Imo Not All Of This Is Correct But The Stuff That Is Correct Is Very Accurate

imo not all of this is correct but the stuff that is correct is Very Accurate

tagging: hmm how about - if you wanna do this consider yourself tagged :))

cosmic persona quiz

tried this out and the results were kind of super accurate, so i wanna know everyone's too, naturally :p

tagging: @euseokz @lisztomqnia @pradadoie @explicitlyfine @peachsayshi @tetsuskei @tetzoro @scarabrat @kentoangel @fyodorloveclub @sleepygetou @saeue @fedyenkas-main @nkogneatho @zorosdimples @gojoath @kannra21 @izvmimi @likelilacwine @angelcent @st4rlingz @shujistars @missworld1994 ++ everyone interested ♥︎

Purpose

Alastor x Reader // word count 3.4k

You can have you soul back, if you wish. But really…why would you even want something like that?

Tags/warnings: yandere, manipulation, power imbalance, angsty as hell, Alastor owns reader’s soul, reference to Alastor destroying other souls, shadows being far too tangible for comfort

A/N: This was supposed to be a short, simple little thing in my notes app. It did not stay that way for long. I swear I’ll write for someone else after this one (this might be a lie, haven’t decided yet)

You can’t believe that you asked. It was a sort of trance that brought you here, that forced your steps down the hallway, that raised your fist to his bedroom door - and it was your entire fist that knocked, not merely the knuckles of your hand. Like you were threatening to break the wood from its hinges if he didn’t answer. But he wasn’t angry when he let you inside. Only bemused. And even now that you’ve done it, now that you’ve somehow managed to get out the words that have been churning in your mind for months…his demeanor has barely shifted at all. Although of course, it could be an act. It’s still hard for you to tell.

“Is that truly what you desire, my dear?” Alastor’s smile, which you expected to fade somewhat, or at least twitch at the corners in a telltale sign of annoyance, is just as broad as it’s ever been. He towers over you, his hands folded behind his back. “Think carefully, now. It’s already rare for me to allow someone to escape - unheard of, in fact. But taking someone back would be even less likely, so if there’s any chance at all ”-

“I’m sure.” You set your jaw, and refuse to look down, even as the glow in his eyes becomes almost too bright to bear. Even as something stirs in the swamp behind him, threatening to draw your gaze away. “I want my soul. I’ll give you anything to have it back. I’ll”-

“No need to elaborate, darling.” He sounds calm, and just as surprising, he doesn’t sound like he’s lying. “I assure you, I have no interest in any offer you might have had planned. If you want your soul, you can have it.” 

You freeze, your mouth still ajar. It takes you a moment before you can speak again. “Really?”

“Really.” His head tilts slowly as you continue to process his words. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You’re deeply confused, in fact. You were expecting to have to haggle, if not to beg. You were certainly expecting him to be upset. It shouldn’t - it can’t - be this easy. 

“I give you my word. If you wish to leave, I’ll let you.” He pauses. “However. ”

This is a trick. It has to be. Your eyes dart around the room, as if a map to his true intentions might be lying somewhere nearby.

“It would be irresponsible of me not to help you consider your options. I don’t want you to do anything you might regret. So…tell me.” He sighs, and simply stares for a moment before brushing the tips of two fingers up the line of your jaw, from your ear to just below your mouth. “ If you were to go…” He taps the pads of his fingers gently against your cheek, and lets his hand fall to his side. “What, exactly, would you have to gain from such a thing?”

You blink, still reeling from his feather-light touch. This is not a question you expected to answer, and you stay quiet for a moment too long.

He leans over you, and lowers his face to your ear, as if he’s about to tell you a secret. “I’ll tell you what I think. I don’t think you’ll like it very much…but then again, people never enjoy hearing the truth.” There’s a buzz of static, he disappears and reappears behind you, and you’re left too disoriented to respond. “I think you’d be quite miserable, if you went through with this impulsive little idea of yours.” 

It wasn’t impulsive. Saying it out loud was, without a doubt. But the idea itself has been there for a very long time. 

“Would you like to know why I think that?” 

“No.” You’re not sure, really, whether you’re responding to his words, or to the hand that has landed on your waist. “You’re wrong.” His grip tightens, tugging slightly on the fabric of your shirt, but there it is again - that odd, detached state of mind that you fall into when you need to do something, and quickly, before you think about it and lose your resolve. “I’ll be miserable if I stay. I’ve already been miserable for a long fucking time.” You uncurl the fist you didn’t realize you had clenched, bring your hand to his wrist, and tug it sharply away from your waist. You barely even register your surprise when he lets this happen. 

