m tired of waiting,” you’re already sobbing, but when his unforgiving fingers force their way through you, you’re screaming. There’s no relief when he pulls back, your body far too sore to recover in such a short amount of time before you’re filled again. His other hand held you still, and you would’ve been perfectly still if he wasn’t gripping you so hard enough to cut through your skin. You’ve learned to stop begging, stop crying for help, it only makes things worse. So you sobbed silently, whimpering when you needed to breathe. Maximilien’s hand fell on your back, trying to rub some sort of comfort into you. It meant nothing.

“You didn’t enjoy that show I put on for you earlier?” he asked.

“I admit,” he relaxed his fingers, “It was sweet. But I tired quickly of pathetic little touches.”

“If you would have waited you would see that I was getting to that,” Maximilien, too, was losing patience, “Enough of this, you won’t make good on any arrangement if you don’t let me take your pet for myself.”

He stopped, he actually stopped. When he released your limp body, the hard ground felt soft as a pillow. Maximilien took Rammatra’s soiled hand and brought it to your face.

“Clean your master, show him what a good pet you are.”

You would’ve loved to wrap your lips around Maximilien’s fingers, beg him with your eyes to finish you off. But to show that intimacy with Ramattra? Any sign of vulnerability you showed him he was sure to abuse. You closed your eyes tightly, tongue settling at his wet tips and tasting yourself.

“Eyes up,” Maximilien commanded.

That stoic face. Still somehow mocking you as you lapped the wetness, the taste and his gaze making you hold back bile. But you did as you were told, until only your saliva was left to glisten on his clawed hands.

That didn’t satisfy him for long, he was quick to wrap that same hand around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but used his grip as leverage to manipulate you. He had you sit on your knees, head up. Maximilien raised a hand to interrupt the process.

“Still for just a moment and I can give you something you never knew you wanted,” the promise was invited, would’ve been sweeter without Ramattra here.

Ramattra hummed, thumb playing with your bottom lip. Peering down at you like a toy he was hesitant in sharing. He freed your neck, “I want you pleading for mercy at the end of this.”

If you hadn’t been so worn down, you might’ve fought back, sometimes wished you had the guts to spit a curse at him. Other times you were glad to be quiet. You shifted your gaze, hoping he didn’t notice your whimpering. Maximilien came forward and raked a hand through your hair. His touch was nothing short of delightful and melting into him became an instinct. Finally spoiled after endless abuse.

“So sweet for me,” he trailed his fingers down your cheek, lifted your chin and tilted it from side to side, “Your master loves to make a show of you, doesn’t he? Lay back.”

Shifting off your knees, you laid down on the thin blanket Rammatra had made your bed. Maximilien held your knees, rubbed circles into them as he watched you display your body for him.

“You’ve been lovely, darling, but I want to hear more from you,” he moved his hands to the back of your knees, spreading you apart, “A good pet begs.”

“Please,” you stammered in a whisper, not even sure what you’re asking for.

“You’ll have two masters, now. Address me as such,” he continued trailing down your legs, spreading you wider.

“Yes, master,” the words burned your cheeks in shame and muted anger. You looked away when he dipped his finger at your hole. Now that you’d been primed by Rammatra, there was no need for him to ease himself into you, yet he still kept a slow pace. His other hand steady at your hip, gently messaging you like a lover taking a virgin. You were still tender, but he eased the pain by thumbing over your arousal, messaging you just enough to ignore the sting.

He heavied the pressure, drawing soft moans from you again. His finger curled and your body sang in tune, stretching your body in bliss. His other hand tightened, squeezing as he built pressure. He released, sent a slap to your exposed ass and you yelped, “I’m not hearing any begging. Brother, come here.”

You let out pleading whimpers as you watched Rammatra approach. His gaze intent on your body, watched as you squirmed and begged at a mere touch. Maximilien pulled away when Rammatra knelt between your legs, holding your knees apart and spreading you wider than you thought possible at this position.

“Keep the pressure there and do what you were before. You’ll find much better results.”

His fingers filled you again, never just one, while his other hand took Maximilien’s suggestion. Though gentler, he was not as nimble as Maximilien and would too often painfully spear you. But when he hit just the right spot, the satisfaction was almost worth it.

“Beg. Now.”

He’d made that command to you before, and you cried and screamed to indulge him. Pleas not made in passion, but in fear. He wasn’t your master, he was your tormentor. The last thing you could imagine was him delighting in your pleasure. And you never thought you’d enjoy his touch. That you’d find bliss in begging him.

“Please, master,” you’re not even sure what it is you’re begging for, but it seemed to do wonders as he had you moaning loudly not long after. He didn’t need to ask again, you’re pleading with him frantically after every moan and by the way he increased to a brutal pace, it’s exactly what he wanted. He inserted another finger, the pain was hot and pricked a tear from your eye - ecstasy.

He sent a sharp slap to your ass, his strength dwarfing the Maximilien’s touch, while he began to scissor three claws inside of you. Your hands hurried to soothe the pain, stop it somehow but Maximilien caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. You tried for him to find sympathy in your wet eyes, but he kept you still as Rammatra stretched you impossibly full.

“That’s it, faster,” Maximilien ordered over your panicked, bouncing body with a determined voice. You kicked and squirmed. When Rammatra found just the right spot, the perfect tempo, your body took control. The sensation far too much for you to keep still any longer, so close to release.

“Yes, faster! Please, please, please,” voice tittering to babbling cries as your master stretched you brutally, his associate pinning you tighter as you came undone. Your mind chased bliss, and every sight is him, your master.

He can see it, too, that look on your face. Your desperate glances and quaking body, your legs spread wide open for him. You’re his, more than you ever have been before.

Your ears rang when you came, pain searing your sobering body. His fingers stopped scissoring but were still inside you. Maximilien released his grip and your rolled your wrists, wincing at the raw wounds. When Rammatra removed his fingers, you worried you would never be able to move your legs again.

He lifted you in his arms, tired and weak. “I will take the pet to my chambers to rest,” he curled his arms and pulled you closer, “I trust you enjoyed your reward. It was well deserved.”

#yandere overwatch #yandere #dark overwatch #yandere!overwatch #dark!overwatch #dark ramattra #yandere ramattra #ramattra x reader #yandere au #male yandere #yandere x reader #maximilien x reader #dark maximilien #yandere maximilien #overwatch maximilien #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n

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insurrection-if · 4 months

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Are you even working on the demo cause you spend time answering asks a lot for someone who should be busy writing. You haven't even made one progress update...not one. Bffr

Apologies for causing you so much frustration; it is certainly a frustration I share myself. I too am not happy about my state of progress either. Always am I uselessly lamenting the loss of time the hours of my work and hiatus have taken from this project, but I cannot help the fact that I live beyond the existence of this game. I sympathize with your sentiments here. That does not diminish how it hurts me to see these frustrations take firm root in another.

I do take a little issue with the phrasing of “someone who should be writing”—it is a bit too demanding in tone for a project and story that has no taken nothing from you other than your volunteered time and attention. I apologize again if you feel that I have been a waste of this time and attention you have given, but thankfully there are far greater—and completed—creative works in the world (and especially the IF community) for you to derive a more immediate enjoyment from in my place. If you consider my efforts and words here thus far worthless, then please spend your time seeking out others who more rightly deserve support, whether it be quiet or actioned in nature, though I do hope you refrain from giving any unconstructive negativity to those creators. Support of any real, or well-intentioned, worth should never be offered in an accusatory form.

I cannot be reduced to a servile entity that wakes, works, and writes in an endless, uninterrupted cycle for you. I am not some distant figment or a puppet machine that toils without exhaust and objectively produces content for the sake of a quota. I am a human person, no better—perhaps even lesser—than the average, with a life that demands and takes and upends even the best of my intentions. A stranger, and I apologize if this distancing term in any way offends or discomforts you, cannot determine for me what should be done with my life and limited time.

My demo will be free, my responses are free, and your time is freely given. No contract exists between us to bind you to my nonsense.

Would you like progress updates? I did not create them since I did not consider there to be an interest in these sorts of posts from me. It is easy for me to forget that others might have this project of mine on their mind beyond the short span of time it takes to read my response to a message or ask. Minimal posting is my comfort zone after all as this makes me feel like less of a clutter in the lives and time of other people. If it is so desired, then I will consider it, though they may be sporadic due to the personal discomfort I would need to surmount.

Would answering less asks honestly be reassuring for you? I know the volume of my responses to asks and comments is not the root, or even true, concern you hold—that would be the efficient use of my time to produce a demo / playable content at your earliest convenience—but if it brings more frustration than anything else to the majority then I can pause all responses in my inbox and drafts. I do not want to invest time, effort, and heart into something that will only cause anger or annoyance.

And again, I apologize if my tone is at all a bit too mean, angered, short, or sharp. It’s been a lot these past few weeks, mostly in terms of stress and crying. I feel a little incoherent as I write this. I do not want to cause any more disappointment than I what I am already blaming myself for.

Sorry.

#personal

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tired-reader-writer · 1 year

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“It seems you don't recognize the significance of this.” Narsus looks amused, a curious glint in his eyes.

Areyan feels queasy about it.

“The significance of what? The whole prince thing?”

“Yes and no,” Narsus says. “You refuse to be prince, which is fine, but that still does not diminish your value.”

What value? Areyan wants to ask— whatever Narsus meant, Areyan is certain those words weren't as encouragement one would give a downtrodden fellow.

No, these mean something else. Something larger. Something that he's unable to see.

Narsus chuckles, deriving some kind of enjoyment from his confusion. “What you did in Ecbatana, my dear.”

“I'm assuming you're not speaking of my magic.”

“That's correct. It's also included, somewhat, but it's not the main point.”

“Then what is?” He narrows his eyes.

“You were a thorn in Lusitania's side for a considerable stretch of time,” he says as he paces. He brushes his fingers on one of the potted plants— the ones Areyan's in charge of in the apothecary. Medicinal herbs. He's looking at it with fondness, almost. “You gave them much trouble, and many still talk of it.”

“I did what anyone else would've done.”

“You spearheaded an organized resistance,” he says, “In such short notice. You did not hold any high office or commanding position, just a boy, a ward of a marzban who showed no sign of following in his father's steps. You were no heir, either.”

“People would've banded together nonetheless.” Wouldn't they? There were men more experienced than he, actual soldiers who could've organized the entire thing in his stead. “I just happened to be there.”

Things would have turned out that way even without him.

“No, little bird.” He turns to face Areyan again. “They wouldn't have.”

“What do you mean? The people of Ecbatana would've wanted to survive, surely, and to oust the Lusitanians from their city.”

“Maybe it could've, but what matters right here and now is that it was you who led the resistance, little bird, and no other,” he says. “Why would they follow a boy who holds no rank, if not for the fact that he is a leader of high caliber?”

Areyan controls himself from scowling. “Are you trying to make me take that position again, Sir Narsus?”

At that, he laughs. “No, no. I am not.” He steps forward, towards Areyan. “I'm trying to make you see.”

“What is it that I am not seeing, Sir Narsus?”

“Someone of that caliber... would make a valuable retainer, would he not? Even if you refuse to take the mantle of Crown Prince, the fact that you are valuable does not change. In fact, you might be one of the most valuable pieces on the board at present.”

“What?” Is it so special, what he did? People band together to complete tasks all the time, that's what community is. Surely it is not so novel a concept? “I'm not some hero or master strategist, you know. Why would I be particularly valued against more competent fellows? More experienced?”

“Mayhaps not, you certainly lack experience, but that's not the point. It's what you represent, above all else.” He points his finger at him. “You have to realize, little bird, that you are held in high regard by the people whether you like it or not. Having such a person in one's service would be a boon to their image, a legitimization of sorts. Pars is without a true leader at present, and whoever obtains you is going to gain a headstart none of their competitors will have.

“Besides which, you are the key to the north— the key to your father's support for their cause. They must obtain you and make you kneel, if they hope to win Gorgan's strength. You must realize this, little one. For all that you are capable you remain stubbornly blind to this! You must consider carefully who you reach your hand out to, for the future may hinge on it.”

#arslan senki #the heroic legend of arslan #heroic legend of arslan #wolfpack au #winds of wolfsong #arslan #narsus #rotten egg's shitty writing #not my best work but I needed to get this out of my systrm #for what it's worth Gorgan shows a high degree of cooperation and unity within their own communities thanks to the clan #they have good harvests (also thanks to the clan) and actual mages who can wreak untold destruction on their enemies #and an entire marzban and his soldiers #plus the civilians who are very willing to take up arms to defend their home #and Arslan... is the bridge between Shapur's side and the clan #it's a two-birds-one-stone kind of situation #I hope it makes sense?#areyan (arslan)

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darklydeliciousdesires · 11 months

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Bit of a reflective post, besties.

A week ago now, I shared with you about the nasty anon, whose message really did give me a knock to the confidence. However, I don't think they - or any other doubters I may have out there - were expecting what has happened to happen as a result.

