Need more completely unhinged platonic friendships. If one of them isn't screaming, "YOU DON'T DIE UNTIL I SAY YOU DIE!" while actively bringing the other back to life, then what are we even doing here?
I have never known birds of different species to flock together. The very concept is unimaginable. Why, if that happened, we wouldn't stand a chance! How could we possibly hope to fight them?
hi Inspector! hope it doesn't sound too weird or anything but the way you write about Mephistopheles is literally comforting to me so would it be too much of me to ask if you could write something with him? maybe him comforting reader after a bad day? i'm so sorry i have not seen you say if you do requests or not, if not feel free to ignore this!! hope you're having a lovely day!<3
AWW this is genuinely one of the sweetest asks I've ever received, thank you so much!!!!🥹❤️
It doesn't sound weird at all! If anything, I'm really touched that my interpretation of Mephistopheles brings you comfort. That honestly means a lot to hear!!
Okay so it's maybe a bit shorter than expected, but it's after the read more!! I genuinely hope I did my interpretation of Mephistopheles justice!
As always, this is simply my personal take on his character! It may not line up with everyone's interpretation, but it's the version that's made itself at home in my brain so if you like peepaw Mephi, well there you go x'D
I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it brings you a little comfort too!
Pairing: Mephistopheles x reader (can be read as platonic, GN Reader)
(P.S. Don't ever apologise for asking! The worst I can say is that I don't have the time at the moment. I'd much rather people ask than worry they're being a bother. 🫶)
You had not meant to seek refuge in the House of Hope.
Not really.
It had simply happened.
One moment you had been wandering the halls with no real destination in mind, trying to outrun a day that seemed determined to follow you, and the next you had found yourself tucked away in one of the quieter libraries.
The fire burned low in the hearth, bathing the room in amber light. Shelves climbed almost to the ceiling, crowded with volumes whose spines had long since faded beneath centuries of careful handling. The scent of old parchment mingled pleasantly with cedarwood and the lingering fragrance of freshly brewed tea.
It should have been comforting.
Instead, you found yourself staring into your cup, watching the surface grow steadily colder. Your thoughts circled the same worries again and again until they blurred together into something shapeless, a heavy knot sitting stubbornly beneath your ribs.
You didn't hear the door open.
"You've been glaring at that tea for some time now, dearest."
The deep, measured voice drew you from your thoughts without startling you. Looking up, you found Mephistopheles standing in the doorway.
He was an imposing figure by anyone's standards. Tall enough that he seemed almost carved into the archway itself, broad shoulders wrapped in dark robes embroidered so subtly they caught the firelight only when he moved. His dark hair, darker than Raphael's and touched with distinguished silver at the temples, had slipped loose from where it had once been neatly tied, falling past his shoulders in soft waves. Half-moon spectacles rested low upon his nose, and beneath one arm he carried an enormous leather-bound tome that looked as though it weighed as much as you did.
For a long moment, he simply regarded you with quiet observation.
His gaze drifted from your untouched tea to the expression you had so unsuccessfully tried to compose before finally settling back on your face.
"It has been one of those days," he said.
It wasn't phrased as a question.
You let out a tired breath that almost resembled a laugh.
"...Is it that obvious?"
"I have lived for several millennia," he replied as he crossed the room at his usual unhurried pace. "Patterns become rather easy to recognise."
He set the book carefully upon a nearby table before turning his attention fully to you, deliberate, almost impossibly calm, as though the concept of rushing had simply ceased to exist somewhere around the second millennium of his life.
When he reached your chair, he paused.
"May I?"
Only then did you realise he was asking permission to touch you.
You nodded.
His hand came to rest lightly against your shoulder. It was astonishingly warm. Not possessive or insistent, never that with him, nor forcing you to accept the touch. He was reassuring, the broad weight of his palm grounding you in a way you hadn't realized you needed.
"You are holding yourself very tightly," he observed quietly.
You frowned. "Am I?"
"Mmh."
His thumb brushed once across the fabric over your shoulder before becoming still again.
"It is a remarkably common habit among people who have spent the entire day convincing themselves they are coping. You are carrying yourself as though the weight of several kingdoms has been placed upon your back."