He reappears in front of you, and waits silently for you to continue. 

“I didn’t think it would be like this.” Your eyes wander to the desk against the wall, to the ledger that you know contains the list of souls under his command. He’s allowed you to witness what happens to the souls - to the people - that displease him, and on more than one occasion, he’s enlisted your help in cleaning up the mess. You always got the impression that he didn’t particularly need your assistance. That it was more about the fun of watching you squirm. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

“How interesting.” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “I must be a better judge of character than you, then. Because you have never once surprised me.” Without warning, he takes your hand, tugs you close enough to put his other hand on the small of your back, and half-drags you to his desk chair, which he kicks around and deposits you into. 

You glare up at him, hands braced tightly against the armrests, but he only pulls his hands behind his back, and sighs.

“Well, my dear. I would have merely asked you to sit down - as one should do for someone who’s about to receive unfortunate news - but it seems that you’re in a rather oppositional mood. So.” He gestures in your direction, and something slithers over your waist, binding you to the back of his chair. 

Before this all began, you would have struggled. Now, you barely glance down. “Fuck you.”

“Shall I bind your tongue as well, darling?” A dark coil, made of the same unnaturally smooth, unfathomably black material as the first, curls up from behind you and begins to inch its way up your neck. “Or perhaps do away with it altogether?”

You press your lips together, and shake your head. 

“Hmm…if you’re sure.” The second coil retreats back into the shadows, and Alastor looks down at you with an expression far too appreciative for your comfort. “I do love a captive audience,” he muses. “But what I said before does still stand. If, at the end of this little talk, you still wish to leave, I’ll happily release you.” He gestures broadly with an open palm, as if presenting you with some fabulous gift, then quickly flips his hand and points at you, his finger perfectly still in midair. “But first things first. I asked you a question some time ago, and you would do well to answer it.” He stands perfectly straight, and once again interlocks his hands behind his back. “Take some time to gather your thoughts, if you must. I’m not going anywhere.”

You bite hard into the inside of your lip, and swallow your bloody saliva down with all the things you’d like to scream at him. Instead, you avert your eyes, and quietly repeat the question you’d been unable to answer the first time around. “What do I have to gain?”

“That is what I asked, my dear.” The tendril around your waist tightens slightly, as if to force an answer out of you.

“What do I have to lose? ” You keep your eyes fixed on the floor, and force the deepest breath you can manage in and out of your lungs. The air feels heavy and humid, and smells of long-rotten vegetation - or perhaps a half-destroyed carcass, decaying somewhere in the bayou. “When I did what I did…when I gave you my soul…I didn’t think it would be like this. I thought that if I did it, I’d feel safe enough, or - I don’t know - good enough, to make a life here. But I don’t have one outside of you.” You suck in a sharp breath, all too aware of how stilted your sentences are becoming as they pass over the growing lump in your throat. “I live here because of you. And I barely leave because of you. I don’t spend time with anyone else, because I never know when you’re going to show up, and I don’t want to make friends and then watch them get roped into whatever shit you make me do next - and I can’t sleep, because - because you’ve woken me up before, and when you do that”-

You trail off completely as you remember the last time he did this to you, the images in your head far too clear for something that happened in the dark, when you were only half awake: Hand over your face in your dream, falling to touch your shoulder with just enough force to wake you and send you bolting upright. Rise and shine, darling. Smile somehow more vivid than the red eyes glowing above it, spreading wide with a manic delight that you knew was real, too real, and far too close. I’m going to pay someone a visit. They’re not aware of it yet, but I’m afraid it just couldn’t wait. Shadow, on the wall, one that shouldn’t have existed in such a dark room, blacker than you thought anything could ever be. It’s going to be a night to remember, my dear. I wouldn’t have you miss it for the world.  

You don’t want to picture what happened next. In your mind, you skip to when it was all over. When he took your hand, still shaking from the things you’d been forced to witness, and held it tight as he scratched that poor soul’s name out of his ledger. When he set down his pen, which was still dripping a dark red liquid that barely resembled ink at all, and began to turn the pages - you knew what he was looking for long before he found your name, written in impeccable cursive, glowing slightly as he guided you to touch it. I think it looks quite lovely in my hand. Whether he was talking about his handwriting, or about your face, which he’d reached up to touch in that moment, you do not wish to know. Don’t you agree?