Thanks, nasty anon. You gave me pause for thought, to perhaps see where I needed to improve in my writing, and because of you, I will. See, that's the thing about me, my getting knocked down is only ever TEMPORARY. I bounce back. Always.

While I do not feel I'm quite as terrible as my doubters would have me believe, I will work on my craft. What do I always say, guys? We're all still learning. I've never excluded myself from that.

I do feel, though, if I was as bad as it has been claimed, it's unlikely so many of you would have sent so much in the way of comments, inbox messages and DM's assuring me otherwise. You guys bombarded me with love and support! I cannot thank you enough for such generosity of spirit and warmth. It meant the world to me.

I think people who participate in actively wanting to tear someone down do it for a reason more relates to themselves than the person they're attacking. If you enjoy deriving pleasure from making someone feel bad about themselves or knocking them down, and actively take enjoyment from witnessing their anguish, quite simply, you're a shitty person. A really, really shitty person.

So yeah, as things stand, I'm writing with confidence and happiness again, but I'm checking myself so much more, I'm not rushing as I think I'd been much too concerned over sharing a continuous stream of work in an effort to keep my followers happy, without realising that it was burning me out and compromising on quality.

So yeah. I won't be brought down to the level certain others think I should be at. Or at least, not for long. I mean, you can keep trying... but you'll be wasting your time.

Happy Sunday, besties. I'm going to eat my Dan-Dan noodles and devour the new season of Black Mirror. Hope you're all happy in whatever you're up to right now. I certainly am :)

#ddd speaks #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #mayans mc fanfiction #sons of anarchy fanfiction #just watch me get better while you stay bitter anon

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lucky-clover-gazette · 8 months

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Shadow shakes his head. “You’re doing perfectly. I just don’t want this to be a bad memory for you.” Dreaming Vio startles at the comment. Is this a bad memory? He doesn’t think so, but his definition of ‘bad’ is far from conventional. That’s what months of corruption does to a person, he supposes. Shadow runs his hands down Vio’s waist and hips as the blonde pushes him against the headboard. Vio kisses him deep, almost as if sucking poison from a wound. Shadow’s eye widen as he watches strange patterns appear on his own skin. Dark purple veins run down his arms and neck, almost resembling the complex root system of a tree. They seem to almost be alive, the lines pulsing as Shadow kisses Vio harder. Vio whimpers, but doesn’t let go. The lines transfer from one body to another, tendrils of gloom creeping their way beneath the thin fabric of his blouse. It appears to weaken him further at first, and he loses the energy to kiss Shadow hard. He falls into the other man’s arms, his body jerking around every three seconds as if taking prolonged damage from the direct exposure.

— —

I think one of my favorite things about your writing is how you take so many concepts from other games in the Zelda series (like the gloom or the addition of the Hero’s Shade in this fic specifically) and use the elements given through canon but also add your own twist. I’m mostly curious what inspires you to use those things, and also how much more complex the systems might be than what we get from reading the character’s perspectives. I also just really like this scene and the concept of this fic as a whole; it’s definitely one of my most favorite things I’ve read :D (Also I’ve been meaning to ask if there’s any specific songs you’d tie to scenes in any of your fics or music you listen to while writing in general).

Anyways thank you! Hope you're having a good day!

thank you so much! i always appreciate your comments.

with other zelda things, it’s really kind of connected to my overall experience with the series. loz was an iceberg for me, like i started with botw, got really into it, started watching other people play the other games, read the twilight princess manga, got a wii u to play the oldies, and eventually just kinda randomly picked up the four swords manga almost a year ago. so i already had a lot of love for this series before writing four swords fic, and a lot of thoughts about the games. esp bc it’s not a nostalgia thing for me, i’ve approached zelda as an adult, i think my analysis of and connection to the media has been pretty “deep” or whatever. these stories mean a lot to me, and i’ve always been someone to take stories and their importance in my life seriously. botw in particular was a very healing experience for me at the time that i played it. that game holds a lot of philosophical and emotional meaning to me, and i get why others may not enjoy it, but as someone who has now played the other games, i still think it’s a master piece. my favorite game of all time, honestly, and totk was such a gift. it did so much right for me. it’s been delightful experiencing the series how i have.

i don’t love all of the choices made in terms of story and themes in loz, but there is a LOT to play with in fic. esp bc it’s a reincarnation type series, i don’t give a shit about the timeline, i just want to draw parallels and do clever interesting things. so a lot of the time i’ll have a vague idea of what i want to do with a story, and there will be a way to make connections, if only for my own enjoyment. i’m a strong believer that all art is derivative, but like, if you know the author loves it and is having fun, that only makes it better. it’s hard to pinpoint what i thought of and what was put in my mind by other things in the series, and honestly, i’m totally cool with that :)

i want to tread lightly talking about the gloom and corruption stuff in that specific fic because spoilers buuuuut the core concept of that part was just for it to be vaguely toxic and kinda … yknow… and i liked the idea of gloom/gloom hands being this confused force of harm and affection. honestly this whole fic is just me putting some very personal feelings and experiences on blast, and it’s been exhausting to write. i actually scrapped the final chapter and i’m rewriting it now, for the best!

hmmm i do connect my writing a lot to music but i think (?) you’ve seen my vidow playlist already! for the final chapter i’m doing a little bit of a tone shift and i’ve been listening a ton to the bottoms (movie) soundtrack. going for something more lively and active and cinematic, instead of two people being miserable. inserting a little dark humor too, closer to the og corruption but it’s chill au. while working on earlier chapters of corruption but it’s unchill i associated it with “eyes half open” by cinders, and (TOTK SPOILERS) i listened to the totk memory ost of rauru sealing ganon pretty much the entire time i wrote the chapter where vio kills green. been listening a lot to “pain” by king princess (also in bottoms, that movie is living rent free in my brain rn) while working on the final chapter.

hope this answers your questions! thanks so much for reading <3

#my writing #fs

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absentabsolution · 11 months

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I guess I’ve really reached the point where much of my lust for life has in fact gone. I have ambitions but I don’t know how to be vulnerable and the current plan is to die on my porch or in my office whenever my dick stops working.

And there’s a certain irony in the fact that I derive much of my purpose from serving those I interact with day to day, and try not to let a day go by without doing a major act of kindness for someone.

But I suppose that in and of itself for whatever reason doesn’t really give me a fervor or desire to wake up in the morning. I’m not really sure what would in all honesty. I work, volunteer, care for the family land/properties, occasionally go out, and repeat but find none of it really breeds enthusiasm. I find projects that I am excited about but even that quickly fades once I’ve finished them.

So what next? I’m not emotionally reliant on anyone or anything. I am financially stable. I can take care of myself in terms of life skills and handiness. Is being vulnerable really what’s going to make me enjoy life again? I find the prospect of it quite literally sickening. The idea of really opening up about my feelings and making someone my confidant again feels honestly abhorrent. At this point in my life most of my romantic interactions are usually people who I share experiences with and who I allow to rely on me, but not whom I allow myself to rely on and that causes emotional friction for some odd reason until I cut things off before the inevitable failscade.

I clearly can’t answer these questions for myself so I’m stuck. I honestly don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be vulnerable, but honestly while I’ve improved in literally every single other aspect of my life I don’t have this enjoyment of it that I used to have. So I’m guessing that’s the solution. But I am honestly hoping it isn’t.

In other news I’m now one of three of my childhood friends who isn’t married or engaged. And the other two are in long term relationships. Part of me is mentally preparing myself for bachelorhood and in some small part relishes it in the same way I look forward to death as an easy out. Sorry about the last name Dad, we had a good run, maybe our family needs to make more than one guy a generation.

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dear-mrs-otome · 2 years

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omg ;-; thank you so much! I didn't want to trouble you and I realize it kind of sounds like a forced blog game thing in a way so x) I appreciate it. So! I only play the Cybird games: Yoshitsune, Ieyasu, Isaac, Ray, Rayvis, Gaku, Haru-Akira/Kirisato. I don't play prince. If it helps I also previously liked Byron/Albert and am also a Mozart/Harr enjoyer. I can see some similarities between a few but not sure what are more common threads overall. Thank you again for your thoughts! ♥︎♥︎✨

I don't mind at all, thank you again for the opportunity - I hope I don't disappoint you!

First off, I have to say, this is a lovely collection of suitors you have here. I got your message about Diluc as well! A good number of my own favorites are on this list. (Gaku my love 🥰)

The first thing that sprang to mind as I looked them over was that... they seem very alike to me! These are all 'quiet' men. Not necessarily in the sense that they are stoic, or don't speak at all - they're not cold or aloof per se. But they're often the sort to observe and assess a situation and rarely react on the basis of emotion alone. They would rather err on the side of reticence than jump to wrong conclusions, and they’re content letting others take the spotlight without being pushovers. They don’t feel the need to call attention to themselves or derive any sort of validation from it.

These are also all very principled, disciplined men with strong passions and well-defined goals, even if you can't see them right on the surface. Even Gaku, who at first blush appears the greatest slacker of them all, has some incredible motivation if you scratch that exterior. There’s a lot of idealists and dreamers in this group, all aspiring to work towards something bigger than themselves, and they're more than capable of achieving those goals.

Thirdly, these are all men who bear a great deal of admiration and respect for their MCs. Even the two or three who shade slightly tsun (Ieyasu, Isaac, and Mozart) have very thin veneers and once cracked think the absolute world of their partner.

So if I may be so bold as to jump to my own conclusions...what I might suggest is that you seek out men who are happy to truly listen to you as a person. Who say, 'I hear you'. Who cede the floor, who don’t need to make things about themselves, who offer and even create the space for you to be yourself and support you in doing so (whether that is because you are quieter yourself and need someone to respect you enough to let you go at your own pace OR because you enjoy steering the direction of conversations and thought). Men who approach you as an equal and a partner and are incredibly devoted and caring - and never, ever leave you questioning how much they value you.

I'd also venture that you respect and admire their drive and ambition and how they balance it with their morals and don't lose sight of respecting others in the pursuit of their ends.

I hope that maybe I gave you at least a hint of something you hadn't seen about them all before, but even if not, thank you for sharing these with me and honoring me with your favorites!

#mrs o talks #i just rambled this out really quickly while making dinner so i hope this makes sense nonny!#and i hope maybe I wasn't too far off

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redbrokenwhistle · 4 months

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First off, I can write things and be wrong.

I am to explore hope and pity as slave values, and they have an operation of propagation found in the death drive and surplus enjoyment, identically and respectively. This polemic will draw largely from the immoralists Nietzsche and Stirner, with psychoanalysis deriving from freud and lacan respectively. The concept at play here may even extend to altruism and charity, and I think it probably does. The last propagates itself deeply into moral compliment. 1) I need to not overextend myself here 2) Establish what this essay aims to detail 3) I need to outline the experiences

This whole series is immoral. And it may offend people. What I am doing here is not an audienced polemic. But I should assume some level of competency for an audience, I do not need them to have read L'Ecrits, I do not need them even familiar with Nietzsche, and in these bounds I will attempt to create a work accessible by those curious individuals who are ignorant of such philosophies, casual browsers of intellectual work, and as a groundwork for future immoralists. This will not be and "edutainment" piece. If you're bored by the idea of thinking, husk your worthless gaze in some other direction. Otherwise, let this begin. Ultimately and completely, these pages are servants to my ability as a writer, inquirer, and future speaker. While the work could be more complete and really more robust, the purpose of this first edition is for it to exist.

Discuss Nietzsche slave morality

Discuss death drive/ surplus enjoyment

Distinguish pity, sympathy, empathy

From what I have been able to gather, For Freud what drove was either sexual reproduction or aggression. The latter making sense in the idea of vengeance and reciprocity. There is also an insight/relation to conquering, but I'm just not sure yet.

In both of these, the subject is presented with an opportunity to perform change, but instead of feeling bad knowing they'll do nothing about it, they invent hope that it will improve and pity for the afflicted, so they can selfishly walk away without being morally complimenting. Charity (begging) may be the same for the afflicted (homeless, for example), where it has many faces, but don't leave the same room.

What keeps people living like this is the idea they have an enemy and that enemy is external. Every limitation of the mind is a self-imposition. All people are egoists. Most pretend not to be. Even to their own detriment.

Pity (I see as excuse that lets you feel good while doing nothing about a problem. It also is bad ethical behavior, if youre into that sort of thing) is worse than sympathy, and sympathy is in its own ridiculousness. and the lasts has it's perversion with empathy. Where empathy is defined as "putting one into another's shoes" (also sympathy is not a singular thing, empathizing with a part of a story by living it is different from entering ones whole world; hiking a trail for one part of a story vs emulating homelessness). Suppose one were to take this literally. is not the story we would tell to someone be different from he who's we have heard? But if this is not empathy, then what is? Empathy is to have an experience with the person. If they are in pain, you open the door to that room and sit on the floor with them.

