eyes-of-a-seer

[eyes-of-a-seer]

Dick has a great time. The greatest actually.

He's just a little failure..esc. A bit of a disappointment. He is self aware enough to get it.

He's not letting the fact he's a mistake stop him, though. If anyone asks. Nobody does these days, but Dick gets it.

In retrospective he is fucked up. So are a lot of people, from his experience. You can't grow up in Gotham and don't be weird and a bit broken. You can't move to Blüdhaven and being fine while being fully functional. It is how it is.

So! Dick is having a great time! Living alone and away, staring at his apartment walls at seven in the morning, in full patrol mode. Feeling like there isn't any air for him left around. Feeling-

Great. Feeling great.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

Strings under her palms feel like snow, and burning metal, and static at the same time. She shivers.

Thes says something to her, but her head is under the swamp, her palm are gripping her guitar and her lips are glued together. He tucks his forever cold feet under her thigh and she tilts her head in his direction, not looking away from the invisible point on the wall across.

He is always cold. The thought is reassuring. Something is always like it is used to be. Grounding. Thes wiggles his toes and she shifts on the couch just to get more comfortable. Guitar strings in her hands make scratchy noise.

Tubs makes a room for himself on her other side. Lands his head on her shoulder. He, honestly, smells like a pharmacy all over. Its so strong that her bose itches. But the thought of stopping her grip on the guitar makes her so anxious-

Thes, who unashamedly is taking over half of the couch, sneezes and starts complaining about it. Tubs growls something back at him. And Luni...

breathes.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

Runa was a hero. Her teachers always told her so, in-between her fighting lesons and history tests. She was supposed to be something great, destined to be a savior, a leader. At the age of seventeen she decided to ran away. But her heart, her purpose and her future wispered to her in an unknown longing. She came back. She stayed to be the hero she always was.

It takes a village to raise a child, and Runa fought for her village of people like a valkyrie. The last step was to unclaim the throne from that... monster in it.

Runa was a hero, she was a warrior. She was always kind and rarely gentle, but people trusted their lives into her hands, her mind and her sword. She was twenty two when her blade found its place on a usurpers shoulder.

The king met her like one would met a long lost friend. He welcomed her like one would welcome a hero. A hero who came to rescue.

Needless to say, Runa was very confused.

"Thank you", — the king said with a smile on his face, — "I can't do it anymore"

Runa tightened her grip on her sword. "Your lies will not save you" — her voice didn't waver, — "You will cease to control this lands, once and for all."

The king happily nodded. Runa was so confused.

She was sensing a mistake of some kind.

Something was wrong.

The king looked her in the eyes. He was looking upwards, his knees on a cold stone, his crown fallen somewhere aside. He looked at her without fear, looked at her like he was seeing through her.

"You want to be the next ruler, yes?" — he whispered. Runa nodded. Something in king eased at that.

"Thank fuck, I am not nearly qualified for this shit", — he suddenly started mumbling — " I mean, who knew this place takes the killing of previous monarch as a coronation for the next one?"

Runa was a hero and she was tired of the villains monologue. So she let her sword do its thing.

The head was still smiling when she took the crown from the floor. She heard a faint "thank you" from it and decided that she needs some fresh air.

Runa was a queen. Always kind. Rarely gentle. Beloved by the people and praised by her old teachers. It was her destiny.

And sometimes, in the dark corners of her mind she wondered: why the evil overlord was so happy to see her?

You've come to remove the usurper who seized control of the Grand Order, only to be hugged with sobs of joy. "Oh thank you, it's all over, they found someone qualified."

[eyes-of-a-seer]

"It's a conspiracy theory!" "It's horrible news!" "It's the danger waiting to happen!"

It's a joke what it is. And not even a funny one. Just a sad, flat joke someone decided to popularize. You can't even hate it — it's that bland on the tongue.

The rumor mill and the constant gossiping about it are far worse, you would personally say. Were you an evil overlord? Yes. Have you beheaded the previous king? Also yes. Have you been a terrible ruler? Obviously.

But. But! Was ruling the country with a different traditional background, with a different moral code and zero understanding how monarchy actually works the Actual Worst Nightmare Ever and did you fuck off at the glimpse of somebody ready to claim the throne beneath you?!