Now, you shake your head, as if amending the answer you’d given him that night. You don’t like how you’ve conditioned yourself to say the things he wants to hear. To believe them when you say them. “I knew I’d have to do some things for you. But…” You swallow hard, because you can’t imagine he’ll have any sympathy for you if you cry, and you don’t want to find out. “I didn’t think it would be like this. I didn’t think that it would become my entire purpose.”

“Hmm.” His sigh is light and airy, with none of the weight that your words carried. When he does speak, the condescension is unmistakable. “Tell me, then.” He crouches down in front of you, leans forward, and rests his forearms on your thighs; his elbow digs hard into your leg as he raises his hand and props his face up on his fist. His grin still doesn’t waver, and his eyes appear wider from this angle, shining with something that is, perhaps, meant to resemble sympathy. “If you chose to leave…what would your purpose be then?” He tilts his head, until it’s his cheek resting against his fist, and waits.

And you are silent. Because somehow, in all your fantasies of escaping, you never managed to get to that part. The part where you lived your life, with no one to guide you but yourself.

You don’t know what you would do. But surely, surely, it would be better than this. 

He lowers his voice, and finally, you see his smile recede slightly. It becomes softer, and the glow in his eyes fades somewhat, and it’s all so unexpected that you don’t even question whether it’s real. “I know a lost soul when I see one, darling.” With his other hand, he lazily traces a path up and down your thigh. It would be almost soothing, you think, if it wasn’t him. “There’s a reason I wanted you. And a reason I keep you so close.” He sighs, and you can smell his breath, the hint of whiskey that doesn’t come close to masking the familiar rancid scent beneath. But there’s something sweet there, too. That’s new. “I think,” he murmurs, “that you have more to lose now than you ever did before.”

You try to tell yourself that you don’t want him to keep talking. That you want him to disappear now, and for good. But memories of your old life - your old after life, before he took over - are beginning to press their way forward. They make your stomach churn in a different way than any of his cruelty. 

“There’s also a reason - the same reason, in a way - that you were so easy to win over.” He opens his hand, and lets his cheek rest against his palm. There’s nothing dangerous about the way he’s looking at you now, or at least, nothing outwardly menacing, and you find yourself thinking about the night he approached you. Before anything about him seemed dangerous at all. When his appearance in your life seemed like a glorious stroke of luck.

“It was only easy because I didn’t know anything.” You’re disoriented, looking down at him, and it takes away whatever resolve you had left; your voice comes out quiet and hollow. “I hadn’t been here long. Everything about this place scared me. And I was alone…” You weren’t with anyone that night, but that’s not what you mean. Your chest seems to tighten as you remember those early days. The paranoia that haunted your every step, convincing you that something awful was about to step out of the shadows at any moment. The panic of not knowing how you fit into the world around you, and being sure that you would never truly know. The pure hopelessness of being consigned, for eternity, to the one place where no one in the world has ever wanted to go, and knowing that you could blame no one but yourself.

Alastor raises his head, slowly, and lets his hand drop gently against your thigh. “Well, my dear.” His palm touches first, and his fingers fall lightly, their touch barely perceptible at all until he presses them down in an almost-reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone anymore, are you?” 

“No." You barely even remembered how it felt, until this moment. To be lost. To have nothing, not even the nightmares of the present, to justify your existence. You didn’t think about it.

You didn’t let yourself think about it. Because thinking about it would mean -

“That’s right. You’ll never be alone again, if you don’t wish to be.”

It’s fake, this comfort. Always has been. But you can’t ignore it, now - the way you want to believe it. If it wasn’t from him, you’d have nothing to comfort you at all. You find your mind wandering to your name in his hand, glowing in his book, and wonder if anyone else will ever think of you enough to write it down.

“As for fear… ” His voice is so soft, now, that you feel the need to quiet your breathing. To inhale slowly, between words, and exhale carefully, lest he pause at a hitch in your breath. “What do you fear most, at this moment?” 

Again, you are silent. This time, it’s not because you don’t have an answer. It’s because the one you have seems far too dangerous to say out loud. 

If you leave, and things are exactly how they were before…or worse…

“Uncertainty is a terrible thing, isn’t it?” He pauses, and glances to the side for a moment before speaking, his gaze snapping back into place so quickly that you barely catch its shift. “I’ll gladly admit to planting the thought in your head. My having done so doesn’t make the idea any less real.”

The tendril binding you to your chair disappears. It takes you a moment to notice the absence of pressure on your abdomen. Even then, you do not move. You keep yourself in place, sitting perfectly straight, because you don’t know what will happen if you don’t. 