What do I know of as slave values? I believe most of it exists in the make believe, and perhaps also under resentful objection to whatever authority is governing them. Hope seems to be something that is conscious (and justifies(?) while being used to terminate the helplessness of the individual, resentment is a limbic thing, I suppose one must be made while the other must be suppressed. This is also as far, as I think, that egoism is the solution*. I will attempt to make a model, for purpose of understanding the modalities of these things.

In my mind, american slavery first pops in.

It seems to me there must be a punitive component, where the reward can be met by being the least you could be, as your entire identity is rooted in being an appearance for someone else's favor. This is particularly effective under group punishment**. This the self manufactured origin of the good? I'm not sure if it matters that the "punisher" or master be singular, plural, or disembodied (explore each). And it functions that the governing authority should, it is in his interest to keep things in line.

*For all and for none - it is the "all" of the inclusive self; like stirners union of egoists, and jorg's posse. For all individually, and none together, for this union is morality. But under current dictions, any group like Jorgs would be a conspiracy. Morality - a hopeful loyalty? any group always permits dissent.

**Guilt of a community? Modernly, of course.

#philosophy #me #polemic #return

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thephilosophyofsyd · 7 months

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My Ghost Friend

The last several weeks I have been trying to accept the absence of a friend of mine. This friend unexpectedly became a very close one. Someone who made me feel capable of transforming into the person I am working hard to become. Someone who provided insights into topics I found interesting. Someone who was aware of my fondness towards them. But most importantly, someone who reciprocated all of the above.

My friend and I would talk practically everyday. We philosophized about various aspects of life. We reflected and told stories of our past. For years, I felt contained to myself, but as our friendship grew, the security did too. I felt secure in sharing my thoughts with my friend, and I think they did too. We were very different individuals, but we had understanding and similar desires to become better people.

It stopped abruptly. I feel as if this person has died. Having someone consistently be a presence in my life vanish in the way they did triggered a wave of insecurities.

I have never been good with change, but I have experienced enough to recognize that the dynamic of our friendship would alter. A month before their disappearance, I acknowledged the inevitable change. I thought I came to terms with the fact that eventually the present moments would become past memories. But, I never thought it would result to this. For a while I was experiencing distress. I realized that it appeared I had no one to discourse with. We had a friendship that didn't seem like a bother. We were able to exist in a space together without feeling responsible of one another. In other words, we were capable of doing what was best for ourselves in the company of each other. At least that is what I believed. I didn't think this person would fall in the pile of people who have hurt and disappointed me. From an existentialist perspective, I should have been aware of this possibility. For everyone has freewill. The freewill to choose to be there or to disappear. To communicate their feelings or completely shut down. In a way, I can't be angry with them for living the way they desire to. I can only hope for their goodwill. When it comes down to it, I believe myself to be more hurt than anything.

The other morning, I woke up from a dream of my friend. We were at a party, their party. There were various events that occurred at this party that caused me to gather that I didn’t know them the way I thought I did. I opened my eyes and thought, “stranger”. The friend I considered my most authentic, closest friend has become a stranger. The distance that has grown within the last few months has encouraged me to contemplate friendship. What is it? How is it categorized? Why is it that not talking to this particular person causes feelings of emptiness despite me having other friends? Why do I feel as if I have no one to converse with now that this specific friend is MIA?

Coincidentally, this week in my Greek Philosophy course, we are discussing Aristotle's view of friendship. According to Aristotle, there are three types of friendships, and each type has different characteristics. Utility Friendships are based on mutual benefit. Pleasure Friendships are based on the enjoyment and pleasure that individuals derive from each other's company. But, Virtue or Complete Friendships are believed to be that of the highest and most enduring form of friendship. This friendship is based on mutual respect, admiration, and a shared commitment to moral and ethical values. We spoke of the kinds of situations in which we have these friends, how complete friendship are rare due to limited time and connection; but most important to my current dilemma, we went over the longevity of friendships.

I thought about my ghost friend during these discussions in class. I had once considered our friendship to be complete and now, I wonder if it would be foolish of me to still believe that. I still respect and admire this individual, although these feelings are beginning to fade the longer communication is lacked. I also still hold my commitment to the values I believe in. The concept in question is if they still reciprocate these feelings towards me and if our values are still align. The silence should be my answers and if I take silence as the answers, then perhaps our friendship was always pleasure and nothing more. Regardless of the circumstances, according to Aristotle, I must let go.

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loqiandy · 2 years

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(Lowkey Me) What can I say?

Who Dis? Wut Dis?

A High Key blog about the Low-Key feelings I have towards things you may or may not be thinking about.

If you happen to stumble upon this blog, I hope you find some enjoyment in getting to know me.

I've always wanted to start writing but didn't really know where to begin. I had urges to start writing out my feelings, be it about my day, my life, my career, etc... but felt hesitant putting it out there. I feel that there are things out there that people are too scared to voice, which stops them from ultimately pursuing their truth and joy.

Hesitancy can come from a multitude of things, be it the inability to satisfy a customer/friend/partner, or even just insecurities derived from lack of confidence or fear of judgement.

The world is a pretty cruel place, but it also has so much to offer. Think about all the people you are missing because you are too scared to act of to afraid to be yourself!

To get to the point, I want to use this blog as a means to put out my life experiences and viewpoints without the worry of how people might think.

The name of my blog reflects this: LoqiAndy: (Pronounced Low-Key Ann Dee because it rhymes...). Corny, but then again that's who I really am and I should be dang proud of it!

I love to give words of encouragement (guess my love language...) and part of that comes with passing on any wisdom I have in the form of Quotes. Getting to know me, you can start to realize I try to be as intentional with the things that I say and I love to dive one step deeper. This isn't a blog that is just Low-Key my feelings, but is also a blog sharing my love for quotes I have either found or developed on the way:

LOQI: Lots of Quotes Included.

I really do think the world is such a difficult place and that we all have hardships that we each have to carry everyday. But I think that is exactly why we need to do our best to be positive, make the best of our situation, and help others live out the best life they possibly can. Sometimes we all just need a phew words to live by and to be reminded of when things get difficult. I hope this can give someone a phew moments to remember things do get better and that everyone is more than just a prize.

TLDR:

A blog about Low-Key Feelings I developed, the quotes I try to live by, explained by experiences I've been blessed (or cursed) to have!

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flamboyantly-incompetent · 4 years

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Since the World Began (2/?)

Hades!Bucky x Persephone!Reader

Word Count: 7793

Warnings: maybe a little trauma, nothing major

A/N: So, it’s been a little over a year since the first part of this series was posted - I know a couple people have asked to be tagged in this, so I’m sorry this has taken so long! The gifs are, surprise surprise, not mine. This is gonna get hella cute real fast. And then hella angsty. I’m sorry (kinda).

Part 1

When you fell for him, really fell, there was no way you could have known the consequences.

As the time passed, so did many mortals, and Bucky found himself busier by the day with the rising population of the underworld. Sometimes, when you passed by the door in the cliff face, you could see him sitting in the doorway, eyes closed and legs hanging down, bathing in the sunlight so rarely seen.

Joining Bucky in the underworld became a frequent occurrence, and you didn’t mind. For all the weariness slung on his shoulders, his home put him at ease, and his presence did the same for you.

One such occasion, you’d joined him in the tower as he tried to complete some kingly or otherwise morbid sort of task. Enthralled in his work, he began to pay you no mind; you draped yourself dramatically over his bed. When he didn’t look up from his desk, you sighed loudly. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You were gaining ground.

Rolling onto your stomach, you opened your mouth to speak and -

Hermes flew through the open window, rustling every rustlable thing in the room.

“Sam!” Bucky exclaimed, trying to keep the papers littering his desk orderly, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

His wings snapped shut with a whoosh and he grinned, “That’s why I do it, Skully.”

“Cheron hates it when you do that - you’re supposed to take the ferry. Cerberus hates it when you do that; he is especially fascinated by small flying things, he’s gonna be all in a tizzy. Are you taunting him on purpose?”

“Oh, nuh huh I am never going near that thing, he tries to bite me every time I’m down here.”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

“I am the messenger, proclaimer of things.” Bucky huffed as Hermes turned to you. “Persephone! Fancy seeing you here.”

“Wilson,” Bucky warned. Sam winked at you with a cheeky grin; you laughed out loud through the heat on your cheeks.

Sam ignored Bucky completely and continued, “Anyway, I’d love to shoot the breeze some more but I’ve got five more gods to get to by sunup. Zeus has called a meeting for the Olympians, and I know you aren’t technically on the council, but he wants you both there. Thanks for saving me the trip.” He winked at you again, to Bucky’s chagrin.

“No problem. What’s the meeting about?” you replied, rising to your feet.

Sam only shrugged and unfurled his wings, reaching for a piece of fruit from the bowl by the door. Before his fingers could grace it, though, his hand was struck by a flying object - an ink well, you thought. He stared at Bucky, now standing rigid, in shock.

“You really don’t want to do that,” Bucky said, voice low.

Sam gulped, “Right. Sorry, I always forget that. Uh, thanks.” Bucky gave him a nod before he took off, rustling the room once more.

With Sam gone, Bucky finally shot you a glance. You were smirking at him, altogether too satisfied by whatever thought you had running about inside your head.

“What’s that look for?”

You smiled wider and nudged him in the middle. “The god of the dead is a big ol’ softie.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” you reached up to poke his reddened ears. “Your ears give you away every time.”

“I just don’t want that pigeon stuck down here pestering me for all eternity because of an orange.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, giving in but knowing you were, in fact, absolutely correct. “I wonder what this summons is all about.”

Bucky groaned, massaging his temples. “It can’t be good,” he mumbled.

“What makes you say that?”

He turned to you. “My family is, well, we tend to get into a lot of drama.”

You took his hand in yours. “In any case, we should go.”

“But (Y/N),” he whined pitifully, wrapping his arms around your middle. You giggled into his chest. “We could just not go. What’s Zeus gonna do? Run the underworld himself?”

Still giggling, you pulled out of his grasp. “Probably not, but we still should go.” He was unconvinced. “What if it’s serious?”

“All the more reason to stay down here.”

“Bucky.”

“Oof. Alright, alright. D’think Sam would mind if we brought Rus along?”

On your path back to the mortal realm, Bucky tried his best to placate a disgruntled Charon, who began complaining the second you were in earshot about how “gods these days have no respect for the likes of ol’ Charon.”

“I don’t even ask for a tool from Olympians!” he continued on, rowing Bucky and yourself across the Acheron slowly, “Is it really so much for me to ask, as the ferryman of the underworld, that when in the underworld one takes the ferry?”

Bucky nodded sympathetically, as if dealing with a child. “Trust me, I know. I tell Hermes every time he’s here.”

“All I’m asking, is for a little respect. The whole reason we have the bloody river is to control who gets in -”

“And out. I know; I asked Poseidon to put them there.”

“Right, sorry.”

As the two of them bickered, you watched the wandering figures on the shore; they were as mournful and despondent as ever. You had meant to speak to a few this visit, but the thought of seeing Bucky always seemed to take precedence. It made you sad and ashamed, how often you allowed these pitiful beings to be pushed from your thoughts.

Bucky took your hand when you reached the shore, and you made for the mortal realm when a shade among the moaning fell to his knees at your feet, a river of pleas falling from his open and eerily still mouth. You recoiled from the dead man’s spirit; his presence felt dank and slimy.

“Persephone, my lady,” his partially disembodied voice entreated, “My family, my wife, I’ve left them with no one, please.”

The look of shock evaporated from your face and with one hand you lifted the man to his feet, your heart sympathetic to his plight. “What would you have me do”

Slowly and with much effort, he looked this way and that, as if confused and under water. “Tell them I am sorry, and that I would rather wander the shore than they waste the drachma.” He paused, surprised you listened still. “Please, tell them, lady. I have no other way.”

Bucky, still at your side, simply watched you, waiting for your response. He needn’t protect you, not from these shades; he’d granted you authority enough already in his heart.

You listened to the spirits words, and imagined the twice-mortal blow of death and abandonment, and reached for his hand. When his fingertips brushed yours, you saw it - a house, standing somewhat miraculously on a hill by the sea, but one wrong breath from collapse. In addition, you saw that he had been a pious man, and knew it to be your duty to honor his request in death.

You smiled at him. “I have passed this place many times; I know it well. Your family shall hear your message, you have my word.”

The shade thanked you profusely with his motionless mouth, fading back into the others wailing on the shore.

“I don’t think you should have done that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Given him your word,” Bucky explained as the two of you continued on your way. “You’ll be bound by it now, if you don’t deliver that message there will be consequences. There are always consequences.”

You huffed lightly. “I don’t see why that should matter, as I fully intend to visit that man’s family when we’re done on Olympus.”

He paused, glancing at you with a small smile.

“What?”

He laughed, “Nothing, just, sometimes I’m reminded of one of the reasons I love you and I’m, I don’t know, startled?”

A grin spread slow across your face, conquering you. “Startled? That’s what you want to go with? You’re lucky I love you.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that.”