"It feels like it."
"I do not doubt that."
There was no immediate attempt to contradict you. No insistence that things would improve. No well-meaning lecture about optimism.
Only acknowledgement, and that was kinder. After another quiet moment, he spoke again.
"Come here."
The words were spoken so naturally that your body obeyed before your mind had quite caught up.
He opened one arm and you stepped forward. The embrace that followed was gentle, more gentle than you had imagined.
Mephistopheles was enormous compared to you.
His arms settled around you with careful deliberation, drawing you against the solid warmth of his chest as though you were something precious rather than fragile. One broad hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, the other lightly against the back of your head.
There was no pressure forcing you closer. Only enough of it to let you know that if you wished to remain there, you could. His robes smelled faintly of old parchment, cedarwood, and black tea. Comfortingly familiar.
Your forehead rested somewhere beneath his collarbone. You became acutely aware of just how much taller he was.
"...There," he murmured. "Better?"
You gave the smallest nod.
"I thought as much."
His thumb traced one slow, absent-minded circle against your back. After a while, he spoke again.
"When one has lived as long as I have, one begins to recognise a peculiar habit shared by nearly everyone."
You looked up slightly.
"They apologise," he continued, "for becoming tired."
A pause.
"They apologise for becoming overwhelmed. They apologise for being human."
The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.
"I have never understood why."
You felt your eyes sting.
"I just..."
The words caught.
"I feel like I should have handled today better."
"And why is that, dearest?"
"I don't know."
"An honest answer. Good."
He inclined his head thoughtfully.
"You know, there is an unfortunate belief that strength is measured by how much one can endure before breaking."
His hand remained warm against your back.
"I have found the opposite to be true."
You frowned.
"The strongest individuals I have ever known were not those who never stumbled. They were the ones willing to admit when they required rest."
His gaze softened.
"There is no shame in reaching the limits of your strength."
"...Even if it's over something small?"
He looked genuinely puzzled.
"Who informed you it was small?"
You blinked. He continued before you could answer.
"A burden does not become lighter merely because another believes they could carry it."
The words settled somewhere deep inside you.
After a long silence, you let out a breath.
"I think I needed to hear that."
"I suspected as much."
Another small pause.
"I also suspect," he added, "that you have eaten very little today."
"... Perhaps."
"I see."
There wasn't the slightest trace of triumph in his voice, only calm certainty. He had expected exactly that answer from you.
"I believe," he said, smoothing a hand gently over your hair, "that we shall rectify that first."
"And then?"
"Then..."
He looked toward the crackling fireplace.
"...we shall make fresh tea."
His expression grew almost thoughtful.
"You may tell me about your day. You may tell me nothing at all. We might simply sit."
Another faint smile.
"I have always found silence to be considerably more companionable than people give it credit for."
You couldn't help smiling back. It was small and tired, but a genuine smile.
"There it is," he said quietly. "I was wondering where you'd misplaced that sweetest smile of yours, dearest."
You laughed.
This time, it didn't hurt.
He rested his forehead briefly against yours, warm as his hand cradled the side of your face.
"One difficult day," he murmured, "is not the measure of a life."
His other hand found yours, giving it one reassuring squeeze.
hi Inspector! hope it doesn't sound too weird or anything but the way you write about Mephistopheles is literally comforting to me so would it be too much of me to ask if you could write something with him? maybe him comforting reader after a bad day? i'm so sorry i have not seen you say if you do requests or not, if not feel free to ignore this!! hope you're having a lovely day!<3
AWW this is genuinely one of the sweetest asks I've ever received, thank you so much!!!!🥹❤️
It doesn't sound weird at all! If anything, I'm really touched that my interpretation of Mephistopheles brings you comfort. That honestly means a lot to hear!!
Okay so it's maybe a bit shorter than expected, but it's after the read more!! I genuinely hope I did my interpretation of Mephistopheles justice!
As always, this is simply my personal take on his character! It may not line up with everyone's interpretation, but it's the version that's made itself at home in my brain so if you like peepaw Mephi, well there you go x'D
I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it brings you a little comfort too!