You stay exactly where you are, even as he rises to his feet and turns to the side, leaving you a clear path to the door. You watch, motionless, as an arm made of shadow extends along the wall and wraps its long, distorted fingers over the doorknob. 

“Walk away from me now, if you wish. You have my word that your soul will depart along with the rest of you.” The door creaks open, in time with the parting of his teeth, and the appearance of his staff in his hand. Its head pulses with a faint green light. You stare into it, and wonder if it’s your soul that you see flickering in its midst. 

“And if I don’t?” Out of the corner of your eye, you see the gap between the door and its frame narrow slightly. And again, slightly more.

“To be entirely honest… I can’t imagine that I’ll ever feel inclined to give you another chance.” The light on his staff grows larger and brighter, and shifts towards you, as if daring you to pull it out. “On the other hand…” He leans forward, and tilts his head, his spine contorting with the sideways motion until his mouth is directly beside your ear. “If you do leave, that door will close behind you. And it will never open for you again.”

The green light ebbs, just a bit, and you think about the first time you saw it. That night was cold, and damp, the kind of weather that eats away at you slowly, sinking its way under your clothes and skin bit by bit, until you can’t even remember a time when you were warm. The kind of weather that seems to suck the color out from around you, leaving you stranded in a world of gray and black and muddy, desolate brown. The place inside you where you imagine your soul once resided felt heavy, just as waterlogged as every other bit of you. 

And it seemed to lighten the moment you shook his hand. The moment you traded…

It was more than your soul, you think. It was the things you feared. The things you despised in the world, and yourself. They’re all gone, now, because now, there is only one face that makes you feel these things. It’s better like this, you think. 

It’s soon to be out of your hands, either way.

The door eases shut, and you close your eyes, because you do not want to see the green light fade. It’s better not to see. Better to pretend that it was never there at all.

“Well done, my dear.” The filter has dropped from his voice. It was there, distorting his every word, until now. But why say anything about that? You keep your eyes closed, and sit still as he traces the back of his hand down the side of your face. Thinking about flinching away, but doing nothing at all.

“Stay for as long as you’d like.” He sounds different, still. Not sincere, perhaps, but closer to it than he was before. “You’ve gone through quite a lot tonight. I expect it will take you some time to feel like yourself again.” He takes a step back, but remains close, and you don’t have to look to know how intently he’s watching.

There is not much left to watch. You slide your hands down from the armrest, and clasp them together, eyes still shut tight. Head down. If you stayed in this room until you felt like yourself, you think, you’d never leave.

Then again - if you wanted to feel like yourself, you would already have left.

your kidnapper verbally detailing their sick fantasies to you and then very softly saying come here

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Fem!Reader

SFW

Word Count: 1'882

Warnings: Yandere, Abuse, Abusive relationship, Choking, Degradation, Manhandling, Threats, Possessiveness, Alastor is a massive asshole and mean as shit. Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Hindsight was always 20/20.

A bit of an understatement, really. Looking back it was hard to believe just how much one decision could impact your entire afterlife, and you wanted to kick yourself.

Desperation was the excuse you gave yourself whenever you thought about why you made a deal with Alastor.

What he proposed wasn’t something you thought too much of at the time. In exchange for your soul, he offered you security - solidarity in a realm where most were keen on focusing on the weakest among them and tearing them to shreds. Not only would you be protected on a daily basis, but you had, essentially, a guarantee that you would survive extermination day whenever it inevitably rolled around.

Seemed almost too good to be true, but knowing the risks involved in refusing, you had accepted.

He never asked much of you in return, much to your surprise. Nothing that ever seemed too unreasonable, at least. If anything, the things he asked of you felt more like exchanges that would occur between friends - taking on small tasks he’d otherwise find too boring to entertain.

Sometimes you’d even go as far as to call them domestic.

Oh, but you knew better than to assume your relationship fell anywhere close to friendship. Amicable was a better word, not good nor bad, but certainly nothing to be overtly confident about - which made what you intended to ask so much worse.

The very thought of it made a shiver go through your body as you walked through the Hotel hallway. A voice in the back of your mind, your conscience perhaps, whispered that it wasn’t too late to turn back. To do a complete 180 and march right back the way you came.

You didn’t listen.

By the time you came to a stop, the hairs on your arms stood completely on end. The door in front of you looked exactly like the others that lined the hallway, deceptive in its mundane simplicity. It only made the feeling of foreboding that much worse as you held your breath and raised your hand to knock, knuckles barely grazing the polished wood at first but connecting more solidly the second time around.