“Really? I wouldn’t want you to be startled by your good fortune and say something you’d regret.”

“What would I say?”

“Oh I would rather not find out.”

He shook his head, still laughing, and pulled you closer to him.

Rus met you near the door. He was, in fact, in a bit of a tizzy, bouncing around in circles, whacking the floor and shaking the ground with his tail. You handled this one.

“Hey Russy,” you cooed at the dog, who only stuck out his tongue, to pant at you. “Rus, did that big silly bird tease you?” The beast whined in response, flopping over in anticipation for the inevitable belly rub to come.

Mount Olympus lay only a god’s walk away from the entrance to the underworld. You and Bucky were nearly there when you were intercepted by a friendly face.

That face appeared in the form of a wall of water that came leaping out of the river you walked next to.

“Steve?” Bucky asked the open air, agitated and soaking wet. You giggled quietly at the sight and flicked the water off your own hands. “Steve, I swear, would it kill you to just say, ‘Hi Buck, nice to see you?’“

“Where’s the fun in that?” a voice came from the river.

“Get your scrawny butt up here.”

The man called Steve rose from the river, spraying Bucky once more with water. “Hi Buck, nice to see you,” he said, grinning shamelessly.

Bucky smiled in spite of himself, and pulled the man called Steve into a bone crushing hug. “You’re a real punk, you know that?”

“Jerk.”

Bucky pulled back, and gestured towards you, “Steve, this is Persephone.”

Steve reached out to shake your hand; he was quite small, though his eyes held a depth, a sort of ability. “I’m Poseidon,” he said, “But you’re welcome to call me Steve.”

You smiled warmly, “Call me (Y/N).”

“I take it you’re headed to Olympus?” Bucky cut in. When Steve nodded he looked to you for a moment then offered, “Walk with us?”

For the rest of the journey, Steve and Bucky swapped stories of silly things they’d seen mortals doing, and, to Bucky’s chagrin, you and Steve swapped stories of silly things you’d seen Bucky doing. It was a pleasant change from your typical lonely wanderings.

“I’ll admit, Steve,” you started, “I haven’t met many gods yet. You’re the fifth. Tony - my mother goddes, Demeter - Bucky, Wanda, Sam of course, and you. I’m rather nervous.” You paused, realization flooding through you. “Oh no, Demeter! It hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d see him today. Much has passed since we last spoke.” Though you couldn’t explain why, the idea filled you with apprehension.

Mount Olympus stood the tallest among the peaks in the range. On most days, the zenith could be seen with such clarity any mortal could spot the temple that sat there should they know what to look for. Today, though, the clouds sat low on the mountain, obscuring the gathering from sight. The mountain top was bustling with activity by the time you arrived at its summit; gods you had never seen before rushed around all about, and Steve was doing his best to point them all out to you.

“That’s Ares, god of war, everybody calls him Rhodey - I think he’s actually pretty good friends with Demeter. Oh, that over there is Aphrodite, be careful, he’s got quite the temper, I hear - goddess of passion or, something like that. And that is Athena - wisdom and -”

You cut him off there, “But why is he blue? And why is he the only one wearing a cape?”

“Vision was born out of Zeus’ forehead.” Steve shrugged, “He can do what he wants.” You nodded, a bit overwhelmed.

“Zeus always gets the credit for that,” you spun around to see Tony striding up towards you, “But I did most of the work, you know.”

“Mother goddess!” you let him pull you into a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, pumpkin.” He released you to address your companions, nodding his head politely, if a bit cold, “Poseidon, Hades.” They nodded similarly, and he turned his attention back to you, “Come, we don’t want to miss Zeus’ opening remarks.”

“We were just on our way, join us, Demeter?”

Tony gave a thin smile and obliged you, taking up his gait on your left. Bucky remained on your right, though he had allowed some distance to come between you.

The temple where the council held its meetings was designed for twelve, not some odd hundred. As such, Zeus addressed the throng of deities on the stage of an amphitheater.

“Friends! Thank you for joining me, I have a very special announcement!” he said, loud, boisterous, and happy, grinning ear to ear.

Bucky leaned towards you to explain, “Zeus’ name is Thor. He is very...”

“Loud?”

“Yes.”

Zeus continued, “Today, the council says goodbye to its eldest member, and welcomes a new. Hestia, would you like to say a few words?” The god called Hestia held himself with a regal demeanor; a soft warmth wafted off of him.

“Hestia is goddess of the hearth. There’s a people on the African continent that know him as their king.”

“His name?”

“T’Challa.”

Hestia began to speak about the changing of times; Tony took the opportunity to whisper to you, “You and Hades seem rather familiar, dear.”

You blushed and whispered back, “We’ve become friends, yes.”

“I don’t like the idea of you spending so much time together. He’s dangerous.”

How could you respond to that? You were Olympians! All of you were dangerous. Zeus’ voice cut through your argument, “And so, it is with both sadness and joy that I welcome Dionysus to the council, and bid Hestia a happy retirement.” Among the gods there was a hodge-podge of arguing, grumbling, halfhearted congratulations and some well-meaning applause. He continued, unbothered by this response, “Would the twelve Olympians please remain seated, the rest of you are free to go.”

There was a general surge of noise as the whole amphitheater stood. Bucky gave you a look as he moved off with Steve, which you returned with some apprehension before turning back to your mother goddess.

“Why don’t you like him, mother goddess?”

Tony scoffed, “Ask him why he is god of the dead.”

“Because Zeus made it so.”

“That is why he is king of the underworld, dear. Ask why he is god of the dead.” His cold tone struck an uncomfortable chord, and you found yourself unable to look at anything but your hands folded in front of you.

As the gods trickled out of the amphitheater, you bid your mother goddess a strained farewell, making for the home of the shade’s wife. It was not far in god-stride, and you arrived in the face of a beggar with a gift.

When you arrived, a woman still dressed in the dark robes of mourning stood with her back turned to the road, salty win whipping locks of undone hair about her hung head. You called out to her, and asked for a moment to rest for a while. She turned to you, dazed, and invited you inside, where you gave your gift. It was a jar of honey, which the bees had given up freely to you who was their first caretaker.

You both sat down for a meal. There were four chairs at the table, and four hooks by the door, but as far as you could feel there was no one else in the house.

When the meal was done, she asked you, “Where do you travel to?”

“I am on my way to fulfill a promise. It shouldn’t be much longer now.” That answer seemed to satisfy her, so you asked her, “Who do you mourn for, lady?”

She stood, her every movement languid and melancholy. “My husband. I have some wine around here somewhere...?”

“No, I have another gift to give you.”

She looked puzzled and sat back down at the table.

“Where are your children?”

“They have gone. My husband could leave me no dowry, and my time of childbearing has passed. My sons are old enough to find work, so I bid them to.”

“Have you no kyrios?”

“When my sons return, I will know.” She paused, looking worried, “I am afraid I have no gifts to give you traveler. I haven’t even the coin to pay for my husband’s crossing of the Acheron. I will be gone before his hundred years are up,” she continued quietly, “so we may at least speak again as lonely spirits.”

“Ah,” you said. Her head lifted and her gaze met yours. “That leads me to my second gift.” You let the illusion drop about you , the blood red sheen of life on your skin obvious in the dull darkness of the house. “I am the bringer of spring, and I also bring your husband’s words.”

The woman fell to her knees. “Forgive an old woman who mourns, I have forgotten to wash your feet.”

“I will bring no curse upon your house; this is the favor I spoke of.” You knelt in front of the woman, grasping her hands. “Your husband came to me on the shores of the Acheron, and he asked me to tell you that he is sorry. And to feel no shame in his waiting; that he would rather do so.”

She sniffed a little into her hands. “I know that you speak the truth.” The burden of your word was lifted, and you understood what the shade had wanted to ask of you, but hadn’t. It was something you were happy to give.

You stood, pulling the woman to her feet with you. “You have been kind to me, and let me ask my many questions. Your sons will have every beneft I can give to them.” She thanked you as you bid her farewell, donning your beggar shell once more. “Gift to me a good life, and that of your children, so we may be friends in Hades after all.”

You walked down the hill until you were out of sight, and you became invisible to mortal eyes again.

Ask why he is god of the dead. Your mother goddess’ words rang in you ears, persistent, with every step you took back to Hades. It crossed your mind more than once to find some excuse not to join him again, but your feet refused to consider the idea.

You met him in the asphodel meadows and lingered there, watching the shades speak to each other in apathetic and faint tones, wondering how you could ever breach the subject of Bucky’s authority. He walked beside you in silence.

Eventually, you said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Abruptly you stopped and turned him to face you. “My mother goddess, Tony,” you paused, uncomfortable under Bucky’s gaze, “he told me to ask why you are god of the dead.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger. “And is that your question?”

You nodded, guilt already welling in your chest. The pale glow of the drop of sun Apollo had fixed on the smooth stone ceiling of the underworld did nothing to warm your nervous shivers.

“C’mon, this is a conversation better had with wine.”

“Oh, I thought I wasn’t supposed to-”

“No, honeybee,” he said, chuckling halfheartedly, “it’s for me.”

The two of you climbed the stairs to Hades’ tower in silence. He gestured to a long, asymmetrical settee which he joined you on. You took his metal hand in yours.

Before he spoke, Bucky ran his free hand through his hair. “How much do you know?” His face was laced with worry; those lines still made your heart ache.

“Only what you’ve told me,” you answered softly.

He began slowly, tasting each word before it left his mouth, with how he and his sibling gods had wound up in the belly of Cronus. “Cronus lived in constant fear that he’d be overthrown by his children like his father before him, so he prevented a betrayal by swallowing us whole.”

The blue in his eyes held a reserved chill, an icy resentment. You waited for him to continue, holding your breath.

“Zeus couldn’t set us free until he reached manhood, but even then - we didn’t know. There was no hope. Only darkness, and the knowledge that there would be an eternity of it. Hestia was the oldest, he was trapped there the longest and he was alone for years before I joined him there. I don’t know how he stayed so sane. It was... different for me. By the time Demeter was eaten, I had already gone off the rails.”

He withdrew his hand from yours and continued, “I, (Y/N) I could hear him speak to me. Cronus. He spoke terrible, vile things about my mother, my siblings. He swallowed a whole pack of centaurs once to see if he could goad me into murdering them. I suppose you could say I was his favorite.” A rueful smile twisted his face before it softened and his shoulders slumped. “Steve was trying to knock some sense into me when Zeus cut that bastard open. That’s how,” he trailed off, gesturing to his metal appendage. Your hand covered your mouth in distress. “Then suddenly, we were free. There was still work to be done, though. I told Zeus he should just kill me and be done with it, but he said he needed all of our help in fighting the rest of the Titans; it was easy for me, even with only one arm. Zeus just wanted to imprison them in Tartarus, where they could do no more harm. When it came time for Rhea, though, I slit her throat.”

Bucky leveled his gaze on you, still holding your breath. “That is how I came to be god of the dead and death. It has followed me ever since.”

With great effort, you allowed yourself to breathe. Your heart pounded in your ears in rage and sorrow. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” you said.

Bucky shook his head, eyes fixed on his hands. “It is not a secret; any god would’ve told you the story if you’d asked.” He paused, chewing his cheek. “Demeter was right to warn you; I am a dangerous god.”

You bit your lip, thinking. Of course he was dangerous; that had never been a question. How could you hope to explain that, while dangerous, he wasn’t a danger to you. Deciding to climb out on that limb, you asked, “Would you let me show you my home?”

He looked up from his hands with something of relief and curiosity, “I thought your home was wandering the earth conjuring flowers and baby bunny rabbits.”

“That’s not entirely wrong. It is about time for birthing season.”

“(Y/N),” he began, tense.

With a look you silenced him, and took his hand back into your own. “Bucky. Trust me.”

“I trust you. Are you sure you trust me?”

You raised his hand to your lips. “I love you. Will that do?”

He blinked at you. Then he blinked again. He leaned into you, resting his forehead on yours, sea green eyes open wide. “That it will.”

You grinned, hands shaking. “Come on. It’s high time I show you something of life.”

He gulped, but allowed you to pull him to his feet. Bucky held a firm grip on your hand until you reached the other side of the Acheron. Cerberus was waiting for you both on the shore; the shade that had approached you before presumably satisfied as they all gave you a wide berth.

“Hey, Rus,” you cooed at the hulking creature, reaching out to scratch behind the nearest ear. He followed you to the door with silent footsteps that shook the ground, whining softly when you stopped in front of it.

Bucky caught your eye. He was putting on such a brave face, but he let you push open the door. “Do not be afraid.”

Out into the world you ventured. The sun was out in full force; Bucky squinted at the powerful rays reflecting off the waves.

You giggled softly, “When was the last time you went outside?” The wind ruffled his hair and, by Olympus it was lovely. He shrugged. “Come on,” you said with a smile. He followed you obediently across waters and through forests and fields, occasionally glancing back to check the damage of his footsteps, an action that did not go unnoticed by you. You hoped you were doing the right thing. You hoped he would understand.