Yes! Oh, the Night, yes!

Nothing could match his sudden relief and happiness upon realizing that your illusion worked and the whole kingdom believed you to be dead and done. Or banished. You would take anything that worked.

Now, did you actually like to live here?

After ten or so years you can confess to yourself that yes. You did like it here. You had a cat, a house, a secret laboratory beneath the said house, nice neighbors (if you forget about Susan) and nice weather. Who knew acid rains weren't constant and permanent?? Not you!

And now this ridiculous rumor that "the Evil Overlord has returned!". First of all, you never actually left. Second of all, you would never! Willingly! Return to that horrendous and terrifying thing! Ever!

Whoever actually did come there is a fool.

You could care less about the throne, but you take any impersonation very seriously.

That's why you killed the beheaded king. He was not your father after all.

Many years after the evil overlord was deafeated by the forces of the light, there are whispers rumors that the evil overlord has secretly returned to his citadel. You know immediately it could only be an imposter, as you are in fact the evil overlord, living a peaceful simple life in exile.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

you have a friend. you have known him for a year, having met him in your jobs office. you both don't talk much, but you do go smoke together on breaks and sometimes invite each other to launch at the nearest cafeteria. sometimes one of you even bring one more mug with coffee from the office kitchen.

your friend is a nice guy. little but awkward, but, honestly, so are you.

it's on another smoke break when he nervously tries to confess something. you kinda suspect what he is trying to say, but you don't push. it's not your business, after all.

he tells you that he is, in fact, a vampire.

you pull a shocked face, trying not to laugh out loud in front of this poor man.

"it doesn't change anything, does it?" he asks, afraid to look you in the eyes. "we're still good?"

of course you are. on that note, you decide to confess something as well. saying the guy looked dumbfounded was being silent.

"but!" he tries to argue "you don't bark when you speak! and you are not angry all the time and-"

"dude," you snicker at him "who told you werewolves do that? that's such a stereotype"

"oh." he stops and a thought crosses him. "you know, there are a bunch of these about vampires. it never occurred to me you guys have something like that as well"

"yeah"

you toss your smoked cigarette in a bin nearby. your friend opens the pack, takes another stick and silently suggests you take one as well. it's the last cigarette in the pack.

you tell him that, in case he didn't realise. he shakes the pack in your direction. it would be rude otherwise, but he is embarrassed and dares you to say something against it. so you take another cigarette.

you remember yourself, much and much younger and stupider, believing all these things humans tell about all night creatures. you look at your vampire friend, who's clearly having a crisis.

"so, you've done that report we talked about last week, right"

you laugh as the horror makes itself home at his face.

that whole fantasy trope of werewolves and vampires hating each other pisses me off every time. it's like lgbt exclusionism you feel me. like I bet the real ones think it's dumb. they're out there going guys we're all children of the night. in their eyes we're ALL unholy abominations. bet there's posts on darkcreatures.net like vampires and werewolves are actually kissing on the lips rn

[eyes-of-a-seer]

after all that happened — of course the whole class is fucked up and over. in so many interesting ways, really. but that's not important.

the nightmares, flashbacks, terror, that sits in their bones, bitter taste in their mouth, broken bones and broken hearts — none of that is important.

the way nagito laughs now, an echo of forgotten memories, the way mikan refuses to wear any medical attire, the way sonya glares, unintentionally superior and terrifying. the way kazuichi automaticly reaches for something on his belt that is simply not there, the way hinata stares into nothingness half the time he does anything, the way... all of these. it's not important.

what important is — they all live.

sun rises and falls. ocean shore is full with pollution and garbage, but the water comes in waves anyway. moon looks down at remaining creatures on earth and there is no hate in its gaze.

after all that happened — they live. and the solely notion that they try and keep doing that.. that's important.

moon kisses nagitos hair and kamukura- no, hinata- no... hm.

moon licks their bare feet with loud ocean waves and nagito kisses him back.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

a poem i wrote about my girlfriend, too pretty in some parts to forever lay in my notes, but too sweet to ever meet my poetry collection pages

i feel her hand

scratching my spine

without it being there.

i can pretend

that, for awhile,

with me her love and care.