A part of you prayed there wouldn’t be an answer, nails digging further into your palms as the silence extended onwards.

Please don’t answer, please don’t answer-

All hopes were dashed by the dark wood swinging open to reveal a wall of red.

Alastor bent slightly at the waist when greeting you, bringing his eye level slightly down to yours, “My, my, what a pleasant surprise this is!~”

The smile you could muster in response didn’t even come close to matching his own, and your greeting not nearly as jovial.

“Hi.” You said, pausing briefly between words. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes?”

The signature clicking of his vertebrae accompanied the tilt of his head as he stared down at you intrigued. “Whatever for?~”

You began to pick at your nail beds. “Just to talk.”

Alastor hummed, amusement dancing behind his eyes before he opened the door to his suite a little bit wider.

“Oh, I suppose I could spare a moment or two for somebody like you.~”

The way he said it made you unsure whether such a statement was a compliment or an insult, but regardless you followed him inside.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you…” You began to say, looking around the space. No matter how many times you’d been inside, you’d never get used to it.

“Not at all, sweetheart!~” His arm came around your shoulders, leading you further into his suite and towards the table he had set up in the swampland that seamlessly blended in with the decor.

With a flash of green another chair appeared beside his own, and he gestured towards it with the end of his microphone staff.

“Have a seat.~”

You complied, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you did so. Foolishly, you had hoped to stay standing for this conversation in order to keep it as brief as possible. The cool metal of the chair dug into the skin of your thighs despite your clothing and you found yourself staring at the tabletop rather than at Alastor himself.

“Now,” There was some rustling of paper as Alastor picked a newspaper back up off the table, half paying attention to you when he spoke. “What can I do for you, my dear?”

This was it. No going back, no cutting corners, better to rip the bandaid off than to beat around the bush.

You bit your cheek harder and you could already taste the blood on your tongue before you opened your mouth.

“I want out.”

Alastor barely looked in your direction, but the subtle twitch of his ear was hard to miss once you spoke.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow but never took his eyes off the paper in his lap as he turned the page. “Care to elaborate?”

“Our deal.” The words felt thick when you spoke them. Heavy. “I want my soul back.”

Alastor’s pause made the atmosphere feel nothing short of dreadful as he turned his head to look at you directly. His ever-present smile widened while his eyes narrowed.

“Now what makes you think you deserve that, sweetheart?~”

“It isn’t about deserving anything.” You stated, trying to keep your voice as even as possible. “It’s… renegotiating.”

Alastor snickered, the sound accompanied by a pre-recorded laugh track.

“Well, aren’t you simply adorable?” He placed the newspaper off to the side and rapped his claws against the table. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not how deals work.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap as he continued speaking.

“While the deal we made was a fairly simple one, the end result is the same.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his seat. “I own your soul. There aren’t any take-backsies on the matter.”

Nails bit into your palm at the syrupy condescension in his voice. It made anger brim in your chest, but acting on emotion was not a smart move here.

You took a deep breath. “Our deal has run its course, though.” You did your best to ignore how his eyes narrowed further at that. “Now that I’m at the Hotel… it offers what you originally did, so your part of the bargain is no longer necessary.”

His eyes flashed, glowing a brighter red and illuminating the space between the two of you for a moment.

“Ah, I see. You think our deal is now void because I’ve been replaced in a sense.” His smile was anything but reassuring or kind. “And therefore you shouldn’t be expected to uphold your end of the bargain, am I correct?~”

You swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Alastor tutted. “My dear, who are you to get to decide when our deal is void in any way, shape, or form?”

The question was clearly rhetorical, but you answered anyway.

“Because it’s my soul.” The firmness in your voice did little to cover how weak of an answer that truly was. “I should be able to get a say in when we’ve reached the end of our contract-”

A green flash and the cold snap of metal around your neck cut off any further words you had to say. You barely had any time to register your air getting cut off as you were yanked forward harshly into the dirt - leaving you coughing when the chain slackened enough for you to breathe once more.

“It seems to me that you are forgetting a few things, darling,” Alastor said, pulling sharply on the chain once more to force your face back up to his.

Green stitches lined the seams of his clothes and wove at the edges of his smile - antlers growing with each word he spoke, and it took every bit of courage you had to bite back a whimper.

He was pissed.

“Firstly, the Hotel,” He cooed sweetly,” is the sanctuary you rave it to be because I keep it that way.”