Eventually, you arrived where you’d planned. To call the patch of grass the doe had chosen a clearing would be an overstatement, but you stopped there nonetheless. You gestured for Bucky to remain where he was, tucked neatly in the folds of the forest, and stepped into the light. The deer was not startled by you, welcoming your presence as you approached and knelt in front of her. Bucky shifted behind you and her head shot up, ear twisting, listening.

You hushed her, “Shh,” and reached your hand out to Bucky. He looked at you with an expression quite similar to that of the deer. They looked at each other, communicating silently for a spell.

With exceptional caution, he approached.

“Is she…?”

“Pregnant? Very. It’s just about time.” He took a sharp breath in; you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Abruptly, the doe got to her feet and began pacing. In all reality, there wasn’t much you could do for her besides keep her company. So you did.

The doe curved her back, releasing the first fawn with little difficulty, and began to lick him clean. Bucky watched, transfixed, as the fawn tried to stand through the resistance of his mother’s care.

The second fawn was born with more of a struggle. When he tried and failed to stand, the reason became apparent - his feet were curved at awkward angles, and when the doe began to clean him, white patches in his fur started to show.

Beside you, Bucky was unnerved. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come-”

“This is not your doing.”

“But,” he started, backing away from the fawns, “he… Something’s wrong.”

You rose to your feet, the sadness of the reality of life weighing your heart. “It is an unfortunate truth, one that even I cannot change.” He raised an eyebrow at you, breath still irregular and nervous. “Trust me a little longer.”

After a spell, the doe and her fawns moved on, the doe keeping a safe distance to distract predators from her new fawns. The piebald fawn had a particularly hard time keeping up with his family, and it was him that you followed closely.

“My presence cannot bode well for this fawn,” Bucky hissed, following close behind you. You shushed him gently, knowing he would soon understand if he could endure a bit longer. “(Y/N),” he started. Again, you shushed him, with more force this time; you wanted him to pay attention. Stopping him with a squeeze of his hand, you nodded your head towards the mountain lion that stalked the fawn.

She was poised to strike at every moment, devastating strength thinly contained in muscular shoulders as she moved without sound. She paid you no mind.

Bucky moved to protect the fawn.

“Just watch.”

His eyes were glossy as he stared at you with confusion, “He will die because of me.”

You paused, looked pointedly at his hand clasping yours and then his steps through the forest. Or, more, the lack of evidence of his steps through the forest.

The corner of your mouth tugged up a bit at the realization that came over him. “Trust me,” you implored, the tone of your voice practically begging it of him. He released a shaky breath and turned his attention back to the predator and her prey.

When she finally did attack, the fawn didn’t even see it coming and it was over as quickly as it had begun. Bucky held onto you when the fawn’s life fled from it and remained silent while you followed the big cat back to her den.

Inside were three young cubs that tore the carcass apart.

“Why are you showing me this?” Bucky asked in a whisper.

“Because life demands some amount of death. It isn’t always as balanced or as poetic as this, sometimes it is harsh and bitterly futile, but it is a fact unwavering. And it does not exist because you made it so.”

“I-I,” he started, pulling away from you, and you wondered if you had made a mistake. You drew the backs of your fingers down his cheek with a sigh, and told him that he would know where to find you before turning to leave him with his thoughts.

His hand circled around your wrist and pulled you back to him until you were once again staring into the eyes that held the horror of truth. You shivered.

“Marry me,” he said.

“What?”

“Persephone, (Y/N), please. Marry me?” Yes, you thought, your heart pumping blood into your cheeks with fervor. “I love you, you love me. Be my wife. Let me be your husband.”

You laughed when you remembered you’d only thought it. “Yes,” you said. The tremor in your voice hinted at tears threatening to spill.

Here you were, Hades and Persephone, harbingers of the living and the dead, in over both their heads in love. There was no force you could imagine that could ever sever what was forged when you said yes. You were right, of course, but not for lack of trying.

You married Hades in early dawn on Olympus, the mountain deserted but for you, Bucky, and Zeus. Cool air rushed through your hair, your hands holding your love’s. Zeus asked you both if the other was your intended. The two of you agreed, and there was nothing more to be said. Each of you had already owned the others heart.

The moment, intimate as it seemed, was not without spectators, and by the time you and your husband reached the foot of the mountain, every god worth gossiping with had heard of your union.

Demeter heard of it while enriching the soil on the land owned by a grain farmer who had been particularly generous with offerings of barley and poppies. He heard from Dionysus, who had heard from Hermes, who had heard it from Poseidon, who had heard it from the giants whose eyes could see and ears could hear for miles.

Tony sank to the ground in defeat, a storm of half lucid memories gusting through his chest. The darkness, and fear, and blood. Malice. And the darkness. It always came back to the darkness. And it had taken his daughter goddess. He knew there was only one thing he could do - one thing that must be done.

Demeter departed immediately, and marched straight for Mount Olympus.

He threw open the doors to Zeus’ home and shouted, “Zeus! You’ve married my daughter to that abomination!” Thor stood, startled, from his table. “Well?”

“I have,” Zeus replied, crossing his arms. “They both consented to it, seemed pretty happy if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Tony snarled. “You have given my daughter to a treacherous beast without asking me or even telling me. I would like to know how you intend to retrieve her, because by Olympus you will.

Poseidon, who had just explained to Zeus how his friends the giants had learned of the ceremony to begin with, stood also. He said cooly, “Your daughter goddess has made her own choice, and she is perfectly safe.”

“Safe?” Tony rounded on Steve, fear and anger heating his face and his words. “How could she be safe? Have you forgotten what he did to our mother?”

Steve shook his head, bewildered, “She let him eat us!”

Long had it been since they spoke of their years of torment. Silence fell thick in the house, though outside passersby could hear most of the yelling, and the noise attracted the attention of a friendly looking dog.

Inside, Tony shook his head in despair. “You always have to defend him.”

“He’s my brother.”

“So was I.” Tony clenched his jaw, and before Steve could reply, said, “I invoke the rights of the twelve.”

Zeus’ face melted into shock and frustration. “You cannot declare their union invalid; what has been done cannot be undone.”

“Hades is not on the council; it is within my rights to take back my own kin. She will be free of his presence tonight.”

The dog outside, having heard Demeter’s plans to banish Persephone from Hades, ran back to her master. Hecate was on the way back to the underworld, guiding the spirit of a woman carrying the required two coins of silver, when her familiar came bounding up to her, frantic. Hearing the news for herself, Wanda left the spirit to be guided by the dog as she sped ahead to warn Hades.

She found you together on the Isle of the Blessed dancing with the spirits there around the only thing that could grow so deep in the underworld. They ate the pomegranates from the tree with gusto, and you laughed in their merriment.

The joy melted off your faces when you saw her sprinting toward you.

“Hecate!” Bucky said, confused. He jogged to meet her, and you followed closely behind.

She explained in gasps of air that Demeter and Zeus intended to remove you from Hades and the underworld. Bucky took a sharp breath in and drew you into him.

“But,” you said, holding onto Bucky’s hand on your waist, “How can they do that? It must be my mother goddess, but he has no right!”

Wanda shook her head, “He has invoked the rights of the twelve. He has every right. Hades, they will be here soon.”

Bucky nodded grimly, “I did not notice Demeter at first. His authority feels similar to (Y/N)’s, but I can feel Zeus now. Poseidon is with them also.”

“Go,” Wanda said, “Beg for them to reconsider. Persephone, you should hide.”

Bucky kissed your hand sweetly and whispered, “I will do anything I can, my morning glory, I promise.” Then he turned from you and raced off to his tower in the distance. His absence from you pulled your gut like a riptide.

The spirits on the Isle gathered around you, sensing your distress. “What can we do, mistress? What is the matter?” they asked.

“Where can I hide?” you asked.

They whispered among each other. “The only place outside the sight of Zeus is Tartarus, but you should not go there. It is dangerous, even for divine ones.”

You looked from Hecate to the spirits, to the looming darkness you could not see, your heart racing. Your hands shook. Light flashed from the tower. Lightning. “I - I must. Zeus is here, and I must hide. Hecate, will you come with me?”

She stood very still, her eyes fixed on the tower. “(Y/N), we cannot go there; there are dangers there we know nothing of.”

You nodded, understanding her fear. “I cannot leave him.” She called after you as you ran, your mind made up, but all you could hear was the thudding of your own heart and your own feet against the ground. The darkness began as a low presence in the distance, and grew like smoke clouds as you drew nearer. The darkness wasn’t nearly as horrible as the smell, a sickly sweet smell of rot, and the sounds, low rumbling of a mountain turning over and screams the likes of which you had never heard.

The threat of separation from the one you held most dear spurred you on beyond all fear and all reason. You would hide there, dangers be damned. Literally.

Under the cloudy darkness, there was a deep depression in the ground with steep slopes all around, surrounding an enormous grate of enchanted iron. You stood at the edge of this depression and peered into the darkness. Through the holes in the grate, you could just barely make out the shadows of spirits fleeing, and the shadows of things much larger that devoured them.

One giant eye opened up altogether too close to the grate for your liking. A voice spoke, crooked and gravelly, and eternally deep, “Zeus can still see you there, life-walker.”

You looked over your shoulder, afraid you’d see that tell-tale lightning. “How do you know who I am?”

The eye blinked. “I see everything, even from this prison your husband the murderer and his brothers have locked us in. Though, he could not see you if you stood on the grate.”

“Why should I trust you? Who are you?” You asked though you feared you knew the answer.

“By all rights, I am your grandfather, Persephone.” Cronus laughed. “You know that you are the first of my offspring to visit me in this pit?” At your silence, a giant hand swiped at the grate, only to be deflected long before coming into contact with it by whatever enchantment had been placed upon it. “See? You have nothing to fear from me. I could do nothing to you were you not the Queen of this plane.”

“You can see everything?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

You climbed down the slope carefully. “Can you tell me what’s happening in Hades’ tower?”

“I can show you.”

In Hades’ tower, he paced, frantic and running his hands through his hair. “Thor, please,” he said, hands clasped in front of him, “you know she is in no danger - I love her!”

Zeus stood next to your mother goddess, expression pained. Demeter, however, was livid. “No danger? How can she be in no danger when she is here? This is the home of death and monsters, you yourself have seen to that.”

“Tony,” Zeus said, his tone warning.

“I want her home, with me.”

Poseidon gestured out the window with exasperation. “She won’t want to leave. Her husband is here.”

“This is none of your concern, Steve. Where is she?”

Bucky turned to your mother goddess. The expression on his face broke your heart, shattered. “Demeter, Tony, if you do this I will-”

“What, Hades? Huh? Kill me?”

Bucky was taken aback. “I will never recover.”

You could see Tony’s resolve falter, but a second later his expression hardened again and he growled, “Where is she?”

If there was no way you could convince your mother goddess to let go of this fear, to let you love who you did, and if there was every possibility that if you left with him you would never see Bucky again… then hope was lost.

Cronus spoke again, “Demeter is right, this place is filled with monsters, your husband non excluded.” A tendril of smoke had crept through the grate and began wrapping itself around your leg. You recoiled in disgust, climbing out of the pit.

“The only monster here has been locked away, and I hope he rots there,” you spat.

“Be careful, child,” he said, his eye closing, “There are powers here still greater than you, and they do not forget in waking or slumber.”

At his words, you remembered something Charon had said, an age ago. We didn’t make the rules, kid. Once again, you ran. There was hope; it was a desperate sort of hope, but you knew what you had to do. You ran back to the Isle of the Blessed, back to the tree that grew there, and plucked a pomegranate from the branch, four figures on the horizon.

“Persephone!” Hecate said, “No!”

“Wanda, there is no other way.”

“There is always another way.”

The figures were getting closer. “Can you think of one in the next three seconds?” She could not. “Then help me! Please, I know what I’m doing. I will not leave him.”

They were close enough to see you now. “(Y/N)!” Bucky called out to you. Your eyes locked.

“Please,” you begged. Wanda shook her head, distraught. She pulled a dagger from an inner layer of her priestess robes and handed it to you. You only managed to cut twelve seeds from the fruit by the time they made it to you, and you only ate half of those before your mother goddess wrestled the rest from your hands.

“Stop! Persephone, please!” he shouted. “What have you done?”

“I will not leave him. And now you cannot force me.”

Zeus picked up the fallen pomegranate, pale. Bucky had two thin tear lines streaked on his cheeks. Steve put his head in his hands. Wanda backed away into the shadow of the realm.

Your mother goddess, Tony, held both your hands. “You, you are trapped here forever now.”

You squeezed his hands, desperate to make him understand. “I know.”

The weight of what you had knowingly done set in, and your heart began to ache again. It seemed there was no way to win.

“Thor,” Bucky said, “there must be something you can do.”

Tony rounded on him. “What do you care? You got what you wanted.”

“You think this is what I wanted?!”