her smile

i didn't see

in dark —

like spark

in raging sea.

a trial,

chosen by a god of dead.

because in dark i will be led

by motion of my heart.

emotion is the {st}art.

i feel her hug

and, my eyes closed,

her bite against my neck.

i feel her back,

her breath composed,

and light of not a speck.

my smile

she didn't see

in dark —

like shark

in raging sea.

im trying not to do or sound so vile,

led by the blind warm hunger in my ribs,

i want to say to her exactly this:

I'll love, I'll feel, I'll all-these-things you for a long long while.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

thought about it. decided that kabuto is way too good at intelligence gathering for that, but ohhh so funnnn

wait. you might be onto something. that wasn't in my plans. but. hmmmm

Kabuto liked his life so far. It was dangerous, uncanny and harsh, but he enjoyed what he earned and what he had. Not that he wasn’t going to bite the hand that fed him, he would very gladly rip that hand out of its socket and devour it completely, but that was not the case for now. For now, the case was pornography. Kabuto wished he was joking.

The existence of porn itself wasn’t the problem, even the books that had it in didn’t bother Kabuto in the slightest. He rightfully assumed it was the same for Orochimaru-sama. Orochimaru-sama, his master (one of many) who had a brilliant head, who was a scientist, specializing in biology, genealogy and chemistry specifically. Surely, for him some pornographic literature was just a part of life.

And it was.

The offence Orochimaru took personally to his cold slimy heart was the author. Kabuto should have predicted this. Maybe he did but forgot, somewhere along the way. He breathed in and breathed out. Orochimaru was pacing around the room, almost gliding on the floor in front of a pile of books in orange covers.

Kabuto wished he was joking. He liked his life but he was starting to doubt his need to live it forward.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

Kabuto liked his life so far. It was dangerous, uncanny and harsh, but he enjoyed what he earned and what he had. Not that he wasn’t going to bite the hand that fed him, he would very gladly rip that hand out of its socket and devour it completely, but that was not the case for now. For now, the case was pornography. Kabuto wished he was joking.

The existence of porn itself wasn’t the problem, even the books that had it in didn’t bother Kabuto in the slightest. He rightfully assumed it was the same for Orochimaru-sama. Orochimaru-sama, his master (one of many) who had a brilliant head, who was a scientist, specializing in biology, genealogy and chemistry specifically. Surely, for him some pornographic literature was just a part of life.

And it was.

The offence Orochimaru took personally to his cold slimy heart was the author. Kabuto should have predicted this. Maybe he did but forgot, somewhere along the way. He breathed in and breathed out. Orochimaru was pacing around the room, almost gliding on the floor in front of a pile of books in orange covers.

Kabuto wished he was joking. He liked his life but he was starting to doubt his need to live it forward.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

anniversary

the bouquet is bigger than any bouquet should be, frankly. not that she was complaining! she would never! it's just... well... a bit awkward. her fingers curl at the heavy feeling in her throat.

it's a nice bouquet too. pretty, vibrant colors, several ribbons, nasty to untrained eyes tissue paper. everything in this shouts "ibuki mioda".

especially ibuki mioda herself, behind the flowers, drowned in her gift to mikan and unstoppable in her desire to show off to her girlfriend.

she succeeds in that. as usual.

mikan isn't really sure what she should do with the gift, but the gesture is sugary sweet. but she doesn't own a vase big enough. and if she would find one, the wrapping and ribbons and such should be off anyways. and it's such a pity, mikan could never do it! but the flowers should get water so they would stay pretty and cherished! but oh, what of she doesn't find any vases at all?!

ibuki, dumfounded, lowers the bouquet and looks at crying mikan. next stop: minor crisis. ibuki got this. ibuki has no idea as to what is actually happening, but that never stopped her before and it won't be stopping her now.

their first anniversary date does not go as planned. mikan cries over the flowers. ibuki only makes it worse by suggesting tossing it somewhere and letting it wither away. mikan, all red faced, in tears and snot, snatches her gift and does not let ibuki take it away, even if only so she could help mikan hold it.

instead of a planned day on the different island parts, they sit at the place that years ago was a gorgeous maintained park and hold flowers together.

and in the end?

ibuki finds the vase. mikan wraps the paper around it. they put ribbons in their hair.

and are, essentially, happy.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

"Okay!! Here goes my favorite part-"

Katsuki buried his face in his hands and mumbled : "This is so stupid." Mina ignored him.