Pairing: Mephistopheles x reader (can be read as platonic, GN Reader)
(P.S. Don't ever apologise for asking! The worst I can say is that I don't have the time at the moment. I'd much rather people ask than worry they're being a bother. 🫶)
You had not meant to seek refuge in the House of Hope.
Not really.
It had simply happened.
One moment you had been wandering the halls with no real destination in mind, trying to outrun a day that seemed determined to follow you, and the next you had found yourself tucked away in one of the quieter libraries.
The fire burned low in the hearth, bathing the room in amber light. Shelves climbed almost to the ceiling, crowded with volumes whose spines had long since faded beneath centuries of careful handling. The scent of old parchment mingled pleasantly with cedarwood and the lingering fragrance of freshly brewed tea.
It should have been comforting.
Instead, you found yourself staring into your cup, watching the surface grow steadily colder. Your thoughts circled the same worries again and again until they blurred together into something shapeless, a heavy knot sitting stubbornly beneath your ribs.
You didn't hear the door open.
"You've been glaring at that tea for some time now, dearest."
The deep, measured voice drew you from your thoughts without startling you. Looking up, you found Mephistopheles standing in the doorway.
He was an imposing figure by anyone's standards. Tall enough that he seemed almost carved into the archway itself, broad shoulders wrapped in dark robes embroidered so subtly they caught the firelight only when he moved. His dark hair, darker than Raphael's and touched with distinguished silver at the temples, had slipped loose from where it had once been neatly tied, falling past his shoulders in soft waves. Half-moon spectacles rested low upon his nose, and beneath one arm he carried an enormous leather-bound tome that looked as though it weighed as much as you did.
For a long moment, he simply regarded you with quiet observation.
His gaze drifted from your untouched tea to the expression you had so unsuccessfully tried to compose before finally settling back on your face.
"It has been one of those days," he said.
It wasn't phrased as a question.
You let out a tired breath that almost resembled a laugh.
"...Is it that obvious?"
"I have lived for several millennia," he replied as he crossed the room at his usual unhurried pace. "Patterns become rather easy to recognise."
He set the book carefully upon a nearby table before turning his attention fully to you, deliberate, almost impossibly calm, as though the concept of rushing had simply ceased to exist somewhere around the second millennium of his life.
When he reached your chair, he paused.
"May I?"
Only then did you realise he was asking permission to touch you.
You nodded.
His hand came to rest lightly against your shoulder. It was astonishingly warm. Not possessive or insistent, never that with him, nor forcing you to accept the touch. He was reassuring, the broad weight of his palm grounding you in a way you hadn't realized you needed.
"You are holding yourself very tightly," he observed quietly.
You frowned. "Am I?"
"Mmh."
His thumb brushed once across the fabric over your shoulder before becoming still again.
"It is a remarkably common habit among people who have spent the entire day convincing themselves they are coping. You are carrying yourself as though the weight of several kingdoms has been placed upon your back."
"It feels like it."
"I do not doubt that."
There was no immediate attempt to contradict you. No insistence that things would improve. No well-meaning lecture about optimism.
Only acknowledgement, and that was kinder. After another quiet moment, he spoke again.
"Come here."
The words were spoken so naturally that your body obeyed before your mind had quite caught up.
He opened one arm and you stepped forward. The embrace that followed was gentle, more gentle than you had imagined.
Mephistopheles was enormous compared to you.
His arms settled around you with careful deliberation, drawing you against the solid warmth of his chest as though you were something precious rather than fragile. One broad hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, the other lightly against the back of your head.
There was no pressure forcing you closer. Only enough of it to let you know that if you wished to remain there, you could. His robes smelled faintly of old parchment, cedarwood, and black tea. Comfortingly familiar.
Your forehead rested somewhere beneath his collarbone. You became acutely aware of just how much taller he was.
"...There," he murmured. "Better?"
You gave the smallest nod.
"I thought as much."
His thumb traced one slow, absent-minded circle against your back. After a while, he spoke again.
"When one has lived as long as I have, one begins to recognise a peculiar habit shared by nearly everyone."
You looked up slightly.
"They apologise," he continued, "for becoming tired."