Zeus held up a hand. “(Y/N), how many seeds did you eat?”

“Six,” you said.

He pursed his lips for a moment, brows creased and stroking his beard. “Yes, I think that could work. It wasn’t the whole fruit, after all,” he muttered to himself. You took Bucky’s hand, fingers interlaced, and held each other tight. “And it is still, technically eternal.”

“Thor?” Steve spoke up, “You gonna clue us in?”

“It’s not ideal, but I’ve thought of a possible loophole. In accordance with both invoking the rights of the twelve and the laws of the Titans before us, Persephone will be banished to this plane for six months of the year, and from it the rest. Does that work for you?”

“No!” Tony and Bucky shouted at the same time. Zeus shook his head and pointed at you.

“Me?” you asked, “That sounds like the best we’re going to get.” You squeezed Bucky’s hand in reassurance.

He looked at you, exhausted and burdened with troubles, his thumb ran circles over the back of your hand. “I think you might be right, dove. I just-” his voice caught in his throat.

“I know,” you murmered. The back of your hand stroked against his cheek. “What about now?” you asked Zeus, “Am I trapped here now? The world is not ready for me to be gone that long.”

“Then we must move quickly,” Zeus replied, gesturing toward the tower, and, further, the Acheron and the door. “We don’t want to press our luck, especially here.”

Nodding, you hid the rogue tears that escaped your eyes from your mother goddess and your husband. Bucky accompanied you to the edge of the Acheron. Zeus followed your mother goddess onto Cheron’s ferry. “I will be back,” you told Bucky, tapping his chest, “and I will be counting the days.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Posieden cut in, “(Y/N), we need to go.”

With leaden feet, you tore yourself from your husband’s arms, and followed Steve onto the ferry. You watched Bucky, standing alone on the shore, until he was lost from your sight. Cheron was uncharacteristically silent.

On the other shore, Rus was waiting.

His eyes were dark, and something in his demeanor changed when he sniffed the air above you.

“Rus?” All six of his eyes snapped onto you and you understood. “I know, I’m going, I’m sorry.” He growled at you, a vicious and low dragging sound, and watched you like prey until you fled out the door.

In your hurry, you missed the step and slid down the steep, rocky slope until your toes reached the tide of the island. Shocked, you blinked at the ocean, expecting it to somehow reflect some, any change.

Your mother goddess slid down beside you.

“(Y/N),” Tony began, “(Y/N), I just wanted to protect you.”

Seething, you rose to your feet. “How dare you decide what that looks like? You have ruined me and doomed this world through your deliberate blindness!” He recoiled from your rage, and you drew back the tendrils you’d loosed. Zeus and Posieden watched awkwardly from the door. You sighed. “Everything I am comes from you, but the next time you presume to make my decisions, don’t.”

You held up a hand to prevent any more of Tony’s words, and set out alone across the sea to begin your half year of banishment.

During this time, you found a small pocket of comfort in nurturing new lives, helping the saplings to find the sunlight and the calves to follow their herds. But you missed him dearly. It was an ache you fancied you could feel in the blossoms you encouraged to open. The only cure for it was to wander as far as you had before you’d met him.

So, you wandered. Melancholy and in love, you wandered. The forest and grassland that sprang from your steps grew in the shape of your heartache. It would have seemed beautiful to you had it not been so irritating in its accuracy.

You watched the mortals build their temples and weave their legends; you watched them live and love with some amount of envy.

When the time came close for you to rejoin your husband again, you reversed your wandering. Sleep, you whispered, I will wake you when I return. As you left the forests, the animals found places to rest, and even the trees fell into their mighty slumber. When you were satisfied, your feet carried you from across the world back to that forsaken and blessed door.

Cheron greeted you as you boarded his raft, and with every push of his long pole you felt yourself drawing closer to your husband. Again, he saw you long before you saw him. You could not see him on the shore when you stepped off the raft, but he could see you. You were just as beautiful as you’d been all that time ago, but you had acquired an age. The steps you took were no longer out of innocent joy but necessity. He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the shadows to speak to you.

You felt his presence before he could speak a word.

He said, softly, in the voice of a broken man, “Lady.”

@thelureabove @slender--spirit @egos-r-life @punkgirl-pinkbows @i-never-said-i-care @elsasshole

#bucky barnes x reader #hades and persephone #Hades!Bucky #Persephone!Reader #marvel?#sort of I guess #this probably makes no sense #I hope someone other than me derives enjoyment from this #AU #greek mythology au #fluff #yeets aggressively into a shrug #freaking finally

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papermatisse · 2 years

Text

Oasis || O.SH (II)

♔ pairing: superhero!sehun x f!reader

♔ genre: fluff, angst, crack

♔ word count: 4.7k

♔ warnings: profanity, violence

♔ synopsis: EXO: the nine member superhero gang protecting the city of Exodus. For years, they've done just that. A sudden turn of events leads them all stressed, confused, and paranoid beyond belief. A paranoia which could either lead them to answers or turn them against one another— turn them against their city.

♔ a/n: hello again! this is part 2, and actually a chapter unlike last time lol. pls enjoy 👏

series masterlist || main masterlist

"I'm running low on arrows," Sehun updated, feeling the bag on his back lighten as he spitfires arrows one after the other at the creatures below him. Within a second, Jongin pops up beside him, dropping a new, fully loaded quiver before disappearing once more.

"Hang in there, guys," Junmyeon's voice echoed through Sehun's ear. "We're nearing the end of this fight."

"I hope you're right." Chanyeol responded. "This is the longest Necromancer battle we've had yet." From where he was perched, Sehun saw Chanyeol fire another ball of flames at the group of undead nearing him, disintegrating them where they once stood.

"I'm clear at the southern end of the bank." Kyungsoo heaved through laboring breaths.

"Me too, main street clear." Minseok added. "He should be showing up any time now."

The he that Minseok was referring to was none other than Necromancer–one of their most notorious villains. He had been one of the first to revolt against them upon the genesis of their heroic duties. A man who held the ability to bring back the dead. Aside from the mortifying experience of battling deranged, bloodthirsty corpses of those who once roamed the Earth, Necromancer himself was someone who once bewildered the group of heros, as he was their one and only villain who never hid his face. And even with the most highly advanced technologies in Junmyeon's possession, he could never find the identity of the sorcerer. Necromancer held no motives, no empathy, no compassion. He merely did what he did for the enjoyment he derived from it.

"I'm clear!" Baekhyun shouted, just as Sehun had also shot at the last body in his sight.

"Everyone gather at main street," Junmyeon directed. Sehun hopped off the building he resided, plummeting to the ground before cushioning his fall as usual. He jogged over to Junmyeon, shooting a few more zombies in his wake as he met up with their leader. The team huddled together, backs to one another whilst scanning the now desolate area. Corpses lined the street, mangled and decrepit after having to suffer two deaths at this point. It was disturbing, something Sehun loathed after every Necromancer fight. The lingering images of every one of his fights afterwards, plaguing him for what seemed like ages until another battle could wipe clean the slate of his mind. Sehun's eyes darted to and fro, scanning the area for the warlock, but he came up with nothing. He could hear the breaths of his team as they felt the foreboding tension flooding the air. It was silent, a silence which seemed to be deafening almost, penetrating into Sehun's being and wracking him to his core. The muscles in his arms trembled as he held the bow up, keeping his arrow in his line of sight in case something showed up.

Suddenly, a violet haze began rising from the ground, slow and almost inconspicuous at first, though gradually increasing in volume, its hue volatile as it morphed and intermingled with the rotted bodies scattered about. Curls of the wispy air beneath them wrapped around the bodies one by one, dragging them across the pavement, an almost sickening cacophony of scraping and snapping surrounding them as the dismembered carcasses slithered by them. Brittle bones cracking as they were tossed about the ground, limbs and joints snapping and tearing, dried and shriveling skin scraping against the destroyed cement, grating aggressively against it like nails on a chalkboard. The fog deepened as the corpses accumulated together at the end of the street, piling atop one another, the mound of the dead growing and growing until its height had reached to such a staggering point that it had casted a shadow over the bewildered group of heroes. With more of those revolting sounds resounding through the atmosphere, appendages began sprouting from the pile, extending to an extensive length before collapsing, lying limply against the expanding mass. More of these accumulated, stretching out into the horizon before its immense weight would release it once more along its bodice, before finally reaching the last one, dropping once more and allowing silence to settle in the area.

The monstrosity before them seemed to be staring right at the frightened bunch, though remaining faceless in its existence. The heroes stood frozen, in both a mixture of fear and anticipation, waiting for what the creature would do. Waiting for what it possibly had planned for the lot.

It felt like hours had passed in this sort of standoff, Sehun practically shaking with nerves where he stood, fingers aching as he held his bow down, preparing to raise it at any given moment. The silence once more held a palpable tension, one that completely paralyzed some of them. Sehun's body was standing so stiff that he hadn't realized violent tremors ate away at his sanity. His only sense of awareness in the situation resided upon one thing, that being the beast which remained in its position, mockingly still as if copying the boys below it. If it hadn't been for the violent thudding of the blood coursing through his ears, his breath fanning against his face beneath the mask, he'd have thought he'd had gone deaf at the moment, or even thought he had died mid battle, living in a personal Hell he hadn't realized he feared. A hell of anticipation, never knowing when the monster would strike. Only knowing that his time was waning, and at any moment would there be bloodshed. His throat seemed to constrict upon itself as one of the appendages began rising into the air, more cracks accompanying it as it shifted positions, undulating spastically as it rose continuously, before reaching its pinnacle point– right above them.

"Run." Junmyeon demanded, voice low as if cutting through a wall of cotton, just as the limb snapped towards them at an accelerated speed. Sehun just barely dove out of the way, rolling on his back before landing on his knees just as he heard the sickening crack of both cement and thousands of bones. He tossed the regular arrow aside, reaching back and pulling out an explosive one before tugging back his arrow and releasing, sending it right into the center of the mass and watching as it imploded in the body, a gaping emptiness soon being formed. The massive hole it left behind was quickly filled in once more by the surrounding carcasses, covering the once barren injury, as if Sehun’s efforts amounted to nothing at all.

"I'm out of commission," Sehun shouted, still reaching for another even though he knew he was useless in this fight. It was all he could offer in such a time.

"Me too," Jongin replied, distantly phasing to and fro as if scoping out an angle he could work with regarding the monster.

"Same," Yixing stood at the sidelines, sword still gripped desperately in his hand, eyes trained on the mass and its viciously swinging appendages.

"I'm going to try and disintegrate the bodies so they don't accumulate again." Chanyeol announced, attempting to run closer to the creature. As his darkened silhouette hurdled towards the beast, one of the colossal limbs shot out towards him, seemingly a blur of shadows with its speed.

"Look out!" Jongin shouted, suddenly appearing beside Chanyeol only to immediately tackle him out of the way as the arm crashed into the ground with another vicious crash into the demolished ground. "We need to get Chanyeol close to it."

“I think it has an arm for each one of us, so we can’t go at it all at once,” Kyungsoo pointed out. Upon closer inspection, one could see Kyungsoo was indeed correct. Nine tentacle-like appendages encircled the entire being, one hovering in the direction of each member, ready to strike if they so much as stepped near it. As if a dome surrounded it, extending to its wingspan, and if one person so much as entered the invisible fortress, they were perceived as a threat.

“Minseok, can you freeze its arms from here?” Junmyeon quickly asked, crouched on the outskirts as he focused on the arm pointed at him.

“They’re too far.” The man in question responded. “I’d have to get closer, too.”

“How would you feel about it getting closer to you?” Sehun asked, causing a few of the heads around him to turn in his direction. “You get closer like Chanyeol, and freeze the arms before they hit you.”

“That’s way too risky,” Yixing noted, an immense worry laced in his voice as he briefly glanced over to where Sehun resided.

“It’s worth a shot.” Minseok announced before taking off towards the creature without another word, shooting sheets of ice on the ground beneath him and gliding across them to reach the monster quicker. As predicted, another mortifying arm jerked up, lunging towards Minseok's nearing figure. He easily slid right around the impact as it connected with the street below, granting him an opportune moment to shine, turning and shooting ice at the end of the limb and successfully cementing it to the ground. The ice stretched its way higher and higher, caking the decay in a layer of frigidity, until the spread reached where the arm connected to the body. A bellowing rumble reverberated from the monster, jolting around frantically to free its tentacle, but failing tragically as Minseok reinforced the layers holding it down. It continued to emit an echoing roar into the air, practically shaking the earth with its cries. Minseok grimaced at the sound, having been the closest one to it, the raucous ringing through his ears, his vision darkening somewhat as he ceased his onslaught of ice unto the limb. Another arm rose up, swinging at the seemingly unsuspecting Minseok, who once more repeated his prior actions. He steadied his breathing, capturing the limb in ice once more, forcing himself to stay conscious through the staggering exhaustion creeping into his figure.