"Who is the most quirkist hero in top ten?"

Uraraka sipped her soda, thoughtfully. Kirishima raised a hand. "Do we still count Endeavor?" Uraraka and Mina both hummed.

"Well I personally, as a quirkless person, think that Ground Zero is a quirkist."

Katsuki groaned into his palms. "Izuku, shut the fuck up. It was not MY fault!" Midoriya rolled his eyes: "I asked you for cookies, Kachan. Where're my cookies? I don't see any."

Mina opened a new soda bottle. "I mean, he still is a top ten pro, but at this point allowing him in the competition is cancelling others shining moment."

Kirishima and Uraraka both nodded. "True." "Yeah."

"How is that quirkist? They didn't have those in stock! Fuck you!"

"The fact that I don't have any cookies is very quirkist. And homophobic."

Uraraka glanced at Midoriya. "Pat pat, Izu-kun", — she said out loud. He took his hand to his heart. "Thank you, Ochako-chan"

Katsuki was beginning to think that there is not one person in his agency who acknowledged his struggles.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

Izuku came out of his cabinet for the coffee and oh. Kachan was there. On his waiting chairs.

Usually they texted each other whenever they wanted (or simply could, with their schedules) to meet, so Izuku was a little... surprised. And Katsuki also was asleep? What? How long was he sitting in front of his cabinet? Why didn't he called?

He was very peaceful asleep. Usually pro-heroes were really aware of surroundings no matter the situation, so Izuku kinda forgot how Katsukis' face was supposed to look like without a frown. Now he knows that usually his friend looks tired as fuck. It wouldn't hurt anyone if Midoriya just.... let him sleep here bit longer, would it? Simply while Izuku's getting himself some coffee.

Yeah? Yeah.

When he returned Katsuki was still sleeping. And Izuku was not some evil man that hates sleeping people but at least Kachan could sleep on the couch inside of his office instead of uncomfortable metal chair outside in the corridor.

The thing he learnt some years ago — you don't wake up pro-heroes like you wake up other people. Pros have more alerted state and they could harm you. (One day Izuku woke Kirishima up by shaking him and ended up with the broken arm. Kirishima was so sorry — he was buying Midoriya sweets and pastry the whole time the quirk specialist had a cast on.)

So instead of shaking, or touching, or yelling Izuku gently put a cup of coffee under Bakugous nose. Since they were children Katsuki stated that he will never drink coffee, because it's horrible and bad. When he and Izuku finally met, five years after their last interaction in middle school, Izuku found out that Katsuki truly never changed his opinion on the drink. It was honestly hilarious how despite his whole spiky and sparkly personality and appearance Bakugou was very lawful person.

Oh, and also Bakugou loved the coffee smell.

— Mmmm....

— Good morning?

Izuku chuckled while Katsuki was waking up.

— Sorry, what?

— I said good morning.

— Ah.

— Did you lost your hearing aids again and just pretending to hear me?

— I can read lips, you shit

— Sure, Kachan!

Katsuki looked down at the cup. Then looked up at the smiling man.

— Put that shit away from me!

Izuku shrugged and sipped his drink. He opened his door in welcoming gesture.

— Hi?

— Hi, nerd

[eyes-of-a-seer]

somehow somewhere in this trash of a building there is a clock. vergil knows that because it won't stop ticking. to his misery.

it's not loud or anything, but demon has demonic senses and vergil has a very on-guard state of self. so the ticking is making him even more restless. he tries to read, but the rhythm of the poetry is clashing horrendously with the rhythm of the clock.

having a type of clock that ticks mechanically in the age when digital ones exist (and vergil was in a mountain of learning new ways humans expanded digitally himself) seems unnecessary and also very on brand with dante. the man had a jukebox standing in the agency. some clients, and this was coming from dante himself, didn't even know those things were still used.

and all these thoughts keep littering vergils brain because of that awful ticking.

he should find it and put it down out of its misery with his own hands. but that would mean that it is genuinely bothering enough to move him from his place on a couch. and he won't loose to a fucking clock.