A pause.
"They apologise for becoming overwhelmed. They apologise for being human."
The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smile.
"I have never understood why."
You felt your eyes sting.
"I just..."
The words caught.
"I feel like I should have handled today better."
"And why is that, dearest?"
"I don't know."
"An honest answer. Good."
He inclined his head thoughtfully.
"You know, there is an unfortunate belief that strength is measured by how much one can endure before breaking."
His hand remained warm against your back.
"I have found the opposite to be true."
You frowned.
"The strongest individuals I have ever known were not those who never stumbled. They were the ones willing to admit when they required rest."
His gaze softened.
"There is no shame in reaching the limits of your strength."
"...Even if it's over something small?"
He looked genuinely puzzled.
"Who informed you it was small?"
You blinked. He continued before you could answer.
"A burden does not become lighter merely because another believes they could carry it."
The words settled somewhere deep inside you.
After a long silence, you let out a breath.
"I think I needed to hear that."
"I suspected as much."
Another small pause.
"I also suspect," he added, "that you have eaten very little today."
"... Perhaps."
"I see."
There wasn't the slightest trace of triumph in his voice, only calm certainty. He had expected exactly that answer from you.
"I believe," he said, smoothing a hand gently over your hair, "that we shall rectify that first."
"And then?"
"Then..."
He looked toward the crackling fireplace.
"...we shall make fresh tea."
His expression grew almost thoughtful.
"You may tell me about your day. You may tell me nothing at all. We might simply sit."
Another faint smile.
"I have always found silence to be considerably more companionable than people give it credit for."
You couldn't help smiling back. It was small and tired, but a genuine smile.
"There it is," he said quietly. "I was wondering where you'd misplaced that sweetest smile of yours, dearest."
You laughed.
This time, it didn't hurt.
He rested his forehead briefly against yours, warm as his hand cradled the side of your face.
"One difficult day," he murmured, "is not the measure of a life."
His other hand found yours, giving it one reassuring squeeze.
so today a public health official guy came into my class to give a lecture on disaster awareness and he was talking about house fires and mentioned that the reason people most likely die during a house fire is because they refuse to leave their pet inside or they go back to get their pet. and right when he said this my friend immediately turned his head and looked at me and in that moment I had the most complete and genuine acceptance take over my body. I would 100% in front of my family and Jesus himself walk straight back into some raging inferno that was once my house to go get my fat cat. I nodded back
the best part of this post is reading all the tags from animal people who would also go back to save their pets. like no hesitation. walk backwards from heaven straight back into hell. someone even said they would go back for their fish. amazing
If you are a person who would walk into a blazing inferno for your animal, and your pet has free movement around the house, here’s a training exercise that could help save you both:
1) Set off your smoke alarm or play the sound on your phone (if your home has no smoke alarms, pease get some!)
2) stand BY THE FRONT DOOR to hand out treats
Do this a couple times and then keep it up NO EXCEPTIONS. Accidentally set the alarm off cooking? Treats by the door. Smoke alarm sound on TV? Treats by the door. Changing your smoke alarm batteries twice a year like you’re supposed to? Give them a test run and your pets get treats by the door.
Most dogs and cats will clue in VERY quickly that hearing that specific sound means go to the front door and wait for treats.
If there’s an emergency and even if you leave by another way, you will still know the most likely place your pet(s) is and can direct first responders to help.
You can also do this for any other kind of emergency alarm. My friend had both her cats trained to go to the front door for a tsunami siren.
"Aro/Ace person gets given a love potion" story but instead of them being immune or whatever, it DOES work, and they realize IMMEDIATELY that they've been fed a love potion because this feeling is so wrong and foreign but everyone keeps laughing off the idea of it being a love potion because "they were probably just a late bloomer" or "no, you just finally found the right person!" and it's just a horror story about how no one believes them even though they know, they KNOW this isn't right and they can't stand it.
You are aware that a fictional character is just a rhetorical construct designed to fulfill a narrative/thematic purpose right? That their actions are written by an author who wants to use them to explore complex ideas and moral gray areas within the safe confines of fiction right? That they aren't a real person who has killed real people right?
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