Jongin appeared at the top of the first frozen limb, taking out one of his blades and stabbing it into the ice. Kicking off the side of the limb, he descended along the base of the appendage, allowing his knife to slide down and slice the arm off of its torso. It collapsed on the ground, still frozen, though the bones trapped inside jostled furiously as if trying to break through the icy prison and rejoin its masses. Junmyeon came running forward, arms raising as he grew closer to the fight. The fire hydrant beside Sehun began shivering, evolving into a vicious tremor before popping off the ground entirely, erupting into a geyser of water endlessly pouring out and collecting itself midair above him. The translucent liquid flowed and contorted about, accumulating in size until it umbrellaed Sehun entirely, shifting lines of light reflecting on him and basking him in a hue of blue. Junmyeon swept his arms forward, the tranquil bubble morphing into an intemperate wave, shooting forward through his command with a near violent cry, similar to that of massive waterfall's. It collided with the remnants of the tentacle, sweeping it past the monster's clutches and into the bay beside the city.

It became a repetitive cycle, Minseok freezing a limb and moving on to the next, Jongin slicing them off the body and onto the ground, and Junmyeon expelling them from the scene. By the time half of them had been cleared, the creature having failed to regenerate them with its limited amount of mass, Chanyeol bolted to its vulnerability. He stood before it, spreading his legs apart and firmly on the ground whilst raising his arms up beside him. He jerked back as whirlwinds of flames erupted from his palms, burrowing into the amalgamation of rot. It screeched once more, the remaining tentacles flailing about and aimlessly shooting to and fro. Baekhyun hit each one with an energy beam, the concentrated rays of light serving as a sort of light cannon which burned and wounded each of the arms every time one of the heroes was about to be hit. Eventually, the limbs ceased as Junmyeon cleared the last remains, emptying them into the bay. Chanyeol's flames grew larger, creeping higher and higher up the monster who continuously bellowed into the atmosphere, a terrible dissonance of torment as it disintegrated before their eyes. It was soon entirely engulfed in fire, thrashing about and crumbling into blackened remains of ash and bits of bone. As it diminished, Junmyeon cleaned the last of its remains, dumping it into the bay once more.

"Is that good for the environment?" Kyungsoo whispered, causing the others to snort at his query.

"Probably not the ashes, but the bones are organic matter theoretically, right?" Chanyeol replied, worry laced in his voice.

"We'll discuss it in the disaster report so the town knows the bay also needs to be taken care of." Junmyeon assured. They nodded, about to move on until another round of purple haze floated around them.

"Damn it." Jongin muttered, pulling out his batons and looking around the area. Everyone followed suit, preparing for more of the undead until a body began phasing through the ground, climbing through the concrete like a zombie emerging from its grave.

Necromancer.

The man chortled as he finally surfaced, back silently shaking as he knelt on the ground. He slowly stood up, his laughs building into a nefarious cackle as he tossed his head back, arms gripping his sides.

"Oh, EXO," He spat out between his supposed joy. "I enjoy our encounters so much. I look forward to seeing you all every time we play." He wiped at his eyes, smile still stretched across his face. "Did you like my little trick this time? It's new, I just developed it recently."

"Necromancer, stand down," Junmyeon warned, a thin film of water accumulating at their feet, inconspicuous to anyone around except them.

"Oh, don't worry, Leviathan." He tossed his hand dismissively. "That's all we had planned for this time. He wouldn't want me to deviate from his scheme." Sehun felt his breathing stutter for a moment, eyes shifting to determine Junmyeon's reaction without seeming worried– which he internally was.

"What scheme? And who is 'he?'" Necromancer pursed his lips into a thin line in a feeble attempt to hold back his amusement, but he once again broke out into another fit of raucous laughter. His face was red from his ministrations, the shade a near contrast to the green of his eyes.

Green?

"Goodbye, EXO!" He extended his arms out, leaning back and falling to the ground. The water beneath them shot forward to where Necromancer stood, attempting to catch him, but it was too late as Necromancer once more phased through the solid ground, plummeting away from the scene. Junmyeon cursed silently, dropping his control of the water and letting it roll about aimlessly to fill in the area as much as it could, as water so naturally does. Junmyeon was pissed, Sehun could very clearly see. He attempted to reach out to his old friend until the familiar sound of applause kicked in. So punctual, the city of Exodus.

"EXO, EXO, could we take a statement from you regarding this battle?"

"Leviathan, is Necromancer the one behind all of these fights?"

"Can we expect another major battle this month?"

Yixing stepped forward, already sensing Junmyeon's turmoil and leaving him in the care of the team.

"As of now, we'd like to keep any findings to ourselves until we can give the people a concrete explanation. I know it's hard to live this way, but we are working tirelessly to put an end to this, and we hope Exodus can be with us through these trying times. We are one." Yixing bowed his head in thanks to the crowd, turning back to the group as more cheers and questions were aimed at his retreating figure. "Let's go." They crowded Jongin, taking them back to their base a moment later.

The heroes separated once they were in safety, looking around at one another, both expectant and clueless to the predicament they've found themselves in. Sehun, although glancing at the others wearily, lingered his attention on Junmyeon, watching the elder's face contort through conflicting emotions. Anger. Worry. Dread. Fear. Emptiness.

"He's not alone." Minseok was the first to break through the tension of the room. "They're working together."

"All of our fights. Our villains." Baekhyun turned and looked at Junmyeon. "They're banding together."

"For what reason?" Chanyeol asked, frustration in his voice as he yanked off his helmet. "As far as I know, they each have different motives to hating us or the city. Why and how would they work together?"

"He said 'he.'" Jongdae pointed out. "They could be working under one person."

"Necromancer works under him." Minseok added. "But who?"

Junmyeon shook his head, hands scraping into his scalp angrily. He breathed a defeated sigh, ripping off his mask and turning on his heels.

"I don't know. We have to research more." Junmyeon began walking towards the control room, ready to sit in front of his monitors once more for another week. "We know Necromancer isn't the brains behind this. He probably wasn't even supposed to insinuate a partnership, but he's powerful. He got cocky. He slipped up." Though he grew further away, his voice still carried in the abysmal vastness of their headquarters. "Call local cemeteries, ask if there's any way they could… check their dead. Knowing where Necromancer got such a vast army of bodies can help us pinpoint where he or his partner could be located."

"Yes, captain." Minseok answered, going over to the other large monitor to begin reaching out. The others slowly dispersed, changing and relaxing as they cooled down from the battle. Sehun shakily took off his mask, breathing out slowly as the images of the day flashed before his eyes once more. Nightmare fuel. God, he hated Necromancer.

A tentative hand slid onto his shoulder, rubbing his back softly and drawing his attention over to the culprit. Yixing gave a tight lipped smile, knowing how daunting Necromancer battles could be, and knowing Sehun especially felt uncomfortable with them. Especially after a fight where he couldn't do much. It was always hard having to sit back and watch the others fight, but that's why they worked so well. What some couldn't do, others could. They balanced each other well. The youngest still struggled with this, refusing to move on when he's the one that has to tap out.

"Sehun, you did well," Yixing whispered, squeezing his shoulder. "You took out a lot of them today. We couldn't have gotten to that second phase had it not been for you." Sehun grinned, nodding at Yixing's words. His eyes still remained on the floor, doubts lingering in his mind nevertheless. It's true, he did do well during the beginning. He just wished he could have offered more, especially after seeing Minseok's body rocking back and forth, as if barely holding himself together at this point. He wished he could have given up his strength for the safety of his brothers. Glancing around the room, seeing everyone dispersed and distracted, Yixing leaned closer to the young man, raising his helmet to avoid the echo of the metal cavern shrouding him. "You saw what I saw in Necromancer, too, didn't you?" Sehun looked up at him, brows raising curiously at the implication, waiting for Yixing to elaborate. "He looked drained. Paler than usual, though not noticeably so. Thinner, too. His face was sunken, signs of exhaustion." Sehun blinked, taking in Yixing's diagnosis before he grew quiet for a second. "And his eyes were once brown."

Sehun found himself walking down the familiar hall leading to his apartment, not really knowing how he got to this point. Yixing's words still rung in his head. It wasn't just him who noticed this. Noticed the sudden shift in color in his demented eyes. What could it mean? Why was it frustrating him so? It could very well be contacts, but something in Sehun said otherwise. There's more to it. There's a reason for Necromancer's state.

Sehun's hand landed on his doorknob, jiggling the hand before realizing his door is, understandably so, locked. He rolled his eyes in frustration, tapping at his pockets to find where his keys were, though coming up empty. He groaned aloud, knocking his head against the wood irritatingly. He thumped his forehead on the hard surface, grumbling about how idiotic he was. It wasn't that bad of a situation, as he could just easily go through the alley and fly up, but god was he tired. Drained from the fight earlier today and just wanting to sleep. Wanting to take advantage of the brief yet indispensable period of peace where he could recuperate, replenish his energy, calm his nerves.

He heard a voice softly clear behind him, causing him to pause his misery in response to the disturbance.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." A voice spoke behind him, smooth and gentle as it reached his ears. He slowly turned his head, peeking his eyes over at the door now cracked open behind him, his neighbor looking at him worryingly. "I heard knocking and thought I should check what was happening." Sehun grunted in acknowledgement, turning back and letting his face rest against the cold wood. "Did you forget your keys?" He grunted again, too tired to give her the time of day, something he'll probably beat himself for later, but for now he couldn't find it in himself to feel flustered over his pretty, doting neighbor. "Dang. I'm sorry to hear." She sounded so sweet, something he could listen to for hours on end and not grow tired. He felt weird for thinking her voice was so attractive. He felt weird for thinking she was so attractive. He's only met her once before, yet couldn't help but look around every time he left his apartment, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. "Would you like to step inside?"

He blinked in wonderment at her request. She was inviting him over. Why was she inviting him over? He wouldn't even bat an eye if he was in her shoes and saw the new neighbor having a meltdown for losing his keys, yet here she was, peeking into his peripheral vision after stepping out of her apartment to check on him.

"Are you okay?" She asked, hand hovering over his shoulder. He could feel her warmth radiating off of her in waves, causing the hairs on his skin to rise at her presence. Her brows furrowed, lip trapped between her teeth while taking in the drained state of Sehun. She finally pressed her hand to his shoulder, lightly pulling him away from the door. He swayed a bit, not realizing how exhausted he truly was until he almost collapsed right then and there had it not been for (y/n) looping her arms around his torso and supporting him. She let out a heavy heave as Sehun's weight leaned on her, legs shaking as she tried to adjust his stature into a position she could handle. "Okay, I'm taking you inside. Let's go." She huffed out, practically dragging him inside as he neared unconsciousness. It all felt like a blur to Sehun, reality drifting in and out. His vision shifted from being awake to going black, a new scene before him every time his eyes seemed to clear away the darkness. Just as he thought his exhaustion had claimed victory over him, he was suddenly jolted awake, cold water being spritzed into his face.

"What's going on? What's happening?" He found himself asking, looking around now fully alert. He was not home. He was on a couch. Not his own. Beside him was (y/n), seated a few inches away with a spray bottle in her hand. She nervously smiled, tucking the bottle away and out of sight.

"Sorry, I didn't know if you had a concussion so I didn't want you to go to sleep." She grinned, tucking her legs up and against her.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry." Sehun looked around again, realizing she brought him into her home. "I should go."

"Oh, it's okay!" She quickly answered, leaning forward and planting a hand on his shoulder to ensure he didn't stand, worried he may almost faint again. "You don't have your keys, and the landlord went home for the day a few hours ago. I don't want to leave you out there." Sehun felt his heart throb at her kindness, not remembering the last bit of human decency he experienced outside of EXO. "He'll be back tomorrow morning though! For now you can sleep here. My couch can turn into a bed." Sehun blinked, shocked at her sudden proposition, but found himself nodding anyway. She smiled at this, releasing her grip on him and standing up. "You're probably hungry, too. When was the last time you ate?"

Sehun paused, eyes staring forward as he thought. He didn't eat anything after the battle, cause he doesn't even remember leaving the base really. He didn't eat anything this morning, having rushed out to reach the group as soon as he got the alert of the Necromancer battle. He skipped dinner last night, falling asleep after Junmyeons debriefing. So the last thing he really ate was breakfast yesterday morning. His eyes shifted back up to her, who stood before him with her hands on her hips.

"If it takes you that long to remember, then you haven't eaten anything in a long time!" She exclaimed angrily, scoffing as she made her way to her kitchen, still ranting as she busied herself in the next room. "No wonder you're practically passing out in the middle of the hall. Forgetting your keys. You're not in your right mind! You need food!" Sehun found himself smiling, chuckling quietly to himself at (y/n)'s rambling. It felt so comforting, calming. It felt nice to talk to another human again. One outside of EXO, topics other than their superhero business. Holding concerns for his well-being outside of physical damage from fights.