next time he will ask to join the crew on their mission. not because of the clock, obviously. that thing is nothing compared to what he has lived through. but maybe getting out of "devil may cry" agency once in a while will make him look less like he's on house arrest. which he is on, fairly.

the clock keeps existing and something tiny in vergil slips a thought into his brain that the hell was better than this. genuinely better.

by the time dante, trish and lady step into the building, vergil is rearranging furniture for the third time.

by the time a new client walks in with a job, a week later, vergil finds the damn piece of a time measurement and feels so fulfilled after smashing it on the ground that trish starts laughing out loud just by looking at him without even a hint of shame in her posture.

by the time thay decide who's going to be on the team for the job, vergil is the first one to volunteer.

by the time dante is smiling and making it a sibling duet, lady is smirking and collecting her fair profit from trish. they all should know better than to betting against her.

the money she gathers is more than the poor clock costed her anyway.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

trish doesn't know if she should laugh or cry.

the boy looks like a carbon copy. if not for her confidence in dantes lack of acting skills, she would accuse him of messing with her intel gathering. lady is missing so much by refusing to participate in this clown trip.

trish kinda likes the boy. he's clumsy a bit, loud, rude and determined. she can't wait to see dantes face when they meet. but again, would the man even notice anything? maybe he stinks too much of pizza and blood to smell something under his nose.

honestly, how does that even happen? has the boys mother simply decided to never seek dante? hm, that was an assumption she ever knew who the childs father was. maybe she never survived long enough, maybe she was too soft. the boy was too human for her to have any demonic heritage of her own.

it is not her deal, after all. she's here to do her stuff, not to dwell on some long-lost probably-spardas-nestling. but oh he looks exactly like dante. lady is missing so much.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

it is utterly ridiculous. incredibly so.

he should not be feeling those idiotic things for garbage reasons. something in his throat swells and he gulps.

it's just a hair-clipper. a razor, if you will. he never really did it before, but he knows how and, well, it shouldn't cause him any major problems. how complicated could it be — giving yourself a haircut? sanji's a genius with knives.

his eyes sting anyway. he tries to blink it away. the last thing he would be doing is crying in the bathroom in the middle of the night.

it's just that... old man used to do it. owning his own hair clipper feels wrong. it should be zeffs. why even bothering with the hair if his.. old man was not the one to cut it? he would do much better anyways.

it's several days later, when sanji crumbles. he runs a hand through his hair, feels amateur cut under his fingertips and starts to sniffle with something bigger than him.

he misses his dad.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

i write stuff!

and i write a lot! here, however, i post little glances on the characters i like from different media.

if you like it, first of all im really glad, second of all you can request a character (or an idea) from somewhere and if i know the media and have some thoughts about it i'll definitely write the thing!

🎀🗒️

ps: the best way to show your appreciation for something written is to tell the author about it. always is.

[eyes-of-a-seer]

kyrie is tired.

she knows well not to guilt herself for that, as tiredness is simply a part of life. but that knowledge doesn't help when she has no home, no distinct future, no brother at her side and those neighbors she spoke to so often are collectively trying to talk her out of being with the only man she finds stable ground with.

it would be fine if she could cover her ears and find herself in a warm strong hug, forgetting about everything (even if only for a couple of minutes) but nero is often away these days.

they live in some apartment that stayed intact by nothing less than a miracle after all demon-invasion situation. and its okay, really. kyrie does her best to find comfort in new place and multiply it by ten, but she is tired.

yesterday she was invited to come to a new church of sparda. the old building was obviously off limits for regular people, but that didn't stop believers from creating annual gatherings and singing prayers. the thought should be warming and inspiring. kyrie can't find it in herself to participate.

nero tries to quietly slip into the bedroom at night. the important word here is "tries". he does not succeed in his goal. he smells like blood, gore, sweat and mud. kyrie rises in bed, looking at his dark silhouette in front of corridor lighting and hears how her boyfriend sighs in relief.

she goes back to her pillow and hears running water in the pipes. she is still tired, but nero is warm, his hair's damp, his heart's still beating, his lips touch every inch of her face and, smiling in a haze, she brings her arms around him.

she is tired but she knows it will go away eventually. praise sparda.