Alastor stood from his chair and stalked towards you, wrapping the end of the chain around his microphone as he went.

“Secondly, might I remind you that it was you who approached me.” He hissed, faux kindness mixing with the barely contained anger you could see in his eyes.

“You,” He nudged your chin with the end of his microphone, “ came to me with the proposal of offering yourself in exchange for my services, not the other way around.” His eyes scanned over your form - lingering on the way your chest moved rapidly to accommodate your breaths before returning to your face.

“I've grown... accustomed to you, my dear, and our deal stands until I say so. Since you are seemingly incapable of understanding the subtleties of that, I’ll put it in simple terms so you can understand.”

The cool metal of your collar was soon replaced with the warm, smooth texture of his glove as he kneeled in the dirt and wrapped his hand around your neck. The gesture made you gasp, reflexively drawing in as much air as possible before he could choke you, but Alastor didn’t squeeze. Instead, he let the weight of his hand do the work.

“I own you. Every breath you take, every little thought in that empty head of yours belongs completely and solely to me.”

The black of his gums peeked out as his smile - which felt more akin to a snarl - widened. “Besides, what would you even do if I gave your soul back?”

Another rhetorical question, but the humiliation and inequity of the situation caused you to answer once more despite everything inside screaming at you not to.

“That’s my business.”

The sheer volume of emotion that passed through Alastor’s eyes told you that was the wrong fucking answer to give.

He snickered and leaned closer to the point you could smell the rot of his breath. “See, you might think that, darling, but since you’re mine, it’s my business too. So here’s how this is going to go.”

The hand around your throat began to squeeze.

“My business is to keep you. You’ll keep doing each and every little thing I ask of you, and you certainly won’t voice complaint when doing so.”

You choked and sputtered again when he hauled you to your feet by your throat and pushed you back into your seat - the armrests catching you directly in the funny bone, causing you to yelp. He placed his hands on either side of you and leered over you. It was the smallest you’d ever felt in your life.

“I’m more than willing to speak to you about anything you wish, darling, I truly am.” He said, inhaling deeply before continuing, and you swore his smile dropped the most you’d ever seen it.

“But if you ever try to speak to me about this again, you’ll learn just how easy you have it with me, is that clear?”

You felt yourself nodding before your mind could even register it. “C-crystal.”

A mixture of relief and dread sunk in your stomach when his smile returned to its normal state and he reached his hand up to pat you twice on the head.

“That’s my girl.~”

© absolute-flaming-trash 2024. Do not repost, modify, copy, or claim.

hellooo, eris, long time lurker here (particularly lurking around those mahito fics 🥵) BUT i recently saw your L work, and i was wondering what you think about beyond birthday?

death note was my first ever fandom! i was like 15, and stumbled upon a deranged yet extremely hot b.b. fic back on fanfiction.net, which is gone now for reasons 🙃

Hello! You needed no introduction, you’ve been here for a while and you were one of the first people to express a liking for my work. I appreciate you for that <3

I’m not sure if I am qualified to have an opinion on Beyond Birthday, because I haven’t read the light novel he appears in - I will get to it at some point, I swear. But I have read a couple fics with him and I certainly see the appeal, as well as the potential for deranged content.

I love hearing about people’s Fandom Orgin Stories™️ and I am relating a bit to yours - Death Note was the first anime I ever watched! I was 17 at the time and I latched onto L immediately. Man has been living in my brain for years now and he will not be leaving any time soon. Something about his particular brand of weirdness is very appealing to me, and god is he fun to write.

Happy lurking, glad to have you hanging around here :)

gosh i gotta say that feitan fic was so well done, the prospect of feitan being so invasive about something as trivial as dreams. I could only imagine what it would be like if the reader had a diary stashed away somewhere and he found out how you REALLY felt about him. All of the pages where you make fun of his height, or how disgusting you find him, the string of insults and rude nicknames you’d give him, euuhhggg, his reaction certainly wouldnt be pleasant to deal with but it only enforces the contempt the reader harbors towards this man

Thank you thank you :)

A fun thing about this idea: anything you have is likely provided by him. That notebook you keep stashed away was a gift from him, and what did you do with that little token of kindness? You betrayed him. What a terrible, terrible decision.

Also, I think that he is one who takes great satisfaction in making the punishment fit the crime, so in addition to anything else he comes up with, you are definitely getting stabbed with the writing utensil you used to put these thoughts on paper. He’s not giving it back, either, but maybe you can use your own blood to scrawl out a couple more insults. Would that make you feel better?