Looking around, he saw the TV was on, paused on some movie from presumably when she went to check the noise outside her apartment. Her home was cozy. Small potted plants lining the windows. Books stacked on the coffee table in front of him. A fuzzy carpet beneath his feet. The plush, cream couch that felt like he could sink in and never return. She had a knitted blanket draped along its back, and Sehun could only assume she's someone who grows cold easily. The pillows around him were soft and cushioned, not rough like decorative pillows. It seemed like her entire intention in decorating was for comfort. It felt relieving. Open. Accepting. Sehun felt his worries dissipating within these walls lined with colorful portraits and photographs, his stresses melting at the soothing vanilla scent of the lit candle at the center of the table, his anxieties dissipating as he heard the soft patter of feet emerging from the kitchen. (y/n) balanced two plates of food precariously in her hands, placing them both on the table before plopping next to him again, curling her feet under her.

"Sorry it's just take out," She mumbled, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie. "I just got back from a business trip today, so I couldn't buy ingredients to make dinner."

"No need to apologize." Sehun leaned forward, grabbing both plates in his hands. "I'm the one who should be thanking you for your hospitality." He handed her the second plate, watching as she tentatively took it from his hands before giggling under her breath.

"Of course. We're neighbors now." He smiled at that. Neighbors.

Neighbors are usually people who just live in the same vicinity as you. You greet each other, you acknowledge the others presence, you give out sugar when needed. That's how it's always been. But he couldn't really argue that sitting here eating takeout, watching an unfunny comedy movie but laughing anyways because your banter alone is what's making it hilarious. This was probably his new favorite definition of neighbor.

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Follow-up to How Special is Too Special

In reference to this post on a mixed Japanese character, a user said:

“Sounds more like an OC than a fully realized character”? I’m sorry, but maybe do you mean a character outline? All characters, before they become canon, are original characters. And originality isn’t an automatic lack of fleshing out. Like, I truly do appreciate the work that goes into this blog but that’s a really poor take and more than a little offensive to literally anyone who has ever bothered to write an original character, myself included.

Hello, my definition of “OC”/ Original Character as someone not involved in fandoms for over 15 years is confined to writer avatars and related proxies that are useful in certain fandom settings, but less useful in original works because of their over-reliance on tropes and lack of integration within the universe of a single story. This is how I’ve always considered the many OCs I have created. If the above is not your definition of OC, let’s call this a terminology mismatch and leave it at that. Rather like how coke versus soda versus pop can all mean the same thing or not, and it not being my business to judge your beverage terminology or rank your preferred beverages, it is also not my business to evaluate your original characters or how you define OC. However one chooses to define the term, the description presented in the ask didn’t strike me as a fully realized character without more information.

Marika.

Hi—I currently make OCs too! It's very enjoyable! Some of them are also a part of stories that I might someday make into a full creative work! I'm younger than Marika and I totally understand where you're coming from in the current context of fanfiction writers fighting to get their creative endeavours recognized as legitimate. However, that's precisely why we used "OC" in that post, to describe the kind of character creation that takes place specifically in hobbyist internet content creation (so not necessarily connected to derivative works, but nonetheless characters written about/drawn and shared online). Given the term's origin in fanfiction, I think that semantically broadening the term "OC" to literally mean "any Original Character in Any Human Work of Art" just because the acronym happens to literally spell "original character" makes the term a bit useless, don't you agree?

I define an “OC” as connected to a creator culture where these characters can be built upon by community reaction and engagement, and where creation and development of the character itself is the goal. OCs, by and large, exist in a vacuum; it's not about the plot that employs them, it's about them. It's about the creator's personal connection to them, their enjoyment of creating content with and developing them. And this includes developing the world that they’re in, which you could theoretically continue building forever.

However, when you're making a character for a novel or some other work, other considerations become far more important. You need to view your character as a cog in a larger system, and think more carefully about the role they serve in a plot that has a distinct beginning and end. You need to think about how much story and how many scenes you can afford to place in a novel/short story/TV show/etc with a limited length, and you have to be willing to cut.

I make a distinction between "OC" and "publishable story character" because it’s the difference between creating to form a final product (complete characters) and creating as an end in itself (OCs).

I do acknowledge that in some cases, the line between "OC" and "character that is original" begins to blur. Eg.

I do know that there are many creators out there who have made their internet OC creations part of a complete story that is published, like taking an OC's backstory and expanding on the worldbuilding, supporting cast, and everything else for a single arc/plot. You can see many creators on something like Webtoon for instance earning commercial success from serializing their OC content which started on social media.

You could probably even argue that comic book superheroes are taxonomically closer to "OCs" due to their single character-driven origins, endless serialization, and multiple universes and retconning (an "is a pop-tart a ravioli" sort of question).

But given there is a significant contextual difference here, I do ask that our reading in the post be interpreted in good faith.

Nowhere in this post do we disparage OP's motivations for creating a fun character. That's not our place. You should be free to do whatever you want with your OCs because that is the point of making them! Our blog, however, is for people who are writing a complete story that is constrained by the limits of publishing (online or traditional). These are limits of length, audience engagement, and author intervention. Hope that helps

- Rina

#fanfiction #fandom #characters #asks #Blog Things #wwc replies #oc

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Asmodeus Comforting A Chubby Partner

Request: i was wondering if you could do hc's maybe for an insecure/chubby!reader x asmo? (both n/sfw are fine. whatever you're more comfy with) he's my favourite/comfort character but he very clearly loves beautiful things... as someone who isn't "traditionally/stereotypically beautiful" it makes me feel very insecure that he probably wouldn't be attracted to me. cellulite, stretch marks and scars riddle my body from years of extreme weight loss and gain from various eating disorders and harmful, unhealthy coping mechanisms. it's a lot of projection but ig i'm just worried he'd see like my loose tummy skin and be repulsed by it or the stretch marks on not just the "typical" places like thighs, stomach, bum, etc. etc. but places like my arms, shoulders and sides too.

Warnings: eating disorders + scaring briefly mentioned, allusion to self harm

A/N: Don’t ever worry about what I write for!! I’m willing to write a lot (also babes, i obvs don’t know you but please believe that you’re gorgeous, beauty standards fuck us all over and i need you to understand that your marks are all kisses from your body and marks to kiss. I’m sure you’re lovely and i hope you find love within yourself xoxo)

Absorbed with his beauty in the first few weeks that you’ve stayed with at the House of Lamentation, Asmodeus hadn’t noticed your lack of self-love. It’s only until later that he can see your forlorn glances at a mirror, the way you try to hide yourself under baggy clothing or long sleeved shirts. Of course, it’s a bit chilly in Devildom, but it doesn’t sit right with him. He brings you to his room that smells like lilies and strawberries, letting you sit down beside him as he grabs your hand, painting it a matching set as himself. With you in hand, he’ll ask you about yourself, slowly prying into your view about yourself. A deep frown will tug against the corners of his mouth and he’ll furrow his brows. He’s been aware of beauty standards in the Human Realm but he had never thought it was so dire to affect your own perception of yourself.

As the love and relationship between the both of you progresses, he’s focused on trying to make you feel better about yourself but in doing so he has to open some wounds. He knows that it hurts, and he’s pained to see you cry, looking nervously at you and fiddling with the ends of his hair but he means well. He tries to understand you, to feel a deeper connection with you and he’ll hold you as you cry onto his shirt. Once you’re done, he’ll let you calm down for a few minutes, offer you some water and dry your eyes, his fingertips grazing against your skin ever so slightly. With every word that you spewed with hate, he’ll counter it with adoration. He’ll hold your hands and comment about how they fit into his perfectly, the soft plush cheeks that you have, your lips that taste of sweet nectar and the marks against your skin that are perfect kissing spots.

He adores your cellulite. You may not think much of it and see it as a hindrance but to him, it reminds him just how soft you are. While demons and the alike are fun and he enjoys the time that he has spent with them he adores you. You’re a human, you’re soft and always changing. He likes to see your body, the way that it has changed, the pale lines marking over your skin like lightning bolts against the night sky. You’ll often find him tracing over it, his fingers walking over your skin and letting the stretch marks take him where they need to be. The stretch marks that lace over your stomach, the ones that pull and wrinkle your skin are something that he enjoys to look at. The groves trace under his fingertips and he’s reminded that you’re human, that you trust him with your plump body despite the mannerisms that he shows at times. Your worth is not put onto your body, it’s put against who you are and he loves everything sweet about you.

The Avatar of Lust is many things and loves many things, and one of those happens to be you. His charm doesn’t work on you and while it was a disappointment at first, it was also a grace hidden by it. You grew to care for him, for him. You loved the sweet nature of him that is hidden by childish jealousy, you adore the way that he tries not to cry at movies, less it ruins his makeup. You adore the small things about him. He fell for your beauty and soon fell for you. He loves beautiful things and his past partners might share a similar type but it doesn’t dictate his only standard of beauty. Beauty comes late at night when the moon is bright, beauty comes at seeing a lover wrapped in a silky bathrobe that’s matched with the other. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and he beholds many things that are beautiful. He seeks you out because you care for him in a way that he hasn’t realized he wanted- you hold his hand and you seek him out for pure enjoyment rather than lustful reasons.

His lips will trace against your body, his hands held tight in yours and he reminds you in all the ways that matter that he loves your body. You’re human, you change and that’s all right by him. Your loose skin is soft, plush and squishing under his slender fingers. If you allow him to, he’ll kiss your skin, let his pink lips pepper against your burning body and he can feel his sin tug at him. He wants to care for your body, to let you feel the pleasure that roams throughout him. His hand will curve over your tummy, his lips close to yours as he tells how delightful you look under him.

Perhaps it's because a few of his past lovers have looked a certain way, but he truly does love your scars. He likes to see your scars of tales from the time before. He might not know how you got them, but from the way you become nervous, he can only guess. He sees your scars as growth, you are in a different place, you are healing both physically and mentally. The scars are from someone long ago, from some cruel and uncaring, and now he’ll kiss them with a cheeky smile, merely telling you that he enjoys kissing your skin. In a desperate attempt to change the subject, he’ll pull you to another part of the house, commenting how he needs help with a class.

While he does love your body, your own happiness comes before his own pleasure. He wants to know that you truly do love yourself and if you don’t, he’ll pout but your happiness means much more. If you really do feel so bad about your scars, he’s willing to go and buy whatever cream is necessary to help aid in fading your marks. He’ll rub the cool cream against your belly, his smile melancholic as he tells you a story. He isn’t fond of changing you, but if it makes you happy and helps erase the scars that you try so desperately to hide, then who is he to complain about your body? He will remind you throughout the process that he does love your body, that whatever you do, is for your happiness because no matter what, he’ll be happy with you.

When he learns of your rather unhealthy coping mechanisms, he heart aches. He becomes rather dependent during this time, wanting to stay close to you for fear of hurting yourself in some type of way. He trusts in you but knowing that you would have harmed yourself makes him rather jittery. He’ll use the title that he has to find someone to talk to because while he would love nothing more than to listen to you, he is not qualified to be the one giving you advice. He’ll still spend hours scouring the internet looking for a way to help you- different medians, alternative ways to feel the sort of satisfaction that you might derive from it and anything else he can understand and see it fitting for you.

He rather have you do things in a healthy way that won’t ruin your body and mind. If you are keen to lose weight, you’re going to do it carefully. As the relationship unfurls into a blossoming flower, he becomes bolder in his actions. He won’t assume what you want to look like, but he wants to help so he’ll find a plan perfect for you and work alongside you. He loves beautiful things and he finds you to be beautiful and if you want to alter a few things about yourself, he’ll support you. Whatever disorders you had in the past, he knows how to care for them and you, he’ll make sure you eat well and treat yourself. You’re his and he isn’t going to let human standards take you away from him. Body image is something that he tries to keep perfect as much as he can and the clothes that you wear are an important factor in how you feel. He’ll change your wardrobe- steadily, of course- and allow you to feel better with what you wear. The clothes will be there to help frame your body in a more flattering way than anything baggy could ever, and he’ll have you model for him, taking pictures and uploading them to Devilgram just to show off how cute you look.

Asmodeus is the Avatar of Lust. He’s the narcissistic fifth born who loves himself and everything beautiful second to only himself. He values how he looks and takes great care of his body. He can be catty and whip out insults in less than a second. But, he is a caring lover, someone soft and sweet, attentive to the needs of his lover. Human beauty standards are something that he understands but he is a demon. He is monstrous and ugly, blood pouring from his hands and forever fretting over how he looks. You, however, are none of those things. You are soft, caring and sweet. You care for him, not the lustful part of him, but for the demon that he is. He’s sorry that he let you believe that he wouldn’t love you, that your marks are blemishes that stain your beauty, but you have to understand that they aren’t. He'd never reject your body, he’d hold you close and let his hands soothe over the parts you dislike while he tells you how gorgeous you are, muttering his praise until your heart beats against your chest and he’s giggling at your reactions. Until you’re gone, he’ll lay in his bed, arms spread wide that his fingertips can barely reach the edge of the bed and he’ll smile to himself, his heart fluttering and chest feeling light, knowing that he made you smile.

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